PLAYER. I shall expect you there, sir.
The author does, in humble scenes, produce
Examples fitted to your private use.
Teaches each man to regulate his life,
To govern well his servants and his wife.
Teaches that servants well their masters choose;
That wives will ride their husbands round the house.
Teaches that jealousy does oft arise,
Because men’s sense is dimmer than their eyes.
Teaches young gentlemen do oft pursue
More women than they well know how to — woo;
Teaches that parsons teach us the right way,
And when we err we mind not what they say.
Teaches that pious women often groan,
For sake of their religion — when they’ve none;
Teaches that virtue is the maid’s best store:
Teaches all these, and teaches nothing more.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
MEN
SIR OWEN APSHINKEN, a gentleman of Wales, in love with tobacco — Mr. Furnival.
MASTER OWEN APSHINKEN, his son, in love with womankind — Mr. Stopler.
MR. APSHONES, his tenant — Mr. Wathan.
PUZZLETEXT, his chaplain, in love with women, tobacco, drink, and backgammon Mr. Reynolds.
ROBIN, his butler, in love with Sweetissa. Mr. Mullart.
WILLIAM, his coachman, enemy to Robin, in love with Susan — Mr. Jones.
JOHN, his groom, in love with Margery.. Mr. Dove.
THOMAS, the gardener — Mr. Hicks.
WOMEN
LADY APSHINKEN, wife to Sir Owen, a great house-wife, governante to her husband, a zealous advocate for the Church.. Mrs. Furnival.
MOLLY APSHONES, daughter to Mr. Apshones, a woman of strict virtue... Miss Patty Vaughan.
SWEETISSA, waiting-woman
SUSAN, cook
MARGERY, housemaid
SCENE. — WALES, NORTH OR SOUTH
ACT I.
SCENE I.
Sir OWEN APSHINKEN’S House. Table and chairs.
SIR OWEN APSHINKEN and PUZZLETEXT smoking.
SIR OWEN APSHINKEN. Come, Mr. Puzzletext, it is your glass. — Let us make an end of our breakfast before madam is up. — Oh, Puzzletext! what a fine thing it is for a man of my estate to stand in fear of his wife, that I dare not get drunk so much as — once a day, without being called to an account for it.
PUZZLETEXT. Petticoat-government is a very lamentable thing indeed. — But it is the fate of many an honest gentleman.
AIR I.
What a wretched life
Leads a man a tyrant wife,
While for each small fault he’s corrected;
One bottle makes a sot,
One girl is ne’er forgot,
And duty is always neglected.
But though nothing can be worse
Than this fell domestic curse,
Some comfort this may do you,
So vast are the henpecked bands,
That each neighbour may shake hands,
With my humble service to you.
SIR OWEN APSHINKEN. Oh, Puzzletext! if I could but enjoy my pipe undisturbed, how happy should I be! for I never yet could taste any pleasure but in tobacco.
PUZZLETEXT. Tobacco is a very good thing, indeed, and there is no harm in taking it abundantly.
SCENE II.
SIR OWEN APSHINKEN, LADY APSHINKEN, PUZZLETEXT.
LADY APSHINKEN. At your morning-draught, Sir Owen, I find, according to custom; but I shall not trouble myself with such a drone as you are. Methinks you, Mr. Puzzletext, should not encourage drunkenness.
PUZZLETEXT. I ask your ladyship’s pardon; I profess I have scarce drunk your health this morning — and wine, while it contributeth only to the cheering of the spirits, is not, forbidden us. — I am an enemy to excess — but as far as the second bottle, nay, to some constitutions, a third, is, no doubt, allowable — and I do remember to have preached with much perspicuity even after a fourth.
LADY APSHINKEN. Oh intolerable! do you call four bottles no excess?
PUZZLETEXT. To some it may, to others it may not. Excess dependeth not on the quantity that is drunk, but on the quality of him who drinketh.
LADY APSHINKEN. I do not understand this sophistry — though I think I have some skill in divinity.
PUZZLETEXT. Oh, madam! no one more. Your ladyship is the honour of your sex in that study, and may properly be termed “The great Welsh lamp of divinity.”
LADY APSHINKEN. I have always had an inclination to maintain religion in the parish — and some other time shall be glad to dispute with you concerning excess — but at present I must impart something to you concerning my son, whom I have observed too familiar with the maids —
PUZZLETEXT. Which of the maids, madam? — Not one of my mistresses, I hope. [Aside.
LADY APSHINKEN. Truly, with all of them — and unless we prevent it, I am afraid we shall hear of a marriage not much to our liking — and you know Mr. Puzzletext, how hard a thing it would be for us, who have but one child, to have him throw himself away.
PUZZLETEXT. What methods shall we take in order thereto?
