DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
Lord Brumpton.
Lord Hardy, Son to Lord Brumpton, in love with Lady Sharlot.
Mr. Campley, in love with Lady Harriot.
Mr. Trusty, Steward to Lord Brumpton.
Cabinet.
Mr. Sable, an Undertaker.
Puzzle, a Lawyer.
Trim, Servant to Lord Hardy.
Tom, the Lawyer's Clerk.
Lady Brumpton.
Lady Sharlot,
Lady Harriot,
Orphan Sisters, left in ward to Lord Brumpton.
Mademoiselle d'Epingle.
Tattleaid, Lady Brumpton's Woman.
Mrs. Fardingale.
Kate Matchlock.
Visitant Ladies, Sable's Servants, Recruits, &c.
SCENE.—Covent Garden.
THE FUNERAL: OR, GRIEF À-LA-MODE.
ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE—Covent Garden.
Enter Cabinet, Sable, and Campley.
Cab. I burst into laughter, I can't bear to see writ over an undertaker's door, "Dresses for the Dead, and Necessaries for Funerals!" Ha! ha! ha!
Sab. Well, gentlemen, 'tis very well; I know you are of the laughers, the wits that take the liberty to deride all things that are magnificent and solemn.
Cam. Nay, but after all, I can't but admire Sable's nice discerning on the superfluous cares of mankind, that could lead them to the thought of raising an estate by providing horses, equipage, and furniture, for those that no longer need 'em.
Cab. But is it not strangely contradictory, that men can come to so open, so apparent an hypocrisy, as in the face of all the world, to hire professed mourners to grieve, lament, and follow in their stead their nearest relations, and suborn others to do by art what they themselves should be prompted to by nature?
Sab. That's reasonably enough said, but they regard themselves only in all they act for the deceased, and the poor dead are delivered to my custody, to be embalmed, slashed, cut, and dragged about, not to do them honour, but to satisfy the vanity or interest of their survivors.
Cam. This fellow's every way an undertaker! How well and luckily he talks! His prating so aptly has methinks something more ridiculous in it than if he were absurd. [Aside to Cabinet.
Cab. But, as Mr. Campley says, how could you dream of making a fortune from so chimerical a foundation as the provision of things wholly needless and insignificant?
Sab. Alas, gentlemen, the value of all things under the sun is merely fantastic. We run, we strive, and purchase things with our blood and money, quite foreign to our intrinsic real happiness, and which have a being in imagination only, as you may see by the pudder[17] that is made about precedence, titles, court favour, maidenheads, and china-ware.
Cam. Ay, Mr. Sable, but all those are objects that promote our joy, are bright to the eye, or stamp upon our minds pleasure and self-satisfaction.
Sab. You are extremely mistaken, sir; for one would wonder to consider that after all our outcries against self-interested men, there are few, very few, in the whole world that live to themselves, but sacrifice their bosom-bliss to enjoy a vain show, and appearance of prosperity in the eyes of others; and there is often nothing more inwardly distressed than a young bride in her glittering retinue, or deeply joyful than a young widow in her weeds and black train; of both which, the lady of this house may be an instance, for she has been the one, and is, I'll be sworn, the other.
Cab. You talk, Mr. Sable, most learnedly!
Sab. I have the deepest learning, sir, experience. Remember your widow cousin that married last month.
Cab. Ay! But how could you imagine she was in all that grief an hypocrite? Could all those shrieks, those swoonings, that rising, falling bosom be constrained? You're uncharitable, Sable, to believe it——What colour, what reason had you for it?
Sab. First, sir, her carriage in her concerns with me, for I never yet could meet with a sorrowful relict, but was herself enough to make an hard bargain with me.[18]—Yet I must confess they have frequent interruptions of grief and sorrow when they read my bill—but as for her, nothing, she resolved, that looked bright or joyous should after her love's death approach her. All her servants that were not coal black must turn out; a fair complexion made her eyes and heart ache, she'd none but downright jet, and to exceed all example she hired my mourning furniture by the year, and in case of my mortality tied my son to the same article; so in six weeks' time ran away with a young fellow——Prithee push on briskly, Mr. Cabinet, now is your time to have this widow, for Tattleaid tells me she always said she'd never marry——
Cab. As you say, that's generally the most hopeful sign.
