The Belle's Stratagem
By
Hannah Cowley
Transcription, correction, editorial commentary, and markup by Students and Staff of the University of
Virginia
Title Page
THE BELLE'S STRATAGEM,
A
COMEDY,
AS ACTED AT THE
THEATRE-ROYAL
IN
COVENT-GARDEN.
By Mrs. COWLEY.
LONDON:
Printed for T. CADELL, in the Strand. 1782. Dedication TO
THE QUEEN. MADAM,
With the warmest wishes for the continuance
of your Majesty's felicity,
I am
YOUR MAJESTY's
Most devoted
and most dutiful Servant,
H. Cowley. Dramatis Personae DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. MEN.
WOMEN.
1
THE
BELLE'S STRATAGEM. ACT I. SCENE I.—Lincoln's-Inn. Enter Saville, followed by a Servant, at the top of the stage, looking round, as if at a loss.
Enter Saville's Servant.
[Exit Servant.
[Exit, on the same side.
II.—A Hall at Doricourt's.
(A gentle knock at the door.)
Enter the Porter.
Enter several foreign Servants and two
Tradesmen.
(The Porter takes one of them aside.)
[Exeunt Frenchman and
Saville.
[Exeunt Porter and
Crowquill.
SCENE III.—An Apartment at Doricourt's.
Enter Doricourt.
Enter Frenchman and
Saville.
[Exit Doricourt and
Saville.
11
SCENE IV.—
An Apartment at Mr.Hardy's.
Villers seated on a sopha, reading.
Enter Flutter.
[Exit Flutter.
[Exit Villers.
Enter Mr.Hardy.
[Exit Hardy.
END of the FIRST ACT.
A C T I I.
SCENE I. Sir George Touchwood's.
Enter Doricourt and Sir
George.
Enter Servant.
[Exit, following the Servant.
Enter Mrs. Racket, and Miss
Ogle, followed by a Servant.
[Exit Servant.
23
Enter Lady Frances.
Enter Sir George.
Enter Flutter.
[Exeunt Lady Frances, and
Mrs.Racket.
[Exeunt Miss Ogle, and
Mrs.Racket.
[Exit Flutter.
Scene changes to an Auction Room.—Busts, Pictures,
&c. &c. Enter Silvertongue with three
Puffers.
Enter Company.
More Company enters.
Enter Lady Frances, Mrs.
Racket, and Miss Ogle.
Lady Frances and Miss Ogle
come forward, followed by Courtall.
Mrs.Racket comes forward.
[To Miss Ogle.]
[Exeunt Lady Frances, Mrs.Racket, and Miss Ogle.
[Following.
END of the SECOND ACT.
A C T I I I.
SCENE I. Mr.Hardy's.
Enter Letitia and
Mrs.Racket.
[Exit Letitia.
Enter Doricourt (not seeing
Mrs.Racket.)
Give me a woman in whose touching mien
A mind, a soul, a polish'd art is seen;
Whose motion speaks, whose poignant air can move.
Such are the darts to wound with endless love.
[Touching him on the shoulder with her fan.]
37
Enter Letitia, running.
(Hanging down her head, and dropping behind
Mrs.Racket.)
Enter Hardy.
[Exit Hardy and
Letitia.
[Exit Doricourt.
Enter Hardy.
[Exit Mrs.Racket.
[Exit Hardy.
41
SCENE II.——Courtall's.
Enter Courtall, Saville, and three
others, from an Apartment in the back Scene.
(The last three tipsey.)
[Exeunt the three Gentlemen.
[Exit Saville.
[Exit Courtall.
SCENE III.——The Street.
Enter Saville.
[Exit Dick.
[Exit Saville.
SCENE IV.——Sir George Touchwood's.
Enter Sir George and
Villers.
[Exit Villers.
Enter Lady Frances.
Enter Gibson.
[Exeunt Sir George and Lady
Frances.
[Exit Gibson.
END of the THIRD ACT.
A C T I V.
SCENE ——A Masquerade.
A Party dancing Cotillons in front—a variety of Characters pass and repass.
Enter Folly on a Hobby-Horse, with
Cap and Bells.
[Struts off.
Enter Hardy, in the Dress of
Isaac Mendoza.
[Puts his fingers to his forehead.]
Two other Masks advance.
[Puts on his Mask.
51
Enter Mrs. Racket, Lady
Frances, Sir George, and Flutter.
[Pointing to Flutter.
[Aside]
[Exit Hardy.
[Exeunt Flutter and Lady
Frances.
[Exit Mrs.Racket.
[Exit Sir George.
Enter Doricourt, meeting a
Mask.
A Minuet.
[Exit.
Enter Saville and Kitty
Willis, habited like Lady Frances.
[Exit Kitty.
Enter Doricourt.
[Exit Saville.
[As he stands in a musing posture, Letitia enters, and sings.]
SONG.
Wake! thou Son of Dullness, wake!
From thy drowsy senses shake
All the spells that Care employs,
Cheating Mortals of their joys.
II.
Light-wing'd Spirits, hither haste!
Who prepare for mortal taste
All the gifts that Pleasure sends,
Every bliss that youth attends.
III.
Touch his feelings, rouze his soul,
Whilst the sparkling moments roll;
Bid them wake to new delight,
Crown the magic of the night.
[Exit.
[Exit.
Flutter, Lady Frances, and
Saville advance.
[Exit.
Courtall comes forward, habited like Sir George.
[Exit.
[Exit.
Saville advances with Kitty.
[Exit Saville and Lady
Frances.
Enter Courtall, and seizes
Kitty's Hand.
[Exit.]
[Music.]
Doricourt and Letitia come
forward.
[Attempting to clasp her.
[Aside.]
Enter Hardy.
[Aside.]
Enter Flutter.
[Exit.
Saville comes forward with other Masks.
[Exit.
SCENE——Courtall's.
Enter Kitty and
Courtall.
[Knock.]
[Exit Kitty; through the back
scene.
62
Enter Saville, Flutter, and
Masks.
[Takes off her Mask.]
[Exit, leading Kitty.
[Exit.
[Exit.
END of the FOURTH ACT.
64
A C T V.
SCENE I——Hardy's.
Enter Hardy and Villers.
Enter Mrs.Racket.
[Exit.
SCENE II.——Doricourt's.
Doricourt in his Robe-de-Chambre.
Enter Saville.
[Exeunt severally.
SCENE III.——Sir George Touchwood's.
Enter Sir George, and Lady
Frances.
[Exit Sir George.
70
Enter Mrs.Racket.
[Exit.
SCENE IV.——Doricourt's.
Doricourt seated, reading.
Enter Saville.
[Exeunt.
SCENE V.——Hardy's.
Enter Mrs.Racket, and Miss
Ogle.
Enter Sir George, and Lady
Frances.
Enter Flutter.
Enter Villers.
[Exeunt Villers, Doricourt, Mrs.Racket, and Miss Ogle.
Enter Mrs.Racket, Lady
Frances, and Flutter.
Enter Doricourt and
Villers.—Villers whispers Saville, who
goes out.
Enter Letitia, masked, led by
Saville.
[Hardy bursts in.]
FINIS.
83
EPILOGUE.
Nay, cease, and hear me—I am come to scold—
Whence this night's plaudits, to a thought so old?
To gain a Lover, hid behind a Mask!
What's new in that? or where's the mighty task?
For instance, now—What Lady Bab, or Grace,
E'er won a Lover—in her natural Face?
Mistake me not—French red, or blanching creams,
I stoop not to—for those are hackney'd themes;
The arts I mean, are harder to detect,
Easier put on, and worn to more effect;—
As thus——
Do Pride and Envy, with their horrid lines,
Destroy th' effect of Nature's sweet designs?
The Mask of Softness is at once applied,
And gentlest manners ornament the Bride.
Do thoughts too free inform the Vestal's eye,
Or point the glance, or warm the struggling sigh?
Not Dian's brows more rigid looks disclose;
And Virtue's blush appears, where Passion glows.
And you, my gentle Sirs, wear Vizors too;
But here I'll strip you, and expose to view
Your hidden features——First I point at you.
That well-stuff'd waistcoat, and that ruddy cheek;
That ample forehead, and that skin so sleek,
Point out good-nature, and a gen'rous heart——
Tyrant! stand forth, and, conscious, own thy part:
Thy Wife, thy Children, tremble in thy eye;
And Peace is banish'd—when the Father's nigh.
84
Sure 'tis enchantment! See, from ev'ry side
The Masks fall off!—In charity I hide
The monstrous features rushing to my view——
Fear not, there, Grand-Papa—nor you—nor you:
For should I shew your features to each other,
Not one amongst ye'd know his Friend, or Brother.
'Tis plain, then, all the world, from Youth to Age,
Appear in Masks—Here, only, on the Stage,
You see us as we are: Here trust your eyes;
Our wish to please, admits of no disguise.
A
COMEDY,
AS ACTED AT THE
THEATRE-ROYAL
IN
COVENT-GARDEN.
By Mrs. COWLEY.
LONDON:
Printed for T. CADELL, in the Strand. 1782. Dedication TO
THE QUEEN. MADAM,
In the following Comedy, my purpose was, to draw a FEMALE CHARACTER, which with the most lively Sensibility, fine Understanding, and elegant Accomplishments, should unite that beautiful Reserve and Delicacy which, whilst they veil those charms, render them still more interesting. In delineating such a Character, my heart naturally dedicated it to YOUR MAJESTY; and nothing remained, but permission to lay it at Your feet. Your Majesty's graciously allowing me this high Honour, is the point to which my hopes aspired, and a reward, of which without censure I may be proud.
MADAM,With the warmest wishes for the continuance
of your Majesty's felicity,
I am
YOUR MAJESTY's
Most devoted
and most dutiful Servant,
H. Cowley. Dramatis Personae DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. MEN.
- Mr. Hart.
- Mr. Horner,
- Mr. Lewis.
- Doricourt,
- Mr. Quick.
- Hardy,
- Mr. Wroughton.
- Sir George Touchwood,
- Mr. Lee Lewes.
- Flutter,
- Mr. Aickin.
- Saville,
- Mr. Whitfield.
- Villers,
- Mr. Robson.
- Courtall,
- Mr. W. Bates.
- Silvertongue,
- Mr. Jones.
- Crowquill,
- Mr. Thompson.
- First Gentleman,
- Mr. L'Estrange.
- Second Gentleman,
- Mr. Booth.
- Mountebank,
- Mr. Wewitzer.
- French Servant,
- Mr. Fearon.
- Porter,
- Mr. Stevens.
- Dick,
- Miss Younge.
- Letitia Hardy,
- Mrs. Mattocks.
- Mrs. Racket,
- Mrs. Hartley.
- Lady Frances Touchwood,
- Mrs. Morton.
- Miss Ogle,
- Miss Stewart.
- Kitty Willis,
- Mrs. Poussin.
- Lady,
- Masqueraders, Tradesmen, Servants, &c.
BELLE'S STRATAGEM. ACT I. SCENE I.—Lincoln's-Inn. Enter Saville, followed by a Servant, at the top of the stage, looking round, as if at a loss.
Saville.
Lincoln's-Inn!—Well, but where to find him, now I am in
Lincoln's-Inn?—Where did he say his Master was?
Serv.
He only said in Lincoln's-Inn, Sir.
Sav.
That's pretty! And your wisdom never enquired at whose chambers?
Serv.
Sir, you spoke to the servant yourself.
Sav.
If I was too impatient to ask questions, you ought to have taken
directions, blockhead!Ha, Courtall!—Bid him keep the horses in motion, and then enquire at all
the chambers round.What the devil brings you to this part of the town?—Have any of the Long
Robes, handsome wives, sisters or chambermaids?
Court.
Perhaps they have;—but I came on a different errand; and, had thy good
fortune brought thee here half
2an hour sooner, I'd have given thee such a
treat, ha! ha! ha!
Sav.
I'm sorry I miss'd it: what was it?
Court.
I was informed a few days since, that my cousins Fallow were come to
town, and desired earnestly to see me at their lodgings in Warwick-Court,
Holborn. Away drove I, painting them all the way as so many Hebes. They
came from the farthest part of Northumberland, had never been in town,
and in course were made up of rusticity, innocence, and beauty.
Sav.
Well!
Court.
After waiting thirty minutes, during which there was a violent bustle,
in bounced five fallow damsels, four of them maypoles;—the fifth, Nature,
by way of variety, had bent in the Æsop style.—But they all opened at
once, like hounds on a fresh scent:—"Oh, cousin Courtall!—How do you do,
cousin Courtall! Lord, cousin, I am glad you are come! We want you to go
with us to the Park, and the Plays, and the Opera, and Almack's, and all
the fine places!" ——The devil, thought I, my dears, may attend you, for I
am sure I won't.—However, I heroically stayed an hour with them, and
discovered, the virgins were all come to town with the hopes of leaving
it—Wives:—their heads full of Knight-Baronights, Fops, and
adventures.
Sav.
Well, how did you get off?
Court.
Oh, pleaded a million engagements.——However, conscience twitched me; so
I breakfasted with them this morning, and afterwards 'squired them to the
gardens here, as the most private place in town; and then took a
sorrowful leave, complaining of my hard, hard fortune, that obliged me to
set off immediately for Dorsetshire, ha! ha! ha!
Sav.
I congratulate your escape!—Courtall at Almack's, with five aukward
country cousins! ha! ha! ha!—Why, your existence, as a Man of Gallantry,
could never have survived it.
Court.
Death, and fire! had they come to town, like the rustics of the last
age, to see Paul's, the Lions, and the Wax-work—at their service;—but the
cousins of our days come up Ladies—and, with the knowledge they glean
from magazines and pocket-books, Fine Ladies; laugh at the bashfulness of
their grandmothers, and boldly demand their entrées in the first circles.
Sav.
Where can this fellow be!—Come, give me some news—I have been at war
with woodcocks and partridges these two months, and am a stranger to all
that has passed out of their region.
Court.
Oh! enough for three Gazettes. The Ladies are going to petition for a
bill, that, during the war, every man may be allowed Two Wives.
Sav.
'Tis impossible they should succeed, for the majority of both Houses
know what it is to have one.
Court.
Gallantry was black-ball'd at the Coterie last
Thursday, and Prudence and Chastity voted in.
Sav.
Ay, that may hold 'till the Camps break up.—But have ye no elopements?
no divorces?
Court.
Divorces are absolutely out, and the Commons-Doctors starving; so they
are publishing trials of Crim. Con. with all the
separate evidences at large; which they find has always a wonderful
effect on their trade, actions tumbling in upon them afterwards, like
mackarel at Gravesend.
Sav.
What more?
Court.
Nothing—for weddings, deaths, and politics, I never talk of, but whilst
my hair is dressing. But prithee, Saville, how came you in town, whilst
all the qualified gentry are playing at pop-gun on Coxheath, and the
country over-run with hares and foxes?
Sav.
I came to meet my friend Doricourt, who, you know, is lately arrived
from Rome.
Court.
Arrived! Yes, faith, and has cut us all out!—His carriage, his liveries,
his dress, himself, are the 4rage of the day! His first appearance set the
whole Ton in a ferment, and his valet is besieged
by levées of taylors, habit-makers, and other
Ministers of Fashion, to gratify the impatience of their customers for
becoming à la mode de Doricourt. Nay, the
beautiful Lady Frolic, t'other night, with two sister Countesses,
insisted upon his waistcoat for muffs; and their snowy arms now bear it
in triumph about town, to the heart-rending affliction of all our Beaux Garçons.
Sav.
Indeed! Well, those little gallantries will soon be over; he's on the
point of marriage.
Court.
Marriage! Doricourt on the point of marriage! 'Tis the happiest tidings
you could have given, next to his being hanged—Who is the Bride
elect?
Sav.
I never saw her; but 'tis Miss Hardy, the rich heiress—the match was
made by the parents, and the courtship begun on their nurses knees;
Master used to crow at Miss, and Miss used to chuckle at Master.
Court.
Oh! then by this time they care no more for each other, than I do for my
country cousins.
Sav.
I don't know that; they have never met since thus high, and so,
probably, have some regard for each other.
Court.
Never met! Odd!
Sav.
A whim of Mr. Hardy's; he thought his daughter's charms would make a
more forcible impression, if her lover remained in ignorance of them
'till his return from the Continent.
Serv.
Mr. Doricourt, Sir, has been at Counsellor Pleadwell's, and gone about five
minutes.
Serv.
Five minutes! Zounds! I have been five minutes too late all my
life-time!—Good morrow, Courtall; I must pursue him. (Going.)
Court.
Promise to dine with me to-day; I have some honest fellows. (Going off on the opposite side.)
Sav.
Can't promise; perhaps I may.—See there, there's a bevy of female
Patagonians, coming down upon us.
