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$ 2.2, ÖY
|-| 6
LACY'S ACTING EDITION
OF
PLAY S.
DRAMAS, EXTRAWAG ANZAS, FARCES,
ETC, ETC,
AS PERFORMED AT THE WARIOUS THEATRIES,
VOLUME 22.
CONTAIN IN G.
MORNING CALL.,
HAYMARKET SPRING MEETING,
TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING.
STILL WATERS RUN DEEP. ---
HENRY THE E! GHTH,
GARR!CK FEVER, -
BUCKSTONE'S ADVENTURE WITH A
POLISH PRINCESS,
DOWAGER.
YOUNG WIDOW,
HELP!NG HANDS.
STRANGER.
How STouT You'RE GETTING.
SH 5 WOULD AND SHE WOULD NOT,
ONLY A HALFPENNY.
MOUNTAIN SYLPH.
Ei) ITED AND PUBLISHEI) 3-Y
THOMAS HAILES LACY,
W E L L I N G To N S T R E ET, STR A N D,
L O N D O N,
A MORNING CALL
AN ORIGINAL COMEDIETTA
IN ONE ACT
IBY
CHARLES DANCE, Esq.
AUTHOR OF
A Wonderful Woman; The Country Squire; Dustman's
Belle; Magic Horn; Enchanted Forest; Who speaks
First; Delicate Ground; Kill or Cure; Naval Engage-
ments; Match in the Dark; Alive and Merry; Dream
of the Future, &c. &c.
THOMAS HAILES LACY,
89, S T R A N D,
(Opposite Southampton Street, Covent Garden Market.)
LONDON,
A M C R N l N C C A L L.
First performed at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, on Monday, March 17th, 1851.
C H A R A C T E R S .
GENTLEMAN.
SIR EDWARD ARDENT . M.R. JAMES ANDERson.
LADY.
MRS, CHILLINGTONE . . MRs. NISBETT.
COSTUMES
Fashionable Dresses of the day.
A MORNING CALL.
SCENE.
A well-furnished drawing-room in Mrs. Chillingtone's
house in the country—MRs. CHILLINGTONE discovered,
working.—Her work-table being near the fire, R.C.—Snow
storm without, which gradually ceases, and discloses a
winter landscape, through windows, C.—Door, L. 2 E.
and R. 2 E.
MRs. C. People declare that everything in England is .
changed; I wonder what they would say to this specimens
of a fine old English winter. The snow falls thickly
enough to chill a lover, if, indeed, such an animal ever
existed, except in the imagination of some dreamy poet,
Talking of lovers, let me look at this note once again.
(putting down her work—taking up note, and reading.)
“My dear Fanny.—
“I am sorry, for my own sake, that you declined to
join the large and merry party who are now staying here—
not so for yours—for there is a plot against you, and I am
fortunately enabled to put you on your guard. Never
mind how I came to know it—it is enough that I did not
particularly listen, only—when gentlemen are on visits at
country houses, they should ascertain exactly how their
rooms are situated, before they talk too loud. I need not
tell you, that it is well known that your early marriage
was a forced one. It is, now, equally a matter of notoriety
that you mistrust the whole of the opposite, or, as you
call them, the ‘opposing' sex, and that you have resolved
never to marry again. I quite differ from you on this
point, but never mind that—the subject was canvassed, a
T}. Sº, º & 3 s fº
§ CŞ. º Á $ s 3.
§ {. 'Nº. $º , , -’s
- & ". . . TAJ &
4 • A MORNING CAI, T.
heavy wager was laid that you would break your resolution
within a week, and your appointed conqueror is Sir Edward
Ardent. As your house is but a few miles from this, and
as he has but little time to spare, if he really means to win,
I should not wonder if he were to ride over this very day,
and make a morning call.” Indeed! (reading.) “He has
the reputation of making great professions to every hand-
some woman he meets, without coming to the point with
any; but you know him better than I do.” Yes, I know
him. (reading.) “He is a good-looking, good-for-nothing,
fascinating fellow, and that's the truth; I only wish he
would make love to me.” No doubt, my dear. (reading.)
“However, I believe, he is in very safe hands with you.”
So do I. (reading.) “Take care of yourself, and make an
example of him, for the sake of our sex in general, and of
yours, dear Fanny, in particular—Charlotte.” So, my
gentleman, I am to surrender in less than a week, am I?
The fortress must be badly defended indeed that can't hold
out for that time. It isn't worth thinking of, and I don't
care a pin about it, but the man's impudence is almost
provoking; and, little as it signifies, I declare I can hardly
help wishing that this renowned general would commence
his attack, that I may silence his batteries, and send him
about his business. (shivering.) Ugh ! how cold it is; a
little bit of a skirmish might warm one, for positively the
fire won't. (rings the bell, and pokes the fire.)

Enter SIR EDwARD ARDENT, in a hunting dress,
door L. 2 E.
SIR. E. (aside.) The snow puts an extinguisher upon
our hunting to-day, and some amusement I must have, so
I have come to try if I can win the widow, and my bet.
(she rings a second time) She rings again—what does she
want, I wonder 2
MRs. C. Coals.
SIR. E. Ma’am P
MRS. C. Coals.
SIR. F. Coals 2
MRs. C. (looking up.) Dear me, Sir Edward Ardent I
declare, I beg your pardon, I took you for my servant.
A MOIRNING CA. LL. ‘5
SIR. E. Would that you would keep me for your servant.
MRs. C. What wages do you ask? t
SIR. E. I’ll serve you for love.
MRs. C. You'll never get paid.
SIR. E. Engage me, and I'll take my chance.
MRs. C. You have great confidence.
SIR. E. Not too much.
MRs. C. Yes you have—in yourself, I mean.
SIR. E. Never mind, engage me.
MRs. C. I’ve heard a bad character of you from your
last place.
SIR. E. Indeed! from whom?
MRs. C. From your mistress, to be sure.
SIR. E. What mistress 2
MRs. C. Have you so many:
SIR. E. None ! but I seek one, and that one—
MRs. C. Will have a remarkably troublesome servant.
SIR. E. Well, if I’m not allowed to finish a sen-
tence—
MRs. C. My very good friend, when you are talking
with a lady, think yourself remarkably well off if you are
allowed to begin a sentence.
SIR. E. I am quite aware that ladies—
MRs. C. Are very unreasonable upon that subject—
generally speaking, they are—I am an exception. You
wish to say something?
SIR. E. I do—something very—
MRs. C. Stop a minute—you shall have every chance—
sit down and warm yourself, while I work. (he sits.) When
you feel inclined to speak—speak, and I won't interrupt
you. If you don't feel inclined to speak—don't—and then
you won't interrupt me.
SIR. E. (rising.) I cannot sit—I am too much agitated.
- ſpaces the stage.)
MRs. C. Well, whatever you do, don't walk about, for
that is unbearable.
SIR. E. I don’t know what to do.
MRs. C. Poor man then I'll tell you—fetch the scuttle,
and put on some coals. -
SIR. E. Hadn't I better ring for your servant.
MRS. C. Certainly not! when I rang for him you

6 A MORNING CALL.
answered the bell, and not only that, but you applied for
the plage.
SIR. E. He is shaking the snow off my coat.
MRS. C. An additional reason for yºr doing his work,
and so let me see how well you can do it. (he fetches the
scuttle, which he carries with both hands.) Very well, very
well—upon my word I think you have been in service
before ; there, don't spill them, or I shall have to send
you about your business.
SIR. E. (stopping.) Mrs. Chillingtone, listen to me, I
3.I.Yl Sel’IOllS—
MRs. C. Not with the coal scuttle in your hand, surely.
SIR. E. It is very hard that you will turn everything I
say into ridicule; however, in the hope that artificial
warmth may thaw the natural iciness of your disposition,
I will make up the fire before I umburthen my mind.
MRs. C. Stop! I have had hundreds of serious speeches
made to me, but it just occurs to me, that I never heard
one from a man with a scuttle full of coals. Speak just
as you are, scuttle and all.
SIR. E. No indeed I shall not.
MRs. C. Now, do, pray; you can't think how well you
look.
SIR. E. You must excuse me. I certainly cannot see
why a man who feels earnestly should not express himself
earnestly at any moment; neither do I see that the
ebullition of a genuine feeling is rendered less worthy of
attention by the accidental circumstance of his having a
coal-scuttle in his hand; but (throwing some coals on.)
you have chosen to point attention to the fact, and possibly
(throwing more) there may be some degree of ridicule
attached to it Therefore, although I burn to speak, (he
looks at her, she is looking another way) I say, Mrs. Chil-
lingtone, although I burn to speak, (throwing all that
remains, on)—
MRs. C. Don’t smother the fire on any account.
SIR. E. (putting down the scuttle, and pacing the stage—
aside.) Her cool indifference is past belief. I’m not used
to be treated in such a way by women, and yet there are
moments when I fancy she is listening more than she
pretends to be,
A MORNING CALL. 7
MRs. C. Are you speaking to me, Sir Edward?"because
I don't hear one word you say.
SIR. C. I was talking to myself.
MRs. C. And there is no better way of ensuring an
attentive listener.
SIR. E. Thank you, madam. *
MRs. C. (rising, and coming forward.) You and I hav
known one another a long time; why say “Madam?” it
sounds very formal.
SIR. E. Does it? does it? (aside.) She thaws—by
Jupiter, she thaws' (aloud and earnestly.) Does it?
MRs. C. Does it, does it, does it? Why, yes, it does,
and what then:
SIR. E. (aside.) Down to the freezing point again, I'll
pretend to go, and try what that will do.
MRs. C. I havn't had the speech yet; when are you.
going to begin &
SIR. E. Some other time; I think I hear a carriage.
& (going.)
MRs. C. I hear none; but if anybody should call, I
can say, “not at home.”
SIR. E. (aside.) Oh ho, my lady, (returning.) Well,
since you will say, “not at home.”
MRs. C. I didn't say I would—I only said I could.
SIR. E. Mrs. Chillingtone, good morning. (going.)
MRs. C. Nonsense stay where you are, you restless
J31&Il.
SIR. E. You're very kind, but I must go.
(goes to door, which he opens, and holds in his hand,
standing half in and half out.)
MRs. C. Where to *
SiR E. I don’t know; but goodbye.
MRs. C. Till when, then P
SIR. E. (aside.) She says, “till when ** ft's my
private opinion she wishes me to stay.
MRs. C. Till when
SIR. E. Till to-morrow. (aside.) one day's absence will
bring her to her senses. (going.)
MRs. C. Not to-morrow, you cruel man.
SIR. E. (shutting door, and returning.) Ah! you wish
me not to go to-day.
8 A MORNING CALI.
MRS. C. I don't wish you not to go to-day—I only
wish you not to come to-morrow.
SIR. E. Shall you be out?
MRs. C. No, I shall be at home; but I shan’t want you.
SIR E. (aside.) It's nothing to me; but, as sure as fate,
there's a man in the case—it's nothing to me, I say, but I
don’t like it. (aloud.) “You shan’t want me,” Mrs. Chil-
lingtone—“you shan’t want me?” that is, don’t misunder-
stand me, I don’t mean to say it's likely you would want
me, it seems as much as to say you don't wish for me; of
course I don't mean to say it's likely you would wish for
me, but when you say, or if you say, you don’t wish for
me, it's almost as much as to say, that you wish me away;
I say almost, I don't say quite. -
MRs. C. But I do ; you have been a long time arriving
at a conclusion, but the curious part of the business is,
that you have arrived at the right one.
SIR. E. After such a declaration, it would be folly in
me to say another word.
MRs. C. A declaration? good gracious! Who has made
a declaration? I heard none.
SIR. E. This is trifling; I say it would be folly in me
to say another word. w
MRs. C. So it would, so it would; but you'll say it, for
all that.
SIR. E. Well, I believe I shall—in fact, I must; I have
a question to ask you—a question, my dear Mrs. Chilling-
tone, to which I must entreat your most serious attention.
(she walks gently off to her own room, R.) I will not add to
your embarrassment by even looking at you while you
answer it, contenting myself with merely begging that
your answer may be a candid one. (listens.) Yes, cost what
it may, a candid one. (listens again.) I pause for your
assurance that it shall be a candid one. (aside.) She hesi-
tates—she's lost.
MRs. C. (calling from within.) Are you gone, Sir
Edward P
SIR. E. Gone, Mrs. Chillingtone?. gone? Why you are
gone !
MRs. C. (re-entering.) Only for the moment' I went
for my thimble.
A MORNING CAï,L. 9
SIR. E. Went for your thimble! (aside.) Women have
always an excuse at the tips of their fingers. (aloud.)
Only for a moment! Don't you remember what Mrs.
Haller says? “There are moments in which we live
ears.”
y MRs. C. I must beg, Sir Edward, that you won’t quote
Mrs. Haller to me... I never associate with ladies of that
description. - -
SIR. E. (aside.) This is put on—she must be shamming,
for she couldn't know that I was—how deceitful women
are but I will go now. (going to door.) I positively will
go. (opens door, then stops—aloud.) Surely, you heard my
question. -
MRs. C. Well, I fancied I heard you mumbling some-
thing.
SIR. E. Mumbling! (aside.) Well, well, I'll bear it all—
my turn must come. (aloud.) I asked you why you wished
me away : i
MRs. C. What, to-morrow
SIR. E. Yes. -
MRs. C. Oh! because I expect somebody else.
SIR. E. A man -
MRs. C. Ah, that's the worst of it!
SIR. E. A husband, perhaps?
MRs. C. No, a simple man.
SIR. E. The more simple, the more likely to become a
husband. -
MRs. C. That is the most natural thing you have said
et.
SIR. E. Why so?
MRs. C. It's so rude. .
SIR E. I didn't mean to be rude; make allowance for
my feelings—I feared it was a husband.
MRs. C. You need not have feared it. When you
asked if it was a man that I expected, I said, “that's the
worst of it.” I could not have said that, if it had been a
husband.
SIR. E. Now, who is rude P But I care nothing for the
rudeness—I derive warmth and comfort from the openness
of that assurance. -
MRS. C. (imitating his tone.) And I derive neither
10 A MÖRNING CALL.
warmth nor comfort from the openness of that door! so
I wish you would shut it. .
SIR. E. Oh, Mrs. Chillingtone, you are too cold.
MRs. C. I told you so.
SIR. E. (going towards door.) Be content; I am about
to shut it once and for ever.
MRs. C. And when you have shut it, on which side of
it do you propose to remain *
SIR. E. Has the lovely Mrs. Chillingtone a choice upon
the subject?
MRs. C. The lovely Mrs. Chillingtone has no choice
upon the subject—but the lovely Mrs. Chillingtone, like
the rest of her too fascinating sex, has considerable
curiosity.
SIR. E. Your wish shall be gratified—I remain on this
side. (comes in, having shut the door.)
MRs. C. I excuse the impertinence of that speech for
the sake of its amusing vanity.
SIR. E. (aside.) I'll let her go on—I’ll let her go on—
there will come a day of reckoning:
Mrs. C. Well, sir?
SIR. E. Well, ma'am
MRS. C. Oh, nonsense! you mustn't repeat my words—
you must say something; suppose this were a play, you
couldn’t come into a room where a lady was, shut the
door, and not speak.
SIR. E. Perhaps you will be good enough to furnish
the plot of the play.
MRs. C. I faney it would be more in my way to act it;
however, I'll try my hand. I must begin, I believe, with
the stage directions.
SIR P. If you please.
MRs. C. Well—“The stage represents a drawing-room
in Mrs. Chillingtone's country house—a large party are
assembled at another country house, a few miles off.
SIR. E. What on the stage 2
MRs. C. No, no! that is only for your information, to
help you what to say; now, don't interrupt me, and don't
speak till I tell you. “Mrs. C. has been strongly pressed
to join the party at her neighbour's house; but, knowing
herself to be rather an attractive person, and knowing
A MORNING CALL, 11
that men, always more or less silly about women, think it
behoves them to make especial donkeys of themselves
when on a visit at a country house, she has declined. One ,
of the gentlemen—”
SIR. E. Donkeys
MRs. C. “Sir Edward Ardent by name”—(I told you
not to interrupt me, and you see what you have got by
it)—“thinks proper to ride over to Mrs. Chillingtone's,
under pretence of “a morning call, although it is very
evident to her that he has some other object lurking
behind
SIR. E. How does she know that ? -
MRs. C. I’m writing a play, and I’m not bound to tell
more than I like. º
SIR. E. But I have to speak presently, and I want
information.
MRs. C. You shall have more than you want, “Sir
Edward, like hundreds of other moderately good-looking
men, has been humoured by Sundry weak women, until he
fancies himself irresistfble.”
SIR. E. (aside.) He may prove so yet.
MRs. C. “And, taking advantage of a previous ac-
quaintance with Mrs. C. to deprive her of her privilege
of saying ‘not at home, he breaks through the ordinary
rules of society—enters her room without being announced.
—and—” *
SIR. E. Stay! I can explain all.
MRs. C. Can you? that is just what I want; but don't
be in a hurry—pull that couch this way. (he pulls a couch
to the centre of the stage). “Mrs. Chillingtone, though
astonished at his coolness, takes her seat on one side of
the couch (she sits) and motions Sir Edward to occupy
the other. (he prepares to do so—when he is nearly seated,
MRS. C. puts her hand upon his arm, and causes him to rise
again.) He has almost dome so, when he suddenly recol-
lects that he has omitted to bow, on accepting the invi-
tation.” (he bows to her.) “Having supplied the omission,
he takes his seat, and Mrs. Chillingtone waits patiently
. the promised explanation of his extraordinary con-
uct.
SIR E. I can give it in five words.
12 A MORNING CALL.
MRs. C. Not less? *
SIR. E. Yes, in three—“I love you.” -
MRs. C. Stay a minute—let me clearly understand.
Are you carrying on the little drama I began, or are you,
Sir Edward Ardent, Bart., in your own proper person,
addressing yourself to me, Fanny Chillingtone, widow.
SIR. E. I hope you don’t take me for an actor.
MRS. C. Well in love affairs, there is not much difference
between a man on and a man off the stage—one is a pro-
fessional actor, the other an actor of professions.
SIR. E. You think, then, that truth has no part in love
affairs
MRs. C. Oh, yes it has, I wish it hadn’t.
SIR. E. Why so :
MRs. C. Because it always comes too late.
SIR. E. Always
MRs. C. I speak from my own experience.
SIR. E. You have never tried but once.
MRs. C. And have no inclination to try again.
SIR. E. You think all men alike, then
MRs. C. Yes, in their disposition to deceive women.
SIR. E. May there not be one exception ?
MRs. C. There may ; but it must be a golden one.
SIR. E. Come, I have gained a step at last—you admit
there may be one exception—I trust, before the week is
out, to prove myself that one.
MRs. C. A week? that is a very short time.
SIR. E. If I fail to convince you of my sincerity in a
week—
MRs. C. You’ll own yourself beaten—and pay—
SIR. E. (rising.) Mrs. Chillingtone !
MRs. C. Sit down, Sir Edward—and pay your court to
some one else. -
SIR. E. (aside.) What a fool I am, I had nearly betrayed
myself! (aloud.) Where failure would be death, I will
think of nothing but success.
MRs. C. What a charming speech many men have
offered to live for me, and I have refused them—you
propose to die for me—now, if I thought I could depend
upon you—

SIR. E. (aside.) Confound your impudence 1 but I’ll be
A MOIRN IN G CALL. 13.
even with you yet. (aloud.) You may — indeed you
IY)&W. -
Kias. C. As you have allowed yourself so short a time
for your conquest—hadn't you better begin
SIR. E. If you please. I confess, and, indeed, I think
you must feel, that I start under some disadvantage. I
have proclaimed that I love you—I have played out, as it
were, my thirteenth trump, and am now dependent upon
you to bring in my strong suit.
MRs. C. Your position is even more awkward than you
think—if I play your cards, as well as my own, you must.
be “dumby.”
SIR. E. Play them on any terms, I am content—it
makes us partners.
MRs. C. Was ever knave more civil to a queen But
look you, Sir Knave, a husband who may not open his
mouth— -
SIR. E. Can never contradict his wife.
MRS. C. True ! but a wife who is compelled to talk for
two—
SIR. E. Is confirmed, without a struggle, in her sex's
dearest privilege.
MRs. C. (aside.) I could almost like him for his im-
pertinence.
SIR. E. (after a pause.) I'd give the world to know
your thoughts.
MRS. C. You shall know them for nothing; I was
thinking which I should prefer—a deaf husband, or a
dumb one.
SIR. E. If you allude to me—
MRs. C. But I did not.
SIR. E. I only said “if” If you allude to me, I will
be dumb, not deaf.
MRs. C. Why not deaf
SIR. E. I could not bear to see you speak, and thirst to
hear the liquid music of your voice.
MRs. C. It's very kind of you to think me so charming,
and I dare say you're quite right; but if you were dumb
you could not tell me so.
SIR. E. What matter I could find other means to
make you know it—I could lie at your feet the live-long

14 A MORNING CAT,L,
day, like a pet dog, with happy eyes to see you, with
greedy ears to hear you, and express, by mute devotion,
that deep affection which, at last, no tongue, however
eloquent, could tell. -
* C. (aside.) Hang the fellow—how pleasantly he
talks
SIR. E. (aside.) She's touched.
MRs. C. There is only one thing I fear, Sir Edward.
SIR. E. (earnestly.) Say what it is. It ceases with the
utterance.
MRS. C. If you were to become my pet dog—
SIR. E. Yes.
MRs. C. I'm afraid you would expect me to wash and
comb you every day. (laughs at him, rises, and walks
about.)
SIR. E. (rising, and pacing the stage.) Really Mrs.
Chillington—this indifference—I wish you wouldn't laugh
—this indifference — now, pray don’t laugh—this in-
difference to one who—oh, well, if you are determined to
laugh, it's useless to attempt opening one's mouth. -
MRs. C. There, there, I won't laugh any more (sits
down.) I’m dumb, and will only express by mute devotion,
that (what is it? oh!) that deep affection which no
tongue, however eloquent, can tell.
SIR. E. I should be sorry, Mrs. Chillingtone, to charge
you with affectation, but this indifference is unnatural—it
is unworthy of your sex, and, allow me to add, unlike your
sex. (aside.) I'll try if I can make her jealous; (aloud.)
for I don't hesitate to tell you that it has been my fate to
make an impression upon the fairer portion of the creation,
which, in point of numbers, I believe to be quite unusual;
it is not one, two, ten, or twenty only, that I might have
married, had I but held my little finger up. I havn't a
particle of vanity in my composition; but common sense
tells us there must be something about me to account for
the very marked preference shewn me by the ladies.
MIRs. C. Don't mistake me ! I always listen with
pleasure when my own praises are sounded, though I
seldom take the trouble to inquire to what regiment the
trumpeter belongs; you may go on.
SIR. E. It is now some three years since first I met
A MORNING CALL. • i5
you ; on that occasion it was my good fortune to dance
with you—shall I ever forget that dance? no! to my
dying day the very tune will haunt me—it was a polka!
MRs. C. No such thing ; it was a quadrille.
SIR E. You're right, it was. I said it but to try you.
MRs. C. (aside.) I wish I had held my tongue.
SIR E. (aside.) I didn't remember a bit about it; but
that's nothing. (aloud.) You are quite aware that I never
even hinted to you the passion with which you then
inspired me.
MRs. C. (aside.) Now, is he going to have the effrontery
to pretend that he has been in love with me all this
time *
SIR. E. No ; like the gentle Viola, I “let concealment
feed on my damask cheek.”
MRs. C. While you yourself fed, I suppose, on your
damask table-cloth.
SIR. E. Is this a moment for levity? I ask you, is this
a moment for levity ? but I am rightly served—women
have adored me by dozens, and I have sported with their
feelings, I have slighted them, poor dears but, at length,
to avenge their sufferings, you step forward as their
appointed champion, and I, in turn, am doomed to the
bitter pangs of unrequited affection. Oh, Mrs. Chillingtone,
may you be saved from such a fate | You have many
admirers, (not so many, I dare say, as I have,) but a great
many—you snub them all, but beware the time and the
man may come, and you may meet, in our sex, the
avenger I have found in yours.
MRs. C. There's no great danger.
SIR. E. I don't know that ; love delights in tormenting
—women are weak creatures—men are full of deceit.
MRs. C. You must be going to publish a copy-book.
SIR. E. Extremes frequently meet; she who begins by
hating, often ends by loving; some day you may be
addressed by one whom, like myself for instance, at first
you slight; he may be very good-looking, although you
may think him plain: his figure may be nearly faultless,
and you see nothing in it; his conversation, winning to all
other ears, may fall unheeded upon yours; nay, even his
voice, to many soft and sweet, may sound to you harsh and
16 A MORNING CALL.
discordant. And yet this man shall bend your stubborn
spirit—and how I grieve to say, by flattery; he shall
tell you you've a pretty foot. - -
MRs. C. Oh, Sir Edward' -
SIR. E. And praise, as indeed he may with truth, your
dancing ; he shall talk of the beauty of your figure—
MRs. C. Oh, Sir Edward
SIR. E. And compare it, to its advantage, with the
classic forms of old; he shall discourse of your brilliant
wit— -
MRs. C. Oh, Sir Edward you'll prevent me from
speaking at all.
SIR. E. And, having thus fixed your attention, and
secured your silence, he shall tell you that your voice is
“ linked sweetness, long drawn out ;” that your face
(MRs. C. leans back, and throws a white handkerchief over
her head.)—but here description fails me, not because, as
a proof of your unequalled modesty, you have concealed
it, but because language offers not the means to do it
justice. He, no doubt, will feel the same difficulty; and
passing to your hand, which, perhaps, he may perceive, as
I do now, for once without a glove, he shall, transported
by his feelings, venture to take it within his, and, finding
no resistance, even to press it to his lips. Then will you
be convinced of the depth of his devotion; then, on a
sudden, will the change take place ; then will his figure in
an instant become good, his face handsome, his con-
versation brilliant, and his voice musical ; them—but,
possibly, I offend you; I will release your hand. (he lets.
it go, it falls by her side.) How is this? Is she ill? No;
slightly overcome—it's only another victory, gained a little
sooner than I expected. Edward Ardent, what the devil
is there in you, that no woman on earth can resist you?
I must look at her. (pulls the handkerchief from her face).
JFast asleep, by all that's horrible ! (walks up and down,
much excited.) It's enough to drive one mad—downright,
stark. staring, raving mad—but she wakes.
MRs. C. (who has only pretended to be asleep, pretending
to awake.) What's o'clock? Oh, what a dreadful noise
you make. I was having such a nice nap.
SIR. E. And charming dreams, no doubt?
A MORNING CALLs 17
MRs. C. Yes, till just this minute; I dreamt that a
nice, gentlemanly man was saying all sorts of captivating
things to me,
SIR. E. (aside.) Indeed! (aloud.) You do care about
the creatures then :
MRs. C. Not a bit; but you know how absurd dreams
à l'è. ... "
SIR. E. Very likely. “A nice, gentlemanly man was
saying all sorts of captivating things to you.”
MRs. C. When suddenly he turned into a monkey, and
grinned and chattered most repulsively. At length the
monster darted at my hand; I fancied he was going to
bite it, and—I suppose that awoke me.
SIR. E. Others can wake from dreams as well as you.
Madam, good morning. (going.)
MRs. C. Where is the man going to ?
SIR. E. “The man l’” The monster, you mean.
MRs. C. Well, the monster.
SIR. E. To the Zoological Gardens.
[Exit, L. door.
MRs. C. He is actually gone ; and some women would
say, “I have lost him for ever.” I—knowing the world
better—allow him five minutes, at the outside, to return.
Be-enter SIR EDwARD, L, door.
I have been too liberal, (to SIR EDw ARD.) What!
won't the Zoologicals have you? Have they too many
specimens already ?
SIR. E. No ; but they won’t receive me without a
certificate from you.
MIRs, C. Of what, pray
SIR. E. That I have been your pet monkey.
MRs. C. You grow insulting, sir; and I shall leave
the room. (going.)
SIR. E. Nay, that is more my duty.
MRS. C. So I think; but until you do, I shall.
[Erit, slamming the R. door.
SIR. E. Oh very well, Ma'am. (he watches her out.)
Go! I should think so. Go! I should like to know who
would stay, (sits down.)
20 A MoRNING car. L.
to marry me if I insist upon it; and, rather than you
should go away, and have the impertinence to brag to
your male friends that you have had the best of it, I do
insist upon it. So now, sir, marry me, and then we shall
see who has the best of it. !
SIR. E. (altering his tone.) Are you serious :
MRs. C. Perfectly. -
SIR. E. (rising, and coming forward.) Then for once,
Mrs. Chillingtone, I am serious. You had a perfect right
to determine not to marry again ; but the pains you took
to make that determination public, looked like a studied
insult to us bachelors. At all events, it was so considered;
and, at a special meeting, duly convened, it was voted that
you should be made to break your resolution. I have
succeeded in conquering your boasted aversion to mankind
—but there, I regret to say, the task assigned me ends.
In taking my leave, I will not affect to deny that I admire
you; or that I felt much—perhaps too much—of what I
said; but all personal considerations must bend before a
sense of public duty. It became necessary to read you a
great moral lesson ; and—with the sternness of a judge
who carries out the wholesome rigours of the law, but
with the feelings of a gentleman who grieves to pain a
lady—I have read it. (bows, and is going.)
MRs. C. Stay, Sir Edward! (he stops and turns.—aside.)
Flesh and blood can’t bear this. (aloud.) Stay for a
moment, and ask yourself your true position. Victor, as
you think yourself, it is not a proud one. A set of men
combine to form a plan against one poor weak woman; you
are selected as their scapegoat ; if you fail, they're ready
with their jeers, if you succeed, the victory is theirs, the
odium yours.
SIR. E. (aside.) I’m dreadfully afraid that's true.
MRs. C. (aside.) Now for it ! (aloud.) And you have
succeeded but too well: my pride is humbled—the advan-
tages which you possess of face and figure—
SIR. E. (aside.) Oho!
MRs. C. Those brilliant powers of conversation which
Nature has given you, and which you so fatally can use,
have brought me to your feet—and now you propose to
leave me -
A MORNING CALI. 21.
SIR JE. How is this? Can it be that you really
love me? - - -
MRs. C. Can it be that you know yourself, and doubt
it Oh, Sir Edward, would that the choice of my
appointed conqueror had fallen on one less fascinating—
or that your pride had been content to feed on victories
past, nor claimed another female slave, to chain to your
triumphant chariot-wheels 1 (much moved.) But thus to
conquer, and thus cruelly to leave, is but a wanton exercise
of power, and may be likened to that of the fowler, who
shoots the bird he cares not to preserve, for the mere
pleasure of seeing the hapless creature die! (weeps.) -
SIR E. (aside.) Die? D n it, she mustn't die.
I’ve gone too far. (aloud, and with a patronising air.) No,
no, my dear Mrs. Chillingtone, I have no pleasure in any-
thing of the sort, I assure you. Calm yourself, I entreat
you. I'm sure you won't attribute it to anything in the
shape of vanity, when I say that it is evident I have
been a little more fascinating than I intended. I meant
to win your consent, certainly—and I have won it; but
thinking—pardon me—that you were rather heartless (at
least, so I understood, you understand), I never dreamt
(don't you see?) that I should touch your heart. It only
shows that one never knows one's own powers: however,
though thoughtless, and perhaps wild, I trust that I am
still a gentleman—(aside.) how deuced well she looks
through her tears —(aloud.) and rather than see a lady
suffer on my account—(aside, having looked at her again.)
oh, by Georgeſ a man might do a great deal worse—
(aloud.) I offer you, this time in all sincerity, my hand
and fortune.
MRs. C. Sir Edward Ardent knows but little of the
woman whom he honours with his pity, if he supposes she
would wed a king upon such terms. It is my duty, how-
ever, to thank you for your generous offer—the more
generous because affection has no share in it. -
SIR. E. Now, Mrs Chillingtone, upon my word, you
must not say that. I assure you, I’m extremely fond ºf
you, -I was afraid I was—I mean, I thought I was ; but
this last half-hour has convinced me.
MRS. C. It will take longer to convince me.
18 A MORNING CALL,
Re-enter MRs. CHILLINGTONE, R. door.
MRs. C. Not gone yet, Sir Edward 2
SIR. E. Returned so soon, Mrs. Chillingtone?
MRs. C. Having a right to suppose the house clear, it
surely was not very wonderful that I should return to my
own drawing-room.
SIR. E. Oh, I’m gone. I merely came back to look for
my little dog. (whistles.) Trim, Trim, Trim. (whistles
again.) Where on earth has the dog got to : Trim,
Trim, Trim.
MRs. C. That was not your real excuse, sir; so don't
condescend to deceit.
SIR. E. You are right, it was not. I returned to prove
that I was not quite a monster, and to take my leave some-
what less abruptly.
MRs. C. Why go at all?
SIR. E. Do you wish me to remain on your account:
MRs. C. Oh dear, no ; on your own. After being so
excessively warm, it might be dangerous to rush into this
frosty air. (laughs at him.) Sudden changes sometimes
produce astonishing effects.
SIR. E. (aside.) “Sudden changes 1” “I thank thee,
Jew, for teaching me that word.” I’ll try a sudden
change. (aloud.) I've no objection to staying an hour or
two, as you seem to wish it. (goes to fire-place—draws
chair, and seats himself with his back to her.) Have you
got such a thing as a newspaper?
MRs. C. A newspaper, Sir Edward: A newspaper, in
my presence
SIR. E. Why not? you went to sleep in mine.
MRs. C. I was not asleep, sir.
SIR. E. Oh! you were only pretending:
MRs. C. That was all. I heard every word of the
nonsense you talked.
SIR E Ah! you may well call it nonsense. What
rubbish one does talk to women—doesn't one & And the
best of it is, they believe it—poor things
MRs. C. “Poor things,” Sir Edward!—“poor things!”
You don't flatter yourself that I believed all that you were.
A MORNING CALL. 19
saying; although it was easy to see you meant every
word.
SIR. E. Have you seen the poker anywhere?
MRs. C. The poker
SIR. E. What can there be in women that, although
quick to detect us when we flatter others, they invariably,
gorge the bait themselves.
MRs. C. I gorge the bait, Sir Edward —I'
SIR. E. How can my remarks apply to you? You are
a professed man-hater. -
MRs. C. I never said anything of the sort.
SIR. E. Well, you have given out that you mean never
to marry again.
MRs. C. I don't know that I have gone so far as that ;
but that has nothing to do with it. You have been for the
last twenty minutes making me professions of admiration
and attachment. I need hardly tell you that they were
perfectly indifferent to me; but the extraordinary
alteration in your tone and manner, gives me a right to
have this question answered—did you mean them :
SIR. E. (laughing.) No.
MRs. C. Were you attempting to make a fool of me?
SIR. E. (laughing.) Yes.
MRs. C. (aside.) This is a little too much—(aloud.)
Look you, Sir Edward Ardent, your assumed coldness—
SIR. E. And your assumed excitement—
MRs. C. I don’t say that it is altogether assumed.
SIR. E. You're annoyed, then :
MRs. C. Not the least annoyed; but I'm excessively
provoked at the deception you have practised. But it was
not a deception—I won't admit that it was a deception.
You were quite sincere.
SIR. E. Not I. *
MRs. C. You admire me beyond any woman you ever
Sawr,
SIR. E. Now, pray don't talk nonsense.
MRs. C. You do—and you love me to distraction.
SIR. E. Don’t I look as if I did. *
MRs. C. I don't care for that. You love me to
distraction—and, if you don't, you ought. And whether
you do or not, after what you have said, you are bound
22 A MORNING CALL.
SIR. E. Time is nothing—sincerity everything. I am
the most devoted of your slaves.
MRs. C. I’m sorry to hear it: the best slaves make the
worst masters.
SIR. E. I’ll promise anything.
MRs. C. So will a servant seeking a situation—so will
a candidate for a seat in Parliament—and so, no doubt,
would a king, were the office elective.
SIR. E. How can you hope to escape a risk which is
eommon to all Any man may break his word.
MRs. C. And, where women are concerned, most
men do.
SIR. E. Men, not gentlemen.
MRs. C. Am I to understand that you are a gentleman,
and not a man?
SIR. E. At present, think of me only as a lover.
MRs. C. Which, I presume, means neither.
SIR. E. It means either, both, or neither—at your bid-
ding; I am the slave of the lamp. -
MRs. C. Say rather of the ring.
SIR. E. Good; I am the slave of the ring, ready to
obey you in all things. I entreat you to make trial of
your power.
MRs. C. You shall be indulged. Fetch my bonnet
and shawl; (he goes for them) and, while you are about
it, bring your own hat. (he returns with them.) Now put
that on. (he is about to put on his hat.) No, no, put on
my bonnet.
SIR. E. Not your bonnet ! \\
MRs. C. Yes, and shawl. (he puts on the bonnet and
shawl.) Good, now give me your hat. (he gives it to her.)
SIR. E. What next, I wonder *
MRs. C. Now, sir, according to your own modest
account, ladies have been making love to you all your life.
I am curious to see how a lady looks when she so demeans
herself; (putting on his hat.) fancy me the fascinating
man which you evidently fancy yourself. Down on your
knees, and— I leave the rest to you. *
SIR. E. Well, if I must—there (kneels.) Hear me, then
you captivating tyrant, while I own that I love you, and
ask, in all humility, for a return. -
A MORNING CALL. 23
MRs. C. (aside.) I have him down at last, and there I'll
keep him. I fear I care too much about him, and love is
sweet; but to an insulted woman revenge is sweeter.
SIR. E. I entreat you to relieve me from a position
which is not only painful, but extremely inconvenient.
Do you love me?
MRs. C. What if I do * You are aware that all
personal considerations must bend before a sense of
public duty. It is necessary to read you a great moral
lesson.
SIR. E. You do not love me, then
MRs. C. (taking off the hat, and throwing it away.)
No ; I was shamming.
SIR. E. (rising, and throwing away the bonnet and shawl.)
So was I.
MRs. C. Your assertion comes a little too late, sir.
What would you have me infer from your having been
down on your knees to me?
SIR. E. That I have dusted them, and want a clothes
brush.
MRs. C. Indeed!—my servant will furnish you with
one, as you go out. -
SIR. E. Very well, madam—I understand your hint;
but, remember, I go to bear witness to my friends that
you accepted me, and I declined—I’m bound to speak
the truth.
MRs. C. Ay, and the whole truth; you will therefore
be pleased to add, that subsequently I declined the honour
$/ow proposed.
SIR. E. I'm afraid that will make me look ridiculous.
MRs. C. Not more so than you do now, I think.
SIR. E. There is but one way to make it bearable.
MRs. C. And that is—
SIR. E. Union is strength; let us be married, and share
the ridicule between us.
MRs. C. A very handsome offer; half your ridicule is
to be my marriage settlement.
SIR. E. Half all I possess on earth—nay, the whole.
I gain the better half if I get you.
MRs. C. But will a general so celebrated in the field of
love, be content to renounce all future conquests.
24 A MORNING CALI.
SIR F. Let him but win this final battle, and he
will. You shall be his Waterloo-in conquering you, he
masters all the world—for you, henceforth, are all the
world to him. y
MRs. C. It seems that, like schoolboys, we have
layed till we have become in earnest. Well, (giving
}. her hand.) be it so ; and let us hope that our
friends—though they may laugh at us, and welcome—
will enjoy, each evening, some pleasing reminiscence of
“A Morning Call.”
THE NEW

HAYMARKET
SPRING MEETING.

% £2tº QEaster (Extrañanga,
IN ONE ACT.
BY
J. R. PLANCHE,
AUTHOR OF
“Mr. Buckstone's Ascent of Mount Parnassus,”
“Mr. Buckstone's Voyage Round the Globe,” “Fortunio,”
“Seven Champions of Christendom,” “Golden Branch,”
“ Golden Fleece,”, “ Invisible Prince,” “ Blue Beard,”
“Camp at the Olympic,” “Yellow Dwarf,”
&c. &c. &c.
THOMAS HAILES LACY,
W E L L IN GT O N S T R E ET, S T R A N D,
LONDON,
First Performed at the Theatre Royal Haymarket,
on Monday, April 9th, 1855.
Characterg.
LoNDoN . o * > o e . Mrs. CAROLINE WHITE.
WESTMINSTER (her Sister) . . Miss HARRIETT Go RDO N.
BELGRAVIA Westminster’s Miss GRANTHAM.
TYBURNIA Adopted Daughters U Mrs. Co E.
TIME º Q. º © aº . Mr. CHIPPENDALE.
LORD MAYOR’s Foo L º e . Mr. BUCKSTONE.
SIP trºl tº 'S OF
THE CITY OF LONDON THEATRE . Mr. Co E.
THE STANDARD THEATRE º . Miss SCHOTT.
BRITANNIA SALOON º º . Miss LAVINE.
EAGLE TAVERN º cº & . Mr. CLARK.
The Scenery by Mr. CALCOTT, Mr. MORRIS, and Mr. O'CONNOR.
The Dresses by Miss CHERRY, Mr. BARNETT and Assistants.
The Properties by Mr. FORSTER.
The Music arranged by Mr. EDWARD FITZWILLIAM.
PROGRAMMIE OF SCENERY & INCIDENTS.
INTERIOR OF GUILDHAILL,
(LOOKING WEST)
“L O N DO N B Y N I G H T.”
CITY DAGGER-O-TYPE OF THE
JL(ORJD) MAYOR2S Śląſ(OW
1BY WATER. A. N. D. ºn ANſ. De
L 0N DO N BY MI00 N LIGHT.
The Part of ºn $ will be Spoken by
the Moon ; (nearly at the full) ; the Man in it.
(Who has been engaged expressly for this occasion.)
ARCHITECTURAL ELEVATIONS OF THE EXTRA-MURAI,
City of London & Standard Theatres,
BRIT ANN]]A AND) (GREG]/AIN SAILOONS,
BIRD’s-EYE view,
From the Top of the Grand Stand on Upsand Downs,
OF THE
THE A C E GC O U R § TE
IN
T H E FIELD OF S P E CULATION.
3Late ſabourites (Trottet out by Time:—
I,’ETOILE I) U. N.O.R.D. JANET PRIDE. PRINCE PRETTY PET.
YELLOW DWAR.F. LOUIS XI. PEREA NENA.
Names of the Horses and Colours of the Riders Entered for the
GREAT METRO POLITAN HAND I CAP,
OR
London and Westminster Easter Stakes!
1 Mr. Joh N BULL names “The Sultan.”
out of “Turkish Exhibition,” ... Dark Blue, Red Cap.
2 Mr. WYLDE’s “Sevastopol,” by
“Modeller” out of “Crimea,” All Black.
3 Mr. GRIEve’s “Balaklava,” by
“ British Hero ** Out of Miss Con-
ception, and brother to “Alma"
and “Inkermann,” ... ... ... All Crimson.
4 Mr. ALB. SMITH's “Mont Blanc,” All White.
5 Baron PANopTIcon’s “Fountain,” Light Blue, Rainbow Sesh.
6 Count POLYTECHNIC’s “ Steam
Gun,” by “Perkins,” ...
* - - Iron Grey, Black Cap.
7 Mr. BURForry’s “Panorama,”
(aged) ... ... ... ... ... ... Green, Brown Sleeves, Light Blue (Cap.
8 Mr. Gre’s “ Royal Italian,” ... White, Crimson Sleeves and Cap.
9 Mr. JARRETT's “Foreign Opera,” Scarlet, Blue Sleeves, Black Cap.
10 Mr. ALLcRoPT’s “Burlesque,” ... Yellow, Blue Sleeves, Red Cap.
11 Mr. WEBSTER’s “Fairy Tales,” White, with Silver Sleeves and Cap.
12 Mr. CHARLEs KEAN’s “Romance,” White, Tri-coloured Sash and Cap.
13 Mr. Buckston R’s “Extravaganza,” Yellow, Red Sleeves, Blue Cup.
JO C KEY H OR N P |P E.
“L E W O L TIG E U R G A L O PE,”
COMPOSED BY LADY GAY SPANKER.
Opening of the Grand Stand and the Start I
When Mr. BUCKSTONE will back himself behind the
Curtain, respectfuly bowing to the Public in general, and
the decision of the Jockey Club in particular.
THE NEW
HAYMARKET SPRING MEETING.
*eve --> *.
SCENE I.—Interior of Guildhall (looking west)—The
statues of Gog and Magog are seen occupying their proper
position in the angles on each side of the great west win-
dow.—Night.—The Genius of the CITY of LoNDoN is
discovered asleep, R.H.—St. Paul's is heard to strike
"midnight.
Enter TIME, L.
SONG—TIME. (“Gavotte de Vestris.”)
Past twelve o’clock'
Another day of London's ended;
Past twelve o’clock
Another day begun;
Past twelve o’clock
How much that still has to be mended;
Past twelve o’clock
Will see to-morrow's sun.
Isn't it a pity
Such a noble city
Fast asleep to view here
With such work to do here,
Deaf to Time
Who counts the chime *
Past twelve o’clock
Past twelve o’clock'
Whilst in this ancient hall you’re dreaming
Past twelve o’clock
Of future banquets gay,
Fast twelve o’clock'
What tears from sleepless eyes are streaming,
Past twelve o'clock |
Which might be wiped away!
6 THE HAYMARKET SPRING MEETING.
While you are naps enjoying
Time goes on destroying,
Though he can't help feeling
Wounds he might be healing.
London wake
For goodness' sake
Past twelve o’clock |
LoNDoN. (waking) King Lud! who's making such a
horrid riot P
Why won't you let the City sleep in quiet.
TIME. It's Time; as I was passing o'er Guildhall
I thought I'd just give you a morning call.
LoNDoN. A morning call! why, what's the time by you ?
TIME. Past twelve
LoNDoN. D'ye call that morning
TIME. Yes, I do.
LONDON. I don’t, and so good night.
TIME. You’d best take warning.
You may not live to see what you call morning.
LoNDoN. (rising hastily) Good Gracious Street !—
what do you mean P explain |
Am I on fire again in Pudding Lane P
Or is an earthquake likely up to swallow me?
TIME. Can't tell—I never know what ills may follow me.
I only say when I am here don’t lose me,
And then for your own negligence abuse me;
When the steed's stolen folks the stable door lock,
Though they've been told to take Time by the forelock.
LONDON. The proverb's somewhat musty.
TIME. From neglect;
Like many things in London I suspect.
LoNDoN. You're saucy!
TIME. No, I'm only plain and true;
Time has done wonders in his time for you,
And now, that he has brought you to maturity,
Thinks you should do a little for futurity.
LONDON. It’s my belief you're one of the Committee
That has been lately sitting on the City,
Calling me over my own coals, and making
A fuss about the money I’ve been taking,
THE HAYMARKET, SPRING MEETING. 7
Bidding me set my Mansion House in order,
And of my sentence be my own Recorder.
TIME. Well, Time has had a hand in it, I own ;
I am a watchman, on my beat well known,
And, if folks stop the way of Progress just,
I cry “Move on, there !” and move on they must.
LoNDoN. And have I not obeyed you in my movements?
Look at the thousands I’ve spent on improvements.
Haven’t I cleared out Smithfield’s pens and stalls,
And opened Cannon Street up to St. Paul’s 2
TIME. So far so good; but don’t stop at the corner,
Or I shall cry “Move on 1"
LoNDON. Unmannered warner
Move on yourself.
TIME. I do—my sands still run ;
Although you heed him not, Time flies.
St. Paul’s strikes one.
Past one ! [Evit L.
LoNDON. His voice to me is like a raven's croaking !
What right has Time his old nose to come poking
Into Guildhall, and up such matters stir
The City has its own Remembrancer.
His doleful ditty has disturbed me quite,
And I sha'n't get another wink to-night.
What's to be done? This state of things can't last.
Can I no wisdom gather from the past 2 (twrning to Gog
and Magog)
Oh! my right trusty well-beloved giants,
Who on approaching foes still frown defiance,
Stupendous relics of my ancient state,
All I have left—unquestionably great!
Have you no word upon this theme, to say, Gog 3
Can you not comfort me, most mighty Magog 3
Your wond’rous wooden heads together lay,
And of my Common Council be to-day.
- They roll their eyes.
Roll not your goggle eyes in grandeur dumb ;
Speak out like honest giants.
GIANTs. Fee-fo-fum !
8 THE HAYMARKET SPRING MEETING.
LONDON. Pshaw 1 Fee-fo-fum’s an answer vague and
cursory, '.
You speak like giants just out of the nursery.
Can't you talk common sense ?
They shake their heads.
They shake their shockheads,-
I fear they're but a monstrous pair of blockheads.
Music.—LoRD MAYor's Fool, rises from trap, L.c.
Fool. Of course they are; but they are not the first
You've called to council, nor perhaps the worst.
LoNDON. And who art thou that dare the City school?
Fool. The City ought to know the Lord Mayor's Fool.
LoNDoN. The Lord Mayor's Fool there's not been one
for ages. -
Fool, Because folks play the fool without the wages,
And therefore are much greater fools than me.
LoNDON. You're not the fool I took you for, I see.
How came you at this moment up to cast?
Fool. You wished to gather wisdom from the past,
And that to do you first must see its folly,
And here I am, alive again and jolly.
LoNDON. And what have you to show me, pray, beside
Fool. Something you used to show yourself with pride.
The end of the Hall opens, and discovers a dense
Ayellow fog.
LoNDoN. What's that 3
Fool. The Lord Mayor's Show.
LONDON. The Lord Mayor's Show
I can see nothing like it.
Fool. Can't you though
Just give your memory a gentle jog ;
I think it very like it—in a fog :
The dear old famous dark November vapour
Of neutral tint, 'twixt peas' soup and brown paper,
Through which the City stalks in grand array
Nine times in ten upon the Lord Mayor's day.
Now, if a show's worth showing, you'll agree it
Ought to be shown when somebody can see it.
THE HAYMARKET SPRING MEETING. 9
SONG—Fool. (Remember, remember the Fifth of November.)
Remember 1 remember
The ninth of November
Is more often foggy than not ;
I see no reason
'Gainst changing the season
For showing what grandeur you’ve got;
Why not, why
Another month try P
To stick in the mud
Cannot honour King Lud;
There's the sweet first of May,
Which was chimney sweeps' day,
Or if that is considered too late in the spring,
My own first of April would just suit the thing.
LoNDoN. Is this the way you would the City cheer up
I still am in a fog, which you must clear up.
Fool. Oh, pardon me, I'll do so in a minute,
And you shall judge the worth of what there's in it.
Music.—The fog clears off, and the Lord Mayor's
Show is seen by water and land.
LoNDoN. Why show me what I’ve seen so oft before ?
Fool. Because you may not see it any more
Scene closes.
LoNDoN. They're both in the same strain; both Time
and Folly
Seem bent on making London melancholy.
Why has this rage arisen, down to run
The greatest city now beneath the sun ?
Fool. The greatest now beneath the moon, I say.
LoNDoN. True, and of hope that sheds a cheering ray ;
For, if the planets rule the fate of man,
That gentle one will help me if it can.
SONG—LoNDoN. (“Rise, Gentle Moon.”)
Day will soon dawn on the Thames’s brown billow,
London they'd make, alas ! make her last will, O !
Time hurries on, from her arm-chair to shove her,
Rise, gentle moon, and show London you love her.
10 THE HAYMARKET SPRING MEETING.
With your mild light if upon her you soon shine,
Let her not find that her hopes are all moon shine;
You know what betides, since the tides you rule over,
Rise, gentle moon, and assist, if you love her.
Scene draws, and discovers the moon, nearly at the
full, and attended by its satellities.
LoNDoN. Great luminary of
Fool. “He knows thy thought;
“Hear his speech, but say thou nought.”
LoNDON. He—his 2 All things are changed upon my
word;
It was “the lady moon,” 'tis now “my lord.”
Moon. In the moon's changing there is nothing new.
LoNDoN. Granted; but I desire no change in you,
For by this light discern full well I can
The gentle moon is quite the gentleman.
Moon. I'm flattered by the City's approbation,
And sorry I possess no information
Upon the point which gives you such affliction,
The matter's not within my jurisdiction;
The cause by which you will be saved or undone
Is tried at Westminster, and not in London;
And, really, whether you will lose or win it,
The moon knows no more than the man that's in it.
Scene closes.
LoNDoN. At Westminster —ah! then my doom is sealed,
And to my younger sister I must yield ;
Or, playing once again a Roman part,
The dagger in my arms strike to my heart :
Or set the sword-bearer 'gainst London Wall,
And on the unsheathed weapon nobly fall !
Fool. Who'd be the fool then, Madam—I or you ?
Live and improve, as London ought to do.
LoNDON. What, and to Westminster's dictation bow
Let her improve herself—she needs
Noise of a carriage, R.H., driving rapidly wo, followed
by a thundering rat-tat-tat at the door, R.H.
How now P
Who knocks as if my door they meant to split?
THE HAYMARKET, SPB.ING MEETING. I i
Music.—Fool opens the door, and WesTMINSTER
enters in mediaeval costume, R.H.
Fool. Talk of the devil—Westminster to wit.
West. How d'ye do, sister 2
LoNDoN. (twrns her back on her) Matchless impudence!
WEST. “Now do I fear I’ve done some grave offence
“That looks disgracious in the City's eye,”
As Glo'ster says to the Lord Mayor; or why
Should London turn from Westminster so coldly 2
LoNDoN. “Why?” Can you ask that question ?
WEST. Yes, and boldly.
LoNDoN. Boldly, indeed! Dost thou not seek my fall 2
Would'st not wrench from me cap, sword, mace, and all P
Put down my Show, suppress my Corporation,
Of my own Thames dispute the conservation,
Give my Lord Mayor and Sheriffs both the bag,
Make of my livery mere tag and rag,
Chase Common Hunt and silence Common Crier,
Fling all my precious green fat in the fire,
Hang the whole Court of Aldermen in chains,
And leave of London's glory no remains 2
WEST. You are mistaken; London's glory lies
In her great works and noble charities; -
My Parliament is proud of them as you,
And honour gives where honour's justly due.
You're wrong to put yourself in such a passion,
Reform, my dear, is coming into fashion.
LoNDoN. Reform 1 My ears are weary of the word.
WEST. It isn't pleasant, but it will be heard;
I’m sure against it Westminster fought hard,
In Covent Garden and Old Palace Yard,
But ’twas no use; so, sister, make your mind up,
And all your old affairs with courage wind up;
Take a fresh start—go hand in hand with me,
Care less for calipash and calipee,
Your ancient hospitality keep up,
But wider circulate the loving cup;
Instead of up the Thames alone swan-hopping,
Help me to keep it clean from Kew to Wapping;
Release the poor from pestilential sties,
I? THE HAYMARKET SPRING MEETING.
Think of their rooms more than your companies!
Shall we, whose vital interests mutual are,
Divided see them still by Temple Bar
Down with all bars that would two sisters sever,
London with Westminster should live for ever ?
SONG—WEstMINSTER. (“O! I love, I love the morning.”)
O! begin this very morning,
A new way the East adorning,
All narrow notions scorning,
Go hand in hand with me;
Though the Past has had its pleasures,
Its banquets, and its treasures,
By a few enlightened measures
More merry, merry days you'll see.
LoNDoN. I fear your habits wont agree with mine ;
So late you rise—so very late you dine.
WEST. You're getting gradually into my ways,
Your cits. are not the cits. of other days;
With all the scorn for Fashion they profess,
They ape her whims, her dinners, and her dress;
And though on 'Change still early hours they keep,
No longer o'er their warehouses they sleep,
But fly for entertainment and fresh air
To Hyde Park Gardens or to Eaton Square.
London. That's true I own; for eastward after dark
I scarcely now can catch a banker's clerk.
What can they find so charming in the west ?
WEST. Come, see yourself.
LoNDoN. I'm tempted, I protest.
WEST. Indeed, to tell the truth, I’ve brought my
daughters -
To beg you’ll pay a visit to their quarters.
London. Your daughters?
WEST. Yes, adopted—not by marriage.
LoNDoN. Where are they
WEST. Waiting outside in the carriage.
London. Pray bring them in-whilst she a hall can
boast
London will ever be a liberal host.
THE HAYMARKET SPRING MEETING. I 3
Where is that fool of mine to ope the door
Fool. (at her elbow) You're just as near a fool, Ma'am,
as before
LoNDoN. Persuade those ladies to walk in.
Fool. ' No fear;
Folly has oft led Fashion, even here.
Music.—Fool, goes to door, R.H., and returns with
BELGRAv1A and TYBURNIA in fashionable morning
dress.
Fool. (annowncing) Ladies Belgravia and Tyburnia
WEST. Here’s
Your great aunt, London, wants to know you, dears.
LoNDoN. (aside) Expensively got up, and very pretty
(aloud) Young ladies, you are welcome to the City.
BELGRA. (c.) Delighted, Madam, I am sure, to know
you. g
LoNDoN. I fear I’ve very little here to show you.
TYBURN. (R.) Thank you—I think I’ve been here twice
or thrice.
BELGRA. I drove here once to ask some man's advice
About some horrid shares that I had got
In a I really don't remember what ;
I know I lost my money, and that's all.
TYBURN. Look, Bel, there are the giants—ain’t they
tall P
WESTMINSTER, BELGRAVIA, and TYBURNIA go wºp.
Fool. (down L., aside to LoNDoN) That girl Belgravia,
a few years ago,
Was found in the Five-fields at Pimlico,
So poor, so wild, you might have been afraid of her;
It’s wonderful what Westminster has made of her.
LoNDoN. And I remember, surely, 'tother daughter.
Fool. Of course—in a low place this side Bayswater;
She was called Tyburn then—of all folks you
Can’t well forget where she hung out, or who.
LoNDoN. What changes can be made by wealth and
dress *
That she was Tyburn who on earth could guess?
14 THE HAYMARKET SPRING MEETING.
SONG—LoNDoN. (“Since Laws were Made.”)
When plays were made worth going to see
Macheath I remember oft singing to me,
He wondered we'd not better company
Upon Tyburn Tree.
With wonder now indeed he might sing,
For instead of poor rogues hanging up in a string,
The sheriffs themselves go and take their full swing
Where stood Tyburn Tree
BELGRA. (advancing L.) Mamma informs us you'll do
her the honour
Some morning shortly to look in upon her;
Should you be our way, between eight and nine,
We should be charmed if you would stop and dine.
TYBURN. I’m sure it would delight us beyond measure.
LoNDoN. I am so busy—I’ve no time for pleasure.
WEST. You made me hope just now you’d come to-day.
BELGRA. We're going to the races.
TYBURN. Do come, pray.
LoNDON. What races 2 -
BELGRA. The New Haymarket Spring Meeting.
LoNDoN. What stories have they been to me repeating
About there being nothing new to see ?
WEST. Oh! the old stories—just what they tell me;
But, notwithstanding, when the town’s a mind
To be amused, amusement it can find :
So, come, from business you can sure spare one day,
Besides, remember this is Easter Monday,
And that’s a holiday for great and small.
You used to have a hunt and give a ball.
LoNDoN. For some time past I’ve ceased to hunt or hop,
The chase abandoned, and the ball let drop,
For what with books to keep, and bills to meet,
I scarce can spare an hour except
Fool. (L.) To eat
WEST. Have you no entertainment but a feast 2
You have a theatre or two, at least.
LONDON. Outside my gates there are some four or five,
But really I’ve no notion how they thrive.
THE HAYMARKET SPRING MEETING. I 5
WEst. Do let us see them now that we are here.
LoNDoN. Oh, by all means. My theatres appear !
Music.—The CITY of LoNDoN and STANDARD
THEATREs, the BRITANNIA SALooN and the EAGLE
TAvKRN rise, and occupy the Stage.
Enter the Geni of the CITY of London, L.H.
SONG—CITY of LoNDoN THEATRE. (“O! such a Town.")
All through the town, through this wonderful metropolis,
Folks are seen their fortunes making every day;
Prints for Potichomanie, and plans for a Necropolis,
Every thing is patronized except the Play;
In the City actually no one cares about the Stage,
And “Bishopsgate Within” remains still Bishopsgate
without a Stage;
The Drama now has not a booth 'twixt Temple Bar and
Aldgate;
So if you want to see her you must come to Norton
Folgate;
All through the town, through this wonderful metropolis,
Where everything is patronized except the Play.
WEST. A startling fact, that in this stirring age
The City's not advanced a single Stage.
Enter the STANDARD, R.H.
SONG.-STANDARD THEATRE. (“The Standard Bearer.”)
“The flag that braved the battle and the breeze,
A thousand years,” or something very like it,
With pride, Shoreditch above my building sees,
And not to any rival will I strike it!
Beneath it, here, I pick up pelf,
Though for the Stage the times are altered and hard,
“The blood of Douglas can protect itself,”
And all the plays produced here must be Standard |
LoNDON. Of course they must—there can be no denying
The Standard has come off with colours flying.
16 THE HAYMARKET SPRING MEETING.
Enter the BRITANNIA, R.c.
SONG—BRITANNIA SALoon. (“Red, White, and Blue.”)
“Britannia's the pride of the ocean”
And I’m of Britannia the host;
Of sinking the shop I’ve no notion,
I'm proud of my sign and my post.
With my dogs and my monkeys so active,
Performers who ne'er miss their cue,
Let them show me a bill more attractive,
Be it printed in red, black, or blue.
Fool. The Drama there one consolation sees,
Her audience may supporter, if they please.
An Eagle appears over the portico, c., and sings.
SONG—EAGLE TAver N. (“Pop goes the Weasel.”)
I’m the Bird of Conquest—made
First by Romans famous,
Though “Grecian” my Saloon was named,
By some ignoramus.
“Up and down the City Road,
In and out the Eagle,
That's the way my money comes,
Pop goes the weasel !”
Eagle disappears, c.
WEST. They seem a jolly party altogether.
Fool. The Eagle's in remarkably high feather.
WEST. And, apropos of feathers, wing your flight
Now to the west with us, and take a sight
At all we have to show in our gay clime.
LoNDoN. I’ve no objection, if I can find Time.
Enter TIME, L.H.D.
TIME. For what folks like, Time always can be found.
Fool. Not to lose Time, then, get over the ground.
LoNDoN. Would you go to the Course 2
Fool. Of course I would ;
The Lord Mayor's Fool likes everything that's good,
And in these races there should be good fun. [Evit L.H.
THE HAYMARKET SPRING MEETING. 17
LoNDoN. Where is the Course, and what the distance
run ?
WEst. All round the town, and up to Whitsuntide,
Then straight down through the season 'tother side.
LoNDoN. That's a long way—far as I can discern
There’ll be a few tail off before the turn.
TIME. Come to the Course at once; there you will see
All candidates for popularity
Ready for the great Easter Stakes to start.
LoNDON. Well, as Time presses, I must needs depart.
TRIO-WestMINSTER, LoNDoN, and TIME.
(“Turn on, Old Time.”)
Come on, Old Time, and by thy glass
The Easter Races let us see,
Who first the winning post shall pass
Can but be shown by thee.
LoNDoN and WESTMINSTER.
We'll trust to Time, he'll prove as fast
As any younger whip you'll find,
He'll give us down the road a cast,
And leave all drags behind,
Dan Phoebus turns out with a team,
That good 'uns are to go,
But when Old Time gets up his steam,
The sun himself seems slow.
TIME.
Yes, trust to Time he’ll prove as fast
As any younger whip you'll find,
He'll give you down the road a cast,
And leave all drags behind, &c.
ALL. So off we go! so off we go!
Scene changes to
The Grand Stand on Upsand Downs, overlooking the Race
Course in the Field of Speculation.
TIME. There are the Upsand Downs, and far as you
Or I can see, the Course o'er them you view;
I8 THE HAYMARKET SPRING MEETING.
It has been laid out by Imagination
In the unbounded Field of Speculation.
LoNDON. What sums have in that field been won and
lost
West. Here’s the Grand Stand
LoNDoN. But where's the Winning Post?
WEST. Oh, Time will show you that.
TIME. It may be here,
Or there, or anywhere—remote or near;
Of speculation once the race begin,
No one can tell at what point he may win.
How few that start guess how severe the pace is!
Enter Fool, with cards, L.H.
LoNDoN. (to Fool.) What's this?
Fool. Fancy's correct card of the races,
Names of the horses, colours of the riders.
WEST. Which are the favourites and which outsiders ?
Fool. State of the betting up to last night.
BELGRA. Law 1
What are the odds?
Fool. As long as you are
BELGRA. Pshaw "
WEST. What horse will you back. London 2 Come,
declare
Fool. London is bound, of course, to back her Mayor /
WEST. Talking of mares, over the card I pore,
But can’t see anywhere L'Etoile du Nord.
TIME. If you mean she that ran at Drury Lane,
I don't much think that she will start again.
WEST. I'm told there were some good points her about.
LoNDoN. As we've got Time, suppose he trots her out.
MUSIC.—Enter L'EToILE DU Nord, L., with Jockey.
WEST. What if we saw all those who won the last time P
Fool. Well, really now, that's what I should call past-
time ! -
TIME. In a few minutes that we shall be able,
Here's Janet Pride from the Adelphi Stable.
Music.—Enter JANET PRIDE, L., with Jockey.
THE HAYMARKET SPRING MEETING. 19
—Prince Prettypet, out of Display by Beverley.
Music.—Enter PRINCE PRETTYPET, L., with Jocker.
—The Yellow Dwarf young Robson rode so cleverly.
Music.—Enter YELLow Dw ARF, L., with JockRY.
Fool. That horse is with the yellows very ill,
Or else he has been bred on Saffron Hill.
AIR-WESTMINSTER. (“I’d be a Butterfly.")
I saw a butterfly once in a bower,
Which I ran after with much the same suit;
I feel beside myself, quite, at this hour,
And am in a pretty pet, really, to boot.
(“The Boy in Yellow wins the Day.”)
For 'gainst this colt my pet was matched,
And ran her best—but now she’s scratched;
And little Robson’s left to say,
“The Boy in Yellow wins the day.”
WEST. With such a jockey any horse I'd back.
TIME. Louis XI.-the Princess's crack.
MUSIC.—Enter Louis XI., L., with Jockey.
LoNDoN. He does great credit to his English trainer.
TIME. The Spanish Favorita, “Perea Nena.”
Music.—Enter PEREA NENA, L., with Jockey.
—D'ye mark the Andalusian blood that’s in her
There's action for you !
Fool. She looks like a winner.
Nena against the field if she’s to run
Twenty to one upon her
WEST. Done, Fool
Fool. Done
Bell rings.—Eacewnt THEATREs and JockBYs, R.H.
TIME. Hark! that's the bell for saddling—in a cluster
All that intend to start will shortly muster
To take their galop just before they run.
West. Well, sister, don't you like it —ain't it fun ?
20 THE HAYMARKET SPRING MEETING.
LoNDoN. It's fun for those who win, I must allow ;
But many managers are trembling now,
And may be posed, as it’s both play and pay,
To meet engagements upon settling day.
WEST. In Capel Court you've some such sort of fun,
Where bulls and bears, instead of horses, run ;
And there you’ll see a duck look much forlorner
Than any goose that goes to Hyde Park Corner.
SONG—WESTMINSTER. (“Ben Bolt”)
Oh, don't you remember how often men bolt,
In the Alley when they are done brown,
When they've bought or sold for what they call “the account"
And “Consols” have “gone up" or “gone down.”
Don't fancy the spirit of gambling, my dear,
To “the corner" confined is, alone,
Or that more folks get hurt by a fall on the turf,
Than in Alleys hard by London Stone.
I'd have you remember that jobbing in Stocks
Bad as backing of horses may be,
To be posted at Tat.’s or “declared” in “the house,”
Seems about the same thing, dear, to me.
We may both look grave if, alas! we think
Of the ruin folks are daily running to,
And of how many friends who were fast young men,
There remains but their “I.O.U.”
Fool. Here come the terribly high-mettled cattle !
Off at a killing pace they’ll shortly rattle.
Music.— Enter the SULTAN, with his Jockey, L.
TIME. Here's the first favourite, in fine condition,
“The Sultan,” out of Turkish Exhibition.
WEST. All England backs the Sultan; he must win
The Crescent Stakes.
Fool. The Czar will drop his tin.
TIME. France has got on him, too, a lot of money.
LoNDoN. Who rides him ;
TIME. A good fellow—Bono Johnny ;
Both at Silistria and Eupatoria
He beat Cossack and Muscovite.
THE HAYMARKET SPRING MEETING..., 21
LoNDoN. Victorial
Fool. You've heard the last joke running on the turf
Britannia rules the waves—Russia, the serf.
LoNDoN. What's this, with jockey all black as a coal?
TIME. A very dark horse—Wyld's Sebastopol,
He's lately in the bidding gone back sadly;
They say he has been managed very badly.
WEST. The knowing ones their heads have at him shaken.
LoNDoN. Ten to one 'gainst Sebastopol! (a pause)
FooL. t Not taken lº
Music.—Enter BALAKLAVA and Jock EY, L.
LoNDON. Here's one looks like a charger.
TIME. That all red one
That's Balaklava–he's a thorough bred one,
Brother to Alma and to Inkerman,—
A better bit of blood yet never ran.
LoNDoN. He's of a race that never ran away.
WEST. And yet his owner's Greive.
TIME. And well they may.
Music.—Enter Mont BLANC, FountAIN, STEAM GUN, and
PANORAMA, with Jock EYs, L.H.
LoNDoN. Here's one with jockey all white.
TIME. Oh, of course !
That's Albert Smith's Mont Blanc-a famous horse.
FooL. As winner of the Piccadilly plate
He ought to have been made to carry weight.
LoNDoN. What's the gay coloured one behind the
Mountain 3
TIME. Baron Panopticon's light-footed Fountain.
Fool. A fountain ought to run well any case in.
WEST. Yes, for a cup.
Fool. She's entered for a basin.
TIME. Count Polytechnic's Steam Gun.
Fool. That’s a stunning
Horse—he'll go like a shot in the straight running:
I know a colt though’d beat him on one ground.
TIME. Which 2
Fool. Colonel Colt, for he can run all round.
* To be altered to “Taken º’ When it is.
22 • THE HAYMARKET SPRING MEETING.
TIME. Here's Panorama runs round like a good one;
He's an old horse, but by no means a screwed one.
Fool. Upon the turf he's had a long existence;
I know his course—it's once round and a distance.
TIME. And that completes the Exhibition lot.
LoNDoN. What horses has the English Drama got?
TIME. Few thorough-bred, I fear;-but here they
COIOle.
Music.—Enter Roy AL ITALIAN, FoREIGN OPERA, STRAND,
ADELPHI, HAYMARKET, and PRINCEss's, with their
JocKEYs, L.H.
—Royal Italian, out of Tweedle-dum !
LoNDoN. That can't be English.
WEST. No, but he's the fashion,
And gentlemen to back him have a passion.
BELGRA. And ladies, too—there are some dozen pair
Of gloves, I know, on him, in Belgrave Square.
TYBURN. Oh yes! upon Italian we all doat,
And he’ll win by a neck.
Fool. You mean a throat.
LoNDoN. Alas! in any race it may be said
There are few now who can win by a head.
TIME. A foreign filly's matched against that colt.
Fool. Those foreign fillies are so apt to bolt.
TIME. Four more dark horses that may win or fail;
Allcroft's Burlesque, and Webster's Fairy Tale,
Buckstone's Extravaganza, Kean's Romance.
WEST. Extravaganza hasn't got a chance.
Fool. The deuce And I've been fool enough to
back it !
TIME. Hedge while you’ve Time—get some one up to
crack it.
AIR-WESTMINSTER. (“The Charge is Prepared.”)
The jockeys are weighed, the horses are met,
The judges are there—a beautiful show ;
But you look dismayed, for you have a bet—
A bet on a horse—no one knows how 'twill go.
THE HAYMARKET SPRING MEETING.. " 23
Then take Time’s advice, Fool, and hedge while you can,
Try what you can do both with East and West Ends,
Or scratch it at once—it may be the best plan,
For that way, perhaps, you’ll please all your friends.
Fool. Let's first see in a galop how 'twill look,-
Who knows but it may suit somebody's book
Music.—VolTIGEUR GALOP, then eacewnt THEATRES
and JockEYs, L.H.
TIME. Now clear the Course—it's time for them to start.
Fool. I've such a palpitation of the heart
For, notwithstanding 'tis a sporting age,
The odds are fearfully against the Stage;
And in the Drama's neck-or-nothing race
My horse may be too weak to live the pace;
Besides, I’ve really laid out such a lot on it,
I needn't tell you I have put the pot on it,
I’ve gone to the expense in hopes of beating,
To make a Grand Stand here for this Spring Meeting :
It’s not quite open yet, but if you're kind,
Fortune and Fame in it I yet may find,
And to enjoy the New Haymarket Races,
London and Westminster flock here for places;
I'll ride myself—I’m little, light, and smart,
All I implore is, give me a good start,
See us all fairly off, I'll trust to luck
And jockeyship to come out of the ruck,
I'll wait upon the favourite up the hill,
And let the Public see I'm pulling still,
Challenge him at the distance, with him close,
And, with a Chifney rush, win by a nose.
You are the judges–be the starters, too,
Say go, and we will go—the season through.
FINALE. (“Rouse, Brothers, Rouse.”)
TIME.
Come, brothers, come ! the course is clear before us,
Fair be the start, and fair be the race;
Luck to us all ! May no misfortune floor us!
In Public Favour we seek but a place.
24 THE HAYMARKET SPRING MEETING.
LoNDoN.
Backers we hope for in both the Cities,
And while to please we do our best,
With friends we feel that filled our Pit is,
Whether they come from the East or the West.
Come, brothers, come, &c.
WESTMINsTER.
There's room enough for all to thrive in,
Wide elbow-room—and, truth to say,
So hard the course we're doomed to strive in,
More than enough room oft found at the Play.
“But while there's life there's hope,” say the cunning,
So with our jockeys we here make a stand,
Each Drama well mounted—your signal for running
Our Handicap, we await cap in hand.
Come, brothers, come, &c.
T00 MUCH OF A GOOD
THING !
Ø (ſtomic HBrama
IN ONE ACT
BY
A. H A R R IS
A UTHOR OF
The Avalanche, Our Nurse Dorothy, Betty Martin, Fairy Page,
A Peculiar Position, dºc. &c.
THOMAS HAILES LACY,
W E L L IN GT ON STREET, S T R A N D,
L O N D O N.
TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING.
First Performed at the Royal Lyceum Theatre,
on Thursday, February 22nd, 1855.
zº
(ſharacters.
CAPTAIN HECTOR MONTGOMERY (late
of the Cape Rifles)............... .............. Mr. Robert Roxb3.
DR. BRANDYSNAP (Surgeon in the same
Regiment)....... * ºr p & e º 'º º tº ºr ºf ºf e º s e ºf a w w s is º a s is ºf e º 'º a s & ºr * MR, BASIL BAKER.
SAM (Captain Montgomery's Man Servant) ... MR. Swan,
ISABEL (Wife of Captain Montgomery)...... Miss H&GHES.
DIANA BRANDYSNAP ........................ Mrs. F, MATTHEws.
BETTY ........................... .................... Miss WASTALL.
(igstumt5.
HECTOR. Fashionable dressing gown, cord and tassels round ths
waist, smoking cap, large Eastern trousers, and slippers.
BRANDYSNAP. Undress military frock coat and cap. ;
SAM. Plain livery.
DIANA, Riding habit, cap, and veil.
ISABEL. Morring dress, bonnet, mantilla.
BºyTY.-Plain dress, apron, and cap.
TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING.
--~~~~~f~f~54
Scene.—A tastefully furnished Parlowr. Door at back, opening upon
garden; doors, R. 2 E. and L. 2 E.; small door at L., U. E. of
scene; sofas, easy chairs, dºc. déc.
IsABEL crosses stage on tip-toe, L., and listens at R. D.
IsAB. Four o'clock and not a sound—he must have fallen asleep
again
Enter SAM, loaded with phials, an ice pail, medicine bottles with large
labels, déc., &c., C.
Ah, Sam, is it you? I hope you have had more straw laid before
the door 2
SAM. Straw, mum l—why, bless your heart, there's a reg’lar hay
field in front of the house; you wouldn't hear a park of artillery go
by at full trot
IsAB. That's well: you have made the necessary purchases?
SAM. Yes, mum; I’ve been to lay in a fresh stock of restora-
tives, as they calls 'em, for master—poor dear man | Ah! (sighs
noisily) just please to glance your eye over this list of articles.
(reads, while ISABEL looks over the paper) “Two packets of
Emden Groats; one bottle of ‘Dinneſord's pure fluid Magnesia;’
one ditto best compound sublimated concentrated extract of double-
distilled Barley Water; three boxes of Seidlitz Powders; pail of
Ice, to put on master's head; aromatic Plants for fumigation”
Is AB. (interrupting) Hark! I thought I heard him move.
SAM. Not at all unlikely, poor dear man l (puts down parcels,
bottles, &c. on table)
IsAB. I should so like to see him before I go for my drive. (at
R. door, calling softly) Hector! Hector, my love l—are you awake,
dearest l
HECTOR. (within, R.—in a languid tone) Is it you, Isabel !
IsAB. (to SAM). There, I knew he was awake 1 (at door) May I
come in, love?
HECTOR. (within) Not yet, sweetest | I think I shall try to get
up; send Sam here.
SAM. (lowdly) Yes, sir!
Is AB. For goodness' sake, Sam, don't bawl in that horrid mammer
In your poor master's delicate state, you might bring on a paralysis
of the nervous system
SAM. (aside) Nervous system, indeed! I don’t believe master's
got such a thing ! Eacit, into room, R.
4 TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING.
ISAB. Dear, dear, how he stamps with those masty great thick
shoes of his; servants really have no feeling.
JEnter BRANDYSNAP and DIANA, the latter attired in a riding habit, c.
BRANDY. My dear Mrs. Montgomery how charmed I am to see
you looking so well !
IsAB. Doctor Brandysnap, I declare ! How delighted my hus-
band will be to know you are here !
BRANDY. Allow me, without further preliminary, to introduce
my wife, Mrs. Diana Brandysnap, of the Cape Rifles
DIANA. (Shaking ISABEL by the hand) Brandysnap, you didn't
exaggerate your merits. In his description of you, my love, you
are charming—you are indeed—there's no flattery in me—if I did
not think so, I shouldn’t say it—I shouldn't indeed I Should I,
Brandysnap?
BRANDY. Indeed she would not—but we've been quite alarmed
to find straw laid down before the door . Surely Hector isn't ill ?
IsAB. Alas! he's far from well he's so very delicate
BRANDY. Delicate why when we were at the Cape, you know,
(to DIANA) he had a constitution of iron—the appetite of a wolf,
DIANA. And the digestion of an ostrich 2
ISAB. (arranging cushions in an arm chair) But you shall now
judge for yourself, I hear his step.
Enter CAPTAIN HECTOR, 8wpported by SAM, and leaning on his cane,
he is dressed in a morning gown, and wears a velvet cap with tassels,
his complexion is fresh and ruddy, and eachibits every symptom of
perfect health, R. D.
IsAB. Hector, my love 1 (points to BRANDYSNAP and DIANA)
HECTOR. (in a lowd hearty voice) What, Brandysnap, my boy
I'm delighted to (recollecting himself—languidly) Ah! old fellow,
is that you? (they shake hands)
BRANDY. Yes, the regiment's ordered home, and here we are in
old England again And so you're on the sick list, eh? (aside)
'Pon my life, for a man with straw before his door, he doesn't look
so bad! (aloud) Come now, what's the matter?
Hector. How should I know, when my three doctors can't tell me?
DIANA. Doctors doctors are idiots!
BRANDY. Thank you, my dear !
HECTOR. Ah! my companion in arms, Diana | I declare my
poor head is in such a bewildered condition that I positively didn't
recognize you. (in a more animated tone) What a remarkably killing
riding habit that is
DIANA. Very becoming, isn't it? I've just been showing the
timid London belles in the park, what riding ought to be
HECTOR. (admiringly) Isabel, my love, you little know what an
amiable, high-spirited, thorough-bred being, is your guest at this
moment! She served with us during a whole campaign A perfect
Joan of Arc, who performed one or two exploits which ought to
have been gazetted;
TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING. 5
DIANA. Captain, you’ll oblige me by dispensing with any bio-
graphical details, or I shall be under the painful necessity of calling
you out ! (throws herself into a feneing attitude and makes a lunge at
HECTOR with her riding whip). Ah I see you’re a little astonished
at my military manners, (to ISABEL) but you’ll soon get over that
I’ve taken a fancy to you already, and to accelerate our intimacy
suppose we drop the Mrs., and call each other Bell and Di at once
What d'ye say now 2
Is AB. (rather surprised) With all my heart—I’m sure I——
MRs. B. You see, when one has been in the army, one can't be
expected to attend to all the mawkish little peculiarities of what's
called polite society Talking about politeness, though, it strikes
me that we're preventing you from going out—no ceremony, you
know.
ISAB. Oh, no ! I was merely about to take my afternoon drive—
perhaps you would like to accompany me? if so, we will leave the
gentlemen to themselves, and complete our acquaintance our way.
DIANA. Agreed
IsAB. And while we are gone, Doctor, see that Hector takes his
barley water, it does him so much good |
DIANA. Barley water | Mercy on us! A Captain in the Rifles
drinking barley water?—what a falling off. By, bye, Captain,
don't over indulge. Come along, Bell. Exeunt, C.
The moment the LADIEs are gone, HECTOR throws away his stick,
Tuns nimbly to the door. and looks after them.
BRANDY. (aside) Hollo why the invalid seems suddenly to have
recovered his strength.
HECTOR. (calling) Now then, Sam | Dinner
BRANDY. (aside) Dinner! why I thought he dined on barley
Water.
HECTOR. (calling) And I say, Sam bring pipes, tobacco, and
brandy.
JEnter SAM, L. U. E.
BRANDY. Tobacco and brandy to a man in his delicate state —
evidently under the influence of delirium ! I say, what's your
mame, we'd better tie him up—he'll be doing some mischief.
SAM. Ha, ha, ha! all right you know ! (to HECTOR) Please, sir,
the dinner's laid in your room—it's been ready nearly half an hour,
sir; but you see, missus didn't go out as soon as we expected, and
I’m afraid it's got cold.
Hector. Weil it can't be helped You see, Doctor, as you didn't
write to say you were coming, you'll have to put up with pot luck.
(to SAM). What is there?
SAM. There's fried soles, a piece of roast beef, a boiled turkey, and
a gooseberry pie.
HECTOR. (to SAM) Do you think there's emough for two?
BRANDY. Enough for two l—enough for a dozen, you mean :
(aside) The malady don't seem to have affected his appetite.
HECTOR. (to SAM) And the wine 2
6 TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING.
SAM. One bottle of Claret marked “Extract of Camomiles,” one
ditto Champagne labelled “Seltzer Water.”
BRANDY. (aside) Very mysterious, 'pon my life -
HECTolt. Double the liquid, and I think we shall do. Now then,
Doctor, as my delicate condition prevents me from undertaking an
exercise of a laborious nature, perhaps you'll give Sam a lift with
the dinner table—we'll dine in here.
BRANDY. (aside, tapping his forehead) I'm afraid he's slightly gone
here—harmlessly insane, I dare say ! Poor fellow ! I suppose I
had better humour him. Bacit with SAM to fetch table, L. U. E.
HECTOR, Ha, ha! Brandysnap evidently can't make out the
state of affairs; not a bad notion either, a patient inviting a doctor
to dine with him.
Re-enter SAM and DoCTOR, carrying a well-dressed table, L. U. E.
HECTOR. Sam.
SAM. Yes, sir.
HECTOR. As this is Saturday, you’d better step over to Cremorne
and pay Simpson his bill for the week's dinners; it won't do to
have him sending, my wife might get hold of the accounts.
SAM. Very good, sir.
HECTOR. (to SAM) And now to your post; and keep vigilant
watch lest the enemy should steal a march upon us.
SAM. All right, Captain. (they sit down to table)
13RANDY. (aside) The enemy . He evidently fancies he's at the
Cape. Mad as a March hare I’ll see whether he can stand a
good steady gazel (stares fiasedly at HECTOR)
HECTOR. Now them, Doctor, what are you staring at 2
BRANDY. Why—the fact is—your behaviour appears to me so
extremely—peculiar, that I’m not quite certain whether I’m
awake, or whether I’m under the influence of a remarkably violent
nightmare
HECTOR. (helping him) Just try a leg of this turkey, and tell me
whether it tastes of nightmare.
BRANDY. (eating) Well, I admit that this is not the “stuffing
that dreams are made of.” No, there's no mistaking the flavour
of sage and onion | But in the name of all that's mysterious
explain the meaning of this studden convalascence, and instantaneous
voracity Are you, or are you not, ill?
HECTor. Ill ! Bless your heart, never was better in all my life.
BRANDY. Then what do you mean by having straw laid before
your house?
HECTOR. Dear me, Doctor, what a very inquisitive person you
are; but I’ll punish you for your curiosity by beginning my story
at the very beginning. So fill your glass, pass the bottle, and
open your ears . I must inform you, in the first place, that my
wife was brought up and educated by her uncle, Squire Evergreen,
one of those rural fixtures who never think it worth while to stir
off their own estates, and who never seem to take off their top
boots from one end of their lives to the other. I needn't tell you
TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING. 7
that with such a guardian, the life led by the object of my affections
was tolerably secluded. .
BRANDY. &; his glass) This claret's uncommon fine.
HECTOR. A few days before our wedding, the Squire said to me,
with a grave expression of countenance, “Hector, my boy, your
future wife is an angel, but she possesses one little defect—she's
too affectionate l’”
BRANDy. Not a bad fault that—in a wife—either. (emptying hi
lass -
g tºwn. “I can't take a walk in my garden,” continued the
worthy uncle, “but she insists on coming with me: there she is,
ever at my side—gathering flowers for me—picking threads off my
coat—chasing away the flies for fear they should settle on my
mose, or fidgetting my life out by some equally trivial proof of
officious affection. So that,” continued the poor man, “whenever
I’ve been in want of a little actual solitude, or positive liberty, I've
been compelled either to go shooting, or to sham indisposition, and
lock myself in my room.”
BRANDY. Ha, ha! How very peculiar ! (emptying his glass)
HECTOR. Well, blinded as I then was by the ardour of my
passion, I set the old Squire down as a heartless barbarian, and
wondered how on earth any one could ever feel weary of so angelic
a companion. Picture to yourself, old boy, a beautiful innocent
young creature—all smiles, grace, and fascination | During the
first weeks of our honeymoon, it seemed the seventh heaven of
delight to sit with her, hour after hour, her hand in mime, my eyes
fixed lovingly on hers—“the world forgetting, by the world forgot.”
BRANDY. (yawning slightly) What first-rate gooseberry pies Simp-
son does turn out ! -
HECTOR. As you may imagine, the first three months of our
union seemed the very quintessence of human felicity; the second
quarter, somehow or other, seemed decidedly less satisfactory; and
as for the third, I regret to say——
BRANDY. You may save yourself the trouble, I can imagine what
the third must have been l (emptying his glass)
HECTOR. - )f course you cam—you are a married man, and must
have experienced it yourself!
BRANDY. Not exactly; I must do my Diana the justice to admit
that she's no angel; and that she had already had two husbands
before I led her to the hymenaeal altar ! This of course saved an
immense deal of billing and cooing !
HECTOR. Lucky fellow !—Well, to continue my narrative, I grew
so fearfully tired of the affectionate monotony of this turtle-dove
existence, that I was at last compelled, in positive self-defence, to
resort to one of the expedients devised by the worthy Squire Ever-
green. Ishammed indisposition—a quiet sort of malady—involving
the exclusive benefit of one's own society, and a great deal of straw
before the door
BRANDY. But that must have been even more tedious than the
other extreme 2
HECTOR. Not a bit of it, my dear fellow !—don't you see, that
8 TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING.
having by this device secured undivided possession of my own
apartment, the moment the house is quiet, and my wife has retired
for the night, I’m off through my bed room window ! -
BRANDY. Aha! I begin to understand. (emptying his glass, which
perceptibly begins to take effect on him) -
HECTOR. You can't #. how I enjoy these little nocturnal ex-
cursions, after having been literally pinned for so many months
past to my wife's apron string. Among the many advantages
connected with a villa residence on the Fulham Road, I certainly
look upon its vicinity to Cremorne Gardens as one of the strongest
arguments in favour of the locality | Yes, my boy, in that subur-
ban paradise of cockney delights, you may find your friend, Captain
Hector Montgomery, late of the Cape Rifles, night after night, or
rather morning after morning, laudably engaged in polking, quad-
rilling, &c. &c., or some other equally effective antidote to the
frightful monotony of a matrimonial tăte-a-tête of twelve months'
duration —and thus, while my amiable spouse imagines that her
model-husband is snugly tucked in and innocently snoring, that
exemplary individual—concealed beneath a huge wig, and armed
with an immense pair of whiskers—is, in reality, astonishing the
habitués of Cremorne by his dexterous reminiscences of a Zulu
Kafir War Dance, acquired by my residence at the Cape
BRANDY. By Jovel
HECTOR. My man, Sam's, in the secret, and the moment I’m off,
he claps a lay figure into my bed, and sits ceremoniously beside it;
this last precaution being adopted in case my wife should take it
into her head to look through the keyhole !
BRANDY. Very ingenious, 'pon my lifel (drinking) -
HECTOR. And yet, Doctor, with all this, you mustn't think that I
don't love my wife—on the contrary, I adore her; but you know
it is just possible to have too much of a good thing ! One requires a
change, you know—a contrast—a holiday, in fact. Lawyers have
their long vacation; members of parliament have their recess;
soldiers get their leave of absence; but husbands—unfortunate
husbands—are the only poor devils who are never allowed a
moment's respite
BRANDY. It's too bad, 'pon my life .
HECTOR. However, my mind's made up, I intend to have a month
to myself, somewhere ! I shall therefore recover by rapid stages,
and start with all possible speed. The thing is to hit upon some
plausible pretext for a journey !
BRANDY. (whose pronunciation has become confused and thick) Ah,
to be sure l—suppose we try a glass of grog as a stimulus to our
inventive faculties |
HECTOR. Not a bad ideal Sam tumblers hot water |
SAM places glasses, dºc., and goes off, C.
Now, then, Doctor, two-thirds brandy to one of water—that's
the proportion, I believe 2
BRANDY. Hollo 1 stop ! (takes bottle out of HECTOR's hand
Why, my dear fellow, you're giving me, “Dinneford's pure flui
Magnesia 1"
TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING. 9
HECTOR. Ha, ha! another ingenious device, old boy —since the
commencement of my indisposition, we've been obliged to keep our
brandy in medicine bottles on account of the labels
BRANDY. Ha, ha, ha!
HECTOR. And so with the tobacco—here it is, ticketed “Aro-
matic Plants for Fumigations !”—not bad that, eh?
BRANDY. Very fine, 'pon my life . Here's your health, my boy!
HECTOR. Long life to you, old fellow !
BRANDY. Liberty for ever!
HECTOR. (rising) Allow me to give you a toast—“The married
man's pocket companion—the latch key !”
BRANDY. (speaking thickly) Hear, hear ! Permit me, in my turn,
to give you—“The Grand Turk—the model of conjugal felicity
HECTOR. Drunk with enthusiasm —huzza
BRANDY. Huzza
- JEnter SAM, C., running.
SAM. Sir, sir! the enemy's upon us—missus is coming through
the garden gate |
HECTOR. Clear away with all your might ! (great confusion—
BRANDYSNAP and HECTOR endeavour to conceal bottles, déc., the former
being very shaky on his legs, which he tries to conceal)
SAM. Please, sir, they’re just coming up the gravel walk.
HECTOR. Too late—I must face it out somehow. (sinks on the sofa
fin a languid attitude)
Bnter ISABEL and DIANA G.—SAM retires L. U. E.
ISAB. Here we are—we've had such a delightful drive. (stops short)
What, dinner laid 2 dear me !
HECTOR. (embarrassed). Well, I flatter myself, my love, that
there's nothing remarkably surprising or positively alarming in the
fact that dinner's laid.
BRANDY. The truth is, my hospitable friend Hector, although too
delicate to eat anything himself, would insist upon my picking a
little lunch, while he (confused) looked on.
DIANA. (to BRANDYSNAP) But, my dear, you surely can't have
been eating off two plates, and drinking out of several glasses
HECTOR. Why, you see, the Doctor was so annoyed by the rays
of the sum darting obliquely through the stained glass window, that
he found it necessary to change his position. >
BRANDY, Yes, the flood of light through that crimson pane so
dazzled my eyes, that I was obliged to cross over, leaving my plate
behind me. -
DIANA. Ah l—I see
ISAB. (coaacingly) And so my poor dear Hector has tasted nothing
since the morning 2
BRANDY. Oh, yes! he has—
HECTOR, (coughing) Hem—hem
BRANDY. He's had several glasses of barley water.
Isab. What a good boy! But how flustered you look, darling.
DIANA. Flustered —why he's as red as a turkey cock :
HECTOR. Yes, I feel a sort—of a kind of a feverish sensation.
10 TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING.
ISAB. Dear, dear! a sudden determination of blood to the head.
You must have a foot bath immediately, with plenty of mustard!
HECTOR. What after all that barley water ?
H º: Yes, dear; I'm sure you'll take it now, to please your own
S8,061.
HECTOR. I—I—I’d rather not, thank you.
ISAB. (beginning to cry) Ah! it's always the way; he never will
do as I ask him—but I see how it is.
DIANA, (coaacingly) Come—come !
º, (*) He doesn't love me—he doesn't want to get well
–Ill—0.1—Ill º
DIANA. Come, Captain, do as your wife tells you.
HECTOR. I appeal to Brandysnap, whether in my present
delicate condition, a foot bath isn't contrary to all the rules of
established medicine.
BRANDY. (trying to walk steadily across to HECTOR, whose pulse he
feels) The patient's disorder is one of a very peculiar and com-
plicated nature; and there is every reason to believe that the use of
the foot bath might result in rush of blood to the head; I should,
on the contrary, recommend a refreshing turn in the garden'
ISAB. In the garden, Doctor?—why he hasn’t left the house for
a fortnight!
BRANDY. The patient's system requires air and exercise. Come,
Captain, lean on me. t
ISAB. But let me wrap my shawl round him.
BRANDY. Needless, I assure you. W
ISAB. Hector, dear! slip your great coat over your dressing gown.
BRANDY. Quite unnecessary.
DIANA. Do you want to make an old clothes man of the poor
fellow 2
IsAB. In his delicate condition, we can’t be too careful, you know.
BRANDY. Leave him too me, I’ll undertake to cure him entirely
in-no time. -
IsAB. (joyfully) Oh, thank you, Doctor, I could kiss you for
saying so, I could !
DIANA. You have my full permission ; or stay—free trade for
ever ! we'll make an exchange—hands across and set to partners
(erosses over to Hector, and kisses him—aside) Why, I declare
the invalid smells strongly of brandy
HECTOR. (walking up with Doctor) Good-bye, ladies'
Eacewnt HECTor and BRANDYSNAP, at back, their gait being
rather unsteady)
ISAB. (rings)
Enter SAM L. U. E.
Sam, now I think of it, you shall go and pay the apothecary’s bill.
(to DiANA) Forgive my rudeness in attending to household matters
in your presence.
i)1ANA. Don't mind me, I beg.
Isab. I'll just read it through (sits at table R.) º
SAM. (aside) And I'll take the opportunity of stepping over to
TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING. 11
('remorne and paying Simpson. By-the-bye, I may as well examine
his account. (pulls paper out of his pocket and stands L.)
DIANA. (aside) I can't get over the perfume of brandy, with which
my olfactory nerves were just now regaled—it strikes me that
all isn't fair and above j' in this model establishment. I wonder
what that worthy factotum's about ! (goes behind him and peeps
over his shoulder L. C.)
IsAB. (reading) “Monday 17th, one bottle of Tonic Mixture and
box of Morrison's Pills.”
SAM. (reading) “Monday 17th, Haunch of Venison, roast Duck
and Green Peas.”
IsAR. (ditto) “Tuesday 18th, Mixture and Pills as before.”
SAM. § “Tuesday 18th, Rump Steaks and Oyster Sauce,
College Pudding.”
Isab. (ditto) “Wednesday 19th, Burgundy Pitch Plaister and
two boxes of Cough Lozenges.”
º: (ditto) “Wednesday 19th, Devilled Kidneys and Lobster
Salad.”
D1ANA. (aside) Remarkably contradictory accounts these, con-
sidering they were incurred on precisely the same days for pre-
cisely the same individual College Pudding and Morrison's Pills
scarcely agree
IsAB. (reading) “Mixture—pills—mixture—pills.” Oh, I've no
doubt it's quite correct—to think that my poor dear husband should
have taken all this masty stuff!
SAM. (aside—reading) “Welsh rabbit—boiled fowl—cranberry
tart. Yes, it seems pretty mear the mark—master has got through
a tolerable quantity this week.
Jºnter BETTY, running c.
BETTY. Oh, please missus, there's master
ISAB, Good gracious ! has anything happened to him 2
BETTY. Lawk, no marm—quite the contrary: As I was a lookin’
out o' the garret window I see'd him dancing and jumping in the
back gardem.
Is AB. Impossible !
BETTY. Besides, smoking of a cigar ! I was so delighted to see
him a henjoying of himself that I nearly broke my neck a runnin'
down stairs to tell you.
SAM. (aside) Hold your tongue, you fool! (makes signs to BETTY,
rtho goes off 1. U. E.
Is AB. (to DIANA) Let us hasten to assure ourselves of the truth of
such joyful intelligence.
DIANA. (aside) This last bulletin and the devilled kidneys tend
greatly to confirm my suspicions (as they are going out they are met
by HECTOR and BRANDYSNAP, who enters c.)
ISAB. Hector, dear, I’m so glad to hear that you are better.
HECTOR. (languidly). A itfie-only a little,
º, but Betty tells us that you've been dancing in the back
garden :
HECTOR. (confused) A little gymnastic exercise—undertaken at
the Doctor's suggestion, with a view to shake off the lethargic
12 TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING,
state of semi-somnolency in which I have lately been plunged 1
(aside) Confound that stupid Betty, she's always looking out of the
back window !
ISAB, Do you think he might venture upon a little mutton-broth,
Doctor? -
HECTOR. (hastily) No, no. I assure you I haven't the least appetite.
DIANA. (R. aside) That I believe.
BRANDY. (c.) The less he takes at present the better.
DIANA. (aside) Brandysnap's evidently in the secret, but, by Jove,
I’ll have it out of him .
HECTOR. (L. C. aside to SAM) Prepare the dummy, I'm going out
at elevem.
SAM. (L.) All right, sir. Bacit into room R. 2 E.
DIANA. Do you know, Captain, I should very much like to see the
garden in which this marvellous cure was so suddenly effected—
Brandysnap shall shew me the precise spot on which his skill and
science wrought such a wondrous miracle.
BRANDY. Certainly my dear! (aside to HECTOR) While we're gone
you can open the case !
DIANA. Come, Doctor, I’m all impatience. Eacewnt c.
IsAB. (taking HECTOR's hand) How glad I am that they have left
us alone, that I may tell my dear Hector how happy—how over-
joyed I am, to see him restored to health and spirits.
HECTOR. Not quite, my love, I certainly am a trifle better, but I
still feel excessively languid.
IsAB. Then sit down, dearest, by the side of your own little Isabel
(leading him to sofa L.C.) Ah! you don't know how much sheloves you.
HEctoR. (carelessly) Yes I do, darling.
IsAB. But I say you don’t, sir! You little know the anxiety—
the sleepless nights I have passed during the last three weeks—
(joyously) However, it's all over now, and my Hector's himself
agalll.
*Hºotor. (aside) I see, I shall never be able to propose my
journey.
IsAB. I have been forming plans for the future lately How
delightful it would be to live in a little cottage, situated in the midst
of a deep forest, or in a little hut on the top of a mountain.
HECTOR. (sarcastically) Yes, uncommonly delightful—so very
lively.
i. (continuing) Alone with mature, each absorbed in the other,
and forgetful of the world and all its vanities.
Hector. (sarcastically) But mightn't we have a friend or two, just
to counteract the desert solitude of the highly romantic situation you
have chosen 2
IsAB. What care we for friends—are we not all the world to each
other ?
HECTOR. But I presume your domestic regard wouldn't exclude
a servant or So?
Is AB. Servants | What should we want of servants?
HEctor. Why, among other little things, to get the dinner ready.
IsAB. No, that should be my department; besides, we should live
principally on wild fruits and new milk.
TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING. 13
HECTOR. (making a wry face) How remarkably delicious!
IsAB. (enthusiastically) And them what beautiful donkey rides
we'd have —how happy we should be Tell me now, dear Hector,
when shall we remove 2
HECTOR. But, my love, what's to become of our villa here *
ISAB. Oh, sell it !
HECTOR. And my estate in Devonshire?
ISAB. Sell it ! •
HECTOR. And my Crystal Palace shares?
ISAB. Sell them :
Hector. (aside) I wish I could ! -
JSAB. You see how very easy it is. Oh, how delightful it will be
to live all alone with my dear darling little husband 1 (embraces him)
HECTOR. (aside) Confound it! this isn't what I bargained for.
(aloud) Dear me, I feel a sudden faintness. -
IsAB. (alarmed) Let me run for my smelling bottle 2
HECToft. No, I think I had better get into bed again.
Enter SAM, R. 2 E.
SAM. (aside to HECTOR) The dummy is in its place.
ISAB. I’ll prepare your evening draught. Eacit, L. U. E.
Enter DIANA, from garden, c.
HECTOR. And while you are doing so, I'll just return to the
}}octor for a moment, and wish him good night.
Eaceunt HECTOR and SAM, c.
DIANA. Can't get a word out of my husband—he's as impene-
trable as the Minister of Foreign Affairs.
Enter ISABEL with phial, L. U. E.
Isa BEL. My dear Mrs. Brandysnap, I will be with you directly,
1 will merely place this draught on my dear Hector's table, and
will devote the rest of the evening entirely to you.
DIANA. No ceremony, I insist. ISABEL enters bed room, R. 2 E.
Now, I’m not maturally inquisitive, but I'd give something handsome
to know what's plotting between Brandysnap and this interesting
and highly voracious invalid
Enter SAM, with bottles, &c., c.
Ite-enter ISABEL, from R. 2 E., in a state of terrible alarm.
ISAB. (R.) Good heavens !
SAM. (aside) The devil l—she’s been in master's room
D1ANA. (c.) What's the matter, Bella?
Is AB. There's somebody in my husband's bed!
SAM. (L., aside). She's seen it—it's all up !
1)1ANA. Impossible ! the Captain is at this moment in the garden
with Brandysnap.
lsAB. I know it; but I assure you, I saw somebody in the bed.
SAM. (aside) Here's a pretty go
BIANA. Nonsense, child—how on earth could any one have got
into your husband's bed ?
#3
14 TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING.
ISAB. There's a little door which opens on the fields.
SAM. I’m sure you're mistaken, mum, but I'll just—(approach-
ing room)
DIANA, You'll just stop where you are—you look so regularly
dumbfoundered, that I begin to suspect—However, (seizing her
ºriding whip) be it thief or ghost, they shall feel the weight of my
whip. JEnters R. 2 E.
SAM. (entering) Here's a pretty show up ! (follows her off.
DIANA. (from within) d; Out ...} ſº. you deaf f) What,
you won't move, won't you? (blows of whip heard) Take that, and
that—(suddenly bursting into a laugh) Ha, ha, ha!
ISAB. She's laughing; I'm sure there's nothing to laugh at.
Re-enter DIANA, R. 2 E.
DIANA. Ha, ha, ha! what a first-rate joke.
ISAB. Joke 2
DIANA. Yes, child-ha, ha, ha! (suddenly becoming serious) But,
no, it's not a joke—it's an infamous deception! (goes to bedroom door
imperatively shaking her riding whip). Now them, no skulking, come
here, and bring that gentleman with you ! º appears at door,
carrying in his arms a lay figure, dressed in a white dressing gown and
a velvet cap)
ISAB. (L. C.) Mercy upon us, what's that?
DIANA. That? Why, that's your husband, or rather, your
husband's deputy Johnny, (to SAM) take it to its proper place—
your mistress's room, and then come back and answer a few
questions which I shall have to put to you.
SAM. (aside) Here's a pretty storm a brewing ! (takes figure
across to ISABEL's room L. 2 E.)
ISAB. I can't understand all this, and yet I dread to have it
explained.
DIANA. Well, my dear, it might have been worse. I know many
wives who would think themselves very well off, if they only had a
dress dummy for a rival.
SAM. (aside, as he enters from room) What'll master say?
DIANA. Now then, Johnny, step this way ! Answer my questions
without prevarication or subterfuge, otherwise, Johnny, look out for
squalls (shaking her whip)
SAM. But please, mum, I promised master
DIANA. Never mind what you promised master, I'll take all that
on myself; so speak out, Johnny, and don't be afraid. In the first
place allow me to enquire, what may be the precise object and
utility of that very elegant individual, who just now underwent
horse-whipping.
SAM. Why you see, that's what master calls his locum-tenens,
when he goes out o' nights.
DIANA. Oh, he goes out o' mights, does he
IsAB. (astonished) Goes out at night 2
DIANA. Well, that being the case, pº, you'll hand me over a
certain little memorandum that I saw you looking over just now.
TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING. 15
SAM. (giving account) Please, mum, it's master's dinner bill.
Oh—what'll master say? oh, oh, oh! (cries)
IsAB. His dinner bill
DIANA. And the bottle I saw in your hand just now 2
SAM. (hesitating) Ch—a—a—m—
DIANA. Go on—no shamming !
SAM. —p—p—pagne ! Oh, what'll master say?
DIANA. Champagne | pretty tipple that for an invalid . Then,
we're to understand that your master hasn't been ill at all!
SAM. No-no; he's as well as I am |
ISAB. (indignantly) Can it be possible 2 (crying) How infamously
have I been deceived
DIANA. Now then, child, don't spoil your eyes—you'll want them
presently. (to SAM) And now oblige me by informing me what was
your master's motive for pretending to be ill?
SAM. P-please, mum, I'd rather not.
DIANA. Speak out, sir!
SAM. I daren’t before missus !
DIANA, (to Is ABEL) I'll tell you afterwards. Come here, Johnny.
(draws him into L. corner of stage) Now for it !
SAM. You see, mum, missus is one of amiablest, kindest, most
affectionatest ladies as is—and that's just what does it.
DIANA. What do you mean?
SAM. Why, she's a deal too fond o' master.
DIANA. Oho!
SAM. You see, master's always been accustomed to do as he liked,
and to go where he pleased—he was always a visiting of his friends,
and a going shootin’.
DIANA. Well?
SAM. Well, mum, you see, ever since they got married, missus
won't let master alone a single minute—she follows him about like
his shadow ! If he goes for a walk, she will go along with him—
if he takes up a book, she comes and reads over his shoulder—-if
he sits down for a moment, she goes and sets on his knee.
DIANA. (aside). I half expected this. (aloud) Go on.
SAM. And, although master's uncommon fond of missus, and
doesn't like to say anything—yet, you see in a manner of speaking,
she bores his life out!—and so you see he shammed ill, just to have
a little pleasure and relaxation | But now that I’ve been and told
you all this—you won't get me into a row with master, will you mow?
DIANA, Don't be afraid—silence and secrecy—and you shall be
rewarded in due time.
SAM. (aside) Oh, won't the gov'nor catch it!
Ea;it L. U. E.
Is AB, (eagerly) What has he told you? Let me implore you to
conceal nothing from me !
DIANA. Conceal! I’m so indignant, that I’m far more likely to
exaggerate 1 Tell me, child—you dearly love your husband, do
you not ?
ISAB. Love him 2–why I adore the very ground he treads on,
why, he's all I care for in this wide world !
16 TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING.
DIANA. (aside) Bella, my love, you've been shamefully deceived.
You know I am your sincere friend; confide in me; act implicitly
by my directions, and you shall have a full, judicious, yet harmless
revenge upon your unkind husband, who has never been even in.
disposed in reality, but has assumed the appearance of illness to
avoid your too great fondness, which he thinks “too much of a
good thing,” my dear. -
ISAB. Is it possible f Oh, unkind Hector
DIANA. Hush | they are coming back; perhaps even now are
plotting something or other; we must be on our guard, lest they
steal a march upon us!
Enter HECTOR and BRANDYSNAP c.
BRANDY. (aside) Now then, put on a boldface, and open the case.
HECTOR. (aloud) Hem —Bella, my love who do you think paid
me a flying visit in the garden, just now 2 .
ISAB. I’m sure I don't know, love 1
HECTOR. Why, our old friend, Major O'Bombshell—who it appears
is hand and glove with Dundyfort.
BRANDY. (L. rapidly.) As intimate as the Siamese twins !
DIANA, (aside) Invention, No. 1.
HECTOR. (continuing) Says O'Bombshell, “It was only yesterday
morning that Lord Dundyfort was saying to me, I wonder if Cap-
tain Montgomery is sufficiently recovered to resume active service,
and would take the command of a battalion of my militia?” Didn't
he, Brandysnap 2
BRANDY. (rapidly) His very words, my dear madam.
DIANA. (aside) Invention, No. 2. -
ISAB. (alarmed) Resume active service 2
DIANA. (aside) Don't alarm yourself—don't you see that onc's
inventing, and the other's authenticating 2
HECTOR. (continuing) “Besides,” continued Lord º
“we’re going to Malta for six months, three would do him all the
good in the world !”—So it would, wouldn't it, Brandysnap 2
BRANDY. I’ll stake my professional reputation it would make
another man of you !
HECTOR. (cautiously) I necdn't say, Bella, that I hesitated—l
knew the pain our separation would cause you. -
DIANA. Allow me to observe, sir, that your hesitation was any-
thing but complimentary to the good sense of your wife (aside to
ISABEL–giving her a nudge with her elbow) Say as I say, or you’re
a lost woman
Isab. (repeating after her) “Allow me to observe, sir, that your
hesitation was anything but complimentary to the good sense of
your wife Pº
HEctoR. (surprised) What!—you would not object then 2
DIANA. Of course not, if it is for your good. (aside to Is ABEL,
giving her another nudge in the side) Say as I say.
ISAB. (repeating after her, in the same tone) “Of course not, if it
is for your good.” º
Hector. But you don't know, dearest, that the new regulation
Too MUCH of A good THING. 17
renders it impossible for officers to take their wives with them 2
It was the thought of our separation, which, as I said before, made
me hesitate. —I do hesitate, don't I, Brandysnap 2
BRANDY. (eagerly) Never knew a man take so long to make up
his mind in all his life ,
HEctor. Besides, dearest, I knew that you would never consent.
DIANA. And why not, I should like to know? (nudging ISABEL)
Is AB. (repeating after her) “And why not, I should like to know?”
HEGToR. (surprised) Why not?—You surprise me !
DIANA. (aside) Oho! my gentleman is surprised, is he?
HECTOR. You would consent, then 2
DIANA. Certainly ; why shouldn't she? (nudging ISABEL)
IsABEL, (repeating after her) “Certainly ; why shouldn't I?”
HECTor. Can you then reconcile yourself to the idea of remaining
all alone ! -
DIANA. Alonel not a bit of it. I've a plan in my head—as soon
as you've started for Malta, we're off for Boulogne–Eh, little missus
—what d’ve say ?
Is AB. With all my heart; (hysterically) we'll pick up shells on
the beach. Beautiful
HECTOR. (sarcastically) Charming !
DIANA. (eacultingly) Delightful
BRANDY. (aside) Astonishing !
DIANA. The thing's settled — I vote we all start to-morrow
morning early.
IsAB. We will.
HECTOR. (much mortified) I certainly am much gratified to see
my Bella so thoroughly resigned.
D1ANA. I say, Captain, as you're going to Malta, I’ll get you to
take a letter for me to an old adorer of mine who lives there: Signor
Don Pedro della Sierra Nevada, Marchese di Fortipopoli.
HECTOR. (rather sulkily) The gentleman in question shall duly
receive your missive. -
DIANA. Thank'ee, Captain. Now then, Brandysnap, on the eve
of a long voyage, the Captain must have a great deal to say to his
adored spouse: I think we'd better take a prolongued walk in the
garden ; so come along Mr. B. '
Eacit c., making signs to ISABEL to play her part well.
BRANDY. (aside) Well, the female sex certainly is a riddle—a
problem—an enigma—a sphinx—a—a—a—crocodile !
Eacit after DIANA G.
HECTOR. (to Is ABEL) This calm Submission on your part, dearest,
is quite an agreable surprise. I had feared
ISAB. And why, I pray ? Have I not always exhorted you to
follow the medical prescription to the very letter?
HECToR. You certainly have, but
Is AB. And whenever you made a wry face at the idea of taking
“Extract of Camomiles,” or “Concentrated Essence of Fluid
Magnesia,” didn't I always insist upon your doing so? (significantly)
and you did take it then, didn't you?
18 Too MUCH of A good thing.
HEGTOR. You know I did, love; why ask such an unnecessary
question?
ISAB. (aside) What a dreadful story teller (aloud—continuing)
And now that a fresh prescription, suggested by your friend
Brandysnap, requires that you should depart for Malta, it becomes
me as a loving wife, to submit without a murmur, to a mode of cure,
emanating from so eminent a medical authority.
HECTOR. But it's too bad of 'em, is'mt it—not to allow allow an
officer to take his wife with him?
ISAB., Not at all ! a soldier is his country's property—when duty
calls, his wife becomes a secondary consideration. t
HECTOR. (aside) 'Pon my word, she takes it very coolly (aloud)
Well, let us not waste the few hours of happiness which yet
remain to us! Come here, love. (sits down and points to his knee)
ISAB. (paying no attention to the hint, and seating herself on the
sofa R.) Mind you take great care of yourself when you’re over there.
HECTOR. (drawing his chair nearer the sofa) That I will, for my
little Bella’s sake nº
f i." (removing to the further end of the sofa) That's a dear
€11OW .
HECTOR. It's just possible I may be back before six months.
ISAB. I wouldn't for the world have you hurry yourself—if you
find the climate of Malta agree with you—I'd rather you'd stop
there two or three months longer
HECTOR (aside) The deuce she would ! (aloud) No.; I’ve no
doubt I shall find three or four months quite sufficient to
IsAB. My dear Hector, how very wrong of you.
HECTOR. Wrong !
ISAB. Yes, very wrong; supposing you were to return without
having had enough of the Maltese prescription—there would be a
pretty state of things |
HECTOR. Never fear;--it's very strange —but do you know, I
feel so exhilarated, and in such excellent spirits this evening, that
I could almost fancy I hadn’t been ill at all !
IsAB. Fancy ſ—that would indeed be fancy 1
HECTOR. Of course—of course it would. I can only attribute
the sudden improvement in my health to the pleasure this little
téte-à-téte affords me.
ISAB. (feigning alarm) Don’t be too sure—it may be fever !
IIECTOR. Oh no (giving her his hand) Try !
IsAB. (archly) There's nothing the matter with the hand.
HECTOR. What do you say to the eye, then 2
ISAB. The eye's not amiss, either.
HECTOR. (attempting to draw her toward him) My beautiful Bella
ISAB. (hastily retreating) You had better go to bed, sir; you know
you have to be called very early to-morrow, so that you may have
time to say good-bye to me, -
ſIECTOR. I’ll start a little later. *
ISAB. That's all very fine—but I wish to set off the first thing in
the morning for Boulogne.
HECTOR. How annoying that I cannot come with you.
Too MUCH of A GOOD THING. 19
Is AB. Very provoking; but since the Doctor—I mean the Colonel
of Militia, prefers Malta—
HECTOR. Well, after all, Malta or Boulogne–Boulogne or Malta
—I’ve no doubt the air is just as good in one place as in the other
—after all, they’re both watering places !
Is AB. But your country's call—the voice of duty—eh, sir?
HECTOR. (pointing to his knee) Come here, love 1 -
Is AB. Not I—I assure you. (seats herself in an arm chair, at a
great distance from her husband)
HECTOR. (somewhat embarrassed) Bella, my love! suppose before
going to Malta, I contrive to spend a week or two with you at
Boulogne 2
ISAB. (forgetting herself) Delightful! (correcting herself) But no!
do you think I would allow you to make such a sacrifice I fully
appreciate your devotion, but
Hector. Devotion a selfish regard for number one would be
nearer the mark! (rising and walking on tip-toe behind ISABEL's chair)
Boulogne, you know, has always been considered a most healthy
resort, and picking up shells you must admit to be a most salubrious
and invigorating recreation
ISAB. (leaning back in her chair and looking wip at him) What an
eccentric idea
HECTOR. Eccentric 2 not at all ! I've made up my mind, and to
Boulogne I go
ISAB. Indeed!
HECTOR. Indeed
ISAD. You're resolved ?
HECTOR. Firmly and incontrovertibly
IsAB. (rising) That being the case then I shall go to Malta
HECTOR. (surprised) What
IsAB. If a husband has whims, why shouldn't his wife 2
HECTOR. But now, love
ISAB. Silence, sir, directly, I perceive that this protracted conver-
sation acting upon a constitution debilitated by a fortnight's severe
regimen, has been too exciting for your nervous system, and has
slightly disordered your imagination
| ºctor. But when I tell you that I never felt better in all my
ifo -
Enter DIANA and BRANDYSNAP C.
DIANA. My dear Captain, here's the letter for Signor Don Pedro
Della Sierra Navada Marchese di Fortipopoli !
After giving letter DIANA whispers to BRANDYSNAP, and goes off
into room, R.
IHECTOR. Then Sigmor Don Pedro Della—what the devil's his
name 2 must pay for postage, for I’m not going to Malta—I’m
going to Boulogne, I always had a great respect for the science of
Conchology, and now feel an irresistible inclination to pickup shells.
ISAB. You hear him, Doctor? Where's Mrs. Brandysnap, she at
any rate will have some influence over him.
BRANDY. (mysteriously pointing off) Why, Mrs. Brandysnap said
20 Too MUCH of A GooD THING."
she heard a mysterious noise as of somebody concealed in Mrs.
Montgomery's bed room. A most absurd idea, but she would
insist on going to see.
HECTOR. (furiously) Somebody concealed in my wife's bedroom!
(ISABEL and BRANDYSNAP withhold him)
DIANA. (heard speaking in IsABEL's room, L.) Get out o' that, you
villain |
IIECTOR. “Willain!” she distinctly said “villain P' the intruder is
of the male sex Fire and fury, let me go 1 (they hold him fast)
DIANA. (without) You won't move, won't you? Don't I tell
you the Captain will blow your brains out for you !
HECTOR. (listening) “Blow his brains out !” I should rather
think so I (disengages himself by a violent effort, and rushes into
ºroom, L., no sooner ſ. he disappeared, than DIANA enters and bursts
into a violent fit of laughter) Ha, ha, ha!
HECTOR. (within) Scoundrell you shall suffer for this. Speak,
miserable poltroon, or I'll drag you hence by the hair of your head
BRANDY.
DIANA. X-Ha, ha, ha, ha!
ISAB.
HECTOR. (within) Hollo ! what's this? (appears very much dis-
comforted at door, L., holding in his arms the lay figure, the night cap
belonging to which remains in his hand—angrily) Mrs. Brandysnap,
permit me to inform you, that if this last piece of facetiousness is
intended for a joke, the witticism is rather a far-fetched one.
DIANA. Far-fetched—I should think it was; we fetched it from
this room, (pointing to HECToR's room) and carried it over to that
(pointing to ISABEL's) Besides, after all, the gentleman wasn't out
of place in your wife's bedroom; isn't he your deputy ?
BRANDY. (aside) Concealment's of no use—they know all !
HECTOR. (aside) Out-manoeuvered I find. You may contrive to
keep your secret from one woman, but when two set their heads
together, to penetrate the arcana of your conjugal misdemeanours,
you may as well make a clear breast of it at once
ISAB. (joyfully) That's a dear good Hectorſ
HECTOR. And now, my dear Mrs. Brandysnap, will you oblige me
by explaining
DIANA. Explanations, like comparisons, are odious: I shall
therefore explair, nothing, but will instead, remind you of a little
circumstance which all young couples would do well to bear in
mind—Conjugal happiness, like all other kinds of human felicity,
lies midway between two extremes. Real affection is as much op-
posed to undiscriminating adoration, as it is to decided aversion,
and it only they who choose the middle path between these
dangerous antagonists, who find themselves on the sure road to
domestic enjoyment, and in no danger of complaining that they
have—too much of a good thing.
(Turtain.
“s TILL WATERS
R U N DEEP”
AN ORIGINAL COMAEDY
IN THEEE ACTS
BY
TOM TAYLOR ESQ.
AUTHOR OF
A Blighted Being; A Trip to Kissengen ; Diogenes and
his Lantern : The Philosopher's Stone; The Vicar of
Wakefield; To Parents and Guardians; Our Clerks:
Little Red Riding IIood; &c. &c. &c.; and one of the
Authors of Masks and Faces; Ploi and Passion ; Slave
Life; Two Loves and a Life; The King's Rival;
§c. &c. &c.
THOMAS HAILES LACY,
89, S T R A N D,
(Opposite Southampton Street, Gorent Garden Market.)
LONDON,
** stil—L warERs, RUN DEEP. " ,
:
First Performed at the Royal Olympic Theatre, on Monday, May 14th 1855.
cHARAcTERs.
MR. POTTER . . . . . . . . M.R. EMERy.
CAPTAIN HAWKSLEY . . . MR. GEORGE WINING.
JOHN MILDMAY . . . . M.R. ALFRED WIGAN.
DUNBILK . . . . . . . M.R. DANVERs.
LANGFORD . . . . . . M.R. GLADSTONE.
MARKHAM . . . . . . M.R. J. H. WHITE.
GIMLET . . . . . . . . M.R. H. Coop ER.
JESSOP . . . . . . . . M.R. FRANKs.
SERVANT . . . . . . . M.R. MooRE.
MRs. MILDMAY . . . . . MIss MASKELL.
MRs. HECTOR STERNIHOLD MRs. MELForT.
From May 28th, MRs. A. WIGAN.
CO STUN/ES,
MR. POTTER.—1st dress, Old fashioned brown coat, light
silk vest, drab trousers, black cravat; 2nd dress, Blue
coat, nankeen trousers; 3rd dress, Black coat, white
vest, black trousers.
CAPTAIN HAWKSLEY.-1st dress, Fashionable frock coat,
fancy tweed trousers, drab vest, fancy cravat; 2nd
dress, Drab over coat; 3rd dress, Fancy morning coat
and smoking cap, buff jean trousers, fancy vest and
cravat; 4th dress, Dinner dress.
John MILDMAY.—1st dress, Black frock coat, check trou-
sers and vest, black cravat; 2nd dress, Great coat, hat,
and silk handkerchief; 3rd dress, Dinner dress.
DUNBILK.—1st dréss, Brown coat, white vest black cravat,
plaid trousers; 2nd dress, Dinner dress.
LANGForD, MARKHAM, GIMLET.—Dinner dresses.
JEssop.–Black dress coat, striped livery vest, blacktrousers.
SERVANT.-Dark blue livery coatand breeches, striped vest,
white stockings, and shoes.
MRs. STERNHoDD.—1st dress, Silk dinner, dress; 2nd
dress, White muslim morning dress; 3rd dress, Pink
silk dinner dress, trimmed with black lace.
MRs. MILDMAY.—1st dress, Blue striped silk dinner dress;
2nd dress, Green and white silk dinner dress.
PERIOD.—1851.
SCENE.—1st and 3rd Act, Mildmay's villa at Brompton,
drawing-room opening to conservatory ; 2nd Act,
Scene 1, Mrs. Sternhold's breakfast parlour; Scene 2,
Captain Hawksley's Office. *-
TIME of REPRESENTATION.—1st Act, 50 minutes; 2nd
Act, 86 minutes; 3rd Act, 25 minutes.
This Comedy is founded on Charles de Bernard's Novel of le Gendre.
“STILL WATERS RUN DEEP.”
ACT I.
SCENE.-A drawing-room in Mildmay's villa, at
Brompton. I. 3 E. a door communicating with Mrs.
Mildmay's room, ; R. 1 E. a door leading to Mrs.
Sternhold's apartment; fire-place, &c., R. 2 E.;
French windows, with curtains, opening to gardens,
R. and L. 4 E; L. 4 E. door to Mildmay's dressing-
room; L. 1 E. door to library, and the rest of the house.
Across the stage, at back, a conservatory, communicating
with garden by large folding glass doors; stages of
plants, &c., in the conservatory.
TIME.--A Summer Evening.
A round table, R. C., in front; easy chair by fire R.;
piano up stage, R.; a large ottoman, at back, L. C.; a
small writing table, L. H.; couch by writing table, L.
MR. Pott ER, in easy chair, by fire; MRs. MILDMAY
on ottoman ; MRs. STERNHOLD, seated by table, R.c.;
and MILDMAY seated, looking at book, by writing
table, L., discovered. >:
MILDMAY. Suppose, Emily, you gave us a little music.
MRs. S. Music | Nonsense ! That you may have the
opportunity of snoring without detection, Mr. Mildmay *
MILDMAY. I thought, perhaps, Emily might indulge me
with “Auld Robin Gray.”
MRs. M. “Auld Robin Gray!” . Now, aunt, only
conceive his asking for a stupid old melody like that.
4 STILL WATERS RUN DEEP. ACT I,
MILDMAY. You used to like playing it to me before we
were married.
MRs. M. Before we were married! When you know
I adore Beethoven,
MRS. S. To appreciate Beethoven, Emily, requires a
soul for music : Mr. Mildmay has no soul for music.
PoTTER. No, no, John, you know you havn't. You've
no soul for anything.
MILDMAY. Very well. By-the-bye, Emily, what
do you say to a quiet little dinner at Richmond,
to-morrow
MRS. S. It's quite out of the question, Mr. Mildmay; I
can’t allow Emily to go. I've issued invitations for a
dinner here.
MILDMAY. Oh! I thought, as it was the anniversary
of our wedding-day, Emily, you might like a tête-a-tête
with me at the Star and Garter.
MRs. M. But you hear it's quite impossible, and that
my aunt has made a party at home.
MILDMAY. Very well; I shan’t be missed, I dare say.
I shall probably dine at my club.
MRs. S. On the anniversary of your wedding-day !
I'm surprised you should not see the want of proper
feeling, the indecency, I may say, of such an arrangement.
I shall certainly expect you to dine with us.
MILDxIAY. As you please. (rises.) Well, as we're not
to have any music, I may as well go and earth up my
celery. -
MRs. S. Is it such a tax to give us half an hour of your
company after dinner?
MRs. M. Of course, aunt, if Mr. Mildmay prefers his
vegetables to our company, I should be the last person in
the world to detain him.
MILDMAY. If you wish me to stay with you, Emily,
you’ve only to say so.
MRs. M. Oh, it's perfectly indifferent to me.
MRs. S. I’m sure your wife would be the last person to
thwart your wishes.
MILDMAY. Oh, I’ve no particular wish on the subject.
I can make myself comfortable here.
(he settles himself on the sofa, L.
sTILL WATERS RUN DEEP. 5
MRs. M. (to MRs. S.) There, aunt, did you ever see
anything so provokingly indifferent?
MRs. S. My poor child ! But don't distress your-
self about him. Suppose you give me a little music.
MRs. M. With pleasure. What shall I play you?
MRs. S. Anything you like.
(MRs. MILDMAY sits at piano, wo, R. H., and begins
to play; glancing over her shoulder at MILDMAY,
who falls asleep; after a while she stops.
MRs. S. Well, Emmy, why don't you go on 8
MRs. M. Dear me, aunt, (angrily) you surely would
not have me disturb Mr. Mildmay. (rises.) It's quite
enough to play him to sleep, I should think, without
playing him awake again.
Potr FR. (soothingly.) Come, come, Emmy, he's been
working in the garden all day, you know.
MRs. S. (sharply.) Nonsense, Mr. Potter, you know
you both always fall fast asleep after dimmer, though you
never will allow it.
PoTTER. Well, but sister—
MRs. S. I beg we may have no discussion on the matter,
brother Potter. I hate discussion. Emily has very good
reason to be angry—not a year married yet. However,
there's one comfort, niece, you might be a great deal
worse off.
(MR. PottER leans back in his chair, and falls into
a doze.)
MRs. M. Worse off! Now, aunt, what could be worse
than a husband without the least spirit, life, enthu-
siasm—not enough to keep himself awake, even, through a
eonata of Beethoven : - -
MRS. S. Pooh, pooh, child, what do you know about
it? It is quite true Mr. Mildmay is dull—stupid, if you
like—but then, remember, he has none of those ridiculous
pretensions, which most men set up, to a will of his
own. That is the great point. You can do what you
like with him, if you'll only take the trouble.
MRs. M. Yes, aunt, but I hate taking trouble. I want
a husband to interest me, to share my feelings, to invest
life with something of poetry—of romance.
6 STILL WATERS RUN DEEP. Act 1.
MRs. S. Nonsense ! Poetry and romance are not half
such safe investments as the three per cents.
MRs. M. Oh, look! there's a wasp, right on Mildmay's
nose. I’ll kill it.
(She knots her handkerchief, and brings it smartly down
on MILDMAY’s face.) -
MILDMAY. (opening his eyes.), Eh
MRs. M. It was only a wasp. I missed it.
MILDMAY. Oh, thank you. Don’t try to kill the next,
please. Of the two, I’d rather be stung. (MRs. MILDMAY
gets towards L. U. E.) Going into the garden?
MRs. M. No, I'm going into my own room.
MILDMAY. Oh! then I'll go and earth up the celery.
(rises, and goes up C., stops.) By the way, would you tell
Jessop to pack me up a clean shirt : I’m going to Man-
chester to-night, by the mail train.
MRs. M. To-night! Why you never said a word about
it till now.
MILDMAY. No. Why should I? I shall return by the
express to-morrow. I shall see you again before I start.
[Exit MILDMAY, leisurely, through C., to conservatory.
MRs. M. (aside.) Provoking ! But I'm glad I hurt
him a little. Good night, papa; good night, aunt Jame.
(at door L. B. E.)
MRs. S. Why, you're not going to bed—child, it's hardly
nine o'clock.
MRs. M. Isn't it? I’m sure the day's been long
enough. (looking for a book on table L.) Did you see my
Tennyson, aunt?
MRs. S. Tennyson l Nonsense! Always at that ridi-
culous poetry of yours.
MRs. M. Oh, aunt, if you knew the comfort it brings
to my withered heart. (going up L. C.)
“She only said the day is dreary.
He cometh not, she said.
She said, I am weary—a-weary—
I wish that I were dead.”
(looking off, through conservatory.) There's Mildmay, with
his coat off, just like a common market gardener. Oh!
what a contrast to Hawksley! Heigho!
[Exit MRs. MILDMAY, D. L. 3 K.
sTILL waters RUN DEEP. 7
Mrs. S. (rises and goes up c.) Here's that brother of
mine, snoring now. Brother Potter. (bawling in his ear.)
PottER. (waking suddenly.) Eh? my dear. Did you
speak? .
MRs. S. Did I speak? Did you hear? Now Emily's
gone, perhaps you will inform me, yes or no, whether you
mean to do what I asked you to do before dinner *
(MRs. STERNHoID resumes her seat; Potter rises,
comes down, and sits R. of table L. .
Potte R. But, my dear sister, its impossible.
MRs. S. Nothing is impossible, brother Potter.
Potter. But you won't understand, that the settle-
ment—
MRs. S. Settlement Stuff and nonsense !
PoTTER. But, you will allow me to observe, it's anything
but stuff and nonsense, sister. When Emily married, I
settled eight thousand pounds on her, payable to the
trustees, six months from the date of the settlement.
That's eight months since, and I’ve not paid a farthing of
the money yet.
MRs. S. And what of that, pray She's your only
child: all you have will be hers at your death.
Potte R. At my death ! Well, if there is eighteen
years difference between your age and mine, Jane, there's
no occasion to allude to my death in that cheerful way.
But I’m bound to pay that eight thousand pounds over to
the trustees under the settlement. Suppose Mildmay
asked after this money, some fine morning. A pretty figure
I should cut !
MRs. S. Mr. Mildmay knows too well what is due to
our position, to do anything of the kind. He's not at all
keen in money matters; that I must say for him. * :
PoTTER. No–that's it. It’s just because he is such an
innocent, unsuspecting lamb of a man—
MRs. S. Nonsense, brother I don't wish for any dis-
cussion; I only want an answer, yes or no. You've
already invested one thousand pounds, in shares, in
Captain Hawksley's Galvanic Navigation Company, and
now he has very kindly offered you twenty more fifty
º shares, and I’ve promised you will take them up.
ou surely don't wish me to break my promise:
8 sTILL waters RUN DEEP. ACT 1.
PoTTER Certainly not, sister, certainly not. It always
gives me pleasure to carry out your wishes, but I really
don’t like to propose the thing to Mildmay.
MRs. S. And why should you say a word to him about
it? I suppose you can pay him the interest of the money.
The Galvanic Navigation Company guarantees eight per
cent. ; you pay Mildmay five, and put three per cent. into
your pocket by the transaction. You can’t deny that.
PoTTER. Well, but this Galvanic Company, you know
—how can one tell it's quite safe?
Mºs. S. Do you consider Captain Hawksley a gentle-
Iſla Il
PoTTER. Oh, certainly my dear.
MRs. S. Do you think he would inveigle you into a
dangerous speculation?
Port ER. No, I don’t believe he would, for a moment,
but—
MRs. S. Then what have you to say?
PoTTER. Well, my dear. I say—
MRs. S. Black, because I say white / That's always
the way. I wonder what would happen if you could once
agree with me on any one subject :
Potter. Well, I’m sure, sister, I always do end by
agreeing with you.
MRs. S. Then why not begin with it? It would save
so much disagreeable discussion. Then I consider it settled
—you take up these shares. The captain promised to
call this evening—you can arrange the business with him
when he comes.
PoTTER. Eh! Hawksley coming here this evening 2
MRs. S. Why, have you any objection ?
Potter. No, no, no! He's a very clever fellow, Hawks-
ley—vastly agreeable—vastly—the sort of man one's al-
ways glad to see; but still I should be just as well pleased
not to see him here quite so often. -
MRs. S Indeed! Yangrily) May I ask why?
PoTTER. Oh, if you're going to lose your temper,
sister— . . -
MRs. S. Brother Potter, did you ever see me lose my
temper? -
PoTTER. No, no, my dear.
STILL WATERS RUN DEEP. 9
, MRS. S. I wish to know what possible reason you have
for objecting to Captain Hawksley's visits 2 * .
PoTTER. I, sister I object On the contrary, I like
him. I've every confidence in him, but—
MRS. S. Well? - ".
PottER. I don’t quite like his coming here, on Emmy'
account. -
MRs, S. On Emily's account Oh you may be perfectly
easy on that score. I grant you that before her marriage
he might have shown some penchant for Emily.
Pott ER. So much so that I always fancied, if it had not
been for your setting your face against it, he and Emmy
might have made a match of it.
MRS. S. Captain Hawksley was not at all the man for
Emily. Besides, I’m sure she never had any fancy for him.
PoTTER. Perhaps not ; but what I’m afraid of is, she
may have some fancy for him now.
MRs. S. Brother Potter |
Potter. Oh, I know what I’m about, sister; they're
afraid of you—nothing goes on when you are there; but
they don't mind me—and I’ve observed more than once—
MRS. S. (with suppressed but violent agitation). Well—
what—speak out—what have you observed? *
POTTER. Well, but sister, don't excite yourself in that
manner. You know it always flies to your head. Emmy's
your niece, its true—but after all—
MRs, S. No equivocation, brother! What have you ob-
served?
POTTER. Well then, between ourselves, I’ve observed
something—that is—a sort of you know—in her manner
with the captain, and in his manner with her—Emmy's
romantic, and the captain insinuating and agreeable, and
what you women call interesting—and, in short, sister, ,
there's a sentimental sort of a-flirtation—going on be-
tween 'em already—platonic, I’ve no doubt, but there's no
saying where that sort of thing may end—and I don't like
it—and I’ve intended to talk to Emmy about it this ever so
long—only I did’nt like to—
MRs. S. (aside) It cannot be (to PoTTER) Don't say a
word to Emily on the matter; you had better leave it all
to me (rises).
10 STILT, WATERS RUN DEEP. ACT, I.
PoTTER. Exactly, sister, I thought I had /rises).
MRs. S. I tell you, brother, you had better leave it all
to me. Hark! There's his cab (goes up to window L.
and looks eagerly out. Aside.) Emily is watching for him
at her window—he kisses his hand to her—so, so
PoTTER. I told you so. Now just see if she doesn’t
come down to receive him. Suppose we joined them *
MRs. S. There's the postman with the evening paper.
You know you are always anxious about the news. Go
and enjoy your “Globe” in the library. Now will you
oblige me by going :
PoTTER. (crossing to L.) Certainly, sister, certainly—
(aside) Its a great comfort I’ve such a superior woman in
the house as my sister. She saves one so much trouble in
making up one's mind.
[Evit L. D. 1 E.
MRs. S. Can this be true, or is it my silly brother's
fancy? Ha! as he said, Emily joins him—she takes his
arm—she leans upon it fondly, (convulsively) He gathers
a rose, he gives it to her Oh, I will not believe it. No,
no, no! They are coming into the house. I will be satis-
fied. .
(Retires behind the screen of plants in the conservatory,
R. U. E.)
Enter MRs. MILDMAY, carrying a rose in her hand, followed
by CAPTAIN HAWKSLEY, L. D. 1 E.
HAwks. (L.) And I am to have nothing for my rose 2
MRs. M. (R.) Your rose shall have a glass of water in
my dressing room to-night, and I promise you not to fling
it away to-morrow till it is withered.
HAwks, Suppose I offered my heart on the same terms?
MRs. M. Captain Hawksley !
HAwks. Forgive me; I orgot this was London, and
not Seville. I have lived ao long in that land of poetry
and passion, that my blood has learned its impetuosity, as
my tongue its music. But you are offended. Can you
wonder if, when I see you unappreciated, respect gives way
to sympathy.
Bnter JEssop, with a carpet bag, D, L. J. R.
STILL WATERS RUN DEEP. 11
JEssop. Master's bag, ma'am. Shall I order a cab
ma'am, to take him to the station? &
MRs. M. Mr. Mildmay is in the garden, Jessop; you
had better ask him. -
- [Evit JEssop c. D. of conservatory.
HAwks. Is Mildmay going out of town 2
MRs. M. To-night—so he told me half an hour ago,
without a word of explanation, or an expression of regret
at leaving me. -
HAwks. And to this man you are tied for life The
law has made you his, and love has no rights in this cold,
formal England. Oh, why may I not offer you that ten-
derness, that sympathy of which he is incapable I ask
no more, only to love you. I seek no return of love.
MRs. M. Captain Hawksley, I must not listen to this.
/sits).
#ve Take care; you know not of what a man is
capable whose love-code has been learnt in the hot south
where passion excuses boldness. Oh, were this but
Seville ! Sweet Seville ! -
MRs. M. Well, suppose this were Seville:
HAWKs. Then I would insist upon your hearing an
avowal of my love, when there should be none to interrupt
us—at the dead of night—here!
MRs. M. You would not dare— (rises).
HAwks. You had better not defy me; ladies never do
in Spain. At midnight I would be under your window.
MRs. M. Indeed! You would actually climb the gar-.
den wall! - -
, HAWKs. What need for that when there's a door.
MRs. M. But who would open it? -
HAwks. (taking a key from his pocket.) This!
MRs. M. The duplicate key of the garden gate that my
aunt lost last week!
HAWKs. It has been found, you see.
MRs. M. Then you took it?
HAwks. I did.
MRs. M. And you would dare to use it?
HAwks. This very night—if this were Seville.
MRS. M. Really, this is too absurd to be angry at.
HAWKs. I fear your displeasure more than anything in
12 STILL WATERS RUN DEEP. Act 1.
the world; but even that would not change my resolution
—were we in Seville.
MRs. M. Well, suppose admission secured to the gar-
den, you forget Bran, the savage mastiff; he is let loose
after dark.
HAWKs. You forget who gave him to you. Bran
knows his old master. -
hi Mrs. M. And was it for this you made us a present of
IIIl
HAwks. Precisely. We lay our plans well in Seville.
MRs. M. Well, suppose you have played the burglar,
and Bran the traitor, what then
HAWKs. I advance on tip-toe—you always sit up late,
reading in this room—you start! This room opens on the
conservatory—the conservatory on the garden—
MRs. M. What then * (taking stage backwards and
forwards.) *
HAwks. Then when the moonlight trembled on the trees
—when the night winds were hushed in the petals of the
flowers—when all slept but love—I would be at your side,
breathing low words of passion, and you would listen.
MRs. M. (R. forcing a laugh.) Charming ! were we in
Seville ! But here, you forget, windows have bars, and
doors have bolts.
HAwks. There are means to make both useless.
(both going up stage.
MRs. M. Better and better | I see you are determined to
destroy my night's rest, at all events. I shall be dreaming
of nothing but burglary and assassination; imagining a
bandit, duly masked, cloaked, and dark-lanterned, breaking
into the house, at the least noise. (seated on ottoman.)
HAwks. (leaning over her.) Suppose you heard that
noise at midnight :
MRs. M. And suppose others heard it besides me? A
glass door bolted inside cannot be forced without some
Il QIS62.
HAwks. But if the bolt be wanting:
MRs. M. Good gracious ! (starting up and looking at
door of conservatory c.) The inner bolt is removed (aside.
HAwks. Well?
MBs. M. You are mad, Captain Hawksley. Ha! haſ
STILL WATERS RUN DEEP. 13
ha! (forcing a laugh.) But I forgot, we are playing Senor
and Senora, and all this is not at Brompton, but might be
in Seville. (coming down and crossing to L. H.) But had we
not better join papa and my aunt in the library? They
must have heard your cab drive up : my aunt will wonder
what has become of us.
HAwks. Your aunt — pooh! I'll take odds she's
adorning to receive me—putting on the slightest soup.com
of rouge. It's extraordinary how some women will be
young, in spite of mature and their looking glasses. e
MRs. M. No, no; you are too severe on poor auntie;
she's a great admirer of yours, and if I keep you so long
en tête-a-tête, she'll be jealous of me. Ha! haſ haſ
HAwks. At least, let us walk round by the garden. I
wish to congratulate Mildmay on his celery—and then it's
so much longer. -
[Exeunt MRs. MILDMAY and CAPTAIN HAWKSLEY,
L. D. 1 E.
Re-enter MRs. STERNHoLD from behind the screen of
plants in conservatory, suppressing signs of the most
violent emotion,
MRs, S. The double-faced villain Oh, Hawksley!
Hawksley ! So, I wear rouge, do I?—And false hair, of
course—and artificial teeth too, I dare say. And Emily
too ! They walk smiling in each other's faces. Thank
Heaven! I'm not like that raw girl ; I can master my
emotion until the time comes, and then beware, Captain!
You do not know the woman you have trifled with.
[Evit L. D. 1 E.
Enter MILDMAY, followed by JEssop with carpet bag,
through C. D. of conservatory.
MILDMAY. (looking at his watch.) A quarter past nine!
I shan’t want the cab for half-an-hour yet. Let's see—
yes—I shall have light enough to finish painting that
trellis, I think-Just bring in the ladder, Jessop.
[Erit JEssop, R. U. E.
Rather a bore this journey to Manchester. I don't like
14 sTILL waſtERs RUN DEEP. ACT I.
leaving Emmy—not that she minds. Twelve months to-
morrow since we were made one: I little thought we
should be so completely two, so soon. Oh, these aunts and
mothers-in-law Well, patience patience
Re-enter JEssop with ladder, paint, &c., R. U. E.
Set it here ! -
(JEssop places ladder in c. of trellis, at back of stage.
MILDMAY takes off his coat, and ascending ladder,
begins to paint. •
[Erit JEssop with carpet bag, L. U. E.
Enter M.R. Potter followed by CAPTAIN HAwks LEY.
. L. D. 1 E. -
HAwks. (L.) Magnificent celery ! I congratulate you,
my dear Potter, on so horticultural a son-in-law; it's a
pursuit at once innocent and economical.
Pott.D.R. Yes; I calculate every bundle costs only
about twice as much as in Covent Garden.
HAwks. Apropos—did Mrs. Sternhold mention to you
that I’d allotted you fifty more galvanics
PoTTER. Ye—es—I think she did mention something
of the kind,
HAwks. There's twenty pounds paid up, you know; I
suppose I may rely on the money for to-morrow?
PoTTER. Why, you see, my dear Hawksley, I’m
extremely obliged to you for letting me have the shares;
but, the fact is, there's a leetle difficulty in the way.
There is no making women understand money matters, not
even my sister—she’s a most superior woman, but she's
rather of an irritable constitution; the slightest con-
tradiction flies to her head. I’m sure she's a leetle upset
at this moment, by a discussion we had together this
evening on the subject of these very shares.
HAwks. (smiling.) Do you think the investment isn't
* safe one * -
PoTTER. On the contrary—on the contrary. But, you
see, all the ready money I can command, just now, is pay-
able to the trustees under my daughter's settlement. In
fact, it belongs not to me, but my son-in-law.
STILL WATERS RUN DEEP. 15
HAwks. Why, Mildmay must be a greater fool, even,
than I take him for, if he objects to an investment guaran-
teeing eight per cent. -
PopTER. Well, I'll tell you what. Let me propose it to
Mildmay. If he agrees, it's settled—if not, you must
settle the matter with Mrs. Sternhold; not that I have any
objection to tell her, only contradiction does so fly to her
head. -
HAWKs. As you please.
Re-enter MRs. STERNIHoLD and MRs. MILDMAY, L. D. 1 E.
Here come the ladies.
Potre R. (in turning round, sees MILDMAY on ladder, c.)
Egad! there's Mildmay upon the ladder.
MRs. S. (L. C.) Mr. Mildmay Well, sir, I suppose
you don’t see us? -
MILDMAY. (C. on ladder.) Yes, I see you.
(looking down quietly.
MRs. S. And do you see Captain Hawksley
MILDMAY. Oh, yes. I don’t stand on ceremony with
him. I’m sure the captain will allow me to finish my job.
(continues his painting.
HAwks. (R. C., sneering.) Oh! I never disturb an artist
at work. Fresco, I think.
MILDMAY. No — “Flatting ” — that's the technical
term.
HAwks. Indeed! A punster might be provoked into
saying it was proper work for a flat. (all laugh.)
MILDMAY. Flat? Oh! I see. Very good—very good
indeed. Would you like to try your hand
HAwks. No, thank you. I've no talent for the fine
arts. Charming colour ! isn't it, ladies? One would say
Mildmay had a natural eye for green.
MILDMAY. You're very kind. Yes, I think it's rather
a success—and when the creepers come to be trained
over it— . :
HAwks. Why you don’t suppose any creepers will be
weak-minded enough to grow there :
MILDMAY. Why not? Parasites thrive uncommonly
well in this house, you know, Captain.
16 's TILL WATERS RUN DEEP. ACT I.
HAwks. Parasites | -
MILDMAY. That's the technical name for what you call
creepers.
HAWKs. Ah! I forgot how learned you were in the
Gardeners' Chronicle. But here's a letter for you.
MILDMAY. A letter for me?
HAwks. Yes. I looked in at the Union, as I passed
—there was a letter for you, so I brought it. It's from
Manchester.
MILDMAY. (coming down.) From Manchester eh? And
you’ve taken the trouble to bring it? How very kind of
you. (takes letter, and puts it into his coat pocket.)
PoTTER. (R.) Well, if ever I saw a man so destitute of
all natural curiosity e
HAWKs. Well, now I’ve played postman, and done my
devoirs to the ladies, I must be off (aside to Potter.) Let
me know how he decides about the shares. (crosses to L.)
Good night, Mrs. Sternhold—Mrs. Mildmay. (bows.)
MRs. M. Adieu, Captain
HAwks. No–not Adieu-Au revoir /
[Ea'it HAwKSLEY, L. D. 1 E.
MRs. S. (up stage, looking off at window, L. H.) What
a bright moon! I feel rather tired. Good night, Emily.
Take care of yourself, and don't sit up late. (crossing at
back, towards R. D. 1 E.) Good night, Mr. Mildmay. You
really must go to-night 2 Well, take plenty of wraps.
Remember, you can’t have Jessop, I want him in the
morning, so you must carry your carpet bag yourself.
MILDMAY. (c.) Oh, very well.
MRs. S. The unsuspecting fool! But I will watch for
him and for myself. [Evit MRs. STERNHoID, R. D. 1 E.
Fnter JEssop, L. D. 1 E., with carcel lamp, which he
puts on table R. H.
JEssop. The cab's at the door, sir. -
(Fetches MILDMAY’s great coat and hat from dressing
room, L. D. U. E., and places them on ottoman.
MILDMAY. Very well. Put in my bag.
Exit JEssop, L. D. 1 E., with bag,
Good night, Emmy' (kisses her on forehead.) -
STILL waters RUN DEEP. 17
MRs. M. Oh must you really go, John Don't go—
not to-night : -
MILDMAY. I must, my dear. I shall be back to-morrow.
Why, what's the matter? Your eyes are full of tears.
Don’t fret, there's a good girl. Good night. -
MRs. M. (gives a glance at the conservatory, and shud-
ders—aside.) Oh, no He dare not
[Exit MRs. MILDMAY, L. D. 3 E.
Potter. (as MILDMAY is going.) Stop, Mr. Mildmay.
I want to speak to you.
MILDMAY. I’m rather in a hurry. (going.)
Potte R. (R.) You must stop. I want to speak to you.
MILDMAY. (L. takes out his watch.) Well, I can give
you five minutes. -
PottER. (pauses, then looks awkwardly up at trellis.)
An uncommonly meat piece of work Do you know,
Mildmay, you're a first-rate painter ; and, as for
celery—I do believe you’d win the medal at the Horti-
cultural. .
MILDMAY. Eh 2 That's not what you wanted to say !
Potter. Eh P Well—no—you're quite right, Mildmay,
that wasn’t what I wanted to say, though it's quite true,
all the same. But I want to talk to you on a leetle matter
of business. You're aware I owe your trustees eight
thousand pounds, under Emmy's settlement, and that the
money should have been paid two months ago.
MILDMAY. I know that.
Potter. Exactly. Well, it occurred to my sister and
me—that is, to me and my sister—that you might have
no objection to investing some of the money, under
Emmy's settlement, in Galvanics. It's a magnificent
speculation—perfectly safe—guarantees eight per cent.,
and so—to oblige her—I—I’ve been and taken fifty
shares. ,
MILDMAY. I know that. -
PoTTER. Good gracious ! Why you know everything!
MILDMAY. Not everything, g x-
Potter. But who could have told you I'd taken
up the shares Captain Hawksley was kind enough to
allot me?
MILDMAY. Captain Hawksley himself! He thought
18 STILL WATERs RUN DEEP. ACT I
the best way to prove to me it was a good investment,
was, that you thought so.
Portºn. Eh 3 Has he been asking you to take shares,
too :
MILDMAY. Should you have any objection to get rid of
yours? - w
PoTTER. Why, the fact is, it's been my sister's doing all
along; and now she's undertaken for me to take fifty
more shares, nd, as they must be paid for out of the
money due um der Emmy’s settlement, she thought you
might have no objection to the arrangement, and, mean-
while, to take the interest of Emmy's money, instead of
the principal.
MILDMAY. I’ve not the slightest objection.
(going wb for his hat, &c.)
PoTTER. You havn't
MILDMAY. In fact I’ve a few loose thousands of my
own at my bankers, and as you tell me this speculation is
such a good one, I should like to put a trifle into it myself,
say six or eight thousand.
Potte R. Risk six or eight thousand 1 (aside.) What a
noodle he is Don't be in a hurry, my dear boy Six or
eight thousand is no joke! It's not wise to risk all one's
eggs in one basket, you know.
MILDMAY. But they're not all my eggs; and then it's
clear, from what you say, the basket's a strong one.
- PottER. No doubt—no doubt. A magnificent specu-
lation—as safe as the bank—but—
MILDMAY. Well?
PoTTER. As a young married man, don't you think,
now—a good safe mortgage—though it should only bring
you in five per cent—
MILDMAy. My dear Mr. Potter, if you think it a good
investment, why try to dissuade me from it? . If you
think it a bubble, why have you put my wife's money
into it?
PoTTER. Eh 2 Well—but—Confound it!
Enter JESSOP, L. D. 1 E.
Jessor. Cabman says he can just save the mail train,
sir
SC. I. STILL WATERS RUN DEEP. 19.
MILDMAY. Very well. I’m coming. -
º: JEssop, L. D. 1 E.
Good night ! Tell Hawksley I'll take a couple of hun-
dred shares, if he can spare 'em. I’ll call at his chambers
to-morrow, as soon as I get back from Manchester. Good
night! (goes up stage.)
Pot'TER. (crossing to L. H.) Good night ! and a pleasant
journey. (aside.) Oh, dear! oh, dear! My sister is a most
superior woman, but she has a great deal to answer for 1
And contradiction does so fly to her head. -
[Evit Potter. L. D. 1 E.
MILDMAY. Now for that letter. (opens letter given to
him by HAw KSLEY, and reads it rapidly.) So this renders
my trip to Manchester unnecessary. I must see Gimlet,
at once, and let him know of this discovery. (smiling.) It
was really very kind of Captain Hawksley to bring this
letter. Evit, L. D. 1 E.
- (MRs. STERNHoln looks out of her door, R. 1 E.
MRs. S. Hark! the cab drives off!—Footsteps —'Tis
Emily -
(Retires into her room, but comes out again quietly during
MRs. MILDMAY's speech ; goes up, and crossing at
back, comes down on MRs. MILDMAY's left hand.
Enter MRs. MILDMAY, from her room, L. 3 E.
MRs. M. Mr. Mildmay ! Husband Ha! wheels
It's too late —It's too late Oh, I had made up my mind
to tell him all—to own my folly—to ask his pardon. If
Hawksley should be so rash—so wicked—so frantic,
as to execute his threat, what will become of me *
But he dare not Surely he dare not l But I will be
bold. I will wait here, and if he dare come—but shall I
ever have the courage — oh, I shall faint—I shall go
mad! -
(Sinks into chair R. of table R. H., and presses her head
with her hands. MRs. STERNHold advances on her
L., surveys her fiercely, then puts her hand on her
shoulder.
MRS. S. Mrs. Mildmay !
MRs. M. Aunt Jane ! How pale you are What is
the matter? Are you ill? Shall I call my maid :
20 STILL WATERS RUN DEEP. ACT I.
MRS. S. What I have to say must be heard by none
but you.
MRS. M., (trying to laugh.) Nay, aunt; if you look so
at me, I shall think I'm a little girl again, going to be
sent to the dark closet for being maughty. -
MRS. S. Emily, would to heaven your fault was one
calling but for that childish correction: for though I
punished, I might still esteem you. -
- Mas. M. What have I done that you dare speak so to
Iºe
MRS. S. What have you done?—You dare ask what
you have done? Do you think I'm blind? Do you think
you can hoodwink me, as you have done your doting
father, and your clod of a husband? I blush for you!
MRs. M. I do not understand you ! (rises.)
MRS. S. Oh, you do not understand me ! I must speak
more plainly still, must I? A man has addressed you as
no man dares address a married woman, till he has ceased
to respect her. Captain Hawksley is your lover !
MRs. M. It is false !
MRs. S. Is it To-night it may be ; were I not
here, would it be false to-morrow Is it false that this
man has a key to the garden door 2 Is it false that to-
night—in a few minutes, perhaps—he may be at that
window—in this room—at your feet? Is that false?
Answer me ! (MRs. MILDMAY hides her face in her hands,
and is silent.) You cannot (puts her across to L. H.)
Go to your room : I will wait here. -:
MRs. M. You wait here !—what for *
MRs. S. To receive this man.
MRs. M. No-no
MRS. S. Go |
MRs. M. Oh, you will not.—
MRs. S. No remonstrance—go, I say !
(She seizes MRs. MILDMAY by the arm, and forces her
off at door L. 3 E. She then returns, and goes
rapidly to the conservatory.
The door unbolted —All was ready Hark! was that
anyone stirring over head? Let me see all is quiet up
stairs—and then for you. -
ſ Exit MRs. STERNHoLD cautiously, R. D. 1 E.
STILT, WATERS RUN DEEP, ; 21
Re-enter MILDMAY, with candle, L. D. 1 E.
MILDMAY. Wonderful fellows, these detectives | Gim-
let had got the news as soon as I did; I came full tilt.
upon him driving here at a gallop—we nearly smashed
each other. Let me see, I must tell Mrs. Sternhold at once,
or she may be committing poor Potter still deeper with
the fellow : she's an intelligent woman, and can keep a
secret. (goes to door R. 1 E., and taps.) Mrs. Sternhold—
don’t be frightened—it's me—Mildmay—I’ve come back.
Eh! no answer. (looks through key-hole.) She's not in her.
room. There's a light, too ! Where can she be? Keep-
ing my wife company, perhaps. Well, I’ll deposit my
carpet bag in my dressing-room, and then pop in on Emmy
—she seemed sorry I was going—she’ll be glad I’ve come
back—poor little thing ! I think sometimes she's be-
ginning to care for me.—Heigho
+ [Exit with candle, door L. U. E.

