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More Ways Than One.

A Comedy.

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This Comedy was produced at Covent Garden Theatre in 17831783.—Amidst the beautiful Poetry of the following Dedication to her Husband, who had just joined his Regiment in India, it appears that she derived considerable relief and amusement from the composition of it.

Perhaps there is more of Comic Satire in this Play, than in any Mrs. Cowley wrote. The vivacious laugh at medical Science is well kept up. The would-be learned Sir Marvell Mushroom ranks amongst the best characters she drew. And Avarice, the characteristic vice of Old Age, and the Frauds it generates, are happily ridiculed in the contests of the two old men, each overreaching the other, and by the other overreached.

The child of simple Nature, who falls in love without knowing it, and the blithesome Girl of polished life, who, contrary to the routine of the Stage, is in no hurry to be married, cause that Variety (in besieging minds so different) that gives rise to the Title of the Play.

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Dedication.

To the Author’s Husband in India.

Hence! Comic Scenes, to where rich Ganges laves

Hindostan’s golden shores with hallowed waves,

Where Palms gigantic rear their tufted heads,

And all colossal vegetation spreads,

Where rich Ananas court the Indian’s eye,

And Groves of Citrons fan the feverish sky,

Where rattling Canes along the rivulets play,

And the Centennial Aloe conquers day,

In their deep Shades bid Lucidorus smile,

His heavy sense of distant hours beguile.

Let him not think, because I gaily write,

That heavy hours to him to me are light!

My native Spirits, bounding from repose,

Bear me, unwilling, where Castalia flows.

I love to weep, love the soft feast of grief,

Court mournful thoughts, nor ever wish Relief;

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Sadness I woo, yet still the phantom flies,

And joy seduces whilst I foster sighs,

But Hymen frowns, and Joy no longer cheers,

Weeping I droop—Thalia checks my tears!

He rives my heart, she my rapt soul inspires,

He chills with grief, she thrills me with her fires.

Thus, Lucidorus, pass my distant hours,

By turns subdued, the slave of rival powers,

And thus hath Nature in my little frame

Still various been, and variously the same.

My Heart so keenly feels, ’twere grief to live,

Did not bright Spirits its strong sense relieve,

Through them, capricious, desultory, gay,

As though I felt not, glides th’ unconscious day—

But, Heart-struck soon, I sadden and complain,

Dragging, with pensive step, life’s length’ning chain.

In blithesome mood More Ways than One had birth,

Offspring of brilliant Morns, and Eves of Mirth;

The laughing Muse in sprightliest vein was by,

And quips and cranks lay lurking in her eye.

Oh! may her spirit from its pages dart,

Thrill o’er your nerves, and live within your Heart!

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Prologue.

Spoken in the Character of Mercury.

Springs in hastily from a height, as if just alighted.

Some Eau de Luce! Your Fans, dear Ladies, pray!

Down from Parnassus—you’re a monstrous way!

I thought to have strode swift Pegasus’s back,

But, the poor creature’s grown so mere a hack,

So often called upon, and taught such paces,

That altered woefully, alack, his case is!

In former days, but few times in a year

The fiery steed was summoned to appear.

Then, in a Comedy curvet came dancing,

Or else, in Elegiac pas grave, prancing;

But now, such flurried helter-skelter pace

A Cart-horse moves with a genteeler grace,

So, that rough Pegasus may not thus jerk us,

He’s even gone a schooling to the Circus!

My business here is verily but this,

To say, you must not venture at a Hiss.

Thalia sent me! She for once looked sad—

Why entre nous, said she, the thing is bad;

To blind yon Critics’ eyes, this Powder take,

Long I’ve reserved it for a venturous stake,

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This Powder carry—Mercury be quick!

Here’s the unfailing Spell in this slim Stick.

Shows his Caduceus, and blows some Powder out.

You’re charmed by this! There ’tis, I see it spread!

’Tis felt in every heart, in every head!

Now you shall fancy Character and Wit,

Taste, in the Boxes, Humour, in the Pit.

You’ll fancy, friends, that ’tis so droll and funny,

Upper Gallery.

And you, that you’ve some Substance for your money.

Lower Gallery.

But, should the Charm dissolve ere our play ends,

For sweet Thalia’s sake—be still its friends!

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Characters.

Men.

Evergreen, Mr. Wilson.

Barkwell, Mr. Quick.

Sir Marvell Mushroom, Mr. Edwin.

Bellair, Mr. Lewis.

Carlton, Mr. Wroughton.

Le Gout, Mr. Wewitzer.

David, Mr. Fearon.

Pound, Mr. Stevens.

Turnwit, Mr. Jones.

Lawyer’s Clerk, Mr. Thompson.

Women.

Miss Archer, Miss Younge.

Arabella, Melville Mrs. S. Kemble.

Miss Juvenelle, Mrs. Wilson.

Mrs. Tomson, Miss Platt.

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More Ways Than One.

Act the First.

Scene I.

Mr. Evergreen’s. Enter David, preceded by a Lawyer’s Clerk with his Bag.

Clerk.

Has your master breakfasted?

David.

Preakfasted?—Yes Sir! Though we are come to Lonton, we have prought up all our early Welch customs, and happits, and fashions. What is your pizness, goot Sir!

Clerk.

Acquaint your master that the Writings are engrossed, and that I have brought them, to fill up the Blanks and sign.

David.

Please to sit, Sir. Going The writings crost, and the planks filt—What was it, Sir? I must have it wort for wort, for my master is as strict, and as nice, and exact, as Shewsperry Clock.

Clerk.

Acquaint him, friend, that the Writings— 09 B5r 9 the Marriage Articles, are ready. I have brought them to insert the Names, and sign and seal.

Exit, David, repeating the Message.

Clerk.

Now, in the fashionable course of things, how long may it be before I shall draw up the Articles of Separation for this young couple? It sometimes falls out, for the good of the Profession, that the happy pair see but one Christmas together. I recollect engrossing, more than once in my time, the articles of Marriage and of Separation with the same goose-quill.—So, here comes the bridegroom’s Father, to pore over the writings I suppose. Come, good wary Sir; if you dont quicken your motions, the young gentleman will excuse your cares—every movement of that Cane foretels a week’s delay.

Enter Mr. Evergreen, and David.

Ever.

Have you told Miss Archer to come to me by-and-by? So, Mr. What-ye-call—what—a—are they quite ready?

Clerk.

Quite ready, Sir;—the Names only are wanting.

Ever.

Well, you may add the names hereafter. I shan’t sign till I have looked your parchments cautiously over. All must be clear—no loop-holes for Cavils—no room for ingenious Comments. Defend me from the ingenuity of Lawyers!

Clerk.

You will find all clear, Sir, as Law can make it.—The Names, Sir?

Ever.

Well then—the name of the Lady—but remember Sir, it is a Secret at present!—is Arabella Melville;—mine you know.

Clerk.

Yes, Sir; it is Evergreen; but, the Bridegroom’s?

Ever.

The Bridegroom’s!

Clerk.

Yes, Sir—your Son’s?

Ever.

My Son’s!—my Son’s!!

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Clerk.

Yes, Sir, I know it is Evergreen Junior; but, the Christian Name? I am sorry to be troublesome; John, Charles, Sir?—Henry? George?

Ever.

Why, thou Pen-cutter! art thou come to insult me? My Son—Evergreen Junior!—Why Sir, I am Evergreen Junior, Minor, and Major; many defunct of the family as have preceded me for Centuries, there is but one Evergreen now in the World —and I am He!

Clerk.

Sir, I humbly crave pardon. Are you then the Bridegroom!

Ever.

Yes, Sir. Timothy Evergreen Esquire, of Rook Hall, in the County of Radnor. Go, Mr. Feathertip, and leave the blanks as they are—I can fill them up. Exit Clerk. Didst ever see such a Puppy, David?

David.

Never, Sir;—not to know that your Honour was Pride! I’m sure one shant see any compleater, and perfecter, and crater Pride in all—

Ever.

Pride! Bridegroom, Taf!

David.

Pless my tongue Sir! Well then Pridegroom; and as for the Pridegroomess, she is the sweetest, and innocentest, and modestest—

Ever.

Aye, aye, I know how to chuse!—Did you tell my young plague, Miss Archer, to come to me?

David.

I did inteet, Sir; and she bit me carry my Welch face town stairs again in a minute; for that it always made her preakfast sit uneasy!

Ever.

Aye, Women with fine Fortunes and bold Lovers think they have a right to insult all the world. She cant spare even me, me who am her natural Guardian and seventh Cousin.

David.

Laws, Sir, she makes no more of you, than if you was an Olt Woman, insteat of an antient Shentleman!

Ever.

Sirrah! an antient—Oh! in point of Family, you mean.—Yes, yes, this is the last day of 11 B6r 11 Miss Archer’s rule here; I wouldn’t have her another week in my house for—

David.

Hush, Sir! here she comes—and her looks full of Mischief!

Enter Miss Archer. (Her hand behind her.)

Miss A.

Where is my Guardian—Oh, my dear sweet guardian!

Ever.

Sweet me, no sweets! I have sent five messages to you this morning, ere I could have the honour of an Interview.

Miss A.

My wise Guardian then. It was because I was busy preparing a Present for you, my wise guardian, that I staid—a Marriage present!

Ever.

A present, eh! oh, well my Dear, what is it? what is it?

Miss A.

Why as you are to be married, you wont tell me to whom, but, as I suspect, to some Girl beautiful and young, it is a present suited to such a Bridegroom.

Ever.

Let me see it!

Miss A.

Shut your Eyes first. She goes behind him, and puts on a Fool’s cap with Bells.

Ever.

What, what is it—a Cap?

Miss A.

Yes—a Fool’s cap! holding his hands, whilst he shakes his head to get rid of it.

Ever.

Taffy! I’ll teach thee to laugh in a moment. Let go my hands.—Take it off, Taf! or I’ll make thy sides shake to another tune!

David snatches it and runs off.

Miss A.

Now are you not a most ungrateful Guardian, to slight a gift so suited to the occasion!

Ever.

Miss Archer! sternly.

Miss A.

Mr. Evergreen! gruffly.

Ever.

Young Woman, you must attend to me!

Miss A.

Young man, I will.

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Ever.

I am certainly, as you say, to be married in a day or two.

Miss A.

David!—Bring back the Cap!

Ever.

I have told you, these six months, to provide yourself another home;—you now have but six hours to do it in.

Miss A.

Why?

Ever.

Because I would not have my young innocent wife infected by your Manners.

Miss A.

My Manners, Sir—why what better Fate could happen to her?—Is she pretty?

Ever.

As a young Cherub.

Miss A.

Then I’ll teach her to be captivating. Why, Sir—I am not so handsome, that is not extremely so; yet, my Manners make me the object every where.

Ever.

But, she shall be an object no where.

Miss A.

But she shall; I’ll show her to all the World, teach her the fashionable nod, and how to make her way through the Crowd at the Opera. She shall learn—

Ever.

She shall learn that, of all her mischievous hoity-toity sex you are the last she is to know; and I’ll dismiss every servant, that she may not hear your Name.

Miss A.

I’ll be her Bridemaid, and, before she has been your wife six hours, give her more fancies for Laces, Diamonds, and Feathers, than can be gratified in six years.

Ever.

—Humph! Why don’t you marry yourself, and plague some other man? You have Fools enough to chuse from. Marry!—you have my consent.

Miss A.

But, I want that of a much more important Personage.

Ever.

Whose?

Miss A.

My own! I intend to laugh at the men a little longer yet! It is excessively amusing I assure you to play with a man’s heart, as an Angler does 13 B7r 13 with his Prey; drawing him this way—pulling him that—now giving him the whole length of the line —and, in a moment when he least expects it, landing and leaving him!

Ever.

Remember many a sportive angler has lost the prey meant to be carried off;—but, you are a Coquette.

Miss A.

Well, why shouldn’t a Woman be—by way of Variety! coquetting of late has been monopolized by the Men!—When my time comes however I shall smile upon the most constant of my adorers, go gravely with him to Church, drive soberly to the Seat of his Ancestors, grow a dutiful Wife, and study made wines and family receipts; and, when I have the honour of seeing your young Widow, we’ll drink to your Memory in a pleasant cup of Cowslip of my own brewing! Curtesies.

Ever.

Seek new Lodgings, Madam!

Miss A.

I shall not indeed, Sir!

Ever.

My House is my own, Madam! ferociously.

Miss A.

And my Guardian is my own, Sir! imitating. Are you not my own dear sweet Guardian, and are you not going to have a sweet Wife, and to be a sweet Simpleton at the age of Sixty Five?—O my sweet, dear—poor Guardian!—ha! ha! ha!

Exit.

Ever.

Drink to my Memory in wine of her own brewing! Some half-pay Ensign shall be bribed to carry her off, and make her glad to drink small beer of any body’s brewing.

Exit.
Scene II. 14 B7v 14

Scene II.

Mr. Barkwell’s. Enter Pound, looking at Letters.

Pound.

Let me see—one, two, three, four. Well, four fresh summonses every morning, considering the Season has proved so healthy, would stir our medicine boxes pretty well. I must call the Doctor— ’tis time he should be on his rounds—oh, he comes, why what has caused his Anger now? Enter Barkwell from the bottom, with a Newspaper in his hand.

Bark.

What is the Nation about! What is the Parliament about? Is this to be borne?—Here’s a collection! Every morning an inundation of new Quacks. Here’s a fellow cures the Gout—by injecting Volatiles through the Ear! another freezes a Fever by artificial snow—produced from the congealed perspiration of the Patient! and this, purifies the blood from all disorders—by the Smell of mushroom-juice chemically prepared! Why, what is to become of the Mysteries of the regular practitioner, if these Fellows are suffered to go on! What, I say, is the Parliament about?

Pound.

Considering, Sir.

Bark.

Considering!—tax ’em! tax ’em! The Quacks shall be taxed. But—have I been sent for to any new Patients to day?

Pound.

Looking over the Letters. Yes Sir, Lady Juniper complains that her Dropsy has grown worse and worse for more than a year—she expects you at Eleven. Mr. Galibash has a surfeit-fever, and Mrs. 15 B8r 15 Langrish hopes you’ll call in the course of the morning.

Bark.

Mr. Galibash only a Surfeit fever—humph! with the help of Bark and Aromatics it may be prolonged three weeks, without any fear of losing my Patient.—As to Lady Juniper, frequent visits now may be profitable, for in one tapping more she’ll come to the Dregs.—As for my friend Mrs. Langrish, if I cant prevail on her to prate less, she wont last me another spring. That woman will talk two hours, without breathing, about the languor with which she is oppressed! if I did not lower her now and then, she’d evaporate through the lingual organs, like air from a Highland Bag-pipe.

Pound.

Sir, I had like to have forgot—Mr. Bellair is coming!

Bark.

Coming! No, poor fellow, he is going—he is going! Aye, unpleasant is the end of a man of pleasure!—Did he crawl up stairs last night?

Pound.

No Sir, I could not persuade him, when he found Miss Arabella was alone.

Bark.

