stance has a good deal engaged my attention; and I believe you will admit my method of solving the phenomenon philosophical and ingenious enough. Puff. Without question. Sir Tho. I suppose, gentlemen, my memory, or mind, to be a chest of drawers, a kind of bureau; where, in separate cellules, my different knowledge on different subjects is stored. Rust. A prodigious discovery! All. Amazing! Sir Tho, To this cabinet, volition, or will, has a key; so, when an arduous subject occurs, I unluck my bureau, pull out the particular drawer, and am supplied with what I want in an instant. Sir Tho. Pray, desire him to enter. [Exit Servant.] Sir Roger, gentlemen, is a considerable East India proprietor; and seems desirous of collecting, from this learned assembly, some rhetorical flowers, which he hopes to strew, with honour to himself, and advantage to the company, at Merchant-Tailor's Hall. Enter SIR ROGER DOWLAS. Sir Roger, be seated. This gentleman has, in common with the greatest orator the world ever saw, a small natural infirmity; he stutters a little: but I have prescribed the same remedy that Demosthenes used, and don't despair of a radical cure. Well, sir, have you digested those general rules. Sir Rog. Pr-ett-y well, I am obli-ged to you, sir Thomas. Sir Tho. Have you been regular in taking your tincture of sage, to give you confidence for speaking in public? Sir Rog. Yes, Sir Thomas. Sir Tho. Did you open at the last general court? Sir Rog. I attem-p-ted four or fi▬▬▬▬▬▬ve times. Sir Tho. What hindered your progress? Sir Tho. Oh, the pebbles in his mouth, But they are only put in to practise in private; you should take them out, when you are addressing the public. Sir Rog. Yes; I will for the future. Sir Tho. Well, Mr. Rust, you had a tete-a-tete with my neice. A-propos. Mr. Bever, here offers a fine occasion for you; we shall take the liberty to trouble your Muse on their nuptials: 0, Love! O, Hymen!—here prune thy purple wings; trim thy bright torch! Hey, Mr. Bever? Bev. My talents are at Sir Thomas Lofty's direction: though I must despair of producing any performance worthy the attention of so complete a judge of the elegant arts. Sir Tho. Too modest, good Mr. Bever!— Well, Mr. Rust, any new acquisition, since our last meeting, to your matchless collection? Rust. Why, Sir Thomas, I have both lost and gained, since I saw you. Sir Tho. Lost! I am sorry for that. Rust. The curious sarcophagus, that was sent me from Naples by Signior Belloni Sir Tho. You mean the urn, that was supposed to contain the dust of Agrippa? Rust, Supposed! no doubt but it did. Sir Tho. I hope no sinister accident to that inestimable relict of Rome? Rust. Tis gone. Sir Tho. Gone! oh, illiberal! what, stolen, I suppose, by some connoisseur ? Rust. Worse, worse; a prey, a martyr to ignorance; a housemaid, that I hired last week, mistook it for a broken green chamber-pot, and sent it away in the dust cart. Sir Tho. She merits impaling.-Oh, the Hun! Dac. The Vandal! All. The Visigoth! Rust. But I have this day acquired a treasure, that will, in some measure, make me amends. Sir Tho. Indeed! what can that be? Puff. That must be something curious, indeed! Rust. It has cost me infinite trouble to get it. Dac, Great rarities are not to be had without pains. Rust. It is three months ago, since I got the first scent of it; and I had been ever since on the hunt, but all to no purpose. Rust. I have brought it here in my pocket: I am no churl; I love to pleasure my friends. Sir Tho. You are, Mr. Rust, extremely obliging. All. Very kind, very obliging, indeed. Rust. The edges are soiled by the link, but many of the letters are exceedingly legible. Sir Tho. True; the same as your father's: come, let us be familiar. It is, I think, dear Dick, acknowledged, that the English have reached the highest pitch of perfection in every de Sir Rog. A little roo-m, if you please. Rust. Here it is; the precious remains of the very North-Briton, that was burnt at the Royal-partment of writing but one-the dramatic? Exchange. Sir Tho. Number forty-five? Rust. The saine. Bev. You are a lucky man, Mr. Rust. Rust. I think so. But, gentlemen, I hope I need not give you a caution: hush! silence! no words on this matter. Dac. You may depend upon us. Rust. For as the paper has not suffered the law, I don't know whether they may not seize it again. "Sir Tho. With us you are safe, Mr. Bust.