Sab. I tell you, sir, 'tis an infallible one; you know those professions are only to introduce discourse of matrimony and young fellows.
Cab. But I swear I could not have confidence even after all our long acquaintance, and the mutual love which his lordship (who indeed has now been so kind as to leave us) has so long interrupted, to mention a thing of such a nature so unseasonably——
Sab. Unseasonably! Why, I tell you 'tis the only season (granting her sorrow unfeigned): When would you speak of passion, but in the midst of passions? There's a what d'ye call, a crisis[19]—the lucky minute that's so talked of, is a moment between joy and grief, which you must take hold of and push your fortune——But get you in, and you'll best read your fate in the reception Mrs. Tattleaid gives you. All she says, and all she does, nay, her very love and hatred are mere repetition of her ladyship's passions. I'll say that for her, she's a true lady's woman, and is herself as much a second-hand thing as her clothes. But I must beg your pardon, gentlemen, my people are come I see——[Exeunt Cab. and Camp.
Enter Sable's Men.
Where in the name of goodness have you all been? Have you brought the sawdust and tar for embalming? Have you the hangings and the sixpenny nails, and my lord's coat-of-arms?
Enter Servant.
Ser. Yes, sir, and had come sooner, but I went to the Herald's for a coat for Alderman Gathergrease that died last night——He has promised to invent one against to-morrow.
Sab. Ah! Pox take some of our cits, the first thing after their death is to take care of their birth——Pox, let him bear a pair of stockings, he's the first of his family that ever wore one. Well, come you that are to be mourners in this house, put on your sad looks, and walk by me that I may sort you. Ha, you! a little more upon the dismal [forming their countenances]; this fellow has a good mortal look—place him near the corpse. That wainscot face must be o' top of the stairs; that fellow's almost in a fright (that looks as if he were full of some strange misery) at the entrance of the hall—so—but I'll fix you all myself——Let's have no laughing now on any provocation [makes faces]. Look yonder, that hale, well-looking puppy! You ungrateful scoundrel, did not I pity you, take you out of a great man's service, and show you the pleasure of receiving wages? Did not I give you ten, then fifteen, now twenty shillings a week, to be sorrowful? and the more I give you, I think, the gladder you are.
Enter a Boy.
Boy. Sir, the gravedigger of St. Timothy's-in-the-Fields would speak with you.
Sab. Let him come in.
Enter Gravedigger.
Grav. I carried home to your house the shroud the gentleman was buried in last night. I could not get his ring off very easily, therefore I brought the finger and all; and sir, the sexton gives his service to you, and desires to know whether you'd have any bodies removed or not. If not, he'll let 'em lie in their graves a week longer.
Sab. Give him my service, I can't tell readily; but our friend, tell him, Dr. Passeport, with the powder, has promised me six or seven funerals this week. I'll send to our country-farm at Kensington Gravel Pits, and our City-house in Warwick Lane for news; you shall know time enough. Harkee, be sure there's care taken to give my Lady Languishe's woman a fee to keep out that young fellow came last from Oxford; he'll ruin us all.
Enter Goody Trash.
