Glass. Book ) ^/l/:4 %^z MODERN ANTIQUES, •n MERRY MOURNERS. A FARCE XS TWO ACT.« BY JOHN O'KEEFE, ESQ. PHILADELPHIA PUBLISHED BY THOMAS H. PALMER. 1823. is K DRAMA.TIS PERSONiK PHII.ApELriIIA Zir^f::^?:::::::::::::::::::^^^^^^ j^ey.. — *-^^'-""- ^T !• . .....••••••••••-• Greene. SS^:::::::::::::::::::::......- ^-f Thomas • ^^^"«^^- Mrs.Cockletop Uvs. Frmicis. Mrs. Camomile • J.ejoue. ^^^^"'^^ ..;./.... Greene. Frou^VeV;;;;;;;:^^^^^ : miss Ha^' Betty... ^'^ 7^f? MODEIIN ANTQUES, MERRY MOURNERS ACT I. SCENE I — Mrs. Camo7nle*s house, enter mrs. camomile ind betty. 3Ir8. Cam. Betty, any bod' here since ? Betty. No, madam, but hee's a strange ser- vant. Mrs. Cam. Mrs. Cockletoj desired me, as I passed along Charing-Cross, o enquire for one for her, at the Register-officf, and this is he, I suppose — ha, ha, ha ! she's tco fine a lady to look after these things herself. Betty. Walk up, young nan. \_exU enter joe^. Joey. Servant, (nods) Mrs. Cam. Quite a rustic! — how long have you been in town ? ' Joey. Our town ? ^fr8. Cam. London. lyiODERN [O'Keefe Joey. I thought ks how you meant our town ; I corned from Yorksop, in the county of Nor- folk, to get a placej Mrs, Cam, Youj name ! Joey. What of i|? Mrs, Cam. Whjt is it ? Joey. Oh ! my n^me is Joey ; but volks called me mr. Joey all thi way up ; — -that I comed up- on the coach-roof J for, as it's near Christmas time, all the insioe passengers were turkeys. I quitted our villjge, in a huff with one Nan Hawthorn, my sw jealous and saucy et-heart, cause why, she got jiven. Mrs. Cam, Thewages this lady gives to hev foot-boy are eight g;umeas a year. Joey. Guineas ! that won't do, I must have eight pounds. Mrs. Cam. Wdl, if you insist upon eight pounds — ha, ha, hi ! Joey. Oh ! I'm lired. (/ay« his hat and stick on the table) Mrs. Cam, Youpan give and take a message ? Joey. Yes, sure! (a loud knocking' without) Mrs. Cam. Th^ let's see— run. Joey. Where? , Mrs. Cam. To Ihe door, you blockhead, Joey, (goes to tie door and stands) Well, I he's at the door, wvat now ? Mrs. Cam. Thepeuce I open the street door. Joey, (going) OJi, here comes a lady. enter Belinda, in a riding-dress. Mrs. Cam. My dear Belinda ! Come up (t^ Joey) when you hear the bell. Joey. These gentlevolks don't mind what trouble they give a poor zarvant man. [^exic Act I] ANTIQUES. 5 Bel. My dear friend, I've quitted Southamp- ton boarding-school without leave, though, {lays her hat on the table) Mrs-. Cam. My sweet girl, I'm very glad to see you — but is this a prudent step ? Bel. To be sure, when I was kept there so long, against my will, by my aunt. Mrs. Cam. Ah, Belinda, confess the truth ; wasn't it to see your uncle's nephew, Frank, that you've scampered up to town ? Bel. Ha, ha, ha ! *pon my honour you're a witch ; but suppose so— why not ? you and I were schoolfellows t'other day, yet here you're married. Apropos, how is your dear husband ? Mrs. Cam. The doctor is well. Bel. You're already happy with the man you love, while I'm kept at a boarding-school, when I'm able to teach my dancing-master. Mrs. Cam. Why then, my dear Belinda, since your last letter, I've been planning schemes, how to make you happy with the man you love. Bel. My good creature, do tell me. Mrs. Cam. You know if your uncle mr. Cockle- top's tooth but aches, he fancies he'll die direct- ly, if he hasn't my husband doctor Camomile's advice ; he's the grand oracle of his health, the barometer and thermometer of his animal sys- tem : — now as the doctor is at Winchester, on a visit to some of his old college chums, and won't leave his good orthodox bottle of old Port, to visit him here in London, he shall visit the doctor at Winchester; if we can but get your uncle to leive town, on that hangs my grand scheme foi the establishment of you and Frank; your aunl's maid mrs. Flounce, and mr. Napkin the butler, are my confederates. 