VERMILIA. What mean you, sir?
MALVIL. Think not I would extenuate; no, I come to blazon out my crimes, to paint them in the utmost cast of horror, to court, not fly the severity of justice; for death’s to me a blessing. Ah! my friend’s blood cries out for vengeance on me; and jealousy, rage, madness, and false honour, stand ready witnesses against me. — [To Vermilia.] Of you, madam, I am to beg a pardon for your wronged innocence. — [To Lady Matchless.] But to you I have a harder task; to implore it, for having deprived you of the best of lovers, whose dying sighs were loaded with your name. — Yes, the last words your Wisemore uttered, were to implore eternal blessings on you; your Wisemore, whom this rash, this fatal hand has slain.
[Lady Matchless sinks into the arms of Yermilia.
MERITAL. Help, help! she faints!
HELEXA. A glass of water — the hartshorn immediately!
RATTLE. Rustic’s dead then, hey? Poor rustic!
VERMILIA. How do you dear? —
LADY MATCHLESS. O! I shall rave, my frantic brain will burst: and did he bless me with his latest breath? he should have cursed me rather, for I alone am guilty. Oh! I have wildly played away his life — Then, take my fortune all, since he is gone, to reward whose merit I only valued riches. But now farewell content, greatness, happiness, and all the sweets of life. I’ll study to be miserable.
WISEMORE. O never, never; be blessed as love, and life, and happiness can make you — be blessed as I am now.
[Discovering himself, and running to her.
LADY MATCHLESS. And art thou then my Wisemore.
[After a long pause.
WISEMORE. And do T live to hear you call me yours? O my heart’s joy! my everlasting bliss!
LADY MATCHLESS. And can you generously forgive?
WISEMORE. O name it not, but swear you never will revoke what you have said.
LADY MATCHLESS. O, would I had worlds to give thee! for all the happiness I can bestow is nothing to the merit of your love.
WISEMORE. My heart overflows with raptures. Oh! my tender love, now do I live indeed —
MERITAL. Why, after these high flights, Ned, I am afraid wishing you joy will be too low a phrase.
WISEMORE. Dear Merital, I thank you. — But here am I eternally indebted; for I shall always attribute my happiness (next to this lady) to your friendship. [To Malvil.
MALVIL. Be assured it gives me an equal satisfaction, as if I had procured my own.
MERITAL. I have known two friends embrace just before cutting of throats; but I believe you are the first who ever embraced after it.
BATTLE. Formal. [Sheepishly.
LORD FORMAL. By my title, I am perfectly amazed.
SIR APISH SIMPLE. We are all bit, egad! — [Aside.
MERITAL. Come, Harry, put the best face you can on the matter; though I know you have a little chagrin in your heart — As for his lordship, the lady may be a widow again before he gets his title. — And my friend Sir Apish has refused a very fine lady this morning before.
SIR APISH SIMPLE. Yes. I had two strings to my bow; both golden ones, egad! and both cracked.
VERMILIA. Dear Matchless, this sudden revolution of your fortune has so amazed me, that I can hardly recover myself to congratulate you on it.
LADY MATCHLESS. Well, but I hope you will not see your friend embarked on a second voyage, and hesitate at undertaking the first.
VERMILIA. If I was sure my voyage would be as short as yours has been; but matrimony is too turbulent a sea to be ventured on in so light a vessel as every little blast can overset.
MALVIL. Madam, when Mrs. Catchit has discovered the whole affair to you, as she has done to me. I doubt not but your good-nature will seal my pardon, since excess of love caused the offence.
LADY MATCHLESS. Nay, we must all sue.
MERITAL AXD HELENA. All, all.
VERMILIA. “Well, to avoid so much importunity, and to show you the power of a prevalent example — In hopes of future amendment, Mr. Malvil, here — take my hand.
MALVIL. O my fairest, softest! I have no words to express my gratitude, or my love.
VERMILIA. Pray let them both be understood then; for we have had so many raptures already, they must be but a dull repetition.
LORD FORMAL. When it is in vain to strive against the stream, all well-bred men sail with it. [Aside.] Ladies, I beg leave to presume to advance with my compliments of congratulation on this glorious occasion. I must own your ladyship’s choice has something novel in it; but, by the sanction of so great an authority, I don’t question, but it may be reconciled with the rules of consummate goodbreeding.
SIR APISH SIMPLE. I am always his lordship’s second. Ladies, I heartily wish you joy, upon my word.
RATTLE. And so do I, widow. — This fellow will be poisoned before the honeymoon’s out. [Aside.
SCENE THE LAST.
SIR POSITIVE TRAP, LADY TRAP, LADY MATCHLESS, LORD FORMAL, VERMILIA, HELENA, WISEMORE, MALVIL, MERITAL, RATTLE, SIR APISH SIMPLE.
SIR POSITIVE TRAP. O cousin, I am undone, and ruined! The Traps are abused, disgraced, dishonoured!
LADY MATCHLESS. What’s the matter, Sir Positive?