I wonder, Goody Trash, you could not be more punctual, when I told you I wanted you, and your two daughters, to be three virgins to-night to stand in white about my Lady Katherine Grissel's body; and you know you were privately to bring her home from the man-midwife's, where she died in childbirth, to be buried like a maid; but there is nothing minded. Well, I have put off that till to-morrow; go and get your bag of brick-dust and your whiting. Go and sell to the cook-maids; know who has surfeited about town. Bring me no bad news, none of your recoveries again. And you, Mr. Blockhead, I warrant you have not called at Mr. Pestle's, the apothecary: Will that fellow never pay me? I stand bound for all the poison in that starving murderer's shop. He serves me just as Dr. Quibus did, who promised to write a treatise against water-gruel, a damned healthy slop, that has done me more injury than all the faculty. Look you now, you are all upon the sneer; let me have none but downright stupid countenances——I've a good mind to turn you all off, and take people out of the play-house; but, hang 'em, they are as ignorant of their parts as you are of yours, they never act but when they speak; when the chief indication of the mind is in the gesture, or indeed in case of sorrow in no gesture, except you were to act a widow, or so——But yours, you dolts, is all in dumb show; dumb show? I mean expressive eloquent show: As who can see such an horrid ugly phiz as that fellow's and not be shocked, offended, and killed of all joy while he beholds it? But we must not loiter——Ye stupid rogues, whom I have picked out of all the rubbish of mankind, and fed for your eminent worthlessness, attend, and know that I speak you this moment stiff and immutable to all sense of noise, mirth, or laughter [Makes mouths at them as they pass by him to bring them to a constant countenance]. So, they are pretty well—pretty well——
Enter Trusty and Lord Brumpton.
Tru. 'Twas fondness, sir, and tender duty to you, who have been so worthy and so just a master to me, made me stay near you; they left me so, and there I found you wake from your lethargic slumber; on which I will assume an authority to beseech you, sir, to make just use of your revived life, in seeing who are your true friends, and knowing her who has so wrought upon your noble nature as to make it act against itself in disinheriting your brave son.
Ld. B. Sure 'tis impossible she should be such a creature as you tell me——My mind reflects upon ten thousand endearments that plead unanswerably for her. Her chaste reluctant love, her easy observance of all my wayward humours, to which she would accommodate herself with so much ease, I could scarce observe it was a virtue in her; she hid her very patience.
Tru. It was all art, sir, or indifference to you, for what I say is downright matter of fact.
Ld. B. Why didst thou ever tell me it? or why not in my lifetime, for I must call it so, nor can I date a minute mine, after her being false; all past that moment is death and darkness: Why didst thou not tell me then, I say?
Tru. Because you were too much in love with her to be informed; nor did I ever know a man that touched on conjugal affairs could ever reconcile the jarring humours but in a common hatred of the intermeddler. But on this most extraordinary occasion, which seems pointed out by Heaven itself to disengage you from your cruelty and banishment of an innocent child, I must, I will conjure you to be concealed, and but contain yourself, in hearing one discourse with that cursed instrument of all her secrets, that Tattleaid, and you'll see what I tell you; you'll call me then your guardian and good genius.
Ld. B. Well, you shall govern me, but would I had died in earnest ere I'd known it; my head swims, as it did when I fell into my fit, at the thoughts of it——How dizzy a place is this world you live in! All human life's a mere vertigo!
Tru. Ay, ay, my lord, fine reflections—fine reflections,—but that does no business. Thus, sir, we'll stand concealed, and hear, I doubt not, a much sincerer dialogue than usual between vicious persons; for a late accident has given a little jealousy, which makes 'em over-act their love and confidence in each other. [They retire.
Enter Widow and Tattleaid meeting, and running to each other.
Wid. O, Tattleaid! His and our hour is come!
