Fag. I have not changed, Thomas. Couch. No! why, didn't you say you had left young master! Fag. No. Well, honest Thomas, I must puzzle you no farther-briefly then-Captain Absolute and Ensign Beverley are one and the same per son. Coach. The devil they are! Fag. So it is indeed, Thomas; and the ensign-half of my master being on guard at present-the captain has nothing to do with me. Coach. So, so! what, this is some freak, I warrant! Do tell us, Mr Fag, the meaning o't— you know I ha' trusted you. Fag. You'll be secret, Thomas ? Fug. Why, then, the cause of all this islove-love, Thomas, who (as you may get read to you) has been a masquerader ever since the days of Jupiter. Coach. Ay, ay; I guessed there was a lady in the case: but pray, why does your master pass only for ensign? now, if he had shammed general, indeed Fag. Ah! Thomas, there lies the mystery of the matter. Hark'e, Thomas; my master is in love with a lady of a very singular taste;-a lady, who likes him better as a half-pay ensign, than if she knew he was son and heir to Sir Anthony Absolute, a baronet of three thousand a-year. Coach. That is an odd taste indeed!-but has she got the stuff, Mr Fag? is she rich, hey? Fug. Rich! why, I believe she owns half the stocks! Zounds! Thomas, she could pay the national debt as easily as I could my washer-woman! She has a lap-dog that eats out of gold; she feeds her parrot with small pearls; and all her thread-papers are made of bank-notes! Coach. Bravo! faith! Odd! I warrant she has a set of thousands at least; but does she draw kindly with the captain? Fug. A fond as pigeons. Coach. May one hear her name? Fag. Miss Lydia Languish. But there is an old tough aunt in the way; though, by the by, she has never seen my master; for he got acquainted with miss while on a visit in Gloucestershire. Coach. Well, I wish they were once harnessed together in matrimony. But pray, Mr Fag, what kind of a place is this Bath? ha' heard a deal of it; here's a mort o' merry-making-hey? Fag. Pretty well, Thomas, pretty well; 'tis a good lounge. In the morning we go to the pump. room, (though neither my master nor I drink the waters;) after breakfast, we saunter on the parades, or play a game at billiards; at night we dance; but damn the place, I'm tired of it; their regular hours stupify me! not a fiddle nor a card after eleven! however, Mr Faulkland's gentleman and I keep it up a little in private parties. I'll introduce you there, Thomas; you'll like him much. Couch. Sure I know Mr Du-Peign; you know his master is to marry Madam Julia. Fag. I had forgot. But, Thomas, you must polish a little; indeed you must Here, now, this wig! what the devil do you do with a wig, Thomas? none of the London whips, of any degree of ton, wear wigs now. Coach. More's the pity! more's the pity, I say! Odd's life? when I heard how the lawyers and doctors had took to their own hair, I thought how 'twould go next. Odd rabbit it! when the. fashion had got foot on the bar, I guessed 'twould mount to the box! but 'tis all out of character, believe me, Mr Fag; and look'e, I'll never gi' up mine; the lawyers and doctors may do as they will. Fag. Well, Thomas, we'll not quarrel about that. Coach. Why, bless you, the gentlemen of they professions ben't all of a mind; for, in our village now, thof Jack Gauge, the exciseman, has ta'en to his carrots, there's little Dick, the farrier, swears he'll never forsake his bob, though all the college should appear with their own heads! Fug. Indeed! well said, Dick! but hold— mark! mark! Thomas. Coach. Zooks! 'tis the captain! Is that the lady with him? Fag. No, no! that is Madam Lucy, my master's mistress's maid. They lodge at that house. But I must after him, to tell him the news. Coach. Odd! he's giving her money! Well, Mr Fag Fag. Good by, Thomas! I have an appointment in Gyde's Porch this evening at eight; meet me there, and we'll make a little party. [Excunt severally. SCÈNE II.