Don. Louisa. Sir, in obedience to your commands, I gave him my hand within this hour.
Don Jer. My commands!
Don Ant. Yes, sir; here is your consent, under your own hand.
Don Jer. How! would you rob me of my child by a trick, a false pretence? and do you think to get her fortune by the same means? Why, ‘slife! you are as great a rogue as Isaac!
Don Ant. No, Don Jerome; though I have profited by this paper in gaining your daughter’s hand, I scorn to obtain her fortune by deceit. There, sir — [Gives a letter.] Now give her your blessing for a dower, and all the little I possess shall be settled on her in return. Had you wedded her to a prince, he could do no more.
Don Jer. Why, Gad, take me, but you are a very extraordinary fellow! But have you the impudence to suppose no one can do a generous action but yourself? Here, Louisa, tell this proud fool of yours that he’s the only man I know that would renounce your fortune; and, by my soul! he’s the only man in Spain that’s worthy of it. There, bless you both: I’m an obstinate old fellow when I’m in the wrong; but you shall now find me as steady in the right.
Enter DON FERDINAND and DONNA CLARA.
Another wonder still! Why, sirrah! Ferdinand, you have not stole a nun, have you?
Don Fred. She is a nun in nothing but her habit, sir — look nearer, and you will perceive ’tis Clara d’Almanza, Don Guzman’s daughter; and, with pardon for stealing a wedding, she is also my wife.
Don Jer. Gadsbud, and a great fortune! Ferdinand, you are a prudent young rogue, and I forgive you: and, ifecks, you are a pretty little damsel. Give your father-in-law a kiss, you smiling rogue!
Don. Clara. There, old gentleman; and now mind you behave well to us.
Don Jer. Ifecks, those lips ha’n’t been chilled by kissing beads! Egad, I believe I shall grow the best-humoured fellow in Spain. Lewis! Sancho! Carlos! d’ye hear? are all my doors thrown open? Our children’s weddings are the only holidays our age can boast; and then we drain, with pleasure, the little stock of spirits time has left us. — [Music within.] But, see, here come our friends and neighbours!
Enter MASQUERADERS.
And, i’faith, we’ll make a night on’t, with wine, and dance, and catches — then old and young shall join us.
FINALE.
Don Jer.
Come now for jest and smiling,
Both old and young beguiling,
Let us laugh and play, so blithe and gay,
Till we banish care away.
Don. Louisa.
Thus crown’d with dance and song,
The hours shall glide along,
With a heart at ease, merry, merry glees
Can never fail to please.
Don Ferd.
Each bride with blushes glowing,
Our wine as rosy flowing,
Let us laugh and play, so blithe and gay,
Till we banish care away.
Don Ant.
Then healths to every friend
The night’s repast shall end,
With a heart at ease, merry, merry glees
Can never fail to please.
Don. Clar.
Nor, while we are so joyous,
Shall anxious fear annoy us;
Let us laugh and play, so blithe and gay,
Till we banish care away.
Don Jer.
For generous guests like these
Accept the wish to please,
So we’ll laugh and play, so blithe and gay,
Your smiles drive care away.
[Exeunt omnes.]
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH
A Trip to Scarborough was first performed on 24 February 1777 at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. In 1776, at only twenty-five, Sheridan acquired a stake in the theatre when he and his father-in-law purchased David Garrick’s share of Drury Lane. Garrick was a famous actor, playwright, theatre owner and manager who made his professional stage debut in Aphra Behn’s, Oroonoko. In 1747, five years after joining the Drury Lane acting company, he bought a share in the theatre and became its manager. Sheridan was keen to have a successful first season and he began to look for works to produce for the start of 1777.
He decided to write a play based on John Vanbrugh’s The Relapse, a Restoration comedy first staged in 1696. Vanbrugh’s play was a sequel to Colley Cibber’s, Love’s Last Shift, which had been staged earlier the same year. Cibber’s work marked a shift away from the bawdy, licentious nature of Restoration comedies, to a mood of moral piety and conservatism. The Relapse was a riposte to Cibber’s Sentimental comedy, as it told the story of the ‘relapse’ of the reformed rakish husband featured in Love’s Last Shift. By the late eighteenth century, the sexual permissiveness that characterised Restoration comedies was deemed improper and immoral, so Sheridan’s reworking of The Relapse removed the more risqué and ribald aspects of the play.
