SCENE II.
Lord John—Wheeler—Bursal.
Wheeler. Well, but my lord—Well, but Bursal—though my Lady Piercefield—though Miss Bursal is come to Salt Hill, you won’t leave us all at sixes and sevens. What can we do without you?
Lord J. You can do very well without me.
Bursal. You can do very well without me.
Wheel. (to Burs.). Impossible!—impossible! You know Mr. Finsbury will be here just now, with the dresses; and we have to try them on.
Burs. And to pay for them.
Wheel. And to settle about the procession. And then, my lord, the election is to come on this evening. You won’t go till that’s over, as your lordship has promised me your lordship’s vote and interest.
Lord J. My vote I promised you, Mr. Wheeler; but I said not a syllable about my interest. My friends, perhaps, have not been offended, though I have, by Mr. Talbot. I shall leave them to their own inclinations.
Burs. (whistling). Wheugh! wheugh! wheugh! Wheeler, the principal’s nothing without the interest.
Wheel. Oh, the interest will go along with the principal, of course; for I’m persuaded, if my lord leaves his friends to their inclinations, it will be the inclination of my lord’s friends to vote as he does, if he says nothing to them to the contrary.
Lord J. I told you, Mr. Wheeler, that I should leave them to themselves.
Burs. (still whistling). Well, I’ll do my best to make that father of mine send me off to Oxford. I’m sure I’m fit to go—along with Wheeler. Why, you’d best be my tutor, Wheeler!—a devilish good thought.
Wheel. An excellent thought.
Burs. And a cursed fine dust we should kick up at Oxford, with your Montem money and all!—Money’s the go after all. I wish it was come to my making you my last bow, “ye distant spires, ye antic towers!”
Wheel. (aside to Lord J.). Ye antic towers!—fit for Oxford, my lord!
Lord J. Antique towers, I suppose Mr. Bursal means.
Burs. Antique, to be sure!—I said antique, did not I, Wheeler?
Wheel. O, yes.
Lord J. (aside). What a mean animal is this!
Enter Rory O’Ryan.
Rory. Why, now, what’s become of Talbot, I want to know? There he is not to be found anywhere in the wide world; and there’s a hullabaloo amongst his friends for him.
(Wheeler and Bursal wink at one another.)
Wheel. We know nothing of him.
Lord J. I have not the honour, sir, to be one of Mr. Talbot’s friends. It is his own fault, and I am sorry for it.
Rory. ’Faith, so am I, especially as it is mine—fault I mean; and especially as the election is just going to come on.
Enter a party of boys, who cry, Finsbury’s come!—Finsbury’s come with the dresses!
Wheel. Finsbury’s come? Oh, let us see the dresses, and let us try ’em on to-night.
Burs. (pushing the crowd). On with ye—on with ye, there!—Let’s try ’em on!—Try ’em on—I’m to be colonel.
1st Boy. And I lieutenant.
2nd Boy. And I ensign.
3rd Boy. And I college salt-bearer.
4th Boy. And I oppidan.
5th Boy. Oh, what a pity I’m in mourning.
Several speak at once. And we are servitors. We are to be the eight servitors.
Wheel. And I am to be your Captain, I hope. Come on, my Colonel. (To Bursal). My lord, you are coming?
Rory. By-and-by—I’ve a word in his ear, by your lave and his.
Burs. Why, what the devil stops the way, there?—Push on—on with them.
6th Boy. I’m marshal.
Burs. On with you—on with you—who cares what you are?
Wheel. (to Bursal, aside). You’ll pay Finsbury for me, you rich Jew? (To Lord John.) Your lordship will remember your lordship’s promise.
Lord J. I do not usually forget my promises, sir; and therefore need not to be reminded of them.
Wheel. I beg pardon—I beg ten thousand pardons, my lord.
Burs. (taking him by the arm). Come on, man, and don’t stand begging pardon there, or I’ll leave you.
Wheel. (to Burs.) I beg pardon, Bursal—I beg pardon, ten thousand times.
(Exeunt.)