Re-enter MRs. STERNHoID, R. D. 1 E.
MRs. S. All is quiet—my brother and the servants
asleep. Hark!
(She turns the lamp down, and seats herself R. H.
[Lights down.
Enter HAwksTEY through c. D. of conservatory, and
Jrom conservatory into room, coming down G. cau-
tiously.
HAwks. (springing towards MRs. STERNHoi.D.) Emily'
MRS. S. (starting up—turns up lamp.) 'Tis not Emily!.
- - [Lights up.
(At this moment MILDMAY is seen coming from his
room, candle in hand—he starts—blows out the candle,
, and stands listening, but so as not to be seen by the
characters.
HAwks. (after a pause, recovering himself) Good
evening, Mrs. Sternhold! Delighted to see you looking
so brilliant—your head-ache is quite gone, I trust,
22 STILL WATERS RUN DEEP. Act 1.
MRS. S. (rises.) Villain — Swindler — Adventurer!—
Impostor l—Beggar !
HAWKs. Your excitement makes you illogical. Allow
me to observe that beggars don't ride, and that my cab is
at the garden door.
MRs. S. Thanks to the poor dupes who pay for it, of
whom I have been one too long.
HAWKs. You do us both injustice, my dear madam.
You are too clever for a dupe — and I’m not clever
enough— -
MRS. S. For a rogue? Excuse me—you have just the
requisite amount of brains, but there is one quality you
are deficient in. -
HAwks. And what may that be, pray *
MRS. S. Prudence—or you would have foreseen the
danger of making me your enemy.
HAwks. Allow me to offer you a chair. (placing chair
by table R. C., she sits.) I see our téte-a-tête promises to
be as long as it is already interesting. (takes chair, and
sits L. C.) And now, my dear lady, I’m all attention; if you
will be kind enough to explain to me the cause of all this
emotion, I may perhaps succeed in calming it.
MRs. S. You are here—and you dare ask the cause of
my indignation. -
HAwks. I understand. My presence in Mrs. Mildmay's
boudoir is an unpardonable crime—there might have been
an excuse for me had it been yours.
MRs. S. (hiding her face in her hands.) If my weakness
had exposed me to such an insult, a man of honour would
have spared me it.
HAwks. (contemptuously.) A man of honour! In a
word, what is the meaning of this scene: Why are
you here? What do you want? Where is your niece?
MRs. S. Yonder, in her own room. You love her?
HAwks. Suppose I admit it
MRs. S. And you dare to tell me so?
(Seizes a paper-knife, which lies on the table.
HAwks. How lucky it's not a dagger!
MRs. S. (in a passion of rage, breaks the paper-knife,
and throws away the pieces.) The dagger's a poor revenge.
It kills too soon.
STILL WATERS RUN DEEP. 23
HAwks. We have a variety of slow poisons.
MRs. S. Clever as you are, you cannot give a woman a
lesson in revenge. Trust the hate I feel for you from this
night. My weapon shall not be dagger or poison. You see
those pieces? (pointing to fragments of paper knife.) Before
a month is past, I shall have broken you, as I have broken
that ... "
HAwks. You positively alarm me ! Is it possible I can
be so brittle?
MRs. S. Laugh on till others laugh at you /
HAwks. No–really—such a capital joke deserves to be
laughed at.
MRs. S. Listen, Hawksley ! Because I have been
weak, you have thought me blind. ... I have been your
benefactress—yes, wince! I say, your benefactress—butin
your eyes I was but one dupe the more. You did not know
that a woman could love a man without esteeming him.
From the first day I have known you, I have seen through
you—your commission—your services—the credit you
boast—the luxury you parade. I knew it all a lie—a
shallow, transparent lie! You are nothing—you have
nothing—
HAwks. By Jove, madam—(starting up.)
MRs. S. Sit still. I have not done yet. I say, I knew
you, and yet was weak enough to love you. That love
drew me on to serve your ends—blindly—devotedly—to
give countenance to your deceptions—credit to your lies:
this is what I have done for you, and thus it is I am
rewarded. My blind love has made me thus guilty, and
you—you, for whose sake I have dome these things—
upbraid me with my weakness! Heaven is just but 'tis
bitter very bitter! (she sobs bitterly.)
HAwks. Don’t cry! You’ll spoil your complexion
MRs, S. (rising.) From this moment I devote myself
to your destruction, with all the energy I have hitherto
employed for your service. I know your heart is invul-
nerable. I will not strike at that.
HAwks. At my fortune, I presume?
MRs. S. Your fortune! I have but to let in the light
upon its shameful secrets, and it crumbles to the ground.
HAWKs. But you won’t let in the light.
24 STILL WATERS RUN DEEP. ACT I.
MRs. S. I have done so.
HAwks. Really
MRs. S. The money I had wrung from my brother for
your speculation, and on which you rely to meet your
engagements to-morrow, will not be paid.
HAwks. Oh! at last! (rises.) I was waiting for you to
get out of the quicksands of sentiment to the solid ground
of business. Be good enough to listen to me—and, above
all, follow my argument closely. I am here in two
characters—as a gentleman, and as a man of business. As
a gentleman, I confess, my conduct has been scandalous—
I admit it. Call me what you like, I deserve the very
worst your abundant vocabulary can supply. But, as a
man of business—hands off! There, I decline your juris-
diction altogether. The speculator cannot in fairness be
saddled with the lover's peccadilloes. Mr. Mildmay intends
to invest largely, I hope, in Galvanics. You will be good
enough not to prevent him from executing that laudable
intention.
Mrs. S. He will not come.
HAwks. Oh, yes he will.
MRs. S. I will forbid him. -
HAwks. And I forbid you to say a word to him in the
matter! And woe to you if you breathe one syllable of
my concerns to him, or any other living soul! You talk of
my imprudence I have you forgotten your own : You can
ruin my fortune! True. But your own reputation—that
reputation so intact—so awful—kept up at such a cost of
hypocrisy and deceit. I am an adventurer | Granted.
What are you!
MRs. S. A most unhappy woman! (sits.) -
HAwks. You will have a better title to that name when
I have shewn you to the world in your true colours.
MRs. S. It is not in your power. Who will believe
ow 2
3/ HAwks. Allow me to observe that I am the fortunate
possessor of no less than thirteen of your letters.
MRS. S. (rises.) You have not burnt them, as you swore
you had done, on your honour.
HAwks. My honour! How could you trust THAT
security ? Oh, no One doesn’t burn such letters as yours.
sTILL wºrk Rs RUN DEEP. 2.5
MRs. S. Alas! Even I did not know this man!
HAwks. (looking at his watch.) Half-past twelve o'clock |
How time flies, to be sureſ I’ve to be up early at business;
and late hours will ruin your complexion. Addio / Re-
member my ultimatum ! Peace or war, as you will. I,
refer peace infinitely I hate giving pain to a woman
ut if Mildmay doesn't show to-morrow—with the money
—your interesting autographs will be added to the litera-
ture of the country. En attendant—allow me to wish you
a very good night!
(He goes wb towards door of conservatory, c., then turns;
MRs. STERNHoLD crosses towards L. D. 3 E; MILDMAY
is seen to step forward, and clench his fist, but checks
himself, and retires, L. D. U. E. .
By the way, I dine here to-morrow. I hope our little
scene of to-night will not prevent your receiving me with
your usual amiability.
- Exit HAwks LEY, by c. D. of conservatory.
MRs. S. Ruffian! Coward | Should he dare to expose
those fatal letters, he will destroy me! But I must be
calm—this girl shall not see a trace of emotion.
(goes to door L. 3 E., and opens it.
Emily
Enter MRs. MILDMAY, L. D. 3 E.
Emily, I— (turns faint.)
MRs. M. Is he gone?
MRS. S. For this night you are safe. This man dare
not—dare not l—Oh, what will he not dare *
(crossing towards R. D. 1 E., while speaking.
MRS. M. Aunt, dear aunt! Be composed Come.
with me! Come to bed! What ca:, have passed between .
them?
[Eveunt MRs. MILDMAY, leading MRs. STERNHoſp
R. D. 1 E.
Enter MILDMAY, from room D. L. C. E.
MILDMAY. Sol I knew he was a rascal—but I’d no
motion Mrs. Sternhold had been such a fool! But when
26 STILL WATERS RUN DEEP. ACT I.
your strong-minded woman does break loose, a Welsh
river after a flood, is a joke to her! Poor Emily, too!
She has had a narrow escapel Perhaps, after all, I have
carried the laissez aller principle too far. It's a capital rule
in political economy—but it don’t do in married life, I see.
That wants a coup d’etat now and then. So My wife . .
(goes up stage towards conservatory.
Re-enter MRs. MILDMAY, R. D 1 E.
MRs. M. She's calmer now. I must go to my room
for ether.
(Going towards her room, L. 3 E., sees MILDMAY, and,
not recognising him at first, screams.
Stand back, sir! How dare you?
MILDMAY. (coming forward L. C.) Don't be alarmed,
my dear. It's only John.
MRs. M. My husband'ſ Come back? Thank heaven!
I’m safe now !
MILDMAY. I hope so. But what's the matter? Why.
are you up at this hour? How comes that garden door
open :
MRs M. I—I–don't know. Was it open?
MILDMAY. Yes—I found it so, just now, as I came back
from the station.
MRs. M Then you're not going to Manchester. Do not
leave me! Stay—do stay!
MILDMAY. My journey's unnecessary, I find. But,
about this open door? I must take a survey of the
premises. Jessop was firing at the blackbirds to day.
He left his gun in the root-house. .
MRs. M. No—no Oh, consider!—if you should meet
MILDMAY. Him —who?
MRs. M. The-the–the robber—the man |
MILDMAY. Oh ! then there is a man :
MRs. M. No–no! Didn't you say you thought there
was 2
MILDMAY. Not I' But, to satisfy you, I'll make the
round of the garden.
MRs. M. No-no
se. 1. sTILL waters RUN DEEP. 27
TMILDMAY. Don’t be alarmed, Emmy. I shall take the
gun, and use it—if necessary. (going up stage.)
MRs. M. Oh, heaven! If they meet!
(sinking into a chair, R. C., and clasping her hands.
TABLEAU-as drop descends.
ACT II.
SCENE.—Breakfast room in Mr. Mildmay's house.
Door R. 2 E. Breakfast table and two chairs, c. , Small
writing table R. H. MRs. STERNHoDD R. of table, and
MR. Potter at top of table, seated at breakfast.
Potter. Why Jane, you positively have eaten no
breakfast! And now I look at you, I declare you are as
pale as a sheet of paper, and your eyes are red, and I’m
sure you're feverish. You are not well, my dear Jane?
You're far from well—in fact you're very ill—I’m sure
you're very ill. Do let me give you a globule.
MRs. S. Nonsense, brother, I don’t believe in globules.
It's merely the consequence of our discussion yesterday.
You know discussion always makes me ill.
Potter. But my dear Jane, there's not the least occa-
sion to be ill this morning. I’ve agreed to do as you
wished. Hawksley shall have the money for those shares
this very day. It’s an excellent investment, as you proved
last night.
MRs. S. And pray who ever said anything of the kind? .
Potter. Why, did’nt you ?
Ms. S. Certainly not. You are always misunderstand-
ing me. .
Potter. (joyously.) Oh, there's time enough yet, for the
matter of that. If you don't think it a good investment,
say so, and I’ll write to Hawksley, and tell him I’ve
changed my mind, by your advice. -
MEs. S. Of course; lay the responsibility upon me.
28 STILL WATERs RUN DEEP. ACT II,
Potter. Well, you see, as far as I'm concerned, I'd
rather not have anything to do with the affair; there's
mischief enough done as it is, particularly as Mildmay
has taken it into his head to invest six or seven thousand
in it himself. -
MRS. S. Mildmay invest his money in Captain Hawks-
ley's company
PoTTER. Certainly; didn't he tell you? He was to
have seen the captain to-day about it, after his return
from Manchester. As he didn't go to Manchester, I sup-
pose he'll call on him when he goes into the city this
morning : he's late—poor Emmy's very unwell.
MRs. S. Go at once, and beg Mildmay to come here
before he goes. -
PoTTER. Yes, my dear. I’ll thank you for another cup
of tea
MRs. S. I said at once, brother.
PoTTER. (rising.) Certainly, my dear Jane,—certainly ;
I’m going. (aside.) That woman's the guardian angel of
our family. [Exit R. D.
MRs. S. (rises ) Not satisfied with my brother's for-
tune, he wishes to secure Mildmay's, too ! And that poor
silly girl fancies this man loves her—loves her for her own
sake, I thought so once—fool that I was . But so long as
my letters remain in his possession, I am at his mercy—I
and mine. I must have those letters, be their price what
it may. Oh, if I could but inspire Mildmay's sluggish
nature with one spark of chivalry or sentiment ' He is so
dull ! But he is, at least, braver and more manly than this
coward. He must extort from his fears what I could
never obtain from his generosity. -
Jºmter MILDMAY, R. D. 2 E.
Good morning ! How is Emily?
MILDMAY. (R.) Not well; she has had a bad night;
my sudden departure annoyed her, and my sudden return
startled her. I recommended her to breakfast in her own
room. Mr. Potter told me you wanted to see me.
MRs. S. Yes; I have a secret to confide to you—a
most important secret; one I should not dare to trust to
anyone in whom I had not the most implicit confidence,
S.C. Y. sTILL waters RUN DETr: 29
MILDMAY. I'm much obliged to you; what is it? And
as I've not breakfasted, if you will give me a cup of tea
while you tell me. (sits L. of table.) * * * -
MRs. S. (crossing to R., and resuming her seat, pouring
out tea, &c.) Promise me first, not to mention the subject
to any one—not even your wife.
MILDMAY. My wife | Didn't you say it was a secret?
The cream, please.
MRs. S. If your mother were alive, and a man had
insulted her, what would you do?
MILDMAY. The right thing, of course. Might I trouble
you for the sugar basin:
MRs. S. You have lost your mother; so has Mrs. Mild-
may : but your marriage with her has given you a claim
upon me, second only to that of a brother. From all I
have seen of you, I feel I may expect of you a brother's
devotion. - -
MILDMAY. Do you? Butter, please.
MRs. S. Suppose, then, a man had insulted me in the
most flagrant way. I am a woman—a widow; I have no
son; my brother is an old man. Suppose I said to you,
“you alone can defend my cause ; to you alone I can
look for aid—for protection: aid me — protect me !”
What would you answer?
MILDMAY. Eh!—Well—I really don’t know. What
should you recommend me to answer? -
MRs. S. Are you a man, and ask that * You surely
did not listen to the case I put.
MILDMAY. Why, you see we Lancashire folk are some-
what dull of comprehension. If you'd speak out, straight
forward like, I might understand you better.
Mas. S. If a man gave you a blow, what would you
do : -
MILDMAY. Hit him again.
MRs. S. Yes, if he were a Bruiser; but if he were a
gentleman, you would use the weapons of a gentleman
in your defence. Your honour and that of your wife's
relatives are one : you have been insulted through me.
Now, do you understand? '• -
MILDMAY. I see: a lady has been insulted, and she
wishes me to insist on gentlemanly satisfaction on her
30 STILL waTERs Run DEEP. ACT II,
. . . . .
• . - t -
account. Well, there's only one remark I wish to cake
on that point; yesterday, after dinner, as I was lying on
the sofa, asleep, as you thought, you said to my wife,
“Mr. Mildmay is dull, stupid, I admit it; but then he has
none of those ridiculous pretensions that most men set up
to a will of his own : you could do what you like with
him, if you'd only take the trouble.”
MRs. S. (embarrassed.) I don't remember saying any-
thing of the kind. -
MILDMAY. Don't you? I do. I have no doubt that
you were quite right; only I don’t see how a man without
any will of his own is to set up a character for pluck and
energy all of a sudden, and turn fire-eater, not on his own
account, but on yours; there's my difficulty.
MRs. S. This is no answer, Mr. Mildmay.
MILDMAY. Isn’t it I think I can put it into un-
mistakeable English. I have been married for a year, and
I’ve taken things as they came. I confess I have always
had a sort of idea a man ought to be master in his own
house ; but I know that is’nt your notion; you think a
man ought to let his wife lead him by the nose; that a
woman should control everything : in fact, you're the
head of the family. I daren't ask a friend home to dinner
without notice given, and leave obtained beforehand; the
servants look to you for orders, and to me only for wages;
you settle the patterns of the furniture, and the laying out
of the garden : in short, you're A 1, and I’m nobody.
I’ve no objection; only if I’m not to have any authority,
I can’t think of taking any responsibility: if I am a
cipher, I claim the right to act as a cipher.
MRs S. As I expected. (aside.) You are right; each
to his place. I knew you had abnegated the duties of
head of a family ; I thought it just possible you might
still retain the feelings of a man. (rises.) You have shown
Ine my error—I am much obliged to you. Good morn-
ing, sir. [Evit MRs. STERNHol. D, indignantly, R. D. 2 R.
MILDMAY. I hope she understood that, at all events.
Re-enter Potter, R. D. 2 E.
PoTTER. (sits R. of table.) Eh! Well, Mildmay, have
you settled matters with my sister :
$C. I. . . STILL WATERS RUN DEEP. 3+
MILDMAY. Well, I think I have pretty well : it was
about those shares of Hawksley's. (breakfasting.)
PottER. I knew it was. Well, it appears she has
changed her mind about 'em. -
MILDMAY. Not that I know of. I’m off to Hawksley's
directly after breakfast; and—talking of that—have you
got the shares he allotted to you last week?
Potter. Yes. (taking out his pocket-book.) Here they
$lre.
MILDMAY. If you like to endorse them to me, I’ve no
objection to take them at par, on account of so much of
the money owing under my wife's investment.
PottER. Take the shares at par ! (rises and goes to
writing-table to endorse shares.) Delighted, my dear boy—
de—lighted. But you're sure it's all right? Is my
sister aware of it?
MILDMAY. Oh, Mrs. Sternhold and I understand each.
other. There's no time to be lost—I want to catch the
first bus to the city.
PottER. There you are—twenty scrip certificates at
par, that's one thousand pounds, and that makes seven
thousand pounds I owe you now, instead of eight thousand
pounds. (gives shares.) But, my dear boy, (as MILDMAY
crosses to R. D.) I’d inquire about the speculation, if I were
you, in the city, just by way of precaution. I would, indeed.
You're not up to this sort of thing, you know.
MILDMAY. Oh, never mind me. I know I’m no con-
juror—but, perhaps, after all, father-in-law, I'm not such
a fool as I look. [Exit MILDMAY, R. D. 2 E.
POTTER. Poor lad! Poor lad! Now he thinks himself
a devilish clever fellow ! If he had a little of my expe-
rience! But there's no taking the self-conceit out of the
young men now-a-days. [Exit POTTER, R. D. 2 E.
[SERVANTs clear stage.
$2 §TILL WATERS RUN DEEP. ACT II.
SCENE II. — Captain Hawksley's apartments, gaily
and luzuriously furnished; door, L. 2 E.; window, R.,
with chintz hangings; a profusion of prints, pictures, &c.;
books gaily bound; a lounging chair, c.; fire-place, c.;
an office table, covered with papers, prospectuses, plans, &c.,
R. C. ; a cheque book, note case half full of notes, and
packet of thirteen letters, in drawer on R. of table; chair
R. of table; another table, L. H., with coloured plans of
the “INExPLoSIBLE GALVANIC BoATs; ” chairs about
stage. HAWKSLEY is discovered, writing, in a fashion-
able morning wrapper and smoking cap, seated R. o
table, R. H. •
HAwks. (pausing from his writing to look at his watch.)
Eleven o'clock 1 and no signs of Mildmay ! Surely that
wildcat of a woman knows better than to carry out her
threat of peaching. She ought to know I’m not a man
to be trifled with. (rises.)
“Sweet is revenge—especially to women.”
But reputation is still sweeter, and, thanks to her remark-
ably indiscreet pen, her’s is in my hands—and she knows
it. I’m a cool hand, I flatter myself, but, by Jove, she
nearly threw me off my balance last night! That sudden
turn up of the lamp was devilish well imagined. (taking
wp plan.) But this infernal Company. I never was so deep
in a thing before without seeing my way out. After all,
I should have done better to have stuck by Tattersall's
and the Turf. The Ring are sharp fellows, but they're
regular green 'uns compared with those Blades of the
Stock Exchange. Those muffs at the Home Office crow
about shutting up the West End Hells; but what's
chicken-hazard to time bargains? A fellow who risks his
hundred on the spinning of a roulette ball, is a gambler,
and may be quodded by the first Beak that comes handy,
butlet him chance his hundred thousand on the up or down
of the Three per Cents, every month of the twelve, and
he may cultivate domestic felicity at his box at Brompton,
in the respectable character of a man of business. Ha!
§6. II. STILL waters RUN DEEP. as
ba! haſ John Bull is certainly a fine, practical, consistent
animal. (a knock at door, L. H.) Come in.
Enter DUNBILK, L. D. 2 E.
DUN. Ah, Hawksley, me boy, how are ye?
HAwks. Right as a trivet, my prince of prospectus-
mongers.
Dun. Ah, don’t ye be puttin' the blarney on me, then.
Look at that, (giving newspaper.) and see if that don't be
taking the grin out of ye. Sure I've marked it wid a
black edge, like a mournin’ letther.
HAwks. (looking blank.) Confound it! Galvanics at
two-and-a-half discount. That's fishy'
DU.N. Mighty piscatorial, me boy and, betwixt you
and me and the post, if you and me, and the direction
generally, doesn't look mighty sharp, the two-and-a-hall
will be folve by to-morrow.
HAwks. The devil! Why, they were at two premium
only yesterday.
DUN. It's that blackguard Bolter; he's blowed the gaff.
I tould the Direction they couldn't afford to quarrel wid
the Secretary.
HAwks. But how could we keep a fellow who had been
robbing us to the tune of a hundred a month? -
DUN. And what o' that? Sure wasn’t he the manes of
getting us tin times that out o' the public? The craythur
WàS wed for the church: why wouldn't he be taking his
tithe
HAwrs. Well, there's only one thing for it—we must
rig the market. Go in, and buy up every share that's
offered.
DUN. Divilish asy to say “buy,” but where's the tinto
come from ? I called in at Flimsy's, as I came along, and
they looked so black at me, in the parlour, that I felt it a
superfluous act of politeness to inquire after the state of
our balance. -
HAwks, I’ve a thousand in this note case; and, besides,
expect a few more thousands to-day,
DUN. The divil you do? Hooray! Corn in Agypt t
It's yourself that's the boy can do it. I’ll go bail you've
34 STILL WATERs RUN DEEP. Act, rr.
been dhrawing that Brompton milch cow of yours again.
Sure there's a dale of bleedin' in that ould Potter—and
he’smighty polite, too. Sure he asked me to dine with him
to-day. -
Hºrs. I shall meet you there. But I've a better fish.
on my hook than old Potter—his son-in-law. -
DUN. What, young Mildmay ? I know the individial,
and respect him. Mind what ye're about, me boy. He's
from Lancashire—and thim north-country boys is as cute
as Dublin car dhrivers.
HAwks. Then this fellow's a cock-tail—for a greater
flat was never potted.
DUN. Anyhow he'd find his match in you, if he was as
sharp as Corney Rooney's pig, that always bolted a week
afore quarter day, for fear he'd be made bacon of, to pay
the rint. The top of the mornin’ to ye, my boy. I’ll be
off to the city, and give our Boord the office. By the
powers, but they ought to vote you a piece of plate.
HAwks. Well, a handsome salver wouldn't look amiss
on my sideboard. :
DUN. Divil the salver—sure I’d suggest a stew pan.
HAwks. A stew pan!
T}UN. It's nate and appropriate. Brass outside, and tin
at the bottom. [Exit DUNBILK, L. D. 2 E.
HAWKs. Curse his bogtrotting impudence | But that's
the worst of letting one's self down to this city work. At
the Corner, one was safe to be in a gentlemanly set, but
Fast of Temple Bar, they're such d-d low fellows.
Enter a SERVANT, L.D. 2 E.
SERVANT. Mr. Mildmay.
HAwks. Bravissimo | Here, bring this table down from
the fire. -
(The SERVANT moves writing table, R. C., down level with
first grooves, and places easy chair beside it, in c.
Now show him in. (sits R. of table.) -
(Exit SERVANT, who re-enters immediately, showing in.
MILDMAY. Exit SERVANT. HAwks LEY pretends,
to be absorbed in his writing, and leaves MILDMAY,
wpon his entrance, standing,
SC.. II. $TILL WATERS RUN DEEP. 35
\
HAwks. (looking up.) A thousand pardons, my dear.
fellow ! One gets so absorbed in these cursed figures.
Take a chair. You'll allow me to finish what I was
about.
MILDMAY. Don’t mind me. I'm in no hurry.
HAwks. (after a minute of pretended work.) By the way
if you'll look on that table, you'll find a plan of our Inex.
plosible Galvanic Boat, somewhere. Just glance your eye .
over it, while I knock off this calculation—it will give you
an idea of the machinery.
(MILDMAY approaches table, L. H., and takes up a plan,
and, while pretending to look at it, surveys the room, &c.
HAwks. (putting away his papers, and rising.) And
now, my dear Mildmay, I’m at your service. But, before
we come to business, how are all at Brompton? The
ladies all well?
MILDMAY. Mrs. Sternhold's a little out of sorts this.
tmorning.
HAwks. Ah! Had a bad night?
MILDMAY. I should think so.
HAwks. (at table) Well, I had a note from Potter. He
tells me you had some thoughts of taking shares in our
Galvanics. Ever done much in that sort of thing :
MILDMAY. No, not yet.
HAwks. I fancied not, by the style in which you seem
to have talked of getting shares, as if you thought they
could be had for asking. You see there's been such a run
on 'em, that we’ve had twice as many applied for as could
be allotted. But there may be a few in the market still.
Another week, and you'd not have had a chance. Per-
haps it would be as well, though, before you connect
yourself with it, that I should give you, briefly, an idea of
our scheme, our means of carrying it out, and its probable
results. (crosses to R. C.)
MILDMAY. If you would be so kind.
HAwks. Fetch yourself a chair, then. (they sit.) Steam,
it has been often remarked, is yet in its infancy—galvanism,
if I may be allowed the comparison, is unborn. Our Com-
pany proposes to play midwife to this mysterious power,
which, like Hercules, is destined to strangle steam in the
$
{
l
$5 STILL WATERs RUN DEEP. AC# ry,
cradle. But, to do this effectually, is the work of no mere
every-day speculator. We require a plan of operations
calculated on a solid and comprehensive basis. You:
follow me. 4 ,
MILDMAY. A solid and comprehensive basis? I suppose
that means a good lot of money.
HAwks. Precisely. Money is the sinews of industry,
as of war. Now, to anticipate events a little, let us throw
ourselves into the future, and imagine our Company at
work. We have created between the Ports of the West
of Ireland and the United States, Mexico, the West India.
Islands, and Brazil, a line of Galvanic Boats—rapid,
economical, safe, and regular. For rapidity, we can give
four knots an hour to the fastest steamer yet built. As
for safety, our Galvanie engines can't blow up.
MILDMAY. But suppose the Company should? Com-
panies do blow up sometimes, don't they? -
HAwrs. Bubbles do, but not such Companies as this.
But, to resume: economy we ensure, by getting rid of
coal altogether.
MILDMAY. Get rid of coal! Do you really? And pray
what do you use instead?
HAwks. Our new motive principle. That is our secret
at present. But you will at once perceive, as an intelligent
man of business, the incalculable consequences that must
follow from the employment of a new motive principle,
which combines the essential qualities of a motive prin-
ciple—the maximum of speed, and the minimum of cost.
(MILDMAY bows.) You see, there are three things to be
considered—the article, the duty, and the cost of carriage.
The two former being fixed, let us represent them by
A. and B. You understand algebra 2
MILDMAY. I used to know a little of it at school.
HAwks. Then let X and # denote the respective
while the two rates of
cost of the two modes of carriage
profit are represented by Y and y!
MILDMAY. Which, in algebra, always denote an un-
known quantity.
$C. IX, gTILL WATERS RUN DEEP. 37.
HAwks. Precisely. Well, A. and B. remaining con-
stant, let Y = A plus # be the formula for profit in the
ease of steam, then y! = A plus # , divided by 2, will
be the formula for profit in the case of galvánic transport—
or reducing the equations Y' = 2 Y, or, in plain English,
the profit on galvanic transport equal to twice the profit
on steam carriage. I hope that's clear !
MILDMAY. Perfectly—only, as you began by assuming
the cost of the first at only half that of the second, I don't
see what need there was of any algebra to prove the profit
double. n
HAWKs. Ah!—Why, you see—some people apprehend
a thing more clearly in symbols. However, to return to
our plan of operations. You observe we start from a Port
in the West of Ireland; by this means we gain six days
on Liverpool, Bristol, and the Western Ports of England.
At one blow, we destroy Liverpool.
MILDMAY. The devil you do! I've property in Liver-
ool.
p HAwks. Next, we destroy Bristol.
MILDMAY. Destroy Bristol, to
HAWKs. That is, when I say destroy, we reduce her to
a second-rate Port. She will still have the coasting and
fruit trade, and may do a little in turtle. We destroy
Hull—
MILDMAY. But stop—stop—stop. You're going to
destroy everything. -
HAwks. My dear fellow, it's the law of the universe.
If, by our line, we can introduce West Indian sugar into .
the market, at two-thirds the price of East Indian, are
we to hesitate because Ceylon may be ruined?
MILDMAY. Of course not. I suppose that would be
what the political economists call sentimentalism.
HAwks. Precisely. If Ceylon is ruined on these terms,
so much the better for the world in general.
MILDMAY, And so much the worse for Ceylon in par-
tioular.
$8 sTILL waters RUN DEEP. Act II,
HAwks. Just so. I see you follow me exactly.
MILDMAY. Only, I was thinking— -
HAwks. Pray speak out. The suggestions of a new,
fresh mind are invaluable. You were thinking—
MILDMAY. That, as the general interest is made up of'
particular interests, if you destroy the particular interests,
perhaps the general interest may not be so much benefitted,
after all. - .
HAwks. Ah, there you get into an abstruse field of
speculation.
MILDMAY. Do I? It seems clear enough to me.
(both rise.
HAwks. That's because you take a shallow view of the
subject.
MILDMAY. One I can see to the bottom of, in fact!
HAwks. Precisely. A man of your calibre should
always distrust what he can see to the bottom of.
MILDMAY. I generally do. Well, after your very lucid
demonstration, I see your company cannot fail of success.
The more shares a man has, the more lucky he should
think himself. (goes up to table, L., and puts down his hat.)
HAwks. (aside.) Hook'd, play’d, and landed! (pretending
to look on table for note.) I've mislaid Potter's note—but
he mentioned your wanting something like two hundred
shares, wasn’t it?
MILDMAY. I beg your pardon—not exactly—I think—
HAwks. Why, wasn’t that the figure you put it at
yourself, last night?
MILDMAY. Last night—yes.
HAwks. You havn't changed your mind?
MILDMAY. No.
HAwks. Then let us understand each other. Do you,
want more than two hundred, or fewer
MILDMAY. Neither more—nor fewer.
HAwks. What do you mean?
MILDMAY. I mean, I don't want any at all.
HAwks. (starting with surprise.) The dev– (recovering
himself.) Oh! I suppose you've slept on it.
MILDMAY. Exactly! I’ve slept on it.
HAwks. Perhaps Mrs. Sternhold's advice may have had
something to do with your sudden change of intentions.
BC. II. STILL WATERS RUN DEEP. 39
MILDMAY. Mrs. Sternhold knows nothing about my
sudden change of intentions.
HAWKs. I must satisfy myself on that point.
(comes in front of table.
MILDMAY. Do, by all means, if it interests you.
HAwks. (sitting on corner of table.) Well, as you don't
know your own mind for four-and-twenty hours together,
there's nothing more to be said. But as you don't want
these shares, may I ask what has procured me the pleasure
of seeing you this morning :
MILDMAY. Certainly. I had two objects in coming. In
the first place, about two months ago, my father-in-law.
Mr. Potter, took twenty shares in your Company. Those
shareshave come into my hands this morning by Mr. Potter's
endorsement. Now, as I don't care about 'em myself, and
as there seems such a rush for 'em in the market, I suppose
you’ll have no objection to take them off my hands at par.
HAwks. Eh P , Take them off your hands at par?
Ha! haſ ha! No! By Jove, that's rather too good! My
dear Mr. Mildmay, I know you're the most amiable of
men—a consummate cultivator of that delicate vegetable,
celery—a distinguished house painter and decorator—but
I had no idea how great you were at a practical joke.
MILDMAY. Very well. We'll drop the shares for the
present, and come to motive number two.
HAwks. Pray do—and if it's better fun than motive
number one, I shall have to thank you for two of the
heartiest laughs I’ve enjoyed for many a day.
MILDMAY. We shall see. You have in your possession
thirteen letters, addressed to you by Mrs. Sternhold.
The second motive for my visit was to ask you to give up
those letters.
HAwks. (aside.) Sol the murder's out! She prefers ,
war! She shall have it! (aloud.) Mr. John Mildmay,
your first demand was a good joke—I laughed at it accord-
ingly; but your second you may find no joke, and I would
recommend you to be careful how you persist in executing
this commission of Mrs. Sternhold's.
MILDMAY. I beg your pardon. I have no commission
from Mrs. Sternhold.
HAwks. It was not she who told you of those letters?
40 STILL WATERS RUN DEEP. ACT II,
MILDMAY. Certainly not.
HAwks. Who did
MILDMAY. You must excuse my answering that ques-
tion.
HAwks. Then you are acting now on your own respon-
sibility?
MILDMAY. Entirely.
HAwks. Very well—then this is my answer. Though
you have married Mrs. Sternhold's niece, I do not admit
; right to interfere, without authority from Mrs. Stern-
old herself, in an affair in which she alone is interested.
I refuse to give up her letters. As to your first request,
my business is to sell shares, not to buy them.
MILDMAY. I was prepared for both refusals; so I have
taken my measures for compelling you to grant both
demands. ---
HAWKs. The devil you have Do let me hear what
they are : I am all impatience to know how you propose
to make Harry Hawksley say yes, when he has began by
saying no. You've no objection to smoke :
MILDMAY. None in the world.
(HAwks. EY seats himself comfortably in easy chair,
putting his legs on another chair, and lights a
cigar, R. C.
HAwks. Now, my very dear sir, fire away !
MILDMAY. (sits L. c.; then in a very calm voice, after
watching him.) When you explained the theory of your
speculation, just now, you thought you were speaking to
a greenhorn in such matters. You were under a mistake.
Some four years ago, I held a partnership in a house in
the city, which did a good deal in discounting shares—
the house of Dalrymple, Brothers, of Broad Street. You
may have heard of it. (HAWKSLEY starts.) One day—it
was the 30th of April, 1850—a bill was presented for
payment at our counting-house, purporting to be drawn
on us by our correspondents, Touchet and Wright, of
Buenos Ayres. (HAWKSLEY appears wheasy.) Though we
had no advices of it, it was paid at once, for it seemed all
right and regular; but it turned out to be a forgery,
Our correspondent's suspicions fell at once upon a clerk
who had just been dismissed from their employment for


&
SC. Y. . STILI, WATERS RUN OEETP. 41
some errors in his accounts. His name then was Burgess
—dear me, you’ve let your cigar out. (HAwKSLEY puffs at
his cigar with an effort.) The body of the bill was
apparently in the same handwriting as the signature of
the firm ; but a careful examination of it established its
identity with that of the discharged clerk; and in a
blotting-book left accidentally behind him, were found
various tracings of the signature of the firm. The
detectives were at once put on his track, but he had
disappeared; no trace of him could ever be discovered.
Well, this money was repaid, and the affair forgotten. It
so happened, that when the bill was presented for pay-
ment, only one person was in the counting-house—the
clerk who paid the money, and who is since dead.—If
you'll allow me, I'll join you—(taking out cigar case.) But
in the private room of the firm, which was separated from
the counting-house by a glazed door, was the junior part-
ner—may I trouble you for a light?—(lights his cigar by
HAwks 1 EY’s) who, through the door, saw the bill pre-
sented, and observed the face of the person who presented
it. I was that junior partner: the person who presented
the bill—Burgess, as he was then called—the forger—was
ou /
HAwks. (falls back in his chair, then with an effort.)
It is an infamous calumny —An abominable lie ' Your
life shall answer for this insult
MILDMAY. I don't think that quite. But allow me to
conclude. How you have passed your time since that
30th of April, 1850, I have not the advantage of knowing;
but I know that soon after my marriage, and retirement
from business, I met you as a visitor at my father-in-law's
house. I’ve a wonderful memory for faces—I remembered
yours at once.
HAwks. It's a lie, I tell you ! (rises.)
MILDMAY. No, it isn't. I resolved not to speak till I
could back my words by proofs. I applied to my late
partners for the forged bill. One of them was dead, the
other absent in South America ; so that for ten months I
found myself obliged to receive, as a guest at my own table,
as the intimate and trusted friend of my wife's family, a
person I knew to be a swindler and a forger
49 sTILL WATERS RUN DEEP. Act 11.
HAwks. By heavens !—
(4iming a i. at MILDMAY, which he stops, and forces
HAWKSLEY down into easy chair.
MILDMAY. Take care ' If we come to that game,
remember it's town versus country; a hale Lancashire
lad against a battered London roué ; fresh air and exercise
to smoke and speculation. You had better be quiet—a
minute more, and I have done. The letter I had been so
long waiting for, containing the forged bill, arrived yes-
terday from Manchester. You were kind enough to bring
it out to Brompton yourself. That bill is in my pocket;
if I do not deliver it into your hands before I leave the
room, it goes at once into those of the nearest police
magistrate.
HAwks. (after a pause, gloomily.) What are your
terms 3
MILDMAY. The price of those shares at par, and Mrs.
Sternhold's thirteen letters.
HAWKs. (rises, goes round table, and takes notes out of
drawer.) Here's the money.
MILDMAY. (at upper end of table R.) You'll excuse my
counting. It's a mercantile habit I learnt in the house of
Dalrymple, Brothers. (counts notes.) Quite correct. Here
are the scrip certificates. (giving him shares.) And now,
if you please, the letters? -
HAwks. (taking bundle of letters from drawer, and
throwing them down on table.) There !
MILDMAY. You'll excuse my counting them too. (counts
letters.) Thirteen, exactly! And now, might I trespass
on you to put them into an envelope, and seal them with
your own seal?
HAwks. Are they not safe enough as it is
MILDMAY. Now oblige me.
(HAwks LEY puts letters into an envelope, and is about
to light taper.
Oh, allow me—your hand shakes.
(Takes matches from him, and lights taper.
I wish Mrs. Sternhold to be certain that these lettershave
passed through no other hands than yours,
(HAwks LEY seals the packet, and hands it to MILDMAY.
And there is the forged bill (giving bill to HAWKSEY.
$C. II. STILL waTERs a UN DEEP. 43
HAwks. (examines the bill, then burns it by taper, and
throws it to the ground, stamping on it. Aside.) Gone ! He
knows nothing of the other. - - - -
MILDMAY. (taking his hat from table L.) And now,
Captain Burgess—I mean Hawksley—I have the honour
to wish you a very good morning.
HAwks. (crossing to him.) Stop! A word before you
go. Since we had first the pleasure of meeting, I’ve been
a soldier, and have served in countries where blood wipes
out disgrace. What are your weapons :
MILDMAY. I thought it might come to that; but you
needn’t trouble yourself to call me out, because I shan't
CODne.
HAwks. And do you flatter yourself I can't force you?
I know duelling is out of fashion in this infernal cold-
blooded country; but, even here, there. are insults
a man can't put up with, and hold his head up
before the world — take care I don’t put such an
insult upon you. (drawing near, and lifting up his hand.
MILDMAY. Don’t try that on again : I may be less
patient the second time. I might send you into the street
without the trouble of going down stairs; there's two
stories' fall, not to speak of the area spikes : you might
hurt yourself.
HAwks. Very well. We are by ourselves — there
would be no use in insulting you here : but take care;
the first time we meet in company, I will lash you across
the face with my horsewhip. We shall see then if you
will refuse me satisfaction.
MILDMAY. We shall. If you were only a duellist, I
doubt if I should think myself bound to risk my life
against yours. But I presume even the laws which you
recognise absolve me from the obligation of going out .
with a swindler and a forger.
HAWKs. (grinding his teeth.) Do you wish to provoke
me to murder you ?
MILDMAY. Oh, I’m not the least afraid of that. For a
man who can snuff a candle at twenty paces, to call out
another who never fired a pistol in his life, is no great
piece of heroism ; but to commit a murder requires
some pluck. You've defied transportation, but I.
44 STILL WATERS RUN DEEP. ACT II.
idon't think you're the man to risk the gallows. Good
morning. (he turns to go L. D. 2 E.
(HAWKSLEY seems to meditate a rush, but checks him-
self, and stands biting his lip, and trembling all over.
TABLEAU and end of Act the Second.
ACT III.
SCENE.—Scene and Furniture same as Act I. Keys
tn doors, R. and L. 1 E. MRs. STERNHold seated in
easy chair by fire R. H.; MRs. MILDMAY sitting on sofa,
writing at table L.; Potter standing L. C., looking
over her.
PoTTER. (L. C.) If you don’t make haste, Emmy, we
shan’t be able to get the letters delivered, putting off our
dinner to-day, in consequence of the sudden indisposition
of Mrs. Sternhold. -
Mits. M. This is the last, papa, It's just five—Jessop
will have time enough to deliver them all before six.
PoTTER. (crossing to MRs. STERNHoLD.) How do you
feel now, my dear Jane? (MRs. STERNHold turns from
him impatiently.) I'm really very sorry that I endorsed
those shares to Mildmay, as it annoys you, but he said he
had settled it with you.
MRs. S. Dear, dear brother—will you spare me an
further allusion to the subject. My head aches dread-
fully.
Fºres. Poor dear! Pull the curtains to, Emmy.
MRs. S. No, no—leave them, pray ! And leave
me, do!
Potter. I can’t think what Mildmay can have meant,
by telling me he'd settled it all with you. Eh! here he
comes, to give us an explanation.
ETILL WATERS Rºſº DEEP, +5
Enter MILDMAY, L. D. 1 E.
Oh! here you are l Well, you're a cool hand.
MILDMAY. Eh
PoTTER. Didn't you tell me, before going into town
this morning, when you asked me to endorse those shares
to you, that you had settled it all with Mrs. Sternhold?
And now, it seems, she knew nothing about it. My dear
Jane, I wish him to explain himself before you. Mildmay,
I insist upon a categorical answer. Did you, or did you
not, tell me it was all settled between you and Mrs. Stern-
hold *
MILDMAY. (L. C.) I told you so.
MRs. S. (R.) Mr. Mildmay, do you mean to say I
expressed any wish of the kind?
(rises, and comes down R. c.
MILDMAY. You never said a word to me on the
subject.
PoTTER. (R. aside.) What does he mean by contra-
dicting himself in this extraordinary way? He must
have been lunching with Hawksley. He's had too much
Wilhe
MRs. S. (R. c.) Mr. Millºy, I insist on your explaining
the meaning of your conduct! -
MILDMAY. With pleasure | I couldn't dispose of the
shares till they came into my hands, and it occurred to
me that the best way of getting them into my hands from
Mr. Potter's, was to use your name.
Potte R. (R.) But do you mean to say you have disposed
of the shares I endorsed to you?
MILDMAY, I certainly have taken that liberty.
PoTTER. (aside.) Oh! he must have been lunching !
There's a coolness about him that's perfectly unnaturall
MRS. S. I hate mystification | Will you oblige me,
Mr. Mildmay, by stating, simply and distinctly, what you
really have done with those shares
MILDMAY. Certainly. I was much struck, last night,
with the justice of Mr. Potter's observations on the danger
46 STILL WATERS RUN pr:EP. ACT III,
of such speculations as Captain Hawksley's—so, instead
of taking any new shares, I’ve let the captain have the old
one's back again. - c
MRS. S. And do you mean to say he has taken them?
MILDMAY. Certainly—at par. Here's the money.
PoTTER. (crosses to c.) Do you mean to say he made
no difficulty about it?
MILDMAY. Yes—he did a little—but we got over that.
There is the thousand pounds. (gives notes to Potter.
Port ER. My dear John, I’ve done you injustice. Would
}. believe it? I thought you were tipsy—that Hawksley
ad been making you drink, in order to humbug you into
buying—and now, it seems, you’ve humbugged him into
buying. Who'd have thought you had had it in you?
Would you have thought he had it in him, Jane?
MRs. S. (crossing to MRs. MILDMAY.) Have you
finished those letters, Emily?
MRs. M. I’ve only to direct them, aunt. -
MRs. S. I’ll direct them if you’ll tell Jessop to get
ready to take them at once. -
(MRs. MILDMAY rises and Exits L. D. 1 E.
Potter. And I'll just lock up these notes in my escri-

toire Exit PottER, L. D. 1 E.
(MRs. STERN Hold sits on sofa, and addresses a letter
or two.
MILDMAY. (c.) Why, you're sending out a circular?
MRs. 8. It is to put off the people we had invited to
dine to-day. I’m too ill to receive them. Did I under-
stand you to say you had seen Captain Hawksley this.
morning 2
MILDMAY. Yes. I left him not long ago.
MRs. S. And when you offered him the shares, he took
them without making any objections :
MILDMAY. I over-ruled his objections.
MRs. S. Can you inform me by what means ?
M11 DMAY. Oh what matter about the means, when
the end’s attained
MRs. S. Did nothing pass between you, on any other
subject than these shares?
Mr.DMAY. Oh +-yes—we did touch upon other
Exattørs.
STXLL WATERS RU N DETEP, 4?
MEs. S. (uneasily.) But nothing of any particular
interest—nothing in which any of us were concerned 2
(MILDMAY takes out the packet of letters, and puts it
on the table before her. MRS. STERNHoDD snatches
up the packet, and recognises Hawksley's seal.
MRs. S. His seal (she tears open the packet and recog-
mises her letters. Rises, and comes to L. c.) You have
saved my good name ! I owe you more than I can ever
repay—more than life itself!
MILDMAY. (quietly.) Hadn't you better lock up those
letters, before anybody sees them :
MRs. S. Stay!
(breaks the seal, and is about to count them.
MILDMAY. You may save yourself the trouble—they're
all there.
MRS. S. All?
MILDMAY. Thirteen.
MRs. S. Then you have counted them?
MILDMAY. Yes—but I’ve no notion what they're about.
He sealed them up, as you see.
MRs. S. John Mildmay, you have acted like agentleman.
Forgive me for my conduct to you—I cannot forgive myself.
To think that I should have doubted you, at the very
moment you were about to do me a service which a life of
gratitude cannot pay for. -
MILDMAY. I shall be satisfied with a good deal less than
that. I see you're better already. Oblige me by not
putting off your dinner to-day.
(MRs. STERNHoID goes to table, L., and begins to tear
wp the letters written by MRs. MILDMAY, and throws
scraps into a waste paper basket.
Re-enter PottER, L. D. 1 E.
PoTTER. Jessop's ready to start. Why, if she isn't
tearing up the letters My dear Jane, what are you
about ; I’m sure Emmy had written them very neatly.
MRS. S. (c.) I've changed my mind, brother. The
dinner is not to be put off.
PoTTER. (L.) Well, but my dear Jane—consider your
head-ache—and allow me to observe—
MRS. S. My dear brother, allow me to observe that I'm .
48 sTILL waters Rus peep. ACT III,
the best judge of my own state of health—and go and tell.
Jessop he will not be wanted to carry the letters.
PoTTER. (going L.) Very well, my dear! (aside.) Now
that's sheer strength of mind! What a woman she is I
'Gad, she rises from her prostration like a-what's its
name—the bird over the fire offices—a phoenix.
- [Evit Potter L. D. 1 E.
MEs. S. (crosses to R. C., and sits.) And now that we
are alone, tell me what has passed between you and this
man? By what magic have you tamed his insolent and
pitiless nature ?
MILDMAY. (L. C.) Why dwell on details which could
only give you pain : From to-day, let all that has passed,
relative to this affair, be forgotten between us. As you
said this morning, I have but paid a debt of duty to our
relationship. You have got rid of a disreputable acquaint-
ance; take my advice, and don’t renew it. (sits.)
MRs. S. Renew it ! Never! He was included in our
dinner party to-day—but after what must have passed
between you, I suppose there's no danger of our seeing
him.
MILDMAY, I’ve no doubt he'll come.
MRs. S. He dare not.
MILDMAY. Oh yes, he dare! Assurance is his strong
É. But don’t be afraid—I shall be here. Receive
him as usual, and leave the rest to me.
MRs. S. (with surprise.) John Mildmay! there's some-
thing in your manner to-day I have never seen before—
a coolness, a self-possession, an energy I never should have
expected from—from—
MILDMAY. From such a spoon—that's what you mean,
isn't it?
MRs. S. No-that's not the word.
MILDMAY. It's about the idea, though. But you're
wrong. I'm the same man to-day as I was yesterday.
MRs. S. John Mildmay, you're a perfect puzzle.
MILDMAY. Have you any curiosity about the key?
MRs. S. Curiosity I am a woman.
MILDMAY. I'm a man—and not an automaton, as you've
always considered me—that's all! Listen to me. We
must have an explanation—and this is the time for it.
still waters RUN pr:EP. 49
I'm neither a hero nor a conjuror, but I'm a straight-
forward man, and I’m not deficient in common sense.
When I married your niece, I looked forward to a quiet
life, with a woman I loved in my own undemonstrative
way, and who, I thought, would have loved me—and so
she would have done, but for you.
MRs. S. But for me !
MILDMAY. Yes! She has been brought up to think you
infallible. Had you treated me with respect and consi-
deration, she would have done so too. You thought proper
to ridicule and despise me, and she followed your lead. I
saw this, even during our honeymoon. For ten months I’ve
tried what patience, indulgence, and submission would
do—that plan has been a failure. From this hour, I change
my tactics. You are my wife's nearest female relative,
and you shall never find me wanting in duty or respect,
but, from this day forth, remember, there's only one master
in this house, and his name is John Mildmay. (rises.) Now,
go and dress for dinner. (she attempts to speak.) Go and
dress for dinner.
(Politely handing MRs. STERNHoID towards R. D. 1 E.
Exit MRs. STERNIHoll), R. D.
And now for Emily. Poor girl! Last night's lesson was
a hard one, but she broughtit on herself. It will do no harm.
Enter MRs. MILDMAY, L. D, 1 E.
Sit down Emily. (MRs. MILDMAY sits L. c.) How well
you look. *
MRs. M. A compliment from you ! I thought you had
forgotten how to pay one. ©
MILDMAY. Did you, Emily You remember what day
this is 2 * &
MRs. M. Yes, (with a sigh.) The anniversary of our
marriage.
MILDMAY. Does it come round as such a day should,
Emily Do you remember the vows we both took this
day twelvemonth?—“To love, to honour, and obey.”
MRs. M. (surprised.) What do you mean, John
MILDMAY. They did well, the compilers of that solemn
service, to put love first—for it carries with it both the
others. Have you kept that vow, Emily
º
50 STILL waſ ERs RUN DEEP. ACT III
*
MRs. M. (agitated.) I do not understand you!"
MILDMAY. Emily, I returned to this house, last night,
half-an-hour before you saw me. I overheard all that
passed between your aunt and Captain Hawksley. I
knew the motive of his intrusion into this house at that
hour. *
MRs. M., (starting up.) Spare me! Forgive me! I
was foolish I listened to him—but I never thought he
could have dared— Indeed, John, I never did. And I
wished to tell you all before you went—to implore you to
stay and watch over me—to guard me from the con-
sequences of my folly!
(sinking her head on his shoulder.
MILDMAY. (gravely.) Compose yourself, Emily I
have too much fairness to confound folly with guilt. Why,
my poor child, I knew that fellow’s game. I saw how his
romantic airs, his honeyed words, and showy graces had
fascinated you—how, in comparison with him, you thought
me cold, awkward, uninteresting, unimpassioned. You
are not the first of your sex, Emmy, who has prefered the
shadow to the substance. Thank heaven you have not
been awakened from your dream by the suffering that
follows upon sin! Don't speak, my love, but listen. Your
father's doting fondness, and your aunt's mischievous
example have made you what you are. Trust to me,
henceforth, to make you what a wife should be. I should
prefer to win you by a lover's tenderness, but, if I can-
not do that, I know how to make a husband's rights
respected. .
MRs. M. Oh, thank you, dearest, thank you—tell me
of my faults—I will try to correct them. I will honour
and obey you, as a wife should.
MILDMAY, I’ve been to blame, too. I have been rough,
and cold, and careless— -
MRs. M. No-no; you are the kindest and most gene-
rous of men. But my father—my aunt—they have been
as much mistaken in you as I was. Speak to her, as you
have spoken to me.
MILDMAY. (with a smile.) I don’t love her as I love
you. But, make yourself easy—I have spoken to her, and
in a way I don’t think she will soon forget. And now,
sTrrr, waters RUN peep. 51.
go, darling, and dry your eyes—and come down to our
guests, smiling as a wife should smile when she meets her
husband's loving looks. (kisses her.) -
MRs. M. Oh, bless you—bless you for such words!
How have I misjudged you! .
MILDMAY. (suppressing his emotion.) Go-go—dear.
Remember, I’ve my eyes to dry, too.
-- - Eacit MRs. MILDMAY, L. D. 3 E.
Thank heaven, that's over ! I’ve played a desperate game,
but I’ve won it, and the stake was worthy of the risk.
: - - [Exit, door L. U. K.
Enter Potter, dressed for dinner, L. D. 1 E.
PoTTER. Six o'clock, and Mildmay not dressed yet.
Egad! (rubbing his hands.) He'll be unpunctual for once.
Well, I’m glad Jane's better, for we shall be a pleasant
party, I flatter myself. There's Dunbilk, an uncommonly
pleasant fellow, and— (bell heard.) Oh! I dare say that's
Joe Langford. Joe's always sharp—military time, as he
calls it—and a military appetite.
Enter JEssop, announcing, L. D. 1 E.
JEssop. Mr. Langford
Enter LANGFORD, L. D. 1 E., crosses to R. [Exit JEssop.
PoTTER. (R. C.) Ah, Langford, my dear fellow, delighted
to see you. Mrs. Sternhold will be down directly. Well,
(rubbing his hands.) any news to-day
LANG. (R. by fire-place.) Nothing particular. Uncom-
monly seasonable weather. gº
PoTTER. Uncommonly seasonable weather—uncom-
monly seasonable—uncommonly— (bell heard.) I shouldn’t
wonder if that's Markham.
Enter JEssop, announcing, L. D. 1 E.
JEssop. Mr. Markham.
Inter MARKHAM, L. D. 1 E., crosses to fire-place, R.
[Exit JEssop, L.
52 still waters RUN DREP. Act Irr.
PoTTER. Ah! it is Markham! How are you all at
home?—that's right! You know Langford, I think.
(Lºgroup. and MARKHAM bow.) Well, anything
Ile"W -
MARKHAM. No — nothing stirring but stagnation!
Infernally disagreeable weather—
PoTTER. Infernally disagreeable—infernally—very dis-
agreeable weather' (aside.) I wish Jane would come!
She has such a flow of conversation. -
Enter MRs. STERNHoDD, R. D. 1 E., and MRs. MILDMAY,
L. D. 3 E.
Ah! here she is Mr. Langford—my dear—Mr. Mark-
ham. -
(The gentlemen bow to the ladies, and enter into conver-
sation, near fire-place, R. H. --
º Enter JEssop announcing.
JEssop. Mr. Dunbilk.
Enter DUNBILK, L. D. 1 E. Erit JEssop, L. D. 1 E.
DUN. (L. c.). Mrs. Sternhold ! Mrs. Mildmay ! . How
are you, Potter? I was afraid I’d be afther me time—
waiting for Hawksley. He promised to dhrive me here in
his cab, and I waited till I was too late, and powdhered
down in a Hansom, ten mile an hour. You expect
Hawksley, don’t you?
PottER. (c.) Eh Oh, yes, we rely on the captain.
My women-folk, here, would never forgive me if we gave
a dinner without asking the captain. I assure you, they
pull caps for him—aunt and niece. Don’t you, Emmy
I think I’m right in saying the captain's a bit of a favourite,
eh, Jane? - -
MRs. S. (evading the question.) We certainly did expect
Captain Hawksley, but he's not always to be relied on.
DU.N. Ye may say that, ma'am—run afther as he is
by the aristocracy, (aside.) not to spake of the sheriff's
officers. -
MILDMAY. (R. c.). I beg your pardon—I fear I have
kept you waiting. - -
STILL WATERS RUN DEEP. - 53
Af
PoTTER. (L. C.) Oh, Captain Hawksley hasn’t come
et,
y DUN. Sure I wouldn’t wait for him, if I was you. He'd
be sorry, if he does come, to think he spoiled the fish.
MILDMAY. No—we'll give him a quarter of an hour.
MRs. M. (aside to MRs. STERNHoID, down R. H.
Surely he will not dare to show himself here, after last
night !
iſes. S. (aside to MRs. MILDMAY, down R. H.) You
have seen what he dares do, already | -
PoTTER. I hope he won’t disappoint us. I never felt.
so anxious to see him.
MRs. S. (aside.) I am sick with apprehension. ,
MRs. M. (aside.) Oh, what will happen, if he and John
meet ! &
Enter JEssop, L. D. 1 E., with a card on salver.
JEsso P. (crosses to MILDMAY.) A gentleman wishes to
see you, sir.
MILDMAY. (coming down R. C.) A friend of mine come
to town unexpectedly. May I ask him to join us?
MRs. S. (R.) In your own house ! My dear John, you
surely need not ask that question.
Pot'TER. (L. C.) Jane
MRs. M. (R.) Show him in, directly.
- [Exit JEssop, L. D. 1 E.
I'm sure we must all be glad to see any friend of yours,
my love.
PoETER. Emily' (aside.) What's come to the women?
(goes up.
JEnter JEssop, showing in GIMLET, L. D. 1 E. Exit JEssor. .
MILDMAY. (crossing to L. C.) This is my friend—
GIMLET. Maxwell—
MILDMAY. Mr. Maxwell, from the North.
GIMLET. (L.) Ladies, delighted to make your acquain-
tance—gents all. -
MILDMAY. (aside to him.) Silence wait till I tell
Oll. \
GIMLET, All right! (MILDMAY and GIMLET go wº G
54 STILL WATERS RUN DEEP. Act III.
Enter JEssoe L. D. 1 E. announcing.
JEssop. Captain Hawksley! Evit, JEssop,
Enter CAPTAIN HAwks LEY, (fashionably dressed./
I. D. 1 E.
HAwks. (crossing to c.) Ah Mrs. Sternhold, I hope
you are better. No trace of yesterday's headache Mrs.
Mildmay, I hope you caught no cold sitting up last night
over your novel. Ah, you really should be more careful
of yourself. My dear Potter, thank you particularly for
letting me have those shares this morning. How do,
Dunbilk? How do, Markham? Good day, Mr. Langford.
ſturning to MILDMAY who is up c.) Mr. John Mildmay !
(a dead silence.) A word with you, sir. (MRs. STERN-
Holly crosses to L. C. MILDMAY comes down R.C.) I told
you what you must expect if ever we met in company.
As you seem to have forgotten it, I must remind you.
(He raises his arm to strike MILDMAY with horsewhip,
which he draws from his pocket. MRs. STERNHoLD
stays his arm.
MILDMAY. Stop! My dear Mrs. Sternhold, don’t be
alarmed—this is no scene for ladies. Oblige me by walk-
ing into the next room for a few minutes.
(The GENTLEMEN all gather round HAwKSLEY c.)
MRs. S. For Mercy’s sake
MRs. M. John Husband (Together.)
MILDMAY. I must insist on your going. - -
(MILDMAY puts them off R. D. 1 E. and locks door, then
crosses to and locks L. D. 1 E. -
PoTTER. (L.C.) Captain Hawksley, what is the mean-
ing of this behaviour -
HAWKs. (c.) It means that your son-in-law, after
grossly insulting me this morning, refused me the satisfac-
tion of a gentleman. I told him I would force it from
him by the public outrage I have just inflicted. Dunbilk,
you'll act as my friend!
STILL WATERS RUN DEEP. 55
DU.N. Delighted me boy!
PoTTER. If this goes on I'll send for
the police Together.
MARK. Gentlemen
LANG. Really, Captain Hawksley
MILDMAY. (authoritatively I.) Not a word more—this is
my affair! Mr. Potter, you have pistols in the house!
& - (crosses to R.
PoTTER. (L.) Yes, but I won't allow anybody to use
them—they’re out of condition — they're dangerous—
they’ll burst.
MILDMAY. (R.) No matter, I have taken the liberty to
bring them down. Here they are. (opens boa./ I’m no
fire-eater, but I won't baulk Captain Hawksley of the
satisfaction he desires; Markham, you will act for me.
Mr. Dunbilk, you represent my antagonist, I think?
PoTTER. Here! police Jessop ! (all murmur.
MILDMAY. Be quiet, I insist—all of you. My mind is
made up. Nothing can change it.
HAwks. (aside.) He has more pluck than I gave him
credit for. I will kill him though.
MILDMAY. Gentlemen, I hold you all to witness what
passed. I am the insulted. I have the choice of time,
place and weapons. I make that choice. Here—now—
these pistols.
HAWKs. (c.) I’m ready—load away, gentlemen.
(DUNBILK begins to load pistol R.
MILDMAY. (crossing to R. C.) You have often boasted
you can hit the pip of an ace at twenty paces. I never
fired a pistol at anything more formidable than a sparrow.
—I am willing to risk my life against yours on equal
terms; but if we stand up opposite to each other at twelve
paces, each with a loaded pistol—skill against no skill—
what becomes of the equality of risk? (crosses back to R. H.)
Your friend has loaded one of these pistols—let us leave
the other unloaded—put both under the cloth—each draw
one, and fire together across the table: now, close your
eyes, and choose—you hesitate
HAwks. Such a way of fighting was never known but
in a novel. I decline this unheard-of mode of pro-
cccding.
5& STILL watRRs RUN DEEP. ACT III,
MILDMAY. I expected as much. I only wished to
show these gentlemen that under cover of the forms of a
duel, you contemplated assassination. (goes to door R. H.,
and unlocks it.) The storm is passed, ladies.
.*
Re-enter MRs. STERNHold and MRs. MILDMAY, R. D. 1 E.
HAwks. (L. C. to MILDMAY.) This bravado shall not
serve your turn, sir; we have not done with each other
et.
y MILDMAY. (R. c.) You are right, — we have not.
Captain Hawksley has insulted me—I have challenged
him—he has refused: had he challenged me, I might
have refused; for no man, even by the code of society, is
bound to go out with a felon.
ALL. A felon |
PoTTER. A felon in this house ! Where Police
... Police - -
GIMLET. (coming down L. C.) Here you are, guv'nor |
(handcuffs HAwks LEY.) Sorry for it Mr. Boscawen; but
I’ve been wanting you this long time.
PoTTER. (L.) Boscawen . This is Captain Hawksley !
(goes up L.
GIMLET. Alias Burgess — alias Boscawen. It's on a
charge of forgery, committed four years ago — evidence
only completed last week. It’s a lifer, as sure as my
name's Gimlet. -
HAwks. (aside to GIMLET.) You're done, my boy |
The bill's destroyed -
GIMLET. A bill; but not the bill. This is the other.
HAWKs. Done —done by that wolf in sheep's clo-
thing !

(Stands for a moment overpowered, then rouses himself.
Some ridiculous blunder—It will be set right this evening.
GIMLET. That's right, keep your pecker up.
(MILDMAY gives key of door L. H. to GIMLET-he
opens it.
STIſ,T, WATERS RUN DEEP. 57
HAwks. Mrs. Sternhold, I am sorry I shall not have
the pleasure of dining with you: Mrs. Mildmay, no chance
of another tète-a-tête, I fear : Potter, my boy, you were
just in time with those shares; give my compliments to
the Board, Dunbilk : Mildmay—(grinding his teeth) if
ever I come back, I shall make a point of repaying all I
owe you; and, till then, I shall let the debt accumulate at
compound interest.
[Eveunt CAPTAIN HAwksLEY and GIMLET, L. D. 1 E.
PoTTER. (R. c.) I’m bewildered What does this
mean *
MILDMAY. (L. C.) It means, my dear Mr. Potter, that
straightforward honesty is generally a match for plausible
roguery in the long run. --
PoTTER. (R. C.) Jane, can you explain this? You're
the only person that ever can explain things in this
house. - -
MRs. S. (R.) You are wrong, brother—wrong, as we
have all been. Henceforth, for explanation, for advice,
for guidance, look there. (pointing to MILDMAY.
Potte R. Why that's poor John Mildmay.
MRs. S. Your daughter's husband. (putting MRs.
MILDMAY across to MILDMAY.) The master of this
house !
Potter. (R. c. ) John Mildmay the master of this
house : Emily, my dear, has your aunt been—I mean
has your aunt lost her wits 2
MRs. M. (c.) No, she has found them, papa, as I have
done, thanks to dear John. Ask his pardon, papa, as we
have, for the cruel injustice we have done him.
* (gets up a little.
PottER. Oh, certainly, if you desire it. John Mild-
may, I ask your pardon—Jane and Emily say I ought;
though what I’ve done, or what there is to ask pardon
for— -
MILDMAY. Perhaps you’ll learn in time. But we're
forgetting dinner—Langford, will you take my wife?
(he does so.

Markham, you'll take Mrs. Sternhold.
$8 STILL WATERS RUN DEEP. ACT III,
PoTTER. My dear boy, you astonish me! But, how-
ever, there's an old proverb that says,
“All is not gold that glitters.”
MILDMAY. Yes; and there is another old proverb, and
one much more to the purpose, that says,
“still waters RUN DEEP.”
£imitiuſ. If £jūrmſtrº ºf £m.
DUNBILK.
Potter. MILDMAY.
MRs. STERNHold. MRs. MILDMAY.
MARKHAM. LANGFORD.
Its Le
，，……….
|-
：mae'r aeſ， miſ： №llae ſºliſ,
w：de:
！！！!！！！！！！！！！


KING HENRY THE EIGHTH,
%m pistorical plag,
IN FIVE ACTS.
BY
WILLI A M S H A K S P E A R E.
THOMAS HAILES LACY,
W E L LIN G T O N S T R E E T, s T R A N D.
LONDON.
Drury Lane,
Princess’s Theatre,
CHARACTERS IN. KING HENRY THE EIGHTH. July 11th, 1848. May 15th, 1855.
RING HENRY THE EIGHTH - - - - - - - - - - Mr. PHELPS. MR, WALTER LACY.
CAR DINAL WOLSEY - es *- wº tº sº ** * ap sº gº sº * ,, MACREADY. ,, CHARLES KEAN-
CARDINAL CAMPEIUS ſº tº- sº tº- * º tº * * * tº-3 g= *g ,, MELLON. ,, F. COO KE.
CAPUCIUS (Ambassador from the Emperor Charles W.) - - - - - - ,, PAULO.
CRANMER (Archbishop of Canterbury) sº tº sº tº- sº.”- tº wº tº - ,, GRAHAM.
DUISE OF NORFOLK - - - - - - - - - - - - - ,, T. H. LACY. ,, JAMEs VINING.
DUKE OF IRUCKINGHAM tº Eº * * * * * * * * * ,, RY DER. ,, RYDER,
DURE Of SUFFOLK - - - - - - - - - - - - - ,, CowL.E. ,, H. MELLON.
EARL OF SURREY - sº * - tº gº ºs sº * * * *s sº º ,, CLIFFORD. ,, G. EveRETT.
LORD CHAMBERLAIN tº sº * * * * * * * * * * ,, GRAY. " ,, DAVID FISHER.
GARD INER (afterwards Bishop of Winchester) - - - - - - - - ,, TURNER. ,, MEADOWS.
LOl{D SANDS * * * * * * * * * sºa º ºs ºs º- ,, COMPTON. ,, ADDISON.
LORD A BERGAVENNY & * º tº- tº- º * * sº * º e-e ,, ROLLEston.
SIR HENRY GUILDFORD tºs tº- sº me sº º sº tº- * sº ſº ,, NOR to N. ,, BRAZIER.
SIR. THOMAS LOVELL * * * * * * * * * * * * ,, BENDER. ,, RAYMOND.
SIR NICHOLAS WAUX gº * ſº cº wº &s. *- -, dº tº *=A. ºs ,, CORMACK.
SECRETARIES TO WOLSEY - - - - - - - - - - - ..}}ºs.
CROMWELL ((Servant to JVolsey) {- tºº 4- sº tº- ſº sº - gº tº-º ,, LEIG II MURRAY. ,, . J. F. CATHCART.
GRIFFITH (Gentleman Usher to Queen Katharine) - - sº º º gº 3 3 $ºg.
r g q * \, sº gº º ºs º ºs tº ºf . U H. ESTER.
TWO OTHER GENTILEMEN tº- ſº sº ” STOAKES,
GARTER, KING-AT-ARMS - * gºe * sº * tº sº ,, EDMONDS.
A SERGEANT-AT-ARMS - $º 4-, e- tº º sº sº ,, MORRIs.
SURVEYOR TO THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM – tº *ge ,, G. SHENSTONE. ,, TERRY.
IBRANDON - & P * * łº, & {- * - * gº £º ,, EDGAR. ,, COLLETT.
MESSENGER - wº mº sº tº sº tº gº * * * ,, DALY.
SERVANT .. sº sº †- § -8 gº &=º * - age sº ,, BARSBY.
CI,ERK OF THE COURT – *
5 §
W. C. WILLIAMS.
MRS. CHARLES KEAN. .
MISS HEATH.
MISS CUSHMAN.
QUEEN KATHARINE ( Wife to King Henry—afterwards divorced)
MRS. NISBETT.
ANNE BULLEN (her JMaid of Honour—afterwards Queen') tº
-* *.
AN OLD LADY (Friend to Anne Bullem) - sº & gº MRS. H. MARSTON, MI Rs. WINSTANLEY.
PATIENCE (Woman to Queen Katharine) - *-*. * * * tº- Miss DALY.
LADIES IN WAITING ON QUEEN KATHARINE–Miss CARLOTTA. LECLER co, MIss DESBoroug H, MIss MURRAY, MIss DALY.
MISS VIVASH, MISS C. PARKES, MIss KATE TERRY, MIss L. LECLER cq, MRs. SAKER, MIss EGLINTON, MISS BROUGHAM, and
MISS E. BROUGH AM.
Lords, Ladies, Bishops, Judges, Lord Mayor and Aldermen, Barons of the Cinque Ports, Doctors of Divinity, Doctors of Law, Chaplains,
Priests, Monks, Gentlemen, Choristers, Citizens. Pursuivants, Vergers, Rowers, Tipstavcs, Guards, Trumpeters, Henchmen, Torch-
bearers, Drummers, Fifers, Mace-bearers, Gentlemen Ushers, Sword-bearer, Pillar-bearers, Cross-bearers, &c.
NOTES
HISTORICAL, BIOGRAPHICAL, AND ILLUSTRATIVE,
OF THE t
PERSONS, PLACES, EVENTS, AND COSTUME
OF
H E N R Y T H E E I G. H. T. H.
THE events of this play extend over a period of thirteen years,
commencing with the return of the Court from the conference with
Francis the First, in the year 1520, the eleventh of Henry's reign,
and terminating with the christening of Elizabeth in September,
1533.
Portraits of the principal persons represented, were painted by
Hans Holbein, and are engraved in Holbein’s Portraits of Illustrious
Personages of the Court of Henry VIII., by Chamberlain, with
. Memoirs by Lodge, seventy Portraits tinted in imitation of the
originals, folio, 1828; Lodge's Portraits of Illustrious Englishmen;
Harding's Shakespeare Illustrated, and in many other works; also
in Knight's Pictorial Shakespeare, which contains wood engravings
of many of the localities from contemporaneous or early authorities
with some portraits, with many valuable extracts and useful in-
formation concerning the play and the date of its production, which
is a point on which there exists considerable difference of opinion;
the weight of testimony, however, is decidedly in favour of its being
the piece described by Sir Henry Wotton as acted on the 6th July,
1613, and causing the destruction of the Globe Theatre, by some
of the wadding discharged from the cannons, during the mask at
Cardinal Wolsey's house. It was not printed until Hemings and
Condell collected the poet's works, in folio, 1623. There is, how-
ever, some reason to believe, that a play upon the same subject was
performed at an earlier date.
The authorities from which Shakespeare has taken the precise
and careful descriptions (in some instances inserted as stage direc-
tions,) are of the most ample and authentic nature. Hall, the
historian, was actually a contemporary of Henry VIII., and was at
least 20 years old at the time the play commences. Polydore Virgil
was also in England at the time, and witnessed many of the events
he relates in his history of the life of Henry V [I. &c.—his work was
published in 1533, the year in which Elizabeth was born. Hol-
ii HISTORICAL NOTES.
Iingshed's birth is not certainly known, but he could have had ample
information of the facts he details, from persons living at the time.
His book was printed in 1577, the 19th year of Elizabeth. A work
which has been a most valuable contribution to the history of the
time is Cavendish's Life of Wolsey, written directly after the death
of Henry VIII., although not published till 1641, (Bishop Nichol-
son asserted that an edition was printed in 1590), its authorship is
involved in obscurity.
KING HENRY (appears pages 8, 18, 23, 28,42, 61, 63).-He was the
second son of Henry VII, and was born at Greenwich, 28 June,
1491—was married to the widow of his brother Arthur, Katharine
of Arragon, June 25, 1503—he became king April 22, 1509—at the
commencement of the play he was 29 years old—in 1527 it is
supposed that he first saw Anne Bullen, whom he privately
married in January 1533, (Burmet says the November previous.)
Elizabeth was born in September of the same year, at which
period the play ends, Henry then being 42 years old. He was
divorced from Anne Bullen, May 1536—married to Jane Seymour
the same month, and the day after Anne's execution. Jame
Seymour died in October, 1537; he then (January, 1540,) married
Anne of Cleves, who was his wife but one night—in six months
the proceedings for a divorce terminated; and on the 8th of August,
he married his fifth wife Lady Catherine Howard, whom he be-
headed in February, 1542. In July, 1543, he married Catherine
Parr, and died 27 January, 1547. There is a fine portrait by Hol-
bein repeatedly engraved.
Wolsey (appears pages 5,8, 17, 24, 28, 35,41)—Thomas Wolsey
was born at Ipswich in 1471. The report that he was the son of a
butcher is by mo means authenticated, although from its universal
circulation during the life of Wolsey, (when its refutation was easy
if untrue), it is probable that such was really the fact; it is certain
that his parents Robert and Joan Wolsey were poor but respectable
persons, and in possession of sufficient means to provide a good
education for their son. He graduated at the age of fifteen at
Magdalen College, Oxford, gaining the appellation of the “boy
bachelor;” he became fellow of his college, and was ordained. In
1500 he obtained his first ecclesiastical preferment, being presented
to the Rectory of Lymington in Shropshire, by the Marquis of
Dorset, whose three sons he had educated; he was now twenty-
nine years of age, and possessed a most winning address, which
obtained him friendship and confidence everywhere. At this time
it is asserted, that he got drunk at a neighbouring fair, and for that
or some such cause was by Sir Amias Poulet put into the stocks,
a punishment which he did not forget to revenge when his power
permitted. He was in 1503, introduced to Henry VII., who con-
fided to him the negociation of marriage between himself and the
I)achess Dowager of Savoy; his decision and ability were speedily
recognized, and he was rewarded with the Deanship of Lincoln.
After the accession of Henry VIII. he was made almoner to that
HISTORICAL NOTES. iii
monarch, by Fox, Bishop of Winchester, who wished to strengthen
his own interest against his rival, Surrey the Lord Treasurer.
Wolsey mow rose rapidly in favor and fortune; in 1510 he was
Rector of Torrington; in 1511 Canon of Windsor, and Registrar of
the Order of the Garter; in 1512 Prebendary of York; in 1513
Dean of York, and Bishop of Tournay, on the king's taking that
town from the French ; in 1514 º of Lincoln, which he
resigned for the Archbishopric of York; he, however, held at one
time the Sees of York, Durham, and Winchester, and farmed on
small leases, the revenues of so many English Bishoprics, (which
were filled by foreigners), that there appeared, no end to his
possessions. In 1515 the Pope, solicited by the Kings of England
and France, made him Cardinal of St. Cicily, and he succeeded
Warham as Chancellor; in 1516 the Pope constituted him Legate
à latere, and by his own authority he established the “Legantine
Court,” in which he acted with uncontrolled despotism. He also
received stipends from the Kings of France, Spain, and the Doge
of Venice; having the whole power of the State, both civil and
ecclesiastical, and deriving an amount of income which no subject
has ever approached. No one could vie with him in ostentatious
display. When he went abroad he was attended by “a great
number of gentlemen, three in a rank, in black velvet livery coats,
and the most part of them with great chains of gold about their
necks, his yeomen following, (with noblemen and gentlemen's
servants), in French tawny livery coats, having embroidered upon
the back and breasts a cardinal's hat with the letters T. and C.;
his sumpter mules, which were twenty in number and more, were
passed on before, guarded with a great number of bowmen and
spearmen; two priests carried each a great silver cross before him
• (one as cardinal, the other as archbishop), which made the wits of
that age often affirm, that one cross was not sufficient for his sins—
and two great pillars of silver, (emblematical of the cardinals as
supporters of the Christian Church); the great seal of England;
his cardinal's hat carried by a person of rank, which was always
laid on the altar in the king's chapel; himself riding on a mule,
very sumptuously trapped with crimson velvet, upon velvet, and
his stirrups of copper and gilt, his spare mule following with like
apparel.” Polydore Virgil says “that the Clergy of England
never ware silk or velvet until the time of the pompous Cardinal
Wolsey, who opened that dore to pride among them which
hitherto cannot be shutt.” At York Place his residence was
furnished with every luxury, and he built for himself at Hamptom
Court a noble palace; his manner of living was sumptuous, and
his household consisted of more than five hundred persons, among
them many people of rank, the Earl of Derby, Lord Henry
Percy and º “He had a steward (says Cavendish) which
was always a dean or priest ; a treasurer, a knight; a comptroller,
an esquire”—“im his privy kitchen he hath a master-cook, who
went daily in damask, satin, or velvet, with a chain of gold about
his neck.” The proceeds of rapacity were thus lavished away.
He, however, promoted learning, and established Christ Church
IV HISTORICAL NOTES.
College, Oxford, and also a college at his native place, Ipswich,
which fell with him. He also aspired to the papacy; at the death
of Leo X. in 1522, and of Adrian VI., 1523, lavishing immense
sums in the attempts, but both failed. From this time his
fall was rapid. He advised the king to put away Katharine, but
not to marry Anne Bullen, thus making an enemy of each; while
an oppressive and illegal taxation made him unpopular with the
multitude. King Henry now began to listen to the accounts
of his extortions, and reproached him in severe terms, but he
craftily turned aside the king's anger by presenting him with his
superb palace of Hampton Court. The Dukes of Norfolk and
Suffolk, with Lord Rochford (Anne Bullen's father) redoubled their
efforts, wholly imputing the refusal of the Pope to the divorce,
to Wolsey's private machinations. The two former lords were sent
to demand from him the great seal, which he refused to deliver
until written to by the king.” An impeachment passed the House
of Lords, but was opposed with such courage and cloquence by
Thomas Cromwell, that no charge of treason was then substantiated.
At the commencement of Michaelmas Term, 1529, two informations
were filed against him in the Court of King's Bench, charging him
with having as legate transgressed the Statute of Præmunire;
Wolsey admitted the charge “ of which he was technically guilty,
inasmuch as he had received bulls from the Pope without a formal
license.” The Court pronounced sentence, “that he was out of the
protection of the law, that his lands, goods, and chattels were
forfeited, and his person at the mercy of the king.” He was
ordered to retire to Esher, a country house belonging to the see of
Winchester, and was so closely shorn of all magnificence as to
want some of the ordinary comforts of life. “He sank into a state
of the most abject dejection, until even his enemies could not help
pitying him.” In the year 1530 he was restored to the see o
Winchester and the Abbey of St. Albans, with a grant of £6,000,
and of all other rents, “not parcel of the Archbishop of York;”
but even that great diocese was afterwards restored. He arrived
at Cawood Castle in September, 1530, where he employed himself
in magnificent preparations for his instalment on the archiepiscopal
throne. But the Earl of Northumberland now received orders to
arrest and bring him to London, on a charge of high treason ; on
this journey Wolsey had been conducted as far as Leicester, when he
was attacked by dysentery, and being helped from his mule, he said
to the abbot and monks, as he entered the gate of the monastery,
“Father Abbot, I am come to lay my bones amongst you.”
The monks, carried him to his bed, upon which, three days after,
he expired, November 28, 1530, aged fifty-nine years, Shakspere
has but little altered the words he used upon his death bed to Sir
William Kingston, Lieutenant of the Tower, who had him in
custody, “Had I but served God as diligently as I have served the
king, he would not have given me over in my grey hairs.” He
was buried in the Abbey of St. Mary de Pratis, Leicester. Portrait
often engraved.
See the Pictorial Shakespeare for a curious engraving of this interview.
HISTORICAL NOTES. W’
CARDINAL CAMPEIUS (appears pages 24, 28, 35.-Lawrence Cam-
pejus, born at Bologna—was auditor of the Rota and Bishop of
Feltria, then created Cardinal, was sent legate to England in 1518,
to prevail on the king to enter upon a war, against the Turks,
which Henry was dissuaded from by Wolsey; he was however well
received and made Bishop of Salisbury—he then returned to
Rome. His last visit to England was upon account of the divorce
of Katharine, in which proceeding, by yielding to the queen's
appeal to Rome, and his unwillingness to proceed to the extremities
desired by Henry, he greatly displeased the king, who deprived
him of his see of Salisbury. He was an excellent scholar, and a
benefactor to men of learning ; and died in Rome, August, 1539.
See a curious print taken from a medal, engraved in Harding.
CAPUCIUs (appears page 57).—Eustachio Chapuys, ambassador
from Charles V, emperor of Spain.
CRANMER (appears pages 59, 63).--Thomas Cranmer, the second
son of Thomas Crammer and Agnes Hatfield his wife, was born at
Aslacton, Northamptonshire, July 2, 1489. In 1503, he was placed
by his mother then a widow, at Jesus College, Cambridge, of
which he became a fellow in 1510-11. Before he was twenty-three
years of age he married a woman of humble station but good
character, who died in childbed about a year after. In 1523 he
took the degree of D.D. The immediate cause of his advancement
was the opinion he gave in favour of the king's divorce, for which
he was made Royal Chaplain. In 1530, he was sent with others
into France, Italy, and Germany, to collect opinions in behalf of
the dissolution of the marriage, at Rome he presented his book in
favor of the king's divorce to the Pope, and offered to dispute
openly against the validity of his marriage, but his challenge was
not accepted. At this time the Pope constituted him “Supreme
Penitentiary throughout England, Ireland, and Wales,” mot so
much from kindness as to quiet his active and enquiring spirit,
and prevent his joining the ranks of the Reformers. In 1532,
during his residence abroad he married the miece of his friend,
Osiander, Pastor of Nuremberg, but the marriage was for the time
concealed. Upon the death of Warham, Archbishop of Canterbury,
Cranmer was nominated his successor, but he refused to accept the
dignity unless he received it direct from the king without the
intervention of the pope—he pronounced the sentence of divorce
against Katharine, for which he was excommunicated by the
Roman Pontiff, and married the king to Anne Bullen—after the
conviction of that queen, he pronounced her marriage with the
king mull, but pleaded warmly with Henry for her life—he concurred
in and pronounced the divorce of Amme of Cleves, and gave that
information to the king which led to the trial and execution of
Catherine Howard. About this time he successfully interceded
with Henry on behalf of his daughter Mary and prevented her
being committed to the Tower and suffering as a subject because
she hesitated to deny the pope's spiritual supremacy. Upon the
vi - HISTORICAL NOTES.
king's death he was named one of the regents of the kingdom and
an executor of his will. In February, 1546, he crowned Edward VI.,
to whom he had been godfather. Upon the accession of Mary,
whose life he had probably preserved, he at once became the
object of persecution, and in November, 1553, was attainted of
high treason—he having signed a proclamation after Edward's
death declaring Lady Jane Grey the sovereign, in place of the
1’rincess Mary—was found guilty, but upon his humble and repeated
application he was pardoned the treason but proceeded against for
heresy. In 1554, at Oxford he was with Latimer and Ridley,
condemned to death for refusing to subscribe to the tenets of
popcry—hitherto he had manifested courage, but human frailty
made him at this time commit a grievous error; upon a repre-
sentation that his life would be spared, he recanted protestantism
and embraced the Romish faith; but Gardiner and Mary had resolved
upon his death, and he was sentenced to be burnt alive. On
March 21, he was brought to St.Mary's Church where he was desired
publicly to repeat his belief in popery, this Cranmer steadily
refused, crying aloud, “As for the Pope, I refuse him as Christ's
enemy and anti-christ, with all his false doctrines.” Upon which
he was led to the stake, and fire being applied to the faggots he
stretched out his right hand (with which he had signed his
recantation) and held it in the flames until it was consumed,
repeatedly exclaming, “This unworthy hand 1" he suffered with
the most exemplary patience and fortitude, being in the sixty-
seventh year of his age. An original portrait in the Picture
Gallery at Oxford, engraved in Harding, Lodge, &c.
DUKE OF NoFFOLK (appears pages 3, 23, 28, 39, 44, 63).-Thomas
Howard, second duke, (the “Surrey” of Richard III, and son of
“Jockey of Norfolk,” who was killed at Bosworth), he commanded
the English at Flodden Field, and was created duke in 1514. He
performed many signal services for the king ; and died in 1524;
being succeeded by his eldest son Thomas, the third duke. The
Surrey of Acts the First and Second—although an unscrupulous
servant, his devotion was forgotten by the king in his fears that he
might disturb the succession; he was therefore accused, and of
course convicted, by his peers, of high treason, a bill of attainder
also passing the House of Lords. His son, the amiable and ac-
j Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, was beheaded on the
19th or 20th January, 1547—and he was ordered for execution on
the 28th, but the death of the regal ghoul at two in the morning
of that day saved him. He died in 1554. His portrait is at Wind-
sor, and is engraved in Harding and Lodge.
DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM (appears pages 2, 20).-Edward Stafford,
third duke and hereditary High Constable of England, the last who
held that title; son of the Buckingham of Richard III. He was
the next heir to Henry in the Beaufort branch of the Lancasterian
line, being descended from Thomas, Duke of Gloucester and Earl
of Buckingham, (youngest son of Edward III.), whose eldest
HISTORICAL NOTES. vii
daughter Anne married Edmund Earl of Stafford, and from her
derived that claim of nearness to the succession, the mention of
which cost him his life. Buckingham was at the meeting of the
kings at the field of the cloth of gold; his sickness being only intro-
duced by the poet to afford an opportunity for Norfolk's description
of the interview. By the hostility of Wolsey, instigated by some
personal affronts, testimony was collected against him, and the
evidence of his discarded surveyor sealed his fate. It does not
appear that Queen Katharine interfered in any way with the
charge against him, but the master hand of the author has
charmingly introduced this trait of feminine sympathy with the
persecuted. The Duke was summoned from Gloucestershire to
London, but it was not until his arrival at Windsor that he
discovered he was under restraint. He hastened to the cardinal’s
house, who would not be seen ; and when he had returned to his
barge, was arrested by Sir Henry Marney, Captain of the King's
Guard, and conveyed to the Tower, April, 1521. He was accused
of high treason on various charges. The Duke of Norfolk, whose
son had married his daughter, was created Lord Steward to preside
at the trial ; his jury consisted of a duke, a marquis, seven earls,
and twelve barons. He was found guilty and beheaded May 17,
1521. Portrait by Holbein, engraved in Lodge, Harding, &c.
DUKE or SUFFolk (appears pages 8, 18, 23, 28, 39, 44, 52, 58, 63)
Charles Brandom, son of Sir William Brandom, slain at Bosworth
by Richard—created the first duke in 1514; he married Mary,
sister of Henry VIII., and widow of Louis XII., in 1515. When
the news of his death reached the king, who was then in council,
he declared “ that Suffolk had never made an attempt to injure an
adversary, and had never whispered a word to the disadvantage of
any one ;” he then looked round to the lords assembled, and added,
“Is there any of you, my lords, who can say as much 2" Portrait
by Holbein, engraved in Chamberlain's Heads.
EARL of SURREY (appears pages 39, 44, 51, 58, 63).—There is a
great confusion of titles here. The Norfolk of the Third Act is the
Surrey of the First and Second. At this time, the Earldom of
Surrey was vested in Henry Howard, afterwards so celebrated as a
poet. He was the son of Thomas Howard, third Duke of Norfolk,
by his second duchess, Elizabeth Stafford, daughter of Edward,
Duke of Buckingham, and was born about the year 1516—the
exact time and place of his birth is uncertain. At the period of
Wolsey's disgrace, Surrey could not either accelerate his downfall
or exult in his misfortunes, as does the Surrey of the play, he was
then not more than thirteen years of age. He was married in 1532,
being only sixteen. At Anne Bullen's coronation he bore one
of the swords, and soon after paid that visit to Windsor, which he
speaks of, in one of his sweetest poems. The identity of the fair
Geraldine, the idol of his muse, has never been established. He
was the founder of English blank verse. In 1547 he fell a victim
to the remorseless cruelty of the king, who, upon the most frivolous
viii HISTORICAL NOTES.
pretences, caused his execution January 21st, aged 27, his own
father and sister being most instrumental in his condemnation.
I’ortrait by Holbein, engraved in Chamberlain's Heads.
LoRD CHAMBERLAIN (appears pages 14, 16, 22, 28, 39, 44, 58, 63).
—Charles Somerset, first of that name, Earl of Worcester, natural
son of Henry Beaufort, third Duke of Somerset. He was Lord
Chamberlain for life, and died in 1526.
LonD CHANCELLOR (appears pages 51, 58).--Sir Thomas More.
GARDINER (appears pages 59, 63).--Stephen Gardimer, Bishop of
Winchester, and Lord Chancellor of England, was born at Bury St.
Edmunds in 1483, and is believed to have been the illegitimate son of
Dr. Woodvil, Bishop of Salisbury, brother to Elizabeth, queen of
Edward IV. He studied at Trinity Hall, Cambridge, of which he
became Inaster; through an intimacy with the Duke of Norfolk he
was introduced to Wolsey who made him his secretary, and brought
him under the motice of the king. He was sent to Rome in 1527 to
manage the divorce, (he was up to this time known as Dr. Stephens)
and on his return, was made Secretary of State; in the spring of
1531 he was made Archdeacon of Leicester, and in the November
following was installed Bishop of Winchester. He was an active
and unscrupulous enemy “to all reformation,” he assisted in the fall
of Cromwell, and endeavoured to bring about the ruin of Cranmer,
but was foiled, as in the play. His influence with the king received
a fatal blow, from an unsucessful attempt to procure his consent to
an impeachment of Catherine Parr in a charge of heresy, involving
also Cranmer. After Henry's death, Gardiner experienced a still
greater reverse, and he endured the deprivation of his see and five
years' imprisonment for his adherence to the catholic faith. Upon
the accession of Mary, 1553, he recovered his rank, and more than
his former influence ; he was made Lord Chancellor, his bishopric
restored, and he attained a height of power, both civil and ecclesi-
astical, never enjoyed by any subject in England; the horrors that
he permitted have rendered his name justly odious, and had he
survived his mistress, he would doubtless have been called to an
earthly account, but he died on the 12th November, 1555, aged 72
and was interred with great solemnity and magnificence. Portrait
in Lodge and Harding.
SANDs (appears pages 14, 16).-Sir William, created Lord Sands,
1523. He succeeded Lord Worcester as Chamberlain, 1526.
ARCHBishop of CANTERBURY (appears page 28). — William
Warham. Cranmer was not Archbishop until 1532. Portrait en-
graved by Vertue, Lodge, &c.
ABERG AvenNY (appears page 3).-George Neville, third Lord
Avergavenny, who married the daughter of the Duke of Bucking-
ham ; and died 27th year of Henry VIII. He was the companion
HISTORICAL NOTES. ix
in arms of the king in his French wars, from whom he received
the garter and many high and important commands—he was chief
larderer at the coronation of Anne Bullen.
GUILDFord (appears page 16).-Sir Henry Guildford, born 1496,
was the only son of Sir Henry Guildford, Knight of the Garter, by
his first wife Jane, sister of Nicholas Lord Vaux. He served with
great distinction in Spain as a volunteer against the Moors; and
in September, 1511, was knighted at Burgos by Ferdimand and
Isabella. In 1512 he accompanied Sir Charles Brandon and others
in a great naval expedition against the French ; in the year
following he was made Knight Banneret at Tournay; in 1523 he
was Comptroller of the Royal Household; in 1526 was one of the
Chamberlains of the Exchequer, and in April, 1527, was created a
Enight of the Garter. He married, first, Mary, daughter of Sir
Thomas Brian; secondly, Mary, daughter of Sir Robert Wotton,
who survived him. He died in the spring of 1532, without issue.
aged 44. Portrait by Holbein, engraved in Harding, Lodge, &c.
SIR THoMAs LovELL (appears pages, 8, 14, 16, 20, 42).-“Trea-
surer to the King's Grace” and Knight of the Garter; he died 1524.
SIR ANTHONY DENNY (does not appear in the acting copy).-Was
the second son of Thomas Denny of Cheshunt; he married Joan,
daughter of Sir William Champernon, a lady of great beauty and
ability, by whom he had six children.—The king gave him a con-
siderable estate from the dissolved monasteries.—He died in 1550.
Portrait by Holbein, engraved by Hollar.
SIR NICHOLAS WAUx (appears page 20).-Author of the “Grave-
diggers' song” in Hamlet. For his gallant conduct against Lambert
Simmel at the battle of Stoke, was restored by Henry VII. to his
father's forfeited possessions. At the marriage of Prince Arthur
with Katharime of Arragon, he appears “in a gown of purple velvet
adorned with pieces of gold so thick and massive, that, exclusive
of the silk and furs, it was valued at a 1000 pounds; about his
neck he wore a collar of SS. weighing 800 pound in nobles.”—He
died in 1523. See a striking portrait by Holbein, engraved in
Harding, Lodge, &c.
CROMwFLI, (appears pages 5, 28, 41, 48, 58, 63).-Thomas
Cromwell, Earl of Essex, was the son of a blacksmith at Putney,
and was born about the year 1490. He was taught reading,
writing, and a little latin; he was afterwards clerk to an English
factory at Antwerp ; he visited various countries, and served as a
soldier under the Duke of Bourbon, being at the sacking of Rome
by that commander. He returned to England, and was appointed
solicitor to Wolsey, and his chief agent in the foundations of his
colleges at Ipswich and Oxford; became a member of parliament,
where he opposed the articles of impeachment against his patron
with considerable eloquence, and mot without some success. Henry
X HISTORICAL NOTES.
was struck with the dauntless fidelity of Cromwell, and took him
under his particular protection. In 1531 he was knighted and made
Privy Councillor and Master of the Jewel House; he rendered
himself more acceptable to the king, by discovering a pretence for
the confiscation of the wealth of the bishops, and was immediately
raised to the most eminent dignities. In 1532 he was Clerk of the
Hanaper, and afterwards Chancellor of the Exchequer; in 1534
Principal Secretary of State, Master of the Rolls, and Chancellor of
the University of Cambridge; in 1535 Visitor-General of the English
Monasteries; in 1536 Keeper of the Privy Seal—he now resigned
the Mastership of the Rolls, and was created Baron Cromwell of
Oakham in Rutlandshire, Vicar-General, and Vicegerent in all
religious matters, next to the king, who was now Supreme Head of
the Church. In 1537 he was Chief Justice of all the forests
beyond Trent, a Knight of the Garter, and Dean of Wells—In 1538
he was Constable of Carisbrook Castle, and obtained a grant of the
castle, and lordship of Okeham ; at this time he ordered the
establishment and preservation of parish registers: in 1539 was
created Earl of Essex, and Lord Chamberlain of England—At the
Same time Gregory, his son, obtained the barony of Okeham :
his power was employed in destroying popery, repressing the
influence of the priesthood, and promoting the Reformation, which
latter motive was perhaps the reason of his fall, he having projected
a marriage between the king and Anne of Cleves, expecting thereby
to give the protestant interest a great advance; unfortunately the
king was disgusted with her person upon the wedding night. He
turned his rage upon Cromwell, who was arrested on the 10th June
1540, and “accused of being the most false and corrupt traitor and
deceiver, that had been known in that reign,” of being “a detest-
able heretic,” and “ of having acquired innumerable sums of money
and treasure, by oppression, bribery, and extortion.” To these
accusations he was not allowed a reply, and having been kept close
prisoner for six weeks, the charms of Catherine Howard, and the
influence of the Duke of Norfolk and Gardiner prevailed against
him, and the king signed his death warrant. He was beheaded on
Tower Hill, 28th July, 1540, aged 50 years. Portrait by Holbein
often engraved.
GRIFFITH (appears pages 29, 34, 53).
DR. BUTTs (does not appear in the acting copy).-Principal phy-
sician to Henry VIII.-He was one of the founders of the College
of Physicians, in whose records he is highly extolled for his learning
and knowledge, as well as for singular judgment and great expe-
rience. He was incorporated M.D. at Oxford in 1519, and died, 1545.
I’ortrait by Holbein, in the remarkable picture (so well preserved
in Bridewell Hospital) of the Barber Surgeons receiving from Henry
VIII. their charter of incorporation,-engraved by Sherlock.
SURVEYor (appears page 11).-Sir Charles Knevitt who had been
expelled from the service of the Duke.
HISTORICAL NOTES. XI
BRANDON (appears page 7).
QUEEN KATHARINE (appears pages 8, 29, 34, 53).-The eldest
daughter of Ferdinand, King of Arragon, and Isabella of Castile,
was betrothed almost in her infancy to Arthur, eldest son of Henry
VII. The only excuse the latter ever offered for the judicial murder
of the young Earl of Warwick was, that Ferdinand refused to be
connected with his family while any prince of the House of York
remained alive. This made Katharine after her divorce affirm,
“that not for her own sins was she pumished, but by the judgment
of God, for a marriage made in blood.” Prince Arthur was but
sixteen when married to Katharine on the 14th of November, 1501;
he died April 2, 1502; soon after his death the singular project of
uniting the young widow to her brother-in-law, appears to have been
proposed by Ferdimand and Isabella, her parents, who ardently
desired to retain a near relationship with England; it was eagerly
assented to by Henry VII, to whom the idea of refunding the
dower of Katharine was intolerable. The parties were affianced
on Sunday, 25th of June, 1503, although the dispensation was
not obtained from Pope Julius II. till the 26th December following.
It however contained a clause legitimizing the marriage, if it had
lready been contracted or consummated. Katharine was six years
older than Henry. On the 18th or 19th February, 1504, she was
confined with Mary, (afterwards queen), the only child that sur-
vived of several born. In 1527 the king's passion for Anne Bullen
developed itself, and furnished him with painful scruples as to
the morality of his marriage with Katharine, and in August, 1527,
he formally applied to the Court of Rome for a divorce—For two
years the affair made little progress, but at length a convocation
of the I’rovince of Canterbury declared the marriage to be con-
trary to the will of God, and on the 25th May, 1533, Archbishop
Cranmer promounced judicially that the marriage was void.
Henry had himself arrived at a speedier conclusion, and privately
married Anne in the January previous. (Burmet says that the
marriage took place in November, 1532). Pope Clement VII,
issued a bull declaring the divorce null,—Katharine retired to
Ampthill in Bedfordshire, rejecting the title of Princess Dowager
of Wales, and to the last discharging every servant who accosted
her by any other name than that of queen. She died at Kimbolton
Castle, in the early part of 1536, six months before the execution
of her successor, aged 51, and was buried at Peterborough Cathe-
dral. Portrait in Larrey's Hist: d’Angleterre. Harding, &c.
ANNE BULLEN (appears pages 16, 26).-Or bulleyme—born in
1507; was the daughter of Sir Thomas Bullen, who was the repre-
sentative of an ancient lime in Norfolk, which had in three descents
been allied to the noblest families in England, and he himself had
filled important offices in the state. Anne's mother was Lady
Elizabeth Howard, daughter of the Duke of Norfolk. In her
childhood, Amne accompanied Mary, sister of Henry VIII., to
France, upon her marriage with Louis XII.--at the time of the
xii HISTORICAL NOTES.
*
banquet in Act I, she was really in attendance upon Claude, queen
of Francis the First, and aged fifteen or sixteen. The time of her
return to England is doubtful: Burnet places it in 1527, when her
father returned from an embassy to France—it is certain, that at
an entertainment given by the king, May, 1527, she danced with
Henry, and he doubtless claimed (as in the play) the established
fee of a lady's partner —
“But some reply, what foole would daunce,
If that when dance is doon,
He may not have at ladyes lips
That which in daunce he woon 7”
Black Letter Book of the period, quoted by Stevens.
The king prevented and caused to be set aside her intended mar-
riage with Lord Percy, eldest son of the Duke of Northumberland
—although in opposition to many authorities, as it is certain that
Percy married in the autumn of 1523, it is possible that the state-
ment of Herbert and Fiddes is correct, “that Anne Bullen returned
to England in 1522.” In 1529, she was in high favor at court, and
received from the royal wardrobe, in three years, articles of clothing
to the value of £468 68. 1d., with money and presents of various
kinds from king and courtiers. She was made marchioness in
September, 1532; and was privately married to Henry about the
25th January, 1533. On the 23rd of May following, the nullity of
the king's previous marriage was declared by Cranmer, who five
days afterwards confirmed that of Anne Bullen; and on the 1st of
June, she was crowned with great pomp. On the 13th September
Elizabeth was born. Of her history for the next two years little
is known; she favored the reformation, and promoted the trans-
lation of the bible. In January, 1536, she was confined with a
dead child ; and it was during that and her seclusion before the
birth of Elizabeth, that Henry's affections left her and fixed upon
Jane Seymour, one of her maids of honour. The king's aliemation
having become evident, Lady Rochford, sister-in-law to the queen,
did not hesitate to advance a charge of an infamous nature against
her husband and his sister, the queen. Henry greedily seized upon
the opportunity, and Anne was at once arrested and charged with
adultery with the Wiscount Rochford, her brother; Henry Norris,
groom of the stole; Sir Francis Weston and William Brereton,
gentlemen of the chamber; and, Mark Smeeton, groom of the
chamber.—The only real evidence against her, was the confession
of Mark Smeeton, who is said to have acknowledged an intimacy
with her to have taken place three times; but the queen was never
confronted with her accuser, and the other accused unflinchingly
maintained their innocence to the last. On the 15th of May she
and her brother were arraigned before a special commission, of
which her uncle the Duke of Norfolk, was president. The sitting
was secret, and no record of its proceedings was allowed to be
preserved. The accused were found guilty, and two days after-
wards she was condemned to death. Cranmer pronounced the
dissolution of her marriage with the king “in consequence of
certain lawful impediments confessed by her,” but at the same
HISTORICAL NOTEs. xiii
f
time he wrote a very mournful letter to Henry in her behalf, in
which he asserts her to be “one of the best of women,” and “that
her affection towards his majesty was unquestionable.” On the
19th May she was beheaded on the greem before the Tower, by an
executioner sent for, for the purpose (before the trial), to Calais. She
died with great courage, denying her guilt. “Her body was thrown
into a common chest of elm tree, used to put arrows in.” Lord
Rochfort, Norris, Weston, Brereton, and Smeeton, were also put to
death. Portrait by Holbein, engraved in Lodge.
OLD LADY (appears pages 16, 26).
PATIENCE, and KATHARINE’s ATTENDANTs (appear pages 8, 29,
34, 53).- -
MARCHIONESs of DoRSET (appears page 63).--Portrait by Holbein,
engraved in Chamberlain.
LADIES OF THE COURT (appear pages 16, 51, 63).
SPIRITS (appear page 55).
GARTER KING-AT-ARMS (appears page 63).
GENTLEMEN (appear pages 20, 51, 52).
BRANDON (appears page 7). '
SERJEANT-AT-ARMs (appears page 7).
GUARDS (appear pages 5, 20, 28).
MESSENGER (appears page 56).
SECRETARIES (appear pages 5, 28).
LoRD MAYOR and ALDERMEN (appear page 63).
PRIESTs (appear pages 5, 29).
ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY (appears page 58).-This is an error;
Cranmer was Archbishop of Canterbury.
* ºr \ºv-ºf-evº
(Tije Štemerg amt, 3.0Cality.
ACT I.
.The action of the first three scenes take place at, or in the
vicinity of the King's Palace at Bridewell, not at Westminster, as
the bills of the Princess's Theatre affirm. The royal Palace of
Bridewell was of considerable magnitude, and possessed much
architectural elegance. The Thames front, with its imposing
castellated aspect—(see Pictorial Shakspere, Act III.) —reached
to the banks of the river, and extended northward as far as
St. Bride's Church; it had also a magnificent exterior facing
the Fleet River, on the other side of which the Monastery of
the Blackfriars was located. Both the palace and church derived
xiv HISTORICAL NOTES.
their name from St. Bride or Bridget, to whom the church was
dedicated, the palace taking the addition of well or Bride's Well
from a spring near it, which still remains, and supplies a pump
at the bottom of Bride Lane. The description of the meeting
of the kings at the field of the cloth of gold, is from the pages of
Hal, who was present at the gorgeous displays he chronicles—
the council scene, the examination of the surveyor, and the
reversal of the decree for taxing the Commons, is from Hollingshed.
Scene 4th–The Presence Chamber in York Place. The details of
this identical entertainment are extracted in Knight's Pictorial
Shakspere, from Cavendish:-
“And when it pleased the king's majesty, for his recreation, to
repair unto the cardinal's house, as he did divers times in the year,
at which time there wanted no preparations, or goodly furniture,
with viands of the finest sort that might be provided for money or
friendship; such pleasures were them devised for the king's con-
fort and consolation, as might be invented, or by man’s wit imagined.
The banquets were set forth, with masks and mummeries, in so
gorgeous a sort, and costly manner, that it was a heaven to behold.
There wanted no dames, or damsels meet or apt to dance with the
maskers, or to garnish the place for the time, with other goodly
disports. Then was there all kind of music and harmony set forth,
with excellent voices both of men and children. I have seen the
king suddenly come in thither in a mask, with a dozen of other
maskers, all in garments like shepherds, made of fine cloth of gold
and fine crimson satin paned, and caps of the same, with visors of
good proportion of visnomy; their hairs, and beards, either of fine
gold wire, or else of silver, and some being of black silk; having
sixteen torch bearers, besides their drums, and other persons
attending upon them, with visors, and clothed all in satin, of the
same colours. And at his coming, and before he came into the hall,
ye shall understand, that he came by water to the water gate,
without any noise; where, against his coming, were laid charged
many chambers, and at his landing they were all shot off, which
made such a rumble in the air, that it was like thunder. It made
all the noblemen, ladies, and gentlemen, to muse what it should
mean coming so suddenly, they sitting quietly at a solemn banquet;
under this sort: First, ye shall perceive that the tables were set in
the chamber of presence, banquet-wise covered, my Lord Cardinal
sitting under the cloth of estate, and there having his service all
alone; and then was there set a lady and a nobleman, or a gentle-
man and gentlewoman, throughout all the tables in the chamber on
the one side, which were made and joined as it were but one table.
All which order and device was dome and devised by the Lord
Sands, lord chamberlain to the king; and also by Sir Henry
Guilford, comptroller to the king. Then immediately after this
great shot of guns, the cardinal desired the lord chamberlain, and
comptroller to look what this sudden shot should mean, as though
he knew nothing of the matter. They, thereupon looking out of the
windows into Thames, returned again, and showed him, that it
seemed to them there should be some noblemen and strangers arrived
HISTORICAL NOTES. .xy
at his bridge, as ambassadors from some foreign prince. With that,
quoth the cardinal, “I shall desire you, because ye can speak French,
to take the pains to go down into the hall to encounter and to
receive them, according to their estates, and to conduct them into
this chamber, where they shall see us, and all these noble person-
ages sitting merrily at our banquet, desiring them to sit down with
us, and to take part of our fare and pastime.” Then they went
incontinent down into the hall, where they received them with
twenty new torches, and conveyed them up into the chamber, with
such a number of drums and fifes as I have seldom seen together,
at one time in any masque. At their arrival into the chamber, two
and two together, they went directly before the cardinal, where he
sat, saluting him very reverently; to whom the lord chamberlain
for them said: “Sir, forasmuch as they be strangers, and can
speak no English, they have desired me to declare unto your grace
thus: They having understanding of this your triumphant banquet,
where was assembled such a number of excellent fair dames, could
do no less, under the supportation of your good grace, but to repair
hither to view as well their incomparable beauty, as for to accompany
them at mumchance, and then after to dance with them, and so to
have of them acquaintance. And, sir, they furthermore require of
your grace, license to accomplish the cause of their repair.’ To whom
the cardinal answered, that he was very well contented they should
do so. Then the maskers went first and saluted all the dames as they
sat, and then returned to the most worthiest, and there opened a
cup full of gold, with crowns, and other pieces of coin, to whom
they set divers pieces to cast at. Thus in this manner perusing all
the ladies and gentlewomen, and to some they lost, and of some
they won. And thus done, they returned unto the cardinal, with
great reverence, pouring down all the crowns in the cup, which was
about two hundred crowns. “At all,’ quoth the cardinal, and so
cast the dice, and won them all at a cast; whereat was great joy
made. Then quoth the cardinal to my lord chamberlain, ‘I pray
you,' quoth he, “show them that it seemeth me that there should
be among them some noble man, whom I suppose to be much more
worthy of honour to sit and occupy this room and place than I; to
whom I would most gladly, if I knew him, surrender my place
according to my duty.’ Then spake my lord chamberlain unto
them in French, declaring my lord cardinal's mind, and they
rounding him again in the car, my lord chamberlain said to my
lord cardinal, ‘Sir,’ they confess, quoth he, ‘that among them
there is such a noble personage, whom, if your grace can appoint
him from the other, he is contented to disclose himself, and to
accept your place most worthily.” With that the cardinal, taking
a good advisement among them, at the last, quoth he, ‘Me
seemeth the gentleman with the black beard should be even he.”
Amd with that he arose out of his chair, and offered the same
to the gentleman in the black beard, with his cap in his hand.
The person to whom he offered then his chair was Sir Edward Neville,
a comely knight, of a goodly personage, that much more resembled
the king's person in that mask than any other. The king,
xvi. HISTORICAT, NOTES.
hearing and perceiving the cardinal so deceived in his estimation
and choice, could not forbear laughing; but plucked down his visor,
and Master Neville's also, and dashed out with such a pleasant
countenance and cheer, that all noble estates there assembled,
seeing the king to be there amongst them, rejoiced very much.
The cardinal eftsoons desired his highness to take the place of
estate, to whom the king answered, that he would go first and shift
his apparel; and so departed, and went straight into my lord's bed-
chamber, where was a great fire made and prepared for him ; and
there new apparelled him with rich and princely garments. And
in the time of the king's absence, the dishes of the banquet were clean
taken up, and the tables spread again with new and sweet perfumed
clothes; every man sitting still until the king and his maskers came
in among them again, every man being newly apparelled. Then
the king took his seat under the cloth of estate, commanding every
man not to remove, but sit still, as they did before. Then came in
a new banquet before the king's majesty, and to all the rest through
the tables, wherein, I suppose, were served two hundred dishes or
above, of wondrous costhy meats, and devices, subtilly devised.
Thus passed they forth the whole night with banqueting, dancing,
and other triumphant devices, to the great comfort of the king,
and pleasant regard of the mobility there assembled.”
Shakespeare, with great dramatic skill, has introduced Anne
Bullen to this scene, although in reality she was for some time
subsequent in attendance upon the French Court.
ACT II.
Scene 1st—A Street adjoining the river, with Westminster Half
in the distance. (See a woodcut in the Pictorial Shakspere).
Scene 2nd–Am Ante-Chamber of the Palace of Iłridewell. Scene
3rd—Oueen's Apartments. Scene 4th–A Hall in Blackfriars.
Knight's Pictorial Shakspere contains the following lengthened
extract from Cavendish, which it truly states to be one of the most
interesting pieces of memoir-writing which our language furnishes
—we trace Shakespeare at every step :—
“Ye shall understand, as I said before, that there was a court
erected in the Blackfriars in London, where these two cardinals
sat for judges. Now will I set you out the manner and order of
the court there. First, there was a court placed with tables,
benches, and bars like a consistory, a place judicial (for the judges
to sit on). There was also a cloth of estate, under the which sat
the king; and the queen sat some distance beneath the king: under
the judges' feet sat the officers of the court. The chief scribe
there was Dr. Stephens? (who was after Bishop of Winehester;)
the apparitor was one Cooke, most commonly called Cooke of
Winchester. Then sat there within the said court, directly before
the king and the judges, the Archbishop of Canterbury Dr.
Warham, and all the other bishops. Then at both the ends
with a bar made for them, the counsellors on both sides. The
* Stephen Gardner, who was at this time known as Or. Stephens.
s HISTORICAL NOTES. xvii
doctors for the king were Doctor Sampson, that was after
Bishop of Chichester, and Doctor Bell, who after was Bishop of
Worcester, with divers other. The proctors on the king's part
were Doctor Peter, who was after made the king's chief secretary,
and Doctor Tregonell, and divers other. -
“Now on the other side stood the counsel for the queen, Doctor
Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, and Doctor Standish, some time a
grey friar, and then Bishop of St. Asaph, in Wales, two notable
clerks in divinity, and in especial, the Bishop of Rochester, a very
godly man and a devout person, who after suffered death at Tower
Hill, the which was greatly lamented through all the foreign
universities of Christendom. There was also another ancient
doctor, called, as I remember, Doctor Ridley, a very small person
in stature, but surely a great and excellent clerk in divinity.
“The court being thus furnished and ordered, the judges com-
manded the crier to proclaim silence; them was the judges' com-
mission, which they had of the pope, published and read openly
before all the audience there assembled : that done, the crier called
the king by the mame of “King Henry of England, come into the
court,’ &c. With that the king answered and said, ‘Here, my
lords.' Then he called also the queen, by the name of ‘Katharine
queen of England, come into the court,’ &c.; who made no answer
to the same, but rose up incontinent out of her chair, where as she
sat ; and because she could not come directly to the king for the
distance which severed them, she took pain to go about unto the
king, kneeling down at his feet in the sight of all the court and
assembly, to whom she said in effect, in broken English, as
followeth :—
“‘Sir, quoth she, “I beseech you for all the loves that hath
been between us, and for the love of God, let me have justice and
right; take of me some pity and compassion, for I am a poor
woman and a stranger born out of your dominion; I have here no
assured friend, and much less indifferent counsel; I flee to you as
to the head of justice within this realm. Alas! sir, wherein have
I offended you, or what occasion of displeasure? Have I designed
against your will and pleasure; intending, as I perceive, to put me
from you? I take God and all the world to witness that I have
been to you a true, humble, and obedient wife, ever conformable to
your will and pleasure, that never said or did anything to the
contrary thereof, being always well pleased and contented with all
things wherein you had any delight or dalliance, whether it were
in little or much; I never grudged in word or countenance, or
showed a visage or spark of discontentation. I loved all those
whom ye loved, only for your sake, whether I had cause or no, and
whether they were my friends or my enemies. This twenty years
have I been your true wife, or more, and by me ye have had divers
children, although it hath pleased God to call them out of this
world, which hath been no default in me.
“‘And when ye had me at the first, I take God to be my judge,
I was a true maid without touch of man ; and whether it be true
or mo, I put it to your conscience. If there be any just cause by
xviii HISTORICAL NOTES, y
the law that ye can allege against me either of dishonesty or any
other impediment to banish and put me from you, I am well
content to depart to my great shame and dishonour; and if there
be mone, then here I most lowly beseech you let me remain in my
former estate, and receive justice at your hands. The king your
father was in the time of his reign of such estimation through the
world for his excellent wisdom, that he was accounted and called
of all men the second Solomon; and my father Ferdinand, King of
Spain, who was esteemed to be one of the wittiest princes that
reigned in Spain many years before, were both wise and excellent
kings in wisdom and princely behaviour. It is not therefore to be
doubted but that they elected and gathered as wise councillors
about them as to their high discretions was thought meet. Also,
as me seemeth, there was in those days as wise, as well-learned
men, and men of as good judgment, as be at this present in both
realms, who thought then the marriage between you and me good
and lawful; therefore it is a wonder to hear what new inventions
are now invented against me, that never intended but honesty, and
cause me to stand to the order and judgment of this new court,
wherein ye may do me much wrong, if ye intend any cruelty; for
ye may condemn me for lack of sufficient answer, having no
indifferent counsel, but such as be assigned me, with whose wisdom
and learning I am not acquainted. Ye must consider that they
cannot be indifferent counsellors for my part which be your subjects,
and taken out of your own council before, wherein they be made
privy, and dare not, for your displeasure, disobey your will and
intent, being once made privy thereto. Therefore, I most humbly
require you, in the way of charity, and for the love of God, who is
the best judge, to spare me the extremity of this new court, until
I may be advertised what way and order my friends in Spain will
advise me to take; and if ye will not extend to me such indifferent
favour, your pleasure then be fulfilled, and to God I commit my
cause !”
“And with that she rose up, making a low curtsy to the king,
and so departed from thence. . Many supposed that she would have
resorted again to her former place; but she took her way straight
out of the house, leaning, as she was wont always to do, upon the
arm of her general receiver, called Master Griffith. And the king
being advertised of her departure, commanded the crier to call her
again, who called her by the name of ‘Katharime queen of England,
come into the court,’ &c. With that quoth Master Griffith,
‘Madam, ye be called again.” “On, on,’ quoth she ‘it maketh no
matter, for it is no indifferent court for me, therefore I will not
tarry. Go on your ways.” And thus she departed out of that
court without any further answer at the time, or at any other, nor
would never appear at any other court after.
“The king, perceiving that she was departed in such sort, calling
to his grace's memory all her lament words that she had pronounced
before him and all the audience, said thus in effect:—' Forasmuch,'
quoth he, “as the queen is gone, I will, in her absence, declare unto
you all my lords here present assembled, she hath been to me as
HISTORICAL NOTES. xix
true, as obedient, and as conformable a wife as I could in my fantasy
wish or desire. She hath all the virtuous qualities that ought to be
in a woman of her dignity, or in any other of baser estate. Surely
she is also a noblewoman born: if nothing were in her but only
her conditions, will well declare the same.” With that quoth my
lord cardinal,—‘Sir, I most humbly beseech your highness to de-
clare me before all this audience, whether I have been the chief
inventor or first mover of this matter unto your majesty: for I am
greatly suspected of all men herein.” “My lord cardinal, quoth
the king, ‘I can well excuse you herein. “Marry,’ quoth he, ‘ye
have been rather against me in attempting or setting forth thereof.
And to put you all out of doubt, I . declare unto you the special
cause that moved me hereunto ; it was a certain scrupulosity that
pricked my conscience upon divers words that were spoken at a
certain time by the Bishop of Bayonne, the French king's am-
bassador, who had been here long upon the debating for the con-
clusion of a marriage to be concluded between the princess, our
daughter Mary and the Duke of Orleans, the French king's
second son. -
“‘And upon the resolution and determination thereof, he desired
respite to advertise the king his master thereof, whether our
daughter Mary should be legitimate in respect of the marriage
which was sometimes between the queen here and my brother the
late prince Arthur. These words were so conceived within my
scrupulous conscience, that it bred a doubt within my breast,
which doubt pricked, vexed, and troubled so my mind, and so
disquieted me, that I was in great doubt of God's indignation;
which, as seemed me, appeared right well; much the rather for
that he hath not sent me any issue male; for all such issue male
as I have received of the queen died incontinent after they were
born ; so that I doubt the punishment of God in that behalf. Thus
being troubled in waves of a scrupulous conscience, and partly in
despair of any issue male by her, it drave me at last to consider the
estate of this realm, and the danger it stood in for lack of issue
male to succeed me in this imperial dignity. I thought it good,
therefore, in relief of the weighty burden of scrupulous conscience
and the quiet estate of this noble realm, to attempt the law therein,
and whether I might take another wife in case that my first copula.
tion with this gentlewoman were not lawful; which I intend not for
any carnal concupiscence, nor for any displeasure or mislike of the
queen's person or age, with whom I could be as well content to
continue during my life, if our marriage may stand with God’s
laws, as with any woman alive; in which point consisteth all this
doubt that we go now about to try by the learned wisdom and
judgment of you our prelates and pastors of this realm here
assembled for that purpose: to whose conscience and judgment
I have committed the charge, according to the which, God willing,
we will be right well contented to submit ourself, to obey the
same for our part. Wherein after I once perceived my con-
science wounded with the doubtful case herein, I moved first this
matter in confession to you, my Lord of Lincoln, my ghostly
XX HISTORICAL NOTES.
father. And forasmuch as then yourself were in some doubt to
give me counsel, moved me to ask further counsel of all you, my
lords; wherein I moved you first, my Lord of Canterbury, axing
your licence (forasmuch as you were our metropolitan) to put this
matter in question; and so I did of all you, my lords, to the which
ye have all granted by writing under all your seals, the which I have
here to be showed.’ ‘That is truth, if it please your highness,’
quoth the Bishop of Canterbury; “I doubt not but all my brethren
here present will affirm the same.’ ‘No, sir, not I,’ quoth the
Bishop of Rochester, ‘ye have not my consent thereto.” Nol ha'
the P quoth the king : ‘look here upon this: is not this your hand
and seal 2' and showed him the instrument with seals. ‘No,
forsooth, sire,' quoth the Bishop of Rochester, “it is not my hand
nor seal! To that quoth the king to my Lord of Canterbury, ‘Sir,
how say ye 2 is it not his hand and seal?’ ‘Yes, sir,’ quoth my
Lord of Canterbury. ‘That is not so,' quoth the Bishop of Ro-
chester, ‘for indeed you were in hand with me to have both my
hand and seal, as other of my lords had already done; but then I
said to you that I would never consent to no such act, for it were
much against my conscience; nor my hand and seal should never be
seem at any such instrument, God willing; with much more matter
touching the same communication between us.” “You say truth,”
quoth the Bishop of Canterbury; ‘such words ye said unto me;
but at the last ye were fully persuaded that I should for you sub-
scribe your name, and put to a seal myself, and ye would allow the
same.' All which words and matter,’ quoth the Bishop of Rochester,
‘under your correction, my lord, and supportation of this noble
audience, there is nothing more untrue.’ ‘Well, well,’ quoth the
king, ‘it shall make mo matter; we will not stand with you in
argument herein, for you are but one man.’ And with that the
court was adjourned until the mext day of this session.”
ACT III.
Scene 1st—Queen's Apartment in the Palace of Bridewell. This
interesting scene was most judiciously restored to the Stage by
Mr. Charles Kean—it was paraphrased by Shakespeare from
Cavendish. Scene 2nd—Ante-Chamber in the King's Apartment.
The circumstance of the king's becoming incensed against Wolsey
by the discovery of his great wealth, is unsupported by historical
evidence. Cavendish relates the demand of the great seal from
Wolsey by Suffolk and Norfolk; and there is a curious wood-cut of
this event, engraved in the Pictorial Shakspere.
ACT IV.
Scene 1st—A Street in Westminster, with the Abbey in the
distance. The ceremony of the coronation of Anne Bullen is
minutely described by Hall, from whom Shakspere has taken the
Gentleman's account, as well as the exact order of the procession.
Ascene 2nd–A division of the first scene for the convenience of
the stage mechanist, to remove the paraphanalia of the coronation,
HISTORICAL NOTES. XXE
and arrange the machinery for the vision. Scene 3rd–Kimbolton
Kimbolton Castle, with the vision. See Fuseli's painting of
Katharine's dream, and the descent of the angels, engrayed by
Bartolozzi; also the frontispiece of the Pictorial edition of this play-
ACT W.
Scene 1st—The Council Chamber.—(The incident of the king's
protecting Cºramer is related in “Fox's Acts and Monuments". of
the Christian Martyrs.) Scene 2nd—Palace of Greenwich, façing
the Thames. (See the Pictorial Shakspere.) Scene 3rd–The
Christening of Elizabeth at the Church of the Greyfriars, Green;
wich, Hall's superb description of this eyent is the sourº followed
by Shakspere.) Agnes Strickland's Lives of the Queens of
England, contains the following complete and vivid picture of the
ceremonial:—
“The solemnization of that sacred rite was appointed to take
place on Wednesday, 10th of September, the fourth day after the
birth of the infant princess. On that day the lord mayor, with the
aldermen and council of the city of London, dimed together at One
o'clock, and then, in obedience to their summons, took boat in their
chains and robes, and rowed to Greenwich, where many lords,
knights, and gentlemen, were assembled to witness the royal
ceremonial.
“All the walls between Greenwich palace and the convent of the
Grey Friars were hung with arras, and the way strewn with green
rushes. The church was likewise hung with arras. Gentlemen
with aprons and towels about their necks, guarded the font, which
stood in the middle of the church; it was of silver, and raised to
the height of three steps, and over it was a square canopy of
crimson satin, fringed with gold—about it, a space railed in,
covered with red say. Between the choir and chamcel, a closet with
a fire had been prepared lest the infant should take cold in being
disrobed for the font. When all these things were ready the child
was brought into the hall of the palace, and the procession set out
to the neighbouring church of the Grey Friars; of which building
mo vestige now remains at Greenwich. The procession began with
the lowest rank, the citizens two and two led the way, then gentle-
men, esquires, and chaplains, a gradation of precedence, rather
decidedly marked, of the three first ranks, whose distinction is by
no means definite in the present times; after them the aldermen,
and the lord mayor by himself, then the privy-council in robes, then
the peers and prelates, followed by the Earl of Essex, who bore
the gilt-covered basins; then the Marquis of Exeter, with the taper
of virgin wax; next the Marquis of Dorset, bearing the salt; and
the Lady Mary of Norfolk (the betrothed of the young Duke of
Richmond), carrying the chrisom, which was very rich with pearls
and gems; lastly came the royal infant, in the arms of her great-
grandmother, the dowager Duchess of Norfolk, under a stately
canopy which was supported by the uncle of the babe, George
Bullen Lord Rochford, the Lords William and Thomas Howard, the
xxii HISTORICAL NOTES.
matermal kindred of the mother, and Lord Hussey, a newly made
lord of the Bullen blood. The babe was wrapped in a mantle of
purple velvet, with a train of regal length, furred with ermine,
which was duly supported by the Countess of Kent, assisted by the
Earl of Wiltshire, the grandfather of the little princess, and the
Earl of Derby. On the right of the infant, marched its great-
uncle, the Duke of Norfolk, with his marshal's staff—on the other,
the Duke of Suffolk. The Bishop of London, who performed the
ceremony, received the infant at the church door of the Grey Friars,
assisted by a grand company of bishops and mitred abbots; and,
with all the rites of the Church of Rome, this future great pro-
testant queen, received the name of her grandmother, Elizabeth of
York. Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury, was her godfather,
and the Duchess of Norfolk and Marchioness of Dorset her god-
mothers. . After Elizabeth had received her mame, garter king-at-
arms cried aloud:—‘God of his infinite goodness, send a prosperous
life and long, to the high and mighty Princess of England,
Elizabeth !”
“Then a flourish of trumpets sounded, and the royal child was
borne to the altar, the Gospel was read over her, and she was con-
firmed by Cranmer, who, with the other sponsors, presented the
christening gifts. He gave her a standing cup of gold, the Duchess
of Norfolk a cup of gold fretted with pearls, the Marchioness
of Dorset gave three gilt bowls, pounced, with a cover, and the
Marchioness of Exeter three standing bowls, graven and gilt, with
covers. Then were brought in wafers, comfits, and hypocras,
in such abundance, that the company had as much as could be
desired. -
“The homeward procession was lighted on its way to the palace
with five hundred staff torches, which were carried by the yeomen
of the guard and the king's servants, but the infant herself was
Surrounded by gentlemen bearing flambeaux. The procession
returned in the same order that it went out, save that four noble
gentlemen carried the sponsor's gifts before the child, with trumpets
flourishing all the way preceding them, till they came to the door
of the queen's chamber. The king commanded the Duke of
Norfolk to thank the lord mayor and citizens heartily in his name
for their attendance, and after they had powerfully refreshed them-
selves in the royal cellar, they betook themselves to their barges.”
*Nºvºvºvar-e-r-zºº.º.º.º. Zºº
*, *.*.*.*.**
(Togtumcø.
(From Knight's “Pictorial Shakspeare,”)
BY J. R. PLAN CHIE.
TIIE male costume of the reign of King Henry VIII. has been
rendered familiar to our very children by the immunerable portraits
of “Bluff King Hal,” principally copied from the paintings by
Holbein, and the female costume scarcely less So by those of his
HISTORICAL NOTES. xxiii
six wives. Henry VIII. was born in 1491, and was therefore just
thirty years of age at the period at which the play opens (the
arrest and impeachment of Buckingham having taken place in
1521), and forty-two at the time it is supposed to close, as above
mentioned. The best authorities, therefore, for the dress of the
monarch and his nobles at the commencement of this play would
be the curious old painting of the meeting of Henry and Francis,
preserved at Hampton Court, and the bas-reliefs representing the
same occurrence, at Rouen. Engraved in five plates in Mon-
faucon's Regal Antiquities — Entrevue de François I., roi de
Erance, et d’Henri VIII., roi d'Angleterre, au camp de drap
d'or. The profusion of feathers in the latter — a fashion of
the previous reign, and still raging in 1520–adds greatly to
the picturesque effect of the general costume. For the later
period, the full-length by Holbein engraved in “Lodge's Por-
traits,” or the print by Vertue, in which Henry is seen granting a
charter to the barber-surgeons, would be preferable. Of Cardinal
Wolsey there is a fine painting by Holbein at Christ Church, Ox-
ford, engraved in Lodge's work. Cavendish, in his “Life of
Wolsey,” describes him as issuing out in his cardinal's habit of
fine scarlet or crimson satin, his cap being of black velvet; and in
a MS. copy of that interesting work, formerly in the possession of
the late Francis Douce, Esq., F.S.A., are three very curious draw-
ings, representing— 1st. The cardinal's progress "on his way to
France, with his archers, spearmen, cross, pillar, and purse bearers,
&c.; 2ndly, The cardinal surrendering the great seal to the Dukes
of Norfolk and Suffolk; and, 3rdly, Dr. Butts sent by the King and
Anne Bullen to the sick cardinal with tokens of favour. Engraved
in the Pictorial Shakspere.
In the same beautiful work by Lodge, before mentioned, the
portraits will be found of the Dukes of Suffolk and Norfolk, Crom-
well, Sir Thomas More, and Sir Anthony Denny, by Holbein; and
Cranmer by Flick, the original painting being in the British Mu-
seum. Also a most interesting one of the gallant and accomplished
Earl of Surrey, by Titian, who has represented him in a magnificent
suit of armour, and thereby given us a splendid specimen of the
military costume of the period. In addition to the information
conveyed to the eye by this collection of authentic portraits, it will
be sufficient to quote, from the sumptuary law passed in the 24th
year of Henry's reign, such passages as will describe the materials
of which the dresses were made, and which were, indeed, at this
time of the most costly description. The royal family alone were
permitted to use the fur of the black genet; and sables could only
be worn by noblemen above the rank of a viscount. Crimson or
blue velvet, embroidered apparel, or garments bordered “with gold
sunken work,” were forbidden to any person beneath the quality
of a barom or knight's son or heir; and velvet dresses of any colour,
furs of martens, chains, bracelets, and collars of gold, were prohi-
bited to all persons possessing less than two hundred marks per
annum. The sons and heirs of such persons were, however, per-
mitted the use of black velvet or damask, and tawny-coloured
xxiv. HISTORICAL NOTES,
russet or camlet, Satin and damask gowns were confined to the
use of persons possessing at least one hundred marks per annum ;
and the wearing of plaited shirts, garnished with gold, silver, or
silk, was permitted to none below the rank of knighthood. The
hair was cut remarkably close, a peremptory order having been
issued by Henry to all his attendants and courtiers to “poll their
heads.” Beards and moustaches were worn at pleasure.
The portraits of Amme Bullen and Queen Katharine will convey
a sufficient idea of the costume of ladies of rank at this period.
The jewelled cap and feather with which Holbein has represented
Anne in the portraits engraved in Cavendish’s “Life of Wolsey”
are exceedingly picturesque and becoming. The other head-dress,
which was probably the often-talked-of “French hood,” is better
known, nearly all Henry's wives being represented in it. The
gown was cut square at the bosom, as in the preceding reign ; but
instead of the neck being bare, it was covered almost to the throat
by the partlet, a sort of habit-shirt, much like the modern one, em-
broidered with gold and silk. The sleeves of the gowns were fre-
quently of a different material from that which composed the rest
of the dress, and generally of a richer stuff. The gown was open
in front to the waist, showing the kirtle or petticoat, and with or
without a train, according to the prevailing fashion of France or
Holland. Anne of Cleves is described as wearing a gown made
round without ahy train, after the Dutch fashion; while the train
of Catherine Parr is stated to have been more than two yards long.
Anne Bullen, while Countess of Pembroke, danced at Calais with
Francis I. in a masque consisting of seven ladies besides herself,
who were attired in masking apparel of strange fashion, made of
cloth of gold compassed with crimson timsel satin, formed with
cloth of silver, lying loose and knit with laces of gold. They were
brought into the chamber with four damsels in crimson satin, with
tabards of fine cypress. A minute account is given by Hall
of the coronation of Queen Anne Bullen; and also by Cavendish,
who has described the procession and the ceremony. We must
be careful, however, not to confound the procession from the
Tower to Westminster, on the day previous to the coronation,
with that introduced in the play, which is the procession from the
Palace to the Abbey. On the first occasion she wore a surcoat of
white cloth of tissue, and a mantle of the same, furred with ermine,
her hair hanging down from under a coif, with a circlet about it
full of rich stones. On the second (that in the play) she wore a
surcoat and robe of purple velvet, furred with ermine, the coif and
circlet as before. The barons of the Cinque Ports, who carried the
canopy over her, were “all in crimsom, with points of blue and red
hanging on their sleeves.” The ladies, “being lords' wives,” that
followed her, “had surcoats of scarlet with narrow sleeves, the
breast all lettice (fur), with bars of borders (i. e., rows of ermine)
according to their degrees, and over that they had mantles of
scarlet furred, and overy mantle had lettice about the neck, like a
neckercher, likewise powdered (with ermine), so that by the pow-
derings their degree was known. Then followed ladies, being
HISTORICAL NOTES. XXV
knights' wives, in gowns of scarlet with narrow sleeves, without
trains, only edged with lettice.” The queen's gentlewomen were
similarly attired with the last. The lord chancellor wore a robe of
scarlet, open before, and bordered with lettice. The dukes were in
crimson velvet, furred with ermine, and powdered according to
their degrees. The Duke of Suffolk's doublet and jacket were set
with orient pearl; his gown of crimson velvet, richly embroidered;
and he carried a white rod in his hand, being that day high steward
of England. The knights of the Bath wore “violet gowns, with
hoods purfled with miniver, like doctors.”
ADDITIONAL NOTES BY THE EDITOR.
Soon after the accession of Henry VIII. the long petticoat dresses
of the previous reign were cast aside, and trowsers or close hose
fitted exactly to the limbs, were almost universally adopted, and to
the breeches, which were usually connected with the close hose,
there was added a padded protuberance (also used as a pincushion)
exceedingly gross and indecent; this, however, formed part of the
dress from the sovereign himself to the mechanic,+there is little
doubt that this fashion originated in France. To compensate for
the close fit of the lower portion of their attire the fashionables of
the day “bombasted,” as Bulwer calls it, their doublets and puffed
them out above their shoulders, so that they were exceedingly
cumbersome. “The lower parts were mever so scanted, but the
upper made ample amends for the fault, for the doublets were so
bombasted with linings, and the sleeves so stuffed out, that they
were cumbersome both to the body and arms.”—Cranmer's Bible,
with wood-cuts, 1540. The ladies followed the example of the
gentlemen, and invented a kind of doublet with high wings and
puffed sleeves, this garment was in full fashion to the beginning
of Elizabeth's reign. Henry VIII, wore a round flat cap of scarlet
or of velvet, with a brooch or jewel, and a feather; “divers gentle-
men, courtiers, and others did the like. The youthful citizens also
took to the new fashion of flat caps, knit of woollem yarn, black,
but so tight that they were forced to tie them under their chins,
for else the wind would be master over them ; the king wore cloth
hose, cut out of ell broad taffeta, when there came not, by great,
chance, a pair of silk stockings from Spain.”—Stowe. Upon the
day preceding his coronation, Henry “wared on his upperest
apparell a robe of crimsyn velvet, pined with ermine; his jacket,
a cote of raised gold, the placard embrowdered with diamonds,
rubies, emeralds, great pearles, and other rich stomes; a great
bauderick about his neck of large balasses; his knights and
esquires in crimson velvet, and all the gentlemen, and all the
servants and household servants were apparelled in skarlet.”
“The queen sitting in her litter, borne by two white palfreys,
trapped in white cloth of gold, her person appareled in white satyn
embrowdered, her hair hanging down to her º. of a very great
length, bewtifull and goodly to behold, and on her hedde a coronall
xxvi HISTORICAL NOTES.
set with many rich Orient stones.” The gloves partook of the
general richness in construction: we read of “a payer of sweete
gloves, lined with white velvet, each glove trimmed with eight
buttons and eight small aiglets of gold enamelled;” also knit
gloves of silk, and handkerchiefs edged with gold and silver, others
with needle work. In the ballad of George Barnwell, it is said of
Milwood:— -
“A handkerchief she had
All wrought with silk and gold,
Which she to stay her trickling tears,
Before her eyes did hold.”

