your lamp, should be always flaming at your elbow; and when it's ready to go out, you indolently supply it with the spirit of contradiction. Char. And so you suppose, that your assurance has made an end of this matter? Col. L. Not till you have given him your hand upon it. Char. That then would complete it. Char. Why, then take it, Darnley. Now I presume you are in high triumph, Sir. Col. L. No, sister; now you are consistent with that good sense I always thought you mistress of. Char. And now I beg we may separate; for our being seen together, at this critical junc-| ture, may give that devil, the doctor, suspicion of a confederacy, and make him set some engine at work that we are not aware of. Col. L. It's a very proper caution. Come along, Darnley; nay, you must leave her now, whatever violence you do yourself. Char. Ay, ay, take him with you, brotheror stay, Darnley; if you please, you may come along with me. [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I-A Parlour at SIR JOHN LAM BERT'S. Enter DARNLEY and CHARLotte. Char. But really, will you stand to the agreement though, that I have made with the doctor? Darn. Why not? you shall not break your word upon my account, though he might be a villain you gave it to. Suppose I should talk with Sir John myself?-'tis true, he has slighted me of late. Char. No matter-here he comes-this may open another scene of action to that I believe my brother's preparing for. Enter SIR JOHN and LADY LAMBERT. Sir J. Mr. Darnley, I am glad I have met you here. Darn. I have endeavoured twice to-day, Sir, to pay my respects to you. Sir J. Sir, I'll be plain with you, I went out to avoid you; but where the welfare of a child is concerned, you must not take it ill if we don't stand upon ceremony-However, since I have reason now to be more in temper than perhaps I was at that time, I shall be glad to talk with you. Darn. I take it as a favour, Sir. Sir J. You must allow, Mr. Darnley, that conscience is the rule which every honest man ought to walk by. Darn. 'Tis granted, Sir. Sir J. Then give me leave to tell you, Sir, that giving you my daughter would be to act against that conscience I pretend to, while I think you an ill liver; and consequently the same tie obliges me to bestow her on a better Darn. appeal to her. Char. And I appeal even to yourself, SirHas not the doctor, just now in the garden, spoke in favour of Mr. Darnley to you? Nay, pray, Sir, be plain; because more depends on that than you can easily imagine or believe. Sir J. What senseless insinuation have you got into your head now? Char. Be so kind, Sir, first to answer me, that I may be better able to inform you. Sir J. Well, I own he has declined his interest in favour of Mr. Darnley; but I must tell you, Madam, he did it in so modest, so friendly, so good natured, so conscientious a manner, that I now think myself more than ever bound in honour to espouse him. Char. But now, Sir, only for argument's sake, suppose I could prove that all this seeming virtue was artificial; that this regard for Mr. Darnley was neither founded upon modesty, friendship, good nature, nor conscience; or in short that he has, like a villain, bartered, bargained to give me to Mr. Darnley, for half the four thousand pounds you valued his consent at; I say, Sir, suppose this could be proved, where would be his virtue then? Sir J. It is impious to suppose it. Char. Then, Sir, from what principle must you suppose that I accuse him? Sir J. From an obstinate prejudice to all that's good and virtuous. Chur. That's too hard, Sir. But the worst your opinion can provoke me to, is to marry Mr. Darnley, without either his consent or yours. Sir J. What, do you brave me, Madam? Char. No, Sir; but I scorn a lie; and will so far vindicate my integrity, as to insist on your believing me; if not, as a child you abandon, I have a right to throw myself into other arms for protection. Sir J. I am confounded. These tears cannot be counterfeit; nor can this be true. Lady L. Indeed, my dear, I fear it is. Give me leave to ask one question. In all our mutual course of happiness, have I ever yet deceived you with a falsehood? Sir J. Never. Lady L. Would you then believe me, should I accuse him even of crimes which virtue blushes but to mention ? Sir J. To what extravagance would you drive me! Lady L. I would before have undeceived you, when his late artifice turned the honest duty of your son into his own reproach and ruin; but, knowing then your temper was inaccessible, I durst not offer it. But suppose I should be able to let you see his villany, make him repeat his odious love to me in your own hearing, at once throw off the mask, and show the barefaced traitor? Sir J. Is it possible? Lady L. But then, Sir, I must prevail on you to descend