[A knock. Tim. Troth, I'm disgusted beyond all measure at the way that girl goes on. Sally. Goes on, Mr. Timothy? Did you notice how she went off? And if she shows herself in this way before marriage, Mr. Timothy, what will she be after it? Tim. I shuddher at the thought, cook, an' if you could only forget the insult I was guilty of in thinkin' of her for a single moment, I'd ask ye to be mine at an early date. Sally. I'm the most forgiving creetur in the world. And besides, who could refuse such a dear fellow as you? Tim. Well thin, darlin', name the day. Sally. Next Tuesday month wouldn't be too soon; would it, Timothy, dear? The sooner it's over the better; isn't it, love? Tim. Of course, darlin'— Enter BETSY, R. Betsy. If you want to see the cat walking upstairs with two pounds and three-quarters of beefsteak in his mouth, you've a excellent opportunity at the present moment. Sally. Hang the cat! [Exit L. Tim. Betsy, that cook is an out-an'-out bad one. Betsy. So you've found that out at last, have you? Tim. I won't have her. Betsy. Don't; she'd drive you mad in a week. Tim. So I'm thinkin'; and if you would but condescind to supply her place in this manly buzzum, we'll be made won whinever ye plase. On Tuesday month, say. Betsy. Oh, my Timothy! On Tuesday month let it be. [Exit TIM. Enter SALLY. I think, cook, we might as well be friends; we've Betsy. Nor me. Sally. I was a little jealous; but it's over now. Betsy. We shall say good-bye to one another in a month, and perhaps never see each other again, but I shall always think of you, cook, so I shall. Sally. Timothy. Betsy. My Timothy? Sally. No, my Timothy! Betsy. Which Timothy is your Timothy? Sally. Now stop this nonsense, please. Betsy. You nasty thing! Sally. We'll soon settle this. Timothy! Betsy. Now, then, we'll see. Sally. So we will. Mr. Timothy, ain't we to be married on Tuesday month? Tim. No! Betsy. There now! Ain't we to be married on Tuesday month? Tim. No! Betsy: Timothy Fagan, didn't you promise to marry me on Tuesday month? I ask you that! Tim. Yes. Sally. Mr. Timothy Fagan, Esquire, Ireland, didn't you promise to marry me on Tuesday month? Tim. Yes. Betsy. You monster! Both. To go and deceive two young unsuspecting females in this 'artless manner! [They burst into a howl of crying.] What can you say for yourself? Tim. Why, the truth is, darlin's, that I'm married already! [SALLY and BETSY astonished]. Six months ago I tuck a wife against the consint o' my ould miser of an uncle; so instid o' gettin' the fifty pounds he put to won side to set me up in business whenever I'd take it into my head to marry with his consint, he kicked me away from his door. Well, of coorse couldn't stay idle with a wife on my hands, an' seein' this situation in the paper, I tuck it. But findin' that the masther an' misthress had an objection to a married man, I said nothin' about the little girl I left behind me! Both. Oh, you deceiving villain! Tim. Now, darlin's, why do ye call me deceivin'? Didn't I always keep out o' your way as long as ever I could; until you tired the very patience out o' me, an' I was obliged to take manes to put a stop to yer persecution o' me? [A knock. Exit BETSY, and returns with MARY. [Cries. Tim. Ah, darlin' o' my sowl, is it you? me a kiss, mavourneen! Och, don't be afeard or ashamed o' these ladies, for they'd be mighty glad to be in yer place this minit. An' what brought ye here? Sally. The thoughts of the happy hours I've spent with you will often come back to my mind -they will, indeed, Betsy! [Cries. Betsy. Oh, you dear! Sally. Oh, you duck! [Embrace.] You'll come to the wedding, won't you, dear? Betsy. Joking again, you funny creature! Sally. On Tuesday month. Betsy. Tuesday month? Why, that's my day! Sally. Yes, me and Mr. Timothy is going to be married then, I assure you! Betsy. Timothy ? Give Mary. Your uncle has relented, Timothy dear, and sent me this fifty pound note. I was so delighted that I couldn't resist the temptation to come up to town with the good news myself. Tim. Thin I'll lave here to-night, and I hope it won't be said that I go with a bad character; or if there is a division of opinion about me an' my fellow-sarvints, I thrust the frinds 'll be in the proportion at laste of Two TO ONE! THE END. THE NEW YORK, TRAGEDIES, A CHOICE COLLECTION OF COMEDIES, WITH DRAMA FARCES, ETC., CASTS OF CHARACTERS, STAGE BUSINESS, COSTUMES, RELATIVE POSITIONS, &c., ADAPTED TO THE HOME CIRCLE, PRIVATE THEATRICALS, AND THE AMERICAN STAGE. VOL. 2. