THE DUEL.
Enter Sir Lucius O’Trigger to left, with pistols, followed by Acres.
Acres. (L.[2]) By my valor, then, Sir Lucius, forty yards is a good distance. Odds levels and aims!—I say it is a good distance.
Sir Lucius. (R.) Is it for muskets or small field-pieces? Upon my conscience Mr. Acres, you must leave those things to me.—Stay, now—I’ll show you. (Measures paces along the floor.) There, now, that is a very pretty distance—a pretty gentleman’s distance.
Acr. (R.) Zounds! we might as well fight in a sentry-box! I tell you, Sir Lucius, the further he is off, the cooler I shall take my aim.
Sir L. (L.) Faith! then I suppose you would aim at him best of all if he was out of sight!
Acr. No, Sir Lucius; but I should think forty or eight-and-thirty yards—
Sir L. Pooh! pooh! nonsense! Three or four feet between the mouths of your pistols is as good as a mile.
Acr. Odds bullets, no!—by my valor! here is no merit in killing him so near! Do, my dear Sir Lucius, let me bring him down at a long shot:—a long shot, Sir Lucius, if you love me!
Sir L. Well, the gentlemen’s friend and I must settle that. But tell me now, Mr. Acres, in case of an accident, is there any little will or commission I could execute for you?
Acr. I am much obliged to you, Sir Lucius—but I don’t understand—
Sir L. Why, you may think there’s no being shot at without a little risk; and if an unlucky bullet should carry a quietus with it—I say it will be no time then to be bothering you about family matters.
Acr. A quietus!
Sir L. For instance, now—if that should be the case—would you choose to be pickled and sent home?—or would it be the same to you to lie here in the Abbey?—I’m told there is very snug lying in the Abbey.
Acr. Pickled!—Snugly in the Abbey!—Odds tremors! Sir Lucius, don’t talk so!
Sir L. I suppose, Mr. Acres, you never were engaged in an affair of this kind before.
Acr. No, Sir Lucius, never before.
Sir L. Ah! that’s a pity!—there’s nothing like being used to a thing. Pray, now, how would you receive the gentlemen’s shot?
Acr. Odds files!—I’ve practiced that—there, Sir Lucius—there. (Puts himself in an attitude.) A side front, hey? I’ll make myself small enough: I’ll stand edgeways.
Sir L. Now—you’re quite out—for if you stand so when I take my aim—(Leveling at him.)
Acr. Zounds! Sir Lucius—are you sure it is not cocked?
Sir L. Never fear.
Acr. But—but—you don’t know—it may go off of its own head!
Sir L. Pooh! be easy. Well, now, if I hit you in the body, my bullet has a double chance; for, if it misses a vital part of your right side, ’twill be very hard if it don’t succeed on the left.
Acr. A vital part!
Sir L. But, there, fix yourself so—(placing him)—let him see the broadside of your full front, there, now, a ball or two may pass clean through your body, and never do any harm at all.
Acr. Clean through me!—a ball or two clean through me!
Sir L. Ay, may they; and it is much the genteelest attitude into the bargain.
Acr. Look’ee, Sir Lucius! I’d just as lieve be shot in an awkward posture as a genteel one; so, by my valor! I will stand edgeways.
Sir L. (Looking at his watch.) Sure, they don’t mean to disappoint us. Ha! no, faith; I think I see them coming. (Crosses to R.)
Acr. (L.) Hey!—what!—coming!—
Sir L. Ay. Who are those yonder, getting over the stile?
Acr. There are two of them, indeed! Well—let them come—hey, Sir Lucius! we—we—we—we—won’t run!
Sir L. Run!
Acr. No,—I say,—we won’t run, by my valor!
Sir L. What’s the matter with you?
Acr. Nothing—nothing—my dear friend—my dear Sir Lucius! but I—I don’t feel quite so bold, somehow, as I did.
Sir L. O, fy! Consider your honor.
Acr. Ay—true—my honor. Do, Sir Lucius, edge in a word or two every now and then about my honor.
Sir L. Well, here they’re coming. (Looking R.)
Acr. Sir Lucius, if I wa’n’t with you, I should almost think I was afraid! If my valor should leave me!—Valor will come and go.
Sir L. Then pray keep it fast while you have it.
Acr. Sir Lucius, I doubt it is going!—yes—my valor is certainly going!—it is sneaking off! I feel it oozing out, as it were, at the palms of my hands!
Sir L. Your honor! your honor! Here they are.
Acr. O mercy!—now—that I was safe at Clod Hall! or could be shot before I was aware! (Sir Lucius takes Acres by the arm, and leads him reluctantly off, R.)
Sheridan.
[2] L. signifies left; R., right, and C., centre of stage.