to the poor shifts we are reduced to. Sir J. All; to any thing, to ease me of my doubts; make me but a witness of this fact, and I shall soon accuse myself, and own my folly equal to his baseness. Lady L. Behind that screen you may easily conceal yourself. Sir J. Be it so. Lady L. Mr. Darnley, shall we beg your leave; and you, Charlotte, take the least suspected way to send the doctor to me directly. Char. I have a thought will do it, Madam. fice; a shadow of compliance, meant only to persuade me from your daughter. Sir J. Hark! I think I hear him coming. Lady L. Now, my dear, remember your promise to have patience. Sir J. Rely upon't. Lady L. To your post then. [SIR JOHN goes behind the screen. Enter DOCTOR CANTWELL, with a book. Dr. C. Madam, your woman tells me, that, being here and alone, you desired to speak with me. Lady L. I did, Sir-but that we may be sure that we are alone, pray shut the outward door-another surprise might ruin us-is all safe? Dr. C. I have taken care, Madam. Lady L. But I am afraid I interrupt your meditation. Dr. C. No, Madam, no; I was only looking over some pious exhortations here, for the use of a society of chosen brethren. Lady L. Ab, doctor, what have you done to me? the trouble of my mind since our last unfortunate conference is not to be expressed. You indeed discovered to me what, perhaps, for my own peace, 'twere better I had never been acquainted with; but I had not sufficient time to lay my heart open to you. Dr. C. Whither, Madam, would you lead me? Lady L. I have been uneasy too, not know ing how far you might mistake my behaviour on the last accident that happened, but I was really so shocked, so terrified, I knew not what I was doing only, had I joined in your defence against the colonel, it would have been evident that I was his enemy, and I have uses for his friendship. Silence, therefore, was my own prudent part: and I knew your credit with Sir John needed no support. Dr. C. Let me presume then to hope, that what I did, you judge was self-defence and pure necessity. Lady L. And perhaps, after all, the accident was lucky; for Sir John, in order to obviate any ill constructions that may be put upon it, insists now that we should be more together, to let the world see his confidence in us both. This relieves us from restraint; and I now dare tell you-but no-I wont Dr. C. But why, Madam? let me beseech you Lady L. No-besides-what need you ask me Dr. C. Ah! do not endeavour to decoy my foolish heart, too apt to flatter itself. You cannot sure think kindly of me! Lady L. Well, well, I would have you imagine so. Dr. C. Besides, may I not with reason suspect, that this apparent goodness is but arti Lady L. Methinks, this doubt of me seems rather founded on your settled resolution not to resign her.-I am convinced of it. I can assure you, Sir, I should have saved you this trouble, had I known how deeply you were engaged to her. Dr. C. Tears-then I must believe you-but indeed you wrong me. To prove my innocence, it is not an hour since I pressed Sir John to give Charlotte to young Darnley. Lady L. Mere artifice. You knew that modest resignation would make Sir John warmer in your interest. Dr. C. No, indeed, indeed. I had other motives, which you may hereafter be made acquainted with, and will convince you— Lady L. Well, Sir, now I'll give you reason to guess the reason why, at our last meeting, I pressed you so warmly to resign Charlotte." Dr. C. Ah dear! ah dear! Lady L. You cannot blame me for having opposed your happiness, when my own, perhaps, depended upon it. Dr. C. Spare me, spare me; you kill me with this kindness. Lady L. But now that I have discovered my weakness, be secret; for the least imprudence Dr. C. It is a vain fear. Lady L. Call it not vain; my reputation is dearer to me than life. Dr. C. Where can it find so sure a guard? The grave austerities of my life will dumbfound suspicion, and yours may defy detraction. Lady L. Well, doctor, 'tis you must answer for my folly. Dr. C. I take it all upon myself. Lady L. But there's one thing still to be afraid of. Dr. C. Nothing, nothing. Lady L. My husband, Sir John. Dr. C. Alas, poor man! I will answer for him. Between ourselves, Madam, your husband is weak; I can lead him by the nose any where. Sir J. [Comes forward.] No, caitiff, I'm to be led no farther. Dr. C. Ah! woman. Sir J. Is this your sanctity? this your doctrine? these your meditations? Dr. C. Is then my brother in a conspiracy against me? Sir J. Your brother! I have been your friend, indeed, to my shame; your dupe; but your spell has lost its hold: no more canting; it will not serve your turn any longer. Lady L. Now, Heaven be praised. Dr. C. It seems you wanted an excuse to part with me. Sir J. Ungrateful wretch! but why do I