ACT THE FOURTH.
SCENE I.
Lady Amaranth's House.
Enter Lady Amaranth, reading.
Lady Am. The fanciful flights of my pleasant cousin enchant my senses. This book he gave me to read containeth good moral. The man Shakspeare, that did write it, they call immortal; he must indeed have been filled with a divine spirit. I understand, from my cousin, the origin of plays were religious mysteries; that, freed from the superstition of early, and the grossness of latter, ages, the stage is now the vehicle of delight and morality. If so, to hear a good play, is taking the wholesome draught of precept from a golden cup, embossed with gems; yet, my giving countenance to have one in my house, and even to act in it myself, prove the ascendancy, that my dear Harry hath over my heart—Ephraim Smooth is much scandalized at these doings.
Enter Ephraim.
Eph. This mansion is now the tabernacle of Baal.
Lady Am. Then abide not in it.
Eph. 'Tis full of the wicked ones.
Lady Am. Stay not amongst the wicked ones.
[Loud laughing without.
Eph. I must shut mine ears.
Lady Am. And thy mouth also, good Ephraim. I have bidden my cousin Henry to my house, and I will not set bounds to his mirth to gratify thy spleen, and show mine own inhospitality.
Eph. Why dost thou suffer him to put into the hands of thy servants books of tragedies, and books of comedies, prelude, interlude, yea, all lewd. My spirit doth wax wrath. I say unto thee a playhouse is the school for the old dragon, and a playbook the primer of Belzebub.
Lady Am. This is one; mark! [Reads.] "Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword, the marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe, become them with one half so good a grace as mercy doth. Oh, think on that, and mercy then will breathe within your lips like man new made!"—Doth Belzebub speak such words?
Eph. Thy kinsman has made all the servants actors.
Lady Am. To act well is good service.
Eph. Here cometh the damsel for whom my heart yearneth.
Enter Jane, reading a paper joyfully.
Jane. Oh, ma'am, his honour the 'squire says the play's to be "As you like it."
Eph. I like it not.
Jane. He's given me my character. I'm to be Miss Audrey, and brother Sim's to be William of the forest, as it were. But how am I to get my part by heart?
Lady Am. By often reading it.
Jane. Well, I don't know but that's as good as any other. But I must study my part. "The gods give us joy." [Exit.
Eph. Thy maidens skip like young kids.
Lady Am. Then do thou go skip with them.
Eph. Mary, thou shou'd'st be obey'd in thine own house, and I will do thy bidding.
Lady Am. Ah, thou hypocrite! To obey is easy when the heart commands.
Enter Rover, pushing by Ephraim.
Rover. Oh, my charming cousin, how agree you and Rosalind? Are you almost perfect? "Eh, what, all a-mort, old Clytus?" "Why, you're like an angry fiend broke in among the laughing gods."—Come, come, I'll have nothing here, but "Quips and cranks, and wreathed smiles, such as dwell on Hebe's cheek."
[Looking at Lady Amaranth.
Lady Am. He says we mustn't have this amusement.
Rover. "But I'm a voice potential, double as the Duke's, and I say we must."
Eph. Nay.
Rover. Yea: "By Jupiter, I swear, aye." [Music without.
Eph. I must shut my ears. The man of sin rubbeth the hair of the horse to the bowels of the cat.
Enter Lamp, with a Violin.
Lamp. Now, if agreeable to your ladyship, we'll go over your song.
Eph. I will go over it.
[Snatches the book from Lady Amaranth,
throws it on the ground, and steps on it.
Rover. Trample on Shakspeare! "You sacrilegious thief, that, from a shelf the precious diadem stole, and put it in thy pocket!" [Takes up the book and presents it again to Lady Amaranth.] Silence, "thou owl of Crete," and hear the "Cuckoo's song."
Lady Am. To practise it I'm content.
[Lamp begins to play. Ephraim jostles
him, and puts him out of tune.
Lamp. Why, what's that for, my dear sir?
Eph. Friend, this is a land of freedom, and I've as much right to move my elbow as thou hast to move thine. [Rover pushes him.] Why dost thou so friend?
Rover. Friend, this is a land of freedom, and I have as much right to move my elbow, as thou hast to move thine.
[Mimicking, shoves Ephraim out.
Lady Am. But, Harry, do your people of fashion act these follies themselves.
