GOODWILL. Oh, fie upon you! like a footman?
LUCY. A footman! he looks a thousand times more like a gentleman than either Squire Foxchase or Squire Tankard; and talks more like one, ay, and smells more like one too. His head is so prettily drest, done all down upon the top with sugar, like a frosted cake, with three little curls on each side, that you may see his ears as plain! and then his hair is done up behind just like a line lady’s, with a little hat, and a pair of charming white stockings, as neat and as fine as any white-legged fowl; and he always carries a great swinging stick in his hand, as big as himself, that he would knock any dog down with, who was to offer to bite me. A footman, indeed! why Miss Jenny likes him as well as I do; and she says, all the fine young gentlemen that the ladies in London are so fond of, are just such persons as he is. — Icod, I should have had him before now, but that folks told me I should have a man with a coach, and that methinks I had rather have, a great deal.
GOODWILL. I am amazed! but I abhor the mercenary temper in the girl worse than all. — What, child, would you have any one with a coach! would you have Mr. Achum?
LUCY. Yes indeed would I, for a coach.
GOODWILL. Why, he is a cripple, and can scarce walk across the room.
LUCY. What signifies that?
AIR II. Wully Honey.
When he in a coach can be carried,
What need has a man to go?
That women for coaches are married,
I’m not such a child but I know.
But if the poor crippled elf
In coach be not able to roam,
Why then I may go by myself,
And he may e’en stay at home.
Enter BLISTER.
BLISTER. Mr. Goodwill, your humble servant. I have rid twelve long miles in little more than an hour. I am glad to see you so well; I was afraid by your message —
GOODWILL. That I had wanted your advice, I suppose. Truly, coz, I sent for you on a better account. Lucy, this is a relation of yours you have not seen a great while, my cousin Blister, the apothecary.
LUCY. O la! I hope that great huge man is not to be my husband.
BLISTER. My cousin is well grown, and looks healthy. What apothecary do you employ? He deals in good drugs, I warrant him.
GOODWILL. Plain wholesome food and exercise are what she deals in.
BLISTER. Plain wholesome food is very proper at some time of the year, with gentle physic between whiles.
GOODWILL. Leave us a little, my dear Lucy, I must talk with your cousin.
LUCY. Yes, papa, with all my heart. I hope I shall never see that great thing again. [Exit.
GOODWILL. I believe you begin to wonder at my message, and will, perhaps, more, when you know the occasion of it. In short, without more preface, I begin to find myself going out of the world, and my daughter very eager to come into it. I have therefore resolved to see her settled without farther delay. I am far from thinking vast wealth necessary to happiness: wherefore, as I can give her a sufficient competency, I have determined to marry her to one of my own relations. It will please me, that the fruits of my labour should not go out of the family. I have sent to several of my kinsmen of whom she shall take her choice; and as you are the first here, if you like my proposal, you shall make the first application.
BLISTER. With all my heart, cousin; and I am very much obliged to you. Your daughter seems an agreeable young woman, and I have no aversion to marriage. But pray why do you think yourself going out of the world? Proper care might continue you in it a considerable while. Let me feel your pulse.
GOODWILL. To oblige you; though I am in very good health.
BLISTER. A little feverish. I would advise you to lose a little blood, and take an emulsion, with a gentle emetic and cathartic.
GOODWILL. No, no, I will send my daughter to you; but pray keep your physic to yourself, dear cousin. [Exit.
BLISTER. This man is near seventy, and I have heard, never took any physic in his life; and yet he looks as well as if he had been under the doctor’s hands all his life-time. ‘Tis strange; but if I marry his daughter, the sooner he dies the better. It is an odd whim of his to marry her in this manner; but he is very rich, and so, so much the better. — What a strange dowdy ‘Tis! No matter, her fortune is never the worse.
AIR III. Round, round the Mill.
In women we beauty or wit may admire;
Sing, Trol, lerol:
But sure as we have them, as surely they’ll tire;
Oh ho, will they so?
Abroad for these dainties the wise therefore roam,
Sing Trol, lerol:
And frugally keep up but a plain dish at home;
Oh ho, do they so?
Who marries a beauty must hate her when old;
Sing Trol, lerol:
But the older it grows, the more precious the gold.
Oh ho, is it so?
Enter LUCY.
Oh, here’s comes my mistress: what a pox shall I say to her? I never made love in my life.
LUCY. Papa has sent me hither; but if it was not for fear of a boarding-school. I am sure I would not have come: but they say I shall be whipt there, and a husband can’t whip me let me do what I will; that’s one good thing.
BLISTER. Won’t you please to sit down, cousin?
LUCY. Yes, thank you, sir. Since I must stay with you, I may as well sit down. [Aside.
BLISTER. Pray, cousin, how do you find yourself?
LUCY. Find myself?
BLISTER. Yes, how do you do? Let me feel your pulse. How do you sleep o’ nights?
LUCY. How? why, upon my back, generally.
