say? Whilst I am wholly in the fault, you will bear all the blame. Penrud. Thank heaven, I shall not hear it. The fame I covet, blows no trumpet in my ears; it Emily. If I am never blamed but for your faults-whispers peace and comfort to my heart. The obli Henry. Can you account for his indulgence? Emily. Can you expound the changes of the moon? Can you explain why, when all other female hearts are fickle, mine alone is fixed? Henry. Ought I to suffer that? Honour should teach me to avoid your presence. Emily. Yes; but if you practise that honour upon me, I never will forgive you. Come down from these high flights, if you please, and walk upon your feet as other men do. If you are alarmed at being poor, I'll marry that money-bag, and enrich you with the pillage of it-will that be honourable? No, no! most execrable meanness; therefore, away with it! Spinster as I am, I may struggle on to a good old age, and give offence to nobody; but a wife, without a heart to bestow upon her husband, is a cheat and an impostor. Henry. Oh! cruel, cruel fortune, why was it my lot to be the son of a gamester? Emily. Rather say, why was it not my lot to be the heiress of Penruddock, instead of that old fusty philosopher, who, when he and the spiders have stood sentinels over his coffers, till watching and fasting have worn him to a skeleton, will sink into the grave, and leave his wealth to be bestowed in premiums for discoveries in the moon. Henry. Come, come, take care how you fall into the same trap as I did. We must suspend opinions of Penruddock. Emily. Must we? Nay, now I swear there is something in your thoughts; ay, and my father too looks wise, and whispers. Well, if you have a secret, and won't tell it me, be it at your peril. I'll keep mine as close as you keep your's. Henry. I'll compromise with you, and exchange confessions. Answer me this: if fortune should turn round and smile upon your poor disconsolate admirer, will you, who sway each movement of my heart, inspire its hopes, allay its fears, animate its ambition, and engross its love;-will you, oh! Emily Emily. Will I do what? Henry. I dare not ask the question; it is presumptuous, base, dishonourable Emily. And very disappointing, let me tell you, to one whose answer was so ready. Henceforth I've done with you; I shall now retreat into the citadel, and stand upon my defences; when you want another parley, you must treat with the Governor. [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I-A Chamber in Sir George Penruddock's House. PENRUDDOCK and WEAZEL sitting at a table. Penrud. Thus then it stands :-this house, and all that its voluptuous owner had amassed within it, we doom to instant sale; some modern Lucullus will be found to purchase it; the mourners in black, and the mountebanks in their parti-coloured jackets, must be paid their wages, and dismissed. So far we are agreed. Weazel. Perfectly, sir; and if any young heir is in haste to be rid of his estate, these are the gentlemen that will soonest help him to the end of it. Penrud. Mrs. Woodville's settlement, which in her husband's desperate necessity she had as desperately resigned to him, is now made over, and secured in trust to her sole use and benefit? Weazel. The deed is now in hand, and a deed it is, permit me to say, that will make your fame resound to all posterity. gations, bonds, and mortgages, of whatever description, covering the whole of Woodville's property, are consigned to Henry his son? Weazel. They are, and give him clear possession of his paternal estate. Penrud. 'Tis what I mean, and also of the house in town. Weazel. They are effectual to both purposes; and take it how you will, good sir, I must, and will pronounce it a most noble benefaction. Penrud. In this particular I'll not decline your praise; for doing this, I've struggled hard against an evil spirit that had seized dominion of my heart, and triumphed over my benevolence: this conquest I may glory in. Weazel. There yet remains, of solid and original estate, possessions to a great amount. Penrud. Them I shall husband as untainted stock; I do not cut into the heart of the tree, I only lop off the excrescences and funguses, that weakened and disgraced it. Now, sir, if these points are clearly understood by you, and no difficulties occur that require explanation, we will separate, with your leave, to our respective occupations. : Weazel. Your pardon for one moment. My profession is the law it has been my lot to execute many honourable and benevolent commissions; some, I confess, have fallen into my hands, that have put my conscience to a little strain, though a man of my sort must not start at trifles; but the instructions you have now honoured me with, exceed all I have ever handled, all I have heard of; and when this charitable deed shall come to be registered in the upper court, I hope my name, as witness, will go along with it; and if the joy with which I signed it be remembered in my favour, I fancy few attornies will stand a better chance than Timothy Weazel. [Exit. Penrud. 