Rover. Ay, and scramble for the top parts as eager as for star, ribband, place, or pension. Lamp, decorate the seats out smart and theatrical, and drill the servants that I've given the small parts to—
[Exit Lamp.
Lady Am. I wished for some entertainment, (in which gay people now take delight,) to please those I have invited; but we'll convert these follies into a charitable purpose. Tickets for this day shall be delivered unto my friends gratis; but money to their amount, I will, from my own purse (after rewarding our assistants) distribute amongst the indigent of the village. Thus, whilst we please ourselves, and perhaps amuse our friends, we shall make the poor happy.
[Exit.
Rover. An angel! If Sir George doesn't soon arrive, to blow me, I may, I think, marry her angelic ladyship; but will that be honest? She's nobly born, though I suspect I had ancestors too, if I knew who they were. I certainly entered this house the poorest wight in England, and what must she imagine when I am discovered? That I am a scoundrel; and, consequently, though I should possess her hand and fortune, instead of loving, she'll despise me——[Sits down.] I want a friend now, to consult—deceive her I will not. Poor Dick Buskin wants money more than myself, yet this is a measure I'm sure he'd scorn. No, no, I must not.—
Enter Harry.
Harry. Now I hope my passionate father will be convinced that this is the first time I ever was under this roof. Eh, what beau is here? Astonishing! My old strolling friend!
[Unperceived, sits by Rover.
Rover. Heigho! I don't know what to do.
Harry. [In the same tone.] "Nor what to say."
Rover. [Turns] Dick Buskin! My dear fellow! Ha! ha! ha! Talk of the devil, and—I was just thinking of you—'Pon my soul, Dick, I'm so happy to see you!
[Shakes hands cordially.
Harry. But, Jack, eh, perhaps you found me out?
Rover. Found you! I'm sure I wonder how the deuce you found me out. Ah, the news of my intended play has brought you.
Harry. He does'nt know as yet who I am; so I'll carry it on. [Aside.] Then you too have broke your engagement with Truncheon, at Winchester; figuring it away in your stage clothes too. Really, tell us what you are at here, Jack?
Rover. Will you be quiet with your Jacking? I'm now 'Squire Harry.
Harry. What?
Rover. I've been pressed into this service by an old man of war, who found me at the inn, and, insisting I am son to a Sir George Thunder, here, in that character, I flatter myself I have won the heart of the charming lady of this house.
Harry. Now the mystery's out. Then it's my friend Jack has been brought here for me! [Aside.] Do you know the young gentleman they take you for?
Rover. No: but I flatter myself he is honoured in his representative.
Harry. Upon my soul, Jack, you're a very high fellow.
Rover. I am, now I can put some pounds in your pockets; you shall be employed—we're getting up "As you like it." Let's see, in the cast have I a part for you?—I'll take Touchstone from Lamp, you shall have it, my boy; I'd resign Orlando to you with any other Rosalind; but the lady of the mansion plays it herself, you rogue.
Harry. The very lady my father intended for me. [Aside.] Do you love her, Jack?
Rover. To distraction; but I'll not have her.
Harry. No! Why?
Rover. She thinks me a gentleman, and I'll not convince her I am a rascal. I'll go on with our play, as the produce is appropriated to a good purpose, and then lay down my 'squireship, bid adieu to my heavenly Rosalind, and exit for ever from her house, poor Jack Rover.
Harry. The generous fellow I ever thought him! and he sha'n't lose by it. If I could make him believe—[Aside.] Well, this is the most whimsical affair! You've anticipated, superseded me, ha! ha! ha! You'll scarce believe that I'm come here too (purposely though) to pass myself for this young Henry.
Rover. No!
Harry. I am.
Sir Geo. [Without.] Harry, where are you?
Rover. Eh! who's that?
Harry. Ah! ah! ah! I'll try it; my father will be cursedly vexed; but no other way. [Aside.
Rover. Somebody called Harry—Zounds! "if the real Simon Pure" should be arrived, I'm in a fine way!
Harry. Be quiet—that's my confederate.
Rover. Eh!
Harry. He's to personate the father, Sir George. He started the scheme, having heard that a union was intended, and Sir George not immediately expected—our plan is, if I can, before his arrival, flourish myself into the lady's good graces, and whip her up, as she's an heiress.
