Let him that takes it, wear it for his own.
[B] Shews a cap with ears.
[C] Flings down the cap and
Exit.
Dramatis Personæ.
MEN.
Doctors:
Fossile, Mr. Johnson.
Possum, Mr. Corey.
Nautilus, Mr. Cross.
Fossile, Mr. Johnson.
Possum, Mr. Corey.
Nautilus, Mr. Cross.
Ptisan, . Mr. Wright.
Plotwell, Mr. Cibber.
Underplot, Mr. Penkethman.
Sir Tremendous, Mr. Bowman.
First Player, Mr. Diggs.
Second Player, Mr. Watson.
Sailor. Mr. Bickerstaff.
Footmen, Servants, &c.
WOMEN.
Mrs. Townley, Mrs. Oldfield.
Mrs. Phoebe Clinket, Mrs. Bicknet.
Sarsnet, Mrs. Garnet.
Prue, Miss Willis.
ACT I.
Enter Fossile, leading Townley.
Fos. Welcome, my bride, into the habitation of thy husband. The scruples of the parson ——
Town. And the fatigue of the ceremony ——
Foss. Are at last well over.
Town. These blank licences are wonderful commodious. —— The clergy have a noble command, in being rangers of the park of matrimony; produce but a warrant, and they deliver a lady into your possession: but I have no quarrel with them, since they have put me into so good hands.
Foss. I now proclaim a solemn suspension of arms between medicine and diseases. Let distempers suspend their malignant influence, and powders, pills, and potions their operations. Be this day sacred to my love. I had rather hold this hand of thine, than a dutchess by the pulse.
Town. And I this, than a hand of matadores.
Foss. Who knows but your relations may dispute my title to your person? come, my dear, the seal of the matrimonial bond is consummation.
Town. Alas! what will become of me!
Foss. Why are thy eyes fix’d on the ground? why so slow? and why this trembling?
Town. Ah! heedless creature that I was, to quit all my relations, and trust myself alone in the hands of a strange man.
Foss. Courage, thou best of my curiosities. Know that in husband, is comprehended all relations; in me thou seest a fond father.
Town. Old enough o’ my conscience.
[Aside.
Foss. You may, you must trust yourself with me.
Town. Do with me as you please: Yet sure you cannot so soon forget the office of the church. Marriage is not to be undertaken wantonly, like brute beasts. If you will transgress, the sin be upon your own head.
Foss. Great indeed is thy virtue, and laudable is thy modesty. Thou art a virgin, and I a philosopher; but learn, that no animal action, quatenus animal, is unbecoming of either of us. But hold! where am I going? Prithee, my dear, of what age art thou?
Town. Almost three and twenty.
Foss. And I almost at my grand climacterick. What occasion have I for a double-night at these years? She may be an Alcmena, but alas! I am no thunderer.
[Aside
Town. You seem somewhat disturb’d; I hope you are well, Mr. Fossile.
Foss. What business have I in the bed-chamber, when the symptoms of age are upon me? Yet hold, this is the famous corroborative of Crollius; in this vial are included sons and daughters. Oh, for a draught of the aqua magnanimitatis for a vehicle! fifty drops of liquid laudanum for her dose would but just put us upon a par. Laudanum would settle the present ataxy of her animal spirits, and prevent her being too watchful.
[aside
Enter a Servant.
Serv. Sir, your pistachoe-porridge is ready.
[Exit.
Foss. Now I think of it, my dear; Venus, which is in the first degree of Capricorn, does not culminate till ten; an hour if astrology is not fallible, successful in generation.
Town. I am all obedience, Sir.
Foss. How shall I reward thee for so much Goodness? let our wedding as yet be a secret in the family. In the mean time I’ll introduce my niece Phœbe Clinket to your acquaintance: but alas, the poor girl has a procidence of the pineal gland, which has occasioned a rupture in her understanding. I took her into my house to regulate my oeconomy; but instead of puddings, she makes pastorals; or when she should be raising paste, is raising some ghost in a new tragedy. In short, my house is haunted by all the underling players, broken booksellers, half-voic’d singing-masters, and disabled dancing-masters in town. In a former will I had left her my estate; but I now resolve that heirs of my own begetting shall inherit. Yonder she comes in her usual occupation. Let us mark her a while.
