LOVEGIRLO. Wouldst thou, my sweet? Now by the powers of love,
I’ll mortgage all my lands to deck thee fine.
Thou shalt wear farms and houses in each ear,
Ten thousand loads of timber shall embrace
Thy neeklaced neck. I’ll make thy glittering form
Shine through th’ admiring Mall a blazing star.
Neglected virtue shall with envy die;
The town shall know no other toast but thee.
So have I seen upon my lord mayor’s day,
While coaches after coaches roll away,
The gazing crowd admire by turns, and cry,
“See such and such an alderman pass by:”
But when the mighty magistrate appears,
No other name is sounded in your ears;
The crowd all cry unanimous— “See there,
Ye citizens behold the coach of the lord mayor.”
SCENE VII.
STORMANDRA, CAPTAIN BILKUM.
CAPTAIN BILKUM. Why comes not my Stormandra?
Twice and once
I’ve told the striking clock’s increasing sound,
And yet unkind Stormandra stays away.
STORMANDRA. Captain, are you a man?
CAPTAIN BILKUM. I think I am.
The time has been when you have thought so too.
Try me again in the soft fields of love.
STORMANDRA. ‘Tis war, not love, must try your manhood now.
By gin I swear ne’er to receive thee more,
Till cursed Lovegirlo’s blood has dyed thy sword.
CAPTAIN BILKUM. Lovegirlo! Whence this fury bent on him?
STORMANDRA. Ha! dost thou question, coward? — Ask again,
And I will never call thee captain more.
Instant obey my purpose, or by hemp,
Bods, all the horrors Bridewell ever knew,
I will arrest thee for the note of hand
Which thou hast given me for twice one pound;
But if thou dost, I call my sacred honour
To witness, thy reward shall be my love.
CAPTAIN BILKUM. Lovegirlo is no more. Yet wrong me not;
It is jour promise, not your threat, prevails.
So when some parent of indulgence mild
Would to the nauseous potion bring the child;
In vain to win or frighten to its good,
He cries, “My dear,” or lifts the useless rod:
But if, by chance, the sugar-plum he shows,
The simpering child no more reluctance knows;
It stretches out its finger and its thumb,
It swallows first the potion, then the sugar-plum.
SCENE VIII.
STORMANDRA. [Sola.] Go, act my just revenge, and then be hanged,
While I retire and gently hang myself.
May women be by my example taught,
Still to be good, and never to be naught;
Never from virtue’s rules to go astray,
Nor ever to believe what man can say.
She who believes a man, I am afraid,
May be a woman long, but not a maid.
If such blest harvest my example bring,
The female world shall with my praises ring,
And say, that when I hanged myself, I did a noble thing.
SCENE IX.
MOTHER PUNCHBOWL, KISSINDA, NONPAREL.
MOTHER PUNCHBOWL. Oh! Nonparel, thou loveliest of girls,
Thou latest darling of thy mother’s years;
Let thy tongue know no commerce with thy heart;
For if thou tellest truth thou art undone.
NONPAREL. Forgive me, madam, this first fault — henceforth
I’ll learn with utmost diligence to fib.
MOTHER PUNCHBOWL. Oh! never give your easy mind to love;
But poise the scales of your affection so,
That a bare sixpence added to his scale,
Might make the cit apprentice or the clerk
Outweigh a flaming colonel of the guards.
Oh! never give your mind to officers,
Whose gold is on the outside of the pocket.
But fly a poet as the worst of plagues,
Who never pays with any thing but words.
Oh! had Kissinda taken this advice,
She had not now been bilked. —
KISSINDA. Think me not so;
Some hasty business has Lovegirlo drawn
To leave me thus — but I will hold a crown
To eighteen pence, he’s here within an hour.
SCENE X.
To them, LEATHERSIDES.
MOTHER PUNCHBOWL. Oh! Leathersides, what means this newsful look?
LEATHERSIDES. Through the Piaches as I took my way
To fetch a girl, I at a distance viewed
Lovegirlo with great Captain Bilkum fighting;
Lovegirlo pushed, the Captain parried, thus
Lovegirlo pushed, he parried again:
Oft did he push, and oft was pushed aside.
At length the Captain, with his body thus,
Threw in a cursed thrust in flanconade.
Twas then — oh! dreadful horror to relate!
I at a distance saw Lovegirlo fall,
And look as if he cried— “Oh! I am slain.”
[Kissinda sinks into Nonparel’s arms.
SCENE XI.
To them, Gallono.
GALLONO. Give me my friend, thou most accursed bawd:
Restore him to me drunken as he was
Ere thy vile arts seduced him from the glass.
MOTHER PUNCHBOWL. Oh! that I could restore him — but alas!
Or drunk or sober you’ll ne’er see him more,
Unless you see his ghost — his ghost, perhaps,
May have escaped from Captain Bilkum’s sword.
GALLONO. What do I hear? — Oh damned accursed jade,
Thou art the cause of all — With artful smiles
Thou didst seduce him to go home ere morn.
Bridewell shall be thy fate! I’ll give a crown
To some poor justice to commit thee thither,
Where I will come and see thee flogged myself.
