CARIO (opening the door). Who knocks at the door? Halloa! I see no one; ‘twas then by chance it gave forth that plaintive tone.
HERMES (to Carlo, who is about to close the door). Cario! stop!
CARIO. Eh! friend, was it you who knocked so loudly? Tell me.
HERMES. No, I was going to knock and you forestalled me by opening. Come, call your master quick, then his wife and his children, then his slave and his dog, then thyself and his pig.
CARIO. And what’s it all about?
HERMES. It’s about this, rascal! Zeus wants to serve you all with the same sauce and hurl the lot of you into the Barathrum.
CARIO. Have a care for your tongue, you bearer of ill tidings! But why does he want to treat us in that scurvy fashion?
HERMES. Because you have committed the most dreadful crime. Since Plutus has recovered his sight, there is nothing for us other gods, neither incense, nor laurels, nor cakes, nor victims, nor anything in the world.
CARIO. And you will never be offered anything more; you governed us too ill.
HERMES. I care nothing at all about the other gods, but ‘tis myself. I tell you I am dying of hunger.
CARIO. That’s reasoning like a wise fellow.
HERMES. Formerly, from earliest dawn, I was offered all sorts of good things in the wine-shops, — wine-cakes, honey, dried figs, in short, dishes worthy of Hermes. Now, I lie the livelong day on my back, with my legs in the air, famishing.
CARIO. And quite right too, for you often had them punished who treated you so well.
HERMES. Ah! the lovely cake they used to knead for me on the fourth of the month!
CARIO. You recall it vainly; your regrets are useless! there’ll be no more cake.
HERMES. Ah! the ham I was wont to devour!
CARIO. Well then! make use of your legs and hop on one leg upon the wine-skin, to while away the time.
HERMES. Oh! the grilled entrails I used to swallow down!
CARIO. Your own have got the colic, methinks.
HERMES. Oh! the delicious tipple, half wine, half water!
CARIO. Here, swallow that and be off. (He discharges a fart.)
HERMES. Would you do a friend a service?
CARIO. Willingly, if I can.
HERMES. Give me some well-baked bread and a big hunk of the victims they are sacrificing in your house.
CARIO. That would be stealing.
HERMES. Do you forget, then, how I used to take care he knew nothing about it when you were stealing something from your master?
CARIO. Because I used to share it with you, you rogue; some cake or other always came your way.
HERMES. Which afterwards you ate up all by yourself.
CARIO. But then you did not share the blows when I was caught.
HERMES. Forget past injuries, now you have taken Phylé. Ah! how I should like to live with you! Take pity and receive me.
CARIO. You would leave the gods to stop here?
HERMES. One is much better off among you.
CARIO. What! you would desert! Do you think that is honest?
HERMES. “Where I live well, there is my country.”
CARIO. But how could we employ you here?
HERMES. Place me near the door; I am the watchman god and would shift off the robbers.
CARIO. Shift off! Ah! but we have no love for shifts.
HERMES. Entrust me with business dealings.
CARIO. But we are rich; why should we keep a haggling Hermes?
HERMES. Let me intrigue for you.
CARIO. No, no, intrigues are forbidden; we believe in good faith.
HERMES. I will work for you as a guide.
CARIO. But the god sees clearly now, so we no longer want a guide.
HERMES. Well then, I will preside over the games. Ah! what can you object to in that? Nothing is fitter for Plutus than to give scenic and gymnastic games.
CARIO. How useful ‘tis to have so many names! Here you have found the means of earning your bread. I don’t wonder the jurymen so eagerly try to get entered for many tribunals.
HERMES. So then, you admit me on these terms.
CARIO. Go and wash the entrails of the victims at the well, so that you may show yourself serviceable at once.
A PRIEST OF ZEUS. Can anyone direct me where Chremylus is?
CHREMYLUS. What would you with him, friend?
PRIEST. Much ill. Since Plutus has recovered his sight, I am perishing of starvation; I, the priest of Zeus the Deliverer, have nothing to eat!
CHREMYLUS. And what is the cause of that, pray?
PRIEST. No one dreams of offering sacrifices.
CHREMYLUS. Why not?
PRIEST. Because all men are rich. Ah! when they had nothing, the merchant who escaped from shipwreck, the accused who was acquitted, all immolated victims; another would sacrifice for the success of some wish and the priest joined in at the feast; but now there is not the smallest victim, not one of the faithful in the temple, but thousands who come there to ease themselves.
CHREMYLUS. Don’t you take your share of those offerings?
PRIEST. Hence I think I too am going to say good-bye to Zeus the
Deliverer, and stop here myself.
CHREMYLUS. Be at ease, all will go well, if it so please the god. Zeus the Deliverer is here; he came of his own accord.
PRIEST. Ha! that’s good news.
CHREMYLUS. Wait a little; we are going to install Plutus presently in the place he formerly occupied behind the Temple of Athené; there he will watch over our treasures for ever. But let lighted torches be brought; take these and walk in solemn procession in front of the god.