Aye, he has taken a dislike to the sex; the sight of a young woman throws him into a Catalepsy. I have seen him quite faint, only at the touch of Arabella’s hand, as she chafed his temples with hartshorn. I have lesson’d her, notwithstanding, to pay every attention—it may be useful in his latter moments, you know!

Pound.

Somebody is coming up! I’ll go and make up the medicines for these Patients against your return—from enquiring about their particular Symptoms! Laughing.

Bark.

No laughing Pound! I have always told you that, in our Profession, you must constantly struggle to look serious!

Exit Pound. 16 B8v 16 Enter Evergreen.

Ever.

Good morning to you Barkwell, good morning! how are your Pulse to day?

Bark.

Pho! a Doctor thinks no more about his Pulse, than a Lawyer about his conscience; the Constitution of the one, and the Pocket of the other, both flourish the better.

Ever.

Why then d’ye feel the pulse of your Patients?

Bark.

Why, one cant well do less for their money you know!

Ever.

Well, here are the Parchments—taking them from his bosom here they are! nothing but Names wanting and Sums.

Bark.

Names, and Sums, and why are they not down?

Ever.

Why, let us be clear first. Your niece has thirty thousand pounds, and you will of course now come to a final agreement that she shall be mine, on allowing you one Third for your Consent.

Bark.

One Half you know was agreed on.

Ever.

One Third is quite enough. I am sure Ten Thousand Pounds for a simple Aye is very well; a place might be named where they would say Aye for less!

Bark.

Come, as you are not poor enough to want a Pension, dont libel your betters! As to our affair, consider every thing: you know I boarded Arabella with two Sisters in Cornwall, who could teach her nothing but hemming; the sole employment of her life for sixteen years has been her Needle, with the occasional relief of making seed cake, and stewing apples. Her Ignorance thus leaves her mind in thorough subjection to me; her education being only such as her Great-Great-Grand-Mother received— for aught I know as much to her advantage as to your’s.

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Ever.

I know all that—I know all that.

Bark.

Yes, you know, but you dont draw the Inference! If a Guinea saved is a Guinea got, she’s a Fortune of herself. Let me tell you that a girl who cant write, who never even heard of Point or Brussels, who if she touches a Card thinks of nothing but Beggar my Neighbour! and who has been made to think that the Opera, Ranelagh, and Routs would waste any Property, is a better Fortune with fifteen, than a Town-bred Miss with thirty thousand.

Ever.

Well, well, ’tis fruitless to argue with ye! The Antiquity of my Family, I find, will not support its Dignity without the aid of Riches, and, I must take what I can get. Here, take the Parchments, fill up the blanks, and write your name. Shall I see my little Bell?

Bark.

To be sure. Call down my Niece there!

Ever.

An instant—an instant! I wish—I wish there was a law to prevent the Young from associating with one another!

Bark.

Ha! ha! For a Bridegroom of your discreet years, it may be a prudent wish enough!

Ever.

Have no young fellows wheedled them— selves into your house after her, since her engagement with me, eh?

Bark.

Not one for a moment; except one who is dying—dont be alarmed—not though her!—he’s a Patient of mine!

Ever.

Aye, well, he scarcely can be in the way; or, if he is, he’ll soon be out of it—ha! ha! eh? Master Barkwell?

Bark.

But hark ye, to make all secure I have kept my promise with you, and made her solemnly declare that she will never impart your Name to any one, until the Ceremony has passed.

Ever.

Why, aye, that’s well! Were it known that, with Beauty and with Riches, she is about to be given to one—who is not a mere Boy—all the silly Vol. II. C 18 C1v 18 Youngsters in this part of the town would be after her. That would be a pity you know—eh? we mustn’t let her be run off with, eh!

Bark.

Never fear! ’tis all snug between us three. I have told her that ’tis indelicate to mention the Name of her Lover to any human being. To make all quite secure, I have bound her to silence by making her pronounce a solemn promise, which, as I see she has a natural turn for the romantic, she’ll keep.—Hist! she comes.

Enter Arabella.

Ever.

My pretty Bell! my pretty Bell—why so sad?

Arab.

Why to be married into a Family much older than any other in the world is something to be sure—but I’m always sad I think! When I left Cornwall, they told me I was coming to London to be made a Great Lady, and therefore happy, but, indeed, I was happier there. In the Mornings, I rambled in the Woods, and used to listen to the sweet Birds till they made me weep;—in the Evenings I walked by Moonlight—oh! how I love Moonlight Walks! with the distant village sounds dying away, till they become as gentle to the Ear, as the fading tints of the flowers of the fields to the Eye.

Ever.

Why, you may have Moon-light in London, when it is not foggy, my Bell! and Sounds of all sorts!

Arab.

But, my Uncle never suffers me to stir!

Bark.

No, to be sure;—not till you’re married.

Ever.

You then may go every where!—provided ’tis with your Husband!

Arab.

Only with him? Why I was told that, when I am married, I must pay Visits, and receive Company, and ride in Hyde-Park, and be thinking always of all this, and not of him.

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Ever.

Doctor! Five Thousand must be added for that!

Bark.

Why, how now, Hussy! who has been putting these shocking notions into your head?

Arab.

Why, there’s nothing shocking in ’em;— for the Wife and Daughters of the Parson of the Parish over the way do so, and have Company on Sundays into the bargain.

Bark.

Hussy! that’s a Dignitary’s family, every body knows that no Parish Priest permits any thing of the kind!

Ever.

Come, Doctor, dont be harsh, my little Pet will be good. I have convinced her that she was sent into the world on purpose to be my Wife; and it will be the Duty of my wife to hate gadding and Young Fellows.

Arab.

Aye, but you only spoke of those with Swords and Epaulettes.

Ever.

Then I was too remiss. They are all the same, the sworded, the broad bands, and the narrow bands; if they are young you must hate them all. If they presume to talk nonsense to you, make me your Secret-keeper, and I shall then be able to hold you up as the Model of a perfect Wife.

Bark.

Like other Models, to be but indifferently copied! Remember, Arabella, no delicate woman receives visits from any but Relations; nor, amongst those, from any of a remoter degree than Uncles and Aunts.

Arab.

What! not a Cousin?

Ever.

Not if tis a male cousin. Such a being in the family of my young wife I should deem a worse monster than a man-tyger.

Arab.

Aside. But, Mr. Bellair is not my Cousin. Oh, how I shall like to support his poor aching head; and, when he is faint, to give him cordials, and weep by him till he recovers.

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Bark.

Goes up to her. What are you saying, Arabella?

Arab.

I was conning my lesson about how I was to behave to Mr. Bellair; part of it is so pretty, that whenever I think of it, I sigh, and feel so melancholy! and yet, tis a melancholy sweeter than all the Pleasure I have ever tasted!

Exit.

Ever.

Aye, go, go! that’s my pretty Bell; get it all into your head and act accordingly.

Bark.

Well, I must go. If I dont leave you, Patients will be out of Temper.

Ever.

Well, I shall see you again in the evening; in the mean time, look over the Parchments.

Exit.

Bark.

Aye, that I will!—for I have been a Fool, and made the bargain more favorably on his side than I needed. He would have taken the ten thousand only;—I’ll start some objection—I hate to be over-reach’d!

Exit with the Parchments.

Scene III.

Carlton’s. Carlton and Bellair at Breakfast.

Carl.

More Ways Than One indeed! and your way is the most singular! imported with you, I suppose, from Leyden.—To captivate a blooming Girl assume Sickness! Such a way of love-making, could never have occurred but in a College!

Bel.

My Sickness was originally assumed, not to captivate, but to gain Introduction. However, you have heard that Pity is Sister to Love, and I have proved it so in the heart of the gentle Arabella.

Enter Servant.

Serv.

To Bellair. Your Servant is here, Sir, to say Mr. Barkwell requests you not to call till One. He is obliged to take a wide round this morning.

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Bell.

Very well. Bid him let my wrapping Gown be ready, with all the requisites, my pale complexion, &c. Exit Servant. I must have a wider Gown, in mine I dont look sufficiently lank.—Who, but a Doctor, could believe, that these limbs belong to a fellow in the last stage of an Atrophy!

Carl.

Oh, they study nature only in its Complexities; you may make them believe any thing! But, have you never yet found a moment to convince the Lady, that you have as sound a Heart as any man in Town?

Bel.

Never. Nor do I know that I wish it yet; for, I should then lose the Luxury of her tender assistances, the soft pressure of her hand, and the tear dropping from her blue eye on my cheek whilst she believes me in a state of Insensibility! How can I bear to give up all this?

Carl.

Oh!—as well spoil a Romance, by turning to the last page at once—for the Marriage!

Bel.

To hear her sigh, and ask her Uncle in tenderest accents—if nothing can be done for me? —A direct avowal of her Passion would not give me such Transport! Charming, to witness nature’s genuine feelings in a beautiful girl, instead of the artificial Tricks of Education.

Carl.

Well—but no education at all! is there nothing repulsive in that?

Bel.

Repulsive! quite the reverse—it has a thousand charms for me. Her mind is naturally so sound, that the task of polishing can be but slight, and that charming task will be mine! I am grown so romantic on the subject, that I am delighted with the idea of being the second enamoured Abelard.

Carl.

Pshaw man!—turn School-master at last!

Bel.

What a Phrase! To unite the characters of Lover and Instructor—how interesting is the Thought!— 22 C3v 22 What Joy to wind along the cool retreat,To stop and gaze on Delia as I go;To mingle sweet discourse with Kisses sweet,And teach my Scholar all the lore I know!

Carl.

Well, to Poets I resign such Whims and Pastoral Loves as thine.—Give me a woman whose soul is all informed! alive to every enjoyment of Taste!—I would rather my wife should join in conversation with Grace, than shrink from it in blushing Confusion—keep the men aloof by her Wit, than allure them by her Simplicity.

Bel.

Hey-dey! whose description is all this?

Carl.

Why, you may know perhaps hereafter.

Bel.

Hereafter be it then, for now I am impatient to be gone. I must practise an hour, before I shall reduce my pipe to the true shrill. You would not ensure my life for three days, if you should see me metamorphosed.

Carl.

Nor your Understanding for three hours, now that I know the Cause of it. Adieu!—may you soon recover!

Exeunt, opposite doors.
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Act the Second.

Scene I.

Mr. Barkwell’s. Arabella sitting at a Table, with paper and pencil.

Arab.

No, that wont do! holding up a slip of paper—Yes it will. No! it is not half so soft and graceful— Retouches it. There now! that little touch at the corner of the mouth has made it clear another thing.—Oh, how happy those are that can draw! If I could draw, I’d make his interesting face so smiling! and his eye should be just lifted up to me, as it is sometimes; and between his lips I would see a little bit of White, and—

Enter Barkwell.

Bark.

Hey-dey! what is she about! peeping. What now Arabella? writing!

Arab.

Oh, no; you know very well I cant write —I wish I could.

Bark.

Wish you could! why? to do mischief? Pity there’s a Goose-quill in the kingdom, except those in the hands of the Faculty, the Clergy, and the Law; though, as to the Law, I believe there would be no great harm if their’s were taken away too.—Pray, what use would you make of being able to write?

Arab.

Oh, I’d write, I’d write down a song, that I 24 C4v 24 have been making out of my own head; but I cant finish it, because I cant write. It begins— Soft are the gentle Youth’s poor looksAnd lily pale his face.—

Bark.

Lily pale his Face.—Aye, that most young men can boast of; rosy cheeks are as scarce in England now, as rose-bushes in Scotland.—Let me see that paper; what’s this?—a Flower pot?

Arab.

No; its Somebody. very artlessly.

Bark.

Why, if one can judge of what your Stile of Writing would have been from this, it would have taken well, Girl; for, it would be beyond common apprehension! But come throwing down the paper, which she picks up, and puts in her bosom I want to talk to you a little. Here will be the poor young man presently—Mr. Bellair.

Arab.

Oh dear, will he? joyfully.

Bark.

Now, you know, he is dying.

Arab.

Is he! sadly.

Bark.

So, we must make the most of him whilst the Sun shines upon him.

Arab.

Aside. The Sun wont shine, when he dies!

Bark.

He has a good Fortune, and is of a reputable Family, but has neither chick nor child, so remember your solemn resolution never to mention the name of Mr. Evergreen to him, or any one, and show him every kind of decent civility that a modest young woman may show.

Arab.

I am sure I always do. I would lay down my life to bate his pains. Do you know that, when they are very bad, he grasps my hand so hard!—but I am not angry with him!

Bark.

No, to be sure; he is a poor sick man—if he were well ’twould be quite different and rude. Behave as I tell you, and at his death his Gratitude may secure us some acknowledgement.

Arab.

Oh, dear Uncle! it would be much greater if his life could be saved.

25 C5r 25

Bark.

I hardly know that. Patients are liberal in proportion to their Sufferings; I dont know how it is —but the more we assist, the less, as their humour goes, are we paid. After all our art has failed, the Will of a defunct Patient is often more favorable to us than the Heart of one whom we have kept alive. However ’tis beyond the Reach of art to save him! If he lives, medical knowledge is a farce!

Enter Pound.

Pound.

Mr. Bellair is coming up, Sir.

Bark.

Oh, let me assist him. Stay good Sir!

runs out.

Arab.

Dear, dear, how weak he is! But I declare he’s not so pale, no not half so pale, as he was. Oh, how I would love my Uncle if he should recover him!

Enter Bellair, supported by Barkwell and Pound.

Bark.

Lean on me, good Mr. Bellair, lean harder. Come, think me your Nurse as well as your Doctor —you know we rank with Old Women.

Bel.

Panting You are kind—hooh! very kind. Your stairs—hooh! have exhausted too much of my wasting breath.

Bark.

Aye, aye, all our breaths are wasting; but come, take Courage—you may yet perhaps have more years before you, than I have.

Bel.

(Aside.—Yes, I guess I may; or Nature will play me a slippery trick!) Pray support me to that Sopha advances a step or two, then stops short. That Lady there again!—Oh Doctor! do you not know how baneful the sight is to me.

Arab.

Aside. Dear, how can he hate me so? it will break my heart!

Bark.

Sir, my Niece may be useful in the room; 26 C5v 26 you are sometimes faintish, and servants are so unhandy—but, if she offends you, she shall go.—Retire Arabella!

Arab.

Pensively. Well, I can stay at the door, and see him through the crevice—Sure that cant offend him!

Bel.

Why I am apt perhaps to be faintish more in her presence than in her Absence—but let her stay— let her stay. Going out of the world, as we all are, it is our duty to conquer Aversions. I will even let her sit by me! Sit down young Lady.

They both sit on the Sopha.

Bark.

Have you your Smelling bottle? let him scent the Spirit, Arry.

Arab.

Here it is.

He seizes the Bottle, and her hand together.

Bark.

Dont take too much, Sir! dont hold it too long.

Bel.

Oh, it revives me much!

Arab.

It is very charming smelling! Dear, how tight he holds my hand!

Bel.

My mind is very wayward, I have odd fancies Doctor, very odd fancies at times!

Bark.