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1876, by WHEAT & CORNETT, in the Office CHARLES THE SECOND: OR, THE MERRY MONARCH. A Comedy, in Two Acts. BY JOHN HOWARD PAYNE, ESQ. CAST OF CHARACTERS. King Charles II. Rochester... Captain Copp.. Edward Lady Clara.. Mary Copp. D. Left Door: S. E. Second Entrance; U. E. Upper Entrance; M. D. Middle ACT I. SCENE I.-The Royal Palace. Enter ROCHESTER and LADY CLARA, R. Lady C. Yes, my lord, her majesty will have it that you are the chief cause of the king's irreg-| ularities. Roch. Oh, I'll warrant it; and of his not loving her, too-is it not so? NO. 19. no, my lady, that might have done in the days of the Roundheads, but times are altered. We have a merry monarch to reign over us a merry monarch makes a merry court-so God save the jovial king, and send him boon companions. Lady C. [laughing.] I see it is in vain to reason with you. Roch. Then give over the attempt. Let us talk of something of a nearer and a dearer interest -of your merits and my most ardent flame. Lady C. Ah, me! I fear, like many other of your flames, it will but end in smoke. You talk of being desperately in love—what proof have you ever given? Roch. What proof? Am I not ready to give the greatest proof a man can offer to lay down this sweet bachelor life, and commit matrimony for your sake? Lady C. Well, this last, I must say, coming Roch. Your ladyship forgets one of my talents. Roch. That of getting myself banished two or three times a year. Lady C. And if the woman you profess to love should offer to partake your exile? Rock. I am a lost man-I surrender. That last shot reached my heart. Lady C. [sighing.] Ah, my lord-if that heart were only worth your head! Well, is it agreed? Roch. It is your will-I undertake the sacrifice Lady C. I did not say that; but in truth, my lord, your continual jests on the married state--but, madame, bear in mind my recompense. Roch. Heaven bless it! Lady C. You may hope for everything. Adieu, my lord. I now begin to believe in your passion, since you are willing to make a sacrifice to it, even of your follies. [Exit R. Roch. [alone.] A pretty task I have undertaken, truly! I-Rochester-become reformer! And, then, the convert I have to work upon! Charles, who glories in all kinds of rambling frolics! True, he has had nothing but pleasant adventures yet. If I should trick him into some ridiculous dilemma? My whole life has been a tissue of follies, and I am called a man of wit. I I am now to attempt a rational act, and I shall be called a madman! Well, be it so-matrimony will be sure to bring me to my senses. Roch. What, is my loyalty to be made my reproach? Must I not stand by my monarch in all his moods? Would you have me weep when my Sovereign laughs? Would you have me whine when my sovereign calls for a jolly song? No, Ah! here comes my young protégé. How down Enter EDWARD, languidly, R. cast he seems! How now, Edward, what's the have introduced myself into the house as a musicmatter with you, boy? master. Edw. [sighing.] Nothing, my lord. Roch. Good heaven, what a sigh to heave up nothing with! Tell me the truth this instant. Hast thou dared to fall in love? Edw. I hope, my lord, there is no harm in indulging an honest attachment. Roch. An honest attachment! A young, halffledged page about court, who has hardly tried his wings in the sunshine of beauty, to talk of an honest attachment. Why, thou silly boy, is this the fruit of all the lessons I have given thee? Edw. Did not your lordship tell me, that one of the first duties of a page was to be zealous in his devotion to the fair? Roch. Yes, but I told thee to skim over the surface of beauty, just dipping your wings, like a swallow, not plumping in like a goose. I told you to hover from flower to flower like a butterfly, not to bury yourself in one like a bee. An honest attachment! What a plebeian phrase! There's a wife and seven children in the very sound of it. Edw. My lord, I know your talent for putting things in a whimsical light, but could you see the object of my passion Roch. Nay, a truce with all description. But who, pray, is the object of this honest attachment? Edw. [embarrassed.] My lord! Roch. One of the maids of honor, I'll be bound, who has privately been petting you with sweetmeats and lending you love-tales. Edw. No, my lord. Roch. And your musical name, gentle sir? Roch. Ha, ha, ha! Very soft and ItalianishI'll warrant this heroine bar-maid will turn out some unknown princess, carried off by the old buccaneer landlord in one of his cruisings. Edw. Your lordship is joking; but, really, at times I think she is really not what she seems. Roch. Ha, ha, ha! I could have sworn it. But silence-I hear his majesty dismount. Run to where your duty calls-we'll take another opportunity to discuss the