Complete Works of Frances Burney

by Frances Burney

  Censor. What say you, sir, to an epigram on slander?

  Dabler. On slander?

  Censor. Yes, sir; what objection can you devise to that?

  Dabler. An illiberal subject, sir! A most illiberal subject, — I will have nothing to do with it.

  Censor. The best way to manifest your contempt will be to satirize it.

  Dabler. Why, as you say, — there’s something in that; — satirize it? — ay, satirize slander, — ha! Ha! A good hit enough!

  Censor. Then, sir, you will favour us without further delay.

  Dabler. Sir, I should be extremely happy to obey you, — nothing could give me greater pleasure, only that just now I am so particularly pressed for time, that I am obliged to run away. Lady Smatter, I have the honour to wish your Ladyship good night.

  [Going.

  Jack. [Stopping him.] Fair play, fair play! You shan’t go till you have made the verses; or, if you do, I swear I’ll run after you.

  Dabler. Upon my word, sir —

  Censor. Prithee, Jack, don’t detain him. [Affecting to whisper.] This anecdote, you know, will tell as well without the verses as with them.

  Dabler. [Aside.] That fellow is a mere compound of spite & envy.

  Lady Smatter. Come, Mr. Dabler, I see you relent.

  Dabler. Why, — hem! — if — if your Ladyship insists — pray, Mr. Censor, what is this same subject you have been talking of?

  Censor. O, sir, ’tis no matter; if you are so much hurried, why should you stay? We are all pretty well convinced of the alacrity of your wit already.

  Dabler. Slander, I think it was? — but suppose, sir, for slander we substitute fashion? — I have a notion I could do something upon fashion.

  Censor. Probably, sir, you have done something upon fashion; entertain us, therefore, upon the given subject, or else be a better nomenclator to your verses than to call them extemporary.

  Dabler. Well, sir, well! — [Aside & walking away.] A surly fellow!

  Jack. Pray has your Ladyship heard the queer story about the Miss Sippets?

  Lady Smatter. No; what is it?

  Jack. Why, I heard it just now at Mrs. Gabble’s. Sir Harry Frisk, you know, last winter paid his addresses to the eldest sister, but this winter, to make what variety he could without quitting the family, he deserted to the youngest; & this morning they were to have been married.

  Lady Smatter. Well, & were they not?

  Jack. Upon my word I don’t know.

  Lady Smatter. Don’t know? What do you mean?

  Jack. Why I had not time to enquire.

  Lady Smatter. Pho, prithee, Jack, don’t be so ridiculous.

  Dabler. [Holding his hand before his eyes, & walking about.] Not one thought, — not one thought to save me from ruin!

  Censor. Why, Mr. Codger, what are you about? Is it not rather melancholy to sit by yourself at the table, & not join at all in the conversation?

  Codger. [Raising his head.] Perhaps, sir, I may conceive myself to be somewhat slighted.

  Lady Smatter. Nay, nay, prithee, my good friend, don’t be so captious.

  Codger. Madam I presume, at least, I have as good a right to be affronted as another man; for which reason —

  Dabler. [Pettishly.] Upon my word, if you all keep talking so incessantly, it is not possible for a man to know what he is about.

  Codger. I have not spoken before for this half hour, & yet I am as good as bid to hold my tongue!

  [Leans again on the table.

  Jack. O but, ma’am, I forgot to tell your Ladyship the very best part of the story; the poor eldest sister was quite driven to despair, so last night, to avoid, at least, dancing bare-foot at her sister’s wedding, she made an appointment with a young haberdasher in the neighbourhood to set off for Scotland.

  Lady Smatter. Well?

  Jack. Well, & when she got into the post chaise, instead of her new lover, the young haberdasher, who do you think was waiting to receive her?

  Lady Smatter. Nay, nay, tell me at once.

  Jack. But who do you guess?

  Lady Smatter. Pho, pho, don’t be so tiresome. Who was it?

  Jack. Why, that I am not certain myself.

  Lady Smatter. Not certain yourself?

  Jack. No, for I had not time to stay till Mrs. Gabble came to the name.

  Lady Smatter. How absurd!

