| find it rather cold, ladies?----I wish there was a J. Night. If the public found no more amusement in them than I do, they might hang in the dark till doomsday. Let. You jest, I believe: is it possible, after such pains in procuring them, you can have no enjoyment in the possession of them? J. Night. Even so, madam; they resemble matrimony in that respect; the pursuit is the pleasure. But come, ladies, the room is ready, and I'll shew you the way. What the devil does that old duenna come for? [Goes out. Let. Is this the accomplished Mr Manlove? He seems in a strange humour! are you sure he is perfectly sober? I declare I scarce like to follow him. J. Night. [Returns.] Ladies, this is the way : indulge me with the honour of your hand! [Leads out LET. [Exeunt. Dib. Say you so, 'squire? This betters my best hopes. Follow me once more to Mr Stapleton's: SCENE IV.-An apartment, magnificently fur take courage, and my life upon't the lady is your own. J. Night. Have with you then; I'm ready; come along. nished with pictures. Enter JACK, introducing MRS STAPLETON and Dib. Hold! not so fast-the old lion may be J. Night. There, ladies! there they hang! a in his den. Give me one quarter of an hour's jolly crew of them! Old ladies in furs and furlaw, and then, if we miscarry, crop these ears, belows up to their throats, and young ones withand nail them up like vermin to your walls. out a rag to cover them: these painters are but J. Night. Agreed! I take you at your word-scurvy tailors; they'll send a goddess into the [Exit DIB] Now, my fine brother, if I catch you on the hip I'll give your pride a fall! I'll shew you, that a clown may have a courtier's cunning. Heyday! who comes here? world without a cloud to cover her: there are some pretty conceits go with their histories, but they will speak for themselves; I am but little in their secrets. Let. What a blaze of beauty! There's the Enter MRS STAPLETON, amd LETITIA, ushered Titian Venus; Heavens! what a form! what in by FREDERICK. Fred. I beg pardon, sir; I thought you was gone out these ladies are desirous of seeing the pictures, and I was conducting them to the room. J. Night. I will take that honour on myself. Go before, and open the windows. [Exit FRED.] You are fond of paintings, ladies; I am glad it is in my power to entertain you. Mrs Stap. You are the owner, sir, of this admirable collection. Your name is Manlove. J. Night. At the service of the ladies always. I'll pass a few of lawyer Dibble's airs upon them---I'm in a rare cuc. [Aside. Let. What do you mean by talking up this young man! He has a miserable address: I see very little of the man of fashion about him. Mrs Stup. I cannot say much for his person, to be sure. J Night. She has fixt her eyes upon me; she is taken with my person and address--Don't you brilliant hues! But look, dear madam, here is grace and dignity; Guido's Lucretia, the dagger in her breast, and in the act of heroic self-destruction: what resolution! what a spirit has the great artist thrown into those eyes! J. Night. Yes; she had a devil of a spirit! she stabbed herself in a pique upon being crossed in love. Mrs Stap. You presume on our ignorance; history, I believe, assigns more elevated motives for Lucretia's death. J. Night. Very likely; there were great pains taken to smother the story; but 'tis as I tell you I had it from a near relation of the family. Let. Ridiculous! Do you observe that picture, madam? 'tis a melancholy story, very finely told by Poussin: it is a view of Marseilles at the time of the plague, with a capital figure of the good bishop in the midst of the groupe. J. Night. Bishop, madam! that person which you look upon is a physician, and the people round about him are his patients; they are in a desperate way, it must be confest. Do you see that angry figure in the corner? he is a gamester: he is picking lead out of a loaded dice to run into bullets, to fire through his own head: 'tis no bad moral. Let. You are infinitely kind to favour us with these anecdotes: if you are thus gracious to all strangers, the world will edify abundantly. But we won't put you to the trouble of explanation we are not entirely ignorant-though your collection may be the best we have seen, it is not absolutely the first. J. Night. Belike, then, you are a painter, as well as the lady