Delphi Complete Works of Richard Brinsley Sheridan

by Richard Brinsley Sheridan

  Fash. Yes — she has made you older. — [Aside.] Plague take her.

  Lord Fop. That is not all, Tam.

  Fash. Why, what is there else?

  Lord Fop. [Looks first on himself and then on his brother.] Ask the ladies.

  Fash. Why, thou essence-bottle, thou musk-cat! dost thou then think thou hast any advantage over me but what Fortune has given thee?

  Lord Fop. I do, stap my vitals!

  Fash. Now, by all that’s great and powerful, thou art the prince of coxcombs!

  Lord Fop. Sir, I am proud at being at the head of so prevailing a party.

  Fash. Will nothing provoke thee? — Draw, coward!

  Lord Fop. Look you, Tam, you know I have always taken you for a mighty dull fellow, and here is one of the foolishest plats broke out that I have seen a lang time. Your poverty makes life so burdensome to you, you would provoke me to a quarrel, in hopes either to slip through my lungs into my estate, or to get yourself run through the guts, to put an end to your pain. But I will disappoint you in both your designs; far, with the temper of a philasapher, and the discretion of a statesman — I shall leave the room with my sword in the scabbard. [Exit.]

  Fash. So! farewell, brother; and now, conscience, I defy thee. Lory!

  Enter LORY.

  Lory. Sir!

  Fash. Here’s rare news, Lory; his lordship has given me a pill has purged off all my scruples.

  Lory. Then my heart’s at ease again: for I have been in a lamentable fright, sir, ever since your conscience had the impudence to intrude into your company.

  Fash. Be at peace; it will come there no more: my brother has given it a wring by the nose, and I have kicked it downstairs. So run away to the inn, get the chaise ready quickly, and bring it to Dame Coupler’s without a moment’s delay.

  Lory. Then, sir, you are going straight about the fortune?

  Fash. I am. — Away — fly, Lory!

  Lory. The happiest day I ever saw. I’m upon the wing already. Now then I shall get my wages. [Exeunt.]

  SCENE II.

  A Garden behind LOVELESS’S Lodgings.

  Enter LOVELESS and SERVANT.

  Love. Is my wife within?

  Ser. No, sir, she has gone out this half-hour.

  Love. Well, leave me. — [Exit SERVANT.] How strangely does my mind run on this widow! — Never was my heart so suddenly seized on before. That my wife should pick out her, of all womankind, to be her playfellow! But what fate does, let fate answer for: I sought it not. So! by Heavens! here she comes.

  Enter BERINTHIA.

  Ber. What makes you look so thoughtful, sir? I hope you are not ill.

  Love. I was debating, madam, whether I was so or not, and that was it which made me look so thoughtful.

  Ber. Is it then so hard a matter to decide? I thought all people were acquainted with their own bodies, though few people know their own minds.

  Love. What if the distemper I suspect be in the mind?

  Ber. Why then I’ll undertake to prescribe you a cure.

  Love. Alas! you undertake you know not what.

  Ber. So far at least, then, you allow me to be a physician.

  Love. Nay, I’ll allow you to be so yet further: for I have reason to believe, should I put myself into your hands, you would increase my distemper.

  Ber. How?

  Love. Oh, you might betray me to my wife.

  Ber. And so lose all my practice.

  Love. Will you then keep my secret?

  Ber. I will.

  Love. Well — but swear it.

  Ber. I swear by woman.

  Love. Nay, that’s swearing by my deity; swear by your own, and I shall believe you.

  Ber. Well then, I swear by man!

  Love. I’m satisfied. Now hear my symptoms, and give me your advice. The first were these; when I saw you at the play, a random glance you threw at first alarmed me. I could not turn my eyes from whence the danger came — I gazed upon you till my heart began to pant — nay, even now, on your approaching me, my illness is so increased that if you do not help me I shall, whilst you look on, consume to ashes. [Takes her hand.]

  Ber. O Lord, let me go! ’tis the plague, and we shall be infected. [Breaking from him.]

  Love. Then we’ll die together, my charming angel.

  Ber. O Gad! the devil’s in you! Lord, let me go! — here’s somebody coming.

  Re-enter SERVANT.

  Ser. Sir, my lady’s come home, and desires to speak with you.

  Love. Tell her I’m coming. — [Exit SERVANT.] But before I go, one glass of nectar to drink her health. [To

  BERINTHIA.]

