(A FRAGMENT).

The School of Action was the play which Steele was endeavouring to finish in 1723-5. The fragment which we have would have required a great deal of revising before it could have been put upon the stage. The MS., from which the piece was printed by Nichols, is in the British Museum (Add. MS., 5145c). It is not in Steele's writing, and the first few leaves are now wanting. I have restored the original reading in several instances in which Nichols made unnecessary alterations. There are several memoranda on the subject among the Blenheim MSS. Here is one of them:—

"Minutes for the play itself.—First Act. The beginning as I have it at Home in y^e Scheme between Brainwell and Lightfoot; after y^t y^e calling over y^e House w^th the actors, and y^e severall purposes y^t y^e Playhouse might be usefull for signified.—Act 2^d. The Country family wait as in an Inn at the playhouse; all that can be done by the playhouse to terrifie y^e Attorney and his Wife, and all that can delight y^e young Lady by Theatricall Powers is exposed and explained. A Critick upon various Actions.—Act 3^d. The Electra of Sophocles, where Mrs. Porter is to be the Queen, and y^e Tragedy of Sophocles to be made y^e Moddle is thoroughly set forth in a way attempted to be truly sublime.—Act 4^th. The Country Family, knowing of the Murder done there, resolved to bear Witness of it and prosecute it according to Law." And again, "Let Booth be Orestes, with all the prepossession and love of His Mother with the necessity upon Him of killing Her, and resolving upon it all of a sudden from passion to passion in an Hurry,—yet commanding all his Resentments to execute His design.—His regard for His sister and her urging Him." The following are other rough notes:—"Jenky to be instructed to be a ghost and torment His Brother—not to be y^t of Hamlet. Johnson to be the false Brother—Mrs. Willis, His Wife, urging to give up.—They miss the young lady for 2^d. Act—but don't value so y^t Her fortune is safe in His hands.... Let Pinsars ramble from place to place, and getting clear of the Play House—where he meets Evill Constable (?) and His Mirmidons.—Then Buntho's Ghost and all the other incidents possible—appears still in y^e House, and gives up to Severn, &c." And again:—"Introduce a Woman, Drunk, to be acted by Cibber, to talk at beginning Lewdly in a Mask, y^e rest in Whisper. Let Pinsars be assisted by an Army of y^e Playhouse to fight his way out; he and his man Ralph and his Wife Striking all in earnest, assisted by the Constable.... Let Him Threaten to demolish the Whore of Babylon—Speak of the Dragon and all the Cant of the Presbyterian Zeal against Plays, &c., but fight.... For the Prologue take notice of this play as a Posthumous Work according to Dr. Partridge's freinds. Spider and Dotterell's Quality: Beasts made before men—Therefore the Dotterells must give way, for they were made before Spiders were in being, and not made before they were men."

The following notes evidently refer to another piece:—"To take the play y^t Lyes in loose parts in my Scrutoire and lay it together for the Stage: To ridicule y^e whole Mechanick of Dr. Faustus, &c., and all things of that kind for y^e Theatre—make persons to play tricks, break necks, and the like.... There is no true nobility but in the practise of Vertue and right reason, where there is nothing can be little.... Make him go to his certain Ruin for want of knowledge in a Circumstance he might know if he had looked into a letter w^ch contains a secret Contrived against him, but he cannot pry into because it comes into his Hands unwarrantably: make this y^e great Incident of his distress.... To ridicule our Slavery to Italian Musick, to have an ode of Anacreon set in Greek performed. To observe upon y^e absurdity of making distresses and mirth for y^e Vulgar out of y^e Accidents y^t befall the body, as in the play of The Chances: The old Woman in her Colick pains toothless and defective through age is exposed as a Jest."

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

Mr. Severn, a barrister, lover of Miss Dolly.

Mr. Humber, his friend.

Mr. Pincers, an old wealthy country Attorney, guardian to Dolly.

Ralph, his Man.

Mr. Dotterell,
Mr. Spider,
Comedians.

Mr. Gwillyn,
Buskin,
Tragedian,
General,
Candidates for the Stage.

Mrs. Pincers.

Miss Dolly, Ward to Pincers.

Mrs. Umbrage, an Actress.

Mrs. Fennell.

Her Daughter, a Candidate for the Stage.

Barber, Constable, Waiter, Servants, Rabble, &c.

THE SCHOOL OF ACTION.

ACT THE FIRST.

Enter Mr. Severn and Mr. Humber.

Sev. The world is much more easily imposed upon, than you studious and modest men imagine.

