Sir O. Colonel, colonel, is this strict observance of treaty? the carriages are waiting for us at the door-were we not all to set off for my house immediately? did you not promise to pass ten days with me when you had contradicted me into consent at last? Count. Monsieur Oldstock, your niece was very pretty to be sure; muis, mon Dieu! votre fille be very pretty aussi; me understand she vill not marry young Monsieur Talbot, and mon ami the colonel vill not have her-ch bien, vat you say to me for von husband? Sir O. With all my heart and soul, countI don't know a French gentleman of a long time I have taken such a liking to damn me! if you have not a fine roast-beef countenance. Col. I fancy, count, that lady's affections are also engaged. Count. Je suis très malheureux! all de English lady be engaged! but me be not surprised; for, if de foreigner set so much value on de English lady, vat must their own countrymen, who know them better, do ? Sir O. Why, what the deuce, colonel, is all this? You wont marry my daughter yourself; you wont suffer your son, whatever her inclinations may be, to marry him; and now you put the count against her. Col. Will you leave the lady to her own choice? Sir O. The worst of it is, I must do that.Count, a word in your ear-to her yourselfyou're a devilish straight, well-looking fellow; no appearance of frogs about you, except upon your coat. [Exit. Count. I wish it vid all my heart. Col. How unsubstantial are all the projects of man, in whatever hope flatters him with happiness-this unhappy boy distracts me! Sir O. Damn me! if I wouldn't send him down into Wales or Yorkshire-for about fifteen pounds a-year, you may get him decently boarded and clad, and educated into the bargain. Enter a SERVANT. Serv. I have been in search of Mr. Talbot, Sir, since you spoke to me; and have just heard that he is gone to one Jacob Wilkins', an innkeeper near Smithfield. Col. I am exposed, you see, already. Sir O. It's your own fault if you continue to be exposed; come along, Colonel; yonder, I see Captain Crevelt putting the women into the carriages. We'll drive round by this Wilkins', and take this young Mohawk by sur prise; the moment you get possession of him, banish him into Wales. Col. I will myself go in person to Wilkins', and from his own lips learn every particular respecting this unhappy youth, from the hour I left him in his care; and as you propose going home that way, Sir Oliver, I will trespass so far upon your patience as to request you will wait for me whilst I make this inquiry. Man. Dear Sir, don't make yourself so unhappy. Col. What is there wealth can purchase I cannot possess? my feelings are at once a satire and a lesson to avarice. [Exeunt. SCENE II-A Room at JACOB WILKINS'. JOHNSON and MRS. WILKINS discovered at tea. Mrs. Wil. I'm sure I shall never forget the first time I was in this room; where you see Mr. Wilkins has his honour the colonel's picture up-dear heart, what a handsome man he is! it's a great pity he does not marry. Johns. He's very much altered-consider, it's many years since that picture was painted; his face is parched to the complexion of an old drum head, and his hair is perfectly silver. Mrs. Wil. What effect silver hair may have say; but this I'll swear to; bait your hook upon your great ladies, I will not pretend to properly with gold, and a poor girl is a trout you may take with a single hair of any colour. If it was not for his money, do you think I'd ever have married old Jacob Wilkins? Johns. Why, no, I hardly think you would; but why, my dear creature, has his name escaped your lips? should he possess such a treasure? the man worthy of you should always meet you with the ardour of a lover, and dart, as I do, with transport into your arms. told nim you were not well, and that you found Bet. Lord, Ma'am, to be sure he doesn't; I the bar too cold for you. Mrs. Wil. You're an excellent girl. in that little room yonder. chamber; his bureau is in it; and as he pays Mrs. Wil. By no means! that's our own bedhis brewer to-day, perhaps it's there he's going now for money. Bet. I have it, Madam; I'll let down this window curtain, and the gentleman may get behind it; if my master asks why it is down, you may say you were so ill, the light was too much for you. [Drops the window curtain before JOHNSON. Mrs. Wil. Such a servant is worth her weight in gold. Bet. Here, Madam; tie this handkerchief about your head; appear very bad indeedthere, Madam-let him come now when he pleases, we are ready for him. [Exit. Enter WILKINS and AMBER. Wil. So, Mr. Amber, you have a curiosity to see the upper part of my house; you can't think how pleasant