6 MODERN [O'Keele Bel. Oh, charming ! but I must know it, though. enter joey, sfa7ids so?ne time miite. Joey. Well? Bel. And well ? Joey. I'm corned up, as you bid me. Mrs. Cam. But you shouldn't have come till you had heard the bell. Joey. And, wounds, it's ringing yonder, hard enough to pull church steeple down. Mrs. Cam. aiid Bel. Ha, ha, ha ! Mrs. Cam. Joey, carry those to your master ; [gives hi?n a basket of /z/««/s)— plants and sim- ples, culled for him by the doctor. Your uncle will now be a botanist, as Avell as an antiqua- rian. Bel. Ha, ha, ha ! — but my aunt's new-fangled rage for private theatricals, are, to the full, as unaccountably ridiculous, as my crazy uncle's passion for musty antiquities. Mrs. Cam. Come, be cheerful, my sweet Be- linda, for I'm going there directly, on your af- fairs. Bel. My kind friend ! Mrs. Cam. Call a coach, (^o Joey^ ivho takes up. his stick and puts on Belinda's hat) Ha, ha, ha ! why you've put on the lady's hat. Joey, intakes off hat., and compares it with his oion) Ecod ! one would think the lady had put on mine. \_exeunt mrs. Camomile and Belinda Joey, (flaying hold of basket) Your London ladies are so manifed., with their switch rattans, and their coats and waistcoats, and their tip- top hats, and their cauliflower cravats, that, ecod I Act I] ANTIQUES. 7 I sKall be in London a long time, before I know a man from a woman. [^takes up, the basket and exit SCENE II — Mrs. Cockletop's dressing-roo7n — mrs, cocKLETOP discovered dressing — flounce a^- tendi7ig. Mrs. Cockle. What a strange incident, my marrying this old mr. Cockletop 1 'pon my hon- our, was I single, I'd have the most beautiful theatre in my house, and his nephew Frank should be the manager ; of late he looks at me in a very particular manner — I can scarce think it possible, for these features to strike any body with admiration. Flounce. Ma'am, those features must strike every body with admiration. Airs. Cockle. You flatter 'em. Flounce. Not in the least, ma'am — but what signifies your beauty, or my skill in setting it off? — my master, since he's turned his brain-— Mrs. Cockle. Ay, since my husband has turned antiquarian — Flounce. With his curiosities, foreign cockle- shells, mouldy farthings, and all his old-fash- ioned trumperies — I dare say he'd sell you for the wing of a butterfly. Mrs. Cockle. Flounce, I'll take you to see Lear to-morrow night, at lord Rantum's private theatre. Flounce. Thank'ee, ma'am; but miss Toepit's maid told me, all of them, except your ladyship, made a strange piece of bungling work of their nlav there last Wednesday, 8 MODERN [O'Keeie Mrs. Cockle. Work ! oh, heavens, if Shake- speare could have taken a peep at them !— -ha, ha, ha !— Romeo and Juliet the play — the hero,^ on breaking open the tomb, totally forgot what he had to say next ; in vain the prompter whis- pers the word ; poor Juliet might have remained in Capulet's monument till doomsday : at length, impatient, (for it grew monstrous cold,) I softly bid him speak, why don't you speak ? — ■//'st cloaihs, with a small hamfier on his shoulders. Frank. If my uncle knows me noAvr, he must have good spectacles, (aside) Measttr told me, as he told you in letter, he'd call on ypu to-mor- row with some rarities. Cockle, Oh, then you belong to the gentleman who sent nae this letter ; where does your mas- ter live ? Frank. At Brentford; but I he's from Taun- ton Dean, and, as I was coming to town to-day, lie thought I might as well drop them here. If you'll buy them, these be they. i6 MODERN [O'Keefe Cockle. Oh ! what, he's sent you, with the thing-^ that are mentioned here ? {fiointing to letter] Frank. I warrant 'em all waundy rich, he gave me such strict charge about'n. Cockle. Rich I ah, these sordid souls can't conceive that the most extreme delight to the eye of an antiquarian, is beautiful brown rust and leavenly green verdigrease. Let's see ; (reads) :he first is a Neptune's trident, from the Barba- :ina gallery. Frank. That's it. {^gives a toasting-fork) Cockle, (reads) One of Niobe's tears, pre- served in spirits. Frank, That — (gives afihial) Cockle. Curious ! — a piece of household fur- niture from the ruins of Herculaneum, compris- ing the genuine section of the Escurial. Pre- cious, indeed ! (aside) Section of the Escurial ; ay, then it must be in the shape of — Frank, That's it. (gives an oldgridiron) Cockle, [reading) The cap of William Tell, the celebrated Swiss patriot, worn when he shot the apple off his son's head. Frank. I've forgot to bring any thing even like that ; what shall I do ? (aside) I warrant it's here, sir. Cockle. I hope it is, for I will not buy one without all. Frank, Then all you shall have, (aside^ pre- tends to look in the hamfier^ but flicks up Cockle- top^ s hat\ andy ivith a penknife^ cuts out the brim) That's it, mayhap ? Cockle. Great ! this is, indeed, what the Ro- ixians called the Fi-kusj or cap of libejrty. (puts Act I] ANTIQUES. 