-Well, young gentleman, you see we cultivate all branches of science. Bev. Amazing indeed! But, when we consider you, Sir Thomas, as the directing, the ruling planet, our wonder subsides in an instant.Science first saw the day, with Socrates in the Attic portico; her early years were spent with Tully in the Tusculan shade; but her ripe, maturer hours, she enjoys with Sir Thomas Lofty, near Cavendish-square. Sir Tho. The most classical compliment I ever received! Gentlemen, a philosophical repast attends your acceptance within. Sir Roger, you'll lead the way. [Exeunt all but SIR THOMAS and BEVER.] Mr. Bever, may I beg your ear for a moment? Mr. Bever, the friendship I have for your father, secured you, at first, a gracious reception from me; but what I then paid to an old obligation, is now, sir, due to your own par ticular merit. Bev. I am happy, Sir Thomas, if Sir Tho. Your patience. There is in you, Mr. Bever, a fire of imagination, a quickness of apprehension, a solidity of judgment, joined to a depth of discretion, that I never yet met with in any subject at your time of life. Bev. I hope I shall never forfeit Sir Tho. I am sure you never will: and to give you a convincing proof that I think so, I Bev. Why, the French critics are a little se Sir Tho. I think not. You will he charmed with the subject. Bev. What is it, Sir Thomas? Sir Tho. I shall surprise you. The story of Robinson Crusoe. Are not you struck? Ben. Most prodigiously! Sir Tho. Yes; I knew the very title would hit you. You will find the whole fable is finely conducted; and the character of Friday, qualis ab incepto, nobly supported throughout. Bev. A pretty difficult task. Sir Tho. True; that was not a bow for a boy. The piece has long been in rehearsal at DruryLane play-house, and this night is to make its appearance. Bev. To-night. Sir Tho. This night. Beo. I will attend, and engage all my friends to support it. Sir Tho. That is not my purpose; the piece will want no such assistance. Bev. I beg pardon. Sir Tho. The manager of that house (who, you know, is a writer himself), finding all the anonymous things he produced (indeed some of them wretched enough, and very unworthy of him) placed to his account by the public, is determined to exhibit no more without knowing the name of the author. Bev. A reasonable caution. Bev. Lord, Sir Thomas, it will never gain credit! so complete a production the work of a stripling! Besides, sir, as the merit is yours, why rob yourself of the glory? Šir Tho. I am entirely indifferent to that. Sir Tho. My fondness for letters, and love of my country. Besides, dear Dick, though the pauci et selecti, the chosen few, know the full value of a performance like this, yet the ignorant, the profane (by much the majority) will be apt to think it an occupation ill suited to my time of life. Bev. Their censure is praise. Sir Tho. Doubtless. But, indeed, my principal motive is my friendship for you. You are now a candidate for literary honours, and I am determined to fix your fame on an immoveable basis. Bev. You are most excessively kind; but there is something so disingenuous in stealing reputation from another man. Sir Tho. Idle punctilio! Bev. It puts me so in mind of the daw in the fable. Sir Tho. Come, come, dear Dick, I won't suffer your modesty to murder your fame. But the company will suspect something; we will join them, and proclaim you the author. There, keep the copy; to you I consign it for ever; it shall be a secret to latest posterity. You will be smothered with praise by our friends; they shall all in their bark to the play-house; and there, Attendant sail, Pursue the triumph, and partake the gale. [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I. Enter BEVER, reading. Bev. So ends the first act. Come, now for the second. Act the second, showing,'-the coxcomb has prefaced every act with an argument, too, in humble imitation, I warrant, of Mons. Diderot Showing the fatal effects of disobedience to parents:' with, I suppose, the diverting scene of a gibbet; an entertaining subject for comedy! And the blockhead is as prolix! every scene as long as an homily! Let us see how does this end? Exit Crusoe, and enter some savages