  Codger. [Again raising his head.] Madam, if I might be allowed, — or, rather, to speak more properly, if I could get time to give my opinion of this matter, I should say —

  Lady Smatter. My good friend, we should all be extremely happy to hear you, if you were not so long in coming to the point; — that’s all the fault we find with you; is it not, Jack?

  Jack. To be sure, ma’am. Why sometimes, do you know, I have made a journey to Bath & back again, while he has been considering whether his next wig should be a bob, or a full-bottom.

  Codger. Son Jack, this is very unseemly discourse, & I desire —

  Lady Smatter. Nay, pray don’t scold him. Jack, when shall you hear any more of Miss Sippet’s adventure?

  Jack. Why, ma’am, either to-morrow or Friday, I don’t know which.

  Codger. [Aside, & reclining as before.] I verily believe they’d rather hear Jack than me!

  Jack. Why Lord, Mr. Dabler, I believe you are dreaming. Will you never be ready?

  Dabler. Sir, this is really unconscionable! I was just upon the point of finishing, — & now you have put it all out of my head!

  Censor. Well, Mr. Dabler, we release you, now, from all further trouble, since you have sufficiently satisfied us that your extemporary verses are upon a new construction.

  Dabler. O, sir, as to that, making verses is no sort of trouble to me, I assure you, — however, if you don’t choose to hear these which I have been composing —

  Lady Smatter. O but I do, so pray —

  Jack. Pho, pho, he has not got them ready.

  Dabler. You are mistaken, sir, these are quite ready, — entirely finished, — & lodged here; [Pointing to his head.] but as Mr Censor —

  Censor. Nay, if they are ready, you may as well repeat them.

  Dabler. No, sir, no, since you declined hearing them at first, I am above compelling you to hear them at all. Lady Smatter, the next time I have the honour of seeing your Ladyship, I shall be proud to have your opinion of them.

  [Exit hastily.

  Censor. Poor wretch! “Glad of a quarrel strait he shuts the door,” — what’s this? [Picks up the paper dropt by Dabler.] So! So! So! —

  Enter Beaufort.

  Beaufort. [To Lady Smatter.] Pardon me, madam, if I interrupt you, I am come but for a moment. [Apart to Censor.] Censor, have you no heart? Are you totally divested of humanity?

  Censor. Why, what’s the matter?

  Beaufort. The matter? You have kept me on the rack, — you have wantonly tortured me with the most intolerable suspense that the mind of man is capable of enduring. Where is Cecilia? — have you given her my message? — have you brought me any answer? — why am I kept in ignorance of every thing I wish or desire to know?

  Censor. Is your harangue finished?

  Beaufort. No, sir, it is hardly begun! This unfeeling propensity to raillery upon occasions of serious distress, is cruel, is unjustifiable, is insupportable. No man could practice it, whose heart was not hardened against pity, friendship, sorrow, — & every kind, every endearing tie by which the bonds of society are united.

  Censor. At least, my good friend, object not to raillery in me, till you learn to check railing in yourself. I would fain know by what law or what title you gentlemen of the sighing tribe assume the exclusive privilege of appropriating all severities of speech to yourselves.

  Lady Smatter. Beaufort, your behaviour involves me in the utmost confusion. After an education such as I have bestowed upon you, this weak anxiety about mere private affairs is unpardonable; — especially in the presence of people of learning.

  Beaufort. I waited, madam, till Mrs. Sapient an
d Mr. Dabler were gone, — had I waited longer, patience must have degenerated into insensibility. From your Ladyship & from Mr. Codger, my anxiety has some claim to indulgence, since its cause is but too well known to you both.

  Jack. [Aside.] Not a word of me! I’ll e’en sneak away before he finds me out.

  [Going.

  Codger. Son Jack, please to stop.

  Jack. Sir, I can’t; my time’s expired.

  Codger. Son, if I conceive aright, your time, properly speaking, ought to be mine.

  Jack. Lord, sir, only look at my watch; it’s just 8 o’clock, & I promised Billy Skip to call on him before seven to go to the play.

  Codger. Son Jack, it is by no means a dutiful principle you are proceeding upon, to be fonder of the company of Billy Skip than of your own father.

  Beaufort. For mercy’s sake, sir, debate this point some other time. Censor, why will you thus deny me all information?