17 it on his head^ and reads) Half a yard of cloth, from Otaheite, being a part of the mantle of queen Oberea, presented by her to captain Cook. Frank. Zounds, I was iji such a hurry to get to work, that I've forgot half my tools. Cockle. Where's the cloth from Otaheite ? Frank. I dare say it's here, (feels the coat he has on) No, mustn't hurt poor Joey. Eh ! incuts off the skirt of Cockletofi^s coat^ while he^s ad7niring the things) belike that's it. (gives it) Cockle. What wonderful soft texture ! we've> no such cloth in England ; this must have been the fleece of a very fine sheep. Frank. Ay, taken from the back of an old stu- pid ram. Cockle. Speak of what you understand, you clown ; much talk may betray little knowledge. Cut your coat according to your cloth. Frank. Yes, sir, I cut your coat according to your cloth. I must fix him in his opinion, now, with a little finesse, (aside) Measter do expect fifty pounds for his balderdash. Cockle. Here's the money. Frank. No ; if he even thought you such a fool to give it, he must be a rogue to take it, but he sha'n't make me a party— I'll let him know I'm an honest man. Damme if I don't throw them in the kennel, and quit his service. (going to take them) Cockle, (hastily) Leave them there, and take the money to your master, or I'll make him send you to the devil, you thick-skull buffalo. Frank. Not a penny of it will I touch. Cockle. Here, my good fellow ; here's a gui- nea for yourself; there, (gives money) IB MODERN [O'Keefe Erank. Thank you, sir ; though I do think you're an old fool, and that you are most con- foundedly humnmed. Cockle. Old fool 1 get you out of my house, you scoundrel, or I'll — [takes ufi a blunderbuss) blow you to Taunton Dean, you dog — I will ! (Frank runs off) enter mrs. cockletop and mrs. camomile— they both scream. Mrs. Cam. Heavens ! mr. Cockletop, will you kill us ? Mrs. Cockle. Lord ! what's on your head ? Cockle. The cap of liberty. Oh, the super- beautiful purchase I have just made ! such a charming addition to my little curious collec- tion. Mrs. Camomile, you've taste ; I'll give you a treat. I'll show her all. {aside) Mrs. Cockle, {looking at the things) Heavens ! who has done this? Cockle. Pliny the elder. enter flounce. Mrs. Cockle. Here, take these, and fling them — Cockle. Lay your fingers on them, and I'll — • Strabo, Cambden, and bishop Pocock— Madam, you should — {to Mrs. Camomile) that is, you— - you do know— you're a dilitante. I say, you are a celebrated dili — and — now, what a fine discourse an F. R. S. would make on these, ma- dam, I say. Mrs. Cockle. Bless me! who has trimmed vou thus ? Act I] ANTIQUES. IS Cockle. Sir Ashton Lever. I wish your hus- band, doctor Camomile, was in town ; Tve here such a feast for the venerable Bede. Travellers come, and lay at my feet the wonderful fruits of their wise researches. Awake 1 prepare your understanding; here's a tear of — the devil 1 I forgot who cried this tear, (aside) Hem 1 it's a precious drop, preserved in spirits. Flounce. Ha, ha, ha ! Cockle. Get along, you most scandalous tongued-— I desire, mrs. Cockletop, you'll order your slip-slop out of the museum : — then here is a most valuable— (raA-es ufi toasting fork) enter joey Joey. Here, I'm sent to broil beef-steaks, and toast muffins ; the cook said mr. Frank took, and brought out of the kitchen, the— Cockle. They all cost me only fifty pounds ; this is a Neptune's trident, and this piece of furniture, from Herculaneum, the model of the Escurial, built in honour of st. Lawrence, who was broiled on — Joey. Thank'ee, sir; I was looking for the toasting fork and gridiron, [takes them and exit Flounce. Ha, ha, ha ! Cockle. What is that ? Mrs. Cockle. Why, mr. Cockletop, what have '*Vou been about here ? Mrs. Cam. Only look. Cockle. I believe I'm bit. Taunton Dean ! he was a rogue, (looks at his coat and hat) Is my face genuine ? Mrs. Cockle. Why 'tis an antique ; but in- deed, my dear, you don't look well. 20 MODERN [O'Keeff Cockle. Don't I ? Mrs. Cam. This may help my scheme to get him out of town, {aside) My dear sir, I would not shock you, but you look — Cockle. Do I? Mrs. Cam. My husband, the doctor, often told me, that your bodily illness always had an effect upon your mind. Cockle. No man living understands my con- stitution, but doctor Camomile ; I must be (feel- ing his fiulse) phlebotomised. Mrs. Cam. When a gentleman of your know- ledge is so grossly duped, it's a certain sign — Cockle. It is, that I'm ill, or I never could have been taken in. Mrs. Cockle. Lud, I wish your husband, the doctor, was in town. Mrs. Cam. I advise mr. Cockletop to go to him to Winchester. Mrs. Cockle. Here, Napkin, order the horses to ; your poor master will go to the doctor at Winchester. enter napkin. Cockle. Ay, ay, to the doctor — to Winches- ter, [exeunt Mr. and Mrs. Cockletofi Mrs. Cam. Napkin — ha, ha, ha !