'Tis done! the last bad passion in my breast is now expelled, and it no longer rankles with revenge. In the retirement of my cottage I shall have something in store, on which my thoughts may feed with pleasing retrospection; courted by affluence, I resort to solitude by choice, not fly to it for refuge from misfortune and disgust. Now I can say, as I contemplate Nature's bold and frowning face," Kait not your brows at me; I've done the world no wrong." Or if I turn the moral page, conscious of having triumphed in my turn, I can reply to Plato, "I too am a philosopher." Enter MRS. WOODVILLE. Mrs. W. If you are not as totally reversed in nature as you are raised in fortune, I shall not repent of having hazarded a step so humbling to my sex, so agonizing to my feelings; for I am sure it was not in your heart, when I partook of it, to treat a guiltless woman with contempt, or wreak unmanly vengeance on your worst of enemies, when fallen at your feet. Ah! sir, you are greatly agitated. Let me retire; I cannot bear to hurt you. Penrud. I am, indeed; yet if I can resolve to turn aside my eyes from the still lovely ruin of your face, I may find powers to hear you. Mrs. W. I am a wife-a motherPenrud. Oh! too much, too much!—(weeps.) Mrs. W. I'll wait in silence: I will proceed no further. Penrud. Pray, do not leave me. Did you know what struggles I have surmounted, you would say I perform wonders. I could not write to you, judge what it is to see you. renounce the society even of your most grateful friends? Penrud. Madam, I have yet perused but half the history of man; the pages are alternate dark and bright; I have read the former only. Let Henry's virtue stand the test, and I have all the pleasurable study still to come. Enter TEMPEST and EMILY. Temp. I have broken through all forms, worthy sir, in bringing you a saucy girl, who will fancy she privileged to pay her court to every generous character, that does honour to humanity, and is bountiful to her friends. Mrs. W. I thought that these emotions had sub-is sided, and that solitude and study had made you a philosopher. Pearud. You see what a philosopher I am. You never knew me rightly; I had a heart for friendship and love; I was betrayed by one, and ruined in the other. Mrs. W. You have been deeply injured, I must own; I too have been to blame, but I was young and credulous, and caught with glittering snares. Penrud. Ay, snares they have been; fatal ones, alas! Mrs. W. I have lived in dissipation, you in calm retirement: how peacefully your hours have passed, how unquietly mine! One only solace cheered my sad heart-my Henry-my son. Pearud. I have seen him; I have conversed with him; he spoke unguardedly-but disappointment soars the mind; he treated me unjustly-but he resembles you, and I forgave him. Mrs. W. When you say that, you speak of what I was, not what I am. Pensad. You are much chang'd, much faded; bat I have your picture fresh and fair as the first bloom of youth. Mrs. W. My picture? how did you possess yourself of that? Pearud. By a most foul and infamous piece of knavery; a treacherous friend defrauded me of the substance, and left me nothing but the shadow to contemplate but memory was faithful; it has cheer'd me in my solitude. Mrs. W. If you are thus retentive of affection, I must suppose you are no less so of resentment; why then should I repeat my sorrows? You know them. Penrud, I know them; I have felt them; I have redressed them. Mrs. W. Redressed them! What is it I hear? Penrud. What I have done, I have done; I cannot talk of benefits, nor will I hear acknowledgments. You would have sunk-I could not choose but save you. Penrud. I confess to you, Mr. Tempest, I was ambitious to behold your fair daughter, but did not presume to expect the visit should spring with her. I hope, madam, there is something here present more amusing to your sight than a crabbed old clown, who happens to have a little more kindness at his heart than he carries in his countenance. Emily. True generosity is above grimace; it is not always the eye which pities is accompanied by the hand that bestows. Some there are who can smile without friendship, and weep without charity. Penrud. Certainly, madam, this world is a great polisher; it makes smooth faces and slippery friendships. Are you, may I ask, very fond of this fine town? Emily. My father lives in it; I should be loth to say I had a preference for any other. Penrud. I suppose, Mr. Tempest, you are one of the vainest men in England? Temp. One of the happiest I am, and of your making; for Henry Woodville ever had my warmest wishes. those wishes with all dutiful compliance? Temp. With the best grace in life; she does not object to take the man of her heart, though I wish to join their hands. Mrs. W. Now, my Henry, you are, without comparison, the happiest, or, without pity, the most miserable of mankind; here, if you fail in merit, you offend beyond the reach of mercy. Penrud. True, madam; but the sons of Cornelia did not disgrace their mother. Temp. There again! that's something out of a book, like Emily's Agamemnon; and if it were treason I could not find it out. But come, Henry! here, in the presence of