A Trip to Scarborough is centred on Tom Fashion, who arrives in Scarborough hoping to be able to beg for money from his rich, older brother, Lord Foppington. He devises a plan to marry his brother’s wealthy fiancée and acquire her fortune. He is aided in his plan by his friend Colonel Townly and an acquaintance called Loveless, who is seeking revenge against Foppington for seducing his wife. After the initial run, there was little real interest in the play, until Alan Ayckbourn adapted and revised it for his 1982 work of the same name. Ayckbourn took great liberties with Sheridan’s play and crafted a unique and distinctive comedy for the twentieth century.
The 1793 edition
CONTENTS
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
PROLOGUE SPOKEN BY MR. KING
ACT I.
SCENE I.
SCENE II.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
ACT III.
SCENE I.
SCENE II.
SCENE III.
SCENE IV.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
SCENE II.
SCENE III.
ACT V.
SCENE I.
SCENE II.
Mr Brown as Lord Foppington, 1824
Scarborough from the Spa by H.B. Carter, late eighteenth century
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
AS ORIGINALLY ACTED AT DRURY LANE THEATRE IN 1777
LORD FOPPINGTON Mr. Dodd.
SIR TUNBELLY CLUMSY Mr. Moody.
COLONEL TOWNLY Mr. Brereton.
LOVELESS Mr. Smith.
TOM FASHION Mr. J. Palmer.
LA VAROLE Mr. Burton.
LORY Mr. Baddeley.
PROBE Mr. Parsons.
MENDLEGS Mr. Norris.
JEWELLER Mr. Lamash
SHOEMAKER Mr. Carpenter.
TAILOR Mr. Parker.
AMANDA Mrs. Robinson.
BERINTHIA Miss Farren.
MISS HOYDEN Mrs. Abington.
MRS. COUPLER Mrs. Booth.
NURSE Mrs. Bradshaw.
Sempstress, Postilion, Maid, and Servants.
SCENE — SCARBOROUGH AND ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD.
PROLOGUE SPOKEN BY MR. KING
What various transformations we remark,
From east Whitechapel to the west Hyde Park!
Men, women, children, houses, signs, and fashions,
State, stage, trade, taste, the humours and the passions;
The Exchange, ’Change Alley, wheresoe’er you’re ranging,
Court, city, country, all are changed or changing
The streets, some time ago, were paved with stones,
Which, aided by a hackney-coach, half broke your bones.
The purest lovers then indulged in bliss;
They ran great hazard if they stole a kiss.
One chaste salute! — the damsel cried — Oh, fie!
As they approach’d — slap went the coach awry —
Poor Sylvia got a bump, and Damon a black eye.
But now weak nerves in hackney-coaches roam,
And the cramm’d glutton snores, unjolted, home;
Of former times, that p
olish’d thing a beau,
Is metamorphosed now from top to toe;
Then the full flaxen wig, spread o’er the shoulders,
Conceal’d the shallow head from the beholders.
But now the whole’s reversed — each fop appears,
Cropp’d and trimm’d up, exposing head and ears:
The buckle then its modest limits knew,
Now, like the ocean, dreadful to the view,
Hath broke its bounds, and swallowed up the shoe:
The wearer’s foot like his once fine estate,
Is almost lost, the encumbrance is so great.
Ladies may smile — are they not in the plot?
The bounds of nature have not they forgot?
Were they design’d to be, when put together,
Made up, like shuttlecocks, of cork and feather?
Their pale-faced grandmammas appeared with grace
When dawning blushes rose upon the face;
No blushes now their once-loved station seek;
The foe is in possession of the cheek!
No heads of old, too high in feather’d state,
Hinder’d the fair to pass the lowest gate;
A church to enter now, they must be bent,
If ever they should try the experiment.
