Should you expect to hear this lady preach?
Is grey experience suited to her youth?
Do solemn sentiments become that mouth?
Bid her be grave, those lips should rebel prove
To every theme that slanders mirth or love.
Yet, thus adorn’d with every graceful art
To charm the fancy and yet reach the heart —
Must we displace her? And instead advance
The goddess of the woful countenance —
The sentimental Muse! — Her emblems view,
The Pilgrim’s Progress, and a sprig of rue!
View her — too chaste to look like flesh and blood —
Primly portray’d on emblematic wood!
There, fix’d in usurpation, should she stand,
She’ll snatch the dagger from her sister’s hand:
And having made her votaries weep a flood,
Good heaven! she’ll end her comedies in blood —
Bid Harry Woodward break poor Dunstal’s crown!
Imprison Quick, and knock Ned Shuter down;
While sad Barsanti, weeping o’er the scene,
Shall stab herself — or poison Mrs. Green.
Such dire encroachments to prevent in time,
Demands the critic’s voice — the poet’s rhyme.
Can our light scenes add strength to holy laws!
Such puny patronage but hurts the cause:
Fair virtue scorns our feeble aid to ask;
And moral truth disdains the trickster’s mask
For here their favourite stands, whose brow severe
And sad, claims youth’s respect, and pity’s tear;
Who, when oppress’d by foes her worth creates,
Can point a poniard at the guilt she hates.
ACT I
Scene I.
A street. [Enter THOMAS; he crosses the stage; FAG follows, looking after him.]
FAG
What! Thomas! sure ’tis he? — What! Thomas! Thomas!
THOMAS
Hey! — Odd’s life! Mr. Fag! — give us your hand, my old fellow-servant.
FAG Excuse my glove, Thomas: — I’m devilish glad to see you, my lad. Why, my prince of charioteers, you look as hearty! — but who the deuce thought of seeing you in Bath?
THOMAS Sure, master, Madam Julia, Harry, Mrs. Kate, and the postillion, be all come.
FAG
Indeed!
THOMAS Ay, master thought another fit of the gout was coming to make him a visit; — so he’d a mind to gi’t the slip, and whip! we were all off at an hour’s warning.
FAG
Ay, ay, hasty in every thing, or it would not be Sir Anthony Absolute!
THOMAS But tell us, Mr. Fag, how does young master? Odd! Sir Anthony will stare to see the Captain here!
FAG
I do not serve Captain Absolute now.
THOMAS
Why sure!
FAG
At present I am employed by Ensign Beverley.
THOMAS
I doubt, Mr. Fag, you ha’n’t changed for the better.
FAG
I have not changed, Thomas.
THOMAS
No! Why didn’t you say you had left young master?
FAG No. — Well, honest Thomas, I must puzzle you no farther: — briefly then — Captain Absolute and Ensign Beverley are one and the same person.
THOMAS
The devil they are!
FAG So it is indeed, Thomas; and the ensign half of my master being on guard at present — the captain has nothing to do with me.
THOMAS So, so! — What, this is some freak, I warrant! — Do tell us, Mr. Fag, the meaning o’t — you know I ha’ trusted you.
FAG
You’ll be secret, Thomas?
THOMAS
As a coach-horse.
FAG Why then the cause of all this is — Love, — Love, Thomas, who (as you may get read to you) has been a masquerader ever since the days of Jupiter.
THOMAS Ay, ay; — I guessed there was a lady in the case: — but pray, why does your master pass only for ensign? — Now if he had shammed general indeed ——
FAG Ah! Thomas, there lies the mystery o’ the matter. Hark’ee, Thomas, my master is in love with a lady of a very singular taste: a lady who likes him better as a half pay ensign than if she knew he was son and heir to Sir Anthony Absolute, a baronet of three thousand a year.
THOMAS That is an odd taste indeed! — But has she got the stuff, Mr. Fag? Is she rich, hey?
FAG Rich! — Why, I believe she owns half the stocks! Zounds! Thomas, she could pay the national debt as easily as I could my washerwoman! She has a lapdog that eats out of gold, — she feeds her parrot with small pearls, — and all her thread-papers are made of bank-notes!
