With your hum drum, &c.
Would he have curst mankind
(If Juno’s drawn to life)
When Jupiter Pandora sent,
He should have sent his wife,
With her hum drum, &c.
SCENE III.
Lady Apshinken and Susan.
LADY APSHINKEN. Go thy ways, for an errant knight as thou art. — So, Susan, what bring you?
SUSAN. The bill of fare, madam.
LADY APSHINKEN. The bill of fare! this looks more like a bill for a month than a day.
SUSAN. Master hath invited several of the tenants to-day, madam.
LADY APSHINKEN. Yes, I am acquainted with your master’s generosity — he would keep a tenant’s table by his consent. — On my conscience, he would suffer some of the poorer tenants to eat more than their rent out.
SUSAN. Heaven bless him for such goodness!
LADY APSHINKEN. This sirloin of beef may stand, only cut off half of it for to-morrow — it is too big for one dish.
SUSAN. O dear madam! it is a thousand pities to cut it.
LADY APSHINKEN. Pshaw! I tell you no polite people suffer a large dish to come to their table. — I have seen an entertainment of three courses, where the substance of the whole would not have made half a sirloin of beef.
SUSAN. The devil take such politeness, I say.
LADY APSHINKEN. A goose roasted — very well: take particular care of the giblets, they bear a very good price in the market. Two brace of partridges — I’ll leave out one of them. An apple-pie with quinces — why quinces, when you i know quinces are so dear? — There; and for the rest, do you keep it, and let me have two dishes a day, till it is out.
SUSAN. Why, madam, half the provision will stink at that rate.
LADY APSHINKEN. Then they will eat the less of it — I know some good housewives that never buy any other, for it is always cheap, and will go the farther.
SUSAN. So, as the smell of the old English hospitality used to invite people in, that of the present is to keep them away.
LADY APSHINKEN. Old English hospitality! Oh, don’t name it, I am sick at the sound.
SUSAN. Would I had lived in those days! — I wish I had been born a cook in an age when there was some business for one! before we had learnt this French politeness, and been taught to dress our meat by nations that have no meat to dress.
AIR XLV. The King’s old Courtier.
When mighty roast beef was the Englishman’s food,
It ennobled our hearts and enriched our blood,
Our soldiers were brave and our courtiers were good.
Oh the roast beef of England,
And old England’s roast beef!
But since we have learnt from all-conquering France,
To eat their ragouts as well as to dance,
Oh what a fine figure we make in romance!
Oh the roast beef of England.
And old England’s roast beef!
LADY APSHINKEN. Servants are continually jealous of the least thrift of a master or mistress; they are never easy but when they observe extravagance.
SCENE IV.
LADY APSHINKEN and PUZZLETEXT.
AIR XLVI. Oh Jenny, oh Jenny.
LADY AP. Oh doctor, oh doctor, where hast thou been?
Sure woman was never like me perplext!
I have been chiding.
PUZ. I have been riding,
And meditating upon my text.
LADY APSHINKEN. I wish you would give us a sermon on charity, that my servants might know that it is no charity to indulge a voluptuous appetite.
PUZZLETEXT. There is, madam, as your ladyship very well knows, a religious charity, and an irreligious charity. Now the religious charity teaches us rather to starve the belly of our friend, than feed it. Verily, starving is voluptuous food for a sinful constitution.
LADY Apshinken. I wish, doctor, when you go next to London, you would buy me up, at the cheapest rates, all the books upon charity that have been published.
PUZZLETEXT. I have a treatise, madam, which I shall shortly publish, that will comprehend the whole. It will be writ in Latin, and dedicated to your ladyship.
LADY APSHINKEN. Any thing for the encouragement of religion. I am a great admirer of the Latin language. — I believe, doctor, I now understand Latin as well as English. — But oh, doctor! it gives me pain, very great pain, that notwithstanding all our endeavours, there should yet remain so many wicked people in our parish. One of the tenants, the other day, abused his wife in the most terrible manner. Shall I never make them use their wives tolerably?
AIR XLVII.
LADY AP. Ah, doctor! I long, much as misers for pelf,
To see the whole parish as good as myself.
Puz. Ah, madam! your ladyship need not to doubt,
But that by my sermons will be soon brought about.
LADY AP. Ah, man! can your sermons put them in the right way,
When not one in ten e’er hears what you say?
Puz. Ah, madam! your ladyship need not to fear,
If you make them pay, but it’ll make them hear.
SCENE V.
To them, ROBIN.
AIR XLVIII. In Porus.
ROBIN. Some confounded planet reigning,
Surely hath, beyond explaining,
Your sex beguiled,
Sense defiled,
Sense awry led
To mistake:
I should wonder,
Could you blunder
Thus awake.
But if your almighty wit
Me for William will quit,
E’en brew as you bake.
LADY APSHINKEN. What’s the meaning of this?
ROBIN. IS your ladyship a stranger to it then? — Madam, don’t you know that I am to be turned away, and William made butler?