Shoes were worn of a most preposterous width at the toes by both
sexes: in the reign of Mary a proclamation appeared “that no
man should wear his shoes above six inches square at the toes.”—
Bulwer's English Gallant.
T. H. L.
GLOSSARY OF TERMS,
EITHER OBsol,BTE, VARYING FROM THEIR USUAL MEANING, OR
REQUIRING EXPLANATION.
Act I. Sc. 1.-" Two lights of men. ”—Henry VIII and Francis.
35 ,, 3.−" The Spavin, a Springhalt”—possibly, Spavin or springhalt.
3 y ,, 4.—“Chambers”—small cannon.
,, II. , 3.—“ Three pence bowed ”—a crooked threepence.
, III. , 2.-‘‘ Dare us with his cap, like larks.”—a method of daring larks is
by small mirrors on scarlet cloth.
tº º ,, 2,-‘‘ Orphan’s tears”—the Chancellor is ex-officio the guardian of
orphans,
KING HENRY VIII.
—$2–$34–3–
Those passages with a * and between [brackets] are often omitted
in representation.
ACT I.
SCENE I.—London. An Antechamber in the Palace of
Bridewell.
Enter the DUKE of Norfolk, L., the DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM
and the LoRD ABERGAVENNY, R.
BUCK. Good morrow, and well met. How have you done,
Since last we saw in France 2
Norfolk. I thank your grace:
Healthful; and ever since a fresh admirer
Of what I saw there.
BUCK. An untimely ague
Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber, when
Those sums of glory, those two lights of men,
Met in the vale of Andren. -
Norfolk. Then you lost
The view of earthly glory: Men might say,
Till this time, pomp was single : but now married
To one above itself. Each following day
Became the next day's master, till the last
Made former wonders its : to-day, the French,
All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods,
Shome down the English ; and, to-morrow, they
Made Britain, India : every man that stood
Show'd like a mine. *[Their dwarfish pages were
As cherubims, all gilt : the madams too,
Not us’d to toil, did almost sweat to bear
The pride upon them, that their very labour
Was to them as a painting: now this mask
Was cry’d incomparable; and the ensuing might
4 KING HENRY VIII. [ACT I.
Made it a fool, and beggar..] The two kings,
Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst,
As presence did present them ; him in eye
Still him in praise : and, being present both,
'Twas said they saw but one : and no discerner
Durst wag his tongue in censure. When those suns
For so they phrase them) by their heraldschalleng'd
The noble spirits to arms, they did perform
Beyond thought's compass; that former fabulous
story,
Being now seen possible enough, got credit.
BUCK. Who did guide?
I mean, who set the body and the limbs
Of this great sport together ?
NoFFOLK. All this was order'd by the good discretion
* Of the right reverend cardinal of York.
BUCK. The devil speed him! no man's pie is freed
From his ambitious finger. What had he
To do in these fierce vanities?
[* NoRFolk. - Surely, sir,
There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends:
For, being not propp'd by ancestry, whose grace
Chalks successors their way; nor call’d upon
For high feats done to the crown; neither allied
To eminent assistants; but spider-like,
Out of his self-drawing web,
The force of his own merit makes his way;
A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys
A place next to the king.]
ABERGAV. I cannot tell
What heaven hath given him: let some graver eye
Pierce into that; but I can see his pride
Peep through each part of him.
BUCK. \ Why took he upon him,
Without the privity o’ the king, to appoint
Who should attend on him 2 He makes up the file
Of all the gentry; for the most part such
Too, whom as great a charge as little honour
He meant to lay upon : many
Have broke their backs with laying manors on them
For this great journey. What did this vanity,
SC. I.] RING HENRY WIII. 5
But minister communication of
A most poor issue 2
Norfolk. 'Like it, your grace,
The state takes notice of the private difference
Betwixt you and the cardinal. You know his
nature,
That he's revengeful; and I know, his sword
Hath a sharp edge : it's long, and 'tmay be said,
It reaches far; and where 'twill not extend,
Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel,
You'll find it wholesome. Lo, where comes that rock
That I advise your shunning.
Enter FootMEN, GUARDS, GENTLEMEN ; a GENTLEMAN
bearing the broad seal, PRIEST with the cardinal's hat,
two GENTLEMEN with silver pillars, two PRIESTs with
silver crosses, SERGEANT AT ARMs with mace, two
GENTLEMEN USHERs, bareheaded, with wands, CARDINAL
Wolsey, two PAGES bearing his train, CROMWELL with
dispatches, two SECRETARIEs with bags of papers,
CHAPLAINS, GENTLEMEN, FootMEN, GUARDs, L., passing
slowly over to R. The CARDINAL in his passage fiveth his
eye on BUCKINGHAM, and BUCKINGHAM (who passes over
to L.) on him, both full of disdain.
Wolsey. The Duke of Buckingham's surveyor 2 ha
Where's his examination ?
1st SECR. Here, so please you.
Wolsey. Is he in person ready ?
1ST SECR. Ay, please, your grace. -
Wols EY. Well, we shall them know more; and Buck-
ingham • -
Shall lessen this big look. º
Eaceunt Wolsey and train, R.
BUCK. This butcher's cur is venom-mouth'd, and I
Have not the power to muzzle him. I read in’s
looks
Matter against me; and his eye revil'd
Me, as his abject object: at this instant
He bores me with some trick: he's gone to the king
I'll follow and out-stare him.
Norfolk. Stay, my lord,
6 EING FIENRY WIII. [ACT I.
And let your reason with your choler question
What 'tis you go about.
Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot
That it do singe yourself: Be advised.
BUCK. Sir,
I am thankful to you : and I’ll go along
By your prescription:—but this top-proud fellow,
(Whom from the flow of gall I name not, but
From sincere motions,) I do know
To be corrupt and treasonous.
Norfolk. Say not, treasonous.
BUCK. To the king I’ll say’t; and make my vouch as strong
As shore of rock. Attend. This holy fox,
Or wolf, or both, (for he is equally ravenous
As he is subtle; and as prone to mischief,
As able to perform’t: his mind and place
Infecting one another, yea, reciprocally,)
Only to show his pomp as well in France
As here at home, suggests the king our master
To this last costly treaty, the interview,
That swallow’d so much treasure, and like a glass
Did break i'the rinsing.
NoFFOLK. Faith, and so it did.
BUCK. Pray, give me favour, sir. This cunning cardinal
The articles o' the combination drew
As himself pleas'd and they were ratified,
As he cried, “Thus let be :” to as much end,
As give a crutch to the dead: But our count-
cardinal -
Has done this, and ’tis well; for worthy Wolsey,
Who cannot err, he did it. Now this follows,
(Which, as I take it, is a kind of puppy
To the old dam, treason,)—Charles the emperor,
Under pretence to see the queen, his aunt,
(For t'was, indeed, his colour; but he came
To whisper Wolsey,) here makes visitation:
His fears were, that the interview betwixt
England and France, might, through their amity,
Breed him some prejudice; for from this league
Peep'd harms that menac'd him : He privily
Deals with our cardinal; and, as I trow,
SC. I.] KING HENRY WIII. 7
Which I do well; for, I am sure the emperor
Paidere he promis'd; whereby his suit was granted
Ere it was ask'd;—but when the way was made,
And pav'd with gold, the emperor thus desir’d,
That he would please to alter the king's course,
And break the foresaid peace. Let the king know
(As soon he shall by me,) that thus the cardinal
Does buy and sell his honor as he pleases,
And for his own advantage.
NoFFOLK. I am sorry
To hear this of him; and could wish he were
Something mistaken in’t.
BUCK. No, not a syllable;
I do pronounce him in that very shape
He shall appear in proof.
Enter BRANDON; a SERGEANT AT ARMs before him, and
two or three of the GUARD, R.
BRANDON. (R.) Your office, sergeant; execute it.
SERGEANT. (c.) Sir,
My lord the duke of Buckingham, and earl
Of Hereford, Stafford, and Northampton, I
Arrest thee of high treason, in the name
Of our most sovereign king.
BUCK. Lo, you, my lord,
The met has fall'm upon me; I shall perish
Under devise and practice.
BRANDON. -- I am sorry
To see you ta'en from liberty, to look on
The business present: 'Tis his highness' pleasure
You shall to the Tower.
BUCK. It will help me nothing
To plead mine innocence; for that die is on me,
Which makes my whitest part black. The will of
heaven
Be done in this and all things!—I obey—
O, my lord Aberga'ny, fare you well.
BRANDON. Nay, he must bear you company :-The king
Is pleased you shall to the Tower, till you know
How he determines further. (to ABERGAVENNY.)
ABERGAv. As the duke said,
8 KING HENRY VIII. [ACT I.
The will of heaven be done, and the king's pleasure
By me obey'd.
BRANDON. Here is a warrant from
The king, to attach lord Montacute; and the bodies
Of the duke's confessor, John de la Car,
One Gilbert Peck, his chancellor,
BUCK. So, so ;
These are the limbs o' the plot. No more, I hope.
BRANDON. A monk o’ the Chartreux.
BUCK. O, Nicholas Hopkins?
BRANDON. He.
BUCK. My surveyor is false; the o'er-great cardinal
Hath show’d him gold: my life is spann’d already :
I am the shadow of poor Buckingham ;
Whose figure even this instant cloud puts out,
By dark’ning my clear sun. My lord, farewell.
Eaceunt Norroſ,K, R., the others, L.
SCENE II.-The Council–Chamber.
Flourish. The Lords of the Council, SIR THOMAs
T.OVELL, OFFICERs, and ATTENDANTs, discovered
standing. º
Enter KING, leaning on the CARDINAL's shoulder, R. 2 E.
KING. My life itself, and the best heart of it,
Thanks you for this great care : I stood i'the level
Of a full-charg’d confederacy, and give thanks
To you that chok'd it.—Let be call’d before us
That gentleman of Buckingham's : in person
I'll hear him his confessions justify;
And point by point the treasons of his master
He shall again relate.
The KING takes his state. The Lords of the Council
take their several places. The CARDINAL places
himself under the KING's feet, on his right side.
A noise within, crying, “Room for the Queen!” Enter the
QUEEN, ushered by the DUKEs of Norfolk and SUFFOLK,
L., she kneels R. C. The KING riseth from his state, takes
her up, and kisses her, the NOBLES also rise.
SC. II.] KING HENRY WIII. 9
Q. KATH. Nay, we must longer kneel; I am a suitor.
KING. Arise, and take place by us.-Half your suit
Never name to us; you have half our power;
The other moiety, ere you ask, is given;
Repeat your will, and take it.
Q. KATH. Thank your majesty.
That you would love yourself, and, in that love
Not unconsider'd leave your honor, nor
The dignity of your office, is the point
Of my petition.
KING. Lady, mine 2 proceed. (he sits—the Nobles resume
their seats)
Q. KATH. I am solicited, not by a few,
And those of true condition, that your subjects
Are in great grievance: there have been
commissions
Sent down among them, which have flaw'd the heart
Of all their loyalties:–wherein, although,
My good lord cardinal, they vent reproaches
Most bitterly on you, as putter-on
Of these exactions, yet the king, our master,
Whose honor heaven shield from soil 1 even he
escapes not
Language unmannerly, yea, such which breaks
The ties of loyalty, and almost appears
In loud rebellion.
NorFolk. (rising) Not almost appears,
It doth appear: for upon these taxations,
The clothiers all, not able to maintain
The many to them 'longing, have put off
The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who.
Unfit for other life, compell’d by hunger,
And lack of other means, in desperate manner
Daring th' event to the teeth, are all in uproar,
And danger serves among them.
KING. Taxation |
Wherein 2 and what taxation?—My lord cardinal,
You that are blamed for it alike with us,
Know you of this taxation ?
WOLSEY. (R.—rising) Please you, sir,
I know but of a single part in aught
10
KING HENRY VIII. [ACT I.
Pertains to the state; and front but in that file
Where others tell steps with me.
Q. KATH. No, my lord,
You know no more than others; but you frame
Things, that are known belike, which are not
KING.
wholesome
To those which would not know them, and yet must
Perforce be their acquaintance. These exactions
Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are
Most pestilent to the hearing; and to bear them
The back is sacrifice to the load. They say
They are devis’d by you; or else you suffer
Too hard an exclamation.
Still exaction
The nature of it? In what kind, let's know,
Is this exaction?
Q. KATH. I am much too venturous
KING.
In tempting of your patience; but am bolden'd
Under your promis'd pardon. The subject's grief
Comes through commissions, which compel from
each
The sixth part of his substance, to be levied
Without delay; and the pretence for this
Is named, your wars in France : This makes bold
mouths;
Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts freeze
Allegiance in them ; their curses now
Live where their prayers did; and it's come to pass,
This tractable obedience is a slave
To each incensed will. I would your highness
Would give it quick consideration. f
By my life,
This is against our pleasure.
WOLSEY. And for me,
I have no further gone in this, than by
A single voice; and that not pass'd me, but
By learned approbation of the judges. If I am
Traduc’d by ignorant tongues, which neither know
My faculties, nor person, yet will be
The chronicles of my doing, let me say
'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough break
SC. II.] IXING HENRY VIII. 11
That virtue must go through.
If we shall stand still,
In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp’d at,
We should take root here where we sit, or sit
State statues only.
KING. Things done well,
And with a care, exempt themselves from fear;
Things dome without example, in their issue
Are to be fear'd. Have you a precedent
Of this commission ? I believe not any.
We must not rend our subjects from our laws,
And stick them on our will. Sixth part of each 2
A trembling contribution | Why, we take
From every tree, lop, bark, and part o' the timber,
And, though we leave it with a root, thus hack'd
The air will drink the sap. To every county,
Where this is question'd send our letters, with
Free pardon to each man that has denied
The force of this commission : Pray, look to 't;
I put it to your care.
Wol,SEY. A word with you.
(to the SECRETARY, who is going, R.)
Let there be letters writ to every shire,
Of the king's grace and pardon. The griev'd com-
IQ OſłS
Hardly conceive of me; let it be nois'd,
That through our intercession this revokement
And pardon comes: I shall amon advise you
Further in the proceeding.
East SECRETARY, R., WolsFY resumes his seat.
Enter SURVEYor, L.
Q. KATH, I am sorry that the Duke of Buckingham
Is run in your displeasure.
KING. It grieves many :
The gentleman is learn'd, and a most rare speaker,
To nature none more bound;
Yet this man so complete,
Hath into monstrous habits put the graces
That once were his, and is become as black
As if besmear'd in hell. Sit by us; you shall hear
12 RING HENRY WIII, [ACT 1,
(This was his gentleman in trust)—of him
Things to strike honour sad.—Bid him recount
The fore-recited practices; whereof
We cannot feel too little, hear too much.
Wolsey. Stand forth; and with bold spirit relate what you,
Most like a careful subject, have collected
Out of the Duke of Buckingham,
KING. Speak freely.
SURVEY. First, it was usual with him, every day
It would infect his speech, That if the king
Should without issue die, he'd carry it so
To make the sceptre his : These very words
I have heard him utter to his son-in-law,
Lord Aberga'my; to whom by oath he menac'd
Revenge upon the cardinal.
WOLSEY. Please your highness, note
This dangerous conception in this point.
Not friended by his wish, to your high person
His will is most malignant; and it stretches
Beyond you, to your friends.
(). KATH. My learn'd lord cardinal,
Deliver all with charity.
KING. Speak on :
How grounded he his title to the crown,
Upon our fail? to this point hast thou heard him
At any time speak aught?
SURVEY. He was brought to this
By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Hopkins,
His confessor; who fed him every minute
With words of sovereignty. -
(Said he) “Neither the king, nor his heirs,
Shall prosper : bid him strive
To gain the love of the commonalty; the duke
Shall govern England.”
Q. KATH. If I know you well,
You were the duke's surveyor, and lost your office
On the complaint o' the tenants: Take good heed
You charge not in your spleen a noble person,
And spoil your nobler Soul! I say, take heed;
Yes, heartily beseech you.
SC. II.] |KING HENRY WIII. - 13
KING. Let him on :-
Go forward.
SURVEY. On my soul, I'll speak but truth.
I told my lord the duke, by the devil's illusions
The monk might be deceiv'd; and that 'twas
dangerous for him
To ruminate on this so far: He answer'd, “Tushl
It can do me no damage:” adding farther,
That had the king in his last sickness fail'd,
The cardinal's and Sir Thomas Lovell's heads
Should have gone off.
KING. Ha! what so rank? - Ah, ha!
There's mischief in this man. Canst thou say
farther?
SURVEY. I can, my liege.
KING. Proceed.
SURVEY. Being at Greenwich,
After your highness had reprov'd the duke
About sir William Blomer,
KING. I remember
Of such a time—Being my sworn servant,
The duke retain’d him his.-But on : What hence?
SURVEY. “If,” quoth he, “I for this had been committed,
As, to the Tower, I thought, I would have play'd
The part my father meant to act upon
Th' usurper Richard; who, being at Salisbury,
Made suit to come in 's presence; which if granted
As he made semblance of his duty, would
Have put his knife into him.”
KING. A giant traitor |
Wolsey. Now, madam, may his highness live in freedom,
And this man out prison 2
Q. KATH. Heav'n mend all !
KING. There's something more would out of thee ?
k what say'st?
SURVEY. After — “the duke his father, " — with “the
knife,”—
He stretch'd him, and, with one hand on his dagger,
Another spread on ’s breast, mounting his eyes,
He did discharge a horrible oath; whose tenor
Was, were he evil us'd, he would out-go
B
14 RING HENRY WIII. [ACT I.
His father, by as much as a performance
Does an irresolute purpose.
KING. (rises) - There's his period,
To sheathe his knife in us. He is attach'd :
Call him to present trial: if he may
Find mercy in the law, 'tis his; if none,
Let him not seek’t of us: by day and night,
He's traitor to the height.
(goes up angrily—the CourT have risen with a display
of anaciety—Tableau)
SCENE III-A Room in the Palace of Bridewell.
Enter the LoRD CHAMBERLAIN and LoRD SANDs, R.
CHAMB. Is 't possible the spells of France should juggle
Men into such strange mysteries?
SANDs. New customs,
Though they be never so ridiculous,
Nay, let 'em be unmanly, yet are follow'd.
CHAMB. As far as I see, all the good our English
Have got by the late voyage is but merely
A fit or two o' the face; but they are shrewd ones;
For when they hold 'em, you would swear directly
Their very noses had been counsellors -
To Pepin, or Clotharius, they keep state so.
SANDS. They have all new legs, and lame ones; one
would take it, t
That never saw 'em pace before, the spavin,
A springhaſt reigned among them.
CHAMB. Death ! my lord,
Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too,
That, sure, they have worn out Christendom.
How now P
What news, Sir Thomas Lovell?
Enter SIR THOMAS LovELL, R.
LovELL. Faith, my lord,
I hear of mone, but the new proclamation
- That's clapp'd upon the court-gate.
CHAMr. What is 't for 2
LovELL. The reformation of our travell'd gallants,
That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors.
sC. IV.] KING HENRY WIII. - 15
CHAMB. I am glad 'tis there. What a loss our ladies
Will have of these trim vanities |
LovELL. Ay, marry,
There will be woe indeed, lords;
A French song, and a fiddle, has no fellow.
SANDs. The devil fiddle them I am glad they’re going;
Now an honest country lord, as I am, beaten
A long time out of play, may bring his plain song,
And have an hour of hearing; and, by ºr lady,
Held current music too.
CHAMB. Well said, Lord Sands;
Your colt's tooth is not cast yet.
SANDS. - No, my lord;
Nor shall not, while I have a stump.
CHAMB. Sir Thomas,
Whither were you a going?
LOVELL. To the cardinal's ;
Your lordship is a guest too,
CHAMB. O, 'tis true:
This night he makes a supper, and a great one,
To many lords and ladies; there will be
The beauty of this kingdom. I assure you. -
LovELL. That churchman bears a bounteous mind indeed,
A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us;
His dews fall everywhere.
SANDS. He has wherewithal; in him,
Sparing would show a worse sin than ill doctrine :
Men of his way should be most liberal,
They are set here for examples.
CHAMB. True, they are so;
But few now give so great ones. My barge stays;
Your lordship shall along: Come, good Sir Thomas,
We shall be late else ; which I would not be,
For I was spoke to, with Sir Henry Guildford,
This night to be comptrollers.
SANDS. I am your lordship's.
Eaceunt, L.
ScENE IV.-The Presence Chamber, York Place, Whitehall,
magnificently decorated for a banquet and entertainment.
Music.—A small table under state canopy for the CARDINAL,
16 RING : HENRY VIII. [ACT I,
a longer table for the GUESTs. Enter ANNE BULLEN, and
divers LORDs, LADIES, and GENTLEwoMEN, as GUESTs,
L., at another door, enter SIR HENRY GUILDFORD, R,
GUILD. Ladies, a general welcome from his grace
Salutes ye all : This night he dedicates
To fair content, and you. None here, he hopes,
In all this noble bevy, has brought with her
One care abroad: he would have all as merry
As first-good company, good wine, good welcome,
Can make good people. O, my lord, you are tardy;
Enter LORD CHAMBERLAIN, LORD SANDs, and SIR THOMAS
. . . LOVELL, L. - -
The very thought of this fair company
- Clapp'd wings to me.
CHAMB. You are young Sir Harry Guildford.
SANDS. Sir Thomas Lovell, had the cardinal -
But half my lay-thoughts in him. By my life,
They are a sweet society of fair ones.
LovELL. O that your lordship were but now confessor
To one or two of these !
SANDS. - I would I were ;
ſ They should find easy penance.
CHAMB. Sweet ladies, will it please you sit 2 Sir Harry,
Place you that side, I'll take the charge of this:
His grace is ent'ring—My Lord Sands,
: Pray, sit between these ladies,
SANDS. By my faith,
And thank your lordship.—By your leave, Sweet
ladies.
(seats himself between ANNE BULLEN and another LADY, L.)
If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me ;
I had it from my father.
ANNE. Was he mad, sir?
SANDs. O, very mad, exceeding mad; in love too;
But he would bite none; just as I do now, *
t - He would kiss you twenty with a breath. (kissesher)
CHAMB. Well said, my lord.-
. So, now you are fairly seated:—Gentlemen,
The penance lies on you, if these fair ladies
Pass away frowning. -
sº. IV.] KING HENRY VIII. 17.
SANDs. - For my little cure,
* Let me alone. -
Flourish—all rise. ... Enter CARDINAL Wolsey attended
by GENTLEMEN, PAGES, &c., R., he takes his state, R.
Wolsey. Y’ are welcome, my fair guests: that noble lady,
Or gentleman, that is not freely merry,
. Is not my friend. This, to confirm my welcome;
And to you all good health.
(drinks ; flourish—all sit)
SANDs. Your grace is noble:
Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks,
And save me so much talking.
WOLSEY. My Lord Sands,
I am beholden to you : cheer your neighbours.
Ladies, you are not merry;-Gentlemen,
Whose fault is this?
SANDS. The red wine first must rise
In their fair cheeks, my lords; then we shall have
g them
Talk us to silence.
ANNE. You are a merry gamester,
My Lord Sands.
SANDS. Yes, if I make my play. -
(drum and trumpets within: cannon discharged—
LADIES rise)
WOLSEY. - What's that ?
CHAMB. Look out there, some of ye. Eacit a SERVANT, L.
Wol,SEY. . What warlike voice?
And to whât end is this? Nay, ladies, fear not;
By all the laws of war ye are privileg'd. (LADIEs sit)
- Re-enter SERVANT, L.
CHAMB. How now 2 what is 't 2 -
SERVANT., A noble troop of strangers,
For so they seem ; they've left their barge, and
landed;
And hither make, as great ambassadors
From foreign princes.
Wol,SEY. Good lord chamberlain,
Go, give them welcome; you can speak the French
tongue; -
18 KING HENRY VIII. [ACT 1.
And, pray, receive them nobly, and conduct them
Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty
Shall shine at full upon them. Some attend him.
AEacit CHAMBERLAIN attended, L. All arise, and tables
removed. -
You have now a broken banquet; but we'll mend it.
A good digestion to you all : and, once more,
I shower a welcome on you;-Welcome all.
Hautboys. Enter the KING, and Twelve OTHERs, as
maskers, habited like shepherds, with sixteen Torch
BEARERs ; wshered by the LORD CHAMBERLAIN. They
pass directly before the CARDINAL, and gracefully salute
him.
WoLSEY. A noble company what are their pleasures?
CHAMB. Because they speak no English, thus they pray'd
To tell your grace;—That, having heard by fame
Of this so noble and so fair assembly
This night to meet here, they could do no less,
Out of the great respect they bear to beauty,
But leave their flocks; and, under your fair conduct,
Crave leave to view these ladies, and entreat
An hour of revels with them.
WoLSEY. Say, lord chamberlain,
They have done my poor house grace; for which
I pay them -
A thousand thanks, and pray them take their
pleasures.
(LADIEs chosen for the dance. The KING chooses
ANNE BULLEN)
KING. The fairest hand I ever touch'd 0, beauty,
Till now I never knew thee. (music—dance)
WOLSEY. My lord.
CHAMB. Your grace 2
WoLSEY. Pray, tell them thus much from me :
There should be one amongst them, by his person,
More worthy this place than myself; to whom,
If I but knew him, with my love and duty
I would surrender it.
CHAMB. I will, my lord.
(CHAMBERLAIN goes to the MASKERs, and returns)
sc. Iv.] KING HENRY VIII. 19
WoLSEY. What say they?
CHAMB. Such a one, they all confess,
There is, indeed; which they would have your grace
Find out, and he will take it.
WOLSEY. Let me see then. (comes from his state).
By all your good leaves, gentlemen; here I'll make
My royal choice.
KING. You have found him, cardinal : (unmasking)
You hold a fair assembly; you do well, lord:
You are a churchman, or, I’ll tell you, cardinal,
I should judge now unhappily.
Wol,SEY, I am glad
Your grace is grown so pleasant.
KING. My lord chamberlain,
Prithee, come hither : What fair lady's that ?
CHAMB. An't please your grace, Sir Thomas Bullen's
daughter,
The viscount Rochford, one of her highness' women.
KING. By heaven, she is a dainty one. Sweetheart,
I were unmannerly to take you out,
And not to kiss you. A health, gentlemen,
Let it go round.
WOLSEY. Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready
I’ the privy chamber?
LovELL. Yes, my lord.
WOLSEY. Your grace,
I fear, with dancing is a little heated.
KING.. I fear, too much.
WOLSEY. There's fresher air, my lord,
In the next chamber.
KING. Lead in your ladies, every one. Sweet partner,
I must not yet forsake you. Let's be merry;-
Good my lord cardinal, I have half a dozen healths
To drink to these fair ladies, and a measure
To lead them once again; and then let's dream
Who's best in favour. Let the music knock it.
Flourish. Eaceunt Wolsey, with lights; KING
and ANNE BULLEN ; LORD's leading LADIES :
PAGES and ATTENDANTs following, R.
END OF ACT I.
20 KING HENRY WIFI, [ACT II.
- - * , ACT II. . .
ScENE. I.--A Street leading to the water-side—A bell tolls,
and muffled drums beat at intervals throughout the scene.
Enter Two GENTLEMEN, meeting.
1st GENT. (R.) Whither away so fast? - -
2ND GENT. (L.) Even to the hall, to hear what shall become
of the great Duke of Buckingham.
1st GENT. All's now done, but the ceremony
Of bringing back the prisoner. * ...-
2ND GENT. - Is he found guilty?
1ST GENT. Yes, truly is he, and condemn'd upon it.
2ND GENT. I am sorry for 't. * -
1st GENT. So are a number more.
2ND GENT. The cardinal is the end of this.
All the commons - -
Hate him perniciously, and, o' my conscience,
Wish him ten fathoms deep : this duke as much
They love and dote on ; call him, bounteous Buck-
ingham,
- The mirror of all courtesy
1st GENT. ~ Stay there, sir,
And see the noble ruin’d man you speak of.
Enter BUCKINGHAM from arraignment, R., TIPSTAVES before
him ; the ExECUTIONEER with aace the edge towards him;
GUARDs with halberds on each side; accompanied with SIR
THOMAs LovELL, SIR NICHOLAS WAUX, SIR WILLIAM
SANDs, and common PEOPLE. * . .
BUCK. - - All good people,
You that thus far have come to pity me,
Hear what I say, and then go home and lose me.
I have this day received a traitor's judgment,
And by that name must die : Yet heaven bear
witness,
And if I have a conscience let it sink me,
Even as the axe falls: if I be not faithful I
The law I bear no malice for my death,
It has done, upon the premises, but justice;
But those that sought it I could wish more Christians
SC. I.] 1&ING HENRY VIII. 21
Be what they will, I heartily forgive them;
For farther life in this world I ne'er hope,
Nor will I sue, although the king have mercies
More than Idare makefaults. You few that lov’dme,
And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham,
His noble friends, and fellows, whom to leave
Is only bitter to him, only dying,
Go with me, like good angels, to my end ;
And, as the long divorce of steel falls on me,
Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice,
And lift my soul to heaven.—Lead on.
LovELL. (L. C.) I do beseech your grace, for charity,
If ever any malice in your heart
Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly.
BUCK. Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free forgive you,
As I would be forgiven : I forgive all.
Commend me to his grace;
And if he speak of Buckingham, pray, tell him,
You met him half in heaven: my vows and prayers
Yet are the king's; and, till my soul forsake,
Shall cry for blessings on him. (kneels) May he live
Longer than I have time to tell his years l
Ever belov'd, and loving may his rule be!
And when old time shall lead him to his end,
Goodness and he fill up one monument l (rises)
LovELL. To the water side I must conduct your grace;
Then give my charge up to Sir Nicholas Vaux,
Who undertakes you to your end.
WAUx. (speaking off) Prepare there,
The duke is coming; see the barge be ready;
And fit it with such furniture as suits
The greatness of his person.
BUCK. Nay, Sir Nicholas,
Let it alone: my state now will but mock me.
When I came hither, I was lord high constable,
And Duke of Buckingham; now, poor Edward
Bohun.
Yet I am richer than my base accusers,
That never knew what truth meant: I now seal it;
And with that blood will make them one day groan
for’t,
22
KING HENRY VIII. [ACT II.
My noble father, Henry of Buckingham,
Who first rais'd head against usurping Richard,
Flying for succour to his servant Banister,
Being distress'd was by that wretch betray'd,
And without trial fell; peace be with him
Henry the Seventh succeeding, truly pitying
My father's loss, like a most royal prince,
Restor'd me to my honours, and, out of ruins,
Made my name once more noble. Now, his son,
Henry the Eighth, life, honour, name, and all
That made me happy, at one stroke has taken
For ever from the world. I had my trial,
And, must needs say, a noble one; which makes me
A little happier than my wretched father :
Yet thus far we are one in fortunes, both
Fell by our servants, by those men we lov'd most;
A most unnatural and faithless service l
Heaven has an end in all : yet, you that hear me,
This from a dying man receive as certain :
Where you are liberal of your loves and counsels,
Be sure, youbenot loose; for those you makefriends,
And give your hearts to, when they once perceive
The least rub in your fortunes, fall away
Like water from ye, never found again
But where they mean to sink ye. All good people,
Pray for me! I must now forsake ye; the last hour
Of my long weary life is come upon me.
Farewell !
And when you would say something that is sad,
Speak how I fell.—I have done; and heav'n forgive
me !
Eaceunt BUCKINGHAM and TRAIN, L. U. E., bell tolls,
muffled drums. SPECTATORS depart sadly, R.
and L., Scene closes.
SCENE II.-An Antechamber in the Palace of Bridewell.
Enter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN, reading a letter, C. from R.
CHAMB. *[“My lord, The horses your lordship sent for,
with all the care I had, I saw well chosen, ridden, and
furnished. They were young and handsome, and of
SC. II.] RING HENRY VIII, 23
the best breed in the north. When they were ready to
set out for London, a man of my lord cardinal's, by
commission, and main power, took 'em from me, with
this reason, -" His master would be serv'd before a
subject, if not before the king;' which stopped our
mouths, sir.”
I fear, he will, indeed. Well, let him have them :
He will have all, I think.]*
Enter the DUKEs of Norfolk and SUFFolk, L.
NoRFolk. Well met, my lord chamberlain.
CHAMB. Good day to both your graces.
SUFFOLK. How is the king employ'd P
CHAMB. I left him private,
Full of sad thoughts and troubles. -
NoRFOLK. (L. C.) What's the cause ?
CHAMB. It seems the marriage with his brother's wife
Has crept too near his conscience.
SUFFOLK. (L.) No, his conscience
Has crept too near another lady.
NoFFOLK. 'Tis so :
This is the cardinal's doing, the king-cardinal:
That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune,
Turns what he list. The king will know him one day.
SUFFolk. Pray heav'n he do he'll never know himself
else. -
NorFolk. Let's in ;
And, with some other business, put the king
From these sad thoughts, that work too much upon
him :
My lord, you’ll bear us company ?
CHAMB. Excuse me,
The king hath sent me other-where : besides,
You'll find a most unfit time to disturb him :
Health to your lordships. (crosses, L.)
NoRFOLK. Thanks, my good lord chamberlain.
Eacit LoRD CHAMBERLAIN, L. NoFFolk throws open
C. doors.
SUFFOLK. How sad he looks 1 sure, he is much afflicted.
KING. (without) Who is there 2 ha 2
NoRFol.K. 'Pray heav'n, he be not angry.
24 KING HENRY VIII. [ACT II.
KING. Who's there, I say? (advancing) How dare you
thrust yourselves
Into my private meditations? Who am I? ha P
NORFOLK. A gracious king, that pardons all offences,
Malice ne'er meant : our breach of duty, this way,
Is business of estate; in which, we come
To know your royal pleasure.
KING. Ye are too bold;
Go too; I'll make ye know your times of business:
Is this an hour for temporal affairs? hap
Enter Wolsey and CAMPEIUs, L.
Who's there? my good lord cardinal?—O my
Wolsey,
The quiet of my wounded conscience,
Thou art a cure fit for a king.—You're welcome.
(to CAMPEIUs)
Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom,
Use us, and it:—My good lord, have great care,
I be not found a talker. (to Wolsey)
Wol,SEY. Sir, you cannot.
I would your grace would give us but an hour
Of private conference.
KING. We are busy; go. (to NorFolk and
SUFFOLK)
NoRFolk. (aside) This priest has no pride in him?
SUFFOLK. (aside) Not to speak of;
I would not be so sick though, for his place :
But this cannot continue.
NoRFOLK. (aside) If it do,
I'll venture one have at him.
SUFFOLK. (aside) I another.
Eaceunt Norfolk and SUFFOLK, bowing, L.
Wolsey. (c.) Your grace has given a precedent of wisdom
Above all princes, in committing freely
Your scruple to the voice of Christendom :
Who can be angry now P what envy reach you?
The Spaniard, tied by blood and favour to her,
Must now confess, if they have any goodness,
The trial just and noble. All the clerks,
I mean the learned ones, in Christian kingdoms,
SČ. II.] KING HENRY VIII. 25
Have their free voices—Rome, the nurse of
judgment,
Invited by your noble self, hath sent
One general tongue unto us, this good man,
This just and learned priest, Cardinal Campeius;
Whom once more I present unto your highness.
KING. And once more in mine arms I bid him welcome,
And thank the holy conclave for their loves:
They have sent me such a man I would have
wish’d for.
CAMP. Your grace must needs deserve all strangers' love,
You are so noble. To your highness' hand
I tender my commission; by whose virtue,
(The court of Rome commanding) you, my lord
Cardinal of York, are join'd with me their servant,
In the impartial judging of this business.
KING. Two equal men. The queen shall be acquainted,
Forthwith, for what you come:–Where's Gardiner?
Wolsey. I know your majesty has always lov’d her
So dear in heart, not to deny her that
A woman of less place might ask by law,
Scholars allow'd freely to argue for her.
KING. Ay, and the best she shall have; and my favour
To him that does best. Cardinal,
Prithee, call Gardiner to me, my new secretary;
I find him a fit fellow. Eacit Wolsey, L.
Re-enter Wolsey, with GARDINER, L.
WoLSEY. Give me your hand; much joy and favour to you;
You are the king's now.
GARD. (to Wolsey) But to be commanded
For ever by your grace, whose hand has rais'd me.
KING. Come hither, Gardiner.
(they converse apart, walking up and down at back)
CAMP. My lord of York, was not one doctor Pace
In this man's place before him?
WOLSEY. Yes, he was.
CAMP. Was he not held a learned man 2
Wol,SEY. Yes, surely.
CAMP. Believe me, there's an ill opinion spread then
Even of yourself, lord cardinal.
C
26 RING HENRY WIII. [ACT II.
WOLSEY. How ! of me?
CAMP. They will not stick to say you envied him;
And fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous,
Kept him a foreign man still; which so griev'd him,
That he ran mad, and died.
WOLSEY. Heaven's peace be with him
That's Christian care enough : for living murmurers
There's places of rebuke. He was a fool;
For he would needs be virtuous: That good fellow,
If I command him, follows my appointment;
I will have none so near else. Learn this, brother,
We live not to be grip'd by meaner persons.
RING. Deliver this with modesty to the queen.
Eacit GARDINER, L.
The most convenient place that I can think of,
for such receipt of learning, is Black-friars;
There ye shall meet about this weighty business:
My Wolsey, see it furnish’d. O my lord,
Would it not grieve an able man, to leave
So sweet a bedfellow? But, conscience, conscience,
O, 'tis a tender place, and I must leave her.
Eaceunt, R.
SCENE III.—An Antechamber in the Queen's Apartments.
Enter ANNE BULLEN and OLD LADY, L.
ANNE. Not for that neither:—Here's the pang that pinches:
His highness having liv'd so long with her: and she
So good a lady, that no tongue could ever
Pronounce dishonour of her, by my life,
She never knew harm-doing :—0 now, after
So many courses of the sum enthron'd,
Still growing in a majesty and pomp, the which
To leave, a thousand-fold more bitter than
'Tis sweet at first to acquire. Verily,
I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born
And range with humble livers in content,
Than to be perk’d up in a glistering grief,
And wear a golden sorrow.
OLD LADY. Our content
Is our best having.
SC. III.] KING HENRY VIII. 27
ANNE. By my troth,
I would not be a queen.
OLD LADY. Troth, and troth l—You would not be a queen?
ANNE. No, not for all the riches under heaven.
OLD LADY. 'Tis strange : a three-pence bowed would
hire me,
Old as I am, to queen it: But, I pray you,
What think you of a duchess? have you limbs
To bear that load of title P
ANNE. How you do talk |
I swear again, I would not be a queen
For all the world.
OLD LADY. In faith, for little England
You'd venture. I myself
Would for Carnarvonshire, although there 'long'd
No more to the crown but that. Lo, who comes here?
Enter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN L.
CHAMB. Good morrow, ladies. What wer’t worth to know
The secret of your conference 2
ANNE. My good lord,
Not your demand; it values not your asking :
Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying.
CHAMB. It was a gentle business, and becoming
The action of good women : there is hope
All will be well.
ANNE. Now I pray heav'n, amen
CHAMB. You bear a gentle mind, and heavenly blessings
Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady,
Perceive I speak sincerely, and high note 's
Ta'en of your many virtues, the king's majesty
Commends his good opinion of you to you, and
Does purpose honour to you no less flowing
Than Marchioness of Pembroke; to which title
A thousand pound a-year, annual support,
Out of his grace he adds. -
ANNE. I do not know
What kind of my obedience I should tender,
More than my all is nothing; nor my prayers
Are not words duly hallow’d, nor my wishes
Mere worth than empty vanities; yet prayers, and
wishes,
28 RING HENRY WIII. [ACT II.
Are all I can return. Beseech your lordship,
Vouchsafe to speak my thanks, and my obedience,
As from a blushing handmaid to his highness;
- Whose health and royalty I pray for. ta
CHAMB. Lady,
I shall not fail to improve the fair conceit [aside
The king hath of you.-I have perus’d her well;
Beauty and honour in her are so mingled,
That they have caught the king: and who knows yet,
But from this lady may proceed a gem
To lighten all this isle !—I’ll to the king,
And say, I spoke with you.
ANNE. - My honour’d lord.
- - Eacit LORD CHAMBERLAIN, L.
ANNE. This is strange to me.
OLD LADY. How tastes it? is it bitter? forty pence, no.
There was a lady once, (it's an old story,)
That would not be a queen, that would she not,
For all the mud in Egypt:-have you heard it?
ANNE. Come, you are pleasant.
OLD LADY. With your theme I could
O'ermount the lark. The Marchioness of Pembroke:
A thousand pounds a year ! for pure respect;
No other obligation. By my life,
That promises more thousands: honour's train.
Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time,
I know your back will bear a duchess;–Say,
Are you not stronger than you were 2
ANNE. Good lady
Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy,
And leave me out on ’t. Would I had no being,
If this elate my blood a jot; it faints me
To think what follows.
The queen is comfortless, and we forgetful
In our long absence : Pray, do not deliver
What here you have heard, to her. -
OLD LADY. What do you think me? Eaceunt, R.
SCENE IV.—A Hall in Black-friars.
NoBLEs, LADIES, GENTLEMEN, GUARD, two VERGERS with
short silver wands; meat them two SCRIBES, in the habits
SC. Iv.j KING HENRY WIII. 29
w
of doctors, the ARCHBISHOP of CANTERBURY, the BISHOPS
OF LINCOLN, ELY, RochestER, and SAINT AsAPH, GEN-
TLEMEN bearing the purse, with the great seal, and a
cardinal's hat; two PRIESTs, bearing each a silver cross,
GENTLEMAN-USHER, a SERGEANT-AT-ARMs, bearing a
silver mace, two GENTLEMEN, bearing two great silver
pillars, CARDINALs Wolsey and CAMPETUS, two NoHLE-
MEN with sword and made discovered. Trumpets—enter
the KING and his TRAINs—the KING takes place under
the cloth of state, the two CARDINALs sit under him as
judges. Then enter the QUEEN who takes place at some
distance from the KING, the BISHoPs place themselves on
each side of the court, in manner of a consistory, below
them the SCRIBEs—the LORDs sit neart the BISHOPS–the
CRIER and the rest of the ATTENDANTs stand in convenient
order about the stage.
WoLSEY. Whilst our commission from Rome is read,
Let silence be commanded.
KING. What 's the need ?
It hath already publicly been read,
And on all sides the authority allow'd;
You may then spare that time.
WOLSEY. Be 't so :—Proceed.
ScRIBE. Say, Henry king of England, come into the court.
CRIER. Henry king of England, come into the court.
KING. Here.
ScRIBE. Say, Katharine Queen of England, come into the
COurt.
CRIER. Katharine Queen of England, come into the court.
(the QUEEN makes no answer, rises out of her chair,
goes about the court, comes to the KING, and kneels
at his feet; then speaks)
Q. KATH. Sir, I desire you, do me right and justice;
And to bestow your pity on me : for
I am a most poor woman, and a stranger,
Born out of your dominions; having here
No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance
Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir,
In what have I offended you? what cause
Hath my behaviour given to your displeasure,
30 RTNG HENRY WIII. [ACT II.
"That thus you should proceed to put me off,
And take your good grace from me? Heaven
witness,
I have been to you a true and humble wife,
At all times to your will conformable:
*[Even in fear to kindle your dislike,
Yea, subject to your countenance; glad, or sorry,
As I saw it inclin'd. When was the hour,
I ever contradicted your desire,
Or made it not mine too? Or which of your friends
Have I not strove to love, although I knew
He were mine enemy.]* What friend of mine
That had to him deriv'd your anger, did I
Continue in my liking? Nay, gave notice
He was from thence discharg'd? Sir, call to mind
That I have been your wife, in this obedience,
Upward of twenty years, and have been blest
With many children by you : If, in the course
And process of this time, you can report,
And prove it too, against mine honour aught,
My bond to wedlock, or my love and duty,
Against your Sacred person, in God's name,
Turn me away; and let the foul'st contempt
Shut door upon me, and so give me up
To the sharpest kind of justice. Please you, sir,
The king, your father, was reputed for
A prince most prudent, of an excellent
And unmatch'd wit and judgment: Ferdinand,
My father, king of Spain, was reckon'd one
The wisest prince, that there had reign'd by many
A year before—It is not to be question'd
That they had gather'd a wise council to them
Of every realm, that did debate this business,
Who deem'd our marriage lawful—Wherefore I
humbly
Beseech you, sir, to spare me, till I may
Be by my friends in Spain advis'd; whose counsel
I will implore; if not, i' the name of heav'n
Your pleasure be fulfill’d l (resumes her seat)
WoLSEY. (rises) You have here, lady,
(And of your choice,) these reverend fathers; men
SC. IV.] KING HENRY VIII. 31
Of singular integrity and learning,
Yea, the elect o'the land, who are assembled
To plead your cause: It shall be therefore bootless,
That longer you defee the court; as well
For your own quiet, as to rectify
What is unsettled in the king.
OAMP. His grace
/Hath spoken well, and justly: Therefore, madam,
It 's fit this royal session do proceed;
And that, without delay, their arguments
Be now produc’d, and heard.
Q. KATH. Lord cardinal,
To you I speak.
WOLSEY. Your pleasure, madam?
Q. KATH. Sir,
I am about to weep; but, thinking that
We are a queen, (or long have dream’d so,) certain
The daughter of a king, my drops of tears
I'll turn to sparks of fire.
WOLSEY. Be patient yet.
Q. KATII. I will, when you are humble; nay, before,
Or heav'n will punish me. I do believe,
Induc’d by potent circumstances, that
You are mine enemy; and make my challenge:
You shall not be my judge : for it is you
Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me,
Which heav'n's dew quench! Therefore, Isayagain,
I utterly abhor, yea, from my soul
Refuse you for my judge: whom, yet once more,
I hold my most malicious foe, and think not
At all a friend to truth.
WOLSEY. I do profess,
You speak not like yourself; who ever yet
Have stood to charity, and display'd the effects
Of disposition gentle, and of wisdom
O'ertopping woman's power. Madam, you do me
wrong:
I have no spleen against you; nor injustice
For you, or any : how far I have proceeded,
Or how far farther shall, is warranted
By a commission from the consistory,
32
KING HENRY WIII, [ACT II.
...,’
Yea, the whole consistory of Rome. You charge me
That I have blown this coal: I do deny it :
The king is present: if it be known to him
That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound,
- And worthily, my falsehood 2 yea, as much
As you have done my truth. If he know
That I am free of your report, he knows
I am not of your wrong. Therefore, in him
It lies to cure me: and the cure is, to
Remove these thoughts from you: The which before
His highness shall speak in, I do beseech
You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking,
And to say so no more.
Q. KATH. My lord, my lord,
CAMP.
KING.
CRIER.
I am a simple woman, much too weak
To oppose your cunning. You are meek and hum-
ble-mouth'd;
You sign your place and calling, in full seeming
With meekness and humility: but your heart
Is cramm'd with arrogancy, spleen, and pride.
*[You have, by fortune, and his highness' favours,
Gone slightly o'er low steps: and now are mounted
Where powers are your retainers: and your words,
Domestics to you, serve your will as 't please
Yourself pronounce their office.]* I must tell you,
You tender more your person's honour than
Your high profession spiritual : That again
I do refuse you for my judge; and here,
Before you all, appeal unto the pope,
To bring my whole cause 'fore his holiness,
And to be judg’d by him.
(she curtseys to the KING and offers to depart)
--- The queen is obstinate,
Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and
Disdainful to be tried by it; 'tis not well.
She's going away.
Call her again.
Katharine queen of England, come into the court
GRIFFITH. (who is preceding her) Madam, you are call’d back.
Q. KATH. What need you note it? pray you, keep your way:
When you are call’d, return.—Now the Lord help,
SC. IV.] KING HENRY VIII. 33
They vex me past my patience;—pray you, pass on:
I will not tarry : no, nor ever more,
Upon this business, my appearance make
In any of their courts.
Eaceunt QUEEN, GRIFFITH, and her other ATTENDANTs.
KING.
Go thy ways, Kate:
That man i' the world who shall report he has
A better wife, let him in nought be trusted,
For speaking false in that: Thou art, alone,
(If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness,
Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government,
Obeying in commanding, and thy parts
Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out,)
The queen of earthly queens:–She's noble born ;
And, like her true nobility, she has
Carried herself towards me.
WOLSEY. Most gracious sir,
KING.
In humblest manner I require your highness,
That it shall please you to declare, in hearing
Of all these ears (for where I am robb’d and bound,
There must I be unloos'd), whether ever I
Did broach this business to your highness; or
Laid any scruple in your way, which might
Induce you to the question on 't?
My lord cardinal,
I do excuse you; yea, upon mine honour,
I free you from 't. You are not to be taught
That you have many enemies, that know not
Why they are so, but, like to village curs,
Bark when their fellows do : by some of these
The queen is put in anger. You are excus'd :
But will you be more justified? you ever
Have wish'd the sleeping of this business; never
Desir'd it to be stirr'd : but oft have hinder'd, oft,
The passages made toward it :—on my honour,
I speak my good lord cardinal to this point,
And thus far clear him. Now, what mov’d me to 't,
Thus it came ;-give heed to 't:
My conscience first receiv'd a tenderness,
Scruple, and prick, on certain speeches utter'd
By the Bishop of Bayonne, then French ambassador;
34
KING HENRY WIII. [ACT III.
Whether our daughter were legitimate,
Respecting this our marriage with the dowager
Sometime our brother's wife.
For no dislike i' the world against the person
Of the good queen, •
Prove but our marriage lawful, by my life,
And kingly dignity, we are contented
To wear our mortal state to come to her,
Katharine our queen, before the primest creature
That’s paragon'd o' the world.
CAMP. (rises) So please your highness,
The queen being absent, 't is a needful fitness,
That we adjourn this court till farther day:
Meanwhile must be an earnest motion
Made to the queen, to call back her appeal
She intends unto his holiness. (they all rise)
KING. (aside, in anger) I may perceive,
These cardinals trifle with me : I abhor
This dilatory sloth, and tricks of Rome.
My learn’d and well-beloved servant, Cranmer,
Prithee, return with thy approach, I know,
My comfort comes along. Break up the court:
I say, set on.
Eaceunt in the manner as they entered—trumpets
—the KING and his SUITE go off, L., a general
movement to depart.
END OF ACT II.
ACT III.
[Scene I.-"Palace at Bridewell. A Room in the Queen's
Apartment.
The QUEEN and some of her WomEN, at work.
Q. KATH. Take thy lute, wench; my soul grows sad with
troubles:
Sing, and disperse them if thoucanst. Leave working.
SONG.
Orpheus with his lute made trees,
And the mountain-tops that freeze,
SC. I.] RING HENRY WIII. 35
Bow themselves, when he did sing.
To his music, plants and flowers
Ever sprung; as sun and showers
There had made a lasting spring.
Everything that heard him play,
Even the billows of the sea,
Hung their heads, and then lay by.
In sweet music is such art:
Killing care and grief of heart
Fall asleep, or hearing, die.
Enter a GRIFFITH, L.
Q. KATH. How now 2
GRrFFITH. An 't please your grace, the two great cardinals
Wait in the presence.
Q. KATH. Would they speak with me?
GRIFFITH. They will'd me say so, madam.
Q. KATH. Pray their graces
To come near. Eacit, GRIFFITH.
What can be their business
With me, a poor weak woman, fallen from favour?
I do not like their coming. Now I think on 't,
They should be good men; their affairs as righteous:
But all hoods make not monks.
Enter WoLSEY and CAMPEIUs, ushered in by GRIFFITH, L.
Worsey. Peace to your highness,
Q. KATH. Your graces find me here part of a housewife;
I would be all, against the worst may happen.
What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords?
WoLSEY. May it please you, noble madam, to withdraw
Into your private chamber, we shall give you
The full cause of our coming.
Q. KATH. Speak it here;
There 's nothing I have done yet, o' my conscience,
Deserves a corner. Truth loves open dealing.
Wol,SEY. Tanta est ergă te mentis integritas, regina
serentsstma,
Q, KATH. O good my lord, no latin;
I am not such a truant since my coming,
As not to know the language I have liv'd in :
A strange tongue makes my cause more strange,
Suspicious;
36
KING HENRY VIII. [ACT III.
Pray speakin English; here are some will thankyou,
If you speak truth, for their poor mistress' sake;
Believeme, she has had much wrong : Lord cardinal,
The willing'st sin I ever yet committed
May be absolv’d in English.
Wol,SEY. Noble lady,
CAMP.
I am sorry my integrity should breed,
(And service to his majesty and you,)
So deep suspicion where all faith was meant.
We come not by the way of accusation,
To taint that honour every good tongue blesses;
Nor to betray you any way to sorrow ;
You have too much, good lady: but to know
How you stand minded in the weighty difference
Between the king and you; and to deliver,
Like free and honest men, our just opinions,
And comforts to your cause.
Most honour'd madam,
My lord of York,+out of his noble nature,
Zeal and obedience he still bore your grace;
Forgetting, like a good man, your late censure
Both of his truth and him, (which was too far)—
Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace,
His service and his counsel.
Q. KATH. (aside) To betray me.
My lords, I thank you both for your good wills;
Ye speak like homest men (pray heav'n, ye prove so);
But how to make ye suddenly an answer,
In such a point of weight, so near mine honour,
(More near my life, I fear,) with my weak wit,
And to such men of gravity and learning,
In truth, I know not. I was set at work
Among my maids; full little, heav'n knows, looking
Either for such men, or such business.
For her sake that I have been, for I feel
The last fit of my greatness, good your graces,
Let me have time, and counsel, for my cause;
Alas! I am a woman, friendless, hopeless.
WoLSEY. Madam, you wrong the king's love with these
fears;
Your hopes and friends are infinite.
SC. I.] KING HENRY VIII. 37
Q, KATH. In England
But little for my profit : Can you think, lords,
That any Englishman dare give me counsel?
Or be a known friend, 'gainst his highness' pleasure,
(Though he be grown so desperate to be honest)
And live a subject P Nay, forsooth, my friends,
They that must weigh out my afflictions,
They that my trust must grow to, live mothere:
They are, as all my other comforts, far hence,
In mine own country, lords.
CAMP. I would your grace
Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel.
Q. KATH. How, sir?
CAMP. Put your main cause into the king's protection,
He's loving, and most gracious; 't will be much
Both for your honour better, and your cause;
For, if the trial of the law o'ertake you,
You 'll part away disgrac'd,
WOLSEY. He tells you rightly.
Q. KATH. Ye tell me what ye wish for both, my ruin:
Is this your Christian counsel? out upon yel
Heaven is above all yet; there sits a judge
That no king can corrupt.
CAMP. Your rage mistakes us.
Q, KATH. The more shame for ye! holy men I thought ye,
Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues;
But cardinal sins, and hollow hearts, I fear ye:—
Mend them, for shame, my lords. Is this your
comfort? i
The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady ?
A woman lost among ye, laugh’d at, scorn'd?
I will not wish ye half my miseries,
I have more charity: but say I warn'd ye :
Take heed, for heaven's sake, take heed, lest at once
The burden of my sorrows fall upon ye.
WoLSEY. Madam, this is a mere distraction;
You turn the good we offer into envy.
Q, KATH. Ye turn me into nothing. Woe upon ye,
And all such false professors l Would ye have me
(If you have any justice, any pity; -
If ye be anything but churchmen's habits)
D
38
RING HENRY WIII. [ACT III.
CAMP.
Put my sick cause into his hands that hates me?
Alas! he has banish'd me his love already;
And all the fellowship I hold now with him
Is only my obedience. What can happen
To me above this wretchedness? all your studies
Make me a curse like this.
Your fears are worse.
Q. KATH. Have I liv'd thus long—(let me speak myself,
Since virtue finds no friends)—a wife, a true one?
A woman (I dare say, without vain-glory)
Never yet branded with suspicion?
Have I with all my full affections
Still met the king? lov'd him next heaven? obey'd
him 2
Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him?
Almost forgot my prayers to content him P
And am I thus rewarded ?’t is not well, lords.
Bring me a constant woman to her husband,
One that ne'er dream’d a joy beyond his pleasure;
And to that woman, when she has done most,
Yet will I add an honour, a great patience.
Wolsey. Madam, you wander from the good we aim at.
Q. KATH. My lord, I dare not make myself so guilty,
To give up willingly that noble title
Your master wed me to : nothing but death
Shall e'er divorce my dignities.
WOLSEY. . Pray, hear me.
Q, KATH. Would I had never trod this English earth,
Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it!
Ye have angels' faces, but heaven knows your hearts.
What will become of me now, wretched lady?
I am the most unhappy woman living.
Alas! poor wenches, where are now your fortunes?
(to her Women) Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom,
where no pity, - *
No friends, no hope; no kindred weep for me;
Almost no grave allow'd me :—Like the lily,
That once was mistress of the field and flourish'd,
I'll hang my head and perish.
WOLSEY. If your grace
Could but be brought to know our ends are honest,
SC. I.] KING HENRY VIII. 39
You'd feel more comfort: why should we, good lady,
Upon what cause, wrong you? alas ! our places,
The way of our profession is against it;
We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow them.
For goodness' sake, consider, pray think us
Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and
servants.
CAMP. Madam, you’ll find it so. You wrong your virtues
With these weak women's fears. If you please
To trust us in your business, we are ready
To use our utmost studies in your service.
Q. KATH. Do what ye will, my lords: and, pray, forgive me,
- If I have us'd myself unmannerly;
You know, I am a woman, lacking wit
To make a seemly answer to such persons.
Pray, do my service to his majesty:
He has my heart yet; and shall have my prayer3
While I shall have my life. Come, reverend fathers,
Bestow your counsels on me: she now begs,
That little thought, when she set footing here,
She should have bought her dignities so dear.
- They retire up and are closed in by
SCENE II.--Antechamber to the King's Apartment; doors c.
Enter the DUKE of Norfolk, the DUKE of SUFFolk,
the EARL OF SURREY, and the LORD CHAMBERLAIN, L.
NoRFoLK. (R. C.) If you will now unite in your complaints,
And force them with a constancy, the cardinal
Cannot stand under them.
SURREY. (c.) I am joyful
To meet the least occasion, that might give me
Remembrance of my father-in-law, the duke,
To be reveng'd on him.
SUFFOLK. (L. C.) Which of the peers
Have uncontemn'd gone by him, or at least
Strangely neglected? when did he regard
The stamp of nobleness in any person,
Out of himself?
CHAMB. (L.) My lords, if you cannot
Bar his access to the king, never attempt
40 JKING HENRY WIII. [ACT III.
Anything on him; for he hath a witchcraft
Over the king in his tongue.
NorFolk. O, fear him not;
His spell in that is out: the king hath found
Matter against him, that for ever mars
The honey of his language.
In the divorce, his contrary proceedings
Are all unfolded; wherein he appears,
As I would wish mine enemy.
SURREY. How came
His practiees to light?
SUFFolk. The cardinal's letter to the pope misearried,
And came to the eye o’ the king: wherein was read,
How that the cardinal did entreat his holiness
To stay the judgment o' the divoree: For if
It did take place, “I do,” quoth he, “perceive,
My king is tangled in affection to
A creature of the queen's, Lady Anne Bullen.”
CHAMB. The king in this perceives him, how he coasts
And hedges his own way. But in this point
All his tricks founder, and he brings his physic
After his patient's death; the king already
Hath married the fair lady.
SURREY. *Would he had 1
SUFFOLK. May you be happy in your wish, my lord I
For, I profess, you have it.
There's order given for her coronation.
She is a gallant creature, and complete
In mind and feature : I persuade me, from her
Will fall some blessing to this land, which shall
In it be memoriz'd.
SURREY. But, will the king
Digest this letter of the cardinal's?
SUFFOLK. No, no l Cardinal Campeius
Is stolen away to Rome; hath ta'en no leave;
Has left the cause o’ the king unhandled; and
Is posted, as the agent of our cardinal,
To second all his plot. I do assure you,
The king cried, ha! at this.
NORFOLK. But, my lord,
When returns Cranmer ?
SC. II.] KING HENRY VIII. 41
SUFFolk. He is return'd, in his opinions; which,
Have:satisfied the king for his divorce,
Together with all famous colleges
Almost in Christendom. Shortly, I.believe,
His second marriage shall be publish'd, and
Her coronation. Katharine no more
Shall be call'd queen; but princess dowager,
And widow to Prince Arthur. The cardinal—.
(they retire up, L.)
t Enter Wolsey and CROMwFLL. R. .
Norfolk. Observe, observe, he's moody.
WoLSEY. (c.) The packet, Cromwell, gave it you the king?.
CROM. To his own hand, in his bedchamber.
Wolsey. Look'd he o’ the inside of the paper?:
CROM. Presently
He did unseal them : and the first he view’d,
He did it with a serious mind; a heed
Was in his countenance: you, he bade
Attend him here; this morning.
WOLSEY. Is he ready
To come abroad 2. ~
CROM. I think, by this he is.
Wols EY. Leave me a while. Eacit CROMWELL, L.
It shall be to the Duchess of Alençon,
The French king's sister: he shall marry her.
Anne Bullen? No; I'll no-Anne Bullens for him :
There is no more in it than fair visage.—Bullen
No, we 'll mo Bullens.—Speedily I wish
To hearfrom Rome—The Marchioness of Pembroke!
The late queen's gentlewoman; a knight's daughter,
To be her mistress' mistress the queen's queen 1.
This candle burns not clear; ’t is I must snuff it;
Them outit goes.—What though I know her virtuous,
And well deserving? yet I know her for
A spleeny Lutheran; and not wholesome to
Our cause, that she should lie iſ the bosom of
Our hard-rul’d king. Again, there is sprung up
An heretic, an arch one, Cranmer, one;
Hath crawl'd into the favour of the king,
And is his oracle. (going, R.)
42 #ING HENRY VIII. [ACT 111.
Norfolk. . He is vex'd at something.
SUFFOLK. I would 'twere something that would fret the
string,
The master-cord of his heart!—The king, the king.
c. doors are thrown open by LovELL, and the KING enters
reading a schedule, followed by LovELL.
KING. What piles of wealth hath he accumulated
To his own portion l and what expense by the hour
Seems to flow from him l How, i' the name of thrift,
Does he rake this together?—Now, my lords,
Saw you the cardinal?
NoRFOLK. (up R.) My lord, we have
Stood here observing him: Some strange commotion
Is in his brain. In most strange postures
We have seen him set himself.
- - It may well be;
There is a mutiny in 's mind. This morning
Papers of state he sent me to peruse,
As I requir'd : and wot you what I found
There? (on my conscience, put unwittingly)
Forsooth, an inventory, thus importing,
The several parcels of his plate, his treasure,
Rich stuffs, and ornaments of household; which
I find at such proud rate, that it out-speaks
Possession of a subject. I am afraid
His thinkings are below the moon, not worth
His serious considering.
(he whispers LovELL, who goes to Wolsey)
WoLSEY. (turning) Heaven forgive me !
And ever bless your highness |
KING. Good my lord,
You are full of heavenly stuff, and bear theinventory
Of your best graces in your mind; the which
You were now running o'er ; you have scarce time
To steal from spiritual leisure a brief span,
To keep your earthly audit: Sure, in that
I deem you an ill husband; and am glad
To have you therein my companion.
WOLSEY. Sir,
For holy offices I have a time; a time
KING.
SC. II.] KING HENRY WIII. 43
To think upon the part of business, which
I bear i' the state; and nature does require
Her times of preservation, which, perforce,
I her frail son, amongst my brethren mortal,
Must give my tendance to.
KING. You have said well.
WoLSEY. And ever may your highness yoke together,
As I will lend you cause, my doing well
With my well-saying ! -
KING. 'Tis well said again;
And 'tis a kind of good deed, to say well :
And yet words are no deeds. My father lov'd you :
He said he did, and with his deed did crown
His word upon you : since I had my office,
I have kept you next my heart; have not alone
Employ'd you where high profits might come home,
But par'd my present havings, to bestow
My bounties upon you.
WOLSEY. What should this mean?
SURREY. (aside) The Lord increase this business!
KING. Have I not made you
The prime man of the state? I pray you, tell me,
If what I now pronounce you have found true:
And, if you may confess it, say withal,
If you are bound to us, or no. What say you ?
WoLSEY. My sovereign, I confess, your royal graces,
Shower'd on me daily, have been more than could
My studied purposes requite; which went
Beyond all man's endeavours:–my endeavours
Have ever come too short of my desires,
Yet, fil'd with my abilities. I do profess
That for your highness’ good I ever labour'd
More than mine own; that am, have, and will be.
Though all the world should crack their duty to you
And throw it from their soul; though perils did
Abound, as thick as thought could make them, and
Appear in forms more horrid; yet my duty,
As doth a rock against the chiding flood,
Should the approach of this wild river break,
And stand unshaken yours.
KING. 'Tis nobly spoken :
44
KING HENRY WIII. [ACT III.
Take notice, lords, he has a loyal-breast,
For you have seen him open't.—Read o'er this;
- (giving him papers)
And, after, this: , and then to breakfast, with
What appetite you have.
Eacit KING, C., frowning upon CARDINAL WolsFY : the
NoBLEs throng after him, smiling, and whispering.
WOLSEY. What should this mean?
What sudden anger's this? how have I reap'd it?
He parted frowning from me, as if ruin -
Leap'd from his eyes:...so looks the chafed lion
Upon the daring huntsman, that has gall'd him;
Then makes him nothing. I must read this paper:
I fear, the story of his anger.—'Tis so:
This paper has undone me!—'Tis the account
Of all that world of wealth I have drawn together
For mine own ends; indeed, to gain the popedom,
And fee my friends in Rome. O megligence,
Fit for a fool to fall by . What cross devil
Made me put this main secret in the packet
I sent the king? Is there no way to cure this?
No new device to beat this from his brains?
I know 't will stir him strongly; Yet I know
A way, if it take right, in spite of fortune
Will bring me off again. What's this—“To the
Pope 2"
The letter, as I live, with all, the business
I writ to his holiness. Nay then, farewell !
I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness:
And, from that full meridian of my glory,
I haste now to my setting. I shall fall
Like a bright exhalation in the evening,
And no man see me more.
Enter the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, the EARL of
SURREY, and the LORD CHAMBERLAIN, C.
Norfolk. (L. C.) Hear the king's pleasure, cardinal; who
commands you
To render up the great seal presently
Into our hands; and to confine yourself
To Asher-house, my lord of Winchester's
Till you hear further from his highness,
$C. II.] KING HENRY WIII. 45
WoLSEY. (c.) Stay,
Where's your commission, lords? words cannot carry
Authority so weighty. -
SUFFOLK. Who dares cross them,
Bearing the king's will from his mouth expressly?
Wolsey. Till I find more than will, or words, to do it,
(I mean your malice) know, officious lords,
I dare, and must deny it. Now I feel
Of what coarse metal ye are moulded,—envy.
How eagerly ye follow my disgraces,
As if it fed yel and how sleek and wanton
Ye appear in everything may bring my ruin!
follow your envious courses, men of malice ;
You have Christian warrant for them, and, no doubt,
In time will find their fit rewards. That seal
You ask with such a violence, the king,
(Mine, and yourmaster,) with his own handgave me:
Bade me enjoy it, with the place and honours,
During my life, and, to confirm his goodness,
Tied it by letters patent . Now, who'll take it?
SURREY. (R.) The king that gave it.
WOLSEY. It must be himself then.
SURREY. Thou art a proud traitor, priest.
WOLSEY. Proud lord, thou,liest;
Within these forty hours. Surrey durist better
Have burnt that tongue, than said so.
SURREY. Thy ambition,
Thou Scarlet sin, robb'd this bewailing land
Of noble Buckingham, my father-in-law :
You sent me deputy for Ireland:
Far from his succour, from the king, from all
That might have merey on the fault thougav'st him;
Whilst your great goodness, out of holy pity
Absolv’d him with an axe.
WOLSEY. This, and all else
This talking lord can lay upon my credit,
I answer is most false. The duke by law
Found his deserts : how innocent I was
From any private malice in his end,
His noble jury and foul cause can witness.
If I lov'd many words, lord, I should tell you,
46 KING HENRY WIII. |ACT III.
You have as little honesty as honour,
That I, in the way of loyalty and truth
Toward the king, my ever royal master,
Dare mate a sounder man than Surrey can be.
And all that love his follies. - -
SURREY. By my soul,
Your long coat, priest, protects you; thou shouldst
feel
My Sword i' the life-blood of thee else.—My lords,
Can ye endure to hear this arrogance 2
And from this fellow? If we live thus tamely
To be thus jaded by a piece of scarlet,
Farewell nobility; let his grace go forward,
And dare us with his cap, like larks.
Wol,SEY. All goodness
Is poison to thy stomach.
SURREY. Yes, that goodness
Of gleaning all the land's wealth into one,
Into your own hands, cardinal, by extortion ;
The goodness of your intercepted packets, -
You writ to the pope, against the king : your
goodness,
Since you provoke me, shall be most motorious.
My lord of Norfolk, as you are truly noble,
As you respect the common good, the state
Of our despis’d nobility, our issues,
(Who, if he live, will scarce be gentleman,)
Produce the grand sum of his sins, the articles
Collected from his life :—I’ll startle you
Worse than the sacring bell, when the brown wench
Lay kissing in your arms, lord cardinal.
WoLSEY. How much, methinks, I could despise this man,
But that I am bound in charity against it !
NoRFOLK. Those articles, my lord, are in the king's hand :
But, thus much, they are foul ones. , -
WOLSEY. So much fairer,
And spotless, shall mine innocence arise,
When the king knows my truth. -
SURREY. This cannot save you :
I thank my memory, I yet remember
Some of these articles; and out they shall.
SC. II.] RING HENRY WIII. 47
Now, if you can blush, and cry guilty, cardinal,
You'll show a little honesty.
"WOLSEY. Speak on, sir;
I dare your worst objections: if I blush,
It is to see a nobleman want manners.
SUFFolk. I’d rather want those, than my head. Have at you.
First, that without the king's assent or knowledge,
You wrought to be a legate; by which power
You maim'd the jurisdiction of all bishops.
Norfolk. Then, that in all you writ to Rome, or else
To foreign princes, Ego et Rea: meus
Was still inscrib'd; in which you brought the king
To be your servant.
Suffolk. That out of mere ambition, you have caus'd
Your holy hat to be stamp'd on the king's coin.
SURREY. Then, that you have sent innumerable substance,
(By what means got, Ileave to your own conscience,)
To furnish Rome, and to prepare the ways -
You have for dignities; to the mere undoing
Of all the kingdom. Many more there are ;
Which, since they are of you, and odious,
I will not taint my mouth with.
CIIAMB. (L.) O my lord,
Press not a falling man too far; ’t is virtue;
His faults lie open to the laws; let them,
Not you, correct him. My heart weeps to see him.
So little of his great self.
SURREY. I forgive him.
SUFFOLK. Lord cardinal, the king's farther pleasure is,
To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements,
And chattels whatsoever, and to be
Out of the king's protection. This is my charge.
NorFOLK. And so we'll leave you to your meditations
How to live better. For your stubborn answer,
About the giving back the great seal to us,
The king shall knowit, and, no doubtshall thank you.
So fare you well, my little good lord cardinal.
Eaceunt all but Wolsey, c.
Wolsey. So, farewell to the little good you bear me.
Farewell a long farewell, to all my greatness
This is the state of man : to-day he puts forth
48 RING HENRY VEII. [ACT III.
The tender leaves of hopes, to-morrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him :
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost; -
And,-when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a ripening, -nips his root,
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd,
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
This many summers in a sea of glory;
But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride
At length broke under me; and now has left me,
Weary, and old with service, to the mercy
Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye;
I feel my heart new open'd : C, how wretched .
Is that poor man that hangs on princes’ favours :
There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to;
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have ;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.”—
Enter CROMWELL, amazedly, L,
Why, how now, Cromwell?
CROM. I have no power to speak, sir.
WOLSEY. What, amaz'd
At my misfortunes? can thy spirit wonder
A great man should decline P Nay, an you weep,
I am falleh indeed.
CROM. How does your grace 2 ... ." . *
WOLSEY, Why well;
Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.
I know myself now ; and I feel within me
A peace above all earthly dignities,
A still and quiet conscience. The king has cur'd me,
I humbly thank his grace; and from these shoulders,
These ruin’d pillars, out of pity, taken
A load would sink a navy—too much honour.
(), 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden,
Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven.
CROM. I am glad your grace has made that right use of it.
Wolsey. I hope I have : I am able now, methinks,
SC. II.] KING HENRY WIII. 49
(Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,)
To endure more miseries, and greater far,
Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer.
What news abroad P
CROM. . The heaviest, and the worst,
Is your displeasure with the king.
WOLSEY. - God bless him
CROM. The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chosen
Lord chancellor in your place.
WoLSEY, º . That's somewhat sudden :
But he 's a learned man. May he continue
Long in his highness' favour, and do justice
For truth's sake, and his conscience; that his bones,
When he has run his course, and sleeps in blessings,
May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on 'em!
What more ?
CROM. That Cranmer is returned with welcome,
Install'd lord archbishop of Canterbury,
Wol,SEY. That's news indeed.
Crosſ. Last, that the lady Anne,
Whom the king hath in secrecy long married,
This day was view’d in open, as his queen,
Going to chapel; and the voice is now
Only about her coronation.
Wolsey. There was the weight that pull'd me down. O,
Cromwell,
The king has gone beyond me; all my glories
In that one woman I have lost for ever.
No sun shall ever usher forth mine honours,
Or gild again the noble troops that waited
Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell,
I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now
To be thy lord and master: Seek the king;
(That sun, I pray, may never set !) I have told him
What, and how true thou art: he will advance thee;
Some little memory of me will stir him,
(I know his noble nature) not to let
Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Cromwell,
Neglect him not; make use now, and provide
For thine own future safety.
("Rom. O, my lord,
gº F.
50
KING HENRY VIII. [ACT III.
Must I then leave you? must I needs forego
So good, so noble, and so true a master?
Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron,
With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord.—
The king shall have my service; but my prayers
For ever, and for ever, shall be yours. t
Wolsey. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear
In all my miseries; but thou hast forc'd me
Out of thy honest truth to play the woman.
Let’s dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, Cromwell;
And, -when I am forgotten, as I shall be;
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
Of me more must be heard of.-say, I taught thee;
Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory,
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, -
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in;
A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it.
Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me.
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition :
By that sin fell the angels; how can man, then,
The image of his Maker, hope to win by 'tº
Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee;
Corruption wins not more than honesty.
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,
To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not ;
Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's.
Thy God's, and truth's; then, if thou fall'st, O
Cromwell,
Thou fall'st a blessed martyr.
Serve the king; and,-Prithee, lead me in :
There take an inventory of all I have,
To the last penny; ’t is the king's : my robe,
And my integrity to heaven, is all
I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell,
Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal
I serv'd my king, he would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies.
CROM. Good sir, have patience.
WoLSEY. So I have. Farewell
The hopes of court my hopes in heaven do dwell.
Eaceunt, R.
END OF ACT III.
KING HENRY WIII, 51
ACT IV.
ScFNE I.—A Street in Westminster.
A concourse of PEOPLE assembled in waiting for the proces-
sion. Bells ringing joyfully.
Enter Two GENTLEMEN, meeting.
1st GENT. You are well met once again.
2ND GENT. And so are you.
1st GENT. You come to take your stand here, and behold
The Lady Anne pass from her coronation?
2ND GENT. "Tis all my business. At our last encounter,
The Duke of Buckingham came from his trial.
1st GENT. 'Tis very true: but that time offer'd sorrow—
- This general joy.
2ND GENT. I beseech you, what's become of Katharine,
The princess dowager? How goes her business?
1st GENT. That I can tell you too.
She was often cited, but appear'd not :
And, to be short, for not appearance, and
The king's late scruple, by the main assent
Of all these learned men she was divorc'd,
And the late marriage made of none effect:
Since which, she was remov’d to Kimbolton,
Where she remains now, sick.
2ND GENT. Alas, good lady (distant shouts—trumpets)
The trumpets sound: stand close, the queenis coming.
THE ORDER OF THE PROCESSION, L.
TRUMPETERs.
Two JUDGEs.
The PURSE BEARER and MACE BEARER.
LORD CHANCELLOR.
CHORISTERs singing.
MAYOR OF LONDON bearing the mace.
ALDERMEN.
GARTER, in his coat of arms, and, on his head, a gilt copper
C7'O?U70.
HERALDS.
MARQUIs DoRSET, bearing a sceptre of gold, on his head a
demi-coronal of gold. With him, the EARL OF SURREY,
52 KING HENRY VIII. [ACT IV.
bearing the rod of silver with the dove, crowned with an
earl's coronet. Collars of SS.
DUKE OF SUFFOLK, in his robe of estate, his coronet on his
head, bearing a long white wand, as high steward. With
him, the DUKE OF NoKFolk, with the rod of marskalship,
a coronet on his head. Collars of SS. R
A canopy borne by four of the CINQUE PORTs; under it, the
QUEEN in her robe; in her hair, richly adorned bºth
pearl, crowned. On each side of her, the BISHOPs of
LONDON and WINCHESTER. \
The old DUCHESS OF NorFolk, in a coronal of gold, ,
wrought with flowers, bearing the QUEEN’s train. 3.
Certain LADIES or CountESSEs, with plain circlets of gold
without flowers.
Eacit PROCESSION, with a great flourish of trumpets.
SCENE II.-A Street in Westminster. Enter the Two GEN-
TLEMEN, meeting a Third GENTLEMAN, R.
1st GENT. Save you, sir! where have you been broiling P
3RD GENT. Among the crowdi’ the abbey; where a finger
Could not be wedg'd in more ; I am stifled
With the mere rankness of their joy,
2ND GENT. You saw the ceremony 2
3RD GENT. That I did.
1ST GENT. How was it?
3RD GENT. Well worth the seeing.
2ND GENT. Good sir, speak it to us.
3RD GENT. As well as I am able. The rich stream
Of lords and ladies, having brought the queen
To a prepar'd place in the choir, fell off
A distance from her : while her grace sat down
In a rich chair of state, opposing freely
The beauty of her person; which when the people
Had the full view of, such a noise arose
As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest,
As loud, and to as many tunes: hats, cloaks,
(Doublets, I think,) flew up ; and had their faces
Been loose, this day they had been lost. Such joy
I never saw before.
2ND GENT. But, what follow'd?
SC. III.] KING HENRY WIII. 53
3RD GENT. At length her grace rose, and with modest paces
Came to the altar: where she kneel'd, and, saint-like,
Cast her fair eyes to heaven, and pray'd devoutly.
Then rose again, and bow'd her to the people:
When by the Archbishop of Canterbury
She had all the royal makings of a queen;
As holy oil, Edward Confessor's crown,
The rod, and bird of peace, and all such emblems,
Laid nobly on her; which perform'd, the choir,
With all the choicest music of the kingdom,
Together sung Te Deum. So she parted,
And with the same full state pac'd back again
To York-place, where the feast is held.
1ST GENT. Sir,
You must no more call it York-place, that is past:
For, since the cardinal fell, that title 's lost;
'Tis now the king's, and call’d Whitehall.
3RD GENT. Come, gentlemen, ye shall go my way, which
Is to the court, and there ye shall be my guests;
Something I can command. As I walk thither,
I'll tell ye more.
BOTH. You may command us, sir. Eaceunt.
ScENE III.-Kimbolton. An apartment in the Castle, hung
pound with arras.
Enter KATHARINE, sick ; led between GRIFFITH and PA-
TIENCE, R.
GRIFF. How does your grace?
KATII. O, Griffith, sick to death :
My legs, like loaden branches, bow to the earth,
Willing to leave their burden : reach a chair;--
(she sits L.C.) So, now, methinks I feel a little ease.
Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led'st me,
That the great child of honour, cardinal Wolsey,
Was dead?
GRIFF. Yes, madam ; but I think, your grace,
Out of the pain you suffer'd, gave no ear to't.
KATII. Prithee, good Griffith, tell me how he died :
If well, he stepp'd before me, happily,
For my example.
GRIFF. Well, the voice goes, madam :
54
KING HENRY VIII. [ACT IV.
For after the stout earl Northumberland
Arrested him at York, and brought him forward
KATH.
GRIFF.
KATH.
GRIFF.
KATH.
GRIFF.
(As a man sorely tainted) to his answer,
He fell sick suddenly, and grew so ill,
He could not sit his mule.
Alas, poor man |
At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester,
Lodg'd in the abbey; where the reverend abbot,
With all his convent, honourably receiv'd him;
To whom he gave these words,-" O father abbot,
An old man, broken with the storms of state,
Is come to lay his weary bones among ye;
Give him a little earth for charity ſ”
So went to bed: where eagerly his sickness
Pursu'd him still; and three mights after this,
About the hour of eight, (which he himself
Foretold should be his last,) full of repentance,
Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows,
He gave his honours to the world again,
His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace.
So may he rest; his faults lie gently on him
Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him,
And yet with charity:-He was a man
Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking
Himself with princes; -
His promises were, as he then was, mighty;
But his performance, as he is now, nothing !
Of his own body he was ill, and gave
The clergy ill example.
Noble madam,
Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues
We write in water. May it please your highness
To hear me speak his good now P
Yes, good Griffith,
I were malicious else.
This cardinal,
Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly
Was fashion'd to much honour from his cradle.
He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one :
Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading:
Lofty and sour to them that lov'd him not;
SC, III.] KING HENRY VIII. 55
KATII.
But, to those men that sought him, sweetas Summer;
And though he were unsatisfied in getting, -
(Which was a sin,) yet in bestowing, madam,
He was most princely : Ever witness for him
Those twins of learning, that he rais'd in you,
Ipswich, and Oxford! one of which fell with him,
Unwilling to outlive the good that did it;
The other, though unfinish’d, yet so famous,
So excellent in art, and still so rising,
That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue.
His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him;
For then, and not till then, he felt himself,
And found the blessedness of being little :
And to add greater honours to his age
Than man could give him, he died fearing God.
After my death I wish no other herald,
No other speaker of my living actions,
To keep mine honour from corruption,
But such an honest chronicler as Griffith.
Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me,
With thy religious truth and modesty,
Now in his ashes honour. Peace be with him
Patience, be near me still ; and set me lower.
I have not long to trouble thee.—Good Griffith,
Cause the musicians play me that sad note
I nam'd my knell, whilst I sit meditating
On that celestial harmony I go to.
(GRIFFITH goes off R. and returns—sad and solemn music
from without. KATHARINE sinks to sleep.
GRIFF.
She is asleep : Good wench, let's sit down quiet,
For fear we wake her;-Softly, gentle Patience.
(he sits, R. C. PATIENCE, L., and gradually sink to sleep)
The Vision. A flood of light gradually diffuses itself from
the back of the scene, falling round KATHARINE, and one
after another, Six: PERSONAGEs, clad in white robes,
wearing on their heads garlands of bays, and golden
vizards on their faces; branches of bays, or palm, in
their hands, solemnly descend. They appear to invite
KATHARINE to ascend with them, at which, (as it were by
inspiration,) she makes in her sleep signs of rejoicing, and
56 , KING HENRY WIII, [ACT IV.
holdeth up her hands to heaven; the figures slowly retire,
carrying the garlands with them. The music continues.
KATH. Spirits of peace, where are ye? Are ye all gone?
And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye
GRIFF. Madam, we are here.
KATII. It is not you I call for.
Saw ye none enter, since I slept 2
GRIFF. None, madam.
KATH. No? Saw you not, even now, a blessed troop
Invite me to a banquet; whose bright faces
Cast thousand beams upon me, like the Sun?
They promis'd me eternal happiness;
And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel
I am not worthy yet to wear: I shall
Assuredly.
GRIFF. I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams
Possess your fancy.
KATH. Bid the music leave,
They are harsh and heavy to me.
GRIFFITH goes off R., and the music ceases, he re-enters
PATIENCE. Do you note,
How much her grace has alter'd on the sudden 2
How long her face is drawn? How pale she looks,
And of an earthy cold 2 Mark her eyes!
GRIFF. She is going, wench; pray, pray.
PATIENCE. Heaven comfort herſ
Enter a MESSENGER, L.
MEss. An’t like your grace,—
KATII. You are a saucy fellow ;
Deserve we no more reverence 2
G RIFF. You are to blame,
Knowing she will not lose her wonted greatness,
To use so rude behaviour: go to, kneel.
MEss. I humbly do entreat your highness' pardon :
My haste made me unmannerly. There is staying
A gentleman, sent from the king, to see you.
KATH. Admit his entrance, Griffith : But this fellow
Let me ne'er See again.
Eaceunt GRIFFITH and MESSENGER, L.
SC. III.] KING HENRY VIII. 57
Re-enter GRIFFITH, with CAPUCIUs, L.
If my sight fail not,
You should be lord ambassador from the emperor,
My royal nephew, and your name Capucius,
CAPU. Madam, the same, your servant. . O
KATH. 0, my lord,
The times, and titles, now are alter'd strangely
With me, since first you knew me. But, I pray you,
What is your pleasure with me?
CAPU. Noble lady,
First, mine own service to your grace; the next,
The king's request that I would visit you;
Who grieves much for your weakness, and by me
Sends you his princely commendations,
And heartily entreats you take good comfort.
KATH, O, my good lord, that comfort comes too late;
'Tis like a pardon after execution:-
That gentle physic given in time, had cur'd me;
But now I am past all comforts here, but prayers.
How does his highness?
JAPU. Madam, in good health.
KATH. So may he ever do! and ever flourish,
When I shall with worms, and my poor name
Banish'd the kingdom –Patience, is that letter
I caus’d you write, yet sent away?
PAT. No, madam. (giving it to KATHARINE)
KATH. Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver
This to my lord the king.
CAPU. Most willing, madam.
KATH. In which I have commended to his goodness
The model of our chaste loves, his young daughter:
The dews of heaven fall thick in blessings on her!—
Beseeching him to give her virtuous breeding;
(She is young, and of a noble modest mature;
I hope, she will deserve well;) and a little
To love her for her mother's sake, that lov’d him,
Heaven knows how dearly. My next poor petition
Is, that his noble grace would have some pity
Upon my wretched women, that so long
Have follow'd both my fortunes faithfully;
Of which there is not one, I dare avow,
58
KING HENRY VIII. [ACT V.
CAPU.
* KATH.
(And now I should not lie,) but will deserve,
For virtue, and true beauty of the soul,
For honesty, and decent carriage,
A right good husband, let him be a noble; t
And, sure, those men are happy that shall have them.
The last is, for my men;–they are the poorest,
But poverty could never draw them from me;—
And, good my lord,
By that you love the dearest in this would,
As you wish Christian peace to souls departed,
Stand these poor people's friend, and urge the king
To do me this last right.
By heaven, I will;
Or let me lose the fashion of a man
I thank you, honest lord. Remember me
In all humility unto his highness:
Say, his long trouble now is passing
Out of this world: tell him, in death I bless'd him,
For so I will.—Mine eyes grow dim.—Farewell,
My lord.—Griffith, farewell.—Nay, Patience,
You must not leave me yet.—When I am dead
good wench, }
Let me be us'd with honour; strew me over
With maiden flowers, that all the world may know
I was a chaste wife to my grave. Embalm me,
Then lay me forth : although unqueen’d, yet like
A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me.
I can no more. (her voice fails and she sinks back-
wards—music is heard again)
&
END OF ACT IV.
ACT W.
SCENE I.—The Council Chamber.
The LoRD CHANCELLOR, the DUKE OF SUFFOLK, EARL of
SURREY, LORD CHAMBERLAIN, GARDINER, and CROM-
well discovered. The CHANCELLOR at the upper end
of the table on the left hand; a seat being left void
SC. I.] KING HENRY VIII. 59.
above him, as for the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY. The
rest in order on each side. CROMWELL at the lower end,
as secretary.
CHANCELLOR. Speak to the business, master secretary :
Why are we met in council 2
CROM. Please your honours,
The chief cause concerns his grace of Canterbury.
GARD. Has he had knowledge of it?
CROM. Yes. t
NORF. Who waits there 2
Door-KEEPER. (entering from L.) Without, my noble lords?
GARD. Yes.
Door-KEEP. My lord archbishop;
And has done half an hour, to know your pleasures.
CHANCELLOR. Let him come in.
Door-KEEP. (speaking off) Your grace may enter now.
CRANMER enters L., and approaches the council table.
JHANCELLOR. My good lord archbishop, I am very sorry
To sit here at this present, and behold
That chair stand empty.
You've misdemean'd yourself, and not a little,
Toward the king first, then his laws, in filling
The whole realm, by your teaching with new opinions,
Divers and dangerous; which are heresies,
And, not reform’d, may prove permicious.
GARD. Which reformation must be sudden too,
My moble lords: for those that tame wild horses
Pace them not in their hands to make them gentle;
But stop their mouths with stubborn bits, and spur
them,
Till they obey the manage.
CRAN. My good lords, hitherto, in all the progress
Both of my life and office, I have labour’d,
And with no little study, that my teaching,
And the strong course of my authority,
Might go one way, and safely; and the end
Was ever to do well. I do beseech your lordships,
That, in this case of justice, my accusers,
Be what they will, may stand forth face to face,
And freely urge against me.
60
KING HENRY WIII. [ACT V.
GARD.
My lord, because we have business of more moment,
We will be short with you. 'Tis his highness'
pleasure,
And our consent, for better trial of you,
From hence you be committed to the Tower,
Where, being but a private man again,
You shall know many dare accuse you boldly,
More than, I fear, you are provided for.
CRANMER. Ah, my good lord of Winchester, I thank you,
GARD.
CROM.
(#ARD.
CROM.
GARD.
CROM.
XHANC
ALL.
You are always my good friend l if your will pass,
I shall both find your lordship judge and juror,
You are so merciful : I see your end,
'Tis my undoing : Love and meekness, lord,
Become a churchman better than ambition ;
Win straying souls with modesty again,
Cast none away. That I shall clear myself,
Tay all the weight ye can upon my patience,
I make as little doubt, as you do conscience,
In doing daily wrongs. I could say more,
But reverence to your calling makes me modest.
My lord, my lord, do not I know you for a favourer
Of this new sect 2 Ye are not sound.
Not sound 2
Not sound, I say.
Would you were half so honest
Men's prayers then would seek you, not their fears.
I shall remember this bold language.
Do.
Remember your bold life too.
ELLOR. This is too much.
Thus for you, my lord : it stands agreed,
I take it, by all voices, that forthwith
You be conveyed to the Tower a prisoner;
There to remain, till the king's further pleasure
Be known unto us. Are you all agreed, lords?
We are.
SRANMER. Is there no other way of mercy,
(#ARD.
But I must needs to the Tower, my lords.
What other
Would you expect? You are strangely troublesome.
Let some o' the guard be ready there.
SC. I.] KING HENRY VIII. 61
Enter GUARD, L.
CRANMER. Stay, good my lords;
I have a little yet to say. Look there, my lords;
By virtue of that ring, I take my cause
Out of the gripes of cruel men, and give it
To a most noble judge, the king my master.
CHAMB. This is the king's ring.
SUFFOLK. I told ye all,
When we first put this dangerous stome a rolling,
'Twould fall upon ourselves.
CHAMB. 'Tis now too certain :
How much more is his life in value with him P
Would I were fairly out on’t.
Enter KING, R., frowning on them ; takes his seat.
GARD. Dread sovereign, how much are we bound to heaven
i In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince;
Not only good and wise, but most religious:
One that, in all obedience, makes the church
The chief aim of his honour; and, to strengthen
That holy duty, out of dear respect,
His royal self in judgment comes to hear,
The cause betwixt her and this great offender.
KING. You were ever good at sudden commendations,
Bishop of Winchester; but know, I come mot
To hear such flattery now ; and in my presence:
They are too thin and base to hide offences.
To me you cannot reach; you play the Spaniel,
And think with wagging of your tongue to win me;
But, whatsoe'er thou tak'st me for, I am sure,
Thou hast a cruel nature, and a bloody. w
Good man, (to CRANMER) sit down. Now let me
See the proudest
He, that dares most, but wag his finger at thee:
By all that's holy, he had better starve,
- Than but once think this place becomes thee not.
SURREY. May it please your grace,
KING. No, sir, it does not please me.
I had thought, I had had men of some understanding
And wisdom, of my council; but I find none.
Was it discretion, lords, to let this man,
F
KING HENRY WIII. [ACT V.
CHANC.
KING.
This good man, (few of you deserve that title,)
This honest man, wait like a lousy footboy
At chamber-door P and one as great as you are 2
Why, what a shame was this l Did my commission
Bid ye so far forget yourselves? I gave ye
Power, as he was a counsellor, to try him,
Not as a groom ; There's some of ye, I see,
More out of malice than integrity,
Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean ;
Which ye shall never have, while I live.
Thus far,
My most dread sovereign, may it like your grace
To let my tongue excuse all. What was purpos'd
Concerning his imprisonment, was rather
(If there be faith in men) meant for his trial,
And fair purgation to the world, than malice;
I am sure, in me.
Well, well, my lords, respect him;
Take him, and use him well, he's worthy of it.
I will say thus much for him, if a prince
May be beholden to a subject, I
Am, for his love and service, so to him.
Make me no more ado, but all embrace him ;
Be friends, for shame, my lords.
My lord of Canterbury,
I have a suit which you must not deny me:
That is, a fair young maid that yet wants baptism,
You must be godfather, and answer for her.
CRANMER. The greatest monarch now alive may glory
In such an honour: how may I deserve it,
That am a poor and humble subject to you ?
KING. Come, come, my lord, you’d spare your spoons;
GARD.
you shall have
Two noble partners with you; the old Duchess of
Norfolk,
And Lady Marquis Dorset: Will these please you?
Once more, my lord of Winchester, I charge you,
Embrace, and love this man.
With a true heart,
And brother-love, I do it.
CRANMER. And let heaven
SC. II.] KING HENRY WIII. 63
Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation.
KING. God man! those joyful tears show thy true heart.
The common voice, I see, is verified
Of thee, which says thus, “Domy Lord of Canterbury
A shrewd turn, and he is your friend for ever.”—
Come, lords, we trifle time away; I long
To have this young one made a Christian.
As I have made ye one, lords, one remain,
So I grow stronger, you more honour gain.
(closed in by)
SCENE II.-The Palace Yard. The Procession to the
Christening.
ScFNE III.-The Palace. Trumpets sounding ; the KING,
his TRAIN, ALDERMEN, LORD MAYOR, GARTER, CRANMER,
DUKE of Norfolk, with his marshal's staff, DUKE of SUF-
‘Folk, two NobleMEN bearing great standing bowls for the
christening gifts; four NoDIEMEN bearing a canopy, under
which the DUCHESS OF Norfolk, godmother, bearing the
child richly habited in a mantle, &c. Train borne by a
LADY : MARCHIONESs of DoRSET, the other godmother,
and LADIES.
GARTER. Heaven, from thy endless goodness, send pros-
perous life, long, and ever happy, to the high and mighty
princess of England, Elizabeth ! (flourish)
CRANMER. (kneeling) And to your royal grace, and the
good queen.
My noble partners, and myself, thus pray;-
All comfort, joy, in this most gracious lady,
Heaven ever laid up to make parents happy,
May hourly fall upon yel
KING. Thank you, good lord archbishop,
What is her name 2
}RANMER. Elizabeth.
KING. Stand up, lord:— (the KING kisses the child)
With this kiss take my blessing: heav'n'protect thee!
Into whose hands I give thy life.
CRANMER. Amen.
KING. My noble gossips, ye have been too prodigal:
64
KING HENRY WIII. [ACT V.
I thank ye heartily: so shall this lady,
When she has so much English.
CRANMER. Let me speak, sir,
KING.
For heaven now bids me; and the words I utter
Let none think flattery, for they'll find them truth.
This royal infant, (heaven still move about her 1)
Though in her cradle, yet now promises
Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings,
Which time shall bring to ripeness: She shall be
A pattern to all princes living with her,
And all that shall succeed.
In her days, every man shall eat in safety
Under his own vine, what he plants; and sing
The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours:
God shall be truly known; and those about her
From her shall read the perfect ways of honour.
Our children's children
Shall see this, and bless heaven.
Thou speakst wonders.
CRANMER. She shall be, to the happiness of England,
KING.
An aged princess; many days shall see her,
And yet no day without a deed to crown it.
Would I had known no more but she must die,
She must; the saints must have her: yet a virgin,
A most unspotted lily shall she pass
To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her.
O lord archbishop,
This oracle of comfort has so pleased me,
That, when I am in heaven I shall desire
To see what this child does. I thank ye all :
Ye must all see the queen, and she must thank ye,
She will be sick else. This day, no man think
He has business at his house; for all shall stay;
This little one shall make it holiday. (flourish)
{{urtain.
Printed by Thomas Scott, Warwick Court, Holborn.
THE
GARRICK FEVER.
A F A R C E
& In one ACT
by
J. R. PLANCHE, ESQ.
annon OF
A Romantic Idea ; Reputation ; Follies of a Night;
Somebody Else ; Grist to the Mill ; Captain of the
Watch; A Cabinet Question; Irish Post; The Jacobite;
Spring Gardens; The Pride of the Market; Not a Bad
Judge; The Jenkinses; Knights of the Round Table,
&c., &c.
THOMAS HAILES LACY,
W. E L L I N G T O N S T R E E T, S T R A N D,
I, O N ID O N .
THE CARRICK FEVER,
First Performed at the Royal Olympic Theatre, on Monday, April 1st, 1839,
CHARACTERS =
MAJOR DERRYDOWN (of the Westmeath Militia) . MR. BRough AM.
MR. HARDUP (Manager, Theatre Royal Ballinaslough) . MR. T. GREEN.
UNDERTONE (Prompter) . ſº tº MR. WYMAN.
PUMPWELL . e e tº e MR. ConMELL.
DECIMUS GINGLE (a Strolling Actor) Mr. KEELEY.
DRESSER . © * ge tº tº MR. KERRIDGE.
CALL BOY * e e tº MASTER IRELAND.
FIAIR DRESSER ë we º MR. IRELAND.
LADY O’LEARY e * º MRs. MACNAMARA.
MRS. HARDUP . tº º Miss JACKSON.
MISS POLLY HARDUP . Miss AGNES TAYLOR,
KITTY & Ç sº wº * & e g . Miss GowARD.
Royal Olympic Theatre, June 11th, 1855.
|MAJOR, DERRYDOWN ve tº e is . MR. DANVERs.
MR. HARDUP o . MR. EMERY.
|M.R. UNIDERTONE MR. J. H. WHITE.
I) ECIMUS GINGLE MR. Robson.
IDRESSER . e . M.R. MooRE.
CALL BOY e Q sº . MR. RIVERs.
HAIR, DRESSER. º º MR. T. RogFRSON.
MR. PUMPWELL º tº . M.R. FRANKs.
LADY O’LEARY e © g . MRS. FITZALLAN.
MRS, HARDUP . ſº * e tº . Miss STEPHENs.
IPOLLY HARDUP e & • © g sº . MISS FANNY TERNAN.
& ggū(º&tº©
C O S T U M E s . — P E R 1 o D, 174 5.
HARDUP.-lst. Brown square cut coat, grey waistcoat, and breeches, blue stockings,
shoes and buckles; full curled black wig, spectacles, white cravat, and ruffles.
2nd. Breastplate, gorget, armour leggings, helmet, truncheon, spectacles.
UNDERTONE,-Black square cut coat, black waistcoat and breeches, blue stockings,
shoes and buckles; white cravat, black tail wig. *
MAJOR DERRY Down.—Scarlet regimental coat, white breeches, silk stockings, shoes
and buckles; cross belt and sword, powdered wig, cocked hat, came, white cravat.
DECIMUS GINGLE.-lst. Drab square cut coat, black waistcoat, white plush breeches,
grey stockings, shoes and bucklcs; small three-cornered hat, crop wig.
2nd. Black velvet square cut coat, waistcoat and breeches, black stockings
(one umgartered), shoes and buckles; white wig, sword and ribbon.
MR. PUMPWELL.-Red square cut coat, embroidered waistcoat, drab breeches, white
stockings, shoes and buckles; King Arthur wig and crown.
PoDONIUS.—Brown old fashioned court suit, wig, &c., shoes and buckles.
LAERTES.—White embroidered old fashioned court suit, shoes, and buckles.
CALL BOY.—Black waistcoat with sleeves, drab breeches, grey stockings, shoes and
buckles; scratch wig.
HAIR DRESSER.—Cotton jacket, blue waistcoat, black breeches, blue stockings,
shoes, white apron.
DRESSER.—Black waistcoat with sleeves, black breeches, shoes, stockings.
LADY O'LEARY.-Yellow figured silk tuck-up dress, black lace shawl, fan; white
full wig, white silk round hat, high-heeled shoes.
Polly HARDUP.-1st. Flowered chintz tuck-up dress, blue skirt, lace stomacher, and
apron. 2nd. White muslin tuck-up dress, with straw and flowers, full white wig.
MRS. HARDUP.-Green velvet old-fashioned train dress, white wig, and feathers.
LADIES OF CourT.—Welvet train dresses. -
TIME or RHPESENTATION (with Polly's introduced Song).-Forty-one minutes.
THE GARRICK FEVER.
SCENE.
A room in Mr. Hardup's house, connected with the theatre,
to which a door opens in flat, c.; door in R. H. flat,
and doors R. and L. 2 E.
Enter HARDUP, R., and UNDERTONE, c.
HARDUP. Well—well—any news? Any news?
UNDER. None at all, sir. So, in this case, we can give
the lie to the old proverb, for no news is anything but
good news with us.
HARDUP. What is to be done, Mr. Undertone *
UNDER. We are to be done, sir—brown The game's
up, sir—it's all over with us!
HARDUP. What can it mean? There must have been
some accident There can be no mistake—the letters are
clear enough (takes two letters out of his pocket.) Here is
a copy of my own letter. (reads.)
“To Mr. Garrick.
“Sir, Understanding your engagement at the Theatre
Royal, Dublin, will terminate on Saturday next, I beg to
know whether it will answer your purpose to play six
nights in this town, before your departure for England,
commencing on Monday, with Hamlet. Share, above ten
pounds. Clear Benefit, &c. &c.”
And here's the anwer. (reads.)
“Dear Sir.—In reply to yours, just received, I have
4 THE GARRICK FEVER.
only to say, yes!—with great pleasure. I will be with
you betwen four and five, on Monday, which will just give
me time to dress.
“Yours, in great haste,
“DAVID GARRICK.”
Addressed to “Mr. Hardup, Manager, Theatre Royal 3 y
UNDER. If that's not plain, I don’t know what is.
HARDUP. And here's five o'clock struck, and no tidings
of him.
UNDER. The whole street is filled with people—the
pit and gallery will overflow with the first rush.
HARDUP. And every place taken in the boxes—and a
guinea offered for a chair behind the scenes! It's a for-
tune within my grasp !
UNDER. And to be obliged to make an apology—return
the money—
HARDUP. I can’t do it, Mr. Undertone—it would break
my heart! It's hard enough, in these times, to get money
—to return it, is an impossibility | Why, I’ve gone to
the expense of ten pounds in printing ! Here's a bill!
Here's an announcement! I flatter myself I’ve done it
this time ! (reads bill.)
THEATRE ROYAL, BALLINASLOUGH.
Unparalled Attraction / First Appearance of the Immortal
Mr. G. A R RIC K
The Greatest Actor that ever was or ever will be / / /
The Nobility, Gentry, and Public in general are respectfully
informed that
O N M ON DAY NEXT,
Will be presented, with entirely new Scenery and Decorations,
Shakespere's Tragedy of
H A M L E T, P R IN C E OF DE N M A R K,
OR THE MAD SON AND THE MURDERED FATHER I
THE GARRICK FEVER. 5
The part of HAMLET, Prince of Denmark (the Mad Sony,
by that Inimitable Tragedian, MR. DAVID GARRICK,
(From the Theatres Royal Drury Lane, and Smock Alley,)
who has been engaged for a limited number of nights.
NoTA BENE.—MR. GARRICK'S attraction at the Theatre
Royal Dublin, on his last visit to Ireland, was so great, that
the crowded state of the Theatre produced an epidemic
which was called
T H E G A R R. I C K F E W E R
And, to use the words of that sublime Poet, THE LATE
MR. ALExANDER Pop E to my Lord Orrery—“We may
safely declare that Mr. Garrick never had his equal as an
Actor, and will never have a Rival /
There's a quotation for you! And from such an authority!
(handing bill to UNDERTONE.
UNDERTONE. (looking over bill.) But what does this
mean, sir? (reading.) “The Ghost of Hamlet's Father,
murdered by Mr. Hardup.”
HARDUP. (snatching bill.) Eh! What!—“murdered
by ‘’—confound the printers | One of their cursed blun-
ders!—“The Ghost of Hamlet's murdered Father, by
Mr. Hardup”—not “Father murdered.” (noise of wheels
without.) Hark!—there's a chaise ! (running to window.)
Yes! it stops here ! It must be he The modern Roscius !
The great Garrick!
UNDER. I'm afraid not, sir. Mr. Garrick is a young
man, and, as well as I can see, the person in the chaise is
an old woman
HARDUP. Lady O'Leary, by all that's disappointing !
And her shadow, Major Derrydown! The devil fly away
with them both !
UNDER. Have they got a box :
HARDUP. No-the major wrote too late—everything
was gone. There’ll be a famous scene with her ladyship.
She comes forty miles, on purpose. Where's my daughter
Polly Polly! Polly Hardup !
6 THE GARRICK FEVER.
Enter Polly, L. D.
Polly. Here I am, father.
HARDUP. Run down stairs, Polly! There's your grand
god-mother, Lady O’Leary at the door, in a post-chaise.
She’ll be in a fine passion when she learns there's no box
for her. Tell her she shall have a chair in the orchestra—
just behind the big drum.
PoELY. She's coming up stairs. [Evit Polly, L. D.
HARDUP. The deuce she is . Then I’ll be off! Follow
me, Undertone, into the theatre, and let's see all is ready
before they open the doors.
UNDER. You will open the doors, then?
HARDUP. At all hazards! He must come ! He's sure
to come, if he's alive l—if not—why, its no fault of ours.
And if they tear up the benches, and break the chandelier,
the county must pay the damage. I stick to the old text
—“Vivant Rex and Reginal No money returned l’”
- [Eveunt HARDUP and UNDERTONE, C. D.
Polly re-enters with LADY O'LEARY, and MAJOR
DERRYINow N, L. D.
LADY O. No box! I shall expire! Why major—
MAJOR. My angel!—
LADY O. Do you hear what my god-daughter, Miss
Polly Hardup, says, sir? There is no box, and I must sit
in the orchestra, behind the big drum !
MAJoR. Behind the big drum! I'll run the big drum
through the body, before you shall submit to such an
indignity—and the big drummer into the bargain.
Porpy. My father's very sorry, my lady. If he had
but known your ladyship wanted a box—
LADY O. Had but known | Why, Major—
MAJoR. My Venus! º
LADY O. Do you hear that, sir? If he had but known
as if you had not written to him three days ago, at my
especial request.
MAJoR. It is as you say, exactly as if I had not written
to him three days ago.
THE GARRICK FEW ER. 7
Polly. Of course it must be, sir—because you did
not.
LADY O. Did not! Why, major—
MAJOR. My darling !
LADY O. Do you hear my god-daughter, Miss Polly
Hardup, assert that you did not write, as I desired you?
MAJOR. Indeed I do. And if she don’t retract the
assertion, she shall give me the satisfaction of a gentle-
Iſlall.
PoELY. I only know that the letter did not arrive till
this morning. I took it in myself, and heard my father
read it.
MAJoR. Oh, you only know that, don't you? Then why
didn't you say what you only knew, at first—and not what
you didn't know? Does the mere appearance of a postman
prove that I didn’t write it at the time specified?
LADY O. Where is Mr. Hardupº Let me see him
instantly.
MAJoR. Ay—where is Mr. Hardup
Polly. I’ll send for him, my lady. If your ladyship
will condescend to wait here, and excuse me, as I shall
hardly have time to dress for my part—
ºx O. Your part, my child! What do you play,
then :
PoELY. Ophelia, madam | Only think, what an honour!
to play Ophelia to Mr. Garrick's Hamlet !
“The expectancy and rose of the fair state;
The glass of fashion, and the mould of form—
The observed of all observers!”
I'll send my father to you directly, madam.
“For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.”
[Exit PoELY, c., singing.
LADY O. (R.) The girl's crazy, in downright earnest!
MAJoR. (L.) It's the Garrick fever they speak of.
You've a touch of it yourself, my darling.
LADY O. Dont call me your darling! If I find that
it is through your negligence—
MAJoR. It's the blundhering postman—bad luck to
him! But if I don’t give him such a double knock on his
8 THE GARRICK FEVER.
head as he never gave a street door, I’ll give anybody
leave to say I'm not Major Derrydown of the Loyal
Westmeath Militia.
LADY O. If I do not see Garrick, I shall die.
MAJoR. You would not dream of it, would you? Die
for the sake of a dirty little play-actor, when you've
promised to live to be Mrs. Major Derrydown. ' -
LADY O. I have promised no such thing, sir. I have
merely suffered you to hope. A dirty little play-actor'
But what should a muddle-headed major of militia know
of art or its professors? Mr. Garrick, though a little
man, is a great genius !—A man for whom duchesses are
dying by dozens, sir! Read the bill, sir!—Read what
the great poet, Pope, says of him, sir—“That he will
never have a rival''
MAJoR. That will depend entirely upon whether or not
he makes love to a certain beautiful creature of my
acquaintance. For, by the powers, if he play Romeo to
Lady O'Leary's Juliet, he'll have Major Derrydown for a
rival, in spite of Pope or Pretender, as the saying is.
LADY O. Don't talk nonsense, Major Where is
Mr. Hardup It is nearly half-past five—the doors will
be opened, and we shall get no seat.
MAJOR. This door leads to the theatre. Let's go in,
and beat up his quarters. I’ll teach him the respect due
to a lady of quality, and a major of the Westmeath
Militia. [Eveunt through C. D. F.
Enter GINGLE, L. D.
GINGLE. (looking about him.) “Thus far into the
bowels of the land have we march'd on without im-
pediment.” They said “the manager was in this room :
“There's no such thing !” Well, I must sit down, at all
events, for I'm tired to death ! Five-and-twenty miles
have I walked this blessed day, and without eating since
my breakfast. (takes out a play-bill.) The sight of this
bill, however, as I entered the town, gave me fresh
spirits. Garrick is here !—the great, unrivalled Garrick
If I could but get an engagement—were it only to carry a
letter, or deliver a message; anything by which I might
THE GARRICK FEVER. 9
meet the eye of the great Roscius, and, perhaps, obtain
his approbation and patronage—who knows what might
happen?—He might take me with him to London—get
me an appearance at Drury Lane—fancy our names in the
same bill—“Duke of Gloster, Mr. Garrick.-The Lord
Mayor, Mr. Gingle, from the Theatre Royal, Ballinaslough
—(being his first appearance in London.)” Oh, ambition 1
“By that sin, fell the angels!” I can’t help it. I feel,
somehow, I shall be somebody, some day or another.
“Swift it mounts on eagles’ wings;
ICings it makes gods, and meaner creatures
kings.”
There must be a chance for me, here. (looking at the bill.)
They seem horribly off for members, and the whole
family is pressed into the service. (reads.) “Ghost, Mr.
Hardup—Ophelia, Miss Polly Hardup—and Polonius and
Osrick, doubled by Mr. Terence Hardup.” They're all
Hard-up ! If they'd let me play Osrick, now, I might
make—“a hit, my lord—a palpable hit!” Somebody
comes—should it be the manager |

