MASTER OWEN APSHINKEN. POX on ‘em all! — I shall not compass one out of the whole family. — I’gad, I’ll e’en go back to Molly, and make sure of her, if possible — or I may be in danger of dying half a maid yet; for the devil take me, if I ha’n’t a shrewd suspicion that, in all my amours, I never yet thoroughly knew what a fine woman was. I fancy it often happens so among us fine gentlemen.
AIR LVIII.
The idle beau of pleasure
Oft boasts a false amour,
As breaking cit his treasure,
Most gaudy, when most poor;
But the rich miser hides the stores he does amass,
And the true lover still conceals his happy lass.
SCENE XIII.
Puzzletext, Robin, and John.
PUZZLETEXT. I will have satisfaction. — Speak not to me, Master John, of any thing but satisfaction. — I will box him. I will show him that I was not bred at Oxford for nothing. Splutter! I will show him my head is good for something else besides preaching. [Butts at him.
ROBIN. You would have armed my head better for butting, I thank you.
PUZZLETEXT. You are a lying rascal, and a liar in your teeth.
ROBIN. You are a liar in your tongue, doctor, and that’s worse.
PUZZLETEXT. The lie to me, sirrah! I will cut your brains out, if you have any brains. Let me go, John — let! me go.
ROBIN. Let him come: I warrant he goes back againi faster than he came.
PUZZLETEXT. Sbud! sbud! sbud!
JOHN. Fie, doctor! be not in such a passion; consider who you are — you must forgive.
PUZZLETEXT. I will not forgive. Forgiveness is sometimes a sin, ay, and a damned sin. — No, I will not forgive him. — Sirrah, I will make such an example of you, as shall deter all such vagabonds for the future how they affront the Church.
AIR LIX. Buff-coat
In spiritual court
I’ll show you such a sport,
Shall make you your own folly curse, sir.
ROB. But you shall be bit,
For I’ll stand in the sheet,
And keep you from handling my purse, sir.
Puz. In this you’ll be shamed,
In the other world damned,
Here a priest, there a devil you’ll find, sir.
ROB. I shall know then if priest
Or devil be best
At the art of tormenting mankind, sir.
PUZ. Let me go, John — I will — splutter!
SCENE XIV.
SIR OWEN APSHINKEN, LADY APSHINKEN, PUZZLETEXT, ROBIN, WILLIAM, JOHN, SUSAN, SWEETISSA, MARGERY.
LADY APSHINKEN. Heyday! what’s the meaning of this?
Mr. Puzzletext, you are not mad I hope?
PUZZLETEXT. Splutter! my lady, but I am. I have been abused — I have been beaten.
LADY APSHINKEN. It cannot be by Robin, I am sure; he’s peaceably enough inclined.
WILLIAM. He’ll not strike a blow, unless he’s forced to it, I warrant him.
PUZZLETEXT. Yes, it is by Robin; he hath abused me for writing to his mistress, when I have not had a pen in my hand, save for half a sermon, these six months.
WILLIAM. Sure letters run strangely in his head! — he hath quarrelled with me once to-day, and now he hath quarrelled with Mr. Puzzletext, for writing to his mistress — He knows his own demerits, and therefore is jealous of every man he sees for a rival.
ROBIN. I have not so bad an opinion of myself as to be jealous of you, however sensible you may be of your own merits.
LADY APSHINKEN. Let us have no quarrelling here, pray. — I thought you had more sense than to quarrel with the Church. [Aside to Robin.
WILLIAM. Master may keep you, if he pleases — when he knows you are a rogue; but I’ll swear to your stealing the two silver spoons.
SWEETISSA. You have reason to talk, good Mr. William — I’ll swear to your having robbed one of the coaches of the curtains to make yourself a waistcoat; and your having stolen a pair of buckles out of the harness, and sold them to
MR. Owen, to wear them in his shoes.
SUSAN. If you come to that, madam, who stole a short silk apron from my lady, and a new flannel petticoat, which you have on at this moment?
JOHN. Not so fast, good Susan saucebox — Who basted away dozens of butter more than she need, that she may sell the grease? — Who brings in false bills of fare, and puts the forged articles in her own pocket? — Who wants wine and brandy for sauces and sweetmeats, and drinks it herself?
WILLIAM. And who wants strong beer for his horses, which he drinks himself?
MARGERY. I think you should forget that, lest you should be put in mind of the same practice with the coach-horses.
SUSAN. I suppose when you remember that, you don’t forget taking a dram from her ladyship’s bottle every time you make the bed.
LADY APSHINKEN. I can excuse you there, Margery, for I keep all my bottles under lock and key.
SUSAN. But I suppose your ladyship will not excuse her from a false key, the which I will take my oath she hath now in her pocket.
LADY APSHINKEN. Very fine, indeed!