your benefactor, I bestow upon you all I am worth a virtuous daughter; the only joy and blessing of my life. Money I have none, for I did not understand the arts of government; and when Emily is gone from me, I am without resources; for I cannot, like Mr. Penruddock, Henry. You must forgive me. Though your take shelter with the sciences: and as for the arts, servants were drawn up to oppose my entrance, Id-n me if I believe I have genius enough to broke through all their files, forced on by gratitude that nothing could withstand, till I beheld my benefactor. Enter HENRY. Mrs. W. In the name of goodness, what is it you have done? Pearud. Nothing; but wanted stomach for a banquet, where your son was served up; in plainer words, preferred my own cottage to his countryhouse. Henry wanted a wife, a wife wanted a settlement, and I stood in need of neither. I hope you and Tempest are agreed? Henry. A word from your lawyer silenced all objection. Oh! my dear mother, help me to some words that may express my gratitude. Penrud. No, no, she is mute by compromise: when I am quietly retiring from the stage of this vain world, call me not back to lose the little grace that I have gained; I would not be made a spectacle in my decline and dotage. Mrs. W. Will you again sequester yourself, and aspire to the composition of a cabbage-net. Emily. Oh! my dear father, let me conjure you to believe that those resources which my duty, my affection, have hitherto supplied, shall be doubled to you in future, when I have so kind a partner in that pleasing task. Henry. When you are not welcome to me, I must cease to be worthy of my Emily. If books do not serve for a resource, and ancient history is too remote; we can find heroes in modern times; and you shall fight over your battles as often as you please. Temp. That is very pleasant, I confess, for there I can come on a little; but then I grow warm with the subject, and Emily snubs me for swearing, which, you know, Mr. Penruddock, every soldier is privileged to do. Penrud. I did not know that was among their privileges; but this I know-they cannot, in my opinion, have too many; and heartily I wish they had more and better than what you have named. THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE. Enter SYDENHAM. Penrud. Mr. Sydenham, I cannot allow you to call Syden. Thank you, my dear sir, thank you heartily; I have been as sour as crab-juice with the malice of mankind, now I am all oil and honey, and shall slip through the rest of my days in harmony and goodhumour. Ah! Henry-Tempest-Emily-Mrs. Woodville; all smiling! Why, I am like the man in the almanack, turn which way I will, a happy constellation looks me in the face. Penrud. Now you have joined us, our circle is complete. Syden. Ah! no, no, no; while contrition asks admittance to atone for injuries, humanity can never shut its door, and say, "My circle is complete." Woodville is in your house. Penrud. Ha! Woodville! have you brought him hither? Syden. No; we called at Tempest's, heard of your generous acts, and his poor wounded heart now melts with gratitude: even my flint was softened. Penrud. Well then, it shall be so; keep this company together in my absence; such meetings should be private. Mrs. W. Oh! Sydenham, generous friend! I heard [Exit. the name of Woodville, and I know your intercession points at him. Heaven prosper it! But can it be? I doubt, I doubt, this injury is too deep. Syden. Doubt nothing. I am confident of success: when the ice thaws, the river flows; so is it with the human charities, when melted by benevolence. Henry. Oh! what a soul is thine! whose ardour even impossibilities cannot check. Emily. The attempt is bold; but mark if this is not among the impossibilities that sometimes come to pass. Henry. Look, look! your angry lover. Enter SIR DAVID DAW. Emily. Alas! has this poor gentleman no friend to save him from exposing himself? Syden. The governor begins to bristle; walk aside, take no notice, and I'll accost him. Now, my brave knight! Why glows that angry spot upon your cheek? What do those boots portend? and whither bound? Sir D. Mr. Sydenham, I am just now in no humour for jesting; neither does my business lie with you. Temp. With me then, what would my noble baronet be pleased to say? Sir D. I am not pleased at all, Governor Tempest, and therefore it matters little what I say. I called at your door, and was directed to you hither, so I made free to step in: and now, to say truth, I don't care how soon I step out, for my chaise is in waiting, and I am equipped, as you see, for my peremptory departure. charge me fairly, do so; I'll not flinch. Temp. Let us part friends, however; if you can [ACT V. Sir D. No, but you will fly out, and that is worse. Wales; I'll be calm as water, say what you will. Temp. Not I: carry no grievances with you into consent to my proposing for your daughter? Sir D. Oh! then I can say enough. Did you not if Emily had not objected to your proposals, I should not have quarrelled with your property; but Temp. Why, I did consent, I don't deny it; and bound hands and feet, into your castle. If