« السابقةمتابعة »
tenants of marines, and a man of war's boats- Wor. For whom? swain.
Plume. For a regiment—but for a woman! Plume. A full company—you have named five 'Sdeath! I have been constant to fifteen at a -come, make them half-a-dozen-Kite, is the time, but never melancholy for one: and can the child a boy or girl?
love of one bring you into this condition? Pray, Kite. A chopping boy.
who is this wonderful Helen? Plume. Then set the mother down in your list, Wor. A Helen, indeed! not to be won under and the boy in mine; enter him a grenadier by ten years siege; as great a beauty, and as great the name of Francis Kite, absent upon furlow | a jilt. I'll allow you a man's pay for his subsistence; Plume. A jilt! pho! is she as great a whore? and, now, go comfort the wench in the straw. Wor. No, no. Kite. I shall, sir.
Plume. 'Tis ten thousand pities ! But who is Plume. But, hold—have you made any use of she? do I know her? your German doctor's habit since you arrived ? War. Very well.
Kite. Yes, yes, sir; and my fame's all about Plume. That's impossible I know no woman the country for the most faithful fortune-teller, that will hold out a ten years siege. that ever told a lie-I was obliged to let my War. 'What think you of Melinda? landlord into the secret, for the convenience of Plume. Melinda! why she began to capitulate keeping it so; but he is an honest fellow, and this time twelyeinouth, and offered to surrender will be faithful to any roguery that is trusted to upon honourable terms: and I advised you to him. This device, sir, will get you men and me propose a settlement of five hundred pounds amoney, which I think is all we want at present, year to her, before I went last abroad. But yonder comes your friend, Mr Worthy- Wor. I did, and she hearkened to it, desiring Has your honour any further commands ? only one week to consider—when, beyond her
Plume. None at present. [Erit Kite.] 'Tis, hopes, the town was relieved, and I forced to indeed, the picture of Worthy, but the life's de- turn my siege into a blockade. parted.
Plume. Explain, explain.
Wor. My lady Richly, her aunt in Flintshire,
dies, and leaves her, at this critical time, twenty What, arms across, Worthy! methinks you should thousand pounds. hold them open when a friend's so near
Plume. Oh, the devil! what a delicate woman has got the vapours in his ears, I believe. I man was there spoiled! But, by the rules of must expel this melancholy spirit.
war, now -Worthy, blockade was foolish-After Spleen, the worst of fiends below,
such a convoy of provisions was entered the Fly, I conjure thee, by this magic blow ! place, you could have no thought of reducing it
(Slaps Worthy on the shoulder. by famine; you should have redoubled your atWor. Plume ! my dear captain! welcome.- tacks, taken the town by storm, or have died upSafe and sound returned !
on the breach, Plume. I escaped safe from Germany, and Wor. I did make one general assault, but was sound, I hope, from London : you see I have lost so vigorously repulsed, that, despairing of ever neither leg, arm, nor nose. Then for my inside, gaining her for a mistress, I have altered my 'tis neither troubled with sympathies nor antipa- conduct, given my addresses the obsequious and thies; and I have an excellent stomach for roast-distant turn, and court her now for a wife. beef.
Plume. So; as you grew obsequious, she grew Wor. Thou art a happy fellow: once I was haughty, and, because you approached her like a
goddess, she used you like a dog. Plume. What ails thee, man? no inundations Wor. Exactly. nor earthquakes in Wales, I hope? Has your Plume. Tis the way of them all–Come, Wor father rose from the dead, and reassumed his thy; your obsequious and distant airs will never estate?
bring you together; you must not think to surWor. No.
mount her pride by your humility. Would you Plume. Then you are married, surely? bring her to better thoughts of you, she must be Wor. No.
reduced to a meaner opinion of herself. Let me Plume. Then you are mad, or turning quaker? | see-Suppose we lampooned all the pretty wo
Wor. Come, I must out with it-Your once men in town, and left her out? or, what if we gay roving friend is dwindled into an obsequious, made a ball, and forgot to invite her, with one thoughtful, romantic, constant coxcomb.
or two of the ugliest ? Plume. And, pray, what is all this for?
Wor. These would be mortifications, I must Wor. For a woman.
confess; but we live in such a precise, dull Plume. Shake hands, brother. If thou go to place, that we can have no balls, no lampoons, that, behold me as obsequious, as thoughtful, and noas constant a coxcomb as your worship.