Aye, Sir, there are very odd fancies amongst the sick sometimes. I knew an old Lady who fancied herself pursued by Death. She vowed he should not have her, and actually contended with the Phantasm so long, that she vanquished. The obstinacy, which sent three husbands out of the world, kept her in it, in pure spite to the predictions of the most learned of the Faculty.

Bel.

But, I have a still stranger fancy than that Doctor. I have not only a fancy that I shall live, but that, after all, I shall be a healthy stout young fellow!

Bark.

Aside. Oh, the Fancies of diseased Imaginations!

27 C6r 27 Enter Pound.

Pound.

Sir, here is a Patient very earnest to consult you.

Bark.

I’ll be with him in a moment. Will you give me leave?

Bel.

Go, go, good Doctor; in the mean time I’ll try to recover my voice! Pray, dont hurry the Gentleman!

Exit Barkwell.

Bel.

Turns and gazes on Arabella. Oh, Angel!

Arab.

Aside. Is he going to pray? how fiery his eyes look!—Pray Sir, quiet yourself; rest your head a little on me, ’twill relieve its pain.

He rests his head on her shoulder, his arm round her.

Bel.

O Cupid, Venus, and Hymen!

Arab.

Aside. He talks Latin now, they say people do when they are possessed!

Bel.

I can refrain no longer—I’ll declare myself at once!

Arab.

Dear Sir! if you have any Sins upon your mind, the sooner you declare them the better; it may ease your Conscience.

Bel.

Yes, I will now declare—O most enchanting— Drops on one knee—Barkwell enters; Bellair groans, and lets himself fall on the floor.

Arab.

—Oh! Screams.

Bark.

Bless me, he is fainting! Aye, he is far gone indeed, poor man.—Very odd! taking his hand his Pulse are good though he is so bad.

Arab.

When he fell, he was going to declare some Crime to me.

Bark.

Some crime!

Arab.

Yes, and it seemed to overpower his Conscience so the moment he began to speak, that he could not bear it.

Bark.

Aye, his conduct has been but bad I doubt, but, he is about to pay for all. Come, Sir, cheer— 28 C6v 28 cheer ye! helping him up. I wont leave you so again.

Bel.

Wont you Sir!

Bark.

No, I’ll sit by you, if ’tis an hour. Some people find the sight of a Doctor drives away a disorder better than Physic!

Bel.

Oh, Sir, you are very kind! but, I shall not be the better for the sight of you for an hour now. In the Evening, if you’ll permit me, I’ll call again.

Bark.

Shall I call on you then?

Bel.

On no account! I always find that the Prospect of coming to your house tends to keep the flame of life awake in me. The air of this part of the Town, so near the Park, revives me. I’ll come, and take upon me the risk of your being out. Permit me to come as often as I can, I hope I shall not be long in this sad way!—Pray Doctor—

Putting a Bank-note into his hand.

Bark.

Sir――it is needless!—

Putting it into his Pocket.

Bel.

The Spirit the young Lady gives me revives me much;—you’ll let her be in the way?

Bark.

That she shall. Come, Sir, lean on me!

Exeunt. Bellair gazing on Arabella.

Arab.

Dear, how he looks at me! it wakes up Pity in my heart so! Sure he can have no great crime on his Conscience—I’ll endeavour to comfort his mind, when he comes again. Meantime, I’ll go into my own room, and try to finish this—taking the paper from her bosom I think I can make it look a little as he did just now—and then—if he dies— sighing I can look at this all day and think of him!

Exit.
29 C7r 29

Scene II.

The Horse-Guards. Carlton comes through into the Park, is met by Bellair in a Chair.

Bel.

To the Chairmen. Stop! stop!—Carlton! Gets out of the chair, and throws in his gown. There, carry it home, and call for me at Eight.

Car.

Oh, oh! what returned from the Doctor’s?

Bel.

This moment left the house—this moment. I shall be there again at Eight; my Time will drag heavily till then—how shall I kill the tardy minutes?

Carl.

If you are serious in your wish to murder them, read Politics; if you only want to help them on, go with me.

Bel.

Where?

Carl.

To call on Sir Marvell Mushroom. I pay him a visit once in six months, stay six minutes, and laugh six hours after I have left him.

Bel.

Who is this Sir Marvell, that is such a specific for Ennui?

Carl.

Been in London a Month, and not know Sir Marvell! Why, Sir Marvell was the other day a Grocer, or an Ironmonger, or a Cheesemonger, I dont remember which or where.

Bel.

What is he now?

Carl.

Now! a man of figure Sir, a man of expense. To be seen every morning in Hyde-Park, followed by Servants on a brace of hunters. At four, in a Phaeton, making the circuit of Pall Mall, St. James Street, and Bond Street; and every night, in every place where a ticket or effrontery can procure him admission.

30 C7v 30

Bel.

But, where’s the Peculiarity of all this?

Carl.

Oh, all that’s nothing, the point in the Knight’s Character is to come. Having by the death of some old Save-all or other become proprietor of a large estate, he drove to his domains in a chaise and four, broached the hogsheads &c. &c. The next year, glad to catch a new man ready and willing, they turned over the office of Sheriff to him. It so chanced that there was an Address to carry up— hence his Knighthood.

Bel.

Ha! ha! ha! Well!

Carl.

In the leisure of his new life, and that he might not, for want of topics of Conversation, be silent wherever he went, to which his loquacity could not submit, he took it into his head to read. So, having bought every Author on every subject, he peruses indiscriminately Poetry, History, Tactics, Philosophy, Botany, Cookery, Agriculture, and Metaphysics; and, to show that he does read, is—for ever quoting!

Bel.

He must be then a tiresome dog!

Carl.

Not at all;—as he manages, he is most pleasant. Beginning to read late in life, with, to the advantage of his hearers, a very bad Memory, he makes the happiest mistakes imaginable. His head contains an Olio of Arts and Sciences, so mingled and confused, that he constantly confounds the one with the other; if Boyle or Clarendon is mentioned, ten to one but he’ll give you an old Catch as a specimen of his talents.

Bel.

Ha! ha! ha!

Carl.

His French Valet assists in working up the inside of his head, as well as the out; and gives his Master too the Theme of the day.

Bel.

Precious! my mind, from Exertion, has lapsed into Dulness, this fellow must be excellent to help on my lagging time—let us go directly.

Carl.

With all my heart. Come along, and, as to 31 C8r 31 your dulness, console yourself; he receives a new Acquaintance just as he does a new Book, in morocco or Calf’s skin—’tis all one to Sir Marvell!

Exeunt.

Scene III.

A Dressing Room. Sir Marvell at his Toilette, Le Gout powdering his hair.

Mar.

Depechez Monsieur—depechez! I am impatient.

Le Gout.

Ah! Monsieur! de Inglis be tousjours so, and for dat resonne dey navaer do credit to dair Valets. A French Generarl spend as much time in receiving de powdaer in his hair, as in directing de powdaer to de enemee; and would rader live, dan be found ded ill dress in de field of bataille!

Mar.

Aye, but now you know, Monsieur, we are all the go in Paris! Next war I dare say your Generals will head their armies in Buckskin and brown bobs.—Have done! starting up you have been as long raising the siege of that curl, as the Goths were in taking Bagdad.

Le Gout.

Nay den, Monsieur, I vil have a done; but, pardon, Monsieur, it does use me very ill; I vil live vid no mastaer who so disgrace me!

Mar.

Disgrace you!

Le Gout.

Oui, sans doute, de disgrace be mine. De Qualité vil not say of you—Oh, what Bourgeois be dat! ah! mon Dieu, quelle bête! dey vil say— Who drest dat man? he be as mal adroit as a Flemish Boor—send him a new Valet, he be drest by a Dutch Barbaer!—My Reputation be concerned Monsieur!

Mar.

Why now, you know, Le Gout, I take great care to dress for your Reputation; and to regulate 32 C8v 32 myself in all respects according to your Lectures. You have lived so long with Dukes and Lords, and Cricketers of Fashion, and Noble Racket-players, that you know the Dash of High Life exactly; and if I had a Son, to educate for the modern Great World, I would prefer you to any French Governor in London.

Le Gout.

Oh, as to dat, Monsieur, I would not be French Gouverneur to any ting. Running about after little Mastaer, sitting behind him at de play, and vid my back to de horses in de Vis-a-vis, and be at de bottom of de table ven de Chaplain have leave of absaunce! no, no, some French Gouverneurs dat I know, av a taken up de powdaer puff again, and prefaer daer original occupation of Valet, to de pleasure of plaguing Mastaer for von hundred pound a year, and being tied to his Jackette like de keys to de Housekeepers girdle!

Mar.

Well but, Monsieur, you cant conceive how brilliant I was at Mrs. Flanconade’s yesterday. She thought to pose me once, and interrupted me with He speaks in a thick voice Pray, Sir Marvell Mushroom, at what time was the Roman Republic in its glory? Very good, Ma’am, says I—very good! as though all the world did not know that the Republic was in its greatest lustre when Alexander the Great was King of Rome—ha! ha! ha!—No conceiving how it was enjoyed—ha! ha! ha!—But, have you thought of no Subject for me to day?

Le Gout.

Dare Monsieur! I be disgrace again! Why Alexandaer vas never King of Rome, he vas King of de Tourcs!

Mar.

You are right, you are right, Monsieur. (Aside. The Dog is clearly wrong—but I dare not contradict him!)

Enter a Servant.

Serv.

A Gentleman, whose Name is—is—Belayer —or Boiler—or some such name—is below Sir.

33 D1r 33

Mar.

BoilerBoiler—oh! I remember; I saw him last Season at Brighton. His father was a Soap man Le Gout.—Why, what does he want?

Serv.

He only sent up his Name, Sir.

Mar.

His Name! why surely he doesn’t put himself upon a visiting footing! Tell him, I am engaged at present.

Le Gout.

Oh, wrong, Monsieur! pardon—quite wrong!

Mar.

Why, should I receive him?

Le Gout.

Sans doute—receive every body. De Great People make all dare Power dat vay! In Grosvenaer Square, a Citizen send his name up to a Lord;—de Lord shrug his shouldaer—Hang de greasy Soap-boilaer—send him up!—He fly to receive him, catch his hand—My dear Mr. Boilaer, how I am oblige for dis honneur! where have you been dis long time? can I do any ting for you? give me de happiness to serve you!

Mar.

Do they condescend as much as that?

Le Gout.

Condescend! Pshaw! dat idea is banish de vorld,—dare is no condescension. De Canaille is de fountain of Riches, derefore de Lords treat dem vid Respect, and tell dem of daer Majesté;—in return, de Canaille ovarflow vid vanité and gratitood, let de Lords drain dare purses, and so bote sides rest satisfie.

Mar.

Enough! Say I’ll but put on my coat To the Servant. Le Gout, you’ll follow. I’ll snatch his hand, and outdo a Duke in the warmth of my reception.

Exeunt.
Scene IV. Vol. II. D 34 D1v 34

Scene IV.

Another Room. Servant enters to Carlton and Bellair.

Serv.

Sir Marvell will soon be down, Sir. I have informed him you are here.

Exit.

Carl.

Was not that the lovely Bab Archer you bowed to, as we came hither?

Bel.

It was Miss Archer. But, you dont think her handsome?

Carl.

Critically so perhaps not; but, she is more —she is captivating! Her voice is Melody, and elegant Mind is perceived in every motion.

Bel.

Elegance do you call it? I am sure it is something much more like insolence. I knew her abroad; and this woman who, in your opinion, is made up of Melody, Sweetness, and Witchery, is the most capricious, the most proud, the—

Carl.

Oh, oh! that is to say—you have been her Slave, and a neglected one!

Bel.

There is scarcely a man of your acquaintance who will not subscribe to my opinion of her.

Carl.

The strongest proof of her charms and of her Power. It is because she is hated by all the men who have had the Presumption to sigh for her—that I adore her! There is a degree of impurity in a woman who listens to, and smiles on, all who chuse to make Love to her. When I marry, my Wife must bring me an Ear as unprevailed upon as her Heart, and the first permitted whispers of Love that reach her, must be from my lips!

Bel.

Carry your whispers to Miss Archer, kneel sigh moan—and be disregarded!

35 D2r 35

Carl.

Ha! ha! ha!

Bel.

What do you laugh at?

Carl.

At your conceiving that, with a woman of her character, I should pursue so beaten a track! No, no; I have resolved to woo her, but, it shall be by Indifference! I’ll set her heart in a blaze—by Coldness, and conquer—by disregarding her!

Bel.

You will admit that your way of love-making is not less singular than mine. But, as to its success, I should as soon believe the Spanish batteries had more effectually been attacked by Snow-balls than by Gibraltar’s red-hot ammunition.

Carl.

A flaming allusion!—But—here comes our Knight! Enter Sir Marvell, and Le Gout. Sir Marvell;—Mr. Bellair, my particular friend, begs to be known to you.

Mar.

My dear Sir, I was prepared to meet an inferior person! Seizing Bellair’s hand. Sir you do me inexpressible honour—Can I do any thing for you?—make use of me—give me the happiness to serve you!

Le Gout.

Apart.Monsieur! dis is not de way to treat Gentlemenne. You must be cordial vid, and make offairs of saerveece, only to de Canaille!

Exit.

Bel.

You have good Paintings, Sir Marvell. Looking round.

Mar.

Why, I flatter myself I have Taste that way. We have Moderns who pretend to paint—ha! ha! Save us from Modern Painters!—the Antique is the thing! For a Portrait Painter, there never was any body equal to that Rogue Erasmus; he gave us flesh and blood to the life!—But, for a Cabinet piece— give me a Dutch Fair by Scipio Africanus!―― To Carlton. What is he laughing at? he behaves very oddly!

D2 36 D2v 36

Carl.

You must excuse him;—unhappily ignorant, he has not read as you have!

Mar.

Indeed! I’ll offer him my Library. My dear Mr. Bellair, you have not read as I have I believe; ’tis pity—when you perceive it makes a man cut such a Figure in Society!—My Library is at your Service.

Bel.

You do me a most particular favour, Sir Marvell; peculiarly chosen I am sure it must be.

Mar.

Oh, as to that—yes, yes, Sir;—aye, Mr. Carlton, you have seen my Library. All the Poets, from Mecænas to Locke. All the dramatic writers of Name—including Shakespear, Lycurgus, and Pliny—Read well, Sir; and after that you may aspire to write.

Bel.

Write!

Mar.

Oh, yes; one is not compleatly finished without it—every body writes. One cannot put one’s head into company without meeting Ode-writing Misses from School, and Matrons who compose Essays. But my forte is Satire!

Carl.

What then you write, Sir Marvell!

Mar.

Trifles! trifles! There is a thing of mine in the Paper to day. You know—for every body knows —Miss Archer?

Carl.

Doubtless.

Mar.

You then know that she is the most haughty, affected creature living; and to day I have given her in Heroic—mark that—in Heroic—doggerel would have been too dignified for the Subject! There she is, in the Poet’s Corner, at full length.

Carl.

Satirize Miss Archer! surely you have not dared.

Mar.

Why not? I satirize myself sometimes, and answer it again the next day.

Carl.

