Has left thee not, throughout thy wide do- | E'er gave such bless'd sensations, as one hour minions, Whereon to rest thy foot. Christina. Now, praise to Heaven! I went; and, from a neighb'ring summit, view'd [wedg'd; Then rous'd the lion! To my wondering sight Shook wild dismay around; as Heaven's dread bolt He shot, he pierc'd our legions; in his strength His shouting squadron gloried, rushing on Where'er he led their battle-Full five times, Hemm'd by our mightier host, the foe seem'd lost, [again, And swallow'd from my sight; five times Like flames they issued to the light-And thrice These eyes beheld him, they beheld Gustavus Christina. My blood runs chill. Laer. With such a strenuous, such a labour'd conflict, Sure never field was fought! until Gustavus Christina. Oh, ill-starr'd royalty! Enter CHRISTIERN, flying, without his helmet, in disorder, his Sword broke, and his garments bloody; he throws away his Sword. Christ. Give us new arms of proof-fresh horses-quick! A watch without there-Set a standard up To guide our scatter'd powers! Haste, my friends, haste ! [stream, We must be gone-Oh for some cooling To slake a monarch's thirst! Laer. A post, my liege, A second post from Denmark, says Christ. All's lost. Is it not so? Be gone, Give me a moment's solitude-Thought, Oh, what a war there lives within his eye! Christ. My child! Christina. I am. Of penitence, though painful-Let us hence- cares, And for thy will, obedience; still to cheer The day with smiles, and lay the nightly down Beneath thy slumbers. Christ. Oh! thou all that's left me! Even in the riot, in the rage of fight, Thy guardian virtues watch'd around my head, When else no arm could aid; for through my ranks, My circling troops, the fell Gustavus rush'd; Vengeance! he cried, and with one eager hand Grip'd fast my diadem-his other arm, [yet; High rear'd the deathful steel-suspended For in his eye, and through his varying face, Conflicting passions fought-he look'd-he stood In wrath reluctant-then, with gentler voice; Enter GUSTAVUS, ANDERSON, ARNOLDUS, SIVARD, &c. in triumph. GUSTAVUS advances, and the rest range themselves on each side of the Stage. Gust. That we have conquer'd, first we bend to Heaven! And. And next to thee! All. To thee, to thee, Gustavus ! Gust. No, matchless men! my brothers of the war! [once Be it my greatest glory to have mix'd Arn. Behold, my lord, Gust. Send home the Danes with honour, And let them better learn, from our example, To treat whom next they conquer with hu manity. And. But then, for Peterson? A single death were a reward for treason; And. Royal Sir, This is to pardon, to encourage villains; And hourly to expose that sacred life, Where all our safety centres. Gust. Fear them not. The fence of virtue is a chief's best caution; Except in such a cause as this day's quarrel, [deserv'd Arn. O exalted Sweden ! Christ. Curse me, then! curse me! join A man like this to rule us? with Heaven, and earth, And hell, to curse! Christina. Patience and peace Possess thy mind! Not all thy pride of empire Enter ARVIDA, leading in CHRISTINA-he runs to GUSTAVUS. Gust. My Arvida! Arv. My king! O hail! Thus let me pay my | To see my king and his Christina happy. [Kneels. Turn, thou belov'd, thou honour'd next to homage. If such a wretch, the captive of thy arms, Gust. Ha! that posture! Oh, rise surpris'd, my eye perceiv'd it not. I've much to say, but that my tongue, my thoughts Are troubled; warr'd on by unusual passions. Twas hence thou hadst it in thy power to ask Ere I could offer-Come, my friend, assist, Instruct me to be grateful. O Christina, [one; I fought for freedom, not for crowns, thou fair They shall sit brighter on that beauteous head, Whose eye might awe the monarchs of the earth, And light the world to virtue-My Arvida! Arv. I read thy soul, I see the generous conflict, And come to fix, not trouble, thy repose.. Arv. I do indeed-to death. The fate of thousands fallen this day in battle. I had resolv'd on life, to see you bless'd; | Heaven, And to thy arms receive a penitent, [Embraces him. Arv. Thy heart beats comfort to me! in this Let thy Arvida, let thy friend, survive. Gust. Wouldst thou too leave me? Christina. O delightful notes! That I do love thee, yes, 'tis true, my lord. Abandon'd now by every supple wretch, To be the sum of every title to ye, Dispense all pleasure, but