Plume. What! no bastards! and so many re
cruiting officers in town! I thought 'twas a max- Kite. Your worship very well may—for I have im among them to leave as many recruits in the got both a wife and a child in half an hour-But, country as they carried out.
as I was saying--you sent me to comfort Mrs Wor. Nobody doubts your good-will, noble Molly—my wife, I mean—but what d'ye think, captain, in serving your country with your best sir? she was better comforted before I came. blood; witness our friend Molly at The Castle; Plume. As how? there have been tears in town about that busi- Kite. Why, sir, a footman, in a blue livery, ness, captain.
had brought her ten guineas to buy her babyPlume. I hope Sylvia has not heard of it. clothes.
Wor. Oh, sir, you have thought of her? I be- Plume. Who, in the name of wonder, could gan to fancy you had forgot poor Sylvia.
send them? Plume. Your affairs had quite put mine out of Kite. Nay, sir, I must whisper that,Mrs Sylmy head. 'Tis true, Sylvia and I had once a- via. greed to go to bed together, could we have adjust- Plume. Sylvia! generous creature ! ed preliminaries; but she would have the wedding Wor. Sylvia ! impossible ! before consummation, and I was for consumma- Kite. Here are the guineas, sir-I took the tion before the wedding : we could not agree. gold as part of my wife's portion. Nay, farther,
Wor. But do you intend to marry upon no sir, she sent word the child should be taken all other conditions ?
imaginable care of, and that she intended to stand Plume. Your pardon, sir, I'll marry upon no godmother. The same footman, as I was coming condition at all. If I should, I am resolved never to you with this news, called after me, and told to bind myself down to a woman for my whole me, that his lady would speak with me—I went, life, till I know whether I shall like her compa- and, upon hearing that you were come to town, ny for half an hour. Suppose I married a wo- she gave me halt-a-guinea for the news, and orman that wanted a leg-such a thing might be, dered me to tell you, that Justice Balance, her unless I examined the goods before-hand- father, who is just come out of the country, would If people would but try one another's constitu- be glad to see you. tions before they engaged, it would prevent all Plume. There's a girl for you, Worthy Is these elopements, divorces, and the devil knows there anything of woman in this? no, 'tis noble, what.
generous, manly friendship. Shew me another Wor. Nay, for that matter, the town did not woman, that would lose an inch of her prerogastick to say that
tive that way, without tears, fits, and reproaches. Plume. I hate country towns for that reason- The common jealousy of her sex, which is noIf your town has a dishonourable thought of Syl- thing but their avarice of pleasure, she despises, via, it deserves to be burnt to the ground—I love and can part with the lover, though she dies for Sylvia, I admire her frank generous disposition— the man-Come, Worthy-where's the best wine? there's something in that girl more than woman
for there I'll quarter. her sex is but a foil to her—the ingratitude, dis- Wor. Horton has a fresh pipe of choice Barsimulation, envy, pride, avarice, and vanity, of celona, which I would not let him pierce before, her sister females, do but set off their contraries because I reserved it for your welcome to town. in her. In short, were I once a general, I would Plume. Let's away, then-Mr Kite, go to the
lady with my humble service, and tell her, I shall Wor. Faith, you have reason-for, were you only refresh a little, and wait upon her. but a corporal, she would marry you—But my Wor. Hold, Kite !-have you seen the other Melinda coquettes it with every fellow she sees recruiting captain? I'll lay fifty pounds she makes love to you.
Kite. No, sir; I'd have you to know I don't Plume. I'll lay you a hundred, that I return it, keep such company; if she does. Look'e, Worthy, I'll win her, and Plume. Another! who is he? give her to vou afterwards !
Wor. My rival, in the first place, and the most Wor. If you win her, you shall wear her, faith. unaccountable fellow-but I'll tell you more as I would not value the conquest, without the cre
(Exeunt. dit of the victory. Enter Kite.
SCENE II.-An apartment. Kite. Captain, captain ! a word in your ear.
Melinda and SYLVIA meeting. Plume. You may speak out; here are none but friends.