  Ber. Stand off, or I shall hate you, by Heavens!

  Love. [Kissing her.] In matters of love, a woman’s oath is no more to be minded than a man’s. [Exit.]

  Ber. Um!

  Enter COLONEL TOWNLY.

  Col. Town. [Aside.] So? what’s here — Berinthia and

  Loveless — and in such close conversation! — I cannot now wonder at her indifference in excusing herself to me! — O rare woman! — Well then, let Loveless look to his wife, ‘twill be but the retort courteous on both sides. — [Aloud.] Your servant, madam; I need not ask you how you do, you have got so good a colour.

  Ber. No better than I used to have, I suppose.

  Col. Town. A little more blood in your cheeks.

  Ber. I have been walking!

  Col. Town. Is that all? Pray was it Mr. Loveless went from here just now?

  Ber. O yes — he has been walking with me.

  Col. Town. He has!

  Ber. Upon my word I think he is a very agreeable man; and there is certainly something particularly insinuating in his address.

  Col. Town. [Aside.] So, so! she hasn’t even the modesty to dissemble! [Aloud.] Pray, madam, may I, without impertinence, trouble you with a few serious questions?

  Ber. As many as you please; but pray let them be as little serious as possible.

  Col. Town. Is it not near two years since I have presumed to address you?

  Ber. I don’t know exactly — but it has been a tedious long time.

  Col. Town. Have I not, during that period, had every reason to believe that my assiduities were far from being unacceptable?

  Ber. Why, to do you justice, you have been extremely troublesome — and I confess I have been more civil to you than you deserved.

  Col. Town. Did I not come to this place at your express desire, and for no purpose but the honour of meeting you? — and after waiting a month in disappointment, have you condescended to explain, or in the slightest way apologise for, your conduct?

  Ber. O heavens! apologise for my conduct! — apologise to you! O you barbarian! But pray now, my good serious colonel, have you anything more to add?

  Col. Town. Nothing, madam, but that after such behaviour I am less surprised at what I saw just now; it is not very wonderful that the woman who can trifle with the delicate addresses of an honourable lover should be found coquetting with the husband of her friend.

  Ber. Very true: no more wonderful than it was for this honourable lover to divert himself in the absence of this coquette, with endeavouring to seduce his friend’s wife! O colonel, colonel, don’t talk of honour or your friend, for

  Heaven’s sake!

  Col. Town. [Aside.] ‘Sdeath! how came she to suspect this! — [Aloud.] Really, madam, I don’t understand you.

  Ber. Nay, nay, you saw I did not pretend to misunderstand you. — But here comes the lady; perhaps you would be glad to be left with her for an explanation.

  Col. Town. O madam, this recrimination is a poor resource; and to convince you how much you are mistaken, I beg leave to decline the happiness you propose me. — Madam, your servant.

  Enter AMANDA. COLONEL TOWNLY whispers AMANDA,

  and exit.

  Ber. [Aside.] He carries it off well, however; upon my word, very well! How tenderly they part! — [Aloud] So, cousin; I hope you have not been chiding your admirer for being with me? I as
sure you we have been talking of you.

  Aman. Fy, Berinthia! — my admirer! will you never learn to talk in earnest of anything?

  Ber. Why this shall be in earnest, if you please; for my part, I only tell you matter of fact.

  Aman. I’m sure there’s so much jest and earnest in what you say to me on this subject, I scarce know how to take it. I have just parted with Mr. Loveless; perhaps it is fancy, but I think there is an alteration in his manner which alarms me.

  Ber. And so you are jealous; is that all?

  Aman. That all! is jealousy, then, nothing?

  Ber. It should be nothing, if I were in your case.

  Aman. Why, what would you do?

  Ber. I’d cure myself.

  Aman. How?

  Ber. Care as little for my husband as he did for me. Look you, Amanda, you may build castles in the air, and fume, and fret, and grow thin, and lean, and pale, and ugly, if you please; but I tell you, no man worth having is true to his wife, or ever was, or ever will be so.

  Aman. Do you then really think he’s false to me? for I did not suspect him.

  Ber. Think so? I am sure of it.

  Aman. You are sure on’t?

  Ber. Positively — he fell in love at the play.

  Aman. Right — the very same. But who could have told you this?

  Ber. Um! — Oh, Townly! I suppose your husband has made him his confidant.

  Aman. O base Loveless! And what did Townly say on’t?

