GOODALL. I believe it, indeed, sir; therefore you can’t wonder if I am impatient to see him.
COLONEL BLUFF. Be not in such haste, dear sir; I want to talk with you about your affairs. I hope you have had good success in the Indies; have cheated the Company handsomely; and made an immense fortune.
GOODALL. I have no reason to complain.
COLONEL BLUFF. I am glad on’t, sir, and so will your son, I dare swear: and let me tell you, it will be very opportune; he began to want it. You can’t imagine, sir, what a fine life he has led since you went away. It would do your heart good, if you was but to know what an equipage he has kept, what balls and entertainments he has made: he is the talk of the whole town, sir: a man would work with pleasure for such a son. He is a fellow with a soul, damn me! Your fortune won’t be thrown away upon him; for, get as much as you please, my life he spends every farthing.
GOODALL. Pray, gentlemen, let me see this miracle of a son of mine.
COLONEL BLUF. That you should, sir, long ago; but really, sir, the house is a little out of order at present; there is but one room furnished in it; and that is so full of company, that I am afraid there would be a small deficiency of chairs. You can’t imagine, sir, how opportune you are come; there was not any one thing left in the house to raise any money upon.
GOODALL. What, all my pictures gone?
COLONEL BLUFF. He sold them first, sir: he was obliged to sell them for the delicacy of taste: lie certainly is the modestest young fellow in the world, and has complained to me a hundred times of the indecent liberty painters take in exposing the breasts and limbs of women; you had, indeed, sir, a very scandalous collection, and he was never easy while they were in the house.
SCENE VII.
VALENTINE, COLONEL BLUFF, GOODALL, MONSIEUR.
VALENTINE. My father returned! Oh, let me throw myself at his feet; and, believe me, sir, I am at once overjoyed and ashamed to see your face.
COLONEL BLUFF. I told you, sir, he was one of the modestest young fellows in England.
GOODALL. You may very well be ashamed; but come, let me see the inside of my house; let me see that both sides of my walls are standing.
VALENTINE. Sir, I have a great deal of company within, of the first fashion, and beg you would not expose me before them.
GOODALL. Oh, sir, I am their very humble servant; I am infinitely obliged to all the persons of fashion, that they will so generously condescend to eat a poor citizen out of house and home.
COLONEL BLUFF. Harkye, Val, shall we toss this old fellow in a blanket?
VALENTINE. Sir, I trust in your good-nature and forgiveness; and will wait on you in —
GOODALL. Oh, that ever I should live to see this day!
MONSIEUR. Pardie voila homme extraordinare. [Exeunt.
SCENE VIII
A Dining Room.
LORD PRIDE, LORD PUFF, &C.
LORD PRIDE. I told you, my lord, it would never hold long; when once the chariot disappeared I thought the master would soon follow.
LORD PUFF. I helped him on with a small lift, the other day, at piquet.
LORD PRIDE. Did you do any thing considerable?
LORD PUFF. A mere trifle, my lord: it would not have been worth mentioning, if it had been of any other; but I fancy, in his present circumstances, it cut pretty deep.
LORD PRIDE. Damn me, there’s a pleasure in ruining these little mechanical rascals, when they presume to rival the extravagant expenses of us men of quality.
LORD PUFF. That ever such plebeian scoundrels, who are obliged to pay their debts, should presume to engage with us men of quality, who are not!
SCENE IX.
GOODALL, VALENTINE, CHARLOTTE, COLONEL BLUFF, MONSIEUR, LORD PRIDE, LORD PUFF, &C.
VALENTINE. Gentlemen and ladies, my father, being just now arrived from the Indies, desires to make one of this good company.
GOODALL. My good lords (that I may affront none, by calling him beneath his title), I am highly sensible of the great honour you do myself and my son by filling my poor house with your noble persons, and your noble persons with my poor wine and provisions. I dare swear you have been all highly instrumental in the extravagances of my son; for which I am very much obliged to you, and humbly hope that I shall never see him, or any of your faces, again.
LORD PRIDE. Brother Puff, what does the fellow mean?
LORD PUFF. Curse me if I know.
GOODALL. I am very glad that my son hath ruined himself in so good company; that, when I disinherit him, he can’t fail of being provided for. I promise myself that your interest will help him to places and preferments in abundance.
LORD PRIDE. Sir, any thing in my power he may always command.
LORD PUFF. Or mine.
LORD PRIDE. But let me whisper a word in your ear. Your son is a very extravagant fellow.
GOODALL. That’s very true, sir! but I hope you will consider you assisted him in it; and therefore will help his necessities with a brace of thousands.
LORD PRIDE. I don’t understand you, sir.
GOODALL. Why then, sir, that you may understand me, I must tell you in plain words, that he owes his ruin to entertaining such fine gentlemen as yourself.
LORD PRIDE. Me, sir! Eat me! I would have you know, I think I do you too much honour in entering into your doors; but I am glad you have taught me at what distance to keep such mechanics for the future. Come, Puff, let’s to the opera: I see, if a man hath not good blood in his veins, riches won’t teach him to behave like a gentleman.
LORD PUFF. Canaille!