Court.
By the Lord, then, it must be my strapping cousins.—I dare not look behind
me—Run, man, run.
Port.
Tap! What sneaking devil art thou? So! I suppose you are one of Monsieur's customers
too? He's above stairs, now, overhauling all his Honour's things to a parcel
of 'em.
Crowq.
No, Sir; it is with you, if you please, that I want to speak.
Port.
Me! Well, what do you want with me?
Crowq.
Sir, you must know that I am—I am the Gentleman who writes the Tête-à-têtes in the Magazines.
Port.
Oh, oh!—What, you are the fellow that ties folks together, in your sixpenny
cuts, that never meet any where else?
Crowq.
Oh, dear Sir, excuse me!—we always go on foundation;
and if you can help me to a few anecdotes of your master, such as what
Marchioness he lost money to, in Paris—who is his favourite Lady in town—or
the name of the Girl he first made love to at College—or any incidents that
happened to his Grandmother, or Great aunts—a couple will do, by way of
supporters—I'll weave a web of intrigues, losses, and gallantries, between
them, that shall fill four pages, procure me a dozen dinners, and you, Sir,
a bottle of wine for your trouble.
Port.
Oh, oh! I heard the butler talk of you, when 6I lived at Lord Tinket's. But
what the devil do you mean by a bottle of wine!—You gave him a crown for a
retaining fee.
Crowq.
Oh, Sir, that was for a Lord's amours; a Commoner's are never but half.
Why, I have had a Baronet's for five shillings, though he was a married man,
and changed his mistress every six weeks.
Port.
Don't tell me! What signifies a Baronet, or a bit of a Lord, who, may be,
was never further than sun and fun round London? We
have travelled, man! My master has been in Italy, and over the whole island
of Spain; talked to the Queen of France, and danced with her at a
masquerade. Ay, and such folks don't go to masquerades for nothing; but
mum—not a word more—Unless you'll rank my master with a Lord, I'll not be
guilty of blabbing his secrets, I assure you.
Crowq.
Well, Sir, perhaps you'll throw in a hint or two of other families, where
you've lived, that may be worked up into something; and so, Sir, here is
one, two, three, four, five shillings.
Port.
Well, that's honest, (pocketing the
money.) To tell you the truth, I don't know much of my
master's concerns yet;—but here comes Monsieur and his gang: I'll pump them:
they have trotted after him all round Europe, from the Canaries to the Isle
of Wight.
Tradesm.
Well then, you have shew'd us all?
Frenchm.
All, en vérité, Messieurs! you avez seen every ting. Serviteur,
serviteur.Ah, here comes one autre curious Englishman, and
dat's one autre guinea pour
moi.Allons, Monsieur, dis way; I will shew you tings,
such tings you never see, begar, in England!—velvets by Le 7Mosse, suits cut
by Verdue, trimmings by Grossette, embroidery by Detanville——
Sav.
Puppy!—where is your Master?
Port.
Zounds! you chattering frog-eating dunderhead, can't you see a
Gentleman?—'Tis Mr. Saville.
Frenchm.
Monsieur Saville! Je suis mort de peur.—Ten tousand
pardons! Excusez mon erreur, and permit me you
conduct to Monsieur Doricourt; he be too happy à vous
voir.
Port.
Step below a bit;—we'll make it out some-how!—I suppose a slice of sirloin
won't make the story go down the worse.
Doric.
(speaking to a servant behind) I shall
be too late for St. James's; bid him come immediately.
Frenchm.
Monsieur Saville.
Doric.
Most fortunate! My dear Saville, let the warmth of this embrace speak the
pleasure of my heart.
Sav.
Well, this is some comfort, after the scurvy reception I met with in your
hall.—I prepared my mind, as I came up stairs, for a bon
jour, a grimace, and an adieu.
Doric.
Why so?
Sav.
Judging of the master from the rest of the family. What the devil is the
meaning of that flock of foreigners below, with their parchment faces and
snuffy whiskers? What! can't an Englishman stand behind your carriage,
buckle your shoe, or brush your coat?
Doric.
Stale, my dear Saville, stale! Englishmen make the best Soldiers, Citizens,
Artizans, and Philosophers in the world; but the very worst Footmen. I keep
French 8fellows and Germans, as the Romans kept slaves; because their own
countrymen had minds too enlarged and haughty to descend with a grace to the
duties of such a station.
Sav.
A good excuse for a bad practice.
Doric.
On my honour, experience will convince you of its truth. A Frenchman
neither hears, sees, nor breathes, but as his master directs; and his whole
system of conduct is compris'd in one short word, Obedience! An Englishman reasons, forms opinions, cogitates, and
disputes; he is the mere creature of your will: the other, a being,
conscious of equal importance in the universal scale with yourself, and is
therefore your judge, whilst he wears your livery, and decides on your
actions with the freedom of a censor.
Sav.
And this in defence of a custom I have heard you execrate, together with
all the adventitious manners imported by our Travell'd Gentry.
Doric.
Ay, but that was at eighteen; we are always very
wise at eighteen. But consider this point: we go into Italy, where the sole
business of the people is to study and improve the powers of Music: we yield
to the fascination, and grow enthusiasts in the charming science: we travel
over France, and see the whole kingdom composing ornaments, and inventing
Fashions: we condescend to avail ourselves of their industry, and adopt
their modes: we return to England, and find the nation intent on the most
important objects; Polity, Commerce, War, with all the Liberal Arts, employ
her sons; the latent sparks glow afresh within our bosoms; the sweet follies
of the Continent imperceptibly slide away, whilst Senators, Statesmen,
Patriots and Heroes, emerge from the virtû of Italy,
and the frippery of France.
Sav.
I may as well give it up! You had always the art of placing your faults in
the best light; and I can't 9help loving you, faults and all: so, to start a
subject which must please you, When do you expect Miss Hardy?
Doric.
Oh, the hour of expectation is past. She is arrived, and I this morning had
the honour of an interview at Pleadwell's. The writings were ready; and, in
obedience to the will of Mr. Hardy, we met to sign and seal.
Sav.
Has the event answered? Did your heart leap, or sink, when you beheld your
Mistress?
Doric.
Faith, neither one nor t'other; she's a fine girl, as far as mere flesh and
blood goes.——But——
Sav.
But what?
Doric.
Why, she's only a fine girl; complexion, shape, and
features; nothing more.
Sav.
Is not that enough?
Doric.
No! she should have spirit! fire! l'air enjoué! that
something, that nothing, which every body feels, and which no body can
describe, in the resistless charmers of Italy and France.
Sav.
Thanks to the parsimony of my father, that kept me from travel! I would not
have lost my relish for true unaffected English beauty, to have been
quarrell'd for by all the Belles of Versailles and Florence.
Doric.
Pho! thou hast no taste. English beauty! 'Tis
insipidity; it wants the zest, it wants poignancy, Frank! Why, I have known
a Frenchwoman, indebted to nature for no one thing but a pair of decent
eyes, reckon in her suite as many Counts, Marquisses, and Petits Maîtres, as would satisfy three dozen of our first-rate
toasts. I have known an Italian Marquizina make ten
conquests in stepping from her carriage, and carry her slaves from one city
to another, whose real intrinsic beauty would have yielded to half the
little Grisettes that pace your Mall on a Sunday.
Sav.
And has Miss Hardy nothing of this?
Doric.
If she has, she was pleased to keep it to herself. I was in the room half
an hour before I could catch the 10colour of her eyes; and every attempt to
draw her into conversation occasioned so cruel an embarrassment, that I was
reduced to the necessity of news, French fleets, and Spanish captures, with
her father.
Sav.
So Miss Hardy, with only beauty, modesty, and merit, is doom'd to the arms
of a husband who will despise her.
Doric.
You are unjust. Though she has not inspir'd me with violent passion, my
honour secures her felicity.
Sav.
Come, come, Doricourt, you know very well that when the honour of a husband
is locum-tenens for his heart, his wife must be as
indifferent as himself, if she is not unhappy.
Doric.
Pho! never moralise without spectacles. But, as we are upon the tender
subject, how did you bear Touchwood's carrying Lady Frances?
Sav.
You know I never look'd up to her with hope, and Sir George is every way
worthy of her.
Doric.
A la mode Angloise, a philosopher even in love.
Sav.
Come, I detain you—you seem dress'd at all points, and of course have an
engagement.
Doric.
To St. James's. I dine at Hardy's, and accompany them to the masquerade in
the evening: but breakfast with me to-morrow, and we'll talk of our old
companions; for I swear to you, Saville, the air of the Continent has not
effaced one youthful prejudice or attachment.
Sav.
—With an exception to the case of Ladies and Servants.
Doric.
True; there I plead guilty:—but I have never yet found any man whom I could
cordially take to my heart, and call Friend, who was not born beneath a
British sky, and whose heart and manners were not truly English.
Flut.
Hah, Villers, have you seen Mrs. Racket?——Miss Hardy, I find, is out.
Vill.
I have not seen her yet. I have made a voyage to Lapland since I came in.
(flinging away the book.) A Lady
at her toilette is as difficult to be moved, as a Quaker, (yawning). What events have happened in the
world since yesterday? have you heard?
Flut.
Oh, yes; I stopt at Tattersall's as I came by, and there I found Lord James
Jessamy, Sir William Wilding, and Mr.——. But, now I think of it, you sha'n't
know a syllable of the matter; for I have been informed you never believe
above one half of what I say.
Vill.
My dear fellow, somebody has imposed upon you most egregiously!—Half! Why,
I never believe one tenth part of what you say; that is, according to the
plain and literal expression: but, as I understand you, your intelligence is
amusing.
Flut.
That's very hard now, very hard. I never related a falsity in my life,
unless I stumbled on it by mistake; and if it were otherwise, your dull
matter-of-fact people are infinitely oblig'd to those warm imaginations
which soar into fiction to amuse you; for, positively, the common events of
this little dirty world are not worth talking about, unless you embellish
'em!——Hah! here comes Mrs. Racket: Adieu to weeds, I see! All life!Enter, Madam, in all your charms! Villers has been abusing your toilette for
keeping you so long; but I think we are much oblig'd to it, and so are
you.
Mrs. Rack.
How so, pray? Good-morning t'ye both. Here, here's a hand a-piece for you.
(They kiss her hands.)
Flut.
How so! Because it has given you so many beauties.
Mrs. Rack.
Delightful compliment! What do you think of that, Villers?
Vill.
That he and his compliments are alike—shewy, but won't bear examining.——So
you brought Miss Hardy to town last night?
Mrs. Rack.
Yes, I should have brought her before, but I had a fall from my horse, that
confined me a week.—I suppose in her heart she wished me hanged a dozen
times an hour.
Flut.
Why?
Mrs. Rack.
Had she not an expecting Lover in town all the time? She meets him this
morning at the Lawyer's.—I hope she'll charm him; she's the sweetest girl in
the world.
Vill.
Vanity, like murder, will out.—You have convinced me you think yourself
more charming.
Mrs. Rack.
How can that be?
Vill.
No woman ever praises another, unless she thinks herself superior in the
very perfections she allows.
Flut.
Nor no man ever rails at the sex, unless he is conscious he deserves their
hatred.
Mrs. Rack.
Thank ye, Flutter—I'll owe ye a bouquet for that. I
am going to visit the new-married Lady Frances Touchwood.—Who knows her
husband?
Flut.
Every body.
Mrs. Rack.
Is there not something odd in his character?
Vill.
Nothing, but that he is passionately fond of his wife;—and so petulant is
his love, that he open'd the cage of a favourite Bullfinch, and sent it to
catch Butterflies, because she rewarded its song with her kisses.
Mrs. Rack.
Intolerable monster! Such a brute deserves——
Vill.
Nay, nay, nay, nay, this is your sex now——Give a woman but one stroke of
character, off she goes, like a ball from a racket; sees the whole man,
marks 13him down for an angel or a devil, and so exhibits him to her
acquaintance.—This monster! this brute! is one of the worthiest fellows upon
earth; sound sense, and a liberal mind; but doats on his wife to such
excess, that he quarrels with every thing she admires, and is jealous of her
tippet and nosegay.
Mrs. Rack.
Oh, less love for me, kind Cupid! I can see no difference between the
torment of such an affection, and hatred.
Flut.
Oh, pardon me, inconceivable difference, inconceivable; I see it as clearly
as your bracelet. In the one case the husband would say, as Mr. Snapper said
t'other day, Zounds! Madam, do you suppose that my
table, and my house, and my
pictures!—A-propos, des Bottes.There was the
divinest Plague of Athens sold yesterday at Langford's! the dead figures so
natural, you would have sworn they had been alive! Lord Primrose bid Five
hundred—Six, said Lady Carmine.—A thousand, said Ingot the Nabob.—Down went
the hammer.—A rouleau for your bargain, said Sir
Jeremy Jingle. And what answer do you think Ingot made him?
Mrs. Racket.
Why, took the offer.
Flut.
Sir, I would oblige you, but I buy this picture to place in the nursery:
the children have already got Whittington and his Cat; 'tis just this size,
and they'll make good companions.
Mrs. Rack.
Ha! ha! ha! Well, I protest that's just the way now—the Nabobs and their
wives outbid one at every sale, and the creatures have no more taste——
Vill.
There again! You forget this story is told by Flutter, who always remembers
every thing but the circumstances and the person he talks about:—'twas Ingot
who offer'd a rouleau for the bargain, and Sir Jeremy
Jingle who made the reply.
Flut.
Egad, I believe you are right.—Well, the story is as good one way as
t'other, you know. Good morning. 14I am going to Mrs. Crotchet's concert, and
in my way back shall make my bow at Sir George's. (Going.)
Vill.
I'll venture every figure in your taylor's bill, you make some blunder
there.
Flut.
(turning back) Done! My taylor's bill
has not been paid these two years; and I'll open my mouth with as much care
as Mrs. Bridget Button, who wears cork plumpers in each cheek, and never
hazards more than six words for fear of shewing them.
Mrs. Rack.
'Tis a good-natur'd insignificant creature! let in every where, and cared
for no where.—There's Miss Hardy return'd from Lincoln's-Inn:—she seems
rather chagrin'd.
Vill.
Then I leave you to your communications.Adieu! I am rejoiced to see you so well, Madam! but I must tear myself
away.
Letit.
Don't vanish in a moment.
Vill.
Oh, inhuman! you are two of the most dangerous women in town.—Staying here
to be cannonaded by four such eyes, is equal to a rencontre with Paul Jones, or a midnight march to Omoa!—They'll
swallow the nonsense for the sake of the compliment. (Aside.)
Letit.
(gives her cloak to her maid.) Order
Du Quesne never to come again; he shall positively dress my hair no more.
[Exit Maid.]And this odious
silk, how unbecoming it is!—I was bewitched to chuse it. (Throwing herself on a sopha, and looking in a
pocket-glass, Mrs.Racket staring at
her.) Did you ever see such a fright as I am to-day?
Mrs. Rack.
Yes, I have seen you look much worse.
Letit.
How can you be so provoking? If I do not look this morning worse than ever
I look'd in my life, I am naturally a fright. You shall have it which way
you will.
Mrs. Rack.
Just as you please; but pray what is the meaning of all this?
Letit.
(rising.) Men are all dissemblers!
flatterers! deceivers! Have I not heard a thousand times of my air, my eyes,
my shape—all made for victory! and to-day, when I bent my whole heart on one
poor conquest, I have proved that all those imputed charms amount to
nothing;—for Doricourt saw them unmov'd.—A husband of fifteen months could
not have examined me with more cutting indifference.
Mrs. Rack.
Then you return it like a wife of fifteen months, and be as indifferent as
he.
Letit.
Aye, there's the sting! The blooming boy, who left his image in my young
heart, is at four and twenty improv'd in every grace that fix'd him there.
It is the same face that my memory, and my dreams, constantly painted to me;
but its graces are finished, and every beauty heightened. How mortifying, to
feel myself at the same moment his slave, and an object of perfect
indifference to him!
Mrs. Rack.
How are you certain that was the case? Did you expect him to kneel down
before the lawyer, his clerks, and, your father, to make oath of your
beauty?
Letit.
No; but he should have look'd as if a sudden ray had pierced him! he should
have been breathless! speechless! for, oh! Caroline, all this was I.
Mrs. Rack.
I am sorry you was such a fool. Can you expect a man, who has courted and
been courted by half the fine women in Europe, to feel like a girl from a
boarding-school? He is the prettiest fellow you have seen, and in course
bewilders your imagination; but he has seen a million of pretty women,
child, before he saw you; and his first feelings have been over long
ago.
Letit.
Your raillery distresses me; but I will touch his heart, or never be his
wife.
Mrs. Rack.
Absurd, and romantic! If you have no reason to believe his heart
pre-engaged, be satisfied; if he is a man of honour, you'll have nothing to
complain of.