“Hold, hold, my heart—
And you, my sinews, grow not instant old,
But bear me stiffly up.” (Retires R. H.)
Bnter HARDUP, c., not seeing GINGLE.
HARDUP. The doors are open! The house is crammed
to the ceiling, and no Garrick!—no tidings of him
What shall I do
GINGLE. No Garrick | “Angels and ministers of
grace defend me!”
HARDUP. I must change the play, and make an
apology. Return the money I will not.
GINGLE. (aside.) “Oh! my prophetic soul!” It is the
manager.
HARDUP. And the splendid supper I ordered at the
King's Arms for the great Roscius and a few select friends,
after the play.
10 THE GARRICE FEVER,
GINGLE. Splendid supper And I who “am as hun-
gry as the sea, and could digest as much—”
HARDUP. I must send immediately, and countermand
that. }
GINGLE. (aside.) “Oh, cursed spite l’” Countermand
the supper I've a great mind—if I could only be sure—
HARDUP. But what shall I say to the audience :
Read them Mr. Garrick's letter, in which he positively
promises to be here, and say, that as I am an utter stranger
to that gentleman—
GINGLE. An utter stranger | Good!
HARDUP. I am at a loss to imagine the cause of his
non-appearance, and that I throw myself upon the
generosity of—&c., &c., &c.
GINGLE. I will—I’ll run the risk—I’m up in the part.
They can but pelt me, and I’m used to that.
HARDUP. Here goes, if I die for it !
GINGLE. And here goes, if I die for it ! (advancing and
laying his hand on Hardup's as he is about to move.) “Rest
rest, perturbed spirit !”
HARDUP. Hollo! Who are you?
GINGLE. “Thine evermore, while this machine is to
him, Hamlet !”
HARDUP. Hamlet ! Is it possible Can it be 2 (aside.)
It's about the height—the-age—the- (aloud.) My
dear sir, I'm on the rack. Speak—Your name *
GINGLE. D. G. (aside.) That's no lie, at any rate.
HARDUP. Ah! you then are—
GINGLE. I am.
HARDUP. The great—the unrivalled—
GINGLE. Nay, my dear sir—
HARDUP. The immortal Mr. Garrick!
GINGLE. You are too polite.
HARDUP. Oh, sir! permit me—
(offering to embrace him.
GINGLE. With all my heart. (they embrace.)
HARDUP. You have snatched me from the very depth
of despair.
GINGLE. You seemed rather down in the mouth, I
confess.
HARDUP. (aside.) Down in the mouth ! How familiar!
f
THE GARIRICK FEVER. 11
How void of all affectation | As if he he had known me
for years. There's the mark of your truly great man.
(aloud.) But, excuse me, you are covered with dust; you
have walked—
GINGLE. You are right.
HARDUP. Some accident
GINGLE. Right again.
HARDUP. As I suspected | Your carriage broke
down 3 -
GINGLE. Worse than that.
HARDUP. Worse ! Gracious powers | You are not
hurt?
GINGLE. No ; but I’ve had a narrow escape.
HARDUP. The horses ran away :
GINGLE. No—I ran away.
HARDUP. You !
GINGLE. When I could fight no longer.
HARDUP. Fight! Preserve me ! I feared as much
You were stopped on the road?
GINGLE. By a band of highwaymen armed to the
teeth. Postillion severely wounded — horses killed —
chaise ransacked—portmanteau, trunk, hat-box, Sword-
case—all gone Nº.
HARDUP. Terrible ! And your servant—you had a
servant
GINGLE. Don’t mention him, cowardly dog | Left me
to fight for myself.
HARDUP. In league with the villains, perhaps.
GINGLE. Shouldn't be at all surprised. But here I am,
safe and sound; though how I got here, I hardly know.
I knew you expected me between four and five, in time to
dress. I walked the last five miles ready to drop.
HARDUP. Bless my soul! bless my soul! You shall
have some refreshment instantly. One moment, my dear
sir, only to set our friends at rest. Mrs. Hardup—Mr.
Undertone — Mr. Garrick's come! Mr. Garrick has
arrived (Runs out calling, C. D.)
GINGLE. Well, I’m astonished at my impudence, and
frightened into the bargain, now I’ve done it. If any-
body here should happen to know Mr. Garrick, what
would become of me? I shall never be able to keep it
12 THE GARIRICIK IFEVER,
up. I’ve a great mind to run for it now. I will, too,
while the coast is clear. (going L.)
Enter PoELY, (dressed as OPHELIA,) carrying wine
and cake on a small tray, L.
PoELY. (L.) If you please, sir, here's some wine and—
gracious ! what do I see : Mr. Gingle !
GINGLE. (R.) My fair unknown | Powers of love!
my long-lost—
Polly. How on earth came you here? If my father
should know—
GINGLE. Who is your father
PoELY. The manager—Mr. Hardup.
GINGLE. The devil he is
PoELY. Yes; and if he finds you in this house—
GINGLE. He shan’t-I’m off.
Re-enter HARDUP, c.
PoELY. It's too late –he's here !
HARDUP. Mr. Garrick | Mr. Garrick I’ve arranged
everything. (crosses to C.)
POLLY. Mr. Garrick |
GINGLE. (aside.) There's nothing for it, but brazening
it out. (aloud.) Well, sir!
(Makes signs to PoELY, who stands R. H. in astonishment.
HARDUP. (c.) I've been forward, sir, just as I am, to
the public, who were getting rather impatient, and
begged their permission to perform the farce—a short,
neat piece—first, in order to give you time to dress,
and refresh yourself.
GINGLE. (L.) You are very kind, but I really feel so
unwell, that I don't think I can act to-night at all.
HARDUP. Oh, sir! Mr. Garrick | don’t say so. Take
some wine, sir. (handing him wine.)
GINGLE. Yes, I’ll take some wine, but I don’t think it
possible that I can play Hamlet. - -
Polly. (aside.) I'm sure he can’t. Why they hissed
him as Bernardo.
HARDUP. My dear Mr. Garrick, consider the conse-
THE GARRICK FEVER. 13
quences. It would be ruin to me. Take another glass,
sir! You'll be better presently.
Polly. (aside.) He'll be tipsy presently—that will be
the end of it.
GINGLE. Not bad sherry, by any means.
HARDUP. I’m delighted you fancy it. It's from the
King's Arms, over the way—a capital house. I’ve taken
the liberty of ordering a little supper there, after the
play, and trust you will do me the honour—
GINGLE. You are very kind I Wouldn’t there be
time before the play—I’m rather peckish.
HARDUP. I’m afraid not before.
GINGLE. Well, “After, be it, then,” as Richard
says.
HARDUP. But a wing of a fowl, perhaps, while you
dress—
GINGLE. Dress Ah! There ! (aside.) A capital ex-
cuse ! (aloud.) You see it's impossible I can play—I have
no dress—those rascals have taken all.
HARDUP. Don’t be uneasy, sir; I’ve thought of every-
thing. As luck would have it, Doctor Killmany, who is
just your size, was in the stage box, in a new black velvet
suit. I told him your predicament, and, in the handsomest .
manner possible, he volunteered to go home, and change
his dress, and send you the new suit in a twinkling.
GINGLE. How very polite (aside.) There's no backing
out any way!
PoELY. (aside.) He doesn’t mean—surely, he never
will have the impudence—
Enter CALL Boy, with a bundle, L. H.
Boy. Doctor Kilmany's servant, sir, brought this bundle,
with his master's compliments.
HARDUP. That's right—take it into that room. Mr.
Garrick will dress there. I’ll see if all is ready, sir.
- [Evit with CALL Box, into room L.
Polly. There—now ! Run! Now !
GINGLE. What for * ‘.
Polly. Why, to get off with a whole skin to be sure.
GINGLE. Pooh! pooh! -
14 THE GARRICK FEVER.
Polly. Pooh! pooh! Are you mad? Or are you
tipsy, already? -
GINGLE. Tipsy: No! “That which hath made them
drunk, hath made me bold!” “There is a tide in the
affairs of man, which, if taken at the flood, leads on to
fortune.” I’ve got a chance at last, and I won't fling it
away. -
Polly. You’ll stay?
GINGLE. I’ll stay.
Polly. And play Hamlet?
GINGLE. And play Hamlet.
Polly. As Mr. Garrick?
GINGLE. Perhaps not exactly as Mr. Garrick. I don’t
presume—
POLLY. I mean in his name?
GINGLE. Decidedly I’m perfect in the part—studied
it long ago.
Polly. There’ll be murder
GINGLE. Don't be rude, Miss Hardup.
PoELY. Dear Mr. Gingle! for my sake—
GINGLE. It is for your sake | When you played at
Cork, under the name of Hopkins, you told me your father
would never give his consent, unless I became “somebody”
in my profession. This is the first chance I’ve had—and
I tell you I won’t fling it away! -
PoELY. But how came you to be mistaken for Mr.
Garrick?
GINGLE. “Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck,
till they applaud the deed!” -
Polly. Applaud! They'll fling the benches at you!
GINGLE. I don't care! I'm desperate “My fate cries
out, and makes each petty artery in this body as hardy as
the Nemean lion's nerve.”
Enter HARDUP from room, R.; and LADY O'LEARY
and MAJOR DERRYDown from C. D.
#. '...} Bravo! Bravo! (they applaud.)
HARDUP. Beautiful!
LADY O. Sublime !
MAJOR. As a puddle in a storm 1
THE GARRICK FEVER. 15
GINGLE. (to Polly.) There!—you hear?
LADY O. Mr. Hardup, present me, I entreat, to your
illustrious friend!
HARDUP. Mr. Garrick, allow me to introduce Lady
O'Leary, relict of Sir Phelim O'Leary, late member for
the county. (aside to him.) A widow with two thousand
8, Veal'.
ºr. (aside.) Two thousand! (aloud, and crossing
to R. C.) Madam, I— Ahem “If I profane, with my
unworthy hands, this holy shrine—the gentle fine is
this—” (kissing her hand.)
LADY O. Oh Mr. Garrick! this is the proudest
moment of my life
GINGLE. (aside.) “Gad, if it wasn't for—
(looking at Polly.
HARDUP. (L. C.) Major Derrydown, of the Westmeath
militia.
(presenting MAJOR DERRYDown, who bows stiffly.)
GINGLE. Major, I'm yours—to the ground.
(bowing to the ground.
MAJOR. (L.) Faith, and you may soon be there, without
breaking your neck, my honey—for it’s a small way
you are above it, at any time.
HARDUP. I believe I did introduce my daughter, Miss
Polly Hardup, who will have the honour to play—
GINGLE. (crosses to L. c.) “My soul's idol, the most
beautified Ophelial * “Nymph, in thy orisons, be all my
sins remembered.”
LADY O. How apt How delicate! Why major—
MAJOR. My beauty
LADY O. You don’t seem struck by him
MAJoR. By the powers I wish I was—for I’m in a
mighty good humour to strike him again.
LADY O. Strike Garrick! What profanity
CALL Boy. (within L.) Farce over, ladies and gentle-
men
HARDUP. There ! The Farce over, I declare, and you
have not begun to dress yet! My dear sir, you’ll find
every thing in that room | I have to play the Ghost—but
I shan’t be five minutes—all the rest are ready. Mr.
Undertone !
16 THIE GARIRICK FEVER,
Enter UNIDERTONE, L. D.
UNDER. (L.) Sir!
HARDUP. Send Mr. Garrick's dresser to him directly,
with my best sword and the ribbon.
UNDER. Yes, sir. Shall I ring in the overture?
HARDUP. Not yet! not yet! Give us all the time
you can [Exit UNDERTONE, c.
Now, my dear sir—
GINGLE. But you said something about the wing of a
fowl.
HARDUP. It will be here directly.
Enter DREssER, c.
Here's your dresser | Quick, Dennis, and show Mr.
Garrick every attention ' I must fly! [Erit R. D.
GINGLE. (aside.) Another glass—just to—“Screw my
courage to the sticking place l’’ (taking wine.)
PoELY. You'll be tipsy
GINGLE. “Not a jot not a jot!” (drinks and sings.)
“”Tis wine inspires us, and fires us
With courage, love, and joy!
[Evit GINGLE, L. D.
LADY O. (R.) Delightfull What a voice What
expression . His genius is unrivalled.
MAJOR. (c.) He sings—as he looks—like a crow in a
gutter!
PoELY. (L.) Major You're jealous!
MAJOR. May be I am.
LADY O. Major You're a fool. -
MAJOR. I’m not such a fool as he looks—any way !
LADY O. Mr. Garrick look a fool! Major
MAJoR. My jewell
LADY O. Don't speak to me again this night!
MAJoR. I’m as dumb as a fish But I’ll speak to little
Davy there, and pretty plainly, I warrant me !
PoELY. Little Davy Mr. Garrick is six feet high
when he's in a passion, sir!
MAJoR. Then I'll make him a foot taller before he's an
hour older—take my word for it!
THE GARRICK FEVER, 17
LADY O. What! Would you pick a quarrel with him?
Why don't you answer me, major *
MAJOR. Because you told me not to speak to you again
to-night.
LADY O. You shall never speak to me again, if you do
not instantly promise to drop all idea of so monstrous a
proceeding. Swear to me that you will not hurt a
hair of
DRESSER runs out of room, L. H.
DRESSER. Mr. Garrick’s wig Mr. Garrick's wig'
g
Enter HAIR DRESSER, with wig, and runs against him.
Ugh ! You stupid fellow ! Can't you see?
[Exit with wig.
MAJoR. There! I've hurt it by deputy!
LADY O. No evasion, sir! Swear!
HARDUP. (underneath stage.) Swear !
LADY O. Mercy upon me !
MAJOR. What the devil's that
Polly. It's only papa! He's dressing for the Ghost,
in the room below, and heard his cue.
LADY O. I declare he frightened me out of my wits'
But, come, major I insist, on pain of my lasting dis-
pleasure—
MAJoR. Well, there then! I bind myself over to keep
the peace, upon one condition—
LADY O. And what may that be? -
MAJOR. That you’ll fix the day, my darling—the happy
day !
łºw O. Major! how can you? Before that young
person Another time—when we are by ourselves!
MAJOR. By and bye, then—in the orchestra—behind
the big drum.
Enter CALL Boy, L. H. D.
Box. Here's a letter for the master if you please
IIllSS.
PoELY. (aside, looking at it.) The Dublin post-mark,
and D. G. in the corner! It must be from Mr. Garrick,
18 THE GARRICK FEVER.
to explain his absence. What's to be done? If I give it
to my father, poor Gingle is ruined He must not see
it yet! (aloud.) Very well—it's post-paid, I see—you
needn't wait. I’ll give it to him. [Exit CALL Boy, c.
When the play's over, perhaps' (puts it in her pocket.)
CALL BOY. (within c.) Overture on, ladies! Overture
on gentlemen - -
Polly. (to LADY O'LEARY.) There's the overture
begun, my lady! Won't your ladyship go down to your
seat? (crosses to c.)
LADY O. Not yet—not yet! Do you go down, major,
and keep it for me.
MAJOR. (aside, going up c.) Faith, it's bothered enough
that I will be to keep my own seat. This divarting vaga-
bond has made the ould girl so skittish, she'll fling me, to
a certainty.
LADY O. Well—ain't you gone, major *
MAJOR. To be sure I am, my darling ! Don’t you see
I’m gone! (aside.) This is the last stage of the Garrick
Fever, and she may be carried off by it! I'll get the big
drummer to be my deputy, and steal up again, to watch
the proceedings. Evit MAJoR DERRYDown, c.
Polly. Here come papa and mamma, in their new
dresses, ready for the tragedy.
Enter HARDUP, dressed as GHosT, with his face floured;
MRs. HARDUP, as QUEEN; M.R. PUMPwFLL, as
CLAUDIUs; and other performers as Polon IUS,
LAERTES, &c. &c., R. H.
HARDUP. Well! well! Is Mr. Garrick dressed P I
want to run through our first scene, before we ring up.
- (knocking at door of room, L. H.
Mr. Garrick! are you ready?
GINGLE. (within L.) Where's that wing of a fowl you
promised me?
HARDUP. Bless my soul! havn't they sent it? (calling
off, L. H.) Kitty! run to the King's Arms, and ask why
they have not sent the fowl I ordered for Mr. Garrick.
“Murder most foul as in the best it is ' But this, most
foul, strange, and unnatural.”
THE GARRICK FEVER. 19
Enter GINGLE from room L. H., dressed as HAMLET.
GINGLE. “Haste me to know it, that I, with wings as
swift as meditation, or the thoughts of love, may sweep
to my revenge.”
LADY O. (R.) Exquisite
HARDUP. (L. C.) What fire
LADY. O. What pathos Nobody but Garrick could
speak like that!
Polly. (aside.) And yet, Shakespeare says, “What's
in a name P’’ º
LADY O. What an eye he has It penetrates the

soul!
GINGLE. Like a cobbler's awl eh, my lady ? Sharp's
the word, and quick’s the motion. I hate your dull,
drawling fellows, who dole out speeches at a line a
minute by a stop-watch. I’m for getting over the ground
—flustering an audience—taking 'em by storm. Eh, Mr.
Thingemmy
HARDUP. Undoubtedly, sir! Listen! listen gentlemen,
to the great master of your art.
PoELY. He's taken too much sherry!—I knew he
would !
HARDUP. Shall we run through your first scene as
we've had no rehearsal? I think there's just time.
GINGLE. As you please, my dear fellow ; anything to
be agreeable.
LADY O. How condescending ! .
HARDUP. Mrs. Hardup, you hear Mr. Garrick! Mr.
Pumpwell, you’ll give the cue, if you please.
PUMP. “And now my cousin Hamlet, and my
son”— *
GINGLE. There's a little more sherry in that decanter.
I beg your pardon, what did you say?
PUMP. “And now, my cousin Hamlet, and my
son—”
GINGLE. “A little more than kin, and less than
PUMP. “How is it that the clouds still hang on
20 THE GARRICK FEVER.
Gingle. “Not so, my lord! I am too much i' the
Sllºl. -
Polly. (aside.) He has been too much in the sun, as
the saying is. . -
MRs. HARDUP. “Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted
colour off, and let thine eye look like a friend on
Denmark—”
Enter CALL BOY with chicken, &c., on tray, Le
GINGLE. I beg your pardon again, but here's my
chicken, and—“I have that within which passeth
show.” Never mind me—“Go on l I’ll follow thee!”
You see I’m at the wing !
HARDUP. Ha! haſ excellent At the wing ! A
professional joke, my lady
LADY O. What wit! What playful fancy!
CALL Boy. (to HARDUP.) And please, sir, there's a
gentleman below, as comed in by the Dublin Mail, and
wishes to know if you've ever got a letter from Mr.
Garrick
Polly. Oh, mercy!
GINGLE. (aside.) A letter from me !
HARDUP. A letter from Mr. Garrick? Why, to be
sure I have—had it a week ago. What does the man
mean?
LADY O. He wants the autograph, no doubt. But
don’t let him have it. If you part with it at all, let it be
to me. I’ll give you ten guineas for it.
GINGLE. Nonsense, my lady I’ll write you as many
as you please. (aside.) Love letters! -
LADY O. Oh, Mr. Garrick | Fascinating creature I
CALL Boy. (to HARDUP.) If you please, sir, what am
I to say to the gentleman?
HARDUP. Tell him I’m just going on the stage with
Mr. Garrick, and I can’t be troubled now. He must call
to-morrow morning if he wants to see me. -
CALL Boy. Very well, sir. [Erit CALL BOY, L. D.
Polly. (aside.) It's all over with us—there is a letter
—it came this evening—I’ve got it in my pocket!
GINGLE. The devil
THE GARRICK FEVER. 21
HARDUP. (crosses to L.) What does she say about a
pocket?
GINGLE. Nothing ! Only prompting me—“That from
a shelf the precious diadem stole, and put it in his
pocket.” Come, ladies and gentlemen, it must be near
the time ; let us go down upon the stage. Mind, I give
you all notice, though I say it that shouldn't say it, you
are going to see such a piece of tragic acting as you never
saw before in all your lives!
OMNEs. We have no doubt of it !
[Eveunt all c. D., but Polly and LADY O' LEARY.
Polly. (L. detaining LADY O' LEARY.) One word if
you please, my lady.
LADY O. (R.) What, now, my dear child ! Impossible !
I shall miss his entrèe—his reception |
Polly. Oh, but indeed, my lady, you must hear me !
It's of the greatest consequence | I shall be ruined if
you don’t.
LADY O. Mercy on the child ! Speak quickly, then
What is the matter P
PoELY. It must be found out, and then my father will
kill us both, if you don’t interfere.
LADY O. Both 2 What, you and me, child?
Polly. No, my lady—me and Gingle.
LADY O. Gingle ! Who's Gingle :
PoELY. Mr. Decimus Gingle; the young man who is
playing Hamlet.
LADY. O. The poor girl has lost her senses, surely!
Hamlet ! You don’t mean Hamlet, child ! Mr. Garrick
is playing Hamlet. -
Polly. That is not Mr. Garrick, my lady.
LADY O. Not Mr. Garrick, Miss Polly Hardup ! Are
you really mad, or do you mean to insult me?
Polly. No, indeed, my lady. Mr. Garrick has not
arrived. Here's a letter from him, most likely to explain
—you heard what the boy said, just now, about the
gentleman, my lady ?
LADY O. I shall go crazy myself. Is it possible that
anyone can have dared to assume—
PoELY. It was for my sake, my lady. Mr. Gingle
thought if he succeeded father would give his consent.
22 THE GARRICK FEVER,
LADY O. And I had nearly quarrelled with the Major
about this impostor!
PoELY. Oh, dear, my lady!
LADY O. Have been trapped into praising, admiring a
trumpery strolling player—a fellow without fame, figure,
voice, or any single recommendation for his profession.
Polly. Oh, my lady
LADY O. A stamping, storming, ranting, vulgar,
horrid, little wretch
Polly. Indeed and indeed, my lady, he may not be a
very good actor, but he's a very nice young man.
CALL BOY. (looking in C.) Stage is waiting, Miss |
Polly. The stage waiting for me ! Oh, dear! what
shall I do —what shall I do : [Evit Polly, c.
LADY O. I’m ready to sink with shame!—I, who have
been considered an oracle on such matters. The more I
think of it, the more astonished I am that I could be
deceived for a moment. He, Hamlet ! He's no more like
Hamlet—
Enter MAJOR, c.
MAJOR. (entering.) Exactly my opinion, Lady O'Leary;
and I’m delighted to find you've come round to it at last,
where'er you have been to get it. But the public, you
see, are not of the same way of thinking.
LADY O. (R. c.) The public |
MAJoR. (L. C.) Did you ever hear such acclamations—
such a hububoo of applause, in your born days
LADY O. At his entrance, of course.
MAJor. At his exit—at the end of his ghost scene, and
all through it as well. Devil a word in twenty could you
hear for the shouting. They’ve got the Garrick fever,
my lady, badly, and a noisy disorder it is.
LADY O. You don’t say so *
MAJoR. Why, where could your ladyship be not to
hear it yourself?
LADY O. (aside.) If it should be Garrick after all. The
Major is no judge of acting, and the girl herself may be
mistaken. There certainly was a sort of a kind of
a— (aloud.) I have not seen the performance. I was
THE GARRICK FEVER. 23
detained by particular business; but I will hasten, and
pronounce at once upon his merits.
Enter HARDUP, MRs. HARDUP, PoELY, and ACTORs,
hastily; the latter bearing GINGLE in a chair, c.
HARDUP. This way ! This way! Take carel Quietly'
*::"o. } What's the matter 3
HARDUP.
MRs. HARDUP.
Garrick is very ill !
HARDUP. (L. C.) Have you such a thing as a smelling
bottle, my lady ?
LADY O. (R.) Here! here! Bless my soul!
HARDUP. How unfortunate | In the midst of such a
magnificent effort, with the house in a tumult of
applause.
Polly. (L. aside.) It's the wine !—I knew it would be
so l—He's not used to it!
MRs. HARDUP. (R. C.) He opens his eyes | He
moves |
HARDUP. (L. C.) Do you feel a little better, sir?
GINGLE. (c.) “Speak the speech, I pray you, as I
pronounced it to you— (hiccups.) trippingly on the
tongue.”
MAJoR. (R.) Ill! Why, the man's drunkl
GINGLE. (staggering up.) “To be, or not to be, that's
the question.” -
HARDUP. Mr. Garrick drunk 1 Impossible !
GINGLE “My custom always in the afternoon.”
LADY O. (R.) How very disgraceful. (aside.) It can-
not be Mr. Garrick.
MRs. HARDUP. I’m all astonishment
GINGLE. “Oh, wonderful son, that can so astonish a
mother l’’
HARDUP. Was there ever anything so provoking? I
must make an apology, after all, or dismiss the
audience.
GINGLE. “Alas, poor ghost!”—“Lady, shall I lie in
your lap 2" (to LADY O'LEARY.)
Mr. Garrick has fainted ' Mr.
24 THIE GARRICK FEW ER.
LADY O. Major, protect me !
MAJOR. Keep off, fellow ! or I'll make a tragedy actor
of you in earnest.
GINGLE. You ! You make a tragedy actor of me ! I
defy you ! I scorn your words, sir! I can draw, sir, as
well as you, sir. (draws.) [The Wom EN scream.
HARDUP. Here’ll be bloodshed ! Major Mr. Garrick
GINGLE. (trying to pass at the MAJOR.) “A rat 1 a
rat a rat Dead for a ducat!—dead l’’
Polly. Gingle ! My dear Gingle ! (pulling his coat.
ALI. (but LADY O'LEARY.) Gingle !
HARDUP. Gingle ! What does the wench mean by
Gingle
LADY O. That you have been imposed upon, as this
letter may, perhaps, explain. (gives letter to HARDUP.)
HARDUP. To me ! (breaking letter open hastily—reads)
“Dear sir,
I have just discovered, to my great concern,
that I have misdirected two letters, and sent you the
answer to a dinner invitation from a friend a few miles
out of Dublin. I enclose, in all haste, the note intended
for you, declining, with many thanks, your liberal
proposal, and trust it will arrive in time to prevent any
disappointment to the public.
Your obedient servant,
D. G.”
D. G. Confusion Then who the devil are you?
GINGLE. Your obedient servant, D. G.
HARDUP. D. G. What D. G. P. How D. G. P
GINGLE. Decimus Gingle !
HARDUP. The fellow who made love to my daughter at
Cork P
GINGLE. “The same, my lord, and your poor servant
ever.”
MAJoR. (laughing.) Ha! haſ my lady! “You don't
seem struck by him What a voice What expression
His genius is universall”
LADY O. Laughed at by him, too! I shall die with
vexation
Polly. (aside, on her R. H.) Say you knew it all the
THE GARRICK FEVER, 25
while, my lady, and kept the secret to serve me. Nobody
can laugh at you then. -
LADY O. An excellent idea!
HARDUP. You drunken rascal! You shall suffer for
this
GINGLE. That I shall! I’ve a horrid head-ache to
begin with.
HARDUP. You've ruined me !
(PoELY. goes to LADY O'LEARY, and entreats her to
interfere. .
GINGLE. Don't say so, sir! I hoped to make your
fortune, and my own too. It's all the fault of the sherry—
upon an empty stomach. .
HARDUP. I wish it had been poison, with all my
heart.
Enter UNDERTONE, c.
UNDER. Mr. Hardup. There's a terrible noise in front,
sir. They're calling for the manager.
HARDUP. I can't face 'em! Do you go, Mr. Undertone.
Tell 'em—
GINGLE. No—stop ! I'll go! I don’t mind an apple or
two—and I’m getting sober fast.
HARDUP. Go to the devil! They’ll want their money
again!
*Lºpy o. (advancing R.) And if they do, I'll make it
up to you! -
HARDUP. You, my lady? Why, it's a hundred and
twenty pounds!
LADY O. I have promised my god-daughter, Miss Polly
Hardup, to arrange matters between you, and I shall keep
my word. The young man, I am assured, is not an
habitual drunkard, and he may have talent in another
line.
MAJoR. To judge from his figure he'd be better in Low
Comedy, than High Tragedy.
PoELY. Nay! you must own, father, that you said he
was magnificent, even in Hamlet, as far as he went.
HARDUP, Yes—because I thought he was Mr. Garrick
—and of course—
26 THE GARRICK FEVER,
Polly. And because he is not Mr. Garrick, you will
say he has no merit at all. W
HARDUP. If he can get me out of this scrape with the
audience, I’ll say whatever you please. t
GINGLE. Done! It's a bargain! I'll go forward to
them, and I’ll say— -
“Ladies and Gentlemen,
“I throw myself on the generosity of an enlightened
Public I candidly confess to you that I am not the
immortal Mr. Garrick! But, don’t be angry! I assumed
his name in the humble hope of affording you some enter-
tainment. This is my first appearance in Hamlet. I took
the part at a very short notice, and respectfully solicit the
usual indulgence.” -
FINALE.
Čuriſtin.
PUMPWELL. -
MRs. HARDUP. MR. UNDERTONE.
Polly.
LADY O’LEARY. GINGLE.
MAJOR. HARDUP.
R. L.
Printed by T. BLoWER, 313, Strand.

BUCKSTONE'S ADVENTURE
WITH A
POLISH PRINCESS,
3m (Briginal jarts
IN ONE ACT
BY
SLINGS BY LAW RFN CE,
A UTHOR OF
A Game of Speculation, The Lawyers, Taking by Storm, Sunshine
through the Clouds, &c. &c. &c.
THOMAS IIAILES LACY,
W E L I, I N (; T O N S T R E E T, s T R A N p,
L O N D () N.
BUCKSTONE's ADVENTURE,
First Performed at the Royal Haymarket Theatre,
- on Wednesday, July 4th, 1855,
ºr yº-yº -e-...se/~~~~~~~ *-*.*.*, *, *, *, *...*&^^*S*evº-º-º-º-
([haracters.
PRINCE GOGONOFF, ............ tº g º is a s a tº* * * * * * * *... Mr. Rogers,
COUNT KISSILEFF .............................. MR. BRAID.
GENERAL BOSKY , , , * e e g º e s a ſº s º e s e 4 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * MR. CoE.
COLONEL PIPINSICY ........................... MR. Russell.
CAPTAIN WASHOFF ........................... Mr. EDwARDs.
MR. BUCKSTONE ...,. * * * * * * 4 * * * * * * * * * * * * s a e s e e s e is BY HIMSELF.
THE PRINCESS LADRANOFF ............ MISSSWANBorougis.
MISS SMITH (her Companion).................. Miss E. CHAPLIN,
*A*-*...*&^^***
~ * ***, *.*.*.*.*~ *...*&^*************.*&^.
> <--> tº . ~ - - -->.
SCENE–IN WARSAw.—TIME, 1855.
([05tumit5.
PRINCE.-Blue military coat and trousers.
KISSILEFF.—Brown frock, embroidered fur cape and blue trousers.
Bosky.-Green military coat, white breeches, boots and hat.
CoLonel, PIPINsky.—Military suit.
CAPTAIN WASHUFF.—Military suit.
Mr. Buckstone.—Blue military frock coat, blue pants, hessian
boots, fur tops, white waistcoat, brown cap.
SERVANTs.- Blue and silver,
GUARDs.—Blue frocks, crimson trousers, and fur Cap$.
PRINCEss—Scarlet velvet upper dress, trimmed with gold and
ermine; white satin under ditto, trimmed with gold.
Miss SMITH.—Blue checked silk,
.*, *, . . . . . . . . . . . * * : * * * : * ~ *~~ *S*...*&^2-S-,-, z-z-,-,-r, e.
Time of performance—45 minutes.
BUCKSTONE'S ADVENTURE.
--~~~~f~f~Rºjº
SCENE I.—Apartment in the Palace of the Princess.
Enter PRINCE GogoNOFF, followed by a SERVANT, L.
SERVANT. If your Excellency will wait a moment, I
will inform the Princess.
Crosses and eacit, R.
PRINCE. At last, Princess, I flatter myself you will not
escape me. Proud as you are, I have that which will
make you bend, and the Governor of Warsaw consents to
play into my hands.
Enter Miss SMITH, R., the PRINCE bows politely.
PRINCE. Miss Smith, I am ravished -
Miss S. The Princess will be here in one moment,
Excellency.
PRINCE. Let me employ that moment with you. You
have been in Poland so long, that you must, I suppose, be
considered almost as one of us. -
Miss S. Not quite.
PRINCE. At any rate, your residence in the Russian
dominions has familiarized you with Russian principles,
and made you aware that here every thing has its price.
Miss S. Everything—except love.
PRINCE. (laughing) Oh! that more than everything
else, We buy what we want, and find it saves so much
trouble. If we want a post under government, we buy it.
MISS S. Hem
PRINCE. If all I hear be true, you are not in England
altogether insensible to the merits of the purchase system.
Miss S. England does not know the word.
PRINCE. Well, we do—if we want places, we buy them;
A 2
4. BUCKSTONE'S ADVENTURE.
honors, we buy them; secrets, we buy them ; friends, we
buy them—we have plenty of money.
Miss S. And little morality.
PRINCE. Morality that is a word that changes with
every change of latitude. Here in Warsaw, Russian
morality prevails; and as every one buys what every one
is only too happy to sell, the transaction becomes moral by
becoming universal.
Miss S. I presume that this preamble has an object.
PRINCE. It has.
Miss S. To buy me?
PRINCE. (bows) Just so—I bid for a secret, and the
price I offer, is a place that at the Court of St. Petersburgh
attached to the Empress. Is it not tempting 2
MISS S. But what is the secret?
PRINCE. That which makes the Princess Ladranoff
obstimately refuse my hand.
Miss S. (bursting into a fit of laughter)
PRINCE. Why do you laugh?
Miss S. Are you serious 2
PRINCE. I wish you were.
Miss S. And you will keep your word?
PRINCE. The word of a Gogonoff. (She takes up a hand-
looking glass from the table and holds it before his face)
Miss S. Look there—there you discover your secret.
PRINCE. (piqued) I discover nothing of the kind.
Miss SMITH. Then I will explaim. - The princess is not
handsome
PRINCE. Decidedly not.
Miss S. You are not handsome.
PRINCE. Not very.
Miss S. In love two negatives never made an affirmative.
(crosses to L.) That is the secret. I will apologize for the
impertinence when you have apologized for the greater
impertinence of supposing that an Englishman's homesty
changes with change of latitude.
Curtsies profoundly and eacit, I.
PRINCE. (coolly taking snuff) I did not offer her enough,
Łut now she knows I am willing to buy she will soon
name her terms—here comes the Princess,
BUCKSTONE'S ADVENTURE. 5.
Enter the PRINCEss LADRANOFF, R., her manner is absurdly
stiff and haughty.
PRINCEss. Forgive me, Prince, for having kept you
waiting, I was with my intendant. Oh, this wealth, what
a burden it is.
PRINCE. Quite true, yet how willingly the back endures
the burden.
PRINCEss. I only think of money as the splendour
necessary for my rank, in itself I am quite indifferent to
it. To lose all to-morrow would not give me a moment's
pain. I am something of a philosopher.
PRINCE. But more of a woman—more of a charming
woman.
PRINCEss. I have my admirers it is true.
PRINCE. You know my deep regard for you. •
PRINCESS. As soon as you mention that, you alarm me.
PRINCE. The time is now come when the sincerity of
that regard can be shown free from all possible mercenary
motive.
PRINCEss. You terrify me !
PRINCE. Fortunately, you do not care for money 2
PRINCEss. But I do—I do
PRINCE. You said just now——
PRINCEss. Never mind what I said just now. Is my
fortune in peril?
PRINCE. The greatest. I have just quitted the governor.
He tells me, that sixty years ago, the prince, your grand-
father, sold the permission to trade in brandy over a
district where legally he had no power, and the crown
lawyers are now preparing an action against you to
TGCOV6]".
PRINCEss. For the act of my grandfather?
PRINCE. The crown loses nothing, that is its principle.
If one member of a family defraud the crown, the other
members must pay. The worst of the present case is
that not only was your grandfather decidedly in the wrong,
but the sum has so multiplied by compound interest during
sixty years, that your fortune will scarcely cover it.
PRINCESS. This is horrible to think of.
PRINCE. It is. Yet your friends will rejoice to see you
bear it like an ancient philosopher.
*
6 BUCKSTONE'S ADVENTURE.
PRINCEss. Ancient, indeed.
PRINCE. You will face it calmly.
PRINCEss. Don't be absurd, Prince; nobody bears such
things calmly.
PRINCE. You will see how little your fortune had to do
with my assiduity, when I here on the spot offer you my
hand.
PRINCEss. Why you have nothing.
PRINCE. Nothing but my love.
PRINCEss. Ah,
Enter Miss SMITH, L.
Miss S. Oh, Princess, I have just had such a shock :
General Boleski has been here chattering about some
rumour he heard at the governor's palace. A brandy
license—I don't know what—but your fortune he says is
in danger. (up C.)
PRINCE. (aside, down L.) Bravo, Boleski (aloud)
Princess, there is a way yet of averting the danger.
PRINCEss. Show it me.
PRINCE. At present the whole matter rests with the
governor : unhappily, he is angry with you because you
have persisted in disregarding the very many hints he has
thrown out respecting me.
PRINCESS. Yes, he wants me to marry you, his cousin,
I have seen that for some time past, and seen that he has
been hurt at my not sacrificing myself to his good will and
pleasure. -
PRINCE. Let me hasten to him, and assure him that your
scruples are overcome, and rely upon it, you will hear no
more of the law suit: I will not take a denial ; reflect on
your position, and on my offer—Au revoir.
Eacit, L.
Miss S. (with intensity, down, R.) Well, if ever the cart
tails panted for an unwhipped scoundrel, Prince Gogonoff
is the party panted for.
PRINCEss. Do you believe him?
Miss S. Believe a Russian, indeed!
PRINCEss. And yet it is quite true what he says about
the governor—dear, dear, to think of my fortune gone—
to think of no longer being able to keep up my state
BUCKSTONE'S ADVENTURE: 7
Miss S. But on the other hand, think of marrying the
Prince.
PRINCESS. Don't mention the odious wretch. Dear Miss
Smith, help me out of this, you are so quick and clever.
Miss S. Let us lay our heads together. The governor
wishes you to marry his cousin, you refuse, and he
punishes you. Here then is the kernel of the difficulty—
How to crack the nut and extract the kernel is another
Imatter.
PRINCESS. Invent something—oh—do !
Miss S. The governor has no other cause of animosity?
PRINCEss. None. We were the best of friefids until
this idea of marriage came to separate us.
Miss S. If then we could hit upon some plan, which
would render the marriage an impossibility
PRINCEss. Nothing will be thought impossible by him.
Miss S. The fact is, it is not easy to find an impossibility
—people perpetually have the word in their mouths, but,
in life, nothing is rarer than a real impossibility—if I were
in England, I would advertise for one in the Times :-
“Wanted an impossibility—no Irish need apply;” but in
Warsaw you have no Times.
PRINCEss. Alas !
Miss S. I have it!—you must marry some one else.
PRINCEss. That will only exasperate the governor more.
Miss S. Notif you persuade him that when he expressed
his desire to you, you were already married.
PRINCEss. But I was not.
Miss S. Of course not—there's the impossibility we
want : You were married in secret—the marriage pre-
vented your acceding to the governor's wishes; the
Secrecy prevented your explaining why. Bravo! the plan
is settled.
PRINCEss. But where's the husband?
Miss S. As if there were ever any difficulty in getting
a man | There is no woman who could not have any man
if she insisted on it—all depends on determination: let
her determine, and by hook or by crook, have him she
will.
PRINCEss. Indeed, I cannot but suppose, that the
proudest would be immeasureably complimented at my
8 BUCKSTONE'S ADVENTURE.
condescension in accepting him, but I have already refused
every one of suitable family, and my adorers have now
become my enemies. .
Miss S. Treat them as enemies and marry them.
PRINCEss. Eh P - .
Mrss S. I mean, fix your eye on one a rattlesnake fixes
a bird, and you will see that trembling bird stagger into
the arms of his destroyer. -
PRINCEss. (offended) Really, Miss Smith, you have
comparisons which are anything but flattering—am I like
a rattlesnake P
Miss S. In fascination.
PRINCEss. (mollified) Ah–so But to return : It being
notorious, that I have refused all these, the governor will
never credit a secret marriage; and where is the man who
would brave his displeasure ?
Enter SERVANT, L.
SERVANT. Miss Smith, there is a countryman of yours,
who says you ordered him to present himself at this hour.
Miss S. Oh, Princess, this is Mr. Buckstone.
PRINCEss. And who is Mr. Buckstome 2
Miss S. Did you never hear of him 2 Well, you will
see him, that's better
PRINCEss. But why does he come here 2 *
Miss S. He has come for the place of private secretary.
PRINCEss. Well he must call again, I can’t see him now.
(crosses to R.)
Miss S. Stay, Princess—there's your man.
PRINCEss. What man P
Miss S. The man we have been seeking.
PRINCEss. Impossible !
Miss S. Exactly, an impossibility at last! Shew him up!
Eacit SERVANT, L.
A man in ten thousand—an Englishman—every reason
why your marriage should be secret—you must marry him.
PRINCEss. What, the Princess Ladranoff, marry a man
of no rank 2 -*
Miss S. Desperate evils call for desperate medicines:
you won't cure apoplexy with a basin of water-gruel.
PRINCEss. To marry a man that never was born.
BUCKSTONE's ADVENTURE. 9
MISS S. Come with me for a few minutes, and I will
shew you such reasons as must convince you.
PRINCEss. But to marry and so suddenly 2
Miss S. Marriage should always be sudden—you don't
sip a black draught, you gulp it. Eaceunt, R.
Enter MR. BUCKSTONE in a braided fur coat, snow boots, R.,
he and the SERVANT bow very obsequiously to each other.
Eacit SERVANT, L.
BUCK. This way, oh, very well. (solus—looking round)
So, this is a palace 2 Not at all bad for barbarians. A man
could live here if he had British comfort and British
institutions. By the way, how do men contrive to live
in these Russian dominions? Their incomes must be
totally free from income tax, for they have to buy every-
thing, from toothpicks to civility;--you only get civility
gratis from the common people, and that is sometimes
queer. You shall judge. (to the Pit) Yesterday I was
looking at a portrait of the Czar in a shop window, and
thinking to myself if a large family is the source of much
anxiety to a father, what must be the state of mind of a
father of his people, sixty millions of children all more or
less beloved, (observe, I say, more or less). In this strain
of meditative thought I was interrupted, by observing a
large and dirty hand belonging to a large and not remark-
ably clean individual, thrust itself before my face; in
another second that hand filled with snow was on my
nose, rubbing, rubbing, rubbing, as if my nose were fire
irons and wanted sand paper | Stupefied at such famili-
arity, I opened my eyes thus, interrogatively, and gazed
upon my dirty but eager friend. I tucked up my sleeves
preparing to give him a damn'd good hiding, and while
I did so, I asked with calm and cutting sarcasm, “Pray,
sir, to what am I indebted for this civility.” Taking off
his fur cap with exquisite gravity, he answered, “Excel-
lency, your nose was freezing,” and he walked away
gracious. It was polite; but I ask any gentleman who
has an attachment for his nose, what he thinks of a country
where that ornamental outgrowth is liable to fall into his
waistcoat pocket, unless some one scrubs it with a handful
of snow. Yet I have quitted England for such a country.
10 BUCKSTONE'S ADVENTURE.
You'll ask me why I did, but that is precisely the same
question I am constantly putting to myself, and still pause
for a reply—I don't really know how I came here, or why.
Re-enter PRINCEss and Miss SMITH, R.; MR. BUCKSTONE
bows elaborately.
PRINCEss. Your countrywoman, sir, has spoken in the
highest terms of you—terms which your appearance con-
vinces me are deserved.
BUCK. (bowing) Oh, Princess, really
PRINCEss. You are English, are you not ?
BUCK. Intensely—Briton, to the back-bone !
PRINCEss. And your name? What did you say it was,
Miss Smith ?
BUCK. In England I am not altogether unknown by
the name of Buckstone; here, to flatter the natives, and for
some private reason of my own, I call myself Count
Buckstoneoffsky.
Miss S. Offsky
BUCK. Yes, offsky, is a kind of fur collar tagged to my
name, to suit the climate. To be candid—I have my
reasons. I was recently in Moscow, dining with some
Russian officers, and over a champagne cup—I not very
clear in my ideas at that convivial moment, proposed a
toast to England and confusion to her enemies, you may
imagine the uproar! they set up a yell as if the cholic had
seized them ; what the precise expressions were I know
not, but I could see that they were not complimentary,
and carried along by the convivial impulse of the hour, I
went up to an officer who was grinning ferociously at me
and washed his face with the champagne—it was a waste
of good liquor I admit, but the convivial Englishman
never calculates expense.
Miss S. How did you escape alive 2 -
BUCK. Every one of them challenged me, and I accepted
all their challenges—all !
PRINCEss. And you killed them 2
BUCK. Well not exactly—I accepted the challenge.
The hour fixed for the first was six in the morning. “I
shall await you, sir,” said my truculent friend, and he
BUCKSTONE's ADVENTURE. 14
did await me, he may be awaiting me at this moment for
all I know.
Miss S. You ran away ?
BUCK. Ran away? What an expression | No, I
thought of the mothers and sisters of these ignorant
foreigners, and my tenderness said, “Spare them.” I did
spare them. I took the train to St. Petersburgh that very
night.
PRINCEss. Well, Mr. Buckstone—
BUCK. (interrupting) Offsky, if you please, I prefer the
offsky, for it is not on the cards I gave those hairy Russians.
PRINCEss. (aside to Miss SMITH) I think he will do.
This adventure will make him anxious to quit the Russian
dominions and give a colour to the secrecy of our marriage.
(aloud) The place of private secretary is beyond a man of
your merit. .
BUCK. (confused) Oh
PRINCEss. That of friend, alone is worthy of you. But
I leave your countrywoman to explain, and for the present,
adieu ! -
Curisies and eacit, R.
BUCK. (c.) What an imperial creature
Miss S. (L. C.) Isn't she? and she wants you to be her
friend.
BUCK. So I will, I'll dine here daily—stay a moment—
I shan’t be asked to drink train oil, shall I ?
Miss S. No, no
BUCK. Nor feast on tallow candles?
Miss S. (laughing) Nothing but French cookery.
BUCK. Then I repeat my former assertion. I’ll dine
here daily
Miss S. And sup every night?
BUCK. If she eats suppers. I’m not fastidious.
Miss S. And could you consent to pass your life with
her, in this palace P
BUCK. (melodramatically) Or perish in the attempt!
Miss S, Well then, my dear Mr. Buckstone-
Buck. Offsky—please be particular about the fur collar.
Miss S. The disposition I find you in lightens what I
have to say. You know our sex P
Buck. No I don't—nobody does—it doesn't know itself.
12 BUCKSTONE'S ADVENTURE,
Miss S. You know that we are strange, frantic, wilful
creatures
BUCK. Yes, so much I do know,
Miss S. Whose acts are ruled by impulses, not reasons.
BUCK. Strictly true !
MISs S. And I don't know how to say it; you must
very often have had women secretly in love with you.
BUCK. (confused and modest) Really—well—now that
is a question
Miss S. Your modesty forbids your owning it, but it's
true.
BUCK. Let us skip that part of the argument.
MISs S. It is necessary to my argument, for it is just
such a case I have to put to you.
BUCK. Good gracious, you haven't been falling secretly
in love with me? (she laughs heartily) That laugh re-assures
I0 €.
MISs S. I am not the person, but there is a lady—a
great lady—
BUCK. Lor—a countess, perhaps 1
Miss S. Higher still !
BUCK. What—you don't mean—
MISS S. I do.
BUCK. What?
Miss S. Yes.
BUCK. Eh 2 -
Miss S. Our Princess—will you marry her?
BUCK. Will I marry what? a live Princess—a real
Princess off the stage l—and are you serious?
Miss S. Perfectly.
BUCK. You take my breath away.
Miss S. It is not every one such luck befals. Think of
a Polish Princess, immensely rich.
BUCK. That decides me. If your Princess, immensely
rich, is seriously pining for me, console her, dry her eyes,
I sacrifice mysclf.
Miss S. There is but one thing more—you must sign to-
day the papers, which will be dated two months ago. It
must appear that you have been married in Secret, other-
wise she may lose all her fortune—your fortune, remember.
Will you do this?
‘t
!
BUCKSTONE'S ADVENTURE. 13
BUCK. I see no objection, especially as it is to save a
fortune.
MISS S. Then lose not a moment—follow the Princess,
throw yourself at her feet, declare your passion, and ask
for permission to sign the papers.
BUCK. Well this is a most extraordinary country: ever
since I have been here, I don't know whether I am standing
on my head or my tail—though I haven’t got a tail—I am
perfectly bewildered. There's nobody in England will
believe me, when I tell my adventures; I don’t quite
believe them myself—I am not sure that I am myself
—I may have been changed at nurse, such things have
been known before this: but the question is, if I am not
myself, then who the devil am I? I'll go and ask the
Princess. - Eacit, R.
Miss S. That's settled—now then to ripen my plan, for
here comes the Prince,
º
Enter PRINCE GogoNoFF, L.
PRINCE. Well, my dear Miss Smith, has the Princess
considered my proposition?
Miss S. To be candid with you, she cannot accept it.
There are impossibilities in the way; I told you there was
a secret, and this morning you seemed willing to buy it. .
PRINCE. True, but I did not offer enough—will you
name your terms?
Miss S. My terms are secret for secret; if you will
answer me truly and explicitly a question I shall ask, then
I will truly inform you why you are refused.
PRINCE. Agreed I will answer anything you like.
What then is the cause of her refusal P
Miss S. Nay! I must have your secret first.
PRINCE. Cam it be that I am doubted?
Miss S. To be frank with you, yes. When you have
answered me, I will, if your answer is satisfactory, answer -
you. Is that your bargain P
PRINCE. As you will l
Miss S. My question is—Has the governor allowed the
matter of the brandy license to be revived because he is
angry with my mistress' refusal of you—and if his anger
B
14 BUCKSTONE'S ADVENTURE.
were appeased would he let the matter quietly sink into
oblivion again?
PRINCE. To the best of my belief, yes.
Miss S. That is all I want to know. Now then for my
secret. (looks round mysteriously) She couldn't accept you,
for she was married already.
PRINCE. Married
MISS S. In secret—but mum !
PRINCE. But married to whom?
Miss S. I promised you one secret, not two, I have
told you the reason, you must discover the man.
Re-enter MR. BUCKSTONE, radiant with triumph—he walks
wp and down not observing them, R.
BUCK. It's done, signed, and sealed, I am a prinee. I
feel like a potentate. What will they say in England?
(noticing the PRINCE) Who is this?
Miss S. Allow me to introduce the gentlemen to each
other—Prince Gogonoff—Mr.
BUCK. Count' (nudging her)
Miss S. Mr. Count Buckstone. - - 4
BUCK. Offsky–Count Buckstonoffsky, don't cut off my
offsky.
PRINCE. (haughtily) A friend of the Princess's 2
BUCK. Rather!—and you?
PRINCE. It's very strange, I don't remember to have
seen you here before.
Miss S. Gentlemen, having made you acquainted, I
must beg to leave you for a few minutes. (to BUCKSTONE
as she goes out) He's one of your wife's admirers and
hopes to marry her.
BUCK. Marry my wife 2
Miss S. And if you don't take care he will.
Eacit, R.
Buck. (aside) Marry my wife—the Russian profligate 1.
PRINCE. (aside) Married secretly—that stranger coming
out of her chamber, he must be the man. I'll try, (aloud)
Count, let us improve the happy occasion which throws us
together. (they sit)
BUCK. (aside) Flatters the husband for the sake of the
wife—so like those foreigners.
BUCKSTONE'S ADVENTURE. 15
PRINCE. Is Poland the only part of the Russian empire
you have visited ?
BUCK. I have scampered through St. Petersburgh and
the Ukraine. -
PRINCE. And how do you like the Russians?
BUCK. As I like apples—very much, when they are
ripe—and not at all when they are rotten.
PRINCE. And what say you to the Polish women, do
they not deserve their reputation for grace and fascination.
BUCK. Well, I have seen some.
PRINCE. Take care of your heart, they are syrens—I
presume you are not married.
BUCK. You do presume them, for I am married—a
little !
PRINCE. Indeed! to whom ?
BUCK. To my wife. .
PRINCE. So much I suspected. May one hope for the
honor of her acquaintance?
BUCK. (rises and bows) You are extremely polite. (aside)
He wants to pump me—pump away.
PRINCE. What countrywoman, if I may be so bold 2
BUCK. No countrywoman at all. (aside) Pump away.
PRINCE. Indeed
BUCK. Town bred—quite metropolitan. (they sit)
PRINCE. You relieve me; I began to fear she might be
Polish, and as one of your personal attractions could
ally himself to nothing less than a princess, (observing him
as he emphasizes the words—BUCKSTONE remains stolid) I
was pitying your fate, but now I am happy to find that
the tragedy will not be enacted with you.
BUCK. Tragedy (very uneasy) Tragedy ? I don't quite
comprehend.
PRINCE. Since you are in no danger, I may in com-
fidence tell you what it was I feared. Draw your chair—
(mysteriously) You must know, that several Polish women
of rank have married foreigners lately, thus taking from
the Russian mobility an amount of property they regard
as their right. Now attend : (BUCKSTONE very anacious—
draws closer) We have formed a secret compact.
BUCK. A compact! of what nature ?
16 BUCKSTONE'S ADVENTURE.
PRINCE. Bound ourselves by solemn oath, that the next
foreigner who dares thus to carry off our prize
BUCK. (aside) He looks with ghastly eye on me. (aloud)
Yes, that unhappy foreigner, what of him? -
PRINCE. (in a low tone) His days are numbered.
BUCK. (wheels away his chair in horror) Days
bered - -
PRINCE. (coolly) We are very prompt in such matters.
BUCK. (wiping the perspiration from his brow) Yes, 5
have heard so much—very prompt.
PRINCE. (mysteriously) You know what history writes,
even of our emperors—Peter III., Ivan, Paul -
BUCK. Yes, quite a collection for Madame Tussaud's—
but, excuse my curiosity, it's very idle, very, but strangers
are curious you know. To be so prompt and certain you
must have peculiar facilities.
PRINCE. Many.
BUCK. Many and they are
PRINCE. (carelessly) First, there is cold steel.
BUCK. Cold steel—ugh !
PRINCE. (tying his handkerchief in a slip knot) If we
don't wish traces of blood—a simple handkerchief.
BUCK. Yes, yes—a new kind of cravat—no starch
wanted.
PRINCE. (tapping his snuff boax) Besides these methods
we have various elegant poisons. (offers a pinch)
BUCK. (in terrible agitation takes a pinch) Yes—elegant
poisons ! -
PRINCE. And these are very convenient: we scent a
handkerchief or mingle the poison with our snuff. (BUCK-
STONE, who is about to take the snuff, suddenly pauses ine
horror, with uplifted fingers, and opening his fingers,
carefully rubs the snuff away)
PRINCE. Do you never use snuff?
BUCK. (anaciously rubbing away the grains) Not without
sneezing !
PRINCE. (aside) He has betrayed himself. (aloud)
What think you of our compact 2
BUCK. (starting up indignantly) Think of it ! I think
of all the compacts ever heard of, this is —- (recovering
himself, and in a mild tone)—one of the most singular.
Yllkl}l-
BUCKSTONE's ADVENTURE. 17
PRINCE. I knew you would approve of it.
BUCK. I haye one slight objection to make—quite a
collateral matter— but one must be just you know.
Consider, this murdered foreigner arrives here with ex-
tremely imperfect notions of the manners and customs
of an amiable nobility, and with no sort of idea that
the nobility considers Polish princesses as their own.
He arrives, I say, ignorant of the compact—he wins the
heart of a susceptible female, and, as his intentions are
strictly honourable—oh, strictly, I pledge you my word—
he marries her.
PRINCE. And then takes a pinch of snuff.
BUCK. Exactly—then takes a pinch of snuff. Now
don't you agree with me that this is a little hard upon
the aforesaid foreigner, who, in total ignorance of snuff
boxes, “Loved not wisely, but too well ?” Had he
known that the nobles objected, I venture boldly to
assert, from my knowledge of strangers, that he would
never—never have married.
PRINCE. That probability has not been overlooked, and
we have given the stranger a loophole of escape.
BUCK. (eagerly) A loophole—is it large 2
PRINCE. Very, and so simple.
BUCK. Tell it me.
PRINCE. Why should you wish to know, it cannot
affect you?
BUCK. Of course mot—as you say, it cannot affect you.
Only you see I have a vivid imagination, and a great
sympathy with strangers, and I place myself in imagina-
tion in the exact position of this unhappy man.
PRINCE. The loophole's this: he has simply to declare
in writing, and on oath (an oath is easily sworn, it's only
so much breath)—
BUCK. Yes, yes, to declare in writing
PRINCE. That he was entrapped into the marriage,
consequently he demands a divorce. From that moment
his life is sacred and the marriage is annulled.
BUCK. (relieved) I see, the nobles are perfect gentle-
men? Thank you for the information. If ever they
catch me marrying again it shan't be with—(stopping
himself) a Polish princess.
18 BUCKSTONE'S ADVENTURE.
PRINCE. It would be well if you know any countryman
in this empire to warm him of his danger.
BUCK. I will ! 4.
PRINCE. (rising) Charmed to have made your agreeable
acquaintance
BUCK. I reciprocate intensely 1 -
PRINCE. (aside) He will make the declaration, and I
shall yet have this woman's fortune. Eacit, L.
BUCK. (feels his pulse) Two hundred beats a minute—
well it may ! I said this was a most extraordinary
country, and every hour reveals some new staggering
evidence of it—I shall no longer be able to drink a glass
of wine or take a pinch of snuff, for fear of some elegant
poison. Every night when I rest my head on my pillow
it will be with terror, lest next morning I wake to find
myself murdered—life isn’t possible in such a place. But
after all, I’m not married—I signed the papers, but that's
no marriage. I’ll confess the flam like an honest man
The PRINCEss and Miss SMITH who have entered at the
back have overheard the conclusion of the speech, R.
PRINCEss. Do you hear that? And I, who have sent
the papers to the governor revealing my secret marriage.
All is lost
BUCK. (seeing them) You are there, I wanted to say a
word to you!
PRINCEss. (coaxingly) And I to you, dear husband.
BUCK. Husband, indeed—I dare say !
PRINCESS. I am so anxious for you to embrace your
child.
BUCK. (alarmed) My what?
PRINCEss. Your child !
Miss S. Your infant son 2
BUCK. What ready-made? No, madam, I despise boots
ready-made, much more babies!
PRINCEss. Is not my child yours?
BUCK. (vehemently) No, distinctly not!
PRINCEss. Shall not the widow rejoice in having found
a father for her blessed boy P
BUCK. The widow may rejoice, but the father won't—
there are plenty of women roaming about the world for
BUCKSTONE'S ADVENTURE. 19
fathers for their offspring, but understand me, madam, I
am not one of them—I mean one of the fathers, not of
course the women.
MISS S. And have you no paternal instinct?
BUCK. Not vicariously; besides, I am not married—I
renounce the honor—I deny my signature.
BOTH. You can’t.
BUCK. If I can't, I will.
MISS S. But your marriage is now made known to the
governor; he will be furious if he learn the trick you
have played. Besides, you compromise the fortune of the
Princess.
BUCK. I care very little whose fortune I compromise—
I'm not going to compromise my life.
Enter SERVANT, L.
SERVANT. (announces) Count Kissileff, General Bosky,
Colonel Pipinsky, and Captain Washoff.
BUCK. (in horror) Don't admit them, don't—they are
my Moscow friends.
Miss S. The men whose challenges you accepted?
BUCK. The men whose lives I spared. (goes up)
Enter the above-named, L., they are all fierce military men.
Count. (bowing to the PRINCEss) Princess, our visit this
morning is no ordinary visit. We were told, that an
individual had been seen entering your palace, and we have
very particular business with that individual—If my eyes
do not deceive me, (goes up to BUCKSTONE) the individual
stands before me.
BUCK. (down, c.) Your eyes do deceive you, I assure
you they do, for this individual, meaning me, has no
business with you, and to speak frankly, has no desire to
have any.
Count. Do you mean to say, sir, that you do not
remember me, Count Kissileff?
BUCK. Kissi—Kissi—never heard the name.
GENERAL. (advancing to BUCKSTONE) Perhaps you
remember me, General Bosky P
BUCK. That pleasure also is denied me.
20 BUCKSTONE'S ADVENTURE.
g
CoLoREL. (advancing) Can the face of Colonel Pip-
insky be also unknown to you ?
BUCK. It's a very agreeable face, remarkably agreeable,
but totally unfamiliar. t
CAPTAIN. (advancing) Then I cannot expect you to
recal meeting Captain Washoff at Moscow 2
BUCK. Moscow !—Where is Moscow 2
Miss S. There seems to be some mistake here.
BUGK, A great mistake. -
CouxT. Not at all. Here, sir, is a card—do you recognize
that 2
GENERAL. e
* { (advance one after the other presenting a
COLONEL. card, and eacclaiming) And that.
CAPTAIN. 7
The four OFFICERs are thus standing in a row with the
cards held out, BUCKSTONE reads one after the other,
“John Baldwin Buckstone.”
BUCK. Who is this J. B. Buckstone 2
Count. Sir, you act your part very well.
BUCK. Sir, that is my constant ambition.
Count. But we are not men to be played with—our
sabres thirst for blood, sir—for blood.
GENERAL. And will have it. --
BUCK. Gentlemen, I make it a rule never to take
offence unnecessarily, because when I am roused, the
tiger in the jungle is a baby compared to me in ferocity—
I don't say this to frighten you. You appear to be
labouring under a mistake, but if Count Buckstonoffsky
has insulted you, say but the word, and he is ready to
give you sanguinary satisfaction.
Miss S. Indeed, gentlemen, you are mistaken—the
Count is the last man to shrink from an affair of honor.
BUCK. The very last. Like the best calico, I'm
warranted not to shrink. (sits)
PRINCEss. Some strange resemblance misleads you.
Count. The resemblance is not merely of person, but
of voice, manner, look.
GENERAL. (aside) I'll prove it. (goes beside BUCKSTONE
and says) Buckstone !
BUCK. (turning) Eh 2
BUCKSTONE'S ADVENTURE. 21
GENERAL. Ha, then you answer to your name?
BUCK. I? Of course, don't you answer to yours?
GENERAL. Why did you turn round and say eh, when
I said Buckstone 2
BUCK. Why? Is it possible you ask me why?
GENERAL. Yes, why? *
BUCK. From curiosity—natural curiosity to see this
Buckstone who resembles me. -
Count. That is a poor reason.
BUCK. I give you my reasons, such as they are, if they
are bad I can't help that. (aside to Miss SMITH) I'm a
dead man if you don't assist me. Swear yourself black
in the face.
MISS S. Be you quiet; I’ll get you out of this. (aloud
—crosses to L. c.) Count, will you allow me to ask one
question ?—When was this Moscow affair?
Count. On the fourteenth November.
Miss S. Are you quite positive as to the date 2
Count, GENERAL, and ColonBL. We are.
Miss S. Then I can prove you to be mistaken, for on the
thirteenth November the Count was married to my mistress.
BUCK. (eagerly) And you don't suppose that the day
after my wedding I should perform the physically im-
possible feat of alighting in Moscow.—a clear case of alibi
—a clear case.
OFFICERs. Married to the Princess 2
Miss S. Here are some of the papers which we were
looking over when you arrived, for my mistress has
determined on making her marriage public, in which de-
termination the Count joins.
BUCK. (uneasy) Yes—exactly—in which determination?
(aside) This girl has gone too far—she has rescued me
from ruffians in order to get me to avow the marriage.
Count. We beg, sir, to tender our sincere apologies for
the mistake.
BUCK. Not at all, not at all !
GENERAL. And at the same time to offer you our com-
gratulations on your happy marriage.
The OFFICERS bow and eaceunt, L.
BUCK. Happy marriage!—yes, I feel very like a happy
bridegroom
22 BUCKSTONE'S ADVENTURE.
Miss S. Did I not rescue you cleverly 2
BUCK. You know not what you have done, the frying-
pan you have taken me from is nothing to the fire you
have popped me in. The nobles will murder me. -
PRINCEss. And what then P
BUCK. What then 2 You take it coolly.
PRINCESS. Is it not honor enough to say you have
called a Ladranoff your wife 2
BUCK. What's the use of honor when it leads to—(makes
a knot in his handkerchief signifying strangulation)
PRINCEss. I’m told it's a very easy death.
BUCK. Oh, damn the ease, it's the death I object to—
and you to talk so coolly of my catastrophel Is it for
this you sought my alliance?
PRINCEss. I wanted to save my property—you were
useful, and I took you.
BUCK. What horrid thought uplifts my hair, “like
quills upon the fretful” what d'ye call 'em? Answer me,
are you, or are you not madly, passionately, in love with
me 2
PRINCEss. The man is deranged,
BUCK. I know it—I foresaw it—you're a demon I
Enter PRINCE followed by four Soldiers, L. .
BUCK. What now 2 I don’t like the looks of these
ruffians.
PRINCE. Princess, I come from the governor. He is
greatly incensed at your marriage, but as he is too gallant
to punish one of your sex, the weight of his anger falls
on your husband.
BUCK. Hallo!
PRINCE. For his presumption he is ordered to Siberia.
BUCK. Siberia! who, me?
PRINCEss. (coolly) I'm told it's not so disagreeable there.
People exaggerate so much—you'll find it gloomy perhaps,
and certainly cold, but not unwholesome.
BUCK. Blood-thirsty female ! do you imagine I am
going to Siberia for you?
PRINCEss. I have had serfs who spent years there—they
came back alive -
BtſCKSTONE'S ADVENTURE, 23
BUCK. I won't go. Prince, I am not the party you take
the for—the marriage was all a flam.
PRINCE. Are you not her husband?
PRINCEss. Yes.
BUCK. No, never was, and never will be.
PRINCE. Then how dare you sign papers, and attempt to
impose upon the governor? -
BUCK. I didn't attempt to impose on him
PRINCE. You signed the papers.
BUCK. Yes, that was to assist a friend—in England we
often lend our signature to a friend, and generally have to
pay the bill in consequence.
PRINCE. You will pay this bill. (to the SoLDIER) Take
that man, and give him the knout.
BUCK. The what?
PRINCE. Five hundred lashes.
BUCK. To a Briton P at your peril—beware, the British
lion.
PRINCE. Away with him. (SoLDIERs advance)
Miss S. Princess, intercede for him.
PRINCEss. Not I I hate the wretch, because I thought
of marrying him.
BUCK. These are your foreign females | And do you
mean to say, that you can calmly contemplate the idea of
the man you once called husband, receiving five hundred
lashes 2
PRINCEss. It does not hurt after the first twenty.
BUCK. Was there ever such a demon P
A Soldier advances close to BUCKSTONE with the knowt, and
says “Now, sir, follow me.” .
BUCK. I'll see you—promoted first. (runs off, R.)
PRINCE. After him 1 (SoLDIERS run out, R.
PRINCE. Resistance is useless — I shall double the
number of lashes unless you take it quietly. (cries heard
within of-Help, help! Murder! Thieves!—cries still heard)
r Eaceunt PRINCE, PRINCESS, and Miss SMITH, R.
As they leave the Stage in great confusion several muskets
are discharged without, R. Scene opens and discovers a
Bedroom. BUCKSTONE in bed asleep, restlessly tossing
about; by the bedside a candle stands on a small table
—it is guttering in the 80cket.
X4 BUCKSTONE'S ADVENTURE.
BUCK. Help—murder—bigamy—I am—a- (wakes
and sits up—looks round and rubs his eyes) Eh 2 What?
This room—no soldiers—no knout suspended. (knock
heard at door—he bolts under the clothes again in terror)
VOICE. (without) Your hot water, sir.
BUCK. (reappearing from under the clothes) Hot water
—that is what I’ve just got out of. I have been dreaming,
and what a dream—goodness gracious—gracious goodness
what a dream! Or am I dreaming now? Is this Siberia?
If it is, Siberia is a very pleasant place—peopled with very
pleasant faces, and for the sake of seeing the pleasant
faces before me, I’ll willingly dream this dream every
night till further notice,
(ſurfait.
Printed by Thomas Scott, Warwick Court, Holborn,
THE DOWAGER
A C O M E D Y
***
ºx
CHARLES MATHEWS,
ATUTHOR OF
Little Toddlekins; My Wife's Mother; Patter v. Clatter;
He would be an Actor; The Ringdoves; Humpback'd
Lover; A Match for a King; Two in the Morning;
Truth, &c. &c.
THOMAS HAILES LACY,
W E L L IN G T O N S T R E L T, s T R A N D,
LONIDON.
THE DOWA CERs
First Performed at the Theatre Royal Haymarket, Dec. 8, 1843.
LORD ALFRED LYNDSAY . . M.R. CHARLEs MATHEWS.
SIR FREDERICK CHASEMORE MR. Holl.
EDGAR BEAUCHAMP . . . . M.R. BRINDAL.
SERVANT . . . . . . . . M.R. ENNIs.
THE DOWAGER COUNTESS OF -
TRESILIAN . . . MADAME WESTRIs.
LADY bioomER . . . . MISS CHARLEs.
MARGARET . . . . . . . . MIss C, CoNNOR.
SCENE.—Lady Bloomer's Country House.
PERIOD.—About 1790.
COSTUN/ES,
LoRD ALFRED.—Riding dress of the period, stone-coloured
coat, braided, with silver, drab great coat, with cape,
amber satin waistcoat, leather breeches, top boots, lace
cravat, high brown beaver hat and buckle; powder.
SIR FREDERICK.—Same style of riding dress, green coat;
powder.
EDGAR.—Walking dress of the same period, violet and gold
breeches, white stockings, buckles; powder; cocked hat
and stick.
DowAGER.—Silk travelling dress of the period, open robe,
demi-train, petticoat of the same material, lace handker-
chief on the neck, small cloak, velvet hat and feathers;
no powder.
LADY BLooMER.—Striped silk dress of the same make;
powder.
MARGARET.-White muslin, with one deep flounce, broad
coloured Sash; powder.
THE DOWAGER.
SCENE.
A Drawing-Room, entirely open at the back, leading to a
garden. An awning protects the windows from the sun.
Doors R. and L.
LADY BLOOMER, R., and MARGARET BEAUCHAMP, L.,
discovered seated.
LADY B. Well, my dear Margaret, are we to pass the
whole morning without exchanging a word? What makes
you so silent?
MARG. I was thinking of the agreeable party assembled
here during the past week, and regretting the sudden
termination of our festivities.
LADY B. It certainly was very provoking; just as our
private theatricals, too, were about to begin; but it could
not be avoided. The letter which announced the probable
arrival here, of my old aunt, the Dowager, was a death-
blow to our merriment.
MARG. Is she, then, such a kill-joy?
LADY B. A formal frump; full, no doubt, of ridiculous
provincial prejudices. She was many years married to my
uncle, Lord Tresilian, a grave old Cornish nobleman, and
vegetated at the Land's End, under the shadow of his
dignity, until his death, two years ago, when business
took her to Germany.
MARG. Then where did you make her acquaintance 2
LADY B. My love, I have never seen her; but she is
very rich, has no children, and, if I do but please her—
MARG. I understand,
4 THE DOWAGER,
LADY B. At her age, and with her austere habits, she
would look upon our amusements as frivolous, and I am
anxious to receive her with all due respect and etiquette.
MARG. You are quite right. (sighing.) It is a sad
necessity. * * -
LADY B. I have warned Sir Frederick Chasemore to be
on his good behaviour. Have you cautioned your brother
Edgar *
Mºng. I have; but there's little danger of poor
Edgar's transgressing. He is too timid and quiet, too
sentimentally devoted to you, to bestow a thought upon
any one else.
LADY B. (rises.) Nonsense, Margaret ! Your brother
has now been nearly three months domesticated here, and,
in all that time has never uttered a word in the shape of a
declaration, nor have I seen anything in his manner, even,
to make me believe that he loves me.
MARG. That is because he has not courage to
declare himself; he is too sensitive ; a refusal would kill
him.
LADY B. How ridiculous! I like a bold lover—
ardent and enterprising, impetuous, pressing, impatient—
one who will not be said may to; like your gallant, for
instance, Sir Frederick Chasemore. -
MARG. Oh, don’t talk of him He is too confident
of success to please me. I like a respectful lover, full of
the poetry of gentle affection—sighing, musing, doubting,
hoping, fearing—one who— In short, like your admirer,
my poor brother Edgar.
LADY B. Come, come, Margaret; now would you
pretend to deny that Sir Frederick Chasemore—
MARG. And would you, now, Louisa, pretend to deny
that my brother Edgar—
LADY B. There, that will do. We won't attempt a
further examination of our silly hearts; we are neither of
us likely to confess the truth, so let us turn to another
subject.
MARG. Agreed! And just in time, for here comes my
brother.
LADY B. Now shall we be overpowered with the
rattling volubility of his exuberant spirits.
THE DOWAGER. 5
Enter EDGAR, slowly, from the garden, c. L.
EDGAR. Do I intrude:
MARG. No, no, of course not ; how can you be so
foolish, brother ?
EDGAR. My dear Margaret, if you were alone, I should
not hesitate to join you, but—
LADY B. “But the sight of Lady Bloomer so frightens
me, that—” Thank you, Edgar, for your pretty com-
pliment.
EDGAR. Now, pray don’t misinterpret— Bow un-
lucky I am | The fact is, I am foolishly bashful upon
certain points. I know it is absurd, but I— (aside.) I
feel I am blushing up to the eyes at this very moment.
LADY B. You should take a lesson from your friend,
$ir Federick.
MARG. Oh, no! Pray don't give my brother bad
advice.
EDGAR. I have watched him with envy. Indeed,
when I am alone, I feel resolute in my determination to
imitate him. I sally forth, a lion; my boldness lasts me
to the very door—nay, I fearlessly turn the lock, mag-
nanimously enter the room, behold you, and—my courage
is nipped like a bud.
MARG. Poor Edgar !
EDGAR. I think I am a little less timid than I was,
for I now and then catch myself positively gazing at you.
LADY B. Is—it—possible!
EDGAR. Oh, yes. I have even remarked the colour of
your eyes. -
LADY B. Ha! haſ haſ You really are making won-
derful progess. - -
EDGAR. There—you laugh. I’ve done.
LADY B. I regret that my gaiety should so ruffle you.
I will leave you to compose yourself. I must prepare for
our expected visitor. Apropos, our neighbour, Lord Alfred
Lindsay, may ride over here in the course of the morning;
we must contrive to give him a hint, also, to restrain his
accustomed mirth, Adieu, Edgar, we shall soon meet

6 THE DOWAGEB,
again, , Ha! haſ ha!—but I beg pardon; I will go and
laugh in the next room. [Exit, door R, 2 E.
EDGAR. Now, I'll just ask you, Margaret— !
MARG. All your own fault. I don’t pity you in the
least.
FRED. (without.) Edgar ! Edgar ! Where are you.
MARG. Here comes Frederick!
Enter SIR FREDERICK, from garden ; comes down c.
FRED. Aha! the fair Margaret here ! An unexpected
pleasure
MARG. You have been playing truant, this morning.
FRED. Yes, I took horse early, and have had a delightful
gallop round the neighbouring villages; breakfasted at a
picturesque farm-house, on brown bread, fresh butter, and
new-laid eggs; chatted with the jolly farmer, flirted with
his buxom wife, kissed his pretty daughter, and cantered
home again.
MARG. Upon my word, sir, a very charming confession'
FRED. You see how dangerous it is to let me run alone,
and yet you won't take me into leading-strings. Ah!
you smile.
MARG. (smiles.) Do not mistake the smile extorted by
your absurdity, for approbation of your levity.
FRED. I mistake nothing; you smile, and that is all I
ask. If I could but once make you laugh, I should
instantly order the wedding gloves and bouquets.
MARG. Your courtship is a gay one, at all events.
FRED. Our marriage will be gayer still, I promise you,
MARG. Our marriage! I laugh at the idea
FRED. You do? Then it pleases you, and I triumph.
MARG. Nonsense ! There really is no talking with you.
FRED. I know it. You may as well say “yes,” at once.
MARG. But I will say “no.”
FRED. Do–and I will prove that you mean “yes.”
MARG, Then I will say nothing.
FRED. That's right; silence gives consent.
EDGAR. (aside.) Only hear them ' only hear them
FRED. I am a happy man
EDGAR, You are. Your intrepidity is matchless,
THE Dowager. 7
What would I not give for half your hardihood with
Lady Bloomer. - -
FRED. What havn't you popped the question yet?
EDGAR. Popped the question —how easy it sounds.
No, I can’t summon up courage.
FRED. Well, some people are much too dilatory. Are
they not, Margaret?
MARG. They are; while others are much too pre-
cipitate.
EDGAR. There—you hear what my sister says.
FRED. Pshaw! man, I am sure Margaret herself will
own that such timidity as yours is absurd.
MARG. Undoubtedly, Margaret will as freely own that
her brother is far too fearful of failure, as that Sir Frederick
Chasemore is far too confident of success. [Erit R. 2 E.
EDGAR. What say you to that ?
FRED, Say!—that she loves me.
EDGAR. Well, I believe she does; but blames your
confidence.
FRED. Nonsense, she likes it.
EDGAR. Eh Egad, I verily believe she does.
FRED. They all do.
EDGAR. I'm afraid you're right. What will become
of me?
FRED. Follow in my steps.
EDGAR. I can’t. Besides, the very thing you court most,
I most dread—a laugh. If she wouldn't laugh, I think I
could make her a declaration.
FRED. Well, listen to me, and I’ll let you into a secret
by which we shall get the laugh on our side.
EDGAR. What is it?
FRED. Lady Bloomer has announced her expectation of
a visit from her aunt.
EDGAR. Well?
FRED, Her aunt, I say, the dowager—hem
EDGAR. Her aunt—I hear you.
FRED. And you believe her ?
EDGAR. Why shouldn't I? -
FRED. What are you so blind as not to perceive that
this is only a manoeuvre of hers, to put an end to our
festivities? :

8 THE DOWAGER.
EDGAR. Why so the theatricals were of her own pro-
posing
FRED. I know it; but—now, I don’t wish to alarm
you—but since the arrival of a certain agreeable neigh-
bour of hers—
EDGAR. You don't allude to Lord Alfred Lindsay?
FRED. I do. - .
EDGAR. Mercy on me ! I have sometimes myself
fancied—
FRED. It is clear to me that, in order to pique you to a
declaration, she affects a greater interest towards him than
she really feels.
ISDGAR. What shall I do *
FRED. Hear my secret. In order to clear the course
of troublesome spectators, she has invented an old aunt—
a starched, formal frump-and conjured her here, to
frighten us out of our mirth. Now, unfortunately for her
plot, I happen to know that her real aunt, the Dowager
Countess of Tresilian, is not an old woman at all; for
though nearly fourteen or fifteen years the wife of a
twaddling old peer, and buried alive all that time in one of
his Cornish mines, she was only sixteen when he married
her, and consequently must still be under thirty.
EDGAR. Indeed! Well, go on.
FRED. This, then at once betrays her deceit, and has
suggested my counterplot. She wanted to scare us with
an imaginary aunt, I am going to give her a real one.
EDGAR. An aunt'
FRED, Yes. Last night I despatched my man, Robert,
to London to complete my arrangements, and presently
you will see the old fashioned coach, the four long-tailed
greys, and the gorgeous liveries of the dowager countess
come rumbling up the avenue.
EDGAR, Inmpossible ! Why surely you would not think
of—
FRED. Wouldn't! I have. I expect them every
moment.
EDGAR. But what object have you in view
FRED. First of all, a hoax—that alone would be enough
—but I have another. The aunt that I have sent for is
gay and lively, and will act any part that may assist us in
THE DOWAGER. ‘9
our joke. Suppose we both affect to fall in love with
her, and so rouse the jealousy of our cruel fair ones.
What say you?
EDGAR. A capital idea . . But if I cannot make love in
earnest, I'm afraid I shall never be able to do so in jest.
FRED. Never fear, I will assist you; and when Lord
Alfred arrives, I’ll get him to give you a hint or two.
EDGAR. What, my rival himself? He won't do that.
But who is this pretended aunt : - -
FRED. Hush —here come the ladies—not a word! I.
must run to be ready to meet Robert when he comes, and
give him fresh instructions. Now I'm in my element—
we'll have our private theatricals in spite of them all.
[Exit into garden, L.
EDGAR. What a madcap !
Enter LADY BLooMER and MARGARET, R. H. D.
LADY B. A very pretty discovery, truly
MARG. Oh, here's my brother; where's Sir Frederick?
EDGAR. He was here this moment.
LADY B. Gone, I suppose, to pay his respects to the
dowager.
EDGAR. What is she arrived already?
LADY B. Oh, Edgar, would you, then, have us be-
lieve you ignorant of her movements -
EDGAR. How should I be otherwise?
MARG. True—how should he be otherwise. (aside to
LADY B.) Let us conceal our discovery of their plans,
and so turn the tables upon them.
LADY B. A capital thought. -
EDGAR. Hark! I hear a horse—an out-rider perhaps.
(looks out at arch to L. H.) No ; Lord Alfred Lindsay, at
full speed, as usual ; off his horse, and up the steps at a
stride. What a flash of lightning it is.
LoRD A. (without.) Take care of the filly, throw a cloth.
over her, she's very warm. Ah! Frederick, where are
ladies?
FRED. (without.) You'll find them in the drawing-room;
I'll join you there immediately.
LoRD A. Don't disturb yourself; I know the way.
10 THE DOWAGER.
Enter LoRD ALFRED, from garden, L.
LoRD A. Behold them here ! Ladies, your most
obedient Edgar, yours! I’ve had a delightful ride—a
sort of morning I like—grey and soft, no sun, no wind,
and the roads moist and pleasant.
LADY B. You have changed your opinion since we
saw you last; for you told us then that you liked a brilliant
sun, a bracing wind, and the roads as hard as iron.
LoRD A. And so I do ; I like both.
MARG. Nay, I have heard Lord Alfred affirm that he
liked nothing so well as riding in a pelting storm, and
feeling the refreshing rain fall on him like a shower bath.
LoRD A. And so I do. I like them all. I like every-
thing.
LADY B. A happy temperament.
LoRD A. The world is new to me, and I enjoy it.
Confined in a dreary old castle, under the paternal wing, I
knew nothing, till one day my father opened my cage—out
I flew, like an arrow from a bow, and never stopped till I
reached London.
LADY B. And were you pleased there?
LoRD A. Pleased I was transported, transfixed I
knew not which way to turn me, I was speechless with
admiration.
EDGAR. (aside.) I’ve been so many a time.
LORD A. Since then my life has been a round of delight;
everything is new to me and everything enchanting ! -
EDGAR. (aside.) Only hear him run on
LoRD A. Let me be where I will, I’ve only to look
around me, and— Now here's a delightful abode | Wood
and water—park and pleasure-grounds.
LADY B. Oh, the monastery you mean.
LoRD A. How happy you must be in this sweet place.
At least, I never come here but I am. -
MARG. I fear we cannot interpret that remark into a
compliment, as you seem to be happy everywhere.
LoRD A. Quite true—So I am.
LADY B. A most enviable state, indeed.
MARG. As well as a very rare one.
THE DOWAGER. 11
EDGAR. (aside.) I wish I dared venture a remark.
LoRD A. Rare! How can it be rare * People have
eyes—send them to London. The mere sight of the
dashing carriages, the brilliant equipages, whisking from
place to place, is gaiety ready-made in itself; and then
the throngs of merry folks gadding to and fro, the bustle,
the women—oh, the women above all ! It's a paradise!
MARG. Lord Alfred seems to be an admirer of our sex.
LoRD A. An admirer? An adorer | Fancy me in
London; my heart was drilled through and through,
like a sieve. Myriads of bright eyes surrounding
me—thousands of women flitting before me, and so
pretty—
EDGAR. Some of them.
LoRD A. Some ! They were all pretty—all beautiful.
EDGAR. Oh, all.
LoRD A. All! I say all! Young and old!
EDGAR. (aside.) Well done!
LADY B. Your admiration, I fear, is somewhat indis-
criminate. -
LoRD A. My weak point, I confess. The very sight of a
petticoat is enough—away goes my heart. -
LADY B. Indeed! Come, Margaret, I think, under
these circumstances, we had better make our escape.
LoRD A. Too late—it's gone already.
LADY B. Since when P
LoRD A. Since the moment I beheld you.
EDGAR. (aside.) A pleasant confession.
LADY B. (coquetting.) How often have you said the
same thing to others?
LoRD A. Thousands of times! And shall again, I hope.
EDGAR. (aside.) Good! -
LADY B. (piqued.) Upon my word, a dangerous cha-
racter. You seem to glory in your perfidy.
LoRD. A. Perfidy | Not at all. I love the sex, but I
respect it.
LADY B. That is to say, if a woman really pleased
OUl—
LoRD A. I'd marry her.
EDGAR. (aside.) Pleasant.
LADY B, Marry her?
12 THE DOWAAER.
LoRD A. To be sure. I'd marry them all. I should
like to be a Turk. To think that there really are Turks,
with as many wives as they please ! I'd marry a wife
a-day.
EDGAR. Good; now, he'd like to be a Turk!
LoRD A. I should like to be everything.
LADY B. Your sentiments have, at least, novelty to
recommend them.
EDGAR. (aside.) I must try and say something.
MARG. Lord Alfred may well be happy, since he pos-
sesses that which half the world might envy him, content.
LoRD A. Envy me! Are there really discontented
people on this beautiful earth? Then there's only one
punishment I know for them. Send them to play chess,
in my father's old castle in Scotland.
EDGAR. Scotland! Scotland! Stay—does he live in
Scotland? That reminds me of
LADY B. What, Edgar Come, let us hear?
MARG. Av. let us hear?
LORD A. } y, let us near :
EDGAR. (aside.) They're bantering. Eh 2–hear—
what?
LADY B. What is it it reminds you of?
EDGAR. Did I say—I—dear me—I quite forget now
what it reminded me of.
LoRD A. Ha! haſ haſ Well said, Edgar—an inte-
resting souvenir indeed! (all laugh.)
EDGAR. (aside.) Good—a laugh! I’ve made myself
absurd, and now I’ll go.
LADY. B. What! leaving us Edgar * Well, no
ceremony.
LoRD A. That's right. No ceremony—I hate it!
There are only two things in the world that I detest—cere-
mony and chess.
EDGAR. And I, only one—a laugh! I have some letters
to write, and—not having much time to—I— (aside.) I'm
sure I’m as red in the face as a turkey cock.
[Exit into garden, L.
LoRD A. What's the matter with your brother, Miss
Beauchamp : He seems absent and flurried (MARGARET
speaks apart with LADY B.) Miss Beauchamp!
THE I)OWAGER, 13
MARG. I beg pardon.
LORD A. Am I de trop 3 There seems a mystery in
the house, to-day. Pray don’t scruple to send me away,
if I interrupt any little téte-a-tête, or—
LADY B. No-quite the reverse—for Margaret and I
have just agreed to enlist you in our service.
LoRD A. Charming ! What's to be said? What's to
be done? Some hoax to execute? Nothing in the world
I like so much.
LADY B. On the contrary, it is to prevent one.
LoRD A. Better still, but explain *
LADY B. You are aware that I am in expectation of a
visit from my aunt? t
MARG. The dowager Lady—
LoRD A. Tresilian. Good!
LADY B. Well, it appears that our giddy friend, Sir
Frederick Chasemore, with what intent we know not, is
about to introduce an impostor here in her place—an inex-
cusable jest, luckily confided by his valet to my maid, who
very properly acquainted me with it.
LoRD A. Oh, this is delightful!
LADY B. You will not say so when I tell you who has
been selected to represent my respectable aunt.
LORD A. Who? Who? Quick, let me hear.
MARG. No other than an actress from London.
LORD A. An actress | Capitall I know her.
LADY B. How can you tell that?
LORD A. I know them all.
LADY B. Indeed! I congratulate you.
LoRD A. Thank you! But tell me who it is?
LADY B. A soubrette from one of the London theatres'
Scandalous !
LORD A. From one of the London theatres Glorious !
MARG. And very pretty, too, by all accounts. Infamous!
LADY B. What say you now
LORD A. Say? That the incident is delicious. You
have discovered the plot in time to turn the laugh against
them—so take my advice, retire to your rooms, caution
your servants to be out of the way when the carriage
arrives, and leave the task of getting rid of her to your
humble servant.
14. THE DOWAGER.
MARG. Excellent! Suppose you were to affect to be
struck with her charms, and—
LoRD A. I know—make love to her you meanſ Oh,
matter of course.
LADY B. Nay, nay, I really cannot sanction such a
proceeding.
MARG. Only to mystify her, you know.
LADY B. (aside to MARGARET.) And, at the same time,
to prevent Sir Frederick from—
MARG. Hush |
LoRD A. Oh, very well, only say the word. If my
falling in love with her can be of the slightest service, pray
command me; only give me a clear field, and I wager my
head I win her before she's an hour older.
LADY B. Well, well, you have my consent But, now,
no imprudenceſ
LoRD A Trust to my generalship. Hark! I hear the
wheels of a carriage | Only let me beg of you to retire,
and I promise you a faithful account of what, I doubt not,
will prove my successful campaign. (Leads them to the door,
and kisses their hands. [Eveunt LADY BLooMER and MAR-
GARET, R. D. What an exquisite adventure | Who dares
talk of the dullness of the country, where such incidents
spring up But I must have a peep at our little actress.
I dare say I shall recognise an old acquaintance. (looks out.)
Eh?—no l—a stranger, and a pretty one, too. She's not
dressed in character—how's that Here she comes |
I’ll get out of the way for a moment, that she may find the
drawing-room as empty as the hall. Ha! haſ haſ ſake
care my little soubrette, you have a more difficult part to
play than you imagine. [Evit L. 2 E.
DowAGER. (heard without.) What no one to receive
me! No one to announce me !
Enter Dow AGER, L. H. D.
Not a soul! Instead of my niece's country house, I must
have stumbled upon an uninhabited castle. Ha! haſ haſ
From the accounts I have just received of her and her
visitors, I suspect my presence will not be ill-timed, and,
"rith the insight which my informant has given me into
| THE DOWAGER. 1:5
the state of domestic politics, a couple of years spent in a
foreign court, and a woman's tact, I think I shall not feel
at a loss among these London fashionables.
MARG. (L. peeping in R. H.-aside.) I must have one
peep, just to see what she's like.
Dow AG. (I.) Ah! there's some one at last. Come in,
child !
MARG. (aside.) Child, indeed? The impertinent crea-
ture
Dow AG. Don’t be alarmed. I am—
MARG. The Dowager Countess of Tresilian I Am I
right?
Dow AG. Quite right. But why that tone of irony
MARG. I say you are the Dowager Countess of Tre-
silian?
Dow AG. I am.
MARG. Of course. Ha! haſ You perform the character
admirably.
Dow AG. Perform the character
MARG. I will be candid with you. You are known.
Dow AG. Am I?
MARG. Take my advice. Depart at once, ere the matter
take a more serious turn. Lady Bloomer is much incensed
against you, for she knows all.
Dow AG. Indeed! (aside.) How very strange! And pray
what does she know?
MARG. That your visit here was preconcerted with that
madcap, Sir Frederick.
Dow AG. Sir Frederick 1 (aside.) Ah! this must be
Margaret Beauchamp. And who may Sir Frederick be?
MARG. Nay, now, you need not affect ignorance—Sir
Frederick Chasemore—your friend, Sir Frederick.
Dow AG. My friend (aside.) What can this mean?
Here is evidently some mistake. Believe me, whatever
object I may have in presenting myself here, it can but
be one of perfect indifference to Sir Frederick Chase-
IOC)I’Q.
MARG. Indeed! May I believe you?
Dow AG. Come, come, my good young friend, we must
understand each other better. Let me at once into the
secret. You say you all know the motive of my visit?
16 THE DOWAGER.
MARG. Certainly—it was for a joke; you thought to
hoax, to mystify us.
Dow AG. Il Mercy on me !
MARG. Sir Frederick is most to blame, after all, for it
appears it was he that brought you here.
Dow AG. Oh, Sir Frederick brought me here; and pray
with what intent.
MARG. In the hope, no doubt, that with your amusing
talents, he should succeed in dissipating the ennui which
has crept into the house since the threatened visit of the
Dowager, the terrible aunt, whose character you have
undertaken.
Dow AG. Aha! I begin to perceive! Your gy party
has been broken up, then, solely on her account? This
aunt must be a most forbidding person.
MARG. A downright kill-joy
Dow AG. I thought as much
MARG. A methodical, country-bred bore, ignorant of
the usages of fashionable life.
Dow AG. Ha! haſ Full of ridiculous prejudices, no
doubt; whose rigid muscles are too firmly knit, ever to
relax even into a smile.
MARG. Exactly Ha! haſ And as to a laugh!—
Dow AG. Ha! haſ haſ Oh! a laugh would certainly
be the death of her | Ha! haſ haſ
(As they are both (aughing heartily, LoRD ALFRED
advances between them, from his hiding place.
LoRD A. Ha! haſ haſ Capitall
MARG.
i...} Oh!
LoRD A. You are enjoying yourselves, ladies.
MARG. Lord Alfred, how you startled me.
Dow AG. (aside.) Oh, the gay Lord Alfred Lyndsay.
LoRD A. (aside to MARGARET.) Miss Margaret, you
have stolen a march upon me; you were to remain in
your own apartment.
MARG. My curiosity, I confess, led me—
LoRD A. (aside to MARGARET.) Allow me, then, to
conduct you—(Offers his hand, and leads her to the door,
R. H. [Exit MARGARET, R. H. D.
THE DOWAGER, 17
Dow AG. So, so ; I am a kill-joy, am I? ignorant of the
usages of fashionable life! Very pretty, my kind friends,
very pretty—but we shall see.
LoRD A. (aside.) Now, then, to the attack. Egad, it's
lucky I’m not afraid of a pair of bright eyes, for there's a
waggery about those flashing diamonds of her’s that would
* a coward quail; fortunately, they are just the sort I
like. £
Dow AG. (aside.) I am curious to know this butterfly
par excellence—perhaps I may gather from him who it is
they take me for.
LoRD A. Madam, your most obedient. We are alone,
so, with your permission, we will waive ceremony, and, in
two minutes, I feel certain we shall understand each other
perfectly.
Dow AG. I trust we may ; for, at present, I must own
myself completely at fault.
LoRD A. Come, come, my little saucy one (DowAGER
draws up), you needn’t trouble yourself to look dignified
any longer—you're a bad figure for the part.
Dow AG. The part!
LoRD A. Yes, one sees at once that it is out of your
line.
Dow AG. Out of my line !
LoRD A. Take my advice. Stick to the soubrettes.
Dow AG. The soubrettes |
LoRD A. The chambermaids. I know, you see.
Dow AG. Better than I know myself, apparently. Who
am I then?
Lord A. A charming woman, and a most piquante little
actress. Am I right?
Dow AG. That others must determine. (aside.) So, so,
the secret's out: I must try and keep up my character at
all events. Oh, I am an actress, engaged for the sou-
brettes ?
Lord A. Yes, the chambermaids; but to oblige the
manager, Sir Frederick Chasemore, have undertaken the
part of an antiquated aunt, from the country, at very
short notice.
Dow AG. And “hope for the usual indulgence.”
LoRD A. Exactly. You see I am acquainted with your
18 THE DOWAGER,
plot. Bnt you should have disguised yourself better.
You're not at all well made up for the part.
Dow AG. Don't you think, then, that I look like a
crabbed, cross-grained aunt.
LoRD A. You look like an arch little devil.
DowAG. Sir
LoRD A. Oh, that air of dignity! Ha! haſ ha? No,
no, to have represented the Dowager, you should have
made youself an old frump, all bone and buckram—blacked
a tooth or two—worn green spectacles—and put on a
cauliflower wig.
DowAG. Ha! haſ (aside.) For an imaginary portrait,
mine is certainly not a flattered one.
LoRD A. I told you we should soon understand each
other. So now the play's over, and you may go home.
Dow AG. Indeed!
LoRD A. Yes. Your part's a failure.
Dow AG. Not yet.
LoRD A. It isn't your faulº. You didn't know the
character of those with whom you had to deal.
Dow AG. I did not indeed.
LoRD A. And when you talk to people you don’t
know— -
Dow AG. You can't tell how absurd you are making
yourself. - -
LoRD A. I believe it.
Dow AG. And I am certain of it. But now I know
what I’m about.
Lord A. Thanks to me.
Dow AG. Thanks, indeed! for what? Why you would
strip me of all my acquired dignities—
Lord A. To leave you your own natural graces.
Dow AG. And deprive me of my character of a great
lady—
LoRD A. To restore to you that of a pretty one.
DowAG. Shall I gain or lose by the exchange?
LoRD A. Gain, a hundred per cent.
Dow AG. You don’t like great ladies, then?
LoRD A. Oh yes, I do, immensely
Dow AG. But you like pretty ones better?
LoRD A. Ten thousand times, as I will prove.
THE DOWAGER. 19
DowAG. Ay, indeed! How
LoRD A. By making love to you.
Dow AG. You are determined to lose no time, at all
events. .
Lord A. To be sure not; I never throw away a chance.
Life's too short There are but two sensations I know of
in the world—the being pleased, and the being bored. To
seek the one, and fly the other, are the great objects of
one's existence. Therefore I hate your lukewarm court-
ships. Love at once, marry at once—live quick, and die
suddenly, say I. What do you say.
Dow AG. Nothing. I have never tried any of those
experiments.
LoRD A. What, have you never loved?
Dow AG. Oh yes, often—
Lord A. So have I.
Dow AG. By rote.
LoRD A. Not by heart? Then now's your time. I love,
you—that's half; love me—and that's all.
Dow AG. Gently there. Our acquaintance has scarcely
commenced. Love must have time to grow.
LoRD A. No such thing. True love never grows. Look
at Cupid himself, what a shrimp he is; he has had plenty
of time, and yet he'll never be any bigger. People should
love at once, I tell you
Dow AG. Before they know each other? Apropos, you
have cunningly detected my character of soubrette, and
I have answered all your questions. Now, sir, may I ask
you what part of the play you perform:
LORD A. Me—oh, I−I’m a walking gentleman.
Dow AG. Is that all P Ha! haſ Your pretensions are
slight, indeed.
LoRD A. They were so, but since I have seen you, I
have become ambitious, and have determined to change
my line.
Dow AG. Ay, indeed! What do you aspire to play
now
LoRD A. Smart servants.
Dow AG. Do you call that aspiring From a gentleman
to a valet is a descent.
LoRD A. Not when the acme of perfection is a waiting
20 * TELE DOWAGER.
woman. The world is turned topsy turvy, and so am I.
By Heaven! there's a thrilling something in those eyes of
yours—a winning—something else—in your manner—and
a—fascinating—I don’t know what—in your—altogether,
that makes me—I can't tell why—feel indescribably—I
don’t know how.
Dow AG. A most eloquent speech, truly; but it won't

do at all for the “smart servants.” Take my advice,
stick to the “walking gentlemen.” But, a truce to this
badnage.
LORD A. Nay, I am in earnest.
Dow AG. In what?
LORD A. In my love for you.
Dow AG. Oh, of course! I happen to be the last new
comer. To-morrow 'twill be some one else.
LoRD A. Oh! *
Dow AG. It will. The Dowager herself, perhaps, who
knows? The old formal frump-all bone and buckram.
Lori A. I in love with her? Absurd!
Dow AG. Not at all. You will find “something in her
eyes, or a something else in her manner, and you’ll find
yourself, you can’t tell why, indescribably, you don’t know
how.” Ha! haſ haſ Oh, you “walking gentlemen’’ are
sad ramblers.
LoRD A. Can't you be serious?
Dow AG. It's out of my line; you told me so your-
self.
Lord A. Then believe me so, and hear me swear that
the impression you have made upon my heart is no common
one. The new sensation that pervades my breast—
Dow AG. Ay, there it is. Who was it offered a reward
for a new sensation? (LORD ALFRED is about to speak.) Oh,
I know it wasn't you; but perhaps, had you thought of it
first, it might have been. - The court butterfly, roving
from belle to belle, with confessedly but two feelings in
your composition, the love of pleasure and the fear of pain,
you pass your aimless life in creating the ennui you fly
from, till your very successes become monotonous, and
novelty is a treasure beyond price, even though it wear
green spectacles, and a cauliflower wig.
LORD A. This tone of ridicule—
TEIE DOWAGER, 21
DowAG. Astonishes you, no doubt; it is not often that
your empty vows are so received, I know.
LoRD A. I must confess it! But, pshawl what would
you have a poor woman do?
Dow AG. I would have a woman reserve her welcome
for real merit, her esteem for acknowledged talent, her
smile for the truly amiable, and her affection for him whose
life is glorious and useful.
LoRD A. I am surprised amazed What is all this?
You are more than you appear.
Dow AG. And so, for your own sake, I trust, are you.
LoRD A. I am—I will be. I will be anything you
please. :
Dow AG. Then be silent, for some one approaches.
FRED. (heard without.) But I assure you it is no such
thing.
LORD A. Chasemore's voice Provoking interruption!
Dow AG. Ah | Sir Frederick the inventor of this
pretty plot; he must pay for it.
LoRD A. The ladies are with him. (goes to meet them.)
Dow AG. It is now my turn. The enemy is at hand—a
little audacity and the day is mine.
Enter LADY BLooMER, SIR FREDERICK, MARGARET,
and EDGAR, R. H. D.
LADY B. Your conduct is unjustifiable !
FRED. It would have been, I own; but ere the moment
for action arrived, the fear of displeasing you crossed my
mind, and I renounced the notion altogether.
MARG. How can we believe this, when before our very
eyes— (indicating the DowAGER.)
FRED. It is the truth, I pledge my honour!
Dow AG. What! your sacred word of honour! Oh,
Frederick | Frederick
*ºn. } Frederick |
FRED. Frederick X-
Dow AG. Nay, it is useless to attempt further conceal-
ment. Our plot is discovered.
LADY B. You hear, sir; you hear.
22 THE DOWAGER.
FRED. Our plot!
Dow AG, (to SIR FREDERICK.) Yes, our plot—or yours,
if you will claim all the credit. But have you forgotten
it? Did you not send for me to assist you in mystifying
an “old frump of an aunt, and her coquette of a niece ”
Those were your words.
LADY B. Coquette
Dow AG. And in exposing the opposite follies of a timid,
dull-pated sloth, who dares make love to nobody—
LoRD A. (nudging EDGAR.) Hem
EDGAR. Eh Infamous !
DowAG. And a flippant lordling, who is ready to make
love to anybody.
EDGAR. (nudging LoRD ALFRED.) Hem
LoRD A. Eh Ah! Capital
FRED. Confusion (to LADY BLooMER.) Madam, let
me assure you—
LADY B. I will listen to nothing, sir!
FRED. Margaret ! I swear—
MARG. Silence, sir!
FRED. Edgar !
EDGAR. Oh, for shame!
FRED. Alfred
LoRD A. Oh, shocking! Ha! haſ haſ
FRED. But hear me! I repeat I am ready to swear,
upon the honour of a gentleman, that I never saw that
lady till now.
LoRD A. Eh P What's that you say?
Dow AG. What! does the presence of your noble friends
make you ashamed to recognise the humble acquaintance
whose poor talents have so often dispelled your fits of
ennui-ennui brought on, as you assured me, by the vapid
society of those very friends, too! Oh fic
LADY B. This is beyond enduranceſ
FRED. Once for all, I disclaim all knowledge of the
lady
Fºx B. Lady, indeed I am thunderstruck, Sir
Frederick. Abuse my hospitality, introduce an impostor
here, to play a vile part beneath my roof! I'll never
forgive it—never !
MARG. Nor I
THE DOWAGER. 23
Dow AG, Nor Iſ It is a vile part, indeed; the worst I
ever played. (to SIR FREDERICK.) You promised me I
should have the entire comedy to myself, whereas, I find
you have engaged a whole company to play all the principal
characters.
LADY B. Mercy on me! Do you take us, then, for
actresses?
Dow AG. Certainly Is it not to act a part, to pass for
what one is not To sacrifice, for instance, the man one
really loves, to achieve the conquest of a coxcomb, for
whom one doesn't care a rush :
EDGAR. (aside.) That's the most sensible thing she has
said yet.
Dow AG. Or to assume the simpleton, by witnessing
such conduct, and yet lack resolution to break from the
thraldom of a heartless coquette,
EDGAR. (aside ) My face feels like a furnace
Dow AG. (to Lord ALFRED.) Or to sigh, to die, and to
affect to breathe one’s heart out at the feet of every woman
one meets. In what line do you class the last character,
Lord Alfred
LoRD A. It doesn’t belong to the “walking gentlemen.”
Ask your friend, Sir Frederick. --
Dow AG. No, no; though he is a little fickle, we must
excuse him. Too well assured of the sincere affection of
an artless girl, he seeks eternally for amusement, as a relief
from what he calls the over-strained sentiment of a love-
sick child.
MARG. (crying.) The monster!
FRED. (to DowAGER.) Madam madam you are
ruining me !
Dow AG. Why, what's the matter with the man? I
thought I was obliging him. I'm sure I’ve done my best
to amuse; but you don't laugh. Ha! haſ haſ One
would really think we were acting a tragedy, to look at
your long faces. Well, well, I take my leave. I see you
don’t like my sketches of character.
LoRD A. I do. I glory in them. I could listen to you
for ever.
Dow AG. For ever! Oh, you mean for half-an-hour.
LoRD A. Not at all.
24 THE DOWAGER.
Dow AG. (to LADY BLooMER.) Madam, I thank you for
your hospitality, though I confess you have taken a singular
mode of showing it. But I will not complain; you do the
same by your love. (to EDGAR.) What! still bashful,
Mr. Edgar Courage, man! Ask your friend, Lord Alfred,
to give you a lesson in gallantry. (to MARGARET.) Miss
Margaret—mark me ! It is not always policy to let one's
love be too well known, lest it be lightly valued. (to SIR
FREDERICK.) Frederick, you will drop in and see me soon.
Come, give me one smile before I go, won't you? You
were to die with laughter at the ridicule of your friends,
you know—ha! haſ ha!—and, after all, the most ridiculous
figure is—ha! hal—yourself! Mr. Edgar, you are the least
dangerous of the party, therefore may I ask your arm 2
Ladies and gentlemen, pardon my ignorance of the usages
of fashionable life. I rashly undertook the part of a dig-
nified old dowager, for which you flatteringly pronounce
me unfit. It is my first appearance in the character, I
assure you; and now, having resigned it, I thankfully
resume my own, and remain, ladies and gentlemen, your
most obedient, very humble servant—ha! haſ haſ
[Exit with EDGAR, L. H. D.
FRED, I’ll not rest till I have this mystery cleared up.
Lady Bloomer—Margaret—excuse me for a moment, I
must follow her. [Exit hastily, L. H.
LORD A. You saw she was afraid to accept my arm—
that spoke volumes! Oh, don't despair! I'm making
rapid progress, I assure you. [E.cit hastily, L. H.
MARG. Louisa (both seated
LADY B. Margaret! ! .)
MARG. How do you feel?
LADY B. I don’t like it at all !
MARG. Nor Iſ One would almost fancy they left us,
to follow her.
LADY B. (rises.) Do you think so; I begin to fear
we have been very foolish.
MARG. Oh, Louisa don't frighten me! It's too bad
of Frederick, when he knows my affection for him.
LADY B. And of your brother, too, when he knows how
I love him.
MARG. Do you really *
THE DOWAGER. 25
LADY B. Of course I do ! How can you ask me such
a question? And to be positively deserted in this
Iſlanner.
MARG. And deserted for such a woman, too !
LADY B. An artful—
MARG. Designing—
LADY B. Impertinent—
MARG. Ugly—
LADY B. (embracing her.) Do you think her ugly?
MARG. Eh: Why—don't you?
LADY B. Me—oh—I'm afraid I don't, Margaret.
MARG. And I’m sure I don’t, Louisa. I’ve a dreadful
misgiving that she's rather pretty.
LADY B. My love, the creature's beautiful.
MARG. So she is; and agreeable, too.
LADY B. Delightful! The wretch! (crying.)
MARG. The monster! (crying.)
LADY B. But what's to be done? Are they really
gone?
MARG. Oh, no; to prevent the escape of this impostor,
I ordered the servants to secure her horses.
LADY B. Hark! Some one is coming—perhaps our
rival I will not submit to a second interview with her,
I’m determined. Come to my room, and we will contrive
Some plan to win our lovers back again.
MARG. Yes, yes. Quick! quick!
LADY B. Edgar ! Edgar ! why were you not bolder in
your wooing
MARG. Oh, Frederick! Frederick' why were you so
bold [Eveunt R. H.
Bnter Lord ALFRED, from the garden.
LORD A. Ha! haſ ha! this is better than all; carriage,
horses, servants, all have disappeared, and so departure is
impossible. Matters are not desperate yet. But what a
strange adventure | I feel an interest in this woman,
that I never felt in any woman yet. Is she an actress?
or what is she No matter—I love her—love her
seriously; have told her so, and yet she ridicules me.
26 THE DOWAGER.
But does she really so? Who can tell? She is a riddle,
and I’m fairly puzzled for a solution.
Enter EDGAR cautiously from the garden.
EDGAR. Alfred
Lººp A. Edgar ! you here? How's this, is the lady
gone :
EDGAR. No, Sir Frederick is now trying, ather request
to find her carriage; and, in the mean time, as she said
nothing, and I could find nothing to say, she made me a
curtsey, implying she would’nt detain me, and I made her
a bow, and left her.
LoRD A. You did? Ye gods ! what a man! And
why?
EDGAR. I wanted to ask your advice.
LORD A. Indeed
EDGAR. Yes, you must know I am very unhappy.
LORD A. Unhappy I can’t think how people can be
unhappy! How d'ye set about it *
EDGAR. Oh! there are plenty of ways l I’ll tell you
one. I’m in love.
LoRD A. I know it.
EDGAR. No you don’t.
LoRD A. Why, you’ve just told me so—and if you
hadn’t, do you think all the world doesn’t know it Pshaw,
man' But you shall have my advice. You set the wrong
way to work, then ; moping and sighing will never move
the heart of a woman of spirit, like Lady Bloomer | Why
don’t you do as I do?—run gaily to your love—talk, sing,
romp with her | Won’t she chatter? chatter for her
Won’t she dance? make her | Won't she laugh? damme!
tickle her
EDGAR. Oh, what an idea! I never could do that.
Besides, you are mistaken in the lady.
LoRD A. Mistaken' nonsense ! Lady Bloomer is the
fair object of your devotion.
EDGAR. No, she isn’t. It is true, I once loved her
ardently; but I have done with her. I love another.
LoRD A. Another
EDGAR. Hush (whispers.) The lovely stranger yonder
| THE DOWAGER. 27
LoRD A. Who? Why, you don't mean the (points
off—aside.) This is as well to know. You amaze me.
Why, you inconstant rogue, you're a positive Don Juan.
EDGAR. No, no, you wrong me; on the contrary, I had
the misfortune to be born timid.
LoRD A. Timid How very oddſ I’m not timid.
EDGAR. No, exactly. I dare say, now, you wouldn't
be afraid to tell a woman you loved her.
Lorp A. Afraid! Ha! haſ ha / How is she to know
it, if you don't tell her ?
EDGAR. That has often struck me.
LoRD A. You’ll say that your eyes can speak.
EDGAR. No I shan't—I daren't look up.
LoRD A. No!—why you coward I dare' But listen,
Edgar, I must let you into a secret—you've a rival!
EDGAR. I know it.
LoRD A. The deuce you dol
EDGAR. Yes—Sir Frederick.
LoRD A. Eh: (aside.) Another discovery ! I must be
cautious here.
EDGAR. Now my idea is this—to write to her A
letter doesn’t blush, you know. I could tell her plainly
all I feel.
LoRD A. You ruin yourself at once! (aside.) I mustn't
give him such a chance as that ' He may be eloquent on
paper A letter's so cold, so formal—you'll freeze her.
You musn't write—you must speak to her (aside.) And
then I think I’m quite safe.
EDGAR. But I don’t know how to begin.
LoRD A. Oh, a thousand trifles will afford you an
opening. The dropping of her glove, her fan—anything
will give you an opportunity of showing your gallantry;
and, once started, you will find the rest follow, as naturally
as possible.
EDGAR. Shall I? I feel very courageous now. If I
thought it would last—
LoRD A. Never doubt it—strike, while the iron’s hot—
seek an interview with her at once.
EDGAR. (going towards garden, R. H.) I will—that is—
I'll go and think about it.
(Going, R. H., turns, and Exit into garden, R. H.
28 THE DOWAGER.
As he goes out, SIR FREDERICK peeps in, R. H. 1 E.
FRED. Is he gone?
LORD A. All's safe. Have you found the carriage 2
FRED. No–I havn't even looked for it.
Lord A. How's that?
FRED. I want your advice, and quickly.
Lord A. You shall have it.
FRED. First, you must know, I’m in love.
LORD A. A good beginning.
FRED. Margaret loves me in return.
LORD A. Agreeable enough.
FRED. I want to be married.
Lord A. Nothing more natural. Why shouldn't
ou ?
y FRED. In vain have I for months implored her to name
the happy day—till at last I have determined to hasten
her decision by affecting a love for another.
LORD A. Oh-affecting a love for another—I under-
stand. (aside.) The artful rogue ! He wants to deceive
me. It's lucky I was prepared for him.
FRED. Yes, and the person I have pitched upon to aid
that effect, is the very stranger who so provokingly claimed
acquaintance with me to-day.
LoRD A. You really did not know her then?
FRED. I have already pledged my honor.
LoRD A. I’m satisfied. (aside.) And am convinced that
she is a person of rank. But how am I to help you in the
matter
FRED. Thus—as time is short, and I am unskilled in the
art of lady-killing, I want your advice as to the shortest
method of getting the credit of being in her good
graces.
LoRD A. Oh, only the credit, eh? You couldn't have
applied to a better person. Let me see—are you timid?
FRED. Not a bit. The women complain I am too
bold.
LoRD A. (aside.) A dangerous quality in a rival. I
daren’t trust him with an interview. I’ll fetter him. You
must write to her.
THE DOWAGER. 29
FRED. (going.) I will directly.
LoRD A. Stay! (aside.) His very rashness may help to
destroy him. On second thoughts, 'twill be better for
you to see her.
FRED. And I like that better.
LoRD A. Yes; a letter will delay you, and may put
her on her guard. One interview is worth all the letters
in the world. Attack her at once, while unprepared—
fluster her—
FRED. And if she won't surrender at discretion—
Lord A. Storm her
FRED. I will. (going.)
LoRD A. Above all, try and obtain some trophy that
you can show—snatch up a bouquet, a ring, a bracelet—
no matter what, and you have ostensible proof of your
victory.
FRED. That's a bold expedient. Have you ever pur-
loined a trophy in this way :
LoRD A. Ever! I’ve drawers full of them.
FRED. Enough—I’ll do it.
LoRD A. (aside.) If that doesn’t disgust her, I don’t
know what will.
FRED. A thousand thanks. Excuse my mixing you up
in love affairs that don’t interest you.
LoRD A. On the contrary; believe me, I take the
liveliest interest in them.
FRED. You're very good.
Enter EDGAR from R. garden.
LoRD A. (aside.) Here's the other.
EDGAR. Ah! Sir Frederick | Well, is the carriage
forthcoming?
FRED. No signs of it. (aside) Keep him out of the way
while I commence the siege.
LoRD. A. (to SIR FREDERICK.) Yes, yes; I'll take
care of that.
EDGAR. (to LoBD ALFRED.) I've made up my mind—
I’ll speak to her, that is, if I dare.
LoRD A. (to EDGAR.) Never fear, man, your modesty
will please her.
30 TIIE DOWAGER.
EDGAR. (to LorºD ALFRED.) Do you think so :
Lord A. (to SIR FREDERICK.) You can't be too
pressing—she’ll like your boldness.
FRED. (to Lo RD ALFRED.) I’m glad to hear that.
LoRD A. (to EDGAR.) Remember, the first step is the
difficulty.
EDGAR. (to LoRD ALFRED.) Don’t mention it.
LoRD A. (to SIR FREDERICK.) Never mind how you
begin, but don’t leave her without a trophy.
FRED. (to Lord ALFRED.) Trust me for that—but get
rid of Edgar for me.
EDGAR. (to Lord ALFRED.) What does Sir Frederick
want here :
LoRD A. (to EDGAR.) Eh P – Hush the fair one
approaches—leave me, and I’ll prepare her to receive
OUl.
y EDGAR. (to LoIRD ALFRED.) That's capital
(going R. H.
LoRD A. (to SIR FREDERICK.) I've sent him away,
and you had better go, too, for I see her coming. I'll
pave the way for you.
FRED. (to LoRD ALFRED.) Excellent 1 (going L. H.
EDGAR. (returning to LORD ALFRED.) I say, you
rogue, if you can instruct another so well, what a devil
you must be when you are acting for yourself.
LoRD A. Nonsense!—there—go, go.
[Evit EDGAR, garden R. H.
FRED. (returning.) Alfred, what do you say, shall I
make you a present of the trophy to add to your
collection ?
LoRD A. Yes, yes, you shall—but vanish, I tell you.
Phew a curious position I am in here.
[Evit SIR FREDERICK, L.H.
Enter DowAGER, L. H. D.
Dow AG. (L.) So, it appears I am a prisoner. . I
beg pardon, I thought I saw your two friends with
OUI.
LoRD A. (R.) They were, madam, and they were
speaking of you. g
THE DOWAGER, 31
Dow AG. Of me ! And did you join them in their
censure ?
LoRD. A. Censure | There was no danger of that :
they were confessing to me that they loved you.
Dow AG. Loved me ! What! both of them * This is
too absurd .
LoRD. A. It is no less true. (crosses to L.) But here
comes one who will convince you better than I can do.
I will retire, madam—my presence may be troublesome.
l [Exit, L. H.
Dow AG. No, no ; pray do not leave me. He is gone
How very unkind His manner, too, is changed ' What
can all this mean
Enter SIR FREDERICK, L,
FRED. Madam, I have sought your carriage in vain,
and I cannot but rejoice in my failure, since by
detaining you here, my happiness is prolonged.
Dow AG. Sir
Enter EDGAR from Garden R. he stops short.
EDGAR. (aside.) I am too late, of course.
FRED. This morning you laid claim to my acquaintance
—oh do not now reject it. I must be plain with you,
for the moments are short and precious. Let me then, at
once, declare my admiration for you.
Dow AG. Are you mad, sir?
FRED. Raving !
EDGAR. (aside.) He is.
FRED. Take pity on me : I do not expect to be
accepted, but grant me the slightest mark of your favour;
if only a smile, a look, and while I press this fair hand to
my lips. (attempts to take it.)
Dow AG. Hold, sir!
(She withdraws her hand hastily, and, in doing so,
drops her handkerchief. SIR FREDERICK instantly
falls on his knee, and seizes it. EDGAR at the same
time advances, falls on his knee, and seizes the other
end of it. The DowAGER bursts into an immoderate
fit of laughter. LoRD ALFRED enters at the same
time, and joins in the laugh.
32 THE DOWAGER.
LoRD A. (aside.) My advice has had its intended
effect.
Dow AG. Oh, this is too ridiculous !
FRED. The trophy's mine !
EDGAR. I’ll not part with it, with life.
LoRD A. (advancing.) Then I must cut the gordian
knot. (takes the handkerchief from them, and gives it to
the DowAGER.) Madam, your handkerchief.
Dow AG. (receives it from him.) Rise, gentlemen, and
let this folly have an end. You have tried to turn the
tables on me, but you have failed. Now, a truce to our
hostilities. As it seems I am a prisoner, let me see if I
cannot employ the period of my captivity, in restoring
peace and happiness among you.
LoRD. A. How will you set about it?
Dow AG. That is my secret. You are all three dis-
contented. Mr. Edgar is dying of jealousy, Sir Frederick
of impatience, and Lord Alfred—
LoRD A. of Love
Dow AG. No;-of curiosity. Only second me well,
and a skilful leech will restore life to all.
EDGAR. Impossible !
LoRD A. I would give the world you could succeed.
FRED. What must we do
Dow AG. Promise obedience in whatever I command.
LORD A. I am willing.
FRED. And I.
EDGAR. And I.
Dow AG. Agreed. I have your words.
ALL. You have.
DowAG. Then I'll undertake the task.
Enter SERVANT, R. H.
LoRD A. Well, sir, what do you want?
SERVANT. My lady desires her compliments to Sir
Frederick Chasemore and Mr. Beauchamp, and requests
the pleasure of their company immediately.
DowAG. As I expected—a good beginning. (to SER-
v.A.N.T.) The gentlemen return their compliments to your
.THE DOWAGER, 33
mistress and Miss Margaret, and decline the honour of
waiting on them.
FRED.
EDGAR. } Eh P
Dow AG. They are on the point of starting, you believe,
for London. [Exit SERVANT, R.] Gentlemen, you will
not suffer me to utter a falsehood, I am sure; so, quit
the house instantly, and contrive it so that your
cruel fair ones may see you depart. Then leave your
horses in the village, and slily return here on foot to
await further orders.
FRED. Yes, but—
EDGAR. How if—
Dow AG. Hey - day! Ifs and buts | Is this your
obedience 3
FRED. True ! Come, Edgar.
Dow AG. Quick, then
EDGAR. We fly to obey you. e
[Exit slowly, hurried by SIR FREDERICK, L.
DowAG. As for you, my lord—
LORD A. I remain, and nothing on earth shall move
me. I have wagered that I will not quit this spot until
I know to whom I have the honour of speaking.
DowAG. And supposing I had wagered that you should
never know it?
LoRD A. In that case one of us must lose.
Dow AG. And that will be you.
LoBD A. Or you.
Dow AG. Well, time will show.
LoRD A. Do you think then that a man, with a little
tact, cannot discover any secret that a woman would fain
conceal from him *
Dow AG. And do you think that a woman, with a little
management, cannot prevent a man from knowing any-
thing of which she chooses to keep him ignorant :
LoRD A. Answer me truly, two questions, and I’ll tell
you who you are. -
Dow AG. Only two As many as you please. But,
first, your reason for interesting yourself thus about a
stranger ?
LoRD. A. Have I not already told you—what can be
'34 .THE DOWAGER.
more simple, or more plain — I love you, and would
make you my wife 2
Dow AG. Your wife The noble Lord Alfred Lyndsay
wed an actress
LORD A. You really are one * -
Dow AG. Oh, you shrink already—you fear to blot your
proud escutcheon.
LORD A. Not I, by heaven 'Twill be embellished.
Dow AG. Remember, my armorials must be quartered
with yours.
LoRD A. They shall be so.
Dow AG. A tambourine and a dagger, with harlequin
and columbine for supporters.
Lorp. A. Yes. -
Dow AG. No, no. Content with my lot, I would not
climb to your high station.
LoRD A. Then I will descend to yours.
Dow AG. Ha! haſ haſ delightful! “This evening,
will be performed the play of Blue Beard—Blue Beard by
Lord Alfred Lyndsay, (his first appearance on any stage.)”
There's an announcement ;
LoRD A. Ha! haſ ha Your lively fancy quite
enchants me. Ours is a merry courtship, in good sooth,
and hits my humour exactly. The questions I intended
to ask, I waive, and am content to believe you are what
you tell me. Now, then, to what is of infinitely more
importance. I love you, and would wed you; there are
the essential points thoroughly established. It only
remains for me to convince you that you cannot refuse
Jºle.
Dow AG. Ah! that will be curious. -
LoRD A. Nothing more easy. My fortune is large
—pshaw you are not of an age to be swayed by motives
of interest. No ; it is only indispensible that you should
find a man whose disposition, taste, habits, and pursuits,
entirely sympathize with your own. Now, I am that very
Iſla Il.
Dow AG. Really, you decide that point for me.
LoRD A. At once.
DowAG. Do you then know so well my tastes and
habits -
THE DOWAGER: 35
LoRD A. No ; but I know my own, and they will be
yours, whatever yours may be.
Dow AG. A most accommodating disposition, truly.
LoRD A. Nay, put it to the proof. Are you fond of
dress, company, noise, dust, crowds, and splendour *
We'll have matchless equipages, and dazzling toilets;
we'll be seen at every fashionable resort; never miss a
soirée, or a ball; dance from night till morning; play at
ecarté, and— *
Dow AG. I have already told you that I love not such
high pursuits.
LoRD A. Nor I. So far, you see, we agree. *
DowAG. My happiness lies snugly at home in the
chimney corner.
LoRD A. The chimney corner I adore the chimney
corner . How well we agree, you see.
Dow AG. Could Lord Alfred tolerate what is called “a
good housewife P”
LoRD A. The verything a woman should be.
Dow AG. A quiet, stupid, stitching animal?
LoRD A. The very companion I have sighed for.
Dow AG. That most dreadful of all bores—“a good
manager?”
LoRD A. I doat on a good manager | I fancy I see
her now, in her band-box of a house, counting the
snow-white linen, marking the towels, pickling, pre-
serving—eh
Dow AG. Unfashionable accomplishments, my lord.
LoRD A. The best accomplishments in a wife are, to
regulate her servants, and make her children's pinafores—
to cherish her husband—prepare his dressing gown—be at
the window to greet him as he comes up the street—
Dow AG. The street ! Oh, no, thank you : he must
renounce town entirely—I’m all for the country.
LoRD A. And so am I. There's nothing like a country
life. Oh! how I enjoy the getting up on a lovely spring
morning, to see the sun rise; the fresh walk in one's own
fields before one’s breakfast of bread baked in one’s own
ovens—honey from one's own bees, and eggs from one's
own hens: then the superintending one's young plan-
tations—the visiting one's hunters—the cropping one's
36 THE DOWAGERe
hounds' ears—feeding one's pigeons, one's rabbits, one's
ducks, one's pigs—oh , it's delicious ! . A.
Dow AG. He's very mad!
LoRD A. In short, madam, there is nothing on earth
that I dislike—will you have me?
DowAG. Not so fast. I certainly admire many good
qualities in you, but— -
LoRD A. But if my past life has been marked by any
inconstancy and frivolity, it is because I have never till
now found a woman who could really fix me.
Dow AG. How very embarrassing.
LoRD A. You have already awakened in my breast the
noble desire of being useful; follow up this good by
teaching me in what way I may become so. -
Dow AG. (aside.) I'll teach him no more : I meant but
to give him a salutary lesson, and I fear I shall get one
myself.
LORD A. You do not speak.
Dow AG. (aside.) The pupil is certainly getting the
better of his teacher.
LoRD A. Could I but make you know the sort of .
affection I feel, you must love me in return, you couldn't
help yourself.
Dow AG. Indeed—I fear—
Lord A. What?
Dow AG. I fear—that is—I was thinking that we are
beginning not to understand each other at all.
LoRD A. On the contrary. I was thinking we were
just coming to a perfect understanding.
Enter SERVANT, R. H.
What the devil do you want?
Dow AG. He brings two letters: one for Sir Frederick
Chasemore, the other for Mr. Beauchamp.
SERVANT. Yes, madam.
Dow AG. I was sure of it. You have orders to send
them, without delay, to London 2
SERVANT. I have, madam.
Dow AG. Give them to me. I can save you the
trouble. -
THE DOWAGER. 37.
SERVANT. But madam—
DowAG. Go! I will be answerable for them.
-- [Exit SERVANT, L. H. D.
I guess what these letters contain.
LoRD A. You discover everything.
Dow AG. And you nothing. - - #
Lord A. I have discovered all I wished to know.
(taking her hand.) I am in earnest, nor will I suffer you to
jest with me longer. On my knee I implore your pity.
(kneels.)
Enter LADY BLooMER and MARGARET, R. H., from
garden; and, at the same moment, SIR FREDERICK
and EDGAR, L. H., from garden. All laugh at LoRD
ALFRED and DowAGER.
ALL. (except LoRD ALFRED and DowAGER.) Bravo!
Bravo! Capital -
LADY B. (advancing.) Bravo, my lord! I congratulate
Oll.
y LoRD A. Congratulate me?
LADY B. Your manner was really so tender that, had
I not remembered that the joke was settled between
liS-
LoRD A. Joke! (remembering.) Ah!
(makes signs to LADY BLOOMER.
DowAG. (aside.) A jokeſ What is this, madam, pray
explain—
LADY B. Oh, nothing—merely a little plan arranged
this morning between his lordship and myself, in order to
revenge—
LoRD A. Not at all. I arranged nothing.
LADY B. But it would be too ungenerous to continue the
deceit—too cruel any longer to expose a woman to the
seductions of so dangerous a man as Lord Alfred Lyndsay.
He undertook to win your love, and then amuse us by a
faithful account of his success.
FRED. (aside.) Capital' And gave me advice, too, how
to woo her.
EDGAR. (aside.) And me too.
88 THE DOWAGER,
LoRD A. Madam, the words you heard me speak—
Dow AG. Are even now forgotten, sir!
LoRD A. What must she think of me?
Dow AG. Allis over, madam, and I go; but ere I depart,
I have two letters which I promised I would deliver to
these gentlemen.
(SIR FREDERICK L. C. and EDGAR L. come forward.
LADY B. (R. c.—aside to MARGARET.) Our letters!
They were not gone after all!
MARG. (R.) I told you there was treachery !
Dow AG. (c.) Gentlemen, you have kept faith with me,
and here are your rewards. These letters (gives them.)
will assure you, better than I can do, that you are loved.
My stratagem has succeeded.
LADY B. But who are you, then, madam?
Dow AG. Ask Lord Alfred, he undertook to gain the
affections of a woman he did not love, and to discover her
name. Is he doomed to lose all his wagers?
LoRD A. No! By my honour I swear they shall not
be lost This morning I was an aimless, useless being;
flitting here and there, idle as the wind itself. A few
hours only, and my nature is changed. How By a
woman, and that woman a stranger, her very name
a mystery! That name I promised to make known, ere
I quitted her. Have I your permission, madam, to
pronounce it? -
DowAG. Oh, certainly—what is it?
LORD A. Lady Alfred Lyndsay. (takes her hand.)
Ah! give but your consent, and I have spoken the
truth.
Dow AG. (aside.) I was not prepared for this!

