TO THE PUBLIC.
In the prefatory observations I thought advisable to make when placing "Love in the City" before the world, I stated that my chief aim was the restoration of the drama to its pristine purity by avoiding those unnatural and superhuman agencies which modern writers have so extensively indulged in. Opposing myself thus, to innovation, I have ventured on one of the boldest changes in dramatic arrangement, by postponing the performance of the overture until the commencement of the second act. Having thus admitted my offending, I trust that, when the reasons which induced it are explained and understood, I shall have justified this daring step, and obtained a verdict of public acquittal.
Is there a frequenter of our theatres on a first night whose musical sensibilities have not been lacerated by the noise and tumult incidental to a crowded house? Let him achieve by desperate exertion a favourable place in the undress circle,—suppose the theatre crammed to the pigeon-holes, the orchestra already tuned, and every eye bent upon the leader, awaiting his premonitory tap;—then, when the nervous system should be quiescent, the ear open to receive delicious sounds, the heart ready to expand itself into harmonious ecstacy,—at that very moment of rapturous expectation has not his tranquillity been annihilated by
"Some giggling daughter of the queen of love"
pinching him in the ribs to acquaint him that he is "sitting on her boa!" While, from that "refugium peccatorum," the shilling gallery, infernal cries of "Down in the front!" "Music!" "Curse your pedigree!" "Hats off!" "How's your mother?" drown even the double-drums, and render the overture inaudible from the opening crash to the close.
To remedy this nuisance,—to allow the excited feelings of an overcrowded house to subside sufficiently to enable the audience, by presenting them with the first act, to judge how far the music of the overture is adapted to the business of the stage,—these considerations have induced me thus to postpone its performance, and with what success the public will best decide.
Another, and a more agreeable duty, now devolves upon me,—to express my ardent thanks to all and every to whom this drama is in any way indebted for its brilliant and unparalleled success. To Messrs. Flight and Robson; the commanding officers of the Foot and Fusileer Guards; the King of the Two Sicilies; the Hereditary Prince of Coolavin; and his serene highness the Duke of Darmstadt, I am eternally grateful. To the performers, male and female, the composers, the orchestra at large, scene-painters and scene-shifters, prompters and property-men, box-keepers and check-takers, sentries and police, I present my heartfelt acknowledgements. And to the most crowded and fashionable audience that ever graced a metropolitan theatre, I shall only say, that the rapturous and reiterated plaudits bestowed upon this drama shall never fade from the recollection of their most devoted, very humble, too fortunate, and ever grateful servant,
The Author.
July 1, 1837.
LOVE IN THE CITY;
OR, ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
A MELODRAMATIC EXTRAVAGANZA.
Act II.
Grand Overture,—composed jointly by Spohr, Haynes Bayly, Newkom, and Rossini, and performed by the largest orchestra ever collected in a European theatre, assisted by the Duke of Darmstadt's brass band, and the entire drums of the Foot and Fusileer Guards.
In the course of the overture the following novelties will be introduced.
A duet upon the double-drums with one stick only, by Mons. Tambourette, Member of the Legion of Honour, K.T.S., and drum-major to the King of the Two Sicilies.
Planxty Mac Swain, and "What have you got in your jug?" with brilliant variations for the Irish pipes, by Kalkbrenner,—Mr. Patrick Halligan, Minstrel in ordinary to the Prince of Coolavin.
A capriccio on the German flute, by a distinguished amateur, who has lost four fingers and a thumb.
A grand fantasia (Henry Hertz) on one piano by eight performers.
Director, Sir George Smart.
Conductor, on The Apollonicon,—lent to the lessee for that night only,—Mr. Purkis.
Leader, Mr. T. Cooke,
The overture having been twice encored, bell rings, and curtain draws up.
Act II.—Scene I.
A public-house, "Black Horse," in the Borough. A tap-room. Mags and Poppleton discovered drinking "heavy wet." Mags rather fresh, and Poppleton evidently the worse of liquor. Mags, after a long pull, deposits the pot upon the table.