Letit.
Nothing to complain of! Heav'ns! shall I marry the man I adore, with such
an expectation as that?
Mrs. Rack.
And when you have fretted yourself pale, my dear, you'll have mended your
expectation greatly.
Letit.
(pausing.) Yet I have one hope. If
there is any power whose peculiar care is faithful love, that power I invoke
to aid me.
Hardy.
Well, now; wasn't I right? Aye, Letty! Aye, Cousin Racket! wasn't I right?
I knew 'twould be so. He was all agog to see her before he went abroad; and,
if he had, he'd have thought no more of her face, may be, than his own.
Mrs. Rack.
May be, not half so much.
Hardy.
Aye, may be so:—but I see into things; exactly as I foresaw, to-day he fell
desperately in love with the wench, he! he! he!
Letit.
Indeed, Sir! how did you perceive it?
Hardy.
That's a pretty question! How do I perceive every thing? How did I foresee
the fall of corn, and the rise of taxes? How did I know, that if we
quarrelled with America, Norway deals would be dearer? How did I foretell
that a war would sink the funds? How did I forewarn Parson Homily, that if
he didn't some way or other contrive to get more votes than Rubrick, he'd
lose the lectureship? How did I——But what the devil makes you so dull,
Letitia? I thought to have found you popping about as brisk as the jacks of
your harpsichord.
Letit.
Surely, Sir, 'tis a very serious occasion.
Hardy.
Pho, pho! girls should never be grave before marriage. How did you feel,
Cousin, beforehand? Aye!
Mrs. Rack.
Feel! why exceedingly full of cares.
Hardy.
Did you?
Mrs. Rack.
I could not sleep for thinking of my coach, my liveries, and my chairmen;
the taste of clothes I should be presented in, distracted me for a week; and
whether I should be married in white or lilac, gave me the most cruel
anxiety.
Letit.
And is it possible that you felt no other care?
Hardy.
And pray, of what sort may your cares be, Mrs. Letitia? I begin to foresee
now that you have taken a dislike to Doricourt.
Letit.
Indeed, Sir, I have not.
Hardy.
Then what's all this melancholy about? A'n't you going to be married? and,
what's more, to a sensible man? and, what's more to a young girl, to a
handsome man? And what's all this melancholy for, I say?
Mrs. Rack.
Why, because he is handsome and sensible, and
because she's over head and ears in love with him; all which, it seems, your
foreknowledge had not told you a word of.
Letit.
Fye, Caroline!
Hardy.
Well, come, do you tell me what's the matter then? If you don't like him,
hang the signing and sealing, he sha'n't have ye:—and yet I can't say that
neither; for you know that estate, that cost his father and me upwards of
fourscore thousand pounds, must go all to him if you won't have him: if he
won't have you, indeed, 'twill be all yours. All that's clear, engross'd
upon parchment, and the poor dear man set his hand to it whilst he was a
dying.—"Ah!" said I, "I foresee you'll never live to see 'em come together;
but their first son 18shall be christened Jeremiah after you, that I promise
you."——But come, I say, what is the matter? Don't you like him?
Letit.
I fear, Sir—if I must speak—I fear I was less agreeable in Mr. Doricourt's
eyes, than he appeared in mine.
Hardy.
There you are mistaken; for I asked him, and he told me he liked you
vastly. Don't you think he must have taken a fancy to her?
Mrs. Rack.
Why really I think so, as I was not by.
Letit.
My dear Sir, I am convinced he has not; but if there is spirit or invention
in woman, he shall.
Hardy.
Right, Girl; go to your toilette—
Letit.
It is not my toilette that can serve me: but a plan has struck me, if you
will not oppose it, which flatters me with brilliant success.
Hardy.
Oppose it! not I indeed! What is it?
Letit.
Why, Sir—it may seem a little paradoxical; but, as he does not like me
enough, I want him to like me still less, and will at our next interview
endeavour to heighten his indifference into dislike.
Hardy.
Who the devil could have foreseen that?
Mrs. Rack.
Heaven and earth! Letitia, are you serious?
Letit.
As serious as the most important business of my life demands.
Mrs. Rack.
Why endeavour to make him dislike you?
Letit.
Because 'tis much easier to convert a sentiment into its opposite, than to
transform indifference into tender passion.
Mrs. Rack.
That may be good philosophy, but I am afraid you'll find it a bad
maxim.
Letit.
I have the strongest confidence in it. I am inspired with unusual spirits,
and on this hazard willingly 19stake my chance for happiness. I am impatient
to begin my measures.
Hardy.
Can you foresee the end of this, Cousin?
Mrs. Rack.
No, Sir; nothing less than your penetration can do that, I am sure; and I
can't stay now to consider it. I am going to call on the Ogles, and then to
Lady Frances Touchwood's, and then to an Auction, and then—I don't know
where——but I shall be at home time enough to witness this extraordinary
interview. Good-bye.
Hardy.
Well, 'tis an odd thing—I can't understand it—but I foresee Letty will have
her way, and so I sha'n't give myself the trouble to dispute it.
Doricourt.
Married, ha! ha! ha! you, whom I heard in Paris say such things of the sex,
are in London a married man.
Sir Geo.
The sex is still what it has ever been since la petite
morale banished substantial virtues; and rather than have given my
name to one of your high-bred fashionable dames, I'd have crossed the line
in a fire-ship, and married a Japanese.
Doric.
Yet you have married an English beauty, yea, and a beauty born in high
life.
Sir Geo.
True; but she has a simplicity of heart and manners, that would have become
the fair Hebrew damsels toasted by the Patriarchs.
Doric.
Ha! ha! Why, thou art a downright matrimonial Quixote. My life on't, she
becomes as mere a Town Lady in six months as though she had been bred to the
trade.
Sir Geo.
Common—common—(contemptuously). No,
Sir, Lady Frances despises high life so much from the ideas I have given
her, that she'll live in it like a salamander in fire.
Doric.
Oh, that the circle dans la place Victoire could
witness thy extravagance! I'll send thee off to St. Evreux this night, drawn
at full length, and coloured after nature.
Sir Geo.
Tell him then, to add to the ridicule, that Touchwood glories in the name of
Husband; that he has found in one Englishwoman more beauty than Frenchmen
ever saw, and more goodness than Frenchwomen can conceive.
Doric.
Well—enough of description. Introduce me to this phœnix; I came on
purpose.
Sir Geo.
Introduce!—oh, aye, to be sure—I believe Lady Frances is engaged just
now—but another time. How handsome the dog looks to-day! Aside.
Doric.
Another time!—but I have no other time. 'Sdeath! this is the only hour I can
command this fortnight!
Sir Geo.
[Aside.I am glad to hear it, with all
my soul.] So then, you can't dine with us to-day? That's very unlucky.
Doric.
Oh, yes—as to dinner—yes, I can, I believe, contrive to dine with you
to-day.
Sir Geo.
Psha! I didn't think on what I was saying; I meant supper.—You can't sup
with us?
Doric.
Why, supper will be rather more convenient than dinner.—But you are
fortunate—if you had ask'd me any other night, I could not have come.
Sir Geo.
To-night!—Gad, now I recollect, we are particularly engaged to-night.—But
to-morrow night—
Doric.
Why look ye, Sir George, 'tis very plain you have no inclination to let me
see your wife at all; so here I sit (throws himself
on a sopha.)—There's my hat, and here are my legs.—Now I
sha'n't stir till I have seen her; and I have no engagements: I'll
breakfast, dine, and sup with you every day this week.
Sir Geo.
Was there ever such a provoking wretch! But, to be plain with you,
Doricourt, I and my house are at your service: but you are a damn'd
agreeable fellow, and ten years younger than I am; and the women, I observe,
always simper when you appear. For these reasons, I had rather, when Lady
Frances and I are together, that you should forget we are acquainted,
further than a nod, a smile, or a how-d'ye.
Doric.
Very well.
Sir Geo.
It is not merely yourself in propriâ personâ that I
object to; but, if you are intimate here, you'll make my house still more
the fashion than it is; and it is already so much so, that my doors are of
no use to me. I married Lady Frances to engross her to myself; yet such is
the blessed freedom of modern manners, that, in spite of me, her eyes,
thoughts, and conversation, are continually divided amongst all the Flirts
and Coxcombs of Fashion.
Doric.
To be sure, I confess that kind of freedom is carried rather too far. 'Tis
hard one can't have a jewel in one's cabinet, but the whole town must be
gratified with its lustre. He sha'n't preach me out of seeing his wife,
though. Aside.
Sir Geo.
Well, now, that's reasonable. When you take time to reflect, Doricourt, I
always observe you decide right, and therefore I hope——
Serv.
Sir, my Lady desires——
Sir Geo.
I am particularly engaged.
Doric.
Oh, Lord, that shall be no excuse in the world (leaping from the sopha). Lead the way, John.—I'll attend
your Lady.
Sir Geo.
What devil possessed me to talk about her!—Here, Doricourt! (Running after him.) Doricourt!
Mrs. Rack.
Acquaint your Lady, that Mrs. Racket, and Miss Ogle, are here.
Miss Ogle.
I shall hardly know Lady Frances, 'tis so long since I was in
Shropshire.
Mrs. Rack.
And I'll be sworn you never saw her out of
Shropshire.—Her father kept her locked up with his Caterpillars and Shells;
and loved her beyond any thing—but a blue Butterfly, and a petrified
Frog!
Miss Ogle.
Ha! ha! ha!—Well, 'twas a cheap way of breeding her:—you know he was very
poor, though a Lord; and very high-spirited, though a Virtuoso.—In town, her
Pantheons, Operas, and Robes de Cour, would have swallowed his Sea-Weeds,
Moths, and Monsters, in six weeks!—Sir George, I find, thinks his Wife a
most extraordinary creature: he has taught her to despise every thing like
Fashionable Life, and boasts that example will have no effect on her.
Mrs. Rack.
There's a great degree of impertinence in all that—I'll try to make her a
Fine Lady, to humble him.
Miss Ogle.
That's just the thing I wish.
Lady Fran.
I beg ten thousand pardons, my dear Mrs. Racket.—Miss Ogle, I rejoice to see
you: I should have come to you sooner, but I was detained in conversation by
Mr. Doricourt.
Mrs. Rack.
Pray make no apology; I am quite happy that we have your Ladyship in town at
last.—What stay do you make?
Lady Fran.
A short one! Sir George talks with regret of the scenes we have left; and as
the ceremony of presentation is over, will, I believe, soon return.
Miss Ogle.
Sure he can't be so cruel! Does your Ladyship wish to return so soon?
Lady Fran.
I have not the habit of consulting my own wishes; but, I think, if they
decide, we shall not return immediately. I have yet hardly form'd an idea of
London.
Mrs. Rack.
I shall quarrel with your Lord and Master, if he dares think of depriving us
of you so soon. How do you dispose of yourself to-day?
Lady Fran.
Sir George is going with me this morning to the mercer's, to chuse a silk;
and then——
Mrs. Rack.
Chuse a silk for you! ha! ha! ha! Sir George chuses your laces too, I hope;
your gloves, and your pincushions!
Lady Fran.
Madam!
Mrs. Rack.
I am glad to see you blush, my dear Lady Frances. These are strange homespun
ways! If you do these things, pray keep 'em secret. Lord bless us! If the
Town should know your husband chuses your gowns!
Miss Ogle.
You are very young, my Lady, and have been brought up in solitude. The
maxims you learnt among the Wood-Nymphs in Shropshire, won't pass current
here, I assure you.
Mrs. Rack.
Why, my dear creature, you look quite frighten'd!—Come, you shall go with us
to an Exhibi-24tion, and an Auction.—Afterwards, we'll take a turn in the Park,
and then drive to Kensington;—so we shall be at home by four, to dress; and
in the evening I'll attend you to Lady Brilliant's masquerade.
Lady Fran.
I shall be very happy to be of your party, if Sir George has no
engagements.
Mrs. Rack.
What! Do you stand so low in your own opinion, that you dare not trust
yourself without Sir George! If you chuse to play Darby and Joan, my dear,
you should have stay'd in the country;—'tis an Exhibition not calculated for
London, I assure you!
Miss Ogle.
What I suppose, my Lady, you and Sir George, will be seen pacing it
comfortably round the Canal, arm and arm, and then go lovingly into the same
carriage;—dine tête-à-tête, spend the evening at
Picquet, and so go soberly to bed at Eleven!—Such a snug plan may do for an
Attorney and his Wife; but, for Lady Frances Touchwood, 'tis as unsuitable
as linsey-woolsey, or a black bonnet at the Festino!
Lady Fran.
These are rather new doctrines to me!—But, my dear Mrs. Racket, you and Miss
Ogle must judge of these things better than I can. As you observe, I am but
young, and may have caught absurd opinions.—Here is Sir George!
Sir Geo.
(Aside.) 'Sdeath! another room
full!
Lady Fran.
My love! Mrs. Racket, and Miss Ogle.
Mrs. Rack.
Give you joy, Sir George.—We came to rob you of Lady Frances for a few
hours.
Sir Geo.
A few hours!
Lady Fran.
Oh, yes! I am going to an Exhibition, and an Auction, and the Park, and
Kensington, and a thousand places!—It is quite ridiculous, I find, for
married people to be always together—We shall be laughed at!
Sir Geo.
I am astonished!—Mrs. Racket, what does the dear creature mean?
Mrs. Rack.
Mean, Sir George!—what she says, I imagine.
Miss Ogle.
Why, you know, Sir, as Lady Frances had the misfortune to be bred entirely
in the Country, she cannot be supposed to be versed in Fashionable Life.
Sir Geo.
No; heaven forbid she should!—If she had, Madam, she would never have been
my Wife!
Mrs. Rack.
Are you serious?
Sir Geo.
Perfectly so.—I should never have had the courage to have married a
well-bred Fine Lady.
Miss Ogle.
Pray, Sir, what do you take a Fine Lady to be, that you express such fear of
her? (sneeringly.)
Sir Geo.
A being easily described, Madam, as she is seen every where, but in her own
house. She sleeps at home, but she lives all over the town. In her mind,
every sentiment gives place to the Lust of Conquest, and the vanity of being
particular. The feelings of Wife, and Mother, are lost in the whirl of
dissipation. If she continues virtuous, 'tis by chance—and if she preserves
her Husband from ruin, 'tis by her dexterity at the Card-Table!—Such a Woman
I take to be a perfect Fine Lady!
Mrs. Rack.
And you I take to be a slanderous Cynic of two-and-thirty.—Twenty years
hence, one might have forgiven such a libel!—Now, Sir, hear my definition of
a Fine Lady:—She is a creature for whom Nature has done much, and Education
more; she has Taste, Elegance, Spirit, Understanding. In her manner she is
free, in her morals nice. Her behaviour is undistinguishingly polite to her
Husband, and all mankind;—her sentiments are for their hours of retirement.
In a word, a Fine Lady is the life of conversation, the spirit of society,
the joy of the public!—Pleasure follows where ever she appears, and the
kindest wishes attend her slum-26bers.—Make haste, then, my dear Lady Frances,
commence Fine Lady, and force your Husband to acknowledge the justness of my
picture!
Lady Fran.
I am sure 'tis a delightful one. How can you dislike it, Sir George? You
painted Fashionable Life in colours so disgusting, that I thought I hated
it; but, on a nearer view, it seems charming. I have hitherto lived in
obscurity; 'tis time that I should be a Woman of the World. I long to
begin;—my heart pants with expectation and delight!
Mrs. Rack.
Come, then; let us begin directly. I am inpatient to introduce you to that
Society, which you were born to ornament and charm.
Lady Fran.
Adieu! my Love!—We shall meet again at dinner. (Going.)
Sir Geo.
Sure, I am in a dream!—Fanny!
Lady Fran.
(returning) Sir George?
Sir Geo.
Will you go without me?
Mrs. Rack.
Will you go without me!—ha! ha! ha! what a pathetic address! Why, sure you
would not always be seen side by side, like two beans upon a stalk. Are you
afraid to trust Lady Frances with me, Sir?
Sir George.
Heaven and earth! with whom can a man trust his wife, in the present state
of society? Formerly there were distinctions of character amongst ye: every
class of females had its particular description; Grandmothers were pious,
Aunts, discreet, Old Maids censorious! but now aunts, grandmothers, girls,
and maiden gentlewomen, are all the same creature;—a wrinkle more or less is
the sole difference between ye.
Mrs. Rack.
That Maiden Gentlewomen have lost their censoriousness, is surely not in
your catalogue of grievances.
Sir Geo.
Indeed it is—and ranked amongst the most serious grievances.—Things went
well, Madam, when the tongues of three or four old Virgins kept all the
Wives 27and Daughters of a parish in awe. They were the Dragons that guarded
the Hesperian fruit; and I wonder they have not been oblig'd, by act of
parliament, to resume their function.
