CAROLINE.
Excuse my father, sir, it is his way.
NARCOTIC.
His way — mem — forgive any gentleman his way. Nothing more — mem — than a morbid affection of the manners, arising from bad education, and quarrelsome company.
HIPPY.
Death and fury, sir —
NARCOTIC.
Noli me tangere! A mere tremor cordis — mem — an irritability of the præcordia. Cool him — mem — in a few hours. Copious bleedings — saline draughts — vitriolic acid — tartarised antimony — mucilaginous diluents — and the antiphlogistic regimen.
HIPPY [Aside.]
Now, if I were not half dying, and in want of him to set me up, damme but I’d knock him down.
[Enter SHENKIN and WINDGALL.]
SHENKIN.
Another shentleman, sir — Mr. Windgall.
[SHENKIN sets wine, &c., on the table, and exit.]
WINDGALL.
Sir — I have the honour to present to your notice Gregory Windgall, doctor of horse.
NARCOTIC.
A farrier —
WINDGALL.
Farrier, sir! Give me leave to tell you, that a member of the Veterinary College holds in equal contempt that degrading appellation, and the little ugly mongrel that offers it.
NARCOTIC.
I would have you to know, Mr. Windgall, you speak to an M.D. — an M.D., sir — a regular physician of the University of St. Andrews.
WINDGALL.
Speak another word, sir, in contempt of the liberal profession of doctor of horse, and I’ll take your diploma out of its tin box, and stick you in its place, like Gulliver in a marrow-bone.
CAROLINE.
Pray — pray — gentlemen.
[Enter SHENKIN.]
SHENKIN.
Toctor Parpet. [Exit.]
[Enter BARBET.]
Song
BARBET.
From London town,
Where high renown
My skill doth crown,
I’ve rattled down:
And now present
To your content —
Good sir — your most obedient.
All ills I cure
That dogs endure:
I give them drugs,
I shave their mugs,
I comb their coats,
I cut their throats,
As you may deem expedient.
Cæsar, Towler,
Pompey, Jowler,
Ranger, Hero,
Neptune, Nero,
One and all
Obey my call,
For faith, sir, I’m no noodle.
At my command
They go or stand,
Pointer, terrier,
Greyhound, harrier,
Bull-dog, ban-dog,
Newfoundland dog,
Spaniel, pug, or poodle.
Strike and parry —
Fetch and carry —
Current clear,
Plunge in here,
Seize that stick,
Bring it quick,
And lay it down before us.
‘Mong tribes canine
My skill’s divine,
And what all speech
And sense confounds,
My art can teach
A pack of hounds
To bow-wow-wow in chorus.
HIPPY.
Now, gentlemen, as you are all here, I shall proceed to open the case: but first, a little refreshment after the fatigues of travelling —
[SHENKIN runs in.]
SHENKIN.
Pless me! pless me! there’s a chaise proken down, and a shentleman upset in the water!
CAROLINE.
Heavens! run to his assistance!
HIPPY.
Call all the rascals together!
[Runs off, driving SHENKIN.]
WINDGALL.
Take care of the horses! [Runs off.]
BARBET.
Let loose the Newfoundland dogs. Here, Cæsar! Neptune! [Runs off. ]
NARCOTIC.
Lancets! blankets! volatile alkali! peppermint! tobacco! and spirits of hartshorn! [Runs off. ]
CAROLINE.
Oh! Lucy! I am so terrified!
LUCY [looking out.]
He’s safe, ma’am. They have him among them, and are shaking him to pieces. — Well! as I hope to be saved —
CAROLINE.
What’s the matter, girl?
LUCY.
It’s Mr. O’Fir, ma’am!
CAROLINE.
Mr. O’Fir!
LUCY.
It is indeed, ma’am: and they are all coming this way, and Mr. Hippy first.
[Enter HIPPY.]
HIPPY.
Caroline!
CAROLINE.
Papa!
HIPPY.
Here’s a cursed unlucky affair. We’ve just picked O’Fir out of the water.
CAROLINE.
