MR. BONCOUR. What! can you think the man is in his senses?
SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. Certainly; for ‘Tis impossible he should suppose you to be in yours, when you made him the offer to which this letter is an answer.
MR. BONCOUR. But, brother, is my making him an advantageous offer a reason ‘for so impudent an imposition?
SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. Ay, surely, no one can give another a stronger hint to impose upon him than by first imposing upon himself; you have infinite obligations to him I think, for he sees you have an inclination to beggary, and therefore would make you a beggar. Besides, can any thing be more reasonable than what he proposes? I am sure I should not expect such gentle terms in the same case! What doth he desire cf you more than to throw yourself on the bounty of your son? Well, and who the devil would make any scruple of trusting a son, — especially such a son as yours — a fine gentleman — ore who keeps a wench — Never fear, man, I warrant he’ll allow you pocket-money enough.
MR. BONCOUR. Raillery, Sir George, may exceed the bounds of good nature as well as good breeding; I did not expect that you would have treated the serious concerns of my family in so ludicrous a manner, nor have laughed at me when I asked your advice.
SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. Zounds! what shall I say? I thought to have pleased you, by calling his demands reasonable; shall I take the other side of the question? for, like a lawyer, I can speak on either; he hath taken the most prudent way of calling you a fool, and his proposals seem to proceed rather from a design of insulting you than from any hopes of success.
MR. BONCOUR. It really has that appearance.
SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. Well, then, and do you want my advice what to do?
MR. BONCOUR. I shall undoubtedly reject them with scorn, and if myself alone were concerned, I could with ease: — but my son, I fear, has set his heart on the young lady.
SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. Then break his heart: why what a devil of a fellow is this son of yours? he sets his fortune on one wench, and his heart on another!
MR. BONCOUR. Come, brother, you are a little too hasty: when we reflect on the follies of our youth, we should be more candid to the faults of our children.
SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. You are welcome to throw the sins of my youth in my face: I own I have been as wicked as any, and therefore, I would not suffer a son to be so; of what use is a parent’s experience, but to correct his children; and, give me leave to tell you, you are a very unnatural father, in not suffering your son to reap any benefit from your former sins; but you, brother, to obtain the character of a good-natured man, are content to be the bubble of all the world.
MR. BONCOUR. Well, I had rather be the bubble of other men’s will than of my own; for, let me tell you, brother, whatever impositions knavery puts upon others, it puts greater on itself.
Enter SERVANT.
SERVANT. Sir, dinner is upon the table.
MR. BONCOUR. Well, we will defer this affair till the afternoon, when I believe my behaviour will please you.
SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. It will surprise me too, if it does.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II
OLD VALENCE’S House.
Enter OLD VALENCE and SERVANT.
OLD VALENCE. Sir Gregory come to town, say you?
SERVANT. He is at the coffee-house, and will be here immediately.
OLD VALENCE. Well, show him up. [Exit Servant.]
What great affair can have brought him up, who has not, I believe, been in town these twenty years? something of vast importance must have drawn him from his foxhounds! he hath been so long absent, the town will be a sight to him, at least he will be a sight to the town. [Sir Gregory halloos without.] He is not far off, I hear.
Enter SIR GREGORY KENNEL.
SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Hey a vox, Master Valence — how goes it, my old friend? you look surprised to see me in town.
OLD VALENCE. I must confess. Sir Gregory, you were one of the last persons I expected to see here.
SIR GREGORY KENNEL. It is like a fox running against the wind: well, how does madam, and how does your fine son do?
OLD VALENCE. Alas! my wife, poor woman, I have lost her some time: I thought you must have heard of that.
SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Like enough I may: I can’t remember every trifle.
OLD VALENCE. I hope your family is well, Sir Gregory?
SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Why I have lost my lady too, since I saw you; she is six feet deep, by George! but the boys are well enough: Frank, he is at home; and Will is at Oxford; and the Squire, he is just come from his travels.
OLD VALENCE. And how does Master Francis? I think he is my godson. Sir Gregory Kennel. Why, Frank, Frank is well enow; I would a brought un to town, but the dogs would not spare un; he is mightily improved, I can tell you, since you saw un: he takes a five-bar gate like a greyhound; but the Squire is the top of the pack: I have been at some pains in his education; he has made, what do you call it, the tower of Europe.
OLD VALENCE. What, has Master Gregory been abroad?
SIR GREGORY KENNEL. I think so — he hath been out almost two years, in France, and Italy, and Venice, and Naples, and I don’t know where.
OLD VALENCE. Indeed! why I thought he had been too young to travel.
SIR GREGORY KENNEL. No, no; he’s old enough, he will be of age in half a year more.
OLD VALENCE. He is much improved by his travels, no doubt on’t.
SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Improved, ay, that he is — Egad he overtops them all — he was the finest gentleman at sessions — I have nothing to do for ‘n, but marry un to a woman of quality, and get un made a parliament man, and then his fortune is made, then he will be a complete gentleman; now I have secured one o’ um; I have agreed for a borough, and I fancy, neighbour Valence, you can recommend me to t’other; you converse with quality; do you know now ever a woman of quality that’s very handsome, with a great fortune, that wants a husband?