LADY APSHINKEN. I know but one — we must prevent his marrying them, by marrying them to others — we have as many men as maids; now I rely on you to match them up to one another; — for whilst there is one unmarried wench in the house, I shall think him in danger. — Oh, Mr. Puzzletext! the boy takes after his father, not me — his head is full of nothing but love; for whatever Nature hath done for him in another way, she hath left his head unfurnished.
PUZZLETEXT. Love, in a young mind, is powerful indeed.
AIR II. Lads of Dunce.
If love gets into a soldier’s heart,
He puts off his helmet, his bow and his dart.
Achilles, charmed with a nymph’s fair eve,
A distaff took, and his arms laid by.
The gay gods of old their heaven would quit,
And leave their ambrosia for a mortal tit-bit;
The first of their tribe, that whore-master Jove,
Preferred to all heavens, the heaven of love.
LADY APSHINKEN. I think you Have already asked them all in the church, so that you have only to hasten the match — this I assure you, I shall not forget the favour. I am now going to take a short airing in the Park, in my own chaise, and would Have you remember we have no time to lose.
PUZZLETEXT. Well, sir, you heard what my lady says — what shall I do?
SIR OWEN APSHINKEN. E’en what she commands. — If she interferes not with my pipe, I am resolved not to interfere with her family. — Let her govern, while I smoke.
PUZZLETEXT. Upon my word, Sir Owen is a thorough epicurean philosopher. I must now seek the young squire, who is a philosopher of another kind.
SCENE III.
MASTER OWEN APSHINKEN solus [with two letters]. This is the day wherein Robin and Sweetissa propose to be married, which unless I can prevent, I lose all my hopes of her; for when once a woman knows what’s what, she knows too much for me. Sure never man was so put to it in his amours — for I do not care to venture on a woman after another, nor does any woman care for me twice.
AIR III. Let the drawer bring clean glasses.
How curst the puny lover!
How exquisite the pain,
When love is fumbled over,
To view the fair’s disdain!
But oh! how vast the blessing!
Whom to her bosom pressing,
She whispers, while caressing
Oh! when shall we again?
Here are two letters, which I have forged; one as from Susan to Robin, the other from William to Sweetissa: these must be dropped where they may be found by the improper parties, and will create a jealousy, whereof I may reap the fruit, and Sweetissa’s maidenhead may be yet my own.
SCENE IV.
PUZZLETEXT and MASTER OWEN APSHINKEN.
PUZZLETEXT. Mr. Owe
n! I have been searching for you. I am come, child, to give you some good instructions. — I am sorry to hear you have an intention to disgrace your family by a marriage inferior to your birth.
MASTER OWEN APSHINKEN. Do not trouble your head with my marriage, good Mr. Parson. — When I marry, ‘twill be to please myself not you.
PUZZLETEXT. But let it not be such a marriage as may reflect upon your understanding. — Consider, sir, — consider who you are.
AIR IV. March in Scipio.
Think, mighty sir, ere you are undone,
Think who you are, Apshinken’s only son;
At Oxford you have been, at London eke also;
You’re almost half a man, and more than half a beau:
Oh do not then disgrace the great actions of your life! Nor let Apshinken’s son be buried in his wife.
PUZZLETEXT. You must govern your passions, Master Owen.
MASTER OWEN APSHINKEN. You may preach, Mr. Parson, but I shall very little regard you. There is nothing so ridiculous as to hear an old fellow railing at love.
PUZZLETEXT. It is like a young fellow’s railing at age.
MASTER OWEN APSHINKEN. Or a courtier out of place at court.
AIR V. Sir Thomas I cannot.
The worn-out rake at pleasure rails,
And cries,’Tis all idle and fleeting;
At court, the man, whose interest fails,
Cries, All is corruption, and cheating:
But would you know
Whence both these flow?
Though so much they pretend to abhor ‘em
That rails at court,
This at love’s sport,
Because they are neither fit for ‘em,
fit for ‘em,
Because they are neither fit for ‘em.
MASTER OWEN APSHINKEN. Besides, doctor, I fancy you have not always governed your own passions, though you are so fond of correcting others: as a poet burlesques the nonsense of others, while he writes greater nonsense himself —
PUZZLETEXT. Or as a prude corrects the vices of others, while she is more vicious herself.
MASTER OWEN APSHINKEN. Or as a parson preaches against drinking, and then goes to the alehouse.
PUZZLETEXT. Very true — if you mean a Presbyterian parson.
AIR VI. One evening having lost my way.
I’ve heard a non-con, parson preach
‘Gainst whoring, with just disdain;
Whilst he himself to be naught did teach’
Of females as large a train
As stars in the sky, or lamps in the street,
Or beauties in the Mall we meet,
Or as — or as — or as,
Or as the whores in Drury Lane.
MASTER OWEN APSHINKEN. Thy similes are all froth, like bottled ale — and it is as difficult to get thee out of a simile, as out of an alehouse.
