Tragedy king — Mr. Pullen.
School-mistress — Mrs. Egerton.
Tragedy queen — Miss Jones.
WATCHMEN, Constables, Watch, Fiddlers, Lanthorns, Suns, Moons, Whores, dc., dc., dc.
TUMBLE-DOWN DICK
PROMPTER, FUSTIAN, SNEERTVELL, and MACHINE.
PROMPTER. Mr. Fustian, I hope the tragedy is over, for
MR. Machine is just come, and we must practise the entertainment.
FUSTIAN. Sir, my tragedy is done; but you need not be in such haste about your entertainment, for you will not want it this season.
PROMPTER. That, sir, I don’t know; but we dare not disoblige Mr. Machine, for fear he should go to the other house.
SNEERWELL. Dear Fustian, do let us stay and see the practice.
FUSTIAN. And can you bear, after such a luscious meal of tragedy as you have had, to put away the taste with such an insipid dessert?
SNEERWELL. It will divert me a different way. — I can admire the sublime which I have seen in the tragedy, and laugh at the ridiculous which I expect in the entertainment.
FUSTIAN. You shall laugh by yourself then. [Going.
SNEERWELL. Nay, dear Fustian, I beg you would stay for me, for I believe I can serve you; I will carry you to dinner in a large company, where you may dispose of some tickets.
FUSTIAN. Sir, I can deny you nothing. — Ay, I have a few tickets in my pockets.
[Pulls out a vast quantity of Paper.
MACHINE. Gentlemen, I must beg you to clear the stage entirely: for in things of this serious nature, if we do not comply with the exactest decency, the audience will be very justly offended.
FUSTIAN. Things of a serious nature! Oh, the devil!
MACHINE. Harkye, Prompter, who is that figure there?
PROMPTER. That, sir, is Mr. Fustian, author of the new tragedy.
MACHINE. Oh! I smoke him, I smoke him. But Mr. Prompter, I must insist that you cut out a great deal of Othello, if my pantomime is performed with it, or the audience will be palled before the entertainment begins.
PROMPTER. We’ll cut out the fifth act, sir, if you please.
MACHINE. Sir, that’s not enough, I’ll have the first cut out too.
FUSTIAN. Death and the devil! Can I bear this? Shall Shakespeare be mangled to introduce this trumpery?
PROMPTER. Sir, this gentleman brings more money to the house than all the poets put together.
MACHINE. Pugh, pugh, Shakespeare! — Come, let down the curtain, and play away the overture. — Prompter, to your post. [The curtain draws up, discovers Phaeton leaning against the scene.
SCENE. — A Collier’s Stall
Enter CLYMENE.
SNEERWELL. Pray, sir, who are these extraordinary figures?
MACHINE. He leaning against the scene is Phaeton; and the lady is Clymene; or Clymene as they call her in Drury
LANE. This scene, sir, is in the true altercative, or scolding style of the ancients. Come, madam, begin.
CLYMENE. You lazy, lousy rascal, is’t well done,
That you, the heir-apparent of the Sun,
Stand with your arms before you like a lout,
When your great father has two hours set out,
And bears his lanthorn all the world about?
YOUNG PHAETON. Oh mother, mother, think you it sounds well,
That the Sun’s son in cobbler’s stall should dwell?
Think you it does not on my soul encroach,
To walk on foot while father keeps a coach?
If he should shine into the stall, d’ye think
To see me mending shoes he would not wink?
Besides, by all the parish-boys I’m flammed,
You the Sun’s son! You rascal, you be damned!
CLYMENE. And dost thou, blockhead, then make all this noise,
Because you’re fleered at by the parish-boys?
When, sirrah, you may know the mob will dare
Sometimes to scorn, and hiss at my Lord Mayor.
AIR I. Gilliflower, gentle Rosemary.
YOUNG PHAETON. O mother, this story will never go down;
‘Twill ne’er be believed by the boys of the town;
‘Tis true what you swore,
I’m the son of a whore,
They all believe that, but believe nothing more.
CLYMENE. You rascal, who dare your mamma thus to doubt,
Come along to the justice, and he’ll make it out;
He knows very well,
When yon first made me swell,
That I swore ‘twas the Sun that had shined in my cell.
YOUNG PHAETON. O mother, mother, I must ever grieve;
Can I the justice, if not you believe?
If to your oath no credit I afford,
Do you believe I’ll take his worship’s word?
CLYMENE. Go to the watch-house, where your father bright
That lanthorn keeps which gives the world its light;
Whence sallying, he does the day’s gates unlock,
Walks through the world’s great streets, and tells folks what’s o’clock.
YOUNG PHAETON. With joy I go; and ere two days are run
I’ll know if I am my own father’s son. [Exit.
CLYMENE. GO, clear my fame, for greater ‘Tis in life
To be a great man’s whore, than poor man’s wife.
If you are rich, your vices men adore,
But hate and scorn your virtues, if you’re poor.
AIR II. Pierot Tune.
