Phil. Come, now to supper. A gentleman and a lady. (They sit down.) Here is claret, burgundy, and champagne, and a bottle of tokay for the ladies. There are tickets on every bottle: any gentleman chooses port Duke. Port! "Tis only fit for a dram. Kit. Lady Bab, what shall I send you? Lady Charlotte, pray be free; the more free the more welcome, as they say in my country. The gentlemen will be so good as to take care of themselves. (A pause.) Dake. Lady Charlotte, "Hob or nob!" Lady C. Done, my lord, in burgundy, if you please. Duke. Here's your sweetheart and mine, and the friends of the company. (They drink. A pause.) Phil. Come, ladies and gentlemen, a bumper all round; I have a health for you. "Here is to the amendment of our masters and mistresses." All Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! (Loud laugh. A panse.) Kit. Ladies, pray what is your opinion of a single gentleman's service? Lady C. Do you mean an old single gentleman? Duke. Lady Betty. Phil. Oh no, a health and a sentiment. Duke. Let us have a song. Sir Harry, your muse? All. A song, a song; ay, ay, Sir Harry's song; Sir Harry's song. Duke. A song to be sure, but first, preludio. Kisses Kitty.) Pray, gentlemen, put it about. (Kisses round. Kingston kisses Cloe heartily.) Sir. H. See how the devils kiss! Kit. I am really hoarse; but hem! I must clear up my pipes, hem! This is Sir Harry's song; bedig a new one, entitled and called the "Fellow Serraat: or, All in a Livery.” SONG. KITTY. Come here, fellow-servant, and listen to me, See yonder fine spark, in embroidery drest, The fat shining glutton looks up to the shelf, The wrinkled lean miser bows down to his pelf, And the curl-pated beau is a slave to himself. Chorus-Both high, &c. Phal. How do you like it, my Lord Duke? Phil. How so? Duke. O, very low! Very low indeed! Sir H. Can you make a better? Duke. I hope so. Ser H. That is very conceited. Duke. What is conceited, you scoundrel? Sir H. Scoundrel! You are a rascal; I'll pull you by the nose. (All rise.) Duke. Lookye, friend; don't give yourself airs, and make a disturbance among the ladies. you are a gentleman, name your weapons. If Duke. Done, behind Montague House. Sir H. Done, with seconds. Enter KINGSTON. Well, Kingston, what is it? King. It is master and Mr. Freeman; I peeped through the key-hole, and saw them by the lamplight; Tom has just let them in. Phil. The devil he has ! What can have brought him back? Kit. No matter what: away with the things! Phil. Away with the wine; away with the plate. Here, coachman, cook, Cloe, Kingston, bear a hand. Out with the candles! Away, away. (They carry away the table, &c.) Visitors. What shall we do? What shall we do? (They all run about in confusion.) Kit. Run up stairs, ladies. Phil. Sir H. Duke. Sir H. fiery. No, no, no. He'll see you then. What the devil had I to do here! Plague take it, face it out. Oh no; these West-Indians are very Phil. I would not haye him see any of you for the world. Lov. (Without.) Philip! where's Philip? Phil. Oh the devil! he's certainly coming down stairs; Sir Harry, run down into the cellar. My Lord Duke, get into the pantry. Away, away. Kit. No, no; do you put their ladyships into the pantry, and I'll take his grace into the coal-hole. Visitors. Anywhere, anywhere. Up the chimney if you will. Phil. There; in with you. (They all go into the pantry.) Lov. (Without.) Philip! Philip! Phil. Coming, sir. (Aloud.) Kitty, have you never a good book to be reading of? Kit. Yes, here is one. Phil. 'Egad! this is black Monday with us: sit down; seem to read your book. Here he is, as drunk as a piper. (They sit down.) Enter LOVEL, with pistols, affecting to be drunk; FREEMAN following. Lov. Philip, the son of Alexander the Great, where are all my myrmidons? What the devil makes you up so early this morning? Phil. He is very drunk, indeed. (Aside.) Mrs. Kitty and I had got into a good book, your honour. Free. Ay, ay, they have been well employed, I dare say. Ha, ha, ha! Lov. Come, sit down, Freeman. Lie you there. (Lays his pistol down.) I come a little unexpectedly, perhaps, Philip. Phil. A good servant is never afraid of being caught, sir. Lov. I have some accounts that I must settle. Lov. Yes, to-night; I find myself perfectly clear; you shall see I'll settle them in a twinkling. Kit. Your honour must not sit here. Duke. Philip, Philip, Philip! Phil. Plague take you! Hold (Peeping out.) your tongue. (Aside.) Free. You have just nicked them in the very minute. (Aside to Lovel.) Lov. I find I have. Mum! (Aside to Freeman.) Get some wine, Philip. (Exit Philip.) Though I must eat something before I drink. Kitty, what have you got in the pantry? Kit. In the pantry? Lard, your honour; we are at board wages. Free. I