Rover. But who is this comrade?
Harry. One of our company, a devilish good actor in the old man.
Rover. So you're turned fortune-hunter! Oh, oh! then 'twas on this plan that you parted with me on the road, standing like a finger post, "you walk up that way, and I must walk down this." [Mimicks.] Why, Dick, I did'nt know you were half so capital a rogue.
Harry. I did'nt know my forte lay that way, till persuaded by this experienced stager.
Rover. He must be an impudent old scoundrel; who is he? Do I not know him?
Harry. Why, no—I hope not. [Aside.
Rover. I'll step down stairs, and have the honour of—I'll kick him.
Harry. Stop! No, I wou'dn't have him hurt neither.
Rover. What's his name?
Harry. His name is—is—Abrawang.
Rover. Abrawang! Abrawang! I never heard of him; but, Dick, why would you let him persuade you to such a scandalous affair?
Harry. Why faith, I would have been off it; but when once he takes a project into his head, the devil himself can't drive him out of it.
Rover. Yes; but the constable may drive him into Winchester gaol.
Harry. Eh! your opinion of our intended exploit has made me ashamed of myself—Ha! ha! ha! Harkey, Jack, to frighten and punish my adviser, do you still keep on your character of young 'Squire Thunder—you can easily do that, as he, no more than myself, has ever seen the young gentleman.
Rover. But by Heavens I'll—"Quoit him down, Bardolph."
Harry. Yes; but, Jack, if you can marry her, her fortune is a snug thing: besides, if you love each other—I tell you—
Rover. Hang, her fortune! "My love, more noble than the world, prizes not quantity of dirty lands." Oh, Dick, she's the most lovely—she is female beauty in its genuine decoration! [Exit.
Harry. Ha! ha! ha! this is the drollest—Rover little suspects that I am the identical Squire Thunder that he personates—I'll lend him my character a little longer. Yes, this offers a most excellent opportunity of making my poor friend's fortune, without injuring any body; if possible, he shall have her. I can't regret the loss of charms I never knew; and, as for an estate, my father's is competent to all my wishes. Lady Amaranth, by marrying Jack Rover, will gain a man of honour, which she might miss in an earl—it may tease my father a little at first, but he's a good old fellow in the main; and, I think, when he comes to know my motive—Eh! this must be she—an elegant woman, faith! Now for a spanking lie, to continue her in the belief that Jack is the man she thinks him.
Enter Lady Amaranth.
Lady Am. Who art thou, friend?
Harry. Madam, I've scarce time to warn you against the danger you are in, of being imposed upon by your uncle, Sir George.
Lady Am. How?
Harry. He has heard of your ladyship's partiality for his son; but is so incensed at the irregularity of his conduct, he intends, if possible, to disinherit him; and, to prevent your honouring him with your hand, had engaged, and brought me hither, to pass me on you for him, designing to treat the poor young gentleman himself as an impostor, in hopes you'll banish him your heart and house.
Lady Am. Is Sir George such a parent? I thank thee for thy caution.—What is thy name?
Harry. Richard Buskin, ma'am; the stage is my profession. In the young 'squire's late excursion, we contracted an intimacy, and I saw so many good qualities in him, that I could not think of being the instrument of his ruin, nor deprive your ladyship of so good a husband, as I am certain he'll make you.
Lady Am. Then Sir George intends to disown him?
Harry. Yes, ma'am; I've this moment told the young gentleman of it; and he's determined, for a jest, to return the compliment, by seeming to treat Sir George himself as an impostor.
Lady Am. Ha, ha, ha! 'twill be a just retaliation, and, indeed, what my uncle deserveth for his cruel intentions both to his son and me.
Sir Geo. [Without.] What, has he run away again?
Lady Am. That's mine uncle.
Harry. Yes; here is my father; and my standing out that I am not his son, will rouse him into the heat of battle, ha, ha, ha! [Aside.] Here he is, madam, now mind how he will dub me 'squire.
Lady Am. It's well I'm prepared, or I might have believed him.
Enter Sir George.
Sir Geo. Well, my lady, wasn't it my wild rogue set you to all the Calcavella capers you've been cutting in the garden? You see here I have brought him into the line of battle again—you villain, why do you drop astern there? Throw a salute shot, buss her bob-stays, bring to, and come down straight as a mast, you dog.