Aside. On reflection, this is what I want!

Mar.

Besides to tell you the truth, there is another reason.—Now I shall surprise you I know; I 37 D3r 37 hardly expect you to believe me—but—in short—she has actually refused me!

Bel.

Refused you! Nay, then, Carlton, you must not hope. You’ll hardly expect to succeed where Sir Marvell has failed.

Mar.

Oh, I dont know that—I dont know that; Caprice frequently chuses the worst! You know the Proverb—those that are dainty—

Carl.

So, Sir Marvell, ’tis Revenge then—

Mar.

Yes, Revenge. But, I continue to visit her in a friendly way; she’s fashionable; and one finds the first Dash there. Besides, I have such a Spirit about me, that I can never be out of humour with people to their faces!

Carl.

In course, you dont mean to acknowledge your Satire?—Is it severe?

Mar.

Tears her like a bramble-bush!

Carl.

Then, do me the favour to announce me to her as the Author!

Mar.

Are you serious?

Carl.

Most peculiarly so. In short, I want to be introduced to her, and I know no better way.

Bel.

Tell her Sir Marvell, he is dying for her— that’s the better way.

Carl.

Yes, to be made a fool—Will you oblige me?

Mar.

To be sure. I shall like such a Skreen! for, in fact, I have rather an awkward terror of her Revenge.

Carl.

Go then this instant my dear Sir Marvell; let not a moment be lost, nor any thing tempt you to betray that—you are the Poet!

Mar.

Never fear me! It was a Goose’s office you know, to betray the Capitol!

Exeunt.
38 D3v 38

Act the Third.

Scene I.

An Apartment at Evergreen’s. Enter Miss Juvenelle and a Servant.

Miss Juv.

Tell Miss Archer I cant stay a minute, I have only brought a Newspaper to show her. Exit Servant. How charmingly this will gall her! I never read such a piece of Abuse in my life—I wonder how the Author got it in! Enter Miss Archer. Oh, my dear Miss Archer!—Do you know that some cruel wretch here—

Miss A.

Oh, yes, my Dear! I know it all; you are the fifteenth Lady that has been here this morning to inform me of it. Upon my word, a Newspaper Pasquinade is a mighty good thing—it makes one’s friends remember one.

Miss Juv.

Aside. What provoking haste! I thought to have been the first. Now, I dont know how it touched her!

Miss A.

What are you musing about, my Dear?

Miss Juv.

Oh, why about the wickedness of people, to dare—to be able—

Miss A.

Oh, never think about it. It is rather a Distinction;—to be abused in a Newspaper, you know, is to be ranked with half the great characters in existence.—Ah! here’s another visitant, with another39 D4r 39 other Newspaper! why my friends are so numerous they will be obliged to put forth another impression before the evening. Good morning Sir Marvell!

Enter Sir Marvell.

Mar.

Dear Ma’am, your most devoted! Have you heard of this scandalous Abuse?—Oh, yes, you have heard I see,—Miss Juvenelle is here.

Miss A.

You might have met half my acquaintance here twenty minutes ago, they are kindly gone to disperse the Papers.

Miss Juv.

Pray, Sir Marvell, can you guess at the Writer?

Mar.

Oh, that’s not a fair Question.—What do you think of the lines?

Miss Juv.

Pointed to the last degree! witty and severe.

Mar.

A’n’t they?—this Couplet— Miss A. stands between them. Vainly does Molly break six Laces.Some Forms wont yield to leathern Traces!

Miss Juv.

And this— The Blushes rubbed in with such art,

Mar.

The laboured Swim, the studied start,

Miss Juv.

Th’ affected――

Miss A.

Nay, pray, good people, have a little compassion! She places a hand before each mouth; they struggle to speak, their eyes fixed on the Papers; as she removes her hands they each speak.

Mar.

H—r—r—r— — — Miss Archer!

Miss Juv.

— — — — Clear-Starcher!

Mar.

What d’ye think of it Ma’am?

40 D4v 40

Miss A.

What is your Motive for reading it to me!

Mar.

Motive, motive—why ’tis fit every body should know what’s said of them. That great Philosopher, Heliogabalus, said the Abuses of his enemies were more serviceable to him than the praises of his friends.

Miss A.

I am quite of that opinion, and wish therefore to know whom I have to thank for this service.

Mar.

Do you? would you really wish to know him?

Miss A.

Yes, really.

Mar.

Shall I bring him to you?

Miss A.

Then you know him?

Mar.

Perfectly well. I will not give his name; but, if you really have a wish to see him, he shall hear you express your thanks for the obligations you are under to him—here this very evening!

Miss A.

I should like it above all things. My life has been spent in hearing Flatteries and Falshoods— let me for once see the man who has the Courage to speak what he thinks. Pardon me for leaving you—I shall expect you and my Panegyrist at Nine.

Exit.

Miss Juv.

You see she can’t stand it—she is finely nettled.

Mar.

Yes, yes, she feels it. I am not surprised at it!

Miss Juv.

I wonder what Blockhead wrote it! for— between ourselves, I never read more wretched stuff.

Mar.

Wretched!

Miss Juv.

Oh, vile! though I tried to make her believe just now—that I thought it all Wit and Poignancy!

Mar.

Why really, Miss Juvenelle, I am surprised that people will give opinions so rashly. The person Miss, who wrote this little morceau is peculiarly remarkable in his study of the Belles Lettres.

41 D5r 41

Miss Juv.

Belles Lettres—nonsense! bell metal was all that was requisite to the Hammerer who produced these—they are mere Jingle!

Mar.

Very well, Ma’am! very well! I must beg leave to say, that it is not agreeable to hear the talents of a very particular friend slighted.

Miss Juv.

Indeed! you are unusually liberal; in general, ’tis the most agreeable treat a friend can have. But, pray let me know who this friend is for whose reputation you are in such extreme pain?

Mar.

What do you think of Mr. Carlton?

Miss Juv.

What do I think? ha! ha! ha!—My dear Sir Marvell!

Mar.

Nay, if you dont believe me, come this evening and see him here.

Miss Juv.

Well, really then, it is surprising! I did not think he had possessed so much Ill-nature.

Mar.

Ill-nature! To make people’s time pass cheerily is very charitable. Without a pleasant thing of this sort in a morning, people’s chocolate would be as unattractive as—Venitian Black-broth!

Miss Juv.

Spartan, I fancy you mean.

Mar.

Spart—yes, yes, very true; what a ridiculous mistake!—ha! ha! ha! Thank ye, Miss, thank ye. Yes, I remember, the Venitians joined the Macedonians in their war against Philip!—how could I make such a Mistake—ha! ha! ha!

Miss Juv.

(Aside. One may as well be quiet; in trying to help the poor man out of Error, he gets but the deeper in!) Pray, Sir Marvell, order my chair.

Mar.

Yes, Ma’am, yes. Venitian! how could I blunder!

Exeunt.
Scene II. 42 D5v 42

Scene II.

Bellair’s Lodgings. Carlton and Bellair rise from their Wine.

Car.

And so you really mean to persuade the innocent thing, that running away with the Rogue Harry Bellair is the most honorable step she can take?

Bel.

At least the happiest; for, does she not love me? What then is her Fate if she stays?—She will be huddled in less than three days into a marriage, with a passion in her heart that will heighten the bitterness of Disgust and Mortification.

Car.

Who, what, is he? What’s his Name?

Bel.

She blushes, and declines telling. I have not been urgent, lest it might betray my Hopes too early.

Car.

Where can you place her, to be in Safety?

Bel.

I have a distant Relative in Town—a Welchman, whose Age will be a shield to her character. I have omitted to call upon him since I arrived, but, I’ll go this very day. Will you assist in the Enlevement?

Car.

If I am not summoned to the adorable Archer. If my scheme there proceeds—

Bel.

That’s really too absurd! If she believes you to be the Author of that vile abuse, and suffers you to enter the house, it can only be to poison you.

Car.

I dont care with what view it is, if I am but invited.—I shall be sure at least not to rank with the tinsel captains, and the Sir Tommy’s, and Sir Neddy’s, who are received, curteseyed to, and forgotten.

Bel.

Remembered you will be, certainly.

Car.

I am convinced that a woman who has been 43 D6r 43 admired all over Europe, and yet returns with an untouched Heart, is not to be won by Flattery, and acknowledgements of her Power. Pride is her security—her Pride therefore must be taken down; until she is reduced to Humility, she will be invincible by Love.

Bel.

That’s well enough for a Figure.

Car.

Aye, and for Reason too;—I shall govern myself by it however.

Enter Servant.

Serv.

To Bellair. The person you sent for, Sir, is in the Parlour.

Bel.

I’ll attend him—excuse me half a moment.

Exit.

Serv.

To Carl.Sir Marvell Mushroom enquires for you, Sir; he has been at your Lodgings, and was directed hither.

Car.

Admit him! admit him! Enter Sir Marvell. My dear Sir Marvell, what News from the Lady?

Mar.

Oh, I found her as inflammable as—the Asbestos! The whole Town had been with her—the whole Town is mad about my Satire!

Car.

Then, tis in vain for me to hope that you have indulged me with the Credit of being its Author—it is not in mortal Wight to lend so much reputation for half an hour.

Mar.

Oh, but you are mistaken—I disclaimed it —disclaimed all the Glory;—and she desires that, this very evening, the incomparable Author may be introduced to her!—So you will, Pyramus like, drive for one day the chariot of the Sun.

Car.

Ha! ha!—shall I?—will she see me?

Mar.

Pants for an interview! the beauteous Helen 44 D6v 44 was not more desirous of the arrival of Leander, when he swam every night across the Red-sea! I have promised to carry you this very evening. But, be sure you dont proclaim me as the Poet, ’till I give the word!

Car.

Nothing can be further from my design— you may decline your laurel-crown as long as you please. So striking an introduction!—I never shall be able to return the favour!

Mar.

Oh yes! I hear you have a pretty quill at a Latin Epigram;—by way of returning the loan, call it mine!

Car.

Excellent!—Ha! ha! when I come out, your name shall be prefixed depend upon it!

Mar.

A bit of Greek would not hurt. Indeed I should learn Greek myself, for the pleasure of reading Ovid, but those characters, crooked all ways, are so precisely alike that they excite――an Abstract Complexity in my head.

Car.

My dear friend, I am too impatient now, to bestow on you the time your metaphysical and other erudition requires. I had rather hold a Convention with my Taylor and Valet, than with Ovid and Horace, and should prefer, at this moment, being well dressed, to being well read.

Exit. Enter Bellair and Turnwit.

Mar.

My dear Mr. Bellair, will you excuse me! —I cant stay—I came to catch Carlton. He is going to visit the Lady—I have made his Fortune!—To make him striking in her eyes—I have lent him my Fame.

Exit.

Bel.

Then, Sir, you know your business. You are to go to Mr. Barkwell’s, and tell him—But stay, can you weep on occasion?

Turn.

Oh yes, Sir, I dont doubt that I can squeeze a tear upon a pinch.

45 D7r 45

Bel.

Well then, pinch out as many as you can! And tell him that your Wife is ill at Hampstead, and that, as her time for dying is certainly come, she wants his assistance to have it all regular.

Turn.

My Wife! You’ll excuse me, Sir, but—had I not better omit the crying, and appear to bear it with Resignation!

Bel.

Ha! ha! Well, manage that as you will—you know what I want. Here is something for your Ingenuity. Be sure to hurry the Doctor; see him off immediately in his Chariot—with a direction to some house at Hampstead.

Turn.

Never fear me.—I humbly thank you Sir!

Exit.

Bel.

So! having made Arrangements to set the Doctor off in his road, I shall fearlessly pursue my own. My sweet Arabella! in ten minutes I shall be at thy feet.

Exit.

Scene III.

Mr. Barkwell’s. Evergreen asleep on a Sopha. Arabella at Work After looking at him, she rises.

Arab.

Oh, how different it seems when Mr. Bellair is on that Sopha! I could sit and look at him for ever.—If he was asleep, I’d take such care that nothing should disturb him!—but, I dont care whether this one ever wakes or no!

Ever.

Beginning to wake. Never fear Doctor, she’ll be— yawning she’ll be a very good girl.

Arab.

To be sure I’ll try to be good; but, I shall never be happy though! pensively.

Ever.

Waking. Mind what I say, my pretty Bell;—the Young Fellows, the young fellows are all Rogues, Villains and—heydey! where’s the Doctor?

46 D7v 46

Arab.

He’s gone to Hampstead, Sir.

Ever.

Hampstead! why how long have I been asleep? Bless me! looking at his watch ’tis Eight! I must be off. A’n’t you sorry, my pretty Bell?

Arab.

No.

Ever.

Not sorry!

Arab.

Why must I be sorry?

Ever.

Because I am going to leave you. When you are my Wife, you must be sorry always in my absence, and glad in my presence.

Arab.

Indeed!—why glad?

Ever.

Because I am with you—to warn you against the ensnaring devices of Youngsters—who spread, like spiders, their cobwebs every where, to catch such silly flies as you!

Arab.

Dear me, how can you say so—why spiders are frightful! When my Uncle took me out in his Chariot, the young men looked at me so pure kindly! If I had been their Sister, they could not have been more good natured to me.

Ever.

No, nor so much so. But, you are very ignorant, Bell; very ignorant indeed! however, you have time enough to improve.—When you are raised into our family, you’ll be quite a different thing. Good bye, pretty Bell! you shall see me again this evening.

Exit.

Arab.

I shouldn’t care if I was never to see you more! Its very odd now, every time I see him I like him worse and worse, and every time I see Mr. Bellair, I like him better and better— Enter Pound. Pound! if Mr. Bellair should come, dont say my Uncle is out, for then perhaps he wont come up, but will go away as he did before.

Pound.

He is just come, Miss. He seemed as though he was sorry that Mr. Barkwell was absent; 47 D8r 47 but, says he is faint, and wishes much for some of the Spirit you gave him this morning. He sent me to ask whether you would admit him.

Arab.

Oh, yes, yes! Exit Pound. How glad I am t’other’s gone! Dear me, now I am all in a flutter! What can make me frightened so?

Enter Bellair, leaning on Pound.

Bel.

Gently!—gently!—support me to the Sopha. —There!—now you may go! Exit Pound—I am faint, sweet young Lady!

Arab.

Here is the smelling bottle; I hope, Sir—I hope it will do you good.

Bel.

Do you hope so! holding both her hands Do you wish me to recover?

Arab.

There is nothing that I wish for so much in the world!

Bel.

Who knows but it may be in your power—

Arab.

Oh, dear Sir! you cant recover. My Uncle says you are for Death—and you know he is a great Doctor and accustomed to it.

Bel.

Still holding her hands. And can you bear to see me die?

Arab.

No, I couldn’t see you die, and I hope I never shall hear of it. But, I shall know it without, for—I shall then see you no more! mournfully.

Bel.

Oh!—delighted.

Arab.

I am sorry you are in such pain!—How bad you are, you’ll hardly be able to come any more.— But, I have something to comfort me!

Bel.

What!—what!—alarmed.

Arab.