dancing a saraband.' There is no bearing this abominable trash. Bev. Your uncle's. Jul. My uncle's! Then how, in the name of wonder, came you to adopt it? Bev. At his earnest request. I may be a fool; but remember, madam, you are the cause. Jul. This is strange; but I can't conceive what his motive could be. Bev. His motive is obvious enough; to screen himself from the infamy of being the author. Jul. What, is it bad, then? Bev. Bad! most infernal! Jul. And you have consented to own it? Bev. Why, what could I do? He in a manner compelled me. Jul. I am extremely glad of it. Bev. Glad of it! Why, I tell you 'tis the most dull, tedious, melancholy Jul. So much the better. Bev. The most flat piece of frippery that ever Grub-street produced. Jul. So much the better. Bev. It will be damned before the third act. Bev. And I shall be hooted and pointed at wherever I go. Sir Tho. So, Juliet; was not that Mr. Bever? Sir Tho. He is rather tardy; by this time his cause is come on. And how is the young genman affected? For this is a trying occasion. Jul. Ile seems pretty certain, sir. Sir Tho. Indeed I think he has very little reason for fear. I confess I admire the piece, and feel as much for its fate, as if the work was my own. Jul. That I most sincerely believe. I wonder, sir, you did not choose to be present. Sir Tho. Better not. My affections are strong, Juliet, and my nerves but tenderly strung: however, intelligent people are planted, who will bring me, every act, a faithful account of the process. author; if it fails, I am concealed; and my fame suffers, no-There he is-[Loud_knocking.]—I can't conceive what kept him so long. Enter JOHN. So, John; well; and—but you have been a monstrous while. John. Sir, I was wedged so close in the pit, that I could scarcely get out. Sir Tho. The house was full, then? Sir Tho. That's right. Well, John, and did matters go swimmingly? Hey? John. Exceedingly well, sir. Sir Tho. Exceedingly well. I don't doubt it. What, vast clapping and roars of applause, I suppose. John. Very well, sir. Sir Tho. Very well, sir! You are damned costive, I think. But did not the pit and boxes thunder again? John. I can't say there was over-much thunder. Sir Tho. No! Oh, attentive, I reckon? Ay, attention; that is the true, solid, substantial applause. All else may be purchased; hands move as they are bid: but when the audience is bushed, still, afraid of losing a word, then~~ John. Yes; they were very quiet, indeed, sir. Sir Tho. I like them the better, John; a strong mark of their great sensibility. Did you see Robin? John. Yes sir, he'll be here in a trice; I left him listening at the back of the boxes, and charged him to make all the haste home that he could. Sir Tho. That's right, John; very well; your account pleases me much, honest John.-[Exit JOHN.]-No, I did not expect the first act would produce any prodigious effect. And, after all, the first act is but a mere introduction: just opens the business, the plot, and gives a little insight into the characters: so that, if you but engage and interest the house it is as much as the best writer can flatt-[Knocking without.Gadso! What, Robin already? why the fellow has the feet of a Mercury. Enter ROBIN. Well, Robin, and what news do you bring? Sir Tho. Stop, Robin, and recover your breath. Jul. That will answer your purpose as well. Sir Tho. Indeed I am passionately fond of the arts, and therefore can't help- -did not somebody knock? No. My good girl will you step and take care that, when any body comes, the servants may not be out of the way?—[Exit JULIET.]-Five-and-thirty minutes past six; by this time the first act must be over: John will-Now, Robin. be presently here. I think it can't fail: yet there is so much whim and caprice in the public opinion, that this young man is unknown; they'll give him no credit. I had better have owned it myself: reputation goes a great way in these matters; people are afraid to find fault; they are cautious in censuring the works of a man who,-Hush! that's he: no; 'tis only the shutters. After all, I think I have chosen the best way; for if it succeeds to the degree I expect, it will be easy to circulate the real name of the low. Sir Tho. An uproar! What, at the play house? Rob. Ay. Sir Tho. At what? Rob. I don't know: belike, at