-A Dressing-Room in Mrs MALAPROP'S Lodgings. LYDIA sitting on a Sofa, with a Book in her hand. Enter LUCY, as just returned from a message. Lucy. Indeed, ma'am, I traversed half the town in search of it; I don't believe there's a circulating library in Bath I ha'n't been at. Lydia. And could not you get The Reward of Constancy?" Lucy. No, indeed, ma'am. 6 Lydia. Nor The Fatal Connection ?” Lydia. Nor The Mistakes of the Heart?" Lucy. Ma'am, as ill luck would have it, Mr Bull said Miss Sukey Saunter had just fetched it away. Lydia. Heigh-ho!-Did you inquire for The Delicate Distress?" Lucy. -Or, The Memoirs of Lady Woodford? Yes, indeed, maʼam. I asked every where for it; and I might have brought it from Mr Frederick's; but Lady Slattern Lounger, who had just sent it home, had so soiled and dog's eared it, it wa'n't fit for a Christian to read. Lydia, Heigh-ho!-Yes, I always know when Lady Slattern has been before me. She has a most observing thumb; and, I believe, cherishes her nails for the convenience of making marginal notes. Well, child, what have you brought me? Lucy. Oh! here, ma'am. [Tuking books from under her cloak, and from her pockets. This is The Gordian Knot,' and this 'Peregrine Pickle.' Here are The Tears of Sensibility,' and Humphrey Clinker.' This is The Memoirs of a Lady of Quality, written by herself; and here the second volume of 'The Sentimental Journey.' Lydia. Heigh-ho! What are those books by the glass? Lucy. The great one is only The Whole Duty of Man,' where I press a few blonds, ma'am. Lydia. Very well. Give me the sal volatile. Lucy. Is it in a blue cover, ma'am? Lydia. My smelling bottle, you simpleton ! Lucy. O, the drops! here, ma'am. Lydia. Hold! here's some one coming-quick, see who it is[Exit LUCY. Surely I heard my cousin Julia's voice! Re-enter LUCY. Lucy. Lud! ma'am, here is Miss Melville! Lydia. Is it possible?- Enter JULIA. My dearest Julia, how delighted am I! [Embrace.] How unexpected was this happiness! Julia. True, Lydia; and our pleasure is the greater; but what has been the matter? You were denied to me at first. Lydia. Ah, Julia, I have a thousand things to tell you! but first inform me what has conjured you to Bath? Is Sir Anthony here? Julia. He is; we are arrived within this hour; and, I suppose, he will be here to wait on Mrs Malaprop as soon as he is dressed. Lydia. Phen, before we are interrupted, let me impart to you some of my distress! I know your gentle nature will sympathize with me, though your prudence may condemn me: My letters have informed you of my whole connection with Beverley-but I have lost him, Julia! My aunt has discovered our intercourse, by a note she intercepted, and has confined me ever since. Yet, would you believe it? she has fallen absolutely in love with a tall frish baronet she met one night since we have been here at Lady Macshuffle's rout. Julia. You jest, Lydia? Lydia. No, upon my word! She really carries on a kind of correspondence with him, under a feigned name though, till she chuses to be known to him-But it is a Delia or a Celia, I assure you! Julia. Then surely she is now more indulgent to her niece? Lydia. Quite the contrary. Since she has discovered her own frailty, she has become more suspicious of mine. Then I must inform you of another plague! That odious Acres is to be in Bath to-day; so that I protest I shall be teased out of all spirits! Julia. Come, come, Lydia, hope for the best. Sir Anthony shall use his interest with Mrs Malaprop. Lydia. But you have not heard the worst: Unfortunately I had quarrelled with my poor Beverley, just before my aunt made the discovery, and I have not seen him since, to make it up. Julia. What was his offence? Lydia. Nothing at all! But I don't know how it was, as often as we had been together, we had never had a quarrel: And, somehow, I was afraid he would never give me an opportunity. So, last Thursday I wrote a letter to myself, to inform myself that Beverley was at that time paying his addresses to another woman. I signed it, Friend Unknown,' shewed it to Beverley, charged him with his falsehood, put myself in a violent passion, and vowed I'd never see him more. Your Julia. And you let him depart so, and have not seen him since? Lydia. 