LUCY. O do not do that. But indeed I can never hate you; and the apothecary says no woman marries any man she does not hate.
COUPEE. Ha, ha, ha! Such mean fellows as those every fine lady must hate; but when they marry fine gentlemen, they love them as long as they live.
LUCY. O but I would not have you think I love you. I assure you I don’t love you: I have been told I must not tell any man I love him. I don’t love you; indeed I don’t.
COUPEE. But may I not hope you will?
LUCY. Lard, sir, I can’t help what you hope; it is equal to me what you hope. Miss Jenny says I must always give myself airs to a man I like. [Aside.
COUPEE. Hope, madam, at least you may allow me; the cruellest of your sex, the greatest tyrants, deny not hope.
LUCY. No, I won’t give you the least crumb of hope. Hope, indeed I what do you take me for? I’ll assure you! No, I would not give you the least bit of hope, though I was to see you die before my face. It is a pure thing to give one’s self airs. [Aside
COUPEE. Since nothing but my death will content you, you shall be satisfied, even at that price. [Pulls out his kitt.] Ha! cursed fate! I have no other instrument of death about me than a sword, which won’t draw. But I have thought of a way: within the orchard there is an apple-tree, there, there, madam! you shall see me hanging by the neck.
There shall you see your dancing-master die;
As Bateman hanged for love — e’en so will I.
LUCY. O stay! — La, sir! you’re so hasty. Must I tell you the first time I see you? Miss Jenny Flant-it has been courted these two years by half a dozen men, and nobody knows which she’ll have yet: and must not I be courted at all? I will be courted, indeed so I will.
COUPEE. And so you shall; I will court you after we are married.
LUCY. But will you indeed?
COUPEE. Yes, indeed; but if I should not, there are others enough that would.
LUCY. But I did not think married women had ever been courted though.
COUPEE. That’s all owing to your not learning to dance. Why, there are abundance of women who marry for no other reason; as there are several men who never court any but married women.
LUCY. Well, then, I don’t much care if I do marry you. But hold; there is one thing, but that does not much signify.
COUPEE. What is it, my dear?
LUCY. Only I promised the apothecary just now; that’s all.
COUPEE. Well, shall I fly then, and put every thing in readiness?
LUCY. Ay, do; I’m ready.
COUPEE. One kiss before I go, my dearest angel! And now one, two, three, and away! — [Exit.
LUCY. Oh, dear sweet man! He’s as handsome as an angel, and as fine as a lord. He is handsomer than Mr. Thomas, and i’cod, almost as well dressed. I see now why my father would never let me learn to dance. For, by Goles, if all dancing-masters be such fine men as this, I wonder every woman does not dance away with one. O la! now I think on’t he pulled out his fiddling thing, and I did not ask him to play a tune upon’t. But when we are married, I’ll make him play upon’t; i’cod, he shall teach me to dance too — He shall play, and I’ll dance; that will be pure. O la! what’s here? Another beau?
Enter QUAVER.
QUAVER. Madam, your servant. I suppose my cousin Goodwill has told you of the happiness he designs me?
LUCY. No, sir, my papa has not told me any thing about you. Who are you, pray?
QUAVER. I have the honour of being a distant relation of yours, and I hope to be a nearer one. My name is Quaver, madam: I have the honour to teach some of the first quality to sing.
LUCY. And are you come to teach me to sing?
QUAVER. I like her desire to learn to sing; it is a proof of an excellent understanding. [Aside.] Yes, madam, I will be proud to teach you any thing in my power; and do believe I shall not yield to any one in the science of singing.
LUCY. Well, and I shall be glad to learn; for I have been told I have a tolerable voice, only I don’t know the notes.
QUAVER. That, madam, may be acquired; a voice cannot. A voice must be the gift of nature; and it is the greatest gift nature can bestow. All other perfections, without a voice, are nothing at all. Music is allowed by all wise men to be the noblest of the sciences: whoever knows music knows every thing.
LUCY. Come then, begin to teach me; for I long to learn.
QUAVER. Hereafter I shall have time enough. But at present I have some thing of a different nature to say to you.
LUCY. What have you to say?
AIR VIII. Dimi Caro.
QUAVER. Dearest charmer!
Will you then bid me tell
What you discern so well,
By my expiring sighs,
My doting eyes,
My doting eyes?
Look through the instructive grove,
Each object prompts to love;
See how the turtles play;
Each object prompts to love:
All nature tells you what I’d say.
LUCY. O charming! delightful!
QUAVER. May I hope you’ll grant —
LUCY. Another song, and I’ll do any thing.
QUAVER. Dearest creature,
Pride of nature!
All your glances
Give me trances.
Dearest, &c.
LUCY. Oh, I melt, I faint, I swoon, I die!
QUAVER. May I hope you’ll be mine?
LUCY. Will you charm me so every day?
QUAVER. And every night too, my angel.