AIR VII. Dutch skipper.
PUZ. The gaudy sun adorning
With brightest rays the morning,
the morning,
Shines o’er the eastern hill;
And I will go a sporting,
OWEN. And I will go a courting,
a courting,
There lies my pleasure still.
PUZ. In Gaffer Woodford’s ground
A brushing hare is found,
A course which even kings themselves might see;
OWEN. And in another place
There lies a brushing lass,
Which will give one ten times more sport than she.
Second Part.
PUZ. What pleasure to see, while the greyhounds are running,
Poor puss’s cunning and shifting and shunning!
To see with what art she plays still her part,
And leaves her pursuers afar:
First this way, then that;
First a stretch, and then squat,
Till quite out of breath,
She yields her to death.
What joy with the sportsman’s compare?
OWEN. How sweet to behold the soft blooming lass,
With blushing face, clasped close in embrace!
To feel her breasts rise, see joy fill her eyes,
And glut on her heaven of charms!
While sighing arid whining,
And twisting and twining,
With kissing and pressing,
And fondest caressing,
With raptures she dies in your arms. [Exeunt.
SCENE V.
SWEETISSA and MARGERY.
SWEETISSA. If ever you had known what it was to love, Margery, you would not have wondered how I could prefer a man to his master.
MARGERY. I should not have wondered indeed, if our young squire had been like most young country squires — But he is a fine gentleman, Sweetissa.
SWEETISSA. From such fine gentlemen, may my stars deliver me, Margery.
MARGERY. What, I suppose you are afraid of being made jealous, by his running after other women.
SWEETISSA. Pshaw! I should not think him worth being jealous of — he runs after every woman he sees; and Yet, I believe, scarce knows what a woman is, — Either he has more affectation than desire, or more desire than capacity. O Margery, when I was in London with madam, I have seen several such sparks as these; some of them would attempt making love too — Nay, I have had such lovers! — But I could never find one of them that would stand it out.
AIR VIII. Bessy Bell and Mary Gray.
In long pig-tails and shining lace,
Our beaus set out a-wooing;
Ye widows, never show them grace,
But laugh at their pursuing.
But let the daw, that shines so bright,
Of borrowed plumes bereft be,
Alas! poor dame, how naked the sight!
You’ll find there’s nothing left ye.
Oh Margery! there is more in Robin’s little finger than in a beau’s whole body.
MARGERY. Yes, and more roguery in him than —
SWEETISSA. I know you are prejudiced against him from what William says; but be assured that is all malice; he is desirous of getting his place.
MARGERY. I rather think that a prejudice of yours against William.
SWEETISSA. O Margery, Margery! an upper servant’s honesty is never so conspicuous, as when he is abused by the under-servants. — They must rail at some one, and if they abuse him, he preserves his master and mistress from abuse.
MARGERY. Well, I would not have such a sweetheart.
SWEETISSA. Pugh! if all you say were true, what is it to me? If women were to consider the roguery of their lovers, we should have even fewer matches among people of quality than we have.
AIR IX. Mad Moll.
Why should not I love Robin?
And why should not Bob love me?
While every one else he is fobbing,
He still may be honest to me.
For though his master he cheats,
His mistress shares what he gains;
And whilst I am tasting the sweets,
The devil take her who complains.
MARG. But should he be taken indeed;
Ah! think what a shame it would be
To have your love dragged out of bed,
And thence in a cart to the tree.
SWEET. Let halters tie up the poor cheat,
Who only deserves to be hanged;
The wit who can get an estate,
Hath still too much wit to be hanged.
But I don’t speak this on Robin’s account; for if all my master’s ancestors had met with as good servants as Robin, he had enjoyed a better estate than he hath now.
SCENE VI.
ROBIN and SWEETISSA.
AIR X. Masquerade minuet.
ROBIN. Oh my Sweetissa!
Give me a kiss-a,
Oh what a bliss-a
To behold your charms!
My eyes with gazing
Are set a blazing,
SWEET. Come then and quench them within my arms.
&
nbsp; ROBIN. Oh my Sweetissa! thou art straighter than the straightest tree — sweeter than the sweetest flower — thy hand is as white as milk, and as warm; thy breast is as white as snow, and as cold. — Thou art, to sum thee up at once, an olio of perfections; or, in other words, a garden of bliss which my soul delights to walk in. — Oh! I will take such strides about thy form, such vast, such mighty strides —
SWEETISSA. Oh Robin! it is as impossible to tell thee how much I love thee, as it is to tell — how much water there is in the sea.
ROBIN. My dear Sweetissa! had I the learning of the author of that opera-book in the parlour-window, I could not make a simile to my love.
SWEETISSA. Be assured there shall be no love lost between us.
AIR XI. Young Damon once the happiest swain.
Complete Fictional Works of Henry Fielding Page 271