Hum. Dear Severn, if such superficial qualifications as you talk of will accomplish gentlemen and ladies, I own to you, hard has been our fate, in having suffered pains and penalties (fit only for malefactors) in great schools, and been immured in college the best years of life, to acquire learning and attain to sciences that are all useless when we come into the world.

Sev. Pardon me, dear Humber, I did not say useless; I only argue that you had better, to make your fortune, have ordinary qualifications, such as a good mien, common understanding, and an easy address, than great faculties and talents under the oppression of bashfulness, rusticity, or——

Hum. Or knowledge.

Sev. It shall be or knowledge if you please—if you mean knowledge kept to a man's self, or in a man's keeping, that is afraid or ashamed to exert it.

Hum. Well, be it as you propose; go on.

Sev. I say, then, your taste for books and fine writing, your judgment in the faculties of the soul, my town education, and skill in the airs, motions, graces, and abilities of the body, will enable us to carry on this our design of supporting a new playhouse, and keeping a School of Action.

Hum. Well, if we break—I can go down again to my fellowship at Oxford, and laugh and be laughed at among a parcel of worthy and ingenious men, whom I will entertain with my adventures; and I think the undertaking cannot but introduce at least matter of humour and mirth: if it does not advance our fortunes, it will heighten our conversation.—But to your School of Action.

Sev. As all that reside in inns of court and universities, though they do not enter into any of the learned professions, are yet better accomplished for any other ways of life by having the same education with those who go into them; so will all who come to our School of Action be better qualified in their own characters, by being instructed among players, who are taught to become any part which shall be imposed upon them.

Hum. Thou art a rare sanguine fellow to think this will do. But I have observed confidence in a man's self that he shall perform a thing, helps him forward better than any other quality about him—Well, hang it, in order to make this experiment, I will be as enterprising and confident as you.

Sev. Let me, then, observe one thing, for fear of your relapsing into your academic shyness; that you must beware of standing as if you were a thinking statue, a case for a spirit to reflect in, and not a mind and body acting together. You improve the soul only in your colleges—you neglect the body.

Hum. Thou art in the right: I have studied eloquence till I am dumb.

Sev. I am glad you see your want and infirmity. If you will speak, I know you will talk well. I know when you are unreservedly familiar you talk very well, as you did t'other night concerning the principles of motion and rest. Suppose, as you are resolved to talk, you would resolve also to move, and practise a little local motion. Give me leave to show you how you perform it. Go to the other side of the stage. [He walks thither.] Thus you walked—thus your shoulders—thus your legs—thus your breast—thus your hips.—Pray adventure back again—thus—

Hum. Pish! I am a little hurt, and grow peevish with this mimicry; though I believe you are right enough.

Sev. Well, I only show you: it is not necessary you should, as to the present purpose, be jaunty; you are to mind more important matters. You are censor, observe, upon the sense and spirit of what is said; leave the manner of doing it to me, the prompter.

Hum. But, as you are picking up people from all quarters, are the old gentleman and his lady, the young girl, and the maid and man, who came hither last night, all to be players? and why are they accommodated here in the tiring-room, as if it were an ordinary lodging?

Sev. You shall know all in due time and order. Ho!—Harry!—Who waits there? [Enters a Servant.] Is the whole house come?

Serv. They are all here, sir, except the thunderer and the candle-snuffer; they say it is a mistake, and that they are never required to come to rehearsal.

Sev. Tell them they shall forfeit; the thunderer shall pay two groats; they—they shall be fined a day's pay. [Exit Servant.]—My dear friend, while the company is assembling in the several apartments, I will explain further: You are to know that old master Pincers is a rich northern attorney, who understands the law much better as it is the business of it to punish offenders, than as it is to protect the innocent. The young girl is a ward left under his care, and has a very considerable estate in that country. He has brought her up to town to settle her.

Hum. In the playhouse?

Sev. Pray, hear. In the playhouse? no. Of all things in nature, stage-plays (as he calls them) are his aversion. But they are no less Miss Dolly's delight. As I had my education, that is to say, ate and drank, conversed and lay some years every night at Gray's Inn, I made a notable pleader before our bench of justices in Cumberland, and grew very intimate with Mr. Pincers. He took such a fancy to my promising parts—for, you must know, I pretended to be a rogue to gain his good-will—that, with a hint of five hundred pounds reward for my share in the transaction, he communicated to me a design of disposing of this young lady by way of sale.

Hum. Good—and thought you a proper broker to find out a husband, or rather a purchaser.