Mrs. Rack.
Ha! ha! ha! and pension'd, I suppose, for making strict enquiries into the
lives and conversations of their neighbours.
Sir Geo.
With all my heart, and impowered to oblige every woman to conform her
conduct to her real situation. You, for instance, are a Widow: your air
should be sedate, your dress grave, your deportment matronly, and in all
things an example to the young women growing up about you!—instead of which,
you are dress'd for conquest, think of nothing but ensnaring hearts; are a
Coquette, a Wit, and a Fine Lady.
Mrs. Rack.
Bear witness to what he says! A Coquette! a Wit! and a Fine Lady! Who would
have expected an eulogy from such an ill-natur'd mortal!—Valour to a
Soldier, Wisdom to a Judge, or glory to a Prince, is not more than such a
character to a Woman.
Miss Ogle.
Sir George, I see, languishes for the charming society of a century and a
half ago; when a grave 'Squire, and a still graver Dame, surrounded by a
sober family, form'd a stiff groupe in a mouldy old house in the corner of a
Park.
Mrs. Rack.
Delightful serenity! Undisturb'd by any noise but the cawing of rooks, and
the quarterly rumbling of an old family-coach on a state-visit; with the
happy intervention of a friendly call from the Parish Apothecary, or the
Curate's Wife.
Sir Geo.
And what is the society of which you boast?—a meer chaos, in which all
distinction of rank is lost in a ridiculous affectation of ease, and every
different order of beings huddled together, as they were before the
creation. In the same select party, you will often
find the wife of a Bishop and a Sharper, of an Earl and a Fidler. In short,
'tis one universal masquerade, all disguised in the same habits and
manners.
Serv.
Mr. Flutter.
Sir Geo.
Here comes an illustration. Now I defy you to tell from his appearance,
whether Flutter is a Privy Counsellor or a Mercer, a Lawyer, or a Grocer's
'Prentice.
Flut.
Oh, just which you please, Sir George; so you don't make me a Lord Mayor.
Ah, Mrs. Racket!——Lady Frances, your most obedient; you look—now hang me, if
that's not provoking!—had your gown been of another colour, I would have
said the prettiest thing you ever heard in your life.
Miss Ogle.
Pray give it us.
Flut.
I was yesterday at Mrs. Bloomer's. She was dress'd all in green; no other
colour to be seen but that of her face and bosom. So says I, My dear Mrs.
Bloomer! you look like a Carnation, just bursting from its pod.
Sir Geo.
And what said her Husband?
Flut.
Her Husband! Why, her Husband laugh'd, and said a Cucumber would have been a
happier simile.
Sir Geo.
But there are Husbands, Sir, who would rather have
corrected than amended your comparison; I, for instance, should consider a
man's complimenting my Wife as an impertinence.
Flut.
Why, what harm can there be in compliments? Sure they are not infectious;
and, if they were, you, Sir George, of all people breathing, have reason to
be satisfied about your Lady's attachment; every body talks of it: that
little Bird there, that she killed out of jealousy, the most extraordinary
instance of affection, that ever was given.
Lady Fran.
I kill a Bird through jealousy!—Heavens! Mr. Flutter, how can you impute
such a cruelty to me?
Sir Geo.
I could have forgiven you, if you had.
Flut.
Oh, what a blundering Fool!—No, no—now I remember—'twas your Bird, Lady
Frances—that's it; 29your Bullfinch, which Sir George, in one of the
refinements of his passion, sent into the wide world to seek its fortune.—He
took it for a Knight in disguise.
Lady Fran.
Is it possible! O, Sir George, could I have imagin'd it was you who depriv'd
me of a creature I was so fond of?
Sir Geo.
Mr. Flutter, you are one of those busy, idle, meddling people, who, from
mere vacuity of mind, are, the most dangerous inmates in a family. You have
neither feelings nor opinions of your own; but, like a glass in a tavern,
bear about those of every Blockhead, who gives you his;—and, because you mean no harm, think yourselves excus'd, though broken
friendships, discords, and murders, are the consequences of your
indiscretions.
Flut.
(taking out his Tablets) Vacuity of
Mind!—What was the next? I'll write down this sermon; 'tis the first I have
heard since my Grandmother's funeral.
Miss Ogle.
Come, Lady Frances, you see what a cruel creature your loving Husband can
be; so let us leave him.
Sir Geo.
Madam, Lady Frances shall not go.
Lady Fran.
Shall not, Sir George?—This is the first time such an
expression—(weeping)
Sir Geo.
My love! my life!
Lady Fran.
Don't imagine I'll be treated like a Child! denied what I wish, and then
pacified with sweet words.
Miss Ogle
The Bullfinch! that's an excellent subject; never let it down.
Lady Fran.
I see plainly you would deprive me of every pleasure, as well as of my sweet
Bird—out of pure love!—Barbarous Man!
Sir Geo.
'Tis well, Madam;—your resentment of that circumstance proves to me, what I
did not before suspect, that you are deficient both in tenderness and
understanding.—Tremble to think the hour approaches, in which you would give
worlds for such a proof of my love. Go, Madam, give yourself to the Public;
aban-30don your heart to dissipation, and see if, in the scenes of gaiety and
folly that await you, you can find a recompence for the lost affection of a
doating Husband.
Flut.
Lord! what a fine thing it is to have the gift of Speech! I suppose Sir
George practises at Coachmakers-hall, or the Black-horse in Bond-street.
Lady Fran.
He is really angry; I cannot go.
Mrs. Rack.
Not go! Foolish Creature! you are arrived at the moment, which some time or
other was sure to happen; and everything depends on the use you make of
it.
Miss Ogle.
Come, Lady Frances! don't hesitate!—the minutes are precious.
Lady Fran.
I could find in my heart!—and yet I won't give up neither.—If I should in
this instance, he'll expect it for ever.
Miss Ogle.
Now you act like a Woman of Spirit.
Flut.
A fair tug, by Jupiter—between Duty and Pleasure!—Pleasure beats, and off we
go, Iö! triumphe
Silv.
Very well,—very well.—This morning will be devoted to curiosity; my sale
begins to-morrow at eleven. But, Mrs. Fagg, if you do no better than you did
in Lord Fillagree's sale, I shall discharge you.—You want a knack terribly:
and this dress—why, nobody can mistake you for a Gentlewoman.
Fag.
Very true, Mr. Silvertongue; but I can't dress like a Lady upon Half-a-crown
a day, as the saying is.—If you want me to dress like a Lady, you must
double my pay.——Double or quits, Mr. Silvertongue.
Silv.
——Five Shillings a day! what a demand! Why, Woman,
there are a thousand Parsons in the town, who 31don't make Five Shillings a
day; though they preach, pray, christen, marry, and bury, for the Good of
the Community.—Five Shillings a day!—why, 'tis the pay of a Lieutenant in a
marching Regiment, who keeps a Servant, a Mistress, a Horse; fights,
dresses, ogles, makes love, and dies upon Five Shillings a day.
Fag.
Oh, as to that, all that's very right. A Soldier should not be too fond of
life; and forcing him to do all these things upon Five Shillings a day, is
the readiest way to make him tir'd on't.
Silv.
Well, Mask, have you been looking into the Antiquaries?—have you got all the
terms of art in a string—aye?
Mask.
Yes, I have: I know the Age of a Coin by the taste; and can fix the
Birth-day of a Medal, Anno Mundi or Anno Domini, though the green rust should have eaten up every
character. But you know, the brown suit and the wig I wear when I personate
the Antiquary, are in Limbo.
Silv.
Those you have on, may do.
Mask.
These!—Why, in these I am a young travell'd Cognoscento: Mr. Glib bought them of Sir Tom Totter's Valet; and I
am going there directly. You know his Picture-Sale comes on to-day; and I
have got my head full of Parmegiano, Sal Rosa, Metzu, Tarbaek, and
Vandermeer. I talk of the relief of Woovermans, the spirit of Teniers, the
colouring of the Venetian School, and the correctness of the Roman. I
distinguish Claude by his Sleep, and Ruysdael by his Water. The rapidity of
Tintoret's pencil strikes me at the first glance; whilst the harmony of
Vandyk, and the glow of Correggio, point out their Masters.
1st Lady.
Hey-day, Mr. Silvertongue! what, nobody here!
Silv.
Oh, my Lady, we shall have company enough 32in a trice; if your carriage is
seen at my door, no other will pass it, I am sure.
1st Lady.
Familiar Monster! [Aside.]That's a
beautiful Diana, Mr. Silvertongue; but in the name of Wonder, how came
Actæon to be placed on the top of a House?
Silv.
That's a David and Bathsheba, Ma'am.
Lady.
Oh, I crave their pardon!——I remember the Names, but know nothing of the
Story.
1st Gent.
Was not that Lady Frances Touchwood, coming up with Mrs. Racket?
2d Gent.
I think so;——yes, it is, faith.——Let us go nearer.
Silv.
Yes, Sir, this is to be the first Lot:—the Model of a City, in wax.
2d Gent.
The Model of a City! What City?
Silv.
That I have not been able to discover; but call it Rome, Pekin, or London,
'tis still a City: you'll find in it the same jarring interests, the same
passions, the same virtues, and the same vices, whatever the name.
Gent.
You may as well present us a Map of Terra
Incognita.
Silv.
Oh, pardon me, Sir! a lively imagination would convert this waxen City into
an endless and interesting amusement. For instance—look into this little
House on the right-hand; there are four old Prudes in it, taking care of
their Neighbours Reputations. This elegant Mansion on the left, decorated
with Corinthian pillars—who needs be told that it belongs to a Court Lord,
and is the habitation of Patriotism, Philosophy, and Virtue? Here's a City
Hall—the rich steams that issue from the windows, nourish a neighbouring
Work-House. Here's a Church—we'll pass over that, the doors are shut. The
Parsonage-house comes next;—we'll take a peep here, however.—33Look at the
Doctor! he's asleep on a volume of Toland; whilst his Lady is putting on rouge for the Masquerade.—Oh! oh! this can be no
English City; our Parsons are all orthodox, and their Wives the daughters of
Modesty and Meekness.
Lady Fran.
I wish Sir George was here.——This man follows me about, and stares at me in
such a way, that I am quite uneasy.
Miss Ogle.
He has travell'd, and is heir to an immense estate; so he's impertinent by
Patent.
Court.
You are very cruel, Ladies. Miss Ogle—you will not let me speak to you. As
to this little scornful Beauty, she has frown'd me dead fifty times.
Lady Fran.
Sir—I am a married Woman. (Confus'd.)
Court.
A married Woman! a good hint. (Aside.)
'Twould be a shame if such a charming Woman was not married. But I see you
are a Daphne just come from your sheep, and your meadows; your crook, and
your waterfalls. Pray now, who is the happy Damon, to whom you have vow'd
eternal truth and constancy?
Miss Ogle.
'Tis Lady Frances Touchwood, Mr. Courtall, to whom you are speaking.
Court.
Lady Frances! By Heaven, that's Saville's old flame. [Aside.]I beg your Ladyship's pardon. I
ought to have believed that such beauty could belong only to your Name——a
Name I have long been enamour'd of; because I knew it to be that of the
finest Woman in the world.
Lady Fran.
[Apart.]My dear Mrs. Racket, I am so
frighten'd! Here's a Man making love to me, though he knows I am
married.
Mrs. Rack.
Oh, the sooner for that, my dear; don't 34mind him. Was you at the Cassino last night, Mr. Courtall?
Court.
I look'd in.——'Twas impossible to stay. No body there but Antiques. You'll
be at Lady Brilliant's to-night, doubtless?
Mrs. Rack.
Yes, I go with Lady Frances.
Lady Fran.
Bless me! I did not know this Gentleman was acquainted with Mrs. Racket.—I
behaved so rude to him!
Mrs. Rack.
Come, Ma'am; [looking at her
Watch.]'tis past one. I protest, if we don't fly to Kensington,
we sha'n't find a soul there.
Lady Fran.
Won't this Gentleman go with us?
Court.
[Looking surpris'd.]To be sure, you
make me happy, Madam, beyond description.
Mrs. Rack.
Oh, never mind him—he'll follow.
Court.
Lady Touchwood! with a vengeance! But, 'tis always
so;—your reserved Ladies are like ice, 'egad!—no sooner begin to soften,
than they melt.
Mrs. Racket.
Come, prepare, prepare; your Lover is coming.
Letit.
My Lover!—Confess now that my absence at dinner was a severe mortification
to him.
Mrs. Rack.
I can't absolutely swear it spoilt his appetite; he eat as if he was hungry,
and drank his wine as though he liked it.
Letit.
What was the apology?
Mrs. Rack.
That you were ill;—but I gave him a hint, that your extreme bashfulness
could not support his eye.
Letit.
If I comprehend him, aukwardness and bashfulness are the last faults he can
pardon in a woman; so expect to see me transform'd into the veriest
maukin.
Mrs. Rack.
You persevere then?
Letit.
Certainly. I know the design is a rash one, and the event important;—it
either makes Doricourt mine by all the tenderest ties of passion, or
deprives me of him for ever; and never to be his wife will afflict me less,
than to be his wife and not be belov'd.
Mrs. Rack.
So you wo'n't trust to the good old maxim—"Marry first, and love will
follow?"
Letit.
As readily as I would venture my last guinea, that good fortune might
follow. The woman that has not touch'd the heart of a man before he leads
her to the altar, has scarcely a chance to charm it when possession and
security turn their powerful arms against her.—But here he comes.—I'll
disappear for a moment.—Don't spare me.
Doric.
So! [Looking at a Picture.]this is my
mistress, I presume.—Ma foi! the painter has hit her
off.—The downcast eye—the blushing cheek—timid—apprehensive—bashful.—A tear
and a prayer-book would have made her La Bella
Magdalena.—
Mrs. Rack.
Is that an impromptu?
Doric.
(starting.) Madam!—[Aside.]Finely caught!—Not absolutely—it
struck me during the dessert, as a motto for your picture.
Mrs. Rack.
Gallantly turn'd! I perceive, however, Miss Hardy's charms have made no
violent impression on you.—And who can wonder?—the poor girl's defects are
so obvious.
Doric.
Defects!
Mrs. Rack.
Merely those of education.—Her father's indulgence ruin'd her.—Mauvaise honte—conceit and ignorance—all unite in the
Lady you are to marry.
Doric.
Marry!—I marry such a woman!—Your picture, I hope, is overcharged.—I marry
mauvaise honte, pertness and ignorance!
Mrs. Rack.
Thank your stars, that ugliness and ill temper are not added to the
list.—You must think her handsome?
Doric.
Half her personal beauty would content me; but could the Medicean Venus be
animated for me, and endowed with a vulgar soul, I
should become the statue, and my heart transformed to marble.
Mrs. Rack.
Bless us!—We are in a hopeful way then!
Doric.
(Aside.) There must be some envy in
this!—I see she is a coquette. Ha, ha, ha! And you imagine I am persuaded of
the truth of your character? ha, ha, ha! Miss Hardy, I have been assur'd,
Madam, is elegant and accomplished:——but one must allow for a Lady's
painting.
Mrs. Rack.
(Aside.) I'll be even with him for
that. Ha! ha! ha! and so you have found me out!—Well, I protest I meant no
harm; 'twas only to increase the éclat of her
appearance, that I threw a veil over her charms.——Here comes the Lady;—her
elegance and accomplishments will announce themselves.
Let.
La! Cousin, do you know that our John——oh, dear heart!—I didn't see you,
Sir.
Mrs. Rack.
Fye, Letitia! Mr. Doricourt thinks you a woman of elegant manners. Stand
forward, and confirm his opinion.
Let.
No, no; keep before me.——He's my Sweetheart; and 'tis impudent to look one's
Sweetheart in the face, you know.
Mrs. Rack.
You'll allow in future for a Lady's painting, Sir. Ha! ha! ha!
Doric.
I am astonish'd!
Let.
Well, hang it, I'll take heart.—Why, he is but a Man, you know, Cousin;—and
I'll let him see I wasn't born in a Wood to be scar'd by an Owl. [Half apart; advances, and looks at him through her
fingers.]He! he! he! [Goes up to
him, and makes a very stiff formal curtesy.]—[He bows.]—You have been a great Traveller,
Sir, I hear?
Dor.
Yes, Madam.
Let.
Then I wish you'd tell us about the fine sights you saw when you went
over-sea.—I have read in a book, that there are some countries where the Men
and Women are all Horses.—Did you see any of them?
Mrs. Rack.
Mr. Doricourt is not prepared, my dear, for these enquiries; he is
reflecting on the importance of the question, and will answer you——when he
can.