Enter COUPEE.
COUPEE. Heyday! what do I see? my mistress in another man’s arms? Sir, will you do me the favour to tell me what business you have with that lady?
QUAVER. Pray, sir, be so good as to tell me what business you have to ask?
COUPEE. Sir!
QUAVER. Sir!
COUPEE. Sir, this lady is my mistress.
QUAVER. I beg to be excused for that, sir.
COUPEE. Sir!
QUAVER. Sir!
AIR IX. Of all the simple, &c.
COUPEE. Excuse me, sir; zounds, what d’ye mean? I hope you don’t give me the lie.
QUAVER. Sir, you mistake me quite and clean;
Indeed, good sir, not I.
COUPEE. Zounds, sir, if you had, I’d been mad:
But I’m very glad that you don’t.
QUAVER. Do you challenge me, sir?
COUPEE. Not I, indeed, sir.
QUAVER. Indeed, sir, I’m very glad on’t.
LUCY. Pray, gentlemen, what’s the matter? I beseech you, speak to me, one of you.
COUPEE. Have I not reason? Did I not find you in his arms?
QUAVER. And have I not reason? Did he not say you was his mistress, to my face?
AIR X. Molly Mog.
LUCY. Did mortal e’er see two such fools?
Tor nothing they’re going to fight;
I begin to find men are but tools,
And both with a whisper I’ll bite.
With you I am ready to go, sir;
I’ll give t’other fool a rebuff. [To Coupee.
Stay you but a fortnight, or so, sir,
I warrant I’ll grant you enough. [To Quaver.
QUAVER. Damnation!
COUPEE. Hell and confusion!
[They draw; Lucy runs out.
Enter BLISTER.
BLISTER. For Heaven’s sake, gentlemen, what’s the matter? I profess I am afraid you are both disordered. Pray, sir, give me leave to feel your pulse: I wish you are not lightheaded!
COUPEE. What is it to you, sir, what I am?
QUAVER. How dare you interfere between gentlemen, sirrah?
COUPEE. I have a great mind to break my sword about your head, you dog!
QUAVER. I have a gret mind to run you through the body, you rascal!
COUPEE. Do you know who we are?
QUAVER. Ay, ay, do you know whom you have to do with?
BLISTER. Dear gentlemen; pray, gentlemen. I wish I had nothing to do with
you: I meant no harm.
COUPEE. So much the worse, sirrah; so much the worse.
QUAVER. Do you know what it is to anger gentlemen?
Enter GOODWILL.
GOODWILL. Heyday! what! are you fencing here, gentlemen?
BLISTER. Fencing, quotha? They have almost fenced me out of my senses, I am sure.
COUPEE. I shall take another time.
QUAVER. And so shall I.
GOODWILL. I hope there is no anger between you! You are nearer relations than you imagine to each other. — Mr. Quaver, you was sent out of England young; and you, Mr. Coupee, have lived all your life-time in London; but I assure you, you are cousin-Germans. Let me introduce you to each other.
COUPEE. Dear cousin Quaver.
QUAVER. Dear cousin Coupee.
BLISTER. It’s but a blow and a kiss with these sparks, I find.
COUPEE. I thought there was something about him I could not hurt.
GOODWILL. Here is another relation, too, whom you do not know. This is Mr. Blister, son to your uncle Blister, the apothecary.
COUPEE. I hope you will excuse our ignorance.
BLISTER. Yes, cousin, with all my heart, since there is no harm come on’t; but if you will take my advice, you shall both immediately lose some blood, and I will order each of you a gentle purge.
Enter WORMWOOD.
WORMWOOD. Your servant, cousin Goodwill. How do you do, Master Coupee? How do you do, Master Blister? The roads are very dirty; but I obey your summons, you see.
GOODWILL. Mr. Quaver, this is your cousin Wormwood, the attorney.
WORMWOOD. I am very glad to see you, sir. I suppose by so many of our relations being assembled, this is a family law-suit I am come upon. I shall be glad to have my instructions as soon as possible; for I must carry away some of your neighbours’ goods with executions by and by.
GOODWILL. I sent for you on the account of no law-suit this time. In short, I have resolved to dispose of my daughter to one of my relations: if you like her, cousin Wormwood, with ten thousand pounds, and you should happen to be her choice —
BLISTER. That’s impossible; for she has promised me already.
COUPEE. And me.
QUAVER. And me.
WORMWOOD. How! has she promised three of you? Why then the two that miss her will have very good actions against him that has her.
GOODWILL. Her own choice must determine; and if that fall on you, Mr. Blister, I must insist on your leaving off your trade, and living here with me.
BLISTER. No, sir, I cannot consent to leave off my trade.
GOODWILL. Pray, gentlemen, is not the request reasonable.
ALL. Oh, certainly, certainly.
COUPEE. Ten thousand pounds to an apothecary, indeed!