Great courtiers palaces contain,
Poor courtiers fear a jail;
Great parsons riot in champagne,
Poor parsons sot in ale;
Great whores in coaches gang,
Smaller misses
For their kisses
Are in Bridewell banged;
Whilst in vogue
Lives the great rogue,
Small rogues are by dozens hanged. [Exit.
The scene draws and discovers the Sun in a great chair in the
Bound-house, attended by Watchmen.
Enter YOUNG PHAETON.
SNEERWELL. Pray, sir, what is the scene to represent?
MACHINE. Sir, this is the Palace of the Sun.
FUSTIAN. It looks as like the Round-house as ever I saw any thing.
MACHINE. Yes, sir, the Sun is introduced in the character of a watchman; and that lanthorn there represents his chariot.
FUSTIAN. The devil it does!
MACHINE. Yes, sir, it does, and as like the chariot of the Sun it is as ever you saw any thing on any stage.
FUSTIAN. I can’t help thinking this a properer representation of the Moon than the Sun.
SNEER-WELL. Perhaps the scene lies in the Antipodes, where the Sun rises at midnight.
MACHINE. Sir, the scene lies in Ovid’s Metamorphoses; and so, pray, sir, don’t ask any more questions, for things of this nature are above criticism.
YOUNG PHAETON. What do I see? What beams of candle-light
Break from that lanthorn and put out my sight?
PHOEBUS. O little Phaey! pr’ythee tell me why
Thou tak’st this evening’s walk into the sky?
YOUNG PHAETON. Father, if I may call thee by that name,
I come to clear my own and mother’s fame:
To prove myself thy bastard, her thy miss.
PHOEBUS. Come hither first, and give me, boy, a kiss.
[Kisses him.
New you shall see a dance, and that will show
We lead as merry lives as folks below.
[A dance of Watchmen.
YOUNG PHAETON. Father, the dance has very well been done,
But yet that does not prove I am your son.
FUSTIAN. Upon my word, I think Mr. Phaeton is very much in the right on’t; and I would be glad to know, sir, why this dance was introduced.
MACHINE. Why, sir? why, as all dances are introduced, for the sake of the dance. Besides, sir, would it not look very unnatural in Phoebus to give his son no entertai
nment after so long an absence? Go on, go on.
PHOEBUS. Thou art so like me, sure you must be mine;
I should be glad if you would stay and dine;
I’ll give my bond, whatever you ask to grant:
I will by Styx! an oath which break I can’t.
YOUNG PHAETON. Then let me, since that vow must ne’er be broke,
Carry, one day, that lanthorn for a joke.
PHOEBUS. Rash was my promise, which I now must keep:
But oh! take care you do not fall asleep.
YOUNG PHAETON. If I succeed, I shall no scandal rue;
If I should sleep, ‘Tis what most watchmen do.
[Exit Young Phaeton.
PHOEBUS. No more. Set out, and walk around the skies;
My watch informs me it is time to rise. [Exit.
MACHINE. NOW for the comic, sir.
FUSTIAN. Why, what the devil has this been?
MACHINE. This ha6 been the serious, sir, — the sublime. The serious in an entertainment answers to the sublime in writing. Come, are all the rakes and whores ready at King’s coffee-house?
PROMPTER. They are ready, sir.
MACHINE. Then draw the scene. Pray, let the carpenters take care that all the scenes be drawn in exact time and tune, that I may have no bungling in the tricks; for a trick is no trick, if not performed with great dexterity. Mr. Fustian, in tragedies and comedies, and such sort of things, the audiences will make great allowances; but they expect more from an entertainment; here, if the least thing be out of order, they never pass it by.
FUSTIAN. Very true, sir, tragedies do not depend so much upon the carpenter as you do.
MACHINE. Come, draw the scene.
The scene draws, and discovers several Men and Women drinking in King’s Coffee-house. They rise and dance. The dance ended, sing the following song.
AIR III. O London is a fine Town.
1 RAKE. O Gin, at length, is putting down,
And ‘Tis the more the pity;
Petition for it all the town,
Petition all the city.
CHORUS. O Gin, &c.
1 RAKE. ‘Twas Gin that made train-bands so stout,
To whom each castle yields;
This made them march the town about,
And take all Tuttle Fields.
CHORUS. O Gin, &c.
1 RAKE. ‘Tis Gin, as all our neighbours know,
Has served our army too;
This makes them make so fine a show,
At Hyde Park, at review.
CHORUS. O Gin, &c.
1 RAKE. But what I hope will change your notes,
And make your anger sleep;
Consider, none can bribe his votes
With liquor half so cheap.
CHORUS. O Gin, &c.
FUSTIAN. I suppose, sir, you took a cup of Gin to inspire you to write this fine song?
During the song Harlequin enters and picks pockets. A Poet’s pocket is picked of his Play, which, as he was going to pawn for the reckoning, he misses. Harlequin is discovered; Constables and Watch are fetched in; the Watchmen walking in their sleep; they bind him in chains, confine him in the cellar, and leave him alone.
The Genius of Gin rises out of a tub.
GENIUS. Take, Harlequin, this magic wand,
All things shall yield to thy command:
Whether you would appear incog.,
In shape of monkey, cat or dog;
Or else to show your wit, transform
Your mistress to a butter-churn;
Or else, what no magician can,
Into a wheelbarrow turn a man;
And please the gentry above stairs
By sweetly crying, Mellow pears.