could eat a morsel of cold meat. Lov. You shall have it. Here-(rises)-Open the pantry door. I'll be about your board-wages! I have treated you often, now you shall treat your master. (Aside.) Lov. Didn't you hear a noise, Charles? Free. Somebody sneezed, I thought. Lov. D-n it! there are thieves in the house; I'll be among them. (Takes a pistol.) Kit. Lack a-day, sir, it was only the cat; they sometimes sneeze for all the world like a christian. Here! Jack, Jack! He has got a cold, sir. Puss, puss. Lov. A cold? then I'll cure him, Here Jack, Jack; puss, puss. Kit. Your honour won't be so rash; pray, your honour, don't. (Opposing him.) Lov. Stand off. Here, Freeman, here's a barrel for business, with a brace of slugs, and well primed, as you see. Freeman, I'll hold you five to four, nay, I'll hold you two to one, I hit the cat through the key-hole of that pantry door. Free. Try, try, but I think it impossible. Lov. I am a d-d good marksman. (Cocks the pistol, and points it at the pantry-door..) Now for it! (A violent shriek, and all is discovered.) Who the devil are these? One, two, three, four. Phil. These are particular friends of mine, sir: servants to some noblemen in the neighbourhood. Lov. I told you there were thieves in the house. Free. Ha, ha, ha! Phil. I assure your honour they have been entertained at our own expense, upon my word. Kit. Yes, indeed, your honour, if it was the last word I had to speak. Lov. Take up that bottle. (Philip takes up a bottle with a ticket to it, and is going off.) Bring it back. Do you usually entertain your company with tokay, Monsieur ? Phil. I, sir! treat with wine! Lov. O yes, from humble port, to Imperial tokay. Yes, I loves kokay. (Mimicking himself.) Phil. How! Jemmy, my master! Kit: Jemmy! the devil! Phil. Your honour is at present in liquor, but in the morning, when your honour is recovered, I will set all to rights again. Lov. (Changing his countenance.) We'll set all to rights now; there, I am sober, at your service, what have you to say, Philip? (Philip starts.) You may well start; go, get you out of my sight. Duke. Sir, I have not the honour to be known to you, but I have the honour to serve his Grace the Duke of Lov. And the impudent familiarity to assume his title. Your grace will give me leave to tell you, that is the door, and if you ever enter there again, I assure you, my Lord Duke, I will break every bone in your grace's skin. Begone! I beg their ladyships' pardon, perhaps they cannot go without chairs: ha, ha, ha! Free. Ha, ha, ha! (Sir Harry steals off.) [Exit. Lady Char. I thought how this visit would turn Lady Bab. They are downright hottenpots. [Exit. Phil and Kit. I hope your honour will not take away our bread. Lov. Five hundred pounds will set you up in a chocolate house; you'll shine in the bar, madam." I have been an eye-witness of your roguery, extravagance, and ingratitude. Phil. and Kit. Oh, sir! good sir! Lov. You, madam, may stay here till to-morrow morning. And there, madam, is the book you lent me, which I beg you'll read "night and morning before you say your prayers." Kit. I am ruined and undone. [Exit. Lov. But you, sir, for your villainy, and (what I hate worse) your hypocrisy, shall not stay a minute longer in this house; and here comes an honest man to shew you the way out. Your keys, sir. (Philip gives the keys.) Enter TOM. Tom, I respect and value you; you are an honest servant, and shall never want encouragement. Be so good, Tom, as to see that gentleman out of my house, (Points to Philip.) and then take charge of the cellar and plate. Tom. I thank your honour; but I would not rise on the ruin of a fellow-servant. Lov. No remonstrances, Tom; it shall be as I say. Phil. What a cursed fool have I been! [Exeunt. Free. You have made Tom very happy. Lov. And I intend to make your Robert so too, every honest servant should be made happy. A COMEDY, IN FIVE ACTS.-BY RICHARD CUMBERLAND. ACT I. SCENE I.-The Cottage of Penruddock, seated in a group of trees, with a forest-scene of wood and heath. Enter WEAZEL, in a travelling-dress. Weazel. Was ever gentle traveller, since the days of Robinson Crusoe, so put to his shifts as I, Timothy Weazel, attorney-at-law? I have lost my guide; my guide has lost himself; and my horse has absconded, with bridle, saddle, and all his shoes, save one he left behind him in a slough. I w a fellow setting springes for woodcocks, and shewed him signals of distress; but the carle ran off at the sight of me, and vanished like a jack-o'lantern. If I understood the language of birds, there is not one within call to answer to a question: the creatures have got wings, and are too wise to stay in such a place. Hold! hold! I see a hut, or a hovel, or a