Pop.—Now for your news, Mags.
Mags.I told you, worthy Pop,
That Stubs and Smith put keepers on the shop.
Pop.—And how's our missus?
Mags. Why, hearty, when last seen
With a Life-Guardsman, crossing Turnham-green.
Pop.—And honest Snags?
Mags (with emotion). Ah! would that epithet were true,
Or I could keep the sad details from you!
Snags is not honest!
(Poppleton buttons his coat, and puts himself into a boxing attitude.)
He has robb'd the till,
And lost the money, betting at a mill!
(Noise without. Door opens. Enter Young Clipclose hastily.)
Mr. C.—What, Mags and Pop! the coves I wish'd to see
Above all others. Curse my pedigree!
Air—Mr. Clipclose.—("I've been roaming.")
I've been nabb'd, sirs,—I've been nabb'd, sirs,—
And bundled off direct to jail,
By the villains when they grabb'd, sirs,
And now I'm out upon stag-bail.
(Mr. C. seizes the pewter in his right hand.)
Mr. C.—Is this good stout?
Mags (feelingly). My honest master, quaff!
You'll find it strengthening, real half-and-half.
Air—Poppleton.—("Here we go up, up, up.")
Come, Bob, take a sup, sup, sup!
Let the liquor your stiff neck slide down, boy;
There's nothing like keeping steam up,
When a man's at the worst, and done brown, boy.
(Clipclose starts, looks anxiously at Mags.)
Mr. C.—How's all at home,—I mean on Ludgate-hill,—
And have you heard the winner of the mill?
Mags (with considerable hesitation).—We all, alas! for Fortune's frowns seem fix'd on.
Poor Jerry Scout is bundled off to Brixton;
The shop's done up; and, for your lady wife,
I fear she's joined the Guards, yclept "The Life;"
On other things, barring the fight, I'm barren,
And Owen Swift was beat by Barney Aaron.
(Clipclose staggers across the room, and catches at the chimney-piece.)
Mr. C.—My wife levanted, and the shop done up!
Mags, hand the quart; I need another sup.
Othello like, Bob's occupation's done;
For I back'd Owen freely two to one.
Like Antony at Actium, this fell day
Strips me of all, shop, cash, and lady gay.
Would I had nerve to take myself away!
Pop. (aside.)—I'll watch him close. Although his looks are placid,
He'll take a dose, I fear, of prussic acid.
(Enter Pot-boy.)
Pot-boy.—Is there a gent call'd Mr. Clipclose here?
Mr. C.—I am that wretched man!(Slaps his forehead.)
Pot-boy. Who pays the beer?
Pop.—I.
Pot-boy.—Here's a note. (To Mr. C.) Lord, but the man looks queer!
(Mr. Clipclose reads it; jumps up, and whistles "Bobbing Joan.")
Quartetto.
Mags.
Master, are you mad?
Mr. C.
No; but I'm distracted.
Pot-boy.
Times are wery bad,
Pop.
And I in grief abstracted.
Mags.
Odds! he'll take his life!
Mr. C. (kissing the billet.)
Sweet note! thou'rt balm and manna!
Mags to Pop. (who is reading it over Mr. C.'s shoulder.)
Is it from his wife?
Pop. (slaps his thigh.)
No! from Miss Juliana!"
Clipclose, when he reads it, rushes out; Mags after him. Poppleton attempts to follow, but is detained by pot-boy. He forks out tanner, and disappears. Solo—Apollonicon. Hurried music descriptive of three cabs: Clipclose in 793, at a rapid pace; Mags, 1659; Poppleton 1847, pursuing. Scene closes.
Scene II.
Thompson and Fearon's, Holborn; gin-palace at full work; company less select than numerous, and ladies and gentlemen taking "some'ut short" at the counter. Enter, in full uniform. Captain Connor; O'Toole and Blowhard in shell jackets. They call for a flash of lightning, touch glasses affectionately, and bolt the ruin. The captain stumps down for all.