I visited just now? Let. In the presence of such masters as are here assembled, I cannot call myself a painter; in my own chamber I sometimes persuade myself I am. same master. Come, madam, it is time for us to be gone. J. Night. You are not for the city end of the town, I conclude? Mrs Stap. Our home is in the city. J. Night. Permit me to conduct you thither: I have a coach in waiting, and am bound to New Broad-Street, if you know such a place. Mrs Stap. Intimately; but we have a carriage of our own. Let. Can there be any attractions in the city to engage Mr Manlove's regard? J. Night. Oh, yes; an assignation, madam: I am loth to disappoint a fond girl. Let. 'Tis charitably considered! J. Night. Nay, I don't know but I should be inclined to take her for better for worse, if it was not for one circumstance in her disfavour. Let. May I ask what that may be? J. Night. She has a devilish itch for painting: should expect to have all my gods and goddesses taken down to make room for her vulgar friends and relations. J. Night. Yes; I am told it is an art which ladies mostly practise in their own chambers-I What say you to that picture over the door? 'tis a merry conceit. Let. It is the colouring of the Venetian school : I should guess it to be Tintoret. J. Night. Oh, you are quite out of the story. Mrs Stap. She is speaking of the master: the story is plainly that of Actæon, and no bad moral; he was turned into a stag, by the goddess of chastity, for his impertinent curiosity. J. Night. Excuse me, madam; you mistake the moral-That gentleman, with the antlers on his head, is a city husband, the principal lady in the show is his wife; she wears a crescent on her forehead, to signify she is a dealer in horns; her companions are a group of city madams: the painter drew them bathing, to shew the warmth of their constitutions. Let. Upon my word, you have a great deal of wit, and you have a tine collection of paintings! but one capital piece is wanting. J. Night. And what is that, pray? Let. Modesty: it will be an excellent companion to your Lucretia. J. Night. But who shall I get to sit for the likeness? Let. You will find it admirably painted by the Mrs Stap. Ay; that would be a sorrowful exchange to my knowledge. Let. Yes; have a care of that same painting girl; my life upon it she will slip through your hands. J. Night. Why, I have my eye upon that honest gentleman in the picture, with the stag's horns, I must own-Who shall I tell her gave me the caution? Let. No matter; when you see Miss Fairfax, you'll remember me. J. Night. Fairfax! the vengeance! how came you to guess her name? Let. Oh, sir, there is but one painter in the street, and she, I believe, will remain there: your collection is safe; she will trouble you with none of her performances, none of her daubings, take my word. Your most obedient--Let us make haste home, and be ready to receive him: vain, senseless coxcomb! how I shall enjoy his confusion! [Exit with MRS STAP. J. Night. A good lively wench, but the devil of a tongue! I'll run and hand her to her coach. [Exit. ACT IV. SCENE I.--An apartment. Enter DIBBLE and LUCY. Lucy. STILL I protest against your project; we shall reap nothing from it, but shame and disappointment; however, to convince you that my fears are not for myself, I am prepared, and shall go through with it as you desire. Dib. My life upon it, he takes the bait this time. Lucy. I doubt it, but no matter: sure it is time that he was come. Hark! who is that? look out. Dib. 'Sdeath! Mrs Stapleton and Miss Letitia! Lucy. What's to be done now? Dib. We've nothing for it, but a desperate sally; slip the back-way down with me, and let us both go out and stop young Nightshade: we can take him to my lodgings, and prevent an interview that must be fatal. Lucy. It is too late to deliberate: come on. [Exeunt. Enter MRS STAPLETON and LETITIA. Mrs Stap. Come, my dear Letitia, you think of this affair too seriously: you caunot much regret a man you never saw before. Let. 