As change thus circulates throughout the nation,
Some plays may justly call for alteration;
At least to draw some slender covering o’er,
That graceless wit
[Footnote: “And Van wants grace, who never wanted wit.”
— POPE.]
which was too bare before:
Those writers well and wisely use their pens,
Who turn our wantons into Magdalens;
And howsoever wicked wits revile ’em,
We hope to find in you their stage asylum.
ACT I.
SCENE I.
The Hall of an Inn.
Enter TOM FASHION and LORY, POSTILION following with a portmanteau.
Fash. Lory, pay the postboy, and take the portmanteau.
Lory. [Aside to TOM FASHION.] Faith, sir, we had better let the postboy take the portmanteau and pay himself.
Fash. [Aside to LORY.] Why, sure, there’s something left in it!
Lory. Not a rag, upon my honour, sir! We eat the last of your wardrobe at New Malton — and, if we had had twenty miles further to go, our next meal must have been of the cloak-bag.
Fash. Why, ‘sdeath, it appears full!
Lory. Yes, sir — I made bold to stuff it with hay, to save appearances, and look like baggage.
Fash. [Aside.] What the devil shall I do? — [Aloud.]
Hark’ee, boy, what’s the chaise?
Post. Thirteen shillings, please your honour.
Fash. Can you give me change for a guinea?
Post. Oh, yes, sir.
Lory. [Aside.] So, what will he do now? — [Aloud.]
Lord, sir, you had better let the boy be paid below.
Fash. Why, as you say, Lory, I believe it will be as well.
Lory. Yes, yes, I’ll tell them to discharge you below, honest friend.
Post. Please your honour, there are the turnpikes too.
Fash. Ay, ay, the turnpikes by all means.
Post. And I hope your honour will order me something for myself.
Fash. To be sure; bid them give you a crown.
Lory. Yes, yes — my master doesn’t care what you charge them — so get along, you —
Post. And there’s the ostler, your honour.
Lory. Psha! damn the ostler! — would you impose upon the gentleman’s generosity? — [Pushes him out.] A rascal, to be so cursed ready with his change!
Fash. Why, faith, Lory, he had nearly posed me.
Lory. Well, sir, we are arrived at Scarborough, not worth a guinea! I hope you’ll own yourself a happy man — you have outlived all your cares.
Fash. How so, sir?
Lory. Why, you have nothing left to take care of.
Fash. Yes, sirrah, I have myself and you to take care of still.
Lory. Sir, if you could prevail with somebody else to do that for you, I fancy we might both fare the better for it. But now, sir, for my Lord Foppington, your elder brother.
Fash. Damn my eldest brother.
Lory. With all my heart; but get him to redeem your annuity, however. Look you, sir; you must wheedle him, or you must starve.
Fash. Look you, sir; I would neither wheedle him, nor starve.
Lory. Why, what will you do, then?
Fash. Cut his throat, or get someone to do it for me.
Lory. Gad so, sir, I’m glad to find I was not so well acquainted with the strength of your conscience as with the weakness of your purse.
Fash. Why, art thou so impenetrable a blockhead as to believe he’ll help me with a farthing?
Lory. Not if you treat him de haut en bas, as you used to do.
Fash. Why, how wouldst have me treat him?
Lory. Like a trout — tickle him.
Fash. I can’t flatter.
Lory. Can you starve?
Fash. Yes.
Lory. I can’t. Good by t’ye, sir.
Fash. Stay — thou’lt distract me. But who comes here? My old friend, Colonel Townly.
Enter COLONEL TOWNLY.
My dear Colonel, I am rejoiced to meet you here.
Col. Town. Dear Tom, this is an unexpected pleasure! What, are you come to Scarborough to be present at your brother’s wedding?
Lory. Ah, sir, if it had been his funeral, we should have come with pleasure.
Col. Town. What, honest Lory, are you with your master still?
Lory. Yes, sir; I have been starving with him ever since I saw your honour last.
Fash. Why, Lory is an attached rogue; there’s no getting rid of him.