Let.
When he can! Why, he's as slow in speech, as Aunt Margery, when she's
reading Thomas Aquinas;—and stands gaping like mum-chance.
Mrs. Rack.
Have a little discretion.
Let.
Hold your tongue!—Sure I may say what I please before I am married, if I
can't afterwards.—D'ye think a body does not know how to talk to a
Sweetheart. He is not the first I have had.
Dor.
Indeed!
Let.
Oh, Lud! He speaks!—Why, if you must know—there was the Curate at home:—when
Papa was a-hunting, he used to come a suitoring, and make speeches to me out
of books.—No body knows what a mort of fine things he
used to say to me;—and call me Venis, and Jubah, and Dinah!
Dor.
And pray, fair Lady, how did you answer him?
Let.
Why, I used to say, Look you, Mr. Curate, don't think to come over me with
your flim-flams; for a better Man than ever trod in your shoes, is coming
over-sea to marry me;—but, ifags! I begin to think I was out.—Parson Dobbins
was the sprightfuller man of the two.
Dor.
Surely this cannot be Miss Hardy!
Let.
Laws! why, don't you know me! You saw me to-day—but I was daunted before my
Father, and the Lawyer, and all them, and did not care to speak out:—so, may
be, you thought I couldn't;—but I can talk as fast as any body, when I know
folks a little:—and now I have shewn my parts, I hope you'll like me
better.
Har.
I foresee this won't do!—Mr. Doricourt, may be you take my Daughter for a
Fool; but you are mistaken: she's a sensible Girl, as any in England.
Dor.
I am convinced she has a very uncommon understanding, Sir. [Aside.]I did not think he had been such an
Ass.
Let.
My Father will undo the whole.—Laws! Papa, how can you think he can take me
for a fool! when every body knows I beat the Potecary at Conundrums last
Christmas-time? and didn't I make a string of names, all in riddles, for the
Lady's Diary?—There was a little River, and a great House; that was
Newcastle.—There was what a Lamb says, and three Letters; that was Ba, and k-e-r, ker,
Baker.—There was—
Hardy.
Don't stand ba-a-ing there. You'll make me mad in a moment!—I tell you, Sir,
that for all that, she's dev'lish sensible.
Doric.
Sir, I give all possible credit to your assertions.
Letit.
Laws! Papa, do come along. If you stand watching, how can my Sweetheart
break his mind, and tell me how he admires me?
Doric.
That would be difficult, indeed, Madam.
Hardy.
I tell you, Letty, I'll have no more of this.——I see well enough——
Letit.
Laws! don't snub me before my Husband—that is to be.—You'll teach him to
snub me too,—and I believe, by his looks, he'd like to begin now.—So, let us
go, Cousin; you may tell the Gentleman what a genus I have—how I can cut
Watch-papers, and work Cat-gut; make Quadrille-baskets with Pins, and take
Profiles in Shade; ay, as well as the Lady at No. 62, South Moulton-street,
Grosvenor-square.
Mrs. Rack.
What think you of my painting, now?
Doric.
Oh, mere water-colours, Madam! The Lady has caricatured your picture.
Mrs. Rack.
And how does she strike you on the whole?
Doric.
Like a good Design, spoiled by the incapacity of the Artist. Her faults are
evidently the result of her Father's weak indulgence. I observed an
expression in her eye, that seemed to satyrise the folly of her lips.
Mrs. Rack.
But at her age, when Education is fixed, and Manner becomes Nature—hopes of
improvement—
Doric.
Would be as rational, as hopes of Gold from a Jugler's Crucible.—Doricourt's
Wife must be incapable of improvement; but it must be because she's got
beyond it.
Mrs. Rack.
I am pleased your misfortune sits no heavier.
Doric.
Your pardon, Madam; so mercurial was the hour in which I was born, that
misfortunes always go plump to the bottom of my heart, like a pebble in
water, and leave the surface unruffled.—I shall certainly set off for Bath,
or the other world, to-night;—but whether I shall use a chaise with four
swift coursers, or go off in a 40tangent—from the aperture of a pistol,
deserves consideration; so I make my adieus.
(Going.)
Mrs. Rack.
Oh, but I intreat you, postpone your journey 'till to-morrow; determine on
which you will—you must be this night at the Masquerade.
Doric.
Masquerade!
Mrs. Rack.
Why not?—If you resolve to visit the other world, you may as well take one
night's pleasure first in this, you know.
Doric.
Faith, that's very true; Ladies are the best Philosophers, after all. Expect
me at the Masquerade.
Mrs. Rack.
He's a charming Fellow!—I think Letitia sha'n't have him. (Going.)
Hardy.
What's he gone?
Mrs. Rack.
Yes; and I am glad he is. You would have ruined us!—Now, I beg, Mr. Hardy,
you won't interfere in this business; it is a little out of your way.
Hardy.
Hang me, if I don't though. I foresee very clearly what will be the end of
it, if I leave ye to yourselves; so, I'll e'en follow him to the Masquerade,
and tell him all about it: Let me see.—What shall my dress be? A Great
Mogul? No.—A Grenadier? No;—no, that, I foresee, would make a laugh. Hang
me, if I don't send to my favourite little Quick, and borrow his Jew Isaac's
dress:—I know the Dog likes a glass of good wine; so I'll give him a bottle
of my Forty-eight, and he shall teach me. Aye, that's it—I'll be Cunning
Little Isaac! If they complain of my want of wit, I'll tell 'em the cursed
Duenna wears the breeches, and has spoilt my parts.
Court.
You shan't go yet:—Another catch, and another bottle!
First Gent.
May I be a bottle, and an empty bottle, if you catch me at that!—Why, I am
going to the Masquerade. Jack——, you know who I mean, is to meet me, and we
are to have a leap at the new lustres.
Second Gent.
And I am going too—a Harlequin—(hiccups) Am not I in a pretty pickle to make
Harlequinades?——And Tony, here—he is going in the disguise—in the
disguise—of a Gentleman!
First Gent.
We are all very disguised; so bid them draw up—D'ye hear!
Sav.
Thy skull, Courtall, is a Lady's thimble:—no, an egg-shell.
Court.
Nay, then you are gone too; you never aspire to similes, but in your
cups.
Sav.
No, no; I am steady enough—but the fumes of the wine pass directly through
thy egg-shell, and leave thy brain as cool as——Hey! I am quite sober; my
similes fail me.
Court.
Then we'll sit down here, and have one sober bottle.—Bring a table and
glasses.
Sav.
I'll not swallow another drop; no, though the juice should be the true
Falernian.
Court.
By the bright eyes of her you love, you shall drink her health.
Sav.
Ah! (sitting down.) Her I loved is
gone (sighing.)—She's married!
Court.
Then bless your stars you are not her Husband! 42I would be Husband to no
Woman in Europe, who was not dev'lish rich, and dev'lish ugly.
Sav.
Wherefore ugly?
Court.
Because she could not have the conscience to exact those attentions that a
Pretty Wife expects; or, if she should, her resentments would be perfectly
easy to me, nobody would undertake to revenge her cause.
Sav.
Thou art a most licentious fellow!
Court.
I should hate my own wife, that's certain; but I have a warm heart for those
of other people; and so here's to the prettiest Wife in England—Lady Frances
Touchwood.
Sav.
Lady Frances Touchwood! I rise to drink her. (drinks) How the devil came Lady Frances in your head? I
never knew you give a Woman of Chastity before.
Court.
That's odd, for you have heard me give half the Women of Fashion in
England.—But, pray now, what do you take a Woman of Chastity to be?
(sneeringly.)
Sav.
Such a woman as Lady Frances Touchwood, Sir.
Court.
Oh, you are grave, Sir; I remember you was an Adorer of her's—Why didn't you
marry her?
Sav.
I had not the arrogance to look so high—Had my fortune been worthy of her,
she should not have been ignorant of my admiration.
Court.
Precious fellow! What, I suppose you would not dare tell her now that you
admire her?
Sav.
No, nor you.
Court.
By the Lord, I have told her so.
Sav.
Have! Impossible!
Court.
Ha! ha! ha!—Is it so?
Sav.
How did she receive the declaration?
Court.
Why, in the old way; blushed, and frowned, and said she was married.
Sav.
What amazing things thou art capable of! I 43could more easily have taken the
Pope by the beard, than prophaned her ears with such a declaration.
Court.
I shall meet her at Lady Brilliant's to-night, where I shall repeat it; and
I'll lay my life, under a mask, she'll hear it all without blush, or
frown.
Sav.
(rising) 'Tis false, Sir!—She
won't.
Court.
She will! (rising) Nay, I'd venture to
lay a round sum, that I prevail on her to go out with me——only to taste the
fresh air, I mean.
Sav.
Preposterous vanity! From this moment I suspect that half the victories you
have boasted, are false and slanderous, as your pretended influence with
Lady Frances.
Court.
Pretended!—How should such a Fellow as you, now, who never soared beyond a
cherry-cheeked Daughter of a Ploughman in Norfolk, judge of the influence of
a Man of my Figure and Habits? I could shew thee a list, in which there are
names to shake thy faith in the whole sex!—and, to that list I have no doubt
of adding the name of Lady——
Sav.
Hold, Sir! My ears cannot bear the profanation;—you cannot—dare not approach
her!—For your soul you dare not mention Love to her! Her look would freeze
the word, whilst it hovered on thy licentious lips!
Court.
Whu! whu! Well, we shall see—this evening, by Jupiter, the trial shall be
made—if I fail—I fail.
Sav.
I think thou darest not!—But my life, my honour on her purity.
Court.
Hot-headed fool! But since he has brought it to this point, by Gad I'll try
what can be done with her Ladyship (musing)—(rings) She's
frost-work, and the prejudices of education yet strong: ergo, passionate professions will only inflame her pride, and put
her on her guard.—For other arts then! 44 Enter
Dick.Dick, do you know any of the servants at Sir George
Touchwood's?
Dick.
Yes, Sir; I knows the Groom, and one of the House-maids: for the
matter-o'-that, she's my own Cousin; and it was my Mother that holp'd her to
the place.
Court.
Do you know Lady Frances's Maid?
Dick.
I can't say as how I know she.
Court.
Do you know Sir George's Valet?
Dick.
No, Sir; but Sally is very thick with Mr. Gibson, Sir George's
Gentleman.
Court.
Then go there directly, and employ Sally to discover whether her Master goes
to Lady Brilliant's this evening; and, if he does, the name of the shop that
sold his Habit.
Dick.
Yes, Sir.
Court.
Be exact in your intelligence, and come to me at Boodle's: [Exit Dick.]If I cannot otherwise succeed,
I'll beguile her as Jove did Alcmena, in the shape of her Husband. The
possession of so fine a Woman—the triumph over Saville, are each a
sufficient motive; and united, they shall be resistless.
Sav.
The air has recover'd me! What have I been doing! Perhaps my petulance may
be the cause of her ruin, whose honour I
asserted:—his vanity is piqued;—and where Women are concerned, Courtall can
be a villain. Enter Dick. Bows, and passes hastily.
Ha! that's his Servant!——Dick!
Dick.
[returning]Sir.
Sav.
Where are you going, Dick?
Dick.
Going! I am going, Sir, where my Master sent me.
Sav.
Well answer'd;—but I have a particular reason for my enquiry, and you must
tell me.
Dick.
Why then, Sir, I am going to call upon a Cousin of mine, that lives at Sir
George Touchwood's.
Sav.
Very well.—There, [gives him money]you
must make your Cousin drink my health.—What are you going about?
Dick.
Why, Sir, I believe 'tis no harm, or elseways I am sure I would not blab.—I
am only going to ax if Sir George goes to the Masquerade to-night, and what
Dress he wears.
Sav.
Enough! Now, Dick, if you will call at my lodgings in your way back, and
acquaint me with your Cousin's intelligence, I'll double the trifle I have
given you.
Dick.
Bless your honour, I'll call——never fear.
Sav.
Surely the occasion may justify the means:—'tis doubly my duty to be Lady
Frances's Protector. Courtall, I see, is planning an artful scheme; but
Saville shall out-plot him.
Vill.
For shame, Sir George! you have left Lady Frances in tears.—How can you
afflict her?
Sir Geo.
'Tis I that am afflicted;—my dream of happiness is over.—Lady Frances and I
are disunited.
Vill.
The Devil! Why, you have been in town but ten days: she can have made no
acquaintance for a Commons affair yet.
Sir Geo.
Pho! 'tis our minds that are disunited: she no longer places her whole
delight in me; she has yielded herself up to the world!
Vill.
Yielded herself up to the World! Why did you not bring her to town in a
Cage? Then she might have taken a peep at the World!—But, after all, what
has the World done? A twelvemonth since you was the gayest fellow in it:—If
any body ask'd who dresses best?—Sir George Touchwood.—Who is the most
gallant Man? Sir George Touchwood.—Who is the most wedded to Amusement and
Dissipation? Sir George Touchwood.—And now Sir George is metamorphosed into
a sour Censor; and talks of Fashionable Life with as much bitterness, as the
old crabbed Fellow in Rome.
Sir Geo.
The moment I became possessed of such a jewel as Lady Frances, every thing
wore a different complexion: that Society in which I liv'd with so much éclat, became the object of my terror; and I think of
the manners of Polite Life, as I do of the atmosphere of a Pest-house.—My
Wife is already infected; she was set upon this morning by Maids, Widows,
and Bachelors, who carried her off in triumph, in spite of my
displeasure.
Vill.
Aye, to be sure; there would have been no triumph in the case, if you had
not oppos'd it:—but I have heard the whole story from Mrs. Racket; and I
assure you, Lady Frances didn't enjoy the morning at all;—she wish'd for you
fifty times.
Sir Geo.
Indeed! Are you sure of that?
Vill.
Perfectly sure.
Sir Geo.
I wish I had known it:——my uneasiness at dinner was occasioned by very
different ideas.
Vill.
Here then she comes, to receive your apology; but if she is true Woman, her
displeasure will rise in proportion to your contrition;—and till you grow
careless about her pardon, she won't grant it:——however, I'll leave
you.——Matrimonial Duets are seldom set in the style I like.
Sir Geo.
The sweet sorrow that glitters in these eyes, I 47cannot bear (embracing her). Look chearfully, you
Rogue.
Lady Fran.
I cannot look otherwise, if you are pleas'd with me.
Sir Geo.
Well, Fanny, to-day you made your entrée in the
Fashionable World; tell me honestly the impressions you receiv'd.
Lady Fran.
Indeed, Sir George, I was so hurried from place to place, that I had not
time to find out what my impressions were.
Sir Geo.
That's the very spirit of the life you have chosen.
Lady Fran.
Every body about me seem'd happy—but every body seem'd in a hurry to be
happy somewhere else.
Sir Geo.
And you like this?
Lady Fran.
One must like what the rest of the World likes.
Sir Geo.
Pernicious maxim!
Lady Fran.
But, my dear Sir George, you have not promis'd to go with me to the
Masquerade.
Sir Geo.
'Twould be a shocking indecorum to be seen together, you know.
Lady Fran.
Oh, no; I ask'd Mrs. Racket, and she told me we might be seen together at
the Masquerade—without being laugh'd at.
Sir Geo.
Really?
Lady Fran.
Indeed, to tell you the truth, I could wish it was the fashion for married
people to be inseparable; for I have more heart-felt satisfaction in fifteen
minutes with you at my side, than fifteen days of amusement could give me
without you.
Sir Geo.
My sweet Creature! How that confession charms me!—Let us begin the
Fashion.
Lady Fran.
O, impossible! We should not gain a single proselyte; and you can't conceive
what spiteful things would be said of us.—At Kensington to-day a Lady met
us, whom we saw at Court, when we were presented; she 48lifted up her hands in
amazement!——Bless me! said she to her companion, here's Lady Francis without
Sir Hurlo Thrumbo!—My dear Mrs. Racket, consider what an important charge
you have! for Heaven's sake take her home again, or some Enchanter on a
flying Dragon will descend and carry her off.—Oh, said another, I dare say
Lady Frances has a clue at her heel, like the peerless Rosamond:—her tender
swain would never have trusted her so far without such a precaution.
Sir Geo.
Heav'n and Earth!——How shall Innocence preserve its lustre amidst manners so
corrupt!—My dear Fanny, I feel a sentiment for thee at this moment, tenderer
than Love—more animated than Passion.——I could weep over that purity,
expos'd to the sullying breath of Fashion, and the Ton, in whose latitudinary vortex Chastity herself can scarcely
move unspotted.
Gib.
Your Honour talk'd, I thought, something about going to the Masquerade?
Sir Geo.
Well.
Gib.
Isn't it?—hasn't your Honour?—I thought your Honour had forgot to order a
Dress.
Lady Fran.