Your picture; I drew it myself. Nobody would know it to be you but I!—but, I can make out all your face.

Bel.

Oh!—there can be no Happiness for me beyond this!

48 D8v 48

Arab.

Oh, dont fear Sir! If you are uneasy and will confess, you will be pardoned, and then you will be sure to be happy!

Bel.

I will confess, and shall indeed be happy, for—thou has pronounced it! No longer can I refrain—you see before you the most passionate of Lovers! You have been deceived in me, I am in no danger of dying—unless I die now through excess of bliss! kissing her hand.

Arab.

Gracious!

Bel.

It will take too long to explain now—how first I saw, how first I loved you.

Arab.

What do you love me?

Bel.

More than my Life! and I come to save you from Misery. You are on the brink of marriage with some man you hate.

Arab.

How can you save me from that?

Bel.

By marrying you myself.

Arab.

What, may you marry me?

Bel.

Yes, sweet Innocence!

Arab.

Why they told me I could not marry any body but the man my Uncle chose, and I thought it right too to obey, but, I have thought otherwise ever since I saw you!

Bel.

You shall never marry him, unless you chuse it.

Arab.

Chuse it!

Bel.

There is but one way to prevent it; you must leave your Uncle’s house, put yourself under my guardianship, and then become—the ruler of my fate!

Arab.

And when must I go?

Bel.

To night.

Arab.

Goodness! and is it really in my power not to marry him, and to marry you? and will it be my Duty to love you, and sit by, and watch you?

Bel.

My Angel! whilst it continues to be your Choice think not of Duty! Will you be ready to go with me?

49 E1r 49

Arab.

Go with you! Yes indeed—but where?

Bel.

I am going to prevail on a distant relation of mine to honour his house, by making it your asylum till you remove to your own.—I will be in the street at Ten—a Lanthorn shall be my signal—the moment you perceive it, leave the roof under which your misery has been planned.

Arab.

I will, indeed.

Bel.

Let nothing stop you.

Arab.

No, not if my Uncle was to beg ever so much.

Bel.

One kiss from each dear hand—Adieu! remember Ten.

Exit.

Arab.

Can it be all true? Mr. Bellair not dying, and loves me, and I to be his Wife!—It is—it is! these dear marks on my hands are real.—kissing them. Oh, happy, happy Arabella!

Exit.

Scene IV.

Evergreen’s. Enter Evergreen and David.

David.

Sir, a Shentleman is without, and has crate desires and inclinations to speak to you.

Ever.

Did I not say I was to be at home to no one!

David.

Crant me mercy! I told him you sait so; and he sait you would see him, and that he is a pit of a Relation, and a got-son, of your’s.

Ever.

Godson! What Harry Bellair? Ah! looking through the side it is he sure enough.—Harry! Harry! Exit David. Enter Bellair. Why, you rogue you, how long have you been returned from Leyden? and how can you have the impudence to be grown thus tall and big? Hark ye, Vol. II. E 50 E1v 50 take care you forget that I was a Greybeard when you was christened you young dog you!

Bel.

At least, I must not remember it on your Wedding-day, which I have just heard is very near.

Ever.

Come, none of your Jeers now!—And pray who told it you? This crouding up to live in London has brought up all the Gossips from the Country. Formerly a man could, in Town, be snug, and his affairs less known than if they were transacted on the top of Penmanmaure; but now—one’s most private concerns are as public here—as the Secrets of the Minister!

Bel.

Why truly—it was from a Country-Gossip that I had the news, Sir; my friend David there was open mouthed with it as I entered. I never heard of it before, nor know I now the intended Bride.

Ever.

Nor shall you know yet. What I suppose now you expect to be introduced to the Bride—I shan’t do it, I shan’t do it Godson—there’s your answer.

Bel.

Then I shall be kinder to you—for I’ll introduce you to mine!—I’ll even intrust her to your care.

Ever.

No great compliment in that, perhaps. But what then are you going to be married?

Bel.

I hope so; but, to confess, it is a kind of a run-away affair. I am this very night to carry off the Lady, and I come now, to solicit your permission to bring her hither.

Ever.

With all my heart—with all my heart, Harry. But who, what, whence, is she?

Bel.

Why, she is a blooming Girl, on the point of being decoyed into marriage; all I can learn is that it is with some man old enough to be her Grandfather, and Dotard enough to believe that the enchanted circle of a Wedding ring will conjure her into love with wrinkles.

Ever.

Aye! dryly.—Well but—troth ’tis rather 51 E2r 51 laughable too—ha! ha! humph!—how old is the little tit?

Bel.

Of that delightful age which Women term childish, and which girls think womanish. She is the niece of a medical man.

Ever.

(Aside. Whu! I am the most miserable old fool on earth! But stay—there are more old fools than I—) The Name, Sir—the Doctor’s name?

Bel.

Barkwell;—and his lovely Niece is named Arabella Melville. Evergreen strides about, whistling. What is all this? are you rehearsing the Music with which you intend to grace our wedding?

Ever.

Oh, ’tis the Drollery of the Story you tell me—that’s all. But, hark ye young man! you must know, all this time, who this――old Lover, as you call him, is.

Bel.

Not I truly. I have at last pressed the question, but, for some reason or other, she persists in it—that she must not tell! Indeed, I was not over urgent; for I could not bear to dwell on the idea that any old fellow had had such Presumption!

Ever.

Humph!—And pray, how did you get acquainted with the young woman?

Bel.

I saw her in the Park with her Uncle—was struck with the air of Innocence combined with understanding that distinguished her—followed the Carriage—learnt that, for the sake of her Fortune, her simplicity had however been practised upon, and that she was just brought from Cornwall to be married to some Old Dotard or other. On this, I introduced myself as a Patient!—and permitted the ignorant Doctor to rob me of my Gold, whilst I robbed his niece of her heart.

Ever.

Well done, Uncle Toby!—wise Uncle Toby!――and, you are going to carry her off to night?

Bel.

Certainly.

Ever.

And you wish to bring her hither?

E2 52 E2v 52

Bel.

Ardently.

Ever.

Well, I shall think myself very unfortunate —if you carry her any where else!

Bel.

There is not another house in London I would trust her in.

Ever.

Bring her! bring her away! I’ll take as much care of the little rogue—as though it were my own affair!

Bel.

How shall I thank—

Ever.

Oh!—you’ll know how to manage your thanks in a day or two hence.—Go my dear Harry!

Bel.

Your extraordinary eagerness delights me!

Going.

Ever.

Go—go—go! pushing him out.—Ha! ha! ha!—Oh! oh! oh!—I could cry heartily on one side, but, the other wont let me for laughing!—Now, which shall I yield to?—Oh, the sly Gipsy!—Oh, the old Fool of a Doctor!—That he should procure her a Lover—that she should consent to run off with him—and that he should humbly solicit to put her under my special care!—Well, it shall all work together for good—shall squeeze me another Five Thousand out of Barkwell—I have it working here —’tis working here!—David! David!

Exit.
53 E3r 53

Act the Fourth.

Scene I.

Mr. Evergreen’s. Miss Archer striking a few notes on her Harp. A rapping is heard—she rises with precipitation.

Miss A.

My sweet Harp, I must abandon thee— that rap announces my Satirist! Ha! ha! now I really wonder, though I wish to see him, how he can look me in the face, he must be most ridiculously confused, and try at fifty awkward Apologies!—Oh, ’tis Miss Juvenelle, impatient I suppose to see the Bard!

Enter Miss Juvenelle, speaking eagerly.

Juv.

Bless me, is he gone! I ran away the moment we arose from table—I would not have missed him for the World!—Who would have expected him to be gone so soon? not Nine yet!

Miss A.

Why, my dear Ma’am, you’ll still be happy—the charming man who has given me this trimming has not been here.

Juv.

That’s lucky! I do want much to see what sort of a man he is. (Aside. She shan’t know I could tell her.)

Miss A.

Oh, I can draw his Picture I am sure 54 E3v 54 exactly. A great fat man, in a black coat, with twinkling eyes, and a prodigious length of Profile, making amazing low bows, then sitting down with his hat resting on his knees, and, after wiping his face, stuffing his red and white pocket handkerchief into the crown of it.

Enter Servant.

Serv.

Sir Marvell Mushroom, and another Gentleman.

Carl.

speaking without. Ha! ha! ha! My dear Sir Marvell, that was in the very first stile. Do you know―― Enter Carlton and Sir Marvell. Ladies your most obedient! passing them with a sliding bow.――Do you know the very thing happened to me at Padua.—Miss Archer, I am happy to wait on you. We were all in the Marchezza’s box, that night when her Husband came from Paris. She is extremely handsome, he, toute au contraire! but, notwithstanding—

Mar.

Bless me, cant you tell your Story afterwards!—Let me introduce you to Miss Archer. This, Ma’am, is the Gentleman, who permits me to inform you that he had the honour to day to entertain the Town with that little—

Carl.

Oh, a mere trifle! not worth mentioning Sir Marvell. Miss Archer, I hear you have been a considerable Traveller; I wonder, when you was advanced in Italy, your taste did not carry you on to Greece! You can conceive no women so charming as the Grecian women!—Nothing so interesting as their stile of living! You would have found all Arcadia realized.

Miss A.

Aside.Greece and Arcadia! are these his awkward Apologies!

55 E4r 55

Carl.

I endeavoured to persuade a fair Greek, that the fate of my Countrywomen was happier than their’s.—Oh, ’tis impossible, said she, their liberty makes them capricious, and their power over the men assuming; they grow old whilst planning new conquests, and, alive only to the pleasure of Admiration, are insensible to true passion.—I felt the truth of her observation, and could not help confessing that it was possible for a handsome Englishwoman to border on the unwise!

Juv.

Aside. So! that’s tolerably home!

Miss A.

Aside. I’m petrified! he talks with as much self-possession as he would to a maiden-Aunt. —No bearing this!

Carl.

You play, Miss Archer. I am charmed that you prefer the Harp;—’tis so graceful for the Lady, so advantageous for the voice.

Mar.

Impatient. Pshaw! nothing so meagre, nothing but tink-a-tink! I should prefer the dead sounds of a wooden Cimbal.—Why, I thought to have heard nothing but about my—your Verses!—and here you have whisked us to Padua, then to Asia— to talk about Greece! then a swing to Vienna in Turkey! and now—a tink-a-tink is substituted for the Lines! Why, I tell you Miss Archer, this is the Gentleman—

Juv.

Yes, Miss Archer, this is the Gentleman— who travelled all over Europe to qualify himself to write an Epigram on you! he need not have travelled so far for its Wit.

Mar.

Where it was he got it, is no matter Miss— it is enough that it has come home!—h-r-r-mph!

Miss A.

Miss Juvenelle means Severity, Mr. Carlton; but, dont be disheartened. When you have exhausted your spleen to me, you will find a number of innocent characters, who, at no cost, except that of a secret heart-ache, may be made victims to your Muse.

56 E4v 56

Carl.

Madam, with the Muses I admit myself no Ally; nothing inspires me—but the Subject.

Juv.

Have you the Paper about you, Sir Marvell?

Mar.

Yes to be sure—here it is.

Offering it to Miss Juvenelle.

Carl.

Pardon me! I am not yet so hardened a Writer as to stand the reading of my own Works!

Snatches the Paper, and puts it into his Pocket.

Miss A.

Now would I give much to know, whether that is in compassion to his own feelings, or to mine. —May I be permitted to ask Sir, how I came to have the honour of your poetical notice?—Did I ever offend you?

Carl.

No Madam!—with respect to me you have been thoroughly harmless!

Miss A.

Aside. Would I had not! ’Tis now the first time in my life that I wish to do real mischief.

Carl.

I never had the honour of your acquaintance; but, last Spring I very particularly remember, at the Pantheon

Miss A.

Aside. That very particular remembrance is well!

Carl.

I am thinking of the Name of the lovely creature that was in your party. Bright blue eyes, flaxen tresses, elegant shape—

Miss A.

Impatiently. What has all this to do with taking pains to represent me in so odious a light?

Carl.

We do many things without bestowing Reflection upon them; one happens to be in the humour to write—a name occurs—the thing is done—I am careless—friends like it and will have it appear. You may abuse me if you please with Fifty times the Wit.

Mar.

Humph! In fact Ma’am he feels confidently secure of not meeting similar Wit from any quarter!

Miss A.

Then it was not Sir, that you really thought me so extremely displeasing— In great Confusion.

Carl.

Aside. Oh, that submissive look will ruin me, such another brings me to her feet!

57 E5r 57

Juv.

Do you hear Mr. Carlton?—is the Lady so very displeasing?

Carl.

Miss Archer is certainly—a very agreeable kind of woman—I wish I had abated a point or two in my Epigram. She is fair—and—as to Shape— why altogether she is certainly a— ( Aside—a most bewitching creature!)

Miss A.

Sir, do you think I can stand to be criticised in this manner? Pardon me if I say you scarcely keep within the line of Good Manners. I did not expect—not that I care—I would not have you think that—that――I can bear it no longer!

Goes off agitated.

Carl.

Oh that Agitation! would that I might sooth it.

Juv.

Ha! ha! ha! Well, she’s finely mortified. I’ll go and tell her you are going home to compose another Satire!

Exit.

Carl.

Go thou thing! and whilst gratifying girlish spite, conduct my heart’s dearest interests!

Mar.

In the midst of Miss Archer’s anger about the verses, she does not even pretend to despise them!

Carl.

Despise them! I design to make her account them the happiest lines that ever were written! Your talents I find are capable of being turned to value.

Mar.

Talents! a Fool thinks he has talents now! But, I say, with Chaucer, in the Rape of the LockTo Wit each Blockhead makes pretence,Give Me—a little Common Sense!

Exit.

Carl.

Amen, Sir Marvell!

Exit. Enter Evergreen and David.

Ever.

Mighty pretty! mighty pretty! I can never come into my house, but I am jostled by two or three fellows going out of it. Hark ye, Sir, in future when 58 E5v 58 any body, male or female, asks for Miss Archer, say she’s not at home. She shall see nobody in the house, that is the surest way to get her out of it. Without a Husband she may live, but to live without gossiping, without flatterers, without all the he and she family of Nonsense, that I take to be impossible. —D’ye mind me?

David.

Yes sure, and certainly, I to, Sir!

Ever.

Well, then mind me again. Mr. Bellair will bring a Lady here presently; tell him I am out, but say I left strict orders with the housekeeper to take great care of the Lady.

David.

Yes, I shall, Sir.

Exit.

Ever.

Aye, aye—they are together by this time, driving to me their only friend and guardian! ha! ha! ha! I saw the dog watching the door, holding up a Lanthorn, the Signal I suppose ha! ha! ha!— Pretty creatures! Oh, I have them fast in the trap set by themselves. And I—

Bellair.

speaking at the Door. Out do you say!

Evergreen, runs off without speaking. Bellair enters, leading Arabella.

Bel.

My dearest Angel, you are now in the house of a Friend;—be not alarmed, he will soon be your Relation; his Sanction secures your reputation, and your reputation is now mine. Why do you sigh?

Arab.

I am afraid they will take me from you again.