engross all care. SHE STOOPS TO A COMEDY, IN FIVE ACTS. BY DR. GOLDSMITH. REMARKS. IT has been observed, that no man took less pains with his compositions than Goldsmith, and yet produced so powerful an effect: a happy originality distinguishes all his writings. Nature and Genius preside over the comedy before us, which restored to the stage, wit, gaiety, incident, and character, in the place of that over-dose of sentimentality and affectation which so long prevailed. "The language throughout is easy and characteristical; the manners of the times are slightly, but faithfully, represented; the satire is not ostentatiously displayed, but involved in the business of the play; and the suspense of the audience is artfully kept up to the last."--Davies. 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 polishing every winter. |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, but 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 Hard. Ay, and bring back vanity and affec-your old stories of Prince Eugene and the tation to last them the whole year. I wonder Duke of Marlborough. I hate such oldwhy London cannot keep its own fools at fashioned trumpery. Hard. And I love it. I love every thing ] 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. Lord, Mr. Hardcastle, you're for ever at your Dorothys 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. Lumpkin, my first husband; and he's not come to years of discretion yet. Hard. Nor ever will, I dare answer for him. Ay, you have taught him finely. 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 composi tion 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 horsepond. 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 a fiddle. No, no, the alchouse and the stable are the only schools he'll ever go to. poor Mrs. H. Well, we must not snub the boy now; for I believe we sha'n't have him long among us. Any body that looks in his face may see he's consumptive. Hard. Ay, if growing too fat be one of the symptoms. Mrs. H. He coughs sometimes. 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. Tony, where are you going, my charmer? Wont you give papa and I a little of your company, lovee? Tony. I'm in haste, mother, I can't stay. Mrs. H. Pray, my dear, disappoint them for one night at least. Tony. As for disappointing them, I should not so much mind: but I can't abide to disappoint myself. Mrs. H. [Detaining him.] You sha'n't go. Mrs. H. I say, you sha'n't. Tony. We'll see which is strongest, you or I. [Exeunt. Hard. Ay, there goes a pair that only spoil each other. But is not the whole age in a combination to drive sense and discretion out of doors? There's my pretty darling Kate; the fashions of the times have almost infected her too. By living a year or two in town, she is as fond of gauze and French frippery, as the best of them. Enter Miss HARDCASTLE. Hard. Blessings on my pretty innocence! Dressed out as usual, my Kate. Goodness! what a quantity of superfluous silk hast thou got about thee, girl! I could never teach the fools of this age, that the indigent world could be clothed out of the trimmings of the vain. Miss H. You know our agreement, Sir. You allow me the morning to receive and pay visits, and to dress in my own manner; and in the evening, I put on my housewife's dress to please you. Hard. Well, remember I insist on the terms of our agreement: and by the by, I believe I shall have occasion to try your obedience this very evening. Miss H. I protest, Sir, I don't comprehend your meaning. Hard. Then to be plain with you, Kate, I expect the young gentleman I have chosen to be your husband from town this very day. I have his father's letter, in which he informs me his son is set out, and that he intends to follow himself shortly after. Miss H. Indeed! I wish I had known something of this before. Bless me, how shall I behave? It's a thousand to one I sha'n'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 conhave pitched upon, is the son of my old friend, trol your choice; but Mr. Marlow, whom I Sir Charles Marlow, of whom you have heard me talk so often. The young gentleman has beer bred a scholar, and is designed for an employment in the service of his country. I am told he's a man of excellent understanding. Miss H. Is he? Hard. Very generous. Miss H. I believe I shall like him. Miss H. I'm sure I shall like him. Miss H. My dear papa, say no more; [Kiss Mrs. H. You sha'n't venture out this rawing his hand.] he's mine, I'll have him. Hard. And, to crown all, Kate, he's one of the most bashful and reserved young fellows in the world. Miss H. Eh! you have frozen me to death Hard. Ay; the alehouse, the old place: I again. That word reserved has undone all the thought so. Mrs. H. A low, paltry set of fellows. Tony. Not so low, neither. There's Dick Muggins the exciseman, Jack Slang the horsedoctor, little Aminidab that grinds the music-box, and Tom Twist that spins the pewter plat ter. 