[Exeunt Lord Pride and Lord Puff.
GOODALL. S’bodikins! I am in a rage; that ever a fellow should upbraid me with good blood in his veins, when, Odsheart! the best blood in his veins hath run through my bottles.
1 LADY. My lord Pride and my lord Puff gone! Come, my dear, the assembly is broke up; let us make haste away, or we shall be too late for any other.
2 LADY. With all my heart, for I am heartily sick of this.
3 LADY. Come, come, come; away, away! [Exeunt Ladies.
MONSIEUR. Allons, quittons le bourgion.
COLONEL BLUFF. Sir, you are a scrub; and if I had not a friendship for your son, I’d show you how you ought to treat people of fashion. [Exeunt Colonel and Monsieur.
CHARLOTTE. Poor Valentine! how tenderly I feel his misfortunes.
GOODALL. Why don’t you follow your companions, sir?
VALENTINE. Ah! sir, I am so sensible of what I have done, that I could fly into a desert from the apprehensions of your just wrath; nay, I will, unless you can forgive me.
GOODALL. Who are you, madam, that stay behind the rest of your company? There is no more mischief to be done here, so there is no more business for a fine lady.
CHARLOTTE. Sir, I stay to intreat you to forgive your poor unhappy son, who will otherwise sink under the weight of your displeasure.
GOODALL. Ah! madam, if that be all the business, you may leave this house as soon as you please; for him I am determined to turn directly out on’t.
CHARLOTTE. Then, sir, I am determined to go with him. Be comforted, Valentine, I have some fortune which my aunt cannot prevent me from; and it will make us happy, for a while at least; and I prefer a year, a month, a day, with the man I love, to a whole stupid age without him.
VALENTINE. O, my dear love! and I prefer an hour with thee to all that Heaven can give me. Oh! I am so blest, that fortune cannot make me miserable.
AIR XI. The Lass of Patie’s Mill.
Thus when the tempest high
Roars dreadful from above,
The constant turtles fly
Together to the grove:
Each spreads its tender wings,
And hovers o’er its mate;
They kiss, they coo, and sing,
And love, in spite of fate.
AIR XII.
My tender heart me long beguiled,
I now first my passions proved;
Had fortune on you ever smiled,
&nb
sp; I’d known not how I loved.
Base passions, like base metals, cold,
With true may seem the same!
But would you know true love and gold,
Still try them in the flame.
SCENE X.
GOODALL, VALENTINE, CHARLOTTE, OLDCASTLE, MRS. HIGHMAN.
OLDCASTLE. Here, madam, now you may trust your own eyes, if you won’t believe mine.
MRS. HIGHMAN. What do I see! My niece in the very arms of her betrayer, and his father an abettor o’f the injustice? — Sir, give me leave to tell you, your madness is a poor excuse for this behaviour.
GOODALL. Madam, I ask your pardon for what I said to you to-day. I was imposed on by a vile wretch who, I dare swear, misrepresented each of us to the other. I assure you, I am not mad, nor do I believe you so.
MRS. HIGHMAN. Thou vile wretch, thou dishonour of thy family! how dost thou dare to appear before my face?
CHARLOTTE. Madam, I have done nothing to be ashamed of: and I dare appear before any one’s face.
GOODALL. Is this young lady a relation of yours?
MRS. HIGHMAN. She was, before your son had accomplished his base designs on her.
CHARLOTTE. Madam, you injure him; his designs on me have been still honourable; nor hath he said any thing which the most virtuous ears might not have heard.
VALENTINE. To-morrow shall silence your suspicions on that head.
MRS. HIGHMAN. What., Mr. Goodall, do you forgive your son’s extravagance?
GOODALL. Is this lady your heiress?
MRS. HIGHMAN. I once intended her so.
GOODALL. Why then, madam, I like her generous passion for my son so much, that if you will give her a fortune equal to what I shall settle on him, I shall not prevent their happiness.
MRS. HIGHMAN. Won’t you? And I see she is so entirely his, in her heart, that since he hath not dared to think dishonourably of her, I shall do all in my power to make it a bargain.
VALENTINE. Eternal blessings on you both! Now, my Charlotte, I am blessed indeed.
OLDCASTLE. And pray, madam, what’s to become of me?
MRS. HIGHMAN. That, sir, I cannot possibly tell; you know, I was your friend; but my niece thought fit to dispose of herself another way.
OLDCASTLE. Your niece has behaved like a — Bodikins! I am in a passion; and for her sake, I’ll never make love to any woman again, I am resolved. [Exit in a pet.
MRS. HIGHMAN. No imprudent resolution.
GOODALL. I hope, Valentine, you will make the only return in your power to my paternal tenderness in forgiving you; and let the misery you so narrowly escaped from your former extravagances be a warning to you for the future.
VALENTINE. Sir, was my gratitude to your great goodness insufficient to reclaim me, I am in no danger of engaging in any vice whereby this lady might be a sufferer:
Single, I’d suffer Fate’s severest dart
Unmoved; but who can bear the double smart,
When sorrow preys upon the fair one’s heart?
