Complete Fictional Works of Henry Fielding

by Henry Fielding

  PROSERPINE. I am glad they behave so well. Dear Eurydice, I wish you a good journey with all my heart, and hope to see you soon again.

  EURYDICE. The first moment it is in my power, I assure your majesty.

  PLUTO. Friend Orpheus, farewell, I give thee thy wife with greater pleasure, since I hope, as thou hast come hither now to get her, thou wilt return hither shortly to get rid of her. [Exeunt Pluto, Proserpine, Captain Weazel, and Mr. Spindle.

  EURYDICE. Well, sir, and so I must take a trip with you to the other world. How was it possible you could come hither to fetch me back when I was dead, who had so often wished me here, while alive?

  ORPHEUS. Those were only the sudden blasts of passion. Besides, as is the common fate of mortals, I never knew my happiness till I lost it.

  EURYDICE. And was you then really concerned for me?

  ORPHEUS. Yes, my dear, and I think you was so for me; your tears at our parting gave me sufficient assurance.

  EURYDICE. Ha, ha, ha! I was afraid of dying, child, that was all. Upon my word, my dear, parting with thee was all the little comfort I had.

  ORPHEUS. Did you desire it then?

  EURYDICE. Most heartily, upon my word. I seldom prayed for any thing else.

  ORPHEUS. Why, did we not live comfortably together?

  EURYDICE. O very comfortably. Did you not leave me to run after the golden fleece?

  ORPHEUS. Nay, if you come to that, did you not ran away from me, and stay at Thebes by yourself a whole winter?

  EURYDICE. And did not you keep a mistress in my absence, when you might have come to me?

  ORPHEUS. Did not you spend in diversions and play what should have kept your family?

  EURYDICE. And did you not spend on mistresses what should have kept your wife?

  ORPHEUS. Was not you almost eternally in the vapours?

  EURYDICE. And was not you the occasion of my vapours? Did not you kill my favourite monkey, because I would not dance with that rake, Hercules, and the rest of your brother Argonauts?

  ORPHEUS. You have dined with that rake Hercules when I have not been by, I believe; and did not you crack one of my best fiddles, only because I would not dance with that coquet Miss Atalanta, and the rest of your flirts?

  EURYDICE. You have danced with her in private, I fancy; and I would break your fiddle again, sir, on the same occasion.

  ORPHEUS. And I would see you and your monkey at the devil, if you affronted my friends.

  EURYDICE. Ha, ha, ha! Then you would come after me again, as you have now; ha, ha, ha!

  ORPHEUS. Nay, do not laugh so immoderately.

  EURYDICE. How can I avoid it at this comfortable state of life which you are so fond of as to desire over again?

  ORPHEUS. But experience might teach us to amend our faults for the future.

  EURYDICE. Experience rather ought to teach us the impossibility of such an amendment: for if we could have learnt so, we might have learnt from the examples of others, when we were first married, and from our own in a short time; but I never perceived any better effect from the remembrance of a past quarrel than the working up a new one. Could experience cure folly, men would not want that cure very early in life.

  AIR VI.

  If men from experience a lesson could reap,

  To fly from the folly they’d seen,

  What madman at forty a mistress would keep,

  What woman would love at eighteen!

  What woman, &e.

  The levées of statesmen and courts of the law,

  Boys only would haunt very soon;

  And all married broils to conclusion would draw,

  At the end of the sweet honey-moon.

  At the end, &c.

  So if you have a mind to improve and profit by your own experience, e’en look back at the third step, and return single as you came.

  ORPHEUS. No, I will be so complacent, that I had rather prove your hypothesis than my own.

  EURYDICE. Then, pray, set out: In those last words of yours matrimony seemed to begin again: for to refuse his wife with civility is the true complacence of a husband — So, a good journey to us.

  AIR VII.

  Turn, O turn thee, dearest creature.

  Turn, O turn, dear, do not fly me;

  I could ever thus hold out:

  If you loved, you’d not deny me;

  If you loved, you’d look about.

  [Exit, she following.

  SCENE. — The tanks of the River Styx.

  [They call Charon several times without.]

  AUTHOR. So now Charon is ont of the way, and the audience will be put out of humour.

  CRITIC. But pray, sir, why does Orpheus talk sometimes in Recitativo, and sometimes out of it?

  AUTHOR. Why, sir, I do not care to tire the audience with too much Recitativo; I observe they go to sleep at it at an opera. Besides, you may give yourself a good reason why he leaves off singing: for I think his wife may very well be supposed to put him out of tune — Are you satisfied?

  CRITIC. I could ask another question. — Why have you made the devil hen-pecked?

  AUTHOR. Sir, you know where I have laid the scene, and how could hell be better represented than by supposing the people under petticoat government? — But O! Charon is come at last.

  Enter CHARON and MACCAHONE.

  CHARON. You, Mr. Maccahone, will you please to pay me my fare?

  MACCAHONE. Ay, fet would I with all my shoule, but honey, I did die not worth a sixpence, and that I did leave behind me.

  CHARON. Sir, if you do not pay me, I shall carry you back again.