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 fea Miss H. I'm glad you're come, Neville, my dear. Tell me, Constance, how do I look this evening? Is there any thing whimsical about me? Is it one of my well looking days, child? am I in face to-day? Miss N. Perfectly, my dear. Yet now I look again-bless me! surely no accident has happened among the canary birds or the gold fishes. Has your brother or the cat been meddling? Or has the last novel been too moving? Miss H. No; nothing of all this. I have been threatened-I can scarce get it out-I have been threatened with a lover. Miss N. And his name Miss H. Is Marlow. Miss N. Indeed! Miss H. The son of Sir Charles Marlow. Miss N. As I live, the most intimate friend of Mr. Hastings, my admirer. They are never asunder. I believe you must have seen him when we lived in town. Miss H. Never. Miss N. He's a very singular character, I assure you. Among women of reputation and virtue, he is the modestest man alive; but his acquaintance give him a very different character among creatures of another stamp: you understand me. Miss H. An odd character indeed. I shall never be able to manage him. What shali I do? Pshaw, think no more of him; but trust to occurrences for success. But how goes on your own affair, my dear? has my mother been courting you for my brother Tony, as usual? Miss N. I have just come from one of our agreeable tête-à-têtes. She has been saying a hundred tender 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. A fortune like yours is no small temptation. Besides, as she has the sole 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 love with her son, and she never once dreams that my affections are fixed upon another. Miss H. My good brother holds out stoutly. I could almost love him for hating you so. Miss N. It is a good natured creature at bottom, and I'm sure would wish to see me married to any body but himself. But my aunt's bell rings for our afternoon's walk round the improvements. Allon's, courage is necessary, as our affairs are critical. Miss H. Would it were bed time and all were well. SCENE II-An Alehouse Room. Several shabby fellours, with punch and tobacco. TONY at the head of the table. Omnes. Hurra, hurra, hurra, bravo. 1 Fel. Now, gentlemen, silence for a song. The squire is going to knock himself down for Omnes. Ay, a song, a song. a song. I made upon this alehouse, the Three Pigeons. Tony. Then I'll sing you, gentlemen, a song Let schoolmasters puzzle their brain, With grammar, and nonsense, and learning; Good liquor, I stoutly maintain, Gives genius a better discerning. Toroddle, toroddle, toroll. When methodist preachers come down They always preach best with a skinful. But you, my good friend, are the pigeon. Then come, put the jorum about, And let us be merry and clever; Our hearts and our liquors are stout; Here's the Three Jolly Pigeons for ever. Let some cry up woodcock or hare, Your bustards, your ducks, and your wid geons; But of all the birds in the air, Omnes. Bravo, bravo. 1 Fel. The squire has got spunk in him. 2 Fel. I loves to hear him sing, bekeays he never gives us nothing that's low. 3 Fel. O, damn any thing that's low; I can't bear it. 4 Fel. The genteel thing is the genteel thing at any time, if so be that a gentleman bees in a concatenation accordingly. 3 Fel. I like the maxum of it, master Muggins. What though I am obligated to dance a bear, a man may be a gentleman for all that. May this be my poison if my bear ever dances but to the very genteelest of tunes;-" Water parted," or the minuet in Ariadne. 2 Fel. What a pity it is the squire is not come to his own. It would be well for all the publicans within ten miles round of him. Tony. Ecod, and so it would, master Slang. |