Mel. Welcome to town, cousin Sylvia! (SaKite. You know, sir, that you sent me to com- lute.] I envied you your retreat in the country; fort the good woman in the straw, Mrs Molly- for Shrewsbury, methinks, and all your heads of my wife, Mr Worthy.
shires, are the most irregular places for living. Wor. O ho! very well! I wish you joy, Mr Here, we have smoke, scandal, affectation, and Kitc.
pretension; in short, every thing to give the
'spleen-and nothing to divert it--then the air is amours. But, now I think on't, how stands your intolerable.
affair with Mr Worthy? Syl. Oh, madam! I have heard the town com- Mel. He's my aversion. mended for its air.
Syl. Vapours ! Mel. But you don't consider, Sylvia, how long Mel. What do you say, madam? I have lived in it; for I can assure you, that, to Syl. I say that you should not use that honest a lady, the least nice in her constitution, no air fellow so inhumanly: he's a gentleman of parts can be good abore half a year. Change of air I and fortune; and, besides that, he's my Plume's take to be the most agreeable of any variety in life. friend; and, by all that's sacred, if you don't use
Syl. As you say, cousin Melinda, there are se- him better, I shall expect satisfaction. veral sorts of airs.
Mel. Satistaction! you begin to fancy yourMel. Psha! I talk only of the air we breathe, self in breeches in good earnest —But, to be plain or, more properly, of that we tasto-Have not with you, I like Worthy the worse for being so you, Sylvia, found a vast difference in the taste intimate with your captain; for I take hiun to be of airs
a loose, idle, unmannerly coscomb. Syl. Pray, cousin, are not the vapours a sort of Syl. Oh, madam! you never saw him, perhaps, air? Taste air ! you might as well tell me I may since you were mistress of twenty thousand feed upon air! but prithee, my dear Melinda, pounds : you only knew hina, when you were cadon't put on such an air to me. Your education pitulating with Worthy for a settlement, which, and mine were just the same; and I remember perhaps, might encourage him to be a little loose the time when we never troubled our heads about and unmannerly with you. air, but when the sharp air from the Welch Mel. What do you mean, madam! mountains made our fingers ache in a cold morn- Syl. My meaning needs no interpretation, maing at the boarding-school.
dam. Mel. Our education, cousin, was the same, but Mel. Better it had, madam; for methinks you our temperaments had nothing alike; you have are too plain. the consticution of an horse.
Syl. If you mean the plainness of my person, Syl. So far as to be troubled neither with I think your ladyship's as plain as me to the full. -spleen, cholic, nor vapours. I need no salts for Mel. Were I sure of that, I would be glad to my stomach, no hartshorn for my head, nor wash take up with a rakchelly otficer, as you do. for my complexion; I can gallop all the morning Syl. Again! look'e, madam; you are in your after the hunting-horn, and all the evening after own house. a fiddle. In short, I can do every thing with my Mel. And if you had kept in yours, I should father, but drink and shoot flying; and I am sure have excused you. I can do every thing my mother could, were I put Syl. Don't be troubled, madam; I sha'nt desire to the trial.
to have my visit returned. Mel. You are in a fair way of being put to't; Mel. The sooner, therefore, you make an end for I am told your captain is come to town. of this, the better.
Syl. Ay, Melinda, he is come; and I'll take Syl. I am easily persuaded to follow my inclicare he shan't go--without a companion. nations; and so, madam, your humble servant. Mel. You are certainly mad, cousin.
(E.rit. Syl.' And there's a pleasure in being mad, Mel. Saucy thing!
•Which none but madmen know.' Mel. Thou poor romantic Quixotte ! hast thou
Enter Lucy. the vanity to imagine, that a young, sprightly of- Lucy. What's the matter, madam ficer, that rambles o'er half the globe in half a Mel. Did not you see the proud nothing, how year, can contine his thoughts to the little daugh- she swelld upon the arrival of ber fellow? ter of a country justice, in an obscure part of the Lucy. Her fellow has not been long enough world?
arrived to occasion any great swelling, madam; Syl. Pshia! what care I for his thoughts? 1 I don't believe she has scen him yet. should not like a man with contined thoughts ; it Mel. Nor sha'nt, if I can help it-Let me see shews a narrowness of soul. In short, Melinda, -I have it-bring me pen and ink-Hold, I'll I think a petticoat a mighty simple thing, and I go write in my closet. am heartily tired of my sex.
Lucy. An answer to this letter, I hope, maMel. That is, you are tired of an appendix to dam?