Tat. I always said, by his churchyard cough, you'd bury him, but still you were impatient——
Wid. Nay, thou hast ever been my comfort, my confidant, my friend, and my servant; and now I'll reward thy pains; for though I scorn the whole sex of fellows, I'll give 'em hopes for thy sake; every smile, every frown, every gesture, humour, caprice and whimsey of mine shall be gold to thee, girl; thou shalt feel all the sweet and wealth of being a fine rich widow's woman. Oh! how my head runs my first year out, and jumps to all the joys of widowhood! If thirteen months hence a friend should haul one to a play one has a mind to see, what pleasure 'twill be when my Lady Brumpton's footman's called (who kept a place for that very purpose) to make a sudden insurrection of fine wigs in the pit and side-boxes. Then, with a pretty sorrow in one's face and a willing blush for being stared at, one ventures to look round and bow to one of one's own quality. Thus [very directly] to a smug pretending fellow of no fortune: Thus [as scarce seeing him] to one that writes lampoons: Thus [fearfully] to one one really loves: Thus [looking down] to one's woman-acquaintance; from box to box thus [with looks differently familiar]: And when one has done one's part, observe the actors do their's, but with my mind fixed not on those I look at, but those that look at me——Then the serenades! The lovers!
Tat. O, madam, you make my heart bound within me. I'll warrant you, madam, I'll manage 'em all; and indeed, madam, the men are really very silly creatures, 'tis no such hard matter——They rulers! They governors! I warrant you indeed!
Wid. Ay, Tattleaid, they imagine themselves mighty things, but government founded on force only is a brutal power. We rule them by their affections, which blinds them into belief that they rule us, or at least are in the government with us——But in this nation our power is absolute. Thus, thus, we sway—[playing her fan]. A fan is both the standard and the flag of England. I laugh to see the men go on our errands; strut in great offices; live in cares, hazards, and scandals; to come home and be fools to us in brags of their dispatches, negotiations, and their wisdom—as my good, dear deceased used to entertain me; which I, to relieve myself from, would lisp some silly request, pat him on the face——He shakes his head at my pretty folly, calls me simpleton, gives me a jewel, then goes to bed so wise, so satisfied, and so deceived!
Tat. But I protest, madam, I've always wondered how you could accomplish my young lord's being disinherited.
Wid. Why, Tatty, you must know my late lord—how prettily that sounds, my late lord! But I say, my late Lord Frible was generosity—I pressed him there, and whenever you, by my order, had told him stories to my son-in-law's disadvantage, in his rage and resentment I (whose interest lay otherwise) always fell on my knees to implore his pardon, and with tears, sighs, and importunities for him, prevailed against him; besides this, you know, I had, when I pleased, fits—fits are a mighty help in the government of a good-natured man; but in an ill-natured fellow have a care of 'em—he'll hate you for natural infirmities, will remember your face in its distortion, and not value your return of beauty.
Tat. O rare madam! your ladyship's a great headpiece; but now, dear madam, is the hard task, if I may take the liberty to say it—to enjoy all freedoms, and seem to abstain, to manage the number of pretenders, and keep the disobliged from prating——
Wid. Never fear, Tattleaid; while you have riches, if you affront one to abuse, you can give hopes to another to defend you. These maxims I have been laying up all my husband's life-time, for we must provide against calamities.
Tat. But now, madam, a fine young gentleman with a red coat, that dances——
Wid. You may be sure the happy man (if it be in fate that there is an happy man to make me an unhappy woman) shall not be an old one again. Age and youth married, is the cruelty in Dryden's Virgil, where Mezentius ties the dead and living together. I'm sure I was tied to a dead man many a long day before I durst bury him——But the day is now my own. Yet now I think on't, Tattleaid, be sure to keep an obstinate shyness to all our old acquaintance. Let 'em talk of favours if they please; if we grant 'em, still they'll grow tyrants to us; if we discard 'em, the chaste and innocent will not believe we could have confidence to do it, were it so; and the wise, if they believe it, will applaud our prudence.
Tat. Ay, madam—I believe, madam—I speak, madam, but my humble sense—Mr. Cabinet would marry you.
Wid. Marry me! No, Tattleaid. He that is so mean as to marry a woman after an affair with her, will be so base as to upbraid that very weakness. He that marries his wench will use her like his wench.—Such a pair must sure live in a secret mutual scorn of each other; and wedlock is hell if at least one side does not love, as it would be Heaven if both did; and I believe it so much Heaven, as to think it was never enjoyed in this world.