Well consider'd, Gibson.—Come, will you be Jew, Turk, or Heretic; a Chinese
Emperor, or a Ballad-Singer; a Rake, or a Watchman?
Sir Geo.
Oh, neither, my Love; I can't take the trouble to support a character.
Lady Fran.
You'll wear a Domino then:—I saw a pink Domino trimm'd with blue at the shop
where I bought my Habit.—Would you like it?
Sir Geo.
Any thing, any thing.
Lady Fran.
Then go about it directly, Gibson.——A pink Domino trimm'd with blue, and a
Hat of the same—Come, you have not seen my Dress yet—it is most beautiful; I
long to have it on.
Gib.
A pink Domino trimm'd with blue, and a Hat of the same——What the devil can
it signify to Sally now what his Dress is to be?—Surely the Slut has not
made an assignation to meet her Master!
Mask.
Hey! Tom Fool! what business have you here?
Foll.
What, Sir! Affront a Prince in his own Dominions!
Mountebank.
Who'll buy my Nostrums? Who'll buy my Nostrums?
Mask.
What are they? (They all come round
him.)
Mount.
Different sorts, and for different customers. Here's a Liquor for Ladies—it
expels the rage of Gaming and Gallantry; Here's a Pill for Members of
Parliament—good to settle Consciences. Here's an Eye-Water for Jealous
Husbands—it thickens the Visual Membrane, through which they see too
clearly. Here's a Decoction for the Clergy—it never sits easy, if the
patient has more than One Living. Here's a Draught for Lawyers—a great
promoter of Modesty. Here's a Powder for Projectors—'twill rectify the fumes
of an Empty Stomach, and dissipate their airy castles.
Mask.
Have you a Nostrum that can give patience to Young Heirs, whose Uncles and
Fathers are stout and healthy?
Mount.
Yes; and I have an Infusion for Creditors—it gives resignation and humility,
when Fine Gentlemen break their promises, or plead their privilege.
Mask.
Come along:—I'll find you customers for your whole cargo.
Hardy.
Why, isn't it a shame to see so many stout, well-built Young Fellows,
masquerading, and cutting Couranta's here at
home—instead of making the French cut capers to the tune of your Cannon—or
sweating the Spaniards with an English Fandango?—I
foresee the end of all this.
Mask.
Why, thou little testy Israelite! back to Duke's Place; and preach your
tribe into a subscription for the good of the land on whose milk and honey
ye fatten.—Where are your Joshuas and your Gideons, aye? What! all dwindled
into Stockbrokers, Pedlars, and Rag-Men?
Har.
No, not all. Some of us turn Christians, and by degrees grow into all the
privileges of Englishmen! In the second generation we are Patriots, Rebels,
Courtiers, and Husbands.
3d Mask.
What, my little Isaac!——How the Devil came you here? Where's your old
Margaret?
Har.
Oh, I have got rid of her.
3d Mask.
How?
Har.
Why, I persuaded a young Irishman that she was a blooming plump Beauty of
eighteen; so they made an Elopement, ha! ha! ha! and she is now the Toast of
Tipperary. Ha! there's Cousin Racket and her Party; they sha'n't know
me.
Mrs. Rack.
Look at this dumpling Jew; he must be a Levïte by his figure. You have
surely practised the flesh-hook a long time, friend, to have raised that
goodly presence.
Har.
About as long, my brisk Widow, as you have been angling for a second
Husband; but my hook has been better baited than your's.—You have only
caught Gudgeons, I see.
Flut.
Oh! this is one of the Geniuses they hire to entertain the Company with
their accidental sallies.——Let me look at your
Common-Place Book, friend.—I want a few good things.
Har.
I'd oblige you, with all my heart; but you'll spoil them in repeating—or, if
you shou'd not, they'll gain you no reputation—for no body will believe they
are your own.
Sir Geo.
He knows ye, Flutter;—the little Gentleman fancies himself a Wit, I see.
Har.
There's no depending on what you see—the eyes of the
jealous are not to be trusted.—Look to your Lady.
Flut.
He knows ye, Sir George.
Sir Geo.
What! am I the Town-talk?
Har.
I can neither see Doricourt nor Letty.—I must find them out.
Mrs. Rack.
Well, Lady Frances, is not all this charming? Could you have conceived such
a brilliant assemblage of objects?
Lady Fran.
Delightful! The days of enchantment are restor'd; the columns glow with
Sapphires and Rubies. Emperors and Fairies, Beauties and Dwarfs, meet me at
every step.
Sir Geo.
How lively are first impressions on sensible minds! In four hours, vapidity
and languor will take place of that exquisite sense of joy, which flutters
your little heart.
Mrs. Rack.
What an inhuman creature! Fate has not allow'd us these sensations above ten
times in our lives; and would you have us shorten them by anticipation?
Flut.
O Lord! your Wise Men are the greatest Fools upon earth:—they reason about
their enjoyments, and analyse their pleasures, whilst the essence escapes.
Look, Lady Frances: D'ye see that Figure strutting in the dress of an
Emperor? His Father retails Oranges in Botolph Lane. That Gypsey is a Maid
of Honour, and that Rag-man a Physician.
Lady Fran.
Why, you know every body.
Flut.
Oh, every creature.—A Mask is nothing at all to me.—I can give you the
history of half the people here. In the next apartment there's a whole
family, who, to my knowledge, have lived on Water-Cresses this month, to
make a figure here to-night;—but, to make up for that, they'll cram their
pockets with cold Ducks and Chickens, for a Carnival to-morrow.
Lady Fran.
Oh, I should like to see this provident Family.
Flut.
Honour me with your arm.
Mrs. Rack.
Come, Sir George, you shall be my Beau.—We'll make
the tour of the rooms, and meet them. Oh! your
pardon, you must follow Lady Frances; or the wit and fine parts of Mr.
Flutter may drive you out of her head. Ha! ha! ha!
Sir Geo.
I was going to follow her, and now I dare not. How can I be such a fool as
to be govern'd by the fear of that ridicule which I
despise!
Doric.
Ha! my Lord!—I thought you had been engaged at Westminster on this important
night.
Mask.
So I am—I slipt out as soon as Lord Trope got upon his legs; I can badinage here an hour or two, and be back again before
he is down.——There's a fine Figure! I'll address her. Enter Letitia. Charity, fair Lady! Charity
for a poor Pilgrim.
Letit.
Charity! If you mean my prayers, Heaven grant thee Wit, Pilgrim.
Mask.
That blessing would do from a Devotee: from you I ask other charities;—such
charities as Beauty should bestow—soft Looks—sweet Words—and kind
Wishes.
Letit.
Alas! I am bankrupt of these, and forced to turn Beggar myself.——There he
is!—how shall I catch his attention?
Mask.
Will you grant me no favour?
Letit.
Yes, one—I'll make you my Partner—not for life, but through the soft mazes
of a minuet.—Dare you dance?
Doric.
Some spirit in that.
Mask.
I dare do any thing you command.
Doric.
Do you know her, my Lord?
Mask.
No: Such a woman as that, would formerly have been known in any disguise;
but Beauty is now common—Venus seems to have given her Cestus to the whole sex.
Doric.
(during the Minuet) She dances
divinely. (When ended)— Somebody must
know her! Let us enquire who she is.
Sav.
I have seen Courtall in Sir George's habit, though he endeavoured to keep
himself conceal'd. Go, and seat yourself in the tea-room, and on no account
discover your face:—remember too, Kitty, that the Woman you are to personate
is a Woman of Virtue.
Kitty.
I am afraid I shall find that a difficult character: indeed I believe it is
seldom kept up through a whole Masquerade.
Sav.
Of that you can be no judge——Follow my directions,
and you shall be rewarded.
Dor.
Ha! Saville! Did you see a Lady dance just now?
Sav.
No.
Dor.
Very odd. No body knows her.
Sav.
Where is Miss Hardy?
Dor.
Cutting Watch-papers, and making Conundrums, I suppose.
Sav.
What do you mean?
Dor.
Faith, I hardly know. She's not here, however, Mrs. Racket tells me.—I ask'd
no further.
Sav.
Your indifference seems increas'd.
Dor.
Quite the reverse; 'tis advanced thirty-two degrees towards hatred.
Sav.
You are jesting?
Dor.
Then it must be with a very ill grace, my dear Saville; for I never felt so
seriously: Do you know the creature's almost an Ideot?
Sav.
What!
Dor.
An Ideot. What the devil shall I do with her? Egad! I think I'll feign
myself mad—and then Hardy will propose to cancel the engagements.
Sav.
An excellent expedient. I must leave you; you are mysterious, and I can't
stay to unravel ye.—I came here to watch over Innocence and Beauty.
Dor.
The Guardian of Innocence and Beauty at three and twenty! Is there not a
cloven foot under that black gown, Saville?
Sav.
No, faith. Courtall is here on a most detestable design.—I found means to
get a knowledge of the Lady's dress, and have brought a girl to personate
her, whose 55reputation cannot be hurt.—You shall know the result to-morrow.
Adieu.
Dor.
(musing) Yes, I think that will
do.—I'll feign myself mad, see the Doctor to pronounce me incurable, and
when the parchments are destroyed——
Dor.
By Heaven, the same sweet creature!
Let.
You have chosen an odd situation for study. Fashion and Taste preside in
this spot:—they throw their spells around you:—ten thousand delights spring
up at their command;—and you, a Stoic—a being without senses, are wrapt in
reflection.
Dor.
And you, the most charming being in the world, awake me to admiration. Did
you come from the Stars?
Let.
Yes, and I shall reascend in a moment.
Dor.
Pray shew me your face before you go.
Let.
Beware of imprudent curiosity; it lost Paradise.
Dor.
Eve's curiosity was rais'd by the Devil;—'tis an Angel tempts mine.—So your
allusion is not in point.
Let.
But why would you see my face?
Dor.
To fall in love with it.
Let.
And what then?
Dor.
Why, then—Aye, curse it! there's the rub.
Let.
Your Mistress will be angry;—but, perhaps, you have no Mistress?
Dor.
Yes, yes; and a sweet one it is!
Let.
What! is she old?
Dor.
No.
Let.
Ugly?
Dor.
No.
Let.
What then?
Dor.
Pho! don't talk about her; but shew me your face.
Let.
My vanity forbids it;—'twould frighten you.
Dor.
Impossible! Your Shape is graceful, your Air bewitching, your Bosom
transparent, and your Chin would tempt me to kiss it, if I did not see a
pouting red Lip above it, that demands——
Let.
You grow too free.
Dor.
Shew me your face then—only half a glance.
Let.
Not for worlds.
Dor.
What! you will have a little gentle force?
Let.
I am gone for ever!
Dor.
'Tis false;—I'll follow to the end.
Lady Fran.
How can you be thus interested for a stranger?
Sav.
Goodness will ever interest; its home is Heaven: on earth 'tis but a
Wanderer. Imprudent Lady! why have you left the side of your Protector?
Where is your Husband?
Flut.
Why, what's that to him?
Lady Fran.
Surely it can't be merely his habit;——there's something in him that awes
me.
Flut.
Pho! 'tis only his grey beard.—I know him; he keeps a Lottery-office on
Cornhill.
Sav.
My province, as an Enchanter, lays open every secret to me. Lady! there are
dangers abroad—Beware!
Lady Fran.
'Tis very odd; his manner has made me tremble. Let us seek Sir George.
Flut.
He is coming towards us.
Court.
There she is! If I can but disengage her from that fool Flutter—crown me, ye
Schemers, with immortal wreaths.
Lady Fran.
O my dear Sir George! I rejoice to meet you—an old Conjuror has been
frightening me with his Prophecies.—Where's Mrs. Racket?
Court.
In the dancing-room.—I promis'd to send you to her, Mr. Flutter.
Flut.
Ah! she wants me to dance. With all my heart.
Lady Fran.
Why do you keep on your mask?—'tis too warm.
Court.
'Tis very warm—I want air—let us go.
Lady Fran.
You seem quite agitated.——Sha'n't we bid our company adieu?
Court.
No, no;—there's no time for forms. I'll just give directions to the
carriage, and be with you in a moment. (Going,
steps back.) Put on your mask; I have a particular reason
for it.
Sav.
Now, Kitty, you know your lesson. Lady Frances, (takes off his mask) let me lead you to your Husband.
Lady Fran.
Heavens! is Mr. Saville the Conjuror? Sir George is just stept to the door
to give directions.—We are going home immediately.
Sav.
No, Madam, you are deceiv'd: Sir George is this way.
Lady Fran.
This is astonishing!
Sav.
Be not alarm'd: you have escap'd a snare, and shall be in safety in a
moment.
Court.
Now!
Kitty.
'Tis pity to go so soon.
Court.
Perhaps I may bring you back, my Angel——but go now, you must.
Dor.
By Heavens! I never was charm'd till now.—English beauty—French
vivacity—wit—elegance. Your name, my Angel!—tell me your name, though you
persist in concealing your face.
Let.
My name has a spell in it.
Dor.
I thought so; it must be Charming.
Let.
But if reveal'd, the charm is broke.
Dor.
I'll answer for its force.
Let.
Suppose it Harriet, or Charlotte, or Maria, or—
Dor.
Hang Harriet, and Charlotte, and Maria—the name your Father gave ye!
Let.
That can't be worth knowing, 'tis so transient a thing.
Dor.
How, transient?
Let.
Heav'n forbid my name should be lasting till I am
married.
Dor.
Married! The chains of Matrimony are too heavy and vulgar for such a spirit
as yours.——The flowery wreaths of Cupid are the only bands you should
wear.
Let.
They are the lightest, I believe: but 'tis possible to wear those of
Marriage gracefully.——Throw 'em loosely round, and twist 'em in a
True-Lover's Knot for the Bosom.
Dor.
An Angel! But what will you be when a Wife?
Let.
A Woman.—If my Husband should prove a Churl, 59a Fool, or a Tyrant, I'd break
his heart, ruin his fortune, elope with the first pretty Fellow that ask'd
me—and return the contempt of the world with scorn, whilst my feelings
prey'd upon my life.
Dor.
Amazing! [Aside]What if you lov'd him,
and he were worthy of your love?
Let.
Why, then I'd be any thing—and all!—Grave, gay, capricious—the soul of whim,
the spirit of variety—live with him in the eye of fashion, or in the shade
of retirement——change my country, my sex,—feast with him in an Esquimaux
hut, or a Persian pavilion—join him in the victorious war-dance on the
borders of Lake Ontario, or sleep to the soft breathings of the flute in the
cinnamon groves of Ceylon—dig with him in the mines of Golconda, or enter
the dangerous precincts of the Mogul's Seraglo——cheat him of his wishes, and
overturn his empire to restore the Husband of my Heart to the blessings of
Liberty and Love.
Dor.
Delightful wildness! Oh, to catch thee, and hold thee for ever in this
little cage!
Let.
Hold, Sir! Though Cupid must give the bait that tempts me to the snare, 'tis
Hymen must spread the net to catch me.
Dor.
'Tis in vain to assume airs of coldness——Fate has ordain'd you mine.
Let.
How do you know?
Dor.
I feel it here. I never met with a Woman so perfectly
to my taste; and I won't believe it form'd you so, on purpose to tantalize
me.
Let.
This moment is worth a whole existence.
Dor.
Come, shew me your face, and rivet my chains.
Let.
To-morrow you shall be satisfied.
Dor.
To-morrow! and not to-night?
Let.
No.
Dor.
Where then shall I wait on you to-morrow?——Where see you?
Let.
You shall see me in an hour when you least expect me.
Dor.
Why all this mystery?
Let.
I like to be mysterious. At present be content to know that I am a Woman of
Family and Fortune. Adieu!
Har.
Adieu! Then I am come at the fag end.
Dor.
Let me see you to your carriage.
Let.
As you value knowing me, stir not a step. If I am follow'd, you never see me
more.
Dor.
Barbarous Creature! She's gone! What, and is this really serious?—am I in
love?——Pho! it can't be——O Flutter! do you know that charming Creature?
Flut.
What charming Creature? I pass'd a thousand.
Dor.
She went out at that door, as you enter'd.
Flut.
Oh, yes;—I know her very well.
Dor.
Do you, my dear Fellow? Who?
Flut.
She's kept by Lord George Jennett.
Har.
Impudent Scoundrel!
Dor.
Kept!!!
Flut.
Yes; Colonel Gorget had her first;—then Mr. Loveill;—then—I forget exactly
how many; and at last she's Lord George's.
Dor.
I'll murder Gorget, poison Lord George, and shoot myself.
Har.
Now's the time, I see, to clear up the whole. Mr. Doricourt!—I say—Flutter
was mistaken; I know who you are in love with.
Dor.
A strange rencontre! Who?
Har.
My Letty.
Dor.