approach you! Had I not been the weakest of mankind, you never could have proved so great a villain. Get out of my sight; leave my house; of all my follies, which is it tells you, that if you stay much longer, I shall not be tempted to wrest you out of the hands of the law, and punish you as you deserve! Dr. C. Well; but first let me ask you, Sir, who is it you menace? consider your own condition, and where you are? Sir J. What would the villain drive at ? leave me. I forgive you but once more I tell you, seek some other place; out of my house. This Dr. C. Nay, then, 'tis my duty to exert my self, and let you know that I am master here. Turn you out, Sir; this house is mine; and now, Sir, at your peril, dare to insult me. Sir J. O Heavens! 'tis true: whither shall I fly to hide me from the world? Lady L. Whither are you going, Sir? Sir J. I know not-but here it seems I am a trespasser-the master of the house has warned me hence-and, since the right is now in him, 'tis just I should resign it. Lady L. You shall not stir. He dares not act with such abandoned insolence. No, Sir, possession still is yours. If he pretends a right, let him by open course of law maintain it. Dr. C. Ha! Here! Seyward! [Exit. Enter old LADY LAMBERT and MAWWORM. want, man? Maw. My lady, come up. you. Maw. So you ought: but this good man is ashamed of nothing. Dr. C. Alas! my enemies prevail. Sey. In short, gentlemen, the affair is circumstantially this-The doctor called me out into the pavilion in the garden; appeared in great disorder; told me here was a sudden storm raised, which he was not sufficiently prepared to weather. He said, his dependence was upon me; and at all events, I must be ready to swear, when he called upon me, 1 had seen him pay Sir John several large sums of money. He talked confusedly about giving value for an estate; but I boldly refused to perjure myself; and told him, on the contrary, I was satisfied he had fleeced Sir John of several large sums, under pretence of charitable uses, which he secretly converted to his own. This stung him, and he fastened at my throat. Then, indeed, all temper left me ; and, disengaging myself from his hold, with a homeblow, I struck him down. At this, grown desSir J. The doctor's a villain, Madam; I perate, he ran with fury to some pistols that have detected him; detected him in the horri-hung about the chimney: but in the instant Maw. He wants to know who I be. Old Lady L. The gentleman is a friend of mine, son. I was carrying him in a coach to attend a controversy that's to be held this evening, at the Rev. Mr. Scruple's, about an affair of simony; and called to take up the doctor. But what strange tales are these I hear below? ble design of seducing my wife. Maw. It's unpossible. Sir J. What do you say, man? Maw. I say, it's unpossible. He has been locked up with my wife for hours together, morning, noon, and night, and I never found her the worse for him. Old Lady L. Ah, son! son! Sir J. What is your ladyship going to say now? Old Lady L. The doctor is not in fault. Old Lady L. Oh, he swears! he swears! years in growing good, we become profligate in a moment. If you swear again, I wont stay in the house. Maw. Nor I neither; aren't you ashamed of yourself? have you no commenseration on your poor soul?-Ah! poor, wicked sinner! I pity you. Sir J. 'Sdeath! and the devil! Maw. If you swear any more, I'll inform against you. Sir J. Why would you bring this idiot, Madam? Maw. Ay, do despise me, I'm the prouder for it; I likes to be despised. Enter CHARLOTTE. Char. Oh dear papa, I shall faint away; there's murder doing. Sir J. Who! when! what is it? Char. The doctor, Sir, and Seyward, were at high words just now in the garden; and, upon a sudden, there was a pistol fired between them. Oh! I'm afraid poor Seyward is killed. Sir J. How? he reached one, I seized upon his wrist; and as we grappled, the pistol, firing to the ceiling, alarmed the family. Old Lady L. This is a lie, young man ; I see the devil standing at your elbow. Maw. So do 1, with a great big pitchfork, pushing him on. Dr. C. Well, what have you more against me? Tip. Is your name Cantwell, Sir? Tip. Then, Sir, I have my lord chief justice's warrant against you. Dr. C. Against me? Tip. Yes, Sir, for a cheat and impostor. Sir J. Dear son, what is this? Col. L. Only some action of the doctor's, Sir, which I have affidavits in my hand here to prove, from more than one creditable witness; and I think it my duty to make the public acquainted with: if he can acquit himself of them, so; if not, he must take the consequence. Dr. C. Well, but stay; let the accusations against me be what they will, by virtue of this Char. Oh, there he comes himself; he'll tell conveyance I am still master here; and if I am forced to leave the house myself, I will you more. shut up the doors-nobody shall remain behind. Sir J. There! there! indeed, he stings me to the heart! for that rash act, reproach and endless shame will haunt me ! Char. No, Sir!