THOMAS Bravo, faith! — Odd! I warrant she has a set of thousands at least: — but does she draw kindly with the captain?
FAG
As fond as pigeons.
THOMAS
May one hear her name?
FAG Miss Lydia Languish. — But there is an old tough aunt in the way; though, by-the-by, she has never seen my master — for we got acquainted with miss while on a visit in Gloucestershire.
THOMAS
Well — I wish they were once harnessed together in matrimony. — But pray,
Mr. Fag, what kind of a place is this Bath? — I ha’ heard a deal of
it — here’s a mort o’ merrymaking, hey?
FAG Pretty well, Thomas, pretty well— ’tis a good lounge; in the morning we go to the pump-room (though neither my master nor I drink the waters); after breakfast we saunter on the parades, or play a game at billiards; at night we dance; but damn the place, I’m tired of it: their regular hours stupify me — not a fiddle nor a card after eleven! — However, Mr. Faulkland’s gentleman and I keep it up a little in private parties; — I’ll introduce you there, Thomas — you’ll like him much.
THOMAS
Sure I know Mr. Du-Peigne — you know his master is to marry Madam Julia.
FAG
I had forgot. — But, Thomas, you must polish a little — indeed you
must. — Here now — this wig! — What the devil do you do with a wig,
Thomas? — None of the London whips of any degree of ton wear wigs now.
THOMAS More’s the pity! more’s the pity! I say. — Odd’s life! when I heard how the lawyers and doctors had took to their own hair, I thought how ’twould go next: — odd rabbit it! when the fashion had got foot on the bar, I guessed ’twould mount to the box! — but ’tis all out of character, believe me, Mr. Fag: and look’ee, I’ll never gi’ up mine — the lawyers and doctors may do as they will.
FAG
Well, Thomas, we’ll not quarrel about that.
THOMAS Why, bless you, the gentlemen of the professions ben’t all of a mind — for in our village now, thoff Jack Gauge, the exciseman, has ta’en to his carrots, there’s little Dick the farrier swears he’ll never forsake his bob, though all the college should appear with their own heads!
FAG
Indeed! well said, Dick! — But hold — mark! mark! Thomas.
THOMAS
Zooks! ’tis the captain. — Is that the Lady with him?
FAG No, no, that is Madam Lucy, my master’s mistress’s maid. They lodge at that house — but I must after him to tell him the news.
THOMAS
Odd! he’s giving her money! — Well, Mr. Fag ——
FAG Good-bye, Thomas. I have an appointment in Gyde’s porch this evening at eight; meet me there, and we’ll make a little party.
[Exeunt severally.]
Scene II.
A Dressing-room in Mrs. MALAPROP’s Lodgings. [LYDIA sitting on a sofa, with a book in her hand. Lucy, as just returned from a message.]
LUCY Indeed, ma’am, I traversed half the town in search of it: I don’t believe there’s a circulating library in Bath I ha’n’t been at.
LYDIA
And
could not you get The Reward of Constancy?
LUCY
No, indeed, ma’am.
LYDIA
Nor The Fatal Connexion?
LUCY
No, indeed, ma’am.
LYDIA
Nor The Mistakes of the Heart?
LUCY Ma’am, as ill luck would have it, Mr. Bull said Miss Sukey Saunter had just fetched it away.
LYDIA
Heigh-ho! — Did you inquire for The Delicate Distress?
LUCY Or, The Memoirs of Lady Woodford? Yes, indeed, ma’am. I asked every where for it; and I might have brought it from Mr. Frederick’s, but Lady Slattern Lounger, who had just sent it home, had so soiled and dog’s-eared it, it wa’n’t fit for a Christian to read.
LYDIA Heigh-ho! — Yes, I always know when Lady Slattern has been before me. She has a most observing thumb; and, I believe, cherishes her nails for the convenience of making marginal notes. — Well, child, what have you brought me?
LUCY Oh! here, ma’am. — [Taking books from under her cloak, and from her pockets.] This is The Gordian Knot, — and this Peregrine Pickle. Here are The Tears of Sensibility, and Humphrey Clinker. This is The Memoirs of a Lady of Quality, written by herself, and here the second volume of The Sentimental Journey.
