Money. Abuse me as you please, so you pay me, sir.
Luck. ‘Sdeath! madam, I will pay you.
Money. Nay, sir, I do not ask it before it is due. I don’t question your payment at all: if you was to stay in my house this quarter of a year, as I hope you will, I should not ask you for a farthing.
Luck. Toll, loll, loll. — But I shall have her begin with her passion immediately; and I had rather be the object of her rage for a year than of her love for half an hour.
Money. But why did you choose to surprise me with my money? Why did you not tell me you would pay me?
Luck. Why, have I not told you?
Money. Yes, you told me of a play, and stuff: but you never told me you would order a gentleman to pay me. A sweet, pretty, good-humoured gentleman he is, heaven bless him! Well, you have comical ways with you: but you have honesty at the bottom, and I’m sure the gentleman himself will own I gave you that character.
Luck. Oh! I smell you now. — You see, madam, I am better than my word to you: did he pay it you in gold or silver?
Money. All pure gold.
Luck. I have a vast deal of silver, which he brought me, within; will you do me the favour of taking it in silver? that will be of use to you in the shop too.
Money. Anything to oblige you, sir.
Luck. Jack, bring out the great bag, number one. Please to tell the money, madam, on that table.
Money. It’s easily told: heaven knows there’s not so much on’t.
Jack. Sir, the bag is so heavy, I cannot bring it in.
Luck. Why, then, come and help to thrust a heavier bag out.
Money. What do you mean?
Luck. Only to pay you in my bed-chamber.
Money. Villain, dog, I’ll swear a robbery, and have you hanged: rogues, villains!
Luck. Be as noisy as you please — [Shuts the door.] Jack, call a coach; and, d’ ye hear? get up behind it and attend me.
ACT II.
SCENE I. — The Playhouse. — LUCKLESS, MARPLAY, senior, MARPLAY, junior.
Luck. [Reads.]
”Then hence my sorrow, hence my ev’ry fear;
No matter where, so we are bless’d together.
With thee, the barren rocks, where not one step
Of human race lies printed in the snow,
Look lovely as the smiling infant spring.”
Mar. sen. Augh! will you please to read that again, sir?
Luck. “Then hence my sorrow, hence my ev’ry fear.”
Mar. sen. “Then hence my sorrow.” — Horror is a much better word. — And then in the second line— “No matter where, so we are bless’d together.” — Undoubtedly, it should be, “No matter where, so somewhere we’re together.” Where is the question, somewhere is the answer. — Read on, sir.
Luck. “With thee, — — “
Mar. sen. No, no, I could alter those lines to a much better idea.
”With thee, the barren blocks, where not a bit
Of human face is painted on the bark,
Look green as Covent-garden in the spring.”
Luck. Green as Covent-garden!
Mar. jun. Yes, yes; Covent-garden market, where they sell greens.
Luck. Monstrous!
Mar. sen. Pray, sir, read on.
Luck.
”LEANDRA: oh, my Harmonio, I could hear thee still;
The nightingale to thee sings out of tune,
While on thy faithful breast my head reclines,
The downy pillow’s hard; while from thy lips
I drink delicious draughts of nectar down,
Falernian wines seem bitter to my taste.”
Mar. jun. Here’s meat, drink, singing, and lodging, egad.
Luck. He answers.
Mar. jun. But, sir ——
Luck.
”Oh, let me pull thee, press thee to my heart,
Thou rising spring of everlasting sweets!
Take notice, Fortune, I forgive thee all!
Thou’st made Leandra mine. Thou flood of joy
Mix with my soul, and rush thro’ ev’ry vein.”
Mar. sen. Those two last lines again if you please.
Luck. “Thou’st made,” &c.
Mar. jun.
” —— Thou flood of joy,
Mix with my soul and rush thro’ ev’ry vein.”
Those are two excellent lines indeed: I never writ better myself: but, Sar ——
Luck.
”Leandra’s mine, go bid the tongue of fate
Pronounce another word of bliss like that;
Search thro’ the eastern mines and golden shores,
Where lavish Nature pours forth all her stores;
For to my lot could all her treasures fall,
I would not change Leandra for them all.”
There ends act the first, and such an act as, I believe, never was on this stage yet.
Mar. jun. Nor never will, I hope.
Mar. sen. Pray, sir, let me look at one thing. “Falernian wines seem bitter to my taste.”
Pray, sir, what sort of wines may your Falernian be? for I never heard of them before; and I am sure, as I keep the best company, if there had been such sorts of wines, I should have tasted them. Tokay I have drank, and Lacrimas I have drank, but what your Falernian is, the devil take me if I can tell.
Mar. jun. I fancy, father, these wines grow at the top of Parnassus.
Luck. Do they so, Mr Pert? why then I fancy you have never tasted them.
Mar. sen. Suppose you should say the wines of Cape are bitter to my taste.
Luck. Sir, I cannot alter it.