Enter SERVANT, L. H.
LORD A. That fellow is determined to be the death of
me! What now *
SERVANT. His Grace the Duke of Landwood requests
permission to pay his respects to the Countess of Tresilian
whose carriage he recognised at the entrance to the
park.
TELE DOWAGER, 39
LADY B. What do I hear *
Dow AG. (laughing.) 'Tis well—admit his Grace, and I
will receive him immediately—with my niece's permis-
S1OIl. -
LADY B. Can it be possible Are you, indeed, my
aunt .
ALL. Your aunt'
LORD A. I thought as much.
Dow AG. Ay, Louisa, your old formal frump of an
aunt.
LADY B. Oh, pardon' pardon | Indeed, you took us.
by surprise!
Dow AG. In future, have nothing to conceal, and sur-
prises will never be dangerous. But I have been almost
as much to blame as yourself, and am afraid that I
have somewhat compromised the venerable name of
Tresilian.
LORD A. You see, madam, you had better consent to
change it. -
DOWAG. (smiling.) 'Ah, not quite so fast.
LoRD A. One cannot resolve too quickly to be
happy. gº * ©
DowAG. There is such a thing as being too pre-
cipitate.
FRED. (L. C.) That was my fault.
MARG. (R.) It was a good fault, after all. It proved
your ardour.
LORD A. And there is such a thing as being too punc-
tilious. *
EDGAR. (L.) That was my error.
LADY B. It was an error on the right side. It marked
your delicacy. -
DowAG. The great secret is to avoid extremes, and
choose the right moment to urge your claim.
LoRD A. And that is now. Take my hand—and so the
comedy ends.
Dow AG. Well, I believe it will be but poetical justice.
There it is. I should have known that the play must
end so. You see I cannot quite throw off my theatrical
jargon. I have been playing a part so long, that I begin
40 THE DOWAGER.
to fancy myself really an actress, ambitious only of your
applause.
Ladies and Gentlemen,
To-day, my friends here (to the actors.) have com-
pelled the Dowager to play the actress—with the kind
sanction of my friends here, (to the audience.) to-morrow,
the actress will play
*

“THE DowAGER.”
(ſmrtnin.
DowAGER. LoBD ALFRED.
SIR FREDERICK. LADY BLOOMER.
MARGARET. EDGAR.
R. I.
º
º
º:
ºf
Mº WREN CHI AS THE WALET
/ , 1///, / / / /"Y / 1 //C.S.
















THE
YOUNG WID 0 W
3m (Briginal jarce
IN ONE ACT
BY
J. THOMAS G. RODWELL
AUTHOR OF
Palmondi, A Matter of Doubt, Bachelor's Torments, Fun and
Fright, No Dinner Yet, déc. déc.
THOMAS HAILES LACY,
w E L L I N G T o N S T R E E T, s T R A N D,
LCNDON.
THE YOUNG WIDOW.
First performed at the Royal Adelphi Theatre,
November 1st, 1824.
^^*-**-*Nºrwºrvº v, v v^ev N., v v. v. --~~~. Sºº-ºº-ºº-ºº-ºººººººº Yº
([haracters.
MANDEVILLE .................. ........... sº e º e is tº MR. TYRONE Power.
SPLASH (his Valet) .............................. Mr. WRENCH
AURELIA FAIRLOVE (a Young Widow) Miss S. Booth.
LUCY (her Attendant).............................. Miss PARROCK.
({06tumt5.
MANDEville. Fashionable walking suit.
Spx|Ash. 1st Dress—Dark frock coat, bright buttons, light waist-
coat, light gaiters. 2nd Dress—Black body coat, tight pantaloons,
pumps. 3rd Dress—Same as first dress.
AURELIA. 1st Dress—Elegant modern dress. 2nd Dress—Un-
dress frock, trousers, cap, boots, sabretash, &c.
Lucy. Plain light dress, cap, and apron.
*...* There is no charge for the performance of this Farce.
THE YOUNG WIDOW.
SCENE I.—Aurelia's apartment, elegantly furnished ;
door R. 3 E. leading to a bed-chamber; another to an inner
drawing-room, L. C. A mask and an officer's uniform
cºre seen lying on one of the chairs. A door L. 2 E.;
a screen at back, R.
Enter LUCY from the R. 3 E., looking at the uniform.
LUCY. So my mistress has made a pretty business of
her last night's adventure; in a fit of jealous curiosity
she follows her lover to the masquerade, in the disguise of
a military officer, and there acts with so little discretion,
as to arouse his suspicions; he follows her home, and sees
her enter her own house, and of course will naturally con-
clude that he has discovered some more favoured rival
paying his mistress a midnight visit; what will be the
consequences heaven only knows. He appeared as if deter-
mined to take a most summary vengeance, for directly
after my mistress entered, we heard a most dreadful thun-
dering at the door; fortunately the watch interfered, and
saved us from his further annoyance, but no doubt he will
be here presently. Ah, curiosity and jealousy are the
worst of passions, particularly in a female; well, thank
my stars, I am free from both. I should very much like
to know, though, what became of that Mr. Splash last
night, when his master was out.
(Noise heard without, as of some one coming up stairs.
4 THE YOUNG WIDOW.
SPLASH. (without, L.) There, never mind, my dear,
don't move the pail, I can step over it.
(Noise without, as if he had slipped.
Oh, curse it! I'm up to my knees in it! Confound it!
Why couldn't you keep your dish-cloths out of the way,
when you saw a gentleman coming up ! º
Enter SPLASH, L. D.
LUCY. Ah, Mr. Splash, have you had an accident?
SPLASH. Yes; trying to get up without wetting the
sole of my shoe, took too long a stride, slipped, and there
was poor Mr. Splash, with his foot in a pail of water'
LUCY. Ah, you always put your foot in everything.
SPLASH. Come, that's very fair of you, Lucy, but doubt-
less you were prepared for it, for when you heard the pail
go over, of course you thought there was Splash upon the
stairs. (aside.) Come, that's very fair of me too.
LUCY. By the bye, I wonder you were not at the
masquerade last night, Mr Splash.
SPLASHI. No wonder at all, Lucy; my master was there,
but the fact is, masquerades have grown vulgar of late,
and I don't patronise them any longer.
LUCY. To say the truth, that was precisely my reason
for staying away.
SPLASH. What a sympathy of feeling! I see we were
designed for each other; and, since we are alone, tell me,
Lucy, when will you make me the happiest of valets?
LUCY. Why, Mr. Splash, since you put the question to
me, I believe I must be candid, and inform you that I have
thought seriously on the subject, and, without meaning
any offence to you, Mr. Splash, I really cannot think of
surrendering my liberty to anything under a butler.
SPLASH. (aside.) What an ambitious toad it is ' But
consider, Lucy; I am but a valet, it is true, but I have an
excellent master, and, to say the truth, I have got a trifle
in his service; you, I believe, have got a trifle more—not
that I am the least interested, (aside.) though I hope it's
something considerable.
LUCY. Oh no, of course not; (aside.) I'm glad to hear,
though, that he's been so prudent.
THE YOUNG WIDOW. 5
g
SPLASH. Now, Lucy, with what you've got, and with
what I’ve got— .
Lucy. True, we might retire into private life.
SPLASH. Yes, and keep a public house, for instance.
Lucy. Why that alters the face of affairs very
much. *
SPLASH. There, you know, I shall be mixing the liquors,
while you're drinking with the company, and—
LUcy. I drinking !
SPLASH. No, no; I mean you will be mixing the liquors,
while I’m drinking with the company.
LUCY. That I think very probable.
SPLASH. We shall be sure to have plenty of customers,
for how delightful it will be to see a sweet-tempered,
charming-looking girl like you, as full of spirits as our
own brandy cask, on one side the bar, lowering the rum,
and filling the pots half full of froth, whilst I, not less
interesting, and quite as honestly employed, on the other
side, in marking up my accounts with a double-pointed
chalk.
LUcy. Oh, it will be delightful, indeed!
SPLASH. You see, Lucy, I know how to run up a
SCOTé.
LUCY. I havn't the least doubt of it.
SPLASH. Then give me your hand, Lucy, for I see the
affair's settled.
Lucy. Why, I believe, Mr. Splash, I must confess,
that—that—
SPLASH. (aside.) The public-house carries it against the
world. Then only let me seal the bargain, Lucy, with a
kiss, and— , '
LUcy. There you’ll excuse me. These lips must not
be touched by mortal man—till after the ceremony at
least.
SPLASH. Oh, what an amiable, virtuous little getter-up
of small linen it is. But tell me, Lucy—
LUCY. Say no more now, I hear my mistress coming.
You must retire.
SPLASH. Well, Lucy, till the evening again. But when
you hear me whistling for you at the area window, don't
fancy it's the call of an unwelcome intruder, and fling a
6 THE YouNG willow.
basin of dirty water out upon my head, but remember the
public-house and think of Splash. [Evit SPLASH, L. D.
Enter AURELIA, from the bed-chamber, R. 3 E.
LUCY. Well, madam, how do you find yourself now *
AUREL. Why, I am pretty well recovered from my
fright, Lucy; but I still feel the greatest anxiety about
the consequences, for I am confident Mandeville saw me
enter.
LUCY. But you are certain, madam, that he had no sus-
picions of who you really were.
AUREL. Not the least in the world; of course he took
me for an officer. I heartily repent me of my folly; but
I have discovered one thing by watching him at the mas-
querade.
LUCY. And what was that, madam :
AUREL. Why, that he's a very wicked creature; that
he's not half so moral as he pretends to be.
Lucy. Then if I were you, ma'am, I'd make a vow
never to open my lips again to him as long as I lived.
AUREL. (with sharpness.) Indeed, ma'am, I shall do no
such thing ! But, for goodness sake, Lucy, get that unfor-
tunate officer's uniform out of the house, for Mandeville is
so very jealous, and so very eccentric, that I should not
wonder if he were to insist upon searching every corner
of the place. It's strange he has not been here—I shall
tremble at the sight of him. I would confess the truth,
but he is so strangely whimsical that I fear he would con-
sider my little plot unbecoming the delicacy of a female,
and I might lose him for ever. But go this instant and
take away that unlucky disguise.
LUCY. I will, ma'am.
(Just as Lucy is going off with the officer's dress, a
tremendous double knock is heard at the door.
AUREL. Oh, preserve me! there he is. Take the dress,
Lucy, into my chamber, or you'll meet him on the stairs;
and while I hold him in conversation you find an oppor-
tunity of slipping out with it.
(Lucy goes off, R. 3 E.; AURELIA takes a book, and
seats herself, as if she were reading; MANDEVILLE
THE YOUNG WIDOW. 7
enters L. D., and looks suspiciously round; AURELIA
pretends not to be conscious of his presence.
MAND. (aside.) All looks quiet, at any rate. I see no
signs of my military spark. -
AUREL. (with great naivete, as ºf just perceiving him.)
Ah, Mandeville ! -
MAND. (with great coolness.) Well, madam?
AUREL. (aside.) Madam it was he, then. I must soften
him. Why you’re not well, Mandeville.
MAND. In most perfect health, madam.
AUREL. (aside.) Madam again. He's very bitter; I
mustn't humour him so much. Then, sir, what is the
meaning of this coolness
MAND. Perhaps you can guess, madam?
AUREL. Suppose I plead ignorance, and plainly ask you
what this visit means?
MAND. Then, madam, I as plainly answer, it means
this is to be the last visit you will be troubled with from
Mandeville.
AUREL. Then, sir, that I may not be indebted to you, I
as plainly reply, that, since it is to be the last, the shorter
it is made the better I shall be pleased. (aside.) Come, I
think I was a match for him there.
MAND. Very well, ma'am, I shall not intrude.
AUREL. Well, sir, are you going? (seats herself.)
MAND. Yes, ma'am, don't be alarmed—I’m going, ma'am
—I’m going. (aside.) I wish she’d ask me to remain. Yes,
I’m resolved I’ll not stay another instant. (seats himself.)
No, I'll not stay another instant.
AUREL. Well, sir, are you gone?
MAND. Yes, I’m gone, ma'am—gone.
(turns chair full towards her.
AUREL. (looking round.) Gone !
MAND. No, no—that is, I’m going. (aside.) But I’ll be
resolute. I will return it at once.
AUREL. (aside.) What's coming now?
MAND. (taking a miniature, in a red morocco case, out of
his bosom.) Here, ma'am, I have worn this near my heart,
but now I respect it no longer.
AUREL. Then, sir, I think you had better return it to
the giver.
8 * THE YOUNG WIDOW.
MAND. That's what I intended, ma'am.
AUREL. Very well, sir; then give it me.
MAND. You shall have it, ma'am. You shall have it.
(He keeps the picture in his hand, looking at it, without .
offering to return it.
AUREL. Well, sir, you really seem very anxious to part
with it.
MAND. Oh, it's very amusing, I dare say, ma'am ; but
you shall have it. There, take it, madam.
(Without apparently knowing what he does, takes the
picture out of the case, looks at it affectionately, puts
the picture in his pocket, and presents the case to
AURELIA.
MAND. There it is, ma'am, there it is.
AUREL. (opening the case.) Is it, indeed! Upon my
word I don’t see it.
MAND. Oh I beg your pardon, ma'am. (giving her
the picture with great reluctance.) It was all a mistake,
ma'am.
AUREL. Oh, of course And now I have it, upon my
life I don’t know what I’m to do with it.
MAND. (aside.) Now I’ll be severe. (rises in a passion.)
Why, now, madam, you may give it to your officer.
AUREL. (aside.) So, he's coming to the point at last.
My officer, sir? --
MAND. Yes, ma'am, your officer ; your colonel, your
captain, your corporal, or whatever he may be.
AUREL. Why what in the name of goodness does ail
the poor man I begin to be quite alarmed.
MAND. Don't be alarmed, I’m perfectly in my senses.
And that you may have no excuse for not understanding
me, know, madam, that I was last night at the masque-
rade; I there got acquainted with a certain officer—he
spoke of you—my suspicions were aroused—I dogged
him home, and saw him enter—this very house.
AUREL. And was that all
MAND. Yes, ma'am, and in my opinion enough too.
Explain it if you can.
AUREL. (aside.) What shall I say? I have it.—Why
you silly mortal, suppose you had seen a dozen officers
enter, does it follow of necessity, that they must come to
THE YOUNG WIDOWſ. 9.
me? Are there not other inmates in the house—and if
they chose to be at the masquerade, they surely had a
right to assume what character they pleased ?
MAND. (hesitating.) Why, that's very true; upon my
^ life that did not strike me before. Is it possible that I’ve
been mistaken 3
AUREL. (aside.) Possible ! I see it's all safe. What
a poor weak soul it is. -
MAND. Can it be possible I have been mistaken
AUREL. You have, indeed; for I protest you were the
last male creature I spoke to last night, and the first this
morning.
MAND. Oh, I must believe you, for surely falsehood
could not look so heavenly. Can you forgive me,
Aurelia:
AUREL. Nay, I really don’t know that I can.
MAND. On my knees, then, let me beg for mercy; for
no humiliation can be too great for having suspected my
Aurelia's truth.
(LUCY, not knowing what turn the affair has taken, has
been seen once or twice looking out at the bed-chamber
door, watching for an opportunity to escape with the
military dress. Seeing MANDEVILLE now with his
back turned towards her, she leaves the chamber on tip-
toe, with the dress under her apron. Unfortunately,
one of the sleeves hangs out, and is quickly perceived
by MANDEVILLE. He seems struck breathless, but
exclaims aside,
Curse me if she hasn't got a man under her apron.
(AURELIA appears afraid to move. When just as
LUCY gets to the door L. C., MANDEVILLE starts off
his knees, and seizes the dress. LUCY screams, and
AURELIA seems petrifted.
No, no, madam, there is no escape—I have you now.
AUREL. (R., aside.) Now the mischief is complete.
LUCY. Oh, my poor mistress—what will become of
her (she runs off L. C.)
MAND. Now, ma'am, say, who did this cursed hat
belong to, that I may seek my vengeance 2
AUREL. (aside.) What shall I say? I dare not ac-
knowledge the truth.
10 THE YOUNG WIDOW.
Maso. What! guilt has struck you dumb, ma'am, has
it
AUREL. (aside.) It must be so.
MAND. Say, madam, this instant.
AUREL. Well, if you must know, then, they belonged
to my poor dear late husband. You cruel man, to rake up
his memory thus. (weeps.)
MAND. Your late husband ' And pray, madam, what
had your late husband to do with a dress like this, when I
know he was a lawyer *
AUREL, (aside.) I'd forgotten that. And so he was;
but though he was a lawyer, he had a gallant soul, and
served in the-the–sharp-shooters.
MAND. In the sharp-shooters, eh? But this un-
fortunately happens to be a cavalry uniform.
AUREL. Well, I don't know; I suppose he wore it
when he mounted guard.
MAND. Then curse me, madam, if he didn't mount
guard last night, for I saw him in it.
AUREL. Oh dear, don’t alarm me; I would not see the
dear man in it again for the universe.
MAND. There is something in this I cannot solve.
AUREL. Then let me solve it for you. Suppose a friend
of mine borrowed that dress for the masquerade, suppose
that friend returned it this morning, then suppose I had
made a present of it to Lucy, and all your doubts are
removed.
MAND. Yes, if I could suppose all this—but there's so
much to suppose; yet, to be sure, it is possible.
AUREL. (aside.) Possible—he melts again—there's a
lord of the creation for you!
MAND. (considering.) Yes, it is very possible, and if I
were not obliged to draw a different conclusion, I would
believe it.
AUREL. Believe that I am innocent, and then draw
what conclusion you think proper.
MAND. (aside.) I have no means of immediate satis-
faction, and so I may as well dissemble. I shall be upon
my guard though. Well, well, Aurelia, I will believe
you, and there is my hand again, on condition that you
promise some day to clear up every doubt.
THE YOUNG WIDOW. 11
AUREL. I do promise you, indeed, and let us say no
more on the subject. I expect my new dancing-master
every instant; so fare you well till to-morrow. Mind
you’re not jealous again.
MAND. No, never again.
AUREL. If you are, I’ll punish you for it. You are
perfectly satisfied ?
MAND. Yes, yes; I am perfectly satisfied—
Evit AURELIA, R. 3 E.
that there is something still, of which you wish to keep
me in ignorance. But I’ll find it out : yet how 2 is the
question. I have an idea—she is in momentary ex-
pectation of her new dancing-master. Splash is a clever
fellow, and I know him to be devoted to my interest. He
shall be this dancing-master. For, when they are off
their guard, he will, most likely, be able to discover what
this mystery means. One of my masquerade dresses
that I had to try on yesterday will be the very thing for
him. Yes, yes, my pretty widow, you may yet be
caught. [Evit MANDEVILLE, L. D.
Enter LUCY, R. 3 E.
Lucy. My mistress has got rid of him at last. I
wonder how she managed it. Lord ' what troubles those
creatures are. I can’t get Mr. Splash and his
public house out of my head. I almost begin to
wish that I were married to him, if it were only
that I might care nothing about him. My mistress
must have managed her own affair very cleverly though,
for Mr. Mandeville seemed to go away in a very good
humour. They say that Cupid always shoots lovers
through the heart; now it's my opinion he always shoots
them through the eyes, for the poor creatures are sure
to become blind, as soon as he assails them. But now
the mischief is done, I may as well take away this
unlucky dress.
(She takes off the dress, and returns immediately. A
loud double knock is heard at the street door.
Oh, my mistress' new dancing-master, I suppose. (Look-
ing off.) Yes, and here he is.
12 THE YOUNG WIDOW.
SPLASH enters, capering very formally, disguised as a
dancing-master, with whiskers and moustaches, L. D.
LUCY. The professor of dancing, I presume 2
SPLASH. The same.
LUCY. Pray what name shall I tell my mistress.
SPLASH. Oh, the devil | I never thought of a name—
However, I must give one. Oh! say that Mr. Chassez
waits. * -
LUCY. Lor'—what a curious looking figure. I’m sure
I have seen his face before though. [Evit Lucy, R. 3 E.
SPLASH. Well, it's clear she don’t suspect me. A curious
whim this of my master's, turning me into a teacher of
dancing; but, fortunately, I lived with a professor once,
so I know something about the (cuts.) However, my
chief business is to look about, and see if I can discover
anything of this terrible captain. I shall look after my
little Lucy, too; for it would be very curious if, when
I'm looking after the captain, I should stumble on the
corporal.
(SPLASH begins looking about. He is just peeping under
the table. AURELIA and LUCY enter R. 3 E. and
perceive him.
AUREL. What is the man about?
SPLASH. Excuse me, ma'am. I was just remarking
that the lower part of this table is very like the legs of a
piano.
AUREL. Pray, sir, what instrument do you profess prin-
cipally *
SPLASH. What instrument * (aside.) I did not know I
was to be a music-master too. Oh, ma'am, one instru-
ment is exactly the same to me as another. I can give
you a lesson immediately, if you wish it, either on the
kettle-drums, Irish bagpipes, Jews' harp, or the French
horn.
AUREL. I thank you, but I have no wish to study either
of those instruments. *
SPLASH. Oh, very well, ma'am ; any lesson I shall give
you will be equally instructive, let it be on what instrument
it will.
THE YOUNG WIDOW. 13
(During the whole of this scene SPLASH continues looking
anariously about the apartment, and, when noticed, pre-
tends to be trying attitudes, pirouettes, &c.
AUREL. Why what a strange creature it is. Stop him,
Lucy; I declare he's going into the bedchamber
(As LUCY pulls SPLASH back, she looks steadfastly at
him. •
LUCY. Pray, sir, what are you doing there? (aside.)
I’m confident it's him.
SPLASH. I’m sure I beg your pardon. I was merely
looking about me.
AUREL. (R.) Then have the kindness, sir, to look about
you in this apartment.
LUCY. (R. C., aside to AURELIA.) It's as I suspected.
This is all a trick, ma'am ; that's Splash in disguise.
AUREL. (aside.) Splash in disguise—ridiculous !
LUCY. (aside.) Oh, I’m sure it is—iust look at him,
ma'am. Look at the pimple on his nose, I’d swear to him
by it among ten thousand.
AUREL. (aside.) Well, I declare it's very like him.
Lucy. (aside.) Yes, ma'am, and he is sent here as a spy
upon us.
AUREL. (aside.) Is he, indeed? Then he shall have a
pretty story to take back with him,
(AURELIAgives LUCY the miniature, and whispers to her.
LUCY. (aside.) I will, ma'am.
AUREL (aside.) I'll teach him to set his spies upon me.
LUCY. But first, ma'am, enjoy his embarrassment a bit
—make him give you a lesson.
AUREL. I will. [Evit Lucy L. door]. Now, Mr. Pro-
fessor, if you have done examining the furniture we will
begin. -
SPLASH. With the greatest pleasure. (asváe.) What the
devil will she want me to do.
AUREL. Suppose we now invoke the aid of Terpsichore.
SPLASH. Terp—who
AUREL. Of Terpsichore.
SPLASH. (aside.) Oh the deucel there's a mouthful—
Terp—Terp—Terp—Oh! I shall never be able to get it
out, and the worst of it is, I don't know what it means.
14 THE YOUNG WIDOW.
AUREL. Come, sir, shall it be a minuet 2
SPLASH. (aside.) Good, it means a minuet. Oh yes, a
topsy-turvy minuet, by all means'
AUREL. But pray tell me, sir, which key do you consider
the most brilliant for a dance 2 The major key, the minor
key, the key of A or the key of E *.
SPLASH. (asºde.) O Lord! among such a bunch of keys
I shall never hit upon the right. But I believe impudence
is everything in most affairs.-Oh, for my part, I may be
singular, but I prefer the key of L.
AUREL. Why that's no key at all.
SPLASH. Isn’t it? (aside) Then I'm lock-jawed.
AUREL. But perhaps you will give me an idea of what
you mean?
SPLASH. Oh, with all the pleasure in lifel (tries to hum
an air, but makes such an outrageous noise that AURELIA
as obliged to stop her ears.) There, that's exactly what I
II163 Il.
AUREL. Bless my soul, I never knew a dancing-master
with such a pair of lungs in my life.
SPLASH. No, I dare say not ; there are very few dan-
cing-masters like me. º
AUREL. 1 should hope so; but I think if you could
have given it a little lower—
SPLASH. Oh, the easiest thing in the world, thanks to
my voice, which will compass anything from A to Z.
ACREL. (aside.) From A to Z here's effrontery !
SPLASH. Now then, ma'am, if you please, you can
begin with a shuffle. (aside,) I generally end with one.
(As SPLASH sings and shews the different steps AURELIA
dances.
Now commencez with a round about O;
The instep thus, the pliant toe turned out O.
'Tis scarcely right, but I must not dishearten her—
Now pirouette, then chassez to your partner
Not too much force, lest you the spirits ruffle,
But look at me, and then you’ll learn to shuffle.
Now lightly trip—three demi pas avancez—
Turn to the right—croissez—and then ballancez,
THE YOUNG WIDOW. 15
Brava! Brava Noblet ne'er surpassed her—
Put she's so apt, and I so good a master. º
SPLASH. (aside.) Bravo! Bravo! I find my talent only
wants to be discovered to be properly appreciated.
LUCY enters from the inner drawing room, L. C. with an
officer's sabre-tache in her hand.
LUCY. Oh, ma'am, see what I’ve found in the inner
drawing-room.
SPLASH. So now I shall learn something.
AUREL. Well I declare, then, when the captain left his
concealment, after Mandeville's departure, this morning,
he must have forgotten it.
SPLASH. (aside, with the utmost astonishment.) The
murder's out, then; there is a captain in the way, and my
poor master stands a chance of being made one of the cat-
tle club, before he's even married.
(AURELIA makes signs to LUCY to put it on the table and
leave it, which she does, and returns to the inner draw-
ing room.
AUREL. On Thursday, Mr. Professor, I shall have the
honour of seeing you again; till then, your most obedient.
SPLASH. Madam, I'm yours devotedly.
AURELIA re-enters the Chamber, R. 3 E.
SPLASH. Here's a pretty story for my master! If I were
not afraid of being taken up for a highway robbery, I
should vastly like to see what's in that. Egad! There's
no one looking, and—'faith. I’ll have a peep, let the con-
sequence be what it will. (opens the sabre-tache.) Here's
something, however.
(Puts his hand in, and takes out the identical miniature
MANDEVILLE had returned to AURELIA.
If further proof were wanting, here it is—the very pic-
ture my poor master prized so much. I shall take it home
to him, or he'll never believe me. Oh, what a lucky es-
cape for him | But here's Lucy. Egad! as I find the
mistress such a Lucretia, I may as well know a little more
about the virtue of the maid before I go any further.
16 THE YOUNG WIDOW.
Re-enter LUCY L. C.
LUCY. (aside.) So, it's all right—he has got the picture.
Oh, I beg your pardon, sir, but I thought you were gone.
SPLASH. No, Miss Lucy: I waited for the pleasure of
wishing you good morning.
Lucy. Oh, sir! (aside.) He has taken some jealous fit
into his head now, I suppose; well, if he has he shall
suffer for it, that's all I can say.
SPLASH. Oh, Miss Lucy! (pathetically.)
Lucy. Oh, Mr. Chassez' (imitating him.)
SPLASH. I have heard that you are going to be married,
Miss Lucy *
Lucy. Why, sir, such a thing has been talked of, but
the fact is, I’ve altered my mind.
SPLASH. That's strange, for I understand your intended
was one Mr. Splash, a very clever, discreet, handsome
young fellow.
Lucy. Oh, sir, then you've been terribly mis-informed.
Mr. Splash is exactly the contrary of what you mention—
he's the most vulgar, illiterate, ordinary person you ever
beheld. (aside.) I’ll give it him, however. -
SPLASH. (aside.) This is pleasant. Well, I always
thought that, at least, his beauty could not be called in
question. (conceitedly.)
LUCY. His beauty He's about as handsome as a
hedge-hog.
SPLASH. (aside.) How damned pointed she is. -
LUCY. If I had married him, I should, perhaps, have
made something of him.
SPLASH. (aside.) If you had married him, you would
have made something of him, I’ve no doubt. I’ll try her
further. Do you know, Miss Lucy, I don't know how it
is, but I feel a sort of presediment towards you myself.
LUCY. Lord, sir, you flatter me. f
SPLASH. No, I'd scorn it. And do you know, Miss
Lucy, I'd give a guinea only for a taste of those
sweet-looking lips.
LUCY. (wiping her mouth with her apron.) Oh, sir,
you're too generous, a great deal.
SPLASH. (aside.) Why, curse me if she ain’t going to
TITE YOUNG WIDOW. 17
take my money! Well, they say experience bought is the
best, so I’ll have a guinea's worth, at all events. (giving her
the guinea.) Here, you pretty, dear-looking (kisses her
—aside.) Infernal baggage |
LUCY. Thank you, sir. You hav’nt got another guinea,
have you?
SPLASH. No, no, I thank you : I’ve had quite enough.
LUCY. (aside.) I never thought he was such a fool.
SPLASH. (aside.) Was ever such a rhinoceros . How I
should like to let her know who I am, and upbraid her
for her perfidy. (imitating her—aside.) “Those lips must
never be touched by mortal man till after the ceremony,
at least,”—no, not till after the ceremony of paying for it,
I find.
LUCY. Are you going, sir? -
SPLASH. Going !—Yes. (aside.) I wish I had been in
the river before I had ever come. Oh, master, master,
here's a pretty pair of us! (going.)
LUCY. Sir, sir; when you have got any more guineas
to spare, you'll know how to dispose of them. (aside.) I
think I have given him a dose for his disguises, at any
rate. [Evit LUCY, R. 3 E.
SPLASH. Well, this is cruelly agreeable ! I have made
some pretty discoveries this morning. The mistress con-
ceals a captain in her cupboard, and the maid sells her
kisses at a guinea a-piece : I suppose they would come
cheaper, though, by taking a quantity. But, I have one
comfort—I can go home, and make my master as miserable
as myself—and curse me if I don’t, too ! Oh, woman |
woman | [Exit, L.
SCENE II.
Enter MANDEVILLE, musing, R.
Mandeville's Apartment.
MAND. Alas! how tedious are the moments of uncer-
certainty Splash must have committed some blunder, or
he would surely have returned ere this. I am almost
distracted; for, to say the least of it, that officer's
entering the house at such an hour has a very strange
18 THE YOUNG WIDOW.
appearance. But still, I will not believe my Aurelia
guilty till I have more convincing proofs of her incon-
stancy. No, no ; from this lucky idea of mine of sending
Splash as the dancing-master, he will be able to give me
most convincing assurance of her attachment to me; he
will be able at once to see that all my suspicions were un-
founded, as, I am now sure, they must have been. (noise
without.) And if I still felt otherwise, here comes Splash
to remove even the shadow of a doubt; he looks quite
overcome with pleasure at the joyful tidings he has to
communicate.
SPLASH enters L. in a state of complete abstraction, with
miniature, and hurries backwards and forwards, with-
out taking the least notice of his master.
SPLASH. (aside.) Oh Lucy Lucy thou most per-
fidious of all waiting women
MAND. Tell me, Splash, is she not innocent *
SPLASH. Oh yes, sir, very innocent. She let me kiss
her, without the least ceremony.
MAND. Let you kiss her, you scoundrel !
SPLASH. Yes, sir, after I had given her a guinea.
MAND. Why, the fellow's mad!
SPLASH. No, no, sir. I don’t mean she let me kiss her,
I mean the dancing-master.
MAND. (collaring him.) Why, you infernal villain!
SPLASH. Oh, pray forgive me, sir, for I hardly know
what I’m saying. The fact is—the fact is, we're a couple
of wretched individuals.
MAND. What is the meaning of all this 2
SPLASH. Oh, sir, the meaning's too plain, when I’ve
told you all. There, sir—look there, sir; what's the
meaning of that (giving his master the picture.)
MAND. Why this is her miniature that I returned to
her this morning.
SPLASH. Yes, sir, and that's the miniature that she
gave the captain this afternoon, who was concealed in the
inner apartment while you were in the outer one, and who
escaped the moment you left the place. There are dis-
coveries I’ve made, all through our admirable contrivance,
MAND. Splash, you electrify me !
THE YOUNG WIDOW. 19
SPLASH. Ah, sir, and I wish somebody would electrify
me, too.
MAND. But, are you positive *
SPLASH. Positive | Seeing's believing, you know, sir.
From my being in disguise, they made no secret of it
whatever, but spoke of the captain openly. That picture
I found myself, in his—what-you-may-call-it, sir—a thing
that hangs about his heels in the shape of a shovel with-
out a handle. By the bye, sir, as I was coming out, I met
the real professor, and if I had not shoved him down an
area, and nearly broke his neck, all our fine schemes
would have been knock'd on the head.
MAND. And she has sunk so low, too, as to let the
danging-master kiss her.
SPLASH. Oh no, I can't say that, sir; that was a little
affair of my own—that was Miss Lucy. I find the maid's
about as virtuous as the mistress, sir; we should have cut
admirable figures in a short time. Oh, they are a precious
air
p MAND. Then I'll never trust woman more
SPLASH. Nor I either, sir; no, we'll mingle our tears
together, and rail at the whole sex
MAND. None of your impertinence, sir; yes, I will
leave this place immediately. I’ll become a wanderer.
(crosses to and fro.
SPLASH. Yes, sir; and I’ll be a wanderer, too.
(following him.
MAND. And so you shall; misery places us all on an
equality. Give me your hand: henceforth you are my
friend—you shall go where I go, and do as I do.
(hitting him on back.
SPLASH. Thank you, sir. (doing the same.)
MAND. (sits R. C.) Yes, I’ll blow out my brains, Splash,
SPLASH. (sits L. C.) Oh, sir, that would be a splash !
MAND. And so shall you, my faithful fellow !
SPLASH. (aside.) No, I'll be hanged if I do ! Why,
sir, to say the truth, that's a sort of equality I’m not at
all anxious of enjoying with you ; in fact it's too low for
my ideas altogether. Besides, I can't see the benefit
of it.
MAND. Why, Splash, I still think she has a heart, and
20 THE YOUNG WIDOW.
when I blow out my brains, I shall be revenged in
knowing what she'll feel when she hears of the melancholy
catastrophe.
SPLASH. Oh, sir, that's all very romantic ; but as I
don’t think it worth while to blow out my brains to
mortify Lucy, why I must beg to decline keeping you
company, and—I have a better idea, sir.
MAND. And what is it, Splash
SPLASH. Why, sir, to let you have your revenge on
her without hurting yourself.
MAND. But how's that to be accomplished
SPLASH. Why, sir, thus—instead of your blowing out
your brains in earnest, let me go and tell the widow you
have done so; and then you'll be able to enjoy your
revenge. Besides, you know, it won’t be too late to do it
afterwards.
MAND. Admirable ! But if she be not in the most
wretchedly interesting state of despair at the news, I
insist on doing it in reality.
SPLASH. Very well, sir, you shall.
MAND. Get me my pistols, Splash; I will put them in
my pocket, that I may be prepared for the worst.
SPLASH. (giving him a brace from R. H.) Here they
are, sir. -
MAND. They are loaded, I believe?
SPLASH. Yes, sir, three balls in each.
MAND. So much the better.
SPLASH. But you will not want both pistols.
MAND. No, my friend, I shall not want them both ;
one of them will be sufficient for me, and the other will
do for you. (points it to him.)
SPLASH. (jumps round to L.) Yes, it will do for me if
I make use of it. Really, sir, you must excuse me. -
MAND. No, Splash, I insist on your shooting yourself;
it will be my last command. -
SPLASH. Yes, and it will be my last act of obedience,
too, if I do it. Lord, sir, you are not in earnest? -
MAND. Do you consider blowing out your brains a
ioke * -
J SPLASH. No, sir; indeed I consider it no joke at all.
THE YOUNG WIDOW. 21
MAND. Then, sir, if you have the least respect for me,
shoot yourself. I shall insist that,
SPLASH. Shoot myself Lor' — nonsense, sir! It
would be the death of me !
MAND. Sir, this levity ill becomes the awful occasion.
SPLASH. Levity be hanged, sir! A joke's a joke, you
know, but I don’t see the fun of this. -
MAND. Sir, I’m resolute.
SPLASH. Yes, sir, and so am I; and I’ll be shot if I
blow my brains out to please anybody. Why, sir, it
would be downright parricide
MAND. Parricide! Suicide, I suppose, you mean.
SPLASH. Both sides are bad enough ; it's all the same,
sir. But I think we'd better lose no time; you know
sir, you can wait for me at the pump, and directly I
leave the widow, I can run and tell you how she has
received the news of your demise.
MAND. Really, Splash, the thoughts of her grief has
quite put me in spirits, but I insist on blowing out my
brains, tho' after all, if she be not interestingly affected.
SPLASH. Very well, sir—agreed. (aside.) You may
make a hole in your head, but if you blow out your
brains, I’ll be hanged!
MAND. What did you say, sir?
SPLASH. I said, that if I were to blow out your brains,
I should deserve to be hanged.
[Eveunt MANDEVILLE and SPLASH, L.
SCENE III.
Aurelia's apartment ; the same as the first scene.
Enter AURELIA, R. 3 E.
AUREL. I wonder how my spark has received his sup-
posed confirmation of my infidelity. I believe I must
confess the truth to him, after all: but first, to punish him
for his suspicions, and try to cure him of his eccentricity, I
mean to put on my officer's dress once more, to see how
he will bear the sight of his favoured rival, and when I
22 THE YOUNG WIDOW
consider myself sufficiently revenged, I will throw off my
disguise, and ask his forgiveness.
Enter LUCY in haste, L. C.
LUCY. Oh, ma'am, ma'am, there's something else in
the wind! There's more mischief brewing !
AUREL. Why do you think so
LUCY. Why, ma'am, just as I was looking out of the
upstairs’ window, what should I see but Splash and his
master, down by the post in the deepest consultation, pre-
sently they divided, and Splash is coming towards the
house. -
AUREL. Never mind, Lucy, only let us be upon our
guard, and I’ll be a match for him, I warrant.
LUCY. Yes, ma'am, I hope you will some day; but
Splash is here.
SPLASH enters L. 2 E. with his handkerchief to his eyes, and
pourtraying all the symptoms of the most excessive sorrow.
AUREL. For heaven's sake, Splash, what is the matter 8
SPLASH. Oh oh! oh! ma'am!
LUCY. (aside to AURELIA.) This is some trick, ma'am,
depend on it. -
SPLASH. Oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear!
Lucy. Why you haven’t got the toothache, have you,
Mr. Splash?
SPLASH. Oh the toothache | But it's so dreadful I shall
never be able to tell you what it is.
AUREL. Now pray, Mr. Splash, compose yourself, and
let us know the worst; for nothing can be so bad as this
dreadful state of uncertainty.
SPLASH. Well, I suppose I might as well out with it.
AUREL. Come, now, I’m quite impatient.
SPLASH. You must know, then, that my poor master,
ma'am, has taken it into his head to be jealous of you, and
all I could say in your favour would not satisfy him; and
about two hours since—
i. * ! Well, about two hours since—
UCY.
SPLASH. Why about two hours since he put a pistol to
THE YOUNG WIDOW. - 23
his head, and blew the whole of his brains into the h-air,
oh oh!
AUREL. (very coolly.) And is it only that?
SPLASH. Only that! (aside.) Why, what the devil
would she have I suppose she thinks he ought to have
blown away body and all.
LUCY. (aside to AURELIA.) I told you it was some
Scheme, ma'am.
AUREL. (aside to LUCY.) Never mind, I’ll punish him
for it. Well, this is really very unfortunate.
SPLASH. Oh, it's dreadful.
AUREL. But are you sure he's dead, Splash :
SPLASH. Why, ma'am, he’s got three bullets thro' his
head, and I think the probability is, that he's not in a per-
fect state of activity. -
AUREL. Three bullets | Then he must be very dead.
SPLASH. Yes, ma'am, he's very dead, indeed. (aside.)
How cursedly cool she takes it.
AUREL. But I have been thinking, Lucy—(weeps.)
SPLASH. (aside.) Come, she's beginning to feel it.
AUREL. I have been thinking, Lucy, whether it would
not be proper for me to put on mourning on the melan-
choly occasion.
SPLASH. (aside.) Upon my soul, I wish my master could
See her.
LUCY. Why, ma'am, as things had gone sofar, I think
it would be showing a mark of respect towards the de-
, ceased; you know you can have it made very fashionable,
ma'am.
AUREL. And so I can ; but still it's distressing.
SPLASH. Oh, dreadfully distressing, oh!
AUREL. And so it is, to be obliged to appear in black,
when rose colour predominates so.
LUCY. And so it is, ma'am.
SPLASH. (aside.) I am electrified now !
AUREL. (aside to Lucy.) Where's my uniform *
LUCY. (aside to AURELIA.) In the back parlour.
AUREL. I fear my excessive grief will render me unfit
to see company to-day, and so I’ll retire and indulge in
Sorrow. But mind, Lucy, you don't neglect sending for
the dressmaker. Poor Mandeville ! how very weak it was
24 THE YOUNG WIDOW.
of him I’ll never forgive him for it, that I won't I think
a few bugles might be introduced—a naughty—naughty
Iºla Il. [Evit AURELIA, R. D.
SPLASH. (aside, mimicking her.) A naughty, naughty
man —Well, my master may wait at the pump a twelve-
month before I’ll go and tell him this; he’d not only blow
his own brains out, but perhaps mine too ! *
Lucy. Well, Splash, so the poor man's gone?
SPLASH. Yes, Lucy.
LUcy. And, I fear by the excess of your grief, Splash—
SPLASH. What, Lucy *
LUcy. That he hasn’t left you a legacy.
SPLASH (aside.) What a thoughtful soul it is.
LUCY. Not that I’m in the least interested.
SPLASH. No, no; it isn’t that, I’ve other griefs at heart.
LUCY. And what are they, Splash : -
SPLASH. (aside.) Now I’ll give it her. Why Lucy,
yesterday I met a friend, a Mr. Chassez. (aside.) I'll place
it allegorically.
Lucy. (aside) What's he about, now :
SPLASH. (aside.) How the name has struck her | This
friend told me a strange story about a lady called Lucy;
about a guinea, and a kiss, and the deuce knows what.
Lucy. You met a friend, you say?
SPLASH. Yes to be sure I did—he's a friend of yours,
too, I believe.
LUCY. What have I done?
SPLASH. I’m sure I don't know; you can tell best; but
I suppose you’ll deny it all.
Lucy. (aside.) I’m not so silly—Not one word of it,
Splash. It's all true; the kiss and the guinea, both.
But pardon me, Splash, I was foolish enough to think that
Mr. Chassez was yourself in disguise.
SPLASH. (starting with astonishment.) No, did you,
though? (aside.) What a quicksighted toad it is. But I’ll
swear it wasn’t me, to mortify her.
Lucy. Now tell me, Splash, wasn’t it you?
SPLASH. Lord bless you, how could you think I would
be so foolish *
Lucy. You're sure it wasn't you?
SPLASH. Positive.
THE YOUNG WIDOW. 25
LUCY. (wiping her mouth.) Oh, what have I done, then?
I’ve let another man kiss me !
SPLASH. (aside.) This is delightful! Oh, you've made
a pretty business of it! (with affected gravity.) Oh you
little profligate
LUCY. But forgive me, Splash, and I swear that no man
but yourself shall ever touch my lips again.
SPLASH. Well, well, I forgive you on that condition.
LUcy. (aside.) Lord, what fools men are! -
SPLASH. (aside.) Oh, I’m the happiest dog alive! I
wonder how my poor master is, down at the pump.
Lucy. Well, Splash, I must wish you good bye, now;
but you won’t forget in the evening again?
SPLASH. No, my darling; farewell.
LUCY. (aside, as she goes off.) Now there's a pretty
simpleton for you. [Exit R. D.
SPLASH. Oh, I’m in extacy. (going off—noise without.)
Eh! why if there ain't my master's rival, the captain,
coming up stairs. I shall make more discoveries. I’ll
step behind that screen, and observe him. Yes, yes, here
I shall be able to hear and see all that passes. Not that I
have any doubt remaining about Lucy. (hides himself.)
Enter LUCY, R. 3 E.
Lucy. (aside.) Behind the screen, eh? Well, it sha’nt
be my fault if he's not perfectly satisfied, at all events;
and, fortunately, here comes my mistress.
Enter AURELIA in the Captain's uniform, L. 2 E.
AUREL. Now Lucy.
Lucy. (aside.) Hush, ma'am, there's Splash hid behind
the screen. Can't you make a little love to me?
AUREL. (aside.) Oh, to be sure I can. Now my dear
girl, is my Aurelia visible :
SPLASH. (aside.) His Aurelial
Lucy. To say the truth, captain, she's now dressing;
you know she could not think of receiving you in disha-
bille.
AUREL. Don't hurry her; while I have a pretty maid
to keep me company, I don’t mind waiting a few minutes
for the widow. *
26 THE YOUNG WIDOW.
LUCY. Oh, captain, you are very gallant.
SPLASH. (aside.) Very.
AUREL. And really, my dear, before Aurelia comes, I
positively must have a kiss of those pouting lips,
SPLASH. (aside.) Well, one good thing, she has sworn
not to let any one kiss her but myself.
(AURELIA and LUCY toying together.
LUCY. Really, you military gentlemen are so very per-
severing.
AUREL. But not the less welcome, I warrant. (kisses her.
SPLASH. (aside.) If she ain't forsworn before my face'
but he's not a man, I suppose he's a gentleman.
LUCY. (aside.) I wonder how Mr. Splash likes that?
(noise without.
LUCY. (aside.) There is some one coming. You had
better retire, captain, if you please, to the inner drawing
TOOHOl.
AUREL. As you please, my darling; but come hither,
Lucy, for I positively must have another kiss.
[Eveunt AURELIA and LUCY to the inner drawing-room.
SPLASH. I think I ought to be satisfied now. I wish I
could escape, but some one else is coming. (looking off.)
Confound it—if it ain't my master! I mustn't let him see
me, or he'll out with his pistols in a minute. (goes behind
the screen again, R. C.)
Enter MANDEVILLE, L. 2 E.
MAND.. I'm confident that Splash has played me false.
I have been waiting this hour for him down at that cursed
pump. But I am resolved now to be trifled with no
longer, and come to an explanation at once. (noise without.)
Some one approaches.
Enter AURELIA from the inner drawing-room, L. C.,
ân her military dress.
By all my fears, my rival!
SPLASH. (aside.) Yes, there he is, there’ll be a pretty
Set-to.
AUREL. (R. C. aside.) So, here is the dead man; now
to prepare for a storm.
MAND. (L. C. aside.) I would have instant satisfaction,
THE YOUNG WIDOW. 27
but I will not let him enjoy the triumph of knowing who
I am.
AUREL. A friend of the widow’s, I presume *
MAND.. I was. You, I believe, are still a friend of hers 2
AUREL. A very particular one.
SPLASH. (aside.) What the devil are they going at now
MAND. You have business here, I suppose
AUREL. Very urgent business; in fact, the case stands
thus:–Aurelia and myself have been, for some time,
affectionately attached to each other; unfortunately, she
had given her word to another, and resolved to keep it;
now this other, as, of course, you will guess, was a
very weak, simple sort of a personage—
MAND. No, sir, I should guess quite the contrary.
AUREL. Only hear me out.
SPLASH. (aside.) I wish I could get out,
AUREL. And if you don't agree with me then, I’ll give
up the point. For, what should you think? In this
state of affairs, this poor foolish devil, in a fit of jealousy,
has not only been kind enough to me, but cruel enough to
himself to blow his brains out. Not that I suspect he
ever had many; and I dare say you think so, too.
MAND. Sir, whatever I may think, I'll thank you to
proceed.
AUREL. Well, sir, he having blown out his brains,
every obstacle is removed. The widow writes to me, and
I now come to supply the place of her former lover. A
lucky dog, ain't I? (slaps MANDEVILLE on the shoulder.
SPLASH. (aside.) Hit him again, sir!
MAND. (aside.) Who could have thought my Aurelia
had been so completely worthless.
AUREL. But before I open my confidence any further,
may I beg to know to whom I have the honour of
speaking :
MAND. (aside.) I have been such a fool, that curse me
if I ain’t ashamed to tell him who I am
AUREL. Will you favour me with your name *
MAND. My name, sir, can be of little importance; let
it suffice that I am a gentleman, and a friend of this poor
foolish devil's.
SPLASH. (aside.) Oh, he's a friend, is he? he's placing
it allegorically, too.
28 THE YOUNG WIDOW.
AUREL. You may be his friend, but all I can say is,
that to boast of his friendship, is but a poor compliment
to your own wisdom.
MAND. Sir, I will put up with this no longer. I
demand the satisfaction of a gentleman.
AUREL. Oh, very well, sir; you shall have any satis-
faction you think proper; name your time and place.
MAND. Sir, there is no time or place so proper as this
apartment and the present moment.
AUREL. Oh, very well, sir, I’m perfectly agreeable.
(aside.) I know there are no arms in the house, and so I
may as well show my bravery.
MAND. I’m glad to find you so ready.
AUREL. I’m ready this instant—it can't be settled too
quickly.
SPLASH. (aside.) Why, if they ain’t going to fight in
earnest! -
MAND. (taking the pistols out of his pockets.) Luckily
I’m provided.—Here, sir, choose your weapon.
AUREL. (seems ready to faint at the sight of them—
aside.) What a murderous fellow it is. I would not have
ventured a syllable about fighting if I had thought there
had been a pistol within a mile of me.
MAND. Come, sir, no trifling; take your choice.
AUREL. (aside.) What shall I do? If I scream out, I
shall be obliged to discover the whole plot. I have it,
I’ll place myself close to Splash; he’ll surely not let his
master fire that way.
MAND. Come, sir, take your position.
AUREL. (running towards the screen.) This is my ground.
SPLASH. (looking over the screen in the greatest agony.)
Why, if he ain't—come—close to me; I shall have three
bullets through me presently
MAND. How are we to arrange the signal;
AUREL. As you please.
SPLASH. (aside.) Oh, curse the signal I can never
stand this
MAND. Very well, sir; when I say One, Two, Three,
we’ll both fire together.
SPLASH. (aside.) Yes, and I shall drop between you.
AUREL. (aside.) If Splash don't call out, I must.
SPLASH. (aside.) Oh, I'm a dead man to a certainty
THE YOUNG WIDOW. 29
MAND. One—Two—
SPLASH. Hold l hold! Flesh and blood can bear it no
longer! (throws down the screen and discovers himself.
MAND. (to SPLASH.) What did you do there, scoundrel?
SPLASH. Nothing, sir—nothing,
fi **. Then you should have laid quiet till I had
I'601.
SPLASH. I should have laid quiet enough, if I had—no,
no, I thank you, sir, you might have shot at the pigeon,
and killed the crow, perhaps.
Enter LUCY, L. c.
LUCY. Ha! haſ ha / sagacious gentlemen; is this
your gallantry, to lift a deadly weapon against a woman *
MAND. A woman
LUCY. Yes, sir, a woman. Could you not all this time
discover that it was my mistress :
AUREL. (taking off her cap.) Ha! haſ haſ It is true,
my jealous spark. -
MAND. Aurelial then I see it all. I have been out-
witted, indeed.
SPLASH. Yes, sir;-you may deceive a maid, perhaps a
wife; but, in future, take care how you tackle with a
widow.
MAND.. I feel the justice of it, and I bless you for the
lesson you have given me.
AUREL. (to SPLASH.) Have you no one to give you a
lesson, too?
SPLASH. Oh, no; the lessons I receive are too valuable
to be given away. I paid a guinea for the first this
morning.
LUcy. Never mind, Splash ; you shall have them
cheaper for the future.
SPLASH. Oh, bless you. (embraces her.)
AUREL. Then our happiness is complete, if the friends
around us will but grant their forgiveness to the thought-
less follies of the “YouNG WIDOW.”
R. L.
AURELIA. MANDEVILLE. LUCY, SPLASH.
Printed by T. BLoWER, 313, Strand.

HELPIN G. HANDS
A DOMESTIC DRAMA
IN TWO ACTS
IBY
TOM TAYLOR, ESQ.
AUTHOR OF
Still Waters Run Deep; A Blighted Being; A Trip to
Rissengen ; Diogenes and his Lantern ; The Philo-
sopher's Stone ; The Vicar of Wakefield; to Parents
and Guardians ; Our Clerks; Little Red Riding
Hood; &c. &c. &c.; and one of the Authors of Masks
and Faces; Plot and Passion; Slave Life; Two Loves
and a Life; The King's Rival; &c. &c.
THOMAS HAILES LACY,
wellington street,
STRAND,
I, O N ID O N ,
HELPING HANDS.
First Performed at the Royal Adelphi Theatre, on Wednesday,
.. - June 20th, 1855.
C H A R A C T E R S .
LORD QUAVERLY . . . .
THE HON. CALVERLY HAUTBOIS
LORENTZ HARTMANN . . .
JOHN MERTON . . . .
ISAAC WOLFF . . . .
WILLIAM RUFUS, alias WINKIN, alias }
MR. GARDEN.
MR. LEIGH MURRAY.
MR. BEN. WEBSTER.
MR. PARSELLE.
MR. CHARLEs SELBY.
.
iº (one of the shoe-black MR. KEELEY.
rigade ſº e e º e
LAZARUS SOLOMON, (Appraiser and
Waluer) tº sº tº º tº } MR. C. J. SMITH,
MARGARET HARTMANN º © . MADAME CELESTE.
*TILDA . wº ſº g & º . MRS. KEELEY.
MRS. BOOTY . º o e © • MISS CUTHBERT.
SCENE-London. TIME.-The present day.
ACT I.
ATTIC–HARTMANN's Lopg|INGs.
ACT II.
LoRD QUAVERITY's LIBRARY.
Time in representation, two hours and five minutes.
C O S T U NM E S =
HARTMANN.—Black old fashioned coat, light silk waistcoat, pantaloons,
Hessian boots.
HAUTBoIS.–Fashionable modern suit.
MERTON.—Black frock coat, grey trousers, holland waistcoat.
WILLIAM RUFUS.—Red shirt, black apron, white trousers.
Wolf F.—Eccentric Jew’s dress.
LoRD QUAVERLY.-Black frock coat and trousers, check waistcoat.
LAZARUs Solomon.—Brown great coat, dark waistcoat and trousers.
MARGARET.-Brown alpaca dress, trimmed with black, straw bonnet, and
black silk cape.
*TILDA.—Blue cotton dress, short sleeves, and apron.
MRS. Booty.—Pink delaine, with flounces, showy cap.
HELPING HANDS.
ACT I.
SCENE.—A mean room on the upper floor of a poor
London lodging-house, with a lean-to roof, and a window
overlooking the tops of houses. Door R. communicating
with stair-case; door L. communicating with inner room.
In the corner, a half-drawn curtain conceals an alcove,
where Margaret's bed is placed. It has not been slept
&n : there is no fire in the grate : a portrait of Beethoven
s hangs over the fire-place; a bust of Bach, with a
withered laurel crown, stands on drawers : a German
pipe hangs near it: a fiddle-case with fiddle on the
table. At the opening of the scene the shutters are
closed, and a candle burns low on the table at which
MARGARET is seated at work—copying music. Several
sheets lie by her on the table and on the ground.
MARG. (laying down her pen, and pressing her hands to
her eyes.) How my eyes ache, (shivering.) and my stupid
fingers feel quite cramped (stretches her fingers wearily.)
However, thanks to my might's work, I've flnished the last
sheet of this terrible score. (counts the pages rapidly.)
Six, eight, ten, twelve, sixteen, twenty, six, eight, thirty
pages—and, with last week's work, it will make—let me
See—(sharp tap at the door.) Come in.
Enter MRs. Booty, R. H.
Oh, Mrs. Booty.
MRS. B. Good morning, mem. Begging your parding
§ pºsing the remark—but was you aware it's eight
o'clock :
4 FIELPIN G. HANIDS. ACT I.
**
MARG. Is it really—I was so hard at work. (goes to
window, and opens shutters. MRs. BOOTY puts owt
the candle.) Broad daylight, I declare, and I’ve been
wasting candle. (throws open the window, and draws a long
breath.) Oh, the sweet morning air—(coughs.) It's a little
sharp, though.
MRs. B. Yes; there 'ave been a frost through the
night, which 'Tilda had to break the hice on the water
butt this morning. Hem | I suppose you know what
brings me up stairs so soon :
MARG. (sighs.) Oh dear, I'm afraid so.
MRs. B. Yes, mem, which though I can feel for you
and your par, having known better days myself, still I
must say things can't ago on in this here way any longer.
You got the inventory and the notice of distraint
MARG. (taking the paper from the mantel-piece.) Yes.
I don’t understand it, and I dare not read it to papa.
MRs. B. Which it is dated the 16th, and to-day's the
22nd, and, feeling what is due to myself, I've come to say
that if the five pounds, ten skillings, due for the apartments,
isn’t paid to-day—however painful to my feelings—the
law, as Mr. Wolff says, must take its course.
MARG. The law Oh, Mrs. Booty, do not be so hard
on us—only another week.
MRs. B. You know, mem, it's been another week these
three weeks. If the attics is to be trifled with, 'ow can I
insist on the first floors :
MARG. If papa had not been so ill, I should have
earned enough to have paid you by this time, and if
you'd only—
MRs. B. (crosses to R. H.) It's no use, mem—my
butcher, and my baker won’t wait, I assure you, and no
more will I. If the money arn’t paid by twelve o'clock, I
must and will sell—there !
MARG. But, Mrs. Booty—
MRs. B. Which my mind is made up, and I’d rather
not have any altercation, mem:— which them is my last
words. Good morning, mem. [Exit haughtily, R. H.
MARG. Turn us out—blind and half-crippled as my
poor father is. I shouldn’t care for myself—but I’ve kept
our distress secret from him as yet. I thought I
HELPIN G. HANIDS. - 5
should have earned the money by this time—I wonder if
Signor Chiara would advance me as much on my copying
—I’ll go to him after I’ve made papa comfortable. (coughs.)
Oh, what a pain. I have here ! (pressing her hand to her
side.) Come, come, Gretchen, you can’t afford to be ill. I
suppose it's sitting up at work all last night. (coughs again.
Inock.) Come in.
Enter M.R. MERTON, R. H.
MERTON. (aside.) That cough again!—Miss Hartmann'
MARG. Mr. Merton—good morning !
MERTON. Well, how does our patient go on P But you
really should not sit without a fire in this bitter weather.
Do let the girl light one for you, or, shall I?
(Goes to closet, L. H.
MARG. No, no.
MERTON. Oh, I insist; the doctor's will, you know, is
absolute—eh? (sees closet empty.)
MARG. (confused.) I forgot to send for coals yesterday.
MERTON. The girl shall bring you some of mine till
you've replenished your stock. (goes to door R. H. and calls.)
Here, Matilda |
'TILDA. (from below.) Yes, Mr. Merton, I’m a cleanin
the grate.
MERTON. Bring up a scuttle of coals.
'TILDA. Whose
MERTON. Mine! Nay, are we not fellow lodgers—are
we not friends?
MARG. Yes. Heaven knows you have been a friend.
But for you my poor father might have died in this last
illness. Oh, if I could but show gratitude in some better
way than words.
MERTON. Shall I tell you how you may We doctors
have confidences enough that we do not ask for—I ask for
yours—won't you give it me?
MARG. (trembling.) Oh, Mr. Merton, do not think me
ungrateful—but my father—
MERTON. Is as proud as Lucifer, and fancies, poor
old gentleman, that I don’t see he's as poor as Job. He
forgets that I'm hardly a bit better off than himself. To
6 . HIELIPIN G. HANIDS, ACT I
be sure, mine's the masked misery of a decent coat and a
first floor, whilst his goes threadbare, and hides in an
attic. (rises.)
Enter 'TILDA, R. H., with coals. She pauses at
the door listening.
Come, have some faith in me.
(MARGARET crosses to door L. H., listens, and returns to
L. C. MERTON places chair for her L. C., himself R.C.
MARG. Yes, I will tell you all.
(During this speech 'TILDA listens with growing
interest, gradually letting the coal skuttle slip from her
hands.
My earliest recollections are of ease, almost luxury; for
the first ten years of my life we had such a happy home :
—my mother was alive then; my father was first violin
at the opera; he had pupils—rich and fashionable ones—
he earned much, spent freely, for he thought his position
as durable as it was brilliant, until his sight failed
gradually. Oh, it was terrible to watch, day by day, that
passage from dimness to darkness. He lost his pupils; a
blind man was useless in the orchestra: we sank, Sank,
sank, slowly, but surely, from ease to want; my mother
was not so strong as I was ; she died of consumption, they
said—I knew it was misery: poor father struggled hard for
his wife and child; he was not too proud to give
miserably - paid lessons, to play at cheap houses of
entertainment, and when, owing to his increasing
infirmities, even these resources failed him, he tried the
StreetS. -
(TILDA during this specch has been gradually getting
more and more affected, and at last cries bitterly,
wiping her eyes with her grimy hands.
MERTON. The streets | Is it possible *
MARG. I promised to tell you all. His violin there was
the only relic of our past he had not parted with. It is a
Stradivarius—of great value, I believe. Oh, how he
loves it! It has been our bread winner. We have lived
for the last year by what my poor father earned as a street
musician. Thank heaven, I was there to lead him—to
cheer him, now and then, with a word and a squeeze of
TIELPING HANIDS. 7
the hand, when I saw the tears stealing down his cheeks
in the moonlight, and at such moments, I have almost felt
happy in the bereavment that made me so much to
him.
'TILDA. (breaking out.) Oh, don’t, don’t, dont, Miss; I
can't abear it—I can't, indeed—no, that I can’t.
(Sobs violently, working her hands into her eyes.
MARG. You here, Matilda (crosses to R. C.) Listening !
'TILDA. It's the coals, Miss—I couldn't help listening
—oh, please let me cry, and don’t say nothing to me till
I’ve had it out. (she sobs.) -
MERTON. There's an explosion of latent sensibility
*TILDA. Vich I’m a workus, and a bad girl, missus says,
and a slut, and an himperent hussey, and knows my
place; but to think o' you a leadin' a poor blind, without
so much as a dog, it's too cuttin', and I don't care, oh!
oh oh! (sobbing again.)
MERTON. Bravo, 'Tilda' Gad, I thought the work-
house and Mrs. Booty had taken all that sort of thing out
of her.
MARG. It's so hard to kill a human heart.
*TILDA. And him so old, and you so good and kind, and
quite the lady, and never give me a cross word, bless yer.
Oh, I’d wait on yer on my bended knees, I would—for
nothing, I would.
MARG. Thank you for your sympathy—but remember,
Matilda, you know our secret now. You must not tell
Mrs. Booty.
'TILDA. What! me tell missus ! Oh, bless you, I can
hold my tongue, I can. (while speaking, she lights the fire,
stopping now and then in her work, and speaking from her
Anees.) Did I tell who pumped on the beadle in the 'ouse,
for all they give me three days' black 'ole, and bread and
water No, never—not if they'd ha’ milled me for a
month, I would’nt; and I know’d it was Shockey all the
time.
MERTON. And pray who was Shockey *
'TILDA. He was a casual, he was. Boy's ward, No. 2.
—used to say if ever him and me got out of the house,
he'd keep company with me ; but he comed out fust, and
I never Seed him since.
8 HELPIN G. HANIDS. ACT 1.
MERTON. Well, light the fire, and never mind Shockey.
I see now how to account for your father's rheumatic fever.
In the streets these cold nights, at his age . It is lucky
that you are strong—you are strong?
MARG. Oh yes, nothing ever ails me. (coughs.)
MERTON. Hem How long have you had that cough
MARG. Oh, its nothing—for the last month or two.
MERTON. Any pain in the side :
MARG. A little, sometimes.
MERTON. Matilda, be off, there's a good girl, and get
my breakfast ready.
'TILDA. Yes, sir—and then, Miss, if you'd only let me
help you to make the old gentleman's, Miss. I say, I'll
bring you up some of missus's tea, I will. (mysteriously.) I
know where she keeps the key of the caddy.
MERTON. Holloa Steal Mrs. Booty's tea?
'TILDA. Well, and doesn’t she steal your'n?
MERTON. Workhouse training, Miss Hartmann. Pray,
Matilda, do you know your duty to your neighbour *
'TILDA. (glibly.) Doesn't T. just. My duty towards
my neighbour, is to love him as myself, and to do unto all
men as I would they should do unto me—to love, honour,
and succour my father and mother, which I never had any
to honour and obey
MERTON. Stop, stop, stop |
'TILDA. That's catekiz—that is: we used to have it o'
Sundays in the 'ouse—and suet puddings.
MERTON. Yes, they taught you the theory, but as for
the practice—
'TILDA. We didn't learn no practice in the 'ouse. All
I know is, missus robs the lodgers, and it’s only fair the
lodgers should rob missus, if they gits a chance.
[Evit, L. H.
MERTON. Miss Hartmann, I have been attending your
father, and, in spite of myself, I have been observing you.
Have you a stout heart?
MARG. Yes. I can bear anything but suspense. What
have you discovered 3 ©
MERTON. Too much may depend on my speaking
plainly to tamper with you. . There, is danger, great
danger, in your passing this winter in England.
IIIBLPIN G. HANIDS. 9
MARG. Danger!
MERTON. You told me your mother died of consump-
tion. The seeds of that disorder are already implanted in
your constitution—mind, I do not say they have yet
germinated — but an English winter, nay, one night's
exposure might do the mischief. You must leave
England.
MARG. Oh, how can I? Where are we to find the
means ?
MERTON. At least, promise me not to go out at nights.
MARG. But when my father recovers the use of his
hands, how else are we to live? Copying music is so
precarious, and so ill paid.
MERTON. Oh, why am I not rich enough to be able to
offer you a home ! Alas, I can only offer you a heart—you
blush—you turn away—you do not repulse me. Margaret,
I love you ; give me a husband's right to watch over you.
MARG. Oh, you make me very proud, and very happy,
but the care of the blind admits no divided duty. I
cannot live both for my husband and my father.
MERTON. I was a fool to speak so, but my feelings
were too much for my reason. Only promise me you
will share my prosperity, and my poverty, I feel, will not
long separate us. Promise only this. -
MARG. I do.
MERTON. Bless you ! I feel the strength of a giant.
I must succeed—I will succeed now ; but oh, how I
dread this winter.
MARG. I will be careful of myself for your sake. There,
you have my promise—give me yours.
MERTON. For what
MARG. To conceal any danger I may be in from my
father. Think what we are to each other. Promise me
this.
MERTON. I promise, all the more, as no good could come
of his knowing my fears, (aside.) and there's no prospect of
his playing this winter, thanks to his rheumatism.
HARTMANN. (heard without at door L. H.) Gretchen—
Gretchen
MARG. My father—(crosses to L. H.) Mind, not a word
to him. [Exit L. H.
10 IIELPIN G. HANDS. ACT. I,
MERTON. Dear, noble girl | Heaven grant that the dis-
covery is not too late
Iče-enter MARGARET L. H. leading in HARTMANN.
MERTON. Good morning, Mr. Hartmann.
HART. Morgen—Herr Doctor—Ha—ha-(approaching
fire.) it makes cold, ha-ha-ha-(warming himself.) Is
good fire, ha-ha—ha!
MERTON. And our rheumatism—better, eh?
HART. Ach! teufel take these hand—stiff—always stiff
as woods. Sakerment, Herr Doctor, I have had such a
dream—I was in de Orchester once again, te Philharmonic.
They gave Beethoven's symphony in La, the great master's
own favorite work, and mine eyes was open, and mine
hands was alive again, to talk mit mine Stradivarius. Wo
bist du, alter Strad P (He feels for the fiddle—MARGARET
guides his hand to the case.) Ah—ha-(pleased and clapping
the violin.) Bist da, alt freund 2 I was yet again de old
Hartmann — ach! dat allegretto, sighing, sighing—how
Heaven sweet ! And de Scherzo—laughed we—I and mine
old feedle—and den de Finale—like tousand crashing
organs mit archangel voices—Himmel ! I heard dem all—
so clear—so clear—dat glorious thunder music and den
I woke, and da war ich—poor old Hartmann—a beggar in
mine bett—mit de blind eyes, and de cruppelt hands once
more. (his voice falters.)
MARG. Dear father
MERTON. Courage, sir, courage, who knows but Doctor
summer may drive out rheumatism yet.
HART. Danke, Herr Doctor—for me and mine Gretchen
too. But how to pay you your care, your medicine all dis
time—it make me woe. -
MERTON. Pooh–pooh, Mr. Hartmann—I’ll take it out
on what school advertisements call the mutual principle—
music for physic.
HART. Eh—
MERTON. I’ll doctor you, and you shall teach me the
violin.
HART. H'm—h’m—tink you? You learn him
MERTON. Why not You take my physic.
Hi-LPING HANDs. 11
HART. Nein, nein—any man take physic; but not any
man learn de feedle—for dat, see you, so is need of a
beautiful soul, a great strong soul.
MERTON. Ha—ha-ha-if your theory were acted on,
what would become of our fashionable professors, and
their guinea lessons?
HART. Pfui ! (contemptuously.) Was fur professoren
was fur guinea lesson 1 See—I spit on dem—I trample
them to me under de foot! Dat dey rattle dere cat-polka—
kladder-a-datch so is gut, gut—but speak not of music
mit such mountebankerei ! Ach, Professoren —nun so
Gott bewahr 1 (shrugs his shoulders.) -
MARG. (lays her finger on her lips and shakes her head
at MERTON, who smiles.) -
MERTON. But my music shall be Corelli's, Bach's,
Beethoven's—the giants you worship.
HART. Ach, mine Sebastian! (MARGARET takes him up
c. to drawers—he feels the bust.) Always his crown:—and
Beethoven — Ha, grosser armer Ludwig | He look on
me and whisper, “take to thee heart, du alter. Thou
art blind, thou ; I was deaf. Thou art poor; I was
penniless.” What makes cold, poverty, hunger, to one who
hears ever heaven’s harmonies—who can himself sail on
angel wings, when he so will, up, up in de cloud-world,
till small and ever smaller grows dis earth-ball in its smoke,
and its bustle, and its miserien, far — far—unter his
feet ! ar
Enter 'TILDA, R. H. door.
'TILDA. Please, Mr. Merton, sir, the advice gratises is
COIſle. [Evit’TILDA, R. door.
MERTON. Oh, I must not neglect my only patients—good
bye. Take care of yourself, and above all, avoid the night
air. (crosses to R. H.) -
HART. Gut—gut—Herr Doctor. (humming an air.)
MERTON. (aside to MARGARET.) And you, my Margaret,
be careful of yourself for my sake.
MARG. I promise you that—good bye.
MERTON. Oh, if you could but spend this winter in a
warmer climate |
12 IHELPING HANIDS. ACT. I.
MARG. Hush, you will have me cry for the moon
next.
MERTON. You should have it, were it mine. Heaven
bless you. [Exit MERTON, R.H.
HART. (walking about humming.) Mine pipe, Gretchen :
—ah, dat movement. (humming.) Nachtigallen-sweet !
(goes wb R. H.)
MARG. (R. gets pipe and fills it—aside.) The tobacco
is getting low. Here father. (gives pipe, and kneels by
his side.)
HART. Danke—Ach, kind ' If thou wert but a boy—
MARG. A boy—father
HART. Den should I have one to teach—my art should
again live in him. If dat Wilhelm had not been such
a gedammter little rogue !
MARG. Ah, to think that a boy you took from misery—
clothed—would have taught—should have robbed you as
he did.
HART. The silber was nothing; but to rob me poor
Wilhelmina’s miniature!
MARG. He did not know all it would be to us when she
was gone. But do not think of him, papa darling: why not
teach me?
HART. Thee—ach armes, liebes kind—teach my music
to a woman l (contemptuously.) Nein—nein—for that
needs a man’s soul. *.
MARG. I know you think so—I am sorry I am only a
WOOOla I).
HART. Ja—ja—that is pity—is great pity; but thou
art still mine kindlein—mine liebling. (draws her to him
and embraces her.)
Re-enter’TILDA, R. H.
'TILDA. Please here's a letter, Miss, for Mr. Hartmann,
MARG. A letter for papa–who left it :
'TILDA. Oh, sich a young man, in an 'at with a gold
band, and such lovely top boots! [Exit 'TILDA, R. H.
HART. Read, mein kind.
MARG. “The Honourable Calverly Hautbois presents
HEELPING HANIDS. 13
his compliments to Mr. Hartmann, on behalf of his brother
Lord Quaverly—” .
HART. Lord Quaverly Ah I remember me — alt
cognoscent—Philharmonic-Concerten-Director—fort.
MARG. (reads.) “and will be obliged by Mr. Hartmann
receiving him this morning for a few moments' conversa-
tion, on a subject which will interest him.”
HART. So—what for he seek me —So ist gut. I will to
my sleep chamber. I must me a toilette make. (rises,
comes down C.)
MARG. But you’ve no other suit, you know, papa.
HART. Ha, at least I will make to myself de beard.
MARG. Yes: meanwhile I’ll prepare breakfast.
HART. Gut—Gut—h’m — Hautbois—Lord Quaverly 1
What sall dey make wid de old Hartmann? Lords often
come to me in de gone time; but now, in dis place—
Potztausend. Where I am, mit mine Stradivarius—so is
gut enough for lords! [EwitHARTMANN to inner room, L. H.
MARG. (throwing herself into a chair.) Poor papa, he
wishes me a boy. He thinks of nothing but his darling
music—not of the love and care that a woman only can
give. But if anything happened to me, what would
become of him 2 If this winter should carry me off like
my poor mother (shudders.) Life is so sweet!—and when
a change to a warm climate would save me. But the
means to go! No, no, it is no use thinking of it—and he
loves me, too. I have two to live for now. Oh, if I should
have to leave both. (she cries—sits L. H.
Enter’TILDA R. H.
'TILDA. (timidly.) Don't cry, miss, I can’t abear it. Is
it anything I could do—anything I could get you o'
missuses :
MARG. No, no—leave me, there's a good girl.
'TILDA. Please, if you'd gi’ me the answer for the young
man in the boots.
MARG. Oh, yes—Mr. Hautbois' servant. I must write
one, where's paper? (looks about, 'TILDA gives paper from
mantelpiece.)
'TILDA. Will the back o' this here do
14 HELPIN G. HANIDS. ACT. Is
MÁRG. What's this? Oh, that dreadful inventory with
the notice of distraint. I had quite forgotten that, think-
ing of my own danger. But the answer—here's paper,
(writes hastily at table, I. H.) give that to the young man,
Matilda. I must go to Signor Chiara for the copying
money directly. But papa will want his breakfast. Oh,
what am I to do -
'TILDA. Please, if you’d just let me make breakfast,
Miss.
MARG. Oh, thank you, thank you, (goes to cupboard
L. H. in flat.) No more coffee, and no money to buy any!
*TILDA. Oh, I’m so glad, 'cos now you must let me
bring you some o' mine. I’m my own tea and sugar, and
I takes coffee, and I’ve a fresh quarter pound down stairs
at one and two. Oh, do let me, please !
MARG. You're a good, generous girl. (her voice falters.)
*TILDA. Oh, please, if you would’nt speak so kind, acos
then I cries and muddles things, and missus blows up—So
now, Miss, you get on your bonnet, and I’ll give the note
to the young man, and bring the coffee—(aside.) and the
fresh arf-quartern missus smugged from the parlours, and
the first floor's watercreasses. Eacit 'TILDA, R. H.
MARG. (putting on her bonnet and shawl, and gathering
wp the score.) If he will only advance me enough to pay
this debt' (going to door L. H.) Papa, darling, I’m going
out for a few minutes.
HART. (within.) Gut—and mine café.
MARG. It will be all ready for you directly. (aside.)
Thanks to that poor girl.
Re-enter 'TILDA with coffee, loaf, &c., R. H.
'TILDA. 'Ere you are, Miss—now you run, and I'll get
the things ready. 3.
MARG. Thank you—you'll find all in the cupboard; and
if papa comes out before I’m back, don’t speak, and tread
softly, and he'll think I’m in the room all the time. Oh,
God bless you, my good girl, for this
Exit MARGARET, R.H.
'TILDA. (stands on a chair and takes all the things
from the cupboard, L. H. makes coffee, &c, as she
HELPIN G. HANIDS. 15
speaks.) Poor dear young creetur, if hever there was
a hangel in a three pair back, that’s one; there's the
sugar basin—and to think they should be so poor; I
thought gentlefolks never was — only such as us —
and her not well neither, and recommended a warm
climate, and can’t go for want o' money !—Now for the arf
quartern and the watercreasses—lor, if I was the queen—
if it was only for a day—how I would set 'em up ! Where
evers the spoons : And would’nt I send missus to the
House o' Correction just'—bread and water would be the
best she'd get for a month, a nasty spiteful old cat, selling
up these poor dear creaturs! There, that's all right—
lor, if missus was to see me awaitin' on the three pair
backs—and them behind in their rent, and attendance
not included ! Oh, my gemini, should’nt I ketch it
neither
Enter MRs. Booty and Wolf F, R. H. 'TILDA’s back is
turned to them.
MRs. B. Well to be sure.
'TILDA. (nearly dropping the cup she holds in her hand.)
Oh lawk a mercy!
MRs. B. You masty, imperent, owdacious thing, you.
'Ow dare you do an 'ands turn in this room.
'TILDA. Please, mum, I was’nt, mum. I comed up per-
miscus. -
MRs. B. Oh! Mr. Wolff, did you ever hear anything
like that girl? A bad, false, ungrateful thing, that I took
out o' St. George's work'us, and dares to wait on lodgers
as robs the lone widder, and the fatherless! Put down those
things, you hussey—do—this minute! ('TILDA is going.)
Just you wait till I’ve time to talk to you!
'TILDA. I’m a waitin’. (sullenly.) I'd give her two
months at oakum picking, I would.
(she retires sullenly up R. H.
MRs. B. Now, Mr. Wolff.
Wolf F. Certainly—certainly, ma tear! There's my
coushin, Lazarus Solomons. We've both been sworn.
Here's the memorandum on the inventory. Lazarus!
(crosses to R. H. D., and calls.) You can come up.
16 IHELPING FIANIDS,
Enter LAZAR Us, R. H.
This is the good lady, Lazarus, that they wants to rob of
her rent, Lazarus. Now, if you pleashe, marm, read your
copy, and we'll appraishe the articles.
'TILDA. (aside.) If she ain’t going to sell'em up—poor
dears |
MRs. B. (reads.) One pictur' in a frame. That's the
pictur'. (pointing to the portrait of Beethoven.)
Wolf F. (looking at the picture—aside.) Portrait of
Beethoven | Humph! Pictur', ma dear, pictur’—shmoke
and varnish (aside.) Looks like an originall It's Lord
Quaverly's money. Well, Lazarus, what d'ye shay *
Nineteen shillin' for te pictur', and six bob for te frame *
(LAZARUS nods and writes.) I’d give that myself, on specu-
lation, but I don’t buy, you know, where I appraishes—
never, s'help me! never.
MRs. B. (L. H.-reads.) A statty of a man's 'ead.
Wolf F. Ah, ta busht I (reads name.) Bach—a great
man | What shall we say for te head of tat great man,
Bach, Lazarus :
LAZ. Two arid shix.
Wolf F. Lazarus, you hav’nt any feeling for art—put
him down five shillin'. S'help me! I'd give five shillin’
myself, though I was two and shix out o'pocket, sooner
than see a great man knocked down at the disgraceful sum
of 'arf-a-crown.
MRs. B. (reads.) Old inlaid table, and cheer to match.
'TILDA. (aside.) The identical cheer she sits in—bless
her
Wolf F. (L. H.) Let's see, ma tear. Ha! haſ (aside.)
Fine old Italian Intarsial Heml What d'ye say for de
table and chair, Lazarus :
LAz. (R. H.) Fetch two pun ten in Wardour Street.
Wolf F. Oh, Lazarus' Lazarus' you're robbin' the poor
things. Say three pun’ ten, Lazarus. (aside.) Worth nine
to me, any day. Old inlaid table, and chair to match—
three ten. Let's see—debt, fi’ pun ten—appraishment,
ten—shix pound to levy. We've made up five. Anything
else, Mrs. B.
IFIELPIN G. HANIDS. 17
MRs. B. (L. H.-reads.) Wiolin and case. That's it.
'TILDA. (comes down R. H. of table—aside.) Oh dear,
oh dear—sell the fiddle they gets their bread by
Wolf F. (c.—taking it up—starts.) H'm I Werry old
and dirty (aside.) A Shtradivarius, as I'm an honest man!
H’m | I don't know anything of fiddles, myself, but
Lazarus does. What d'ye shay for the old fiddle, Lazzy?
Don't grind 'em, now, Lazzy. (R.—LAZARUs looks at it,
then at Wolf F, who winks.) Fiddles is a drug. I’ve
twenty pawned in a week. But appraishe it fair, Lazzy.
LAZ. Thirty shillin' for the lot.
Wolf F. (shakes his head.) Thirty shillin’—tink it would
fetch thirty shillin', Lazzy Well, you know besht ! Say
thirty shillin', and allow for over appraishment. That
will just make up what's due, Mrs. B. We should all
have our dues.
'TILDA. (aside.) I should like to give you your'n—the
three of you. -
Wolff. (takes out his pocket book.) Now, if you’ll fetch
a stamp, Mrs. B., while we draws up the appraishment.
You'll charge it in the costs. (goes up c.)
MRs. B. I’ll not be a minute. (crosses to R. H.) Come
along with you, you hussey. What do you mean skulking
and whimpering there?
'TILDA. Oh, please missus, if you wouldn't sell'em up!
Oh, if you'd only give 'em time !
MRs. B. Time, indeed! Here's imperence!—flying in
the face of your lawful missus, that's robbed at all ends !
Go along with you!
'TILDA. Oh, if you’ll only stop it out of my wages, with
the soup tureen and the chaney bowl, as they said I broke!
Oh, do please! it would be paid in two year.
MRs. B. Two years! I like your imperence' I won't
wait a day, I won’t.
[Eveunt MRs. Booty and 'TILDA, R. H.
Wol, FF. (sharply, and with an entire change from a
cunning to a decºded tone) Lazzy'
LAZ. (in the same tone.) Ikey !
Wolf F. We are in for a good thing here, ma boy!
That portrait's worth shixty to us, if it's worth a farden
It's Ziegler's original of Beethoven.


18 EIELPIN G. HANIDS. ACT. I.
LAZ. And the fiddle ! Do you know, Ikey, I think—
Wolf F. I like you, Lazzy, you're a nishe boy! You
think! haſ ha! hal—and who taught yer to ? Why, it's
a Stradivarius, of te maker's best year!—perfect, head,
back, and belly—all original—varnish beautiful—wishout
a scratch. Nobody knows of it in ta housh. We'll shend
Levi Cohen to buy, and then I'll go to Lord Quaverly to
sell—ha! hall haſ Get two hundred out of him, if we
gets a penny, and nobody never de wisher—and all on
de right shide o’ de law, Lazzy—and nothing on your
conscience!
Re-enter MRs. Booty, R. H. D.
MRs. B. I’ve brought the stamp, Mr. Wolff.
Wolf F. Ah! (stamps appraisement.) And now that's
law, and ta law can do no wrong.
(puts fiddle back into case.
MRs. B. And I’m free to sell the things now
Wolf F. Yes—but don’t shell by auction. The brokers
is shad rogues—regular Jews! I'll send you an honest
lad. He'll buy at your prishe.
MRs. B. You're very good, I’m sure—which I feel it,
being a lone woman, and put upon to that degree—what
with that girl, and the lodgers, and breakages, and the
assessed taxes, and having seen better days—
Wolf F. You looks like it, ma good lady.
HARTMANN. (inside, L. H.) Gretchen—café!
Wol, FF. Who's that?
MRs. B. The lodger.
Wolf F. That we’ve been appraishin'. Come along
Lazzy—he wouldn’t like to see us: it might hurt his feel-
ings. I always respect people's feelings. Shell, ma good
lady—shell—shell!
[Eveunt Wolf F and LAZARUs, shown out by MRs.
Booty, R. H.
Enter 'TILDA, R. H., showing in HAUTBoIs; she goes and
paps at L. door, calling.
"TILDA. It's the gent, sir, as belongs to the young man
in the boots.
IHELPING THANIDS. 19
HAUT. Thank you, my dear, for your flattering mode of
identification.
'TILDA. (curtseying.) You're very welcome, sir, I’m
Slire.
MRs. Booty. (without R. H.) 'Tilda'
'TILDA. That's me, sir. [Evit R. H.
HAUT. At last I have tracked my mysterious charmer
to the nest! The old gentleman's fiddling gives me a capital
pretext, and when Lady Quaverly engages this girl as her
music-copyist, she may find other notes to read, besides
crotchets and semi-breves. So, here comes der Herr
papa.
Enter HARTMANN, L. H., he feels his way from the
- door, and bows.
Mr. Hartmann, I am Mr. Calverly Hautbois, whose note
you received this morning.
HART. Ah, if der Herr will sit himself. Der Herr per-
ceives I cannot do de honneurs of my apartment.
HAUT. Not a word of apology, pray.
(takes him to arm chair.
HART. If mine tochter were here, she would supply her
water—but she is not at de haus.
HAUT. Ah, Miss Hartmann is not at home? (aside.) Con-
founded bore —my morning's lost. My errand here con-
cerned her as well as you. But your breakfastis waiting:
pray don’t let me interrupt you. I know how you Germans
relish your coffee.
HART. Ach—ehrwurdiger Herr, how shall I mine café
enjoy, midout mine Gretchen : She is mine eyes, mine
hands, mine cream, mine sugar, mine alles'
HAUT. Come let me take her place. (he pours out coffee
for him, &c.) Much sugar *
HART. Tree spoon. Now te cream.
HAUT. As you say, the cream. (aside.) Poor old boy,
if he could see it. Happy blind!
HART. (tastes and puts down his cup.) Der Herr is most
good: but alas! it tastes not midout mine Gretchen.
HAUT. And now, let me tell you my business in a few
words. My brother, Lord Quaverly, is fanatico per la mu-
20 HELPIN G. HANIDS. ACT I,
sica, goes in for sonatas, operas, glees, “Here in cool grot,”
you know, and that sort of thing—nobility's concerts, in
fact. He was your pupil many years ago.
HART. (rising and bowing.) The aller-gnädigster-
lord did me great honour.
HAUT. He still remembers your lessons, and above all,
your admirable judgment of instruments; for the last ten
years he has had a mania for violins; in fact he has wasted
an infernal lot of money on them.
HART. Wasted! Money wasted that is spent to buy
feedles! It cause me pride to hear an English nobleman
..make a so good outspending of his money.
HAUT. Ah, tastes differ on that point. I’m not melo-
dious myself. In fact, the sounds I like best are cods’
sounds. Well, my lord and brother has a room full of
Amatis and Guarneris and Stainers, and Stadelmanns, and
the deuce knows what—more or less genuine—and he is
anxious to have your opinion of some recent purchases.
HART. I shall be honoured. But halt | If I give mine
judgment on a feedle, see you, I must speak true. De
feedle, he is too sacred to be trifled mit.
HAUT. Oh, pray tell my lord the severest truths. I
should be delighted if you could convince him he has
been most egregiously humbugged by those Jew rascals,
who live, like the worms, on old fiddle wood. Then you'll
come?
HART. (bows).When Gretchen come backshe will lead me.
IHAUT. Or suppose I took you in my cab, and left a
note for her to join us in Grosvenor Square, Eh In fact,
I know Lady Quaverly has written to make an appoint-
ment with her this morning. *
HART. Mit mine Gretchen * -
HAUT. Yes: Lady Quaverly suffers a good deal from
music-mania, too. It didn’t come naturally, I fancy—
caught of my brother, probably. She has constant work
for a music-copyist. She has seen some most beautiful
copying of your daughter's.
HART. (R. H.) Music-copying by mine tochter l (rises
and comes forward.) Nein, nein ; mine Gretchen knows not
a note, and dem—(proudly.)—when she know, the tochter
von Lorentz Hartmann have not so sunk to copy music
IHELPIN G. HANIDS. 21
HAUT. (aside.) I see—doing it on the sly, to feed this
poor old blind bard. At least you will not prevent her
seeing my sister, (aside.) and seeing me, I hope.
HART. (rises.) Mine tochter shall be proud to see the
lady, when it be only to refuse an offer—meant all kindly—
but a mistake—ja wohl, amistake, (getting gradually angry.)
mein Herr–a great big mistake, I tell you; mine tochter
copy—pfui–Gott bewahrſ
HAUT. Well, that she can explain. (seeing violin, goes
wp to drawers.) Ah! you've got a violin of your own there,
I see.
HART. Jawohl, I have. (chuckling.) Ha! haſ haſ Ja,
I have a feedle—ja, indeed a feedle.
HAUT. Anything extraordinary *
HART. Anything extraordinary ! (feels his way up to the
fiddle and brings it forward to the c.) Only a Stradivarius
of 1712 | Only an all-perfect—a gold feedle—a jewel
feedle—a melodien casket ! The wood of him re-
member all de adagios dat winds have whispered to his
summer leaves—de organ fugues dat great storms thundered
to his bare winter boughs—the nachtigallen night-hymns,
de lark's praise song of de morning ! Mine feedle, see you,
in him is for me all God’s beauty-world, all man's emotion-
world. He talk to me—he weep mit me—he laugh mit
me—mine feedle ! I know him—I love him like an old
true heart-friend. See you, mine Herr–mine Gretchen
and mine Strad, mine Strad and mine Gretchen, these are
to me all—all—all !
HAUT. Really all that in a few slips of sycamore,
and a certain length of cat-gut ! I should like to
hear the voice of this multifarious instrument, uncom-
monly -
HART. Ach, Gott! dat I could make him speak for you!
but look, look—mine hands. (holding them out.) Steif!
steifl-cruppelt dead! I cannot talk mit him now.
(his voice trembles.
HAUT. Then what the deuce is the use of it to you?
Suppose you sold it to my brother.
HART. Sell him my feedle?
HAUT. He’d give you a deuced long price.
HART. (rising.) Halt da! (thundering it out.) Halt

22 IHELPING HANIDS ACT I.
junker!—sell mine Stradiº Why not sell mine child, mine
Gretchen!
HAUT. (aside.) I know somebody who'd jump at the
offer.
HART. See you — I am old, blind, cruppelt, poor,
friendless—ja wohl. You say, I give you youth, eyes,
hands, gold, friends, all, when you for these sell me your
feedle ! Bah! I keep my age, my darkness, my poverty,
my loneliness—and, I keep my feedle.
(he hugs it, and places it back, with care.
HAUT. (shrugging his shoulders.) What an original |
Really, I should like to care so much for something or
somebody, just to see what it was like. Well, my brother
will appreciate your enthusiasm. Shall we go? My cab's
at the door. Your hat and great coat.
HART. But when mine Gretchen come, and find me
gone, she will be affright.
HAUT. Oh, Lady Quaverly will send her word. She
will join us. (aside.) It's deuced odd if I don’t manage a
tête-a-tête while this pair of amiable enthusiasts are dis-
cussing tweedle-dum and tweedle-dee.
HART. Mine stock. He stand by de window.
(HAUTBoIs gets him his stick, and gives his arm.
HAUT. (aside.) Gad, if the fellows at White's were to
see me now, doing the canine to a blind fiddler.
HART. Ha! haſ haſ Sell meine feedle ! (leisurely.)
Leise, leise, leise. (going.)
Enter 'TILDA, curtseying, R. H.
'TILDA. Oh, were you a going out, please sir!
HART. Ja! I go to my Lord Quaverly's! when Gretchen
come dere, so she find me; so shall you tell her, madchen.
(aside.) I like dey know in dis place old Hartmann still
visit a lord. [Evit R. H.
'TILDA. Wery well, sir. The old gent a going out, and
missus gone to Covent Garden' I was so afraid she'd have
the things took under his werry eyes. (during this speech
she puts away the breakfast things in the cupboard.) Oh, if
Miss Margaret can't get this money, whatever'll they do?
They must go into the house—which they'll separate them
HELPING HANIDS. 23
—put him in the old man's ward, and her in the unmarried
females, and that's nice company, I knows. Poor old
gentleman, he’ll pine away in a week—and allowed no
baccy, only o' Sundays.
(The popular street-air of “Vilikins’’ is heard, whistled
on the stairs. -
Enter WILLIAM RUFUs, alias SHOCKEY, R. H. D.
RUFUs. Note for a person by the name of 'Ardmann.
Perhaps you can tell me, young 'ooman.
'TILDA. Eh 2 Lawk a massy " Oh, if it isn't! Yes,
it is! Oh, Shockey !
RUFUs. Shockey ! Why, who?—eh what? Oh my
eyes, if it aint 'Tilda Why, 'Tilda Oh, who'd
a’ thought o' seein' you ?
'TILDA. Oh, Shockey ! they tried to set you agin me,
but I knew you'd turn up some day. I’ve tried it on the
cards, and in the coffee grounds, and in the kitchen fire,
and it always come right. Oh, I’m so happy
(whimpers.
RUFUs. Don’t cry, 'Tilda'—there ain't no call to cry,
'Tilda I said we should keep company, when you came
out o' th' house, and so we will, by jingo!—mind, jingo
ain’t swearing
'TILDA. Oh, I’m so glad! But whatever have you been
a doing ever since you come out, Shockey *
RUFUs. 'Tilda, you’ll oblige me by not calling me
Shockey. It was all werry well in St. George's, but now
I've rose in the world. My name's William Rufus, out of
the history of England—steadfastly purposing to lead a
new life, all along of the ragged school society—so you’ll
have the kindness to forget the party by the name of
Shockey you know’d in St. George's, 'Tilda.
'TILDA. Oh, wasn’t you a bad un?—
RUFUs. Wasn't I?—just
'TILDA. (with intense delight.) Do you remember when
you put the mouse in the gruel? Oh, warn’t it fun?
RUFUs. (in the same tone.) Yes, and the time I turned
off the soup into the washing coppers! Oh, such a lark!
And didn’t I ketch it, neither -
24 IIIBLPIN G. HANIOS. ACT I,
*TILDA. And when you pumped— -
RUFUs. On the beadle—and you wouldn’t split. And
the assyfedity in the old man’s 'bacca Oh, 'Tilda |
(suddenly changing his tone.) 'Tilda, we didn't ought
to—
*TILDA. Didn't ought to—what?
RUFUs. Didn't ought to take a pleasure in remembering
what we did when we was miserable sinners. I’ve under-
goed a wital change, 'Tilda, and I’ve saved money, 'Tilda.
'TILDA. Have you, though?
RUFUs. Yes. You see, being such a werry bad un, the
society was proud o' me, and helped me forward, and give
me the best pitch for the shoe blacking, near such a bad
crossin’. The other chaps said I went snacks with the
sweeper, to dirty gents' boots a purpose, but I’d scorn the
haction. And now I’ve got ten pound in the bank—least-
ways, I’ve drawed it out; them banks, you know, ain’t
always to be trusted. Here's my book, and here's the
money, 'Tilda—real sovereigns ! .
*TILDA. Oh, do let's see 'em—I never see ten pounds
in all my life. How nice they do look. But now you're
rich, you’ll be looking higher than me, William, and I
don’t want to stand in your way, William—no, not if it
was to break my heart, I don't!
RUFUs. 'Tilda, I ain’t proud I’ll edicate you, 'Tilda |
There ! I'll teach your young ideas how to shoot flyin'.
But, I’m forgetting my note for Miss 'Ardmann—it's here,
ain’t it?
'TILDA. Yes, it's here, William, but she's out. Oh, is
there any money in it, William *
RUFUs. And me with ten pound in my pocket, Oh,
*Tilda
'TILDA. No, no—’tain't priggin' on it I meant. I
hoped there might be, for her sake. They've been sold
up to-day, every thing they’ve got—the pictur’ there, and
the statty, and the cheer down to the werry wiolin'
RUFUs. (staring and recognising the picture—goes up,
R. H.) Eh: No! Blessed if it ain’t, though !
*TILDA. Ain't what 3
RUFUs. And the wiolin | Let's look | Yes, blessed—
that is—jiggered if it ain’t the werry one ! But then they
IHELPIN G. HANIDS. 25
was well off, and the name was spelled different—'Art-
mann, not 'Ardman. Oh, is it a t, or a d, 'Tilda:
'TILDA. I am no scollard—but, Hartmann, Mr. Merton
call it.
RUFUs And a fiddler
TILDA. Yes, and ever so rich once, but he's been and
gone stone blind; and he's been drove to play in the
streets, and his daughter leads him about—and she's quite
the lady, and a goin' in a deep decline—and I’d work my
‘ands off to the bone for her, I would, the blessed angel
that she is. But what are you a' crying at?
RUFUs. It's the old gent as took me in when step-father
was killed—Lushy Bill, the carpenter at the opera—and
was so good to me—and—and, I went to the bad, 'Tilda,
and I robbed 'em.
'TILDA. Robbed 'em! Oh, you couldn’t
RUFUs. I did, though—hooked it with their plate, and
a pictur' of her mother. .
'TILDA. Oh, however could you? But somebody put
you up to it.
RUFUs. Yes, it was Soupy—as they called him—Ikey
Wolff, the Jew fence. - *.
'TILDA. Wolff! why that's him as vallied the things
to-day. They owed fi’ pun’ ten for rent.
RUFUs. Five pun’ ten why that wiolin's worth ten
times the money. I ought to know; bless you, the old
gent wanted to make a fiddler o' me—kept me at it eight
hours a-day—that was why I morriced. But if Ikey Wolff's
in it, it’s a put-up thing, as sure as you stand there. Oh,
I’m fly to his larks—he wallies, and then sends his pal to
buy, and the money the things fetches goes into Ikey's
'TILDA. Oh, ain't you a deep un, Shockey *
RUFUs. Oh, I’m awake. Ikey used to call me Winkin,
I was so sharp when I was a prig. Our school used to
plant with Ikey. He'd take anything—rumclanks, tickers,
readers, clies—Lord forgive me, for using such bad words.
But I’ll be down on him—down as an 'ammer.
MRs. Booty. (below.) 'Tilda'ſ 'Tilda |
'TILDA. Oh, there's missus! (calls again.) Yes
mum !
26 HELPING FIANDS. ACT I.
MRS. B. (on the stairs.) There, she's with them three-
pair-backs again! Oh, you—
Enter MRs. Booty, R. WILLIAM RUFUs makes a bow.
RUFUs. Morning, ma'am. Hearing you’d some articles
to sell in my line—
MRs. B. Your line, sir?
RUFUs. The coal and tatur line—leastways, I’m going
into it. -
MRs. B. Then whatever do you want picturs', and
statties, and wiolins for *
RUFUs. To improve my mind in the intervals o' business,
ma'am.
MRs. B. Oh, the young man Mr. Wolff mentioned.
RUFUs. Yes, ma'am, I know Mr. Wolff.
MRs. B. Lor! Well it's six pounds ten for the lot.
There's the inventory.
RUFUs. It’s a deal. Here's the money, give us a receipt,
and the articles is mine.
MRs. B. I’ll get you one this minute. Well I’m sure!
What times is a comin' to—a coal and tatur improving
his mind! [Exit MRs. Booty, R. H.
(WILLIAM RUFUs and 'TILDA take hands, and dance
about the room.
RUFUs. Oh, here's a lark.
'TILDA. And they'll keep their things, and they won’t
have to go to the 'ouse, and her so delicate, poor dear.
Oh, Shockey, do you known Mr. Merton says she'll die,
perhaps, if she aint got away where it's warmer, and they
can’t afford it.
RUFUs. Oh, if they was only prigs, now !
'TILDA. Prigs' t
RUFUs. Yes, then it would be all right; there's lots o'
societies for helpin' bad uns; what a pity they ain't been
and done nothing. But the old boy can make lots o'
money by fiddlin’ if he likes.
'TILDA. Oh, bless you, he's a cripple in his hands—
hasn’t touched his wiolin these three months, and won't
perhaps, Mr. Merton says, never no more.
Rufus. Eh Then what's the good of the wiolin to
HELPING HANDS. 27
him? he can't see it, nor play on it. Perhaps the money
it would bring would pay for her going away.
'TILDA. Lord! do you think so?
Enter MRs. Booty, R. H.
RUFUs. Hush ! here's your missus.
MRs. B. Here's the receipt. (a knock below—to 'TILDA.)
Well, stoopid, why don’t you answer the door?
'TILDA. I’m a-going. (crosses to R. H.), Oh, she may
snap my nose off now—I don’t care. I wallies myself now
Shockey's turned up—blow missus! [Exit R. H.
RUFUs. And here's the money—you can count it, if it's
satisfaction. And now marm, I’ll thank you to fetch a
spring van.
MRs. B. Yes. There's a “goods carefully removed,”
round the corner.
Enter Wolf F, R. H.
Wolf F. Well, well—all right, eh? Shold yet.
MRs. B. Oh yes, Mr. Wolff, and a werry good customer
you sent.
Wolf F. Ah! haſ (aside.) Levi's been and bought.
They're mine!
MRs. B. He's quite satisfied with the price. You can
show Mr. Wolff the receipt, young man, while I go for the
conveyance. [Evit MRs. Booty, R. H.
Wolf F. Eh; you? Why, this ain't Cohen
RUFUs. (sitting, R. H., on table, and swinging his legs.)
Not exactly, Soupy.
Wolff. Soupy Why, no it can’t be.
RUFUs. Yes it is though.
Wolf F. What, Vinkin, my little Winkin, tip us your
fam; and how do you do, Winkin?
RUFUs. Pretty well, thank you, sºpy.
Wolf F. But what's up, eh, ma tear;
RUFUs. Well, I am rayther, Mr. Wolff, since I had the
pleasure of your acquaintance.
Wol.FF. Aha, you was always such a deep un, you
28 HELPIN G. HANDS. ACT ge
was. What, your’re on the brigade lay? Ah ! ah! that's
right, looks honest and respectable—capital lurk! capital!
But who are you coming the blind for now, ma tear?
RUFUs. Well, you see, I’m here on my own hook,
rayther
Wolf F. Eh: Then that rascal Cohen's shplit !
RUFUs. No. All serene !
Wolf F. And you've been and bought these articles on
your own hook, ma tear :
RUFUs. (nods.)
Wolf F. I’ll take 'em off your hands at an advance, I
will. Eh Come, now, what do d'ye want for the lot?
RUFUs. I don’t seem to care to sell, somehow.
Wolf F. Not shell! Oh, everybody shells when they
gets their prishe, and I always gave you your prishe, you
know. Come, name your prishe.
RUFUs. Give us a bid.
Wolf F. Let's shee—ten pounds for the lot.
RUFUs. Try again, Soupy.
Wolff. Ah, ma tear, I couldn't go over ten, you may
keep the articles.
RUFUs. Werry well, what's the odds, so long as you're
happy?
Wolf F. Shtill, for an old customer—I’ll shay twelve.
RUFUs. (shakes his head.)
WoLFF. Twelve, ten | You see, I know a party as
wants te fiddle.
RUFUs. So do I.
Wolf F. And he'll go as high as ten pound.
RUFUs. Pooh Mine 'll go a deal higher than that.
Wolf F. Oh, Moshes! He must be crazy.
RUFUs. I say, Ikey, this ain't a fencin' transaction.
I’ve come by these things honestly, and I want an honest
price for them. So step out, will you. I'll give you five
minutes, and then I’ll call the wan.
Wolf F. Don't be a fool, ma tear. Come, shay twenty.
RUFUs. Double it, Ikey.
Wolf F. Oh, Abraham | Here's a young shkinflint!
RUFUs. Five minutes, Ikey.
Wol, FF. (in great trepidation.) Then, you knows—
BUFUs. Yes, I knows what this fiddle's worth, and I
HELPING HANDS. 29
mean to have what it's worth, too. So bile a gallop, and
come to the three figures, do.
Wolf F. The three figures | Three figures for a fiddle !
RUFUs. The fact is, Ikey, I’ve been offered a hundred
and fifty pounds for it already. (aside.) Lor' forgive me.
Wor, FF. Then shell, ma tear, (crossess to R. H.) shell,
afore they lock the poor man up in Saint Luke's.
(turns to go, crosses to R. H., at door.
RUFUs. (aside.) My eyes—I’ve pitched it too strong—
he's off (he sees Wolf F look back.) No, all right.
Wolf F. Goot day, Vinkin.
RUFUs. Good day, Soupy. I’ll hook it to my customer.
(he takes up the fiddle and is locking it wg as if going.)
Wolf F. (aside.) Ah, there goes shixty pounds if I give
him his prishe. I can’t bear it. The villain's fly, I know
him—name your lashte prishe, you young rascal, and be
cursed to you.
RUFUs. It's yours for one hundred and fifty pounds,
Wolf F. Oh, what a villain ' Why he wants the full
vally of the article. Well, I musht have it. I’ll pay the
prishe: here tip us the fiddle.
RUFUs. No you dont! Money down, Ike, and you must
give me another fiddle to boot.
Wolf F. Oh, the robber. , Yesh—yesh. I'll give you
a beauty—oh, such a beauty
RUFUs. Then go and get it, and the money. I’ll wait.
Wolf F. (going.) Yesh, don’t stir till I come back.
Oh, blessed Moshes, this is what comes of your ragged
schools. The young prigs learns to do the old fenshes.
Exit Wolf F, R. H.
RUFUs. I thought I had pitched it too high, but I've
hooked him. - -
Pnter MARGARET and 'TILDA, R. H.
MARG. I’ve not got the money! Mrs. Booty may sell
all we have and turn us into the streets. (sits in chair R. C.)
(TILDA makes violent signs to WILLIAM RUFUs.
*TILDA. (R.) Oh, bless yer. I can’t keep it in, I can’t.
It's paid—it's paid
MARG. (c.) Paid—our rent :
30 HELPING HANIDS. ACT I.
'TILDA. Every farden. (beckons to WILLIAM RUFUs.)
Shockey here done it.
MARG. Who-this poor boy?
*TILDA. He ain’t a poor boy—he's ever so rich.
RUFUs. (L.) (falling on his knees.) Oh, Miss, forgive
me, do please. It’s me, Miss. Don't you remember
William as robbed you ?
MARG. William |
RUFUs. Wich, I’m penitent and brought to a sense of
my past life. Oh, say you forgive me.
MARG. Yes, yes, Oh, how much obliged to you we
should be.
RUFUs. And if you'll ask your father to forgive me
too?
MARG. Oh, yes, he'll be so glad. Here—papa–papa!
(runs into bed-room.)
Enter Wolf F with violin and notes, R.
Wolf F. Here's the violin—such a beauty—and here's
the flimsies. (going to give it—pauses.) You'll allow dis-
count :
RUFUs. Not a rap ! (counts notes.)
Wolf F. Oh, the Jew Well, there—now the wiolin.
(WILLIAM RUFUs lays his hand on it.
RUFUs. (rapidly turns notes over.) All right. (gives
violin.) There.
Wolf F. It's too bad. I’m robbed shameful. But I’ll
make a hundred by it yet. [Exit with violin R. H.
(WILLIAM RUFUs puts the other violin in the case.
Re-enter MARGARET from inner room L. H.
MARG. My father—where is he
'TILDA. Gone out, miss, withthe gent as belongs to the
boy in the boots—to Lord Quaverly, he said.
RUFUs. Which I’ve a note for you from that ere lord's
house. A buttons give it me.
MARG. (reads rapidly.) “Lady Quaverly—to call at
her house directly.”
'TILDA. Oh, and I was to say your father was there.
MARG. I’ll go to him at once.
'TILDA. Stop, miss, only a minute. I’ve something to
THIELPIN G. HANIDS. 31
tell you. Shockey's paid the rent; but that ain’t all.
(very important.) * -
HARTMANN. (without R. H. calls.) Gretchen.
MARG. Hark!—oh, it's papal (she rushes out R. H.)
'TILDA. Bless her—oh, Shockey. (sees him crying,)
What's the matter?
RUFUs. It's off my mind at last. Oh, to think I’ve
pºid their rent, and that this money will perhaps save her
life
Re-enter MARGARET, leading in HARTMANN, R. D.
MARG. Oh, you naughty father, to go out without me !
HART. Der Herr drive me in his cabriolet, and send me
also home in him. Ha—De alter Hartmann have ride
like a gentleman once more. But my Lord Quaverly—
Ach Gott—poor man—poor man—how have dey sheat him.
What for violin —trash—trash—noting but trash. But
now he sall hear what is a real feedle. Come, Gretchen,
you shall to my lord mit me.
MARG. To Lord Quaverly
HART. Jawohl. I come back to bring to him my Stradi-
varius. When he play on him one little morçeau—so den
he sall burn all his rubbishel. (feeling about.) Where is
he, mine feedle.
MARG. Here papa. (gives case.)
HART. (puts his hand on fiddle before locking the case.)
Ja—ja—alter Strad—(detects the change of violins.) Gott!
MARG. Papa. (WILLIAM RUFUs and MATILDA look
on in intense anariety.) What is the matter?—He is pale—
He is ill—Help!
HART. Who mock me * Who dare : Mine feedle—I
say mine feedle, where is he?
MARG. You have it in your hand, papa.
HART. Am I den mad? Dis is not mine feedle. (seiz-
ing MARGARET fiercely by the arm.) Madchen | Speak,
vat have dey made mit mine feedle *
Enter MRs. Booty, R. H.
MRs. B. Fiddle, indeed—its seized, if you must know,
for the rent.
32 EIFLPIN G. HANIDS. ACT. J.
MARG. Oh, papa, it's too true—we owed her the money,
and the law allowed her to take it.
HART. De law allow to take mine Stradivarius * No-
no—no. She dared not. Woman, give him back to me
—or I will curse you.
MRs. B. Oh, here's an old villain! I’d have you to know,
sir, I won’t stand no cussin' and swearin’ here. Cuss,
indeed! (crosses to C.)
MARG. Forgive him, he does not know what he says.
HART. No-no. I do not curse—only I beg—I pray
you to give him back to me. He was mine pride—mine
consolation—mine alter, bester freund—you will pity me
—look, I will go on to my knees; but give him back to
me !
MRs. B. (aside to MARGARET.) But I’ve not got it,
miss—it's sold. Here's the young man as bought it—he
can do as he likes. (pointing to WILLIAM RUFUs.)
MARG. (aside to WILLIAM RUFUs.) William, oh,
give it back—you see he will go mad.
RUFUs. Oh, my eyes!
MARG. Look, he grows paler and paler—quick, or it
will be too late.
RUFUs. I can't, I’ve sold it again. I did’nt mean any
harm. I thought he'd never find it out. 'Tilda told me
what the doctor said; it was to pay for your going—
MARG. Hush ' (stops him.)
HART. Now—now—mine feedle !
MARG. You must be patient dear father—it is gone—
sold.
HART. Gone—sold—ach—Du Heiliger Gottl Gone!
and you—you let dem so rob your poor old blind water.
Verfluchter. (he lifts his hand as if in imprecation.)
MARG. (screams.) No—no—father!
HART. (sinking into chair.) Ach Gott! Ich kann nicht
mehr—mine hertz ist geschuttert.
(He lets his head fall on the table, and sobs in a passion of
grief. They surround him.
TABLEAU.
HELPING HANIDS. 33
ACT II.
SCENE.-A handsomely furnished library at Lord
Quaverly's. Portraits of composers on the walls.
Violins lying about, and hanging on the walls : music-
stands with music, &c. Doors R., L., and C. LoRD
QUAVERLY discovered walking angrily up and down.
HAUTBoIs sitting in an easy chair, reading the paper.
LoRD Q. (R.) The conceited old fool — venture to
insinuate a doubt of the genuineness of my Nicolo Amati,
a unique instrument, one of those made for Charles the
Ninth's chapell Impertinence 1 (stopping and looking at
HAUTBOIs.) I say rank impertinence, sir!
HAUT. (L. H., looking up from his paper.) Yes, I heard
Oll.
LoRD Q. As if my collection of violins wasn't allowed
to be unrivalled since Giardini's was dispersed at the
French Revolution, though Dronington has the weakness
to set his up against it. This Hartmann must have been
bought over by Dronington—an ignorant old puppy
He must be not only blind, but deaf.
HAUT. (aside.) Wish I was, sometimes.
LoRD Q. However, we shall soon hear what this
Stradivarius of his is worth. He promised to bring it.
Perhaps he flatters himself that he can humbug me into
buying it; but he's mistaken, I can tell him. Though I
confess I wish I had one really fine Stradivarius. He's
the only great maker not worthily represented in my
collection.
HAUT. What a comfort! (getting up.) You have still
one fiddle left to live for. Where's my lady?
LoRD Q. In the nursery. Lord Tweedle's teething
causes her considerable anxiety. The dear child is
delicate.
HAUT. Yes, ricketty. (aside.) I am happy to say.
LORD Q. If anything should happen to that infant,
Calverly, it will be an irreparable loss.
§4. 'HIELPIN G. HANDS. ACT II.
HAUT. Oh, irreparable. (aside.) But it would leave
me next for the title.
LoRD Q. I do not allude to the family bereavment only,
but the loss to the musical world. He displays the most
wonderful dispositions. Do you know that already the
sound of the violin exercises the most marked effect on his
nerves *
HAUT. So it does on mine.
LoRD Q. These are subjects too serious for levity, sir.
Lord Tweedle's excitement on these occasions is of a
pleasurable nature. It's extraordinary ! º
HAUT. Yes, that is extraordinary !
LoRD Q. Even in moments of infantine passion, if he
sees me with my violin in my hand, his screams are
instantly hushed.
HAUT. Oh, the dear child is afraid of competition in the
high notes.
LoRD Q. Calverly, you are incorrigible.
HAUT. My dear Gus, I am a younger brother—you
must make some allowance.
Lord Q. So I do.
HAUT. Yes, four hundred pounds a year, I know : but
I mean allowance for my little jokes. You've got the
title and the property; hang it, I’ve a right to the wit.
By the way, I hope my lady wrote to that girl about the
copying :
LoRD Q. Yes; but after her father's extraordinary
conduct, I am not sure that Lady Quaverly can, with
propriety, employ her.
HAUT. Oh, pray don’t prevent her doing an act of
charity, once in a way. Remember, the poor girl's
bread depends on it, or, at least, her butter, (aside.)
and my chance of making an impression.
Enter a SERVANT, L. H.
SERVANT. Mr. Wolff, my lord, on most particular
business.
LoRD Q. Show him in. [Erit SERVANT, L. H.
HAUT. And I’ll go and see when my lady expects
Miss Hartmann. (aside.) It's extraordinary how that
HYY, PING HANDS, 35
girl runs in my head. I had no notion anything could
run in my head at such a devil of a pace. -
[Exit languidly. R,
Enter SERVANT showing in Wolf F, who bows
cringingly, and very low.
LoRD Q. Ah, Mr. Wolff, good morning—a chair for
Mr. Wolff (SERVANT sets chair L. H.)
Wolf F. Your lordship does me too much honour.
If you’d allow the young man to bring up what I left
in the 'all. -
LoRD Q. (sitting in a dignified manner, but with an
attempt at affability.) Certainly. Bring up what Mr.
Wolff left in the hall, Danby. [Evit SERVANT, L. H.]
And pray what is it procures me the pleasure of a visit
from my good friend, Mr. Wolff?
Wolf E. Ah, your lordship, they shaid to me, “take
it to my Lord Dronington,” they shays; but no, shays
I, “there's only one nobleman for my money,” shays
I, “ and that's my Lord Quaverly,” shays I, “he
knows a good thing,” shays I.
LoRD Q. No, really, my good Mr. Wolff.
Wolf F. And when a man's been and 'unted over
half Europe, and shlaved, and shpent his money, and
rhisked his health, and all to get a good thing, then
he likes it should go to one as knows a good thing.
Re-enter SERVANT, L. H., with violin case, which
he gives to Wol, FF, and exit.
LoRD Q. I am flattered by your confidence in my
judgment. Mr. Wolff. But what is this good thing of
OllrS :
y Wolf F. Your lordship remembers the Stainer I sold
your lordship a twelvemonth ago; well, when I was at
Amshterdam, after that Stainer, I heard o' shomething
—oh, didn't I hear o' shomething !
LoRD Q. Well, what, another rare instrument
Wolf F. The famous Stradivarius that was made for
the Elector of Saxony.
36. III.L.PIN G. HANIDS. . . ACT II.
LoRD Q. I know, in 1712, and presented by him to
Corelli, six months before his death. It's mentioned by
Otto as having been lost sight of.
Wolf F. Oh tear! oh tear ! dere's no teaching your
lordship nothing! Well, I heard tell of dat very Stradi-
varius being at Cöln, in a reshtorer's hands: off I shets
to Cöln—there it had been shure enough. But oh, de
willainy of dese reshtorers!—The rashkal had been and
made two Stradivariuses out of it !
LoRD Q. Infamous!
Wolf F. Yes; he’d put its poor belly to a Klotz back,
and its poor back to a Stainer belly, and he'd shold
'em both for de genuine inshtrument—deshly feller, ha!
ha! haſ -
LoRD Q. But you followed up the fragments?
Wolf F. Oh Moshes! didn't I, just; but having to
hunt both de back and de belly at once, you shee it
was awful hard work. I wash half over Saxony, and
all de way down the Rhine to Basle, and dere I finds
as how de back had gone to Milan, and de belly to
Geneva; and, at lasht, after ten months' chase, Iran into
'em both, and had 'em put together, only lasht week, at
Ghent, under my own eye—oh, so beautiful! And you
are de first as has seen de inshtrument since its
reshtoration.
LoRD Q. This is most interesting! You have it
then? (rises—crosses to L. H.)
Wolf F. Never lets it out of my shight, night or day.
Oh, it’s a jewel !—a tone goes all through you—makes
you cry—it does. (takes violin from case) Dere, dere's
a pictur ! dere's a warnish ! dere's an 'ead dere's a
form —beautiful! beautiful!
LoRD Q. Beautiful indeed! (looks at it.) Superb con-
dition, certainly—but the tone *
Wolf F. Tone ! Blesh yer, your lordship don't need
a bow to know what an insthrument is—no, no, go along
with you, you knows. It's the eye and the judgment.
LoRD Q. Well, and suppose I were disposed to:
buy
Wolf F. Every time I ſhees it, I shays to myself,
“dere's only one collection in Europe fit for dat,” shays.
IIELPING FIANIDS. 37:
I—“and dat's my Lord Quaverly's.” Shelp me! I've
said it twenty times. -
L9RD Q. But your price?
Wolff. Some shay, “Show it to my Lord Dronington,”
but “No,” shays I—
LoRD Q. Your price, Mr. Wolff? -
. Wolf F. Well, it's a long prishe; but your lordship
ain't the man to shtick at prishe, with such an inshtrument
as that afore you. Here, take it—never mind de prishe.
LORD Q. I must.
Wolf F. Oh, vell den, for any man but your lordship
I’d shay three hundred.
LORD Q. Three hundred' Absurd .
Wolf F. But, for your lordship, I'll make it two hun-
dred and fifty. lesh you ! it cost me half as much in
railway fares. -
LORD Q. No, no | It's a magnificent instrument, I
admit; but I positively cannot afford it—I really cannot.
Wolf F. Eh werry well, if your lordship can't afford
it, I must try Lord Dronington. (shuts case.)
LORD Q. (aside.) I can’t bear to be crowed over by
that ass, Dronington.
Wolf F. Good morning, my lord—you wont say I
offered it to your lordship 2
LORD Q. Stop, stop—don't be in such a hurry. Come,
say two hundred pounds, and you shall have a cheque.
WolPF. That'll be two Stradivariuses in my Lord
Dronington's collection.
LoRD Q. Well, I suppose I must bleed; but you are
an unconscionable fellow, Wolff. -
Wolf F. But, your lordship, consider all I have gone
through for it—de struggles and de stratagems. Blesh
you, I've had to tell lies for it !
LoRD Q. Well, well, well. Of course you have the
pedigree of the instrument properly authenticated.
Wolf F. Oh yes; all de papers is quite regular; but
I left dem at my shop.
LoRD Q. If I am satisfied with them, I will give you
your price : meanwhile, you may leave the fiddle—I wish
to try the tone.
Wolf F. Oh, certainly.
38 HELPING HANIOS. ACT II.
LoRD Q. But pray don’t mention the price to my
brother, or he will be suing out a writ de lunatico against
me. Good morning, Mr. Wolff–good morning. (rings.)
Enter SERVANT, L. H.
See that the music room is ready, William. I'm all
impatience to try my new acquisition. Good morning.
WolPF. Well, I’ll go and fetch de papers. Good day,
my lord. (aside.) Oh, dese poor Christians ! dese poor
Christians !
[Exit LoRD QUAVERLY, R. H., and Wolff, L. H.
Enter HARTMANN and MARGARET, shown in by
SERVANT, L. H.
SERVANT. I will inform my lord that you are here.
[Exit SERVANT, R. H.
MARG. Keep a good heart, dear father.
HART. Nein, nein, mine kind—is no more hertz for me.
Dey have rob me of mine prºde—mine comfort. While I
had him I care not; but he is gone. Oh, it is as if once
more blindness come upon me—and den dis lord '
MARG. You will tell him of your loss; he will feel for
OUl.
HART. Ah, you know not what it is, is de pride of a col-
lector. I mock at his collection ; I do not believe in his
feedles; I tell him truth, dat I have one to me better
dan his all: I promise to bring him, and, now I have
come, I must tell him he is gone—he scorn over me !
MARG. But who knows? we may yet recover your
instrument.
HART. Recover ! Ha! he dat find such a feedle shall
keep him—oh yes—as I keep him, like a wife, in poverty
and in wealth, till death do dem part. Oh no, he never
come back to me; I shall die, and never hear again mine
Stradivarius! &
MARG. Oh no, no William has promised to find out
the purchaser—to return him his money.
HART. Money! What sall money make to him who
have him : Nein, nein : only one ting console me, perhaps
he come into de hand of a great artist; perhaps he speak
HELPIN G. HANIDS. 39
yet again in some grand orchester, where I could never
come, now. Ah! den it please me to think mine alter
freund is heard once more—heard among de rich, de
beautiful, de great ; heard among artists—so better for him
dam silent in my chamber. Yes, yes; I will try to tink
it is good for him, so shall it not be so sore for me.
MARG. Oh yes, yes.
HART. But, perhaps, his meister not know him; treat
him rough and carelos, like a common instrument. Oh,
it needs to know him, to love him as I did
Enter HAUTBOIs, R. H.
HAUT. Mr. Hartmann, my brother has been expecting
you. Regardless of the ears of this afflicted family, he
has bought another violin since you were here, and is, I
regret to say, trying it himself. (the tuning of a violin
heard R. H.) Confound that noise ! Miss Hartmann, my
sister will be glad to see you in her boudoir. She would
have received you herself, but her infant—the hope of the
Quaverlys—is in the throes of teething, and she can’t
leave him. Let me show you to her.
MARG. Must I go, papa
HART. Jawohl. She tell me all, mein Herr–how she
copy music to make her old father brodt. I have forgive her.
HAUT. No! Have you? That's magnanimous !
HART. Go, go!—I stay here till you come again—go!
MARG. But mind, you must promise to be patient,
papa darling.
HART. Ja, ja—I sall be patient. I will tell my lord I
have lost him : he know what it is to lose such a friend.
It may be that he sall pity me, though I have mocked at
his Nicolo Amati—go !
HAUT. Has your father lost anything, Miss Hartmann?
MARG. Oh sir, his fiddle, his Stradivarius.
HAUT. Gad I wish my tuneful brother could lose
all his. The fact is, Miss Hartmann, my den is between
the nursery and the music room, and what with the wailings
of my infant nephew, and the scraping of the fraternal
cat-gut, life is very bitter, sometimes.
[Exit HAUTBOIs and MARGARET, R. H.
40 HELPING HANDs. ACT II,
HART. Poor Gretchen she love me—she feel for me;
but she cannot feel mit me—she is a woman How can
a woman know what I have lost Yes, when he fall but
into good hands, so wohl; but when he come to one of
dese amateurs—pfui ! or to such a verdammter guinea-
lesson-professor. So is mine poor Strad condemned,
lost. Hark! my lord try a morçeau—ha! gut, von
Beethoven—so gut, gut ! (a slow movement of violin music
heard outside ) Sakerment! Zuschnell! Zuschnell!—
Eh Gott! —dat tone ! dose clarinetten noten—Himmel !
(listening eagerly.) Ja, ja' I know him in millionen 1 Ja,
es ist—es ist l (rises and stretches his hand in the direction
of the sound.) Mine freund ! mine Stradivarius! Oh fort |
fort! How heaven sweet ! (presses his hand to his heart.)
Ach, mine hertz how he make thrill mine pulse! (music
ceases.) No, stop not l—fort, immer fort | Ah, it is too
much—too much Gretchen | Gretchen I he is dere—
dere! I find him once again
Enter Lori QUAVERLY, the violin in his hand, R. H.
LoRD Q. So, Mr. Hartmann, have you brought this
Stradivarius of yours?
HART. Ha, ha! Now I See, it was a joke—a play—to
fright me !
LoRD Q. Eh
HART. You send for him to my house. You pretend
dey sell him. All because I laugh at your Amati, your
Guarneris—not?
LoRD Q. I don't understand.
HART. Eh, who gave you him How you sheat Gre-
chen Ah, it was good play ! Only too—too cruel for me.
But now you will give him to me back?
LoRD Q. What does the man mean? Back what?
HART. Mine freund ! Mine feedle ! Mine Stradivarius!
LoRD Q. Your fiddle ! Which fiddle *
HART. Is he not all I say? Make he not rubbish of all
your Amatis, and Guarneris? But now is enough. I will
take him home mit me.
LoRD Q. Take my new Stradivarius home with you!
HART. Gott bewahrl Your new Stradivarius not l But
mine old Stradivarius—him you just now play!
FIELPIN G. HANIOS. 41
LoRD Q. This is most extraordinary, my good sir.
The instrument you heard just now, is one just imported
from abroad at immense pains and cost.
HART. What for abroad? What for cost? All dat know
I not. Only I know his voice—and so is he mine—Ja
wohl—mine; so will I have him
LoRD Q. Really, this is too cool! How can a blind man
pretend to identify an instrument?
HART. Needs dere to see an old freund, when you sall
once hear his voice And he is mine old freund. I
know him among tousands! Every note, every vibration
give him to me!
LoRD Q. Mr. Hartmann—this is delusion or imperti-
nence; I tell you, sir, once more—this violin is as good as
mine. It came from Amsterdam—it was mutilated at
Cologne—the fragments have been pursued all over the
Continent, and it was brought to England only last week
by the gentleman, Mr. Wolff, from whom I have agreed to
purchase it at no less a price than two hundred and fifty
pounds. -
HART. Tell not me! What make oaths Anybody can
swear, tell lie! Only mine heart, and mine ear—dey speak
true—dey tell me dat is mine Stradivarius. I will have
him. Hier steh ich I leave not your house without
mine Stradivarius.
Lord Q. What is to be done?
Enter a SERVANT hastily R. H.
SERVANT. My lady desires me to tell your lordship that
my Lord Tweedle is much worse.
LoRD Q. Worse! Nothing serious, Danby * -
SERVANT. The nurse thinks it very serious, my lord.
There's a fear of croup, my lord.
LoRD. Q. Croup ! It may be fatall My child! Good
heavens ! Send for Brodie, Holland, everybody.
SERVANT. My lady has sent, my lord. Sir Benjamin is
out of town, and they've gone for Dr. Harbottle, my lord;
and I was to say Lord Tweedle was getting black in the
face. - [Exit R. H.
LoRD Q. Black in the face! Good heavens ! I must
fly to the nursery !
42 IHELPING HANIDS, ACT II,
HART. But you will give me mine feedle?
LoRD Q. Confound you and your fiddle. My child—my
boy! Exit hastily R. H.
HART. So! He go. I wait till he come back.
Enter SERVANT, in great agitation, R. H.
SERVANT. Another messenger wanted for another
doctor, and every man in the house out on the same errand
I wonder if Thomas is a comin' back. (looks out of window
L. H.) , Eh! There's the shoe black. He'll go. (calls
from window.) Here boy—blackey—come up.
HART. (to himself.) He is mine! I will have him
Enter WILLIAM RUFUs, L. H.
SERVANT. Here, you run to the nearest doctor, and tell
him to come directly to Lord Quaverly's. My young lord's
got the croup, and it's most pressing; be off like a lamp
lighter. (bell heard violently.) That's for me.
. Exit SERVANT, R.
RUFUs. There's the poor old blind! The young noble-
man will keep. I must make a clean breast on it with
him afore I go. But I daren’t tell him. (goes back to door.)
'Tilda's in the 'all. She can’t abear to part with me—
she'll break the hice. (goes to door and beckons.) Here,
*Tilda.
Enter’TILDA L H., she does not see HARTMANN.
"TriDA. Oh, Shockey, however dare you bring me into
this grand house *
RUFUs. (aside to 'TILDA.) Never you mind, 'Tilda,
they axed me in, and I axed you in. They're friends o'
amine, here. I’m employed in the family; but look, there's
Mr. Hartmann. I want to confess why I sold the wiolin,
and I can’t. I don’t know how to set about it. You tell
him.
'TILDA. Hm' (goes towards HARTMANN.) Oh, if you
please, sir.
HART. (starts.) Ah! Eh Who speaks :
HIELPING HANIDS. 43