KISSINDA. One flogged as I am can be flogged no more;
In her Lovegirlo Miss Kissinda lived:
The sword that passed through poor Lovegirlo’s heart
Passed eke through mine; he was three-fifths of me.
SCENE XII.
To them, Captain Bilkum.
CAPTAIN BILKUM. Behold the most accursed of human kind!
I for a woman with a man have fought;
She, for I know not what, has hanged herself:
And now Jack Ketch may do the same for me.
Oh! my Stormandra!
MOTHER PUNCHBOWL. What of her?
CAPTAIN BILKUM. Alas!
She’s hanged herself all to her curtain’s rod!
I saw her swinging, and I ran away.
Oh! if you loved Stormandra, come with me;
Skin off your flesh, and bite away your eyes;
Lug out your heart, and dry it in your hands;
Grind it to powder, make it into pills,
And take it down your throat.
MOTHER PUNCHBOWL. Stormandra’s gone!
Weep all ye sister-harlots of the town;
Pawn your best clothes, and clothe yourselves in rags.
Oh! my Stormandra!
KISSINDA. Poor Lovegirlo’s slain.
Oh! give me way; come, all you furies, come,
Lodge in th’ unfurnished chambers of my heart:
My heart, which never shall be let again
To any guest but endless misery,
Never shall have a bill upon it more.
Oh! I am mad, methinks; I swim in air,
In seas of sulphur and eternal fire,
And see Lovegirlo too.
GALLONO. Ha! see him! Where?
Where is the much-loved youth? — Oh! never more
Shall I behold him. Ha! distraction wild
Begins to wanton in my unhinged brain.
Methinks I’m mad, mad as a wild March hare;
My muddy brain is addled like an egg;
My teeth, like magpies, chatter in my head;
My reeling head! which aches like any mad.
OMNES. Oh!
LEATHERSIDES. Was ever such a dismal scene of woe?
SCENE THE LAST.
To them, LOVEGIRLO, STORMANDRA, and a FIDDLER.
LOVEGIRLO. Where’s my Kissinda — bear me to her arms,
Ye winged winds —— and let me perish there.
KISSINDA. Lovegirlo lives — Oh! let my eager arms
Press him to death upon my panting breast.
Captain BILKUM. Oh! all ye powers of gin! Stormandra lives.
STORMANDRA. Nor modesty, nor pride, nor fear, nor rep,
Shall now forbid this tender chaste embrace.
Henceforth I’m thine as long as e’er thou wilt.
GALLONO. Lovegirlo!
LOVEGIRLO. Oh, joy unknown! Gallono!
MOTHER PUNCHBOWL. Come all at once to my capacious arms;
I know not where I should th’ embrace begin.
My children! oh! with what tumultuous joy
Do I behold your almost virtuous loves.
But say, Lovegirlo, when we thought you dead,
Say by what lucky chance we see you here?
LOVEGIRLO. In a few words I’ll satisfy your doubt;
I through the coat was, not the body, run.
CAPTAIN BILKUM. But say, Stormandra, did I not behold
Thee hanging to the curtains of thy bed?
STORMANDRA. No, my dear love, it was my gown, not me:
I did intend to hang myself; but ere
The knot was tied, repented my design.
KISSINDA. Henceforth, Stormandra, never rivals more;
By Bilkum you, I by Lovegirlo kept.
LOVEGIRLO. Foreseeing all this sudden turn of joy,
I’ve brought a fiddler to play forth the same.
MOTHER PUNCHBOWL. I too will shake a foot on this blest day.
LOVEGIRLO. From such examples as of this and that,
We all are taught to know I know not what.
EPILOGUE
SPOKEN BY MISS RAFTOR.
[WHO ACTED THE PARTS OF ISABEL IN “THE OLD DEBAUCHEES, AND OF KISSINDA IN THIS TRAGEDY.]
IN various lights this night you’ve seen me drest,
A virtuous lady, and a miss confest;
Pray tell me, sirs, in which you like me best?
Neither averse to love’s soft joys you find;
‘Tis hard to say which is the best inclined.
The priest makes all the difference in the case;
Kissinda’s always ready to embrace,
And Isabel stays only to say grace.
For several prices ready both to treat,
This takes a guinea, that your whole estate.
Gallants, believe our passions are the same,
And virtuous women, though they dread the shame,
Let ‘em but play secure, all love the game.
For though some prude her lover long may vex,
Her coyness is put on, she loves your sex.
At you the pretty things their airs display;
For you we dance, we sing, we smile, we pray;
On you we dream all night, we think all day.
For you the Mall and Ring with beauties swarm;
You teach soft Senesino’s airs to charm.
For thin would be th’ assembly of the fair
At operas — were none but eunuchs there.
In short, you are the business of our lives,
To be a mistress kept the strumpet strives,
And all the modest virgins to be wives.
For prudes may cant of virtues and of vices,
But faith, we only differ in our prices.