— here's an opportunity for our plan ; you know as we've all, without success, repeatedly endeavoured to persuade the old couple to settle some provisioii on their niece and nephew, Frank and Belinda. JVap. Ay, we must try stratagem. Mrs. Cam. The excuse your mistress gives, is the chance of her having children of her own, whom she can't wrong by lavishing their patrl mony on others. P ;tl] ANTIQUES. 21 JVafi. Ha, ha, ha ! then, to put her out of all hopes of that, as you have settled, we'll make her believe my master's dead, and, as I am now going into the country with him, leave that to TT»e. Mi's. Cam. I fancy 'twill be easy, as she al- "-eady thinks him ill. J^ap. And weak; heard him threaten to climb up the mouldering walls of Nettleston Abbey, •in search of a sprig of ivy or an ov/l's nest, and if I can't invent a story to bring the old gentle- man tumbling down — Mrs. Cam. Ha, ha, ha ! and make your mis- tress, the mourning widow, establish the dear amiable young couple, well and happy. JVafi. 'Twill be an excellent joke to laugh at, over their wedding supper— but I must prepare for the journey. Mrs. Cam. And I home, to comfort poor Be- linda : only do you act your part most dolefully natural, and we must prosper. \_exeunt ACT IT, SCENE I — Mrs. Camomile's house. enter frank, in high sfiirits^and joey. Frank. Hollo, mrs. Camomile ! here's a nick i a, ha, ha, honest fellow ; my horse is at the Uvery stables t'other side of Westminster bridge ; you'd best step on before me — have him out ready, vou'll not have a moment to lose, C 22 MODERN [0»Keefe (exH Joey) Ha, ha, ha ! well, my mock cuxiiosi- ties may have a better effect on my uncle than Hearty's real ones, if they can help to cure him of an absurd whim, that makes him the dupe of impostors, flinging his money after things of no utility, (^iooks at his watch) Getting late : I'd like to see if mrs. Camomile has any commands for her friend Belinda, enter Belinda. then hey for my divine Belinda ! Bel. Pray, sir, whither in such a monstrous hurry ? -v Frank. My love, in the name of miracles howi did you get here ? Bel. You know we've the best friend in the: world in dear mrs. Camomile, the mistress of I this house. enter mrs. camomile. Mrs. Cam. Come, come, you happy pair ofi turtles — this room is the stage for a little come-| dy I'm to act with your aunt, of which I hope^ your union will prove the denouement. enter flounce. Flounce. Madam, my mistress is just drove up to the door. Bel. Oh, heavens ! if she finds I have run up to town, [g-oinff) Mrs. Cam. Stop, she'll meet you on the stairs. Bel. This way, Frank ; when my aunt come = in here, we'll slip down. Mrs, Cam. But, Belinda, you'll tell Franl: Act II] ANTIQUES. 23 what we've both at, and trip directly home, and you and all the servants on with your sables. Fra?tk. Sables ! What, to celebrate my true- love's birth day ! no, now that my crusty uncle's out of town, and I have cash, I'll have such a ^roaring entertainment at home— ^tol— derol lol. (sings) Bel. Will you hold your tongue, and come along ? (^/lulls him) [exit Belitida a7id Frank Mrs. Cam. If my little plot on their aunt but prospers — Flounce,run and desire Napkin to con over the lesson I taught him, and look as dis- mal as an executor left without a legacy. Flounce. And, madam, I'll bid him keep his handkerchief to his eyes, for fear an unfortunate laugh should come on his face, and spoil all — JHere's my mistress, madam, I wish you success. t \jxit enter mrs. cockletop, elegantly dressed. Mrs. Cockle. Oh Mrs. Camomile ! Mrs. Cam. Well, how do you do ? Mrs. Cockle. Our house seems so melancholy since my poor dear man has left town, that now I can't bear to stay at home. Mrs. Cam. (aside) And when he was at home, you was always gadding. Mrs. Cockle. I forgot to show you my dress, had it made up for Cordelia, in our intended play at Mr. Pathos's ; as you were not there, I put it on to consult your taste. Mrs. Cam. Oh my dear