[Takes out letters. Mrs Mal. O, he will dissolve my mystery Sir Lucius, perhaps there's some mistake-perhaps I can illuminate Sir Luc. Captain, give me your hand-an | weakness to the account of love, I should be unaffront handsomely acknowledged becomes an generous not to admit the same plea for your's. obligation-and as for the lady-if she chooses Faulk. Now I shall be blest indeed!to deny her own hand-writing here[SIR ANTHONY comes forward. Sir Anth. What's going on here?-So you have been quarrelling too, I warrant.- -Come, Julia, I never interfered before; but let me have a hand in the matter at last.-All the faults I have ever seen in my friend Faulkland, seemed to proceed from what he calls the delicacy and warmth of his affection for you-There, marry him directly, Julia; you'll find he'll mend surprisingly! [The rest come forward. Sir Luc. Pray, old gentlewoman, don't interfere where you have no business.-Miss Languish, are you my Delia, or not? Lydia. Indeed, sir Lucius, I am not. [LYDIA and ABSOLUTE walk aside. Mrs Mal. Sir Lucius O'Trigger-ungrateful as you are-I own the soft impeachment-pardon my blushes, I am Delia! Sir Luc. You Delia-pho! pho! be easy! Mrs Mal. Why, thou barbarous Vandykethose letters are mine-When you are more sensible of my benignity--perhaps I may be brought to encourage your addresses. Sir Luc. Mrs Malaprop, I am extremely sensible of your condescension; and whether you or Lucy have put this trick upon me, I am equally beholden to you.---And, to shew you I am not ungrateful, captain Absolute, since you have taken that lady from me, I'll give you my Delia into the bargain. Abs. I am much obliged to you, sir Lucius; but here's my friend, Fighting Bob, unprovided for. Sir Luc. Hah! little Valour-here, will you make your fortune? Acres. Odds wrinkles! No.-But give me your hand, sir Lucius; forget and forgive; but if ever I give you a chance of pickling me again, say Bob Acres is a dunce, that's all. Sir Anth. Come, Mrs Malaprop, don't be cast down-you are in your bloom yet. Mrs Mal. O sir Anthony !-men are all barbarians [All retire but JULIA and FAULKLAND. Julia. He seems dejected and unhappy-not sullen--there was some foundation, however, for the tale he told me-O woman! how true should be your judgment, when your resolution is so weak! Faulk. Julia!-how can I sue for what I so little deserve? I dare not presume--yet Hope is the child of Penitence. Julia. Oh! Faulkland, you have not been more faulty in your unkind treatment of me, than I am now in wanting inclination to resent it. As my heart honestly bids me place my Sir Luc. Come now, I hope there is no dissatisfied person, but what is content; for as I have been disappointed myself, it will be very hard if I have not the satisfaction of seeing other people succeed better Acres. You are right, sir Lucius.-So, Jack, I wish you joy-Mr Faulkland, the same.-Ladies, -come now, to shew you I'm neither vexed nor angry, odds Tabors and Pipes! I'll order the fiddles in half an hour, to the New Rooms― and I insist on your all meeting me there. Sir Anth. Gad! Sir, I like your spirit; and at night we single lads will drink a health to the young couples, and a husband to Mrs Malaprop. Faulk. Our partners are stolen from us, Jack I hope to be congratulated by each otheryours for having checked in time, the errors of an ill-directed imagination, which might have betrayed an innocent heart; and mine, for having, by her gentleness and candour, reformed the unhappy temper of one, who, by it, made wretched whom he loved most, and tortured the heart he ought to have adored. Abs. Well, Jack, we have both tasted the bitters, as well as the sweets, of love-with this difference only, that you always prepared the bitter cup for yourself, while I Lydia. Was always obliged to me for it! hey, Mr Modesty ?-But come, no more of that-our happiness is now as unallayed as general. Julia. Then let us study to preserve it so : and while Hope pictures to us a flattering scene of future bliss, let us deny its pencil those colours which are too bright to be lasting.--When hearts deserving happiness would unite their fortunes, Virtue would crown them with an unfading garland of modest hurtless flowers; but ill-judging Passion will force the gaudier rose into the wreath, whose thorn offends them, when its leaves are dropt! [Exeunt omnes. FRAMPTON at his desk. Enter MANLOVE as from his walk-FRAMPTON rises, and meets him with some papers. Framp. You have lengthened your walk this inorning? Man. Very likely: The gardens were pleasant, and I believe I have rather exceeded my usual stint. Framp. By just one turn upon the Terrace. Man. You measured me, I see. We men of business, Frampton, contract strange habits of regularity. Framp. And bachelors too, sir. Man. Very true, very true: A wife now and then does put a man a little out of method, I have heard. Is any body waiting? Framp. No body. Man. Any cases? Framp. Several. [Gives him papers. Man. Bless me! was the world of my mind, they would patch up their differences over a bottle, and let the grass grow in our inns of court. Let me see what have we got here? [Reads] A detects B plucking turnips out of his field, &c Here's a fellow for you! he'll go to law with the crows for picking worms out of his dunghill: Prosecute a fellow-creature for a turnip!A turnip be his damages! Framp. And his food, too—at least till he's a better man. Man. [Reading.] 