Indeed! Oh! I am so happy.
HIPPY.
You shan’t be happy. As he’s an old acquaintance, and has just escaped drowning, I can’t be so unfriendly, or so uncharitable, as not to ask him to walk in; though I had much rather tell him to walk out.
CAROLINE.
Dear sir —
HIPPY.
But I shall take care to quash his hopes of you. Be quiet. I won’t hear a word in his favour.
[Enter O’FIR.]
O’FIR.
By my soul, this is the luckiest ducking I ever had in my life. Ah! my sweet Caroline! I almost thought I should never see you again. I believed you had run away, and forsaken poor O’Fir.
HIPPY.
Well, and suppose she had, what then?
O’FIR.
What then? And is it old Mr. Hippy that asks me the question?
HIPPY.
Yes, it is old Hippy that asks the question.
O’FIR.
And aren’t you ashamed of yourself? Didn’t you promise me your consent?
HIPPY.
I don’t know what I promised when I was Mr. Hippy of Kensington. Now I’m Humphry Hippy, Esquire, of Venison Hall, in Merionethshire —
O’FIR.
Then, sir, as Mr. Hippy of Kensington, who was a gentleman, and Miss Caroline’s father, I have the honour of drinking your health: and as Humphry Hippy, Esq., who has broken his word, and is therefore no gentleman at all, I have the honour of pulling your nose.
HIPPY.
Help! help! murder! Here, Shenkin! Owen! Davy!
[Enter NARCOTIC, WINDGALL, BARBET, and Servants.]
HIPPY.
Shew that gentleman the stable — shew that gentleman the kennel — and shew that gentleman the door.
O’FIR.
Show me the door! Oh! I see it plainly enough. But I tell you what, old Hippy! I won’t see the outside of it, till I and Miss Caroline walk through it together.
HIPPY [Aside.]
Now there’s an impudent rascal!
O’FIR.
Peter! bring my travelling trunk.
[Enter O’FIR’s servants, with the trunk.]
HIPPY.
‘Sdeath, sir! what justification —
NARCOTIC.
Really, sir, this inflammatory conduct —
WINDGALL.
It won’t do, sir, to be restive here.
BARBET.
Symptoms of hydrophobia.
O’FIR.
One at a time, if you please [Unlocking his trunk.] If any one among you has any thing to say to Phelim O’Fir, let him say it like a gentleman. I’ll lend him a speaking-trumpet. [Takes out a pair of pistols.] This is the shortest way of settling differences among friends.
Septetto
O’FIR.
This trigger, if I pull it,
Will emancipate a bullet
That shall set our quarrels right.
HIPPY.
Where the devil shall I hide me
From that pistol cocked beside me?
I’
m in such a cursed fright!
NARCOTIC.
When I see a loaded pistol,
My diastole and systole
Forget their functions quite.
CAROLINE.
Forbear, forbear, I pray you:
Let my entreaties stay you,
And put your rage to flight.
BARBET.
Such ill I ne’er foreboded:
For a pistol, cocked and loaded,
Is worse than a mad dog’s bite.
LUCY.
Oh dear! I’m almost fainting,
With terror past the painting:
I can’t endure the sight.
WINDGALL.
That bloody-minded stranger
Sets us all at rack and manger:
But damn me if I’ll fight!
[Having sung these verses successively, they repeat them in chorus.]
ACT II.
SCENE I. — The Park.
[Enter NARCOTIC.]
NARCOTIC.
No dislike to any chemical preparation but one: the granulated composition of nitre, sulphur, and charcoal, called, by the ignobile vulgus, gunpowder. The subsequent process of ignition, rarefaction, expansion, and explosion has too laxative an effect on my constitution. However, still alive and in safety. Who would have thought that, after forty years of pounding, compounding, and decompounding, love would give Nicholas Narcotic an inflammation of the heart? Amor nullis medicabilis herbis. Oh, sweet Caroline!
Song
Cupid! cease, you pleasing plague, you!
No! ah! no! I can’t resist him!