PUZZLETEXT. Verily, I am concerned to find my sermons have had no better effect on you. I think it is a difficult matter to determine which deserves to be hanged most; and if Robin, the butler, hath cheated more than other people, I see no other reason for it, but because he hath had more opportunity to cheat.
ROBIN. Well said, parson! — once in thy life thou hast spoken truth.
WILLIAM. We are none of us so bad as Robin, though — there’s cheating in his very name. — Robin, is as much as to say, robbing.
PUZZLETEXT. That is none of the best puns, Master Will.
ROBIN. Well said, parson, again!
AIR LX. Ye madcaps of England.
In this little family plainly we find
A little epitome of human kind,
Where down from the beggar, up to the great man,
Each gentleman cheats you no more than he can.
Sing tantarara, rogues all.
For if you will be such a husband of pelf,
To be served by no cheats you must e’en serve yourself;
The world is so cramm’d brimful of deceit,
That if Robin be a name for a cheat,
Sing tantarara, Bobs all, Bobs all,
Sing tantarara, Bobs all.
LADY APSHINKEN. And have I been raking, and rending, and scraping, and scratching, and sweating, to be plundered by my servants?
SIR OWEN APSHINKEN. Why, truly, my dear, if you had any family to provide for, you would have had some excuse for your saving, to save fortunes for your younger children. — But as we have but one son to provide for, and he not much worth providing for, e’en let the servants keep what they have stole, and much good may it do them.
LADY APSHINKEN. This is such notorious extravagance!
OMNES. Heavens bless your good honour.
AIR LXI. My name is old Hewson.
ROBIN. I once as your butler did cheat you,
For myself I will set up now:
If you come to my house I will treat you
With a pig of your own sow.
SWEETISSA. I once did your ladyship chouse,
And rob you of trinkets good store;
But when I am gone from your house,
I promise to cheat you no more.
WILLIAM. Your lining I own, like a blockhead,
I stole, to my utter reproach;
But you will be money in pocket,
If you will sell off your horses and coach.
SUSAN. My rogueries are all confest,
And for a new maid you may look;
For where there’s no meat to be drest,
There is little need of a cook.
CHORUS. And so we all give you warning,
And give you a month’s wages too;
We all go off to-morrow morning,
And may better servants ensue.
SCENE XV.
To them,
MASTER OWEN APSHINKEN and MOLLY.
MASTER OWEN APSHINKEN and MOLLY. Your blessing, sir.
SIR OWEN APSHINKEN and LADY APSHINKEN. How!
MASTER OWEN APSHINKEN and MOLLY. We are your son and daughter.
SIR OWEN APSHINKEN. My son married to the daughter of a tenant!
MASTER OWEN APSHINKEN. Oh, sir! she is your tenant’s daughter, but worthy of a crown.
AIR LXII. Fond Echo.
MOLLY. Oh, think not the maid whom you scorn,
With riches delighted can be!
Had I a great Princess been born
My Owen had dear been to me!
On others your treasures bestow,
Give Owen alone to these arms;
In grandeur and wealth we find woe,
But in love there is nothing but charms.
OWEN. In title and wealth what is lost,
In tenderness oft is repaid;
Too much a great fortune may cost,
Well purchased may be the poor maid.
While fancy’s faint dreams cheat the great,
We pleasure will equally prove;
While they in their palaces hate,
We in our poor cottage may love.
SIR OWEN APSHINKEN. She sings delightfully, that’s the truth on’t.
MASTER OWEN APSHINKEN. T’other song, — t’other song — ply him with songs till he forgives us.
AIR LXIII. Lass of Patie’s Mill.
MOLLY. If I too high aspire,
‘Tis Love that plumes my wings,
Love makes a clown a squire,
Would make a squire a king.
What maid that Owen spies,
From Love can e’er be free?
Love in his laced coat lies,
And peeps from his toupee.
SIR OWEN APSHINKEN. I can hold out no longer.
LADY APSHINKEN. Nor I: let me see you embrace one another, and then I’ll embrace you both.
AIR LXIV. Caro vien.
MOLLY. With joy my heart’s o’erflowing:
OWEN. With joy my heart’s jolly.
MOLLY. Oh, my dearest sweet Owen!
OWEN. O, my charming Molly! Since I am happy myself, I will make others so. — These letters, Robin, which caused all the jealousy between you and Sweetissa, I wrote out of a frolic.
ROBIN. Ha! and did I suspect Sweetissa falsely?
SWEETISSA. And did I suspect my Robin?
ROBIN. Oh, my Sweetissa! my sweet.
SWEETISSA. Oh, my Robin! my Bob.
ROBIN. This hour shall make us one. Doctor, lead to church.
WILLIAM. What sayst thou, Susan? Shall we follow our leaders?
SUSAN. Why, faith, I am generally frank, you know, and speak my mind. — I say, yes.