Lady Am. Uncle, who is this?
Sir Geo. Who is he! Ha, ha, ha! Gad, that's an odd question to the fellow that has been cracking your walnuts.
Lady Am. He is bad at his lesson.
Sir Geo. Certainly, when he ran from school—why don't you speak, you lubber? you're curst modest now, but before I came, 'twas all done amongst the posies—Here, my lady, take from a father's hand, Harry Thunder.
Lady Am. That is what I may not.
Sir Geo. There, I thought you'd disgust her, you flat fish!
Enter Rover.
Lady Am. [Taking Rover's hand.] Here, take from my hand, Harry Thunder.
Sir Geo. Eh! [Staring at Rover.]
Rover. Eh! Oh! this is your sham Sir George? [Apart.
Harry. Yes; I've been telling the lady, and she'll seem to humour him.
Rover. I shan't though. [To Harry.] How do you do, Abrawang?
Sir Geo. Abrawang!
Rover. You look like a good actor.—Ay, that's very well, indeed—never lose sight of your character—you know, Sir George is a noisy, turbulent, wicked old seaman.—Angry! bravo!—pout your under lip, purse your brows—very well! But, dem it, Abrawang, you should have put a little red upon your nose—mind a rule, ever play an angry old man, with a red nose.
Sir Geo. Nose!
[Walks about in a passion.
Rover. Very well! that's right! strut about on your little pegs.
Sir Geo. I'm in such a fury.
Rover. We know that. Your figure is the most happy comedy squab I ever saw; why only show yourself, and you set the audience in a roar.
Sir Geo. 'Sblood and fire!
Rover. "Keep it up, I like fun."
Lady Am. Who is this?
[To Sir George, pointing at Rover.
Sir Geo. Some puppy unknown.
Lady Am. And you don't know this gentleman?
[To Rover, points to Sir George.
Rover. Excellently well; "He's a fishmonger."
Sir Geo. A what?
Lady Am. Yes, father and son are determined not to know each other. You know this youth? [To Rover.]
Rover. [To Harry.] "My friend, Horatio"—"I wear him in my heart's core, yea, in my heart of heart, as I do thee." [Embracing.
Sir Geo. Such freedom with my niece before my face! Do you know that lady, do you know my son, sir?
Rover. Be quiet. "Jaffier has discovered the plot, and you can't deceive the senate."
Harry. Yes, my conscience wou'dn't let me carry it through.
Rover. "Ay, his conscience hanging about the neck of his heart, says, good Launcelot, and good Gobbo, as aforesaid, good Launcelot Gobbo, take to thy heels and run."
Sir Geo. Why, my lady! explain, scoundrel, and puppy unknown.
Lady Am. Uncle, I've heard thy father was kind to thee, return that kindness to thy child. If the lamb in wanton play doth fall among the waters, the shepherd taketh him out, instead of plunging him deeper till he dieth. Though thy hairs now be grey, I'm told they were once flaxen; in short, he is too old in folly, who cannot excuse it in youth. [Exit.
Sir Geo. I'm an old fool! Well, that's damn'd civil of you, madam niece, and I'm a grey shepherd—with her visions and her vines, and her lambs in a ditch; but as for you, young Mr. Goat, I'll butt you——
Rover. My dear Abrawang, give up the game—her ladyship, in seeming to take you for her uncle, has been only humming you! What the devil, don't you think the fine creature knows her own true born uncle?
Sir Geo. Certainly; to be sure she knows me.
Rover. Will you have done? Zounds, man, my honoured father was here himself to-day—Her ladyship knows his person.
Sir Geo. Your honoured father! and who's your honoured self?
Rover. "Now by my father's son, and that's myself, it shall be sun, moon, or a Cheshire cheese—before I budge—still crossed and crossed."
Sir Geo. What do you bawl out to me of a Cheshire cheese, I say—
Rover. "And I say, as the saying is"—your friend Dick, has told me all; but to convince you of my forgiveness, in our play, as you're rough and tough, I'll cast you Charles the Wrestler, I do Orlando; I'll kick up your heels before the whole court.
Sir Geo. Why, dam'me, I'll—And you, you undutiful chick of an old pelican—
[Lifting up his cane, to strike Harry.
Enter John, who receives the blow.
John. What are you at here? cudgelling the people about? But, Mr. Buckskin, I've a word to say to you in private.