'Twas the next day my aunt found the matter out. I intended only to have teased him three days and a half, and now I've lost him for ever. Julia. If he is as deserving and sincere as you have represented him to me, he will never give you up so. Yet consider, Lydia; you tell me he is but an ensign, and you have thirty thousand pounds! Lydia. But you know I lose most of my fortune if I marry without my aunt's consent, till of age; and that is what I have determined to do, ever since I knew the penalty. Nor could I love the man, who would wish to wait a day for the alternative. Julia. Nay, this is caprice! Lydia. What, does Julia tax me with caprice? thought her lover, Faulkland, had inured her to it. I Julia. I do not love even his faults. Lydia. But, à propos! you have sent to him, I suppose? Julia. Not yet, upon my word! nor has he the least idea of my being in Bath. Sir Anthony's resolution was so sudden, I could not inform him of it. Lydia. Well, Julia, you are your own mistress, (though under the protection of Sir Anthony,) yet have you, for this long year, been a slave to the caprice, the whim, the jealousy of this ungrateful Faulkland, who will ever delay assuming the rights of a husband, while you suffer him to be equally imperious as a lover. Julia. Nay, you are wrong entirely. We were contracted before my father's death. That, and some consequent embarrassments, have delayed what I know to be my Faulkland's most ardent wish. He is too generous to trifle on such a point. And, for his character, you wrong him there too. No, Lydia, he is too proud, too noble to be jealous; if he is captious, 'tis without dissembling; if fretful, without rudeness. Unused to the fopperies of love, he is negligent of the little duties expected from a lover-but being unhackneyed in the passion, his affection is ardent and sincere; and, as it engrosses his whole soul, he expects every thought and emotion of his mistress to move in unison with his. Yet, though his pride calls for this full return, his humility makes him undervalue those qualities in him, which would entitle him to it; and, not feeling why he should be loved to the degree he wishes, he still suspects that he is not loved enough. This temper, I must own, has cost me many unhappy hours; but I have learned to think myself his debtor for those imperfections which arise from the ardour of his attachment. Lydia. Well, I cannot blame you for defending him. But, tell me candidly, Julia, had he never saved your life, do you think you should have been attached to him as you are? Believe me, the rude blast that overset your boat, was a prosperous gale of love to him. Julia. Gratitude may have strengthened my attachment to Mr Faulkland, but I loved him before he had preserved me; yet, surely, that alone were an obligation sufficient Lydia. Obligation! Why, a water-spaniel would have done as much! Well, I should never think of giving my heart to a man, because he could swim! Julia. Come, Lydia, you are too inconside rate. Lydia. Nay, I do but jest. What's here? Enter LUCY, in a hurry. Lucy. O, madam, here is Sir Anthony Absolute just come home with your aunt! Lydia. They'll not come here. Lucy, do you watch. [Exit LUCY. Julia. Yet I must go. Sir Anthony does not know I am here, and if we meet, he'll detain me, to shew me the town. I'll take another opportunity of paying my respects to Mrs Malaprop, when she shall treat me, as long as she chooses, with her select words so ingeniously misapplied, without being mispronounced. Re-enter LUCY. Lucy. O lud! Ma'am, they are both coming up stairs! Lydia. Well, I'll not detain you, coz. Adieu, my dear Julia; I'm sure you are in haste to send to Faulkland. There-through my room you'll find another stair-case. Julia. Adieu!