SIR POSITIVE TRAP. I am undone, my niece is lost and ruined.
HELENA. I had been so, sir, but for the interposition of a worthy gentleman here.
MERITAL. It is, indeed, my happy fate to be —
SIR POSITIVE TRAP. Is it so? is it so? and I believe this will be your happy fate. [Pointing to his neck.] She is an heiress, and you are guilty of felony, and shall be hanged, with the whole company, your abettors.
LORD FORMAL. This gentleman must have had a barbarous education. [Aside.
MERITAL. Lookee, madam, as you expect that what has passed between us shall be kept secret — [To Lady Trap. Lady Trap. [To MERITAL.] I understand you. — Sir Positive, be appeased, and leave this matter to me.
SIR POSITIVE TRAP. I am calm.
LADY MATCHLESS. My cousin, sir, is married to a gentleman of honour, and one who, I doubt not, loves her. — By your resentment, you will call your conduct, not hers, into question.
SIR POSITIVE TRAP. Then you have been her adviser, I suppose?
LADY MATCHLESS. If I have, cousin, you cannot be angry, since it is an advice I am like to follow myself.
SIR POSITIVE TRAP. Why, what, are you going to be married again?
WISEMORE. Sir Positive, I hope shortly to be your relation.
SIR POSITIVE TRAP. That’s more than I do, sir, till I know your name and family.
WISEMORE. You shall both, sir. My name is Wisemore.
SIR POSITIVE TRAP. Wisemore! Wisemore! why, it is a good name — but I thought that family had been extinct. — Well, cousin, I am glad to see you have not married a snuff-box.
LADY MATCHLESS. To perfect the good humour of the company, and since dinner is not yet ready, I’ll entertain you with a song, which was sent me by an unknown hand. Is Mr. Hemhem there? Sir, if you will oblige us; gentlemen and ladies, please to sit.
SONG.
I.
Ye nymphs of Britain, to whose eyes
The world submits the glorious prize
Of beauty to be due;
Ah! guard it with assiduous care,
Let neither flattery ensnare,
Nor wealth your hearts subdue.
II.
Old Bromio’s ranked among the beaus;
Young Cynthio solitary goes,
Unheeded by the fair!
Ask you then what this preference gives?
Six Flanders mares the former drives.
The latter but a pair.
III.
Let meaner things be bought and sold,
But beauty never trucked for gold;
Ye fair, your value prove:
And since the world’s a price too low,
Like heaven, your ecstasies bestow
On constancy and love.
IV.
But still, ye generous maids, beware,
Since hypo
crites to heaven there are,
And to the beauteous too:
Do not too easily confide,
Let every lover well be tried.
And well reward the true.
The COMPANY advance.
WISEMORE. The song is not without a moral. — And now ladies, I think myself bound to a solemn recantation of every slander I have thrown upon your sex: for I am convinced that our complaints against you flow generally (if not always) more from our want of merit than your want of justice.
For when vain fools or fops your hearts pursue,
To such the charming prize is never due:
But when the men of sense their passions prove,
You seldom fail rewarding ‘em with love.
Justly on them the fair their hearts bestow,
Since they alone the worth of virtue know.
EPILOGUE
SPOKEN BY MISS ROBINSON, JUN.
OUR author, full of sorrow and repentance,
Has sent me here — to mitigate his sentence.
To you, tremendous critics in the pit,
Who on his first offence in judgment sit!
He pleads — Oh gad! how terrible his case is!
For my part, I’m frightened by your faces.
Think on his youth — it is his first essay;
He may in time, perhaps, — atonement pay,
If but reprieved this execution day. —
Methinks I see some elder critic rise,
And darting furious justice from his eyes,
Cry, “Zounds! what means the brat? why all this fuss?
What are his youth and promises to us?
For should we from severity refrain,
We soon should have the coxcomb here again.
And, brothers, such examples may invite
A thousand other senseless rogues to write!”
From you then — ye toupets — he hopes defence:
You’ll not condemn him for his want of sense.
What, now you’ll say, I warrant with a sneer,
“He’s chose too young an advocate, my dear!”
Yet boast not (for if my own strength I know)
I am a match sufficient — for a beau!
Lastly, to you, ye charmers, he applies,
For in your tender bosoms mercy lies,
As certain as destruction in your eyes.
Let but that lovely circle of the fair —
Their approbation, by their smiles, declare,
Then let the critics damn him — if they dare.
THE TEMPLE BEA U
Fielding’s second drama was first performed on January 26 1730, at Goodman’s Fields, after it was rejected by the Theatre Royal. The Temple Beau depicts a young law student forsaking his studies for pleasure. Fielding wrote the play sometime after leaving Leiden in April 1729. It was the first play staged at Goodman’s Fields, running for nine nights until 5 February 1730. On 2 February 1730, it was published along with a prologue added by James Ralph that attacked the treatment of authors by society, marking the beginning of a theatrical relationship between Ralph and Fielding. The publication was advertised in the St. James’s Evening Post, the London Evening Post, the Whitehall Evening Post and the Monthly Chronicle.