Manent Lord John and Rory O’Ryan.
Rory. Wheugh!—Now put the case. If I was going to be hanged, for the life of me I couldn’t be after begging so many pardons for nothing at all. But many men, many minds—(Hums.) True game to the last! No Wheeler for me. Oh, murder! I forgot, I was nigh letting the cat out o’ the bag again.
Lord J. You had something to say to me, sir? I wait till your recollection returns.
Rory. ’Faith, and that’s very kind of you; and if you had always done so, you would never have been offended with me, my lord.
Lord J. You are mistaken, Mr. O’Ryan, if you think that you did or could offend me.
Rory. Mistaken was I, then, sure enough; but we are all liable to mistakes, and should forget and forgive one another; that’s the way to go through.
Lord J. You will go through the world your own way, Mr. O’Ryan, and allow me to go through it my way.
Rory. Very fair—fair enough—then we shan’t cross. But now, to come to the point. I don’t like to be making disagreeable retrospects, if I could any way avoid it; nor to be going about the bush, especially at this time o’ day; when, as Mr. Finsbury’s come, we’ve not so much time to lose as we had. Is there any truth, then, my lord, in the report that is going about this hour past, that you have gone in a huff, and given your promise there to that sneaking Wheeler to vote for him now?
Lord J. In answer to your question, sir, I am to inform you that I have promised Mr. Wheeler to vote for him.
Rory. In a huff?—Ay, now, there it is!—Well, when a man’s mad, to be sure, he’s mad—and that’s all that can be said about it. And I know, if I had been mad myself, I might have done a foolish thing as well as another. But now, my lord, that you are not mad—
Lord J. I protest, sir, I cannot understand you. In one word, sir, I’m neither mad nor a fool!—Your most obedient (going, angrily).
Rory (holding him). Take care now; you are going mad with me again. But phoo! I like you the better for being mad. I’m very often mad myself, and I would not give a potato for one that had never been mad in his life.
Lord J. (aside). He’ll not be quiet, till he makes me knock him down.
Rory. Agh! agh! agh!—I begin to guess whereabouts I am at last. Mad, in your country, I take it, means fit for Bedlam; but with us in Ireland, now, ’tis no such thing; it mean’s nothing in life but the being in a passion. Well, one comfort is, my lord, as you’re a bit of a scholar, we have the Latin proverb in our favour—“Ira furor brevis est” (Anger is short madness). The shorter the better, I think. So, my lord, to put an end to whatever of the kind you may have felt against poor Talbot, I’ll assure you he’s as innocent o’ that unfortunate song as the babe unborn.
Lord J. It is rather late for Mr. Talbot to make apologies to me.
Rory. He make apologies! Not he, ’faith; he’d send me to Coventry, or, maybe, to a worse place, did he but know I was condescending to make this bit of explanation, unknown to him. But, upon my conscience, I’ve a regard for you both, and don’t like to see you go together by the ears. Now, look you, my lord. By this book, and all the books that were ever shut and opened, he never saw or heard of that unlucky song of mine till I came out with it this morning.
Lord J. But you told me this morning that it was he who wrote it.
Rory. For that I take shame to myself, as it turned out; but it was only a white lie to sarve a friend, and make him cut a dash with a new song at election time. But I’ve done for ever with white lies.
Lord J. (walking about as if agitated). I wish you had never begun with them, Mr. O’Ryan. This may be a good joke to you; but it is none to me or Talbot. So Talbot never wrote a word of the song?
Rory. Not a word or syllable, good or bad.
Lord J. And I have given my promise to vote against him. He’ll lose his election.
Rory. Not if you’ll give me leave to speak to your friends in your name.
Lord J. I have promised to leave them to themselves; and Wheeler, I am sure, has engaged them by this time.
Rory. Bless my body! I’ll not stay prating here then.
(Exit Rory.)
Lord J. (follows). But what can have become of Talbot? I have been too hasty for once in my life. Well, I shall suffer for it more than anybody else; for I love Talbot, since he did not make the song, of which I hate to think.
(Exit.)