Laplander's lodge, behind these trees; and here comes one hobbling upon two shanks and a cratch, a proper sample of the soil she withers in. Enter DAME DUNCKLEY from the cottage. Holloa! Dame, do you hear? Give me a word with you, if your senses can afford it. Dame. What would you have with me? What is your business here? Weazel. You're right, it must be business; nobody would come here for pleasure. Dame. No; nor is this a house of call for travellers. Weazel. That I can believe, if you are the representative of it; that is, as I may say, luce clarius. Dame. There's no such person here; so you may go your ways, before my master sends you packing. Weazel. You have a master, have you? Call him out, then; and let him direct me in my road to Roderick Penruddock, esquire, and I'll reward him for his pains. Dame. You'll reward my master! Saucy companion! If Roderick Penruddock is the gentleman you want, you need not go any further: there he lives. Weazel. There you lie, I believe. Penruddock in that cottage! Dame. Why not? Will you face me out, who have lived with him these twenty years? And what if it be but a cottage? Content is everything. My good master is not proud. Weazel. Melancholy, I should think, if a constant memorandum of mortality can make him so. He was cross'd in love in his younger days. Dame. That I know nothing of. Weazel. I don't say you was in the fault of it. Dame. He is a man of few words, to be sure; but then he has a world of learning in his head: everlastingly at his books. Weazel. Is he at 'em now? Dame. Deep: not to be approached. Dame. To be sure. I never disturb him in his hours of study. At every other time, he's kind and gentle as the dew of heaven. Weazel. What am I to do, then, who have come some hundred miles upon his business? Dame. Even what you please, sir. I'm sure it is no business of mine, and I'll have nothing to do with it. (Steps aside.) Weazel. Well, if he will not welcome the good news I bring him, he must be a philosopher indeed. I'll begin my approaches cautiously, however. The door is fast; I'll touch it tenderly. (Knocks.) Within there! Who's at home? Silence and famine, I should guess, for nothing stirs. Dame. From aside.) Go on, go on. By the living, my fine spark! I would not be in your place for a little. [Exit. Weazel. Not yet? This will never do. Good fortune may be warranted to rap a little louder. What hoa! Within, I say! Will nobody hear me? (Penruddock opens the casement.) Penrud. I hear you. What is it you want? Weazel. With your leave, I want a few words with you. Penrud. Send them in at the window then; and the fewer the better. Weazel. I bring you news out of Cornwall; news of great consequence. Penrud. Who are you, and what are you? Weazel. Timothy Weazel, of Lestwithiel, attorney-at-law, and agent to Sir George Penruddock. Let me into your house. Penrud. Keep on the outside of it, if you please; I'll deal with you in the open air. (Shuts the casement.) Weazel. Here's a surly humour! Here's a pretty freak of fortune; to pile bags of money on the back of an ass, who only kicks against the burthen! I warrant, if the sky rained gold, this churl would not hold out his dish to catch it. But we shall soon see what stuff his philosophy is made of. Good chance if I don't shake his metaphysics out of him ere long. O ho! I've bolted him, however. Enter PENRUDDOCK from the cottage. Zooks! what a heathen philosopher it is! Penrud. Now, Mr. Attorney, what have you to say for thus disturbing my whole family? What have I done, or the poor cat, my peaceable companion, that thus the boisterous knuckles of the law should mar our meditations? Weazel. Truly, sir, I was compelled to make some little noise. Your castle is but small. Penrud. It's big enough for my ambition. Weazel. And passing solitary. Penrud. I wish you had suffered it to be silent too. Weazel. In faith, sir, if I knew how to be heard without a sound, I would gratify your wish; but if your silence suffers by my news, I hope your happiness will not. Penrud. Happiness! What's that? I am content; I enjoy tranquillity. Heaven be thanked! I have nothing to do with happiness. Weazel. There you are beyond me, sir. If an humble fortune and this poor cottage give you content, perhaps, great riches and a splendid house would not add to it. Penrud. Explain your meaning, friend: I don't understand you. Weazel. In plain words, then, you are to know, that your rich relation, Sir George Penruddock, is deceased. Penrud. Dead! of everything he possessed. I have the will in safe keeping about me. Penrud. Have patience. This is somewhat sudden. I am unprepared for such an event: 'twas never in my contemplation. I was in no habits with Sir George; never courted him, never