  Ber. [Aside.] So, so! why should she ask that? —

  [Aloud.] Say! why he abused Loveless extremely, and said all the tender things of you in the world.

  Aman. Did he? — Oh! my heart! — I’m very ill — dear

  Berinthia, don’t leave me a moment. [Exeunt.]

  SCENE III.

  Outside of SIR TUNRELLY CLUMSY’S House.

  Enter TOM FASHION and LORY.

  Fash. So here’s our inheritance, Lory, if we can but get into possession. But methinks the seat of our family looks like

  Noah’s ark, as if the chief part on’t were designed for the fowls of the air, and the beasts of the field.

  Lory. Pray, sir, don’t let your head run upon the orders of building here: get but the heiress, let the devil take the house.

  Fash. Get but the house, let the devil take the heiress! I say. — But come, we have no time to squander; knock at the door. —

  [LORY knocks two or three times at the gate.] What the devil! have they got no ears in this house? — Knock harder.

  Lory. Egad, sir, this will prove some enchanted castle; we shall have the giant come out by-and-by, with his club, and beat our brains out. [Knocks again.]

  Fash. Hush, they come.

  Ser. [Within.] Who is there?

  Lory. Open the door and see: is that your country breeding?

  Ser. Ay, but two words to that bargain. — Tummus, is the blunderbuss primed?

  Fash. Ouns! give ’em good words, Lory, — or we shall be shot here a fortune catching.

  Lory. Egad, sir, I think you’re in the right on’t. — Ho!

  Mr. What-d’ye-call-’um, will you please to let us in? or are we to be left to grow like willows by your moat side?

  SERVANT appears at the window with a blunderbuss.

  Ser. Well naw, what’s ya’re business?

  Fash. Nothing, sir, but to wait upon Sir Tunbelly, with your leave.

  Ser. To weat upon Sir Tunbelly! why, you’ll find that’s just as Sir Tunbelly pleases.

  Fash. But will you do me the favour, sir, to know whether

  Sir Tunbelly pleases or not?

  Ser. Why, look you, d’ye see, with good words much may be done. Ralph, go thy ways, and ask Sir Tunbelly if he pleases to be waited upon — and dost hear, call to nurse, that she may lock up Miss Hoyden before the gates open.

  Fash. D’ye hear, that, Lory?

  Enter SIR TUNBELLY CLUMSY, with SERVANTS, armed with guns, clubs, pitchforks, &c.

  Lory. Oh! [Runs behind his master.] O Lord! O Lord!

  Lord! we are both dead men!

  Fash. Fool! thy fear will, ruin us. [Aside to

  LORY.]

  Lory. My fear, sir? ‘sdeath, Sir, I fear nothing. —

  [Aside.] Would I were well up to the chin in a horse-pond!

  Sir Tun. Who is it here hath any business with me?

  Fash. Sir, ’tis I, if your name be Sir Tunbelly Clumsy.

  Sir Tun. Sir, my name is Sir Tunbelly Clumsy, whether you have any business with me or not. — So you see I am not ashamed of my name, nor my face either.

  Fash. Sir, you have no cause that I know of.

  Sir Tun. Sir, if you have no cause either, I desire to know who you are; for, till I know your name, I shan’t ask you to come into my house: and when I do know your name,’tis six to four I don’t ask you then.

  Fash. Sir, I hope you’ll find this letter an authentic passport. [Gives him a letter.]

  Sir Tun. Cod’s my life, from Mrs. Coupler! — I ask your lordship’s pardon ten thousand times. — [To a SERVANT.]

  Here, run in a-doors quickly; get a Scotch coal fire in the parlour, set all the Turkey work chairs in their places, get the brass candlesticks out, and be sure stick the socket full of laurel — run! — [Turns to TOM FASHION.] — My lord, I ask your lordship’s pardon. — [To SERVANT.] And, do you hear, run away to nurse; bid her let Miss Hoyden loose again. — [Exit

  SERVANT.] I hope your honour will excuse the disorder of my family. We are not used to receive men of your lordship’s great quality every day. Pray, where are your coaches and servants, my lord?

  Fash. Sir, that I might give you and your daughter a proof how impatient I am to be nearer akin to you, I left my equipage to follow me, and came away post with only one servant.

  Sir Tun. Your lordship does me too much honour — it was exposing your person to too much fatigue and danger, I protest it was: but my daughter shall endeavour to make you what amends she can: and, though I say it that should not say it, Hoyden has charms.