-be comforted.-Even there too his wicked hopes must leave him; for know, the fatal deed which you intended to sign is here, even yet unsealed and innocent? Sir J. What mean you? Char. I mean, Sir, that this deed by accident falling into this gentleman's hands, his generous concern for our family discovered it to me; and that in concert we procured that other to be drawn exactly like it; which, in your impatience to execute, passed unsuspected for the original. Their only difference is, that wherever here you read the doctor's name, there you'll find my brother's. Dr. C. Come, Sir; lead me where you please. [Exit. Col. L. Secure your prisoner. Old Lady L. I don't know what to make of all this. Col. L. Sister Char. Come, no set speeches; if I deserve your thanks, return them in friendship to your first preserver. Col. L. The business of my life shall be to merit it. Sey. And mine, to speak my sense of obligations. Sir J. Oh, my child! for my deliverance I can only reward you here.-For you, my son, whose filial virtue I have injured, this honest deed shall in every article be ratified.-And for the sake of that hypocritical villain, I declare, that from henceforward I renounce all pious folks; I will have an utter abhorrence for every thing that bears the appearance Char. Nay now, my dear Sir, I must take the liberty to tell you, you go from one extreme to another.-What, because a worthless wretch has imposed upon you, under the fallacious show of austere grimace, will you needs have it every body is like him, confound the good with the bad, and conclude there are no truly religious in the world?-Leave, my dear Sir, Maw. They'll all go to the devil for what such rash consequences to fools and libertines. they are doing-Come away, my lady, and let Let us be careful to distinguish between us see after the good dear doctor. Ay, do virtue and the appearance of it. Guard if poslaugh, you'll go to the devil for all that.-sible against doing honour to hypocrisy-But, Come, my lady, you go first. [Exeunt MAWWORM and old LADY LAMBERT. Char. Now, Darnley, I hope I have made atonement for your jealousy. Darn. You've banished it for ever! this was beyond yourself surprising. at the same time, let us allow there is no THE MOCK DOCTOR: A FARCE, IN TWO ACTS. BY HENRY FIELDING, Esq. REMARKS. MOLIERE'S comedy of Le Medecin malgré lui, is the parent-stock whence our ingenious countryman, Henry Fielding, has deduced the present whimsical farce; which is, however, but slightly altered from the original in plot, situation, and conduct. The knavery of Gregory will not find a parallel in English habits, though our continental neigh bours enlarge on the credulity of honest John Bull; but similar portraitures are frequent in Le Sage and their other writers, probably derived from an experience we need not envy. ACT I. SCENE I-A Wood. Enter DORCAS and GREGORY. Greg. I tell you no, I wont comply, and it is my business to talk and to command. Dor. And I tell you, you shall conform to my will; and that I was not married to you to suffer your ill-humours. Greg. O the intolerable fatigue of matrimony! Aristotle never said a better thing in his life, than when he told us, "that a wife is worse than a devil." Dor. Hear the learned gentleman, with his Aristotles! Greg. And a learned man I am too; find me out a maker of faggots, that's able, like myself, to reason upon things, or that can boast such an education as mine. Dor. An education! Greg. Ay, hussy, a regular education; first at the charity-school, where I learnt to read; then I waited on a gentleman at Oxford, where I learnt-very near as much as my master; from whence I attended a travelling physician six years, under the facetious denomination of a Merry Andrew, where I learnt physic. Dor. O that thou hadst followed him still! cursed be the hour wherein I answered the parson-I will. Greg. And cursed be the parson that asked me the question! Dor. You have reason to complain of him, indeed, who ought to be on your knees every moment, returning thanks to Heaven for that great blessing it sent you, when it sent you myself. I hope you have not the assurance to think you deserve such a wife as me. Greg. No, really, I don't think I do.-Come, come, Madam, it was a lucky day for you, when you found me out. Dor. Lucky, indeed! a fellow who eats every thing I have. Greg. That happens to be a mistake, for I drink some part on't. on. Dor. That has not even left me a bed to lie Greg. You'll rise the earlier. Dor. And who from morning till night is eternally in an alehouse. |