Enter a Woman.
Wom. A gentleman to Mrs. Tattleaid——[Exit Tattleaid.
Wid. Go to him.—Bless me, how careless and open have I been to this subtle creature in the case of Cabinet; she's certainly in his interests——We people of condition are never guarded enough against those about us. They watch when our minds boil over with joy or grief, to come in upon us. How miserable it is to have one one hates always about one, and when one can't endure one's own reflection upon some actions, who can bear the thoughts of another upon 'em? But she has me by deep, deep secrets.—The Italians, they say, can readily remove the too much intrusted——Oh! their pretty scented gloves! This wench I know has played me false and horned me in my gallants. O Italy, I could resign all my female English liberty to thee, for thy much dearer female pleasure, revenge!
Enter Tattleaid.
Well, what's the matter, dear Tatty?
Tat. The matter, madam? why, madam, Counsellor Puzzle is come to wait on your ladyship about the will, and the conveyance of the estate. There must, it seems, be no time lost for fear of things. Fie, fie, madam, you a widow these three hours and not looked on a parchment yet——Oh, impious, to neglect the will of the dead!
Wid. As you say, indeed, there is no will of an husband's so willingly obeyed as his last. But I must go in and receive him in my formalities, leaning on a couch, as necessary a posture as his going behind his desk when he speaks to a client——But do you bring him in hither till I am ready. [Exit.
Tat. Mr. Counsellor, Mr. Counsellor——[Calling.
Enter Puzzle and Clerk.
Puz. 'Servant, good madam Tattleaid; my ancient friend is gone, but business must be minded——
Tat. I told my lady twice or thrice, as she lies in dumb grief on the couch within, that you were here, but she regarded me not; however, since you say 'tis of such moment, I'll venture to introduce you. Please but to repose here a little while I step in; for methinks I would a little prepare her.
Puz. Alas! alas! Poor lady! [Exit Tattleaid. Damned hypocrites! Well, this noble's death is a little sudden. Therefore, pray, let me recollect. Open the bag, good Tom. Now, Tom, thou art my nephew, my dear sister Kate's only son and my heir, therefore I will conceal from thee on no occasion anything, for I would enter thee into business as soon as possible. Know then, child, that the lord of this house was one of your men of honour and sense who lose the latter in the former, and are apt to take all men to be like themselves. Now this gentleman entirely trusted me, and I made the only use a man of business can of a trust—I cheated him. For I, imperceptibly, before his face, made his whole estate liable to an hundred per annum for myself, for good services, &c. As for legacies, they are good or not as I please; for, let me tell you, a man must take pen, ink, and paper, sit down by an old fellow, and pretend to take directions; but a true lawyer never makes any man's will but his own; and as the priest of old among us got near the dying man and gave all to the church, so now the lawyer gives all to the law.
Clerk. Ay, sir; but priests then cheated the nation by doing their offices in an unknown language.
Puz. True; but ours is a way much surer, for we cheat in no language at all, but loll in our own coaches, eloquent in gibberish, and learned in juggle——Pull out the parchment; there's the deed, I made it as long as I could. Well, I hope to see the day when the indenture shall be the exact measure of the land that passes by it; for 'tis a discouragement to the gown that every ignorant rogue of an heir should, in a word or two, understand his father's meaning, and hold ten acres of land by half-an-acre of parchment. Nay, I hope to see the time when that there is, indeed, some progress made in, shall be wholly effected, and by the improvement of the noble art of tautology every inn in Holborn an inn of court. Let others think of logic, rhetoric and I know not what impertinence, but mind thou tautology. What's the first excellence in a lawyer? Tautology. What the second? Tautology. What the third? Tautology—as an old pleader said of action. But turn to the deed [pulls out an immeasurable parchment], for the will is of no force if I please, for he was not capable of making one after the former—as I managed it; upon which account I now wait upon my lady. By the way, do you know the true meaning of the word, a deed?