'TILDA. Tilda, sir, please sir. The girl at your lodg-
ings, sir; and it's Shockey, sir.
HART. Who dat—Shockey?
'TILDA. The boy, sir—William, you know—sir, as you
took in and done for ever so long ago.
HART. Ah, der verdammter leetle rogue ! He rob
my iniatus, let me not come to him—so I break his
IleCR .
RUFUs. (rushing forward.) Do, sir! Sarve me right,
and do me a deal of good! . Pitch into me, sir, please !
HART. Come not to me!
RUFUS. (seizing his hand.) Oh, do let us, there's a good
old cove—which I’m sorry for it ! I've repented on it in
sackcloth and ashes!
'TILDA, And he thought you’d never find out about
your violin—did’nt you Shockey *
RUFUs. That's right, 'Tilda. I thought one fiddle
would do as well as another, as you could’nt play upon it.
HART. One feedle as good as another Ha! you know
of mine Stradivarius—speak |
'TILDA. Which it was him bought your wiolin o' missus.
Was'nt it, Shockey
RUFUs. It were, 'Tilda. -
HART. He bought mine feedle º Ha, but he is here—
mine feedle, in dis house—I tell you! -
*TILDA. No, sir, I wish it was ; but he sold it again.
HART. Oh, you sold him! To whom—to whom *
RUFUs. To Mr. Wolff, sir.
HART. Wolff Yes—dat was de name Lord Quaverly
say, who sell to him mine feedle — Ah – hal—and
tell him cock and bull tales—how he buy him at Am-
sterdam.
RUFUs. Oh, if Ikey ain't a been and gammoned a
customer Oh, he is a cute cove—blessed if he ain’t ; but
there's two can play them games, and if I don't do Ikey
yet, my name ain't Winkin—that is—it did’nt use to was.
HART. Eh—but you sall be a good repentant boy! You
sall get him back for me:—not *
RUFUs. I’ll go and try, sir, this minute, sir. (aside to
'TILDA.) But if I give Ikey back the money, what will
become of Miss Margaret? -
44 IIFLPIN G. HANIDS. ACT. II •
Enter SERVANT, R. H.
SERVANT. (hastily.) Oh, so you've got back, Blacking :
Brought the doctor–eh
RUFUs. (aside.) Oh, my 1 (coolly.) Yes, he's a comin'
directly, when he's had his breakfast. I’ve 'ad a precious
run, I can tell you.
SERVANT. Who's this? (pointing to 'TILDA.)
*TILDA. (aside.) Oh, lawk-a-mercy me !
RUFUs. (desperately.) The doctor's young’ooman, sir,
SERVANT. What's he sent her for *
RUFUs. Eh Oh, to 'old his oss! He says he can't
trust us boys, because we rides him.
'TILDA. (admiringly, and aside.) Oh, that Shockey!
SERVANT. Well, I wish that doctor was here, I know,
for they worrit my life out up stairs. (bell rung.) There
they goes | When did he say he'd be here?
RUFUs. He said he'd be here afore you could say “Jack
Robinson,” which that was his expressions. (bell R.
SERVANT. There's a message to take to the afflicted
parents! Go back and say he must come directly. (bell R.
Curse that nursery bell—go. (runs off R. H. )
*TILDA. Oh, Shockey, ain't you a story
RUFUs. All right; it will relieve their minds. I’ll run
to your house and fetch that young Sawbones you told me
about, off your first floor.
'TILDA. Mr. Merton 2 Oh, yes, he's such a clever man,
and such a good 'un, too.
RUFUs. Is he Then I’ll introduce him to the family,
and make his fortin’. (to HARTMANN.) I’m a going to
Ikey Wolff's sir, about the fiddle.
HART. Ah, yes, go—go—quick.
'TILDA. Oh, Shockey! (reproachfully.)
RUFUs. I must relieve his mind, too. Keep your pecker
up ! [Exit L. H.
HART. And so sall I prove dis Wolff a rogue, and a lie,
and so sall I get to me again mine feedle ! Ha-but dis
Wolff have bought him . How I sall to pay back de
rice? - -
'TILDA. Oh, Shockey's got the money, sir, that Mr.
IHELPING HANIOS, 45
Wolff paid him. Such a lot! More than a hundred pounds,
SII’.
HART. More dan a hundred pound ! I)e little rogue !
And so he tink to rob me onee again!
'TILDA. No, no, sir, it was me put it into his 'ead —
it was all for Miss Margaret, sir.
HART. For Gretchen | What you mean? *
'TILDA. Oh, please, she said I was’nt to tell you.
HART. Not to tell me? Gretchen have some secret
from her father—so
'TILDA. She was afraid it would frighten you.
HART. Werfluchter | Frighten me! In Teufel's name,
what you mean? Speak!
"TILDA. Oh, it was Mr. Merton, sir—he told her.
HART. Told her! De doctor || Told her what 2
'TILDA. That she was in a decline, sir. It was going
out with you, sir, in the cold nights, and a working so late
copying while you was ill, sir, and that she'd go off like
her mother did, if she did’nt go where it was warmer,
and she could’nt, acos you had’nt no money; and so me
and Shockey thought if we sold the wiolin, after Shockey
bought it o' missus, you'd never be no wiser, and the
money would pay for Miss going where it was warmer,
acos I could’nt abear to think of her coming to no harm
—such a dear as she was — and — but oh–what's the
matter? (HARTMANN, pale and agitated, sinks into a chair.
HART. Mine kind—mine Gretchen | And it was for me
—for me she go out in de cold—for me she toil —
—to feed me! She kill herself— and I allow her. I
was harsh with her—impatient. Ach, barmherziger
Gott —I think more of mine feedle dan of mine tochter.
Oh, fool! Stone heart! Mein kind—mein armes, bestes
kind!
Fe-enter WILLIAM RUFUs with MERTON, L. H.
RUFUs. That's the way to the nursery, (points R. H.
MERTON. crosses to R. H.) - -
"TILDA. Oh, Mr. Merton.
HART. Ha, Herr Doctor—I know all. Speak—tell me
—mine Gretchen—it is not true—she sall not die—tell me
—she sall not? -
MERT. I am glad you have learnt what she forbade me
46 HELPING HANDS. ACT. II.
telling you; Miss Hartmann has symptoms—grave symp-
tomS.
HART. But only symptoms—not—not de maladie—not
yet? Dere is hope, oh speak?
MERTON. There is hope, but she must not winter in
England.
HART. She sall not:—she sall go. See you, I have gold,
much gold !
RUFUs. Hurrah! A hundred and fifty pounds, every
penny, honestly got by Vinkin out of Wolff! There it is,
sir. (thrusts notes in his hands, he holds them out trem-
bling.)
HART. See, see " I shall mit her to Italien To West
Indien—everywhere !
MERT. (to WILLIAM RUFUs.) But this money?
HART. Ha, ha, ha! See you, it is the price of mine
feedle dis leetle boy sell for me to a good, honest feedle
merchant—to Mr. Wolff——, Gott verdammter rogue !
RUFUs. (to MERTON.) All his gammon, sir. It was me
bought it o' the landlady, when they was sold up, and sold
it to Wolff to help Miss Margaret. I thought the old gent
would ha’ gone mad when he found his fiddle gone. And
now he's a pretending he liked it, acos he knows why
'Tilda and me done it.
MERT. I see it all, poor old man!
Enter SERVANT, R. H.
RUFUs. Here's the doctor.
SERVANT. Come along, sir, not an instant's to be lost.
My Lord Tweedle's in convulsions.
MERT.on. Stay here till I return.
[Evit SERVANT and MERTON, R. H.
HART. Yes, yes, so mine Gretchen is saved, to the teufel
mit mine feedle !—Nein, nein, not so, Ilove him always, but
not so as mine tochter—nicht wahr, alter Strad, thou shalt
forgive me that I prefer her, even to thee? But mine
Gretchen, why she come not ; Ha! her foot—she come,
mine kind—zu meinen armen
Enter MARGARET, R. H., followed by HAUTBoIs. She
looks flushed and angry. She throws herself into her
father's arms, c.
MARG. Father dear father oh, take me home !
HELPIN G. HANIDS. 17
HAUT. Now, really, Miss Hartmann–(approaching.)
MARG. Stand back, sir! Let his grey hairs protect me
from your insults, if my own helplessness cannot.
HAUT. Now, really, if you call my playfulness an
insult—
RUFUs. (squaring up.) Holloa Just you stand back!
'TILDA. Hit him, Shockey ! and I’ll scratch'
HART. Mine Gretchen—du aller liebste . She tremble !
She weep ! Oh, was ist? Was hast du : Mein schatz—
mein leibling.
MARG. Home, father, home—I am not safe in this house.
That man has insulted me !
HART. Ah! who have dare? (he rises, his form dilating.)
Who insult the tochter of Lorentz Hartmann Let him
bewahr | So, I am alt, blind, but Got shall give de vater
strength to protect his child !
HAUT. Really, I wasn't prepared for this sort of scene;
and all for a little harmless pleasantry. I don't mean
anything. I never do mean anything.
RUFUs. I should say you didn't. I say, do you want
anything blacked * Your boots—or your eyes, perhaps?
'TILDA. Go along, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.
Go along, or I'll set my ten commandments in your face,
I will.
HAUT. Really, what with the blind fiddler, the sportive
shoe-black, and this turbulent servant of all work, Miss
Hartmann is powerfully protected, and my Lord Qua-
verly's library amazingly honoured. (to SHocKEY.) But
your sparring demonstration is superfluous, my begrimed
young friend. Virtuous maid of all work, be composed.
Miss Hartmann, I beg your pardon. I’m a coxcomb, I
believe, but not a ruffian; I have given you pain, and am
sorry for it. But there is no occasion for heroism. You'd
like me to go; goodbye, for the present. (aside.) Now I feel
I ought to be ashamed of myself. I would if I could, but
I can't quite; one's so out of the habit of it. [Evit R. H.
MARG. Oh, he's gone ! I am safe now.
HART. Ja, jaja, mine liebtse.
RUFUs. Yes, and if he don’t want such a polishin' off
as 'll astonish his weak mind, he'd better not come arter you
again, Miss. I arn’t had lessons o' the Spider for nothin', I
can tell you. (spars.)
48 IHELPIN G. HANIDS. ACT II.
*TILDA. Lor', how he do it ! 'Ush, Shockey, 'ush; be
respectful, do.
HART. Ach du meine ! What for she not tell de old water
what de doctor say?
MARG. Ah! they have told him. No, no, father, I am
quite well, quite strong.
HART. Ja, ja, thou art well, but I am not well, seest thou:
I go to Italien this winter for mine rheumatism. It is for
dat Wilhelm sell mine feedle to Wolff. He is a goot boy,
Wilhelm. What for a feedle to me? Pooh, I play him
not, I see him not, I send him to de teufel—mine feedle,
(his voice falters.) I care not, so I never hear him once
ICl Ore.
MARG. No, no, dear father, you cannot deceive me.
They have told you of my danger; it is for me they have
made this sacrifice.
HART. A sacrifice for thee! (long embrace.)
'TILDA. Oh, did you ever see an angel, Shockey:
RUFUs. Yes, there was one hanged up at the ragged
school. -
'TILDA. And wasn’t it just like her ?
RUFUs. Just 1 only the wings; and it had a red gound
on. It was a hallegory.
'TILDA. Well, and ain’t she a hallegory?
Enter Wolf F, L. H.
RUFUs. Oh, my If here ain't Ikey. -
Wolf F. I’ve fetched the pedigree. (sees WILLIAM
RUFUs.) Holloa-you here *
RUFUs. Yes. I’m on a wisit at the 'ouse.
Wolf F. Ah! (aside.) He'll blow me, the wiper I'll
hook it till he's gone. (going.) Eh! as my Lord ain't here,
I’ll call again. *
RUFUs. (getting between him and the door.) Oh dear, no
'Ow are you, Mr. Wolff? 'Ope Amsterdam agreed with
you. There's werry fine fiddles to be picked up there, they
tell me.
Wolf F. Hold your noishe, you raskal, and I’ll share
with you over the hundred and fifty pounds.
RUFUs. No! Will you, though 'Ow much are you to
get out of the swell? . . - t
Wor,FF. Only two hundred pounds; leaves me no profit,
IHELPING IFIANIDS, 49
S'help me, ’tain’t worth while, hardly. Take twenty, and
don’t split.
RUFUs. Well, I’ll think of it.
Enter Lord QUAVERLY and MERTON, R. H.
LoRD Q. Oh, sir, you have saved my child ! How shall
I ever repay you? My purse and patronage are at your
disposal. (sees WILLIAM RUFUs.) But who is this?
MERTON. The lad who came for me.
LoRD Q. (to WILLIAM RUFUs.) My young friend, I'm
most grateful to you. Here's a sovereign. (WILLIAM
RUFUs takes it, and touches his forelock.) Lady Quaverly
wants a page, and if you like to enter my service, I’ll have
a page's livery ordered for you directly.
RUFUs. Thank you, my Lord, I wouldn’t so much mind
being a butler, but I couldn't a-bear buttons.
LoRD Q. Ah, Mr. Wolff, you will be glad to hear that
my Lord Tweedle, thanks to the promptitude and skill of
Mr. Merton, is out of danger.
Wolf F. It's a great thing for the country, my lord—
but I’ve brought the pedigree of that instrument.
LoRD Q. Ah, the danger of my boy had quite put even
violins out of my head! In one moment. (to MERTON.)
Once more, sir, how can I repay you?
MERTON. Your lordship is, I believe, an enthusiast on
the subject of fiddles. Shall I confess I have the same
taste §
LoRD Q. My dear sir, it doubles the gratification I feel
in avowing myself your debtor. My collection is at your
service. Oblige me by accepting any instrument from it.
MERTON. Such a gift would be more pleasing to me
than any fee. May I choose this?
(takes up HARTMANN’s fiddle.
LoRD Q. You have a good taste, sir. It is yours.
Mr. Wolff (beckoning Wolf F aside—WILLIAM RUFUs
steals up.) Your price was two hundred and fifty pounds, I
think
RUFUs. No, my lord, you'll excuse the liberty, but Mr.
Wolff was a-saying just when you come in as 'ow the figger
was a hundred and fifty pounds, wasn't you, Mr. Wolff
Wolf F. (aside.) Oh, the rashkall I’m done ! Robbed )


50 HELPING HANIDS. ACT II.
LORD Q. Ah! indeed! I thought he said two hundred
and fifty; but I will write a cheque for the smaller amount.
RUFUs. (aside.) Say a word, and I’ll blow the gaff
Wol,RF. Yesh, yesh . A hundred and fifty I shaid.
Never asks more than a fair profit—never ! Blesh you,
ma tear ! (to WILLIAM RUFUs.) Oh the villain—oh, if I
could just shtick a knife in him [Exit, L. H.
Enter HAUTBoIs.
HAUT. My dear Gus, Tweedle is going on charmingly
He has recovered his high treble, and is vociferous for
pap and papa.
LoRD Q. Thank heaven ' Mr. Merton, you will com-
prehend my anxiety to return to my child. God bless
you, sir! Remember, you have a friend for life in Lord
Quaverly | [Exit.
HAUT. I’m glad the poor little beggar is better, after
all !
MERTON. And now, my good friends—What ' tears,
Miss Margaret ! You see we have betrayed your secret
among us!
HART. Ja, ja ; all is settle—we go next week to
Neapel; and dere, under dat sunny sky, amongst dose
glorious hills dat I sall never see, her dear cheek grow
bright, and her step strong, and she live to bless and
comfort her old water.
MARG. Who for her has sacrificed the one thing he
most clung to in this world.
HART. Ah Bah! let him go—I not care—I never
tink no more of him—never ! (sighs.) But say, Herr
Doctor, sall I, in Italien, be cure also of my rheumatism
MERTON. In a month you'll handle your bow as well as
eVer. - .
HART. Ha! (starts.) And den—yes den, perhaps—I
tink sometimes—I wish a little he was mit me—der alter
Strad. It is so long since I talk mit him, only a little;
but I do not care—nein, nein ; I do not care
(He bursts into tears, and clasps his daughter in his
Q?"}%.S.
HAUT. Confound these foreigners' (wiping his eyes.)
They give way so ridiculously to their emotions.
(Blows his nose.
HELPING HANIDS. 51
'TILDA. Oh, don’t torment him, then Give it him, do.
MERTON. (with a smile.) Here, sir, you shan’t go
without an old friend. Let me present you with this
violin which Lord Quaverly has just given me.
HART. (taking it and feeling it.) Ha! Was fur—it is
it is der alter—mine own—mine ! Ach du alter, bester'
(he hugs and kisses the fiddle.) Oh, I shall go craze mit
joy | Herr Doctor, du Lieber — Goldener — Umarme
mich ! (he embraces MERTON.) Gretchen I (he embraces
her.) Alle ! (He embraces 'TILDA and RUFUs together.
'TILDA. Oh sir, oh miss, do let me go with you, please !
I'll go for nothin’; I'll never give no warning, and
missus may keep my boxes—which it's only some things
in a pocket-handkercher. - -
MARG. Yes, yes, kind, good girl, we will not part.
RUFUs. Holloa I thought we was to keep company.
I s'pose foreigners does’nt have their shoes blacked—least-
ways Leicester Square's a precious bad pitch, the boys
says—or blessed but I'd pick up my bottles and brushes
and go, too. I’d show them Prenchmen what British
polish is.
MARG. Come with us, both.
HART. Ja, komm—alle—alle ! Oh, we sall be so glad
—so glad ' I play to you all de day long on mine Strad.
HAUT. A pleasant prospect ' Their matrimonial motto
will be “Toujours fidèle.”
HART. But dis lieber doctor To him owe we all, and
can give noting, noting !
MERTON. Yes, one thing; the hand of this dear girl.
Let me watch over her by a double title
HART. Ah! but for dat needs to ask her. Wat say
mine Gretchen :
MARG. Dear father, (she hides her head on his shoulder.)
we owe him all. If my love can repay him—it is all I
have to give! It is his already!
HART. My darling, let me hold thee to my heart,
Which, till to-day, beat less for thee than art.
Blind eyes, lame hands, are chastenings from
above, -
To teach me all I owe a daughter's love.
(to MERTON.) Take her and tend her.
52 IBIBLPING HANIDS. ACT I
(HARTMANN joins their hands.
MARG. Father, our love's rays
Shall warm the eventide of your dark days.
HAUT. By Jove! this day seems meant, somehow,
to prove
People have really hearts that feel and love.
My lord and this old boy—riddle of riddles—
Clearly prefer their offspring to their fiddles!
(Looks at MARGARET, MERTON, and HARTMANN.
Sweet group ! (feeling on his left side.) Ithink—
I positively do—
Looking at them, that I’ve a heart here, too !
'TILDA. Oh Shockey! and to think we’ve done it all!
RUFUs. 'Tilda, we don't ought to be proud!—Sing
small!
Do you know AEsop 8
*TILDA. Was he in the 'ouse *
RUFUs. (contemptuously) Pooh! It's a fable ! Once
there was a mouse
A lion might have squenched, and didn't do it;
Lion got in a net, and mouse gnawed through it.
Moral—I’ll trouble you!
*TILDA. Oh yes! I see.
Them there's the lion, and the mouse is we.
No one can tell who may help who some day:
Kind word or deed is never throw'd away!
MARG. My friends, by small and great the round
world stands !
(to audience.) Do as they’ve done, give us your
“ HELPING HANDs.”
R. L.
HAUT. MERT. MARG. HART. 'TILDA. RUFUs.
Printed by T. BLoWER, 313, Strand.
THE
S T R A N G E R.
%. 3Brama,
I N F I W E A CT S.
By
AUGUSTUS VON KOTZEBUE,
TRANSLATED BY
13 E N J A MIN THIO M P S ON.
T II O M A 8 H AI L E S L A CY,
89, STRAND,
(09posité Sowthampton Street, Covent Garden Markel,)
I, O N D O N.
THE STRANGER.
First Performed at the Theatre Royal Drury Lane,
on the 24th March, 1798.
*** * * * º w ºr ºs w º
! (Thaturtets.
1798. 1842.
THE STRANGER ... ..... MR. KEMBLE. MR. MACREADY.
BARON STEINFORT...... MR. PALMER. MR. PHELPs.
COUNT WINTERSEN ... MR. BARRYMORE. Mr. LYNNE.
MR. SOLOMON ............ MR. WEWITZER. MR. CoMPTON.
PETER ........................ MR. SUETT. MR. KEELEY.
FRANCIS ..................... MR. R. PALMER. Mr. HUDSON.
TOBIAS .................. ... ... MR. J. AICKEN. MR. G. BENNET.
MRS. HALLER ............ MRS, SIDDoNs. Miss H. FAUCIT.
COUNTESS WINTERSEN MIRs. GOODALL. MRs. STERLING.
CHARLOTTE ............... Miss. STUART. MRs. KEELEY.
ANNETTE..................... MRs. BLAND. Miss P. HoRTON.
SAVOYARD ........... ....... MISS LEAKE. Miss Gould.
COUNT'S CHILD (five
$/€07'S Old) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . MASTER WEBB. MASTER RYAN.
STRANGER'S SON (five
gears old)..................... MASTER STOKELEY. Miss GREENE.
STRANGER'S DAUGHTER
Jour years old) ............. *Miss Beton. Miss HowARD.
Servants, Peasants—Male and Female.
Time in Performance—2 hours 15 minutes.
(IG5tuttg.
STRANGER—Dark frock coat, black leather belt, dark pantaloons,
black leather boots, small plain collar, and black slouch'hat.
Baron—Handsome military uniform, tights, and hessian bºots.
Count —Blue frock coat, lined and trimmed with dark fur, tights,
and hessian boots.
Solomon—First Dress: Dressing gown and cap, . Second Dress;
Square cut coat, long waistcoat, breeches, silk stockings, shoes, and
powdered wig. º
Peter—Light frock coat, flowered waistcoat, breeches, and shoes;
Francis—Plain round frock, waistcoat, breeches, coloured
stockings, gaiters, and shoes. º
Tobins' full brown coat, waistcoat, and breeches; grey stockings
and shoes, and grey hair.
MRs. HALLER—Plain grey silk dress. o
Countess–First Dress: Velvet mantle trimmed with ermine.
Second Dress: Satin dress.
CHARLOTTE–Showy silk, cap, and apron. º
Savoyards—Short full stuff petticoats, velvet bodies, blue
stockings, plaited hair, round low crowned hats.
Count's CHILD–Velvet tunic and cap.
STRANGER's CHILDREN-Neat dark tunic and frock.
THREE SERVANTS-Liveries,
THE STRANGER.
•ºvº)(S22.9/ve
ACT I.
SCENE I.—The skirts of Count Wintersen's Park. The
park gates in the centre, a lodge, R. 3. E., with window
shutter to close; a bench at door among the trees ; a
peasant's hut, L. U. E.
Enter PETER, c. from L.
PETER. Pooh! pooh l—never tell me:–I'm a clever
lad, for all father's crying out every minute, “Peter!”
and “Stupid Peter.” But I say, Peter is not stupid,
though father will always be so wise. First, “I talk too
much ;” then, “I talk too little;” and, if I talk a bit to
myself, he calls me a driveller. Now, I like best to talk
to myself; for I never contradict myself; and I don't
laugh at myself, as other folks do. That laughing is
often a plaguy teazing custom. To be sure, when Mrs.
Haller laughs, one can bear it well enough; there is a
sweetness, even in her reproof, that somehow—but, lud!
I had near forgot what I was sent about.—Yes, then they
would have laughed at me, indeed.—(draws a green purse
from his pocket)—I am to carry this money to old Tobias;
and Mrs. Haller said, I must be sure not to blab, or say
that she had sent it. Well, well, she may be easy for
that matter; not a word shall drop from my lips. Mrs.
Haller is charming, but silly, if father is right; for father
says, “He that spends his money is not wise; but he that
gives it away is stark mad.”
Enter STRANGER, from the lodge, R. 3 E., with his arms
folded, his head hanging down, followed by FRANCIS.—
At the sight of PETER, STRANGER stops, and looks suspi-
4 THE STRANGER, [ACT I.
ciously at him ; PETER stands opposite to him, with his
mouth wide open, at length he takes off his hat, scrapes a
bow, and goes into the hut, L. U. E.
STRANGER. (R. c.) Who is that?
FRANCIS. (R.) The steward's son.
STRAN. Of the castle 2
FRAN. Yes.
STRAN. (after a pause) You were speaking last night—
FRAN. Of the old countryman?
STRAN. Ay.
FRAN. You would not hear me out.
STRAN. Proceed.
FRAN. He is poor.
STRAN. Who told you so?
FRAN. He, himself.
STRAN. (with acrimony) Ay, ay ; he knows how to tell
his story, no doubt.
FRAN. And to impose you think?
STRAN. Right.
FRAN. This man does not.
STRAN. Fool |
FRAN. A feeling fool is better than a cold sceptic.
STRAN. False !
‘FRAN. Charity begets gratitude.
STRAN. False !
FRAN. And blesses the giver more than the receiver.
STRAN. True.
FRAN. Well, sir. This countryman
STRAN. Has he complained to you?
FRAN. Yes.
STRAN. He who is really unhappy never complains.—
(pauses)—Francis, you have had means of education
beyond your lot in life, and hence you are encouraged to
attempt imposing on me:—But go on.
FRAN. His only son has been taken from him.
STRAN. Taken from him 2
FRAN. By the exigency of the times, for a soldier.
STRAN. Ayl
FRAN. The old man is poor:
STRAN. 'Tis likely.
FRAN. Sick and forsaken.
SC. I.] THE STRANGER, 5
STRAN, I cannot help him.
FRAN. Yes..
STRAN. How 2
FRAN. By money. He may buy his son's release.
STRAN. I’ll see him myself.
FRAN. Do so.
STRAN. But if he prove an impostor?
FRAN. He is not.
STRAN. In that hut?
FRAN. In that hut. STRANGER goes into the hut, L,
A good master, though one almost loses the use of speech by
living with him. A man kind and clear—though I cannot
understand him. He rails against the whole world, and yet
no beggar leaves his door unsatisfied. I have now lived
three years with him, and yet I know not who he is. A
hater of society, no doubt; but not by Providence intended
to be so. Misanthropy in his head, not in his heart.
Enter STRANGER and PETER from the hut, L.
PETER. Pray walk on. (bowing him out)
STRAN. (to FRANCIs) Fool!
FRAN. So soon returned
STRAN. What should I do there 2
FRAN. Did you not find it as I said P
STRAN. This lad I found.
FRAN. What has he to do with your charity?
STRAN. The old man and he understand each other per-
feetly well.
FRAN. How 2
STRAN. What were this boy and the countryman doing?
FRAN. (smiling and shaking his head) Well, you shall
hear. (crosses to PETER, STRANGER sits and takes up a book
which is on the seat, R.) Young man, what were you doing
in that hut? -
PETER. Doing?—Nothing. x
FRAN. Well, but you couldn't go there for nothing
PETER. And why not, pray ?—But I did go there for
nothing, though.--Do you think one must be paid for
everything?—If Mrs. Haller were to give me but a
smiling look, I'd jump up to my neck in the great pond
for nothing.
6 THE STRANGER [ACT I.
FRAN. It seems, then, Mrs. Haller sent you?
PETER. Why, yes—but I'm not to talk about it.
FRAN. Why so? + -
PETER. How should I know? “Look you,” says Mrs.
Haller, “Master Peter, be so good as not to mention it to
anybody.”—(with much consequence)—“Master Peter, be
so good”—Hi, hi, hiſ—“Master Peter, be so”—Hi, hi,
hi !—
FRAN. Oh! that is quite a different thing. Of course
you must be silent then.
PETER. I know that; and so I am, too. For I told old
Tobias—says I, “Now you're not to think as how Mrs.
Haller sent the money; for I shall not say a word about
that as long as I live,” says I.
FRAN. There you were very right. Did you carry him
much money P
PETER. I don't know; I didn't count it. It was in a bit
of a green purse. Mayhap it may be some little matter
that she has scraped togetner in the last fortnight.
FRAN. And why just in the last fortnight 2
PETER. Because, about a fortnight since, I carried him
some money before.
FRAN. From Mrs. Haller?
PETER. Ay, Sure; who else, think you? father's not
such a fool. He says it is our bounden duty, as Christians,
to take care of our money, and not to give anything away,
especially in the Summer; for then, says he, there's herbs
and roots enough in conscience to satisfy all the reasonable
hungry poor. But I say father's wrong, and Mrs. Haller's
right. -
FRAN. Yes, yes—but this Mrs. Haller seems a strange
woman, Peter.
PETER. Ay, at times she's plaguy odd. Why, she'll sit
and cry you a whole day through, without any one's
knowing why. Ay, and yet somehow or other, whenever
she cries, I always cry too—without knowing why.
- FRAN. (aside to STRANGER) Are you satisfied?
STRAN. Rid me of that babbler.
FRAN. Good day, Master Peter.
PETER. You're not going yet, are you?
FRAN. Mrs. Haller will be waiting for an answer.
SC. I.] THE STRANGER. 7
PETER. So she will; and I have another place or two
to call at... (crosses to c. and takes off his hat to STRANGER)
Servant sir! (STRANGER nods—PETER turns to FRANCIS in
a half whisper) He's angry, I suppose, because he can get
nothing out of me. *
FRAN. It almost seems so. .
PETER. Ay, I’d have him to know I'm no blab.
Exit c. and L.
FRAN. Now, sir.
STRAN. What do you want?
FRAN. Were you not wrong, sir?
STRAN. Heml -
FRAN. Can you still doubt? - -
STRAN. (rising) I'll hear no more. Who is this Mrs.
Haller P Why do I always follow her path P Go where
I will, whenever I try to do good, she has always been
before me. . -
FRAN. You should rejoice at that.
STRAN. Rejoice P
FRAN. Surely that there are other good and charitable
people in the world beside yourself.
STRAN. O, yes! -
FRAN. Why not seek to be acquainted with her? I saw
her yesterday in the garden, up at the castle. Mr. Solomon,
the steward, says she has been unwell, and confined to her
room, almost ever since we have been here. But one would
not think it to look at her; for a more beautiful creature I
never saw. - -
STRAN. So much the worse ! Beauty is a mask. -
FRAN. In her it seems a mirror of the soul. Her
charities -
STRAN. Pshaw l talk not to me of her charities. All
women wish to be conspicuous:—in town by their wit; in
the country by their heart.
FRAN. 'Tis immaterial in what way good is done.
STRAN. No ; ’tis not immaterial.
FRAN. To this poor man, at least.
STRAN. He needs no assistance of mine. -
FRAN. His most urgent wants Mrs. Haller indeed
relieved; but whether she has or could have given as
8 THE STRANGER. [ACT I.
#
much as could purchase liberty for the son, the prop of
his age - -
STRAN. Silence I will not give him a doit. (crosses
to L. — in a peevish tone) You interest yourself very
warmly in his behalf. Perhaps you are to be a sharer in
the gift? -
FRAN. Sir, sir, that did not come from your heart.
STRAN. (recollecting himself) Forgive me !
FRAN. Poor master | How must the world have used
you, before it could have instilled this hatred of mankind,
this constant doubt of honesty and virtue.
STRAN. Leave me to myself! (crosses to R., throws him-
self on a seat, and reads)
FRAN. (aside, surveying him) Again reading! thus it is
from morn to night. To him, nature has no beauty—life
no charm. For three years I have never seen him smile.
What will be his fate at last? Nothing diverts him. Oh,
if he would but attach himself to any living thing!
were it an animal—for something man must love.
Enter ToDIAS from the hut, L. U. E.
Top1. Oh! how refreshing, after seven long weeks, to
feel these warm sunbeams once again ' Thanks, thanks,
bountecus heaven, for the joy I tastel (presses his cap
between his hands, looks up and prays—STRANGER lets his
book sink, and observes him attentively)
FRAN. (to STRANGER) This old man's share of earthly
happiness can be but little ; yet, mark how grateful he is
for his portion of it.
STRAN. Because, though old, he is but a child in the
leading strings of hope.
FRAN. Hope is the nurse of life.
STRAN. And her cradle is the grave.
FRAN. (going to ToBIAS) I wish you joy. I am glad
to see you are so much recovered. *
ToBI. Thank you ! Heaven and the assistance of a kind
lady, has saved me for another year or two.
FRAN. How old are you, pray ?
ToBI. Seventy-six. To be sure, I can expect but little
joy before I die. Yet, there is another, and a better
world.
SC, I.] THE STRANGER, 9
FRAN. To the unfortunate, then, death is scarce an
evil. . .
ToBI. Am I so unfortunate P Do I not enjoy this
glorious morning? Am I not in health again? Believe
me, sir, he, who leaving the bed of sickness, for the first
time breathes the fresh pure air, is at that moment the
happiest of his maker's creatures.
FRAN. Yet 'tis a happiness that fails upon enjoyment.
ToBI. True ; but less so in old age. Some fifty years
ago my father left me this cottage. I was a strong lad,
and took an honest wife. Heaven blessed my farm with
rich crops, and my marriage with five children. This
lasted nine or ten years. Two of my children died. I
felt it sorely. The land was afflicted with a famine. My
wife assisted me in supporting our family: but, four years
after, she left our dwelling for a better place. And of my
five children one only son remained. This was blow on
blow. It was long before I regained my fortitude; at
length resignation and religion had their effect. I again
attached myself to life. My son grew, and helped me in
my work;-now the State has called him away to bear a
musket ! This is to me a loss indeed : I can work no
more ; I am old and weak: and true it is, but for Mrs.
Haller, I must have perished.
FRAN. Still, then, life has its charms for you?
ToBI. Why not, while the world holds anything that's
dear to me? Have not I a son?
FRAN. Who knows that you will ever see him more?
He may be dead.
ToBI. Alas! he may. But as long as I am not sure of
it, he lives to me : and if he falls, ’tis in his country's
cause. Nay, should I lose him, still I should not wish to
die. Here is the hut in which I was born. Here is the
tree that grew with me, and I am almost ashamed to con-
fess it—I have a dog I love.
FRAN. A dog?
ToBI. Yes!—Smile if you please : but hear. My bene-
factress once came to my hut herself, some time before
you settled here. The poor animal—unused to see the form
of elegance and beauty enter the door of penury—growled
at her. “I wonder you keep that surly, ugly animal,
10 THE STRANGER. [ACT I.
Mr. Tobias,” said she ; “you who have hardly food enough
for yourself.” “Ah, madam,” I replied, “if I was to part
with him, are you sure aught else will love me?” She
was pleased with my answer.
FRAN. (to STRANGER) Excuse me, sir; but I wish you
had listened.
STRAN. I have listened.
FRAN. Then, sir, I wish you would follow this poor
old man's example. w
STRAN. (pauses) Here ; take this book, and lay it on
my desk. (FRANCIS goes into the lodge, R., with the book—
STRANGER goes to ToBIAs) How much has Mrs. Haller
given you?
ToBI. Oh, sir, she has given me so much, that I can
look towards winter without fear. -
STRAN. No more ?
ToBI. What could I do with more ? Ah true; I
might - - -
STRAN. I know it : You might buy your son's release.
There ! (presses a heavy purse into his hand, and exit, R.1 E.)
ToBI. What is all this? (opens the purse, and finds it full
of gold) Merciful heaven -
Enter FRANCIS, R. U. E.
Now look, sir; is confidence in heaven unrewarded ?
FRAN. I wish you joy? My master gave you this?
ToBI. Yes, your noble master. Heaven reward him
FRAN. Just like him. He sent me with his book, that
no one might be witness to his bounty. . -
ToBI. He would not even take my thanks. He was
gone before I could speak. *
FRAN. Just his way.
ToBI. Now, sir, I'll go as quick as these old legs will
bear me. What a delightful errand l I go to release my
Robert How the lad will rejoice There is a girl too
in the village, that will rejoice with him. Oh, Providence,
how good art thou! Years of distress can never efface
the recollection of former happiness; but one joyful mo-
ment drives from the memory an age of misery.
Eacit to hut, L.
FRAN. (looks after him) Why am I not wealthy?
SC. II.] THE STRANGER, 11
'Sdeath ! Why am I not a prince 2 I never thought
myself envious; but I feel I am. Yes, I must envy those
who, with the will, have the power to do good.
r - Eacit R.U. E.
SCENE II.-An Ante-chamber in Wintersen Castle.
MRs. HALLER. (speaks without) Very well; if those
things are done, let the drawing-room be made ready im-
mediately. And, George, run immediately into the park,
and tell Mr. Solomon I wish to speak with him.
Enter MRs. HALLER, with a letter, R.
I cannot understand this. I do not learn whether their
coming to this place be but the whim of a moment, or a
plan for a longer stay. If the latter, farewell solitude!
farewell study l farewell! Yes, I must make room for
gaity and mere frivolity. Yet could I willingly submit to
all; but, should the Countess give me new proofs of her
attachment, perhaps of her respect, oh, how will my con-
science upbraid me! or—I shudder at the thought! if this
seat is to be visited by company, and chance should con-
duct hither any of my former acquaintancel Alas! alas !
how wretched is the being who fears the sight of any one
fellow-creature | But, oh, superior misery' to dread still
more the presence of a former friend. (a knock) Who's
there 2 -

Enter PETER, L.
PETER. Nobody!—It's only me.
Mrs. H. So soon returned?
PETER. Sharp lad, a'n't I? On the road I’ve had a bit
of talk too, and
MRS. H. But you have observed my directions !
PETER. O, yes, yes:–I told old Tobias as how he would
never know, as long as he lived, that the money came
from you.
Mrs. H. You found him quite recovered, I hope 2
PETER. Ay, sure did I. He's coming out to-day, for
the first time. i
Mrs. H. I rejoice to hear it
12 THE STRANGER, [ACT I.
PETER. He said that he was obliged to you for all; and
before dinner, would crawl up to thank you. ... •
MRS. H. Good Peter, do me another service.
PETER. Ay, a hundred, if you will only let me have a
good long stare at you.
MRs. H. With all my heart. Observe when old Tobias
comes, and send him away. Tell him I am busy, or
asleep, or unwell, or what you please.
PETER. I will, I will.
SoLOMON. (without) There, there, go to the post-office.
MRs. H. Oh here comes Mr. Solomon.
PETER. What, father l Ay, so there is. Father's a main,
clever man; he knows what's going on all over the world.
MRs. H. No wonder; for he receives as many letters as
a prime minister and all his secretaries.
Enter SoLoMon, L.
SoLOM. Good morning, good morning to you, Mrs.
Haller. It gives me infinite pleasure to see you look so
charmingly well. You have had the goodness to send for
your humble servant. Any news from the great city?
There are very weighty matters in agitation. I have my
letters too !
MRs. H. (smiling) I think, Mr. Solomon, you must.
correspond with the four quarters of the globe
SoLOM. Beg pardon, not with the whole world, Mrs.
Haller. But (consequentially) to be sure, I have corre-
spondents on whom I can rely, in the chief cities of Eu-
rope, Asia, Africa, and America.
MRs. H. And yet I have my doubts whether you know
what is to happen this very day at this very place.
Solom. At this very place | nothing material. We
meant to have sown a little barley to-day, but the ground
is too dry; and the sheep-shearing is not to be till to-
In OrTOW. - -
PETER. No, nor the bull baiting till
SoLoM. Hold your tongue, blockhead! Get about your
business. - : .
PETER. Blockhead! There again I suppose I’m not
to open my mouth. (to MRs. HALLER) Good bye | Eacit, L.
SC. II.] - THE STRANGER. 13
MRs. H. The Count will be here to-day.
SoLOM. How P-What?
MRs. H. With his lady, and his brother-in-law, Baro
Steinfort.
SoLOM. My letters say nothing of this. You are laugh-
ing at your humble servant.
MRS. H. You know, sir, I'm not much given to jesting.
SoLOM. Peter! good lack-a-day!—His Right Honourable
Excellency Count Wintersen, and Her Right Honourable
Excellency the Countess Wintersen, and His Honourable
Lordship Baron Steinfort—and, lor' have mercy! nothing
in proper order l—Here, Peter! Peterſ
Enter PETER, L.
PETER. Well, now ; what's the matter again?
SoLOM. Call all the house together directly Send to
the gamekeeper: tell him to bring some venison. Tell
Rebecca to uncase the furniture, and take the covering
from the Venetian looking-glasses; that her Right Hon-
ourable Ladyship, the Countess, may look at her gracious
countenance. And tell the cook to let me see him without
loss of time. And tell John to catch a brace or two of
carp. And tell—and tell—and tell—tell Frederick to friz
my Sunday wig.—Mercy on us!—Tell—There—Go!—
s - Exit PETER, L.
Heavens and earth ! so little of the new furnishing of this
old castle is completed —Where are we to put his Hon-
ourable Lordship the Baron
MRs. H. Let him have the little chamber at the head of
the stairs: it is a meat room, and commands a beautiful
prospect.
SoLOM. Very right, very right. But that room has
always been occupied by the Count's private secretary.
Suppose—Hold, I have it.—You know the little lodge at
the end of the park: we can thrust the secretary into that.
MRS. H. You forgot, Mr. Solomon, you told me that the
Stranger lived there.
SoLOM. Pshaw what have we to do with the Stranger?
—Who told him to live there ?—He must turn out.
MRS. H. That would be unjust : for you said that you
B
14 THE STRANGER. [ACT I.
let the dwelling to him, and by your own account he pays
well for it. *
SoLOM. He does, he does | But nobody knows who he
is. The devil himself can't make him out. To be sure, I
lately received a letter from Spain, which informed me
that a spy had taken up his abode in this country, and from
the description—
MRS. H. A spy Ridiculous! Everything I have
heard bespeaks him to be a man who may be allowed
to dwell anywhere. His life is solitude and silence.
SoLoM. So it is.
MRS. H. You told me, too, he does much good, and in
private. -
SoLOM. That he does.
MRS. H. He hurts nothing; not the worm in his way.
SoLOM. That he does not.
Mrs. H. He troubles no one.
SoLoM. True—true !
Mrs. H. Well, what do you want more ?
SoLOM. I want to know who he is. If the man would
only converse a little, one might have an opportunity of
pumping; but if one meets him in the lime-walk, or by
the river, it is nothing but “Good morrow,”—and off he
marches. Once or twice I have contrived to edge in a
word—“Fine day?”—“Yes.” “Taking a little exercise,
I perceive?”—“Yes,”—and off again like a shot. The
devil take such close fellows, say I. And, like master,
like man—not a syllable do I know of that mumps his
servant, except that his name is Francis.
MRs. H. You are putting yourself into a passion, and
quite forget who are expected.
SoLoM. So I do—mercy on us! There now, you see
what misfortunes arise from not knowing people !
MRs. H. (looking at her watch) Twelve o'clock already!
If his lordship has stolen an hour from his usual sleep,
the family must soon be here. I go to my duty; you
will attend to yours, Mr. Solomon.
Eacit, R.
SoLoM. Yes, I'll look after my duty, never fear. There
goes another of the same class 1 Nobody knows who she
is, again. However, thus much I do know of her, that
SC. II.] THE STRANGER. 15

her Right Honourable Ladyship the Countess all at once
popped her into the house, like a blot of ink upon a sheet .
of paper | But why, wherefore, or for what reason, not a
soul can tell. “She is to manage the family within
doors!” She to manage! Fire and faggots' Haven't
I managed everything, within and without, most reputably,
these twenty years? I must own I grow a little old, and
she does take a deal of pains; but all this she learnt of
me. When she first came here—mercy on us!—she
didn’t know that linen was made of flax! But what was to
be expected from one who has no foreign correspondence?
Bacit, L.
END OF ACT 1.
ACT II. -
ScENE I-A Drawing Room in the Castle; sofas, chairs,
tables, &c. -
Enter SoLOMON, L.
SoLOM. Well, for once I think I have the advantage of
Madam Haller. Such a dance have I provided to welcome
their Excellencies, and she quite out of the secret ! And
such a hornpipe by the little Brunette : I’ll have a
rehearsal first though, and then surprise their Honours
after dinner. (flourish of rural music without)
PETER. (without) Stop—not yet, not yet; but make
way there, make way, my good friends, tenants, and
villagers. John George Frederick!—good friends,
make way.
SoLoM. It is not the Count—It's only Baron Steinfort.
Stand back, I say, and stop the music.
Enter BARON STEINFORT, L., wshered in by PETER and
FootMEN–PETER mimics and apes his father.
SoLOM. I have the honour to introduce to your lordship
myself, Mr. Solomon; who blesses the hour in which
fortune allows him to become acquainted with the
Honourable Baron Steinfort, brother-in-law of his Right
16 THE STRANGER, - [ACT II.
º
Honourable Excellency, Count Wintersen, my noble
master.
PETER. My noble masterſ
BARON. Old and young, I see they'll allow me no peace.
(aside) Enough, enough, good Mr. Solomon; I am a
soldier. I pay but few compliments, and require as few
from others. f
SoLOM. (c.) I beg, my lord—(offering a chair)—we do
live in the country, to be sure, but we are acquainted with
the reverence due to exalted personages.
PETER. (L.) Yes—we are acquainted with salted per-
Sonages.
BARON. What is to become of me?—Well, well; I hope
we shall be better, acquainted. You must know, Mr.
Solomon, I intend to assist, for a couple of months, at
least, in attacking the well-stocked cellars of Wintersen.
SoLOM. Why not whole years, my lord? Inexpressible
would be the satisfaction of your humble servant. And,
though I say it, well-stocked indeed are our cellars. I
have, in every respect here, managed matters in so frugal
and provident a way, that his Right Honourable Excellency
the Count will be astonished. (BARON, who sits R., yawns)
Extremely sorry it is not in my power to entertain your
lordship.
PETER. Extremely sorry.
SOLOM. Where can Mrs. Haller have hid herself?
BARON. Mrs. Haller l—who is she 2
SoLoM. Why, who is she, I can't exactly tell your
lordship. .
PETER. No, nor I. -
Solom. None of my correspondents give any account of
her. She is here in the capacity of a kind of superior
housekeeper. Methinks I hear her silver voice upon the
stairs. I will have the honour of sending her to your
lordship in an instant. &
BARON. Oh I don’t trouble yourself.
SoLOM. No trouble, whatever ! I remain, at all times,
your Honourable Lordship's most obedient, humble, and
devoted servant. . Eacit bowing, L.
PETER. Devoted servant. Eacit bowing, L.
BARON. Now for a fresh plague. Now am I to be tor-
SC. I.] THE STRANGER. 17
mented by some chattering old ugly hag, till I am stunned
with her moise and officious hospitality. O, patience, what
a virtue art thou!
Enter MRs. HALLER, L., with a becoming curtsey. BARON
cises, and returns a bow, in confusion, R.
(aside)—No, old she is not.—(casts another glance at her)
No, by Jove, nor ugly. i
MRS. H. I rejoice, my lord, in thus becoming acquainted
with the brother of my benefactress.
BARON. Madam, that title shall be doubly valuable to me,
since it gives me an introduction equally to be rejoiced at.
MRS. H. (without attending to the compliment) This
lovely weather, them, has enticed the Count from the city?
BARON. Not exactly that. You know him. Sunshine
or clouds are to him alike, as long as eternal Summer reigns
in his own heart and family.
MRS. H. The Count possesses a most cheerful and amiable
philosophy. Ever in the same happy humour; ever enjoy-
ing each minute of his life. But you must confess, my
lord, that he is a favourite child of fortune, and has much
to be grateful to her for. Not merely because she has given
him birth and riches, but for a native sweetness of temper,
never to be acquired; and a graceful suavity of manners,
whose school must be the mind. And need I enumerate
among fortune's favours, the hand and affections of your
accomplished sister? -
BARON. (more and more struck as her understanding
opens upon him) True, madam. My good easy brother,
too, seems fully sensible of his happiness, and is resolved
to retain it. He has quitted the service to live here. I
am yet afraid he may soon grow weary of Wintersen and
retirement.
MRs. H. I should trust not. They who bear a cheerful
and unreproaching conscience into solitude, Surely must
increase the measure of their own enjoyments: they quit
the poor, precarious, the dependent pleasures, which they
borrowed from the world, to draw a real bliss from that
exhaustless source of true delight, the fountain of a pure
unsullied heart.
18 THE STRANGER. [ACT II.
BARON. Has retirement long possessed so lovely an
advocate 2
MRS. H. I have lived here three years.
BARON. And never felt a secret wish for the society you
left, and must have adorned 2
MRS. H. Never. -
BARON. To feel thus belongs either to a very rough or
a very polished soul. The first sight convinced me in
which class I am to place you.
MRS. H. (with a sigh) There may, perhaps, be a third
C3,S62. -
BARON. Indeed, madam, I wish not to be thought for-
ward; but women always seemed to me less calculated
for retirement than men. We have a thousand employ-
ments, a thousand amusements, which you have not.
MRS. H. Dare I ask what they are 2 .
BARON. We ride—we hunt—we play—read—write.
MRS. H. The noble enployments of the chase, and the
still more noble employment of play, I grant you.
BARON. Nay, but dare I ask what are your employments
for a day ?
MRS. H. Oh, my lord! you cannot imagine how quickly
time passes, when a certain uniformity guides the minutes
of our life. How often do I ask, “Is Saturday come again
so soon P’’ On a bright cheerful morning my books and
breakfast are carried out upon the grass-plot. Then is the
sweet picture of reviving industry and eager innocence
always new to me. The birds' motes, so often heard, still
waken new ideas: the herds are led into the fields: the
peasant bends his eye upon his plough. Everything lives
and moves; and, in every creature's mind, it seems as it
were morning. Towards evening, I begin to roam abroad;
from the park into the meadows. And sometimes returning,
I pause to look at the village boys and girls as they play.
Then do I bless their innocence, and pray to heaven those
laughing, thoughtless hours could be their lot for ever.
BARON. This is excellent l But these are summer
amusements. The winter—the winter?
MRS. H. Why for ever picture winter like old age,
torpid, tedious, and uncheerful ? Winter has its own
delights: this is the time to instruct and mend the mind,
SC. I.] THE STRANGER. 19
by reading and reflection. At this season, too, I often
take my harp, and amuse myself by playing or singing the
little favourite airs that remind me of the past, or solicit
hope for the future. -
BARON. Happy indeed are they who can thus create
and vary their own pleasures and employments 1
Enter PETER, L.-speaking as he enters.
PETER. Well—well—pray now—I was ordered—I can
keep him back no longer. He will come in.
MRs. H. Who is if you mean?
PETER. Why, old Tobias.
Enter ToBIAs, forcing his way, L.
ToBI. I must, good heaven, I must!
MRs. H. (confused) I have no time, at present—I—I-
you see I am not alone. -
ToBI. Oh ! this good gentleman will forgive me.
BARON. What do you want. --
ToBI. To return thanks. Even charity is a burthen, if
one may not be grateful for it.
MRs. H. To-morrow, good Tobias, to-morrow.
BARON. Nay, no false delicacy, madam. Allow him
to vent the feelings of his heart; and permit me to witness
a scene which convinces me, even more powerfully than
your conversation, how nobly you employ your time.
Speak, old man.
ToBI. Oh, lady, that each word which drops from my
lips might call down a blessing on your head I lay
forsaken and dying in my hut : not even bread nor hope
remained. Oh then you came in the form of an angel—
brought medicines to me; and your sweet consoling voice
did more than those. I am recovered. To-day, for the
first time, I have returned thanks in presence of the sun :
and now I come to you, noble lady; let me drop my tears
upon your charitable hand. For your sake, heaven has
blessed my latter days. The Stranger, too, who lives
near me, has given me a purse of gold to buy my son's
release. I am on my way to the city: I shall purchase
my Robert's release. Then I shall have an honest daugh-
ter-in-law; and you, if ever after that you pass our happy
20 THE STRANGER. [ACT II.
cottage, oh! what must you feel, when you say to your-
self, “This is my work?” -
MRS. H. (in a tone of entreaty) Enough, Tobias, enough!
ToBI. I beg pardon I cannot utter what is breathing
in my breast. There is One who knows it. May His
blessing, and your own heart reward you ! -
Eacit, L., PETER following.
(MRs. HALLER casts her eyes upon the ground, and
contends against the confusion of an eacalted soul,
when surprised in a good action. BARON stands
opposite to her, and from time to time, casts a glance
at her in which his heart is swimming)
MRS. H. (endeavouring to bring about a conversation) I
suppose, my lord, we may expect the Count and Countess
every moment now 2 -
BARON. Not just yet, madam. He travels at his leisure.
I am selfish, perhaps, in not being anxious for his speed.
The delay has procured ºne a delight which I shall never
forget.
MRS. H. (smiling) You satirise mankind, my lord.
BARON. How so?
MRS. H. In supposing such scenes to be uncommon.
BARON. I confess I was little prepared for such an
acquaintance as yourself: I am extremely surprised.
When Solomon told me your name and situation, how
could I suppose, that
MRs. H. My name 2 Yes—I don't wish to make it of
greater consequence than it is.
BARON. Pardon my curiosity:—You have been, or are
married? t
MRs. H. (suddenly sinking from her cheerful raillery into
mournful gloom) I have been married, my lord.
BARON. (whose enquiries evince his curiosity, yet are re-
strained within the bounds of the nicest respect) Awidow,
then P
MRs. H. I beseech you.-There are strings in the
human heart, which touched, will sometimes utter dreadful
discord—I beseech you—
BARON. I understand you. I see you know how to con-
ceal everything, except your perfections. *
MRS. H. My perfections, alas! (rural music without)
SC. II.] THE STRANGER. . 21
But I hear the happy tenantry announce the Count's
arrival. Your pardon, my lord: I must attend them.
- ** Eacit, L.
BARON. Excellent creature What is she, and what
can be her history? I must seek my sister instantly.
How strong and how sudden is the interest I feel for
her | But it is a feeling I ought to check. And yet,
why so 2 Whatever are the emotions she has inspired, I
am sure they arise from the perfections of her mind: and
never shall they be met with unworthiness in mine !
Eacit, L.
ScENE II.-The Lawn.
SoLOMON and PETER are discovered arranging the
TENANTRY-Rural music. •
Enter Count and Countess WINTERSEN (the latter leading
her CHILD), the BARON, MRs. HALLER, CHARLOTTE, and
SERVANTs following, from C.
SoLOM. Welcome ! ten thousand welcomes, your Ex-
cellencies' Some little preparation made for welcome,
too. But that will be seen anon.
Count. Well, here we are l Heaven bless our advance
and retreat ' Mrs. Haller, I bring you an invalid, who,
in future, will swear to no flag but yours.
MRS. H. Mine flies for retreat and rural happiness!
Count. But not without retreating graces, and retiring
Cupids, too !
CountEss. (who has in the meantime kindly embraced
MRs. HALLER, and by her been welcomed to Wintersen)
My dear Count, you forget that I am present
Count. Why, in the name of chivalry, how can I do
less than your gallant brother, the Baron, who has been
so kind as nearly to kill my four greys, in order to be
here five minutes before me?
BARON. Had I known all the charms of this place, you
should have said so with justice.
CountEss. Don't you think William much grown?
MRS. H. (R.) The sweet boy (stoops to kiss him, and
deep melancholy overshadows her countenance)
Count. Well, Solomon, you've provided a good dinner?
22 THE STRANGER. [ACT II.
SoLOM. As good as haste would allow, please your
Right Honourable Excellency!
PETER. (L.) Yes, as good as
SoLoMon—PETER closely following) t
BARON. (taking CountESs aside, L.) Tell me, I conjure
you, sister, what jewel you have thus buried in the
country?
CountEss. Ha, ha, ha! What, brother, you caught at
last? - : -
BARON. Answer me.
CountEss. Well, her name is Mrs. Haller.
BARON. That I know ; but—
CountEss. But !—but I know no more myself.
BARON. Jesting apart, I wish to know.
CountEss. And, jesting apart, I wish you would not
plague me. I have at least a hundred thousand important
things to do. Heavens ! the vicar may come to pay his
respects to me before I have been at my toilet : of course
I must consult my looking-glass on the occasion. Come,
William, will you help to dress me, or stay with your
father?
WILLIAM. I had rather stay here.
Count. We'll take care of him.
CountEss. Come, Mrs. Haller.
Eacit with MRs. HALLER, CHARLOTTE following, R. 1 E.
BARON. (aside, and going) I am in a very singular
humour.
Count. Whither so fast, good brother?
BARON. To my apartment: I have letters to—I -
Count. Pshaw I stay. Let us take a turn in the park
together. * .
BARON. Excuse me—I am not perfectly well. I should
be but bad company. I—
(Count goes wip with
*
Eacit, R.—the TENANTRY retire, c.
Count. Well, Solomon, you're as great a fool as ever,
I see.
Solom. Ha, ha! At your Right Honourable Excellency's
Service.
Count. (points to PETER, L.) Who is that ape in the
corner?
SoLOM. Ape : Oh, that is—with respect to your
SC. III.] THE STRANGER. 23
Excellency be it spoken—the son of my body; by name,
Peter. (PETER bows)
Count. So, so I Well, how goes all on ?
SoLOM. Well and good—well and good. Your Ex-
cellency will see how I’ve improved the park—you'll not
know it again. A hermitage here; serpentine walks
there; an obelisk; a ruin; and all so sparingly—all done
with the most economical economy.
Count. Well, I’ll have a peep at your obelisk and
ruins while they prepare for dinner.
Solom. I have already ordered it, and will have the
honour of attending your Right Honourable Excellency.
Count. Come, lead the way. Peter, attend your young
master to the house—we must not tire him.
Eacit, conducted by SOLOMON, R.
PETER. This way, your little Excellency, and you shall
see the turpentine walks—and the obstacle and the bridge;
and the new boat, with all the fine ribands and streamers.
This way, your little Excellency.
- Running round with the CHILD, and eaceunt, L.
ScENE III.—The Ante-chamber
Enter MRs. HALLER, R.
MRs. H. What has thus alarmed and subdued me?
My tears flow—my heart bleeds. Already had I appa-
rently overcome my chagrin ; already had I at least
assumed that easy gaiety, once so natural to me, when
the sight of this child in an instant overpowered me.
When the Countess called him William—oh she knew
not that she plunged a poinard in my heart. I have a
William too, who must be as tall as this, if he be still
alive, ah! yes, if he be still alive. His little sister too.
Why, fancy, dost thou rack me thus? Why dost thou
image my poor children, fainting in sickness, and crying
to their mother?—to the mother that has abandoned them?
(weeps) What a wretched outcast am Il and that just to-
day I should be doomed to feel these horrid emotions !
just to-day, when disguise was so necessary.
Enter CHARLOTTE, R.
CHARL. (speaking loudly) Your servant, Mrs. Haller.
24 THE STRANGER. [ACT II.
I beg, madam, I may have a room fit for a respectable
€l'SOI), -
MRs. H. The chamber into which you have been shown
is, I think, a very meat one.
CHARL. A very neat one, is it? Up the back stairs,
and over the laundry ! I should never be able to close
my eyes.
MRS. H. (very mildly) I slept there a whole year.
CHARL. Did you? Then I advise you to remove into it
again, and the sooner the better. I’d have you know,
madam, there is a material difference between certain
persons and certain persons. Much depends upon the
manner in which one has been edicated. I think, madam,
it would only be proper if you resigned your room to me.
MRs. H. If the Countess desires it, certainly.
CHARL, The Countess? Very pretty, indeed! Would
you have me think of plaguing her ladyship with such
trifles? I shall order my trunk to be carried wherever
I please.
Mrs. H. Certainly; only not into my chamber.
CHARL. Provoking creature | But how could I expect
to find breeding among creatures, born of they know not
whom, and coming they know not whence 2 -
MRS. H. The remark is very just.
Enter PETER, in haste, crying, L.
PETER. Oh lud! Oh lud Oh lud! Oh lud!
MRS. H. What's the matter 2
PETER. The child has fallen into the river! His little
Excellency is drowned 1 g º
MRS. H. Who 2 what ?
PETER. His Honour—my young master,
MRS. H. Drowned 2
PETER. Yes.
MRS. H. Dead 2
PETER. No ; he's not, dead.
Mrs. H. Well, well, then—softly; you will alarm the
Countess.
Enter BARON, R.
BARON. What is the matter? Why all this noise ?
SC. III.] THE STRANGER. 25
PETER. Noise ? Why—
MRs. H. Be not alarmed, my lord. Whatever may
have happened, the dear child is now at least safe. You
said so, I think, Master Peter.
PETER. Why, to be sure, his little Excellency is not
hurt; but he's very wet, though: and the Count is taking
him by the garden door to the house,
BARON. Right; that the Countess may not be alarmed.
But tell us, young man, how could it happen?
PETER. From beginning to end?
Mrs. H. Never mind particulars. You attended the
dear child?
PETER. True; and he would see the boat and streamers.
I turned round only for a moment, and then—oh, how I
was scared, to see him borne down the river !
BARON. And you drew him out again directly?
PETER. No, I didn't : 'twas the deepest part; and I
never could swim in my life! But I called and bawled as
loud as I could: I believe you might have heard me down
to the village'
MRS. H. Ay—and so the people came immediately to
his assistance P
PETER. No, they didn't : but the Stranger came, that
lives yonder, close to old Toby, and never speaks a
syllable. Odsbodlikins ! what a devil of a fellow it is 1
With a single spring bounces he slap into the torrent;
sails and dives about and about like a duck; gets me hold
of the little angel's hair, and heaven bless him pulls
him safe to dry land. Ha, ha, ha!
BARON. I think I hear them.
MRs. H. Is the Stranger with them?
PETER. Oh, lud, no ! He ran away! His Excellency
wanted to thank him, and all that: but he was off: vanished
like a ghost ! (sees his FATHER and runs over to R.)
Enter SoLOMON, L.
SoLoM. Oh! thou careless varlet ! I disown you!
What an accident might have happened! and how you
have terrified his Excellency! But I beg pardon—(bows)
His Right Honourable Excellency, the Count, requests
your—
C
26 THE STRANGER. ACT II. "
BAron. We come. Eacit leading MRs. HALLER, L.
CHARL. Ha, ha, ha! Why, Mr. Solomon, you seem to
have a hopeful pupill
SoLoM. Ah, sirrah!
CHARL. But, Mr. Solomon, why where you not nimble
enough to have saved his young lordship?
SoLOM. I was not in time, miss. Besides, mercy on
us! I should have sunk like a lump of lead : and I
happened to have a letter of consequence in my pocket,
which would have been made totally illegible; a letter
from Constantinople, written by Chevalier—what's his
name 2 (draws a letter from his pocket, and, putting it up
again directly, drops it—PETER takes it up slyly, and un-
observed). It contains momentous matter, I assure you.
The world will be astonished when it comes to light; and
not a soul will suppose that old Solomon had a finger in
the pie.
CHARI. No, that I believe.
SoLoM. But I must go and see to the cellar. Miss, your
most obedient servant. Eacit, L.
CHARL, (with pride) Your servant, Mr. Solomon
PETER. Here's the letter from Constantinople. I wonder
what it can be about ! Now for it. (opens it)
CHARL. Ay, let us have it.
PETER. (reads) “If so be you say so, I'll never work
for you, never no more. Considering as how your Sunday
waistcoat has been turned three times, it doesn't look
amiss, and I’ve charged as little as any tailor of 'em all.
You say I must pay for the buckram ; but I say, I'll be
damn'd if I do | So no more from your loving nephew,
Timothy Twist.” From Constantinople! Why, cousin Tim
writ it.
CHARL. Cousin Tim who is he 2
PETER Good lack! Don't you know cousin Tim? Why,
he’s one of the best tailors in all
CHARL. A tailor! No, sir, I do not know him. My
father was state coachman, º his Highness's livery.
Eacit, L.
- º was state coachman,
º!” Well, and cousin Tim
PETER. (mimi
and wore his Hi

SC. III.] THE STRANGER. 27
could have made his Highness's livery, if you go to that.
Bless us ! What a tail our cat's got
PETER follows mimicking.
END OF ACT II.
ACT III.
SCENE I.—The skirts of the Park and Lodge, &c., as before.
The STRANGER is discovered on a seat reading.
Enter FRANCIS from lodge, R.
FRAN. Dinner is ready.
STRAN. I want no dinner.
FRAN. I’ve got something good.
STRAN. Eat it yourself.
FRAN. You are not hungry 2
STRAN. No.
FRAN. Nor I. The heat takes away all appetite
STRAN. Yes.
FRAN. I’ll put it by ; perhaps at night
STRAN. Perhaps.
FRAN. (after a pause) Dear sir, dare I speak?
STRAN. Speak.
FRAN. You have done a noble action.
STRAN. What? -
FRAN. You have saved a fellow-creature's life.
STRAN. Peace |
FRAN. Do you know who he was?
STRAN. No.
FRAN. The only son of Count Wintersen.
STRAN. Immaterial.
FRAN. A gentleman, by report, worthy and benevolent
as yourself.
STRAN. (angry) Silence Dare you flatter me?
FRAN. As I look to heaven for mercy, I speak from my
heart. When I observe how you are doing good around
you, how you are making overy individual's wants your
own, and are yet yourself unhappy, alas! my heart bleeds
for you.
28 THE STRANGER, ACT III.]
STRAN. I thank you, Francis. I can only thank you.
Yet, share this consolation with me —my sufferings are
unmerited.
FRAN. My poor master |
STRAN. Have you forgotten what the old man said this
morning? “There is another and a better world!” Oh,
'twas true. Then let us hope with fervency, and yet endur
with patience 1 What's here? s
Enter CHARLOTTE from the park gate, c. from L.
CHARL. I presume, sir, you are the strange gentleman
that drew my young master out of the water? (to STRANGER,
R.) Or—(to FRANCIS, L.) are you he 2 Are the creatures
both dumb 2 (looks at them by turns) Surely old Solomon
has fixed two statues here, by way of ornament; for of
any use there is no sign. (approaches FRANCIs) No, this is
alive, and breathes; yes, and moves its eyes. (bawls in his
ear) Good friend!
FRAN. I’m not deaf.
CHARL. Nor dumb, I perceive at last. Is yon lifeless
thing your master? r
FRAN. That honest, silent gentleman is my master.
CHARL. The same that saved the young Count's life?
FRAN. The same.
CHARL. (to STRANGER) Sir, my master and mistress, the
Count and Countess, present their respectful compliments,
and request the honour of your company at a family Supper
this evening.
STRAN. I shall not come.
CHARL. But you’ll scarce send such an uncivil answer
as this. The Count is overpowered with gratitude. You
have saved his son's life
STRAN. I did it willingly.
CHARL. And won't accept of “I thank you,” in return?
STRAN. No.
CHARL. You really are cruel, sir, I must tell you. There
are three of us ladies at the castle, and we are all dying
with curiosity to know who you are.
- Eacit STRANGER to lodge, R.
The master is crabbed enough, however; let me try what
I can make of the man. Pray, sir—(FRANCIS turns his
SC. I.] THE STRANGER. 29
back to her) The beginning promises little enough. Friend,
why won't you look at me? ~
FRAN. I like to look on green trees better than green
eyes.
CHARL. Green eyes, you monster l Who told you that
my eyes were green 2 Let me tell you that there have
been sonnets made on my eyes before now.
FRAN. Glad to hear it.
CHARL. To the point then at once. What is your master?
FRAN. A man. -
CHARL. I surmised as much. But what's his name 2
FRAN. The same as his father's.
CHARL. Not unlikely;-and his father was—
FRAN. Married. `
CHARL. To whom 2
FRAN. To a woman.
CHARL. (enraged) I'll tell you what: who your master is,
I see I shall not learn, and I don’t care; but I know what
you are. -
FRAN. Well, what am I?
CHARL. (slaps his face) A bear! Eacit, c. and L.
FRAN. Thank you! Now to see how habit and example
corrupt one's manners. I am naturally the civilest-spoken
fellow in the world to the pretty prattling rogues; yet,
following my master's humour, I've rudely driven this
wench away.
Enter STRANGER from lodge, R.
STRAN. Is that woman gone?
FRAN. Yes.
STRAN. Francis
FRAN. Sir.
STRAN. We must be gone, too.
FRAN. But whither?
STRAN. I don’t care.
FRAN. I'll attend you.
STRAN. To any place?
FRAN. To death.
STRAN. Heaven grant it !—to me, at least There is
peace | w
FRAN. Peace is everywhere. Let the storm rage without,
30 g THE STRANGER. [ACT III.
if the heartbe but at rest. Yet, I think we are very well
where we are: the situation is inviting; and nature lavish
of her beauties, and of her bounties too.
STRAN. But I am not a wild beast to be stared at, and
sent for as a show. Is it fit I should be 2
FRAN. Another of your interpretations! That a man,
the life of whose only son you have saved, should invites
you to his house, seems to me not very unnatural.
STRAN. I will not be invited to any house.
FRAN. For once, methinks, you might submit. You
will not be asked a second time.
STRAN. Proud wretches l—they believe the most essen-
tial service is requited, if one may but have the honour of
sitting at their table. Let us be gone.
FRAN. Yet hold, sir! This bustle will soon be over.
Used to the town, the Count and his party will soon be
tired of simple nature, and you will again be freed from
observation.
STRAN Not from yours.
FRAN. This is too much Do I deserve your doubts?
STRAN. Am I in the wrong?
FRAN. You are indeed
STRAN. Francis, my servant, you are my only friend.
(giving his hand)
FRAN. That title makes amends for all. (kisses it)
STRAN. But look, Francis' there are uniforms and gay
dresses in the walk again. No, I must be gone. Here
I'll stay no longer.
FRAN. Well, then, I'll tie up my bundle.
STRAN. The sooner the better. They come this way.
Now must I shut myself in my hovel, and lose this fine
breeze. Nay, if they be your high-bred class of all, they
may have impudence enough to walk into my chamber.
Francis, I shall lock the door. (goes into the lodge, R.,
locks the door, and fastens the shutters)
FRAN. And I’ll be your sentinel. Should these people
be as inquisitive as their maid, I must summon my whole
stock of impertinence. But their questions and my an-
swers need little study. They can learn nothing of the
Stranger from me; for the best of all possible reasons—I
know nothing myself (goes, R.)
SC. I.] | THE STRANGER. 31
Enter BARON and Countess, at Park Gate, c. from L.
b CountEss. There is a strange face—the servant, pro-
ably. - -
BARON. (c.) Friend, can we speak to your master?
FRAN. (R.) No. t
BARON. Only for a few minutes.
FRAN. He has locked himself in his room.
CountEss. (L. c.) Tell him a lady waits for him.
FRAN. Then he's sure not to come.
CountEss. Does he hate our sex? t
FRAN. He hates the whole human race, but woman
particularly. -
CountEss. And why?
FRAN. He may perhaps have been deceived.
CountESS. This is not very courteous.
FRAN. My master is not over courteous : but when he
sees a chance of saving a fellow-creature's life, he'll
attempt it at the peril of his own. .
BARON. You are right. Now hear the reason of our
visit. The wife and brother-in-law of the man whose
child your master has saved, wish to acknowledge their
obligations to him.
FRAN. That he dislikes. He only wishes to live un-
noticed.
CountESS. He appears to be unfortunate.
FRAN. Appears!
CountEss. An affair of honour, perhaps, or some un-
happy attachment may have
FRAN. They may.
CountEss. Be this as it may, I wish to know who he is.
FRAN. So do I. - &
CountEss. What! don't you know him yourself?
FRAN. Oh! I know him well enough—I mean his real
self—his heart—his soul—his worth—his honour ! Per-
haps you think ome knows a man, when one is acquainted
with his name and person?
CountEss. 'Tis well said, friend; you please me much.
And now I should like to know you. Who are you?
FRAN. Your humble servant. (bows) Eacit, R.
CountESS. Nay, now, this is afiectation—a desire to
32 THE STRANGER. [ACT III.
appear singular! Every one wishes to make himself
distinguished. One sails round the world; another creeps
into a hovel.
BARON. And the man apes his master 1
CountEss. Come, brother, let us seek the Count. He
and Mrs. Haller turned into the lawn.
BARON. Stay. First, a word or two, sister; I am in
love.
CountEss. For the hundredth time.
BARON. For the first time in my life.
CountEss. I wish you joy.
BARON. Till now you have evaded my inquiries. Who
is she P I beseech you, sister, be serious. There is a
time for all things.
CountEss. Bless us! Why, you look as if you were
oing to raise a spirit. Don't fix your eyes so earnestly.
Well, if I am to be serious, I obey. I do not know who
. Mrs. Haller is, as I have already told you; but what I do
know of her shall not be concealed from you. It may
now be three years ago, when one evening, about twi-
light, a lady was announced who wished to speak to me
in private. Mrs. Haller appeared, with all that grace
and modesty which have enchanted you. Her features at
that moment bore keener marks of the sorrow and
confusion which have since settled into gentle melancholy.
She threw herself at my feet, and besought me to save
a wretch who was on the brink of despair. She told me
she had heard much of my benevolence, and offered
herself as a servant to attend me. I endeavoured to dive
into the cause of her sufferings, but in vain. She con-
cealed her secret, yet opened to me more and more each
day a heart, chosen by Virtue as her temple, and an
understanding improved by the most refined attainments.
She no longer remained my servant, but became my
friend—and, by her own desire, has ever since resided
here. (curtseying) Brother, I have done.
BARON. Too little to satisfy my curiosity; yet enough
to make me realise my project. Sister, lend me your aid
—I would marry her.
Countess. You !
BARON. I.
SC. I.] THE STRANGER. 33
CountESS. Baron Steinfort |
BARON. For shame l if I understand you.
CountEss. Not so harsh, and not so hasty | Those
great sentiments of contempt of inequality in rank are
very fine in a romance; but we happen not to be inhabit-
ants of an ideal world. How could you introduce her to
the circle we live in P You surely would not attempt to
present her to
BARON. Object as you will; my answer is—I love.
Sister, you see a man before you who
CountEss. Who wants a wife.
BARON. No ; who has deliberately poised advantage
against disadvantage—domestic ease and comfort against
the false gaieties of fashion. I can withdraw into the
country. I need no honours to make my tenants happy,
and my heart will teach me to make their happiness my
own. With such a wife as this, children who resemble
her, and fortune enough to spread comfort around me,
what would the soul of man have more ?
CountEss. This is all vastly fine. I admire your plan;
only you seem to have forgotten one trifling circumstance.
BARON. And that is 2
CountEss. Whether Mrs. Haller will have you or not.
BARON. There, sister, I just want your assistance.
(seizing her hand) Good Henrietta 1
CountEss. Well, here's my hand: I’ll do all I can for
you. St! We had near been overheard. They are
coming-be patient and obedient.
Enter Count, and MRS. HALLER leaning on his arm,
Count. Upon my word, Mrs. Haller, you are a nimble
walker—I should be sorry to run a race with you.
MRs. H. Custom, my lord: you need only take the
same walk every day for a month. t
Count. Yes, if I wanted to resemble my greyhounds !
But what said the Stranger?
CountEss. He gave Charlotte a flat refusal; and you
see his door, and even his shutters, are closed against us.
Count. What an unaccountable being ! But it won't
do—I must show my gratitude one way or other. Stein-
34 THE STRANGER. [ACT III.
fort, we will take the ladies home, and then you shall try
once again to see him : you can talk to these oddities
better than I cam. -
BARON. If you wish it, with all my heart.
Count. Thank you—thank you. Come, ladies—come,
Mrs. Haller. Eaceunt, C. and L.
SCENE II.-A close Walk in the Garden.
Enter CountEss and MRs. HALLER, R.
CountEss. Well, Mrs. Haller, how do you like the
man that just now left us?
MRS. H. Who?
CountEss. My brother.
MRS. H. He deserves to be your brother.
CountESS. (curtseying) Your most obedient! that shall
be written in my pocket-book. -
MRS. H. Without flattery, then, madam, he appears to
me most amiable. ... • *
Countess: Good And a handsome man?
MRs. H. (with indifference) Oh, yes! -
CountEss. “Oh, yes!” It sounded almost like “Oh, no!”
But I must tell you, that he looks upon you to be a
handsome woman. (MRS. HALLER smiles) You make no
reply to this? /
MRs. H. What shall I reply? Derision never fell
from your lips; and I am little calculated to support it.
CountESs. As little as you are calculated to be the
cause it. No, I was in earnest. Now?
MRs. H. You confuse me! But why should I play
the prude? I will own there was a time when I thought
myself handsome, ’tis past. Alas ! the enchanting
beauties of a female countenance arise from peace of
mind — the look which captivates an honourable man
must be reflected from a noble soul.
Countess. Then heaven grant my bosom may ever hold
as pure a heart, as now those eyes bear witness, lives in
yours! w
MRs. H. (with sudden wildness) Oh! heaven forbid!
CountEss. (astonished) How P -
Mrs. H. (checking her tears) Spare me! I am a wretch!
SC. III.] THE STRANGER. 35
The sufferings of three years can give me no claim to your
friendship:-no, not even to your compassion. Oh! spare
me! (going) -
CountEss. Stay, Mrs. Haller. For the first time, Ibeg .
your confidence :-my brother loves you.
MRS. H. (starting and gazing full in the face of the
CountEss) For mirth, too much—for earnest, too mourn-
ful -
Count Ess. I revere that modest blush. Discover to
me who you are. You risk nothing. Pour all your griefs
into a sister's bosom. Am I not kind? and can I not be
silent 2 *
MRS. H. Alas! but a frank reliance upon a generous
mind is the greatest sacrifice to be offered by true repent-
ance. This sacrifice I will offer. (hesitating) Did you
never hear—pardon me, did you never hear—Oh ! how
shocking is it to unmask a deception, which alone has
recommended me to your regard | But it must be so.
Madam —fie, Adelaide 1 does pride become you? Did
you never hear of the Countess Waldbourg 2
CountEss. I think I did hear, at the neighbouring court,
of such a creature. She plunged an honourable husband
into misery. She ran away with a villain.
MRs. H. She did indeed. (falls at the feet of the
CountEss) Do not cast me away from you.'
CountEss. For heaven's sake you are
MRS. H. I am that wretch
CountEss. (turning from her with horror) Ha!—be gone!
(going, her heart draws her back) Yet, she is unfortunate;
she is unfriended ! Her image is repentance—her life the
proof:—she has wept her fault in three years' agony. Be
still awhile, remorseless prejudice, and let the genuine feel-
ings of my soul avow: they do not truly honour Virtue,
who can insult the erring heart that would return to her
sanctuary. (looking with sorrow on her) Rise, I beseech you
rise ! My husband and my brother may surprise us. I
promise to be silent. (raising her)
MRS. H. Yes, you will be silent—but, oh, conscience
conscience I thou never wilt be silent. (clasping her hand)
Do not cast me from you.
CountEss. Never! Your lonely life, your silent anguish,
36 THE STRANGER, [ACT III.
and contrition, may at length atone your crime; and never
shall you wantan asylum, where your penitence may lament
your loss.
MRS. H. Yes, I have lost him . But—I had children,
too.
CountEss. Enough, enough ! -
MRs. H. Oh, madam! I would only know whether they
are alive or dead! That, for a mother, is not much. <!
CountEss. Compose yourself.
MRS. H. Oh I had you known my husband when I
first beheld him I was then scarcely sixteen years of
age.
CountEss. And your marriage?
Mrs. H. A few months after.
CountEss. And your flight?
MRs. H. I lived three years with him.
CountESS. Oh, my friend your crime was youth and
inexperience : your heart never was, never could be con-
corned in it. :
MRs. H. Oh! spare me ! My conscience never martyrs
me so horribly, as when I catch my base thoughts in search
of an excuse. No, nothing can palliate my guilt; and
the only just consolation left me, is to acquit the man I
wronged, and own I erred without a cause of fair complaint.
CountEss. And this is the mark of true repentance.
Alas! my friend, when superior sense, recommended too by
Superior charms of person, assails a young, though wed-
ded
MRs. H. Ah not even that mean excuse is left me. In
all that merits admiration, respect, and love, he was far,
far beneath. my husband. But to attempt to account for
my infatuation—I cannot bear it ! 'Tis true, I thought
my husband's manner grew colder to me; I knew that his
expenses, and his confidence in deceitful friends, had em-
barrassed his means, and clouded his spirits; yet, I thought
he denied me pleasures and amusements, still within our
reach. My vanity was mortified—my confidence not
courted The serpent tongue of my seducer promised
everything ! But never could such arguments avail, till
assisted by forged letters, and the treachery of a servant
, whom I most confided in; he fixed my belief that my lord
SC. I.] THE STRANGER, 37
was false, and that all the coldness I complained of, was
disgust to me, and love for another; all his home retrench-
ments, but the means of satisfying a rival's luxury. Mad-
dened with this conviction, (conviction it was, for artifice
was most ingenious in its proof) I left my children—
father—husband—to follow—a villain
CountESS. But, with such a heart, my friend could not
remain long in her delusion ?
MRS. H. Long enough to make sufficient penitence
impossible. 'Tis true that in a few weeks the delirium.
was at an end. Oh! what were my sensations when the
mist dispersed before my eyes | I called for my husband,
but in vain I listened for the prattle of my children,
but in vain
CountESs. Check the recollection. I guess the end—
you left your seducer?
MRs. H. I did—and fled to you. To you, who have
given me a spot where I might weep, and who will give
me a spot where I may die.
CountEss. (embracing her) Here, here, on this bosom
only, shall your future tears be shed; and may I, dear
sufferer, make you again familiar with hope.
MRs. H. Oh impossible I
CountEss. Have you never heard of your children?
MRS. H. Never ! z
CountEss. We must endeavour to gain some account
of them. We must—— Hold ! my husband and my
brother. Oh, my poor brother I had quite forgotten
him. Quick dear Mrs. Haller, wipe your eyes. Let us
meet them.
MRS. H. Madam, I'll follow. Allow me a moment to
compose myself. Eacit CountEss, L.
I pause ! Oh! yes—to compose myself! (ironically) She
little thinks it is but to gain one solitary moment to vent
my soul's remorse. Once the purpose of my unsettled
mind was self-destruction | Heaven knows how I have
sued for hope and resignation. I did trust my prayers
were heard. Oh! spare me further trial I feel—I feel
—my heart and brain can bear no more.
Eacit, R.
RND OF ACT III.
D
38 THE STRANGER. [ACT IV.
ACT IV.
ScENE I.—The skirts of the Park, Lodge, &c., as before—
A table spread with fruits, &c.
FRANCIS discovered, R., placing the supper.
FRAN. I know he loves to have his early supper in the
fresh air ; and, while he sups, not that I believe anything
can amuse him, yet I will try my little Savoyards' pretty
voices. I have heard him speak as if he had kved
music. (music without) Oh, here they are
Enter ANNETTE and SAVOYARD, C. from L., singing—
STRANGER looks from the window, and at the conclusion
comes, R.
STRAN. What mummery is this?
FRAN. I hoped it might amuse you, sir.
STRAN. Amuse me—fool!
FRAN. Well, then, I wish to amuse myself a little. I
don’t think my recreations are so very numerous.
STRAN. That's true, my poor fellow, indeed they are
not. Let them go on, (sits, R.) I'll listen.
FRAN. But to please you, poor master, I fear it must be
a sadder strain. Annette, have you none but these cheer-
ful songs?
ANN. O, plenty. If you are dolefully given, we can be
as sad as night. I’ll sing you an air Mrs. Haller taught
me, the first year she came to the castle.
[Music may be had of the publisher.]
I have a silent sorrow here,
A grief I’ll ne'er impart;
It breathes no sigh, it sheds no tear,
But it consumes my heart!
This cherish’d woe, this lov'd despair,
My lot for ever be;
So, my soul's lord, the pangs I bear,
Be never known by thee!
And when pale characters of death
Shall mark this altered cheek;
When my poor wasted trembling breath
My life's last hope would speak;
SC. I.] THE STRANGER. 39
I shall not raise my eyes to heaven,
Nor mercy ask for me;
My soul despairs to be forgiven,
Unpardon'd, love, by thee, {
STRAN. (surprised and moved) Oh I I have heard that
air before, but ’twas with other words. Francis, share our
Supper with your friends—I need none.
Enters the lodge, R. 3 E.
FRAN. So I feared. Well, my pretty favourite, here
are refreshments. (looks off") So, disturbed again l Now
will this gentleman call for more music, and
*
#. my
master mad. Return when you observe this maiºs gone.
Eaceunt SAvoyARDs, C. and R.
(FRANCIS sits and eats) I was in hopes that I might at least
eat my supper peaceably in the open air; but they follow
at our heels like bloodhounds.
Enter BARON, c. from L.
BARON. My good friend, I must speak to your master.
FRAN. Can't serve you.
BARON. Why not ?
FRAN. It's forbidden.
BARON. (offers money) There ! announce me.
FRAN. I want no money. x
BARON Well, only announce me, then.
FRAN. I will announce you, sir; but it won't avail: I
shall be abused, and you rejected. However, we can
but try.
BARON. I only ask half a minute.
FRANCIS goes into the lodge.
But when he comes, how am I to treat him? I have never
encountered a misanthrope before. I have heard of in-
structions as to conduct in society; but how I am to
behave towards a being who loathes the whole world, and
his own existence, I have never learned.
Enter STRANGER, door R. 3 E.
STRAN. Now; what's your will?
BARON. I beg pardon, sir, for—(suddenly recognising
him) Charles
40 THE STRANGER. [ACT IV.
STRAN. Steinfort 1 (they embrace)
BARON. Is it really you, my dear friend?
STRAN. It is. t
BARON. Merciful heavens ! How you are altered!
STRAN. The hand of misery lies heavy on me. But how
came you here 2 What want you?
BARON. Strange | Here was I ruminating how to
address this mysterious recluse: he appears, and proves
to be, my old and dearest friend.
STRAN. Then you were not sent in search of me, nor
knew that I lived here?
BARon. As little as I know who lives on the summit of
Caucásts. You, this morning, saved the life of my
brother-in-law's son; a grateful family wishes to behold
you in its circle. You refused my sister's messenger;
therefore, to give more weight to the invitation, I was
deputed to be the bearer of it. And thus has fortune
restored to me a friend, whom my heart has so long
missed, and whom my heart just now so much requires.
STRAN. Yes, I am your friend;—your sincere friend.
You are a true man;–an uncommon man. Towards you
my heart is still the same. But if this assurance be of
any value to you—go—leave me—and return no more.
BARON. Stay ! all that I see and hear of you is inex-
plicable. 'Tis you—but these, alas! are not the features
which once enchanted every female bosom, beamed gaiety,
through all society, and won you friends before your lips
were opened Why do you avert your face? Is the
sight of a friend become hateful? or, do you fear I should
read in your eye what passes in your soul? Where is
that open look of fire, which at once penetrated into every
heart, and revealed your own?
STRAN. (with asperity) My look penetrate into every
heart | Ha, ha, ha! - -
BARON. Oh, heavens ! Rather may I never hear you
laugh, than in such a tone ! Charles! what has happened
to you?
STRAN. Things that happen every day—occurrences
heard of in every street. Steinfort, if I am not to hate
you, ask me not another question. If I am to love you,
leave me !
SC. I.] THE STRANGER. 41.
BARON. Oh, Charles 1 awake the faded ideas of past
joys. Feel that a friend is near ! Recollect the days
that we passed in Hungary ! when we wandered arm-in-
arm upon the banks of the Danube, while nature opened
our hearts, and made us enamoured of benevolence and
friendship. . In those blessed moments, you gave me this
ring, as a pledge of your regard. Do you remember it?
STRAN. Yes. -
BARON. Am I, since that time, become less worthy of
your confidence .
STRAN. No. ~. - *.
BARON. Charles, it grieves me that I am thus compelled
to enforce my rights upon you. Do you know this sear?
STRAN. Comrade l—friend It received and resisted
the stroke aimed at my life—I have not forgotten it.
Alas! you knew not what a wretched present you then
made me. +.
BARON. Speak then, I beseech you!
STRAN. You cannot help me.
BARON. Then I can mourn with you.
STRAN. That I hate. Besides, I cannot weep.
BARON. Then give me words instead of tears—both re-
lieve the heart. -
STRAN. My heart is like a close-shut sepulchre. Let
what is within it moulder and decay ! Why open the
, wretched charnel-house, to spread a pestilence around?
BARON. How horrid are your looks I For shame !
A man like you, thus to crouch beneath the chance of
fortune 1 -
STRAN. Steinfort, I did think the opinion of all mankind
was alike indifferent to me; but I feel that it is not so.
My friend, you shall not quit me, without learning how I
have been robbed of every joy which life afforded. Listen:
much misery may be contained in few words. Attracted
by my native country, I quitted you and the service. What
pleasing pictures did I draw of a life employed in improving
society and diffusing happiness I fixed on Cassel to be
my abode. All went on admirably I found friends—at
length too, I found a wife; a lovely, innocent creature,
scarce sixteen years of age. Oh, how I loved her She
bore me a son and a daughter: both were endowed by
A2 THE STRANGER. [ACT IV.
nature with the beauty of their mother. Ask me how I
loved my wife and children | Yes, then I was really
happy. (wiping his eyes) Ahl a tear! I could not have
believed it. Welcome, my friends—’tis long since we have
known each other. Well, my story is nearly ended. One
of my friends, for whom I became engaged, treacherously
lost me more than half my fortune. This hurt me ! I was
obliged to retrench my expenses. Contentment needs but
little !—I forgave him. Another friend—a villain, to whom
I was attached heart and soul—whom I had assisted with
my means, and promoted by my interest—this fiend
seduced my wife and bore her from me. Tell me, sir, is
this enough to justify my hatred for mankind, and palliate
my seclusion from the world? Kings, laws, tyranny, or
guilt can but imprison me, or kill me; but, Oh, God! Oh,
God Oh! what are the chains of death, compared to the
tortures of a deceived, yet doating husband?
BARON. To lament the loss of a faithless wife is madness.
STRAN. Call it what you please—say what you please—
I love her still.
BARON. And where is she?
STRAN. I know not, nor do I wish to know.
BARON. And your children?
STRAN. I left them at a small town hard by.
BARON. But why did you not keep your children with
you? They would have amused you in many a dreary
hour.
STRAN. Amused l Oh, yes! while the likeness to their
mother, would every hour remind me of my past happiness.
No. For three years I have not seen them. I hate that
any human creature should be near me, young or old! Had
not ridiculous habits made a servant necessary, I should
long since have discharged him; though he is not the worst
among the bad.
BARON. Such too often is the consequences of great
alliances; therefore, Charles, I have resolved to take a
wife from a lower rank of life.
STRAN. You marry 2—ha, ha, ha!
BARON. You shall see her. She is in the house where
you are expected. Come with me.
STRAN. What! I mix again with the world?
SC. I.] THE STRANGER. 43
BARON. To do a generous action, without requiring
thanks, is noble and praiseworthy. But, so obstinately to
avoid those thanks, as to make the kindness a burthen, is
affectation.
STRAN. Leave me—leave me ! Every one tries to form
a circle, of which he may be the centre. As long as there
remains a bird in these woods to greet the rising sun with
its melody, I shall court no other society.
BARON. Do as you please to-morrow ; but give me your
company this evening.
STRAN. (resolutely) No. -
BARON. Not though it were in your power, by this single
visit, to secure the happiness of your friend for life 2
STRAN. (starting) Ha! then I must—but how 2
BARON. You shall sue in my behalf to Mrs. Haller. You
have the talent of persuasion.
STRAN. I, my dear Steinfort?
BARON. The happiness or misery of your friend depends
upon it. I'll contrive that you shall speak to her alone.
Will you?
STRAN. These are pretences. But I’ll come, however,
on one condition.
BARON. Name it.
STRAN. That you allow me to be gone to-morrow,
without endeavouring to detain me.
BARON. Go! Whither ? *
STRAN. No matter | Promise this, or I will not come.
BARON. Well, I do promise.
STRAN. I have directions to give my servant.
BARON. In half an hour, then, we shall expect you.
Remember, you have given your word.
STRAN. I have. Eacit BARON, C. and L.
(walks up and down, thoughtful and melancholy) Francis I
Francis'
Enter FRANCIS, door R. 3 E.
FRAN. Sir
STRAN. I shall leave this place to-morrow.
FRAN. With all my heart.
STRAN. Perhaps to go into another land.
FRAN. With all my heart again l
44. THE STRANGER. [ACT IV.
:
STRAN. Perhaps into another quarter of the globe.
FRAN. With all my heart still. Into which quarter?
STRAN. Wherever heaven directs Away away !
from Europe—from this cultivated moral lazaret! Do you
hear, Francis? To-morrow, early dº
FRAN. Very well.
STRAN. But first I have an errand for you. Hire that
carriage in the village; drive to the town hard by: you
may be back by Sunset. . I shall give you a letter to a
widow who lives there. With her you will find two
children. They are mine.
FRAN. (astonished) Your children, sir!
STRAN. Take them, and bring them hither.
FRAN. Your children, sir! &
STRAN. Yes, mine ! Is it so very inconceivable?
FRAN. That I should have been three years in your
service, and never have heard them mentioned, is somewhat
strange.
STRAN. Pshaw "
FRAN. You have been married, then ?
STRAN. Go, and prepare for our journey.
FRAN. That I can do in five minutes.
Eacit, door R. 3 E.
STRAN. I shall come and write the letter directly. Yes,
I'll take them with me. I'll accustom myself to the sight
of them. The innocents they shall not be poisoned by
the refinements of society. Rather let them hunt their
daily sustenance upon some desert island, with their bow
and arrow; or creep like torpid Hottentots into a corner,
and stare at each other. Better to do nothing, than to do
evil. Fool that I was, to be prevailed upon once more to
exhibit myself among these apes | What a ridiculous
figure shall I be, and in the capacity of a suitor, too!
Pshaw, he cannot be serious! 'Tis but a friendly artifice,
to draw me from my solitude. Why did I promise him?
Well, my sufferings have been many; and, to oblige a
friend, why should I not add another painful hour to the
wretched calendar of my life? I'll go I'll go
Eacit, R. 3 E.
sc. II. THE STRANGER. 45
Scene II.-The Ante-chamber.
Enter CHARLOTTE, R.
CHARL. No, indeed, my lady! If you choose to bury
yourself in the country, I shall take my leave. I am not
calculated for country life. And, to sum up all, when I
think of this Mrs. Haller
Enter SoLOMON, L.
SoLoM. (overhearing her last words) What of Mrs.
Haller, my sweet miss?
CHARL. Why, Mr. Solomon, who is Mrs. Haller? You.
know everything; you hear everything.
SOLOM. I have received no letters from any part of
Europe on the subject, miss. -
CHARL. But who is to blame? The Count and Countess.
She dines with them, and, at this very moment, is drinking
tea with them. Is this proper? -
SoLOM. By no means.
CHARL. Shouldn't a Count, in all his actions, show a
certain degree of pride and pomposity?
SOLOM. To be sure . To be sure he should !
CHARL. No, I won't submit to it. I’ll tell her ladyship,
when I dress her to-morrow, that either Mrs. Haller, or I
must quit the house.
SOLOM. (seeing the BARON)—St
Enter BARON, R.
BARON. Didn’t I hear Mrs. Haller's name here?
SoLOM. (confused) Why—yes—we-we–
BARON. Charlotte, tell my sister I wish to see her as
soon as the tea table is removed. (goes up)
CHARL, (aside to Solo MON) Either she or I go, that
I’m determined. Eacit, R.
BARON. (L.C.) May I ask what it was you were saying?
SoLoM. Why, please your Honourable Lordship, we
were talking here and there—this and that
BARON. I almost begin to suspect some secret.
SoLoM. Secret! Heaven forbid! Mercy on us! No!
I should have had letters on the subject, if there had been
a Secret.
46 THE STRANGER. [ACT IV.
BARON. Well then, since it was no secret, I presume I
may know your conversation.
SoLOM. You do us great honor, my lord. Why, then,
at first, we were making a few commonplace observations.
Miss Charlotte remarked that we all had our faults. I said
“Yes.” Soon after I remarked that the best persons in
the world were not without their weaknesses. She said
“Yes.” -
BARON. If you referred to Mrs. Haller's faults and
weaknesses, I am desirous to hear more. *
SoLOM. Sure enough, sir, Mrs. Haller is an excellent
woman; but she is not an angel, for all that. I am an
- old, faithful servant, to his Excellency, the Count, and
therefore it is my duty to speak, when anything is done
disadvantageous to his interest.
BARON. Well
SOLOM. For instance, now ; his Excellency may think
he has, at least, some score of dozens of the old six-and-
twenty hock. Mercy on us! there are not ten dozen bottles
left; and not a drop has gone down my throat, I’ll swear.
BARON. (smiling) Mrs. Haller has not drank it, I suppose?
SoLOM. Not she herself, for she never drinks wine. But
if anybody be ill in the village—any poor woman lying-in,
that might think herself well off with common Rhenish,_
away goes a bottle of the six-and-twenty Innumerable
are the times that I’ve reproved her; but she always
answers me snappishly, that she will be responsible for it.
BARON. So will I, Mr. Solomon.
SoLoM. Oh with all my heart, your Honourable Lord-
ship. It makes no difference to me. I had the care of
the cellar twenty years, and can safely take my oath, that
I never gave the poor a single drop in the whole course
of my trust. -
BARON. How extraordinary is this woman l
SoLoM. Extraordinary! One can make nothing of her.
To-day, the vicar's wife is not good enough for her;-to-
morrow, you may see her sitting with all the women of
the village. To be sure, she and I agree pretty well; for,
between me and your Honourable Lordship, she has cast
an eye upon my son Peter. -
BARON. Has she P
SC. II.] THE STRANGER. 47
Solom. Yes;–Peter's no fool, I assure you. The
schoolmaster is teaching him to write. Would your
Honourable Lordship please to see a specimen? I'll go for
his copy-book. He makes his pot-hooks capitally.
BARON. Another time—another time. Good-bye for
the present, Mr. Solomon. (crosses to R., SoLOMON bows
without attempting to go) Good day, Mr. Solomon
SoLoM. (not understanding the hint) Your Honourable
Lordship's most obedient servant.
BARON. This is too bad. Mr. Solomon, I wish to be alone.
SoLOM. As your lordship commands. If the time should
seem long in my absence, and your lordship wishes to hear
the newest news from the seat of war, you need only send
for old Solomon. I have letters from Leghorn, Cape
Horn, and every known part of the habitable globe.
Eacit, L.
BARON. Tedious old fool! Yet hold. Did he not speak
in praise of Mrs. Haller? Pardoned be his rage for news
and politics.
Enter Countess, R.
Well sister, have you spoken to her?
CountEss. I have: and if you do not steer for another
haven, you will be doomed to drive upon the ocean for
€Ver.
BARON. Is she married ?
CountEss. I don't know.
BARON. Is she of good family?
CountEss. I can't tell.
BARON. Does she dislike me?
CountESs. Excuse my making a reply.
BARON. I thank you for your sisterly affection, and the
explicitness of your communications. Luckily, I placed
little reliance on either, and have found a friend who will
save your ladyship all further trouble.
CountEss. A friend
BARON. Yes. The Stranger, who saved your son's life
this morning, proves to be my intimate friend.
CountEss. What's his name?
BARON. I don’t know.
CountEss. Is he of good family?
48 THE STRANGER. [ACT IV.
BARON. I can't tell.
CountEss. Will he come hither?
BARON. Excuse my making a reply.
CountEss. Well, the retort is fair, but insufferable.
BARON. You can't object to the da capo of your own
composition.
Enter Count and MRs. HALLER, R.
Count. Zounds! do you think I am Xenocrates; or like
the poor Sultan with marble legs? There you leave me
tête-a-tête with Mrs. Haller, as if my heart were a mere
flint. So you prevailed, brother? The Stranger will come
then, it seems. -
BARON. I expect him every minute. -
Count. I'm glad to hear it: one companion more, how-
ever. In the country we never can have too many.
BARON. This gentleman will not exactly be an addition
to your circle, for he leaves this place to-morrow.
Count. But he won't, I think. Now, Lady Wintersen,
summon all your charms. There is no art in conquering
us poor devils; but this strange man, who does not care
a doit for you altogether, is worth your efforts. Try your
skill. I shan’t be jealous.
CountEss. I allow the conquest to be worth the trouble.
But, what Mrs. Haller has not been able to effect in three
months, ought not to be attempted by me.
MRS. H. (jocosely) O yes, madam; he has given me no
opportunity of trying the force of my charms, for I have ,
never once happened to see him. -
Count. Then he's a blockhead, and you an idler.
SoLoM. (without) This way, sir! this way !
Enter Soloyſon, L,
SoLOM. The Stranger begs leave to have the honor
Count. Welcome ! welcome ! Show him the way.
Eacit Sol,OMON, ſ,
(turns to meet the STRANGER, whom he takes by the hand)
My dear sir—Lady Wintersen—Mrs. Haller. (introducing
him)
MRs. HALLER as soon as she sees the STRANGER, shrieks
ahd swoons in the arms of the BARON and Count Ess.
SC. I.] THE STRANGER. 49
The STRANGER casts a look at her, and struck with
astonishment and horror, rushes out of the room, L.
The BARON and CountESS supporting MRs. HALLER,
Count standing motionless in great surprise.
END OF ACT IV.
ACT W.
SCENE I.—The Ante-chamber.
Enter BARON, L.
BARON. Oh, deceitful hope Thou phantom of future
happiness! To thee have I stretched out my arms, and
thou hast vanished into airl Wretched Steinfort | The
mystery is solved—she is the wife of my friend! I cannot
myself be happy, but I may, perhaps, be able to re-unite
two noble hearts, whom cruel fate has severed. Ha! they
are here; I must propose it instantly.
Enter CountESS and MRs. HALLER, R.
CountEss. Into the garden, my dear friend; into the
airl
MRS. H. I am quite well. Do not alarm yourselves on
my account.
BARON. Madam, pardon my intrusion, but to lose a
moment may be fatal : he means to quit the country to-
morrow. We must devise means to reconcile you to—the
Stranger.
MRs. H. How, my lord? You seem acquainted with
my history! -
BARON. I am. Waldbourg has been my friend ever since
we were boys. We served together from the rank of cadet.
We have been separated seven years: chance brought us
this day together, and his heart was open to me.
MRs. H. Now do I feel what it is to be in the presence
of an honest man, when I dare not meet his eye. (hides
her face)
E
50 THE STRANGER. [ACT v.
BARON. If sincere repentance—if years without reproach
do not give us a title to man's forgiveness, what must we
expect hereafter 2 No, lovely penitent! your contrition is
complete. Error, for a moment, wrested from slumbering
virtue the dominion of your heart; but she awoke, and,
with a look, banished her enemy for ever. I know my
friend: he has the firmness of a man; but with it, the
gentlest feelings of your sex. I hastem to him. (going)
Mrs. H. Oh, stay ! What would you do? No, never!
My husband's honor is sacred to me. I love him un-
utterably, but never, never can I be his wife again; even
if he were generous enough to pardon me.
BARON. Madam | Can you, Countess, be serious?
MRs. H. Not that title, I beseech you ! I am not a
child, who wishes to avoid deserved punishment. What
were my penitence, if I hoped advantage from it, beyond
the consciousness of atonement for past offence 2 -
CountEss. But if your husband himself *
MRS. H. Oh he will not k—he cannot l And let him
rest assured, I never would replace my honor at the
expense of his.
BARON. He still loves you.
Mrs. H. Loves me ! Then he must not—No l—he
must purify his heart from a weakness which would de-
grade him.
BARON. Incomparable woman' I go to my friend—
perhaps for the last time. Have you not one word to
send him P
MRs. H. Yes; I have two requests to make. Often,
when, in excess of grief, I have despaired of every con-
solation, I have thought I should be easier if I might
behold my husband once again, acknowledge my injustice
to him, and take a gentle leave of him for ever. This,
therefore, is my first request—a conversation for a few
short minutes, if he does not quite abhor the sight of me.
My second request is—Oh!—not to see, but to hear some
account of my poor children.
BARON. If humanity and friendship can avail, he will
not for a moment delay your wishes. With the fire of
pure disinterested friendship will I enter on this work;
that when I look back upon my past life, I may derive
SC. II.] THE STRANGER, 51
from this good action consolation in disappointment, and
even resignation in despair. Eacit BARON, L.
CountEss. Heaven be with you!
MRS. H. And my prayers.
CountEss. Come, my friend, come into the air; till he
returns with hope and consolation. -
MRs. H. Oh, my heart how art thou afflicted : My
husband 1 My little ones! Past joys and future fears—Oh,
dearest madam there are moments in which we live
years—moments which steal the roses from the cheek of
health, and plough deep furrows in the brow of youth.
Count Ess. Banish these sad reflections. Come, let us
walk. The sun will set soon ; lest nature's beauties
dissipate anxiety. s
MRS. H. Alas! Yes, the setting sun is a proper scene
for me. -
CountEss. Never forget a morning will succeed.
* Eaceunt, L.
SCENE II.-The skirts of the Park, Lodge, &c., as before.
Enter BARON, C. from L.
BARON. On earth there is but one such pair. They shall
not be parted. Yet what I have undertaken is not so easy
as I at first hoped. What can I answer, when he asks me,
whether I would persuade him to renounce his character,
and become the derision of society?—for he is right—a
faithless wife is a dishonor: to forgive her, is to share her
shame. What, though Adelaide may be an exception; a
young deluded girl, who has so long, and so sincerely
repented: yet, what cares an unfeeling world for this?
The world!—he has quitted it. 'Tis evident he loves her
still, and upon this assurance builds my sanguine heart and
hope, of a happy termination to an homest enterprise. .
Enter FRANCIS, C. from R., with two children, WILLIAM and
AMELIA.
FRAN. Come along, my pretty ones—come!
WIL. Is it far to home 2
FRAN. No, we shall be there directly, now.
BARON. Hold ! Whose children are these ?
52 THE STRANGER, [ACT v.
FRAN. My master's.
WIL. Is that my father? .
BARON. It darts like lightning through my brain! A
word with you. I know you love your master. Strange
things have happened here. Your master has found his
wife again. *
FRAN. Indeed Glad to hear it.
BARON. Mrs. Haller
FRAN. Is she his wife? Still more glad to hear it.
BARON. But he is determined to go from her.
FRAN. Oh I
BARON. We must try to prevent it.
FRAN. Surely.
BARON. The unexpected appearance of the children may
perhaps assist us.
FRAN. How so?
BARON. Hide yourself with them in that hut. Before a
quarter of an hour is past you shall know more.
FRAN. But. - -
BARON. No more questions, I entreat you. Time is
precious.
FRAN. Well, well; questions are not much in my way.
Come, children.
WIL. Why, I thought you told me I should see my
father ?
FRAN. So you shall, my dear. Come, moppets.
Goes into the hut, L. 3 E., with CHILDREN.
BARON. Excellent 1 I promise myself much from this
little artifice. If the mild look of the mother fails, the
innocent smiles of these his own children will surely find
the way to his heart. (taps at the lodge door)
STRANGER comes out, R.
Charles, I wish you joy. "
STRAN. Of what ?
BARON. You have found her again.
STRAN. Show a bankrupt the treasure which he once
possessed, and then congratulate him on the amount l
BARON. Why not, if it be in your power to retrieve the
whole 2
SC. II.] THE STRANGER. 53
STRAN. I understand you; you are a negotiator from
my wife. It won't avail.
BARON. Learn to know your wife better. Yes, I am a
messenger from her, but without power to treat. She,
who loves you unutterably—who, without you, never can
be happy—renounces your forgiveness, because, as she
thinks, your honor is incompatible with such a weakness.
STRAN. Pshaw I am not to be caught.
BARON. Charles l consider well
STRAN. Steinfort, let me explain all this. I have lived
here four months. Adelaide knew it.
BARON. Knew it! She never saw you till to-day.
STRAN. That she may make fools believe. Hear
further : she knows too that I am not a common sort of
man—that my heart is not to be attacked in the usual
way; she, therefore, framed a nice, deep-concerted plan.
She played a charitable part; but in such a way, that it
always reached my ears—she played a pious, modest,
reserved part in order to excite my curiosity; and at last
to-day she plays the prude. She refuses my forgiveness
in order, by this generous device, to extort it from my
compassion.
BARON. Charles I have listened to you with astonish-
ment: this is weakness only to be pardoned in a man who
has so often been deceived by the world. Your wife has
expressly and steadfastly declared that she will not accept
your forgiveness, even if you yourself were weak enough
to offer it.
STRAN. What, them, has brought you hither ?
BARON. More than one reason. First, I am come in
my own name, as your friend and comrade, to conjure
you Solemnly not to spurn this creature from you—for,
by my soul, you will mot find her equal.
STRAN. Give yourself no further trouble.
BARON. Be candid, Charles—you love her still ?
STRAN. Alas! yes.
BARON. Her sincere repentance has long since obliterated
her crime.
STRAN. Sir! a wife, once induced to forfeit her honor'
must be capable of a second crime.
54 - THE STRANGER. [ACT v.
BARON. Not so, Charles. Ask your own heart what
portion of the blame may be your own.
STRAN. Mine?
BARON. Yours. Who told you to marry a thoughtless,
inexperienced girl 2 One scarce expects established
principles at five-and-twenty in a man, yet you require
them in a girl of sixteen l But of this no more. She
has erred—she has repented; and, during three years,
her conduct has been so far above reproach, that even the
piercing eye of Calumny has not discovered a speck upon
this radiant orb.
STRAN. Now, were I to believe all this—for I confess
I would willingly believe it—yet can she never again
be mine. (with eactreme asperity) Ohl what a feast
would it be for the painted dolls, when I appeared among
them, with my runaway wife upon my arm What
mocking, whispering, and pointing ! Never ! never !
never! (crosses, L.) .
BARON. Enough ! As a friend I have done my duty—
I now appear as Adelaide's ambassador. She requests
one moment's conversation; she wishes once again to see
you, and never more 1 You cannot deny her this only,
this last request. -
STRAN. Oh I understand this too. She thinks my
firmness will be melted by her tears; she is mistaken—
she may come.
BARON. She will come, to make you feel how much
you mistake her. I go for her.
STRAN. Another word. Give her this paper and these
jewels. They belong to her. (presenting them)
BARON. That you may do yourself. Eacit c. and L.
STRAN. The last anxious moment of my life draws near.
I shall see her once again ; see her on whom my soul
doats. Is this the language of an injured husband?
Alas! alas ! What is the principle which we call honor ?
Is it a feeling of the heart, or a mere quibble of the brain?
I must be resolute: it cannot now be otherwise. Let me
speak solemnly, yet mildly; and beware that nothing of
reproach escape my lips. Yes, her penitence is real. She
shall not be obliged to live in mean dependence; she shall
be mistress of herself, and have enough to—(looks round
SC. II.] THE STRANGER. 55
and shudders) Ha! they come. Awake, insulted pride
Protect me, injured honor
Enter MRs. HALLER, CountEss, and BARON, at the gate,
C. from L.
MRS. H. (advances slowly, and with tremor; CountEss
attempts to support her) Leave me now, I beseech you.
BARON and CountESS go off to hut, L. 3 E.
(approaches STRANGER, who with averted countenance, and
eactreme agitation, awaits her address) My lord
STRAN. (R. C., with gentle tremulous utterance, and face
still turned away) What would you with me, Adelaide?
MRs. H. (L. C., much agitated) No—for heaven's sake! I
was not prepared for this. Oh! that tone cuts to my heart,
—Adelaide l No, for heaven's sake Harsh tones alone
are suited to a culprit's ear.
STRAN. (endeavouring to give his voice firmness) Well,
madam -
MRs. H. Oh I if you will ease my heart, if you will
spare and pity me, use reproaches.
STRAN. Reproaches | Here they are, upon my sallow
cheek—here in my hollow eye—here in my faded form.
These reproaches I could not spare you. -
MRs. H. Were I a hardened sinner, this forbearance
would be charity; but I am a suffering penitent, and it
overpowers me. Alas! then I must be the herald of my
own shame :-for, where shall I find peace, till I have
eased my soul by my confession ?
STRAN. No confession, madam l I release you from
every humiliation. I perceive you feel that we must part
for ever.
Mrs. H. I know it. Nor come I here to supplicate
your pardon; nor has my heart contained a ray of hope
that you would grant it. All I dare ask, is, that you will
not curse my memory.
STRAN. (moved) No, Adelaide I do not curse you.
No! I shall never curse you. -
Mrs. H. (agitated) From the inward conviction that I
am unworthy of your name, I have, during three years,
abandoned it. But that is not enough; you must have
56 - THE STRANGER. [ACT v.
that redress which will enable you to choose another—
another wife, in whose untainted arms may heaven protect
your hours in bliss! This paper will be necessary for the
purpose: it contains a written acknowledgment of my
guilt. (offers it trembling) -
STRAN. (tearing it) Perish the record, for ever ! No,
Adelaide, you only have possessed my heart; and, without
shame, I confess it, you alone will reign there for ever !
Your own sensations of virtue, your resolute honor, forbid
you to profit by my weakness; and even if—now, by
heaven' this is beneath a man l but—never—never—will
another fill Adelaide's place here !
MRS. H. (trembling) Then nothing now remains but
that one sad, hard, just word—farewell !
STRAN. A moment stay. For some months we have,
without knowing it, lived near each other. I have learnt
much good of you. You have a heart open to the wants
of your fellow-creatures: I am happy that it is so. You
shall not be without the power of gratifying your be-
nevolence. I know you have a spirit that must shrink
from a state of obligation. This paper, to which the
whole remnant of my fortune is pledged, secures you inde-
pendence, Adelaide; and let the only recommendation of
the gift be, that it will administer to you the means of
indulging in charity—the divine propensity of your nature.
MRs. H. Never ! By the labour of my hands must I
earn my sustenance. A morsel of bread, moistened with
the tear of penitence, will suffice my wishes, and exceed
my merits. It would be an additional reproach to think
that I served myself, or even others, from the bounty of
him whom I had so basely injured.
STRAN. (much affected) Take it, madam, take it.
MRs. H. I have deserved this! but I throw myself upon
your generosity—have compassion on me !
STRAN. (aside) Willain of what a woman hast thou
robbed me !—(puts up the paper) Well, madam | I respect
your sentiments, and withdraw my request; but on this
one condition—that if you ever should be in want of any-
thing, I shall be the first and only person in the world to
whom you will make application :
MRS. H. I promise it, my lord
sc. II] THE STRANGER. 57
STRAN. And now I may at least desire you to take back
what is your own—your jewels. (gives her the casket)
MRS. H. (opens it in violent agitation, her tears falling
wpon it) How well do I recollect the sweet evening when
you gave me these ! That evening my father joined our
hands; and joyfully I pronounced the oath of eternal
fidelity. It is broken This locket you gave me on my
birth-day—’tis five years since. That was a happy day !
We had a country feast—how cheerful we all were ! This
bracelet I received after my William was born 1 No !
I cannot keep these, unless you wish that the sight of
them should be an incessant reproach to my almost broken
heart. (gives them back)
STRAN. (aside) I must go. My soul and pride will
hold no longer.—Farewell ! -
MRS. H. Oh ! but one minute more l An answer to
but one more question l—feel for a mother's heart | Are
my children still alive?
STRAN. They are alive!
MRS. H. And well ?
STRAN. They are well.
MRs. H. Heaven be praised William must be much
grown?
STRAN. I believe so.
MRs. H. What have you not seen them?—And little
Amelia, is she still your favourite 2 (the STRANGER, who is
in violent agitation throughout this scene, remains in silent
contention between honor and affection) Oh! if you knew
how my heart was hung upon them for these three long
dreadful years—how I have sat at evening twilight, first
fancying William, then Amelia on my lap—oh allow me
to behold them once again—let me once more kiss the
features of their father and his babes, and I will kneel to
you, and part with them for ever.
STRAN. Willingly, Adelaide—this very night ! I expect
the children every minute. They have been brought up
near this spot. I have already sent my servant for them.
He might before this time have returned. I pledge my
word to send them to the castle as soon as they arrive.
There, if you please, they may remain till day-break to-
morrow, then they must go with me. (a pause)
5S THE STRANGER.
The CountEss and BARON return with FRANCIS and
the CHILDREN. He gives the Boy to the CountEss
who places herself behind MRs. HALLER, he himself
walks with the GIRL behind the STRANGER.
MRs. H. In this world, then, we have no more to say.
(summoning all her resolution) Farewell! (seizing his hand)
Forget a wretch who never will forget you ! (kneels) Let
me press this hand once more to my lips—this hand, which
OTC6, W3S (0.1116.
STRAN. (raising her) No humiliation, Adelaide l (shakes
her hand) Farewell !
MRS. H. A last farewell.
STRAN. The last ! -
MRs. H. And when my penance shall have broken my
heart, when we again meet in a better world
STRAN. There, Adelaide, you may be mine again ;
Their hands lie in each other—their eyes mournfully
meet each other—they stammer another “Farewell!”
and part. But as they are going she encounters the
Boy, and he the GIRL.
CHILDREN. Dear father ' Dear mother |
They press the CHILDREN in their arms with speechless
affection ; then tear themselves away—gaze at each
other—spread their arms, and rush into an embrace.
The CHILDREN run and cling round their parents.
The curtain falls. .
FRANCIS.
BARON. AMELLA. STRAN. MRS. H. WILLIAM. CountESS.
R. L.
(ſurfait,
Eaglanation of the Stage Directions.
R. R. C. C. L. C. Le
Right. Right Centre. Centre. Left Centre. Left,
FACING THP 4 UDIENCE,
HOW STOUT
YOU"RE GETTING !
% jarce,
IN ON E A CT,
BY
JOHN MADDISON MORTON,
AUTHOR OF
The Mwleteer of Toledo, Away with Melancholy, From Village to Court, Whitebo.it
at Greenwich, To Paris and Back for Five Powmds, The Woman, I Adore, A
Capital Match, The Two Bonnycastles, Who Stole the Pocket-book £ Yowr
Ilife's in Danger, The Midnight Watch, Going to the Derby, Boz and
Cow, Done on Both Sides, Poor Pillicoddy, Young England, The
King and I, My Wife's Second Floor, Dowble-Bedded Room,
Wedding Breakfast, The Millimer's Holiday, The Irish
Tiger, Who's the Composer & Who do they take me for £
The Attic Story, Brother Ben, Who's my Hws-
band £ Slasher and Crasher, 0\d Homesty,
Waiting for an Omnibus, A Game
of Romps, dºc.
THOMAS HAILES LACY,
W E L L I N G T O N S T R E E T,
S T R A N D,
L O N D ON .
HOW STOUT YOU’RE GETTING.
First performed at the Royal Princess's Theatre, on Monday,
July 16, 1855.
CHARACTERS :
MR. PLUMMY sº * tº MR. DAVID FISHER,
I)OCTOR. T) ULCET – *-* tº MR. RAYMOND.
COUSIN GEORGE - y tºº º MR. G. EVERETT.
Professor of gymnastics, ſº
MR. SLIDE, } dancing, etc. MR. H. SAKER.
JOE, Shopboy to Plummy, MR. T. CoILINs.
MRS. PLUMMY sº tº ſº MISS MURRAY.
MARGERY Maid of all work, MISS CLIFFORD.
COSTUMES :
MR. PLUMMY.—Shepherd-plaid coat and trousers, drab boots, light blue
waistcoat, light wig and whiskers.
DULCET.-Suit of black.
CousſN GEORGE.-Brown short coat, light mixed trousers and vest,
brown hat.
SLIDE.-Brown dress coat, white vest, black pantaloons, grey silk socks,
pumps, black wig and moustache, white handkerchief.
Joe.—White jacket, black trousers.
MRs. PLUMMY.—Buff gingham morning dress, shawl of the same material,
bonnet. -
MARGERY,-High neck cottom dress, cap,
HOW STOUT YOURE GETTING.
SCENE.
Back parlour at Mr. Plummy's.-The shop (a Chemist and
Druggist's) seen through the door c. Chairs, tables, &c.
Doors R. and L.; packages of medicines, and medicine
bottles piled about. -
MR. and MRs. PLUMMY seated at breakfast.
Bell heard.
MRs. P. There is the shop bell, my dear.
PLUMMY. I hear it. I never sat down to any meal in
my life, breakfast, dinner, tea, or supper, that that bell
didn’t instantly begin to ring.
Enter JoE from c., with a pill bow in his hand.
JoE. Please, sir, here's Mrs. Jones, the laundress, says
you sent her the wrong pills yesterday.
PLUMMY. (flinging down his knife and fork.) There !
Did you ever hear a more ridiculous message than that 2
What can it possibly signify to the woman what sort of
pills she takes | They’re all the same price. Begone, sir,
and interrupt me again at your perill (JoB runs out.) Now
my dear, another egg, eh? Some more ham; Humph!
MRs. P. No more, thank you, Henry, I’ve done. (folds
wp her napkin.)
PLUMMY. Done breakfast! Why you've hardly begun ,
MRS. P. I can’t waste two hours over so insignificant
a meal as you do.
PLUMMY. What do you mean by wasting two hours?
I’m eating the whole time. The fact is, Mary Matilda, you
4 How STOUT YOU’RE GETTING.
never do eat! You think you do, but you don't ; you only
nibble—I’ll be bound you didn't notice that these eggs
were boiled as hard as Derbyshire petrifactions!
MRs. P. I confess I did not.
PLUMMY. I'll trouble you for the butter.
MRs. P. You took the last bit just now.
PLUMMY. I suppose there's more in the house?
MRs. P. No, the man forgot to call yesterday.
PLUMMY. No butter | I don’t mean to butter myself,
I mean flatter myself, but really do think that my little
comforts deserve a little more attention.
MRs. P. Here's a piece more ham, dear.
PLUMMY. Ham You know I don’t care much about
ham. (sticking his fork into a large slice of ham, and begin-
ning to eat it.)
MRs. P. (laying her hand on his arm just as he is rais-
ing a piece of ham to his mouth.) Now, listen to me, Henry
dear; if you indulge so much in the pleasures of the table,
and take so little exercise, you’ll very soon become so stout
that you'll be quite an object
PLUMMY. Stout! Me! Ha! haſ haſ Ilike that! (trying
again to eat./
MRs. P. (stops him.) And then, Henry dear, I shan’t
be able to endure the sight of you; for if there is one
thing I have a greater horror of than another, its a little
fat man /
PLUMMY. My dearest Mary Matilda, you're wrong ! I
happen to be getting thinner every day !
MRs. P. How can you say so Haven't Ibeen obliged
to let out every one of your waistcoats? But put on your
hat, and we'll go out and take a walk.
PLUMMY. A walk! You forget the well-known proverb:
“After breakfast walk a mile.” I mean “Sit a mile,”
I should say “Sit awhile.”
MRs. P. But I particularly want you to go shopping
with me.
PLUMMY. You really must excuse me! Going shopping
is a thing I detest! The girls look at me so 'Pon my
life they do; but there's cousin George, he'll go with you
—he don't mind the girls looking at him—he rather likes
it.
How STOUT YOU'RE GETTING. 5
MRs. P. Henry, remember what I said just now !
Without exercise you're sure to be ill! You never leave
the house except to dºne out.
PLUMMY. Mary Matilda, there are certain sacred duties
we owe to society, and dining out is one of 'em.
MRs. P. Nay, Henry, you must come with me. I have
seen such a love of a riding habit, and so cheap.
PIUMMY. Of course, of course! But considering that
you're not in the habit of riding, I don’t see how you can
possibly want a riding habit.
MRs. P. Why for our trip to Switzerland, of course;
you've promised to take me for the last three years.
PLUMMY. (aside.) There's the old story beginning
again —(aloud.) Now Mary Matilda, let me ask you, as a
sensible woman, how can I possibly leave my business *
Besides, what's the use of going all the way to Switzer-
land when you can see Mont Blanc without stirring out
of Piccadilly, and have a comfortable chair to sit on into
the bargain That's the sort of travelling I like.
MRs. P. (nettled.) In short, sir, you refuse to take me?
Very well, Mr. P!
PLUMMY. (taking a lump of sugar out of basin, and putting
it into his mouth.) Now how can you be so unjust? Knowing
your partiality for Switzerland, did’nt I take you last week
to the waxwork, and did’nt I show you William Tell,
with the identical bow and arrow with which he shot
his little boy's head off—I mean something or other off
his little boy's head : . .
MRs. P. Yes, yes! Come, Henry, when shall we start 2
(taking his arm, coacingly.) This day week?
PLUMMY. This day week! I've business Important
business to attend to.
MRs. P. What business?
PLUMMY. Why I've got to collect my pills! I mean
bills.
MRs. P. That's very soon done. You've only got to
ask for your money.
PLUMMY. I beg your pardon I’ve got to get the
money after I have asked for it. Besides, I must con-
sult our friend, Doctor Dulcet, about you.
MRs. P. About me! I'm perfectly well!
6 How STOUT YOU’RE GETTING.
PLUMMY. Exactly Then as the pure air of Penton-
ville agrees with you, why leave it? Common sense sug-
gests the question, Why leave it?
MRs. P. Pshaw
Cousin GEORGE. (without.) This way! This way !
Gently with the crockery !
PLUMMY. Crockery ! What's the meaning of “Crock-
ery?” (smash heard.) Oh, that's what it means !
Enter Cousin GEORGE at door c., followed by Two
MEN, carrying a large hamper, which they put down.
GEORGE. (to PLUMMY, and holding out his hand.) A
shilling !
PLUMMY. (bewildered, mechanically puts his hand into
his pocket, and gives GEORGE money, who gives it to
272,972.
MEN. (to GEORGE.) Thank your honour !
(The MEN go out at C. and R.
PLUMMY. (to GEORGE.) Thank your honour ! Con-
sidering the shilling came out of my pocket, I think he
might have thanked my honour ! But what does all this
mean :
GEORGE. Why, it means that as Mrs. Brittle, round the
corner, couldn’t pay your little account for medicines, I
took it out in crockery—such a bargain Thirty-nine
dozen soup-plates, seventeen tureens, and a salad-bowl—
think of that
PLUMMY. Well, 'pon my life, Mrs. Brittle is a cool sort
of a person. She paid my last account with forty-seven
dozen pie-plates, and a tea-pot. Never mind, I’ll be
even with her; I’ll go this moment and order the
handsomest dessert service she's got in her shop, and pay
her out in pills.
MRs. P. Dont Poor woman, she’s a large family.
(puts on her bonnet and shawl.) By-the-bye, Cousin George,
you havn't breakfasted:
GEORGE. Never mind! Are you going out, Cousin
MRs. P. Yes, when Mr. Plummy's ready; he's only
been two hours over his breakfast, that's all !
GEORGE. For shame, Plummy—by-the-bye, how stout
HOW STOUT YOU’RE GETTING. 7
you're getting ! (to MRs. PLUMMY.) I needn’t say how
delighted I should feel if you would accept my arm.
PLUMMY. Of course she will, and thank you into the
bargain. (aside.) And so shall I. I wouldn’t be with a
cousin in the house for all the world's cousins are such
easy, good-natured, useful creatures—poor devils
MRs. P. Perhaps you will condescend to oblige me by
walking as far as Mr. Buffer's? (to PLUMMY.)
PLUMMY. Bufferſ Buffer | What Buffer? (crossing c.
MRs. P. Why the great Railway Director.
PLUMMY. Yes, of course. I know the Buffer you mean.
And what am I to say to the great Buffer?
MRs. P. Why ask him for the situation you promised
to obtain for Cousin George.
GEORGE. I’m in no hurry, cousin—on the contrary.
PLUMMY. You hear, he's in no hurry—on the con-
trary.
MRs. P. But I am : the appointment has been promised
for the last three months.
PLUMMY. Well, I’ll go : I'll jump into an omnibus
directly.
MRs. P. You'd better walk—it’ll do you good. You've
no idea how stout you're getting !
GEORGE. You are, indeed; everybody says the same
thing : go where I will, I’ve only to mention your name,
and the universal remark is “how stout he's getting !”
MRs. P. Ha! ha / Well, good bye, you idle fellow !
GEORGE. Ta-ta, Plummy!
[Eveunt MRs. PLUMMY and GEORGE, c.
Enter MARGERY, L. H., and beginning to clear
away breakfast.
PLUMMY. Capital fellow, George; if I get him this
situation, I shall feel his loss acutely : he manages my
business, writes my letters, collects my debts, takes
my wife out; in short, I shouldn't know what to do
without him. Oh our new servant of all work: I’ll give
her a lesson in boiling eggs! Come here! (louder.) Come here!
MARG. Did you speak, sir?
8 HOW STOUT YOU’RE GETTING.
PLUMMY. Speak! Yes, I rather think I did! Where
did you come from ?
MARG. Eh I’m rather hard of hearing, sir.
PLUMMY. (shouting.) Where did you come from ?
MARG. Straight up from the kitchen, sir!
PLUMMY. She's a deafy Fourteen guineas a year,
with tea and sugar, to a deafy l If I give her warning,
she won’t hear it.
PLUMMY. (showitng.) I shall want—oh, what's the use
of speaking to her (tears a leaf out of his pocket-book, and
writing.) “A roast pigeon at two o'clock, with plenty of
bread sauce.” — There ! (giving MARGERY the paper.)
Well, there—don't you see 2 (shouting.)
MARG. No! Tain't a C–it's a Hay ! (reading the
paper.)
PLUMMY. A Hay ! (pointing in dignified manner to-
wards door L. H.) Quit my sight! (shouting.)
MARG. Oh yes, sir, I’ll be all right, 'cause I'll get the
housemaid to read it to me. (as she goes out C. spelling the
paper.) “A, r, o, r, o, a, S, t, roast, p, i, g, pig’—oh
a roast pig–very well, sir, very well. [Evit door L. H.
PLUMMY. Phew! how very sultry it is, to be sure. (sit-
ting down in an easy chair.) The first inventor of easy chairs
deserves to be immortalised : he ought to have a statue
erected to him, sitting in his own chair, like the Duke of
Bedford in his own square. (yawns.) Let me see, I’ve got to
call on the great Buffer. (yawning again, and ensconcing
himself in the chair.) Then, then I’ve got to—(very sleepy.)
to—thirty-nine dozen Soup plates—“p, i, g, pig.”
DocTor DULCET. (without.) At home ! Of course he is.
When does he ever stir out, I should like to know *
(Enters door c.) I shall find him fast asleep in his easy
chair, I’ll be bound. (seeing PLUMMY.) I thought so
PLUMMY. (asleep.) Seventeen tureens, “wa-ri-ety.”
(singing.
Doctor D. Plummy Plummy, I say !
PLUMMY. Eh P. What? Ah, Doctor, glad to see you.
(pretending to write hurriedly.) I was just making up my
accounts—7 and 18, 25–25 and 14, 36; no, 38–38 pence,
three and four pence—3 and carry 4; no, 4 and carry 3–
How STOUT YOU'RE GETTING. 9
pooh! I defy any man to make up his accounts with such
a pen as this
Doctor D. Now, what is it? You sent for me. Ain’t
you well? (feels his pulse.)
PLUMMY. Perfectly.
Doctor D. And Mrs. Plummy
PLUMMY. Never was better.
Doctor D. Then what do you want?
PLUMMY. A favour ! Listen : (looking about him.)
Mrs. Plummy is slightly insane! (rising.)
Doctor D. Insane !
PLUMMY. Don’t be alarmed: only upon one point, and
that one point is Switzerland!
DocTor D. I see. She wants to go there; well, it
would do her a deal of good.
PLUMMY. I know it would; but I want you to persuade
her it would do her a deal of harm.
DocToR. D. I shall do no such thing. Besides, it
would be a capital thing for you. You’ve no idea how
stout you're getting ! Take my advice, put a knapsack on
your back, walk through Switzerland, and you'll come
home a different man.
PLUMMY. My dear doctor, I never should come back
at all. Walk through Switzerland! I should just as soon
think of jumping off the end of Hungerford pier, and
swimming to Calcutta; besides, I've urgent and important
business to detain me in town.
DocToR. D. Laziness . Sheer idleness | Hark ye,
Plummy, what's your age *
PLUMMY. Twenty-six.
Doctor D. What's your height?
PLUMMY. Five feet seven.
Doctor D. And what's your weight 2
PLUMMY. Well, the last time I was weighed, it was
about ten stone.
DocTor D. And now it’s about thirteen.
PLUMMY. Thirteen! Pooh no such thing !
Doctor D. I hope not, for when a little man, like you,
reaches that weight, there's no stopping him.
PLUMMY. Go along !
Doctor D. I’m serious! ... You've probably noticed a
species of vegetable they call a pumpkin?
10 How STOUT YOU’RE GETTING.'
PLUMMY. Yes; I saw a colossal specimen of it yester-
day, in Covent Garden Market.
Doctor D. Ha! haſ Well, that's what you’ll come to
—you'll become a human pumpkin |
PLUMMY. (trying to laugh.) Ha! haſ what a funny
fellow you are
Doctor D. But that’s not the worst of it. Tell me,
do you value your domestic happiness
PLUMMY. Of course I do.
Doctor D. Then take more exercise. Is Mrs. Plummy
attached to you ?
PLUMMY. Devotedly
DocToR. D. Then take more exercise. Walk out with
your wife, instead of falling asleep at home, or she'll find
one who will—some cousin, perhaps. (goes L. H. and up.
PLUMMY. Cousin (aside.) He said cousin
DocTor D. Now I’ve done, so good bye.
PLUMMY. Stop! I want you to explain.
DocToI. D. I’ve said quite enough ; if you won't take
the hint, it’s your fault, and not mine. So, as I said
before, if you value your domestic happiness, take more
exercise—walk, run, ride, dance, I don’t care what, only
keep under thirteen stone, and, above all, remember the
pumpkin | [Ecit door c.
PLUMMY. Well, but—stop—oh, absurd! He's joking!
and yet I don’t like that allusion to the pumpkin at all.
How people can say I’m getting stout, I can’t imagine.
I don't mean to say I’m thin—I’m not a skeleton, no
but I still retain all my natural symmetry of form, and
elasticity of motion. (making a jump.) Wheugh ! Mary
Matilda certainly did say that she couldn’t endure a little
fat man; but am I fat? That's the question; by-the-bye,
I wonder what I do weigh 2 That stupid old Doctor with
his thirteen stone ! Absurd . Ah! I quite forgot I had a
weighing machine, and there it is. Here, Joe, bring in the
weighing machine! (JoE pushes in weighing machine at door
C. then goes out again.) I'll ascertain my avoirdupoise to
four pounds. I should reckon my avoirdupoise at a trifle
under eleven stone, certainly not more than eleven—now
then l (heaps up weights into one scale.) There, that's
eleven stone exactly!—now then (sits down in the other
scale, and pulls it down with a run.) Holloa' (getting up
HOW STOUT YOUR E GETTING. 11
and taking up another weight.) Fourteen pounds more ; of
course I shan’t turn the scale now ! (sits down and comes
down with a run as before.) Oh, pooh! pooh! these
weights must be wrong, or else the machine out of order;
no, then I am more than twelve stone; but how much
Not more than a pound or two (sits down again, and
begins putting weights one after another into the other scale;
puts on more weights, and at last it slowly sinks.) At last !
(examining weights and with a violent exclamation.)
Thirteen stone all but a pound ! Goodness gracious !
One pound more—one little pound more, and there'll be
no stopping me ! (removes weights.)
Enter MARGERY, R. H.
MARG. Please, sir, here's Mr. Slide, the dancing-master,
wants to see you. (goes out again, R. H.)
PLUMMY. Slide! dancing-master | Thirteen stone all
but a pound ! Then I am a little fat man, and Mary Ma-
tilda—by-the-bye, even now she's gadding about the
town with that officious, intrusive puppy of a cousin of
her's, and at my particular request, too—that's the de-
licious part of it—at my particular request—he he
(laughing hysterically.)
Enter SLIDE from door R. ; he carries a small violen
in a case; he is very stout; he also carries a large
blue bag.
SLIDE. Mr. Plummy, your most obedient.
(Putting himself in a position, and bowing lowly.
PLUMMY. (looks at him, goes to him, stands alongside
of him, and measures their respective heights and figures.)
SLIDE. (very much astonished at the proceeding.) What
a very peculiar proceeding !
PLUMMY. (aside.) We’re about the same age and
height; but he'd weigh two of me, if not three
SLIDE. I repeat, my name is Slide, Professor of
Gymnastics, Fencing, Dancing—
PLUMMY. (quickly.) Oh! then you can dance I am
delighted to hear it.
SLIDE. Oh yes—at least I could before I unfortunately
got so stout. (PLUMMY looks serious.) I rent a small cot-
12 How STOUT YOU'RE GETTING.
tage of yours at Islington, and I’ve looked in to pay my
rent.
PLUMMY. You walked, of course? (significantly.)
SLIDE. Walk! (sighing.) Look at me ! (crosses L. H.
PLUMMY. (aside.) I wonder how much he does weigh 3
Pray, take a seat, Mr. Slide—I really insist upon it.
(edging SLIDE towards weighing machine, and making him
sit down in the scale.) Delighted to possess you as a tenant,
I’m sure. (SLIDE gets up to make a bow; PLUMMY pushes
him back again.) A man of your European celebrity it's
an honour, sir, an honour ! (during this, unperceived by
SLIDE, he keeps piling up weights in the other scale.) I
repeat, a man of your importance—I may say weight—
(here the scale in which SLIDE is sitting suddenly goes up
with a jerk, almost throwing SLIDE out. PLUMMY aside.)
Fourteen stone and a half Beats me hollow ! I knew he
would—I wonder if he's married; if he is, and lives
happily with Mrs. Slide, it's very clear that I’ve nothing to
fear. (aloud.) I beg to apologize for not asking after Mrs.
Slide, the little Slides. I presume there is a Mrs. Slide
and—
SLIDE. (with a deep sigh.) That's a tender point, sir—
but, touching the re-papering the drawing-room.
PLUMMY. (aside.) He says Mrs. Slide is a tender point.
—(aloud.) She's quite well, I hope
SLIDE. (solemnly.) So do I, sir! She was perfectly
salubrious when she left me.
PLUMMY. Left you! (aside.) Oh, probably gone down
to Gravesend with the little Slides, for a day or two, to
catch shrimps' (aloud.)—Ah! you must be a very happy
couple: I should say you're just the sort of man for a wo-
man to be devotedly attached to.
SLIDE. Yes, Sarah was very fond of me before I got so
stout! (PLUMMY looks serious again.) Ah! it was all my
own fault, for if I had listened to what Doctor Dulcet said
—“Slide,” says he to me, six months ago, “What's your
age º’” “Twenty-eight,” says I. “What's your height?”
“Five feet six and a half.” “What's your weight?”
PLUMMY. “Fourteen stone and a half!” says you.
SLIDE. Oh dear, no! I was comparatively thin, then I
I was only within one pound of thirteen stone !
How STOUT YOU’RE GETTING. 13
PLUMMY. (aside.) Only one pound ! Just like me !
What a remarkably disagreeable coincidence —Well?
(In a state of great fidget and anariety.
SLIDE. Well. “Take more exercise,” says he ; “Keep
within thirteen stone,” says he, “ or there’ll be no stopping
you,” says he.
PLUMMY. Goodness gracious! Did he make any absurd
allusion to a species of vegetable called a pumpkin
SLIDE. And his words came true. Only look at me!
(with a deep sigh.)
PLUMMY. But Mrs. Slide! (anariously.) I say, Mrs.
Slide |
SLIDE. Left me ! Left me !
PLUMMY. (horrified.) Left you! But not for ever ?
The mother of the little Slides could never leave you for
ever !
SLIDE. No | She promised to return when I became a
thinner man But, alas ! the Rubicon was passed. I had
suffered myself to exceed thirteen stone, and then, as the
doctor very truly said, there was no stopping me / Only
look at me ! See what I have come to, and in six short
months What shall I be this time twelve months?
PLUMMY. (aside with desperation.) What, indeed!
Sixteen ounces more, and I shall become a wretched,
unwieldy pumpkin, like the unhappy Slide, and then,
Mary Matilda—there's not a moment to be lost What's
to be done Ah! (suddenly seizing SLIDE violently by
the arm.) You're a professor of Gymnastics, eh? I want
to go into active training, immediately—this very moment,
ou hear? You must reduce me—reduce me very con-
siderably What have you got here? (SLIDE taking out
two pairs of boaring-gloves from the blue bag.) Boxing-
gloves the very thing ! Put 'em on—put 'em on, di-
rectly. (he and SLIDE put on gloves.) Now then, don't
spare me! (Sparring, PLUMMY gets a crack on nose.) Never
mind l (rubs nose.) Come on again! (gets another crack on
nose—a ubs it.)
SLIDE. Any more, sir?
PLUMMY. (quietly taking off gloves.) No thank you.
I've had enough for the present! Phew! it's hard work! I
wonder how much I weigh now * (runs and jumps into
14 How STOUT YOU’RE GETTING.
scale c.; weighs himself.) Not an ounce difference Still
thirteen stone all but a pound ! Suppose I try dancing—I
will ! (to SLIDE.) You teach dancing How much a les-
son? How much a lesson? (dancing about in a high state of
excitement)
SLIDE. Twelve for a guinea
PLUMMY. Give me a guinea's worth directly.
SLIDE. What, all at once
PLUMMY. Where's your fiddle ! (taking fiddle out of
case.) Where's your bow * Where's your rosin? (plunging
his hand into Slide's pocket, and taking out a piece of rosin,
with which he begins to rosin the bow with great energy.)
There ! And now let's begin something quick, very quick,
sir! the college hornpipe—I don’t care what, only strike up
—Why the deuce don’t you strike up ! Shall I take off my
coat 2 (SLIDE strikes up the college hornpipe, PLUMMY
dances energetically, continually crying out “Quicker l’’
about to take his coat.) Ah! (seeing MARGERY, who enters
with small tray, and letting SLIDE go suddenly R. H.) Strike
up a polka why don't you strike up a polka!
PLUMMY. Now, Betsy Dorothy, come along ! Pooh !
don’t be shy 1 (SLIDE strikes up ; PLUMMY seizes MAR-
GERY round the waist, and twirls her rapidly round; the
cover of the dish, plate, pigeon, &c., fall one after the other
—PLUMMY shouting all the time “Quicker | Quicker!”
Enter MRS, PLUMMY at C. door.
(MARGERY sees her, screams, and runs out at door R. H.;
PLUMMY goes on dancing, and SLIDE continues to
play the fiddle, neither of them seeing MRs. PLUMMY.
MRs. P. Mr. Plummy! (PLUMMY kisses his hand to his
wife, and still goes on dancing ; SLIDE, in confusion, pockets
his fiddle, goes towards door C., bowing repeatedly to MRs.
PLUMMY, goes out C., and falls into basket at back.) Mr.
Plummy, I say, what does all this mean?
PLUMMY. (stopping dancing, and walking rapidly to and
fro.) It means I am following your advice, my dear;
taking exercise, my love.
MRs. P. A pretty sort of exercise, sir, dancing the
polka with your servant
How STOUT YOU’RE GETTING. 15
(Here PLUMMY takes up a pair of dumb-bells, and goes
energetically to work.
PLUMMY. Yes, my dear, I certainly was practising the
polka, for the pleasure of dancing it with you, my love.
(using the dumb-bells more.
MRs. P. You dance!—ha! haſ You're too stout by
half —Ha! haſ
PLUMMY. (aside.) She sticks to it! (using dumb-bells
more energetically; sees MARGERY, who enters R. H.,
carrying two empty pails.) Where are you going to :
MRs. P. To fetch in the water, I suppose.
PLUMMY. (aside.) I should say “fetching water” was
capital exercise — here goes |
(Snatching the pails out of Margery's hands, and run-
ning out door C.
MARG. Sir! sir! (runs after PLUMMY.)
MRs. P. Henry | Henry ! What can be the matter
with him -
GEORGE. (without.) Holloa mind what you're about!
Enters c. carrying a number of parcels, and a small
picture under his arm ; his trousers are deluged with
water.
Confound it, I'm wet through ' (shaking his legs.) I just
met Plummy with a huge pail in each hand, one of which
he upset over me. Look here ! Here are your parcels,
COllSIIl.
MRs. P. I am sorry to give you so much trouble.
GEORGE. Trouble! It's a pleasure—an unspeaka le
pleasure (drops parcels, &c., &c.) I repeat, it's the
greatest pleasure you could do me ! (dropping and picking
wp parcels—aside.) Confound the parcels | Ah! (with a
lack-a-daisical look at MRs. PLUMMY.) happy, yet
wretched Plummy!—Happy, to possess such a treasure ;
wretched, not to appreciate it.
MRs. P. (turning the conversation.) Where's the picture
we just had framed
GEORGE. Here, under my arm.
(Dropping more parcels, and presenting the picture to
MRs. PLUMMY ; then picking up parcels, and putting
them on table, eaccept two, which he lays on the arm chair.
16 How STOUT YOU’RE GETTING.
MRs. P. A pretty subject, isn’t it? Who'd think it
was only a coloured engraving :
GEORGE. Interesting to a degree. A cottage on the
margin of a murmuring stream, with two cows and a little
boy in the foreground bathing. Ah, there's a spot for two
loving hearts to dwell in
MRs. P. Instead of talking nonsense, Cousin George,
suppose you hang the picture up.
GEORGE. Of course I will. Where *
MRs. P. I think it will look very well over that door.
(points to door in c.) You'll find the hammer and nails in
that room, (points L. H.; GEORGE runs in and returns with
hammer and nails.) the steps are in the shop. (GEORGE
disappears at C., and returns with the steps, which he places
close to door c.) Now then (takes picture, and climbs up
steps ; holds picture against wall.) Will that do?
MARGERY runs in at C.
MARG. Oh, mistress, I do think master’s cracked he'd
no sooner fetched in the water—sixteen pails, ma'am—
than he met me going into the cellar for coals, and he
snatched the scuttle out of my hands, and rushed down,
six steps at a time—here he comes |
PLUMMY. (running in against steps, and upsetting contents
of coal-scuttle over the stage.) Wheugh !—never mind
(runs to door L. H., and returns with large broom, with
which he begins sweeping up the coals. MARGERY takes up
scuttle, and carries it out at door R. H.
MRs. P. Henry, you should not indulge in such sudden
and violent exercise; you’re not used to it !
GEORGE. (on steps.) Of course you ain't ; besides you
forget how stout you are
PLUMMY. (jumping up.) Stout again! I must go it
again! (seeing GEORGE on steps.) Holloa what are you
doing up there *
GEORGE. I’m going to hang up this picture.
PLUMMY. (aside.) More gymnastics for me ! the more
the better.—I’ll do it, so come down—come down, directly
(shaking ladder—GEORGE hastily comes down ; PLUMMY
seizes the picture out of his hands, and runs up the steps.)
Now then | Holloa where's the hammer 2 (looking
How STOUT YOU’RE GETTING. 17
down.) Oh, there it is! (runs down the steps, takes the
hammer, and then runs up steps again.) Now then, where
are the nails? Oh, there they are
(Runs down the steps, and is about to go up again—MRs.
PLUMMY stops him.
MRs. P. No, Henry, I won't allow it! Take away the
steps' (to GEORGE, who removes the steps.) As George
observed, just now, you forget how stout you are
PLUMMY. Stout ! No such thing ! I’m as light as a
feather—look here ! (places chair where the steps were, gets
on to it, the bottom gives way, and he comes through.) It
was cracked before I’ll take my oath it was cracked
before l (falls exhausted in arm chair, on the parcels.)
MRs. P. Oh! Henry ! (pulling him up.) You'll spoil
my caps!