Thou shalt make jests without a head,
And judge of plays thou canst not read.
Whores and race-horses shall be thine,
Champagne shall be thy only wine;
Whilst the best poet, and best player,
Shall both be forced to feed on air;
Gin’s genius all these things reveals,
Thou shalt perform, by slight of heels.
[Exit Genius.
Enter Constable and Watchmen. They take Harlequin out and the scene changes to the Street; a crowd before the Justice’s house. Enter a Clerk in the character of Pierrot; they all go in. The scene changes to the Justice’s Parlour, and discovers the Justice learning to spell of an old School-mistress.
FUSTIAN. Pray, sir, who are those characters?
MACHINE. Sir, that’s a Justice of peace; and the other is a School-mistress, teaching the Justice to spell; for you must know, sir, the Justice is a very ingenious man, and a very great scholar, but happened to have the misfortune in his youth never to learn to read.
Enter Harlequin in custody; Columbine, Poet, &c. The Poet makes his complaint to the Justice; the Justice orders a Mittimus for Harlequin; Columbine courts the Justice to let Harlequin escape; he grows fond of her, but will not comply till she offers him money; he then acquits Harlequin, and commits the Poet.
FUSTIAN. Pray, bow is this brought about, sir?
MACHINE. How, sir! why, by bribery. You know, sir, or may know, that Aristotle, in his book concerning entertainments, has laid it down as a principal rule, that Harlequin is always to escape; and I’ll be judged by the whole world if ever he escaped in a more natural manner.
The Constable carries off the Poet; Harlequin hits the Justice a great rap upon the bach, and runs off; Columbine goes to follow; Pierrot lays hold on her, the Justice being recovered of his blow, seizes her, and carries her in. Pierrot sits down to learn to spell, and the scene shuts.
Scene, the Street. Harlequin re-enters, considering how to regain Columbine, and bite the Justice. Two Chairmen cross the stage with a China jar, on a horse, directed to the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. Harlequin gets into it, and is carried into the Justice’s; the scene changes to the Justice’s House; Harlequin is brought in, in the jar; the Justice, Pierrot, and Columbine enter; the Justice offers it as a present to Columbine.
FUSTIAN. Sir, sir, here’s a small error, I observe; how comes the Justice to attempt buying this jar, as I suppose you intend, when it is directed to the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane?
MACHINE. Sir, sir, here’s no error, I observe; for how should the Justice know that, when he can’t read?
SNEERWELL. Ay, there I think, Mr. Fustian, you must own yourself in the wrong.
FUSTIAN. People that can’t read ought not to be brought upon the stage, that’s all. While the Justice and Chairmen are talking about the jar, Harlequin tumbles down upon him. The Justice and Pierrot run off in a fright. Columbine runs to Harlequin, who carries her off. The Chairmen go out with the jar.
SNEERWELL. Pray, Mr. Machine, how came that jar not to be broke?
MACHINE. Because it was no jar, sir; I see you know very little of these affairs. Scene, the Street. Harlequin and Columbine re-enter, pursued by the Justice and his Clerk.
Scene changes to a Barber’s Shop; he sets Columbine down to shave her, blinds the Clerk with the suds, and turns the Justice into a periwig-block.
MACHINE. There, sir, there’s wit and humour, and transformation for you!
FUSTIAN. The transformation is odd enough, indeed.
MACHINE. Odd, sir! What, the Justice into a block? No, sir, not odd at all; there never was a more natural and easy transformation; but don’t interrupt us. Go on, go on.
The Clerk takes the wig off the block, puts it on, and admires himself; Harlequin directs him to powder it better, which, while he is doing, he throws him into the trough, and shuts him down. Harlequin and Columbine go off. The Justice re-enters without his wig; his man calls to him out of the trough, he takes him out, and they go off together in pursuit of Harlequin.
MACHINE. Thus ends, sir, my first comic. Now, sir, for my second, serious, or sublime. Come, draw the scene, and discover Aurora, or the Morning, just going to break, and her maid ironing her linen.
AURORA. The devil tak
e the wench, is’t not a shame
You should be lazy, and I bear the blame?
Make haste, you drone, for if I longer stay,
The Sun will rise before the break of day;
Nor can I go till my clean linen’s done:
How will a dirty morning look in June?
MAID. Shifts, madam, can’t be dried before they’re wet;
You must wear fewer, or more changes get.
FUSTIAN. Pray, sir, in what book of the ancients do you find any mention of Aurora’s washerwoman?
MACHINE. Don’t trouble me with the ancients, sir; if she’s not in the ancients, I have improved upon the ancients, sir, that’s all.
AURORA. Dare you to me in such a manner speak?
The morning is scarce fine three times a week;
But I can’t stay, and as I am must break. [Exit.
MAID. Break and be hanged! please Heaven I’ll give you warning.
Night wants a maid, and so I’ll leave the Morning. [Exit.
Complete Fictional Works of Henry Fielding Page 337