OLD VALENCE. Quality, beauty, and fortune! you are somewhat high in your demands, Sir Gregory.
SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Why, if she be not handsome, the boy won’t like her; and if she have no fortune, I sha’n’t.
OLD VALENCE. But, why quality? what use is there in that?
SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Nay, I can’t tell much use in it; but there is something in it to be sure, for I have seen men proud on it in the country, who have nothing else to be proud of — Odsure — I fancy they have forgot to direct the boy hither: I left him at the coffee-house having his shoes cleaned; the dog’s grown so nice since his travels, that he did but just step into a kennel, though he wa’n’t over the instep; the shoes o’ un must be cleaned immediately; I will step and see for un, and be back with you in an instant. [Exit.
OLD VALENCE. If this cub hath no more wit than his father, it will not be difficult to match him to my own daughter. He will be a much greater match than young Boncour: this is an effect of my prudence; but I am afraid, as unreasonable as my demands are to Boncour, folly will make him accept them; if he should, I can raise them so high, that, even so great a fool as he is, he will reject them: however, I will be first sure on this side.
Enter SIR GREGORY KENNEL and YOUNG KENNEL.
SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Here he is; here is the boy; child, this is my friend, Mr. Valence. [Young Kennel runs to Old Valence and kisses his hand.
OLD VALENCE. I am glad to see you returned.
YOUNG KENNEL. Par die! Sir, your most humble servant.
SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Is not he a fine gentleman? Well, Gregory, let us hear a little more of your travels; come, don’t be ashamed before folks, don’t — Come, tell us what you —
YOUNG KENNEL. Dear old gentleman, don’t give yourself any pain on my account: I should have made the tour of Europe to very little purpose if I had any modesty left.
SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Neighbour Valence, do ask him about places.
OLD VALENCE. Pray, sir, how do you like Venice?
YOUNG KENNEL. Not at all; egad, it stands in the middle of the sea! Sir Gregory Kenn
el. How! no lies, Greg, — don’t put the traveller upon us!
OLD VALENCE. Indeed he speaks truth. How do you like the humour, the temper of the Italians?
YOUNG KENNEL. I dont know any thing of them, for I never would converse with any but those of my own country.
SIR GREGORY KENNEL. That’s right; I would have thee always be a true Englishman.
OLD VALENCE. I suppose you saw Rome, sir?
YOUNG KENNEL. Faith, sir, I can’t say I saw it, for I went extremely late in, and stayed there but a week: I intended to have taken a walk or two about town, but happening to meet with two or three English dogs at our inn — mortblue! I never stirred abroad till the day I came away.
SIR GREGORY KENNEL. What! didst not see the Pope of Rome?
YOUNG KENNEL. No, not I: I should have seen him, I believe, but I never heard a word that he was at Eome till after I came into France, and then I did not think it was worth going back for: I did not see any one thing in Italy worth taking notice of, but their pictures; they are magnifique indeed!
OLD VALENCE. How do you like the buildings, sir, in Italy?
YOUNG KENNEL. They showed me some old buildings, but they are so damnably out of repair one can’t tell what to make of them.
SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Well, Gregory, give us a little account of France: you saw the King of France, did not you, Greg?
YOUNG KENNEL. Yes, and the Queen, and the Dolphin; why, Paris is well enough, and the merriest place I saw in all my travels: one never wants company there; for there is such a rendezvous of English, I was never alone for three months together, and scarce ever spoke to a Frenchman all the while.
SIR GREGORY KENNEL. There, Mr. Valence, you see how unjustly they speak against our sending our sons to travel: you see they are in no danger of learning foreign vices when they don’t keep company with foreigners. Well, Mr. Valence, how do you like un?
OLD VALENCE. Oh, infinitely well, indeed! he is really a finished gentleman —
SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Ay, is he not a fine fellow? But, Greg, you don’t tell Mr. Valence half what you told me about a strange man at Orlines.
YOUNG KENNEL. You will excuse my father’s pronunciation, as he has never been abroad: he means Orleans, where, I saw one of the largest men I ever saw in my life; I believe he was about eight foot high.
SIR GREGORY KENNEL. What a misfortune it is not to travel in one’s youth: I can scarce forgive my father’s memory for keeping me at home. Well, but about the King of France?
YOUNG KENNEL. Zounds! father, don’t ask me so many questions. You see, sir, what a putt he is. [Aside to Valence.
SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Why, you rogue, what did I send you abroad for, but to tell me stories when you came home?
YOUNG KENNEL. You sent me abroad, sir, to learn to be a fine gentleman, and to teach me to despise clownish fellows.
OLD VALENCE. Come, Sir Gregory, perhaps the young gentleman will be more open over a bottle; what say you?
SIR GREGORY KENNEL. You know I never flinch from a bottle; and we will have some stories after a glass. Well, Greg, you know what I came to town about, and this gentleman will assist us; he will recommend a wife to you.
YOUNG KENNEL. I am this gentleman’s very humble servant; but I want none of his assistance. There is a lady whom I knew before I went abroad, and saw again last night with another young lady at the play, and mortblue if I marry any other woman.
