Guz. I wish your Worship would send him to Goal, he seems to look most cursedly Mischievous. I shall never think my self safe till he is under Lock and Key.
Fair. Sir Thomas, I do not deserve this Usage at your Hands; and tho’ my Love to your Daughter hath made me hitherto Passive, do not carry the Thing too far; for be assured if you do you shall answer for it.
Sir Tho. Ay, ay, Sir, we are not afraid of that.
SCENE XIV.
Squire Badger, Sir Thomas, Dorothea, Fairlove, Don Quixote, Mrs. Guzzle.
Badg. Oons! what’s the Matter with you all? Is the Devil in the Inn that you won’t let a Man sleep? I was as fast on the Table as if I had been in a Feather-bed.— ‘Sbud, what’s the matter? Where’s my Lord Slang?
Sir Tho. Dear Squire, let me intreat you would go to Bed, you are a little heated with Wine.
Badg. Oons, Sir! do you say that I am drunk? I say, Sir, that I am as sober as a Judge; and if any Man says that I am drunk, Sir, he’s a Liar, and a Son of a Whore. My Dear, an’t I — sober now?
Dor. O nauseous, filthy Wretch!
Badg. ‘Fore George, a good pretty Wench; I’ll have a Kiss; I’ll warrant she’s twice as handsom as my Wife, that is to be.
Sir Tho. Hold, dear Sir, this is my Daughter.
Badg. Sir, I don’t care whose Daughter she is.
Dor. For Heaven’s sake, some body defend me from him.
Fair. Let me go, Dogs! Villain! thou hadst better eat thy Fingers than lay ‘em rudely on that Lady.
Sir Tho. Dear Mr. Badger, this is my Daughter, the young Lady to whom you intended your Addresses.
Badg. Well, Sir, and an’t I making Addresses to her, Sir, Hey?
Sir Tho. Let me beseech you, Sir, to attack her in no rude manner.
Badg. Pr’ythee, dost thou know who I am? I fansy if thou did’st know who I was, thou wou’dst not talk to me so; if thou dost any more, I shall lend thee a Knock. Come, Madam, since I have promis’d to marry you, since I can’t be off with Honour, as they say; why, the sooner it’s done, the better; let us send for a Parson and be married, now I’m in the Humour. ‘Sbodlikins! I find there’s nothing in making Love, when a Man’s but once got well into’t. I never made a Word of Love before in my Life; and yet it is as natural, seemingly, as if I had been bound Prentice to it.
Quix. Sir, one Word with you, if you please; I suppose you look upon your self as a reasonable sort of Person.
Sir Tho. What?
Quix. That you are capable of managing your Affairs; that you don’t stand in need of a Governor.
Sir Tho. Hey!
Quix. And if this be true of you, is it possible you can prefer that Wretch, who is a Scandal to his very Species, to this Gentleman, whose Person and Parts would be an Honour to the greatest of it.
Sir Tho. Has he made you his Advocate? Tell him, I can prefer Three Thousand to One.
Quix. The usual Madness of Mankind! Do you marry your Daughter for her sake, or your own? If for her’s, sure ‘tis something whimsical, to make her miserable in order to make her happy. Money is a Thing well worth considering in these Affairs; but Parents always regard it too much, and Lovers too little. No Match can be happy, which Love and Fortune do not conspire to make so. The greatest Addition of either, illy supplies the intire Absence of the other; nor wou’d Millions a Year make that Beast, in your Daughter’s Eye, preferable to this Youth with a Thousand.
Sir Tho. What have we here, a Philosophical Pimp! I can’t help saying, but the Fellow has some Truth on his Side.
Dor. You are my eternal Aversion.
Badg. Lookye, Madam, I can take a Joke, or so, but if you are in earnest —
Dor. Indeed I am, I hate and despise you in the most serious earnest.
Badg. Do you, then you may kiss.— ‘Sbud, I can hate as well as you. Your Daughter has affronted me here. Sir, what’s your Name, and I’ll have Satisfaction?
Quix. Oh, that I were disinchanted for thy sake!