  MACCAHONE. To my own country? Arrah do, honey. Uboboo! what a shoy it will be to my relations, that are now singing an anthem called the Irish Howl over me, to see me alive when they know that I am dead.

  CHARON. If you do not pay your fare, I shall carry you to the other side of the river, where you shall wander on the banks a thousand years.

  MACCAHONE. Shall I? what, where I did see half a dozen gentlemen walking alone? Uboboo! upon my shoule, the laugh is coming upon my face.

  CHARON. Pr’ythee, what dost thou laugh at?

  MACCAHONE. I laugh to think how I will bite you.

  CHARON. What wilt thou do?

  MACCAHONE. Upon my shoule, I will get a bridge and swim over upon it, and I will send upon the post to the other world to buy a bridge, and I know where I can buy one very cheap; and when there is a bridge, I believe no one will come into your boat that can go over the water upon dry land.

  CHARON. Here, take this fellow, some of you, and ferry him back again, where he shall stay till his bridge is built. But whom have we here? I suppose the couple who are by Pluto’s special order to be ferried over to the other side.

  Enter ORPHEUS and EURYDICE.

  ORPHEUS. If you please, Mr. Charon, to prepare your boat. I suppose you have received your orders?

  CHARON. Master, the boat is just gone over, it will be back again instantly. I wish you would be so good in the mean time, master, to give us one of your Italian catches.

  ORPHEUS. Why, dost thou love music then, friend Charon?

  CHARON. Yes, fags! blaster, I do. It went to my heart t’ other day, that I did not dare ferry over Signior Quaverino.

  ORPHEUS. Why didst thou not dare?

  CHARON. I don’t know, sir; Judge Rhadamanthus said it was against the law; for that nobody was to come into this country but men and women; and that the signior was neither the one nor the other.

  ORPHEUS. Your lawyers, I suppose, have strange quirks here in hell?

  CHARON. Nay, for that matter they are pretty much the same here as on earth.

  EURYDICE. Help, help, I shall be drowned, I shall be drowned!

  ORPHEUS. [Turning.] Ha! Eurydice’s voice!

  EURYDICE. O, unlucky misfortune! why would you look behind you, when you knew the queen’s command?

  ORPHEUS. Thou wicked woman, why wouldst thou tempt me?

  EURYDICE. How unreasonable is that, to lay the blam
e on me! Can I help my fears? You know I was always inclined to be hysterical: but it is like you, to lay the blame on me, when you know yourself to be guilty; when you know you are tired of me already, and looked back purposely to lose me.

  ORPHEUS. And dost thou accuse me?

  EURYDICE. I don’t accuse you. I need not accuse you. Your own wicked conscience must do it. Oh! had you loved like me, you could have borne to have gone a million of miles. I am sure, I could have gone farther, and never once have looked back upon you. [Pretending to cry.

  ORPHEUS. Curst accident: but still we may go on. Proserpine can never know it.

  EURYDICE. [Speaking Irish] No, I promised to return the moment you looked back; and a woman of honour must keep her promise, though it be to leave her husband.

  AIR VIII.

  Farewell, my dear,

  Since fate severe,

  Has cut us twice in twain.

  ORPHEUS. Say not farewell,

  I’ll back to hell,

  And sing thee back again.

  EURYDICE. No, Orpheus, no

  You shall not go.

  ORPHEUS. And must we, must we part?

  EURYDICE. We must away,

  For if you stay,

  Indeed, ‘twill break my heart.

  Your servant, dear,

  I downward steer,

  You upward to the light;

  Take no more leave,

  For I must grieve,

  Till you are out of sight.

  CHARON. Come, Master Orpheus, never take it to heart: but e’en part as merrily as your lady did. I believe the devil would be very glad to go with you, if he could leave his wife behind him.

  ORPHEUS. (Recitativo.)

  Ungrateful, barbarous woman!

  Infernal Stygian monster!

  Henceforth mankind

  I’ll teach to hate the sex.

  AIR IX.

  If a husband henceforth, who has buried his wife,

  Of Pluto request her again brought to life:

  Pluto, grant his request as he enters thy portal,

  And Jove, for his comfort,

  And Jove, for his comfort,

  O make her, O make her, O make her immortal!

  AUTHOR. There, now the audience must stay a little, while the grave scene is preparing. Pray, Mr. Chetwood, hasten things as much as possible.

  CRITIC. I see Mr. Orpheus is come to his Recitativo again.

  AUTHOR. Yes, sir, just as he lost his senses. I wish our opera composers could give as good a reason for their

  Recitativo.

  CRITIC. What, would you have them bring nothing but mad people together into their operas?

  AUTHOR. Sir, if they did not bring abundance of mad people together into their operas, they would not be able to subsist long at the extravagant prices they do, nor their singers to keep useless mistresses; which, by the bye, is a very ingenious burlesque on our taste.

  CRITIC. Ay, how so?

  AUTHOR. Why, sir, for an English people to support an extravagant Italian opera, of which they understand nor relish neither the sense nor the sound, is as heartily ridiculous and much of a piece with an eunuch’s keeping a mistress: nor do I know whether this ability is more despised by his mistress, or our taste by our singers.