PRIEST. That’s magnificent!
CHREMYLUS. Let Plutus be summoned.
OLD WOMAN. And I, what am I to do?
CHREMYLUS. Take the pots of vegetables which we are going to offer to the god in honour of his installation and carry them on your head; you just happen luckily to be wearing a beautiful embroidered robe.
OLD WOMAN. And what about the object of my coming?
CHREMYLUS. Everything shall be according to your wish. The young man will be with you this evening.
OLD WOMAN. Well, if you will be bound that the youth shall visit me, I will carry the pots.
CARIO. (turning to the spectators.) These pots are the very reverse of all others: for in all others the scum1 used to be at the top of the pot, here it is at the bottom.
CHORUS. There is no reason why we should stay here longer, but follow behind: for it is usual to bring up the rear with a song.
THE WEDDING-DA Y
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
ACT I.
ACT II.
ACT III.
ACT IV.
ACT V.
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
SPOKEN BY MR. MACKLIN
GENTLEMEN AND LADIES,
WE must beg your indulgence, and humbly hope you’ll not be offended
At an accident that has happened to-night, which was not in the least intended,
I assure you: if you please, your money shall be returned.
But Mr. Garrick, to-day,
Who performs a principal character in the play,
Unfortunately has sent word, ‘twill be impossible, having so long a part,
To speak to the Prologue: he hasn’t had time to get it by heart.
I have been with the author, to know what’s to be done,
For, till the Prologue’s spoke, sir, says I, we can’t go on.
“Pshaw! rot the Prologue,” says he; “then begin without it.”
I told him, ‘twas impossible, you’d make such a rout about it:
Besides, ‘twould be quite unprecedented, — and I dare say,
Such an attempt, sir, would make them damn the play.
“Ha! damn my play!” the frighted bard replies;
“Dear Mackin, you must go on then, and apologise.”
Apologise! not I: pray, sir, excuse me.
“Zounds! something must be done: pr’ythee don’t refuse me:
Pr’ythee, go on: tell them, to damn my play will be a damned hard case.
Come, do: you’ve a good long, dismal, mercy-begging face.”
Sir, your humble servant: you’re very merry. “Yes,” says he, “I’ve been drinking
To raise my spirits; for, by Jupiter! I found ‘em sinking.”
So away he went to see the play; Oh! there he sits:
Smoke him, smoke the author, you laughing crits.
Isn’t he finely situated for a damning Oh — Oh! a — a shrill
Whihee! Oh, direful yell!
As Falstaff says: would it were bed-time, Hal, and all were well!
What think you now? Whose face looks worst, yours or mine?
Ah! thou foolish follower of the ragged Nine,
You’d better stuck to honest Abraham Adams, by half:
He, in spite of critics, can make your readers laugh.
But to the Prologue. — What shall I say? Why, faith, in my sense,
I take plain truth to be the best defence.
I think, then, it was horrid stuff; and in my humble apprehension,
Had it been spoke, not worthy your attention.
I’ll give you a sample, if I can recollect it.
Hip! take courage: never fear, man: don’t be dejected.
Poor devil! he can’t stand it; he has drawn in his head:
I reckon, before the play’s done, he’ll be half dead.
But to the Prologue. It began,
“To-night the comic Author of to-day,
Has writ a — a — a — something about a play:
And as the bee, — the bee, — (that he brings by way of simile) the bee, which roves,
Through, through,” — pshaw! pox o’ my memory! — Oh! “through fields and groves,
So comic poets in fair London town
To cull the flowers of characters wander up and down.”
Then there was a good deal about Rome, Athens, and dramatic rules,
And characters of knaves and courtiers, authors and fools,
And a vast deal about critics, — and good-nature, — and the poor Author’s fear;
And I think there was something about a third night, — hoping to see you here.
‘Twas all such stuff as this, not worth repeating,
In the old Prologue cant; and then at last concludes, thus kindly greeting,
“To you, the critic jury of the pit,
Our culprit Author does his cause submit:
With justice, nay, with candour, judge his wit:
Give him, at least, a patient quiet hearing:
If guilty, damn him; if not guilty, clear him.”
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
MEN.
MILLAMOUR — Mr. Garrick.
HEARTFORT — Mr. Delane.
MR. STEDFAST — Mr. Macklin.
MR. MUTABLE — Mr. Taswell.
YOUNG MUTABLE — Mr. Neale.
SQUEEZE PURSE — Mr. Morgan.
BRAZEN — Mr. Yates.
DR. CRISIS — Mr. Turbutt.
WOMEN
CLARINDA — Mrs. Pritchard.
CHARLOTTE — Mrs. Woffington.
MRS. USEFUL — Mrs. Macklin.
MRS. PLOTWELL — Mrs. Cross.
LUCINA, — Mrs. Bennet.
Servants, dc.
SCENE. — London
ACT I.
SCENE I.
MILLAMOUR’S Lodging.