LYDIA
Heigh-ho! — What are those books by the glass?
LUCY The great one is only The Whole Duty of Man, where I press a few blonds, ma’am.
LYDIA
Very well — give me the sal volatile.
LUCY
Is it in a blue cover, ma’am?
LYDIA
My smelling-bottle, you simpleton!
LUCY
Oh, the drops! — here, ma’am.
LYDIA
Hold! — here’s some one coming — quick, see who it is. ——
[Exit LUCY.]
Surely I heard my cousin Julia’s voice.
[Re-enter LUCY.]
LUCY
Lud! ma’am, here is Miss Melville.
LYDIA
Is it possible! ——
[Exit LUCY.]
[Enter JULIA.]
LYDIA My dearest Julia, how delighted am I! — [Embrace.] How unexpected was this happiness!
JULIA True, Lydia — and our pleasure is the greater. — But what has been the matter? — you were denied to me at first!
LYDIA Ah, Julia, I have a thousand things to tell you! — But first inform me what has conjured you to Bath? — Is Sir Anthony here?
JULIA He is — we are arrived within this hour — and I suppose he will be here to wait on Mrs. Malaprop as soon as he is dressed.
LYDIA Then before we are interrupted, let me impart to you some of my distress! — I know your gentle nature will sympathize with me, though your prudence may condemn me! My letters have informed you of my whole connection with Beverley; but I have lost him, Julia! My aunt has discovered our intercourse by a note she intercepted, and has confined me ever since! Yet, would you believe it? she has absolutely fallen in love with a tall Irish baronet she met one night since we have been here, at Lady Macshuffle’s rout.
JULIA
You jest, Lydia!
LYDIA No, upon my word. — She really carries on a kind of correspondence with him, under a feigned name though, till she chooses to be known to him: — but it is a Delia or a Celia, I assure you.
JULIA
Then, surely, she is now more indulgent to her niece.
LYDIA Quite the contrary. Since she has discovered her own frailty, she is become more suspicious of mine. Then I must inform you of another plague! — That odious Acres is to be in Bath to-day; so that I protest I shall be teased out of all spirits!
JULIA Come, come, Lydia, hope for the best — Sir Anthony shall use his interest with Mrs. Malaprop.
LYDIA But you have not heard the worst. Unfortunately I had quarrelled with my poor Beverley, just before my aunt made the discovery, and I have not seen him since, to make it up.
JULIA
What was his offence?
LYDIA Nothing at all! — But, I don’t know how it was, as often as we had been together, we had never had a quarrel, and, somehow, I was afraid he would never give me an opportunity. So, last Thursday, I wrote a letter to myself, to inform myself that Beverley was at that time paying his addresses to another woman. I signed it your friend unknown, showed it to Beverley, charged him with his falsehood, put myself in a violent passion, and vowed I’d never see him more.
JULIA
And you let him depart so, and have not seen him since?
LYDIA ’Twas the next day my aunt found the matter out. I intended only to have teased him three days and a half, and now I’ve lost him for ever.
JULIA If he is as deserving and sincere as you have represented him to me, he will never give you up so. Yet consider, Lydia, you tell me he is but an ensign, and you have thirty thousand pounds.
LYDIA But you know I lose most of my fortune if I marry without my aunt’s consent, till of age; and that is what I have determined to do, ever since I knew the penalty. Nor could I love the man who would wish to wait a day for the alternative.
JULIA
Nay, this is caprice!
LYDIA What, does Julia tax me with caprice? — I thought her lover Faulkland had inured her to it.
JULIA
I do not love even his faults.
LYDIA
But apropos — you have sent to him, I suppose?
JULIA
Not yet, upon my word — nor has he the least idea of my being in Bath.
Sir Anthony’s resolution was so sudden, I could not inform him of it.
LYDIA Well, Julia, you are your own mistress, (though under the protection of Sir Anthony), yet have you, for this long year, been a slave to the caprice, the whim, the jealousy of this ungrateful Faulkland, who will ever delay assuming the right of a husband, while you suffer him to be equally imperious as a lover.