creature, I forgot to \ thank you for my ticket, but exeuse me, that an engagement — Mrs. Cockle. Ha ! ha ! ha ! You had no loss, 24 MODERN [O'Keetc for our tragedy was converted into a ball^ — Lear you know was our play — which we got up with every care and elegance ; well, ma'am, Colonel Toper, who was to have played Gloster, having conquered too many bottles of Burgundy after dinner, (mi?nicks.) " No, damme, I be for none of your stage— I'll sit in the side boxes among the ladies, begin your play by yourselves"— So says my Lord Brainless, I'll make an apology, and I'll — "Ladies and gentlemen. Colonel Toper having been suddenly taken ill, hopes for your usual indulgence to accept a dance instead of the tragedy" — The fiddles struck up mrs. Casey, and audience and actors joined in a country dance — 'pon my honor, tho' I laugh I am ex- ceedingly melancholy. Mrs. Cam. You've nothing to make you un- easy, you are sure, that with my husband doc- tor Camomile, mr. Cockletop is in safe hands. Mrs. Cockle. Well, mrs. Camomile, it aston- ishes me how you can be cheerful while your husband's absent; but indeed its rather unfortu- nate when people are found with hearts of more sensibility than others. enter betty. Why, Ma'am, here's Mr. Napkin just come ?:)elow. Mrs. Cockle. But is his master returned too ? Mrs. Cam. Well if he is not, why should that alarm you ? Mrs. Cockle. Then perhaps Napkin has brought word : where is he ? why don't he come up ? — Napkin ! {calls) Torture me with suspense ' — Oh Lord, Mrs. Camomile, if any thing's tlx^ matter, I shall die. {agitated) Act II] ANTIQUES. 25 enter napkin much splashed^ in a large travelling dresSy and seemingly fatigued. Nail. My dear good mastej- ! {crying') Mrs. Cockle.^ My husband — Oh Lord; speak, pray speak. JVafi. Madam, will you have him brought up to town, or shall he be buried in the country? (^wee/is) Mrs. Cam. Dead '. JVafi. I wish Henry the eighth had levelled Nettleston Abbey — my sweet master's thirst of knowledge — such a height — top of the old spire — his head giddy — feeble limbs—- stretching too far, a stone giving way — though I caught him by the heel — head foremost — corner of a tombstone. — dash — oh ! [iveefis and exit Mrs. Cockle. My fears are true ; I faint ; I die ; please to reach that chair. (Mrs. Camomile places a chair ; Mrs. Cockleto/i deliberately wifies it with her handkerchief, seats herself ; takes out a smelling bottle, ap- plies it, and affects to swoon.) Mrs. Cam. Nay, nay, my dear friend, pray be comforted. Mrs. Cockle, (^recovering) Comforted, did you say? how is that possible, my dear mrs. Camo- mile, when I've heard you yourself remark that mourning don't become me ; though, if I was to dress like Almeria in the Mourning Bride — Mrs. Cam. To confess the truth, I was afraid to tell you, but I before knew of this melan- choly event, and there that foolish boy, your nephew Frank, through his zealous respect for the memory of his uncle, has, contrary to sUl cvls- c 2 26 MODERN [O^Keele torn and decorum, already ordered the whole family to put on the black clothes that were only t'other day laid by when the mourning for your brother-in-law expired. Mrs. Cockle. Madam, you're very obliging. Mrs. Cam. I see this loss bears hard upon your mind, therefore it mayn't be proper so soon troubling you with worldly affairs ; but now, my dear, you'll have no children of your own, indeed you should think of some establish- ment for your niece Belinda. Mrs. Cockle. I'll first establish my husband's nephew Frank, merely to show I prefer my dear man's relations to my own. Mrs. Cam. This will answer the same pur- pose, as Frank marries Belinda, [aside) Well, shall I tell the lad your good intentions towards him ? Mrs. Cockle. You're very good, I'll tell him myself; but I'll first consult you, my good friend, on the thoughts I have in my mind how to make him happy, but in my interview with the boy, I wouldn't have any body else by ; the hour of sorrow's sacred, it's a cruel world, and people luxurious, sensual, gay, and fortunate, have no feeling for the disconsolate widow. Mrs. Cam. My dear creature, endeavour to keep up your spirits. Mrs. Cockle. Ah, friend, what should a poor woman do that has lost so good a husband, but try to — to get a better, {aside) '[^exeunt Act 11] ANTIQUES. 