-[Embrace.] [Exit JULIA. Lydia. Here, my dear Lucy, hide these books. Quick, quick! Fling Peregrine Pickle under the toilet-throw Roderick Random into the closet, -put the Innocent Adultery into the Whole Duty of Man-thrust Lord Aimworth under the sofa-cram Ovid behind the bolster-thereput the Man of Feeling into your pocket-so, so; now, lay Mrs Chapone in sight, and leave For dyce's Sermons open on the table. Lucy. O, burn it! Madam, the hair-dresser has torn away as far as Proper Pride. Lydia. Never mind-open at Sobriety. Fling me Lord Chesterfield's Letters. Now for them. Enter Mrs MALAPROP, and Sir ANTHONY ABSOLUTE. Mrs Mal. There, Sir Anthony, there sits the deliberate simpleton, who wants to disgrace her family, and lavish herself on a fellow not worth a shilling. Lydia. Madam, I thought you once Mrs Mal. You thought, miss! I don't know any business you have to think at all. Thought does not become a young woman. But the point we would request of you is, that you will promise to forget this fellow- to illiterate him, I say, quite from your memory. Lydia. Åh, madam! our memories are independent of our wills. It is not easy to forget. Mrs Mal. But I say it is, miss; there is nothing on earth so easy as to forget, if a person chooses to set about it. I'm sure I have as much forgot your poor dear uncle, as if he had never existed-and I thought it my duty so to do; and let me tell you, Lydia, these violent memories don't become a young woman. Sir Anth. Why, sure, she won't pretend to remember what she's ordered not! Ay, this comes of her reading! Lydia. What crime, madam, have I committed, to be treated thus? Mrs Mal. Now, don't attempt to extirpate yourself from the matter; you know I have proof controvertible of it. But tell me, will you promise to do as you are bid? Will you take a husband of your friends' choosing? Lydia. Madam, I must tell you plainly, that had I no preference for any one else, the choice you have made would be my aversion. Mrs Mal. What business have you, miss, with preference and aversion? They don't become a young woman; and you ought to know, that, as both always wear off, 'tis safest in matrimony to begin with a little aversion. I'm sure I hated your poor dear uncle, before marriage, as if he'd been a black-a-moor-and yet, miss, you are sensible what a wife I made! and when it pleased Heaven to release me from him, 'tis unknown what tears I shed! But suppose we were going to give you another choice, will you promise us to give up this Beverley? Lydia. Could I belie my thoughts so far as to give that promise, my actions would certainly as far belie my words. Mrs Mal. Take yourself to your room. You are fit company for nothing but your own ill hu Heaven, I'd as soon have them taught the black | dare! No, no, Mrs Malaprop, Jack knows that art as their alphabet ! Mrs Mal. Nay, nay; Sir Anthony, you are an absolute misanthropy. Sir Anth. In my way hither, Mrs Malaprop, I observed your niece's maid coming forth from a circulating library; she had a book in each hand; they were half-bound volumes, with marble covers: from that moment I guessed how full of duty I should see her mistress. Mrs Mal. Those are vile places, indeed! the least demur puts me in a frenzy directly. My process was always very simple; in their younger days, 'twas Jack, do this; if he demurred, I knocked him down; and if he grumbled at that, I always sent him out of the room. Mrs Mal. Ay; and the properest way, my conscience! Nothing is so conciliating to young people as severity. Well, Sir Anthony, I shall give Mr Acres his discharge, and prepare Lydia to receive your son's invocations; and I hope you will represent her to the captain as an object. Sir Anth. Madam, a circulating library in a town, is as an ever-green tree of diabolical know-not altogether illegible. ledge; it blossoms through the year: and, depend on it, Mrs Malaprop, that they, who are so fond of handling the leaves, will long for the fruit Fat last. Mrs Mal. Fie, fie; Sir Anthony, you surely speak laconically. Sir Anth. Why, Mrs Malaprop, in moderation, now, what would you have a woman know? Mrs Mal. Observe me, Sir Anthony. I would by no means wish a daughter of mine to be a progeny of learning; I don't think so much learning becomes a young woman; for instance-I would never let her meddle with Greek, or Hebrew, or algebra, or simony, or fluxions, or paradoxes, or such inflammatory branches of learning; neither would it be necessary