Mar. sen. Nor we cannot act it. It won’t do, sir, and so you need give yourself no farther trouble about it.
Luck. What particular fault do you find?
Mar. jun. Sar, there’s nothing that touches me, nothing that is coercive to my passions.
Luck. Fare you well, sir: may another play be coercive to your passions.
SCENE II. — MARPLAY, senior, MARPLAY, junior.
Mar. sen. Ha, ha, ha!
Mar. jun. What do you think of the play?
Mar. sen. It may be a very good one, for aught I know: but I am resolved, since the town will not receive any of mine, they shall have none from any other. I’ll keep them to their old diet.
Mar. jun. But suppose they won’t feed on’t?
Mar. sen. Then it shall be crammed down their throats.
Mar. jun. I wish, father, you would leave me that art for a legacy, since I am afraid I am like to have no other from you.
Mar. sen. ‘Tis buff, child, ‘tis buff — true Corinthian brass; and, heaven be praised, tho’ I have given thee no gold, I have given thee enough of that, which is the better inheritance of the two. Gold thou might’st have spent, but this is a lasting estate that will stick by thee all thy life.
Mar. jun. What shall be done with that farce which was damned last night?
Mar. sen. Give it them again to-morrow. I have told some persons of quality that it is a good thing, and I am resolved not to be in the wrong: let us see which will be weary first, the town of damning, or we of being damned.
Mar. jun. Rat the town, I say.
Mar. sen. That’s a good boy; and so say I: but, prithee, what didst thou do with the comedy which I gave thee t’other day, that I thought a good one?
Mar. jun. Did as you ordered me; returned it to the author, and told him it would not do.
Mar. sen. You did well. If thou writest thyself, and that I know thou art very well qualified to do, it is thy interest to keep back all other authors of any merit, and be as forward to advance those of none.
Mar. jun. But I am a little afraid of writing; for my writings, you know, have fared but ill hitherto.
Mar. sen. That is because thou hast a little mistaken the method of writing. The art of writing, boy, is the art of stealing old plays, by changing the name of the play, and new ones, by changing the name of the author.
Mar. jun. If it was not for th
ese cursed hisses and catcalls ——
Mar. sen. Harmless musick, child, very harmless musick, and what, when one is but well seasoned to it, has no effect at all: for my part, I have been used to them.
Mar. jun. Ay, and I have been used to them too, for that matter.
Mar. sen. And stood them bravely too. Idle young actors are fond of applause, but, take my word for it, a clap is a mighty silly, empty thing, and does no more good than a hiss; and, therefore, if any man loves hissing, he may have his three shillings worth at me whenever he pleases. [Exeunt.
SCENE III. — A Room in BOOKWEIGHT’S house. — DASH, BLOTPAGE, QUIBBLE, writing at several tables.
Dash. Pox on’t, I’m as dull as an ox, tho’ I have not a bit of one within me. I have not dined these two days, and yet my head is as heavy as any alderman’s or lord’s. I carry about me symbols of all the elements; my head is as heavy as water, my pockets are as light as air, my appetite is as hot as fire, and my coat is as dirty as earth.
Blot. Lend me your Bysshe, Mr Dash, I want a rhime for wind.
Dash. Why there’s blind, and kind, and behind, and find, and mind: it is of the easiest termination imaginable; I have had it four times in a page.
Blot. None of those words will do.
Dash. Why then you may use any that end in ond, or and, or end. I am never so exact: if the two last letters are alike, it will do very well. Read the verse.
Blot. “Inconstant as the seas or as the wind.”
Dash. What would you express in the next line?
Blot. Nay, that I don’t know, for the sense is out already. I would say something about inconstancy.
Dash. I can lend you a verse, and it will do very well too.
“Inconstancy will never have an end.”
End rhimes very well with wind.
Blot. It will do well enough for the middle of a poem.
Dash. Ay, ay, anything will do well enough for the middle of a poem. If you can but get twenty good lines to place at the beginning for a taste, it will sell very well.
Quib. So that, according to you, Mr Dash, a poet acts pretty much on the same principles with an oister-woman.
Dash. Pox take your simile, it has set my chaps a watering: but come, let us leave off work for a while, and hear Mr Quibble’s song.
Quib. My pipes are pure and clear, and my stomach is as hollow as any trumpet in Europe.
Dash. Come, the song.
SONG.
AIR. Ye Commons and Peers.
How unhappy’s the fate
To live by one’s pate,
And be forced to write hackney for bread!
An author’s a joke
To all manner of folk,
Wherever he pops up his head, his head,
Wherever he pops up his head.
Tho’ he mount on that hack,
Old Pegasus’ back,
And of Helicon drink till he burst,
Yet a curse of those streams,
Poetical dreams,
They never can quench one’s thirst, &c.
Ah! how should he fly
On fancy so high,
When his limbs are in durance and hold?