Enter Clinket and her maid bearing a writing-desk on her back. Clinket writing, her head dress stain’d with ink, and pens stuck in her hair.
Maid. I had as good carry a raree-show about the streets. Oh! how my back akes!
Clink. What are the labours of the back to those of the brain? thou scandal to the muses. I have now lost a thought worth a folio, by thy impertinance.
Maid. Have not I got a crick in my back already, that will make me good for nothing, with lifting your great books?
Clink. Folio’s, call them, and not great books, thou monster of impropriety: But have patience, and I will remember the three gallery-tickets I promis’d thee at my new tragedy.
Maid. I shall never get my head-cloaths clear-starch’d at this rate.
Clink. Thou destroyer of learning, thou worse than a book-worm; thou hast put me beyond all patience. Remember how my lyrick ode bound about a tallow-candle; thy wrapping up snuff in an epigram; nay, the unworthy usage of my hymn to Apollo, filthy creature! read me the last lines I writ upon the deluge, and take care to pronounce them as I taught you.
Maid. Swell’d with a dropsy, sickly nature lies,
And melting in a diabetes, dies.
[Reads with an affected tone.
Clink. Still without cadence!
Maid. Swell’d with a dropsy ——
Clink. Hold. I conceive ——
The roaring seas o’er the tall woods have broke,
And whales now perch upon the sturdy oak.
Roaring? stay. Rumbling, roaring, rustling, no; raging seas. [Writing.
The raging seas o’er the tall woods have broke,
Now perch, thou whale, upon the sturdy oak.
Sturdy oak? no; steady, strong, strapping, stiff. Stiff? no, stiff is too short.
Fossile and Townley come forward.
What feast for fish! Oh too luxurious treat!
When hungry dolphins feed on butchers meat.
Foss. Niece, why niece, niece? oh, Melpomene, thou goddess of tragedy, suspend thy influence for a moment, and suffer my niece to give me a rational answer. This lady is a friend of mine; her present circumstances oblige her to take sanctuary in my house; treat her with the utmost civility. Let the tea-table be made ready.
Clink. Madam, excuse this absence of mind; my animal spirits had deserted the avenues of my senses, and retired to the recesses of the brain, to contemplate a beautiful idea. I could not force the vagrant creatures back again into their posts, to move those parts of the body that express civility.
Town. A rare affected creature this! if I mistake not, flattery will make her an useful tool for my purpose.
[Aside.
[Exeunt Townley, Clinket, and Maid.
Foss. Her jewels, her strong box, and all her things left behind! if her uncle should discover her marriage, he may lay an embargo upon her goods. —— I’ll send for them.
Enter a boy with a letter.
Boy. This is the ho-ho-house.
Foss. Child, whom dost thou want?
Boy. Mistress Townley’s ma-ma-maid.
Foss. What is your business?
Boy. A l-l-letter.
Foss. Who sent this letter?
Boy. O-o-one.
Foss. Give it me, child. An honest boy. Give it me, and I’ll deliver it myself.
A very honest boy.
Boy. So.
[Exit boy.
Foss. There are now no more secrets between us. Man and wife are one.
‘Madam, either I mistake the encouragement I have had, or I am to be happy to-night. I hope the same person will compleat her good offices: I stand to articles. The ring is a fine one; and I shall have the pleasure of putting it on the first time.’
This from your impatient, R. P.
In the name of Beelzebub, what is this? encouragement! happy to-night! same person! good offices! whom hast thou married, poor Fossile? couldst thou not still divert thyself with the spoils of quarries and coal-pits, thy serpents and thy salamanders, but thou must have a living monster too! ‘sdeath! what a jest shall I be to our club! is there no rope among my curiosities? shall I turn her out of doors, and proclaim my infamy; or lock her up and bear my misfortunes? lock her up! impossible. One may shut up volatile spirits, pen up the air, confine bears, lyons and tygers, nay, keep even your gold: but a wanton wife, who can keep?
Enter Townley.
Town. Mrs. Clinket’s play is to be read this morning at the tea-table: will you come and divert yourself, Sir?
Foss. No: I want to be alone.