it is; my wife can tell you what a prospect there is on my upper story. Am. Poor Mrs. Wilkins is quite muffled up; she's very bad, poor woman; I'm sorry we disturb her. Wil. As my wife's not here to complain of the light, I'll draw it up for you. [Draws up the curtain. Am. That will do, I see plain enough now. Wil. And so do I too-O the Jezabel! Enter MRS. WILKINS. Mrs. Wil. Ruined! Wil. Why, Fanny, my love, what's the matAm. My dear Mrs. Wilkins, I beg ten thouter? you were very well when I went out. sand pardons for letting so much light into the Mrs. Wil. I have been seized, all of a sud-room, but I declare I could not see to write my den, with such a terrible pain on one side of receipt. my face, I can hardly get my words out. Wil. I am sorry for this, Fanny-but what wiseacre has let this curtain down? I can't bear to shut out the light of a fine day. Mrs. Wil. Has the brute a mind to be the death of me? [Seizing him by the arm. Wil. Will it do you any good to keep me in the dark? Mrs. Wil. To be sure it will, when I can't bear the light. Am. Friend Wilkins, friend Wilkins, the light is too much for her. Wil. Well, Mr. Johnson, what brought you here?-what have you to say for yourself-are you come to rob my house? Am. O! O! I fear the dimness of my eyes has made others too clear-sighted-but, friend Wilkins, don't be too hasty in judging. Wil. 'Sdeath and fire, man, sha'n't I believe my own eyes? Am. Not always-we are all apt to be suspicious at times-I'll wish you a good evening there is my receipt:-the fondest couples will spar now and then-but I never like to meddle in family quarrels.-Wilkins, you cer Mrs. Wil. You're a considerate man, Mr. Amber, and I dare, say, make an excellent hus-tainly have a fine prospect on your upper story band. Wil. Well, well, then let the curtain remain down-come, Fanny, give your old Jacob a kiss. Mrs. Wil. I'm too fond of you, Jacob, and you take advantage of that. Wil. No, but I don't-kiss me again, you fond fool, it will do you good. Am. Ah! you're a happy couple; but you take the right method to be so, by giving way to one another. Wil. But now we are up stairs, friend Amber, sit down, and I'll go bring some money out of the next room, and pay you. Mrs. Wil. I beg of you, Jacob, to take him down stairs and pay him: even your talking sets my head distracted. Wil. My dear, I sha'n't be two minutes settling with him; it will affront him if you turn him out of the room; you shall have the place to yourself immediately. [Exit. Re-enter BETTY. Bel. Madam, you're undone, if you don't come down stairs immediately: Ned, the new waiter, saw Mr. Johnson, and he as good as told me he'd acquaint my master. Mrs. Wil. What shall I do? I'm afraid to leave the room. Bet. You needn't stop a minute; it's only squeezing Ned's hand, and slipping a sly halfguinea into it, and all will be right. Mrs. Wil. O, Betty, I wish he was well out of the house-you'll excuse me, Mr. Amber, a little; I'm wanted down stairs. [Exeunt MRS. WILKINS and BETTY. Am. Don't notice me, child; business must be minded--but let me see suppose I sign my receipt, and have it ready for him. [Taking out his pocket-book and ink-horn. Enter WILKINS. Wil. Here is the money, my old boy; have you got your receipt ready? Am. I was going to sign it; but my eyes are so dim, I can't see with that curtain down. -good evening, good Mrs. Wilkins. [Exit. Wil. Go, Madam; pack up your alls, and leave my house immediately if you are in want of a morsel of bread, it would give me pleasure to refuse it to you. As for you, Sir, I'll take care your business shall be done with Colonel Talbot-I'll see you both beggars, and that will be some satisfaction to me. say? Col. Not my son! speak again, woman. Wil. But, dear colonel, sure you wont believe what this wicked woman will say? Col. Away, villain, and let me hear her alarmed nature starts up in my heart, and opens a thousand ears to listen to her. Mrs. Wil. He lost your son, Sir, when he be sure, Sir, it wasn't the kindest usage made was a boy of twelve years old; and you may the child leave him; the booby he palmed upon you is his own. Col. Unprincipled, inhuman villain! let me hear the whole truth from your own lips, or, by every power that's sacred and divine, this moment is your last. Wil. Dear Sir, put your sword, and I'll tell you every thing. What she says is partly true; your son strayed from me when he was GA about twelve years old; but, had he been my own, I couldn't have used him better: as a proof of it, his mother, in her last illness, came, as she often did, privately to see him, and was so well pleased with my wife's and my treatment of her son, that she gave me a fifty-pound bank note-1 shall never forget the day; it was the last time I ever saw her: she hung a small picture of herself, set in gold, about the child's neck, and wept bitterly over him. Col. Can you produce that picture? Wil. Your son took it with him: he was so fond of it, I could never keep it out of his hands but by locking it up; which I sometimes did, as the severest of all punishments I could inflict upon him. Col. I must have better proof this tale is true, before I let you escape that justice I fear is due to your wickedness.