Bel.

Never! I will protect you as I would my Life. I will instantly hunt out my Relative that you may not be without a Guard. For many reasons, I ought not to remain with you.

Arab.

Not remain with me! why, are we not to be married!

59 E6r 59

Bel.

Doubtless!—but the World says we must live apart till then.

Arab.

Why, how will the world know any thing about us?

Bel.

Oh, there are a thousand eyes always open every where.—(Aside. Of what a nature is Innocence! The more pure and ignorant of Vice it is, the nearer Blemish in the World’s eye!)

Arab.

Well, if you must leave me, make haste to return.—How shall I amuse myself? Oh, here are Paintings. I love paintings dearly—I can make out whole conversations between unhappy Girls and cross Uncles.

Bel.

Look now, my angel, for another subject— search for the figure of a Lover, fancy him telling her he loves, that his Life is devoted to her felicity; fancy me the Lover—you the charming Girl.— Kissing her hand. Heaven guard thee!

Exit.

Arab.

The happy Girl, he should have said. Oh, I shall find no figure here so interesting as his! As she is examining the Paintings Evergreen enters and stands between her and them—she shrieks.

Ever.

How now, young woman, why so frightened! —How came you here Child, eh?

Arab.

Oh, goodness! how came You here?

Ever.

Oh, I’m familiar here—quite at home!

Arab.

Indeed! (Aside. He’ll tell my Uncle where to find me!)

Ever.

Bell! Bell!—have I not always told you to beware of Youngsters? have I not always told you that they are all deceit and lies?

Arab.

Yes, you have told me so, but, I dont believe you. And you told me that I was born on purpose to be your Wife, and now, I dont believe that neither!

Ever.

Indeed! Why who then was you born for?

60 E6v 60

Arab.

Some one.—But I must not tell!

Ever.

Not for the one you think of, my pretty Bell. Oh, you little Goose! dont you perceive a scheme planned between Bellair and me. This is my house! and what think you he could bring you here for, but to deliver you into my Power?

Arab.

What a Story! he’d die, before he’d put me into your power.

Ever.

Would he so? Hark ye—I have been in his Secret the whole time; for instance, I know of his sham sickness to impose on your mighty wise Uncle, and of his persuading you that he had a Relation under whose care he would place you. I know of the dark-lanthorn, and every particular—Now what do you think of Youngsters!

Arab.

Think! oh merciful! I cannot believe that in all the world there can be such—

Ever.

Aye, now, are they not deceitful monsters? and Bellair, in particular, is he not—tell me—snatching her hand—is he not the worst of men?—a most cruel villain?

Arab.

What—for putting me into your power!

Ever.

No, no, no, I mean for—(Aside.—Troth she had me!)

Arab.

I think now I could hate him. I wish he would come, that I might tell him so!

Ever.

Aye, but he wont come—or, if he does, he’ll never see you more, my pretty Bell, until you are my Wife.

Arab.

If I was sure it would make him miserable, I could almost determine to be your wife—though I would rather die.

Ever.

You ungrateful Baggage! so much love, so much tenderness as I have thrown away upon you!

Arab.

It is very strange!—he who seems to have been so cruel I cannot hate; and you, who have been so kind, I cannot love!

Ever.

I am much indebted to you, Madam, for your Confidence.

61 E7r 61

Arab.

Do you wish me also to be a Deceiver? You think Mr. Bellair wicked, in deceiving by pretending to love when he did not. If I pretended to love you, you ought to call me deceitful creature too.

Ever.

So, so, so! Well, Ma’am, with regard to the matter of Love, perhaps we are more even there than you think. Here Housekeeper! Enter Housekeeper. take Care of this young lady; tempt her to eat if you can, and, if you cannot, put her to bed supperless. Lock her up, and take special care that Mr. Bellair never enters the doors.

Arab.

Heighho!

Exit with the Housekeeper.

Ever.

Now will I to my sapient Doctor; by this time he is apprized of his loss. I’ll see him poisoned before I’ll tell him where she is.—Oh Doctor! Doctor!

Exit with an air of Joy. Enter Miss Archer, leading Arabella.

Miss A.

Go down, Mrs. Jones, I’ll take care of the young Lady. My sweet Girl, who are you? what is the Occasion of this extreme distress?

Arab.

Oh Madam, you seem good natured, and I’ll tell you. Mr. Bellair has left me in this house, I ran away with him to marry him, but, I dont know where he lives.

Miss A.

And, my Dear, do you run away with a man, to marry him, and not know where he lives! why, he may be a deceiver.

Arab.

Yes, an old Gentleman who lives in this house says he is so. But, my Uncle told me he is of a very respectable family, and besides—I loved him!

Miss A.

An old Gentleman that lives in this house, who wants to marry you! What’s all this? Come, my Love, you shall go with me to my Dressing-room. Your Heart has an attachment, and it seems an unfortunate one. (Aside. Alas! I feel but too much Sympathy with her!)

Exeunt.
62 E7v 62

Scene II.

Mr. Barkwell’s. He enters in great Agitation, speaking to a Servant without.

Bark.

Gone! gone! gone off! I cant believe it— ’tis impossible.—She knows nobody—speaks to nobody. In all this vast Town there cannot be a house open to her. And here have I been on a Fool’s errand to Hampstead! where every body is in health—not a soul sick from the top of the Heath to Mother Red- Cap’s. But, she cant be gone off!

Enter Evergreen.

Ever.

Aye! here’s a Dose for you Doctor! here’s a bitter potion. Whilst you have been running to Hampstead after an Old Woman, your niece has been running away with a young man.

Bark.

What are we to do? Why do we stand here?—Why dont we go in search of her!

Running about, and taking up his hat and stick.

Ever.

Search of her!—where? where are we to go? And, if we find her, what then? Who do you think is to take tarnished ware off your hands? We indeed! ’tis all your affair now, Doctor; I wash my hands of it entirely.

Bark.

What do you mean? why, is she not contracted to you?

Ever.

Contracted to me—yes, but her Prudence, and peculiar Discretion, you know, were warranted!

Bark.

Her Mind is yet pure, Sir.

Ever.

Yes, yes, that may be, but, it by no means 63 E8r 63 follows that her Reputation will be so. The first sun-beams may see the flies upon it, and, by Noon, it may be stale—stale Doctor.

Bark.

Come, come, Sir, this is going too far—you are too violent in your conjectures. After all, it may be but a Girl’s frolic, strayed to some Toy-shop, or Confectioner’s, perhaps.

Ever.

Toyshop, or Confectioner’s!—What then you have not found out, all this time, that she has really run off with a young fellow, and who he is?— Whu! have I that news to tell you? Come Doctor, prepare for a Convulsion—loosen your neckcloth, take off your Wig, slacken your ligatures, and sit down for a Fit!

Bark.

Angry Slacken your wit, Sir! you are too jocose on a Lady’s reputation.

Ever.

Lady’s reputation! there are more reputations than her’s at stake, I promise you—the reputation of a wise man! a Doctor’s reputation will become matter of Sport for all the Wits in Town. Oh Doctor! Doctor! when will you gain a Diploma for Wisdom!

Bark.

Sir!—there is no bearing this, I—

Ever.

Yes, but you must bear more yet.—Hark ye! I shall make ye in one minute, as mute as the Bust of Old Galen in your Study.—This bold, spirited, sturdy Youngster, who has carried off your Niece, against all let or hindrance, is the poor, puling Patient, who was brought to your house every day for the benefit of the Park air! and concerning whom you pronounced that it was beyond the skill of all the Physicians in Europe to keep him out of a winding sheet! Confine not your anxiety Doctor to a Young Lady’s reputation!

Bark.

A malicious invention of your own—sheer Malice!—That poor young Gentleman is in a state, and I will prove it, to make it impossible for him to recover! The morbid matter speaking very rapidly 64 E8v 64 hourly encreases—the Absorbents do not perform their functions—Digestion is destroyed—the Thorax inflamed—the—

Ever.

I tell you he has run away with your Niece!

Bark.

Continuing to speak, without regarding the other’s Interruptions. I tell you, Sir, that such an attack upon my Character—

I tell you he has run away with your Niece!

—a man of my Experience Mr. Evergreen

I tell you he has run away with your Niece!

—I who am acknowledged by every medical man within the bills of Mortality—

I tell you he has run away with your Niece!

I going off, the other following who am called in in every difficult case—

I tell you he has run away with your Niece!

—I whose Patients have never died without regular Assistance—

Exeunt.

Scene III.

Bellair’s Lodgings. Enter Bellair and Carlton.

Bel.

My dear Carlton, congratulate me!

Carl.

Congratulate me!

Bel.

I have carried off my Prize.

Carl.

I have been with Miss Archer.

Bel.

I have safely lodged her in the house of a friend.

Carl.

I have seen the most interesting melancholy in her air.

Bel.

I have seen Love light up all her features. I have pressed my Arabella to my Heart.

Carl.

I have pressed Miss Archer to mine too, in idea; for I am now convinced of her sensibility, and adore her. But, where is your Arabella?

Bel.

At the friend’s I mentioned. Not being able 65 F1r 65 to find him any where, I called at his house a second time, and have been assured that the dear Girl herself, Mr. Evergreen, and all the family are retired to rest.

Carl.

Evergreen!—Evergreen! why he is Miss Archer’s Guardian, she lives in his house.

Bel.

Then our mistresses are under the same roof!

Carl.

Then we are both safe! for, two Girls talking to each other of the men they love, will do more for us in a day, than we could for ourselves in a Month.

Enter a Servant.

Serv.

Mr. Barkwell.

Exit.

Bel.

Barkwell!—Oh, all the imps of mischance!

Carl.

Can he have made the Discovery so soon?

Enter Barkwell.

Bark.

speaking as he enters. A Villain! to attempt to undermine my Reputation!—Gentlemen, I have been insulted so grossly, that I can hardly compose myself to tell the Cause of my unseasonable visit, but—if――in one word—how is my poor Patient—how is Mr. Bellair?

Bel.

Sir!—Mr. Bellair, Sir!

Carl.

Apart. He doesn’t know ye—fear nothing!

Bel.

Are you sure of that? Watch his Countenance.

Bark.

My Patient, Sir! Good gentlemen speak— how is my Patient?

Bel.

Your Patient, Sir, is as a Patient is likely to be—who is out of the reach of his Doctor! No further occasion for Asse’s milk, Balsamics, Cordials, or Coolers; alas! Doctor, he is departed from you!

Carl.

Alas, Doctor, no more fees!—he has given Vol. II. F 66 F1v 66 you the slip. Is it not a shame, that a man of your Celebrity in the fields of Galen should not be able to master such a pitiful Hectic! Why, a Doctor ought to have the Diseases at his call, and whistle them on and off, as a huntsman does his hounds.

Bel.

Aye, ’twas a crying sin, to let such a spirited fine Young Fellow be the victim of such a rascally little Feveret! An old woman would have cured him; but, he so appreciated the Skill of the renowned Doctor Barkwell!—Sir—he departed full of Resentment, his last words being—Toss the Doctor in a Blanket!

Bark.

I can forgive that—I can forgive that—but, I cant forgive your Illiberality Sir—an Old Woman cure him! It was not in the power of all the Doctors between London and the Alps; not an Herb, Gum, Wood, or Fungus in the whole Medicopeia that could have given your friend Breath two days longer!

Bel.

’Tis false Sir!—Utter no such Scandal against his Constitution――the Blanket!

Bark.

I could not bear this treatment, Sir, but that the extreme Satisfaction I have in Mr. Bellair’s decease—

Bel.

Satisfaction!

Bark.

Yes Sir. My Reputation, my Character, demanded that he should be no more. I would not have had him alive tomorrow morning to have the management of a hundred more such Patients.

Bel.

Is it a Rule, then, with you, Doctor, not to let a Patient escape!

Bark.

Why, Sir, there is a vile Story in circulation, which if true would sink me beneath the lowest grinder in my laboratory—beneath a mixer of eggs and turpentine—beneath the cork in a julep bottle; nothing less than that Bellair is in perfect Health, and so very much alive as to have run away with my Niece—they say that!

Carl.

What is there this world will not say!―― 67 F2r 67 (Apart. I verily believe that, for the honour of Physic, he has a dose in his pocket, to have ensured his reputation on discovering thee alive!)

Bel.

(Apart. We’ll search him, and make him swallow it!)—But, have you really lost the young Lady—is she gone?

Bark.

Gone Sir—absolutely gone; but, as my Patient is gone too, I am in some measure reconciled. —Why, Sir, you seem of the same Genus as he;—a man not so practised in Distinctions, as we of the Profession are, might take ye almost for the same person. A different voice to be sure—and your features are fresh plump and healthy.

Bel.

Ah, ah, Doctor! what, your discrimination begins to perceive that you have discovered a branch of the Family!

Bark.

Aye, I have an Eye!—a correct Eye!

Bel.

You are not surprised at not finding your poor Patient’s younger Brother in Grief—you know the World Doctor! Grief, as a species of Complaint you know has its medicine too, and, I have now a clear estate of Two Thousand a year!

Carl.

As for the loss of your Patient, Doctor, why —Custom you know! But, I wonder the loss of your Niece sits so lightly!

Bark.

Oh, Sir, I have a great Heart—a prodigious great Heart! its feelings are for the Faculty at large. A Girl may run away from an Uncle without reproach to him, but, when a Patient sets at defiance the Sentence of his Physician, the Sagacity of the Profession, Gentlemen, may suffer!

Carl.

Happily our Patient knew his Duty;—and so, as we are now three very happy fellows, let us e’en adjourn to the Tavern, and, thinking no more, for the present, of the Dead, pass the evening like bons vivants!

Bark.

With all my heart! And, truly, Gentlemen I like you so well, and I am so offended with the insultingF2 68 F2v 68 sulting Insolence of an old fellow whom I will not name, that, if you will discover my Niece, I’ll give her to the one of ye that can prevail on her, with a snug Fortune of Twenty Thousand. (Aside. The odd Ten I’ll stick to!)

Bel.

Ah! say ye so? if I discover her, may she, with the fortune, be my reward!

Bark.

That she shall.

Bel.

May I rely on your promise?

Bark.

With as much Confidence as on my knowledge of the Symptoma of a Fever. I would give her to a rincer of Gallipots, rather than to the person I had engaged her to—to a Quack-drop vender—to a Mountebank!

Bel.

Bravo, Doctor! keep to that, and we’ll discover her Prison-house, never fear!

Carl.

That we will. Allons! we’ll sacrifice to Bacchus to-night—to Æsculapius tomorrow!

Exeunt, arm-in-arm, in high glee.
Act
69 F3r 69

Act the Fifth.

Scene I.

Mr. Barkwell’s. Enter Barkwell, followed by Pound.

Bark.

Nothing of my Niece this morning!—may the Rascal who decoyed me yesterday to Hampstead ne’er get rid of his own wife until his grand climacteric, and then, for further punishment, may he grow rich, and fall in Love!

Pound.

Rich and in Love!—Pray, Sir, may I venture,—do you wish him these as Misfortunes?

Bark.