JOHN. And thou, Margery?
MARGERY. I do not say no.
PUZZLETEXT. I am ready to do your business whenever you please.
MASTER OWEN APSHINKEN. Lookye, as I have married first, I desire my wedding may be celebrated first, at least with one dance; for which I have prepared the fiddles.
PUZZLETEXT. And for which I have prepared my fiddle too; for I am always in utrumque paratus.
MASTER OWEN APSHINKEN. This shall be a day of hospitality, I am resolved.
LADY APSHINKEN. And I am resolved not to see it; and would advise you not to be extravagant in it.
A dance here.
AIR LXV. Little Jack Borner.
PUZZLETEXT. Couples united,
Ever delighted,
May they ne’er disagree!
WOMEN. First we will wed,
MEN. Then we’ll to bed;
OMNES. What happy rogues are we!
CHORUS. Couples united,
Ever delighted,
May we ne’er disagree!
First we will wed,
Then we’ll to bed;
What happy rogues are we.
THE LOTTER Y
This ballad opera features 19 songs and was a collaboration with Mr Seedo, a contemporary musician. The Lottery first ran on 1 January 1732 at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane and tells the story of a man in love with a girl, who pretends she has won a lottery, in order to lure another suitor. The comedy mocks the excitement of the lottery and those who sell, rent, or purchase tickets, making the play very successful, being performed 15 times during January and earning the playwright a great deal of money.
The lottery in the play was inspired by one that took place during November-December 1731, as part of the State Lottery that was in place since 1694. The system continued to be lucrative for the British Parliament over the 18th-century. The lottery consisted of 80,000 tickets sold with only 8,000 connected to prizes. The top prize, of which there were two available, was 10,000 pounds. The drawing of the numbers lasted for forty days and consisted of numbers being picked from a large container that are then determined as either a winner or a “blank”, which means that no prize would be received. This lottery system came under fire because, it was argued, they promoted gambling and took advantage of people. Problems grew worse when second hand vendors began to sell the tickets at high prices.
The plot introduces the character Lovemore, who is in love with a Chloe. Instead of accepting him as a suitor, she travels into London with the hope that she will win a £10,000 lottery prize. She convinces herself so much of this fate that she begins to boast of having a fortune already. Jack Stocks, a rogue eager for that fortune, takes on the identity of Lord Lace and seeks her in marriage.
The original title page
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
SPOKEN BY MR. CIBBER, JUN.
As Tragedy prescribes to passion rules,
So Comedy delights to punish fools;
And while at nobler games she boldly flies,
Farce challenges the vulgar as her prize.
Some follies scarce perceptible appear
In that just glass which shows you as you are.
But Farce still claims a magnifying right
To raise the object larger to the sight,
And show her insect fools in stronger light.
Implicit faith is to her poets due,
And all her laughing legends still are true.
Thus when some conjurer does wives translate,
What dull, affected critic damns the cheat?
Or should we see credulity profound,
Give to ten thousand fools, Ten Thousand Pound;
Should we behold poor wretches horse away
The labour of a twelvemonth in a day;
Nay, should our poet, with his muse agog,
Show you an Alley-broker for a rogue,
Though ‘tis a most impossible suggestion,
Faith! think it all but Farce, and grant the question.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
MEN
MR. STOCKS — Mr. Harper.
JACK STOCKS — Hr. Cibber, Jun.
FIRST BUYER — Mr. Berry.
SECOND BUYER, a Hackney Coachman — Mr. Mullart.
LOVEMORE — Mr. Stoppelaer.
WHISK — Mr. R. Wetherilt.
WOMEN
CHLOE — Miss Raftor.
MRS. STOCKS, Sister in-law to Stocks.... Mrs. Wetherilt.
JENNY — Miss Williams.
LADY — Mrs. Oates.
Servants, &c.
SCENE. — London
SCENE I.
AIR I.
MR. STOCKS. [Alone.] A Lottery is a taxation
Upon all the fools in creation;
And Heaven be praised
It is easily raised,
Credulity’s always in fashion:
For Folly’s a fund
Will never lose ground,
While fools are so rife in the nation.
[Knocking without.
Enter 1 BUYER.
1 BUYER. Is not this a house where people buy lottery tickets?
MR. STOCKS. Yes, sir — I be
lieve I can furnish you with as good tickets as any one.
1 BUYER. I suppose, sir, ‘tis all one to you what number a man fixes on?
MR. STOCKS. Any of my numbers.
1 BUYER. Because I would be glad to have it, sir, the number of my own years, or my wife’s; or if I could not have either of those, I would be glad to have it the number of my mother’s.
MR. STOCKS. Ay, or suppose, now, it was the number of your grandmother’s? ‘
Complete Fictional Works of Henry Fielding Page 276