Clerk. Ay, sir; a deed is as if a man should say the deed.
Puz. Right. 'Tis emphatically so-called because after it all deeds and actions are of no effect, and you have nothing to do but hang yourself, the only obliging thing you can then do——But I was telling you the use of tautology. Read toward the middle of that instrument.
Clerk [reads]. "I, the said Earl of Brumpton, do give, bestow, grant, and bequeath, over and above the said premises, all the site and capital messuage called by the name of Oatham, and all out-houses, barns, stables, and other edifices and buildings, yards, orchards, gardens, fields, arbours, trees, lands, earths, meadows, greens, pastures, feedings, woods, underwoods, ways, waters, watercourses, fishings, ponds, pools, commons, common of pasture, paths, heath-thickets, profits, commodities and emoluments, with their and every of their appurtenances [Puzzle nods and sneers as the synonimous words are repeating, whom Lord B. scornfully mimics] whatsoever, to the said capital messuage and site belonging, or in any wise appertaining, or with the same heretofore used, occupied or enjoyed, accepted, executed, known, or taken as part, parcel, or member of the same; containing in the whole, by estimation, four hundred acres of the large measure, or thereabouts, be the same more or less; all and singular, which the said site, capital messuage, and other the premises, with their and every of their appurtenances are situate, lying, and being——"
Puz. Hold, hold, good Tom; you do come on indeed in business, but don't use your nose enough in reading. [Reads in a ridiculous law-tone until out of breath.] Why, you're quite out—You read to be understood. Let me see it.—"I, the said Earl."—Now again, suppose this were to be in Latin. [Runs into Latin terminations.] Making Latin is only making it no English—"Ego predict—Comes de Brumpton—totas meas barnos—outhousas et stabulas—yardos"—But there needs no further perusal—I now recollect the whole. My lord, by this instrument, disinherits his son utterly, gives all to my lady, and moreover, grants the wards of two fortune-wards to her—id est, to be sold by her, which is the subject of my business to her ladyship, who, methinks, a little overdoes the affair of grief, in letting me wait thus long on such welcome articles. But here——
Enter Tattleaid, wiping her eyes.
Tat. I have in vain done all I can to make her regard me. Pray, Mr. Puzzle—you're a man of sense—come in yourself, and speak reason, to bring her to some consideration of herself, if possible.
Puz. Tom, I'll come down to the hall to you; dear madam, lead on.
[Ex. Clerk one way, Puzzle and Tattleaid another. Lord Brumpton and Trusty advance from their concealment, after a long pause, and staring at each other.
Ld. B. Trusty, on thy sincerity, on thy fidelity to me, thy friend, thy patron, and thy master, answer me directly to one question: am I really alive? Am I that identical, that numerical, that very same Lord Brumpton, that——
Tru. That very lord—that very Lord Brumpton, the very generous, honest, and good Lord Brumpton, who spent his strong and riper years with honour and reputation; but in his age of decay declined from virtue also. That very Lord Brumpton, who buried a fine lady who brought him a fine son, who is a fine gentleman; but in his age, that very man, unreasonably captivated with youth and beauty, married a very fine young lady, who has dishonoured his bed, disinherited his brave son, and dances o'er his grave.
Ld. B. Oh! that damned tautologist, too—that Puzzle and his irrevocable deed! [Pausing.] Well, I know I do not really live, but wander o'er the place where once I had a treasure. I'll haunt her, Trusty, gaze in that false beauteous face, till she trembles—till she looks pale—nay, till she blushes——
Tru. Ay, ay, my lord, you speak a ghost very much; there's flesh and blood in that expression, that false beauteous face!
Ld. B. Then since you see my weakness, be a friend, and arm me with all your care and all your reason——
Tru. If you'll condescend to let me direct you—you shall cut off this rotten limb, your false disloyal wife, and save your noble parts, your son, your family, your honour.
Short is the date in which ill acts prevail,
But honesty's a rock can never fail.