BLISTER. But I mean, do you sleep without interruption? Are you not restless?
LUCY. I tumble and toss a good deal sometimes.
BLISTER. Hum! Pray how long do you usually sleep?
LUCY. About ten or eleven hours.
BLISTER. Is your stomach good? Do you eat with an appetite? How often do you find in a day any inclination to eat?
LUCY. Why, a good many times; but I don’t eat a great deal, unless it be at breakfast, dinner, and supper, and afternoon’s luncheon.
BLISTER. Hum! I find you have at present no absolute need of an apothecary.
LUCY. I am glad to hear that; I wish he was gone, with all my heart.
BLISTER. I suppose, cousin, your father has mentioned to you the affair I am come upon; may I hope you will comply with him, in making me the happiest man upon earth?
LUCY. You need not ask me; you know I must do what he bids me.
BLISTER. May I then hope you will make me your husband?
LUCY. I must do what he’ll have me.
BLISTER. What makes you cry, Miss? Pray tell me what is the matter?
LUCY. No, you’ll be angry with me, if I tell you.
BLISTER. I angry! it is not in my power, I can’t be angry with you; I am to be afraid of your anger, not you of mine; I must not be angry with you, whatever you do.
LUCY. What! must not you be angry, let me do what I will?
BLISTER. No, my dear.
LUCY. Why then, by Goles! I will tell you — I hate you, and I can’t abide you.
BLISTER. What have I done to deserve your hate?
LUCY. You have done nothing; but you are such a great ugly thing, I can’t bear to look at you; and if my papa was to lock me up for a twelvemonth I should hate you still.
BLISTER. Did not you tell me just now, you would make me your husband?
LUCY. Yes, so I will, for all that.
AIR IV. Now ponder well, &c.
Ah, be not angry, good dear sir,
Nor do not tell papa;
For though I can’t abide you, sir,
I’ll marry you — O la!
BLISTER. Well, my dear, if you can’t abide me I can’t help that, nor you can’t help it; and if you will not tell your father, I assure you I will not; besides, my dear, as for liking me, do not give yourself any trouble about that, it is the very best reason for marrying me; no
lady now marries any one but whom she hates; hating one another is the chief end of matrimony. It is what most couples do before they are married, and all after it. I fancy you have not a right notion of a married life. I suppose you imagine we are to be fond, and kiss and hug one another as long as we live.
LUCY. Why, an’t we?
BLISTER. Ha, ha, ha! An’t we? no! How ignorant it is! [Aside.] Marrying is nothing but living in the same house together, and going by the same name; while I am following my business, you will be following your pleasure; so that we shall rarely meet but at meals, and then we are to sit at opposite ends of the table, and make faces at each other.
LUCY. I shall like that prodigiously — Ah, but there is one thing though — an’t we to lie together?
BLISTER. A fortnight, no longer.
LUCY. A fortnight! that’s a long time: but it will be over.
BLISTER. Ay, and then you may have any one else.
LUCY. May I? then I’ll have Mr. Thomas, by Goles! why, this is pure; la! they told me other stories. I thought when I had been married, I must never have liked any one but my husband, and that if I should he would kill me; but I thought one thing though with myself, that I could like another man without letting him know it, and then a fig for him.
BLISTER. Ay, ay, they tell children strange stories; I warrant they have told you, you must be governed by your husband.
LUCY. My papa tells me so.
BLISTER. But all the married women in England will tell you another story.
LUCY. So they have already, for they say I must not be governed by a husband; and they say another thing too, that you will tell me one story before marriage and another afterwards, for that marriage alters a man prodigiously.
BLISTER. No, child, I shall be just the same creature I am now, unless in one circumstance; I shall have a huge pair of horns upon my head.
LUCY. Shall you! that’s pure, ha, ha! what a comical figure you will make! But how will you make ‘em grow?
BLISTER. It is you that will make ‘em grow.
LUCY. Shall I? by Goles! then I’ll do’t as soon as ever I can; for I long to see ‘em! Do tell me how I shall do it?
BLISTER. Every other man you kiss, I shall have a pair of horns grow.
LUCY. By Goles, then, you shall have horns enough; but I fancy you are joking now.
AIR V. Buff-Coat.
Ah, sir! I guess
You are a fibbing creature.
BLISTER. Because, dear Miss,
You know not human nature.
LUCY. Married men, I’ll be sworn,
I have seen without horn.
BLISTER. Ah, child; you want art to unlock it:
The secret here lies,
Men now are so wise,
To carry their horns in their pocket.
LUCY. But you shall wear yours on your head, for I shall like ‘em better than any other thing about you.
BLISTER. Well, then, Miss, I may depend upon you?
LUCY. And may I depend upon you?
BLISTER. Yes, my dear.
LUCY. Ah, but don’t call me so; I hate you should call me so.
BLISTER. Oh, child, all married people call one another
My dear, let ‘em hate one another as much as they will.