27 SCENE II — Cockletofi^s House. enter frank, elevated with wine, and beHnda, both in mourning — and nan. Frank. Ha, ha, ha ! this is the most whim- sical thought of your friend mrs. Camomile. Bel. Isn't it charming ? Frank. Your aunt, and indeed the whole family, except mrs. Flounce, actually believe that my uncle's dead ; this is your natal day, the birth of beauty ; I'll give an entertainment upon my soul, ha, ha, ha ! pert mrs. Flounce says, oh, sir ; I can't run any bills with the trades people ; but dem bills and credit, while we've money ; my uncle's curiosity guineas shall fly — illuminate the rooms, brilliant lustres, ge- r randoles and chandeliers. ^ Jsfan. Yes, sir ! la ! now where's Joey to do 'all this ? mr. John, light the clustres, jerridoles, and chanticleers, i^calls off) Bel. Lord, Frank, what's come to you ? Frank. Money and long separated friends have a joyful meeting ; prepare the saloon-bell, we will have a ball. jYan. Air the balloon, for master's going to play ball. Frank. And lay supper, then let Napkin send for a pipe and tabor, for a dance we must have, itol, lol, lol. Bel. But indeed now this is extravagance. Frank. Can't I afford a little extravagance ? an't my kind aunt to give me my uncle's cash, then my Belinda you and I go to church, and Hymen in his saffron robes shall lead us to the Irosy bower. -3 MODERN [O'Keefe Bel. For heaven's sake, Frank, a little decency before the servants ; how unfeeling must they think you. Frank. I'll show you the feeling of servants ^'or such a master. enter thomas, and two m-aids in mournmg. Harkee ! Tom, the coachman, you know your master's no more. Thomas. Ay, sir, death has whipped his horses to their journey's end, to our great sor- row. Frank. Poor Tom! I'm told you're so grieved, you have sworn never to touch a drop of punch as long as you live. Thomas. Me ! I'll be damned if I ever swore any such thing. Frank. Ha! ha! ha! a jovial bout the ser- vants shall have. Fly, and every one bring in his hand something toward the good cheer of the night. \_exeunt SCENE III — a saloon illuming,tedj table and cloth laid. enter cockletop in a storm cafi. Cockle. All my doors open, this blowy night reminds me of the Lisbon earthquake, but my storm cap has protected me, — odd my not find- ing Belinda at Southampton, — I wish I had come into town over London-bridge ; that now is a sort of young ruin — but then over West- minster-bridge, to see my man Joey, mounted like the emperor of Morocco's Blackamoor— I'm not sorry Napkin left me, nobody knows Act II] ANTIQUES. 29 now I've been after my sweet Belinda — how glad my loving wife will be when she finds I am come home and well. (Looks about) Eh, my dearee has company — this don't speak much feeling for my illness. enter thomas ivith fiiates^ not fierceivmg him. Thomas, While Napkin is uncorking the wine, I'll see if I can't spread a table-cloth as well as a hammer-cloth, (^lays plates) I won- der who drives my old master now in t'other world, — does he go up or down hill ? Cockle. Eh 1 now who has put Thomas my coachman into mourning ? As I left you a pied zebra, why do I find you a black bear ? {strikes him with a cane) Thomas. Get up1 {suddenly turning^ is terri- Jied and sneaks off) CocA:/e. What's all this about? enter nan luith sallad^ places it on tahle^ then plucks a bit. jYan. I loves beet root, {fiuts it to her mouth) Cockle. Yes, and so do I. Tell me, young woman, for whom are you in mourning. \_exit J^an screaming Cockle. Haven't I mistook the house? I be- lieve I'm at next door. enter napkin and flounce. j\''ap. Ha, ha, ha ! Flounce, if you had seeti how capitally doleful I played my part. Flounce. None of your dolefuls now ; mas- ter's out of town, mistress safe at mrs. Camo- mile's, the house to ourselves, and the young 30 MODERN [O^Keefe pair — since mr. Frank will treat us to a little hop. J\tafi. Ay, Flounce, for music you know I*m no bad scraper. Flounce, No, Napkin, nothing gives so much spirit to a dance as a pipe and taboi'^^so send out and see if one can be had. enter two maids, and a footman, with a violin A''afi. My fiddle, John, (takes it) Now listen, Flounce, for our country dance ; only mind the violin, while I'll lift up Jacky Bull sprightly enough to move the dead ; ay, even to make our old master caper about, (plays^ servants join in the dance, in the midst of which Cockletop comes dancing before them — they scream and run off^ all frightened^ excefit JVapkin) Cockle. So, my good friend, I bring you into the country, you leave me sick, sneak away, and here I find you, like Nero at Rome, rasping your cremona ! explain what brings you all in black ; if any body's dead, why do you celebrate the funeral rites with feasting and fiddling ? and, if nobody's dead, why change my dove-house into a rookery ? (JVafikin fiuts a handkerchief to his eyes) Oh, then there is somebody ! who is it ? Eh, tell me !