  Fash. Sir, I am not a stranger to them, though I am to her; common fame has done her justice.

  Sir Tun. My lord, I am common fame’s very grateful, humble servant. My lord, my girl’s young — Hoyden is young, my lord: but this I must say for her, what she wants in art she has in breeding; and what’s wanting in her age, is made good in her constitution. — So pray, my lord, walk in; pray, my lord, walk in.

  Fash. Sir, I wait upon you. [Exeunt.]

  SCENE IV.

  A Room in SIR TUNBELLY CLUMSY’S House.

  MISS HOYDEN discovered alone.

  Miss Hoyd. Sure, nobody was ever used as I am! I know well enough what other girls do, for all they think to make a fool o’ me. It’s well I have a husband a-coming, or ecod I’d marry the baker, I would so. Nobody can knock at the gate, but presently I must be locked up; and here’s the young greyhound can run loose about the house all the day, so she can.— ’Tis very well!

  Nurse. [Without opening the door.] Miss Hoyden! miss, miss, miss! Miss Hoyden!

  Enter NURSE.

  Miss Hoyd. Well, what do you make such a noise for, eh?

  What do you din a body’s ears for? Can’t one be at quiet for you?

  Nurse. What do I din your ears for? Here’s one come will din your ears for you.

  Miss Hoyd. What care I who’s come? I care not a fig who comes, or who goes, so long as I must be locked up like the ale-cellar.

  Nurse. That, miss, is for fear you should be drank before you are ripe.

  Miss Hoyd. Oh, don’t trouble your head about that; I’m as ripe as you, though not so mellow.

  Nurse. Very well! Now I have a good mind to lock you up again, and not let you see my lord to-night.

  Miss Hoyd. My lord: why, is my husband come?

  Nurse. Yes, marry, is he; and a goodly person too.

  Miss Hoyd. [Hugs NURSE.] Oh, my dear nurse, forgive me this once, and I’ll never misuse you again; no, if I do, you shall give me three thumps on the back,
and a great pinch by the cheek.

  Nurse. Ah, the poor thing! see now it melts; it’s as full of good-nature as an egg’s full of meat.

  Miss Hoyd. But, my dear nurse, don’t lie now — is he come, by your troth?

  Nurse. Yes, by my truly, is he.

  Miss Hoyd. O Lord! I’ll go and put on my laced tucker, though I’m locked up for a month for’t.

  [Exeunt. MISS HOYDEN goes off capering, and twirling her doll by its leg.]

  ACT IV.

  SCENE I.

  A Room in SIR TUNBELLY CLUMSY’S House.

  Enter MISS HOYDEN and NURSE.

  Nurse. Well, miss, how do you like your husband that is to be?

  Miss Hoyd. O Lord, nurse, I’m so overjoyed I can scarce contain myself!

  Nurse. Oh, but you must have a care of being too fond; for men, nowadays, hate a woman that loves ’em.

  Miss Hoyd. Love him! why, do you think I love him, nurse?

  Ecod I would not care if he was hanged, so I were but once married to him. No, that which pleases me is to think what work

  I’ll make when I get to London; for when I am a wife and a lady both, ecod, I’ll flaunt it with the best of ’em. Ay, and I shall have money enough to do so too, nurse.

  Nurse. Ah, there’s no knowing that, miss; for though these lords have a power of wealth indeed, yet, as I have heard say, they give it all to their sluts and their trulls, who joggle it about in their coaches, with a murrain to ’em, whilst poor madam sits sighing and wishing, and has not a spare half-crown to buy her a Practice of Piety.

  Miss Hoyd. Oh, but for that, don’t deceive yourself, nurse; for this I must say of my lord, he’s as free as an open house at Christmas; for this very morning he told me I should have six hundred a year to buy pins. Now if he gives me six hundred a year to buy pins, what do you think he’ll give me to buy petticoats?

  Nurse. Ay, my dearest, he deceives thee foully, and he’s no better than a rogue for his pains! These Londoners have got a gibberish with ’em would confound a gipsy. That which they call pin-money, is to buy everything in the versal world, down to their very shoe-knots. Nay, I have heard some folks say that some ladies, if they’ll have gallants as they call ’em, are forced to find them out of their pin-money too. — But look, look, if his honour be not coming to you! — Now, if I were sure you would behave yourself handsomely, and not disgrace me that have brought you up, I’d leave you alone together.