Oh! I understand your rebuke;—'tis too soon, Sir, to assume the
Father-in-law.
Har.
Zounds! what do you mean by that? I tell you that the Lady you admire, is
Letitia Hardy.
Dor.
I am glad you are so well satisfied with the state of
my heart.—I wish I was.
Har.
Stop a moment.—Stop, I say! What, you won't? Very well—if I don't play you a
trick for this, may I never be a Grand-father! I'll plot with Letty now, and not against her; aye, hang me if I don't.
There's something in my head, that shall tingle in his heart.—He shall have
a lecture upon impatience, that I foresee he'll be the better for as long as
he lives.
Sav.
Flutter, come with us; we're going to raise a laugh at Courtall's.
Flut.
With all my heart. "Live to Live," was my Father's motto: "Live to Laugh,"
is mine.
Kitty.
Where have you brought me, Sir George? This is not our home.
Court.
'Tis my home, beautiful Lady Frances! [Kneels, and takes off his Mask.]Oh, forgive
the ardency of my passion, which has compell'd me to deceive you.
Kitty.
Mr. Courtall! what will become of me?
Court.
Oh, say but that you pardon the Wretch who adores you. Did you but know the
agonizing tortures of my heart, since I had the felicity of conversing with
you this morning——or the despair that now—
Kitty.
Oh! I'm undone!
Court.
Zounds! my dear Lady Frances. I am not at home. Rascal! do you hear?——Let no
body in; I am not at home.
Serv.
[Without]Sir, I told the Gentlemen
so.
Court.
Eternal curses! they are coming up. Step into this room, adorable Creature!
one moment; I'll throw them out of the window if
they stay three.
Flut.
O Gemini! beg the Petticoat's pardon.—Just saw a corner of it.
1st Mask.
No wonder admittance was so difficult. I thought you took us for
Bailiffs.
Court.
Upon my soul, I am devilish glad to see you—but you perceive how I am
circumstanc'd. Excuse me at this moment.
2d Mask.
Tell us who 'tis then.
Court.
Oh, fie!
Flut.
We won't blab.
Court.
I can't, upon honour.—Thus far—She's a Woman of the first Character and
Rank. Saville, [takes him aside]have I
influence, or have I not?
Sav.
Why, sure, you do not insinuate—
Court.
No, not insinuate, but swear, that she's now in my bed-chamber:—by gad, I
don't deceive you.—There's Generalship, you Rogue! Such an humble, distant,
sighing Fellow as thou art, at the end of a six-months siege, would have boasted of a kiss from her glove.——I only give the
signal, and—pop!—she's in my arms.
Sav.
What, Lady Fran——
Court.
Hush! You shall see her name to-morrow morning in red letters at the end of
my list. Gentlemen, you must excuse me now. Come and drink chocolate at
twelve, but—
Sav.
Aye, let us go, out of respect to the Lady:—'tis a Person of Rank.
Flut.
Is it?—Then I'll have a peep at her. (Runs to the
door in the back Scene.)
Court.
This is too much, Sir. (Trying to prevent
him.)
1st Mask.
By Jupiter, we'll all have a peep.
Court.
Gentlemen, consider—for Heaven's sake——a Lady of Quality. What will be the
consequences?
Flut.
The consequences!—Why, you'll have your throat cut, that's all—but I'll
write your Elegy. So, 63now for the door! [Part open
the door, whilst the rest hold Courtall.]——Beg your
Ladyship's pardon, whoever you are: [Leads her
out.]Emerge from darkness like the glorious Sun, and
bless the wond'ring circle with your charms.
Sav.
Kitty Willis! ha! ha! ha!
Omnes.
Kitty Willis! ha! ha! ha! Kitty Willis!
1st Mask.
Why, what a Fellow you are, Courtall, to attempt imposing on your friends in
this manner! A Lady of Quality—an Earl's Daughter—Your Ladyship's most
obedient.——Ha! ha! ha!
Sav.
Courtall, have you influence, or have you not?
Flut.
The Man's moon-struck.
Court.
Hell, and ten thousand Furies, seize you all together!
Kitty.
What! me, too, Mr. Courtall? me, whom you have knelt to, prayed to, and
adored?
Flut.
That's right, Kitty; give him a little more.
Court.
Disappointed and laugh'd at!——
Sav.
Laugh'd at and despis'd. I have fullfilled my design, which was to expose
your villainy, and laugh at your presumption. Adieu, Sir! Remember how you
again boast of your influence with Women of Rank; and, when you next want
amusement, dare not to look up to the virtuous and to the noble for a
Companion.
Flut.
And, Courtall, before you carry a Lady into your bed-chamber again, look
under her mask, d'ye hear?
Court.
There's no bearing this! I'll set off for Paris directly.
Villers.
Whimsical enough! Dying for her, and hates her; believes her a Fool, and a
Woman of brilliant Understanding!
Har.
As true as you are alive;—but when I went up to him last night, at the
Pantheon, out of downright good-nature to explain things——my Gentleman whips
round upon his heel, and snapt me as short as if I had been a beggar-woman
with six children, and he Overseer of the Parish.
Vill.
Here comes the Wonder-worker—[Enter
Letitia.] Here comes the Enchantress, who can go to Masquerades,
and sing and dance, and talk a Man out of his wits!——But pray, have we
Morning Masquerades?
Let.
Oh, no—but I am so enamour'd of this all-conquering Habit, that I could not
resist putting it on, the moment I had breakfasted. I shall wear it on the
day I am married, and then lay it by in spices—like the miraculous Robes of
St. Bridget.
Vill.
That's as most Brides do. The charms that helped to catch the Husband, are
generally laid by, one after another, 'till the Lady
grows a downright Wife, and then runs crying to her Mother, because she has
transform'd her Lover into a downright Husband.
Har.
Listen to me.—I ha'n't slept to-night, for thinking of plots to plague
Doricourt;—and they drove one another out of my head so quick, that I was as
giddy as a goose, and could make nothing of 'em.——I wish to goodness you
could contrive something.
Vill.
Contrive to plague him! Nothing so easy. Don't undeceive him, Madam, 'till
he is your Husband. Marry him whilst he possesses the sentiments you
labour'd to give him of Miss Hardy—and when you are his Wife——
Let.
Oh, Heavens! I see the whole—that's the very thing. My dear Mr. Villers, you
are the divinest Man.
Vill.
Don't make love to me, Hussey.
Mrs. Rack.
No, pray don't—for I design to have Villers myself in about six
years.—There's an oddity in him that pleases me.—He holds Women in contempt;
and I should like to have an opportunity of breaking his heart for that.
Vill.
And when I am heartily tired of life, I know no Woman whom I would with more
pleasure make my Executioner.
Har.
It cannot be——I foresee it will be impossible to bring it about. You know
the wedding wasn't to take place this week or more—and Letty will never be
able to play the Fool so long.
Vill.
The knot shall be tied to-night.——I have it all here, (pointing to his forehead:) the licence is
ready. Feign yourself ill, send for Doricourt, and tell him you can't go out
of the world in peace, except you see the ceremony performed.
Har.
I feign myself ill! I could as soon feign myself a Roman Ambassador.——I was
never ill in my life, but with the tooth-ach—when Letty's Mother was a
breeding I had all the qualms.
Vill.
Oh, I have no fears for you.—But what says Miss
Hardy? Are you willing to make the irrevocable vow before night?
Let.
Oh, Heavens!—I—I—'Tis so exceeding sudden, that really——
Mrs. Rack.
That really she is frighten'd out of her wits—lest it should be impossible
to bring matters about. But I have taken the scheme
into my protection, and you 66shall be Mrs. Doricourt before night. Come,
[to Mr. Hardy]to bed directly:
your room shall be cramm'd with phials, and all the apparatus of
Death;——then heigh presto! for Doricourt.
Vill.
You go and put off your conquering dress, [to
Letty] and get all your aukward airs ready—And you practise a few
groans [to Hardy.]—And you—if
possible—an air of gravity [to
Mrs.Racket]. I'll answer for the plot.
Let.
Married in jest! 'Tis an odd idea! Well, I'll venture it.
Vill.
Aye, I'll be sworn! [looks at his
watch]'tis past three. The Budget's to be open'd this
morning. I'll just step down to the House.——Will you go?
Har.
What! with a mortal sickness?
Vill.
What a Blockhead! I believe, if half of us were to stay away with mortal
sicknesses, it would be for the health of the Nation. Good-morning.—I'll
call and feel your pulse as I come back.
Har.
You won't find 'em over brisk, I fancy. I foresee some ill happening from
this making believe to die before one's time. But hang it—a-hem!—I am a
stout man yet; only fifty-six—What's that? In the last Yearly Bill there
were three lived to above an hundred. Fifty-six!——Fiddle-de-dee! I am not
afraid, not I.
Sav.
Undress'd so late?
Doric.
I didn't go to bed 'till late—'twas late before I slept—late when I rose. Do
you know Lord George Jennett?
Sav.
Yes.
Doric.
Has he a Mistress?
Sav.
Yes.
Doric.
What sort of a creature is she?
Sav.
Why, she spends him three thousand a year with the ease of a Duchess, and
entertains his friends with the grace of a Ninon. Ergo, she is handsome, spirited, and clever.
[Doricourt walks about
disordered.]In the name of Caprice, what ails you?
Doric.
You have hit it—Elle est mon Caprice—The Mistress of
Lord George Jennett is my caprice—Oh, insufferable!
Sav.
What, you saw her at the Masquerade?
Doric.
Saw her, lov'd her, died for her—without knowing her—And now the curse is,
I can't hate her.
Sav.
Ridiculous enough! All this distress about a Kept Woman, whom any man may
have, I dare swear, in a fortnight—They've been jarring some time.
Doric.
Have her! The sentiment I have conceived for the Witch is so unaccountable,
that, in that line, I cannot bear her idea. Was she a Woman of Honour, for a
Wife, I cou'd adore her—but, I really believe, if she should send me an
assignation, I should hate her.
Sav.
Hey-day! This sounds like Love. What becomes of poor Miss Hardy?
Doric.
Her name has given me an ague. Dear Saville, how shall I contrive to make
old Hardy cancel the engagements! The moiety of the estate which he will
forfeit, shall be his the next moment, by deed of gift.
Sav.
Let me see—Can't you get it insinuated that you are a dev'lish wild fellow;
that you are an Infidel, and attached to wenching, gaming, and so forth?
Doric.
Aye, such a character might have done some good two centuries back.——But who
the devil can it frighten now? I believe it must be the mad scheme, at
last.—There, will that do for the grin?
Sav.
Ridiculous!—But, how are you certain that the Woman who has so bewildered
you, belongs to Lord George?
Doric.
Flutter told me so.
Sav.
Then fifty to one against the intelligence.
Doric.
It must be so. There was a mystery in her manner, for which nothing else can
account. [A violent rap.]Who can this
be? [Saville looks out.]
Sav.
The proverb is your answer—'tis Flutter himself. Tip him a scene of the
Mad-man, and see how it takes.
Doric.
I will—a good way to send it about town. Shall it be of the melancholy kind,
or the raving?
Sav.
Rant!—rant!—Here he comes.
Doric.
Talk not to me who can pull comets by the beard, and overset an island!
Enter Flutter. There! This is
he!—this is he who hath sent my poor soul, without coat or breeches, to be
tossed about in ether like a duck-feather! Villain, give me my soul
again!
Flut.
Upon my soul I hav'n't got it. [Exceedingly
frightened.]
Sav.
Oh, Mr. Flutter, what a melancholy sight!——I little thought to have seen my
poor friend reduced to this.
Flut.
Mercy defend me! What's he mad?
Sav.
You see how it is. A cursed Italian Lady—Jealousy—gave him a drug; and every
full of the moon——
Doric.
Moon! Who dares talk of the Moon? The patroness of genius—the rectifier of
wits—the——Oh! here she is!—I feel her—she tugs at my brain—she has it—she
has it——Oh!
Flut.
Well! this is dreadful! exceeding dreadful, I protest. Have you had
Monro?
Sav.
Not yet. The worthy Miss Hardy—what a misfortune!
Flut.
Aye, very true.—Do they know it?
Sav.
Oh, no; the paroxysm seized him but this morning.
Flut.
Adieu! I can't stay. [Going in great
haste.]
Sav.
But you must. (holding him) Stay, and
assist me:—perhaps he'll return again in a moment; and, when he is in this
way, his strength is prodigious.
Flut.
Can't indeed—can't upon my soul.
Sav.
Flutter—Don't make a mistake, now;—remember 'tis Doricourt that's mad.
Flut.
Yes—you mad.
Sav.
No, no; Doricourt.
Flut.
Egad, I'll say you are both mad, and then I can't mistake.
Sir Geo.
The bird is escaped—Courtall is gone to France.
Lady Fran.
Heaven and earth! Have ye been to seek him?
Sir Geo.
Seek him! Aye.
Lady Fran.
How did you get his name? I should never have told it you.
Sir Geo.
I learnt it in the first Coffee-house I entered.—Every body is full of the
story.
Lady Fran.
Thank Heaven! he's gone!—But I have a story for you—The Hardy family are
forming a plot upon your Friend Doricourt, and we are expected in the
evening to assist.
Sir Geo.
With all my heart, my Angel; but I can't stay to hear it unfolded. They told
me Mr. Saville would be at home in half an hour, and I am impatient to see
him. The adventure of last night——
Lady Fran.
Think of it only with gratitude. The danger I was in has overset a new
system of conduct, that, perhaps, I was too much inclined to adopt. But
henceforward, my dear Sir George, you shall be my constant Companion, and
Protector. And, when they ridicule the unfashionable Monsters, the felicity
of our hearts shall make their satire pointless.
Sir Geo.
Charming Angel! You almost reconcile me to Courtall. Hark! here's company
(stepping to the door.) 'Tis
your lively Widow—I'll step down the back stairs, to escape her.
Mrs. Rack.
Oh, Lady Frances! I am shock'd to death.—Have you received a card from
us?
Lady Fran.
Yes; within these twenty minutes.
Mrs. Rack.
Aye, 'tis of no consequence.——'Tis all over—Doricourt is mad.
Lady Fran.
Mad!
Mrs. Rack.
My poor Letitia!—Just as we were enjoying ourselves with the prospect of a
scheme that was planned for their mutual happiness, in came Flutter,
breathless, with the intelligence:—I flew here to know if you had heard
it.
Lady Fran.
No, indeed—and I hope it is one of Mr. Flutter's dreams. Enter Saville. A-propos; now we shall be
informed. Mr. Saville, I rejoice to see you, though Sir George will be
disappointed: he's gone to your lodgings.
Sav.
I should have been happy to have prevented Sir George. I hope your
Ladyship's adventure last night did not disturb your dreams?
Lady Fran.
Not at all; for I never slept a moment. My escape, and the importance of my
obligations to you, employed my thoughts. But we have just had shocking
intelligence—Is it true that Doricourt is mad?
Sav.
So; the business is done. (Aside.)
Madam, I am sorry to say, that I have just been a melancholy witness of his
ravings: he was in the height of a paroxysm.
Mrs. Rack.
Oh, there can be no doubt of it. Flutter told us the whole history. Some
Italian Princess gave him a drug, in a box of sweetmeats, sent to him by her
own page; and it renders him lunatic every month. Poor Miss Hardy! I never
felt so much on any occasion in my life.
Sav.
To soften your concern, I will inform you, Madam, that Miss Hardy is less to
be pitied than you imagine.
Mrs. Rack.
Why so, Sir?
Sav.
'Tis rather a delicate subject—but he did not love Miss Hardy.
Mrs. Rack.
He did love Miss Hardy, Sir, and would have been the happiest of men.
Sav.
Pardon me, Madam; his heart was not only free from that Lady's chains, but
absolutely captivated by another.
Mrs. Rack.
No, Sir—no. It was Miss Hardy who captivated him. She met him last night at
the Masquerade, and charmed him in disguise—He professed the most violent
passion for her; and a plan was laid, this evening, to cheat him into
happiness.
Sav.
Ha! ha! ha!—Upon my soul, I must beg your pardon; I have not eaten of the
Italian Princess's box of sweetmeats, sent by her own page; and yet I am as
mad as Doricourt, ha! ha! ha!
Mrs. Rack.
So it appears—What can all this mean?
Sav.
Why, Madam, he is at present in his perfect senses; but he'll lose 'em in
ten minutes, through joy.—The madness was only a feint, to avoid marrying
Miss Hardy, ha! ha! ha!—I'll carry him the intelligence directly.
(Going.)
Mrs. Rack.
Not for worlds. I owe him revenge, now, for what he has made us suffer. You
must promise not to divulge a syllable I have told you; and when Doricourt
is summoned to Mr. Hardy's, prevail on him to come—madness, and all.
Lady Fran.