Sev. Right. "Mr. Severn," said he, "you know there is nothing more common than to observe that orphans are a prey, by reason of their great wealth, and marry unhappily."

Hum. And therefore——

Sev. And therefore he would have a receipt for all her fortune, for delivering half of it to the man who should marry her—"which," said he, "shall be no fraud to the gentleman; for he shall settle only an equivalent for ten thousand pounds, which is the moiety. By this means," continued my conscientious friend, "I shall observe how he behaves to this poor girl; and can, if he deserves it, leave the other moiety to them by my will."

Hum. And what did you say to this hopeful project?

Sev. I fell in with it, and promised to find him a right young fellow for his purpose.

Hum. Did you so, sir? [As going.]

Sev. Now you grow a mere scholar again.

Hum. An honest gentleman is a mere scholar where a sharper is a wit—I will leave your accursed town to-night.

Sev. I will convince you that there is nothing mean or dishonourable on my part; but a lucky incident I should be stupid not to take hold of.

Hum. Say it; but your prologue is so long, you seem to know that the plot of your play is not easily to be defended.

Sev. You cannot say that till you know it. I agreed with him to find a young gentleman suitable to her, who shall bring as good an estate as she shall, and settle all upon her and the children of the marriage.

Hum. Well—who is the gentleman whom you have thought of to do this? On whom will you bestow the poor innocent girl who has never injured you?

Sev. Why, I have been thinking that over and over; and it is so hard to look into another's breast, that one may, after all appearances, be mistaken; and, therefore, I have resolved upon the only man who I was sure was honest—even my own proper self.

Hum. You are most conscientiously impartial and disinterested.

Sev. I think myself conscientious, though neither impartial nor disinterested. I consider that he would certainly sell her elsewhere on his own terms, without regard to her happiness. In my hands she will have her estate her own, with the incumbrance only of a man who loves her, and whom I believe she loves, and who may increase that estate for her. Consider, he would do what he designed, whether I would or not.

Hum. I consider you will do what you design, whether I will or not. Nay, further, I cannot but own the circumstances much alleviate the guilt on your part. Nay, if you fairly get the girl's good-will, I will allow your attempt not only excusable, but praiseworthy.

Sev. There spoke my good genius.—In the country, as much as he trusted me in the secret of cheating her, he never let me see her alone, or without witnesses; his wife, the maid, or man, or all of them, were constantly present. But, as she is a great lover and reader of plays, and of a great deal of wit and humour, we could speak one language and look another, above their knowledge or observation. I sent for him to town in order to marry her, insisting on my five hundred pounds; for he would not trust me, did he not know my price. I have lodged all here, whence they shall never go out till dear miss implores it of me, or has justice done her by me or somebody to her liking.

Hum. There you justify all the art you can use for yourself. And may you win and wear her, since you plot her redemption though yourself should not succeed!

Sev. Well, we have done talking; let us to action. My business is to review my forces, and not neglect my main plot, but consider my playhouse and my mistress at the same time; and, while I am preparing the one, make love to the other.—Here, Jack, call all the actors—let the whole house march.—Tragedy drums and trumpets, fifes, kettledrums and clarions shall wake my country lodgers, fright my old parchment, and charm my little northern pilgrim—my dear refugee—I will understand her no other. Beat, sound, and play. Make all people be in their posts round the stage, and answer in all parts to the stage.—All shall be done that can be to make her pass her time pleasantly. She shall always expect to see me, but not see me till I have abundant convincing proofs that I am in her favour. Thus if I can save her, and save her for myself, it will be an exquisite happiness; if not, to save her from this rascal is but my duty. Oh! I should have told you that when Miss Dolly came in, I conveyed a letter into her pocket, intimating where she was, that she may be surprised at nothing; for I love the dear thing so tenderly that I could not give her the shortest uneasiness, to purchase the most lasting good or pleasure to myself. [Here begins the march.] Hist!

Pin. [Within.] Ho! chamberlain, bring me my boots—where is the chamberlain?—What is the noise?——

Ralph [Within.] The drums.

Pin. What is the matter?

Ralph. The train-bands, belike, master.

Pin. Ho! chamberlain!

Hum. While the rest of the country family are thus deceived, Dolly is let into the whole matter, and won't be surprised at anything. If she humours the deceit it is a good symptom on your side.—This must be a fruitful circumstance of mirth.

Sev. Nymphs, shepherds, ghosts, angels, and demons, shall tease the old rascal; and all the while Miss Dolly see and hear nothing but according to the notice I have given her.