Badg. Sir, I’ll have Satisfaction.
Sir Tho. My Daughter, Sir —
Badg. Sir, your Daughter, Sir, is a Son of a Whore, Sir. ‘Sbud, I’ll go find my Lord Slang. A Fig for you and your Daughter too; I’ll have Satisfaction. [Exit.
Quix. A Turk wou’d scarce marry a Christian Slave to such a Husband.
Sir Tho. How this Man was misrepresented to me! Fellows, let go your Prisoner. Mr. Fairlove, can you forgive me? Can I make you any Reparation for the Injustice I have shewn you on this Wretch’s Account?
Fair. Ha!
Dor. Ha!
Sir Tho. If the immediate executing all my former Promises to you, can make you forget my having broken them; and if, as I have no Reason to doubt, your Love for my Daughter will continue, you have my Consent to consummate as soon as you please; hers, I believe you have already.
Fair. Oh Transport! Oh blest Moment!
Dor. No Consent of mine can ever be wanting to make him happy.
AIR XIV.
Fair.
Thus the Merchant, who with Pleasure,
Long adventur’d on the Main,
Hugging fast his darling Treasure,
Gaily smiles
On past Toils,
Well repaid for all his Pain.
She.
Thus the Nymph whom Dream affrighting,
With her Lover’s Death alarms,
Wakes with Transports all delighting;
Madly blest,
When carest
In his warm entwining Arms.
Mrs. Guz. Lard bless ‘em! who cou’d have parted them, that hadn’t a Heart of Oak!
Quix. Here are the Fruits of Knight-Errantry for you. This is an Instance of what admirable Service we are to Mankind. — I find, some Adventures are reserv’d for Don Quixote de la Mancha.
Sir Tho. Don Quixote de la Mancha! Is it possible that you can be the real Don Quixote de la Mancha?
Quix. Truly, Sir, I have had so much to do with Inchanters, that I dare not affirm whether I am really my self, or no.
Sir Tho. Sir, I honour you much; I have heard of your great Atchievements in Spain; what brought you to England, noble Don?
Quix. A Search of Adventures, Sir; no Place abounds more with them. I was told there was a plenteous Stock of Monsters; nor have I found one less than I expected.
SCENE XV.
Don Quixote, Sir Thomas, Fairlove, Dorothea, Guzzle, Mrs. Guzzle, Brief, Dr. Drench.
Brief. I’ll have Satisfaction, I won’t be us’d after this manner for nothing, while there is either Law, or Judge, or Justice, or Jury, or Crown-Office, or Actions of Damages, or on the Case, or Trespasses, or Assaults, and Batteries.
Sir Tho. What’s the matter, Mr. Counseller?
Brief. Oh, Sir Thomas! I am abus’d, beaten, hurt, maimed, disfigured, defaced, dismember’d, kill’d, massacred, and murder’d, by this Rogue, Robber, Rascal, Villain. I shan’t be able to appear at Westminster-Hall the whole Term; it will be as good a Three Hundred Pounds out of my Pocket as was ever taken.
Drench. If this Madman be not blooded, cupped, sweated, blister’d, vomited, purg’d, this Instant, he will be incurable. I am well acquainted with this sort of Phrenzy; his next Paroxysm will be six times as strong as the former.
Brief. Pshaw! the Man is no more mad than I am. — I should be finely off if he could be prov’d Non compos mentis; ‘tis an easy thing for a Man to pretend Madness Ex post facto.
Drench. Pretend Madness! give me leave to tell you, Mr. Brief, I am not to be pretended with; I judge by Symptoms, Sir.
Brief. Symptoms! Gad, here are Symptoms for you, if you come to that.
Drench. Very plain Symptoms of Madness, I think.
Brief. Very fine, indeed! very fine Doctrine! very fine, indeed! a Man’s beating of another is a Proof of Madness; so that if a Man be indicted, he has nothing to do, but to plead, Non compos mentis, and he’s acquitted of course; so there’s an end of all Actions of Assaults and Battery at once.
SCENE XVI.