Town. I hope my company is not troublesome already. I am as yet a bride; not a wife. [sighs.] What means this sudden change? [Aside.] Consider, Mr. Fossile, you want your natural rest: the bed would refresh you. Let me sit by you.
Foss. My head akes, and the bed always makes it worse.
Town. Is it hereabouts?
[rubbing his temples.
Foss. Too sure.
[Turns from her.
Town. Why so fretful, Mr. Fossile?
Foss. No, I’ll dissemble my passion, and pump her. [Aside.] Excess of joy, my dear, for my good fortune overcomes me. I am somewhat vertiginous, I can hardly stand.
Town. I hope I was ordain’d for thy support.
Foss. My disorder now begins to dissipate: it was only a little flatulency, occasion’d by something hard of digestion. But pray, my dear, did your uncle shut you up so close from the conversation of mankind?
Town. Sarsnet and Shock were my only company.
Foss. A very prudent young woman this Sarsnet; she was undoubtedly a good and faithful friend in your solitude.
Town. When it was her interest; but I made no intimacies with my chamber-maid.
Foss. But was there no lover offer’d his service to a lady in distress.
Town. Tongue, be upon thy guard: these questions must be design’d to trap me. [Aside.] A woman of my condition can’t well escape importunity.
Foss. What was the name of that disagreeable fellow, who, you told me, teaz’d you so?
Town. His name? I think he had a thousand names. In one letter he was Myrtillo, in another Corydon, Alexis, and I don’t know what.
Enter Sarsnet in haste to her mistress: He runs and embraces her with great earnestness.
Foss. Dear Mrs. Sarsnet, how am I oblig’d to thee for thy services: thou hast made me happy beyond expression. —— I shall find another letter upon her.
[Aside.
[He gets his hand into Sarsnet’s pocket, as searching for a letter.
[Whenever Sarsnet goes to whisper her mistress, he gets between them.
Enter Ptisan.
Ptis. Mrs. Colloquintida complains still of a dejection of appetite; she says that the genevre is too cold for her stomach.
Foss. Give her a quieting draught; but let us not interrupt one another. Good Mr. Ptisan, we are upon business.
[Fossile gets between Sarsnet and Townley.
Ptis. The colonel’s spitting is quite suppress’d.
Foss. Give him a quieting draught. Come to morrow, Mr. Ptisan; I can see no body till then.
Ptis. Lady Varnish finds no benefit of the waters; for the pimple on the tip of her nose still continues.
Foss. Give her a quieting draught.
Ptis. Mrs. Prudentia’s tympany grows bigger and bigger. What, no pearl cordial! must I quiet them all?
Foss. Give them all quieting draughts, I say, or blister them all, as you please. Your servant Mr. Ptisan.
Ptis. But then lady Giddy’s vapours. She calls her chamber-maids nymphs; for she fancies herself Diana, and her husband Acteon.
Foss. I can attend no patient till to morrow. Give her a quieting draught, I say.
[Whenever Fossile goes to conduct Ptisan to the door, Sarsnet and Townley attempt to whisper; Fossile gets between them, and Ptisan takes that opportunity of coming back.
Ptis. Then, sir, there is miss Chitty of the boarding-school has taken in no natural sustenance for this week, but a halfpeny worth of charcoal, and one of her mittens.
Foss. Sarsnet, do you wait on Mr Ptisan to the door. To morrow let my patients know I’ll visit round.
[A knocking at the door.
Ptis. Oh, Sir; here is a servant of the countess of Hippokekoana. The emetick has over-wrought and she is in convulsions.
Foss. This is unfortunate. Then I must go. Mr. Ptisan, my dear, has some business with me in private. Retire into my closet a moment, and divert yourself with the pictures. There lies your way, madam.
[To Sarsnet.
[Exit Townley at one door and Sarsnet at the other.
Mr. Ptisan, pray, do you run before, and tell them I am just coming.
[Exit Ptisan.
All my distresses come on the neck of one another. Should this fellow get to my bride before I have bedded her, in a collection of cuckolds, what a rarity should I make! what shall I do? I’ll lock her up. Lock up my bride? my pace and my honour demand it, and it shall be so. [Locks the door.] Thomas, Thomas!
Enter footman.