  CRITIC. Hush, hush! don’t disturb the play!

  SCENE. — PLUTO’S Court.

  PLUTO, CAPTAIN WEAZEL, MR. SPINDLE.

  PLUTO. Well, Mr. Spindle, pray how do you like your way of living here?

  MR. SPINDLE. Upon my word, may it please your majesty, it is so very like the life I used to lead, that I can scarce perceive any difference, unless (I hope your majesty will not be offended) I think you are not quite so wicked here as we used to be in the other world.

  PLUTO. Why, truly, that is what I am afraid of, Mr. Spindle, and that is what I regret very much: but I know no remedy for it; for as it is impossible to make the people here worse, so I believe it is impracticable to make them there better. (How little these wretches know, that the vices which were their pleasures in the other world, are their punishment here; and that the most vicious man needs scarce any other punishment than that of being confined to his vice!)

  [Aside.

  AUTHOR. There, sir! There is morality for you out of the mouth of the devil, if that be not à fuco dare lucem, let another handle the pen for me.

  MR. SPINDLE. One vice in particular, that we excel you in, is hypocrisy.

  CAPTAIN WEAZEL. It cannot be otherwise; for as his diabolical majesty is known to have such an antipathy to virtue, you may be certain, no one here will affect it.

  PLUTO. Why not? I am no enemy to the affectation of it; and if they were to counterfeit never so nicely, they might depend on it I should see through them. But ha! my wife and Eurydice!

  Enter PROSERPINE and EURYDICE.

  PROSERPINE. Yes, sir, the gentleman could not stay, it seems, till he got home; but looked back on his treasure, and so forfeited it.

  EURYDICE. And yet, I took all the pains in my power to prevent it, continually entreating him to look forward, frightened out of my wits every step, lest he should see me by a side glance, and yet all would not do; he would [sobbing], he would look back upon me, and so I have lost him for ever.

  PLUTO. Be comforted, madam.

  EURYDICE. It is in your power to comfort me.

  PLUTO. And be assured, it is in my will.

  EURYDICE. Then you must promise me never to send me back: for, truly, there is [composed] so much pain in parting, that since it must happen, I am resolved never to see my husband again, if I can help it.

  PROSERPINE. Be easy; for by Styx, he never shall send you back!

  MR. SPINDLE. However, there is some hypocrisy here, I find. [Aside to Weazel.

  CAPTAIN WEAZEL. Ay, among the women.

  PROSERPINE. Well, my dear Eurydice, I am so pleased to see you returned, that I will celebrate a holiday in all my dominions. Let Tantalus drink, and take Ixion off the wheel. Let every one’s punishment be remitted a whole day. Do you hear, husband? what are you thinking of? — Do you take care and signify my pleasure?

  PLUTO. I shall, my dear. Do you hear, all of you? It is my wife’s pleasure that you should all keep holiday.

  PROSERPINE. And harkye, sir, I desire you would wave your wand, and conjure back some of your devils that dance at the play-houses in the other world.

  PLUTO. My dear, I will obey your commands.

  PROSERPINE. You see, my dear Eurydice, the manner in which I live with my husband. He settled one half of the government on me at my marriage, and I have, thank fate, pretty well worked him out of the other half: thus I make myself some little amends for his immortality.

  EURYDICE. And sure a wife ought to have some amends made her for such a terrible circumstance.

  PLUTO. My dear, the dancers are come.

  EURYDICE. Well, I am quite charmed with your majesty’s behaviour to a husband.

  PROSERPINE. And I am so charmed with yours, that you shall henceforth be my chief favourite.

  A GRAND DANCE.

  CHORUS.

  EUR. From lessons like these

  You may if you please,

  Good husbands, learn to be civil;

  For you find ‘Tis in vain

  To wish for us again.

  When once we are gone to the devil.

  PROS. At each little pet,

  Do not quarrel and fret,

  And wish your wives dead, for I tell you,

  If they once touch this shore,

  You shall have them no more,

  Though to fetch them you send Farinello.

  PLUTO. Attend to Old Nick,

  Ye brethren that stick

  Like me in Hymen’s fast fetters;

  If you’d lead quiet lives,

  Give way to your wives,

  As you see must be done by your betters.

  CHORUS. Attend to Old Nick,

  Ye brethren that stick

  Like him in Hymen’s fast fetters;
>
  If you’d lead quiet lives,

  Give way to your wives,

  As you see must be done by your betters.

  THE HISTORICAL REGISTER FOR THE YEAR 173 6

  Published in 1737 by William W. Appleton, this play forms a denunciation of contemporary society and politics, satirising politicians, prominent members of ‘good’ society and the more influential figures of the London theatre of the time. The play was soon censored, causing much controversy. It was owing to such satires that Prime Minister Robert Walpole’s government in 1737 introduced a Licensing Act for the theatre, which put drama under the direct control of the Lord Chamberlain - a law that was not changed until 1968. This censorship has been blamed for the decline of drama in the 18th century and the end of Fielding’s own career as a playwright.