Are not Riches a Misfortune, when the care of them becomes a Burthen; and falling in Love a misfortune, when a man is falling into his grave? May such Blessings as these be the lot of Knaves, and Cowards, and Quacks! Bring me the List that I may see where I am to go.

Enter Evergreen.

Ever.

Go! why to find your Niece, to be sure. Have you heard nothing from her yet?

Bark.

No. Surlily.

Ever.

Come, how much will you add now to the Fifteen Thousand, if I should discover, and bring her to you?

Bark.

Nothing.

Ever.

What!—consider what you say!

Bark.

I do consider, and have made up my mind.

Ever.

How if I discover her, take her off your 70 F3v 70 hands, and make her Mistress Evergreen, will you not throw in Five Thousand for that, now?

Bark.

No, Mister Evergreen—nor five Guineas— nor five shillings—nor half a crown. (Aside. Oh, how I could nettle him now, by telling him that Bellair has not dared to be alive!)

Ever.

Here’s an unreasonable man! So then, if I discover her first, and then marry her, I am only to have Fifteen Thousand Pounds!

Bark.

You shan’t have her at all. Fifteen thousand pounds!—if I thought my Niece would ever think of thee as a Husband now, I’d put one half of her fortune into each pocket, drive to Dover, and leap into the Sea to disappoint thee.

Ever.

Why we’d fish thee up again, like a pearl oyster, for the sake of your riches. Neither Earth, Sea, or Air, in this happy age, can keep Curiosities from us now.

Bark.

Aye, all things are possible except one— your marrying my Niece with my consent.

Ever.

What, are you in earnest?

Bark.

Earnest—aye, as earnest as you was in your Abuse of me last night.—Smoke the Doctor! I suppose was the word. You love a Joke, old friend; so do I! and mine shall cost me less than your’s—so, good morning to you. Depend upon it, I shall prescribe another Husband for my Niece!

Exit.

Ever.

Say you so my old Boy? Why then I must play a Game I did not think of—I must secure the young woman ’till you can be brought to alter your Prescription.—I have made a pretty mess here! though I love a rich Joke, yet, I did not value this at Fifteen Thousand—dangerous joking with Doctors I find! Well, well, a wise man may fall into a mistake as well as a fool—but, we shall see how a wise man will get out again!

Exit.
71 F4r 71

Scene II.

Evergreen’s. —Enter Miss Archer, and Arabella.

Miss A.

I am charmed to see you so well this morning.—Has Mr. Evergreen visited you?

Arab.

Oh, yes; and he left me to go to my Uncle’s. Oh! could I but see Mr. Bellair now, to tell him how I hate him.

Miss A.

Have a care, my dear Girl! you wish to see him I have no doubt; but, should he appear, you’d forget your Motive for the wish.

Arab.

Oh, never!—If there is no mistake, was there ever so base—so—

Miss A.

Never, I acknowledge; yet, should he invent any plausible excuse, your greedy ear would swallow it all.—( Aside.—Should Carlton frame excuses, where would my resentments be!)

Enter Evergreen, speaking at the Side.

Ever.

(Aside.—So! there’s Innocence in a state of Temptation!)—Did I not desire, Miss Archer, that you would hold no correspondence with this young Lady?

Miss A.

Yes, dear Guardian, I therefore made a point of seeing her, and giving her a little sisterly advice. By this time she knows how to deceive vigilance on common occasions, and on uncommon— I have promised to assist her.

Ever.

Your assistance! contemptuously.—Well, Miss Melville, are you prepared to meet your Uncle!

Arab.

Oh dear! is he coming!

Ever.

What knowledge he gained of your being here I know not—possibly from your false Bellair; a garret and water-gruel are the least you can expect.

72 F4v 72

Arab.

Oh, Miss Archer!

Ever.

What signifies appealing to her? Miss Archer indeed! ’Tis I alone who can contrive how to shelter you; I would not deliver up my little Bell to her Uncle in his fury, for a Dukedom. To conceal you from him here may be impossible, I have therefore a Chaise ready at the door, to carry you a few miles out of Town. (Aside. A little concealment in the country may bring Barkwell to!)

Miss A.

Out of Town!

Ever.

Yes, Madam—or in Town, or where I please —you wont presume to interfere I hope!

Miss A.

I hope Miss Melville will refuse to go.

Ever.

Let her at her Peril! She is my affianced wife—my wife betrothed—I have a perfect right over her. Madam, to your apartment! and leave her to my care.

Exit.

Miss A.

My dear Girl, go not with him; who knows whither he may carry you!

Arab.

What can I do? I have fears in going—but I am terrified to death at the thought of seeing my Uncle.

Enter Evergreen, bringing in a long white stuff Cloak with a large Hood.

Ever.

Here, here’s a Welch riding-hood, that belonged to a tall meagre Aunt of mine; ’tis a little too long I believe, but it will conceal you the better. Put it on, and pull the hood over, that, whatever happens, your Face mayn’t be seen. Nay, dont be restive Miss throwing it loosely over her. Put it on, whilst I replenish my Purse.—Miss Archer! once more, I insist on your withdrawing to your own apartment.

Exit.

Arab.

Oh, my dear Lady, what shall I do?

Miss A.

My sweet Girl, how can I assist you? What an arbitrary wretch! I am full of grief for you. 73 F5r 73 —What has not this Bellair to answer for?—Some one comes, retire this way, that our agitation may not be perceived.

They retire back. The Cloak falls. Enter Sir Marvell.

Mar.

I must give up Hyde Park this morning— I’ll be sworn Carlton will be here, and I am determined to make one in their tête-à-tête!—Eh! eh! why Ladies!

Miss A.

turning. Oh, Sir Marvell!

Mar.

Why, you seem almost weeping—Niobe like —no—Dionysius like, all tears.

Miss A.

A thought strikes me!—You can assist us. My Guardian is going to force this young Lady out of Town, we know not whither.

Mar.

Aye, I saw the Chaise at the door—shall I go and break the Axle, or shoot the horses?

Miss A.

Neither—put on this cloak taking it from the ground.—ride with him a few miles, then turn upon him and terrify him to death. I suppose your Vis-a-vis is waiting; permit me to borrow it, to convey her out of his reach instantly.

Mar.

The Cloak half on. Stop! hold!—Good natured fool that I am!—Have you not repulsed me —disdained me?

Miss A.

Oh, my dear Sir Marvell! consider, ’tis for this young Lady—she has not repulsed you.

Mar.

I’m at one word; unless you’ll promise to receive me on terms—off it goes!

Miss A.

Oh, I—I—I’ll do better; I’ll introduce you on terms to the pretty Widow Lady Beauville; she is just becoming the rage—’twill be high eclat; she had all eyes on her the other night at the Opera.

Mar.

On with it! we are upon honour—you carry me there to-day.

74 F5v 74

Miss A.

Any time. There stoop a little. Come Miss Melville!

Snatching her hand, Exeunt.

Mar.

So, here am I going, Jupiter knows where; cased up perhaps for a wooden horse adventure— like the Trojans!

Enter Evergreen, tying up his Purse.

Ever.

Oh, what Madam has left you! Aye, she’s a bad Girl Bell, a bad Girl! never heed her! Come dont cry—you’re a good Girl!—confusion to the string! Hide your face as I told ye, that’s right, pull the hood closer, who knows but the Doctor may come athwart us—to some Hampstead patient or other! There, now I am ready. Come I say—Takes Sir Marvell’s hand, who goes a step or two, and then stops—Why d’ye stop Child! go you must and shall, loitering will have no effect but to make me angry. Come, I say—nay, if you will be pulled, you shall be pulled Pulls and pushes him. Whu! you are strong Bell. I have heard that the Cornish Girls wrestle, I fancy you have practised the sport. Nay, if you are for that Miss—here David, come and help this young Lady into the chaise.

Enter David.

David.

Pulling. Crant me mercy, Sir! I cant make it stir, or moof, or pudge, a petty-toe.

Ever.

Give her a pinch on the arm.

David pinches. Marvell wheels round boisterously.

David.

Flying off. Oh pless me! What is it, Sir! it must be the Tevil in a Planket!

Ever.

Aye Taf, you have not been used to a Country Hoyden since you have been in Town. They clamour and romp at home, you know, like Grenadiers,75 F6r 75 diers, but, when they come to Town, they mince their words, and mince their steps, as though they couldn’t utter more than a Monosyllable, or step more than an inch.—But, Nature will out at times.— Come, we’ll have t’other tug Miss.

Mar.

Raises the hood, and looks first at one and then at the other. Now for it then! and a Cornish Wrestle too, if you please.

Ever.

Oh, that schemer Miss Archer! this must be her contrivance—Where are they? where are they?

Runs towards the door.

Mar.

No, you dont pass this Streight—you dont indeed! I’ll defend it—as the Africans did those of Thermopylæ.

Ever.

Sir! how dare you take this Liberty in my house!

Mar.

Come Sir, dont be obstreperous; if you are, I’ll accomodate you with the riding hood, and cram you into the Post Chaise—you wont play the Cornish Romp as effectually as I, I believe.

Ever.

Sir, this Insolence—

Endeavouring to pass.

Mar.

Nay, if you will have a ride, we must protect your face from being seen first. A scuffle to get on the Cloak, Evergreen gets off at last. Here then I remain on the field, but, whether the Game is Olympic, Isthmian, or Irish, I know not. But, Lady Beauville! to be enrolled in her suit—she has always the first Dash! Miss Archer will indeed serve me—Oh Pylades, as Juvenal says, what’s Life without a Friend!

Exit.
Scene III. 76 F6v 76

Scene III.

Carlton’s Lodging. Enter Miss Archer and Arabella, followed by a Maid.

Miss A.

Tell Mrs. Tomson, pray, that I am here. Come, cheer up, my Love! now we are safe—that dear Sir Marvell has obliged me for ever.

Enter Mrs. Tomson.

Mrs. Tomson.

Ah! my good young Lady!—

Miss A.

My kind Mrs. Tomson, this Lady wishes to have an Apartment here for a few days—can you accommodate her?

Mrs. Tomson.

Oh, yes, Ma’am.

Miss A.

I congratulate you Miss Melville; you will be here perfectly at ease.

Arab.

Not unless you give some charge about Mr. Evergreen. The dread of seeing him will keep me always in disquiet.

Miss A.

You know my Guardian. On no pretence admit him whilst Miss Melville is in your house.

Mrs. Tomson.

I shall take care Madam.

Exit.

Miss A.

Adieu! for the present. I must hurry back, that I may dismiss the Carriage before his return. You will see me again in half an hour.

Arab.

I am so sorry that you must leave me! I love you better than any body, except—I mean I love you better than every body!

Miss A.

I comprehend you my Love—Adieu!

Exit Arabella. As Miss Archer goes off on the opposite side, Carlton meets her. 77 F7r 77

Carl.

Angels! and beings of Grace!—Miss Archer!

Miss A.

Mr. Carlton!

Carl.

(Aside.—Come to seek me in my Lodgings —Why, I am quite an Adept in catching a Coquette!—)—How charmed I am to see you.

Miss A.

How is it you presume to follow me hither, Sir!

Carl.

(Aside.—That’s well put!) I’d follow you all over the Globe—Now dont put on that cold look, it neither becomes your face nor the occasion.

Miss A.

(Aside.—His Familiarity mortifies me more than his Satire.) How comes this Presumption, Sir—

Carl.

My dear Madam, I am not so ungrateful as not to have at this moment as much presumption as any unsettled Gentleman in Town.

Miss A.

Intolerable! Whence is it you take such Liberties with me Sir?

Carl.

Why do you take such Liberties with me? You have made free to intrude yourself into my thoughts without leave—sleeping or waking I am never free from you. If I mean to be civil to another woman, your Image pops itself before me, and steals the compliment which has begun to wake her Smiles —talk of Liberties indeed!

Miss A.

Aside. How dares he treat me thus? The object of his Satire in public, and of his humour in private—I am tortured!

Carl.

Bend your eyes on me sweet creature, that I may interpret them.

Miss A.

If they could convey the sentiments with which you have inspired me, you should have their most pointed Glances, Sir!

Carl.

(Aside. The Sentiments I have inspired! and this in my apartment—it would be scandalous to lag behind!)—Permit me—permit me now, Madam, 78 F7v 78 then seriously to pledge myself, that the sentiments you have already inspired me with are exactly—what the most charming woman in the world ought to suppose them.

Miss A.

Dont misconstrue, Sir;—I dont know what I ought to suppose them.

Carl.

With Eagerness. You ought to suppose that you are lovely, and that I have Eyes; that you have an enchanting Spirit, and that I have a Heart; that you are captivating, and that I am enslaved— (Aside. Cupid! how hast thou drawn me into this ruinous confession?)

Miss A.

You have at this moment an air of Sincerity that almost convinces me that you do not delude—and I rejoice at it! I would have you presume to cherish hope—that your punishment may be severe; for, if I could think of you but with Indifference, I should despise myself!

Rushes off—Carlton staring after her.

Carl.

I congratulate ye, Mr. Carlton—I congratulate ye! Fallen into the very snare that, with all thy boasted knowledge of the Sex, thou hast laboured to avoid;—entrusted a Coquette with thy passion, without first being assured that thou hadst touched her heart. But, who could have doubted—after a Visit? —Pshaw! striking his forehead ’twas clearly to draw me in! She penetrated my Scheme, and determined to expose me, as a poor, ridiculous, miserable, Plotter.—Well, I love her the better for it! Now, will it be impossible for that Hyæna to do any one thing, for me or against me, but I shall love her still, still, better. And, how I shall be used?—worse than a Spaniel that fawns and is spurned! But, I’ll have thee!—yes, thou dear proud bewitching Gipsy, I’ll have thee, spite of every artifice that either active Coquetry, or patient Gentleness, can devise— I’ll go and tell her so now, in the very front of her malice!

Exit.
79 F8r 79

Scene IV.

Evergreen’s. Enter Evergreen, followed by Bellair.

Ever.

Dont make me mad!—dont make me mad! I tell you I know no more where the Girl is than you do.

Bel.

Not know where she is? What can this mean? Did I not leave her under your protecting roof? Did you not assure me—

Ever.

Interrupting. Assure you! what signify assurances when a Woman is concerned? How could I guess that she would run away from my protecting roof!

Bel.

This cannot satisfy me, Sir; you have rather an air of being angry at my Enquiries, than of being hurt at the Occasion of them.

Ever.

Angry! so I am—mad angry. Why, she has run from me not from you! Who cares about your concern?

Bel.

Mr. Evergreeen! In extreme astonishment.

Ever.

Aye, now here he is staring—and we must have Explanations. Why, then, in five words, your Bell is my Bell; you carried her off to prevent her marriage with some old Gentleman, and brought her to the house of Mr. Evergreen, who is the Gentleman—not so very old either!

Bel.

Sir!

Ever.

Aye—what you cant comprehend yet? all stare and wonder!

Bel.

You the husband to whom my Arabella was to have been sacrificed?

Ever.

Aye—and you, to expedite the sacrifice, as you call it, brought her to the Altar.

Bel.