LADY APSHINKEN. HOW!
ROBIN. Nay, I assure your ladyship it is true. I just now received a message from master, to give an account of the plate — and perhaps I shall give a better account than William would, had he been butler as long as I have.
LADY APSHINKEN. I am out of all patience; I’ll to Sir Owen this moment — I will see whether I am a cipher in this house or no.
PUZZLETEXT. Harkye, Mr. Robin, you are safe enough — her ladyship is your friend. — So go you and send me a bottle of good wine into my room, for I am a very good friend of yours.
SCENE VI.
ROBIN. [Solus.] It is not that I intend to live long in the family — but I don’t care to be turned away. — I would give warning myself, and if this storm blows over, I will. — Thanks to my industry, I have made a shift to get together a little comfortable subsistence for the rest of my days. — I’ll purchase some little snug farm in Wales of about a hundred a year, and retire with — ah! — with whom shall I retire, since Sweetissa’s false? — What avails it to me that I can purchase an estate, when I cannot purchase happiness?
AIR XLIX. Cupid, God of pleasing anguish.
What avail large sums of treasure,
But to purchase sums of pleasure,
But your wishes to obtain?
Poor the wretch whole worlds possessing,
While his dearest darling blessing
He must sigh for still in vain.
SCENE VII.
ROBIN and SWEETISSA.
ROBIN. Where is my wealth, when the cabinet it was locked up in is broke open and plundered?
SWEETISSA. He’s here! — love would blow me like a whirlwind to his arms, did not the string of honour pull me back — Honour, that forces more lies from the mouth of a woman than gold does from the mouth of a lawyer.
ROBIN. See where she stands! the false, the perjured she. — Yet, guilty as she is, she would be dearer to my soul than light — did not my honour interpose — My honour, which cannot suffer me to wed a whore. I must part with honour, or with her — and a servant without honour is a wretch indeed! — How happy are men of quality, who cannot lose their honour, do what they will? —
Right honour is tried in roguery, as gold is in the fire, and comes out still the same.
AIR L. Dame of honour.
Nice honour by a private man
With zeal must be maintained!
For soon ‘tis lost, and never can
By any be regained.
But once right honourable grown,
He’s then its rightful owner;
For though the worst of rogues he’s known,
He’s still a man of honour.
SWEETISSA. I wish I could impute this blindness of yours to love. But, alas! love would see me, not my faults. You see my faults, not me.
ROBIN. I wish it were possible to see you faultless — but alas! you are so hemmed in with faults, one must see through them to come at you.
SWEETISSA. I know of none, but loving you too well.
ROBIN. That may be one, perhaps, if you were great with William.
SWEETISSA. Oh Robin! if thou art resolved to be false, do not, I beseech thee, do not let thy malice conspire to ruin my reputation.
ROBIN. There, madam, read that letter once more, then bid me be tender of your reputation, if you can — though women have always the boldest claims to reputation when they have the least pretensions to it; for virtue, like gunpowder, never makes any noise till it goes off — when you hear the report, you may be sure it’s gone.
SWEETISSA. This is some conspiracy against me; for may the devil fetch me this instant, if ever I saw this letter before.
ROBIN. What! and drop it from your pocket?
SWEETISSA. Oh base man! — If ever I suffered William to kiss me in my life, unless when we have been at questions and commands, may I never — be kissed while I live again. — And if I am not a maid now — may I die as good a maid as I am now. — But you shall see that I am not the only one who can receive letters and drop them from their pockets too. There, if thou art guilty, that letter will shock thee — while innocence guards me.
AIR LI. Why will Florella.
When guilt within the bosom lies,
A thousand ways it speaks.
It stares affrighted through the eyes
And blushes through the cheeks.
But innocence, disdaining fear,
Adorns the injured face,
And, while the black accuser’s near,
Shines forth with brighter grace.
ROBIN. Surprising! — sure some little writing devil lurks in the house. Ha! a thought hath just shot through my brain. Sweetissa, if you have virtue — if you have honour — if you have humanity, answer me one question. Did the parson ever make love to you?
SWEETISSA. Why do you ask me that?
ROBIN. These two letters are writ by the same hand; and if they were not writ by William, they must have been by the parson — for no one else, I believe, can write or read in the house.
SWEETISSA. I can’t say he hath, nor I can’t say he hath not. Once he told me that if I was worth a hundred pounds he’d marry me.
ROBIN. Did he? that’s enough; by George I’ll make an example of him — I’ll beat him till he hath as great an aversion to marriage as any priest in Rome hath.
SWEETISSA. O fie! what, beat the parson?
ROBIN. Never tell me of the parson — if he will have my meat, I’ll give him some sauce to it.
SWEETISSA. Consider, good Robin; for though thou hast been a base man to me, I would not have thee damned.
ROBIN. The parson would send me to heaven, I thank him. — I’d rather be damned than go to heaven as the parson’s cuckold. Sbud! I’ll souse him till he shall have as little appetite for woman’s flesh as horse flesh.