I dream’t last night I was robb’d. The town is over-run with rogues. Who knows but the rascal that sent the letter may be now in the house? [Aside.] Look up the chimney, search all the dark closets, the coal hole, the flower-pots, and forget not the empty butt in the cellar. Keep a strict watch at the door, and let no body in till my return.
[Exit footman. A noise at the closet-door.
(within.) Who’s there? —— I’m lock’d in. Murder! fire!
Foss. Dear madam, I beg your pardon.
[Unlocks the door. Enter Townley.]
‘Tis well you call’d. I am so apt to lock this door; an action meerly mechanical, not spontaneous.
Town. Your conduct, Mr. Fossile, for this quarter of an hour has been somewhat mysterious. It has suggested to me what I almost blush to name; your locking me up, confirms this suspicion. Pray speak plainly, what has caused this alteration?
[Fossile shews her the letter.
Is this all?
[Gives him the letter back.
Foss. (reads) Either I mistake the encouragement I have had. What encouragement?
Town. From my uncle, —— if I must be your interpreter.
Foss. Or I am to be happy to night.
Town. To be married. —— If there can be happiness in that state.
Foss. I hope the same person.
Town. Parson. Only a word mis-pell’d. —— Here’s jealousy for you!
Foss. Will compleat her good offices. A she-parson, I find!
Town. He is a Welshman. And the Welsh always say her instead of his.
Foss. I stand to articles.
Town. Of jointure.
Foss. The ring is a fine one, and I shall have the pleasure of putting it on my self.
Town. Who should put on the wedding-ring but the bridegroom.
Foss. I beseech thee, pardon thy dear husband. Love and jealousy are often companions, and excess of both had quite obnubilated the eyes of my understanding.
Town. Barbarous man! I could forgive thee, if thou hadst poison’d my father, debauch’d my sister, kill’d my lapdog; but to murder my reputation!
[Weeps
Foss. Nay, I beseech thee, forgive me.
[Kneels.
Town. I do: but upon condition your jealous fit never returns. To a jealous man a w
hisper is evidence, and a dream demonstration. A civil letter makes him thoughtful, an innocent visit mad. I shall try you, Mr. Fossile; for don’t think I’ll be deny’d company.
Foss. Nay, prithee, my dear; I own I have abused thee. But lest my marriage, and this simple story should take air in the neighbourhood, to morrow we will retire into the country together, till the secret is blown over. I am call’d to a patient. In less than half an hour I’ll be with you again, my dear.
[Exit Fossile.
Town. Plotwell’s letter had like to have ruin’d me. ‘Twas a neglect in me, not to intrust him with the secret of my marriage. A jealous bridegroom! every poison has its antidote; as credulity is the cause, so it shall be the cure of his jealousy. To morrow I must be spirited away into the country; I’ll immediately let Plotwell know of my distress: and this little time with opportunity, even on his wedding-day, shall finish him a compleat husband. Intrigue assist me! and I’ll act a revenge that might have been worthy the most celebrated wife in Boccace.
Enter Plotwell and Clinket.
Hah! Plotwell! which way got he hither? I must caution him to be upon his guard.
Plot. Madam, I am agreeably surpriz’d to find you here.
Town. Me, Sir? you are certainly mistaken, for I don’t remember I ever saw you before.
Plot. Madam, I beg your pardon. How like a truth sounds a lye from the tongue of a fine woman.
[Aside.
Clink. This, Madam, is Mr. Plotwell; a Gentleman who is so infinitely obliging, as to introduce my play on the theatre, by fathering the unworthy issue of my muse, at the reading it this morning.
Plot. I should be proud, madam, to be a real father to any of your productions.
Clink. Mighty just. Ha, ha, ha. You know, Mr. Plotwell, that both a parrot and a player can utter human sounds, but we allow neither of them to be a judge of wit. Yet some of those people have had the assurance to deny almost all my performances the privilege of being acted. Ah! what a Goût de travers rules the understanding of the illiterate!
Plot. There are some, madam, that nauseate the smell of a rose.
[Whenever Plotwell and Townley endeavour to talk, she interrupts them.
Clink. If this piece be not rais’d to the sublime, let me henceforth be stigmatiz’d as a reptile in the dust of mediocrity. I am persuaded, Sir, your adopted child will do you no dishonour.
Town. Pray, madam, what is the subject?
Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series Page 149