-Johnson, take him from my sight, and let him be secured; I cannot bear to look at him.-Tell the company, waiting for me in carriages at the door, to come in; for I am so agitated, and anxious for more particulars, I cannot quit this detested spot. Johns. They are here, Sir. [Exit JOHNSON, WILKINS, and WIFE. Enter CREVELT, MANDEVILLE, CHARLOTTE, HARRIET, SIR OLIVER, LADY OLDSTOCK, and COUNT. Crev. Dear Sir, what is the matter? Observing a confusion in the house immediately after you went in, we were alarmed for your safety. Col. Oh, Crevelt! I am the unhappiest of fathers; that creature, whom you all suppose my son, is not so. Char. Good fortune be praised ! | Col. My son! my son! The hand of Providence has surely directed every circumstance of your life; you were brought to me a stranger and a child; I became your parent by resistless instinct; in battle once I owed my life to you, and now a second time you save it. Char. Oh! Harriet. There is a chord of delight in my heart never touched before : and sure, he who made that heart, now moves its springs to ecstasy by the finger of an angel. Col. He talked of your taking with you a picture of your mother-had you ever any such thing? Crev. I have it still, Sir, and ever wore it next my heart. [Producing the picture from his bosom.] You see the frame is shattered; it was by a musquet ball the day every body thought I was killed. Col. It is indeed your mother; and see here those specks under the eye; are they my child's blood, or the tears of a fond parent ? [JOHNSON to CALEB without.] You must not come in; I have already explained every thing effectually. Enter CALEB, very abruptly, and JOHNSON. Cal. I tell you I will come in: zounds! will nobody father me? Col. Young man, you have been deceived; you are Wilkins' son, not mine. Cal. Pho, pho! Father, do you think I know no better? Johns. If you don't come out this moment, and no longer disturb my master, I'll take you by the shoulder. Cal. Why here's a fellow for you-forgets he is talking to a captain! Col. He's son to the fellow who keeps this Col. That is a rank you are so utterly unfit house. He says, my poor child strayed from for, that it would only expose you to unhappihim when a boy; but this tale is so improba-ness and ridicule; therefore your commission ble, that I rather fear he has fallen a victim to shall be sold; and for being one day my son, this fellow's villany and avarice. the purchase money shall be appropriated to set you up in business. Crev. Dear Sir, compose yourself, and hope human nature cannot be so depraved; it wrings my heart to see you in this distress.-But who is this villain? Col. His name is Wilkins.-When I committed my child to his care, he lived at Henley: he pretends he lost him at twelve years old; and, oh ! agony to think ! if he, indeed, be living, he is at this moment a wandering outcast and a beggar. Crev. Merciful heaven! What do I hear? Can it be possible! Shall I, in my loved and honoured patron, find a fond and living father? Sir, did that man lose a son of yours at twelve years of age? Col. Yes, Crevelt; I have no son but you now. Crev. I am your son, Sir-your happy son! that son you lost. Col. You! You, Crevelt! Crev. Yes, Sir, the veteran, whose name I bear, took me with him, at the age you mention, from Henley, where I lived with the man you have just named, whom I always thought my father; it was the pride of poor Crevelt's heart to have me believed his son: I bore his name, and publicly acknowledged him as my father; for you, Sir, could not have loved me better; his dying request to me was, still to retain the name of Crevelt, and never forget the man who made me a soldier. | | | Johns. Well, what keeps you now? Cal. You are in a devil of a hurry, Mr. Johnson I find I must put up with old Jacob again; but let me ask you one question, an't I to be entitled to half-pay for my services? Johns. You shall have full-pay if you don't go about your business. [ Shakes his cane at him. Cal. Well, if I can't be a half-pay captain I'll be a no-pay captain-for, once a captain and always a