corresponded with him. The small annuity, 'tis true, on which I have subsisted, was charged on his estate, and regularly paid; but here he never came. Man could not be more opposite to man. He worshipped Fortune, I despised her; I studied closely, he gamed incessantly Weazel. And won abundantly. If money be your passion, you'll find plenty of it. Penrud. What should I do with money? Weazel. Money, indeed! Why money is-in short, what is it not? Penrud. Not health, methinks, not life; for he, that had it, died. Weazel. But you, that have it, live. And is there nothing that can tempt you? Recollect; books-money will buy books; nay more, it will buy those who write them. Penrud. It will so. Weazel. Twill purchase panegyrics, odes, and dedications— Penrud. I can't gainsay it. Weazel. House, table, equipage, attendants- Weazel. Ah, sir! you surely can't forget there are such things in this world as beauty, love, irresistible woman-(Dame Dunckley crosses the stage.) Penrud. I keep a woman. She visits me every day, makes my bed, sweeps my house, cooks my dinner, and is seventy years of age, yet I resist her. Weazel. I could say something to that; but I am afraid it will offend you. Penrud. Say on boldly; never fear me. Weazel. Why truly, sir, I find you of a very different temper from what I expected. I should doubt if your philosophy has made you insensible; I am sure it has not made you proud. Penrud. I am as proud in my nature as any man ought to be; but surely as humble as any man can be. Weazel. Suffer me then to ask you if there is not a certain lady living, Arabella Woodville by name? Penrud. Who told you this? How came you thus to strike upon a name, that twenty years of solitude have not effaced? Weazel. Because I would prepare you for a task, that, with the fortune you inherit, must devolve upon you. The interests of this lady, perhaps even her existence, are now in your hands. When I shall deliver the deeds bequeathed to you by your cousin, I shall arm you with the means of extinguishing the wretched Woodville at a blow. Penrud. What is it you tell me? Have a care how you reverse my nature with a word. Woodville in my power! Woodville at my mercy! If there's a man on earth that can inspire me with revenge, it is that treacherous, base, deceitful rival. I was in his power, for I loved him--he betrayed me; I was at his mercy, for I trusted him--he de Weazel. Now, then, you'll own, that money can give something; for it gives revenge. Weazel. Defunct; gone to his ancestors; whip-stroyed me. ped away by the sudden stroke of an apoplexy. This moment here-heaven knows where the next: death will do it when he likes, and how he likes. I need not remind you, sir, who are so learned a philosopher, how frail the tenure of mortality. Penrud. You need not, indeed. If Sir George thought as seriously of death before it happened, it may have been well for him; but his thoughts, I fear, were otherwise employed. Weazel. I much doubt if he ever thought at all. He was a fine gentleman, and lived freely. Penrud. No wonder, then, he died suddenly. But how does this apply to me? Weazel. No otherwise than as yon are the heir Penrud. Come on! My mind is made up to this fortune to the extremest atom I'll exact it all. The miser's passion seizes on my heart; and money, which I held as dirt, is now my deity. [Exeunt into the cottage. SCENE II.-Another part of the Forest. Enter WOODVILLE, followed by his Servant. Wood. Go, go! begone! Why do you follow me? Serv. I pray you, sir, don't dismiss the chaise in this wild place; let it convey you to the next town, and then pursue your journey as you please, Wood. Don't talk to me; don't trouble me. My journey's at an end. Serv. You have been up all night; your mind and body both require some rest. Wood. What if they do? Can you administer to agonies like mine? How dare you thus intrude? By what authority have you, my servant, made yourself a spy upon my actions? Serv. By no authority, but that of my affection and good-will. You have been kind to me in your prosperity, ought I to desert you in adversity? Indeed, indeed, sir, I can't leave you here alone. Wood. Foolish, officious fellow! I perceive you think I have lost my senses: no, I possess them clearly. I know both where I am and what I have to do. Had I designs against myself, you could not hinder them; but I have none. 