'Nicholas Swanskin, taylor, in Threadneedle-street, would be glad to know how to proceed in a legal way against his wife, in a case of cohabitancy.'-Had you any fee with this case? Framp. A light guinea, sir. Man. 'Tis more than a light woman deserves: Give the taylor his guinea again; bid him proceed to his work, and leave a good-for-nothing wife to go on with hers-and hark'e, Frampton, you seem to want a new coat-suppose you let him take your measure-the fellow, you see, would fain be cutting out work for the lawyers. Send Mr Dibble hither. Oh, he is come. [FRAMPTON retires to his desk. Enter DIBBLE, with papers. Dib. It is ready for signing. Dib. I shall, sir. [Goes to the table, and puts up the papers. Man. Are you ready, Frampton? You and I must step to the hall, How we appear to that spruce gentleman! His father wore a livery-his sister is waiting-woman to Miss Fairfax, the very lady he is going to in that monkey habit! Is there no persuading him to suit his dress to his condition? Believe me, Frampton, there is much good sense in old distinctions: When the law lays down its full-bottomed periwig, you will find less wisdom in bald pates than you are aware of. tough morsel. He's above ground, as my head Gre. Battery! he knows the strength of my skull, as well as a sand-man knows the back of his ass, and cudgels it as often: but he's hard at hand-When will his honour, Manlove, be at home? Dib. Presently, presently. What brings your old blade hither? Greg. The old errand: a little bit of law; a small jig to the tune of John Doe and Richard Roe; that's all. Dib. Plaintiff, I bet five to one. But how does my playmate, Jack? how fares it with young Hopeful? Gre. Gad's-my-life, well remembered! here's a writing for you: 'tis a merciless scrawl, to be sure; he's not at all come on in his running-hand; not at all; no, though I talk to him, and talk to hin, and tell him what a fine young man his brother Charles is here-Mr Maniove, I must call him now; for his honour, I am told, since his return from travel, has nominated him afresh after himself, has not he, Master Dibble? Dib. Ay, ay; 'twas done last sessions; he's no longer Charles Nightshade, but Charles Manlove, Esq. and a brave estate he's got by the exchange. Dib. I'll attempt to read it to you. Gre. All these things I ding into the ears of our young scape-grace, Jack; but, I might as well whistle the birds from the sky, as talk him out of his tricks; mobbing with the carter-fellows, and scampering after the maids: all the while, too, the arch knave contrives to blind the [Exeunt MAN. and FRAM. eyes of old Choleric, his father, sitting as demure Dib. What a damned queer figure old Framp- as a cat, 'till he is fairly in for his evening's nap; ton makes of himself! I must never shew him at then, away goes he, like hey-go-mad, all the paour Sunday's club-never. The counsellor's lit-rish over. Well, have you made out his letter? tle better: It does well enough for chamber practice, but he couldn't walk the hall in that wig: Its nothing now unless a good club of hair peeps under the tye. I hope shortly to see the 'Old Choleric is setting off for London, and day when Westminster-hall shall be able to count ' thinks to leave me in the country, but it won't cues with the parade. [He sits down. A knock- 'do: must have another brush with the lads at the ing at the door.] Who's at the door? Come in- Bear: intend to be at brother Charles's on WedYou expect now I should rise and open it? not I,nesday at noon, where you'll meet me. Old in faith; do that office for yourself, or stay where Trusty carries this, and understands trap: mum's you are. Ah, Gregory, is it you? what wind 'the word. Thine, blew you hither? what witch brought you at her 'JOHN NIGHTSHADE. back? Enter GREGORY. Gre. No witch, but an old bone-setting mare, with a heavy cloak-bag at her crupper, that has played a bitter tune upon my ribs. Where's his honour, Master Dibble? Dib. Out-Give me hold of thy hand, old boy. What's the best news in your parts? Hav'n't' earthed old Surly-boots yet? Gre. Earthed him! no such luck; he's a. 'Dear Pickle, So you are privy to this trip, Gregory? . Gre. To be sure, master Dibble; we are all of his side: there is not a servant would peach, if he was to commit murder amongst them. Dib. Indeed! But hold, here is more over the leaf. 