Glee—Connor, O'Toole, and Blowhard.
Capt.
Gin cures love, my boys, and gin cures the colic;
O'T.
Gin fits a man for fight, or fits him for a frolic;
Blow.
Come, we'll have another go, then hey for any rollic!
Trio.
Come, we'll have another go, and hey then for a rollic!
Blow.—Lass! (to an attendant, whom he chucks under the chin,) some more jacky! Connor, do you still
Bend at the shrine of her on Ludgate-hill?
OT. (contemptuously).—Zounds! a cit's helpmate. That would never do.
One of us Guards, and one of taste like you.
Capt.—Faith, honest Blowhard, and you, my pal, O'Toole,
Tho' fond of flirting, yet your friend's no fool!
Think ye that I could live upon my pay,
And keep four wives on three and six a day?
No. Let me have a monied mistress still,
My El Dorado be a tradesman's till.
Love fed by flimsies, is the love that thrives,
And let the mercers keep the Guardsman's wives.
O'T.—I see how matters stand, my trump; enough.
Blow. (to O'T.)—He's wide awake, Tim. (To the Capt.) Con. you're up to snuff!
Capt.—Come, one more round of jacky, and we part,—
I, to the peerless lady of my heart
In Stamford-street;—to Knightsbridge barrack you;
And mind don't split that I was out at Kew.
(They take each another johnny, shake hands, and separate. The scene closes.)
Scene III.
A drawing-room; doors in the flat; one opening into Miss Juliana Smashaway's boudoir, and the other to her bed-chamber. She is discovered standing at the window in a pensive attitude. She sighs heavily, and rubs her temples with "eau de Cologne."
Miss S.—He comes not—half-past four! Ah, fickle Connor!
Is this thy plighted faith, and thrice-pledged honour?
Was it for this, I waived a grocer's hand,
And twice refused a counter in the Strand,
Sent back an offer from a Tenth Hussar,
And without warning left Soho bazaar,
Rejected Griskin, that rich man of mutton;
Shy'd Lincoln Stanhope, and cut Manners Sutton?
(Sudden noise. Voices without.)
1st voice.—Fare's sixteen-pence, and with one bob I'm shamm'd! Fork out the four-pence!
2nd voice. First I'd see you d—d!
(Door opens. Clipclose rushes in, and embraces Miss Smashaway.)
Miss S. (with considerable spirit.)—Unhand me, fellow! Whence this bold intrusion?
I think I'll faint, I feel in such confusion.
Duet—Clipclose and Miss S.—("Pray Goody.")
Mr. C.
Oh, come, Juliana, lay aside your anger and surprise;
One trifling kiss you'll scarcely miss, you know.
I saw a ready pardon seal'd already in your eyes,
Else, 'pon my soul! I scarce had ventur'd so.
Miss S.
True, sir; but you, sir,
Should recollect what's due, sir,
To one so young and innocent
Mr. C.
As pretty Missus Ju—.
Oh, come, Miss S. do lay aside your anger and surprise;
A trifling kiss you'll scarcely miss, you know.
I saw a ready pardon seal'd already in your eyes,
Else, 'pon my soul! I had not ventur'd so.
(Cab stops suddenly at the door. Miss S. looks out alarmed. Loud knocking. Alarum.)
Miss S.—Lost—lost for ever!
Mr. C. Pray, madam, what's the matter?
Miss S.—Heard ye no broadsword on the pavement clatter?
Mr. C.—A broadsword! Zounds! My teeth begin to chatter!
Miss S.—Where shall I hide him?—(Opens the chamber door.)—In, sir, or you 're dead.
Mr. C.—Can nothing save me?
Miss S. Creep beneath the bed.
(Door opens. Mags peeps in.)
Mags.—She's quite alone. Oh, happy Matthew Mags!
(Maid-servant enters.)