the words the play folk were talking. Sir Tho. At the players? How can that be? Oh, now I begin to perceive. Poor fellow he knows but little about plays: What, Robin, I suppose, hallooing, and clapping, and knocking | of sticks? Rob. Hallooing! ay, and hooting too. Rob. Ay, and hissing to boot. Sir Tho. Hissing! you must be mistaken? Sir Tho. Impossible! Oh, most likely some drunken disorderly fellows, that were disturbing the house, and interupting the play: too common a case; the people were right, they deserved a rebuke. Did not you here them cry out, out, out! Rob. Noa; that was not the cry; 'twas Off, off, off! Sir Tho. That was a whimsical noise. Zounds! that must be the players. Did you observe nothing else. Rob. Belike the quarrel first began between the gentry and a black-a-moor-man. Sir Tho. With Friday! The public taste is debauched; honest nature is too plain and simple for their vitiated palates ! Enter JULIET, Juliet, Robin brings me the strangest account! some little disturbance; but I suppose it was soon settled again. Oh, but here comes Mr. Staytape, my tailor; he is a rational being; we shall be able to make something of him. Enter STAYTAPE. So, Staytape; what is the third act over already? Sir Tho. I don't comprehend you. Stay. Why, sir, the poet has made a mistake in measuring the taste of the town: the goods it seems, did not fit; so they returned them upon the gentleman's hands. Sir Tho. Rot your affectation and quaintness, you puppy! speak plain. Stay. Why, then, sir, Robinson Crusoe is dead. Sir Tho. Dead! Stay. Ay; and what is worse, will never rise any more. You willl soon have all the particulars; for there were four or five of your friends clos at my heels. Sir Tho. Staytape, Juliet, run and stop them! Şay I am gone out; I am sick; I am engaged: but whatever you do, be sure you don't let Bever come in. Secure of the victory, I invited them to the celebr Stay. Sir, they are here. | Sir Tho. Yes, yes; I have been told it before. Dac. I confess I did not suspect it; but there is no knowing what effect these things will have till they come on the stage. Rust. For my part, I don't know much of these matters; but a couple of gentlemen near me, who seemed sagacious enough too, declared, that it was the vilest stuff they ever had heard, and wondered the players would act it. Dac. Yes: I don't remember to have seen a more general dislike. for Puff. I was thinking to ask you, Sir Thomas, your interest with Mr. Bever, about buying the copy: but now no mortal would read it.Lord, sir, it would not pay for paper and printing. Rust. I remember Kennet, in his Roman antiquities, mentions a play of Terence's, Mr. Dactyl, that was terribly treated; but that he attributes to the people's fondness for certain funambuli, or rope dancers; but I have not lately heard of any famous tumblers in town: sir Thomas, have you? Sir Tho. How should I? Do you suppose I trouble my head about tumblers? Rust: Nay, I did not. Bev. [Speaking without] not to be spoke with! Don't tell ine, sir; he must, he shall. Sir Tho, Mr. Bever's voice! If he is admitted in his present disposition, the whole secret will certainly out. Gentlemen, some affairs, of a most interesting nature, make it impossible for me to have the honour of your company to night; therefore I beg you would be so good as to Rust. Affairs! no bad news? I hope Miss Jule is well? Sir Tho. Very well; but I am most exceedingly. Rust. I shall only just stay to see Mr. Bever, poor lad! he will be most horribly down in the mouth! a little comfort won't come amiss. Sir Tho. Mr. Bever, sir! you wont see him here. Rust. Not here! why, I thought I heard his voice but just now. Sir Tho. You are mistaken Mr. Rust; but Rust. May be so; then we will go. Sir Thomas, my compliments of condolence if you please, to the poet? Sir Tho. Ay, ay. Dac. And mine; for I suppose we shan't see him soon. Puff. Poor gentleman! I warrant he won't show his head for this six months. Rust. Ay, ay; indeed, I am very sorry for him; so tell him, sir. Dac and Puff. so are we. Rust. sir Thomas, your servant. Come, gentlemen. By all this confusion in Sir Thomas, there must be something more in the wind than I know; but I will watch, I am resolved. [Exeunt. Bev. [without] Rascals, stand by! I must, I will see him. |