Pray do. I should like to see him shewing off, now I am in the secret.
Sav.
You must be obeyed; though 'tis inhuman to conceal his happiness.
Mrs. Rack.
I am going home; so I'll set you down at his lodgings, and acquaint you, by
the way, with our whole scheme. Allons!
Sav.
I attend you (leading her out.)
Mrs. Rack.
You won't fail us?
Lady Fran.
No; depend on us.
Doric.
(flings away the book) What effect can
the morals of Fourscore have on a mind torn with passion? (musing) Is it possible such a soul as
her's, can support itself in so humiliating a situation? A kept Woman!
(rising) Well, well—I am glad it
is so—I am glad it is so!
Sav.
What a happy dog you are, Doricourt! I might have been mad, or beggar'd, or
pistol'd myself, without its being mentioned—But you, forsooth! the whole
Female World is concerned for. I reported the state of your brain to five
different women—The lip of the first trembled; the white bosom of the second
heaved a sigh; the third ejaculated, and turned her eye—to the glass; the
fourth blessed herself; and the fifth said, whilst she pinned a curl, "Well,
now, perhaps, he'll be an amusing Companion; his native dullness was
intolerable."
Doric.
Envy! sheer envy, by the smiles of Hebe!——There are not less than forty pair
of the brightest eyes in town will drop crystals, when they hear of my
misfortune.
Sav.
Well, but I have news for you:—Poor Hardy is confined to his bed; they say
he is going out of the world by the first post, and he wants to give you his
blessing.
Doric.
Ill! so ill! I am sorry from my soul. He's a worthy little Fellow—if he had
not the gift of foreseeing so strongly.
Sav.
Well; you must go and take leave.
Doric.
What! to act the Lunatic in the dying Man's chamber?
Sav.
Exactly the thing; and will bring your business to a short issue: for his
last commands must be, That you are not to marry his Daughter.
Doric.
That's true, by Jupiter!—and yet, hang it, impose upon a poor fellow at so
serious a moment!—I can't do it.
Sav.
You must, 'faith. I am answerable for your appearance, though it should be
in a strait waistcoat. He knows your situation, and seems the more desirous
of an interview.
Doric.
I don't like encountering Racket.—She's an arch little devil, and will
discover the cheat.
Sav.
There's a fellow!—Cheated Ninety-nine Women, and now afraid of the
Hundredth.
Doric.
And with reason—for that hundredth is a Widow.
Miss Ogle.
And so Miss Hardy is actually to be married to-night?
Mrs. Rack.
If her Fate does not deceive her. You are apprised of the scheme, and we
hope it will succeed.
Miss Ogle.
Deuce, take her! she's six years younger than I am. (Aside)—Is Mr. Doricourt handsome?
Mrs. Rack.
Handsome, generous, young, and rich.——There's a Husband for ye! Isn't he
worth pulling caps for?
Miss Ogle.
I' my conscience, the Widow speaks as though she'd give cap, ears, and all
for him. (Aside.) I wonder you didn't
try to catch this wonderful Man, Mrs. Racket?
Mrs. Rack.
Really, Miss Ogle, I had not time. Besides, when I marry, so many stout
young fellows will 74hang themselves, that, out of regard to society, in these
sad times, I shall postpone it for a few years. This will cost her a new
lace—I heard it crack. (Aside.)
Sir Geo.
Well, here we are.—But where's the Knight of the Woeful Countenance?
Mrs. Rack.
Here soon, I hope—for a woeful Night it will be without him.
Sir Geo.
Oh, fie! do you condescend to pun?
Mrs. Rack.
Why not? It requires genius to make a good pun—some men of bright parts
can't reach it. I know a Lawyer who writes them on the back of his briefs;
and says they are of great use—in a dry cause.
Flut.
Here they come!—Here they come!——Their coach stopped, as mine drove off.
Lady Fran.
Then Miss Hardy's fate is at a crisis.—She plays a hazardous game, and I
tremble for her.
Sav.
(without) Come, let me guide you!—This
way, my poor Friend! Why are you so furious?
Doric.
(without) The House of Death—to the
House of Death! Enter Doricourt, and Saville. Ah! this is the spot!
Lady Fran.
How wild and fiery he looks!
Miss Ogle.
Now, I think, he looks terrified.
Flut.
Poor creature, how his eyes work!
Mrs. Rack.
I never saw a Madman before—Let me examine him—Will he bite?
Sav.
Pray keep out of his reach, Ladies—You don't know your danger. He's like a
Wild Cat, if a sudden thought seises him.
Sir Geo.
You talk like a Keeper of Wild Cats—How much do you demand for shewing the
Monster?
Doric.
I don't like this—I must rouse their sensibility. There! there she darts
through the air in liquid flames! 75Down again! Now I have her——Oh, she burns,
she scorches!—Oh! she eats into my very heart!
Omnes.
Ha! ha! ha!
Mrs. Rack.
He sees the Apparition of the wicked Italian Princess.
Flut.
Keep her Highness fast, Doricourt.
Miss Ogle.
Give her a pinch, before you let her go.
Doric.
I am laughed at!
Mrs. Rack.
Laughed at—aye, to be sure; why, I could play the Madman better than
you.—There! there she is! Now I have her! Ha! ha! ha!
Doric.
I knew that Devil would discover me. (Aside) I'll leave the house:——I'm covered with confusion.
(Going.)
Sir Geo.
Stay, Sir—You must not go. 'Twas poorly done, Mr. Doricourt, to affect
madness, rather than fulfil your engagements.
Doric.
Affect madness!—Saville, what can I do?
Sav.
Since you are discovered, confess the whole.
Miss Ogle.
Aye, turn Evidence, and save Yourself.
Doric.
Yes; since my designs have been so unaccountably discovered, I will avow the
whole. I cannot love Miss Hardy—and I will never——
Sav.
Hold, my dear Doricourt! be not so rash. What will the world say to
such——
Doric.
Damn the world! What will the world give me for the loss of happiness? Must
I sacrifice my peace, to please the world?
Sir Geo.
Yes, every thing, rather than be branded with dishonour.
Lady Fran.
Though our arguments should fail, there is a Pleader, whom you surely cannot withstand—the
dying Mr. Hardy supplicates you not to forsake his Child.
Vill.
Mr. Hardy requests you to grant him a moment's 76conversation, Mr. Doricourt,
though you should persist to send him miserable to the grave. Let me conduct
you to his chamber.
Doric.
Oh, aye, any where; to the Antipodes—to the Moon—Carry me—Do with me what
you will.
Mrs. Rack.
Mortification and disappointment, then, are specifics in a case of
stubbornness.—I'll follow, and let you know what passes.
Flut.
Ladies, Ladies, have the charity to take me with you, that I may make no
blunder in repeating the story.
Lady Fran.
Sir George, you don't know Mr. Saville.
Sir Geo.
Ten thousand pardons—but I will not pardon myself, for not observing you. I
have been with the utmost impatience at your door twice to-day.
Sav.
I am concerned you had so much trouble, Sir George.
Sir Geo.
Trouble! what a word!—I hardly know how to address you; I am distressed
beyond measure; and it is the highest proof of my opinion of your honour,
and the delicacy of your mind, that I open my heart to you.
Sav.
What has disturbed you, Sir George?
Sir Geo.
Your having preserved Lady Frances, in so imminent a danger. Start not,
Saville; to protect Lady Frances, was my right. You have wrested from me my
dearest privilege.
Sav.
I hardly know how to answer such a reproach. I cannot apologize for what I
have done.
Sir Geo.
I do not mean to reproach you; I hardly know what I mean. There is one
method by which you may restore peace to me; I cannot endure that my Wife
should be so infinitely indebted to any man who is less than my Brother.
Sav.
Pray explain yourself.
Sir Geo.
I have a Sister, Saville, who is amiable; and you are worthy of her. I shail
give her a commission to steal your heart, out of revenge for what you have
done.
Sav.
I am infinitely honoured, Sir George; but——
Sir Geo.
I cannot listen to a sentence which begins with so unpromising a word. You
must go with us into Hampshire; and, if you see each other with the eyes I
do, your felicity will be complete. I know no one, to whose heart I would so
readily commit the care of my Sister's happiness.
Sav.
I will attend you to Hampshire, with pleasure; but not on the plan of
retirement. Society has claims on Lady Frances, that forbid it.
Sir Geo.
Claims, Saville!
Sav.
Yes, claims; Lady Frances was born to be the ornament of Courts. She is
sufficiently alarmed, not to wander beyond the reach of her Protector;—and,
from the British Court, the most tenderly-anxious Husband could not wish to
banish his Wife. Bid her keep in her eye the bright Example who presides
there; the splendour of whose rank yields to the superior lustre of her
Virtue.
Sir Geo.
I allow the force of your argument. Now for intelligence!
Mrs. Rack.
Oh! Heav'ns! do you know——
Flut.
Let me tell the story——As soon as Doricourt—
Mrs. Rack.
I protest you sha'n't—said Mr. Hardy——
Flut.
No, 'twas Doricourt spoke first—says he—No, 'twas the Parson—says he——
Mrs. Rack.
Stop his mouth, Sir George—he'll spoil the tale.
Sir Geo.
Never heed circumstances—the result—the result.
Mrs. Rack.
No, no; you shall have it in form.—Mr. Hardy performed the Sick Man like an
Angel—He sat 78up in his bed, and talked so pathetically, that the tears stood
in Doricourt's eyes.
Flut.
Aye, stood—they did not drop, but stood.—I shall, in future, be very exact.
The Parson seized the moment; you know, they never miss an opportunity.
Mrs. Rack.
Make haste, said Doricourt; if I have time to reflect, poor Hardy will die
unhappy.
Flut.
They were got as far as the Day of Judgement, when we slipt out of the
room.
Sir Geo.
Then, by this time, they must have reached Amazement,
which, every body knows, is the end of Matrimony.
Mrs. Rack.
Aye, the Reverend Fathers ended the service with that word,
Prophetically——to teach the Bride what a capricious Monster a Husband
is.
Sir Geo.
I rather think it was Sarcastically—to prepare the Bridegroom for the
unreasonable humours and vagaries of his Help-mate.
Lady Fran.
Here comes the Bridegroom of to-night.
Omnes.
Joy! joy! joy!
Miss Ogle.
If he's a sample of Bridegrooms, keep me single!—A
younger Brother, from the Funeral of his Father, could not carry a more
fretful countenance.
Flut.
Oh!—Now, he's melancholy mad, I suppose.
Lady Fran.
You do not consider the importance of the occasion.
Vill.
No; nor how shocking a thing it is for a Man to be forced to marry one
Woman, whilst his heart is devoted to another.
Mrs. Rack.
Well, now 'tis over, I confess to you, Mr. Doricourt, I think 'twas a most
ridiculous piece of Quixotism, to give up the happiness of a whole life to a
Man who perhaps has but a few moments to be sensible of the sacrifice.
Flut.
So it appeared to me.—But, thought I, Mr. Doricourt has travelled—he knows
best.
Doric.
Zounds! Confusion!—Did ye not all set upon me?—Didn't ye talk to me of
Honour—Compassion—Justice?
Sir Geo.
Very true—You have acted according to their dictates, and I hope the utmost
felicity of the Married State will reward you.
Doric.
Never, Sir George! To Felicity I bid adieu—but I will endeavour to be
content. Where is my—I must speak it—where is my Wife?
Sav.
Mr. Doricourt, this Lady was pressing to be introduced to you.
Dor.
Oh! (Starting).
Let.
I told you last night, you shou'd see me at a time when you least expected
me—and I have kept my promise.
Vill.
Whoever you are, Madam, you could not have arrived at a happier moment.—Mr.
Doricourt is just married.
Let.
Married! Impossible! 'Tis but a few hours since he swore to me eternal Love:
I believ'd him, gave him up my Virgin heart—and now!—Ungrateful Sex!
Dor.
Your Virgin heart! No, Lady——my fate, thank Heaven! yet wants that torture.
Nothing but the conviction that you was another's, could have made me think
one moment of Marriage, to have saved the lives of half Mankind. But this
visit, Madam, is as barbarous as unexpected. It is now my duty to forget
you, which, spite of your situation, I found difficult enough.
Let.
My situation!—What situation?
Dor.
I must apologise for explaining it in this company—but, Madam, I am not
ignorant, that you are the companion of Lord George Jennet—and this is the
only circumstance that can give me peace.
Let.
I—a Companion! Ridiculous pretence! No, Sir, 80know, to your confusion, that
my heart, my honour, my name is unspotted as her's you have married; my
birth equal to your own, my fortune large—That, and my person, might have
been your's.—But, Sir, farewell! (Going.)
Dor.
Oh, stay a moment——Rascal! is she not——
Flut.
Who, she? O Lard! no—'Twas quite a different person that I meant.—I never
saw that Lady before.
Dor.
Then, never shalt thou see her more.
Mrs. Rack.
Have mercy upon the poor Man!—Heavens! He'll murder him.
Dor.
Murder him! Yes, you, myself, and all Mankind. Sir
George—Saville—Villers—'twas you who push'd me on this precipice;—'tis you
who have snatch'd from me joy, felicity, and life.
Mrs. Rack.
There! Now, how well he acts the Madman!—This is something like! I knew he
would do it well enough, when the time came.
Dor.
Hard-hearted Woman! enjoy my ruin—riot in my wretchedness.
Har.
This is too much. You are now the Husband of my Daughter; and how dare you
shew all this passion about another Woman?
Dor.
Alive again!
Har.
Alive! aye, and merry. Here, wipe off the flour from my face. I was never in
better health and spirits in my life.—I foresaw t'would do—. Why, my illness
was only a fetch, Man! to make you marry Letty.
Dor.
It was! Base and ungenerous! Well, Sir, you shall be gratified. The
possession of my heart was no object either with You, or your Daughter. My
fortune and name was all you desired, and these—I leave ye. My native
England I shall quit, nor ever behold you more. But, Lady, that in my exile
I may have one consolation, grant me the favour you denied last night;—let
me behold 81all that mask conceals, that your whole image may be impress'd on
my heart, and chear my distant solitary hours.
Let.
This is the most awful moment of my life. Oh, Doricourt, the slight action
of taking off my Mask, stamps me the most blest or miserable of Women!
Dor.
What can this mean? Reveal your face, I conjure you.
Let.
Behold it.
Dor.
Rapture! Transport! Heaven!
Flut.
Now for a touch of the happy Madman.
Vill.
This scheme was mine.
Let.
I will not allow that. This little stratagem arose from my disappointment,
in not having made the impression on you I wish'd. The timidity of the
English character threw a veil over me, you could not penetrate. You have
forced me to emerge in some measure from my natural reserve, and to throw
off the veil that hid me.
Dor.
I am yet in a state of intoxication—I cannot answer you.—Speak on, sweet
Angel!
Let.
You see I can be any thing; chuse then my
character—your Taste shall fix it. Shall I be an English Wife?—or, breaking from the bonds of Nature and Education,
step forth to the world in all the captivating glare of Foreign Manners?
Dor.
You shall be nothing but yourself—nothing can be captivating that you are
not. I will not wrong your penetration, by pretending that you won my heart
at the first interview; but you have now my whole soul—your person, your
face, your mind, I would not exchange for those of any other Woman
breathing.
Har.
A Dog! how well he makes up for past slights! Cousin Racket, I wish you a
good Husband with all my heart. Mr. Flutter, I'll believe every word you say
this fortnight. Mr. Villers, you and I have manag'd 82this to a T. I never was
so merry in my life—'Gad, I believe I can dance. (Footing.)
Doric.
Charming, charming creature!
Let.
Congratulate me, my dear friends! Can you conceive my happiness?
Har.
No, congratulate me; for mine is the greatest.
Flut.
No, congratulate me, that I have escaped with life, and give me some
sticking plaster—this wild cat has torn the skin from my throat.
Sir Geo.
I expect to be among the first who are congratulated—for I have recovered
one Angel, while Doricourt has gained another.
Har.
Pho! pho! Don't talk of Angels, we shall be happier by half as Mortals. Come
into the next room; I have order'd out every drop of my Forty-eight, and
I'll invite the whole parish of St. George's, but what we'll drink it
out—except one dozen, which I shall keep under three double locks, for a
certain Christening, that I foresee will happen within this twelvemonth.
Dor.
My charming Bride! It was a strange perversion of Taste, that led me to
consider the delicate timidity of your deportment, as the mark of an
uninform'd mind, or inelegant manners. I feel now it is to that innate
modesty, English Husbands owe a felicity the Married
Men of other nations are strangers to: it is a sacred veil to your own
charms; it is the surest bulwark to your Husband's honour; and cursed be the
hour—should it ever arrive—in which British Ladies
shall sacrifice to foreign Graces the Grace of
Modesty!