Or how should he charm,
With genius so warm,
When his poor naked body’s a cold, &c.
SCENE IV. — BOOKWEIGHT, DASH, QUIBBLE, BLOTPAGE.
Book. Fie upon it, gentlemen! what, not at your pens? Do you consider, Mr Quibble, that it is a fortnight since your Letter to a Friend in the Country was published? Is it not high time for an Answer to come out? At this rate, before your Answer is printed, your Letter will be forgot. I love to keep a controversy up warm. I have had authors who have writ a pamphlet in the morning, answered it in the afternoon, and answered that again at night.
Quib. Sir, I will be as expeditious as possible: but it is harder to write on this side the question, because it is the wrong side.
Book. Not a jot. So far on the contrary, that I have known some authors choose it as the properest to shew their genius. But let me see what you have produced; “With all deference to what that very learned and most ingenious person, in his Letter to a Friend in the Country, hath advanced.” Very well, sir; for, besides that, it may sell more of the Letter: all controversial writers should begin with complimenting their adversaries, as prize-fighters kiss before they engage. Let it be finished with all speed. Well, Mr Dash, have you done that murder yet?
Dash. Yes, sir, the murder is done; I am only about a few moral reflexions to place before it.
Book. Very well: then Jet me have the ghost finished by this day se’nnight.
Dash. What sort of a ghost would you have this, sir? the last was a pale one.
Book. Then let this be a bloody one. Mr Quibble, you may lay by that life which you are about; for I hear the person is recovered, and write me out proposals for delivering five sheets of Mr Bailey’s English Dictionary every week, till the whole be finished. If you do not know the form, you may copy the proposals for printing Bayle’s Dictionary in the same manner. The same words will do for both.
Enter INDEX.
So, Mr Index, what news with you?
Index. I have brought my bill, sir.
Book. What’s here? For fitting the motto of Risum teneatis Amici to a dozen pamphlets, at sixpence per each, six shillings; for Omnia vincit Amor, et nos cedamus Amori, sixpence; for Difficile est Satyram non scribere, sixpence. Hum! hum! hum! — sum total for thirty-six Latin mottoes, eighteen shillings; ditto English, one shilling and ninepence; ditto Greek, four — four shillings. These Greek mottoes are excessively dear.
Ind. If you have them cheaper at either of the universities, I will give you mine for nothing.
Book. You shall have your money immediately; and pray remember, that I must have two Latin seditious mottoes and one Greek moral motto for pamphlets by to-morrow morning.
Quib. I want two Latin sentences, sir — one for page the fourth in the praise of loyalty, and another for page the tenth in praise of liberty and property.
Dash. The ghost would become a motto very well if you would bestow one on him.
Book. Let me have them all.
Ind. Sir, I shall provide them. Be pleased to look on that, sir, and print me five hundred proposals and as many receipts.
Book. “Proposals for printing by subscription a New Translation of Cicero Of the Nature of the Gods, and his Tusculan Questions, by Jeremy Index, Esq.” I am sorry you have undertaken this, for it prevents a design of mine.
Ind. Indeed, sir, it does not; for you see all of the book that I ever intend to publish. It is only a handsome way of asking one’s friends for a guinea.
Book. Then you have not translated a word of it, perhaps.
Ind. Not a single syllable.
Book. Well, you shall have your proposals forthwith: but I desire you would be a little more reasonable in your bills for the future, or I shall deal with you no longer; for I have a certain fellow of a college, who offers to furnish me with second-hand mottoes out of the Spectator for twopence each.
Ind. Sir, I only desire to live by my goods; and I hope you will be pleased to allow some difference between a neat fresh piece, piping hot out of the classicks, and old threadbare worn-out stuff that has past through every pedant’s mouth and been as common at the universities as their whores.
SCENE V. — BOOKWEIGHT, DASH, QUIBBLE, BLOTPAGE, SCARECROW.
Scare. Sir, I have brought you a libel against the ministry.
Book. Sir, I shall not take anything against them; — for I have two in the press already. [Aside.
Scare. Then, sir, I have an Apology in defence of them.
Book. That I shall not meddle with neither; they don’t sell so well.
Scare. I have a translation of Virgil’s Aeneid, with notes on it, if we can agree about the price.
Book. Why, what price would you have?
Scare. You shall read it first, otherwise how will you know the value?
Book. No, no,
sir, I never deal that way — a poem is a poem, and a pamphlet a pamphlet with me. Give me a good handsome large volume, with a full promising title-page at the head of it, printed on a good paper and letter, the whole well bound and gilt, and I’ll warrant its selling. You have the common error of authors, who think people buy books to read. No, no, books are only bought to furnish libraries, as pictures and glasses, and beds and chairs, are for other rooms. Look ye, sir, I don’t like your title-page: however, to oblige a young beginner, I don’t care if I do print it at my own expence.
Complete Fictional Works of Henry Fielding Page 250