LUCY. Do they? Well then, my dear — Hum, I think there is not any great matter in the word, neither.
BLISTER. Why, amongst your fine gentry, there is scarce any meaning in any thing they say. Well, I’ll go to your papa, and tell him we have agreed upon matters, and have the wedding instantly.
LUCY. The sooner the better.
BLISTER. Your servant, my pretty dear. [Exit.
LUCY. Your servant, my dear. Nasty, greasy, ugly fellow. Well, marriage is a charming thing though, I long to be married more than ever I did for any thing in my life; since I am to govern, I’ll warrant I’ll do it purely. By Goles, I’ll make him know who is at home. Let me see, I’ll practise a little. Suppose that chair was my husband; and ecod! by all I can find, a chair is as proper for a husband as any thing else; now says my husband to me, “How do you do, my dear?” Lard! my dear, I don’t know how I do! not the better for you. “Pray, my dear, let us dine early today?” Indeed, my dear, I can’t. “Do you intend to go abroad to-day?” No, my dear! “Then you will stay at home?” No, my dear! “Shall we ride out?” No, my dear. “Shall we go a visiting?” No, my dear. I will never do any thing I am bid, that I am resolved; and then,
MR. THOMAS. O good! I am out of my wits.
AIR VI. Bessy Bell.
La! what swinging lies some people will tell!
I thought when another I’d wedded,
I must have bid poor Mr. Thomas farewell,
And none but my husband have bedded.
But I find I’m deceived, for as Michaelmas day
Is still the forerunner of Lammas,
So wedding another is but the right way
To come at my dear Mr. Thomas.
[Enter COUPEE.
Heyday! what fine gentleman is this?
COUPEE. Cousin, your most obedient and devoted humble servant.
LUCY. I find this is one of your fine gentry, by his not having any meaning in his words.
COUPEE. I have not the honour to be known to you, cousin; but your father has been so kind to give me admission to your fair hands.
LUCY. O Gemini Cancer! what a fine charming man this is!
COUPEE. My name, madam, is Coupee, and I have the honour to be a dancing-master.
LUCY. And are you come to teach me to dance?
COUPEE. Yes, my dear, I am come to teach you a very pretty dance; did you never learn to dance?
LUCY. No, sir, not I; only Mr. Thomas taught me one, two, three.
COUPEE. That is a very great fault in your education, and it will be a great happiness for you to amend it by having a dancing-master for your husband.
LUCY. Yes, sir, but I am not to have a dancing-master; my papa says I am to have a nasty stinking apothecary.
COUPEE. Your papa says! What signifies what your papa says?
LUCY. What, must I not mind what my papa says?
COUPEE. No, no, you are to follow your own inclinations. — I think if she has any eyes, I may venture to trust ‘em.
[Aside.] Your father is a very comical, queer old fellow, a very odd kind of a silly fellow, and you ought to laugh at him. I ask pardon though for my freedom.
LUCY. You need not ask my pardon, for I am not at all angry; for, between you and I, I think him as odd, queer a fellow as you can do for your life. I hope you won’t tell him what I say.
COUPEE. I tell him! I hate him for his barbarous usage of you; to lock up a young lady of beauty, wit, and spirit, without ever suffering her to learn to dance! Why, madam, not learning to dance is absolute ruin to a young lady. I suppose he took care enough you should learn to read.
LUCY. Yes, I can read very well, and spell too.
COUPEE. Ay, there it is; why now, that’s more than I can do. All parents take care to instruct their children in low mechanical things, while the genteel seiences are neglected. Forgive me, madam, at least, if I throw myself at your feet, and vow never to rise till lifted up with the elevating fire of your smiles.
LUCY. Lard, sir! I don’t know what to say to these fine things. He’s a pure man. [Aside.
COUPEE. Might I hope to obtain the least spark of your love, the least spark, madam, would blow up a flame in me that nothing ever could quench. O hide those lovely eyes, nor dart their fiery rays upon me, lest I am consumed. — Shall I hope you will think of me?
LUCY. I shall think of you more than I will let you know.
[Aside.
COUPEE. Will you not answer me?
LUCY. La! you make me blush so, I know not what to say.
COUPEE. Ay, that is from not having learnt to dance; a dancing-master would have cured her of that. Let me teach you what to say, that I may hope you will condescend to make me your husband.
LUCY. No, I won
’t say that; but —
AIR VII. Tweed-side.
O press me not, sir, to be wife
To a man whom I never can hate;
So sweet a fine gentleman’s life
Should never be soured with that fate.
But soon as I married have been,
Ungrateful I will not be named;
O stay but a fortnight, and then,
And then you shall — Oh, I’m ashamed.
COUPEE. A fortnight! bid me live the age of — of —
MR. What’s-his-name, the oldest man that ever lived: live a fortnight after you are married! No, unless you resolve to have me, I will resolve to put an end to myself.
Complete Fictional Works of Henry Fielding Page 319