AIR LII. Hunt the squirrel.
SWEET. Oh for goodness sake forebear!
Think he’s a parson, think he’s a parson;
Look upon the cloth he wears,
Ere you pull his ears.
ROBIN. Cease your chattering, I will batter him;
Blood and thunder-bolt!
I’ll rub him, drub him, scrub him down,
As jockeys do a colt.
SWEETISSA. He’s gone; perhaps will knock the parson on the head. What can he then expect to be but hanged by the neck? Oh! that he were hanged once safe about my neck. Ye powers preserve him from the hangman’s noose, and tie him fast in Hymen’s.
SCENE VIII.
SWEETISSA and JOHN.
SWEETISSA. Oh, John! fly! if thou wilt save thy friend — fly up into the parson’s closet.
JOHN. What’s the matter?
SWEETISSA. One moment’s delay, and Robin’s lost. — He is gone in a mighty passion to beat the parson; run and prevent him, for if he should kill the parson, he will be hanged.
JOHN. Kill him! If he lifts up his hand against him, he will be put in the spiritual court, and that’s worse than hanging.
SWEETISSA. Fly, fly, dear John. — What torments attend a mind in love.
AIR LIII. The play of love.
What vast delights must virgins prove,
Who taste the dear excess of love!
Since, while so many ways undone,
And all our joys must fly from one,
Eager to love’s embrace we run.
So when in some small island lies
The eager merchant’s brilliant prize,
That dear, that darling spot to gain,
He views black tempests with disdain,
And all the dangers of the main.
SCENE IX.
MASTER OWEN APSHINKEN and SWEETISSA.
MASTER OWEN APSHINKEN. Sweetissa in tears! — so looks the lily after a shower, while drops of rain run gently down its silken leaves, and gather sweetness as they pass.
AIR LIV. Si cari.
Smile, smile, Sweetissa smile;
Repining banish,
Let sorrow vanish,
Grief does the complexion spoil.
Smile, smile, Sweetissa, smile;
Lift up your charming, cha — a — arming,
Charming, charming eyes,
As the sun’s brightest rays in summer skies.
What is the matter, my dear Sweetissa.
SWEETISSA. Whatever be the matter — it is no matter of yours, Master Owen.
Master Owen Apshinken. I would hug thee in my arms and comfort thee — if thou wouldst let me. Give me a buss — do.
AIR LV. Sleep body.
SWEETISSA. Little master.
Pretty master,
Your pursuit give over;
Surely nature
Such a creature
Never meant for a lover.
A beau, and baboon,
In a dull afternoon,
May ladies divert by their capers;
But weak is her head
Who takes to her bed
Such a remedy for the vapours.
Little master, &c.
SCENE X.
AIR LVI.
OWEN. GO, and like a slub’ring Bess howl,
Whilst at your griefs I’m quaffing.
For the more you cry, the less you’ll —
Toi, loi, de roi.
Be inclined to laughing.
SCENE XI.
MASTER OWEN APSHINKEN and SUSAN.
MASTER OWEN ATSHINKEN. So, Mrs. Susan, which way are you going?
SUSAN. Going! — why, I am going to find madam out — if she will have no victuals, she shall have no cook for
SUSAN. If I cut the sirloin of beef, may the devil cut me.
AIR LVII. South-sea Tune.
An Irishman loves potatoes;
A Frenchman chews
Salads and ragouts;
A Dutchman, waterzuche;
The Italian, macaroons;
The Scotchman loves sheep’s heads, sir;
The Welsh with cheese are fed, sir;
An Englishman’s chief
Delight is roast beef;
And if I divide the os’ sirloin
May the devil cut off mine.
MASTER OWEN APSHINKEN. Oh! do not spoil thy pretty face with passion. Give
me a kiss, my dear pretty little cook.
SUSAN. Give you a kiss! — give you a slap in the face, or a rod for your backside. When I am kissed, it shall be by another guise sort of spark than you. Sbud! your head looks like the scrag end of a neck of mutton just floured for basting. A kiss! — a fart!
SCENE XII.
Master Owen Apshinken and Margery.
MASTER OWEN APSHINKEN. Go thy ways, greasy face.
Oh, here’s my little Margery now.
MARGERY. Not so little neither, Master Owen. I am big enough for you still.
MASTER OWEN APSHINKEN. And so thou art, my dear, and my dove — Come, let us — let us — let us —
MARGERY. Let us what?
MASTER OWEN APSHINKEN. Let us, I’gad, I don’t know what — Let us kiss like any thing.
MARGERY. Not so fast, squire — your mamma must give you a larger allowance before it comes to that between you and me. Look’ee, sir, when you can produce that fine apron you promised me, I don’t know what my gratitude may bring me to. But I am resolved, if ever I do play the fool, I’ll have something to show for it, besides a great belly.
Complete Fictional Works of Henry Fielding Page 275