merits of this Wapping princess. Edw. [goes out muttering.] There's many a true thing said in jest. I am certain her birth is above her condition. [Exit L. Roch. I must see this paragon of bar-maids— she must be devilish pretty! The case admits of no delay-I'll see her this very evening. Hold! Why not fulfill my promise to Lady Clara at the same time? [BEEF-EATERS appear at door c.] It is decided—I'll give his majesty my first lesson in morals this very night. But he comes. Enter CHARLES, door in C. Chas. Good day, my lord! What, musing? I never see thee with that air of grave cogitation, but I am sure there is some mischief devising. Roch. On the contrary, I am vehemently tempted to reform. Chas. Reform! ha, ha, ha! Why, man, no one will credit thy conversion! Is not thy name a Roch. Pray, then, give me some clue. What is by-word? Do not mothers frighten their daughthe name of your beauty? Edw. Her name, my lord, is Mary. Roch. Mary! A very pretty, posy-like name. And what sequestered spot may the gentle Mary embellish with her presence? Edw. She lives at the tav- Nay, my lord, promise not to laugh. Roch. Come, the residence of this fair one? Edw. Why, then, my lord, she inhabits the tavern of the Grand Admiral, in Wapping. Roch. Usquebaugh and tobacco! the tavern of the Grand Admiral! Ha, ha, ha! An honest attachment to some pretty bar-maid ! Edw. No, my lord, no bar-maid, I assure you. Her uncle keeps the tavern. Roch. [with mock gravity.] Oh, then, she is heiress apparent to the tap-room, and you, no doubt, look forward to rise in the state through the dignities of drawer, tapster and head-waiter, until you succeed to the fair hand of the niece and the copper nose of the uncle, and rule with spigot in hand over the fair realms of Wapping. You, who I flattered myself would have made the torment and delight of all the pretty women at court, you to be so completely gulled at the very outset the dupe of a green girl and some old rogue of a publican! Edw. Indeed, indeed, my lord, you do the uncle injustice. He is a perfectly honest, upright man-an old captain of a cruiser. Roch. Worse and worse! Some old buccaneer, tired of playing the part of a monster at sea, has turned shark on shore. And do you dare to appear in such a house with the dress of a royal page? Edw. Oh, I have taken care to avoid that. I ters with it, as formerly with that of Beelzebub? Is not thy appearance in a neighborhood a signal for all the worthy burghers to bar their windows and put their womankind under lock and key? Art thou not, in melancholy truth, the most notorious scapegrace in the kingdom? Roch. Heaven forefend that in anything I should take precedence of your majesty. Chas. But what proof do you give of your conversion? Roch. The most solemn-I am going to be married! Chas. Married! And who, pray, is the lady you have an idea of rendering miserable? Roch. The Lady Clara! Chas. The Lady Clara! The brilliant, the discreet, the virtuous Lady Clara! She marry Rochester? Ha, ha, ha! Roch. Ah, my liege, heaven has given her a superabundance of virtues. She will be able to make a very virtuous man of me with her superfluity. Chas. Well, when thou art married I will undertake to write thy epithalamium. Roch. Then your majesty may at once invoke the Muses. All is settled. [With great gravity.] As soon as the rites are solemnized I shall quit the court and its mundane pleasures, and retire with my lovely bride to my castle at Rochester, under permission of my creditors, the faithful garrison of that fortress. Chas. What, is your castle again in pledge? Roch. No, my liege, not again. It has never, to my knowledge, been exactly out of keeping. A castle requires a custodian. Chas. Ah, Rochester! Rochester! Thou art an extravagant dog. I see I shall be called on to pay these usurers at last. Roch. Your majesty is ever bounteous. I should not have dared to solicit, and certainly shall not presume to decline. Chas. Ha, ha! Thou art an arrant juggler. But to business-where shall we pass the night? Roch. [assuming a serious air.] I must beg your majesty to excuse me this evening-I have an engagement of a grave and important nature. Chas. Grave and important! Thou liest, Rochester; and whither does this grave engagement take thee? Roch. To the tavern of the Grand Admiral in Wapping! Chas. I thought it was some such haunt. And the object of this business? Roch. A young girl, beautiful as an angel, and virtuous as a dragon-about whom there hangs a mystery that I must investigate. Chas. A mysterious beauty! It is a case for royal scrutiny-I will investigate it myself. Roch. But, my liege Chas. No buts. Provide disguises. We