QUAVER. Not leave off his trade!
COUPEE. If I had been an apothecary, I believe I should not have made many words.
GOODWILL. I dare swear you will not, cousin, if she should make choice of you.
COUPEE. There is some difference though between us: mine is a genteel profession, and I shall not leave it off on any account.
GOODWILL. I’ll be judged by Mr. Quaver here, who has been abroad and seen the world.
QUAVER. Very reasonable, very reasonable. — This man, I see, has excellent sense, and can distinguish between arts and sciences.
GOODWILL. I am confident it would not be easy to prevail on you to continue the ridiculous art of teaching people to sing.
QUAVER. Ridiculous art of teaching to sing! Do you call music an art, which is the noblest of all sciences? I thought you a man of sense, but I find —
COUPEE. And I find too.
BLISTER. And so do I.
WORMWOOD. Well, it is surprising that men should be such fools, that they should hesitate at leaving oft their professions for ten thousand pounds.
GOODWILL. Cousin Wormwood, you will leave off your practice, I am sure.
WORMWOOD. Indeed, sir, but I will not. I hope you don’t put me upon a footing with fiddlers and dancing-masters. No man need be ashamed of marrying his daughter to a practitioner of the law. What would you do without lawyers? Who’d know his own property?
BLISTER. Or without physicians? Who’d know when he was well?
COUPEE. If it was not for dancing-masters, men might as well walk upon their heads as their heels.
QUAVER. And if it was not for singing-masters, they might as well have been all born dumb.
GOODWILL. Ha! confusion! what do I see! my daughter in the hands of that fellow!
Enter Lucy and Mr. Thomas.
LUCY. Pray, papa, give me your blessing: I hope you won’t be angry with me, but I am married to Mr. Thomas.
GOODWILL. Oh, Lucy! Lucy! is this the return you make to my fatherly fondness?
LUCY. Dear papa, forgive me, I won’t do so any more. — Indeed I should have been perjured if I had not had him. — And I had not had him neither, but that he met me when I was frightened, and did not know what I did.
GOODWILL. To marry a footman!
MR. THOMAS. Why, lookye, sir, I am a footman, ‘Tis true, but I have a good acquaintance in life. I have kept very good company at the hazard-table; and when I have other clothes on, and money in my pocket, they will be very glad to see me again.
WORMWOOD. Harkye, Mr. Goodwill, your daughter is an heiress. I’ll put you in a way to prosecute this fellow.
BLISTER. Did you not promise me, madam?
COUPEE. Ay, did not you promise me, madam?
QUAVER. And me too?
LUCY. You have none of you any reason to complain; if I did promise you all, I promised him first.
WORMWOOD. Lookye, gentlemen, if any of you will employ me, I’ll undertake we shall recover part of her fortune.
QUAVER. If you had given your daughter a good education, and let her learn music, it would have put softer things into her head.
BLISTER. This comes of your contempt of physic. If she had been kept in a diet, with a little gentle bleeding, and purging, and vomiting, and blistering, this had never happened.
WORMWOOD. You should have sent her to a town a term or two, and taken lodgings for her near the Temple, that she might have conversed with the young gentlemen of the law, and seen the world.
AIR XI. Bush of Boon.
LUCY. Oh, dear papa! don’t look so grum;
Forgive me, and be good:
For though he’s not so great as some.
He still is flesh and blood.
What though he’s not so fine as beaus
In gold and silver gay;
Yet he, perhaps, without their clothes,
May have more charms than they.
MR. THOMAS. Your daughter has married a man of some learning, and one who has seen a little of the world, and who by his love to her, and obedience to you, will try to deserve your favours. As for my having worn a livery, let not that grieve you; as I have lived in a great family, I have seen that no one is respected for what he is, but for what he has; the world pays no regard at present to any thing but money; and if my own industry should add to your fortune, so as to entitle any of my posterity to grandeur, it will be no reason against making my son, or grandson, a lord, that his father, or grandfather, was a footman.
GOODWILL. Ha! thou talkest like a pretty sensible fellow, and I don’t know whether my daughter has not made a better choice than she could have done among her booby relations. I shall suspend my judgment at present, and pass it hereafter, according to your behaviour.
MR. THOMAS. I will try to deserve it should it be in my favour.
WORMWOOD. I hope, cousin, you don’t expect I should lose my time. I expect six and eight pence for my journey.
GOODWILL. Thy profession, I see, has made a knave of whom nature meant a fool. Well, I am now convinced ‘Tis less difficult to raise a fortune than to find one worthy to inherit it.
AIR XII. The Yorkshire ballad.
BLISTER. Had your daughter been physicked well, sir, as she ought,
With
bleeding, and blistering, and vomit and draught.
This footman had never been once in her thought,
With his Down, down, &c.
COUPEE. Had pretty Miss been at a dancing-school bred,
Complete Fictional Works of Henry Fielding Page 320