— vexation, a'n't I to know ? 'sblood, are people to die in my house, and the master not to be told ? JVafi. What or who shall I say? [aside) Cockle. What am I to think of all this.? jVafi. Why, sir, from seeing us all in black — you're to think — that — that — Cockle. What? ..Va/i., That we^re in mourning. Act II] ANTIQUES. ;>1 Cockle. But for whom ? it can't be my friend mrs. Camomile, or my nephew Frank ; — oh, lord, if it should be miss Belinda — no, no, they wouldn't fiddle and dance for them : now there is one beloved person that I don't care a far- thing for ; (aside) yet I left her so well — I see they are afraid to shock me. Napkin, is it — is it — [JVafikin shakes his head^ and exits sloivhj Cockle. It is-my-wi-wi-wife — 'tis so ; his si- lence is a funeral oration, {cafiers about) enter joey, shivering as if cold. Joey. Oh, ho I it be a bitter sharp night ; my hands are stone. Cockle. Are you petrified ? I wish you were ; I'd put you in a case. Joey. But, sir, here we come home, find all our servants in mourning, and, when I ask for whom, they shake their heads and walk away. Cockle. Joey, it's for — for your mistress. Joey. My lady dead ! I believ^e I ought to cry. [aside — lifts up. the skirt of his coat) Cockle. The gentle friend and companion of my youth ! (ivee/is) Joey. Yes, I should cry. (aside) Oh ! (cries) Cockle. The best of wives ! (sorrowfully) Joey. The kindest mistress 1 (imitating) Cockle. Yet my servants' rejoicing shows how ill she was beloved. Joey. Yes, sir ; I said to myself when I comed, Joey, said I, you have got a good master but ^ bad mistress. Cockle. Stay, I'm released from her extrava- gant vagaries ;— why she'd give as much for a little toilet patch-box, as would purchase the 32 MODERN [O'Keefe black letter Palace of pleasure ; her week's hair- dressing would buy me Colley Gibber's Fop- pington wig. Then her temper^— Joey. She was a wixen devil. Cockle. With her lace cap and her frippe- ries — her private plays, with her denouement and catastrophe. Joey. If I didn't suspect she played in private with that mr. Denumong, behind the tapestry. Cockle. I've no right to be so sad. Joey. Yes, sir, we mun be glad : ha, ha, ha. I he, he, he ! Cockle. The funeral over, I'll do what I've long wished — convert her dressing-room into my museum ; the room has an eastern prospect —the windows face Athens, though disgraced now by Cockspur perfumery and Fleet street japannery. — I'll remove her things out of it. . Joey. Kick them down stairs ; a'n't you man of the house ? Cockle. I am ! — you're but a boy, but I see you've spirit ;»— follow me to her dressing-room. Joey. Yes, sir — hem I [exeunt enter jmrs. cockletop and nan, in mourning. Mrs. Cockle. Every room, every article of fur- niture, only reminds me of my dear man. My beloved Frank's ill-timed mirth don't corres/pond with his haste in getting everybody into mourn- ing ; but indeed my poor husband was never an uncle to him. JVan. Oh, madam, you look so well in your weeds. Mrs. Cockle. Do I ?— Though I revere the memory of my late husband, yet his ridiculous Act 11] ANTIQUES. 3S passion for shells, fossils, and antique nonsense, was got to such an intolerable height, I was determined, on the first opportunity, I'd fling all his rubbish out ofthe house, and now I'll do it ; it's a good large room, and, I think, tastily fit- ted up, will make me a most beautiful little the- atre. The thought charms me, but, alas ! my charmer is no more, I'll instantly go up, and throw all his old coppers and crocodiles out. His museum {as he called it) is a most horrid place, but I will have it cleared out : do you come and help me. A''an. Yes, an't please you. \_exeunt enter joey, with bandboxes and toilet furniture, Joey. Ha, ha, ha ! if our mistress could but pop her head out of her coffin, and see what a fine rummage we have made among her falde- rals, trinketies, and ginglibobs. {reads the in- scrifition of a bottle') A, by itself, a, l-o,lo,t-i,ti,on, lotion for the face, {drinks) Face ! ecod, I