Sir Geo. Buckskin! take that. [Beats him.
Enter Lamp, Trapp, and two female Servants.
Lamp. "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women"——
Sir Geo. The men are rogues, and the women hussies—I'll make a clear stage.
[Beats them off—amongst the rest, strikes Rover.
Rover. "A blow! Essex, a blow"—An old rascally impostor stigmatizing me with a blow—no, I must not put up with it.—Zounds! I shall be tweaked by the nose all round the country—I'll follow him.—"Strike me! so may this arm dash him to the earth, like a dead dog despised—blindness and leprosy, lameness and lunacy, pride, shame, and the name of villain light on me, if I don't" bang—Mr. Abrawang. [Exit.
SCENE II.
Another Apartment.
Enter Lady Amaranth, and Banks.
Banks. Madam, I could have paid the rent of my little cottage; but I dare say 'twas without your ladyship's knowledge, that your steward has turned me out, and put my neighbour in possession.
Lady Am. My steward oppress the poor! I did not know it indeed.
Banks. The pangs of adversity I could bear; but the innocent partner of my misfortunes, my unhappy sister—
Lady Am. I did desire Ephraim to send for thy sister—Did she dwell with thee, and both now without a home? Let her come to mine.
Banks. The hand of misery hath struck us beneath your notice.
Lady Am. Thou dost mistake—To need my assistance is the highest claim to my attention; let me see her. [Exit Banks.] I could chide myself that these pastimes have turned my eye from the house of woe. Ah! think, ye proud and happy affluent, how many, in your dancing moments, pine in want, drink the salt tear; their morsel, the bread of misery, and shrinking from the cold blast into their cheerless hovels.
Enter Banks, leading in Amelia.
Banks. Madam, my sister.
[Bows and retires.
Lady Am. Thou art welcome—I feel myself interested in thy concerns.
Amelia. Madam!
Lady Am. I judge, thou wert not always unhappy.—Tell me thy condition, then I shall better know how to serve thee. Is thy brother thy sole kindred?
Amelia. I had a husband, and a son.
Lady Am. A widow! If it recall not images thou wouldst forget, impart to me thy story—'Tis rumoured in the village, thy brother is a clergyman—tell me.
Amelia. Madam, he was; but he has lost his early patron, and is now poor and unbeneficed.
Lady Am. But thy husband—
Amelia. By this brother's advice, now twenty years since, I was prevailed on to listen to the addresses of a young sea officer, (for my brother has been a chaplain in the navy) but to our surprise and mortification, we discovered by the honesty of a sailor, in whom he put confidence, that the captain's design was only to decoy me into a seeming marriage; he ordered him to procure a counterfeit clergyman; our humble friend, instead of us, put the deceit upon his master, by concealing from him that my brother was in orders; he, flattered with the hopes of procuring me an establishment, gave in to the supposed imposture, and performed the ceremony.
Lady Am. Duplicity, even with a good intent, is ill.
Amelia. Madam, the event has justified your censure; for my husband, not knowing himself really bound by any legal tie, abandoned me—I followed him to the Indies, distracted, still seeking him—I left my infant at one of our settlements; but, after a fruitless pursuit, on my return, I found the friend, to whose care I had committed my child, was compelled to retire from the ravages of war, but where I could not learn. Rent with agonizing pangs, now without child or husband, I again saw England, and my brother; who, wounded with remorse, for being the cause of my misfortunes, secluded himself from the joys of social life, and invited me to partake the comforts of solitude in that humble asylum, from whence we've both just now been driven.
Lady Am. My pity can do thee no good, yet I pity thee; but as resignation to what must be, may restore peace, if my means can procure thee comfort, they are at thy pleasure. Come, let thy griefs subside, instead of thy cottage, accept, thou and thy brother, every convenience that my mansion can afford.
Amelia. Madam, I can only thank you with—— [Weeps.
Lady Am. My thanks are here—Come, thou shalt be cheerful. I will introduce thee to my sprightly cousin Harry, and his father, my humourous uncle; we have delights going forward that may amuse thee.
Amelia. Kind lady!
Lady Am. Come, smile—though a quaker, thou seest I am merry—the sweetest joy of wealth and power is to cheer another's drooping heart, and wipe from the pallid cheek the tear of sorrow. [Exeunt.