Fast I feel a fiery ague
Shoot through all my nervous system.
Bring, ah! bring, to cure my heartache,
Mild emollient, cool cathartic,
Cream of tartar, rhubarb, aloes,
Salts, and castor oil, and mallows.
‘Sdeath! I’m in a raging fever!
Cardialgic inflammation
Boils in this, my great receiver,
[laying his hand on his breast]
Like a double distillation.
Hope inspires me —
Passion fires me —
Love pursues me —
Rage subdues me:
Nought can rule me,
Nought can cool me,
In this furious perspiration.
[Exit.]
[Enter WINDGALL.]
WINDGALL.
Hip! Doctor! Doctor Narcotic!
NARCOTIC [Returning.]
Sir!
WINDGALL.
Can you oblige me with a small quantity of calomel and castor oil, for old Fly-away?
NARCOTIC.
Sir, as a regular physician, I never carry drugs; and if I did, should have none to spare for a farrier. [Exit.]
WINDGALL.
Farrier again! There’s an insult. I’ll follow the little miscreant, and drag him through the horsepond. No — I had better let it alone. I have had my dose of quarrelling from that confounded wild Irishman. Sweet girl, Miss Hippy. Pretty little figure. Fine large estate. Who knows but she may throw a sheep’s eye on Gregory Windgall, doctor of horse?
Song
Oh! if I can carry her!
Oh! if I can marry her!
I’ll leave alone
Black, bay, and roan,
And be no more a farrier.
A farrier, a farrier —
Oh, horrid sound, a farrier!
A squire I’ll be
Of high degree,
And fly the sound of farrier.
A borough then I’ll ply for;
A title then I’ll try for;
And not disgrace
The noble race
Of that sweet maid I die for.
Oh! if I can carry her! &c.
[Exit.]
[Enter CAROLINE and O’FIR.]
O’FIR.
Oh! the pack of cowards! how neatly I put them to flight! — And so your father insists on your breaking your engagement with poor Phelim?
CAROLINE.
He does, indeed: and I assure you, duty and inclination have long maintained a severe struggle in the heart of your Caroline.
O’FIR.
And pray, now, on what principle of moral philosophy does he think himself justified in breaking his word?
CAROLINE.
On none that I know of, Phelim: and really, in that respect —
O’FIR.
Och! and did not you use to say, that you and I were as good as married, and the devil himself should not part us?
CAROLINE.
I did not say exactly those words.
O’FIR.
Not exactly. It was the same thing, with a little difference.
[Enter HIPPY, behind.]
HIPPY [Aside.]
What mischief are those two plotting here?
O’FIR.
But now, as he won’t give his consent, we have only to take French leave, and be off to the next parson. He’ll forgive us fast enough, when it’s all over: and if he don’t, I have a snug little estate on the banks of the Shannon, where there’s plenty of oatmeal, and potatoes, and dried herrings, and buttermilk; and that’s food enough for Cupid.
Quintetto
O’FIR.
Just rest here awhile, till I come with the chaise.
CAROLINE.
The thought of such rashness my senses dismays.
O’FIR.
Oh fear not, my darling; your terrors disarm,
For love and your Phelim shall shield you from harm.
CAROLINE.
My father will scold, and the neighbours will say —
O’FIR.
What we’ll never hear, when we’re out of the way.
In the chaise, with ourselves, hope and pleasure you’ll find —
CAROLINE.
And repentance, I fear, as a footman behind.
But yours I was ever, and yours I am still,
And I’ll follow my Phelim wherever he will.
BOTH.
By our snug little cot, where the Shannon shall run,
Together we’ll sit in the shade and the sun.
Content with each other, we’ll wish not to roam,
And forget all the world but ourselves and our home. [Exit O’FIR.]
HIPPY.
Zooks! here’s a plot— ’tis well I’m near:
But soft — approaching steps I hear.
[Enter NARCOTIC and WINDGALL, at opposite sides.]
NARCOTIC.
To thee, sweet maid, a patient kneels,
Who cannot speak how much he feels. [Kneeling.]