Maid.—A chap's below who says he's Samuel Snags.
Mags.—I'm a done man; for that 'ere cove will blow me.
Miss S.—Follow me in, and I will safely stow ye.
(Enter Snags.)
Snags.—Divine Miss Smashaway, I humbly kneel
To plead a passion you can never feel;
A smile will save, a frown as surely kill,
One who for you has robb'd his master's till.
Miss S.—Well, after that the man deserves some pity.—
Knocking again! and here comes my maid Kitty.
(Enter Maid.)
Maid.—One Mr. Poppleton.
Miss S. Was ever one so courted?
Snags.—All's up with me; for life I'll be transported!
Ma'am, could you save a lover?
Miss S. Let me see.
Oh, yes; the bed will surely cover three.
(Puts Snags into bed-chamber. Enter Poppleton.)
Pop.—Where is my charmer?
(Enter Maid, hastily.)
Maid (to Pop.) Sir, you're dead as mutton;
The Captain's come. Your life's not worth a button.
Pop.—Where shall I hide?
Miss S. (to the Maid.) Put him with t'other three;
They're the same firm, "Clipclose and company."
(A heavy footstep is heard, and a sword strikes against the stairs. Enter the Captain, whistling "Darby Kelly.")
Miss S. (flies into his arms.)—My own loved Guardsman, and my fancy beau.
Oh, Terence Connor! (Kissing him.)
Capt. (embracing her.)—Sweet Juliana, O!
Miss S.—Why did you dally, dearest; tell me all?
Were you on guard?
Capt. Yes, sweetest, at Whitehall.
Miss S.—Ah, you false man,—(taps his cheek playfully,)—I'll watch you close.
(Somebody sneezes within.)
Capt. What's that?
Miss S.—Nothing, dear Terence, but the landlord's cat.
(Somebody coughs twice.)
Capt.—A cough!—another! Do cats cough so, my fair?
Ha! her cheeks redden! Tell me who is there?
That guilty look! Zounds! If my fears be true,
He'll curse the hour he dared to visit you!
(Draws his sword, and rushes into the bed-chamber. Miss S. faints. Voices within.)
Capt.—A man!—my eyes! another!—and another!
A fourth one still!
Snags. I'm dead with fright!
Pop. I smother!
(Capt. drives them before him into the drawing-room.)
Capt. (in a frenzy.)—Why, hell and Tommy! the maid whom I adore
To prove untrue, and play me false with four!
But all shall die!
(Captain Connor cuts No. 6. with his sword, while Clipclose and company fall upon their knees.)
Mags. Oh, Lord! I'm dead already!
Capt.—Prepare for death!
Snags and Pop. Indeed, sir, we an't ready.
Mr. C.—Probably, sir, affection for my wife
Might plead my pardon, and reprieve my life.
(Enter, hastily, Mrs. Clipclose and Annette.)
Mrs. C.—Why, what's all this? What do my eyes discover?
An errant husband, and a truant lover!
(Aside to Mr. C.)—Was it for this I gave my faith to you?
(Aside to Capt. C.)—Was it for this I drove you out to Kew,
Paid cab and lunch, brown stout, and ruin blue?
(Capt. C. drops the point of his sword, and evinces great contrition for attempting the lives of the company, when enter an elderly pieman with a juvenile dealer in "all-hots," attended by two policemen. Pieman identifies Miss Smashaway.)
Pieman.—That 'ere flash madam hit me in the withers.
All-hot (pointing to Mr. Clipclose).—And that cove knock'd my kitchen-range to shivers!
Mr. C. (to Policeman.)—Let me explain, sir.
Miss S. Pray, sir, let me speak.
Policeman.—Silence! and keep your gammon for the beak.
(A rumbling noise heard underneath, attended by a disagreeable vapour.)
Policeman.—Zounds! what is this? it smothers me almost.
Is it the gas-pipe?
Capt. C. No, dash my wig! a ghost!