  Codger. So it is continually! Whenever I speak you are all sure to be in a hurry! Jack, come hither & sit by me; you may hear me, I think, if nobody else will. Sit down, I say.

  Jack. Lord, sir —

  Codger. Sit down when I bid you, & listen to what I am going to tell you.

  [Makes Jack seat himself at the table, & talks to him.

  Lady Smatter. Beaufort, let me speak to Mr. Censor. What have you done, sir, about this poor girl? Did you give her my message?

  Censor. She had too much sense, too much spirit, too much dignity to hear it.

  Lady Smatter. Indeed?

  Censor. Yes; & therefore I should propose —

  Lady Smatter. Sir, I must beg you not to interfere in this transaction; it is not that I mean to doubt either your knowledge or your learning, far from it, — but nevertheless I must presume that I am myself as competent a judge of the matter as you can be, since I have reason to believe — you’ll excuse me, sir, — that I have read as many books as you have.

  Beaufort. O those eternal books! What, madam, in the name of reason, & of common sense, can books have to do in such an affair as this?

  Lady Smatter. How? Do you mean to depreciate books? To doubt their general utility, & universal influence? Beaufort, I shall blush to own you for my pupil! Blush to recollect the fruitless efforts with which I have laboured, as Shakespeare finely says,

  To teach the young idea how to shoot. —

  Censor. Shakespeare? — then what a thief was Thompson!

  Lady Smatter. Thompson? O, ay, true, now I recollect, so it was.

  Censor. Nay, madam, it little matters which, since both, you know, were authors.

  Beaufort. Unfeeling Censor! Is this a time to divert yourself with satirical dryness? Defer, I conjure you, these useless, idle, ludicrous disquisitions, &, for a few moments, suffer affairs of real interest & importance to be heard & understood.

  Lady Smarter. Beaufort, you expose yourself more & more every word you utter; disquisitions which relate to books & authors ought never to be deferred. Authors, sir, are the noblest of human beings, & books —

  Beaufort. Would to heaven there were not one in the world!

  Lady Smatter. O monstrous!

  Beaufort. Once again, madam, I entreat, I conjure —

  Lady Smatter. I will not hear a word more. Wish there was not a book in the world? Monstrous, shocking, & horrible! Beaufort, you are a lost wretch! I tremble for your intellects; & if you do not speedily conquer this degenerate passion, I shall abandon you without remorse to that ignorance & depravity to which I see you are plunging.

  [Exit.

  Beaufort. Hard-hearted, vain, ostentatious woman! Go, then, & leave me to that independence which not all your smiles could make me cease to regret! Censor, I am weary of this contention; what is life, if the present must continually be sacrificed to the future? I will fly to Cecilia, & I will tear myself from her no more. If, without her, I can receive no happiness, why, with her, should I be apprehensive of misery?

  Censor. Know you not, Beaufort, that if you sap the foundation of a structure, ’tis madness to expect the sides & the top will stand self-supported? Is not security from want the basis of all happiness? & if you undermine that, do you not lose all possibility of enjoyment? Will the presence of Cecilia soften the hardships of penury? Will her smiles teach you to forget the pangs of famine? Will her society make you insensible to the severities of an houseless winter?

  Beaufort. Well, well, tell me where I can find her, & she shall direct my future conduct herself.

  Censor. I have a scheme upon Lady Smatter to communicate to you, which, I think, has some chance of succeeding.

  Beaufort. Till I have seen Cecilia, I can attend to nothing; once more, tell me where she is.

  Censor. Where-ever she is, she has more wisdom than her lover, for she charged me to command your absence.

  Beaufort. My absence?

  Censor. Nay, nay, I mean not seriously to suppose the girl is wise enough to wish it; however, if she pretends to desire it, you have a sufficient excuse for non-attendance.

  Beaufort. I don’t understand you. — Is Cecilia offended?

  Censor. Yes, & most marvelously, for neither herself nor her neighbours know why.

  Beaufort. I will not stay another minute! — I will find other methods to discover her abode.

  [Going.

  Censor. Prithee, Beaufort, be less absurd. My scheme upon Lady Smatter —

  Beaufort. I will not hear it! I disdain Lady Smatter, & her future smiles or displeasure shall be equally indifferent to me. Too long, already, have I been governed by motives & views which level me with her narrow-minded self; it is time to shake off the yoke, — assert the freedom to which I was born, — & dare to be poor, that I may learn to be happy!