WINDGALL.
O deign, sweet fair, my hopes to crown,
By thee knocked up, and broken down. [Kneeling on the other side.]
CAROLINE.
In vain you kneel — in vain you moan —
My hand and heart are not my own.
NARCOTIC & WINDGALL.
Prostrate on earth, for mercy suing —
CAROLINE.
You are in vain for mercy suing —
These wretches here our plans will ruin.
[CAROLINE steps back. NARCOTIC and WINDGALL, throw themselves forward into the arms of each other.]
NARCOTIC & WINDGALL.
Flames and sulphur! fire and ruin!
HIPPY [rushing forward.]
Furies! what mischief here is brewing?
Hence! or my stick your skulls shall ruin. [Drives off NARCOTIC and WINDGALL.]
Come you with me. ’Tis vain to chafe.
Lock and key shall make all safe. [Exit with CAROLINE.]
[Enter MILESTONE and SHENKIN.]
MILESTONE.
Tell your master, that Marmaduke Milestone, Esquire, manufacturer of landscapes, waits his pleasure. And take especial care of that portfolio.
SHENKIN.
I shall exert, sir, look you, all tue care, and figilance, and circumspection apout it. [Exit.]
MILESTONE.
Tha
t fellow’s an uncivilised goat — a mountain-savage — a wild man of the woods. Wants shaving and polishing. As much in need of improvement as the place he inhabits. Great capabilities here. Soon be my own, to clump and level ad libitum. Hope the young lady won’t prove refractory. Published many books. Sold none. Bad speculation. Present plan much better. Marriage to a fortune cures all evils except itself.
[Enter HIPPY.]
HIPPY.
My dear, dear Mr. Milestone! I am so glad to see you.
MILESTONE.
Sir, this cordial welcome is in the highest degree gratifying to my sensibility.
HIPPY.
Oh, Mr. Milestone! I am in such a dilemma.
MILESTONE.
Confide in me. I may excogitate a remedy.
HIPPY.
You may as well think of arranging chaos. You know, Mr. Milestone, by the death of Sir Peter Paxarett, I came into possession of this estate, and never was a place in such a deplorable condition. Not a single apartment in a state of decent order: nothing clean: hardly two chairs alike. Sofas in the cellar, beds in the kitchen, and beer-barrels in the drawing-room. All the horses and dogs invalids, like myself: and the park your own eyes can judge of. The beautiful statues all lost or demolished. Neptune has been lying these twenty years in the dust-hole: Atlas had his head knocked off, to make him prop up a shed: and only the day before yesterday we fished Bacchus out of the horsepond.
MILESTONE.
For the park, sir, make yourself easy. The wand of enchantment shall be waved over it. The rocks shall be blown up: the trees shall be cut down: the wilderness and all its goats shall vanish like mist: Pagodas and Chinese bridges, gravelwalks and shrubberies, bowling-greens, canals, and clumps of larch, shall rise upon its ruins. One age, sir, has drawn to light the treasures of ancient learning; another has penetrated into the depths of metaphysics; a third has brought to perfection the science of astronomy: but it was reserved for the exclusive genius of the present times to invent the noble art of picturesque gardening, which has given, as it were, a new tint to the complexion of nature, and a new outline to the physiognomy of the universe.
HIPPY [Aside.]
Now there’s a clever fellow. What a pity I can’t understand him!
MILESTONE.
But Miss Caroline, your amiable daughter — When shall I have the felicity — ?
HIPPY.
Ah! there’s my distress. I sent for three doctors to cure me and my cattle, and two of the rascals have fallen in love with her. And besides, she has a wild Irishman of a lover, that was going to shoot us all, this morning, one after another.
MILESTONE.
Rivals! my blood boils at the idea. Bray the doctors in their own mortar! — Don’t like the thought of the Irishman [aside.]
[Bell without.]
HIPPY.
There’s the dinner-bell.
MILESTONE.
Dinner-bell! refreshing sound!
Complete Works of Thomas Love Peacock Page 113