'Tis not my own life, but your's that is in danger, unless you instantly depart. Look! here is your dismission. I am resolute to be obeyed. (Draws a pistol.) Serv. Take my life. Fire when you please. I'm not afraid of dying. Enter SYDENHAM. be upon me; and to meet his gallant, injured presence would be worse than death. Syden. I wish you had reflected on that horror, whilst there was time to have prevented it. If fathers, whilst their sons are bleeding in their country's battles, will hurl the fatal dice, and stake their fortunes on the cast, alas! for their posterity. Wood. Why urge that dreadful truth? You have no son; you are no gamester. Syden. No matter; though I never gamed, myself, my friends did, and I have lost them. Who has more cause to curse his luck than I have? Wood. Have you now vented all your spleen, and will you leave me? Syden. I am not sure: tell me what plan you are upon; why are you rambling on this heath? Wood. I'll tell you that at once: Sir George Penruddock, my chief creditor, is dead; he has bequeathed his fortune to his cousin Roderick of that name. This man inhabits a small tenement here, close at hand; a strange sequestered creature, burying himself amongst his books; disgusted with the world, and probably a perfect misanthrope— Syden. I have heard of him; go on. Wood. This Roderick and I were school-fellows, Syden. Woodville, what ails you? Are you mad? studied together at the university, travelled together Wood. But he will not be turn'd away. Serv. Not whilst it was my duty to stay by you; now Mr. Sydenham is come, I will intrude no longer. [Exit. Syden. Harry Woodville, are you in your senses, to act in this manner? Wood. Are you not out of your's, to come thus far to ask me such a question? Syden. Perhaps I am, but there's no reasoning about friendship; when I see a fellow, whom love, throw away his happiness, game away his fortune, and then run from the ruin he has made, I have a foolish nature about me, that, in spite of all his frenzy, will run after him; and though he may break loose from all the world beside, d-n me if he shall shake off me, though he had twenty pistols in his reach, and I not one in mine. Wood. Your friendship, Mr. Sydenham, is not wanted at this moment; and give me leave to say, it is unwelcome. Syden. Very likely; I care little about the welcome that you give me, as I am not quite sure you are the man I was in search of. My friend was a gentleman, though an unwise one; he would hear reason, though he was unapt to follow it: above all things he was not that frantic desperado, to turn his pistol either against his servant or himself. Wood. Well, sir, my pistol is put up. Now, what have you to say to me? It is not Syden. I don't know if I shall say anything to you; certainly nothing to soothe you. because a man has pistols in his pocket, that he is formidable, or that I should flatter him. Every fellow, that has not spirit to face misfortune, may be his own assassin; every wretch, who has lost all feelings of humanity, may commit a murder on his fellow-creature. Wood. You are very bitter : what would you have me do? Syden. Return to your afflicted wife. Wood. That I can never do; my home is horrible, nor am I in possession of a home; Penruddock's myrmidons are in my house. Besides, there's worse than that; my son is come to England: Henry will through most parts of Europe; and were inseparable friends, till, by evil chance, we became rivals in love. I obtained Mrs. Woodville's hand, and married her: he was excluded, and renounced society. This man, the bitterest enemy I have, now the master of my fate. Syden. Then I conclude those pistols are for him? Wood. I do not quite say that; he shall have a fair alternative. Syden. I much doubt if anything can be fair, when one party has just gained a fortune, and the other lost one. However, if you mean it should be fair, take me with you; whether you shake hands or exchange shots, I will see justice done on both sides: for I will be bold to aver, there never yet was an affair, in which I had the honour to be either principal or second, where equity was not as strictly administered, as if my lord chancellor had decreed it from the bench. Wood. Be it so then, if so it must be: come with me to this newly-enriched cottager; and if I fail in this last effort, I exact from you an honourable secresy and an immediate secession. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-Penruddock's Cottage. Enter PENRUDDOCK from the cottage. Penrud. This property is immense. Woodville's proud house is mine; now that false friend is punished all those scenes of gay prosperity, with which he caught the vain weak heart of Arabella, are suddenly reversed, and just retaliation, not less terwell, my cottage! scene of my past content, I thank rible because so tardy, surprises him at last. Farethee: possessing nought but thee, I have not envied Such is' man's fickle nature; in solitude a philosopalaces; possessed of them, I have forsaken thee. her, wise in adversity, and only patient under injuries, till opportunity occurs to him of revenging them. |