; Sir Thomas, Cook, Don Quixote, Sancho, Fairlove, Dr. Drench, Servants haling in Sancho.
Sir Tho. Heyday! what’s the matter now?
Cook. Bring him along, bring him along! Ah Master, no wonder you have complain’d so long of missing your Victuals, for all the time we were out in the Yard, this Rogue has been stuffing his Guts in the Pantry. Nay, he has not only done that, but every thing he cou’d not eat, he has cram’d into that great Sack there, which he calls a Wallet.
Quix. Thou Scandal to the Name of Squire! wilt thou eternally bring Shame on thy Master by these little pilfering Tricks!
San. Nay, nay, you have no reason to talk, good Master of mine; the Receiver’s as bad as the Thief; and you have been glad, let me tell you, after some of your Adventures, to see the Inside of the Wallet, as well as I. What a Pox, are these your Errantry Tricks, to leave your Friends in the Lurch?
Quix. Slave! Caitif!
Sir Tho. Dear Knight, be not angry with the trusty Sancho, you know by the Laws of Knight-Errantry, stuffing the Wallet has still been the Privilege of the Squire.
San. If this Gentleman be a Knight-Errant, I wish he wou’d make me his Squire.
Quix. I’m pacified.
Fair. Landlord, be easy. Whatever you may have suffer’d by Mr. Sancho, or his illustrious Master, I’ll see you paid.
Sir Tho. If you will honour my House, noble Knight, and be present at my Daughter’s Wedding with this Gentleman, we will do the best in our Power for your Entertainment.
Quix. Sir, I accept your Offer, and, unless any immediate Adventure of moment should intervene, will attend you.
San. Oh rare Sancho! this is brave News, i’faith! Give me your Wedding-Adventures, the Devil take all the rest.
Drench. Sure, Sir Thomas, you will not take a Madman home with you to your House.
Quix. I have heard thee, thon ignorant Wretch, throw that Word in my Face, with Patience; for alas! cou’d it be prov’d, what were it more than almost all Mankind in some degrees deserve? Who would doubt the noisy boist’rous Squire, who was here just now, to be mad? Must not this noble Knight here have been mad, to think of marrying his Daughter to such a Wretch? You, Doctor, are mad too, tho’ not so mad as your Patients. The Lawyer here is mad, or he wou’d not have gone into a Scuffle, when it is the Business of Men of his Profession to set other Men by the Ears, and keep clear themselves.
Sir Tho. Ha, ha, ha! I don’t know whether this Knight, by and by, may not prove us all to be more mad than himself.
Fair. Perhaps, Sir Thomas, that is no such difficult Point.
AIR XV. Country Bumpkin.
All Mankind are mad, ‘tis plain;
Some for Places,
Some Embraces;
Some are mad to keep up Gain,
And others mad to spend it.
Courtiers we may Madmen rate,
Poor Believers
In Deceivers;
Some are mad to hurt the State,
And others mad to mend it.
Dor.
Lawyers are for Bedlam fit,
Or they never
Could endeavour
Half the Rogueries to commit,
Which we’re so mad to let ‘em.
Poets Madmen are, no doubt,
With Projectors,
And Directors;
Women all are mad throughout,
And we more mad to get ‘em.
Since your Madness is so plain,
Each Spectator
Of Good-Nature,
With Applause will entertain
His Brother of La Mancha;
With Applause will entertain
Don Quixote and Squire Sancho.
FINIS.
AN OLD MAN TAUGHT WISDO M
OR, THE VIRGIN UNMASK’D
CONTENTS
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
AN OLD MAN TAUGHT WISDOM
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
GOODWILL — Mr. Shepard.
LUCY, his Daughter — Mrs. Clive.
BLISTER, an Apothecary — Mr. Harper.
COUPEE, a Dancing-master — Mr. Laguerre.
QUAVER, a Singing-master — Mr. Salway.
WORMWOOD, a Lawyer — Mr. Macklin.
MR. THOMAS, a Footman — Mr. Este.
SCENE. — A Hall in GOODWILL’S House in — the Country.