Is it possible—Put the Dove into the talons of the Hawk!—fool! fool! Traversing the stage 80 F8v 80 impatiently. Now then, old Gentleman, as I am to consider you as my Rival—every other tie is dissolved; and, as my Rival, I insist on your revealing where you have hid the Lady!

Ever.

Dont challenge me—dont think of challenging me, you blood-thirsty wretch—I will not be challenged! ’Tis time some scheme were hit upon, to save men of Substance from duelling blades. We ought to be allowed to fight by Proxy, as those drawn for the Militia do—I would subscribe a hundred Guineas towards Subsitutes with all my heart.

Bel.

I dont wish to challenge you, Sir; I am no Duellist—but I must know where my Arabella is.

Ever.

Where she is? I swear, by the Honour of an Ancient Briton, I do not know; and if I did, I would not tell you. Tell you where my Arabella is!

Bel.

Why did she fly? Did she not know that— But, why do I stay questioning when I ought to seek her!

Hastens out.

Ever.

Nay, if you are for that, I’ll seek her too; —perhaps Luck may for once favour Sixty five instead of five and twenty; and, if I catch her Youngster, I shall mind your ohs! and ahs! if you dont challenge, no more than the moans of the winds upon Snowdon.

Exit. Bellair re-enters, stealing in, fearful of being seen by Evergreen.

Bel.

I cannot believe that she is not still in this house.—She could not surely fly from it; for to her this town must appear one snare, in which she would every moment be in danger. Looking about. As Carlton’s Miss Archer lives here—she may give me some insight. None of the Servants about?—no one of whom I can enquire!

Enter Barkwell speaking, followed by a Servant.

Bark.

Just gone out! Well, when he returns, 81 G1r 81 give him these Parchments—they may do for his Taylor, it is the only way to make them useful now.

Exit Servant.

Bel.

Mr. Barkwell!

Bark.

Ah Sir!—where have you been all this morning? Have you found my Niece—the vile story I told you of has got air—have you heard of my Niece I say?

Bel.

Heard of her! Why Sir she—she slept here last night!

Bark.

In this house!—in the house of Mr. Evergreen!

Bel.

Assuredly; and has been spirited away this morning.

Bark.

Run away to this house!—you might as soon persuade me that, become Lunatic, she had been for flying to the Moon.

Bel.

What Obstinacy! Why Sir I tell you—

Bark.

Say no more! Perverseness and Folly came in with the Frost I believe, and lay hold of both old and young.

Bel.

What steps can be taken?—My Anxiety for the sweet young creature you have described to me ――Pho! why comes this fellow to trifle away such moments?

Enter Sir Marvell, in a great hurry.

Mar.

Ah! Mr. Bellair! I came up because I heard you was here, for I am not so lucky as to find Miss Archer at home, who is to introduce me to Lady Beauville. But, I guess where she is, so I’ll fly after her.

Bel.

Stay, Sir Marvell, do you know where Miss Archer is?

Mar.

I guess, I guess. She used my Carriage Vol. II. G 82 G1v 82 this morning, to run away with a Miss Something or other, whom Mr. Evergreen was going to carry off.

Going.

Bel.

My dear Sir Marvell, you give us Life! Where are they Sir, where are they?

Mar.

My Servants can certainly tell whither they carried them—and that puts me in mind of a fine Anecdote!—About two Centuries ago—

Bel.

Sir Marvell! we cant go back two Centuries —we have not a coming moment to lose, but must know instantly where the Ladies are.

Mar.

Well, well, you shall;—I was only going to remind you, that Dido Queen of Carthagena

Bel.

Pray, Doctor, prescribe for him. Sir, you must take us directly to the house where your Carriage left the Ladies.

Mar.

Well, come I will take you, but you shall hear about the Queen afterwards.

Bel.

Oh, the whole Æneid, with all my soul. Come along!

Mar.

Going out last. What a happy thing it is to be of Consequence!

Exeunt.

Scene V.

Carlton’s Lodgings. Enter Miss Archer, followed by Mrs. Tomson.

Miss A.

I am much concerned that Miss Melville is indisposed. Do you think she is now asleep?

Mrs. Tomson.

I fancy so, Madam—but I’ll tell her—

Miss A.

On no account! let the sweet Girl repose a little; her spirits I am sure are much fatigued. I’ll amuse myself with one of your books till she wakes. Exit Mrs. Tomson. Well now, what signifies attempting to read? 83 G2r 83 my thoughts are so deranged, that Don Quixote would be as little comprehended by me as Greek. What a peculiar Fate is mine! to receive a declaration of Love from the only man whose lips I ever wished to hear it from—conveyed in such a way as to give me more pain than pleasure! The air of Sincerity with which he made it would possibly have vanquished me, had not my pride been piqued by his boldness and freedom. Whilst she takes a Book from the Book Case, Carlton enters without seeing her. He throws himself on a chair, and his hat on the Table— then sees her suddenly.

Carl.

This is too much!—Miss Archer here again! —it would be ridiculous for her to affect Displeasure now! Goes towards her, then stops. No—she shall speak first. I’ll be courted this time. Sits down again.—Miss Archer not observing him, he begins to sing— I’ve kiss’d and I’ve prattled with fifty fair maids

Miss A.

Screams. This is beyond all bearing!

Rushing out.

Carl.

It would be indeed, if I suffered you to go. —No, no, my dear Creature! We shan’t part now as we did in the Morning;—I have just been at your Guardian’s, to tell you that I forgive all your bad behaviour to day.

Miss A.

Forgive!

Carl.

Aye, you may well wonder I do! ’tis more than one in ten would. Come come—lower the scorn of that brow, and hear Reason.

Miss A.

I’ll hear nothing, Sir; and I insist on your leaving the house instantly.

Carl.

Ha! ha! ha! that’s not reasonable I’m sure, considering where I am. But, come I’ll allow you half a minute’s ill-humour, and then, you shall attend to me!

G2 84 G2v 84

Miss A.

Much vexed. I will have my own way in something!—I wont say one ill-humored thing —though a thousand are in my mind.

Carl.

A thousand! what a Prospect!—Alas! you will have opportunities enough—every morning at Breakfast—every day at Dinner—

Affecting melancholy.

Miss A.

What can the Creature mean?

Carl.

Mean! why after our Marriage has given you a right to plague me for ever. I feel already the horrors, though resolved on the forlorn hope!

Miss A.

You imagine that being whimsical excuses Freedom Mr. Carlton, but be assured—

Carl.

Pho! pho!—dont let us waste Time. The plain English of our situation is this—you are a Coquette, and I am a Man of the World; you would like merely to make me act like a fool, and I am determined to make you act like a Woman of Sense— mine is the most laudable motive.

Miss A.

Very well Sir—very well!

Carl.

I admired you the first moment I beheld you, but resolved not to be made a Dangler, which, if I had approached you in the common modes of Courtship, would inevitably have followed.—I therefore took the path you have seen; and the Consequence is, you’ll condescend to be happy, and to make happy, a year or two sooner than coquetry would have allowed.

Miss A.

To be happy, and to make happy!

Smiling and tossing her head.

Carl.

Yes; and that in spite of all those pretty affected airs.—They are but affected, Charmer, you know; for, at this moment, you feel that I have a kind of resistless Impudence about me, which you love for its Novelty.

Miss A.

If I thought it possible Sir――(Aside. The wretch reads my very Heart!)

Carl.

Nay nothing, but a desire to convince me of 85 G3r 85 it, could bring you to my Lodgings!—You see the ultimate effect of carrying Airs too far; you used me in the morning with such barbarity that your Heart, hard as it is, was pained by the reflection— and now, you run after me again to make it up! O you dear commiserating—

Attempting to snatch her hand.

Miss A.

How dare you, Sir, insinuate all this?— Run after you? seek you in your Lodgings!

Carl.

What will not a Coquette carry off!

Enter hastily Sir Marvell, Bellair, and Barkwell.

Mar.

Here they are!—I claim your promise! you must introduce me to Lady Beauville at once—not to be at her Rout tomorrow would be—to be and not to be—as Macbeth says.

Bel.

Where, Madam, where is Miss Melville.

Bark.

Where is my Niece—where is Arabella?

Carl.

Hey-dey! What is all this?

Bel.

Carlton!――in your Lodgings!—ah!—there she is—

Hurries out, followed by Barkwell.

Miss A.

Are these Mr. Carlton’s Lodgings then? —(Aside. ’Tis well his Boldness has such an excuse!)

Carl.

Is it possible you did not know it?

Miss A.

Know it!—How can you dare think I did!—What an imputation has the Interest I took in Miss Melville’s welfare subjected me to? I shall never cease to regret the occasion!

Carl.

Nor I to bless it. How many tedious long months, of hopes and fears and caprices, have I been saved by it?

Mar.

Oh, Oh! what’s going on there! What, the Poetry is successful? why then, it is mine, not his, upon my honour!

Miss A.

What Poetry?

86 G3v 86

Mar.

Why that little Jeu d’esprit you know— about you.

Miss A.

What! was not that Mr. Carlton’s?

Mar.

No; he implored that he might have the Credit of passing as the Author, but it was my own composition entirely—no other mortal mind was concerned in the composition—deny it Mr. Carlton if you can!

Miss A.

So! it was you who chose to represent me, by those wretched lines, in so odious a light!

Carl.

You had better have been quiet, Sir Marvell!

Mar.

Why this is puzzling odd! When they passed for your’s, I observed she never said one word against them; and now they are mine, they are despicable!

Carl.

My charming creature, you must forgive Sir Marvell—I promised him you should!

Miss A.

Smiling. Secure first your own forgiveness.

Carl.

That sweet smile secures it!

Miss A.

No; you must earn it by long Services. I, for two whole years shall be a thorough Tyrant— you a most humble slave;—my Caprice you shall allow to be reason—and my Whim shall be Law.

Carl.

Kissing her hand. For two months agreed! but, not one hour longer— Enter Bellair and Arabella. My dear Bellair is this Angel your’s?

Bel.

Mine; and, by a whimsical concurrence, concealed in your Lodgings. How much, Miss Archer, am I indebted to you!

Mar.

Indebted to her! No, ’twas to me; I wore the Cloak, and was put to a Pinch to procure her escape.—’Tis really very hard that I can neither gain Credit by my Verses, nor my Good-nature!

Miss A.

So you really have forgiven—Did I not foretell? Archly.

87 G4r 87

Arab.

Oh, goodness! there was nothing to forgive—You cant think how innocent he is.

Enter Evergreen.

Ever.

Confound Bellair—has he found her first! —Come Sir, give up my Bellattempting to take her.

Enter Barkwell.

Bark.

Your Bell! No, no, my quondam friend This silver-toned thing wouldn’t be heard on your Mountains, so I have given it to him.

Ever.

To him! You must joke Doctor! You cannot mean to bestow your Niece on—the destined Victim to Atrophy and Destruction!

Bark.

There, d’ye hear!—Again, again Sir you defame me, and Sir—Strutting up to him.

Ever.

Defame ye! Why you are your own defamer. That is your poor Invalid—the dying man! You’ll never be able to stand the laugh if you give her to him. Come come, Doctor, give me the—

Bel.

Sir, I have already received Miss Melville from this Gentleman――who will be so generous as to pardon the innocent Stratagem of Love!

Bark.

What then—what then—are you the—the —trembling.

Bel.

You recollect, my Good Sir, that I had an irresistible Fancy that I should live, and, after all, be a healthy stout young fellow!

Bark.

Extreme Anger. So Sir, you had the— the Impudence to—

Bel.

Yes Sir, I had the Impudence to live—dont be surprised. Pardon it, and I’ll risk Death now, and swallow all the Gums, Woods, Herbs, and Funguses in your Medicopeia to give you a Chance!

Bark.

You had better Sir—I say you had better —oh! Going hastily off.

88 G4v 88

Carl.

Stay, good Sir! You must be reconciled!

Bel.

Dear Doctor, be but reconciled, I’ll advertize my Decease, change my Name, and fight every man that says I am alive!

Ever.

He dares not be reconciled!

Miss A.

He cant resist us. I’ll make Love to him —Dear Doctor!

Mar.

And I’ll write him up in the Papers, as the Harpocrates of the Age—if he’ll chat, and be reconciled;—Dear Doctor!

Ever.

He shall resist you—He shall not be reconciled!

Bark.

Say You so!—Here Mr. Bellair giving his hand I will be reconciled, though—excuse me!—I should rather you were defunct—However, I will be reconciled.

Ever.

Oh, oh! you shall repent it. Bellair! though I shall never speak to you afterwards, I’ll tell you at parting—that her fortune is Thirty thousand—remember Thirty!—There Doctor, that cuts you short of some snug thousands—so your joke is costly as well as mine!

Bark.

Sir! you are a—Sir—my Resentment—

Carl.

Oh, Gentlemen, Gentlemen, there must be no serious Quarrel!

Mar.

Both are justly defeated and laughed at— and why not settle which is the worst of the two if they’ve a mind for it!—Doctor, I’ll carry your Challenge; where are your weapons of destruction?

Ever.

In his medicine-chest!—he’ll do harm with no other.

Bark.

And you are harmless in Nothing—but your Wit!

Miss A.

Come, I see Anger will subside—for it is expending itself in Words, and that our Happiness will not be clouded either by your Displeasure, or that—of any who are here!

89 G5r

Epilogue.

Spoken by Miss Younge. The original performer of Miss Archer.

Speaking within.

I speak the Epilogue! Dear, how they teaze one!

They write so dull, so seldom they can please one,

I never read them. Well, I’ll trust to chance,

And now before them frightened I advance. Enters.

Ladies and Gents, behold—that is, our play

We hope will—Dear, I dont know what to say,

To entertain the Cit, the Belle, the Beau,

With India, Stamps, or Race at Fontainbleau.

I’ll try, as Mercury did, a small deception,

As goddess, claim as welcome a reception.

How do I look? The Jokers of the Farce

Declared as Venus I might safely pass!

’Twere begging Compliment to say I’m other,

No more Miss Archer now—the archer’s Mother!

Nay, never wonder, doubt, nor start, nor stare,

Dont you perceive the Goddess in my air?

Yon lowring brow says No!—Well, if you doubt me

I’ll drop the Goddess—you’ve enough without me!

Each happy swain around, though e’er so dainty

May snatch a peep—at Venuses in plenty.

Side Boxes. 90 G5v 90

Or, aiming Glass beneath upon the Pit,

See faithful Venus with her Vulcan sit.

There’s Bacchus—Spouse t’ a Venus all divine!

Lower Gallery.

She Nectar asks, he gives—a Pint of Wine!

And you, of course, have there The Queen of Love,

Upper Gallery.

I speak to you, ye loftiest Gods above――

Momus is surely there, from all this racket,

Yonder he sits, he’s in a Sailor’s Jacket,

Thrice happy God, who lives a life of Joke,

His Wife a Venus—in snug hat and Cloak!

Where have I got to! whence thus glib my tongue!

Am I Miss Archer, Venus, or Miss Younge?

Be what I may, amongst my friends I rank ye,

Applaud Miss Archer, and Miss Younge shall thank ye!