EPILOGUE
SPOKEN BY MRS. CLIVE
A POET should, unless his fate he guest,
Write for each play two epilogues at least.
For how to empty benches can we say,
“What means this mighty crowding here to-day?”
Or should the pit with flattery be crammed,
How can we speak it, when the play is damned?
Damned, did I say? — He surely need not fear it.
His play is safe — when none will come to hear it.
English is now below this learned town,
None but Italian warblers will go down.
Though courts were more polite, the English ditty
Could heretofore at least content the city:
That for Italian now has let us drop,
And Dimi Cara rings through every shop.
What glorious thoughts must all our neighbours nourish
Of us, where rival operas can flourish.
Let France win all their towns, we need not fear,
But Italy will send her singers here;
We cannot buy ‘em at a price too dear.
Let us receive them to our peaceful shore,
While in their own the angry cannons roar:
Here they may sing in safety, we reward ‘em,
Here no Visconti threatens to bombard ‘em.
Orpheus drew stones with his enchanting song,
These can do more, they draw our gold along.
— But though our angry poets rail in spite,
Ladies, I own, I think your judgments right:
Satire, perhaps, may wound some pretty thing;
Those soft Italian warblers have no sting.
Though your soft hearts the tuneful charm may
You’re still secure to find no harm within.
Wisely from those rude places you abstain,
Where satire gives the wounded hearer pain.
‘Tis hard to pay them who our faults reveal,
As boys are forced to buy the rods they feel.
No, let ‘em starve, who dare to lash the age,
And, as you’ve left the pulpit, leave the stage.
DON QUIXOTE IN ENGLAN D
CONTENTS
PREFACE.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
INTRODUCTION.
ACT I.
ACT II.
ACT III.
DON QUIXOTE IN ENGLAND. A COMEDY. As it is Acted at the NEW THEATRE in the Hay-Market.
By HENRY FIELDING, Esq
— facilè quis
Speret idem, sudet multúm, frustráque laboret,
Ausus idem —
Hor.
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
PHILIP EARL OF CHESTERFIELD,
KNIGHT OF THE MOST NOBLE ORDER OF THE GARTER.
MY LORD,
HOWEVER unworthy these Scenes may be of Your LORDSHIP’S Protection, the Design with which some of them were written, cannot fail of recommending them to ONE who hath so gloriously distinguished Himself in the Cause of Liberty, to which the Corruption I have here endeavoured to expose, may one Day be a very fatal Enemy.
The Freedom of the Stage is, perhaps, as well worth contending for, as that of the Press. It is the Opinion of an Author well known to Your LORDSHIP, that Examples work quicker and stronger on the Minds of Men than Precepts.
This will, I believe, my LORD, be found truer with regard to Politicks than to Ethicks: The most ridiculous Exhibitions of Luxury or Avarice may likely have little Effect on the Sensualist or the Miser; but I fansy a lively Representation of the Calamities brought on a Country by general Corruption, might have a very sensible and useful Effect on the Spectators.
Socrates, who owed his Destruction greatly to the Contempt brought on him by the Comedies of Aristophanes, is a lasting Instance of the Force of Theatrical Ridicule: Here, indeed, this Weapon was used to an ill Purpose; but surely, what is able to bring Wisdom and Virtue into Disrepute, will with great Facility lay their Opposites under a general Contempt. There are among us who seem so sensible of the Danger of Wit and Humour, that they are resolved to have nothing to do with them: And indeed they are in the right on’t; for Wit, like Hunger, will be with great Difficulty restrained from falling on, where there is great Plenty and Variety of Food.
But while the powerful Sons of Dulness shed all their Influence on their inferior Brethren, be You, My LORD, who are the most favourite Offspring of the British Muses, the Patron of their younger Children; whom Your LORDSHIP has as much Reason to love, as others to fear; for you must have seen, that to be celebrated by them, and applauded by the more discerning and worthy, are the only Rewards which true Patriotism (a Word scandalously ridicul’d by some) can securely expect. And here I am pleading the Cause of others; for the only Title I have to enrol my self in the Number of those I have recommended to Your Favour, is by being, with the most perfect Admiration and Respect,
My LORD,
Your LORDSHIP’S most obedient an
d most humble Servant, HENRY FIELDING.
PREFACE.
THIS Comedy was begun at Leyden in the Year 1728, and after it had been sketched out into a few loose Scenes, was thrown by, and for a long while no more thought of. It was originally writ for my private Amusement; as it would indeed have been little less than Quixotism itself to hope any other Fruits from attempting Characters wherein the inimitable Cervantes so far excelled. The Impossibility of going beyond, and the extreme Difficulty of keeping pace with him, were sufficient to infuse Despair into a very adventurous Author.
I soon discovered too, that my too small Experience in, and little Knowledge of the World, had led me into an Error. I soon found it infinitely more difficult than I imagined, to vary the Scene, and give my Knight an Opportunity of displaying himself in a different manner from that wherein he appears in the Romance. Human Nature is every where the same. And the Modes and Habits of particular Nations do not change it enough, sufficiently to distinguish a Quixore in England from a Quixote in Spain.
Complete Fictional Works of Henry Fielding Page 312