THE OLD DEBAUCHEE S
Originally appearing with the unpopular The Covent-Garden Tragedy on 1 June 1732 at the Royal Theatre, Drury Lane, this play tells the story of a Catholic priest’s attempt to manipulate a man in order to seduce his daughter, though he is ultimately thwarted. The drama was well received, due to its engaging analysis of society’s perceptions of morality. Fielding had signed an agreement with John Watts to publish the plays for a small sum of 30 guineas. The play ran for six nights with one scheduled night being cancelled.
In the plot, young Laroon plans to marry Isabel, but Father Martin manipulates Isabel’s father, Jourdain, in order to seduce Isabel. However, other characters, including both of the Laroons, try to manipulate Jourdain for their own ends; they accomplish it through disguising themselves as priests and using his guilt to convince him of what they say. As Father Martin pursues Isabel, she is clever enough to realise what is happening and plans her own trap. After catching him and exposing his lust, Father Martin is set to be punished.
Like Rape upon Rape, the title The Old Debauchees is an allusion to a real individual and his corrupt actions. The basis of the drama is connected to an October 1731 trial of Father Girard. Part of the plot incorporates Fielding’s own anti-Catholic bias. However, his placement of anti-Catholic rhetoric in Old Laroon’s speeches undermines the comedic nature of the words and caused the sentiment to fall flat among audiences.
The original title page
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
ACT I.
ACT II.
ACT III.
PROLOGUE.
SPOKEN BY MR. WILLIAM MILLS.
I Wish, with all my Heart, the Stage and Town
Would both agree to cry all Prologues down;
That we, no more oblig’d to say or sing,
Might drop this useless necessary Thing:
No more with aukward Strut, before the Curtain,
Chaunt out some Rhimes — there’s neither good nor hurt in.
What is this Stuff the Poets make us deal in,
But some old worn-out Jokes of their Retailing:
From Sages of our own, or former Times,
Transvers’d from Prose, perhaps transpros’d from Rhimes.
How long the Tragick Muse her Station kept,«
How Guilt was humbl’d, and how Tyrants wept,¬
Forgetting still how often Hearers slept.
Perhaps, for Change, you, now and then, by Fits,
Are told that Criticks are the Bane of Wits;
How they turn Vampyres, being dead and damn’d,
And with the Blood of living Bards are cramm’d:
That Poets thus tormented die, and then
The Devil gets in them, and they suck agen.
Thus modern Bards, like Bays, their Prologues frame,«
For this, and that, and every Play the same,¬
Which you, most justly, neither praise nor blame.
As something must be spoke, no matter what;
No Friends are now by Prologues lost or got;
By such Harangues we raise nor Spleen, nor Pity —
Thus ends this idle, but important Ditty.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
MEN.
Old Laroon.Mr. Shepard.
Young Laroon.Mr. Mills, Junior.
Father Martin. Mr. Cibber, Junior.
Old Jourdain.Mr. Roberts.
WOMEN.
Isabel.Miss Raftor.
Beatrice.Miss Williams.
SCENE THOULON.
ACT I.
SCENE I.
SCENE, Mr. Jourdain’s.
Isabel, Beatrice.
Isabel.
A Nunnery! Ha, ha, ha! And is it possible, my dear Beatrice, you can intend to sacrifice your Youth and Beauty, to go out of the World as soon as you come into it!
Bea. No one, my dear Isabel, can sacrifice too much or too soon to Heaven.
Isa. Pshaw! Heaven regards Hearts and not Faces, and an old Woman will be as acceptable a Sacrifice as
a young one.
Bea. It is possible you may come to a better Understanding, and value the World as little as I do.
Isa. As you say, it is possible when I can enjoy it no longer, I may; nay, I do not care if I promise you when I grow old and ugly, I’ll come and keep you Company: But this I am positive, till the World is weary of me, I never shall be weary of the World.
Bea. What can a Woman of Sense see in it worth her valuing?
Isa. Oh! ten thousand pretty things! Equipage, Cards, Musick, Plays, Balls, Flattery, Visits, and that prettiest thing of all pretty things, a pretty Fellow —— I rather wonder what Charms a Woman of any Spirit can fancy in a Nunnery, in watching, working, praying, and sometimes, I am afraid, wishing for other Company than that of an old fusty Friar — Oh! ‘tis a delightful State, when every Man one sees, instead of tempting us to Sin, is to rebuke us for them.
Bea. Such Sentiments as these would indeed make you very uneasy — but believe me, Child, you would soon bring yourself to hate Mankind; fasting and praying are the best Cures in the World for these violent Passions.
Isa. On my Conscience I should want neither; if the continual Sight of a Set of dirty Priests would not bring me to abhor Mankind, I dare swear nothing could.
SCENE II.
Old Laroon, Isabel, Beatrice.
Old Lar. Good-morrow, my little Wag-tail — my Grashopper, my Butterfly. Odso! you little Baggage, you look as full of —— as full of Love and Sport and Wantonness —— I wish I was a young Fellow again —— Oh! that I was but five and twenty for thy sake. Where’s my Boy? What, has not he been with you, has not he serenaded you? — Odsheart — I never let his Mother sleep for a Month before I married her.
Complete Fictional Works of Henry Fielding Page 291