for her to handle any of your mathematical, astronomical, diabolical instruments: but, Sir Anthony, I would send her, at nine years old, to a boarding-school, in order to learn a little ingenuity and artifice. Then, sir, she should have a supercilious knowledge in accounts; and, as she grew up, I would have her instructed in geometry, that she might know something of the contagious countries; but above all, Sir Anthony, she should be mistress of orthodoxy, that she might not mis-spel, and mispronounce words so shamefully as girls usually do; and likewise, that she might reprehend the true meaning of what she is saying. This, Sir Anthony, is what I would have a woman know; and I don't think there is a superstitious article in it. Sir Anth. Well, well, Mrs Malaprop, I will dispute the point no further with you; though I must confess, that you are a truly moderate and polite arguer, for almost every third word you say is on my side of the question. But, Mrs Malaprop, to the more important point in debate you say you have no objection to my proposal? Mrs Mal. None, I assure you. I am under no positive engagement with Mr Acres; and as Lydia is so obstinate against him, perhaps your son may have better success. Sir Anth. Well, madam, I will write for the boy directly. He knows not a syllable of this yet, though I have for some time had the proposal in my head. He is at present with his regi ment. Mrs Mal. We have never seen your son, Sir Anthony; but I hope no objection on his side? Sir Anth. Objection! Let him object if he Sir Anth. Madam, I will handle the subject prudently. Well, I must leave you; and let me beg you, Mrs Malaprop, to enforce this matter roundly to the girl; take my advice, keep a tight hand; if she rejects this proposal, clap her under lock and key; and if you were just to let the servants forget to bring her dinner for three or four days, you cann't conceive how she'd come about. [Exit Sir ANTH. Mrs Mal. Well; at any rate I shall be glad to get her from under my intuition. She has somehow discovered my partiality for Sir Lucius O'Trigger-sure Lucy cann't have betrayed me! No; the girl is such a simpleton, I should have made her confess it. Lucy! Lucy!—[Calls.]— Had she been one of your artificial ones, I should never have trusted her. Enter LUCY. Lucy. Did you call, madam? Mrs Mal. Yes, girl. Did you see Sir Lucius while you was out? Lucy. No, indeed, madam, not a glimpse of him. Mrs Mal. You are sure, Lucy, that you never mentioned Lucy. O gemini! I'd sooner cut my tongue out. Mrs Mal. Well; don't let your simplicity be imposed on. Lucy. No, madam. Mrs Mal. So, come to me presently, and I'll give you another letter to Sir Lucius; but mind, Lucy, if ever you betray what you are intrusted with, (unless it be other people's secrets to me,) you forfeit my malevolence for ever; and your being a simpleton shall be no excuse for your locality. [Exit Mrs MAL. Lucy. Ha, ha, ha! So, my dear simplicity, let me give you a little respite-[Altering her manner.]-Let girls in my station be as fond as they please of appearing expert and knowing in their trusts, commend me to a mask of silliness, and a pair of sharp eyes for my own interest under it! Let me see! to what account have I turned my simplicity lately-[Looks at a paper.]-For abetting Miss Lydia Languish in a design of running away with an ensign! in money, sundry times, twelve pound twelve-gowns, five-hats, ruffles, caps, &c.-numberless! From the said ensign, within this last month, six guineas and a half-About a quarter's pay! Item. From Mrs Malaprop, for betraying the young people to her -when I found matters were like to be discovered-two guineas, and a black padusoy. Item. From Mr Acres, for carrying divers letterswhich I never delivered-two guineas, and a pair of buckles. Item. From Sir Lucius O'Trigger, three crowns, two gold pocket-pieces, and a sil ver snuff-box! Well done, simplicity! Yet I was forced to make my Hibernian believe, that he was corresponding, not with the aunt, but with the niece: for, though not over-rich, I found be had too much pride and delicacy