SIR GREGORY KENNEL. How, sirrah!
YOUNG KENNEL. Pray, dear old gentleman, don’t put on that grum look: rat me, do you think I have made the tour of Europe to be snubbed by an English father when I came home again? Sir GREGORY KENNEL. Sirrah, I’ll beat the tour of Europe out of you again: have I made you a fine gentleman in order to despise your father’s authority! —
OLD VALENCE. Pray, Sir Gregory —
SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Sirrah, I’ll disinherit you; I’ll send your brother Will a travelling, and make Frank a parliament man in your room.
YOUNG KENNEL. A fig for your disinheriting! it is not in your power; if I can but get this girl, I’ll marry her, and carry her back to France. There is as good English company at Boulogne as I ever desire to crack a bottle with — what do you take me for? a boy! and that you are to make me do what you please, as you did before I went abroad? Diable! do you think to use me as you do brother Frank, who is but your whipper-in? mortblue, I have been hunting with the King of France.
SIR GREGORY KENNEL. If you have been hunting with the devil, I’ll make you know I am your father; and, though you are a fine gentleman, the same pains will make your brother Will as fine a gentleman to the full.
OLD VALENCE. Pray, sir, consider; don’t disoblige your father. Come, Sir Gregory, I have ordered a bottle of wine within; let us go and talk over that matter; I dare say I shall bring the young gentleman to reason; come, pray walk in.
SIR GREGORY KENNEL. He shall obey me, or —
YOUNG KENNEL. I have travelled to a fine purpose, truly. [Exeunt.
SCENE III
MR. BONCOUR’S House.
Enter MR. BONCOUR and YOUNG BONCOUR.
YOUNG BONCOUR. Though the articles are a little unreasonable, if you had any compassion or love for your children, who you know have placed their hearts on the match, you would comply.
MR. BONCOUR. My children are ungrateful, if they upbraid me with want of affection: but this is a mere trick, a poor scheme of Mr. Valence’s, to take advantage of your passions and my indulgence.
YOUNG BONCOUR. So, we are sacrificed to contention ‘twist our fathers for the superiority of understanding.
MR. BONCOUR. You injure me, son; the low, dirty reputation of cunning I scorn and detest.
Enter MRS. BONCOUR.
MRS. BONCOUR. So, sir, I hear there are marriages going on in the family, which I was not to be acquainted with.
MR. BONCOUR. Pardon me, my dear; I intended to have acquainted you, and should before, but for a particular reason.
MRS. BONCOUR. What reason, pray?
MR. BONCOUR. You need not concern yourself.
MRS. BONCOUR. Indeed! not concern myself! who am I? have not I an equal concern, ay, and a superior one?
MR. BONCOUR. But hear me, madam.
MRS. BONCOUR. No, I won’t hear any thing said for the match; it is below them in family and fortune both.
MR. BONCOUR. I do not intend —
MRS. BONCOUR. I don’t care what you intend; you may keep your reasons to yourself, if you please; but, as for the double marriage, I will have no such thing; all your plots sha’n’t compass it.
MR. BONCOUR. I tell you it is broke off — there is to be no match.
MRS. BONCOUR. How, no match! and pray what was the reason you kept it a secret from me?
MR. BONCOUR. Ma’am!
MRS. BONCOUR. SO! I am nobody in the house; matches are made and unmade, and I know nothing of the matter. And why do you break it off?
MR. BONCOUR. Because his demands were monstrous — exorbitant beyond credibility.
MRS. BONCOUR. And pray what was the reason you kept it a secret from me? nay, I will know — I am resolved I will know — won’t you tell me? — you are a barbarous man, and have not the least affection for me in the world [crying].
Enter Miss Boncour.
MISS BONCOUR. Bless me, madam, what is the matter?
MRS. BONCOUR. Nothing extraordinary; your father has behaved to me like a monster.
MISS BONCOUR. La, sir, how can you vex my mamma in this manner!
MR. BONCOUR. So! she for whom I suffered all this, is the first to accuse me.
MRS. BONCOUR. It seems you are to be married without my knowledge.
MISS BONCOUR. Married, madam! to whom, pray?
MRS. BONCOUR. Nay, I don’t know whether it is to be so now; for the same wise head that made the match has, it seems, broke it off again.
MR. BONCOUR. Yes, child; Mr. Valence hath been pleased, from my easy behaviour to him, to use me in such a manner, and insist upon such terms, that
I can’t, either consistently with common sense or honour, comply with. Now, my dear, you see I do not keep all secrets from you, examine them yourself.
MISS BONCOUR. [Aside.] So, so, so! after my affections are engaged, they are to be baulked, it seems: but there shall go two words to that bargain.
MRS. BONCOUR. I can’t see any thing so unreasonable in his demands; if the match was otherwise good, I should not have broken it off on this account.
MR. BONCOUR. What! would you subvert the order of nature, and change places with your children? would you depend on their duty and gratitude for your bread; and give way to the exorbitant demands of a man who has made them for no other reason but because I offered him more than he expected, or could have hoped for?
Complete Fictional Works of Henry Fielding Page 366