captain. [Exit Sir O. Captain Crevelt-I beg your pardon, Captain Talbot,-give me your hand; you want nothing now but a wife, and if my daughter Charlotte Count. Eh bien! Monsieur Chevalier, you have forgot Sir O. Why, no, count, I have not forgot; but you must know, that whatever my respect for you may be, there is not that man living whose alliance I so much desire as Colonel Talbot's; besides, I understand there is another branch of the family of my mind. Count. Chevalier, I love and I respect the English, and, by gar, me will have a wife among you. Man. It is not in words to express my pleasure-To make a bosom friend, and find à near relation, in less time than others form a common acquaintance, overflows my heart with transport. L. Old. I could wish also to show how this affecting discovery touches me, if I was not apprehensive, Sir Oliver, of your unfortunate, suspicious temper. Char. Why, Sir, if the gentleman has but courage to speak for himself— Sir O. As I don't expect the pleasure of contradiction from either party on this occaSir O. Captain Talbot, be so good as to step sion, I'll join their hands, [Joining their this way do give my wife a kiss; I know, hands.] without waiting for an answer-there my dear, your lips itch for it; and with all-colonel, you are now one of my family. her faults, believe me, she has a heart that beats in unison to the feelings of all present, and a tear for misery and friendship. Col. Miss Oldstock, it is your father's wish and mine to unite our families-now that I have a son I can propose to you, there is only your acceptance of him necessary to make me happy. Col. That assurance, Sir Oliver, seals and completes my happiness.-You, Mandeville, shall share a portion of my fortune as a son; and my happiness shall wait on you and your lovely Harriet.-And now, [Addressing the audience.] if this court-martial, to whom we appeal, acquit us with honour, I shall bless the hour my boy said, He would be a Soldier. MISS IN HER TEENS: A FARCE, IN TWO ACTS. BY DAVID GARRICK, Esq. REMARKS. THIS Farce, by that exquisite master of theatrical composition, David Garrick, cannot fail to please every beholder: -it evinces both the consummate judgment and the dramatical accuracy of its author, who has here presented the world with one of the chastest and most humourous pieces, according to the rules of art, to be found in the whole circle of the Drama The characters of Captain Loveit and Miss Biddy, the hero and heroine, are well drawn, and the manners and language made use of by both, are such as might naturally be expected to arise from persons in a similar situation. As to the three characters Fribble, Flash, and Jasper, they are sufficiently exposed and held up to ridicule; and Puff, Captain Loveit's man, performs the part assigned him with the keenest foresight. The parts assigned to Sir Simon Loveit and the Aunt, in the original, have been judiciously omitted of late years. ACT I. SCENE 1.-A Street. Enter CAPTAIN LOVEIT and PUFF. Capt. L. This is the place we were directed to; and now, Puff, if I can get no intelligence of her, what will become of me? now, Sir, as you are pleased to say you must depend upon my care and abilities in this affair, I think I have a just right to be acquainted with the particulars of your passion, that I may be the better enabled to serve you. Capt. L. You shall have 'em.-When I first left the university, which is now seven months since, my father, who loves his money better than his son, and would not settle a farthing upon him Pu. Mine did so by me, Sir Pu. And me too, Sir-You must consider I am a married man, and can't bear fatigue as I have done.-But pray, Sir, why did you Capt. L. Purchased me a pair of colours at leave the army so abruptly, and not give me my own request; but before I joined the regitime to fill my knapsack with common neces-ment, which was going abroad, I took a ramsaries? Half a dozen shirts and your regimentals are my whole cargo. Capt. L. I was wild to get away; and as soon as I obtained my leave of absence, I thought every moment an age 'till I returned to the place where I first saw this young, charming, innocent, bewitching creature. Pu. With fifteen thousand pounds for her fortune-Strong motives, I must confess. And ble into the country with a fellow-collegian, to see a relation of his who lived in Berkshire. Pu. A party of pleasure, I suppose. Capt. L. During a short stay there I became acquainted with this young creature; she was just come from the boarding-school, and though she had all the simplicity of her age and the country, yet it was mixed with such sensible vivacity, that I took fire at once. |