More Ways Than One.
A Comedy.
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.
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;
B2 B2v 4Sadness 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!
Prologue.
Spoken in the Character
of
Mercury.
Mercury[Speaker label not present in original source]
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,
B3v 6This 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!
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, {Handwritten addition: Melville} end of handwritten addition Mrs. S. Kemble.
Miss Juvenelle, Mrs. Wilson.
Mrs. Tomson, Miss Platt.
More Ways Than One.
Act the First.
Scene I.
[Mr. Evergreen’s.] [Enter David, preceded by a Lawyer’s Clerk withhis 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—
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the Marriage Articles, are ready. I have brought
them to insert the Names, and sign and seal.
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.
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!!
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
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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!
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!
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.
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
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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!
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.
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.
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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!
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.
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
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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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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!
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.
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.
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!—
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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!
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—
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
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 looks And 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.
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!
Pound.
Mr. Bellair is coming up, Sir.
Bark.
Oh, let me assist him. Stay good Sir!
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!
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;
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.
Bark.
Have you your Smelling bottle? let him
scent the Spirit, Arry.
Arab.
Here it is.
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!
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!
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.
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—
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—
Bark.
Sir――it is needless!—
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!
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!
Scene II.
[ The Horse-Guards. ] [Carlton comes through into the Park, is met byBellair 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.
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
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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!
Scene III.
[ A Dressing Room. ] [Sir Marvell at his Toilette, Le Gout powdering hishair.]
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
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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!)
Serv.
A Gentleman, whose Name is—is—Belayer
—or Boiler—or some such name—is below Sir.
Mar.
Boiler—Boiler—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.
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.
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!
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!
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!
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
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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!
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 another
D4r
39
Newspaper! why my friends are so numerous
they will be obliged to put forth another impression
before the evening. Good morning 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.
Miss Juv.
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.
Miss Juv.
Mar.
What d’ye think of it Ma’am?
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.
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.
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!
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
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.
Serv.
[To
Bellair.] The person you sent for, Sir,
is in the Parlour.
Bel.
I’ll attend him—excuse me half a moment.
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
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
Scene III.
[Mr. Barkwell’s. ] [Evergreen asleep on a Sopha. Arabella at WorkAfter 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?
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.
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;
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?
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!
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?
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.
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!
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
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
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?
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!
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!
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!
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
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.
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!
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.
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.
Carl.
Pardon me! I am not yet so hardened a
Writer as to stand the reading of my own Works!
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!
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!
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!
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 Lock—
To Wit each Blockhead makes pretence, Give Me—a little Common Sense!
Carl.
Amen, Sir Marvell!
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
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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.
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!
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!
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!
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?
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.
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!
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!
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!)
Scene II.
[Mr. Barkwell’s. ] [He enters in great Agitation, speaking to a Servantwithout.]
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!
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!
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
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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]
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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—
Evergreen[Speaker label not present in original source]
I tell you he has run
away with your Niece!
Barkwell[Speaker label not present in original source]
—a man of my Experience
Mr. Evergreen—
Evergreen[Speaker label not present in original source]
I tell you he has run away with your
Niece!
Barkwell[Speaker label not present in original source]
—I who am acknowledged by every medical
man within the bills of Mortality—
Evergreen[Speaker label not present in original source]
I tell you he has
run away with your Niece!
Barkwell[Speaker label not present in original source]
I [going off, the other
following] who am called in in every difficult case—
Evergreen[Speaker label not present in original source]
I tell you he has run away with your Niece!
Barkwell[Speaker label not present in original source]
—I
whose Patients have never died without regular
Assistance—
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
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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.
Serv.
Mr. Barkwell.
Bel.
—Barkwell!—Oh, all the imps of mischance!
Carl.
Can he have made the Discovery so soon?
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
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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!――
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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
F2v
68
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!
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.
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
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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!
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!
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!)
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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73
—What has not this Bellair to answer for?—Some
one comes, retire this way, that our agitation may
not be perceived.
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.
Miss A.
Any time. There stoop a little. Come
Miss Melville!
Mar.
So, here am I going, Jupiter knows where;
cased up perhaps for a wooden horse adventure—
like the Trojans!
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.
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.
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,
F6r
75
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?
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—
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!
Scene III.
[Carlton’s Lodging. ] [Enter Miss Archer and Arabella, followed bya 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.
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.
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!
side, Carlton meets her.] 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,
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!
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!
Scene IV.
[Evergreen’s.] [Enter Evergreen, followed byBellair.]
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
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!
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.
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!
Bark.
Just gone out! Well, when he returns,
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81
give him these Parchments—they may do for his
Taylor, it is the only way to make them useful now.
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?
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
G1v
82
this morning, to run away with a Miss Something or
other, whom Mr. Evergreen was going to carry off.
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!
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?
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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!
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!
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—
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!
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
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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—
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!
]
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—
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?
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.]
Arab.
Oh, goodness! there was nothing to forgive
—You cant think how innocent he is.
Ever.
Confound Bellair—has he found her first!
—Come Sir, give up my
Bell—[attempting to take
her.]
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.]
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!
Epilogue.
Spoken by Miss Younge.
The original performer of Miss Archer.
Miss Archer[Speaker label not present in original source]
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.] G5v 90Or, 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!