'Tis true; and yet, with shame I own ́ it to you, I am mortified severely. Was there ever such a disappointment? Mrs Stap. Either he treated us with inexcusable contempt, or is profoundly ignorant. Did you remark the ridiculous observations he made on some of the pictures? Let. Yes; but I set that down for mistaken wit; in short, his manners are of the vulgarest cast. Are these the fruits of public education? Is this the finished gentleman? the scholar? traveller? -His boorish brother in the country cannot outgo this and the world to be so blinded! Oftentimes it speaks worse of a man than he deserves; it is seldom guilty of telling so many untruths in his favour. Enter Servant. Ser. A gentleman desires to speak with Miss Fairfax. Let. 'Tis he!-Conduct him into the drawingroom; I'll wait on him immediately. [Exit Ser. Mrs Stap. Well, Letitia, I need not recommend to you to treat him as he deserves. Let. I must be more or less than woman, if I spared him. [Exeunt severally. Enter JACK NIGHTSHADE, introduced by a Ser vant. Ser. Please to walk in here, sir; Miss Fairfax will wait on you immediately. [Exit. J. Night. Ay, ay; I dare say she will: Egad, there's no time to be lost-Drown it, where's Dibble? I expected he would meet me at the gate: If I should stumble on old Crusty-I don't like the looks of the land so well as I did: Here's such a solitude, and such a ceremony-Why the plague do they make me kick my heels here? What, the vengeance! is she come again? Enter LETITIA. Let. Your humble servant, Mr Manlove: You scarce expected, I believe, to meet your visitor again so soon? J. Night. No, indeed: it is vastly beyond my hopes. Let. You are punctual to your assignation, I perceive? J. Night. Oh yes, madam: to be sure, madam -How the plague shall I get rid of her? Let. You did well to consider the poor, fond girl, that is dying for you. J. Night. She has the devil of an assuranceWhat are these London ladies made of? Let. He is thoroughly confounded! I'll give him a chance, however.-Have you any com mands for me, sir? J. Night. Commands! Oh, none in life, I thank you; no commands. What, won't that serve? No; She will have her talk out, at least. I hope you liked the pictures? Sure, Miss Fairfax will come presently. Let. I admire your collection greatly; my expectations, in that particular, were not disappointed. J. Night. I understand your insinuation, madam; but ladies' expectations, I am told, are not always to be satisfied. Let. In Mr Manlove's instance, perhaps, not easily. J. Night. Really, madam, I should wish to do justice to a lady's good opinion: but your visit, I must say, was rather unseasonable, and that elderly lady was so vexatiously in the way Let. I am sorry for it, sir: I am afraid our visit was rather out of rule. J. Night. That's honest now; and since you own it, I must fairly say, the present is none of the most welcome. Let. I readily believe it-and therefore, sir, though it is not altogether in character for me to promote a conversation of such a sort as you hinted at when we met at your own house; yet, I must observe to you, if you have any such proposal in design, it will be for both our ease that you should come to the point directly. J. Night. To the point, madam! Upon my soul, I don't know what to say to that-To be sure, I did come here with a full and fixed design of offering myself to Miss Fairfax upon the marrying lay, and that, you know, at best, is but a hanging kind of job; so that, if I appear rather dull of apprehension, I hope you will recollect that a man cannot be very merry when he's on his road to his execution. Let. Oh, sir, be under no concern on that account; assure yourself, I have, to the full, as little disposition towards that state as you can have. J. Night. Well said again! but it won't take.— You are in the right; you are for enjoying your freedom. Let. Since we are both agreed in that respect, what occasion is there for more words? I believe we may break up the conference. J. Night. As soon as ever you please; I am by no means for delaying you. Let. I wait your motions, Mr Manlove; I'm here at home. J. Night. You cannot be more so than I am. Let. Indeed! this conduct, Mr Manlove, is so opposite to all that I expected from you, that I'm cast into astonishment. Upon what reasons, or from what caprice, you've chose to take it up, I know not; natural it cannot be to any man. However, sir, I'll take you at your word, and, for a moment, will suppose you more welcome in this Gre. Ah! Master Jacky, keep close. Yonder's your old dad at the street door in a notable prinmuniry. J. Night. Death and the devil! how shall I break pasture without his