Enter MARGERY, R.
MARG. Please, ma'am, Doctor Dulcet wants to speak to
Oll.
y MRs. P. With me? Very well, I'll come to him.
[Exit MARGERY, R.—MRs. PLUMMY is about to follow.
GEORGE. (aside to her.) Don't forget our visit to the
National Gallery.
(MRs. PLUMMY nods to him, and follows MARGERY, R.
PLUMMY. (observing them.) Ah, whispering ! (coming
down—to GEORGE.) You were observing to Mrs. Plummy
that—
GEORGE. I was reminding my cousin that we had ar-
ranged to go together to the National Gallery, that's all.
PLUMMY. (smiling savagely.) Oh, that's all !
GEORGE. (aside.) How he's grinning !—(aloud.) Yes,
more for the sake of the stroll than anything else. ,
PLUMMY. Of course! of course! (grinning again.)
GEORGE. (aside.) I don't like that grin of his at all !
PLUMMY. (aside.) You shall have strolling enough
before I’ve done with you, my fine young fellow.—(aloud.)
George, my boy, (slapping him familiarly on the back.)
there have been numerous inquiries in the shop all the
morning, after lucifer matches, and I find we havn't a
single box left: will you order a fresh supply
18 How STOUT YOU'RE GETTING.
GEORGE. Directly there's a shop, round the corner,
with thousands of 'em.
PRUMMY. Yes, but I prefer them direct from the
manufactory at Battersea.
GEORGE. I’ll go the first thing to-morrow morning.
PLUMMY. To-day, George, my boy—to-day; and, if
they havn't any at Battersea, you're sure to find plenty in
Shoreditch, it's only a little way round—so go!
GEORGE. (aside.) I'll get the infernal lucifer matches in
the neighbourhood, return in half-an-hour, and persuade
him I’ve got 'em at Battersea! (aloud.) Very well, I’m off
—by-the-bye, Mr. Figsby, the grocer, has just settled his
little account—six pounds, seventeen shillings and six
pence. He apologized for paying it all in silver, but—
(offers bag.
PLUMMY. Never mind Go for the lucifers
GEORGE. Take the bag. (giving him the bag.) It weighs
at least a pound—I’m not sorry to get rid of it. (runs out C.
PLUMMY. Come, I’ve got Cousin George out of the
way ! I shan’t have any more whispering for an hour or
two (suddenly.) 'Pon my life I don’t think I’m quite so
stout as I was—I am sure I’m not That tremendous effort
I made with the coal scuttle—yes, that did the trick' I
felt I was rapidly losing flesh the whole time I was lugging
it up from the cellar. I'll weigh myself again; if I have
only lost an ounce, I shall be satisfied, perfectly satisfied
(not knowing what to do with the bag, puts it in his pocket.
Let me see, I weighed thirteen stone all but a pound !
There, now then l (sits on scale—goes slowly down.)
IIolloa Pooh! it can’t be—yes it is I’ve reached the
fatal point—thirteen stone, and now there’ll be no stopping
me! (jumping up.) Nature, for some mysterious purpose or
other, has made me an exception to the general rule: the
more exercise I take the the stouter I get! Ah! (seeing Doc-
ToR, who enters at door R. H., rushes, grasps his hand, and
drags him forward.) Doctor, you told me to take more
exercise; the more I take, the stouter I get ! I’ve done
more in the last half hour than Hercules ever did in his
life, and the result is I’m a pound heavier than I was
before : I’ve reached the thirteen stone ! Stop me! Give
me something—I don't care what. I’ll swallow a whole
HOW STOUT YOU’RE GETTING. H9

sea of vinegar! Only stop me, if you love me; don't let
me go any fmrther |
DoCTOR. D. Suppose you diet yourself.
PLUMMY. I will: I’ll live entirely upon nothing for the
next six months. A
DoCTOR. I’ve known violent emotions, powerful ex-
citements, do wonders in such cases as yours.
PLUMMY. Have you? That's enough—I'll go and kill
Joe
DocTOR. D. Ha! ha . Egad l as you're evidently
becoming dangeous, the sooner I get out of your way the
better. (runs out c.)
PLUMMY. Here! Stop! What shall I do for a violent
emotion ? Where shall I find a powerful excitement 2
(shouting.) Will anybody tell me where I can find a
powerful excitement Ah! (seeing SLIDE, who enters c.
SLIDE. You are alone, Mr. Plummy Shall we resume
our lessons? (taking out his fiddle.) Shall we, Mr. Plummy
*- (Putting himself in a position.
PLUMMY. (aside.) Here's an opportunity for getting
up a powerful excitement; I’ll insult him, quietly but
grossly (aloud, and in a dignified manner.) Do you know,
sir, that you are a very familiar and impertinent sort of
person, Sir •
SLIDE. Impertinent Me! Oh, Mr. Plummy!
PLUMMY. (aside.) He don’t mind it a bit. (aloud.) Don’t
* Plummy” me, sir! you little, overgrown, corpulent
individual |
SLIDE. What's that, sir?
PLUMMY. (aside.) All right — he's getting up h’s
excitement
SLIDE. Do you mean to insult me, sir?
PLUMMY. Of course I do | In a word, sir, your visits
to this house are suspicious, sir—in short, sir, you're not
a dancing-master, you’re a Russian nobleman in disguise,
sir—yes, sir! and you come here to make love to my
wife, sir!
SL11BE. No, no
PLUMMY. Oh, then I tell a falsehood, eh?
SLIDE. No, no
PLUMMY. Then you do come here to make love to my
wife | You can’t get out of that, so follow me.
20 How STOUT YOU’RE GETTING.
SLIDE. (very quietly, and returning his violin to his
pocket.) Very well, Mr. Plummy; I suppose you thought
I was all lamb, Mr. Plummy, but you’ll find there's a
considerable dash of the lion about me, Mr. Plummy.
So as you prefer fighting, we will, if you please, adjourn to
my shooting gallery, Mr. Plummy.
PLUMMY. Yaside.) Holloa —Your shooting gallery!
SLIDE. Yes, Mr. Plummy, where I will back myself to
send a bullet through a shilling at forty yards, nineteen times
out of twenty, Mr. Plummy—so come along, Mr. Plummy!
PLUMMY. (alarmed.) Don't be in such a confounded
hurry! besides, business before pleasure. ... I see your
drift, sir; you owe me a quarter's rent, and if I kill you,
you'll make that a paltry excuse for not paying it! Con-
sequently, I don't fight till I am paid.
SLIDE. There's your money. (offers purse.)
PLUMMY. (aside.) The devil! (taking purse.)
SLIDE. I have to apologize for paying you in silver;
but you’ll find it right to a shilling, Mr. Plummy.
PLUMMY. I don’t know that, sir; however, I’ll count
it sometime between this and the end of the week.
SLIDE. Pooh I’ll give you ten minutes I'll walk up
and down before your house, and if you don’t come—
PLUMMY. You'll give me up, and go away.
SLIDE. No ! I'll come and fetch you. (goes out C.
PLUMMY. Come, if this isn’t a “powerful excitement,”
I don’t know what is; and as for a violent emotion—all
I can say is, I never was in such a fright in the whole
course of my life And now—now for the result! (not
ſknowing what to do with the purse, puts it in his coat pocket
—goes to scale.) I weighed thirteen stone : now how much
has my powerful excitement taken out of me? How much
have I lost by my violent emotion * (sits down, and slowly
sinks.) Lost ! I’m heavier than ever ! I’m like a snow-ball,
the more I roll, the bigger I get ! Two pounds in half an
hour ! why, at this rate I shall be bullet-proof in twenty-
four hours: a ball may go into me, but I’ll defy it to go
through me !
JoE runs in C, down L. H.
JoE. Please, sir, here's Mr. Slide, in a fuming rage,
wants to know how much longer he's to wait for you.
How STOUT YOU’RE GETTING. 21
PLUMMY. Go to him, Joe—tell him I apologize—that
I'll re-paper him from top to bottom, and whitewash him
into the bargain.
JoE. Please, sir, Missus wants to know what you're
going to have for dinner to-day.
PLUMMY. Nothing ! And the same to-morrow and the
day after, and—
JoE. You’d better eat something, sir, or you'll be ill.
PLUMMY. Then get me a crust of bread and a pickle.
(goes out C.
JoE. What a dinner! (sweeping coals up.)
Enter MRs. PLUMMY, R. H.
MRs. P. Well, Joe, has your master ordered dinner?
JoE. Yes, ma'am, a crust of bread and a pickle.
MRs. P. A crust of bread and a pickle ! I can't imagine
what it means.
JoE. I can, mum. Master wants to get thin—I’m sure
of it, 'cause I had my ear to the key-hole, quite by acci-
dent, the whole time the doctor was with him.
MRS. P. Ah Well?
JoE. And I heard the doctor tell him that if he once
reached thirteen stone, there'd be no stopping of him—
that he'd become a pumpkin, and that you would’nt care a
button about him; he's been a weighing himself all the
morning.
MRs. P. I see it all, poor dear Henry ! Run to him, Joe,
and tell him to come to me directly.
JoE. Yes, ma'am. (runs out door c.)
Enter GEORGE, R. H.
GEORGE. I’ve got the lucifers 1 (aside.) I don't see
Plummy. (aloud.) My dear cousin, beautiful cousin, you're
a perfect Lucifer—I mean angel! (falls on his knees.)
Enter PLUMMY, c, followed by SLIDE.
(MRs. PLUMMY laughs. GEORGE immediately takes off
his hat, and a number of lucifer boxes fall on the stage,
which he begins picking up. PLUMMY advances in a
slow, stately manner, looking alternately at his wife and
GEORGE.
PLUMMY. Ah! What are you doing on your knees, sir?
22 HOW STOUT YOU’RE GETTING.
GEORGE. On my knees, am I? Yes, I was picking up
these lucifer boxes, that's all.
MRS. P. He was thanking me for his appointment.
Here it is. (gives paper to PLUMMY.)
PLUMMY. (passing paper to GEORGE.) There it is. Oh,
Mary Matilda—(about to embrace her.)
MRs. P. It’s more than you deserve after requesting
Doctor Dulcet to forbid my going to Switzerland 1 Fie!
Fie! If you had honestly and frankly told me you pre-
ferred being stout, and that you feared the air of Switzer-
land would make you thinner— -
PLUMMY. (suddenly.) Do you think it would?
MRs. P. Certainly
PLUMMY. Then we'll start directly, this very moment!
Come along ! (turning up with MRs. PLUMMY.)
MRs. P. The riding habit !
PLUMMY. We'll go and buy it. Come along. (fºrning
wp again.)
MRs. P. But where's the money to come from * With
one thing and another I shall want at least twelve
pounds.
PLUMMY. (suddenly.) Twelve Ah! Of course!
Here! (taking bag out of one of his pockets.) And here!
(taking purse out of the other and giving it to MRs.
PLUMMY, who shews how heavy they are.)
MRs. P. Oh, thanks, Henry dear! Come, confess!
Don't you feel your heart all the lighter from having in-
dulged your wife's request ?
PLUMMY. (sighing.) Ah, my heart's light enough It
isn't my heart that weighs me down, (falling in scales,
and finding he does’nt sink.) Holloa Can it be— Yes—
Ha! haſ I’m a pound lighter (taking up a pound.) Two
ounds! Ha! ha Two pounds in ten minutes, my love!
Think of that, my angel! Ha! haſ
MRs. P. (Smiling, aside, and showing purses.) No
wonder
PLUMMY. And now—
Enter JoF, carrying a loaf of bread on a small tray.
JoE. Please, sir, what sort of a pickle would you like
with your bread
HOW STOUT YOU’RE GETTING. 23
^
PLUMMY. Ha! haſ (aside.) A brilliant idea! I'll des-
troy master George's beauty. (aloud.) Cousin George, I
bear no malice, and to prove it, you'll make this house
your home in our absence. You shall live here, and board
here.
GEORGE. Plummy, you're a trump!
PLUMMY. I am. Joe, come here. (aside.) You see
that young man!—nothing but skin and bone, poor fellow;
I charge you with the agreeable duty of fattening him up
—make a pumpkin of him in short, for every pound he
gains in weight, I’ll give you a guineal
Joe. Thank’ee, sir, thank’eel
(Following GEORGE about, and offering him the bread.
PLUMMY. Now, my dear, hey for Switzerland!
MRs. P. But I’m not packed up !
PLUMMY. Never mind packing up; we’ll do that on
the road.
MRs, P. What o'clock does the train start 2
PLUMMY. Train Pooh-pooh-we'll walk.
MRs. P. Walk, my dear!
PLUMMY. Yes, every inch of the way, except between
Dover and Calais, and that I mean to swim | Slide, m
boy, you shall go with us, and what's more, I’ll undertake
to make a thinner man of you, and restore Mrs. Slide to
your arms. I’ll tell you how I’ll do it—you shall carry
me on your back to the top of Mont Blanc three times a
day for a fortnight. So let's be off, and when I get back,
if ever I do get back, I shall have this satisfaction, at least,
that no one will be able to say of me, “How stout you're
getting.” w
MRS. P.
GEORGE. Ha! haſ (pointing to PLUMMY.)
SLIDE.
SLIDE. M.Rs. P. PLUMMY. GEORGE. JoE.
(ſmriſiſ.
Printed by T. BLoWER, 313, Strand.
SHE WOU’D & SHE WOU’D NOT
A. COMEDY
I N F I W E A C T S
YSY
C O L L E Y C I B B E R.
T H O M A S H. A. I L E S L A C Y,
W. E L L I N G T O N S T R E E T,
S T R A N D,
LONDON,
SHE wou’d AND SHE WOUD NOT.
First performed at the Theatre Rºyal, Drury Lane, Nov. 26, 1702.
CHARACTERS.
Covent Garden.
Nov. 6, 1805. Sep. 17, 1841.
DON MANUEL e . Mr. MuNDEN. Mr. FARREN.
DON PHILIP © . Mr. C. KEMBLE. Mr. CoopFR.
DON OCTAWIO g . Mr. BRUNTon. Mr. W. LACY.
DON LUIS e © . Mr. CLAREMONT. Mr. BRINDAL.
CORRIGIDORE t . Mr. CREswell. Mr. CoILETT.
Mr. JEFFERIES. Mr. HUGHES.
ALGUAZILS #. POWERS. Mr. S. SMITH.
DIEGO . tº e . Mr. DAVENPORT.
TRAPPANTI . tº . Mr. FAWCETT. Mr. HARLEY.
SOTO º & e . Mr. BLANCHARD. Mr. MEADows.
JASPER . º tº . Mr. FIELD. Mr. IRELAND.
SANCHO . * º . Mr. W. MURRAY. Mr. AYLIFFE.
LORENZO e & . Mr. SARJANT. Mr. HEATH.
PEDRO . o ſe . Mr. L. BologNA.
COOK ę tº º . Mr. PLATT.
POSTBOY . . . Mr. T. BLANCHARD.Mr. KERRIDGE.
HYPOLITA * º . Miss SMITH. Mrs. NESBITT.
ELORA . gº tº . Miss SEARLE. Mrs. W. LACY.
ROSATA . * º . Miss BRUNTON. Miss CoopFR.
WILETTA & & . Mrs. MATTocks. Mrs. ORGER.
SCENE–MADRID.
Cºlumth-ſºuth putt if tº £ightmi, ſtituti,
DON MANUEL-Handsome velvet tunic coat, with large cuffs, long
cwaistcoat, full breeches, coloured stockings, high-heeled shoes, white lace
ravat, full bottomed wig, came.
DoN PHILIP.-The same, rapier with broad sword belt, round hat with
feather trimming, heavy ringlet wig, no moustache or beard.
DoN LUIs, OCTAVIo, HYPoLITA, FLORA.—The same, of different
colours, boots and spurs in first scene.
TRAPPANT1, SoTo, LANDLORD, and SERVANTS.–Cloth Figaro jackets,
vest, trunk breeches, leather or cloth gaiters, scarf round wast, met for
the hair, sombrero.
Rosa Ro.—Embroidered satin dress, with long tight sleeves, high comb,
and mantilla.
WILETTA.-Black velvet jacket, pink petticoat, high comb, mantilla.
SHE WOU’D AND SHE WOU’D NOT.
ACT I.
SCENE.-An Inn in Madrid.
Enter TRAPPANTI alone, talking to himself, C. from L.
TRAP. Indeed, my friend Trappanti, thou'rt in a very
thin condition; thou hast neither master, meat, nor
money : not but—could'st thou part with that unappeasable
itch of eating, too—thou hast all the ragged virtues that
were requisite to set up an ancient philosopher. Contempt
and poverty, kicks, thumps, and thinking, thou hast en-
dured with the best of 'em ; but—when fortune turns
thee up to hard fasting, that is to say, positively not eating
at all, I perceive thou art a downright dunce, with the
same stomach, and no more philosophy than a hound
upon horse-flesh. Fasting's the devil!—Let me see, this,
I take it, is the most frequented inn about Madrid, and if
a keen guest or two should drop in just now—harkſ
HosT. (without, L.) Take care of the gentlemen's
horses, there ; see them well rubbed and littered.
TRAP. Just alighted! if they do but stay to eat, now !
Impudence assist me ! Ha! a couple of pretty young
sparks, 'faith !
Enter HYPolita and FroRA, in men's habits; a Post Boy
with a portmanteau, C. from L.
Welcome to Madrid, sir—welcome, sir.
FLORA. Sir, your servant.
PoSTB. Have the horses pleased your honour?
HYP. Very well, indeed, friend. Pr’ythee, set down.
the portmanteau, and see that the poor creatures want
nothing: they have performed well, and deserve our
Cài. e. -
4 SHE wou’d AND SHE wou’D NoT. [ACT 1.
TRAP. I’ll take care of that, sir. Here, ostler
[Eveunt TRAPPANTI and Post Boy, c. and L.
FLORA. And pray, madam, what do I deserve, that
Have lost the use of my limbs, to keep pace with you ?
'Odds heart | you whipped and spurred like a fox-hunter
It's a sign you had a lover in view : I’m sure my
shoulders ache as if I had carried my horse on them.
HYP. Poor Flora! thou art fatigued indeed, but I shall
find a way to thank thee for’t.
FLORA. Thank me, quothal Egad, I shan’t be able to
sit down this fortnight. Well, I’m glad our journey's at
an end, however; and now, madam, pray what do you
propose will be the end of our journey :
HYP. Why, now I hope the end of my wishes—Don
Philip, I need not tell you how far he is in my heart.
FLORA. No, your sweet usage of him told me that long
enough ago; but now, it seems, you think fit to confess it;
and what is't you love him for, pray?
HYP. His manner of bearing that usage.
FLORA. Ah, dear pride! how we love to have it tickled!
But he does not bear it, you see, for he's coming post to
Madrid to marry another woman; nay, one he never saw.
HYP. An unknown face can’t have very far engaged
him.
FLORA. How came he to be engaged to her at all.
HYP. Why, I engaged him.
FDoRA. To another 3
HYP. To my whole sex, rather than own I loved him.
FLORA. Ah, done like a woman of courage.
HYP. I could not bear the thought of parting with my
power; besides, he took me at such an advantage, and
pressed me so home to a surrender, I could have tore him
piece-meal. -
FLORA. Ay, I warrant you—an insolent, agreeable puppy.
But, love be praised, your proud stomach's come down
for it.
HYP. Indeed, 'tis not altogether so high as it was,
In a word, his last letter set me at my wit’s end; and.
when I came to myself, you may remember you thought
me bewitched; for I immediately called for my boots and
—and so rode after him.
sc. I.] SHE wou’d AND SHE wou’d NoT. 5
FLORA. Why, truly, madam, as to your wits, I have
not much altered my opinion of them, for I can’t see what
you propose by it. . - - - *
HYP. My whole design, Flora, lies in this portmanteau,
and this disguise. -
FLORA. A notable design, no doubt; but pray let's
hear it. -
HYP. Why, I do propose to be be twice married be-
tween them.
FLORA. How ! twice? - - - -
HYP. By the help of my portmanteau, I intend to
marry myself to Don Philip's new mistress, and then—I’ll
put off my disguise, and marry him.
FLORA. Now I begin to take ye: but pray, what's in
the portmanteau, and how came you by it
HYP. I hired one to steal it from his servant, at the last
inn we lay at in Toledo. In it are jewels of value,
presents to my bride, gold good store, settlements, and
credential letters, to certify that the bearer (which I intend
to be myself) is Don Philip, only son and heir of Don
Fernando de las Torres, now residing at Seville, whence
We Came. .
FLORA. A very smart undertaking by my troth! And
pray, madam, what part am I to act? .
HYP. My woman still; when I can’t lie for myself, you
are to do it for me, in the person of a cousin-german.
FLORA. And my name is to be—
HYP. Don Guzman, Diego, Mendez, or what you
please : be your own godfather.
FLORA. 'Egad, I begin to like it mightily this may
prove a very pleasant adventure, if we can but come off
without fighting; which, by the way, I don’t easily per-
ceive we shall; for, to be sure, Don Philip will make
the devil to do with us, when he finds himself here
before he comes hither.
HYP. Oh, let me alone to give him satisfaction.
FLORA. I'm afraid it must be alone, if you do give him
satisfaction; for my part, I can fight no more than I can
swim. -
HYP. But can you bully upon occasion ?
FLORA. I can scold, when my blood's up.
6 SHE wou’D AND HEs wou’D NoT. [ACT I.
HYP. That's the same thing : bullying would be
scolding in petticoats.
FLORA. Say ye so * Why, then, Don, look to your-
self; if I don’t give you as good as you bring, I’ll be con-
tent to wear breeches as long as I live. Well, madam, now
you have opened the plot, pray when is the play to
begin?
HYP. I hope to have it all over in less than four hours:
we'll just refresh ourselves with what the house affords,
and wait upon my father-in-law—
Enter TRAPPANTI, c. from L.
TRAP. Servant, gentlemen; I have taken nice care of
your nags; good cattle they are, by my troth ! right and
sound, I warrant them ; they deserve care, and they have
had it, and shall have it, if they stay in this house. I
always stand by, sir, and see them rubbed down with my
own eyes.—Catch me trusting an ostler, I’ll give you leave
to fill for me, and drink for me, too.
FIoEA. (R.) I have seen this fellow somewhere.
TRAP. Hey-day what, no cloth laid! was ever such
attendance! Hey, house ! tapster | landlord ' hey!
(knocks.) What was it you bespoke, gentlemen?
HYP. Really, sir, I ask your pardon, I have almost
forgot you.
TRAP. Psha dear sir, never talk of it. I live here
hard by—I have a lodging—I can’t call it a lodging,
neither—that is, I have a-sometimes I am here, some-
times I am there, and so, here and there, one makes shift,
you know. Hey! will these people never come 3 (knocks.)
HYP. You give a very good account of yourself, sir.
TRAP. Oh, nothing at all, sir. Lord, sir—was it fish
or flesh, sir?
FLORA. Really, sir, we have bespoke nothing yet.
TRAP. Nothing ! for shame! It's a sign you are young
travellers. You don’t know this house, sir; why, they'll
let you starve, if you don’t stir, and call, and that like
thunder, too—hey ! (knocks.)
HyP. Ha! you eat here sometimes, I presume, sir?
TRAP. Umph —Ay, sir, that's as it happens—I seldom
eat at home, indeed—hey ! (knocks.)
sc. I.] sHE wou’D AND SHE wou’d NoT. 7
Enter HosT, c. from L.
HosT. Did you call, gentlemen?
TRAP. Yes, and bawl, too, sir. Here the gentlemen
are almost famished, and nobody comes near them. What
have you in the house now, that will be ready presently?
HosT. You may have what you please, sir.
HYP. Can you get us a partridge 2
HosT. Sir, we have no partridges; but we’ll get you
what you please in a moment. We have a very goodneck
of mutton, sir; if you please, it shall be clapped down in
a moment.
HYP. Have you no pigeons or chickens?
HosT. Truly, sir, we have no fowl in the house at
present; if you please, you may have anything else in a
moment.
FLORA. Have you any fish?
HosT. Fish, sir! I dress'd yesterday the finest dish
that ever came upon a table, but I am sorry we have none
left, sir; but if you please you may have anything else in
a moment.
HYP. Then, pr’ythee, get us some young rabbits.
Host. Upon my word, sir, rabbits are so scarce, they
are not to be had for money; but, if you please, you may
have anything else in a moment.
TRAP. Plague on thee! hast thou nothing but anything
else in the house?
Host. Very good mutton, sir.
HYP. Pr'ythee, get us a breast, then.
Host. Breast ! don't you love the neck, sir?
HYP. Have you nothing in the house but the neck.
Host. Really, sir, we don't use to be so unprovided;
but at present we have nothing else left.
TRAP. 'Egad, it's neck or nothing here ! Well, I don’t
know but a nothing else may be very good meat, when any-
thing else is not to be had.
HYP. Then, pr’ythee, friend, let's have thy neck of
mutton, before that is gone, too.
TRAP. Sir, he shall lay it down this minute; I’ll see it
done, gentlemen; I’ll wait upon you presently; for a minute
I must beg your pardon, and leave to lay the cloth myself.

8 SHE wou’d AND SHE wou’d NoT. [ACT I.
HYP. By no means, sir.
TRAP. No ceremony, dear sir; indeed I'll do it.
[Eveunt HosT and TRAPPANTI, c. and R.
HYP. (c.) What can this familiar puppy be *
FLORA. With much ado I have recollected his face.
Don't you remember, madam, about two or three years
ago, Don Philip had a trusty servant, called Trappanti,
that used, now and then, to slip a note into your hand, as
you came from church.
HYP. Is this he that Philip turned away for saying I
was as proud as a beauty, and homely enough to be good-
humoured.
FLORA. The very same, I assure you; only, as you see,
starving has altered his air a little.
HYP. I have a great mind to take him into my service;
his assurance may be useful, as my case stands.
FLORA. You would not tell him who you are
HYP. There's no occasion for it—I’ll talk with him.
Enter TRAPPANTI, c. from R.
TRAP. Your dinner's upon the spit, gentlemen, and the
cloth laid in the best room—Are you not for a whet, sir?
What wine? what wine? hey!
FLORA. We give you trouble, sir.
TRAP. Not in the least, sir—hey ! (knocks.)
Enter HosT, c. from R.
HosT. D'ye call, gentlemen P
HYP. Ay; what wine have ye?
Host. What sort you please, sir.
FLORA. (to TRAPPANTI.) Sir, will you please to name it?
TRAP. Nay, pray, sir.
HYP. No ceremony, dear sir! upon my word you shall.
TRAP. Upon my soul, you’ll make me leave ye,
gentlemen.
HYP. Come, come, no words. Pr'ythee, you shall.
TRAP. Pshal but why this among friends, now * Here
—have ye any right Galicia?
HosT. The best in Spain, I warrant it.
TRAP. Let's taste it; if it be good, set us out half a
dozen bottles for dinner.
sc. I.] she wou’D AND SHE wou’D NOT. 9
HosT. Yes, sir. [Ecit Host, c. and R.
HYP. Pray, sir, for I find we are like to be better ac-
quainted, therefore I hope you won't take my question ill—
TRAP. Oh, dear sir!
HYP. What profession may you be of
Enter HosT, C. and R., with wine and glasses.
TRAP. Profession, sir—I — I —’Ods me! here's the
wine. Come, fill out—hold—let me taste it first. Ye
blockhead I would ye have the gentleman drink before
he knows whether it be good or not * (drinks.) Yes, 'twill
do—give me the bottle; I’ll fill myself. Now sir, is not
that a glass of right wine (crosses c.)
HYP. Extremely good, indeed—but, sir, as to my
question.
TRAP. I'm afraid, sir, that mutton won’t be enough for
us all.
HYP. (R. C.) Oh, pray, sir, bespeak what you please.
TRAP. Sir, your most humble servant. Here, master
pr’ythee, get us a-ah!—ay, get us a dozen of poached
eggs, a dozen, d'ye hear—just to—pop down a little.
HosT. (L.) Yes, sir. (going.)
TRAP. Friend, let there be a little slice of bacon to
every one of them.
HosT. A little thin slice, sir. (going.)
TRAP. No, not too thin, you dog
HYP. But, sir—
TRAP. Odso | I had like to have forgot—here, a-
Sancho | Sancho l—Ay, is not your name Sancho 2
HosT. Diego, sir.
TRAP. Oh, ay, Diego; that's true, indeed, Diego.
Umph
HYP. I must e'en let him alone; there's no putting in
a word till his mouth's full. (to FLORA.)
TRAP. Come, here's to thee, Diego. (drinks and fills
again.) That I should forget thy name, though.
HosT. No great harm, sir.
TRAP. Diego! Ha! a very pretty name, 'faith ! I
think you are married, are you not, Diego :
HosT. Ay, ay, sir.
TRAP. Ha! how many children?
10 SHE wou’D AND SHE wou’D NoT. [ACT 1.
HosT. Nine girls and a boy, sir!
TRAP. Ha! nine girls | Come, here's to thee again,
Diego—nine girls! a stirring woman, I dare say; a good
housewife—ha, Diego :
Host. Pretty well, sir.
TRAP. Makes all her pickles herself, I warrant ye—
does she do olives well P
HosT. Will you be pleased to taste them, sir. .
TRAP. Taste them hum! pr’ythee let's have a plate,
Diego.
HosT. Yes, sir.
TRAP. And our dinner as soon as you please, sir; when
it's ready, call us.
Host. Yes, sir. [Exit, c. and R.
HYP. But, sir, I was asking you of your profession.
TRAP. Profession really, sir, I don't use to profess
much : I am a plain-dealing sort of a man : If I say I'll
serve a gentleman, he may depend upon me.
FLORA. (R.) Have you ever served, sir?
TRAP. (L.) Not these two last campaigns.
HyP. (c.) How so? -
TRAP. Some words with my superior officer; I was a
little too free in speaking my mind to him.
HYP. Don't you think of serving again, sir?
TRAP. If a good post fall in my way.
HYP, I believe I could help you. Pray, sir, when you
served last, did you take pay or wages
TRAP. Pay, sir. Yes, sir, I was paid, cleared subsistence
and arrears, to a farthing.
HYP. And your late commander's name was—
TRAP. Don Philip de las Torres.
HYP. Of Seville P
TRAP. Of Seville.
HYP. Sir, your most humble servant. You need not
be curious, for I am sure you don’t know me; though I do
you and your condition; which I dare promise you I'll
mend, upon our better acquaintance: and your first step
to deserve it is, to answer me honestly to a few questions.
Reep your assurance still; it may do me service; I
shall like you better for it. Come, here's to encourage
you. (gives him money.)

sc. I.] she wou’d AND SHE wou’D NOT. 11
TRAP. Sir, my humble service to you. I never heard a
gentleman talk better in my life. ... I have seen such a sort
of a face before; but where, I don’t know, nor I don’t care.
It's your glass, sir.
HyP. Come, now, what made Don Philip turn you out
of his service why did you leave him *
TRAP. 'Twas time, I think; his wits had left him—the
man was mad.
HYP. Mad
TRAP. Ay, stark mad—in love.
HYP. In love how, pray :
TRAP. Very deep—up to the ears—over head—drowned
by this time—he would in—I would have had him
stopped, when he was up to the middle.
HYP. What was she he was in love with ?
TRAP. The devil!
HYP. (aside.) So, now for a very ugly likeness of my
own face —What sort of a devil?
TRAP. The worst sort—a woman |
HYP. Had she no name :
TRAP. Her Christian name was Donna Hypolita; but
her proper name was Shuttlecock.
FLORA. (aside to HYPolitA.) How d'ye like that
HYP. (aside to FLORA.) Pretty well.—Was she hand-
some?
TRAP. Umph!—so, so.
FLORA. (to HypolitA.) How d'ye like that?
HYP. (to FLORA.) Umph l—so, sol—Had she wit?
TRAP. Sometimes.
HyP. Good humour?
TRAP. Very seldom.
HYP. Proud P
TRAP. Ever.
HYP. Was she honest
TRAP. Very proud.
HYP. What, had she no good qualities?
TRAP. 'Faith, I don't remember them:
HYP. Ha! d'ye think she loved him?
TRAP. If she did, 'twas as the cobbler loved his wife.
HYP. How's that?
TRAP. Why, he beat her thrice a day, and told his
12 SHE wou’d AND SHE wou’d NoT. ACT I.
neighbours he loved her ne'er the worse; but he was re-
solved she should never know it.
HYP. Did she use him so very ill?
TRAP. Like a jade. -
FIORA. (to HYPOLITA.) How do ye do, now *
HYP. I don’t know—methinks, ſ—But, sure—what,
was she not handsome, say ye?
TRAP. A devilish tongue.
HYP. Was she ugly?
FLORA. (aside.) Ay, say that at your peril.
HYP. What was she? how did she look?
TRAP. Look! why, 'faith, the woman looked very well,
when she had a blush in her face.
HYP. Did she often blush
TRAP. I never saw her.
HYP. Had she no charm—what made him love her ?
TRAP. Really, I can’t tell.
FLORA. How d'ye like the picture, madam?
HYP. (aside.) Oh, oh, extremely well! The rogue has
made me feel as humble as an offending lover.
Enter HosT, c. from R.
HosT. Gentlemen, your dinner's upon the table.
[Exit HosT, c. and L.
HYP. That's well. Come, sir; at dinner I'll give you
further instructions, how you may serve yourself and me.
TRAP. Come, sir. (to FLORA.)
FLORA. Nay, dear sir, no ceremony.
TRAP. Sir, your very humble servant. (they are going c.—
HYPOLITA stops them.) Back, back; here's one I don’t
care should see me.
TRAP. Sir, the dinner will be cold.
HYP. Do you eat it hot, then; we are not hungry.
TRAP. Sir, your humble servant, again.
[Exit TRAPPANTI, c. and R.
FIoRA. You seem concerned; who is it *
HYP. My brother, Octavio, as I live Come this way.
(they retire.)
Enter OCTAVIA and JASPER, C. from L.
OCT. Jasper, run immediately to Rosara's woman; tell
SC. I. SHE wou’D AND SHE wou’d NoT. 13
her I am just come to town; slip that note into her hand,
and stay for an answer. [Exit JASPER, C. and L.
FLORA. 'Tis he
HosT. (within L.) Here, sir, please to walk this way.
FLORA. And Don Philip, by Jupiter |
Enter Don PHILIP, c. from L. 1 E.
PHIL. When my servant comes, send him to me imme-
diately.
HosT. (within.) Yes, sir.
HYP. Nay, then, it is time for us to make ready—
Allons ! [Eveunt HYPOLITA and FLORA, R.
OCT. Don Philip !
PHIL. Dear Octavio !
OCT. What lucky point of the compass could blow us to
one another so?
PHIL. 'Faith ! a wind very contrary to my inclination;
but the worst, I see, blows some good. I am overjoyed to
see you.-But what makes you so far from the army
OCT. Who thought to have found you so far from Se-
ville P
PHIL. What do you do at Madrid?
OCT. Oh, friend, such an unfortunate occasion, and yet
such a lucky discovery ! such a mixture of joy and tor-
ment, no poor dog upon earth was ever plagued with.
PHIL. Unriddle, pray.
OCT. Don't you remember, about six months ago, I
wrote you word of a dear, delicious, sprightly creature,
that I had bombarded for a whole summer?
PHIL. I remember.
OCT. You must know, her perfidious father, contrary to
his treaty with me, and her inclination, is going to—
PHIL. Marry her to another -
OCT. Of a better estate than mine, it seems. She tells
me, here, he is within a day's march of her, and begs me
to come upon the spur to her relief. There's her express;
read it.
HYPOLITA, FLORA, and TRAPPANTI appear in the balcony,
from R. U. E.
FLORA. Trappanti, there's your old master.
14 SHE wou’d AND SHE wou’D NoT. [ACT 1.
TRAP. Ay, I know him again ; but I may chance to
tell him he did not know a good servant when he had
him.
PHIL. (reads.) “My father has concluded a match for
me with one I never saw, and intends, in two days, to per-
fect it: the gentleman is expected every hour. In the
meantime, if you know any friend who has a better title
to me, advise him forthwith to put in his claim. I am al-
most out of my senses, which you will easily believe,
when I tell you, if such a one should make haste, I sha’nt
have time to refuse him anything.” No name *
OCT. She never would trust it in a letter.
PHIL. What will you do in this case?
OCT. That I don’t yet know; I am half distracted; I
have just sent my servant to tell her I am come to town,
and beg an opportunity to speak with her; I long to see
her; I warrant the poor fool will be so soft, and so humble,
now she's in a fright !
PHIL. What will you propose at meeting her ?
. OCT. I don’t know ; may be another meeting; at least,
it will come to a kind look, a kiss, good bye, and a sigh—
Ah if I can but persuade her to run away with me !
PHIL. Consider
OCT. Ah so I do—What pleasure 'twould be, to have
her steal out of her bed in a sweet moonshiny night ; to
hear her come pat, pat, pat, along in her slippers; with
nothing but a thin silk nightgown loose about her; and,
in this tempting dress, to have her jump into my arms,
breathless with fear !
PHIL. Octavio, I envy thee! thou art the happiest man
in thy temper
OCT. And thou art the most altered I ever knew—
Pr'ythee, what makes thee so much upon the humdrum?
Well, are my sister and you come to a right understanding
yet? When do you marry
PHIL. My condition, Octavio, is very much like your
mistress's ; she is going to marry the man she never saw,
and I the woman.
OCT. 'Sdeath you make me tremble ! I hope ’tis not
my mistress!
PHIL. Thy mistress that were an idle fear.—Madrid's
SC. I. sHE wou’ll AND SHE wou’I) NOT. 15
fº
a wide place or, if it were, (she loving you) my friend-
ship and my honour would oblige me to desist.
OCT. That's generous, indeed; but still you amaze me !
Are you quite broke off with my sister? I hope she has
given you no reason to forget her.
PHIL. The most severe that ever beauty printed in the
heart of man; a coldness unaccountable to sense. -
OCT. Psha 1 dissembled. -
PHIL. I can’t think it; lovers are soon flattered into
hope; but she appeared to me indifferent, to so nice a
point, that she has ruined me without the trouble of
resolving it.
OCT. For all her usage of you, I'll be racked if she did
not love you.
PHIL. I rather think she hated me: however, now ’tis
past, and I must endeavour to think no more of her.
OCT. Then you are determined to marry this other lady?
PHIL. That's my business to Madrid.
OCT. Then, though she be my sister, may some jealous,
old, ill-natured dog revenge your quarrel to her
PHIL. Come, forget it.
[Eveunt HYPoDITA, FLORA, and TRAPPANTI, R. U. E.
OCT. With all my heart; let's go in, and drink your
new mistress's health. When do you visit her
PHIL. I intended it immediately ; but an unlucky
accident has hindered me: one of my servants fell sick
upon the road, so that I am forced to make shift with one,
and he is the most negligent, sottish rogue in nature: has
left my portmanteau, where all my writings and letters of
concern are, behind him, at the last town we lay at ; so
that I cannot properly visit the lady, or her father, till I
am able to assure them who I am.
OCT. Why don't you go back yourself, to see for them *
PHIL. I have sent my servant, for I am really tired; I
was loth to appear so much concerned for them, lest the
rascal should think it worth his while to run away with
them.
Enter JASPER, c. from L.
JASP. Here's an answer, sir.
(gives a letter, and exit, C. and L.
16 SHE wou’d AND SHE wou’d NoT. A.C.T I,
OCT. (after reading it.) My dear friend, I beg a
thousand pardons; I must leave you this minute; the
kind creature has sent for me. I am a soldier, you know,
and orders must be obeyed; when I come off duty, I'll
immediately wait upon you.
PHIL. %. find me here, or hear of me. Adieu !
Here, house ! [Exit OCTAVIo, C. and L.
Enter Host, c.
Pr'ythee, see if my servant be come yet.
Host. I believe he is, sir; is he not in blue *
PHIL. Ay—where is the sot?
HosT. Just refreshing himself with a glass at the gate.
PHIL. Pray tell the gentleman I’d speak with him.
[Evit HosT, c. and L.
In all the necessaries of life, there is not a greater plague
than servants. Hey, Soto Soto
Enter SoTo, drunk, c. and L.
SoTo. Did you please to—to—call, sir?
PHIL. What's the reason, blockhead, I must always
wait upon you, thus?
SoTo. Sir, I did not know anything of it. I—I-came
as soon as you se—se—se—sent for me.
PHIL. And why not without sending, sir? Did you
think I expected no answer to the business I sent you
about
SoTo. Yes, sir—I did think you would be willing—that
is—to have an account—so I staid to take a glass at the
door, because I would not be out of the way. (ſºccups.)
PHIL. You are drunk, rascal! Where's the portman-
teau?
SoTo. Sir, I am here—if you please, I’ll give you the
whole account how the matter is—huh !
PHIL. My mind misgives me! Speak, villain
(strikes him.)
SoTo. I will, sir, as soon as I can put my words into an
intelligible order: I arn’t running away, sir.
PHIL. Sirrah, be brief, or I'll murder you; where's the
portmanteau?
SoTo. Sir, as I hope to breathe, I made all the strictest
SC. I. sHE wou’r, AND SHE wou’D NoT. 17
search in the world, and drank at every house upon the
road, going and coming, and asked about it; and so, at last,
as I was coming within a mile of the town here, I found
then—
PHIL. What?
SoTo. That it must certainly be lost
PHIL. Dog ' d'ye think this will satisfy me? (beats him.
SoTo. Lord, sir, you won't hear reason. Are you sure
you ha’n’t it about you? If I know anything of it I wish
I may be burnt
PHIL. Villain! your life can't make me satisfaction'
Why do I vent my rage against a sot, a clod of earth? I
should accuse myself for trusting him.
SoTo. Sir—I had rather—bought a portmanteau out of
my own pocket than have had such a life about it.
PHIL. Be dumb
SoTo. Ahuh ! Yes.
PHIL. If this rascal had stole it, sure he would not have
ventured to come back again! I am confounded ! Neither
Don Manuel nor his daughter know me, nor any of his
family. If I should not visit him till I can receive fresh
letters from my father, he'll, in the mean time, think him-
self offended by my neglect. What shall I do? Suppose
I go and tell him my misfortune, and beg his patience till
we can hear again from Seville. I must think. Hey, sot
[Exit c. and R.
SoTo. I had rather have bought a portmanteau, out of
my own pocket, than have had such a life about it.
[Exit C. and L.
Enter HYPol1TA, TRAPPANTI, and FLORA, R.
HYP. Well, Trappanti, you know your business; and if
I marry the lady, you know my promise, too.
TRAP. Sir, I shall remember them both. 'Odso ! I had
like to have forgot— Piere, house ! a bason and wash-
ball; I’ve a razor about me. Hey!— (knocks.)
HYP. What's the matter?
TRAP. Sir, you are not shaved.
HYP. Pshal pr’ythee, don't stand fooling—we're in
haste.
FLORA. Ay, ay, shave another time.
18 SHE wou’d AND SHE wou’d NoT. ACT II,
TRAP. Nay, what you please, sir; your beard is not
much—you may wear it to-day. (taking her by the chin.)
FLORA. Ay, and to-morrow, too; pray, sir, will you see
the coach ready, and put in the things? -
TRAP. Sir, I’ll see the coach ready, and put in the things.
[Evit TRAPPANTI, c. and L.
FLORA. Come, madam, courage | Now, let's do some-
thing for the honour of our sex, and tell mankind we can
contrive, fatigue, bustle, and bring about, as well as the
best of them.
HYP. Well said, Flora; for the honour of our sex be it
then ; and let the grave dons think themselves as wise as
they please, but Nature knows there goes more wit to the
management of love affairs, than the hardest point in
politics:
Therefore, to men th’ affairs of state's confined;
Wisely, to us the state of love's assigned,
As love's the weightier bus'ness of mankind.
[Eveunt C. and L.
ACT II.
SCENE.—Do,” Manuel's house.
Enter Rosa RA and WILETTA, I.
VIL. Hear reason.
Rosa RA. Talk of Octavio, then,
VIL. How do you know but the gentleman your father
designs you for, may prove as pretty a fellow as he
RosARA. I tell you, fool, I’ll have no husband but
Octavio; when you find I am weary of him, I’ll give you
leave to talk to me of somebody else.
VIL. In vain, I see. I have done, madam—one must
have time to be wise; but, in the meanwhile, what do ye
resolve? positively not to marry Don Philip :
Ros ARA. I don't know what I shall do till I see Octavio.
When did he say he would be here?
SC. I. SHE wou’d AND SHE wou’d NoT. 19
VIL. Oh! I dare not tell you, madam.
Rosa RA. Why?
VIL. I am bribed to the contrary.
Ros ARA. By whom?
VIL. Octavio ! he just now sent me this lovely piece of
gold, not to tell you what time he would be here.
Rosa RA. Nay, then, Viletta, here are two pieces that
are twice as lovely; tell me, when shall I see him *
VIL. Umph ! these are lovely pieces, indeed! (smiling.
Rosa R.A. When, Viletta?
VIL. Have you no more of them, madam?
Rosa RA. Pshal there, take purse and all; will that
content thee P
VIL. Oh, dear madam | I should be unconsionable to
desire more; but, really, I was willing to have them all
first. (curtseying.)
RosARA. When will he come *
VII. Why, the poor gentleman has been hankering about
the house this quarter of an hour; but I did not observe,
madam, you were willing to see him, till you convinced me
by so plain a proof.
Rosa RA. Where's my father?
VIL. Fast asleep, in the great chair.
Ros ARA. Fetch him in, then, before he wakes.
VIL. Let him wake, his habit will protect him.
Ros ARA. His habit !
VIL. Ay, madam; he's turned friar, to come at you ;
if your father surprises us, I have a lie ready to back him.
Hist, Signor Octavio ! you may enter.
Enter OCTAVIo, in a Friar's habit, L.
OCT. After a thousand frights and fears, do I live to see
my dear Rosara once again, and kind?
Ros ARA. What shall we do, Octavio P
(looking kindly on him.
OCT. Kind creature! Do! why, as lovers should do;
what nobody can undo: let's run away this minute, tie our-
selves fast in the church knot, and defy fathers and mothers.
Rosa RA. And fortunes too :
OCT. Psha! we shall have it one day: they must leave
their money behind them.
20 SHE wou’I) AND SHE wou’D NOT. ACT II.
RosARA. Suppose you first try my father's good-nature?
You know, he once encouraged your addresses.
OCT. First, let's be fast married; perhaps he may be
good-natured when he can’t help it. Come, come, stand
to your arms, and let's march off in a body together.
DoN MANUEL. (without.) Wiletta! Wiletta 1
Rosa RA. Ah! my father
VIL. To your function. (they retire up.
Enter Don MANUEL, R, 1 E.
MAN. Viletta |
VIL. Sir
MAN. Where's my daughter?
VII. Hist! Don’t disturb her.
MAN. Disturb her Why, what's the matter?
VIL. She's at confession, sir.
MAN. Confession I don’t like that ; a young woman
ought to have no sins at all.
VIL. Ah! dear sir, there's no living without them.
MAN. She's now at years of discretion. There can be
no confession without guilt.
VIL. Nor no pardon, sir, without confession.
MAN. Fiddle faddle ! I won’t have her seem wicked.
Hussy, you shall confess for her; I'll have her send her
sins by you; you know them, I'm sure; but I’ll know
what the friar has got out of her. 'Save you, father!
OCT. Bless you, son. (comes down L.)
MAN. (c.) How now ! What's become of Father Bene-
dict? Why is not he here *
VIL. (L.) Sir, he is not well, and so desired this gentle-
man, his brother here, to officiate for him.
MAN. He seems very young for a confessor.
VIL. Ay, sir; he has not been long at it.
OCT. Nor don’t desire to be long in it. (aside.)
MAN. Well, sir, how do you find the pulse of iniquity
beat there * What sort of sin has she most stomach to
OCT. Why, truly sir, we have all frailties, and your
daughter has had most powerful temptations.
MAN. Nay, the devil has been very busy with her these
two days.
OCT. She has told me a most lamentable story.
SC. I. sHE wou’d AND SHE wou’d NoT. 21
MAN. Ten to one, but this lamentable story proves a
most confounded lie
OCT. Indeed, son, I find, by her confession, that you are
much to blame for your tyrannical government of her.
MAN. Hey-day ! What, has the jade been inventing
sins for me, and confessing them instead of her own 2
Let me come—she shall be locked up till she repents them
too. But pray, if you please, let's come to the point;
what are these terrible cruelties that this tender lady
accuses me of?
OCT. Why, she confessed her first maiden, innocent
affection had long been settled upon a young gentleman,
whose love to her you once encouraged, and after their
most solemn vows of mutual faith, you have most bar-
barously broke in upon her hopes, and, to the utter ruin of
her peace, contracted her to a man she never saw.
MAN. Very good! I see no harm in all this.
OCT. Methinks the welfare of a daughter, sir, might be
of weight enough to make you serious.
MAN. Serious ! so I am, sir. What a devil must I
needs be melancholy, because I have got her a good
husband 2
OCT. Her melancholy may tell you, sir, she can’t think
him a good one.
MAN. Sir, I understand thinking better than she ; and
I'll make her take my word.
OCT. What have you to object against the man she
likes
MAN. The man I like.
OCT. Suppose the unhappy youth she loves should throw
himself at your feet, and try to melt you into pity :
MAN. Ay, that if he can.
OCT. Were you one moment to reflect upon the pangs
which separated lovers feel, were nature dead in you, that
thought might wake her.
MAN. Sir, when I am asked to do a thing I have not a
mind to do, my nature sleeps like a top.
OCT. Nay, then, 'tis time to claim a lover's right, and to
tell you, sir, the man that dares to ask Rosara from me is a
villain. (throws off his disguise.)
WIL. So here will be fine work 1 (aside.)
22 sHE wou’d AND SHE wou’d NoT. ACT II.
MAN. Octavio ! the devil
OCT. You'll find me one, unless you do me speedy jus-
tice: since not the bonds of honour, nature, nor submissive
reason can oblige you, I am reduced to take a surer, shorter
way, and force you to be just. I advise you, sir, to think
on’t. (walks about angrily, L.)
MAN. Ah! here's a confessor! ah! that jade of mine!—
and that other jade of my jade's Here has been rare
doings! Well, it shan’t hold long ! madam shall be
noosed to-morrow morning. Ha! Sir's in a great passion
here, but it won’t do—those long strides, don, will never
bring you the sooner to your mistress Rosara ! step into
that closet, and fetch my spectacles off the table there.
(sings.
VIL. I don’t like the gentleman's looks. (aside.)
Ros ARA. This obstinacy of yours, my dear father, you
shall find runs in the family.
Eacit Ros ARA, door in F. R. C.
MAN. (locks her in.) Tum ! dum ! dum ! (sings.)
OCT. Sir, I would advise you, as your nearest friend, to
defer this marriage for three days.
MAN. Tum ! dum! dum ! (sings.)
VIL. Sir, you have locked my mistress in. (pertly.)
MAN. Tum ! dum ! dum ! (sings.)
VIL. If you please to lend me the key, sir, I’ll let her
Out.
MAN. Tum ! dum. / dum! (sings.)
OCT. You might afford me at least, as I am a gentleman,
a civil answer, sir.
MAN: Why, then, in one word, sir, you shall not marry
my daughter; and, as you are a gentleman, I’m sure you
won’t think it good manners to stay in my house when I
submissively beg of you to walk out.
OCT. You are the father of my mistress, and something,
sir, too old to answer as you ought this wrong; therefore,
I’ll look for reparation where I can with honour take it :
this, sir, be sure of, the man that offers at Rosara's love,
shall have one virtue, courage, at least; I’ll be his proof of
that, and ere he steps before me, force him to deserve her.
[Evit OCTAVIo, L.
MAN. Ah! poor fellow ! he's mad now, and does not
SC. I. SHE wou’D AND SHE wou’D NoT. 23
know what he would be at. But, however, 'twill be no
harm to provide against him. Who waits there?
Enter SANCHO, L.
Run you for an alguazil, and bid your fellows arm them-
selves; I expect mischief at my door immediately; if
Octavio offers any disturbance, knock him down, and bring
him before me. [Exit SANCHO, L.
RosARA. (within.) Viletta!
VIL. Here, here, madam (listens at the closet door.)
Bless me ! what's this? (Rosa RA thrusts a letter to her
through the keyhole.) Ha! a letter—to Octavio—ahem!
(puts it into her bosom.
MAN. How now, hussey? What are you fumbling about
that door for *
VIL. Nothing, sir; I was only peeping to see if my mis-
tress had done prayers yet.
MAN. Hark you, Mrs. Modesty, was it you, pray, that
let in that able comforter, for my babe of grace, there?
VIL. Yes, sir, I let him in. (pertly.)
MAN. Did you so Ha! then if you please, madam, I'll
let you go out—go—go—get a sheet of brown paper, pack
up your things, and let me never see that damn'd ugly face
of thine as long as I live.
VIL. Bless me, sir! you are in a strange humour, that
you won't know when a servant does as she should do!
MAN. Thou art strangely impudent
VIL. Only the farthest from it in the world, sir.
MAN. Then I am strangely mistaken; didst not thou own
just now thou let'st him in
VIL. Yes—but ’twas in disguise—for I did not design
you should see him, because I know you did not care my
mistress should see him.
MAN. Ha!
VIL. And I knew, at the same time she had a mind to
see him. -
MAN. Ha!
VII. And you know, sir, that the sin of loving him had
laid upon her conscience a great while; so I thought it high
time she should come to a thorough confession.
MAN. Ha!
24 SHE wou’d AND she wou’d NOT. ACT II.
VIL. So, upon this, sir, as you see—I–I—I let him in,
that's all.
MAN. Nay, if it be so as thou Sayest, he was a proper
confessor, indeed!
VIL. Ay, sir; for you know this was not a spiritual
father's business.
MAN. No, no, this matter was utterly carnal.
VIL. Well, sir, and judge you now if my mistress is not
beholden to me?
MAN. Oh! extremely Hark! what noise is that?
(noise without, L.
VIL. So, Octavio's pushing his fortune—he'll have a
wife or a halter, that's positive—I’ll go see.
[Exit WILETTA, L.
Enter SANCHO, hastily, L.
MAN. How now?
SANCHo. O, sir, Octavio has set upon a couple of gentle-
men, just as they were alighting out of a coach, at the door;
one of them, I believe, is he that is to marry my young
mistress.
MAN. Run into the hall, take down my back, breast, and
head-piece; call an officer; raise the neighbours.
[Evit SANCHO, L.
Give me my great gun' I'll shoot him out of the garret-
window. [Exit DoN MANUEL, R. 1 E.
Enter HYPOLITA and FLORA, putting up their swords ;
OCTAVIo, in the charge of Two ALGUAZILs, and TRAP-
PANTI, L. 1 E.
HYP. (R. c.) Bring him along ! This is such an inso-
lence damn it ! at this rate no gentleman can walk the
StreetS.
FLORA. (c.) I suppose, sir, your business was more
with, our pockets than our persons. Are our things
safe :
TRAP. (R.) Ay, sir, I secured them, as soon as ever I
saw his sword out; I guessed his design, and scoured off
with the portmanteau.
HYP. I’ll know now who set you on, sir. (crosses c.)
SC. I. SHE wou’d AND she wou’d NoT. 25
OCT. (L.) Pr’ythee, young man, don’t be troublesome,
but thank the rascal that knocked me down, for your
escape.
HYP, Sir, I'd have you know, if you had not been
knocked down, I should have owed my escape to the same
arm you had owed the reward for your insolence. Pray,
sir, what are you? who knows you?
OCT. I’m glad, at least, to find it is not Don Philip that's
my rival. (aside.)
SANGHo. Sir, my master knows the gentleman very well;
he belongs to the army.
HYP. Then, sir, if you’d have me use you like a gentle-
man, I desire your meaning of those familiar questions you
asked me at the coach side.
OCT. 'Faith, young gentleman, I'll be very short; I love
the lady you are to marry, and if you don't quit your pre-
tences in two hours, it will entail perpetual danger upon
you and your family.
HYP. Sir, if you please, the danger's equal' for, hang me,
if I am not as fond of cutting your throat, as you can be of
IQ IIle.
OCT. If I were out of these gentlemen's hands, on my
word, sir, you should not want an opportunity.
HYP. O, sir! these gentlemen shall protect neither of
us; my friend and I’ll be your bail from them.
FLORA. Ay, sir, we'll bail you, (crosses C.) and if you
please, sir, bring your friend, I’m his. Damme ! what,
d'ye think you have boys to deal with (crosses L.)
OCT. Sir, I ask your pardon, and shall desire to kiss your
hands, about an hour hence, at— (whispers.)
FLORA. Very well, sir, we'll meet you. (crosses R.)
HYP. Release the gentleman.
SANGHo. Sir, we dare not, without my master's order.
Here he is, sir.
Enter Don MANUEL, R.
MAN. How now, bully confessor What in
limbo
HYP. Sir, Don Ferdinando de las Torres, whom I am
proud to call my father, commanded me to deliver this
into the hands of his dear and worthy friend, Don Manuel
26 SHE wou D AND SHE wou’ld NoT. ACT II.
*
Grimaldi, and at the same time gave me assurances of a kind
reception.
MAN. Sir, you are thrice welcome; let me embrace you.
I’m overjoyed to see you.-Your friend, sir?
HYP. Don Pedro Velada, my near relation, who has done
me the honour of his company from Seville, sir, to assist at
the solemnity of his friend's happiness.
MAN. Sir, you are welcome; I shall be proud to know
Oll.
y FLORA. You do me honour, sir.
MAN. I hope you are not hurt, gentlemen.
HYP. Not at all, sir; thanks to a little skill in the
sword.
MAN. I am glad of it; however, give me leave to interrupt
our business for a moment, till I have done you justice on the
person that offered you this insolence at my gate.
HYP. Your pardon, sir, I understand he is a gentleman,
and beg you would not let my honour suffer, by receiving a
lame reparation from the law.
MAN. A pretty mettled fellow, 'faith—I must not let him
fight, though. (aside.) But, sir, you don’t know, perhaps, how
deeply this man is your enemy?
HYP. Sir, I know more of his spleen and folly than you
imagine, which, if you'll please discharge him, I'll acquaint
you with.
MAN. Discharge him! Pray consider, sir—
(they seem to talk.
Enter VILETTA, L., and slips a note into OCTAvio's hand.
VIL. Send your answer to me. [Exit WILETTA, L.
OCT. (aside.) Now for a beam of hope in a tempest. (reads.)
“I charge you, don’t hazard my ruin and your own, by the
madness of a quarrel; the closet window, where I am, is but
a step to the ground; be at the back door of the garden,
exactly at the close of the evening, where you will certainly
find one that may put you in the best way of gettting rid of
a rival.” Dear, kind creature | Now if my little don's fit
of honour does but hold out to bail me, I am the happiest
dog in the universe.
MAN. Well, sir, since I find your honour is dipped so
deep in the matter, here—release the gentleman.
SC. I. SHE wou’d AND SHE wou’D NOT. 27
FLORA. So, sir, you have your freedom; you may depend
upon us. [Eveunt SERVANTs, L.
HYP. You will find us punctual. Sir, your servant.
OCT. So, now I have a very handsome occasion to put off
the tilt, too. Gentlemen, I ask your pardon; I begin to be
a little sensible of the rashness I committed; and I confess
your manner of treating me has been so very much like men
of honour, that I think myself obliged from the same prin-
ciple, to assure ye, that though I love Rosara equal to my
life, yet no consideration shall persuade me to be a rude
enemy, even to my rival. I thank you for my freedom, and
am your humble servant. [Exit L.
HYP. Your servant, sir. I think we released my brother
very handsomely; but I ha’n’t done with him. (aside to FLo.
MAN. What can this sudden turn of civility mean? I’m
afraid 'tis but a cloak to some new roguery he has in his
head.
HYP. I don't know how old it may be, but my servant
here has discovered a piece of villany of his, that exceeds
any other he can be guilty of.
MAN. Is it possible? Why would you let him go then :
HYP. Because I am sure it can do me no harm, sir.
MAN. Pray be plain, sir; what is it?
HYP. This fellow can inform you—for, to say truth, he's
much better at a lie. (aside.)
MAN. (R. C.) Come hither, friend; pray, what is this
business?
HyP. Ay, what was that you overheard between Octavio
and another gentleman at the inn where we alighted?
TRAP. Why, sir, as I was unbluckling my portmanteau,
in the yard there, I observed Octavio and another spark
very familiar with your honour's name; upon which, sir,
I pricked up the ears of my curiosity, and took in all their
discourse.
MAN. Pray, who was that other spark, friend?
TRAP. A brother rake: a deuced sly-looked fellow.
MAN. So. *
FLORA. (aside.) How familiarly the rogue treats his old
master!
HYP. (aside.) Poor Don Philip.
TRAP. Says one of them, says he—“No, damn him the
28 SHE wou’I) AND SHE wou’d NoT. ACT II.
old rogue” (meaning you, sir,) “will never let you have her
by fair means;” “However,” says Octavio, “I’ll try soft
words;” “but, if those won't do, bully him,” says tºother.
MAN. Ah, poor dog but that would not do either, sir;
he has tried them both to-day to no purpose.
TRAP. Say you so, sir? then you’ll find what I have to
say is all of a piece. “Well, and if neither of these will
do,” says he, “you must e'en tilt the young prig, your
rival; ” meaning you then, sir. (to HYPoEITA.)
MAN. Ha! haſ that, I perceive, my spark did not
greatly care for.
TRAP. No, sir; that, he found, was catching a Tartar.
’Sbud' my master fought like a lion, sir.
HYP. Truly I did not spare him.
FLORA. (aside.) No, 'faith—after he was knocked down.
TRAP. But now, sir, comes the cream of the roguery.
HYP. Pray observe, sir.
TRAP. “Well,” says Slylooks, “and if all these fail, I
have a rare trick in my head that will certainly defer the
marriage for three or four days at least, and, in that time,
the devil's in't if you don’t find an opportunity to run
away with her.”
MAN. Would you so, Mr. Dog but he'll be hanged.
Pray what was this trick to be, friend?
TRAP. Why, sir, to alarm you, that my master was an
impostor, and that Slylooks was the true Don Philip sent
by his father from Seville, to marry your daughter; “upon
which,” says he, “the old put ’’ (meaning you again, sir,)
“will be so bamboozled, that—”
MAN. But pray, sir, how did young Mr. Coxcomb con-
clude the old put was to believe all this? Had they no
sham proofs to bamboozle me with, as you call it?
TRAP. You shall hear, sir—the plot was pretty well
laid, too. “I’ll pretend,” says he, “that the rascal, your
rival,” (meaning you then, sir,) “has robbed me of my
portmanteau, where I had put up all my jewels, money,
and letters of recommendation from my father; we are
neither of us known in Madrid,” says he, “so that a little
impudence, and a grave face, will certainly set these two
dogs a snarling, while you run away with the bone.”
That's all, sir.
sc. I.] sHE wou’d AND she wou’D NoT. 29
MAN. The impudent rogue !
HYP. What think ye, sir? Was not this business pretty
handsomely laid :
FLORA. 'Faith, it might have wrought a very ridiculous
consequence.
MAN. Why, truly if I had not been fore-armed by this
discovery, for aught I know, Mr. Dog might have run
away with the bone, indeed; but, if you please, sir, since
these ingenious gentlemen are so pert upon the matter,
we’ll even let them see that you and I have wit enough to
do our business, and e'en clap up the wedding to-morrow
morning.
HYP. Sir, you are too obliging—but will your daughter,
think ye, be prevailed with ?
MAN. Sir, I’ll prepare her this minute; I’ll return
immediately, and then, if you please, we'll run over some
old stories of my good friend, Fernando—your servant.
[Exit Don MANUEL, R.
HYP. Sir, your most humble servant—Trappanti, thou
art a rare fellow ! thou hast an admirable brazen face, and
when thou diest, I’ll have thy whole statue cast all in the
same metal.
FLORA. Twere pity the rogue was not brought up to
the law. -
TRAP. So 'tis, indeed, sir. A man should not praise
himself; but if I had been bred to the bar, I dare ven-
ture to say, I become a lie as well as any man that
belongs to it.
HYP. Nay, now thou art modest; but, sirrah, we have
more work for ye—you must get in with the servants,
attack the lady's woman ; there, there's ammunition,
rogue ! (gives him money.) Now, try if you can make a
breach into the secrets of the family.
TRAP. Ah, sir, I warrant you I could never yet meet
with a woman that was this sort of pistol-proof–I have
known a handful of these do more than a barrel of gun-
powder. . [Exit, L.
FLORA. Well, what must we do next 2
HYP. Why, now for the lady—I'll be a little brisk upon
her, and then—
FLORA. Victoria [Evewnt, E.
30 SHE wou’d AND SHE wou'd NoT. [ACT III.
ACT III.
SCENE.—A room in Don Manuel's house.
Enter VILETTA hastily, R. 1 E., Don MANUEL and
TRAPPANTI behind, observing her, R. 2 E.
VIL. So, with much ado, I have given the old don the
slip; he has dangled with me through every room in the
house, high and low, up stairs and down. Well, now we
will see what Monsieur Octavio says.
(Takes letter, which contains two pieces of money, from
her bosom.
TRAP. Hist! there she is, and alone. When the devil
has anything to do with a woman, sir, that’s his time to
take her. Stand close.
MAN. Ah! he's at work already—there's a letter.
TRAP. Leave her to me, sir, I’ll read it.
VIL. Hah, two pistoles | Well, I'll say that for him,
the man knows his business—his letters always come post-
paid. (while she is reading, TRAPPANTI steals behind,
and looks over her shoulder.) “Dear Viletta, convey the
inclosed immediately to your mistress, and, as you prize
my life, use all possible means to keep the old gentleman
from the closet till you are sure she is safe out of the
window. Your real friend—”
TRAP. (reading.) “Octavio.”
VIL. (R. c. shrieking.) Ah!
TRAP. Madam, your ladyship's most humble servant.
VIL. You're very impertinent, methinks, to look over
other people's letters.
TRAP. Why, I never read a letter in my life without
looking it over.
WIL. I don’t know any business you had to look upon
this.
TRAP. There's the thing—your not knowing that, has
put you into this passion.
SC. I.] SHE wou’d AND she wou’d NoT. 31
VIL. You may chance to have your bones broke,
Mr. Coxcomb.
TRAP. Sweet Honeycomb, don’t be so waspish; or, if
I keep my counsel, d'ye see, I don’t know why my bones
mayn't keep their places; but if I peach, whose bones will
be broken then P
VII. (aside.) Ha the fool speaks true—I had better
wheedle him.
TRAP. Don't you love money above all things in the
world, except one
VIL. I except nothing.
TRAP. Very good; and pray how many letters do you
expect to be paid for when Octavio has married your
mistress, and has no occasion to write to her; while the
are lovers they will have occasion for a confidant and a
go-between ; but when they marry — serviteur —good
night, vails—our harvest is over. What d'ye think of me
now *
VIL. Why, I like what you say very well; but I don't
know, my friend—to me that same face of yours looks like
the title-page to a whole volume of roguery. What is it
you drive at 3
TRAP. Money, money, money. Don't you let your
mistress marry Octavio : I’ll do my best to hinder my
master. Let you and I lay our heads together to keep
them asunder, and so make a penny of them all three.
VIL. Look you, signor, I’ll meet you half way, and
confess to you, I had made a rough draught of this project
myself: but say, should I agree with you to go on upon’t,
what security can you give me for performance of articles?
TRAP. More than bond or judgment—my person in
custody.
VIL. Ah, that won’t do.
TRAP. No, my love! but there's many a sweet bit in't
—taste it. (offering to kiss her, she puts him away.)
WIL. No.
TRAP. 'Faith, you must give me one.
VIL. Indeed, my friend, you are too ugly for me:
though I am not handsome myself, I love to play with
those that are.
TRAP. And yet, methinks, an honest fellow of my size
32 SHE wou’d AND SHE wou’d Not. [ACT III.
and complexion, in a careless posture, playing the fool thus
with his money— (tosses a purse; she catches it.)
WIL. Pshal Well, if I must, come then—to see how
a woman may be deceived at first sight of a man.
TRAP. Nay, then, take a second thought of me,
child. (he kisses her.)
MAN. (behind.) Ha! this is laying their heads to-
gether, indeed. -
VIL. Well, now get you gone—I’ve a letter to give my
mistress. Slip into the garden—I’ll come t'ye presently.
TRAP. Is’t from Octavio P
VII. Pshal begone I say. (goes to door, R. F.)
TRAP. Hist! (beckons DoN MANUEL, who goes softly
behind WILETTA, and exit, L.)
VIL. Madam madam 1 (sees DoN MANUEL.) Ah!
MAN. Now, jade, give me the other letter, or I'll
murder you. (draws.)
VIL. Ah lud! oh lud —there !
MAN. Now we shall see what my gentleman would be
at. (reads.) “My dear angel,”—Ha ! soft and impudent
—“Depend upon me at the garden door by seven this even-
ing: pity my impatience, and believe you can never come
too soon to the arms of your—Octavio.” Hold ! let's see—
what does he say here 2–um—um! (reads to himself.)
VII. (R., aside.) What a stupid wench was I to believe
this old fool durst do me any harm; but a fright's the
devil!
MAN. (c., reading.) Um um !—“sure she's safe out of
the window !” Oh, there the mine is to be sprung, then
Now, gentlewoman, what do ye think in your conscience
I ought to do to ye?
VIL. What I think in my conscience you’ll not do to
me—make a friend of me—you see, sir, I dare be an
enemy.
MAN. Nay, thou dost not want courage, I’ll say that for
thee: but is it possible anything can make thee honest ?
VII. What do you propose would make me otherwise?
MAN. Money.
VIL. You have nicked it.
MAN. And would the same sum make thee surely one
as tºother.
sc. I.] SHE wou’d AND SHE wou’d NoT. 33
VIL. That I can’t say, neither; one must be heavier
than the other, or else the scale can’t turn.
MAN. Say it be so, would that turn thee into my
interest ?
VIL. The very minute you turn into mine, sir; judge
for yourself;-here stands Octavio with a letter, and two
pieces, to give it to my mistress; there stand you with a
—hem and four pieces, where would the letter go, d'ye
think
MAN. There needs no more—I am convinced, and will
trust thee; here's to encourage thee beforehand, and when
thou bringest me a letter of Octavio's, I’ll double it.
VIL. Sir, I’ll do it—and will take care he shall write
presently (aside—crossing L.)
MAN. Now, as you expect I should believe you, begone,
and take no notice of what I have discovered.
WIL. I am dumb, sir—dumb.
MAN. So, this was done like a wise general ; and now
I have taken the counterscarp, there may be some hopes
of making the town capitulate. Rosara ! (unlocks the closet.
Enter Ros ARA, from door, R. F.
Ros. Did you call me, sir?
MAN. Ay, child. Come, be cheerful; what I have to
say to you I'm sure ought to make you so. In one word,
set your heart at rest, for you shall marry Don Philip this
very evening.
Rosa RA. That's but short warning for the gentleman as
well as myself, for I don't know that we ever saw each
other. How are you sure he will like me?
MAN. Oh, as for that matter, he shall see you presently;
and I have made it his interest to like you ; but if you are
positively resolved upon Octavio, I'll make but few words
—pull off your clothes, and go to him.
Ros ARA. My clothes, sir!
MAN. Ay, for the gentleman shan’t have a rag with
OUl.
y Rosa RA. When do you expect Don Philip, sir?
MAN. Expect him, sir! he has been here this hour—I
only staid to get you out of the sullens, He's none of
your humdrums—all life and mettle ! 'Odzooks a duel's
34 SHE wou’D AND SHE wou’D NoT. [ACT III.
but a dance to him; he has been at sa! Sa | Sal for you
already. *
Rosa RA. Well, sir, I shan’t be afraid of his courage,
since I see you are resolved he shall be the man. He
shall find me a woman, sir; let him win me and wear me,
as soon as you please.
MAN. Ah! now thou art my own girl! hold but in this
humour one quarter of an hour, and I’ll toss the t'other
bushel of doubloons into thy portion. Here, bid a-come,
I’ll fetch him myself. She's in a rare cue, 'faith ! ah, if he
does but nick her now ! [Exit.
Rosa RA. Now I have but one card to play—if that
don't hit, my hopes are crushed, indeed : if this young
spark be not a downright coxcomb, I may have a trick to
turn all yet. Dear fortune give him but common sense,
I'll make it impossible for him to like me. Here they come.
(walks carelessly and sings.)“I’ll rove and I’ll range”—
Enter Don MANUEL and HYPOLITA, R.
HYP. Madam, I kiss your ladyship's hands. Perhaps
you expected I should come in with a grave bow, and a long
speech, but my affairs are in a little more haste ; therefore,
if youplease, madam, we'll cut the workshort; bethoroughly
intimate at the first sight, and see one another's humour
in a quarter of an hour, as well as if we had been weary
of them this twelvemonth.
MAN. Ah!
Rosa RA. Troth, sir, I think you are very much in the
right: the sooner I see you, the sooner I shall know
whether I like you or not.
HYP. Pshal as for that matter, you'll find me a very
fashionable husband; I shan’t expect my wife to be over
fond of me.
Ros ARA. But I love to be in the fashion, too, sir, in
taking the man I have a mind to.
HYP. Say you so why, then, take me as soon as you
please.
RosARA. I only stay for my mind, sir; as soon as ever
that comes to me, upon my word I’m ready to wait upon
you. (goes up.)
HYP. Well, madam, a quarter of an hour shall break no
sc. I.] sHE wou’I) AND SHE wou’d NoT. 35
squares. Sir, if you’ll find an occasion to leave us alone,
I see we shall come to a right understanding presently.
(goes up.
MAN. I’ll do it. Sir, I must beg your pardon for a
moment; but, if you plesae, in the meantime, I’ll leave
you my daughter, and so pray make the best of her.
[Exit, R.
HYP. I thank ye, sir. (HYPOLITA stands sometime mute,
looks carelessly at Ros ARA, and she smiles as in contempt
of him.) Why, now, methinks, madam, you had as good
put on a real smile, for I am doomed to be the happy man,
you see.
Rosa RA. So my father says, sir.
HYP. I’ll take his word.
Ros ARA. A bold man—but he'll break it.
HYP. He won’t.
ROSARA. He must.
HYP. Whether he will or no
Rosa RA. He can't help it now.
HYP. How so, pray ?
Rosa RA. Because he has promised you, you shall marry
me; and he has always promised me I should marry the
man I could love.
HYP. Ay—that is, he would oblige you to love the
man you should marry.
Rosa RA. The man that I marry will be sure of my love;
but, for the man that marries me, mercy on him
HYP. No matter for that, I’ll marry you.
Rosa R.A. Come, I don’t believe you are so ill-natured.
HYP. Why, dost thou not like me, child?
Ros ARA. Um—No.
HYP. What's the matter
Ros ARA. The old fault.
HyP. What P
Rosa RA. I don’t like you.
HYP. Is that all
Ros ARA. No.
HYP. That's hard—the rest ?
Rosa RA. That you won't like.
HYP. I’ll stand it—try me.
Rosa R.A. Why, then, in short, I like another—another
36 sIIE wou’r, AND SHE wou’d NoT. [ACT III.
man, sir, has got into my head, and has made such work
there, you'll never be able to set me to rights as long as
you live. What d'ye think of me now, sir? Won't this
serve as a reason why you shouldn’t marry me?
HYP. Um—the reason is a pretty smart sort of a reason,
truly, but it won’t do. To be short with ye, madam, I
have reason to believe I shall be disinherited if I don’t
marry you.
Rosa RA. And what have you reason to believe you
shall be if you do marry me?
HYP. Oh, I may prevent that, madam, we have such
things as back rooms, barred windows, hard fare, poison,
daggers, bolts, chains, and so forth. -
Rosa RA. Ay, sir, and there are such things as bribes,
plots, shams, letters, lies, walls, ladders, keys, confidants,
and so forth.
HYP. Well, madam, to let you see I’m a friend to love,
though love's an enemy to me, give me but a seeming
proof that Octavio's the undisputed master of your heart,
and I’ll forego the power your father's obligations give me,
and throw my hopes into his arms with you.
RosARA. Sir, you confound me with this goodness. A
proof! Command me to what proof you please; or if you’ll
trust to my sincerity, let these tears of joy convince
you. Here, on my knees, by all my hopes of peace, I
SWear
HYP. Hold! swear never to make any other man your
husband but Octavio.
Rosa RA. I swear, and Heaven befriend me, as I keep
this vow inviolate |
HYP. Rise, madam, and now receive a secret, which I
need not charge you to be careful of, since, as well your
quiet as my own depends upon it. A little common pru-
dence between us, in all probability, before night, may
make us happy in our separate wishes.
Rosa RA. What mean you, sir? sure you are some angel
sent to my deliverance.
HYP. Truly, madam, I have been often told so ;—but
like most angels of my kind, there is a mortal man in the
world, who I have a great mind should know that I am—
but a woman.
SC. I.] SHE wou’d AND SHE wou’m NoT. 37
RosARA. A woman are you not Don Philip *
HYP. His shadow, madam, no more ; I just run before
him—nay, and after him, too. Octavio, madam, your
lover, is my brother—my name Hypolita, my story you
shall know at leisure.
Ros ARA. Hypolita may then, from what you’ve said,
and what I have heard Octavio say of you, I guess your
story; but this was so extravagant a thought !
HYP. That's true, madam, it——it—it was a little rounda-
bout, indeed—I might have found a nearer way to Don
Philip; but these men are such testy things, they can
never stay one's time—always in haste, just as they please
—now we are to look kind, then grave—now soft, then
sincere—and so you see, there is such a plague that—I
don’t know—one does not care to be rid of them, neither.
RoSARA. A very generous confession
HYP. Well, madam, now you know me thoroughly, I
hope you will think me as fit for a husband as another wo-
man,—Here comes your father—Come, put on a dumb,
consenting air, and leave the rest to me. *
Fnter Don MANUEL, R.
MAN. So, son, how does the battle go now * Have you
cannonaded stoutly Does she cry quarter :
HYP. My dear father let me embrace your knees; my
life's too poor to make you a return—you have given me
an empire, sir; I would not change to be Grand Signior.
MAN. Ah, rogue ! he has done it, he has done it; he
has her haſ is't not so, my little champion 3
HYP. Victoria, sir! the town's my own.
MAN. Ah, give me the great chair—I can’t bear my
joy—Ah, my cares are over !
HYP. Oh, I told you, sir, hearts and towns are never
too strong for a surprise.
MAN. Pr'ythee, be quiet, I hate the sight of ye—
Rosara! come hither, you wicked thing, come hither, I say.
Ros ARA. I am glad to see you so well pleased, sir!
MAN. Oh, I cannot live—I can’t live ; it pours upon me
like a torrent; I am full as a bumper—it runs over at my
eyes; I shall choke—Answer me two questions and kill
me outright.
38 SHE wou’D AND SHE wou’d NoT. [ACT III.
Rosa RA. Anything that will make you more pleased,
SII’.
MAs. Are you positively resolved to marry this gentle-
Ill&Il
Rosa RA. Sir, I am convinced 'tis the first match that
can make me happy.
MAN. I am the miserablest dog alive—and I warrant
you are willing to marry him to-morrow morning if I
should ask you?
Rosa RA. Sooner, sir, if you think it necessary.
MAN. Oh, this malicious jade has a mind to destroy
me at once. (to HYPOLITA.) Ye cursed toad how did
you do to get in with her so :
Rosa RA. Come, sir, take heart — your joy won’t be
always so troublesome.
MAN. You lie, hussey, I shall be plagued with it as
long as I live.
HYP. (aside.) You must not live above two hours, then
MAN. I warrant I shall have a young squab Spaniard
upon my lap, that will so grandpapa me. (as if nursing an
infant, and laughing.) Bye—bye, bye—bye! Well, what
want you, gloomy face?
Enter SANCHO, L.
SANGHo. Sir, here's a gentleman desires to speak to
you: he says he comes from Seville.
MAN. From Seville ! Ha! pr’ythee, let him go thither
again. Tell him I am a little busy about being overjoyed.
[Evit SANCHO, L.
HYP. My life on’t, sir, this must be the fellow that my
servant told you of, employed by Octavio.
MAND. Very likely.
Enter TRAPPANTI, L.
TRAP. Sir sir—news news |
MAN. Ay, this fellow has a good merry face now—I
like him. Well, what dost thou say, lad —But, hold,
sirrah! has anybody told you how it is with me?
TRAP, Sir P
MAN. Do you know, puppy, that I am ready to cry?
TRAP. Cry, sir! for what?
SC. I.] SHE wou’d AND SHE wou’d NoT. 39
gº
MAN. Joy! joy! you whelp ; my cares are over ;
madam's to marry your master, sirrah, and I am as wet
with joy as if I had been thrown into a sea full of good
luck—Why don’t you cry, dog?
TRAP. Uh Well, sir, I do—but now, if you please,
let me tell you my business.
MAN. Well, what's the matter, sirrah
TRAP. Nay, no great matter, sir, only—Slylooks is
come, that's all.
MAN. Slylooks! what, the bamboozler Ha! ha
TRAP. He, sir, he.
MAN. I’m glad of it, 'faith; now I shall have a little
diversion to moderate my joy ; I’ll wait on the gentleman
myself—don't be out of the way, son; I'll be with ye
presently. Oh, my jaws this fit will carry me off. Ye
dear toad' good bye. [Exit with TRAPPANTI, L.
HYP. Ha! haſ haſ the old gentleman's as merry as a
fiddle; how he’ll start when a string snaps in the middle
of his tune.
Rosa RA. At least we shall make him change it, I
believe.
HYP. That we shall: and here comes one that's to play
upon him.
Enter FLORA hastily, R.
FLORA. Don Philip, where are you ? I must needs
speak with ye. Begging your ladyship's pardon, madam.
(whispers to HYPoEITA.) Stand to your arms; the enemy's
at the gate, 'faith !
Rosa R.A. Who can this youth be she is so familiar
with P
HYP. (to FLORA.) I like your advice so well, that, to
tell you the truth, I have made bold to take it before
you gave it me. Come, I’ll introduce you.
FLORA. Then the business is done.
HYP. (to Rosa R.A.) Madam, if your ladyship pleases.
Rosa RA. Is this gentleman your friend, sir?
HYP. This friend, madam, is my gentlewoman, at your
Servl(20.
Ros ARA. Gentlewoman
FLORA. That used to be my post, madam, when I wore
40 SHE wou’D AND SHE wou’D NOT. [ACT III.
a needle; but, now I have got a sword by my side, I shall
be proud to be your ladyship's humble servant.
Ros ARA. Troth, I think it’s a pity you should either of
you ever part with your swords: I never saw a prettier
couple of adroit cavaliers in my life. Come, ladies—
gentlemen, I beg your pardon. [Eveunt, R.
If preferred, the Comedy can be pe formed in Four Acts, by continuing
the scene, instead of allowing the act to terminate here.
ACT HIV
SCENE.—Don Manuel's house.
Enter Don MANUEL and Don PHILIP, L. 1 E.
MAN. Well, sir; and so you were robbed of your
portmanteau, you say, at Toledo, in which were all your
letters and writings relating to your marriage with my
daughter, and that's the reason you are come without
them
PHIL. I was not robbed of the regard I owe my
father's friend; that, sir, I have brought with me, and
'twould have been ill manners not to have paid it at my
first arrival.
MAN. (aside.) Ah, how smooth the spark is l—Well,
sir, I am pretty considerably glad to see you; but I hope
you’ll excuse me if, in a matter of this consequence, I
seem a little cautious.
PHIL. Sir, I shan’t propose any immediate progress in
my affairs, till you receive fresh advice from my father;
in the mean time, I shall think myself obliged by the bare
freedom of your house, and such entertainment as you'd
at least afford a common Stranger.
MAN. (aside.) Impudent rogue ! the freedom of my
house ! Yes, that he may be always at hand to secure the
main chance for my friend, Octavio ; but now I’ll have a
touch of the bamboozle with him.—Look ye, sir, while I see
sc. I.] she wou’D AND SHE wou’d NoT. 41
nothing to contradict what you say you are, d'ye see, you
shall find me a gentleman.
PHIL. So my father told me, sir.
MAN. But then, on the other hand, d’ye see, a man's
honesty is not always written in his face ; and (begging
your pardon,) if you should prove a damn’d rogue now,
d'ye see : -
PHIL. Sir, I can’t in reason take anything ill that pro-
ceeds only from your caution.
MAN. (aside.) Civil rascal!—No, no, as you say, I hope
you won't take it ill, neither; for how do I know, you
know, but what you tell me (begging your pardon again,
sir,) may be all a lie!
PHIL. Another man, indeed, might say the same to
you; but I shall take it kindly, sir, if you suppose me a
villain no oftener than you have occasion to suspect me.
MAN. Sir, you speak like a man of honour, it is con-
fessed; but begging your pardon again, sir, is there nobody
here at Madrid that knows you ?
PHIL. Sir, I never saw Madrid till within these last
two hours; though there is a gentleman in town that knew
me intimately at Seville; I met him by accident at the
inn where I alighted—he's known here; if it will give
you any present satisfaction, I believe I could easily pro-
duce him to vouch for me.
MAN. At the inn, say ye, did you meet this gentleman?
What's his name, pray ?
PHIL. Octavio Cruzado.
MAN. (aside.) Ha, my bully confessor' this agrees
word for word with honest Trappanti’s intelligence.—
Well, sir, and pray what does he give you for this job
PHIL. Job, sir! -
MAN. Ay, that is, do you undertake it out of good
fellowship, or are you to have a sort of fellow-feeling in
the matter
PHIL. Sir, if you believe me to be the son of Don
Fernando, I must tell ye your manner of receiving me is
what you ought not to suppose can please him, or I can
thank you for ; if you think me an impostor, I’ll ease you
of the trouble of suspecting me, and leave your house, till
I can bring better proofs as to who I am.
42 SHE wou’D AND SHE wou’d NoT. [ACT Iv.
MAN. Do so, friend; and, in the mean time, d'ye see,
pray give my humble service to the politician, and tell
him that, to your certain knowledge, the old fellow, the
old rogue, and the old put, d'ye see, knows how to
bamboozle as well as himself.
PHIL. Politician and bamboozle ! Pray, sir, let me
understand you, that I may know how to answer you.
. MAN. Come, come, don’t be discouraged, friend—some-
times, you know, the strongest wits must fail. You have
an admirable head, it is confessed, with as able a face to
it as ever was stuck on two shoulders; but who the
devil can help ill luck & for it happens at this time, d'ye
see, that it won’t do.
PHIL. Won’t do, sir?
MAN. Nay, if you won’t understand me now, here
comes an honest fellow that will speak you point-blank to
the matter.
Enter TRAPPANTI, L.
Come hither, friend; dost thou know this gentleman?
TRAP. Bless me, sir! is it you? Sir, this is my old
master I lived with at Seville.
PHIL. I remember thee; thy name's Trappanti; thou
wert my servant when I first went to travel.
TRAP. Ay, sir, and about twenty months after you
came home, too. -
PHIL. You see, sir, this fellow knows me.
MAN. Oh, I never questioned it in the least, sir.
Pr’ythee, what's this worthy gentleman's name, friend ?
TRAP. Sir, your honour has heard me talk of him a
thousand times. His name !—his name is Guzman ; his
father, sir, old Don Guzman—the most eminent lawyer in
Seville—was the very person that drew up the settlement
and articles of my master's marriage with your honour's
daughter : this gentleman knows all the particulars as
well as if he had drawn them up himself: but, sir, I hope
there's no mistake in them that may defer the marriage.
PHIL. Confusion
MAN. Now, sir, what sort of answer d'ye think fit to
make me * -
PHIL. Now, sir, that I’m obliged in honour not to leave
sc. I.] SHE wou’r) AND SHE wou’D NOT. 43
your house till I at least have seen the villain that calls
himself Don Philip, that has robbed me of my portman-
teau, and would you of your honour and your daughter.—
As for this rascal—(half draws his sword.)
TRAP. Sir, I demand your protection. (runs behind MAN.
MAN. Hold, sir! Since you are so brisk, and in my
own house, too, call your master, friend: you'll find we
have swords within can match you.
TRAP. Ay, sir, I may chance to send you one will take
down your courage. [Exit TRAPPANTI, R. 1 E.
PHIL. I ask your pardon, sir; I must confess the vil-
lainy I saw designed against my father's friend had trans-
ported me beyond good manners; but be assured, sir, use
me henceforth as you please, I will detect it, though I lose
my life. Nothing shall affront me now till I have proved
myself your friend, indeed, and Don Fernando's son.
MAN. Nay, look ye, sir, I will be very civil, too—I
won’t say a word—you shall e'en squabble it out by your-
selves; not but, at the same time, thou art to me the mer-
riest fellow I ever saw in my life.
Enter HYPo1.1TA, FLORA, and TRAPPANTI, R. 1. E.
HYP. Who's this, that dare's usurp my name, and calls
himself Don Philip de las Torres?
PHIL. Ha! this is a young competitor, indeed! (aside.)
FLORA. Is this the gentleman, sir?
MAN. Yes, yes, that's he. Ha! hal
PHIL. Yes, sir, I’m the man, who, but this morning, lost
that name upon the road; I’m informed an impudent
young rascal has picked it out of some writings in the
portmanteau he robbed me of, and has brought it hither
before me. D'ye know any such, sir?
FLORA. The fellow really does it very well, sir!
MAN. Oh, to a miracle! (aside.)
HyP. Pr'ythee, friend, how long dost thou expect thy
impudence will keep thee out of gaol: Could not the cox-
comb that put thee upon this, inform thee too, that this
gentleman was a magistrate :
MAN. Well said, my little championſ
PHIL. Now, in my opinion, child, that might as well
put thee in mind of thy own condition; for suppose thy
44 SHE wou’d AND SHE wou’d Not. [ACT Iv.
wit and impudence should so far succeed, as to let thee
ruin this gentleman's family, by really marrying his
daughter, thou canst not but know ’tis impossible thou
shouldst enjoy her long; a very few days must unavoidably
discover thee: in the meantime, if thou wilt spare me the
trouble of exposing thee, and generously confess thy
roguery, thus far I’ll forgive thee; but if thou still pro-
ceedest upon his credulity to a marriage with the lady,
don't flatter thyself that all her fortune shall buy off my
evidence, for I’m bound in honour, as well as law, to hang
thee for the robbery.
HYP. Sir, you are extremely kind.
FLORA. Very civil, 'egad.
HYP. But may not I presume, my dear friend, this
wheedle was offered as a trial of this gentleman's credulity?
Ha 1 ha hal
MAN. Indeed, my friend, 'tis a very shallow one.
Canst thou think I’m such a sot as to believe, that, if he
knew 'twere in my power to hang him, he would not have
run away at the first sight of thee *
TRAP. Ay, sir, he must be a dull rogue, indeed, that
would not run away from a halter. Ha! haſ ha!
(All laugh.
PHIL. Sir, I ask your pardon ; I begin now to be a
little sensible of my folly—I perceive this gentleman has
done his business with you effectually : however, sir, the
duty I owe my father obliges me not to leave your cause,
though I’ll leave your house immediately : when you see
me next, you'll know Don Philip from a rascal.
MAN. Ah, 'twill be the same thing if I know a rascal
from Don Philip. So, when you see your friend, the
politician, you must tell him you had cursed luck, that's
all. Ha 1 ha hal
PHIL. Very well, sir; I may have better when I see
you next. -
HYP. Look ye, sir, since your undertaking (though you
designed it otherwise,) has promoted my happiness, thus
far I pass it by ; but be assured, your next attempt—
PHIL. Will startle you, my spark. I'm afraid you'll
be a little humbler when you are handcuffed. Though
you won't take my word against him, sir, perhaps another
sc. I.] she wou’D AND SHE wou’D NoT. 45
magistrate may my oath, which, because I see his marriage
is in haste, I am obliged to make immediately. If he can
outface the law, too, I shall be coutent to be the coxcomb
then you think me. [Exit, L.
MAN. Ah, poor fellow, he's resolved to carry it off
with a good face however. Hal hal
TRAP. Ay, sir, that's all he has for’t, indeed.
HYP. (aside to TRAPPANTI.) Trappanti, follow him,
and do as I directed. *
TRAP. I warrant ye, sir. [Exit, L.
MAN. Ah, my little champion, thou hast carried the day
like a hero. Man nor woman, nothing can stand before
thee. I’ll make thee monarch of my daughter immediately.
HYP. That’s the Indies, sir. [Eveunt, R.
Enter Don Oct Avio, with a letter, L.
OCT. Rosara false ! distraction 1 Sure this letter must
be but artifice, a humour to try how far my love can bear
—and yet, methinks, she can’t but know the impudence of
my young rival, and her father's importunity are too pres-
sing to allow her any time to fool away; and, if she were
really false, she could not take a pride in confessing it.
Death ! I know not what to think; the sex is all a riddle,
and we are the fools that crack our brains to expound
them.
Enter WILETTA, R.
Now, dear Viletta!
VIL. My lady begs your pardon; they have just sent
for the priest, but they will be glad to see you about an
hour hence, as soon as the wedding's over.
OCT. Viletta P *
VIL. Sir, she says, in short, she can't possibly speak
with you now, for she is just going to be married.
OCT. Death ! daggers blood confusion and ten
thousand furies 1 .
VII. Hey-day ! what's all this for
OCT. My brain is turned, Viletta.
WIL. Ay, by my troth, so one would think, if one could
but think you had any at all: if you have but three grains,
I’m sure you can’t but know her compliance with this
46 SHE wou’D AND SHE wou’d NoT. [ACT Iv.
match must give her a little liberty; and can you suppose
she’d desire to see you an hour hence, if she did not
design to make use of it.
OCT. Don’t flatter me, Viletta.
VIL. 'Faith, sir, I’ll be very plain: you are to me the
dullest person I ever saw in my life; but, if you have a
mind, I’ll tell her you won’t come.
OCT. No, don’t say so, Viletta.
VIL. Then, pray, sir, do as she bids you—hist! here's
company—good bye to ye. [Evit, R.
Enter Don PHILIP, his sword drawn, pulling in
TRAPPANTI, L.
PHIL. Come, sir, there's no retreating now—this you
must justify.
TRAP. (L.) Sir, I will, and a great deal more; but,
pray, sir, give me leave to recover my courage—I protest
the keen looks of that weapon have quite frighted it away.
Pray, put it up, sir.
PHIL. Nay; to let thee see I had rather be thy friend
than enemy, I’ll bribe thee to be honest. Discharge thy
conscience like a man, and I’ll engage to make these five
pieces, ten.
Enter SANCHo, R.
TRAP. Sir, your business will be done effectually.
PHIL. Here, friend, will ye tell your master I desire to
speak with him : (SANCHO crosses R., and exit.
OCT. (comes down R.) Don Philip !
PHIL. Octavio ! This is fortunate, indeed;—the only
place in the world I would have wished to have found you in.
OCT. What's the matter
PHIL. You'll see presently—but, pr’ythee, how stands
your affair with your mistress?
OCT. The devil take me if I can tell ye—I don’t know
what to make of her; about an hour ago she was for
scaling walls to come at me; and this minute—whip !
she's going to marry the stranger I told you of nay, con-
fesses, too, it is with her own consent; and yet begs, by
all means, to see me as soon as her wedding's over.—Is
it not very pretty?
SC. I.] SHE wou’d AND SHE wou’D NoT. 47
PHIL. Something gay, indeed.
OCT. But the plague on’t is, my love cannot bear this
jesting.—Well, now, how stands your affair? have you
seen your mistress yet?
PEIIL. No ; I can’t gain admittance to her.
OCT. How so *
PHIL. When I came to pay my duty here to the old
gentleman—
OCT. Here?
PHIL. Ay; I found an impudent young rascal here
before me, that had taken my name upon him, robbed me
of my portmanteau, and, by virtue of some papers there,
knew all my concerns to a tittle : he has told a plausible
tale to her father, faced him down that I'm an impostor,
and, if I don't this minute prevent him, is going to marry
the lady.
OCT. (aside.) Confusion' my friend at last my rival,
too—yet, hold ! my rival is my friend; he owns he has
not seen her yet.
PHIL. You seem concerned.
OCT. Undone for ever, unless dear Philip's still my
friend.
PHIL. What's the matter
OCT. Let me conjure you, by all the ties of honour,
friendship, and pity, never attempt her more.
PHIL. You amaze me !
OCT. 'Tis the same dear creature I so passionately dote
Oll.
PHIL. Is it possible : Nay, then, be easy in thy
thoughts, Octavio ; and now I dare confess the folly of
my own: I'm not sorry thou art my rival here. In spite
of all my weak philosophy, I must own the secret wishes
of my soul are still Hypolita's.
(TRAPPANTI attempts to sneak off, but is overtaken by
PHILIP.
OCT. Dear Philip !—But how shall we manage the
rascal of an impostor? Suppose you run immediately,
and swear the robbery against him ;
PHIL. I was just going about it, but was luckily pre-
vented, by accidentally meeting with this fellow, who,
you must know, has been chief engineer in the contrivance