[Presents a letter. our sex, that you can't so handsomely get rid of Mel. Who sent it? in petticoats as if you were in breeches. Omy Lucy. Your captain, madam. conscience, Sylvia, hadst thou been a man, thou Mel. He's a fool, and I'm tir’d of him: send it hadst been the greatest rake in Christendom ! back, unopened.
Syl. I should have endeavoured to know the Lucy. The messenger's gone, madam. world, which a man can never do thoroughly, Mei. Then how should I send an answer? Call without halt a hundred friendships, and as many him back immediately, while I go write. (Ereunt.
SCENE 1.-An Apartment.
Bal. And here is a gentleman from Germany.
[Presents Plume to her.] Captain, you'll excuse Enter JUSTICE BALANCE and PLUME.
ine; I'll go read my letters, and wait on you.
(Exit. Bal. Look'e, captain, give us but blood for our Syl. Sir, you are welcome to England. money, and you sha'nt want men.
Plume. You are indebted to me a welcome, Plume. Pray, Mr Balance, how does your fair madam, since the hopes of receiving it from this daughter?
fair hand was the principal cause of my seeing Bal. Ah, captain! what is my daughter to a England. marshal of France! we're upon a nobler subject; Syl. I have often heard, that soldiers were I want to have a particular description of the sincere; may I venture to believe public rebattle of Hockstet.
port? Plume. The battle, sir, was a very pretty battle Plume. You may, when 'tis backed by private as any one should desire to see; but we were all insurance; for, I swear, madam, by the honour so intent upon victory, that we never minded the of my profession, that whatever dangers I went battle: all that I know of the matter is, our ge- upon, it was with the hope of making myself neral commanded us to beat the French, and we more worthy of your esteem; and if ever I had did so; and, if he pleases but to say the word, thoughts of preserving my life, 'twas for the pleawe'll do it again. But pray, sir, how does Mrs sure of dying at your feet. Sylvia?
Syl. Well, well, you shall die at my feet, or Bal. Still upon Sylvia! for shame, captain! | where you will; but you know, sir, there is a you are engaged already, wedded to the war: certain will and testament to be made beforeVictory is your mistress, and 'tis below a soldier hand. to think of any other.
Plume. My will, madam, is made already, and Plume. As a mistress, I confess; but as a there it is; and it you please to open that parchfriend, Mr Balance
ment, which was drawn the evening before the Bal. Come, come, captain, never mince the battle of Ilockstet, you will find whom I left my matter; would not you debauch my daughter, if beir.
Syl. Mrs Sylvia Balance-(Opens the will, and Plume. How, Sir! I hope she is not to be de- reads.] Well
, captain, this is a handsome and a bauched.
substantial compliment; but I can assure you I Bal. Faith, but she is, sir; and any woman in am much better pleased with the bare knowledge England, of her age and complexion, by your of your intention, than I should have been in the youth and vigour. Look'e, captain, once 1
possessiou of your legacy: but, metbinks, sir, you young, and once an otficer, as you are, and I can should bave left something to your little boy at guess at your thoughts now, by what mine were the Castle. then; and I remember very well, that I would Plume. That's home. (Aside.] My little boy ! have given one of my legs to have deluded the lack-a-day, madam! that alone may convince you daughter of an old country gentleman like me, as 'twas none ot' mine : why, the girl, madam, is my I was then like you.
serjeant's wife; and so the
creature gave out, Plume. But, sir, was that country gentleman that I was the father, in hopes that my friends your friend and benefactor?
might support her in case of necessity.—That was Bal. Not much of that.
all, inadam.-My boy! no, no, no! Plume. There the comparison breaks: the favours, sir, that
Enter a sercant. Bal. Pho, pho! I hate set speeches: if I have done you any service, captain, it was to please Ser. Madam, my master has received some ill myself
. I love thee, and if I could part with my news from London, and desires to speak with girl, you should have her as soon as any young you immediately, and he begs the captain's parfellow I know; but I hope you have more ho- don, that he can't wait on him as he promised. nour than to quit the service, and she more pru- Plume. Ill news! Heavens avert it! nothing dence than to follow the camp; but she's at her could touch me nearer than to see that generous, own disposal; she has fifteen hundred pounds in worthy gentleman afflicted. I'll leave you to ker pocket, and somSylvia, Sylvia! [Calls. comfort him; and be assured, that if my life and Enter SYLVIA.
fortune can be any way serviceable to the father
of my Sylvia, he shall freely command both. Syl. There are some letters, sir, come by the Syl. I'he necessity must be very pressing, that post from London; I left them upon the table in would engage me to endanger cither. your closet.