seeing me? Gre. Never fear it; he has a job upon his hands will tether him for one while. Egad, I hope they'll treat him with a ducking. J. Night. What is the matter? Gre. Nay, nothing out of course; he has cracked the newsinan's noddle for winding his horn in his ear; he pretends to have delicate nerves, you know; and so the fellow raised a mob upon him, that has drove him into cover, and they are now baying the old buck at the door. Ay, yonder he is; you must keep close till he's off his stand. J. Night. Have an eye upon the door-I hope they will scare hin soundly; it may save your skull, and mine, many a hard pelt. But, Gregory, who is this fine madam I've been talking to? Lawyer Dibble, sure, has not put me on a wrong scent: They introduced her to me as Miss Fairfax; are there two Miss Fairfaxes, as well as two Mr Manlove's?—a false one, and a true one? Gre. What shall I say now?-Oh, yes, there are two ladies of that name; but, this is only a cousin of the other; a kind of hanger-on in the family. J. Night. A hanger-on, do you say?-Keep your eye upon the door-Why, she's better dressed, and a finer woman than her I'm in pursuit of. Gre. Ay, ay; but your's has the fortune; Dibble's Miss Fairfax is the girl for your purpose. J. Night. But where is Dibble and his Miss Fairfax? I have danced attendance here a pretty while; what am I to think of all this? Gre. What are you to think of it? why, I'll tell you; this young lady, d'ye see-Now, don't you go about, Master Jacky, and say that I told you, but this young lady here, that you have been to, is-Hark, sure your father's coming. J. Night. I hear his foot upon the stairs; my bones ach at the sound of it. Gre. Quick, quick! down the back stairs; and away for your life! so, so; that's well! [Exit J. NIGHT. Enter MR ANDREW NIGHTSHADE. A. Night. Why, Gregory, rascal, hangdog! what's become of you? run quickly down, and drive those bawling fellows from the gate. Gre. A herd of wolves as soon; they'll eat me up alive. O lack-a-day, sir! you know little of a London mob. A. Night. Go down, I tell you, sirrah, and disperse them. Gre. Why, sir, 'tis more than my lord mayor can do: There's a man knocked o' the head they say; and, till there's another or two to keep him company, they'll never be at rest-Leave them to fight it out. A. Night. Leave them! why, blockhead, it is me they follow: Nothing else should have driven me into this house again. Gre. O, Gemini, have you been knocked o' the head? A. Night. Why no, you fool; 'tis I have done the mischief; but the most patient man alive could not do less. Gre. Nay, sir, if you have been playing the same tune upon their noddles, as you do upon mine, these London skulls won't bear it; they are as brittle as a Shrewsbury cake. Enter STAPLETON. Stap. Hey-day, friend Andrew! what is all this noise and outcry? A. Night. I think the devil's in the people! You shall hear-As I was coming down the street, in meditation on the parson's pigeonhouse, a rascally scaramouch, in a short jerkin, with a cap and feather on his noddle, winds me a damned blast on his horn, point blank into my ear, flourishing his newspapers full in my face at the same time: Now, as there are no two things on earth I hate like newspapers and noises; so, I could not well avoid giving him a gentle remembrance, with my cane, upon his crown: The casket gave a cursed crack, and down tumbled the politician: Instantly the raggamuffians collected, and I took refuge here in your courtyard. Stap. Nay, if you have silenced the Morning Post, you had better have dragged the speaker out of his coach, and beat his brains out with the mace. Do you consider how many enemies you make by stopping the circulation of abuse? 