  [Exit.

  Censor. Shall this noble fellow be suffered to ruin himself? No! The world has too few like him. Jack, a word with you, — Jack, I say! — are you asleep, man?

  Codger. Asleep? Surely not.

  Censor. If you’re awake, answer!

  Jack. [Yawning.] Why, what’s the matter?

  Censor. Wake, man, wake & I’ll tell you.

  Codger. How, asleep? Pray, Son Jack, what’s the reason of your going to sleep when I’m talking to you?

  Jack. Why, sir, I have so little time for sleep, that I thought I might as well take the opportunity.

  Codger. Son Jack, son Jack, you are verily an ignoramus!

  Censor. Come hither, Jack. I have something to propose to you —

  Codger. Sir, I have not yet done with him myself. Whereabouts was I, son, when you fell asleep?

  Jack. Why there, sir, where you are now.

  Codger. Son, you are always answering like a blockhead; I mean whereabouts was I in my story?

  Jack. What story, sir?

  Codger. How? Did not you hear my story about your aunt Deborah’s poultry?

  Jack. Lord, no, sir!

  Codger. Not hear it? Why what were you thinking of?

  Jack. Me, sir? Why how many places I’ve got to go to to-night.

  Codger. This is the most indecorous behaviour I ever saw. You don’t deserve ever to hear me tell a story again. Pray, Mr. Censor, did you hear it?

  Censor. No.

  Codger. Well, then, as it’s a very good story, I think I’ll e’en take the trouble to tell it once more. You must know, then, my sister Deborah, this silly lad’s aunt —

  Censor. Mr. Codger, I am too much engaged to hear you now, — I have business that calls me away.

  Codger. This is always the case! I don’t think I ever spoke to three persons in my life that did not make some pretence for leaving me before I had done!

  Censor. Jack, are you willing to serve your brother?

  Jack. That I am! I would ride to York to see what’s o’clock for him.

  Censor. I will put you in a way to assist him with less trouble, though upon a matter of at least equal importance. You, too, Mr. Codger, have, I believe, a good regard for him?

  Codger. Sir, I shall beg l
eave to decline making any answer.

  Censor. Why so, sir?

  Codger. Because, sir, I never intend to utter a word more in this room; but, on the contrary, it is my intention to abandon the Club from this time forward.

  Censor. But is that any reason why you should not answer me?

  Codger. Sir, I shall quit the place directly; for I think it an extremely hard thing to be made speak when one has nothing to say, & hold one’s tongue when one has got a speech ready.

  [Exit.

  Jack. Is he gone? Huzzah! I was never so tired in my life.

  [Going.

  Censor. Hold! I have something to say to you.

  Jack. Can’t possibly stay to hear you.

  Censor. Prithee, Jack, how many duels do you fight in a year?

  Jack. Me? Lord, not one.

  Censor. How many times, then, do you beg pardon to escape a caning?

  Jack. A caning?

  Censor. Yes; or do you imagine the very wildness & inattention by which you offend, are competent to make your apology?

  Jack. Lord, Mr. Censor, you are never easy but when you are asking some queer question! But I don’t much mind you. You odd sort of people, who do nothing all day but muz yourselves with thinking, are always coming out with these sort of trimmers; however, I know you so well, that they make no impression on me.

  [Exit.

  Censor. Through what a multiplicity of channels does folly glide! Its streams, alternately turgid, calm, rapid & lazy, take their several directions from the peculiarities of the minds whence they spring, — frequently varying in their courses, — but ever similar in their shallowness!

  End of Act the Fourth.

  Act V.

  A parlor at Mrs. Voluble’s.

  Mrs. Voluble, Mrs. Wheedle, Miss Jenny & Bob are seated at a round table at supper; Betty is waiting.

  Mrs. Voluble. Well, this is a sad thing indeed! — Betty, give me some beer. Come, Miss Jenny, here’s your love & mine.

  [Drinks.

  Mrs. Wheedle. I do believe there’s more misfortunes in our way of business than in any in the world; the fine ladies have no more conscience than a Jew, — they keep ordering & ordering, & think no more of paying than if one could live upon a needle & thread.