Lory. True, sir, as my master says, there’s no seducing me from his service. — [Aside.] Till he’s able to pay me my wages.
Fash. Go, go, sir, and take care of the baggage.
Lory. Yes, sir, the baggage! — O Lord! [Takes up the portmanteau.] I suppose, sir, I must charge the landlord to be very particular where he stows this?
Fash. Get along, you rascal. — [Exit LORY with the portmanteau.] But, Colonel, are you acquainted with my proposed sister-in-law?
Col. Town. Only by character. Her father, Sir Tunbelly
Clumsy, lives within a quarter of a mile of this place, in a lonely old house, which nobody comes near. She never goes abroad, nor sees company at home; to prevent all misfortunes, she has her breeding within doors; the parson of the parish teaches her to play upon the dulcimer, the clerk to sing, her nurse to dress, and her father to dance; — in short, nobody has free admission there but our old acquaintance, Mother Coupler, who has procured your brother this match, and is, I believe, a distant relation of Sir Tunbelly’s.
Fash. But is her fortune so considerable?
Col. Town. Three thousand a year, and a good sum of money, independent of her father, beside.
Fash. ‘Sdeath! that my old acquaintance, Dame Coupler, could not have thought of me, as well as my brother, for such a prize.
Col. Town. Egad, I wouldn’t swear that you are too late — his lordship, I know, hasn’t yet seen the lady — and, I believe, has quarrelled with his patroness.
Fash. My dear Colonel, what an idea have you started!
Col. Town. Pursue it, if you can, and I promise you shall have my assistance; for, besides my natural contempt for his lordship, I have at present the enmity of a rival towards him.
Fash. What, has he been addressing your old flame, the widow Berinthia?
Col. Town. Faith, Tom, I am at present most whimsically circumstanced. I came here a month ago to meet the lady you mention; but she failing in her promise, I, partly from pique and partly from idleness, have been diverting my chagrin by offering up incense to the beauties of Amanda, our friend Loveless’s wife.
Fash. I never have seen her, but have heard her
spoken of as a youthful wonder of beauty and prudence.
Col. Town. She is so indeed; and, Loveless being too careless and insensible of the treasure he possesses, my lodging in the same house has given me a thousand opportunities of making my assiduities acceptable; so that, in less than a fortnight, I began to bear my disappointment from the widow with the most
Christian resignation.
Fash. And Berinthia has never appeared?
Col. Town. Oh, there’s the perplexity! for, just as I began not to care whether I ever saw her again or not, last night she arrived.
Fash. And instantly resumed her empire.
Col. Town. No, faith — we met — but, the lady not condescending to give me any serious reasons for having fooled me for a month, I left her in a huff.
Fash. Well, well, I’ll answer for it she’ll soon resume her power, especially as friendship will prevent your pursuing the other too far. — But my coxcomb of a brother is an admirer of
Amanda’s too, is he?
Col. Town. Yes, and I believe is most heartily despised by her. But come with me, and you shall see her and your old friend
Loveless.
Fash. I must pay my respects to his lordship — perhaps you can direct me to his lodgings.
Col. Town. Come with me; I shall pass by it.
Fash. I wish you could pay this visit for me, or could tell me what I should say to him.
Col. Town. Say nothing to him — apply yourself to his bag, his sword, his feather, his snuff-box; and when you are well with them, desire him to lend you a thousand pounds, and I’ll engage you prosper.
Fash. ‘Sdeath and furies! why was that coxcomb thrust into the world before me? O Fortune, Fortune, thou art a jilt, by Gad!
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
LORD FOPPINGTON’S Dressing-room.
Enter LORD FOPPINGTON in his dressing-gown, and LA
VAROLE.
Lord Fop. [Aside.] Well,’tis an unspeakable pleasure to be a man of quality — strike me dumb! Even the boors of this northern spa have learned the respect due to a title. —
[Aloud.] La Varole!
La Var. Milor —
Lord Fop. You ha’n’t yet been at Muddymoat Hall, to announce my arrival, have you?
Delphi Complete Works of Richard Brinsley Sheridan Page 19