'tis as necessary to the city as the circulation of cash. A. Night. Go down, I tell you, fellow, and make up the matter with a dram; 'tis as much as any newspaper head is worth in the kingdom; bid him not talk of damages; if my cane has split his skull, 'tis no more than his plaguy posthorn did by mine. He was the aggressor. Stap. Hark'e, you'll find the matter settled, but it will not be amiss to frighten him a little. | this head of mine in open court, you would be You know how to manage it ? condemned on the face of it. [Aside to GREGORY. Gre. Most daintily, I warrant you. [Exit GREG. Enter MRS STAPLETON and LETITIA. Let. O, Mr Nightshade, here's a piece of work! this comes of being in a passion. Mrs Stap. A sober citizen, a pains-taking in dustrious soul Let. A father of a family-eight helpless babes--I fear you have given him his last blow. Dear sir, assist us! [Aside. A. Night. Last blow! what matters that, when he gave me the first! Mrs Stap. Well, well, Heaven knows; but anger is a frightful thing; it turns a man into a fury. Defend me, I say, from a passionate man! A. Night. And yet, madam, give me leave to tell you, you are enough to make one: Is it nothing to have our nerves lacerated, our whole fabrick shook to atoms, by these horrid noises! The law should provide against such nuisances. Stap. The law regards breaking of heads as the greater nuisance of the two-But here comes Gregory-Well, what has become of the post man? Enter GREGORY. Gre. He has sounded his last horn! You may sleep in quiet for the future. I tendered him the dram your honour was so good to offer; but his teeth are closed, he cannot accept your favour. Mrs Stap. O horrible, you've killed the man! Stap. What say the standers by on the occacasion? Gre. They give him an extraordinary character; they say he delivered a hand-bill, and sounded a post horn, better than any man in all the bills of mortality. Let. Thanks to Mr Nightshade, he is likely to make a figure in the bills of mortality stilldid you see the wound? Gre. A perilous gash! I would not have such a star in my forehead to be the richest alderman in the city of London. A. Night. Tis a pity but he had been one, for, then, his horns might have warded off the blow. A. Night. Hold your tongue, rascal; I don't believe a word you say: I'll go down and be satisfied with my own eyes. Stap. Hold, hold, friend Andrew; I'll not suffer it; they'll tear you piecemeal: stay where you are, and let me see if I can't quiet them; they know me, and will credit what I tell them. If it is as Gregory says, I'll send him to the hospital; we'll save him, if it's possible. A. Night. Thank you, Master Stapleton; thank you heartily. That's friendly howsoever. [Exit STAP. Let. [To MRS STAP.] Dear madam, follow Mr Stappleton, and persuade him not to let him off; he must be made to feel. Mrs Stap. I think he should, and will leave him in your hands. [Exit. Let. Ah, Mr Nightshade, will you never be brought off from this unhappy temper? You see the dismal effects of it: you feel them; I perceive you do. Your compunction is severe; I pity you—your situation brings the tears into my eyes. A. Night. It's more than it does into mine; I tell you it is all a collusion to extort money; and this rogue of mine falls in with the plot. Stapleton will tell another story. Let. I am afraid not; prepare yourself for the worst, and consider what atonement you can make to a disconsolate widow. A. Night. Spare your pity, young madam; you don't yet know how easy most widows are to be comforted. Gre. To be sure, madam, his honour is in the right to bear up, as they say, but it will be a trepau at least. The china-riveter at the next door is a knowing man in fractures, and he says his skull will never ring well again so long as it is a skull. Oh, sir, what will poor, dear Master Jacky think of this? He's in the country, lord love him; and little dreams of this mishap; I fear 'twill break his heart. A. Night. Hold your tongue, you blockhead! Well, Mr Stapleton, you've seen the man? Re-enter STAPLETON. Stap. I have seen the man, and pacified the mob. A. Night. That's well; and it proves a false -but we must Gre. If I was your honour, I would be look-alarm? ing out for the crowner; it will be well done to touch him pretty handsomely before he calls a quest upon the body. Stup. Has the gentleman thought of any witnesses? Gre. You must have a steady set to prevent accidents, unprejudiced, impartial men, that were not present at the affair; these people will never do. For my part, if you think of subpanaing me, you are a lost man; if I was once to shew Stap. I wish I could say sohope the best. A. Night. How! what! sure he is not in danger? This fellow's report I did not regard; your's alarms me. Stap. Compose yourself, however; the symptoms, indeed, are unpromising, but I have put him into good hands; he is conveyed to the London Hospital. Be a man; I am sorry to see you so uneasy. |