Hum. While you are thus busied about your people, and managing your design, which I have not much taste for (I want that mercury about me), I will go about the house and view the accommodations—they say it is the most convenient one in the world.

Sev. Sir, take your humour; I will pursue mine, and call you when the circumstance is above my reach. [Exit Humber.] Well, march by; let the kings take place of all the people, next them bishops, then judges—no, we had as good not to discompose their dresses. [Among the march of the actors he observes Will Dotterell.] Ho! Mr. Dotterell, Mr. Dotterell.

Dot. Sir! Your most humble servant, good Mr. Severn. What, have you a part for me in your new play? It was you that first thought of making an actor of me, and I have gained some reputation; and, harkee, you have made a deal of me, I can tell you.

Sev. Ay, ay, I know thou art a town favourite—thy name is not spoken of but it raises mirth. Let us see, what parts have you acted? You have acted all manner of things as well as persons. You began, I think, a flower-pot, in Dioclesian[135]; then you have performed another ingenious part, been a chair, I think, at another opera; you have represented all the appetites—as I take it, you do hunger best, you are a fine fellow at a cold chicken—Then you have been all sorts of trades, but you shine most in the tailor in Epsom Wells[136], you beat your wife most successfully.

Dot. It was thought I laid her on as well as another, for you may remember she was a bitter one, and she provoked me some six or seven drubs beyond what the poet writ for her.

Sev. Well, look you, Will, I design greater things for you than any poet of them all; why, you shall act a ghost in the ensuing play.

Dot. A ghost of me! No, it can never be.

Sev. Yes, yes, you oaf, you shall be a country ghost. You shall come to the country gentleman who lay here last night in the figure of his deceased brother, a fat justice of the peace, who left all his money in his hands—and he cheats him. Why, I don't know but you may be the luckiest ghost that ever appeared. Who knows but the old rascal may repent and pay you? If he does I'm sure you'll take it.

Dot. Nay, nay, there's no doubt of that. What has the poor money done? I will take it, as you say.

Sev. Look you there: when you have done this part you are a most accomplished player, you have gone through all the degrees of action. You came out of the parsley-bed, as they say to the children; you have been everything——

Dot. A ghost! I shall never be sober enough. What if it be a country ghost—yet every man is serious after his death. I shall certainly laugh, and discover all.

Sev. Well, bid him they call Dicky come to me.

Dot. Dicky, Dicky, come to me; come, Dicky, come to Mr. Severn. I am not a ghost yet; you need not be afraid.

Enter Spider.

Sev. Mr. Spider, I have a part for you; but I am afraid you have too good an air, too much dignity in your person, to do it well.

Spi. Oh, I warrant you they never put me to act anything in tragedy, though my genius and temper is altogether for great and sublime things.

Sev. No doubt on't, Mr. Spider, but you must be content at present to do me a courtesy, and still keep in comedy; for you are to be a tapster.

Spi. What! when Mr. Dotterell (as I apprehend) is to be a ghost, am I to be but a tapster?

Sev. Why, you are to be a tapster to the inn in which he is to be a ghost, so that he's in a manner in your keeping. All the ghosts in inns are kept there by the tapster or chamberlain; now you are to be both in this inn that I imagine.

Spi. Oh! oh! I begin to conceive you. I am to be a live tapster, and Mr. Dotterell is to be the ghost of a dead man that died in the inn and left a power of money behind, and so haunts the house because his own cousin had not—I understand it very well—Look you, Mr. Dotterell, it was I and my master contrived to kill this gentleman for the great bag of money he brought into our house. Come, come, we'll go in and consider how to act these parts, without giving Mr. Severn any more trouble about it.

Sev. But there is another thing that, I fear, will go much against you; and that is, you are to be excessively saucy.

Spi. No, I shall make no scruple of that if he proves an unmannerly guest, I'll warrant you.—But, Mr. Dotterell, let us go and lay our heads together.

Sev. Now, gentlemen, you are going out in your own persons, and no man living can tell which of you should take place. Certainly, Mr. Spider, you are somebody or other; and, Mr. Dotterell, so are you. Now I would fain know which of you is to take place.

Spi. Pray, good Mr. Dotterell.

Dot. Nay, nay, Mr. Spider, I'll never be outdone in civility; you must pardon me, indeed, sir.

Spi. Nay, sir.

Dot. Nay, sir.

Spi. Nay, sir.

Dot. Nay, nay, nay, sir, if you go to that. [Turns aside.