Ereunt severally. VOL. II.
SCENE II.-Another Apartment. had one; and you have been so careful, so in
dulgent, to me since, that indeed I never wanted Enter BALANCE and SYLVIA.
Bal. Have I ever denied you any thing you Syl. Whilst there is life there is hope, sir; per- asked of me? haps my brother may recover.
Syl. Never, that I remember. Bal. We have but little reason to expect it; Bal. Then, Sylvia, I must beg, that, once in the doctor acquaints me here, that before this your life, you would grant me a favour. comes to my hands, he fears I shall have no son Syl. Why should you question it, sir? --Poor Owen !—but the decree is just; I was Bal, I don't; but I would rather counsel than pleased with the death of my father, because he command. I don't propose this with the autholeft me an estate, and now I am punished with rity of a parent, but as the advice of your friend, the loss of an heir to inherit mine. I must now that you would take the coach this moment, and Jook upon you as the only hope of my family; and go into the country. I expect that the augmentation of your fortune Syl. Does this advice, sir, proceed from the will give you fresh thoughts and new prospects. contents of the letter you received just now?
Syl. My desire in being punctual in my obe- Bal. No matter; I will be with you in three dience, requires that you would be plain in your or four days, and then give you my reasons—but, commands, sir.
before you go, I expect you will make me one soBal. The death of your brother makes you lemn promise. sole heiress to my estate, which you know is about Syl. Propose the thing, sir. twelve hundred pounds a-year: this fortune gives Bal. That you will never dispose of yourself you a fair claim to quality and a title : you must to any man, without my consent. set a just value upon yourself, and, in plain terms, Syl. I promise. think no more of Captain Plume.
Bal. Very well; and to be even with you, I Syl. You have often commended the gentle promise I never will dispose of you, without your man, sir.
own consent: and so, Sylvia, the coach is ready. Bal. And I do so still; he's a very pretty fel- Farewell—[ Leads her to the door, and returns.) low : but, though I liked him well enough for a -Now, she's gone, l'il examine the contents of bare son-in-law, I don't approve of him for an this letter a little nearer. heir to my estate and family: fifteen hundred
[Reads. pounds, indeed, I might trust in his hands, and it Sir, might do the young fellow a kindness; but-odd's My intimacy with Mr Worthy has drawn a my life! twelve hundred pounds a-year would secret from him, that he had from his friend ruin him, quite turn his brain--A captain of foot captain Plume; and iny friendship and relation worth twelve hundred pounds a-year! 'tis a pro- to your family, oblige me to give you timely na digy in nature!
' tice of it. The captain has dishonourable de
signs upon my cousin Sylvia. Evils of this naEnter a servant.
'ture are more easily prevented, than amended ; Ser. Sir, here's one with a letter below for and that you would immediately send my couyour worship; but he will deliver it into no hands sin into the country, is the advice of, but your own.
• Sir, your humble servant, Bal. Come, shew me the messenger.
MELINDA [Exit with serrant. Why, the devil's in the young fellows of this age ! Syl. Make the dispute between love and duty, they are ten times worse than they were in my and I am Prince Prettyman exactly.—If my bro- time: had he made my daughter a whore, and ther dies, ah, poor brother! if he lives, ah, poor foreswore it, like a gentleman, I could almost sister! It is bad both ways. I'll try it again- have pardoned it; but to tell tales before-hand is Follow my own inclinations, and break my fa- monstrous. Hang it! I can fetch down a wondther's heart, or obey his commands, and break cock, or a snipe, and why not a hat and a cockade? my own? Worse and worse. Suppose I take it I have a case of good pistols, and have a good thus: A moderate fortunc, a pretty fellow, and mind to try. a pad; or, a tine estate, a coach-and-six, and an ass? That will never do neither.
Worthy! your servant.
Bal. I apprehend it, sir; you have heard that Bal. How old were you, when your mother my son Owen is past recovery. died?
Wor. My letters say he's dead, sir. Syl. So young, that I don't remember I ever Bal. He's happy, and I am satisfied: The