(Slow music. Apparition of Old Clipclose rises through the stage, dressed in a white shirt, and scarlet nightcap.)
Roundelay—Ghost and Company.
("Good morrow to you, Madam Joan.")
Ghost.
All in the family way,
Whack-fal-li, fal-la-di-day!
Are you met here to take tea?
Whack-fal-li, &c.
Or is it love-making you're come?
Tol-de-re-lol, &c.
Or to keep clear away from a bum?
Whack-fal-li, &c.
Miss S.
Oh, no, sir! we're going to jail,
Whack-fal-li, &c.
Unless, Mister Ghost, you'll go bail,
Whack-fal-li, &c.
Policeman.
A spectre, Miss S. will not do,
Whack-fal-li, &c.
(To the Ghost.)
Where the blazes! should we look for you?
Whack-fal-li, &c.
(Enter Capt. C's four wives.)
1st Wife.
Ah, Terry, you traitor, you're there!
Whack-fal-li, &c.
2nd Wife.
As usual, deceiving the fair!
Whack-fal-li, &c.
3rd Wife.
You'll pay dear enough for your pranks!
Whack-fal-li, &c.
4th Wife.
You're broke, and reduced to the ranks!
Whack-fal-li, &c.
(Capt. C. seems thunderstruck, grinds his teeth passionately, then strikes his forehead, and sings.)
Air—Capt. C.—("The night before Larey was stretch'd.")
Capt. C.
By St. Patrick, I'm done for, at last!
From a captain come down to a private.
Terry Connor, your glory is past;
A very nice pass to arrive at!
(To the Ghost.)
I say, you old rum-looking swell,
I would deem it a favour, and civil,
In spite of your sulphur'ous smell,
To take me down stairs to the devil,
And get me a troop in his guards.
Ghost (to the Capt.)—Shut your potato-trap! we still refuse—
The corps's so moral—Life-Guardsmen and Blues.
4th Wife.—Cheer up, my Connor; 'twas in jest I spoke,
When I affirm'd my best beloved was broke.
Ghost (addressing the company).—Ladies and Gemmen, give the ghost a hearance,
As this, his first, must be his last appearance.
(To Mr. and Mrs. Clipclose)—Bent upon wedlock, and an heir, to vex ye,
If toasted cheese had not brought apoplexy,
I died asleep, and left my hard-won riches;
Search the left pocket of my dark drab breeches;
Open the safe, and there you'll find my will;
Deal for cash only and stick to Ludgate-hill;
Watch the apprentices, and lock the till;
And quit the turf, the finish, and the mill;
Turn a new leaf, and leave off former sins;
Pay the pieman, and mend young "All-hot's" tins.
Mr. C. (doubtfully.)—Did you die rich, dad?
Ghost. Rich as any Jew;
And half a plum, son Bob, devolves on you.
Mrs. C.—What a dear ghost, to die when he was wanted!
Will you forgive me?
Ghost. Ma'am, your pardon's granted.
My time's but short; but still, before I go,
With Miss Juliana I would sport a toe.
Miss S.—With all my heart. What would your ghostship order?
Ghost.—Tell them to play, "Blue bonnets o'er the border."
Apollonicon strikes up the country-dance. Ghost leads off with Miss Smashaway; the Captain follows with Mrs. Clipclose; Clipclose, Mags, Snags, and Poppleton each choose one of the Captain's Wives; the Police dance with the Ladies' Maids; and the Pieman with "All-hot." Twice down the middle, poussette, and form hands round. At the end of the dance, the Ghost vanishes, and the remainder of the dramatis personæ take hands, and advance to the stage-lights.
Grand Finale—("There's nae luck about the house.")
Dad's away, and we may play,
Nor dread Old Grumpy's frown;
Well may we say, "thrice happy day
When Square-toes toddled down!"
There's now luck about the house,
There's now luck to a';
There's now luck about the house
Since grumpy dad's awa!
(Curtain falls amid tremendous applause, and a call for the author.)