you had I am not such a Bluebeard to deliver my daughter, blame for that? not the gift of recommending yourself, am I to Sir D. Am I? Miss Emily can witness I took due pains. courage you; for be assured, that half those pains, You see how the case stands: if you are only governor abroad, and not at home- Sir D. Why, then, I am your very humble servant. good riddance, to boot. Is not it so, my Emily? Temp. Well; your humble servant, if you come to that; and a good journey to you: 'ay, and a [Exit. What, does that David think I wear my heart upon my sleeve, Enter PENRUDDOCK, followed by Woodville. have concurred in opinion, that the only way of Penrud. Mrs. Woodville, your husband and I is by consigning them at once to oblivion; trusting adjusting such differences as subsisted between us, that you and Henry also will do the same by those errors, which now are fortunately healed, and can never be repeated. Wood. Humbled as I am in conscience, and overwhelmed by generosity, I am ill able to find and all in general. Wherever I direct my eyes, words for what, in circumstances like mine, I they are saluted with a countenance, ought to say to each here present in particular, entitled to reproach me, seems promises of pardon: but perhaps, even which, though and my son, when he shall be blest with a wife, to hold forth guilt like mine, some good may be extracted; the follies of his father, and avoid his fate. lovely and virtuous as his mother, will recollect from of thankfulness, but I the most; for I have escaped the perils of prosperity. The sudden onset staggerPenrud. Here we conclude. We all have cause calls of some here present, taught me to know that ed me; but temperate recollection, and the warning the true use of riches is to share them with the worthy; and the sole remedy for injuries, to forgive them. [Exeunt. A COMEDY IN FIVE ACTS.-BY OLIVER GOLDSMITH. ACT. I. CHARACTERS. TONY LUMPKIN SCENE I-A Chamber in an old-fashioned house. Enter HARDCASTLE and MRS. HARDCASTLE. Mrs. H. I vow, Mr. Hardcastle, you're very particular. Is there a creature in the whole country, but ourselves, that does not take a trip to town now and then, to rub off the rust a little? There's the two Miss Hoggs, and our neighbour, Mrs. Grigsby, go to take a month's polish every winter. Hard. Ay, and bring back vanity and affectation to last them the whole year. I wonder why London cannot keep its own folks at home. In my time, the follies of the town crept slowly among us; but now they travel faster than a stage-coach. Its fopperies come down, not only as inside passengers, bat in the very basket. Mrs. H. Ay; your times were fine times indeed; you have been telling us of them for many a long year. Here we live in an old, rumbling mansion, that looks for all the world like an inn, but that we never see company. Our best visitors are old Mrs. Oddfish, the curate's wife, and little Cripplegate, the lame dancing-master; and all our entertainment, yar old stories of Prince Eugene and the Duke of Marlborough. I hate such old-fashioned trumpery. Hard. And I love it. I love everything that's old: old friends, old times, old manners, old books, old wine; and I believe, Dorothy, (taking her hand) you'll own I have been pretty fond of an old wife. Mrs. H. Lad! Mr. Hardcastle, you're for ever at your Dorothy's, and your old wives. You may be a Darby, but I'll be no Joan, I promise you. I'm not so old as you'd make me by more than one good year. Add twenty to twenty, and make money of that. Hard. Let me see; twenty added to twenty makes just fifty and seven. Mrs. H. It's false, Mr. Hardcastle! I was but twenty when I was brought to-bed of Tony, that I had by Mr. Lampkin, my first husband; and he's not come to years of discretion yet. Hard. Nor ever will, dare answer for him. Ay, you have taught him finely. MRS. HARDCASTLE MISS HARDCASTLE MISS NEVILLE Mrs. H. No matter: Tony Lumpkin has a good fortune. My son is not to live by his learning. I don't think a boy wants much learning to spend fifteen hundred a-year. Hard. Learning, quotha! a mere composition of tricks and mischief. Mrs. H. Humour, my dear; nothing but humour. Come, Mr. Hardcastle, you must allow the boy a little humour. Hard. I'd sooner allow him a horse-pond. If burning the footman's shoes, frighting the maids, worrying the kittens, be humour, he has it. It was but yesterday he fastened my wig to the back of my chair; and when I went to make a bow, I popp'd my bald head into Mrs. Frizzle's face. Mrs. H. And am I to blame? The poor boy was always too sickly to do any good. A school would be his death. When he comes to be a little stronger, who knows what a year or two's Latin may do for him? Hard. Latin for him! A cat and fiddle. No, no; the alehouse and the stable are the only schools he'll ever go to. I Mrs. H. Well, we must not snub the poor boy; for believe we shan't have him long among us. Anybody that looks in his face may see he's consumptive. Hard. Ay, if growing fat be one of the symptoms. Mrs. H. He coughs sometimes. Hard. Yes, when his liquor goes the wrong way. Mrs. H. I'm actually afraid of his