'Gregory says I was of age last Lammas; if you know of ever a clean tight wench, that will take me out of old Choleric's clutches, I 'don't care if I buckle to, for life. N. B. She must have the Spanish, or the bait won't take." So, so! he's for a wife, you see: has he ever talked to you in this strain? Gre. Now and then; but I always tell him 'tis time to think of marrying when the old badger is in the earth. Dib. Pooh! you're to blame: we'll make a man of him; we'll set him up with a wife. I have a girl in my eye! a friend of my own-provided you will bear a hand in the business. Gre. Bear a hand, master Dibble! You are a lawyer and can take care of yourself; I'm a poor servant, and have a character to lose. Dib. Well, well; but if I pay you for your character, and your service into the bargainevery thing has its price, you know. Gre. To be sure, there's no denying that; but, hark! here comes his honour Manlove. Dib. Enough-Where are you lodged? Gre. At Mr Stapleton's, in New Broad-Street: I'm going thither after I've seen the counsellor. Dib. Better and better still! I'm going thither, too, and will wait for you, below, in the square: we can discuss my scheme by the way. [Exit DIB. Gre. What a sharp bitten vermin it is! Ah! these lawyers have all their wits about them. Gre. Lack-a-day! he has been non-suited upon that score over and over-Tis about game. Man. Game, quotha! if he comes to talk to me about hares and partridges, Gregory, I won't hear of it such laws and such law-suits are the disgrace of the country-I wont hear a word upon the subject. Gre. It's quite a breach; he has totally left off going to church himself, and forbade all his family; nay, what's more, he has broke his backgammon tables, only because the parson taught him the game. Mercy o' me, that ever your honour and my old master should be born of the same mother! education; the other poor lad has been a bird of his own breeding. Gre. And a precious bird he is! such another lapwing! skitting here, and skitting there; sometimes above, sometimes below: no wonder he's so wild, when his schooling has been under the hedges; but, I hear my old master on the stairs. Good morning to your honour-I must budge onwards to Mr Stapleton's. [Erit GRE. Man. Gregory, good morning! Enter ANDREW NIGHTSHADE. A. Night. [Speaks, as he enters.] I tell you, fellow, there's your fare: I'll not give you a farthing over. A hard shilling, indeed!—a hard coach, if you please!-Brother Manlove, your servant! This town grows worse and worse; no conscience, no police-if I was not the most patient man alive, such things would turn my brain -Brother Manlove, I say your servant! Man. Brother Andrew, you are welcome. You seemed a little ruffled, so that I waited for its subsiding, and now, give me your hand: I am glad to see you in town, provided the occasion be agreeable. A. Night. I think the law has a proviso for every thing your compliment sets off, like the preamble of a statute, and your conclusion limps after, like the clause at the tail of it. So you keep your old apartments, and as slovenly as ever-Lincoln's-Inn and the law-so runs your life. A turn upon the terrace after breakfast, a mutton chop for dinner at the Rolls, and the evening paper at the Mount, wind up your day. Man. A narrow scale, I own; but whether it be, that I was made too small for happiness, I never could entertain both guests together; so I took the humblest of the two, and left the other for my betters. A. Night. Ay, 'tis too late to alter; 'twould be a vain endeavour to correct your temper at these years--By the way, brother, your stair-case is the dirtiest I ever set my foot upon. Man. So long as we have clean dealings, within, our clients will make no complaint. Your's, I warrant, was neater at Rotterdam? A. Night. Neater! 'tis a matter of astonishment to me, how you, that have a plentiful estate, can make yourself a slave to business, and drudge away your life in such a hole as this! Man. True, Andrew, 'twas unreasonable; but, as I have now made over the best part of my estate to your son, so I think I have answered the best part of your objection. A. Night. You shall excuse me—all the world Man. Of the same mother, but very different cries out upon your folly; you are apt to be a fathers, Gregory: doomed, from early youth, to a little hasty, else I should be free to tell you, you life merely mercantile, his days have been passed have made yourself ridiculous; and what is worse between a compting-house at Rotterdam, and the-brother Charles, I speak to you as a father, cabin of a Dutch dogger; precious universities! you have undone my son. One son, indeed, he allowed me to rescue from his hands, and to him I have given a public Man. How