The plot introduces Wilding, a young law student, who gives up his studies to become a rake, wishing to marry Bellaria simply for her money. In the drama Fielding reveals the hypocrisy of his protagonist with more successful comedic effect than in his first drama. Other characters also desire Bellaria, including the virtuous man Veromil and his foil Valentine who is unable to control his desires. Valentine eventually pairs with Clarissa, a character of little substance, whilst Veromil marries Bellaria, and Wilding is left alone.
The play’s rejection by the Theatre Royal proved beneficial to Fielding as it allowed him to experiment with his plays in ways that would be unaccepted at larger locations. The Temple Beau was one of the best received plays at Goodman’s Fields and The Daily Journal reported that the play was commercially successful. On the author’s benefit nights, Fielding was able to raise about 100 pounds.
The original title page
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
ACT I.
ACT II.
ACT III.
ACT IV.
ACT V.
EPILOGUE
First opening on 31 October 1727, Goodman’s Fields Theatre was located on Ayliffe Street, Whitechapel, London.
PROLOGUE
WRITTEN BY MR. RALPH, AND SPOKEN BY MR. GIFFARD.
HUMOUR and wit, in each politer age,
Triumphant, reared the trophies of the stage.
But only farce, and show, will now go down,
And HARLEQUIN’S the darling of the town.
“WILL’S has resigned its old pretence to wit.
And beaus appear, where critics used to sit.
BUTTON himself, provoked at wit’s decline,
Now lets his house, and swears he’ll burn his sign.
Ah! should all others that on wit depend,
Like him provoked; like him their dealings end;
Our theatres might take th’ example too.
And players starve themselves — as authors do.
But if the gay, the courtly world, disdain
To hear the Muses and their sons complain;
Each injured bard shall to this refuge fly,
And find that comfort which the great deny:
Shall frequently employ this infant stage,
And boldly aim to wake a dreaming age.
The comic muse, in smiles severely gay,
Shall scoff at vice, and laugh its crimes away;
The voice of sorrow pine in tragic lays,
And claim your tears, as the sincerest praise.
Merit, like Indian gems, is rarely found,
Obscure, ‘tis sullied with the common ground:
But when it blazes in the world’s broad eye,
All own the charms they passed unheeded by.
Be you the first t’ explore the latent prize,
And raise its value, as its beauties rise.
Convince that town, which boasts its better breeding,
That riches — are not all that you exceed in.
Merit, wherever found, is still the same,
And this our stage may be the road to fame.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
MEN
SIR AVARICE PEDANT — Mr. Collet.
SIR HARRY WILDING — Mr. Pinkethman.
WILDING — Mr. Giffard.
VEROMIL — Mr. W. Giffard.
VALENTINE — Mr. Williams.
PEDANT — Mr. Bullock.
PIN CET — Mr. Bardin.
WOMEN
LADY LUCY PEDANT — Mrs. Giffard.
LADY GRAVELY — Mrs. Baughton.
BELLARIA — Mrs. Purden.
CLARISSA — Mrs. Seal.
Tailors, Periwig-maker, Servants, — &c.
SCENE. — London
ACT I.
SCENE I.
An Ante-chamber in SIR AVARICE PEDANT’S House.
LADY LUCY PEDANT, LADY GRAVELY.
LADY LUCY [entering in a passion, followed by the LADY GRAVELY]. No more of your lectures, dear sister. Must I be fatigued every morning with an odious repetition of fulsome, dull, antiquated maxims, extracted from old philosophers and divines, who no more practised what they wrote, than you practise what you read? Sure, never woman had such a time on’t! — Between a husband mad with avarice, a son-in-law mad with learning, a niece mad with love — and a sister —
LADY GRAVELY. Ay, what am I? I’d be glad to know what I am.
LADY LUCY PEDANT. The world knows what you are —
LADY GRAVELY. How, madam! — the! world knows nothing of me.
LADY LUCY PEDANT. It says it does; it talks of you very freely, child. First, that you are not so young as you would seem; nor so handsome, or good as you do seem; that your actions
are as much disguised by your words, as your skin by paint; that the virtue in your mouth no more proceeds from the purity of your heart, than the colour in your cheeks does from the purity of your blood.
LADY GRAVELY. Very fine, indeed!
LADY LUCY PEDANT. That your ardency to improve the world is too often rank envy; that you are not angry with the deformities of the mind, but the beauties of the person: for it is notorious, that you never spoke well of a handsome woman, nor ill of an ugly one.
LADY GRAVELY. Impudent scandal!
LADY LUCY PEDANT. That you rail at the diversions of the town, for several reasons: but the love of goodness has nothing to do with any. Assemblies, because you are very little regarded in them; operas, because you have no ear; plays, because you have no taste; balls, because you can’t dance: and lastly — that you went to church, twice a day, a whole year and half, because — you was in love with the parson; ha, ha, ha!
Complete Fictional Works of Henry Fielding Page 239