AN OLD MAN TAUGHT WISDOM
GOODWILL. [Solus.] Well, it is to me surprising, that out of the multitudes who feel a pleasure in getting an estate, few or none should taste a satisfaction in bestowing it. Doubtless, a good man must have vast delight in rewarding merit, nor will I believe it so difficult to be found. I am at present, I thank Heaven, and my own industry, worth a good ten thousand pounds, and an only daughter, both which I have determined to give to the most worthy of my poor relations. The transport I feel from the hope of making some honest man happy, makes me amends for the many weary days and sleepless nights my riches have cost me. I have sent to summon them. The girl I have bred up under my own eye; she has seen nothing, knows nothing, and has consequently no will but mine. I have no reason to doubt her consent to whatever choice I shall make. How happily must my old age slide away, between the affection of an innocent and dutiful child, and the grateful return I may expect from a so much obliged son-in-law! I am certainly the happiest man on earth. Here she comes.
Enter LUCY.
LUCY. Did you send for me, papa?
GOODWILL. Yes, come hither, child. I have sent for you to mention an affair to you, which you, I believe, have not yet thought of.
LUCY. I hope it is not to send me to a boarding-school, papa.
GOODWILL. I hope my indulgence to you has been such, that you have reason to regard me as the best of fathers. I am sure I have never denied you any thing but for your own good: indeed I have consulted nothing else. It is that for which I have been toiling these many years; for which I have denied myself every comfort in life; and from which I have, from renting a farm of five hundred a year, amassed the sum of ten thousand pounds.
LUCY. I am afraid you are angry with me, papa.
GOODWILL. Be not frightened, my dear child, you have done nothing to offend me. But answer me one question — What does my little dear think of a husband?
LUCY. A husband, papa! O la!
GOODWILL. Come, it is a question a girl in her sixteenth year may answer. Should you like to have a husband, Lucy?
LUCY. And am I to have a coach?
GOODWILL. No, no; what has that to do with a husband?
LUCY. Why you know, papa, Sir John Wealthy’s daughter was carried away in a coach by her husband; and I have been told by several of our neighbours, that I was to have a coach when I was married. Indeed I have dreamt of it a hundred times. I never dreamt of a husband in my whole life that I did not dream of a coach. I have rid about in one all night in my sleep, and methought it was the purest thing! —
GOODWILL. Lock up a girl as you will, I find you cannot keep her from evil counsellors. [Aside.] — I tell you, child, you must have no coach with a husband.
LUCY. Then let me have a coach without a husband.
GOODWILL. What, had you rather have a coach than a husband?
LUCY. Hum — I don’t know that. But, if you’ll get me a coach, let me alone, I’ll warrant I’ll get me a husband.
AIR I. Thomas, I cannot.
Do you, papa, but find a coach,
And leave the other to me, sir;
For that will make the lover approach,
And I warrant we sha’n’t disagree, sir;
No sparks will talk
To girls that walk,
I have heard it, and I confide in’t:
Do you then fix
My coach and six,
I warrant I get one to ride in’t, to ride in’t.
I warrant, &e.
GOODWILL. The girl is out of her wits, sure. Hussy! who put these thoughts into your head? You shall have a good sober husband, that will teach yon better things.
LUCY. Ay, but
I won’t though, if I can help it; for Miss Jenny Flant-it says a sober husband is the worst sort of husband in the world.
GOODWILL. I have a mind to sound the girl’s inclinations. Come hither, Lucy; tell me now, of all the men you ever saw, whom should you like best for a husband?
LUCY. O fie, papa, I must not tell.
GOODWILL. Yes, you may your father.
LUCY. No, Miss Jenny says I must not tell my mind to any man whatever. She never tells a word of truth to her father.
GOODWILL. Miss Jenny is a wicked girl, and you must not regard her. Come, tell me the truth, or I shall be angry.
LUCY. Why then, of all the men I ever saw in my whole life-time, I like Mr. Thomas, my Lord Bounce’s footman, the best, a hundred thousand times.
Complete Fictional Works of Henry Fielding Page 318