so? have I confined him in his edu cation? in his hand, or a grey-hound at his horse's heels, and all to disturb and destroy my property. A. Night. No, faith; the scale on which you have finished him is wide enough to take in vice and folly at full size: his principles won't cramp Man. I say property! let your game look after their growth. At school he was grounded in im- themselves. Do you call a creature property, pudence, the university confirmed him in igno- that lights upon my lands to-day, upon your's torance, and the grand tour stocked him with infi-morrow, and the next, perhaps, in Norway? I delity and bad pictures---such has been his edu- reprobate all quarrels about guns, and dogs, and game; for my part, I am pleased to see an Englishman with arms, whether he bears them for his own amusement, or for my defence. cation. Man. But you, in your wisdom, pursued a different course with your younger son. A. Night. I bred him as a rational creature should be bred, under the rod of discipline, under the lash of my own arm; I gave him a sober, frugal, godly training; and mark the difference between them---Your fellow lives here in this great city, in a round of pleasures, in the front of the fashion, squandering and revelling:--Mine abides patiently in the country, toiling and travailling; early at his duty, sparing at his meals, patient of fatigue; he hears no music as Charles does, purchases no fine pictures, lolls in no fine chariot, befools himself with no fine women: no, thank my stars, I've rescued one of my boys; Jack, at least, walks in the steps of his father. Man. I hope he will; better principles I cannot wish him: but, methinks, Andrew, a little more knowledge of the world A. Night. "Tis mighty well! I am a fool to waste my time with you; I shall look after my own game, in my own way; you may watch your's, the sparrows, here, in the garden, or the old duck in the fountain in the square; your science goes no farther, so your servant. If you want me, I shall be found at Mr Stapleton's in New Broad street. Man. Hold, hold! I'm going there; I've business at Mr Stapleton's; my chariot's at the door-I'll carry you. Who waits? Enter Servant. Here, take this note to Mr Manlove. A. Night. Ay, that's your puppy; my name was not good enough, it seems; but positively, I'll not see him; if you bring him to me 'tis all in vain; I positively will not bear him in my pre[Exit A. NIGHT. sence. Man. That ever such a monster should exist, as an unnatural father! [Exit. A. Night. Knowledge of the world, brother Charles! who knows so much? Belike you never heard, then, I had made three trips to Shetland, in a herring-buss, before you was born! have been three time chartered to Statia for muscovadoes; twice to Zante for currants; and made one SCENE IL-An apartment in CHARLES MANvoyage to Bencoolen for pepper? Man. Yes; and that pepper-voyage runs in your blood still. A. Night. So much the better; it will preserve my wits; it will season my understanding from such fly-blown folly as your's. Zooks! you to talk of knowledge of the world! where should you come by it? upon Clapham-Common! upon Bansted-Downs? Did you ever see the Pike of Teneriffe, the rock of Gibraltar, or even the bishop and his clerks? I know them all, your charts, and your coasting-pilots; I have been two nights and a day upon a sandbank in the Grecian Islands; and do you talk to me of knowledge of the world? Man. Let us change the subject, then--you have not told me what brings you out of the country? A. Night. Because there's no abiding in it; what with refractory tenants, poaching parsons, enclosing 'squires, navigation schemes, and turnpike meetings, there's no keeping peace about me; no, though I've commenced fourteen suits at law, besides bye-battles at quarter-sessions, courts leet, and courts baron, innumerable. Man. Indeed! A. Night. No sooner do I put my head out of doors, but instantly some fellow meets me with a fowling-piece on his shoulder, or a fishing-rod VOL. II. LOVE'S house. Enter CHARLES MANLOVE, and FREDERICK. Cha. Man. Mr Manlove dines with me to-day; lay two covers in the little parlour, and bid the cook be punctual to his hour. Fre. To a minute, sir. If Mr Manlove dines here, dinner will be served precisely as the clock is striking. Cha. Man. Set out the dumb waiter, and tell the men they need not attend. Fre. [Goes to the door and speaks.] Sir, you cannot come in; my master is not to be spoken with: where are you pushing? Cha. Man. What's the matter, Frederick? Fre. A country-like fellow says he must be admitted to speak with you in private; he will not be kept out [Pulls the door to, and enters, Cha. Man. And why should he? Fre. I don't know; I cannot say I like his looks; I never saw a more suspicious person. Cha. Man. Well, let him in, however. [FRED. opens the door. |