BRAZEN asleep on a Chair.
MILLAMOUR [calls several times without — Brazen!] why, you incorrigible rascal, are you not ashamed to sleep at this time of day? Do you think yourself in Spain, sirrah, that thus you go regularly to sleep when others go to dinner?
BRAZEN [waking]. Truly, sir, I think he that wakes with the owl should rest with him too. Spain! Agad, I should live in the Antipodes, by the hours I am obliged to keep. Nor do I see why the same bell that rings others to dinner should not ring me to sleep: for, I thank heaven and your honour, sleep is the only dinner I have had these two days.
MILLAMOUR. Cease your impertinence, and get things ready to dress me.
BRAZEN. What clothes will your honour please to wear?
MILLAMOUR. Get me the blue and silver; or stay — the brown and gold. Come back, fetch me the black; that suits best with my present circumstances.
BRAZEN. I fancy the lace suits best with your circumstances. Most people in your honour’s circumstances wear lace.
MILLAMOUR. Harkye, sir, I have often cautioned you against this familiarity. You must part with your wit, or with your master.
BRAZEN. [Aside.] That’s true. If I had any wit, I should have parted with him long ago. No wise servant will live with a master who has turned away his estate.
MILLAMOUR. Get me the laced — go immediately. Familiarity is a sort of interest which all servants exact from an indebted master: and, as being indebted to a friend is the surest way to make him your enemy, so making your servant your creditor is the surest way of making him your friend.
SCENE II.
Enter BRAZEN, showing in MRS. USEFUL.
BRAZEN. Sir, is your honour at home? Here is Mrs. Useful.
MILLAMOUR. Sirrah, you know I am at home to my friend, my mistress, and my bawd, at any time.
MRS. USEFUL. Hoity, toity, — What! must I stay at the door till your worship has considered whether you will see me or not? Do I pass for a beggar or a dun with you? Do you take me for a tradesman with his bill, or a poet with a dedication?
MILLAMOUR. [To Brazen.] Do you see what your blunders are the occasion of? Come, my angry fair one, lay aside the terror of your brows, since it was my servant’s fault, not mine.
MRS. USEFUL. I, who am admitted where a poor woman of quality is excluded!
MILLAMOUR. I know thou art. Thou art as dear to the women of fashion as their lap-dogs, or to the men as their buffoons.
MRS. USEFUL. A very civil comparison!
MILLAMOUR. Thou art the first minister of Venus, the first plenipotentiary in affairs of love, and thy house is the noble scene of the congress of the two sexes. Thou hast united more couples than the Alimony Act has parted, and sent more to bed together without a licence than any parson of the Fleet.
MRS. USEFUL. I wish I could have prevented one couple from doing it with a licence.
MILLAMOUR. What, has some notable whore of thy acquaintance turned rebel to thy power, and listed under the banners of Hymen? But be not disconsolate at thy loss. — My life to a farthing she returns to her duty. Whoring is like the mathematics; whoever is once initiated into the science is sure never to leave it.
MRS. USEFUL. This may probably take your mirth a key or two lower than its present pitch. [Gives a letter.
MILLAMOUR. I hope thou dost not deal with the law. I know no letter can give me any uneasiness, but a letter from an attorney. [Opens the letter.] Ha! Stedfast! I know the hand, though not the name.
“SIR, — After your behaviour to me, I might not have been strictly obliged to give you any account of my actions: however, as it is the last line you will ever see from me, I have prevailed with myself to tell you, that your course of life has at last determined me to fly to any harbour from the danger of you; and accordingly this morning has given me to a man, whose estate and sincere affections will, in time, produce that love in my heart, which your actions have — have — (this is a damned hard word) have e-ra-di-ca-ted, and make me happy in the name of “CLARINDA STEDFAST.”
MRS. USEFUL. What do you think now, sir?
MILLAMOUR. Think! that I am the most unhappy of men and have lost the most charming of women.
MRS. USEFUL. I always told you what it would come to, but you went still on in your profligate way. It is very true, what religious men tell us, we never know the value of a blessing till we lose it.
MILLAMOUR. Ay, ‘tis very true indeed; for till this hour I never knew the value of Clarinda. [Reads again.] Hum I hum! has given me to
a man whose estate and sincere affection, by which I am to understand that my rival is some very rich old fellow; two excellent qualifications for a husband and a cuckold, as one could wish.
MRS. USEFUL. I shall make a faithful report of the philosophy with which you receive the news.
MILLAMOUR. Oh! couldst thou tell her half my tenderness or my pain, thou must invent a language to express them.
MRS. USEFUL. Truly, I think you had best set pen to paper, and tell her them yourself.
MILLAMOUR. I had rather trust to your rhetoric: the paper, I am sure, will carry no more than I put into it; but for thee —
MRS. USEFUL. It if receives any addition it will not be to your advantage.
MILLAMOUR. I dare trust thee; thou lovest the game too well to spoil it.
Complete Fictional Works of Henry Fielding Page 354