Spi. Nay, but, good sir—excuse me, sir. [Turning another way.

Dot. Oh, Mr. Spider, your servant for that, sir. [Takes him up in his arms.

Spi. Sir, you conquer me beyond expression; sir, you run away with me.

Dot. Indeed, sir, I must say you are a very easy gentleman; you are carried away with the least civility, look you, sir; for——[Carrying him backwards and forwards.

Spi. Plague on't, what a misfortune it is to be a little fellow! Though I have a soul as great as Hercules, this fellow can deal with me.

Dot. Oh, my dear little Dicky Spider! [Exit, kicking him in his arms.

Sev. [Solus]. Here's a great piece of difficulty adjusted; but I observe very few difficulties of ceremony of much greater moment than this, and wish they were all to be so ended. Well, now have I the hardest task in all my affair to pursue: To persuade a woman who is young, pleasant, and agreeable, to act a part for me to another; to make love for me, instead of receiving love made to her; and there is no way of obtaining of 'em but by making love to them. They are used to no other language, and understand no other.—Ho! who waits there?

Enter Waiter.

Waiter. Sir; do you call, sir?

Sev. Pray, sir, call Mrs. Umbrage hither. If she be in the green-room, tell her I beg to speak with her—I must form myself into all the good humour I can to entertain her, or I shall never get her to come into it.

Enter Mrs. Umbrage.

Oh, here she comes.—Well, madam, I have cast parts for you, and named you to many, but never so very nice a one as I am to desire of you to undertake at present. To overlook yourself and deliver the application made to another which had been more rightly directed to yourself, is a greatness of mind—is a candour, to be found only in Mrs. Umbrage.

Umb. Well, Mr. Severn, you have waved your cap sufficiently; you have done homage and made your acknowledgments; pray proceed to the matter.

Sev. The northern young lady you have often heard me talk of, is in town, and lay in this house last night.

Umb. That has been the conversation of the green-room.—But what do you design in all this you are going to let me into?

Sev. I would be well with that young lady. Nay, I think I am so.

Umb. A man may often be mistaken in those points, as knowing as you are.

Sev. I grant it, madam; I have a mind to know it more explicitly, and have the most evident proofs of it; which I will not desire till I have given her sufficient testimony of a disinterested zeal and service for her.

Umb. That is, indeed, the noblest and the surest way to approach a sensible spirit, as I have heard you describe hers to be. Pray let me hear what argument you have for thinking she has a disposition towards you; for you know we naturally are too apt to believe what we wish.

Sev. A good opinion is in a man's own power to create. I took care to appear in the best manner where she was; to be always in great good humour, and show a wonderful deference to her in all my actions; which I constantly expressed by my eye only, as afraid of notice and observation. She had her eyes as attentive to mine, and she never lost the least expression that I made to her, but turned away her eyes when mine grew too familiar.—But give me leave to tell you one particular occasion wherein I plainly think she declared herself to me.

Umb. That will be worth hearing indeed; I shall be glad to hear the language of the eyes translated by the tongue. [Smiling.

Sev. You are to know, madam, that there happened one day in the north, a great Quaker's wedding at which she and I were present. They went with the greatest gravity and decorum through the whole circumstance of it. But at night she was invited, so was I, to see the bride and bridegroom put to bed. Several of her maidens attended her; several of their young men him. It is the nature of their superstition to keep their passions bridled, restrained, and formally dissembled. They have none of those flights, palpitations, gambols, and follies, which divert the mind and break it from its main object.

Umb. You are going into a fine story; but I must trust your discretion.

Sev. Madam, you may. [Bowing.] To be sure, the bridegroom is laid by his bride; the company stands in the most profound silence, as contemplating the objects before them; he a young man of twenty-five, she a young woman of twenty; he wishing our absence; she fearing it. The eyes of everyone of us spectators naturally searching the object with which they could best be pleased in the same condition, my eyes met Miss Pincers', in which there was such a sweet compliance, such a revel invitation, immediately checked when observed and answered by me, that I have ever since concluded that she had something more than goodwill for me.

Umb. Well, if she has it, I shall be far from lessening it; but will, as you seem to desire, accompany her, and improve it.

Sev. I form great hopes of success from that declaration; but as the lady is mighty theatrically disposed, I beseech you to show her the pleasure and beauties of the house.

Umb. All that is in my power; all that is not I must leave to you.

Sev. I will not doubt of success.

To gain a she, a sure she-friend provide;
For woman is to woman the best guide.