will go. together. [With mock gravity.] I like to study human nature in all its varieties. There's some SONG Oh, not when other eyes may read But when the stars rise from the sea, When o'er the olives of the dell And when upon the rose the dew And buds close on the chestnut tree, Enter COPP from the house-door in flat. Copp. What, Mary, my little blossom, what cheer? what cheer? Keep close, my little heart why do you stir out of port? Here be cruisers abroad. Mary. Who are those people, uncle, who make such a noise? Copp. Two hearty blades-mad roysterers— oons, how they drink! I was obliged to part company, old cruiser as I am, or they would soon have had me on my beam ends. Mary. Are they sailors, uncle? Copp. To be sure they are; who else would fling about money as they do, and treat a whole thing of philosophy in this-one often gets a use-bar-room? The tallest, in particular, is a very ful lesson in the course of a frolic. devil. Hollo, Captain Copp, cries he every minute, another bottle to treat my brother tars. Mary. By their swaggering about so they must be very rich? Roch. [aside.] It shall go hard but your majesty shall have one to-night. [Aloud.] Ah, how few except myself give your majesty credit for your philosophy! And yet, by many, I am considered the partaker of your majesty's excesses; and should any disagreeable adventure be the result Chas. Pshaw! I take the consequences on myself. Provide two seamen's dresses, a purse of gold well filled, and arrange everything for nine precisely. Till then, farewell. [Erit L. D. Roch. I will attend your majesty. So! the plot is in train. This night, the lesson. To-morrow, my disgrace. Within eight days, my marriage, and then, at my leisure, to repent and reform. [Exit L. D. SCENE II.-Outside of COPP's Tavern, the Grand Admiral. A view of the Thames and Wapping. Enter MARY from the house, L., in the flat. Voices. [within.] Wine, wine! House! waiter! more wine, ho! Huzza! huzza! huzza! Mary. What a noise those sailors make in the bar-room-nothing but singing and laughing and shouting. I should like to take a peep at them; but no-my uncle forbids me to show myself in the public rooms; he scarcely lets me be seen by the guests; he brings me up more like a young lady than the niece of a tavern-keeper. [ [Walks about restless.] Heigho! what a tiresome long day! what shall I do with myself? what can be the matter with me? I wonder what can keep Mr. Georgini away? For three days he has not been here to give me a lesson. No matter. [Peevishly.] I don't care. I shall forget all my singing, that's certain; he was just teaching me such a pretty song, too-all about love. I'll try it[Attempts to sing.] No, I can't-it's all out of my head-well, so much the better! I suppose he is teaching it to some fine lady scholar; let him, I don't care-I don't believe he'll find her so apt a scholar. Copp. Pho, child, 'tisn't the deepest laden ships that make the most rolling. Mary. But they spend their money so freely. Copp. A sure sign that it's running out. The longest cable must come to an end. He that pays out fastest will soonest be brought up with a round turn. Mary. To what ship do they belong? Copp. That's more than I can say. Suppose they're a couple of man-of-war's men just paid off, who think they've a Spanish mine in each pocket. [Shouts of laughter from L. in flat door within.] Ah, the jolly tars! I was just the same at their age. Mary. I should like to have a look at them. [Going up. Copp. Avast, there-what, trust thee in the way of two such rovers? No, no, I recollect too well what it was to get on shore after a long voyage. The first glimpse of a petticoat-whew! up boarding-pikes and grappling-irons! [Recollecting himself.] Ahem-no, no, child, mustn't venture in these latitudes. Mary. Ah, my good uncle, you are always so careful of me. Copp. And why not? What else have I in the whole world to care for, or to care for me? Thou art all that's left to me out of the family fleet--a poor, slight little pinnace. I've seen the rest, one after another, go down; it shall go hard but I'll convoy thee safe into port. Mary. I fear I give you a great deal of trouble, my dear uncle. Copp. Thou'rt the very best lass in the whole kingdom, and I love thee as I loved thy father, my poor brother Philip; that's because you're his very image. To be sure, you haven't his jolly nose, and your little mouth is but a fool to his. But then, there are his eyes, and his smile, and the good-humored cut of his face. [Sighing.] Hark! Poor Philip! What! [Wiping his eyes.] Pshaw! to learn that song he is teaching me. let's change the subject, because, d'ye