to sacrifice the feelings of a gentleman to the necessities of his fortune. [Exit. ACT II. SCENE I-Captain ABSOLUTE's Lodgings. Enter Captain ABSOLUTE and FAG. Fag. Sir, while I was there, Sir Anthony came in: I told him, you had sent me to inquire after his health, and to know if he was at leisure to see you. Abs. And what did he say on hearing I was at Bath? Fag. Sir, in my life I never saw an elderly gentleman more astonished; he started back two or three paces, rapt out a dozen interjectural oaths, and asked, what the devil had brought you here? Abs. Well, sir, and what did you say? Fag. O, I lied, sir; I forget the precise lie: but you may depend on't, he got no truth from me. Yet, with submission, for fear of blunders in future, I should be glad to fix what has brought us to Bath: in order that we may lie a little consistently. Sir Anthony's servants were curious, sir; very curious indeed. Abs. You have said nothing to them?--Fag. O, not a word, sir; not a word. Mr Thomas, indeed, the coachman, (whom I take to be the discreetest of whips) Abs. 'Sdeath! You rascal! You have not trusted him? Fag. O no, sir; no, no; not a syllable, upon my veracity! He was, indeed, a little inquisitive; but I was sly, sir, devilish sly!-My master, (said I,) honest Thomas, (you know, sir, one says honest to one's inferiors,) is come to Bath to recruit -Yes, sir, I said, to recruit; and whether for men, money, or constitution, you know, sir, is nothing to him, nor any one else. Abs. Well, recruit will do; let it be soFag. O, sir, recruit will do surprisingly-indeed, to give the thing an air, I told Thomas, that your honour had already inlisted five disbanded chairmen, seven minority waiters, and thirteen billiard-markers. Abs. You blockhead, never say more than is necessary! Fag. I beg pardon, sir, I beg pardon; but, with submission, a lie is nothing unless one supports it. Sir, whenever I draw on my invention for a good current lie, I always forge indorsements as well as the bill. Abs. Well, take care you don't hurt your credit, by offering too much security.-Is Mr Faulkland returned? Fag. He is above, sir, changing his dress. Abs. Can you tell whether he has been informed of Sir Anthony's and Miss Melville's arrival? Fag. I fancy not, sir; he has seen no one since he came in, but his gentleman who was with him at Bristol. I think, sir, I hear Mr Faulkland coming down. Abs. Go, tell him I am here. Fag. Yes, sir. [Going.] I beg pardon, sir; but should Sir Anthony call, you will do me the favour to remember, that we are recruiting, if you please? Abs. Well, well. Fag. And, in tenderness to my character, if your honour could bring in the chairmen and waiters, I should esteem it as an obligation; for though I never scruple a lie to serve my master, yet it hurts one's conscience to be found out. [Erit. Abs. Now for my whimsical friend-if he does not know that his mistress is here, I'll teaze him a little before I tell him Enter FAULKLAND. Faulkland, you're welcome to Bath again! you are punctual in your return. Faulk. Yes; I had nothing to detain me, when I had finished the business I went on. Well, what news since I left you? How stand matters between you and Lydia? Abs. Faith, much as they were; I have not seen her since our quarrel; however, I expect to be recalled every hour. Faulk. Why don't you persuade her to go off with you at once? Abs. What, and lose two-thirds of her fortune? You forget that, my friend. No, no; I could have brought her to that long ago. Fuulk. Nay, then, you trifle too long-if you are sure of her, propose to the aunt in your own character, and write to Sir Anthony for his con sent. Abs. Softly, softly; for though I am convinced my little Lydia would elope with me as Ensign Beverley, yet am I by no means certain that she would take me with the impediment of our friends' consent, a regular hum-drum wedding, and the reversion of a good fortune on my side: No, no; I must prepare her gradually for the discovery, and make myself necessary to her, before I risk it. Well, but, Faulkland, you'll dine with us today at the hotel ? |