lungs. Hard. And truly so am I; for he sometimes whoops like a speaking-trumpet. (Tony hallooing behind the scenes.) O! there he goes. A very consumptive figure truly! Enter TONY, crossing the stage. Mrs. H. Where are you going, my charmer? Won't you give papa and I a little of your company, lovee? Tony. I'm in haste, mother; I can't stay. Mrs. H. You shan't venture out this raw evening, my dear. You look most shockingly. Tony. I can't stay, I tell you. The Three Pigeons expect me down every moment. There's some fun going forward. SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. Hard. Ay; the alehouse, the old place: I thought Mrs. H. Pray, my dear, disappoint them for one Tony. As for disappointing them, I should not so Enter MISS HARDCASTLE. Miss H. You know our agreement, sir. You evening. the father's letter, in which he informs me his son is set Miss H. Indeed! I wish I had known something of this before. Bless me! how shall I bebave? It's a thousand to one I shan't like him. Our meeting will be so formal, and so like a thing of business, that I shall find no room for friendship or esteem. Hard. Depend upon it, child, I'll never control your choice; but Mr. Marlow, whom I have pitched upon, is the son of my old friend, Sir Charles Marlow, of whom you have heard me talk so often. The young gentleman has been bred a scholar, and is designed for an employment in the service of his country. I am told he's a man of an excellent understanding. Miss H. Is he? Hard. Very generous. Miss H. I believe I shall like him. Hard. Young and brave. Miss H. I'm sure I shall like him. Hard. And very handsome. Miss H. My dear papa, say no more. his hand.) He's mine; I'll have him. (Kissing Hard. And, to crown all, Kate, he's one of the most bashful, reserved young fellows in the world. Miss H. Eh! you have frozen me to death again. That word 'reserved' has undone all the rest of his accomplishments. A reserved lover, it is said, always makes a suspicious husband. Hard. On the contrary; modesty seldom resides in a breast that is not enriched with nobler virtues. It was the very feature in his character that first struck me. Miss H. He must have more striking features to catch me, I promise you. However, if he be so young, so handsome, and so everything, as you mention, I believe he'll do still. I think I'll have him. Hard. Av, Kate; but there is still an obstacle. It's more than even wager he may not have you. my heart at his indifference, I'll only break my Miss H. My dear papa, why will you mortify [ACT I. glass for it's flattery; set my cap to some newer one so? Well, if he refuses, instead of breaking fashion, and look out for some less difficult admirer. Hard. Bravely resolved! In the meantime I'll go prepare the servants for his reception. As we seldom see company, they want as much training as a company of recruits the first day's muster. [Exit. Miss H. Lud! this news of papa's puts me all in a flutter. Young, handsome: these he puts last; but I put them foremost. Sensible, good-natured; I like all that. wife? Yes; and can't I-But I vow I am disposBut then, reserved and sheepish; that's much against him. Yet can't he be cured ing of the husband, before I have secured the lover. of his timidity, by being taught to be proud of his Enter MISS NEVILLE. Is it one Miss H. I'm glad you're come, Neville, my dear. Tell me, Constance, how do I look this evening? Is there anything whimsical about me? of my well-looking days, child? Am I in face to-day? again-bless me! sure no accident has happened Miss N. Perfectly, my dear. Yet now I look among the canary-birds or the gold-fishes. Has your brother or the cat been meddling? Or has the last novel been too moving? threatened-I can scarce get it out-I have been Miss H. No; nothing of all this. I have been threatened with a lover. Miss N. And his name- Hastings, my admirer. They are never asunder. I be- Miss H. The son of Sir Charles Marlow. Miss H. Never. you. Among women of reputation and virtue, be Miss N. He's a very singular character, I assure give him a very different character among women is the modestest man alive; but his acquaintance of another stamp. You understand me? I shall Psha! think no more of him; but trust to occur- rences for success. goes on your own affair, my dear? Has my mother been courting able tête-à-têtes. She has been saying a hundred you for my brother Tony, as usual? Miss N. I have just come from one of our agreetender things, and setting off her pretty monster as the very pink of perfection. Miss H. And her partiality is such, that she actually thinks him so. no small temptation. Besides, as she has the sole A fortune like your's is management of it, I'm not surprised to see her unwilling to let it go out of the family. Miss N. A fortune like mine, which chiefly consists in jewels, is no such mighty temptation. But, at any rate, if my dear Hastings be but constant, I make no doubt to be too hard for her at last. However, I let her suppose that I am in that and I'm sure, would wish to see me married to any- SCENE II.-An Alehouse-room. All. Hurra! hurra! hurra! bravo! |