think it's a good notion for the stomach ;— -the very thing I wanted to warm my gay little heart. They say, what people set their hearts on in this world runs so much in their heads, that even in t'other they can't rest if they should be disturbed. Maister says he'll give these to the flames; I'll ask him to give them to my flame, pretty Nan. — If she gets this here cap upon her pate, and our lady mistress was to come stalking in, with a candle in her dead hand— - enter mrs. cockletop, tvith a candle. and then sp's Nan, with a trembling voice, ^ who's here V* not perceiving her— D ^4 MODERN [O'Keefe Mrs. Cockle. Don't be afraid Joey, its only me. Joey. Mercy on us. (tre?nbling) Mrs. Cockle. Heavens ! who pulled my things about this way ? Joey. Now the devil was in our master, that he . couldn't let'n bide ; I thought we should have her up. (aside) Mrs. Cockle. Who did it ? Joey. Will it quiet your poor soul ? (fright- ened.) Mrs. Cockle. Bid Nan make haste down to me. Joey. Down ! then she's — (points down) Ah, these London ladies lead tory rory lives, (aside) Mrs. Cockle. Nan. (calls) Joey. Don't hurt Nan ; I'll go for a parson. \_exit terrified Mrs. Cockle. Parson 1 then my intention to marry Frank is already known among the ser- vants ; but I'll see how Flounce dare to let my room be ransacked in this manner. [exit in a passion SCENE iN^— changes to a dark afiartment'—a table Qovered ivith green cloth on. enter joey nvith a candle. Joey. I've left the parson in the room ; who's there ? but he insists it be auld master that's dead — the good gentleman that just now with me for madam's death cried so fine, all alive and merry : but this stupid minister won't believe it, so if he meets her there, and her spirit still disturbed about her rumplified caps, she'll give Act II] ANTIQUES. 35 it him for certain ; I know nought where mas- ter's got to, and the servants seem all to hide. 3an't find Nan, I would we were both safe again .n the country— well, I've saved this drop of cordial— who's you ? heaven defend us, she is come again ; I have no hopes now but my bot- tle and this table. {Jiuts out candle and gets un- der the table^ enter mus. cockletop. Mrs. Cockle. Frank ! (calls) This is the room I desired mrs. Camomile to bid him meet n e in, and here he comes this way — Frank, [cail^s' in a low -voice) I'm glad there's no light though, to discover my blushes at the open declara:^':^ I must make him. enter cockletop. Cockle. As dark as an Egyptian catacomb. Belinda venturing to town must be on the report of her aunt's death, and if Hearty has told her'— I'll speak to her here. Mrs. Cockle. Are you there ? Cockle. Yes, 'tis she. I wish we had, a light ; where are you, you little guinea pig ? Mrs. Cockle. Eh, my dear, when I bury mr. Cockletop — Cockle. Bury me. (aside) When for you I'll make a mummy of mrs. Cockletop — Mrs. Cockle. Angels and ministers 1 it's the ghost of my deceased husband come to upbraid me — oh much wronged spouse ! Cockle. Spouse ! it's the spirit of my wife ! oh Lord ! oh great injured goblin 1 (fall on their knees at opfiosite sides) Joey, Oh here's the parson striving to lay my 56 MODERN ANTIQUES. [O Keei mistress ; but she'll surely tear his head off- it's my poor dear master — help, murder I enter hearty with candles — mrs. camomile anu. BELINDA. Mrs, Cam. Eh I what work's here ? Joey. My lady's ghost tearing old master to pieces {rising in haste^ oversets the table and runs off^ Mrs. Cockle. Mr. Cockletop alive ! Cockle. My wife not dead 1 Frank. Uncle, you promised that whei proved to be deceived in antiquities, Belinda should be mine, {speaking in a feigned voice] Now zure, besides the fifty pounds, give her to poor Taunton Dean. Cockle. Was't you ? take her ; I was a wise man till my brain got love coddled— so, my dear, let's forgive Frank and Belinda, and forget our follies. Hearty. Come, come, let us transfer our pas- sion for ancient virtu to the encouragement of modern genius. Had not Rome and Athens cherished the arts of their times, they'd hav*^ left no antiquities for us to admire. Mrs, Cockle. Why rake for gems the ashe- of the dead. And see the living artist pine for bread. Frank. Give, While you live. Heirs' that find cash in comers, Will, at your funeral, make right merry mourners. THE END. LB 20 li Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 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