JULIA Nay, you are wrong entirely. We were contracted before my father’s death. That, and some consequent embarrassments, have delayed what I know to be my Faulkland’s most ardent wish. He is too generous to trifle on such a point: — and for his character, you wrong him there, too. No, Lydia, he is too proud, too noble to be jealous; if he is captious, ’tis without dissembling; if fretful, without rudeness. Unused to the fopperies of love, he is negligent of the little duties expected from a lover — but being unhackneyed in the passion, his affection is ardent and sincere; and as it engrosses his whole soul, he expects every thought and emotion of his mistress to move in unison with his. Yet, though his pride calls for this full return, his humility makes him undervalue those qualities in him which would entitle him to it; and not feeling why he should be loved to the degree he wishes, he still suspects that he is not loved enough. This temper, I must own, has cost me many unhappy hours; but I have learned to think myself his debtor, for those imperfections which arise from the ardour of his attachment.
LYDIA Well, I cannot blame you for defending him. But tell me candidly, Julia, had he never saved your life, do you think you should have been attached to him as you are? — Believe me, the rude blast that overset your boat was a prosperous gale of love to him.
JULIA Gratitude may have strengthened my attachment to Mr. Faulkland, but I loved him before he had preserved me; yet surely that alone were an obligation sufficient.
LYDIA Obligation! why a water spaniel would have done as much! — Well, I should never think of giving my heart to a man because he could swim.
JULIA
Come, Lydia, you are too inconsiderate.
LYDIA
Nay, I do but jest. — What’s here?
[Re-enter LUCY in a hurry.]
LUCY
O ma’am, here is Sir Anthony Absolute just come home with your aunt.
LYDIA
They’ll not come here. — Lucy, do you watch.
[Exit LUCY.]
JULIA Yet I must go. Sir Anthony does not know I am here, and if we meet, he
’ll detain me, to show me the town. I’ll take another opportunity of paying my respects to Mrs. Malaprop, when she shall treat me, as long as she chooses, with her select words so ingeniously misapplied, without being mispronounced.
[Re-enter LUCY.]
LUCY
O Lud! ma’am, they are both coming up stairs.
LYDIA Well, I’ll not detain you, coz. — Adieu, my dear Julia. I’m sure you are in haste to send to Faulkland. — There — through my room you’ll find another staircase.
JULIA
Adieu! [Embraces LYDIA, and exit.]
LYDIA Here, my dear Lucy, hide these books. Quick, quick! — Fling Peregrine Pickle under the toilet — throw Roderick Random into the closet — put The Innocent Adultery into The Whole Duty of Man — thrust Lord Aimworth under the sofa — cram Ovid behind the bolster — there — put The Man of Feeling into your pocket — so, so — now lay Mrs. Chapone in sight, and leave Fordyce’s Sermons open on the table.
LUCY
O burn it, ma’am! the hair-dresser has torn away as far as Proper
Pride.
LYDIA
Never mind — open at Sobriety. — Fling me Lord Chesterfields
Letters. — Now for ’em.
[Exit LUCY.]
[Enter Mrs. MALAPROP, and Sir ANTHONY ABSOLUTE.]
Mrs. MALAPROP There, Sir Anthony, there sits the deliberate simpleton who wants to disgrace her family, and lavish herself on a fellow not worth a shilling.
LYDIA
Madam, I thought you once ——
Mrs. MALAPROP You thought, miss! I don’t know any business you have to think at all — thought does not become a young woman. But the point we would request of you is, that you will promise to forget this fellow — to illiterate him, I say, quite from your memory.
LYDIA Ah, madam! our memories are independent of our wills. It is not so easy to forget.
Mrs. MALAPROP But I say it is, miss; there is nothing on earth so easy as to forget, if a person chooses to set about it. I’m sure I have as much forgot your poor dear uncle as if he had never existed — and I thought it my duty so to do; and let me tell you, Lydia, these violent memories don’t become a young woman.
Sir ANTHONY Why sure she won’t pretend to remember what she’s ordered not! — ay, this comes of her reading!
LYDIA
What crime, madam, have I committed, to be treated thus?
Delphi Complete Works of Richard Brinsley Sheridan Page 2