48 SHE wou’I) AND SHE wou’D NOT. [ACT IV.
against me ; but, between threats, bribes, and promises,
he has confessed the whole roguery, and is now ready to
swear it against him : so, because I understand the spark
is very near his marriage, I thought this would be the
best and soonest way to detect him.
OCT. That's right; the least delay might have lost all;
besides, I am here to strengthen his evidence, for I can
swear that you are the true Don Philip.
PHIL. Right.
TRAP. Sir, with humble submission, that will be quite
wrong.
Oct. Why so
TRAP. Because, sir, the old gentleman is substantially
convinced that 'tis you who have put Don Philip upon lay-
ing his pretended claim to his daughter, purely to defer
the marriage, that in the meantime you might get an op-
portunity to run away with her; for which reason, sir,
you’ll find your evidence will but fly in your face, and has-
ten the match with your rival.
PHIL. Ha! There’s reason in that.
OCT. What would you have me do?
TRAP. Don't appear at the trial, sir. -
PHIL. By no means; rather wait a little in the street;
be within call, and leave the management to me.
OCT. I won’t stir from the door. (crosses, L.)
PHIL. You’ll soon hear of me; away !
[Exit OctAvio, L.
TRAP. So, now I have divided the enemy, there can be
no great danger if it should come to a battle—Bastal here
comes our party.
PHIL. Stand aside, till I call for you.
[TRAPPANTI retires, L.
Enter Don MANUEL, R.
MAN. Well, sir, what service have you to command me
now, pray ?
PHIL. Now, sir, I hope my credit will stand a little
fairer with you; all I beg is your patient hearing.
MAN. Well, sir, you shall have it.—Here he comes;
bring him to trial as soon as you please.
sc. II.] she wou’d AND SHE wou’d NoT. 49
Enter HYPo1.1TA and FLORA, R.
FIoRA. So | Trappanti has succeeded; he's come with-
out the officers. (to HYPoELTA.) -
HyP. Hearing, sir, you were below, I did not care to
disturb the family, by putting the officers to the trouble of
a needless search; let me see your warrant: I’m ready to
obey it.
MAN. Ay, where's your officer
FLORA. I thought to have seen him march in state, with
an alguazil before him.
PHIL. I was afraid, sir, upon second thoughts, your
business would not stay for a warrant, though 'tis possible
I may provide for you, for I think this gentleman's a ma-
gistrate; in the meantime—ah, here, I have prevailed
with an alguazil to wait upon ye.
Enter ALGUAZIL., L.
ALG. Did you send for me, sir?
PHIL. Ay, secure that gentleman.
MAN. Hold, hold, sir, all things in order; this gentle-
man is yet my guest; let me be first acquainted with his
crime, and then I shall better know how he deserves to be
treated; and that we may have no hard words upon one
another, if you please, sir, let me first talk with you in
private. (they go wip and whisper, L.)
HYP. Undone ! that fool, Trappanti, or that villain, I
know not which, has at least mistaken or betrayed me !
Ruined past redemption!
FLORA. (R.) Death ! what d'ye mean? That hanging look
were enough to confirm a suspicion; bear up, for shame!
HYP. (R. C.) Impossible! I am dashed, confounded; if
thou hast any courage left, show it quickly. Go, speak,
before my fears betray me. (aside.)
MAN. If you can make this appear by any witness, sir,
I confess’twill surprise me, indeed. (advancing with PHILIP.
FLORA. Ay, sir, if you have any witnesses, we desire
you’d produce them. *.
PHIL. Sir, I have a witness at your service, and a sub:
stantial one. Hey Trappanti!
50 SHE wou’D AND SHE wou’d NoT [AcT Iv.
Fnter TRAPPANTI, L.
Now, sir, what think ye *
HYP. Ha!, the rogue winks—then there's life again.
(aside.) Is this your witness, sir?
PHIL. Yes, sir; this poor fellow at last, it seems, hap-
pens to be homest enough to confess himself a rogue, and
your accomplice.
HyP. Ha! ha
PHIL. Ha! haſ you are very merry, sir.
MAN. Nay, there's a jest between ye, that's certain—
But come, friend, what say you to the business? Have ye
any proof to offer, upon oath, that this gentleman is the
true Don Philip, and consequently this other an impostor?
PHIL. Speak boldly.
TRAP. Ay, sir, but shall I come to no harm if I do
speak 2
MAN. Let it be the truth, and I’ll protect thee.
TRAP. Well, sir, since I must speak, then, in the first
place, I desire your honour would be pleased to command
the officer to secure that gentleman. (runs across to R.)
PHIL. Secure me, rascal' (half draws his sword.)
TRAP. (R.) Sir, if I can’t be protected, I shall never be
able to speak. --
MAN. (c.) I warrant thee. What is it you say, friend?
TRAP ..Sir, as I was just now crossing the street, this
gentleman, with a sneer in his face, takes me by the hand,
claps five pistoles in my palm, (here they are) shuts my fist
close upon them, “My dear friend,” says he, “you must
do me a piece of service;” upon which, sir, I bows to the
ground, and desired him to open his case.
PHIL. What means the rascal?
MAN. Sir, I am as much amazed as you; but pray let's
hear him, that we may know his meaning.
TRAP. So, sir, upon this he runs me over a long story of
a sham and a flam he had just contrived, he said, to defer
my master's marriage only for two days.
PHIL. Confusion
FLORA, Nay, pray, sir, let's hear the evidence,
TRAP. Upon the close of the matter, sir, I found at last,
SC. II.] sHE wou’I) AND SHE wou’D NOT. 51
by his eloquence, that the whole business depended upon
my bearing a little false witness against my master.
HYP. Oh, oh!
TRAP Upon this, sir, I began to demur : “Sir” says I,
“this business will never hold water; don't let me un-
dertake it; I beg your pardon;”—gave him the negative
shrug, and was for sneaking off with the fees in my
pocket.
MAN. Very well.
PHIL. Villain.
#.” Ha! haſ haſ
TRAP. Upon this, sir, he catches me fast hold by the
collar, whips out his poker, claps it within half an inch
of my body: “Now, dog!” says he, “you shall do it, or,
within two hours, stink upon the dunghill you came from.
PHIL. Sir, if there be any faith in mortal man—
MAN. Nay, nay, one at a time—you shall be heard
presently. Go on, friend.
TRAP. Having me at this advantage, sir, I began to
think my wit would do me more service than my
courage, so prudently pretended, out of fear, to comply
with his threats, and swallow the perjury; but now, sir,
being under protection, and at liberty of conscience, I have
honesty enough, you see, to tell you the whole truth of the
matter.
MAN. Ay, this is evidence indeed!
OMNEs. Ha ha! haſ
PHIL. Dog! villain! Did not you confess to me that
this gentleman picked you up not three hours ago, at the
same inn where I alighted —that he had owned his
stealing my portmanteau at Toledo —that if he succeeded
to marry the lady, you were to have a considerable
sum for your pains, and these two were to share the rest
of her fortune between them :
TRAP. O. lud! O lud! Sir, as I hope to die in my bed
these are the very words, he threatened to stab me, if I
would not swear against my master—I told him at first,
sir, I was not fit for his business; I was never good at a
lie in my life.
52 SHE wou’D AND SHE wou’d NoT. [ACT Iv.
ALGUAZIL. (L.) Nay, sir, I saw this gentleman's sword
at his breast out of my window.
TRAP. Look ye there, sir!
PHIL. Confusion |
OMNEs. Ha ha! hal
MAN. Really, my friend, thou art almost turned fool in
this business: if thou hadst prevailed upon this wretch to
perjure himself, couldst thou think I should not have
detected him You may go, friend. [Exit ALGUAZIL., L.
FIoIRA. Ha! haſ
PHIL. Sir, you are imposed upon. Defer your marriage
but an hour. Perdition seize me if I have any hope or
thought but that of serving you.
MAN. Nay, now thou art a downright distracted man.
Dost thou expect I should take thy bare word, when here
were two honest fellows that have just proved thee in a lie
to thy face
JEnter SANCHo, R.
SANCHo. Sir, the priest is come. Evit, R.
MAN. Is he so then, sir, if you please, since you see
you can do me no farther service, I believe it may be time
for you to go. Come, son, now let's wait upon the bride,
and put an end to this gentleman's trouble for altogether.
[Exit DoN MANUEL, R.
HYP. Sir, I’ll wait on ye. (goes up R.)
PHIL. Confusion I’ve undone my friend. (walks about.
FLORA. (aside.) Trappanti! rogue, this was a master-
piece
TRAP. (aside.) Sir, I believe it won't be mended in
haste. [Eveunt FLORA and TRAPPANTI, R.
HyP. Sir
PHIL. Ha! alone ! If we're not prevented now—Well,
sir!
HYP. I suppose you don’t think the favours you have
designed meareto be put up without satisfaction ? therefore
I shall expect to see you early to-morrow near the Prado,
with your sword in your hand. In the mean time, sir, I’m
a little more in haste to be the lady's humble servant
than yours. (going.)
PHIL. Hold, sir!—you and I can’t part upon such easy
terms. (throws her round to L.) .
sc. II.] SHE wou’d AND SHE wou’ll NoT. 53
HYP. Sir
PHIL. You are not so near the lady, sir, perhaps, as
you imagine. (locks the R. door.) -
HYP. What d'ye mean?
PHIL. (R.) Come, sir, draw—my time's but short.
HYP. (L.) And mine's too precious to be lost on any
thing but love; besides, this is no proper place.—To-mor-
row, sir, I shall find a better.
PHIL. Draw, villain l or expect such usage as I’m sure
Don Philip would not bear.
HYP. A lover, sir, may bear any thing to make sure of
his mistress.—You know it is not fear that—
PHIL. No evasions, sir; either this moment confess your
villany, your name, and fortune, or expect no mercy.
HYP. Nay, then—within there ! (going to L. door.)
PHIL. Move but a step, or dare to raise thy voice
beyond a whisper, this minute is thy last
(Turning her to R., and holds his sword to her breast
HyP. (trembling) Sir!
PHIL. Villain be quick, confess, or—
HYP. Hold, sir—I own I dare not fight with you.
PHIL. No, I see thou art too poor a villain —therefore,
be speedy, as thou hop'st I’ll spare thy life.
HYP. Nay, then, sir—mercy! mercy! (throws herself
at his feet.) And since I must confess, have pity on my
youth, have pity on my love!
PHIL. Thy love what art thou, speak?
HYP. Unless your generous compassion spares me, sure
the most wretched youth that ever felt the pangs and
torments of a successless passion 1
PHIL. Nay, then, I must forgive thee. (raising her.
For I have known too well the misery, not to pity—
anything in love.—Yet, hold—nor flatter thy fond hopes
too far; you must defer your marriage with this lady
HYP. Sir, on my knees—
PHIL. Expect no more from me ; either comply this
moment, or my sword shall force thee.
HYP. Consider, sir—
PHIL. Nay, then, discover quick—tell me thy name and
family.
HYP. Hold, sir!
54 SHE wou’D AND SHE wou’d NoT. ACT IV.
PHIL. Speak, or thou diest. (a noise at door, R. 1 E.)
HYP. Sir, I will—Ha! they are entering—O ! for a
moment's courage —Come on, sir!
(She breaks from him and draws, retiring, till DoN
MANUEL, FLORA, TRAPPANTI, with SERVANTs armed
with brooms, Cook with Spit, &c., rush in and part
them. -
MAN. Knock him down—force him out of the
room there; call an officer! in the mean time secure him
in the cellar. -
PHIL. Hear me but one word, sir.
MAN. Stop his mouth—Out with him. (they hurry him
off, L.) Come, dear son, be pacified.
HYP. (walking in a heat.) A villain I am sorry, sir,
such a coward should have it in his power to disturb me
—But—
Enter Rosa RA, R.
MAN, Look; here's my daughter in a fright to see for
you. - -
HYP. Then I’m composed again—(runs to RosARA.)
Rosa RA. I heard fighting here; I hope you are not
wounded, sir. -
HYP. I have no wound but what the priest can heal.
MAN. Ay! well said, my little champion [Evit, R.
HYP. Oh, madam, I have such a terrible escape to tell
you.
Rosa RA. Truly, I began to be afraid I should lose my
little husband.
HYP. Husband, quothal Get me but once safe out of
these breeches, if ever I wear them again— (Eveunt, R.
ACT V.
SCENE.-Don Manuel's house.
Enter TRAPPANTI, R.
TRAP. What in the name of roguery can this new maste
of mine be He's either a fool or bewitched, that's positive.
sc. I.] SHE wou’d AND SHE wou’r) NoT. 55
First, he gives me fifty pieces for helping me to marry the
lady; and, as soon as the wedding is over, claps me
twenty more into the other hand, to help him to get rid of
her—may, not only that, but gives me a strict charge to
observe his directions in being evidence against him as an
impostor, to refund all the lies I have told in his service,
to sweep him clear out of my conscience, and now to
swear the robbery against him. What the bottom of this
can be, I must confess, does a little puzzle my wit. There's
but one way in the world I can solve it: he must certainly
have some reason to hang himself, that he's ashamed to
own ; and so was resolved first to be married, that his
friends might not wonder at the occasion. But here he
comes with his noose in his hand. *
Enter HYPOLITA and Ros ARA, R.
HYP. Trappanti, go to Don Pedro—he has business
with you. -
TRAP. Yes, sir. [Exit TRAPPANTI, R.
Rosa RA. Who's Don Pedro, pray?
HYP. Flora, madam; he knows her yet by no other
name. Where's your father, madam? w
Ros ARA. I saw him go towards his closet ; I believe
he's gone to fetch you part of my fortune. Here he
COI) leS,
Enter Don MANUEL with a case of jewels, R.
MAN. Ah, my little conqueror, let me embrace thee!
That ever I should live to see this day—this most trium-
phant day!—this day of all days in my life
HYP. Ay, and of my life, too, sir. - n
MAN. Ay; my cares are over—now, I have nothing to
do but think of the other world, for I’ve done all my
business in this; look you here, children, I have brought
you some baubles that will make you merry as long as you
live; twelve thousand pistoles are the least value of them :
the rest of your fortune shall be paid in the best Barbary
gold, to-morrow morning.
HYP. Ay, sir, this is speaking like a father.
MAN. Much good may thy heart and soul do with
them — and heaven bless you together I’ve had a
|
56 SHE wou’D AND SHE wou’d NoT. [ACT v.
great deal of care and trouble to bring it about, children,
but, thank my stars, ’tis over—'tis over, now. Now I may
sleep with my doors open, and never have my slumbers
broken with the fear of rogues and rivals.
They go up and bring him arm-chair.
Rosa R.A. Don't interrupt him — and see how far his
humour will carry him.
MAN. But there is no joy lasting in this world ; we
must all die when we have done our best, sooner or later ;
old or young, prince or peasant, high or low, kings, lords,
and common women must die! Nothing certain; we are
forced to buy one comfort with the loss of another. Now
I’ve married my child, I’ve lost my companion—I’ve
parted with my girl—her heart's gone another way, now
—She’ll forget her old father—I shall never have her wake
me more, like a cheerful lark, with her pretty songs in a
morning—I shall have nobody to chat at dinner with me,
now, or take up a godly book, and read me to sleep, in an
afternoon. Ah! these comforts are all gone, now. (weeps.
HYP. How very near the extreme of one passion is to
another | Now he is tired with joy, till he is downright
melancholy!
Rosa R.A. What's the matter, sir?
MAN. Ah, my child now it comes to the test, methinks
I don’t know how to part with thee.
Rosa RA. Oh, sir! we shall be better friends than ever.
MAN. Uh, uh ! shall we wilt thou come and see the
old man now and then? Well, heaven bless thee! give
me a kiss—I must kiss thee at parting; be a good girl,
use thy husband well, make an obedient wife, and I shall
die contented.
HYP. Die, sir! Come, come, you have a great while to
live. Hang these melancholy thoughts they are the
worst company in the world at a wedding. Consider, sir,
we are young; if you would oblige us, let us have a little
life and mirth—a jubilee to-day, at least; stir your servants,
call in your neighbours, let me see your whole family mad
for joy, sir.
MAN. Ha! shall we ? Shall we be merry then
HYP. Merry, sir! Ay as beggars at a feast. Let me see
sc. I.] she wou’D AND SHE wou’D Not. 57
the face of nothing to-day, but revels, friends, feasts, and
music, sir.
MAN. Ay, thou shalt have thy humour—thou shalt have
thy humour ! (crosses L. they move back the chair.) Hey,
within there, rogues—dogs — slaves! Where are my
rascals; Ah, my joy flows again—I can’t bear it !
Enter SANCHO and SERVANTs, L.
SANGHo. Did you call, sir?
MAN. Call, sir! ay, sir. What's the reason you are not
all out of your wits, sir? Don't you know your young
mistress is married, scoundrels?
SANCHo. Yes, sir! and we are all ready to be mad, as
soon as your honour will please to give any distracted
orders.
HYP. You see, sir, they only want a little encourage-
ment.
MAN. Ah, there shall be nothing wanting this day, if I
were sure to beg for it all my life after—Here, sirrah!
Cook look into the Roman History—see what Mark
Antony had for his supper, when Cleopatra first treated
him.—Go. And, d'ye hear ! one of you step to the king's
butler, for the same wine that his majesty reserves for his
own drinking; tell him he shall have his price for it.
SANCHO. How much will you please to have, sir?
MAN. Too much, sir; I'll have everything on the out-
side of enough to-day. Go you, sirrah 2 run to the theatre
and detach me a regiment of fiddlers, and singers, and
dancers; and you, sir, to my nephew, Don Louis, give my
service, and bring all his family along with him. [Eveunt
SERVANTs, L.] Ah, we'll make all the hair in the world
stand an end at our joy! (crosses R.)
HYP. Ay, sir, this is as it should be ; now it begins to
look like a wedding. Here comes Flora. Now, madam,
observe your cue.
Bnter FLORA, I. 1. E.
FLORA. Your servant, gentlemen; I need not wish you
joy—you have it, I see. Don Philip, I must needs speak
with you.
HYP. Psha! Pr'ythee dont plague me with business at
such a time as this.
58 SHE wou’d AND SHE wou’d NoT. [ACT v.
FLORA. My business wont be deferred, sir.
HYP. Sir
FLORA. I suppose you guess it, sir; and I must tell you,
I take it ill it was not done before.
HYP. What d'ye mean * -
FLORA. Your ear, sir. (they whisper.)
MAN. What's the matter now
Rosa RA. The gentleman seems very free, methinks.
MAN. Troth, I don’t like it.
Rosa RA. Don’t disturb them, sir—We shall know all
presently. -
HYP. But what have you done with Don Philip? (aside.)
FLORA. I drew the servants out of the way, while he
made his escape: what we do, we must do quickly.—Come,
come, put on your fighting face, and I’ll be with them pre-
sently. (aside.) -
HYP. (aloud.) Sir, I have offered you very fair; if you
don’t think so, I have married the lady, and take your
COUll'Se.
FLORA. Sir, our contract was a full third; a third part's
my right, and I’ll have it, sir. -
MAN. Hey! - -
HYP. Then I must tell you, sir, since you are pleased to
call it your right, you shall not have it.
FLORA. Not, sir! -
HYP. No, sir!—Look ye, don’t put on your pert airs to
Iſlé.
FLORA. Airs' You little son of a gun, draw.
HYP. Oh, sir, I’m for you.
(they fight, Don MANUEL interposes.
Ros ARA. Ah, help ! murder l (runs out, R.)
MAN. Within there ! help ! murder –Why, gentlemen,
are ye mad? pray, put up.
HYP. A rascal' -
MAN. Friends, and quarrell for shame! (holding HYP.
FLORA. Friends ! I scorn his friendship; and since he
does not know how to treat a gentleman, I’ll do a public
piece of justice, and use him like a villain.
HYP. Let me go.
MAN. (to FLORA.) Better words, sir!
FLORA. Why, sir, do ye take this fellow for Don Philip
so. I.] sHE wou’d AND SHE wou’d NOT. 59
MAN. What do ye mean, sir?
FLORA. That he has cheated me as well as you—but I'll
have my revenge immediately. [Exit FLORA, L.
(HYPolTTA walks about, seemingly much agitated.
MAN. Hey! what's all this 8–what is it 2–my heart
misgives me. -
HYP. Hey! who waits there? (crosses L.)
Enter SANCHO, L.
Here, you! bid my servant run, and hire me a coach and
four horses immediately.
SANCIIo. Yes, sir. [Ević L.
MAN. A coach
Enter WILETTA, L.
WIL, Sir, sir!—bless me! what's the matter, sir? are you
not well ? -
MAN. Yes, yes—I am—that is—ha!
VIL. I have brought you a letter, sir.
MAN. What business can he have for a coach *
VIL. I have brought you a letter, sir, from Octavio.
MAN. To me?
WIL. No, sir, to my mistress—he charged me to deliver
it immediately, for he said it concerned her life and fortune.
MAN. How ! let's see it—there's what I promised thee—
begone. [Evit WILETTA, L.] What can this be now *
(reads) “The person, whom your father ignorantly designs
you to marry, is a known cheat, and an impostor; the true
Don Philip, who is my intimate friend, will immediately
appear with the Corrigidore, and fresh evidence against
him. I thought this advice, though from one you hate,
would be well received, if it came time enough to prevent
our ruin—Octavio.” Oh, my heart this letter was not
designed to fall into my hands—I am affrighted—I dare
not think on't.
Enter SANCHO, L.
SANGHo. (to HYPolitA.) Sir, your man is not within.
HYP. Careless rascal, to be out of the way when my
life's at stake —Pr'ythee, do you go and see if thou canst
get me any post horses. [Exit SANGHo, L.
60 SHE wou’D AND SHE wou’d NoT. [ACT v.
MAN. Post horses'
Bnter Rosa RA, R.
Ros ARA. Oh, dear, sir, what was the matter?
MAN. Hey!
Rosa RA. What made them quarrel, sir?
MAN. Child !— -
RosARA. What was it about, sir?—You look concerned.
MAN. Concerned
RoSARA. I hope you are not hurt, sir. (crosses to
HYPo1.1TA, L. C. who minds her not.) What's the matter
with him, sir? he won't speak to me. (to Don MANUEL.)
MAN. A–speak!—a—go to him again—try what fair
words will do, and see if you can pick out the meaning of
all this.
Rosa RA. Dear sir, what's the matter 2 (to HYPo1.1TA.)
MAN. Ay, sir, pray what's the matter?
HYP. I’m a little vexed at my servant's being out of the
way, and the insolence of this other rascal.
MAN. But what occasion have you for post-horses, sir?
HYP. Something happens a little cross, sir.
MAN. Pray, what is it?
HYP. I’ll tell you another time, sir.
MAN. Another time, sir?—pray, satisfy me now.
HYP. Damn it, sir!
MAN. Oh dear me !
HYP. (peevishly.) What is it you’d have
MAN. Look ye, sir—in short—I—I have received a
letter.
HyP. Well, sir!
MAN. I wish it may be well, sir.
HYP. Bless me, sir! what's the matter with you?
MAN. Matter, sir!—in troth, I’m almost afraid and
ashamed to tell ye—but if you must needs know—there's
the matter, sir. (gives the letter)
Enter Don LUIs, L.
LUIs. Uncle, I am your humble servant.
MAN. I am glad to see you, nephew.
LUIs. I received your invitation, and am come to pay
my duty. But here I met with the most surprising news.
sc. I.] sHE wou’d AND SHE wou’d NoT. 61
MAN. Pray, what is it?
LUIs. Why, first you servant told me, my young cousin
was to be married to-day to Don Philip de las Torres; and
just as I was entering your doors, who should I meet but
Don Philip, with the Corrigidore, and several witnesses, to
prove, it seems, that the person, whom you were going to
marry my cousin to, has usurped his name, betrayed you,
robbed him, and is, in short, a rank impostor :
MAN. Dear nephew don't torture me. Are you sure
you know Don Philip when you see him :
LUIs. Know him, sir! were we not school-fellows,
fellow-collegians, and fellow-travellers? , -
MAN. But are you sure you may not have forgot him
neither
LUIs. You might as well ask me if I had not forgot
you, Sir. - .
MAN. But one question more, and I am dumb for ever—
Is that he?
LUIs. That, sir! No, nor in the least like him.
MAN. Oh! oh! oh! oh! my poor child !
Rosa RA. Oh ! (seems to faint.)
MAN. Ah! look to my child.
LUIs. Is this the villain, then, that has imposed on
ou? .
y HYP. Sir, I’m this lady's husband, and while I’m sure
that name can’t be taken from me, I shall be contented
with laughing at any other you or your party dare give
Iſle. . . - -
MAN. Oh
LUIs. Nay then, within there !—such a villain ought
to be made an example. -
Enter Corrig1Dore and two ALGUAZILs, with DoN
PHILIP, OCTAvro, FLORA, TRAPPANTI, and VI-
LETTA, L. -
Oh, gentlemen, we're undone ! all comes too late l—my
poor cousin's married to the impostor - -
PHIL. How !
OCT. Confusion
MAN. Oh, oh!
PHIL. That's the person, sir, and I demand your justice,
62 SHE wou’d AND SHE wou’d NoT. [ACT v.
OCT. And I.
FLORA. And all of us.
MAN. Will my cares never be over?
CoRREG. Well, gentlemen, let me rightly understand
what 'tis you charge him with, and I’ll commit him imme-
diately—First, sir, you say these gentlemen all know you
to be the true Don Philip
LUIs. That, sir, I presume, my oath will prove.
OCT. Or mine.
FLORA. And mine.
TRAP. (L.) Ay, and mine, too, sir.
MAN. (R. C.) Where shall I hide this shameful head?
FLORA. And for the robbery, that I can prove upon
him; he confessed to me, at Toledo, he stole this gentleman's
portmanteau there, to carry on his design upon this lady,
and agreed to give me a third part of her fortune for my
assistance, which he refusing to pay as soon as the marriage
was over, I thought myself obliged, in honour, to discoverhim.
HYP. Well, gentlemen, you may insult me if you please;
but I presume you’ll hardly be able to prove that I’m not
married to the lady, or have not the best part of her fortune
in my pocket; so do your worst; I own my ingenuity, and
am proud on’t.
MAN. Ingenuity, abandoned villain l—But, sir, before
you send him to gaol, I desire he may return the jewels
I gave him, as part of my daughter's portion.
CoRREG. That can’t be, sir; since he has married the
lady, her fortune's lawfully his. All we can do, is to
prosecute him for robbing this gentleman.
MAN. Oh, that ever I was born
HYP. Return the jewels, sir! If you don't pay me the
rest of her fortune to-morrow morning, you may chance to
go to gaol before me.
MAN. Oh, that I were buried Will my cares never be
over 3
HYP. They are pretty near it, sir! you can't have much
more to trouble you.
CoRREG. Come, sir, if you please, I must desire to take
your deposition in writing. (goes to the table with FLORA.
PHIL. Now, sir, you see what your own rashness has
brought you to

sc. I.] she wou’D AND SHE wou’D NoT. 63
MAN. Pray forbear, sir. -
HYP. (R.) Keep it up, madam. (aside to Rosa RA.)
Rosa R.A. (R. c.) Oh, sir, how wretched have you made
me! Is this the care you have taken of me for my blind
obedience to your commands?—this my reward for filial
duty P
. Hºs. Ah, my poor child !
Rosa R.A. But I deserve it all, for ever listening to your
barbarous proposal, when my conscience might have told
me my vows and person, in justice and honour, were the
wronged Octavio's.
MAN. Oh, oh!
OCT. Can she repent her falsehood then at last 2–Is’t
possible —then I am wounded too! Oh, my poor, undone,
Rosara ! (goes to her.) Ungrateful! cruel! perjured man |
MAN. Oh, don’t insult me ! I deserve the worst you
can say—I’m a miserable wretch, and I repent me.
WIL. So here's the lady in tears, the lover in rage,
the old gentleman out of his senses, most of the company
distracted, and the bridegroom in a fair way to be hanged
—the merriest wedding that ever I saw in my life
CoRREG. Well, sir, have you anything to say before I
make your warrant (at table up stage, L. C.)
HyP. (R. c.) A word or two and I obey ye, sir.—Gen-
tlemen, I have reflected on the folly of my action, and
foresee the disquiets I am like to undergo in being this
lady's husband; therefore, as I own myself the author
of all this seeming ruin and confusion, so I am willing
(desiring first the officers may withdraw) to offer some-
thing to the general quiet.
OCT. (R.) What can this mean?
PHIL. (L.) Psha some new contrivance — Let's
begone.
LUIs. (L. C.) Stay a moment; it can't be no harm to
hear him—Sir, will you oblige us?
CoRREG. Wait without. [Erewn? ALGUAZILs L.
VII. (advancing, L.) What's to be done now, *
TRAP. Some smart thing, I warrant ye :—the little
gentleman has a notable head, 'faith !
FLORA. Nay gentlemen, thus much I know of him,
that, if you can but persuade him to be honest, 'tis still in
64 SHE wou’D AND SHE wou’D NoT. [ACT v.
his power to make you all amends, and in my opinion, 'tis
high time he should propose it.
MAN. Ay, 'tis time he were hanged, indeed, for I know
no other amends he can make us. .
HYP. Then I must tell you, sir, I owe you no reparation;
the injuries which you complain of, your sordid avarice
and breach here, have justly brought upon you. Therefore,
sir, if you are injured, you may thank yourself for it.
MAN. Nay, dear sir, I do confess my blindness.
HYP. Well, sir, (however little you have deserved it,)
yet for your daughter's sake, if you’ll oblige yourself by
signing this paper, to keep your first promise, and give
her, with her full fortune, to this gentleman, I’m still
content, on that condition, to annul my own claims,
and resign her.
MAN. Sir, I don’t know how to answer you; for I can
never believe you’ll have good nature enough to hang
yourself out of the way, to make room for him.
HYP. Then, sir, to let you see I have not only an
honest meaning, but an immediate power, too, to make good
my word, I first renounce all title to her fortune—these
jewels, which I received from you, I give him free
possession of; and now, sir, the rest of her fortune you
owe him with her person.
MAN. This is unaccountable, I must confess—But still,
sir, if you annul your claims, how you’ll persuade
that gentleman to part with his— *
PHIL. That, sir, shall be no let ; I am too well ac-
quainted with the virtue of my friend's title, to entertain a
thought that can disturb it. -
HYP. Now, sir, it only stops at you.
MAN. Well, sir, I see the paper is only conditional, and
since the general welfare is concerned, I won’t refuse to
lend you my helping hand to it; but if you should not make
your words good, sir, I hope you won't take it ill if a man
should poison you ?
PHIL. And, sir, let me, too, warn you how you execute
this promise; your flattery and dissembled penitence has
deceived me once already, which makes me, I confess, a
little slow in my belief; therefore, take heed, expect no
second mercy; for, be assured of this, I never can for-
give a villain.
sc. I.] sHE wou’l AND SHE wou’d NoT. 65
HYP. If I am proved one, spare me not—I ask but this
—Use me as you find me.
PHIL. That you may depend on. -
MAN. There, sir. (gives HYPOLITA the writing signed.
Rosa RA. Now I tremble for her. (aside.)
HYP. And now, Don Philip, I confess you are the only
injured person here. - -
PHIL. I know not that—do my friend right, and I shall
easily forgive thee.
HYP. His pardon, with his thanks, I am sure I shall
deserve; but how shall I forgive myself? Is there in
nature left a means that can repair the shameful slights,
the insults and the long disquiets you have known from
love :
PHIL. Let me understand thee.
HYP. Examine well your heart; and if the fierce
resentment of its wrongs has not extinguished, quite, the
usual soft compassion there, revive at least one spark, in
pity of my woman's weakness. The extravagant attempt I
have this day run through, to meet you thus, justly may
subject me to your contempt and scorn; unless the same
forgiving goodness, that used to overlook the failings of
Hypolita, prove still my friend, and soften all with the .
excuse of love. (all seem amazed.) Oh, Philip! Hypolita is—
yours for ever ! -
PHIL. Hypolita! It is—it is I know her by the busy
pulses at my heart, which only love like mine can feel,
and she alone can give. (eagerly embracing her.)
MAN. What the devil, have I then been pleased, and
plagued, and frighted out of my wits by a woman all this
while * Odsbud she is a notable contriver ! Stand clear
ho! for if I have not a fair brush at her lips, nay, if she
does not give me the hearty smack too, odswinds and
thunder she is not the good-humoured girl I took her
for.
HYP. Come, sir, I won’t baulk your good humour.
(he kisses her.) And now I have a favour to beg of you :
you remember your promise; only your blessing here, sir.
(OCTAVIo and Rosa RA kneel.
MAN. Ah, I can deny thee nothing;-and so, children,
Heaven bless you together —And now my cares are over
again.
06 SHE wou’D AND SHE wou’D NoT. [ACT v.
OCT. (R. c.) Sister, what words can thank you ?
HYP. Any that tell me of Octavio's happiness. (to DoN
PHILIP.) Here is one that at more leisure shall
inform you all: she was ever a friend to your love, has
had a hearty share in the fatigue, and now I am bound in
honour to give her part of the garland too.
PEIIL. How ! She -
FLORA. Trusty Flora, sir, at your service. (curtseys.) I
have had many a battle with my lady upon your account;
but I always told her we should do her business at last.
MAN. Another metamorphosis' Brave girls, 'faith !
'Odzooks we shall have them make campaigns shortly
PHIL. In Seville I’ll provide for thee.
HYP. Nay, here's another accomplice too, confederate
I can’t say, for honest Trappanti did not know but that I
was as great a rogue as himself.
TRAP. It's a folly to lie : I did not, indeed, madam—
But the world cannot say I have been a rogue to your
ladyship—and if you had not parted with your money—
HYP. Thou hadst not parted with thy honesty;
TRAP. Right, madam ; but how should a poor, naked
fellow resist when he had so many pistoles held against
him. (shows money.)
MAN. Ay, ay, well said, lad.
WIL. La! A tempting bait, indeed Let him offer to
marry me again, if he dares' (aside.)
PHIL. Well, Trappanti, thou hast been serviceable,
however, and I’ll think of thee.
OCT. Nay, I am his debtor too.
TRAP. Ah, there's a very easy way, gentlemen, to
reward me; and since you partly owe your happiness to
my roguery, I should be very proud to owe mine only to
your generosity.
OCT. As how, pray :
TRAP. Why, sir, I find by my constitution that it is as
natural to be in love as be hungry, and that I han’t a jot
less stomach than the best of my betters; and though I
have often thought a wife but dining every day upon the
same dish, yet methinks it's better than no dinner at all :
and, for my part, I had rather have no stomach to my
meat, than no meat to my stomach; upon which
sc. 1.] SHE wou’D AND SHE wou’d NoT. 67
consideration, gentlemen and ladies, I desire you’ll use
your interest with Madonna here—to let me dine at her
ordinary. .9
MAN. A pleasant rogue, 'faith ! Odzooks The jade shall
have him. Come, hussey, he's an ingenious person.
VII. Sir, I don't understand his stuff; when he speaks
plain, I know what to say to him.
TRAP. Why then, in plain terms, let me a lease for
life. (crosses to her.) Marry me. -
WIL. Ay, now you say something—I was afraid, by
what you said in the garden, you had only a mind to be a
wicked tenant at will.
TRAP. No, no, child, I have no mind to be turned out
at a quarter's warning. (goes up with her, R.)
WIL. Well, there's my hand. -
MAN. Here, you sirrah, run to Father Benedict again,
tell him his work don’t hold here, his last marriage is
dropped to pieces, but now we have got better tackle, he
must come and stitch two or three fresh couple together,
as fast as he can. Now all my cares are over.
PHIL. Now, my Hypolita,
Let our example teach mankind to love,
From thine the fair their favours may improve;
Oh, never let a virtuous mind despair
For constant hearts are love's peculiar care.
Don MANUEL.
RoSARA. HYPo1,1TA.
OCTAVIo. DoN PHILIP.
WILETTA. FLORA.
TRAPPANTI. DoN LUIs.
R. L.
Printed by T. BLow ER, 313, Strand.
ONLY A HALFPENNY

% farce,
I N O N E A C T.
BY
J O HN O X E N F O R D,
AUTHOR OF
Twice Killed, My Fellow Clerk, Day Well Spent, Dice of Death,
Reigning Favourite, déc.
THOMAS HAILES LACY,
w E L LIN GT ON STREET, STRAN D,
* L O N D O N.
ONLY A HALFPENNY.
First Performed at the Royal Haymarket Theatre,
on Wednesday, May 30th, 1855.
(ſhurutters,
MR. FITZROY PLANTAGENET MR. CHIPPENDALE.
MR. STANLEY JONES ......... MR. BUCKSTONE.
HENRIETTA ............ tº e e º O & G tº e º & tº MISS SwanBOROUGH.
BRIDGET ........................... Miss E. CHAPLIN.
Time in Performance—35 minutes.
([08tumt5.
STANLEY Jones.—Long blue frock coat, white trousers, straight
rimmed hat, all round shirt collar.
PLANTAGENET.-Frock coat, grey trousers, and weite waistcoat.
HENRIETTA.—White lace over white silk.
BRIDGET.—Lavender muslim dress.
Eaglanation of the Stage Directions.
R. R. C. C. L. C. Le
Right. Right Centre. Centre. Left Centre. Left.
FACING THE AUDIENCE.
ONLY A. HALFPENNY.
====e^eº-Reſtfºſt-ſº-º-º-º-eeee-
ScENE.—A Drawing Room elegantly furnished. HENRIETTA
looking in glass arranging her hair and wedding dress,
with the assistance of BRIDGET, Mr. FITZROY PLANTA-
GANET walking up and down impatiently.
PLANT. (stops and sighs) Heigho!
BRIDGET. Heighol
PLANT. You are nearly ready, I hope? (looks at watch)
Ten o'clock, the bridegroom will be here in half an hour,
and at eleven you will be duly paid over.
HENRI. Paid over, my dear uncle? there's an expression
for a wedding.
PLANT. Unfortunately the expression is too correct.
Your poor stupid father must needs dabble in shares—
shares bring him into difficulties—difficulties make him
give a bill for £1000 to Biggins, Screw & Co., of next
door, the bill falls due to-day, and Biggins, Screw & Co.,
of next door, swear they wont take it up unless you
become Mrs. Biggins, junior. Pretty romantic story,
isn't it, heighol
BRIDG. Heighol
PLANT. I don't believe a word of the taking-up, myself,
I believe that Biggins, Screw & Co., have the bill safely
locked up in their cursed strong box, that they may use
it as a sword of Damocles. Infernal plebeian upstarts.
(sits) I, Fitzroy Plantagenet, gave them my word of honor,
in addition to your father's word of honor, that the money
should be paid in time, but the rascals preferred bank
notes. The devil (rises) that anything in the world
should be preferred to the word of honor given by two
Plantagenets.
HENRI. (down, R.) But, my dear uncle, it certainly
4 ONLY A. HALFPENNY.
proves the devotion of my future husband, that after
despising, as you say, the honor of two Plantagenets, he
should take this little hand in full of all demands.
PLANT. No, it does not prove even that, there's the
devil of it. If Biggins, junior, was a fine warm-hearted
fellow whose heart leaped out of his ledger at the sight of
a lovely creature, I would overlook the disgusting circum-
stance of a female Plantagenet becoming a Mrs. Biggins,
but on the contrary, Biggins, junior, is a Sneaking money
Sniffing cur, who with the rest of his dirty firm knows
well enough that your father's embarrassment is only
temporary, and that when he has set all right in Paris,
to-morrow, for all I know, he will be worth Biggins,
Screw & Co., fifty times over.
HENRI. Really, uncle, you are not very encouraging on
the day when one is about to vow love, honor, and
obedience, to
PLANT. To Biggins, junior ? No, Henrietta, I would
not discourage you, only I would not have you depreciate
the sacrifice your own great heart is making Noble girl,
to save your father's credit, you plunge into an abyss of
interminable misery, noble child ! (weeps, BRIDGET weeps
too.) But bear your fate with firmness. (presses her hand
with averted face—a knock heard at door without, L.)
BRIDG. I think, miss, it's the man with the wreath.
PLANT. Bring it in, lose no time in decking the victim
for the altar. Eacit BRIDGET, L., weeping loud.
PLANT. No, I won’t see it arrive. I will witness the
ceremony as little as I can, and read the newspaper in the
parlour till the bridegroom comes. Be firm, child, be
firm. I wonder how consols left off last night.
- Eacit, L.
HENRI. Well, really, my good uncle talks a great deal
about firmness, and sacrifice, and misery, but I don't feel
so very unhappy—I can't say I greatly love Mr. Augustus
Biggins, but then I don't love anybody else, and that's
Something.
Re-enter BRIDGET, with wreath.
BRIDG. Heigho! here it is, miss, here's the wreath for
ONLY A. HALFPENNY. 5.
the victim, as Mr. Fitzroy, says, ah! I quite enter into
his views. (wipes her eyes)
HENRI. Now do for goodness' sake be a little cheerful,
if any one has a right to cry I have.
BRIDG. Ah, that you have indeed; you never spoke a
truer word, miss. IIeigh—ho ! but it's to save your pa.
Ah, you're a great creature.
HENRI. (putting on wreath) Well, really, I declare it
does not look so bad.
BRIDG. Bad, miss—it looks beautifull I only regret
that all that beauty, and all that taste, and all that
elegance, are to be wasted on—on Biggins, junior.
HENRI. Mr. Augustus Biggins you mean, Bridget.
BRIDG. Mr. Fitzroy calls him Biggins, junior, and I
can't get out of the way of it. It's no use, miss, I never
shall abide that man. He may be rich—I don’t gainsay
that—but sooner than marry Biggins, junior, I would
marry the muffinman without a halfpenny. (HENRIETTA
bursting out laughing) My observation seems to have
amused you, miss P
HENRI. Not at all; only the word halfpenny recalled
to my mind a very absurd adventure that occurred to me
yesterday.
BRIDG. (cheerfully) An adventure—a real adventure—
and to you, miss? Oh, please tell me—I do so love
adventures.
HENRI. (comes down, R.) Well, you remember that I
went yesterday in the omnibus that passes our door to
bespeak the wedding wreath.
BRIDG. Yes I do, miss; and I thought that Mr. Fitzroy
might as well have afforded a cab–but go on.
HENRI. Scarcely had I taken my place, than a smart
looking little man darted into the omnibus, and crying
“I knew there was room,” seated himself almost in my
lap.
ºup. Vastly free and easy.
HENRI. Free he might be, but easy he was not; for
finding himself closely squeezed he moved to the seat
opposite, and there he remained with his eyes fixed on
me during the whole journey.
BRIDG. The rude little man.
6 ONLY A. HALFPENNY.
HENRI. Well, at last the omnibus stopped at the corner
of the street where the florist lives, and I alighted.
“Four pence, miss,” said the conductor; I put my hand
into my reticule—my purse was not there—there were
some loose halfpence, but they only amounted to three
pence halfpenny. - -
BRIDG. Just a halfpenny short—only think.
HENRI. I thrust them into the conductor's hand, but he
counted them over at once with his eye, and he said,
“This won't do, miss.”
BRIDG. Horrid unfeeling brutes them conductors, miss.
HENRI. You can easily imagine, Bridget, how awkward
I felt. There was the conductor staring at me with his
great eyes; there was the coachman looking round to see
the cause of stoppage; there was an angry old gentleman
inside shouting “Conductor, if you don’t go on I shall
get out;” I felt I could sink into the earth.
BRIDG. And no wonder either, miss. -
HENRI. Suddenly the omnibus door flew open—the
little gentleman I have already described tripped down
the steps—and saying to me, “Madam, I perceive the
nature of your embarrassment—allow me,” slipped the
halfpenny into the hand of the conductor.
BRIDG. Well, the little gentleman improves upon ac-
quaintance.
HENRI. The omnibus rolled off, and I found myself
alone on the pavement with my unknown deliverer: one
kind of confusion was only changed for another, and
scarcely knowing what I did, I asked the little gentleman
where I could forward the
BRIDG. The large sum of one halfpenny—ha, ha, ha!
HENRI. In reply to this question he said, simpering as
he spoke, “Madam, though I would not have you remain
under any obligation to me, I could not be so unpolite
as to require you to send a halfpenny to my humble
residence.
BRIDG. The designing little villain Of course you
did not give him your address 2 -
HENRI. In the depth of my confusion I am sorry to say
I did.
BRIDG. Ha! (a loud double knock at street door)
ONLY A. HALFPENNY. 7
Goodness gracious—here comes Biggins, junior
HENRI. Just go and see. Eacit BRIDGET, L.
There, that will do I think. (arranging dress) Heighol
perhaps I don't like Mr. Augustus so much as I ought
after all.
Iče-enter BRIDGET, L.
BRIDG. Miss, miss, it's a gentleman—not Biggins,
junior—and he's coming up stairs; I think—I do indeed
—that it's the little hero of the omnibus.
HENRI. How provokingly absurd. Well, he must
come in I suppose—he has his ridiculous little rights.
BRIDG. Very well, miss. (aside) He's a great deal
better than Biggins, junior. (opens door, L.) Come in, sir.
Enter STANLEY JONES, L., with a cane.
Jones. I hope, madam, I do not disturb you—you will
pardon this intrusion of a-hard-hearted creditor.
HENRI. Oh, sir
JoNEs. But what are these objects that strike my
vision ? A bridal costume—a wreath of orange flowers:
you are about to be married, madam, to-day—this very
day?
HENRI. (comes down, R.) Yes, sir, I am ; and pleased
with the opportunity of thanking you once more
JoNEs. Only reflect on this, madam : yesterday I lent
you a-halfpenny, and to-day you go to the altar.
HENRI. Really, sir, I do not see that the loan to which
you refer is an obstacle.
JoNEs. If I had but known you were on the point of
marriage.
HENRI. Why, then you would not have lent me a half-
penny. Is that your meaning sir?
JoNEs. No, no, no — goodness gracious forbid I
meant I would not have troubled you with my presence.
HENRI. But, sir, I assure you that you really do not
trouble me at all; on the contrary, I am very happy.
Jones. Is this marriage—? I—I hardly know how
to express myself—an affair of the heart?
BRIDG. (aside) Now what's that to him, I should like
to know?
HENRI, (after a pause) Yes, sir.
8 ONLY A. HALFPENNY.
BRIDG. (aside) That's a Humph : (Jones in the
meanwhile breaks his cane in two, and puts the pieces into
his pocket) Sir, sir—what are you doing?
HENRI. Are you aware, sir?
JoNEs. Oh, certainly—certainly—don't mind me, it's
only my nerves. Is your husgroom—tut, tut—brideband
—psha—bridegroom—a handsome man, eh?
HENRI. Remarkably so.
BRIDG. (aside) He is determined to have a good
ha'porth o' information. (Jones tears his handkerchi f in
half and puts it into his pocket)
HENRI. Sir, you are destroying
JoNEs. He, he, he l Yes, my handkerchief; my
nerves again, I assure you—nothing more.
BRIDG. (aside) At this rate nervousness must come
expensive.
HENRI. However, let us come to the object of your
visit. (takes up a reticule, into which she puts her hand)
Jos Es. Madam, that movement alarms me—I trust you
are not about to harrow my feelings.
HENRI. I, sir?
JoNEs. I had fondly imagined that you would not
attribute my visit to the desire of claiming such an
exquisitely ridiculous sum as—as a halfpenny.
HENRI. But you must be aware
JoNEs. Your hypothesis reduces me to the level of a
mendicant.
HENRI. Indeed, sir.
Jones. Or a vendor of lucifers.
HENRI. I assure you
Jones. Or a Lascar that sweeps a crossing. Madam, I
have not deserved this, (tears his glove) I have not deserved
this.
HENRI. Your glove, sir
Jones. Yes, madam—but allow me to observe that my
gloves are my own, and my cane is my own, and my
handkerchief is my own : other people may break other
people's hearts, but I merely destroy my own property—
Nay, pardon this tone, madam, my nerves make me over-
step the limits of courtesy. Adieu, madam—may you be
happy. (going in despair)
ONLY A. HALFPENNY, 9
HENRI. But, sir, I cannot let you leave me in your debt.
JoNEs. Debt, madam? I remit the debt—I assure you
it does not put me to the slightest inconvenience.
HENRI. Then, sir, you have nothing further to say.
JoNEs. Nothing. (going) Stay—yes, madam, I have
one little observation to make: an omnibus is a dangerous
vehicle.
HENRI. Dangerous? how so?
JoNEs. Oh, madam! one cannot sit opposite to a lovely
countenance for ten or twenty minutes, without commencing
an analysis of the charms thus presented to the eye, and
when one has a susceptible heart, the result of the analysis
is—is—(bows frantically) Adieu, madam; I have the honor
to wish you a very good morning Rushes off, L.
HENRI. Well, what do you think of my little chevalier?
BRIDG. Ha, ha, ha! the oddest, funniest, little thing—
ha, ha, ha! (both laugh)
Re-enter Jones, L.
Why, he's come back again.
JoNEs. Excuse me, madam—I would not intrude for the
world, but as you are aware the ancient proverb instructs
us that second thoughts are always best, it struck me as I
was going down stairs, that I had no right to compel you
to remain under the weight of a perpetual obligation : on
this account I have returned to declare that I consent to
receive the amount of my exquisitely ridiculous little
claim. º
HENRI. Quite right, and I am highly pleased that you
have adopted this intention.
JoNEs. The worth of the coin is I am aware a mere
nothing, if we regard its value as a portion of the currency.
A halfpenny—it sounds like a mockery of money—a half-
enny; but to me, madam, when I take it from your hands,
it will be as a bright medal struck to commemorate twenty
happy minutes in a life generally desolate.
HENRI. Sir, permit me to say, that while I discharge a
debt which I admit is absurdly small, I by no means con-
sider that I repay the obligation under which I have been
placed by your courtesy: you rescued me from a very un-
10 ONLY A. HALFPENNY.
pleasant and ridiculous position, and I shall always think
of you with gratitude. Excuse me for a moment.
BRIDG. The fact is, we have not got a halfpenny ni
either of our pockets.
Eaceunt, R., both stifling a laugh.
JoNEs. (looking round room) Now, really all this is very
nice and pretty—in the very best taste. A charming
little room, and a charming young lady, and shortly there's
to be a husband—no, hang it—I wont think of him—that
figure spoils the picture.
Re-enter BRIDGET, R.
BRIDG. (presenting a crown piece) Now, sir, if you’ll
have the goodness to take this and give me the change, our
little account will be settled.
JonEs. My good girl, my pretty girl! your very reason-
able proposition is based on the hypothesis that I have
about me the precise sum of four shillings and eleven pence
halfpenny. As I have nothing of the kind, a settlement
in the way you suggest is altogether impossible; so, the
best thing you can do, is to slip the five shillings into your
pocket, and to tell me
BRIDG. (pressing the crown piece upon JONES) Excuse
me, sir, but the young lady's orders were to
JoNEs. Silence I Don't interrupt the thread of my
discourse, but tell me who—what—whom—whom is your
young lady about to marry?
BRIDG. Oh, sir! there’s no secret about that matter—
she's going to marry Mr. Biggins.
JONES. Happy Biggins!—no, on second thoughts ri-
diculous Biggins ! I knew him—an ugly old fellow—a
bill discounter—who—no—yes he does—who lives next
door.
BRIDG. No, sir, not at all—on the contrary it's an ugly
young fellow, the son of the party you have just named—
it's Biggins junior.
Jones. Worthy son of such a sire! And is it possible,
that the lovely being, who diffuses such a radiance round
this exceedingly well-furnished apartment, can love Biggins
junior 2
BRIDG. Love him, sir? bless you, no—she detests him,
ONLY A. HALFPENNY. 11
and her uncle detests him, and I detest him—we all detest
him.
Jones. That's fortunate—yes, that's good—So you all
detest him 2–ha, ha, ha! poor Biggins, he never was very
popular. But allow me to ask, if your young lady detests
him, how it is that she
BRIDG. I know what you mean, sir. You've a trust-
worthy sort of face, sir, so I don't mind telling you. (looks
cautiously round the room and then speaks in a loud whisper)
My young lady's father owes Biggins & Co. a thousand
pounds, and Biggins & Co. take my young lady instead of
the money—there, sir, only think
Jones. Humph!—thousand pounds—I see a means of
deliverance. Mary. (takes her hand)
BRIDG. Bridget, if you please, sir.
Jones. Bridget, consider your young lady saved from
the alliance with Biggins, junior.
BRIDG. Lor, sir.
Jones. In the meanwhile, there's my card; henceforth
I consider you in my service, and to show you that I am
in earnest, here's my card. (gives it)
BRID. Bless me, sir,
JoNEs. What wages do you receive here?
BRIDG. Twelve pounds a year and find my own tea.
JoNEs. Then I'll give you twenty-four and find your
tea for you. Now don't object.
BRIDG. Really, sir, I didn't intend. But if, sir, you
would have the goodness to give me the change for my
five shillings and let me go to my young lady.
Jon Es. Bridget, you have a short memory, or you
would have recollected I told you that I had nothing of
the kind about me, on the contrary, I give you this
sovereign, neither as a part of twenty-four pounds, nor as
a representation of the tea, but as an independent donation,
on condition
BRIDG. Of what, sir?
JoNEs. On condition that you won't find change for a
crown piece all over London. (gives sovereign)
HENRIETTA. (behind scenes) Bridget, Bridget !
Jones. There, run along, you are called. (BRIDGET is
going off, R.) No, no, not that way, she does not want
12 ONLY A. HALFPENNY.
you there, she means you are to make haste and get change,
which you will be sure not to find. There, there, run
along—go to the baker's—the cheesemonger's—the any-
where—but, mind there's no copperinall London. (BRIDGET
crosses to L.)
BRIDG. True, sir, no, sir, if there's no copper there's
at any rate abundance of brass. Eacit, L.
JoNEs. Ha! there she goes, I flatter myself I have
secured a tête-à-tête.
Enter HENRIETTA, R.
HENRI. Alone, sir?
JoNEs. No, not alone, the delightful reminiscenses of
yesterday are my companions. -
HENRI. Tut, tut, I mean, Bridget, the servant, is not,
here.
JoNEs. No, madam, she is not—that excellent young
person has gone to the baker's to get change for your five
shilling piece, I am sorry to give so much trouble, but as
I had no halfpence what was to be done?
HENRI. Really, this is tiresome to a degree, suppose my
uncle were to come in.
JoNEs. You have an uncle, then, so l And you do not
like me to meet him, ha! I can just retire into that
apartment. (going, R.)
HENRI. That, sir, that is my room.
Jones. A thousand pardons, then I'll go into the street,
and absorbed in my own meditation, I'll walk up and
down before the door.
HENRI. No, sir—I didn’t want that either—I-I-I
really don't know what I want.
BRIDGET runs in L.
BRIDG. Oh, miss, such a strange thing, there's no change
to be found, no, not anywhere. (giving five shilling to
HENRIETTA)
Jones. (aside) Admirably done.
HENRI. No change anywhere? Impossible ! What's
to be done?
BRIDG. I'll go and see if I can find two farthings
Eacit BRIDGET, B.
ONLY A. HALFPENNY. 13
JoNEs. Oh, madam, don't trouble yourself in the least,
I shall be too delighted to remain here all day.
HENRI. Sir this is prolonging a jest beyond all bounds,
So to bring the matter to an end—there, sir—take the
five shillings, and think no more about the change.
JoNES. Take the five shillings for the loan of a half-
penny for one single day ! Madam, are you aware what
an enormous rate of interest that represents? That usury
would be a mild term for my baseness if I consented to
an arrangement so nefarious? This outrage I did not
merit. (bursts into tears)
HENRI. To think that in all the neighbourhood, there
should not be such a thing as
Enter PLANTAGENET, L.
Oh, here you are, uncle ! I am so glad you are here.
Have you a-a-halfpenny in your pocket?
PLANT. Yes—I dare say I have. -
HENRI. If you would be so kind as to give it to this
gentleman.
PLANT. (whispers HENRIETTA) Is that a beggar, then?
Why the devil did they let him come upstairs?
HENRI. Never mind now ; let me have the halfpenny
at Once. -
PLANT. (searching his pocket) Well, well; I suppose it's
very important. Rather well dressed for a beggar—a
political refugee, no doubt—pining in exile. Here it is.
(takes halfpenny from coat-tail pocket—crosses to C.) There,
patriot, take this small donation, and beg no more. (goes up)
Jones. (takes it and looks at it in despair) Alas ! this
snaps the only link that binds me to happiness. Misery
of miseries—I am repaid. (crosses to L.)
HENRI. And now, sir, I trust your claim is satisfied.
PLANT. (aside) Claim 2
Jones. Yes, madam, perfectly: (with desperate calmness)
and I have only, madam, to wish you—to wish you—
cold prosaic wish—a very good morning. I regret,
madam, that our acquaintance has so soon ceased. I
regret, sir, (bows to PLANTAGENET) that ours has not yet
begun. But why regret anything in this life, when all is
transient—uncertain P Life—life is like an omnibus.
B
14 ONLY A. HALFPENNY.
One gets into an omnibus—one sees something that one
adores—but the omnibus stops—and the adorable object
gets out—soon the adorable object vanishes altogether,
and one remains with one's heart broken, staring at
vacancy—ha, ha, ha! (deliriously) Mir—Sadam—tut, tut,
—Sir—madam, I wish you both a very good morning.
g Rushes off, L. D.
PLANT. Why, what the devil does all this mean?
Niece, there is some mystery which I beg you will
explain. t
HENRI. No mystery at all. I was in an omnibus yester-
day, and I had not enough to pay the fare by—by—it's
provokingly ridiculous—by a halfpenny; when this gen-
tleman kindly relieved me from my embarrassment by—
by lending me
PLANT. By lending you a halfpenny? And the rascal
dared come here after it, and I called him a patriot, and I
bestowed my sympathies upon him. Impertinent puppy!
if I had known the truth, I would have flung him out of
window, and his d-d halfpenny after him
HENRI. Be calm, uncle—it's all over now, and we need
all our calmness at present. Look—(points to timepiece)
—it's half-past ten.
PLANT. Oh ah, yes—I forgot: you expect the precious
bridegroom, Biggins, junior—he won’t be here this hour.
HENRI. Indeed; and I'm to sit in my wedding dress?
What am I to do all the time 2 -
PLANT. I'm sure I don't know—look at yourself in the
glass; it's hard if a woman in a bridal costume can't
amuse herself for an hour in that way,
HENRI. But who told you that Mr. Biggins would be
so late—has he called P
PLANT. Called, no—he hasn't called, though it's only
next door. He has sent me an odd kind of note, some-
thing about the parson being taken ill, and sending for
another. I don't exactly understand—it looks something
like a back out, and I almost hope it is.
HENRI. Hope I shan’t be married, uncle?
PLANT. Yes, of course I do, and so do you. You can't
like this Biggins, or even affect to like him. Heml I
shall go back to my newspaper, read about the war—all
ONLY A. HALFPENNY. 15
the fine young fellows seem to have gone there, and a
pretty lot they have left behind them. Young men,
indeed—nice specimens we see. One low-born scoundrel
forces us to take him into our family because we owe him
a miserable thousand pounds, another intrudes into our
drawing room because—because we owe him—a halfpenny.
Eacit, L.
HENRI. Yes, my dear uncle, you are quite right: I
submit to the sacrifice for my father's sake, but as for
loving—nay, as for liking—that Mr. Biggins—no, no—I
must not think about it. -
Jones (puts his head through L. door) Madam—madam |
HENRI. Gracious ! what's that ?
Enter JoNES, L. D.
Jones. The most humble of your slaves.
HENRI. Sir, will you allow me to put one question?
Jon Es. A thousand questions, madam—sweetened by
the music of that voice.
HENRI. I want a plain answer, sir, if you please.
When is this—I will not say impertinence—this tyranny
to cease? when will you cease to take a mean advantage—
yes, sir—I repeat the expression—a mean advantage—of
a mere trifling accident 2
JoNEs. Madam, madam, these words to me? No, no
—you don't mean it—you can't suspect—you can't
Imagine
HENRI. In plain English, what have you come for now?
JoNES. Madam, I had fondly imagined that every one,
even remotely related to such a perfect being as yourself,
was a model of exalted virtue, not to say probity : it was
a dream, madam—a fantasy—I find, on the contrary, that
the principles of your uncle, with respect to pecuniary
obligations, are exceedingly lax.
HENRI. My uncle, sir? A Plantagenet?
JoNEs. Madam, I’m a man of the world—perhaps to a
trifling degree a philosopher—my motto is, deeds not
words—virtue of the present, not glory of the past.
Your uncle, madam, may be a Plantagenet—I will admit
that he looks a Plantagenet—but his conduct towards me,
madam, would degrade the name of Snooks.
16 ONLY A. HALFPENNY.
HENRI. Why, what can he have done? Surely he did
all that he was bound to do, he paid you the-the
Jones. Ay, madam, he paid me the—the—— ; but
what was the-the ? Look at that coin, madam.
(takes it out) There, madam, is the likeness of our excellent
ally, Napoleon III., on whom be all happiness bestowed.
In other words, madam, the piece is French, not English—
a sou, not a halfpenny—and though all little boys sing
“Partant pour la Syrie,” they will not consider a halfpenny
duly represented by a sou.
HENRI. Well, sir, it’s a mistake, no doubt.
JoNEs. Well, madam, I am of a charitable disposition;
I am willing to believe that it is a mistake. I am open
to an explanation from your uncle, and on that account I
shall wait for him here. --- .
HENRI. All this annoyance about a paltry, trifling sou.
JoNEs. Paltry—trifling—nay, madam, I bless this sou,
I adore it. When your uncle gave it me, I thought it
was a halfpenny; I thought that the chance of beholding
you again was gone for ever; but when I looked, madam
and saw that the halfpenny was a sou, I saw that I had a
pretext for one visit more, that I was one step further from
despair. Do you imagine, madam, that I am really
anxious about a halfpenny ? No, madam, no ; if I were
the master of the Mint, I would call in all the old half-
pennies—I would issue no new halfpennies: and then,
every day I would call upon you, and looking up to that
angelic countenance with my solitary sou in my hand, I
would say like the lowliest Lascar, “Please, madam, give
me a halfpenny l’’
PLANTAGENET. (without, R.) Henrietta | Henrietta
HENRI. There is my uncle; retire, I beg, sir.
Jones. What, when I desire an explanation? You
jest, madam—you jest. (goes up)
Enter BRIDGET, R.
BRIDG. I can only find a farthing all over the house—
will you take a farthing on account, sir? -
Enter PLANTAGENET, L.
PLANT. What the devil does all this mean? We are
ONLY A. HALFPENNY. 17
insulted—humiliated | That scoundrel Biggins has just
been here, and says he—he can’t marry you.
JoNES. (aside) Good.
PLANT. Aint you in a rage 2 Don't you Smart with a
sense of wrong?
HENRI. My dear uncle, did you not say yourself you
would like to see the match broken off?
PLANT. Eh, did I? Yes, I believe I did hazard such
a remark. But when it comes to the point, I should like
to do my own breakage, and not have my niece flung
back into my face on her wedding day; and what excuse
do you suppose this Biggins makes 2 He says—I shall
burst with rage—he says, his cousin Jones did not approve
of the match. Now, who the devil is this cousin Jones 2
Some paltry
JoNEs. (down, C.) Refrain from discourteous expressions,
sir—Mr. Jones is present—I am Mr. Jones. Mr. Stanley
Jones at your service. Mr. Biggins, sir, being my cousin,
I could not allow him to marry a lady who was in my debt,
without informing him of the circumstance.
PLANT. Your debt, sir—what the deuce do you mean by
your debt? -
JoNEs. You go to Paris sometimes, sir.
PLANT. Perhaps I do, and perhaps I don't. What the
devil has that to do with it?
JONES. A great deal, sir. Last time you came from
that enchanting capital, you brought in your pocket a sou,
which you neglected to change for the copper coin of this
realm. Sir, I have no doubt it was unintentional, but
when you attempted—I say attempted—to discharge your
niece's trifling obligation to me, you gave me, not the
halfpenny which was my due, but the sou in question:
therefore, sir, your miece is still in my debt.
PLANT. Mr. Jones, or whatever your damn’d name may
be, this is some trick. I can't believe that you have the
consummate impudence to break off my niece's marriage
for the sake of a wretched halfpenny; I am not such an
ass, as to be imposed upon by such a barefaced hoax: so
now, sir, you have had your joke out, get out yourself,
before matters become serious.
Jon Es. Oh, sir! I'll retire—I’ll retire hated by uncle
18 ONLY A. HALFPENNY.
and niece; despised by niece and uncle—I retire—no,
madam, first I would say a word to you respecting your
father.
HENRI. Respecting my—my father?
JoNEs. Yes, madam, I happened to hear—no matter
how, that you were to be sacrificed to a most unworthy
individual, who unhappily is my cousin, merely because he
held your father's acceptance for a thousand pounds; I
called on him, and I found that in consequence of certain
disappointments, he was himself in an embarrassed condition
and happy to part with the bill, if a purchaser was to be
found. To shorten my story—there, madam, is the bill
cancelled—(tears it up) and there, madam, is a written
declaration from my cousin, that he resigns all pretensions
to your hand. Thus, madam, I have made you free
to follow the dictates of your own heart—So now, farewell
—I shall never annoy you again—farewell.
Rushes off, L. D.
BRIDG. What a noble young man -
PLANT. Niece, are we two dreaming?
HENRI. Uncle, I can't say. (picks up fragments of bill)
This is certainly my father's writing. "N
PLANT. It's all right then and you need not marry
Biggins, and that's a damn'd noble fellow ; but we must
not let him go in this way. (puts his head out of door) You,
sir—Mr. What's-your-name—Mr. Thingumbob-come
back l I say, come back, Mr. Jones l
BRIDG. Noble young man, come back! (calling)
Re-enter Jon Es, L. D.
Jones. What is it? I have not given any new offence?
HENRI. Oh, sir, my gratitude
PLANT. Jones, you're a very fine fellow, and I’m sorry
I was so rough with you, Jones. It is not out of imper-
tinence I put the question. Are you pretty well off?
JoNEs. If you ask me that, sir, with the notion of
repaying me the value of the bill, I can only say that I
am just rich enough to do a good action without prospect
of repayment; and that you will never hear of me or my
claim again. (going, L.)
PLANT. The deuce a fellow who can spend a thousand
ONLY A HALFPENNY. 19
pounds on good actions, must be devilish well off—Yes,
it must be done—-I see how the case stands. Jones, it
strikes me that your conduct in this affair has not been
quite so disinterested as you would have me imagine.
HENRI. Uncle, I am sure
Jones. Sir
PLANT. (aside) It will do, they sympathize. Don't be
angry, Jones--as I was saying, it strikes me that you have
aimed at some reward, and that this reward (gradually
leads him up to HENRIETTA) will not be refused. (joins
their hands) Now don't say a word. If I have made an old
fool of myself, drop your hands and drop the subject.—
No, they don't drop. What a pretty picture | You may
speak now, niece; what do you say? -
HENRI. Oh, uncle—uncle.
PLANT. Oh, uncle—that's nothing.
JONES. Excuse me, sir, in a woman it's something.
PLANT. True, and quite enough for a woman's consent.
And you, Jones, what do you say?
JoNEs. That I am the happiest of men I
PLANT. Oh, of course, everybody says that when he is
just going to be married.
BRIDG. I wish I could meet with a young man in a
bus who would lend me a halfpenny.
PLANT. Well, sir, have you nothing more or nothing
better to say?
JoNEs. Oh, yes, I would remark what a small accident
may change the course of a whole life. Yesterday I woke
a heedless fellow, caring for nobody but myself, and
luxuriating in the uncomfortable joys of a bachelor's
independence without a thought that they could ever
terminate. To-day, all is changed, my heart is entirely
another's, and I stand on the threshhold of a new state of
existence, with a lovely being whose fate is henceforth
linked with my own, and when I ask myself the cause of
all this change, I find that it is ONLY A HALFPENNY.
BRIDGET. HENRIETTA. Jones. PLANTAGENET. +.
. Li."
Curtain.
NEW and SCARCE PLAYS,
Now on Sale by T. H. LACY, and by order of all Booksellers.
8. d
Abelard and Heloise 1
Abon Hassan ......... 2
Adrian and Orilla ... 2
Agnes de Were 1
Ali Baba, or a Night
with the 40 Thieves 0
All at Coventry, 8vo 0
Armand
I
0
0
0
0
6
6
- * * * * * * * * - - - - - - - - 0
Bachelor’s Torments 1 0
Battle of Waterloo ... 0 6
Blanch of Navarre, a
Play by James...... I 0
Bloomer Costume ..., 0 6
Borrowing a Husband 1 0
Bride of Abydos ...... 2 0
Bringing Home the
Bride .................. 0 6
Brother and Sister... l 6
Burmese War (The) 06
Cadi (opera)............ 1 0
Camaralzaman, a
Fairy Diana, by
James ..............
Carnival of Naples...
Casco Bayo.............
Catherine of Cleves...
Catherine of Russia.
Caught in his own
i
0
dence ..................
Dream at Sea .........
Duchess Eleanour ...
Earl of Warwick......
Elena Liberti (opera)
Elephant of Siam ....
Elisina, a Drama. ....
Ethelstan .............
Family Pictures ......
Fatal Curiosity ......
Five in One(an imita-
tive interlude)......
Frenchman in London
Frightened to Death
Gertrude's Cherries.
Gipsy of Derncleugh
Giselle
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Monsieur Mallet, or
S. d.
Griselda (Watkins)... 1 0
Hans of Iceland (bal-
!et)..................... 0 6
Hero of the North ... I 0
He Lies Like Truth 2 0
Heart of London, or
the Sharper’s Pro-
ŚreşS .................. I
Heroine, or a Daugh-
ter’s Courage ...... 0
Highwayman ...... 0
Home for the Holidays 1
How to take up a Bill 1
Irish Heiress............ l
Isolda ................... ‘I
King Zany’s Daughter 0
IXiss & the Rose (The) 06
Lady & the Devil,8vo 0
Lady of Lyons......... 2
I,egend of Florence,
8vo ...................
Leola (ballet)
Lion's Lady (The) ... 0
London Assurance ... 3
Love a la Militaire ... 0
Lovers' Quarrels...... 0
Love’s Frailties ....... 0
Lucret. Borgia(opera) 1
Lucretia.................. 0
Macbcth Modernized 0
Mammon & Gammon 0
Mark Lawrence ...... l
Mary Melvin ......... 0
May Queen ............ l
Money .................. 2
My Daughter's Letter 2
Native Land............
Norma(oper. Fianche)i
CEdipus ..................
Old Guard (The)......
Oliver Cromwell ......
One Fault or a Hus-
band’s Honour...... 0
Orphan (The) ......... I
Parson’s Nose (The) 0
Peasant Boy, 8vo...... 0
Peer and the Peasant 1
Pet of the Petticoats 2
8,
Polkamania ............ l
Plots for Petticoats... 0
Pretender (The)...... 0
Presumptive Guilt, or
the l’iery Ordeal... 0
Promissory Note......
Queenof the Thames
IRake and his l’upil..
Ravenna, or Italian
Love . ................
Robert Burns .......
Robinson Crusoe, 8vo
Runnymede ............
Sam Weller, or the
Pickwickians .....,
Scamps of London ...
Scholar (The) .........
School for Grown
Children ............
Second Thoughts ...
Seraglio (The) * * * * * * * * *
SecretMarriage(oper.)
Secret (The) (Mon-
crieff’) 8vo............
Shakspeare and Com-
pany, a Comedy ...
Sixtus the fifth ......
Somnambulist (The)
St. Clair of the Isles
Strafford, a Tragedy
(Browning) .......
Tarnation Strange, or
more Jonathans ...
Thomas a Beckett ...
Tobit's Dog (The)...
Trevanion ...............
li
:
i
Trumpeter's Daughter 1
Turf .....................
Turn Out ...............
Ulrica ..................
Uncle Toby ............
Used Up..................
Vagrant (The).........
Wanderer
Wild Boy of Bohemia
Winterbottoms (The)
Woodman’s Hut......
World (The)a Comedy 1
Wreck Ashore......... l
Zoroaster ...............
* - - - - - - - - - a te
l
º
M A T H E W S A T H O M E.
These popular Entertainments, containing the whole of the Songs, Tales,
Mathews' Comic Annual, 1830.
Recitations.
Mathew's Memorandum Book.
99 Theatrical Olio, First. 23
20 $9 Second. y?
37 95 Fourth. 53
99 1831.
,, . 1832.
}} I833.
Also the following Entertainments:
^r
Rayner's Up to Town and Back Again.
Yates' Portraits and Sketches.
Alexandre's Adventures of a Ventriloquist,
W. H. Williams’ VisitS.
— Morsels of Mirth.
Rhymes and Reasons,
Henry's Table Talk.
All at Sixpence each, bu Post.
THE
MOUNTAIN SYLPH.
@ 330mantic (9pera,
IN TWO ACTS.
MUSIC COMPOSED BY
M. R. J O H. N. B A R N E T T.
THOMAS IIAILES LACY,
w E L L IN GT ON STREET, S T R A N D,
L O N D O N.
THE MOUNTAIN SYLPH.
First Performed at the Royal Lyceum Theatre,
on Monday, August 25th, 1834.
z- *
([haracters.
BAILLIE MACWHAPPLE ..................... MR. ALDRIDGE.
DONALD (betrothed to Jessie)....................... MR. WILSON.
CHRISTIE (his Rival)................................. MR. OxBERRY.
HELA (Wizard of the Glen) ........................ MR. H. PHILLIPs.
FIRST SALAMANDER .............................
SECOND SALAMANDER..... .....................
THIRD SALAMANDER ...........................
FIRST WITCH .......................................
ASTORATH .............................................
MORNA ............... ...................................
TESPA ...................................................
ICELPIE ...................................................
EOLIA (the Mountain Sylph) ........................ Miss E. Rosſ ER.
ETHERIA (Queen of the Sylphs) .................. Miss Novel.Lo.
ATTENDANT SYLPH .............................. Miss Joseph IN.
DAME GOURLIE .................................... MRs. GRIFFITH.
JESSIE (her Daughter) .............................. Miss SoMERVILLE.
([08tumit5.
BAILLIE MACWHAPPLE.-Old man's suit. plaid waistcoat.
; P
DoNALD.—Tartan dress, pouch and kilt, fleshings, shoes, Scotch
cap and hose, &c.
CHRISTIE.—Same as Donald.
HELA.—First Dress: Dark plaid and fleshings. Second Dress:
Dark brown shirt.
WITCHES.—Have similar dresses to Hela.
Eolia.--White fairy-like dress trimmed with flowers, and wings.
ETHERIA and SYLPHS.—Same as Eolia.
DAME Gouri.I.E.—Dark stuff dress, caul cap, and grey hair.
JESSIE.—Scotch peasant girl's dress, plaid and smood,
PEASANT8.—Same as Jessie.
THE MOUNTAIN SYLPH.
=<=e^eºcºfºſºftfº-º-º:
ACT I.
ScENE I.—The Interior of a Scotch Farm House. In the
flat, three large glass doors and a staircase leading to
the upper story, and also the entrance to the cellar. To
the left, a door and a window ; to the right, a wide old-
fashioned chimney.
DoNALD is discovered asleep in a large arm chair, R., c.;
wnder the window CHRISTIE is also asleep; Eolia is
kneeling at the feet of DONALD, on whom she gazes with
looks of impassioned tenderness, and expresses the pleasure
she enjoys at being thus so near to him she loves; through
the glass doors SYLPHS are seen flitting backwards and
forwards, who sing the followiug chorus.
CHORUs. Hush !
Eolia. Hush
CIIoRUs. We Sylphs, on moiseless wing,
Airy dreams to mortals bring;
In vision'd joys their senses steep,
And watch around them while they sleep.
Hush, hush |
Solo—EOLIA.
Child of the air, as Zephyr free,
'Twas mine to soar on azure pinion;
Over mount, and over sea,
Ranging pleasure's wide dominion.
Now to win a mortal's love,
Near him still I fondly hover;
My foolish heart no joy can prove,
Like this—to watch my sleeping lover.
4 THE MOUNTAIN SYLPH. [ACT I.
DONALD. (in an agitated voice, and stretching out his arms
as if dreaming) Oh, heavens !
- (EOLIA timidly retreats)
What soft enchanting nameless pleasures seem
My bosom to invade Or do I dream P
(EOLIA softly ascends to the back of the arm chair, and
flutters her blue wings over him as if to refresh the air)
Or see I yet the lovely form, more gay
Than dancing sunbeams | Fly me not—oh, stay !
(EOLIA imprints a kiss on DoNALD's brow, who
starts up)
Ensemble.
DoNALD. Yes, ’tis her lovely form, more gay
Than dancing Sunbeams | Fly me not—oh, stay !
CHORUs. Come ! -
EoLIA. Come !
CHORUs. Where whispering breezes tell,
The butterfly's birth in the vi'let's bell.
The bee hums there its song of mirth,
As light we trip the daised earth.
(during the ensemble DONALD makes several efforts to
detain EOLIA, but in vain ; at the close of the music
she escapes through one of the glass doors)
DoNALD. No, no—’twas no deceptive spell,
Herbreath,like the rose-scented breeze, gently fell,
Her kiss, which might bosoms of marble inspire,
Still thrills through my frame, all my soulis on fire.
CHRISTIE. (still asleep) Dang it, a bit of a kiss is no
such great affair after all.
DONALD. (starting) Ah I had forgotten him. Could
he have seen her too? (calls) Christie I Christie
CHRISTIE. (still half asleep) Hola, there! Eh? (yawning)
DONALD. (impatiently) Did you see her? Speak
CHRISTIE. Sce her | don't I see her every night?
DONALD. (aside) He too !
CHRISTIE. And then she's such a loving body; 'tis a
mortal pity she's not the same when a man's awake.
DONALD. I, too, might make the same complaint.
SC. I.] THE MOUNTAIN SYLPH. 5
CHRISTIE, (yawning) Dang it ! why did you waken
me, Donald P. She did smile so sweetly upon me, and my
heart went thump, thump-for all the world Hike Sandy's
flail in my godmother's barn.
DONALD. (in a tone of vexation) Can it be possible,
Christie, that you speak the truth 2
CHRISTIE. Ah, you're jealous, mayhap. Ah, ah l—
(laughing)—and what think ye, man, she stooped down as
I thought to kiss me.
DONALD. Pshaw *
CHRISTIE. (in a doleful tone) I held up my cheek, and
she gave me
DONALD. Well ?
CHRISTIE. Such a rattling slap o' the face, that I was
glad when I woke to find all my teeth in. Such a
tingler!
DoNALD. Fool is it of Jessie you're speaking 2
(aside) He knows nothing.
CHRISTIE. Nae, but she's the fool though; dear pretty
Jessie, to think of marrying you! when I love her little
finger better than you do her whole body. (half crying)
'Tis a sin and a shame ! Me her sixteenth cousin too—
and her mother my godmother—and this very day too !
Oh, oh! (cries) .
DoNALD. To-day! 'tis so indeed. (looks towards the spot
where the SYLPH had disappeared) And shall I never see
thee again 2 No, no, I must not even wish it; thou art but a
blissful vision—a beauteous chimera : and I must think,
Jessie, but of love and thee.
CHRISTIE. (looking towards the door) Oh, dear! oh, dear!
here she comes! blushing like a rose, and her eyes so mild
—and 'tis all for him. Oh, I could—I could
Enter DAME Gourlie and JESSIE, followed by HoBBIE and
JANET, from door in flat.
DAME. Well, my lads and lasses, this ought to be a right
merry time at the old farm-house : to-day the betroth-
ing, and them the wedding. (Hobbie takes cloak up stairs
and hangs it up) Come, Domald, kiss your bride: though
I'm her mother that says it, there's ne'er a bonnier lass in
6 THE MOUNTAIN SYLPH. [ACT I.
the island. (DONALD advancing, takes JESSIE's hand and
kisses it)
JESSIE. Dear Donald ! are you not glad this day will
bind us for ever to each other.
DoNALD. Dearest Jessie, I can think of nothing but our
approaching happiness.
JESSIE. Can I believe you?
DoNALD. Why should you doubt me 2 what other
woman can I ever love but you ?
JESSIE. (giving him her hand) There now :-that was
the prettiest speech I have heard from you this long
while.
CHISTIE. (to DAME) How pleased she looks; he's mak-
ing her some fine flummery speech now. Lord help her,
that's not the way he'd go to court her if he was a real
lover. -
DAME. And what would he do then, you great booby ?
CIIRISTIE. Do as I do, stare at her for hours together,
with his eyes and mouth wide open, and when he would
say a sweet word or two, feel as if he had got a blue
bottle there. -
DAME. Ah, my poor Christie, all your jealousy won't
prevent their marriage, I can tell you. (DAME goes up with
DoNALD)
CHRISTIE. And more shame for you, godmother, I’m
sure if I’d thought you would have been so unnatural to
me, I’d never have been your godson.
JESSIE. (turning to CHRISTIE) My good Christie, you'll
soon find some one to console you. (CHRISTIE turns away
in anger) What! are you so angry with me, you will not
give me your hand?
CHRISTIE. (Snatching her hand and kissing it fervently)
Oh, if you were always like this I’d forgive you all.
JESSIE. Poor Christie 1 (CHRISTIE attempts to seize her
hand again, DONALD passes between them)
DoNALD. Nay, Jessie.
CHRISTIE. The Savage can’t you let her even comfort
me 2
DAME. There, there, have done with these fooleries.
Here come all the village lads and lasses with their bridal
gifts.
SC. I.] THE MOUNTAIN SYLPH. 7
Enter a group of young GIRLs, followed by young PEASANTS,
L. U. E., the former bearing gifts of various kinds.
Chorus.
See, here we bring,
Fresh flowers of Spring,
Sweet as the bride, and blooming.
This pretty dove,
£mblem of love—
This plaid—oh, how becoming !
Oh, still be theirs,
Life free from cares,
No thorns amongst Love's roses.
Be each fond breast,
The favour'd nest,
Where gentle Peace reposes.
The chorus is first sung through by the GIRLs, who
present to JESSIE the various offerings—one young
GIRL gives her a plaid which she tries on, and then
lays it on the arm chair—the other presents are
carried up stairs—the CoRPs DE BALLET then dance
a Highland Fling, during which the WoMEN repeat
the chorus, and ultimately join in the dance.
JESSIE. My good friends, how much I thank you all.
DAME. Is she not a becoming bride, my lasses? Well,
'twill soon be your turn. -
CHRISTIE. (aside) I could cry for spite to hear their
talk, and I know he don't love her—mo, that he don't.
DONALD. (aside) Vain are all my efforts; the form of
that beauteous being is ever before my eyes.
JESSIE. (aside observing DoNALD) How sad he looks, I
know not what to think. *
DoNALD. (looking towards the glass doors) Could I but
see her once more before (goes to chimney—perceives
HELA in the corner) Heavens ! you here 2 (drags him out)
ALL. (terrified) The Wizard of the Glen
DAME. Oh, dear! oh, dear! some ill-luck will Surely
happen I (DoNALD rushes towards HELA—the PEASANTS
retain DoNALD) e
DoNAL.D. (angrily) What brings you here 2
8 THE MOUNTAIN SYLPH. [ACT I.
HELA. That which brings all the rest—to see you be-
trothed to your young bride there.
DONALD. Begone, mysterious fiend! your presence is
always attended with some calamity.
HELA. Whatharm can a poorhelpless being do to anyone?
DoNALD. Your diabolical arts and practices are well
known. Begone, detested wretch ! or -
JESSIE. (detaining him) Nay, Donald, let every one be
welcome here on such a day as this.
CHRISTIE. Come, my lads, you'll Jet the poor body stay,
won't you?
ALL. Yes, yes! -
HELA. Thanks, thanks, my children and now I'll tell
your fortunes. (advancing C., they gather round him)
Concerted Piece. N
HELA. And now your kindness to repay,
Give each a hand, your fates I'll tell.
GIRLs. Here's mine ! here's mine !
HELA. A moment stay
One at a time would be as well;
What's your wish, maiden, tell me true 2.
1ST GIRL. Only a husband. (looking at her hand)
HELA. You'll have two.
1ST GIRL.
ALL.
HELA.
2ND GIRL.
Two thousand thanks
Now me—now me !
One at a time, I say. Let's see
This pretty palm, I'm much afraid
You're born to live and die a maid.
A maid! you ugly fright, away !
I don't believe a word you say.
HELA. Perhaps you've cause. But won't the bride
Her fortune learn ?
JESSIE. Oh, yes, I’ll hear
* What fate my wedding will betide.
HELA. The happiest, you need not fear.
- (looking at her hand)
JESSIE. Yet say—does Donald's bosom glow :
For me—as mine for him 2 Speak |
HEI.A. No
(general surprise)
SC. I.]
THE MOUNTAIN SYLPH. 9
DONALD.
CHRISTIE.
DONALD.
JESSIE.
CHRISTIE.
HELA.
DONALD.
JESSIE.
JESSIE.
DONALD.
CHORUS.
HELA.
CHRISTIE.
Dare not to say so, cursed elf.
Stand off! fear nothing; I myself
Will take your part, for spite of you
The Wizard o' the Glen speaks true.
The wretch the maniac Jessie dear,
Believe not, trust not, what you hear.
My Donald's truth I’ll never fear.
Well, time will shew,
But if you'd know,
Jessie's true love, ye see him here.
And Jessie, you
May shortly rue -
Your scorn of Christie; tremble ! fear !
}Fly, fiendl or it shall cost you dear ! (to HELA)
Yes, time will shew ;
But well I know
My Donald's vows are all sincere.
Yes, time will shew ;
But well I know
My vows to Jessie are sincere.
Hence, hence—begone !
Or dread my anger l—
Fly, cursed one !
Rest here no longer.
Let him begone,
And calm thine anger,
His wiles are known,
Heed them no longer.
Must I begone?
Oh, why this anger?
Your secret's known,
Deceive no longer.
CHORUs. Let him begone, &c.
No, don't begone !
Fear not his anger,
Iſis secret's known,
He'll sham no longer.
CHORUS. Let him begone, &c.
Eacit HELA, door in flat, threatening DoNALD, who
attempts to follow him, but is prevented.
1() THE MOUNTAIN SYLPH. |ACT I.
DONALD. Miserable impostor
DAME. Be calm, Donald; no one believes his idle
words.
CHRISTIE. Yes, but I do, though ; and it's a shame for
you, Jessie, to marry a man, that you're told does not love
you.
f DONALD. Christie, beware you do not provoke me too
3.1'.
DAME. Fie, fie, Donald ! who ever heeds what Christie
says?
CHRISTIE. But you must heed it, godmother. I tell you
all will be on your head, if you let her marry him. Oh,
Jessie 1 if you want a real husband—a faithful husband—
a loving husband—do as Hela bid you : take me.
JESSIE. Poor Christie ' I do believe you, but
CHRISTIE. (kneeling to her) She said “Poor Christie l’’
Oh, how my heart does go thumping. (he is about to seize
her hand—DONALD takes the place of JESSIE, and CHRISTIE,
still on his knees, seizes his hand in mistake, which he kisses)
I swear by this little lily hand
} DONALD. (pushing him down) There, you stupid block-
head!
CHRISTIE. (getting up, confounded) Donald !
ALL. (laughing) Yes, with his little lily hand—ha,
ha, ha!
DAME. Come, ’tis time to dress the bride for the be-
trothal. Baillie Macwhapple will soon be here with the
marriage contract. Where are the bridesmaids?
GIRLs. Here ! here !
DAME. Away, then, and if possible, make her hand-
Somer than she is at present. -
Eacit BRIDESMAIDs up stairs.
Come, Christie, draw some of our oldest ale
CHRISTIE. Me draw I’m sure I shall turn the ale sour
if I look in the jug
DAME. And I’ll go and take a peep into the kitchen—
the Baillie thinks the best part of a wedding is the eating
and drinking !
Eacit DAME, L. D. The GIRLs lead JESSIE wb the stair-
case. CHRISTIE looks mournfully after her, and eacits
into cellar. PEASANTs go off by the glass doors.
SC. I.]
THE MOUNTAIN SYLPH. 11
*
Recitative—DONALD.
DoNALD. Poor Jessie : yes, she loves me ! I'll requite
Her fond affection;–yet the strange delight
That magic kiss inspired still haunts me! When,
Enchanting fair, shall I behold again w
That form bewitching, which must ever reign,
Fix'd firm in Donald's all bewilder'd brain P
Song-DONALD.
Art thou a form of mortal birth,
With charms so wond’rous fair 2
Or cradled far beyond this earth,
Some spirit of the air?
Thy witching pow'r—whence does it flow !
Ought I thy spells to fear?
Oh! if thy love can bliss bestow,
Appear ! appear ! appear !
The window bursts open as from a gust of wind—EOLIA
appears and descends.
Air—EOLIA.
Deep in the forest dell,
The Sylphid loves to dwell,
With the timid fawn,
Sporting at early dawn.
Or near some limpid stream,
Shunning the moontide beam ;
Revels in shady bow'r,
Enamour'd of leaf and flow'r.
Oft with the lark I soar,
Where stars their radiance pour;
Where the Sunbeams rise,
In the eastern skies.
13ut, ah no more I rove,
Chain’d by the tyrant love;
My sportive joys are o'er,
I weep;-and I adore.
Deep in a forest dell, &c.
DoNALD. You weep ! O, what Sorrows can reach so
angelic a being 2
12 THE MOUNTAIN SYLPH. [ACT I.
EOLIA. Can you ask? You who to-day are about to
plight your faith to another?
DONALD. You love me, then Dare I believe it?
EOLIA. Alas! it is my destiny. For thee I have for-
saken my companions—my beloved haunts—my sports—
my flowers. For ever near thee, I am thy watchful guard.
When sultry heats oppress thee in the sylvan chase, my
wings exhale a cooling air, your bosom heaves a sigh of
pleasure, and I am blest. º
DoNALD. Her voice thrills to my soul! I have not
power to resist the dangerous fascination.
EOLIA. And when the shades of night descend, still I
am at your side. A dream of love and bliss enchants
you—'tis I bestow it. The smile of pleasure plays upon
your lips—fondly I press a kiss upon your brow. Ah
cruel one ! that kiss but makes your heart beat warmer
for another.
DONALD. (aside) She loves me ! (aloud) Fairest crea-
ture where didst thou first behold me?
EOLIA. You came to gather flowers upon the mountain's
side. At first I was offended, for those flowers were
mine; but soon I wished them sweeter and more bloom-
ing, that they might oftener lure you to my retreat. (sighing)
I knew not then you sought them for your bride. Ah!
that bride How fair she is and I, too—Oh, if you did
but love me !
DoNALD. (snatching her hand) Love you! Oh, heavens !
But—(dropping her hand) No, no—I dare not—honour
forbids me.
EOLIA (mournfully) Farewell, then, for ever.
DoNALD. No, no-for who could, unmoved, behold
those eyes, that form, that mien—those charms despise—
(as he gazes on her, he loses all self-command—fascinated by
her charms, he kisses her)
Enter CHRISTIE, with jug, from the cellar, and perceives
EóLIA in the arms of DONALD.
CHRISTIE. Ho, ho, there ! Here's fine doings Jessiel
Jessie Godmother, I say ! (running up the staircase)
DoNALD. I'm lost—they come ! (EOLIA springs into the
arm chair, and DONALD covers her with the cloak or plaid)
SC. I.] THE MOUNTAIN SYLPH. 13
Enter JESSIE and DAME, followed by BRIDESMAIDs, from
staircase.
CHRISTIE. I tell you I saw it with my own eyes—a
woman I he was hugging and kissing a woman l (goes
towards the chair—DONALD pushes him back) t
JESSIE. (taking the arm of DoNALD) Oh, Donald, speak!
tell me it is not true !
CHRISTIE. (who has passed to the other side of the chair)
Not true, indeed! Look here—I’ll shew you the impudent
hussey. (tears off the cloak—EOLIA has disappeared—gene-
ral surprise) Eh how's this? (stupéfied)
DAME. Aye, how's this? you mischief maker |
GIRL. Why, Christie, you've been tasting the ale, and
see double this morning. Ha, ha, ha! (all laugh at him)
JESSIE. (gravely) Fie, Christie I I did not think you
capable of such a wicked invention. -
CHRISTIE. And you, too ! But I tell you my eyes and
myself both saw it—we can’t be both mistaken.
DAME. Hold your tongue ! 'tis your jealousy put this
falsehood in your head.
CHRISTIE. (shaking the cloak, and searching around the
chair) Why, hang it! where could he have hid her? Oh,
if I can but catch the minx
DAME. Dear heart! here be the Baillie waddling along,
and all the lads coming to look for their partners. Janet!
Hobbie, I say ! (calling) Quick—quick
Enter BAILLIE MACWHAPPLE, D. F. followed by the young
VILLAGERs—JANET and Hobbie at the same time carry in
a table, with ale, cakes, &c., which is placed near the
window, L. C.
BAILLIE. Good day, Dame. All the lads and lasses
ready, eh? That's right, that's right—I like these merry
meetings.
1)AME. That you do, your worship; and you're always
the merriest among us. Will your worship taste our ale 2
BAILLIE. And welcome, my good Dame.
BAILLIE seats himself at the table—EOLIA re-enters—
DONALD sees and pursues her—she crosses the stage
behind the dancers, glides up the staircase, and dis-
B
14 THE MOUNTAIN SYLPH. [ACT I.
appears behind a Scotch cloak, which is hung against
a panel of the gallery–DONALD pulls down the
cloak, and remains petrified with astonishment.
JESSIE. (perceiving the absence of DONALD) Donald,
Donald ! where are you?
DAME. (to DONALD) What are you staring at there,
man 2
ALL. Donald, Donald ! (DoNALD slowly returns)
BAILLIE. (to DAME, offended) Your daughter has cer-
tainly a very ardent bridegroom.
CHRISTIE. You deserve it, Jessie. I told you if you
wanted a loving, fond, ardent but 'tis no matter now.
JESSIE. (going to DONALD), Donald I Donald ! He
neither sees nor hears me. (to DAME, weeping) Dear
mother, what is the meaning of all this?
DAME. Nothing, nothing, child. 'Tis love that has
turned his brain. Marry him at once—that will bring him
to his senses.
BAILLIE. (coming forward) Well, Dame, where are the
Tings?
DAME. Here is my daughter's, your worship.
CHRISTIE. Curse it, for a villainous ring !
BAILLIE. And the bridegroom—is this he P (pointing to
CHRISTIE)
CHRISTIE. I ought to be your worship, but
DAME. Hold your tongue, fool! Donald, I say—your
ring 2
DoNALD. (starting and advancing) The-the–ring—
here it is. (aside) I tremble I know not why—’tis a
weakness I cannot overcome. (as he holds out the ring,
Eolia seizes it, and disappears up the chimney) Merciful
powers what has she done 2
Concerted Piece.
JEssie. With hope and fear my bosom's swelling !
CHRISTIE. The grief I feel is past the telling !
Chorus. Now the maiden Smiles and blushes,
As she breathes her timid vow ;
Joy the bridegroom's cheek deep flushes,
Joy that lovers only know.
SC. I.] THE MOUNTAIN SYLPH. 15
BAILLIE. Be quick; let's get this business over.
JESSIE. Oh, happy hour for faithful lover !
CHRISTIE. Oh, direful hour for slighted lover ! .
BAILLIE. (to DAME) By right your signature is first.
(she signs)
CHRISTIE. With rage I think my heart will burst,
CHORUs. Poor Christie ' sure his heart will burst.
BAILLIE. (to JESSIE) Come, gentle bride, ’tis now your turn.
(she signs)
CHRISTIE. By fits I shiver, and I burn.
CHORUs. How hard in hopeless love to burn.
BAILLIE. (to DonALD) Now let the envied bridegroom sign.
(DoNALD, who has kept at some distance from the
table, now approaches, and is met by JESSIE)
DoNALD. (to JESSIE) Jessie, you love me, do not fear—
(apart) Oh, what a wretched fate is mine.
(to JESSIE) Still to be thine—now hear me swear!
(apart) This torture shall be borne.
(the BAILLIE holds out the contract to DoNALD, who
has taken up the pen to sign ; at the same moment
EoLIA appears at the window, and carries it off)
CHORUs. What mystery is here— -
Can no one this explain?
BAILLIE. The contract's gone, that's clear,
-- By Beelzebub, 'tis plain.
CHORUs. Fatal omen l ills portending,
Tremble—tremble, hapless pair;
Surely fate such token sending,
Bids you ere you wed beware.
JESSIE. False such omen' ills portending !
What can harm a constant pair?
Love to my heart new courage lending,
Bids me of idle fears beware.
CHRISTIE. Blessed omen good portending !
Sure the fates for me declare;
Or Cupid's self his succour lending,
Came to save me from despair.
(the BAILLIE begins to draw up a new contract—all
surrounding the table)
16 THE MOUNTAIN SYLPH. [ACT I.
Enter Eolia, at back—she takes DONALD's hand and leads
him forward unseen by the rest.
EoLIA. Break—break, my heart! On earth's cold lap
reposing,
Too sound my sleep to dream of even you ;
Thou'rt lost to me—and life's dark scene is, closing,
Too dear-lov'd mortal hear my last adieu !
Break—break my heart.
DONALD distracted, thinks only of the danger of losing
his beloved EODIA for ever ;-she perceives his de-
spair, and gently leads him away through the glass door
in the flat-CHRISTIE alone observing his departure.
BAILLIE. Well, here's the new contract.
CHRISTIE. He's gone, ’tis too late.
JESSIE. Gone l 3.
CHRISTIE. Aye, with a bonnie lass.
ALL. Shame !
BAILLIE. Shut the doors lest
CHRISTIE. In sooth you're to blame,
For now the steed's stole, you're for closing the gate.
BAILLIE. Y. What an outrage falsely breaking
DAME. All the solemn vows he swore ;
CHORUs. Let us follow, vengeance taking,
iſe shall never see her more l
CHRISTIE. Glad my heart is, that was breaking,
When I thought all hope was o'er;
I almost fear I am not waking,
Heav'n grant we'll see him here no more!
JESSIE. Cruel lover ! thus forsaking
Her you promised to adore;
Oh, I feel my heart is breaking,
At the thought we meet no more
All the MEN rush out by the glass door in flat, led by
the BAILLIE; JESSIE falls fainting in the arms of her
MoTHER and the BRIDESMAIDs. Tableau. CHRISTIE
kneels before her and kisses her hand; then starting
up, snatches a gun from the chimney, and runs after
the rest.
SC. II.] THE MOUNTAIN SYLPH. - 17
SCENE II.—A narrow Dell of Rocks at the foot of a
Mountain.
Enter CHRISTIE, followed by HobBIE and VILLAGERs, L.
HoBBIE. A fine tramp we shall have of it, through bushes
and briars, •
CHRISTIE. And where else, think, ye, are we to look for
Donald P. When a woman runs away with a young man,
it isn't likely she'd hide him in the high road.
1st VILLAGER. But this is not a real woman—this is
3–3,
CHRISTIE. A siffle—why, can't you remember the name?
2ND WILLAGER. And what is a siffle, Christie P
CHRISTIE. A siffle is—is a kind of fairy with wings, that
hides in the hollow of a tree like a woodpecker, or in the
clefts of a rock like a young eagle.
HoBBIE. Heaven save us! I told you, Master Christie,
when you laughed at ghosts yesterday, 'twas because you
know’d nothing.
CHRISTIE. Well, well—don't let us lose our time. God-
mother has promised me Jessie, if I find the runaway
Donald.
1st VILLAGER. In my mind you'll have more chance with
the lassie herself, if you leave him just as he is, with his
Siffle.
CHRISTIE. (aside) That's my own opinion too; and
for that reason I’m leading them as far astray as I can.
Enter HELA, R.
WILLAGERs. (starting back—alarmed) The saints preserve
us—Hela again
HELA. Good day, my children—good day. So, you've
not found him, after all your search.
YHRISTIE. (to VILLAGER) He knows everything.
HELA. (to CHRISTIE) I know, too, that you will soon gain
the wish of your heart.
SHRISTIE, Hear that, lads. I told you the wizard body
—the-the kind Hela was my friend.
HELA. That I am, Christie—you protected me when
Donald insulted me; but—(with fury)—he shall soon find
what it is to brave my power. e
18 THE MOUNTAIN SYLPH. [ACT I.
1st VILLAGER. (aside) His eyes shoot fire! let's be off!
HELA. (aside to CHRISTIE) Send them in the direction
they'll be sure not to find him.
CHRISTIE. How shall I know that
HELA. He's there, behind yonmountain. (pointing to, R.
CHRISTIE. Thank you, kind Hela. (aloud to *:::::::
Away, then, to the left, and if you don't find him, it is not
your fault. (aside) Now I'll find Mr. Donald out at his tricks.
Eacewnt CHRISTIE, R., VILLAGERs and HoBBIE, L.
HELA. And I go to secure his happiness, and my
revenge.
Recitative.
To me what's mortal happiness? My fate
Forbids a hope of pleasure. Yet to buy
Revenge—on Donald, too—I’ll sacrifice
The pangs I’d on his rival else bestow.
Scena.
Man's misfortune glads my soul,
Yet I did not always know
The fires which now my heart control,
The joy to witness others' woe.
In days gone by,
Alas, was I,
A flow'ret gay as rare,
With heart as mild,
As infant child,
And features, too, as fair.
But doom'd to prove,
The shafts of love,
From early virtues wean'd ;
From good estranged,
Love's poison changed
The flow'ret to a fiend.
Now Jealousy, Anger, Revenge and fell Hate,
My soul have seduced, and so mingled my fate,
From passion to passion I fly, and the slave
Of passion can only find rest in the grave.
SC. III.] . THE MOUNTAIN SYLPH. 19
Lightnings flash and thunders roar,
Hela tastes of peace no more;
Shrieks and groans pervade the air,
Guilt rejoices in despairl
Eacit HELA, R.
SCENE III.-A Lonely Spot on the Sea Shore. To the R.
a rugged rock, at the foot of which is a cavern ; before
the cavern is a fire burning, over which is a large caul-
dron ; on the ground is seen a death's head, two globes,
the skulls of various animals, toads, snakes, and other
venomous reptiles; three WITCHEs are discovered stand-
ing on a mound, in the attitude of listening ; stage dark.
The scene opens to slow mystic music. As the Invoca-
tion proceeds, the sea becomes more agitated.
g Invocation.
HELA. (in the cavern) Haste, spirits, hither throng,
Trooping to our brazen gong !
The gong in the cavern mixes with the last note. A
rushing sound is heard outside—the wind whistles.
I hear, I hear them sweep along,
Summon'd by the brazen gong !
Enter HELA, from cavern.
Enter a group of WITCHES, each holding a red lanthorn
lighted, and each accompanied by an IMP holding a broom-
stick, round the top of which plays a Will o' the Wisp-
each is also preceded by some hideous ANIMAL.
CHORUS OF FEMALE WITCHES.
Charming sister, here we've rid,
From sulphur caverns merily, merrily;
Speak thy will, whate'er we're bid
By thee, we'll do right cheerily.
Shall we curse, or shall we kill,
Or merely torture merrily, merrily.
Thou know'st we joy in working ill,
'Tis that makes time pass cheerily, cheerily.
20 THE MOUNTAIN SYLPH. [ACT I.
The WITCHES hand their lanthorns to the IMPs and
surround the cauldron—the ANIMALs dance round
with grotesque gambols.
1ST WITCH. In haunted cove, and desert creek,
With more than mortal tongue dare speak.
We do our deeds ! In magic hoary !
All that make a witch's glory !
CHORUs. All that make a witch's glory !
Ha! hal ha' (they all laugh with ferocious mirth)
HELA. In storms we raise the shipwreck'd dead,
From grave we call the spirit fled
Theme for many a midnight story !
All that make a witch's glory !
CHORUS. All that make a witch's glory !
Ha! haſ haſ (they all laugh as before)
1ST WITCH. (to HELA) Now tell us, beloved of the
King of Fiends, what dost thou demand from our art?
HELA. The destruction of an enemy
WITCHES. A mortal?
HELA. More hateful still—a sylph
WITCHES. (with a cry of rage) A sylph a sylph 1
HELA. Your fury charms me. Wengeance 1
ALL, Vengeance vengeanceſ
HELA. (stirring up the cauldron which emits a blue sul-
phureous smoke) See, the charm works! Now to summon
those whose power must aid us! (an IMP presents him with
a rod which lights of itself. He traces a flaming circle
around the cauldron—the sea becomes much agitated)
Infernal spirits—hellish powers'
By the compact that is ours,
Haste from the realms of endless fire,
To aid a work of vengeance dire l
CHORUS. We come ! we come !
Trooping to the brazen gong !
Burst of music mingling with the gong—the cauldron
becomes red hot ; ASTAROTH, supported by two
DEMONs, rises; at the same instant, enter a troop
of infernal SPIRITs—each DEMON carries a flaming
sword ; HELA remains at the cauldron. Three
WITCHES stride hastily towards Asma Roth, and with
SC. III.] THE MOUNTAIN SYLPH. 21
one action cast back their hoods and stand before
him, with their right arm extended, and bow.
WITCHEs. To our mighty master we
Bow, as slaves, before his knee.
They dance round the cauldron for a few seconds;
ASTAROTH approaches the cauldron, takes a goblet
filled with a flaming liquid, and pours it in ; red and
blue flames rise from cauldron—HELA advances and
draws forth a silken scarf.
CHORUS. Hail to our master he whose sway,
Hell's terrific realms obey.
In the fell ingredients throw !
Now our charm has wrought its woe
Thunders burst and boil the sea l
Dance about with witches' glee
Let our transport shake the air ]
Our delight is man's despair
During the chorus the WITCHES and DEMONs join
hands—the DEMONs, with the flaming swords form
diabolical dances with the WITCHES; the IMPs and
ANIMALS gambol in the most grotesque manner, the
sea becomes a bed of flames, and the transparency
in the flat is filled with hideous nondescripts.-
Tableau.
END OF ACT 1.
ACT II.
SCENE I.—An Open Glade in a Forest. A Mountainous
Country in flat, through the vista is seen a distant view of
the Village, the Church upon an eminence; to the front
upon the L., is a large beech tree ; to the R. a Grotto, the
entrance covered with rose trees and flowering shrubs.
DoNALD is seen descending with difficulty a rocky path of
the Mountain, while Eolia appears to slide down ; she
flutters her wings and seems scarcely to touch the earth
with her feet.
22 THE MOUNTAIN SYLPH. [ACT II.
Introduction.
DONALD. Whither, oh, whither wouldst thou lead?
EOLIA. And can you, love, so soon forget
That mountain side, this daisied mead P
DONALD. Oh, no l then wherefore fly me yet?
EOLIA. Men are so fickle
DONALD. - You speak not of me,
Who faithful and true,
Loves no one but you.
EOLIA. Oh, wait till my sister sylphs you see.
Solo—EOLIA.
From the rose-covered bowers,
From the waves of the fountain,
Or from seeking wild flowers,
Midst the moss of the mountain.
Hither, hither—haste to me,
Sportive sylphs, where'er ye be.
Enter SYLPHS from all sides, some are seen flitting down
the Mountain, others issue from the Grotto behind the
rose trees, shrubs, &c.; their wings of various colours,
blue, rose, and violet, they flit round and round, forming
graceful groups.
Chorus of SYLPHs.
Nor rose-twin’d bower,
Nor sweetest flower,
To us can yield such pleasure;
As when with thee,
In sportive glee,
We trip a fairy measure.
DONALD attempts to clasp EOLIA in his arms, but she
escapes from him, while the other SYLPHS dance
round him ; again he tries to seize her, but she eludes
him, he in mistake is about to embrace another SYLPH;
EOLIA enters softly behind them.
EoLIA. (to DONALD) Ah! is this a mortal's love? Is it
thus they prove their faith ? (she again disappears—the
other SYLPHS also eaceunt)
DONALD. (alone) She leaves me ! mocks at my ardent
SC. I.] THE MOUNTAIN SYLPH. 23
passion I Am I then but the sport of an inexplicable
being? yet a being so enchanting, that I feel she is be-
come dearer to me than existence.
Song—DONALD.
Canst thou, love—yet coldly fly me?
Beauteous riddle that thou art |
Softly smile, and then deny me,
When I’d press thee to my heart.
Like a lovely sportive child,
Trifling with thy lover's pain;
Whilst a glance so sweetly wild,
Tells me I’m beloved again.
Oh, th’ extremes of bliss and anguish,
Mingle in my fever'd breast;
Now in hopeless woe I languish,
Then in fancy am most blest.
Yet my fate I’ll not upbraid,
For I wish not to be free ;
Since an age of pain is paid,
By one tender smile from thee.
CHRISTIE appears peeping from behind a rock, L-DONALD
perceives him.
DoNALD. Heavens ! Christie here ! I am then discovered.
CHRISTIE. (coming forward) So 'tis here I find you at
last !
DONALD. And here I will remain for ever, good, kind
Christie. You will not betray my retreat?
CHRISTIE. I betray you? That's what I won't, I pro-
mise you. Do you think I wish you to come back 2 Not I,
faith. Stay, and welcome, since you are so happy here.
DONALD. But Jessy—poor Jessy Tell me—does she
not execrate me 2
CHRISTIE. Why, at first, to be sure, she was a little
glummish, but afterwards—(significantly) the women—you
know, there was the Dame—she was in a fine fury. “What
an abomination,” cried she ; “a vile perjured wretch ''
But godmother, says I, for my part I don't blame Donald.
DoNALD. And yet I have been very guilty.
CHRISTIE. Oh, don't make yourself uneasy; 'tis a thing
24 THE MOUNTAIN SYLPH. [ACT II.
happens every day. A man jilts one woman for another
because she's richer or handsomer; and your new one, to
say the truth, has a sort of beauty that—that
DoNALD. You have seen her then P
CHRISTIE. Yes, through the trees. She's a fine figure
of a woman, that she is ; but—but there's one thing that's
queerish, in my mind. She has got wings, eh?
DONALD. She has.
CHRISTIE. And don't you find them awkward at times?
Mayhap you like her the better for the novelty?
DoNALD. Oh, no, those wings drive me to despair.
When I would retain her near me, they bear her, like
lightning, beyond my reach; and yet it is that very grace,
that aerial lightness, that fascinates my soul.
CHRISTIE. (aside). Oh, that's the way to fascinate; when
I see Jessie I'll fascinate her so | Ah, ah, who knows if
I were to try but Jessie might—yes, I'll try.
DoNALD. When I attempt to seize her hand, and speak
to her of my transports, with childish playfulness she
vanishes from my sight.
CHRISTIE. Ah, I see
Eolia appears, L. U. E., and beckons DONALD—he hastens
to her, and they eaceunt, L. U. E.
You'd squeeze her hand—and crack—she gone ! How a
man does feel them, Sure enough ' You say, stay—stay !
and off she flies; and the more she wouldn't, the more
you would, eh? Well, all that I can say, Donald, is—
(turning round). Eh, Donald—Donald, I say! is he flown
away too? (looking about) and I wanted him to teach me
how the sifle—hang it! if here bean't Jessie herself; now
for a little aerial grace, and Ičetires off, R.
Enter JESSIE, L.
JEssle. Yes, I will end this state of torturing suspense:
this is the way to the wizard's cave, and I will know the
worst from him.
Song—JESSIE.
Thou art not he, whose looks of love,
Did this poor heart beguile—
SC. I.] THE MOUNTAIN SYLPH, 25
Thou art not he, who fondly strove
To win from me a smile.
Oh, no! for he would weep to see,
The tears that fall unmark'd by thee—
Thou art not he-thou art not he l
Thou art not he, who lately vow’d
For me he'd spurn a throne;
Whose ardent glance amidst the crowd;
Sought mine—and mine alone.
His form is thine—but could it be—
Could e'er his heart be cold to me?
Oh, mo; 'tis false—thou art not hel
JESSIE. Alas! how can I still think of him after his
cruel desertion? he for whom I disdained the poor, faithful
Christie.
Enter CHRISTIE, R.
CHRISTIE. Oh, say that again—it makes my heart jump
up into my mouth !
JESSIE. I—I said–nothing !
CHRISTIE. Yes, yes, you did though—you said
JESSIE. But I did not think you were there. Tell me,
Christie, have you seen :
CHRISTIE. (interrupting her) No, no! Though to please
you, Jessie, I have been looking for him everywhere.
JESSIE. Poor Christiel your affection is indeed true,
when it leads you even to sacrifice your own feelings to
gratify me.
CHRISTIE. (aside) She pities me ! Now to try the
seducing ways of the sifle. (looks at JESSIE)
JESSIE. Poor fellow ! his senses are affected, and it is for
me—for me, who treated him so unkindly. (advances to
take his hand)
CHRISTIE. (Snatching away his hand abruptly—aside) It
takes already. - -
JESSIE. Christie—good, kind Christie—be calm
CHRISTIE. (aside) Who would have thought she'd come
round so soon 2 (looks at himself with affectation)
JESSIE. Dearest Christie who knows but some day or
other
C
26 THE MOUNTAIN SYLPH. [ACT II.
CHRISTIE. (seizing her hand and throwing himself at her
feet) Dearest Jessie! I'm so glad, my brain is turning !
One kiss.
Enter HELA, R.
HELA. That's well, my children, that's well.
CHRISTIE. (aside to HELA). It is well—I’m so happy
You see, I've found the way at last.
HELA. (to JESSIE) I know the purpose of your intended
visit to me. Donald is for ever lost to you. See here the
true and faithful lover, of whom the fates will, that you
shall be the happy wife. (joining their hands) Go, then,
and fulfil your destiny.
CHRISTIE. Yes, come, dear Jessie. Oh, happy me ! Oh,
lovely Jessie Oh, fascinating Christie
Eacit, leading off JESSIE, R. 1 E.
HELA. So far all works according to my wishes. The
sight of human happiness is wormwood to my soul, even
this scene, so soft, so beautiful, it suits me not : I’ll seek
one more suited to my purpose.
- Song—HELA.
Farewell to the mountain
And sun-lighted vale,
The moss-border'd streamlet,
And balm-breathing gale.
All so bright, all so fair,
Here a seraph might dwell;
'Tis too lovely for me,
Farewell ! oh, farewell !
Farewell ! for how sweetly
Each sound meets mine ear,
The wild bee and butterfly,
They may rest here.
Hark! their hum how it blends
With the deep convent bell:
Such strains are of heaven,
Farewell oh, farewell !
HELA. But hold! here comes my detested enemy.
Enter DONALD, L.
HELA. Now is the moment. What ails you, Donald 2
SC. I.] THE MOUNTAIN SYLPH. 27
DONALD. Whatever it may be, ’tis no concern of yours.
HELA. You might, at least, tell me your griefs, and who
knows but I
DONALD. Well, then, I am the most miserable of men.
I love, I adore, an inexplicable being ! I see her, I hear
her, but, like an airy vision, she for ever eludes my grasp.
HELA. Poor youth ! I pity you, for I know the object
of your passion. You love a sylph. Ah 1 to render them
constant is indeed a difficult task; yet I do know of a
talisman that might aid you.
DONALD. A talisman Is it possible 2 Oh, give it to
me, and all I possess is yours.
HELA. Ha, ha! Why, you lately scoffed at my power.
DONALD. Because I was a fool—a madman but I truly
repent my conduct.
HELA. Well, then, you shall find I bear no malice.
DONALD. Good, kind, Hela, how I wronged you!
HELA. Here, take this scarf. (drawing forth the one he
had taken from the cauldron)
Trio—HELA, DONALD, EOLIA.
HELA. This magic-wove scarf round her beauties entwine,
From its folds to escape she may struggle in
vain; º
Her powers subdued, she'll for ever be thine,
And never—no, never, will quit thee again.
DONALD. Thy kindness my gratitude ever insures—
My fate's in your hands.
HEL.A. (apart) And my vengeance in yours.
HELA retires to back of stage—EOLIA appears from L.,
examining a bird's nest—DONALD displays the scarf.
Eolia. What a beauteous scarf
DONALD. 'Tis for thee.
EOLIA. Me
HELA. (apart) Yes, thee!
º ! There's an echo.
EOLIA. But look at this innocent pair,
Yet to-morrow they'll fly me.
28 THE MOUNTAIN SYLPH. [ACT II.
HELA. To-morrow will see
Thy downfall!
DONALD. Then clip both their wings.
EOLIA. 'Twere not fair.
No, they freely shałl range.
DONALD. Give them me in exchange;
For thy sake I’ll love them—oh, trust to my care.
EoDIA. To be pris’ners? Oh, no they are free as the air.
- Gives them to a SYLPH, who exits, L.
HELA. (apart) Thyself shall be pris’ner, and slave to despair.
DONALD. Let them go but from me thou like them ne'er
shall fly.
(throws scarf round EODIA, whose wings drop off)
Enter SYLPHs, R. and L.
SYLPHs. (shriek) Ah
EOLIA. I’m spell-bound ! Oh, mercy, release me, I die!
HELA. (apart) She's conquer'd from vengeance no
more can she fly.
DoNALD. She sinks help ! Oh, aid, or my fair one
will die
(she appears sinking to the earth, the SYLPHS surround
her and bear her to the back)
DoNALD. (in despair) Wretch that I am (HELA comes
forward)
HELA. I have triumphed f My vengeance is complete?
DoNALD. (furiously) Accursed sorcerer thou hast
deceived me! but death shall release me also' (rushing off)
HEI.A. (seizing DonALD by the arm) No, thou shalt live,
that I may rejoice in thy anguish.
;
Scena—HELA.
See there, what thou hast cast away—
A treasure worlds could not repay !
A fond and faithful virgin heart—
Look and behold how curst thou art | };
DoNALD's eyes follow the direction of his withered hand,
and through the vista of the mountain is seen the brida;
The opera is often compressed from * to the same mark 4 in page 33,
SC. I.] THE MOUNTAIN SYLPH. 29
procession of JESSIE and CHRISTIE ascending the
eminence to the Church. The village bells are heard
in the distanceringing a merry peal—DONALD attempts
to rush out at the opposite side.
Thou grovelling worm, that dar'd to think
Thy earthborn nature thou couldst link
With that of spirit of the air;
Presumption's punishment see there !
Ha, ha, ha! there's mirth below,
At the sight of human woe
We the demons' pleasure share—
Our delight is man's despair.
GHORUs. Ha, ha, ha! there's mirth below.
HELA descends, R. trap.
(nearly at the conclusion of the Chorus, ASTAROTH
rises by trap and stands over the prostrate form of
the SYLPH-the SYLPHS rush off—ASTAROTH sinks
with the SYLPH–DoNALD throws himself on the
ground in a state of agonized frenzy—a strain of
soft and heavenly harmony is heard, which becomes
Jouder—the clouds that darkened the Stage now all
disperse, and a light and luminous cloud is seen—
ETHERIA, the Queen of the SYLPHS appears, standing
in the midst of the dazzling vapour, holding a
golden rose in her hand)
ETHE. Is this the boasted fortitude of man? Arise !
DoNALD. (rising) Who art thou? Ah! why bring back
the memory of one I’ve lost for ever ?
ETHE. It may be to restore her to you, though now
subject to hateful beings who dwell in mether flames—the
Salamandrine race, whose burning bosoms no drop of mercy
for a captive e'er yet cooled.
DoNALD. What power may release her?
ETHE. One far surpassing mine, if thou hast faith and
courage to bear it to her.
Don ALD. Be death, or worse than death between us, my
love will leap the gulf. -
ETHE. And those must find an honest uncontaminated
heart to aid thee in the perilous adventure.
DONALD. Ah! where is the heart that loves like Donald 2
30 THE MOUNTAIN SYLPH. [ACT II.
ETHE. One which may owe its happiness to Donald's
falsehood.
DoNALD. Ah! I own—the simple Christie. And will he
befriend a rival?
ETHE. Try him.
DoNALD. And the promised power P
ETHE. Lies in a talisman within this rose. (gives it)
A consecrated relic of such sacred power, 'twere sacrilege
to name it. While you wear it, thyself, and him thou
leadst, shall be unseen.
DONALD. And whither? -
ETHE. Dost thou know the sulphur well, near that mis-
shapen mass, which rustic fear has named the Dragon's
Rock 2
DONALD. The haunt of the hated Helal Yes, too well I
know them.
ETHE. Touch'd with that rose, they’ll yield admittance
to the dreadful region where thy love is degraded to a
slave, and by its odoriferous balm infuse comfort around
her. I can no further aid thee—haste and prosper.
(she disappears)
DoNALD. Hope once more dawns, and see the partner of
my fearful task. -
Enter JESSIE, CHRISTIE, and DAME from L.
JESSIE. Donald unhappy! Ah
DAME. Don’t go near him, child—you may be sure he's
bewitched.
CHRISTIE. And I'm sure I am bewitched by Jessie, so
I’ve a fellow feeling. How be you, Donald P how be you,
lad 2
DoNALD. (crosses to CHRISTIE, R.) All will be well with
your assistance, Christie. Dear Jessie, take this honest
hand from me. Pardon—oh, pardon my defection, Jessie,
and thank me one day for a better heart than Donald has
to offer. (crosses to R.)
CHRISTIE. (apart) Eh! but there be a bit of heart in
that though.
JESSIE. When Donald's happy, Jessie will be Christie's.
CHRISTIE. And aught that Christie can do for Jessie or
for Donald, you’ll command. i
SC. II.] THE MOUNTAIN SYLPH. 31
DoNALD. Dare you go with me to the Sulphur Well?
CHRISTIE. Aye, were it to the— (DAME stopping his
mouth with her hand)
DAME. Hold your tongue ! and seek no evil.
DONALD. 'Tis to conquer evil.
JESSIE. Go, then, dear Christie.
CHRISTIE. “Dear Christie ' That's twice she has called
me so. On with you, my lad. (crosses to L.)
DONALD. G !
JESSIE. } emerous fellow !
DAME. Rash, fool-hardy boy
DONALD. Away! for love and fortune
(Eacit DAME, led off by JESSIE, L. DONALD and
CHRISTIE opposite, R.)
SCENE II.-Salamandrine Caverns.
Enter DONALD and CHRISTIE, looking about, R.
DONALD. Does your heart fail you, or will you still
go on ? -
CHRISTIE. Dang it, it is an ugly place, sure enough.
I’ve a bit of an old horse-shoe granny gave me, against
warlocks and witches, and you've got the relic. Eh P
Bless me ! what's that ?
DONALD. Nothing.
CHRISTIE. That's the very thing ye bid me be afraid of.
There again What's that?
DoNALD. I heard nothing—saw nothing
CHRISTIE. Curse nothing! It's the second time nothing
has frightened me.
DoNALD. Think of your marriage with Jessie—and
then
CHRISTIE. I will do my best. But what place is this?
DoNALD. These are the fearful regions of the Salaman-
ders.
CHRISTIE. Sally who P
DONALD. The fiends of flame.
CHRISTIE. Then we shall burn our fingers, But where's
the lady?
DoNALD. She comes I Hush let's observe her. (they
retire, R. U. E.)
32 THE MOUNTAIN SYLPH. [ACT II.
Enter EOLIA, L. U. E., with phial.
EOLIA. Beloved mortal! for whom I have resigned
immortality, and am imprisoned in these depths of horror,
hast thou, in Jessie's arms, forgotten me? Alas, 'twas
my destiny. I could not bestow happiness on a mortal.
One Sad, Sweet thought of Donald, and then farewell to
being ! Ha! my tormentors come ! From their fell
presence I shrink as from death !
Enter two SALAMANDERs, L. U. E.
1ST SAL. How now 2 idling ! To work—to work, dull
thing !
EOLIA. I have done all my fragile powers permit.
1ST SAL. You must do more Eh P art thou not our
slave P
EoLIA. Alas !
CHRISTIE. (involuntarily) The ill-looking scoundrels I
1ST SAL. What's that 2
2ND SAL. The echo of your voice. Let us go our
rounds. (DONALD and CHRISTIE cross to L. U, E.) Our
comrades hold nightly banquet here ! See all be ready,
or frail Sylphid, tremble !
Eaceunt SALAMANDERs, R. U. E.
EoLIA. Short respite l There is no remedy but one—
'tis desperate | But, lost to him I love—my freedom
lost—my fate and person in polluting hands—this subtle
poison (DoNALD touches the phial with the rose—she
drops it, and it breaks) Ha some guardian power
comforts and assures me. Despair avaunt' I'll to my
task once more, and woo return of hope. The wine and
fruits are in the inner cave. How buoyant are my steps
to what they were. Eacit, 2 E. R.
DoNALD. Saved from destruction, though small the
recompense for all the woes my love has wrought her.
Still it is some, and gives an earnest yet of greater.
Should I at last
CHRISTIE. Eh, lad! let's help her then to do the work
—she can't see us. (they place tripods, &c., as seats round
the table for banquet; Eolia reappears with fruit and
wine; DoNALD and CIIRISTIE withdraw unseen)
SC. II.] THE MOUNTAIN syLPH. 33
Eolia. Ha! my work done for me ! Another generous
omen. But my tyrants come. (draws back)
Enter HELA, MoRNA, ELSPA, KELPIE, L.
CHRISTIE. What devils are these in the form of Maggie
Mac Grubbins, Tibbey Fowler, Cummer Malkin, and
Grammy Burns?
DONALD. Peace, on your life
HELA. Welcome, Cummers! Our victim here is safe—
the banquet ready, at which we must appear as the true
votaries of fiery Astaroth ! *
CHRISTIE. All devils, by my conscience
HELA. Behold our Salamandrine brethren | Hail! hail!
Enter SALAMANDERs.
SALAMANDERs. Hail! haill
CHRISTIE. I’ll give that Tibbie Fowler a rap o' the head
JDONALD. Hush |
CHRISTIE. They cannot see us.
HELA. We’ll drink to our mighty master!
SALAMANDERS. To our mighty master' (they fill goblets,
and sing the following)
CHORUS OF SALAMANDERS.
We'll drink to our master, who holds his dark reign,
Where treasure is torment, and pleasure is pain;
Where hate and revenge, each with poisonous dart,
Rage—rage—rage
Rage in the bosom, and torture the heart |
Eacewnt SALAMANDERs—tripods and table sink.
FINALE.
HELA. Some curs'd aetherial influence spoils the charm,
Arrests my purpose, and unnerves my arm ;
But death-like slumber, wrought from spells below,
Shall lull each sense while Hela strikes the blow !
>k
Eoi.I.A. What languor my vision subdues,
What weight o'er each sense seems to creep,
I'll rouse me—no, fain I’d refuse,
But resistless—thy power—oh, sleep !
34 THE MOUNTAIN SYLPH. [ACT II.
DONALD. Some magic her sense steals away,
Her slumber is fearful and deep;
But beside thee thy Donald will stay,
And guard his Eolia in sleep.
HELA. While thus the dread spell I essay,
Oblivion her senses shall steep ;
And ere she again see the day,
This steel makes eternal her sleep.
(goes to stab her—DoNALD touches the dagger with the
rose, it breaks—general burst, and change to)
Mountains and Lake of the Sylphid Queen.
ETHERIA, surrounded by her SYLPHS, appears standing in a
luminous circle. She waves on JESSIE, DAME, and
BRIDAL PARTY, who are conducted in by a party of
SYLPHs, R.; another party bring in DONALD, CHRISTIE,
and EOLIA, L., they bend before ETHERIA—CHRISTIE
runs to JESSIE, who embraces him.
EoLIA. (starting up) What visions of brightness around me
prevail,
And whisper my foes shall no longer assail.
DoNALD. The demon is foil'd, virtue's pow'rs yet prevail,
And the spells of the fiend shall no longer assail.
HELA. Once more am I foil'd, adverse pow'rs still assail,
But the spoils of our master at length shall
prevail.
DONALD. She's saved' and Donald on his knee,
In rapture hails the happy day,
When blest Eolia, dear, with thee,
He'll love and laugh thy cares away.
HELA. She's saved 1 but yet our foes shall see
That Astaroth holds deadly sway;
Nor shall weak man permitted be,
To cheat our master of his prey.
EOLIA. Ah, saved' thus let me on my knee,
In gratitude my heart display,
And hope that, Donald dear, with thee
And love, my cares will pass away.
SC. II.] THF, MOUNTAIN SYLPH. 35
SYLPHs. (without) She's saved to heaven she bends the
knee,
Pure love and truth assert their sway;
A mortal, she’ll immortal be
The demon crew must yield their prey.
She's saved 1 she's saved
HELA sinks in red flames.
RECITATIVE.
ETHE. Mortals, arise ! learn faithful love
Is still protected from above;
In vain demoniac spells were tried,
To break affection's golden chain.
The faithful lover wins his bride,
My power restores thy Sylph again;
But though I snatch her from the tomb,
To be a mortal is her doom.
CHORUS.
Now with feast, and dance, and song,
Celebrate this happy night;
Virtue triumphs over wrong,
Might has yielded unto right.
Hail the truth, that faithful love
Still is guarded from above;
Hail, Sylphs, hail
(during the chorus SYLPHS dance. At the conclusion
DAME GOURLIE bestows her blessing, in dumb show,
on CHRISTIE and JESSIE, who kneel before her, R.—
ETHERIA waves her wand over Eolia and DoNALD,
L.—coloured fires and grand Tableau).
(ſurtain.
Printed by THoMAs Scott, 1, Warwick Court, Holborn,
Explanation of the Stage Directions.
R R. C. C. L. C. L.
Right. Right Centre. Centre. Left Centre. Left.
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