see, sensi- how my heart beats! Hark! I'll wager it's Georbility and all that gammon, it does me no good-gini; I have a gift of knowing people before I see none-so let's talk of something else. What them-my heart whispers memakes thee so silent of late, my girl? I've not heard a song from thee these three days! Mary. It's three days since I've seen my music master. Copp. Well, and can't you sing without him? Mary. [pettishly.] I can't tell-it's very tiresome. If he did not mean to come again, he might have said so. Copp. Oddsfish, neglect thee-neglect his duty! I'll break him on the spot. Thou shalt have another master, my girl. I Mary. [eagerly. Oh, no, on no account; dare say he is not well, some accident has happened. Besides, there is no other teacher in town equal to him-he sings with such feeling. Copp. Ah, girl! if I had my old messmate, Jack Rattlin, here, he'd teach thee to sing. He had a voice-faith, it would make all the bottles dance, and glasses jingle on the table! Talk of feeling! Why, when Jack would sit of an even ing on the capstan when on watch, and sing about sweethearts and wives, and jolly tars, and true lovers' knots, and the roaring seas, and all that; smite my timbers, but it was enough to melt the heart of a grampus. Poor Jack, he taught me the only song I ever knew-it's a main good one, though[Sings a stave. Mary. [putting her hand on his mouth.] Oh, uncle, uncle, don't sing that horrible rough song. Copp. Rough? that's the beauty of it. It rouses one up, pipes all hands to quarters like a boatswain's call. Go in, Mary, but go in at the other door-don't go near the bar; go up to your own room, my dear, and your music-master will come to you presently, never fear. [Exit MARY, L. Voice. [within, at door in flat, R. S. E.] Hollo!house! waiter! Captain Copp! another bottle, my hearty fellow. Copp. There they go again! I can't stand it any longer. I am an old cruiser, and can't hear an engagement without longing to be in the midst of it. Avast, though, [stopping short] these lads are spending too much money. Have a care, friend Copp, don't sink the sailor in the publican; don't let a free-hearted tar ruin himself in thy house-no, no, faith. If they want more wine, they shall have it; but they shall drink as messmates, not as guests. So have at you, boys; it's my turn to treat now. In the time of the Rump-" [Exit into the house, door in flat. Enter EDWARD as GEORGINI, L. D. So, sir, you are come at last, are you? I had supposed you did not intend to come any more, and was about to look out for another teacher. Edw. Pardon me for my absence-you have no idea what I have suffered. Mary. [with anxiety.] Suffered! Have you been ill, then? Edw. Very ill— Mary. Indeed! and what was your complaint? Edw. [smiling.] The not seeing you. Mary. [half piqued, half pleased.] Mighty fine, sir; it is a complaint that you might have cured in a moment. I have been angry, sir-very angry at your neglect; don't smile, sir-I won't be laughed at. such a thing? I do but smile from the pleasure Edw. Laugh at you! Can you suspect me of of seeing you again nothing but circumstances that I could not control caused my absence. be interrupted in one's lessons just in the middle Mary. [softening.] Well, it's very provoking to of a new song-I'll warrant you've been teaching it all over town. Edw. Indeed, I teach it to no one but yourself -for no one else can do it such justice. have you brought it with you? Mary. [smiling.] Nay, now you are flattering Edw. Here it is—if you please, we will sing it at once. Mary. Yes-but-but-don't look so steadily at me while I sing it puts me out; and thenand then I don't know what I'm singing. Edw. What! have you fear of me, then? Mary. Oh! yes; I fear that I may not please you. world would I not betray thee. Edw. [apart.] Amiable innocence! for the DUETTO. Mary. Love one day essayed to gain Entrance into Beauty's bower, Edw. But Love laid aside his bow, Veiled his wing, hid his dart, Mary. Hence was the sweet lesson learnt, Enter COP, a little gay, L. D. Copp. Aha, master crotchet and quaver! so you've come at last, have you? What the deuce did you stay away for, and let my little girl get out of tune? Edw. Oh! I have explained all, sir, and made my peace. Copp. [crosses, c.] Ah, she's a forgiving little baggage, and amazing fond of music-why, she's time. always on the lookout for you an hour before the Mary. Never mind, uncle. Are your strange companions here still? Copp. Here still? aye, and likely to stay hereha, ha, ha!-no getting rid of them; they're a couple of devils, of right down merry devils. Ha, ha, ha! They've flustered me a little, i'faith. |