صور الصفحة
PDF
النشر الإلكتروني

Bruin. Now for it, Sneak, the enemy's at hand!

Bruin. And who the devil doubts it? You women folks are easily pleased.

Mrs. Bruin Well, I like it so well, that I hope to see one every year.

Bruin. Do you? why, then, you will be damnably bit! you may take your leave, I can tell you for this is the last you shall see.

:

Sir Jac. Fie, Mr. Bruin! how can you be such a bear? Is that a manner of treating your wife?

Bruin. What, I suppose you would have me such a snivelling sot as your son-in-law Sneak, to truckle and cringe, to fetch and to

Enter SNEAK in a violent hurry.
Sneak. Where's brother Bruin! O Lord, bro-
ther, I have such a dismal story to tell you!
Bruin. What's the matter?

Sneak. Why, you know I went into the garden to look for my vife and the major, and there I hunted and hunted as sharp as if it had been for one of my own minickens? but the deuce a major or madam could I see: at last a thought came into my head, to look for them up in the summer-house.

Bruin, And there you found them?

Sneak. I'll tell you: the door was locked; and then I looked through the key-hole; and there, Lord a mercy upon us!-[Whispers.]—as sure as a gun!

Bruin. Indeed! Zounds, why did not you break open the door?

Sneak. I durst not: What, would you have me set my wit to a soldier? I warrant the major would have knocked me down with one of his boots; for I could see they were both of

them off.

Sneak. You promise to stand by me, brother Bruin?

Bruin. Tooth and nail.

Sneak. Then now for it! I am ready, let her come when she will.

Enter MRS. SNEAK.

Mrs. Sneak. Where is the puppy?
Sneak. Yes, yes; she is axing for me.
Mrs. Sneak. So, sot! what, is this true that I
hear?

Sneak. May be 'tis, may be 'tant: I don't choose to trust my affairs with a voman. Is that right, brother Bruin ?

Bruin. Fine ! don't bate her an inch.
Sneak. Stand by me.

Mrs. Sneak. Hey-day! I am amazed! Why, what is the meaning of this?

Sneak. The meaning is plain, that I am grown a man, and vil do what I please, without being accountable to nobody.

Mrs. Sneak. Why, the fellow is surely bewitched!

Sneak. No, I am unwitched, and that you shall know to your cost; and since you provoke me, I will tell you a bit of my mind: what, I am the husband, I hope?

Bruin. That's right; at her again!

Sneak. Yes; and you shant think to hector and domineer over me as you have done; for I'll go to the club when I please, and stay out as late as I list, and row in a boat to Putney on Sundays, and wisit my friends at Vitsonside, and keep the key of the till, and help myself at table to what wittles I like; and I'll have a bit of the brown.

Bruin. Bravo, brother! Sneak, the day's your own! Sneak. An't it! Vhy, I did not think it vas in [Mob huzzas.me: shall I tell her all I know?

Bruin. Very well! Pretty doings! You see, Sir Jacob, these are the fruits of indulgence. You may call me bear, but your daughter shall never make me a beast.

Sir Jac. Hey-day! What is the election over already?

[blocks in formation]

Bruin. Every thing; you see she is struck dumb.

Sneak. As an oyster. Besides, madam, I have something furder to tell you: ecod, if some folks go into gardens with majors, mayhap other people may go into garrets with maids-There, I gave it her home, brother Bruin.

Mrs. Sneak. Why, doodle, jackanapes, hark'ye, who am I?

Sneak. Come, don't go to call names: Am I! vhy, my wife, and I your master.

Mrs. Sneak. My master! you paultry, puddling puppy; you sneaking, shabby, scrubby, snivelling whelp!

Sneak. Brother Bruin, don't let her come near me!

Mrs. Sneak. Have I, sirrah, demeaned myself to wed such a thing, such a reptile as thee! have I not made myself a by-word to all my acquaintance! don't all the world cry, Lord, who would have thought Miss Molly Jollup to be married to Sneak! to take up at last with such a noodle as he!

Sneak. Ay, and glad enough you could catch me: You know you was pretty near your last legs.

Maj. Box! Box! Blades, bullets, Bagshot; Mrs. Sneak. Not for the world, my dear ma jor! O risk not so precious a life! Ungrateful Mrs. Sneak. Was there ever such a confident wretches! And is this the reward for all the cur? My last legs! Why, all the country knows, great feats he has done? After all his marchI could have picked and choosed where I would:ings, his sousings, his sweatings, his swimdid not I refuse squire Ap-Griffith from Wales?mings; must his dear blood be spilt by a broDid not counsellor Crab come a-courting a twelvemonth? Did not Mr. Wort, the great brewer of Brentford, make an offer that I should keep my post-chay?

Sneak. Nay, brother Bruin, she has had wery good proffers, that is certain.

Mrs. Sneak. My last legs! But I can rein my passion no longer; let me get at the villain. Bruin. O fie, sister Sneak!

Sneak. Hold her fast.

ker?

Maj. Be satisfied, sweet Mrs. Sneak; these little fracases we soldiers are subject to; trifles, bagatailes, Mrs. Sneak. But that matters may be conducted in a military manner, I will get our chaplain to pen me a challenge. Expect to hear from my adjutant.

Mrs. Sneak. Major! Sir Jacob! what, are you all leagued against his dear-a man! Yes; a very manly action indeed, to set married people

Mrs. Sneak. Mr. Bruin, unhand me! what, ita quarrelling, and ferment a difference between is you that have stirred up these coals, then? He is set on by you to abuse me?

Bruin. Not I; I would only have a man to behave like a man.

Mrs. Sneak. What, and are you to teach him, I warrant?-but here comes the major.

Enter MAJOR STURGEON.

Oh major! Such a riot and rumpus! Like a man indeed! I wish people would mind their own affairs, and not meddle with matters that does not concern them; but all in good time; I shall one day catch him alone, when he has not his bullies to back him.

Speak. Adod, that's true, brother Bruin; what shall I do when she has me at home, and nobody by but ourselves?

Bruin. If you get her once under, you may do with her whatever you will.

Maj. Look'ye, Master Bruin, I don't know how this behaviour may suit with a citizen; but were you an officer, and Major Sturgeon upon your court-martial

Bruin. What then?

Maj. Then! why, then you would be broke.
Bruin. Broke! and for what?

Maj. What? read the articles of war: but these things are out of your spear; points of honour are for the sons of the sword.

Sneak. Honour! If you come to that, where was your honour when you got my vife in the garden?

Maj. Now, Sir Jacob, this is the curse of your cloth all suspected for the faults of a few.

Sneak. Ay, and not without reason: I heard of your tricks at the king of Bohemy, when you was campaining about; I did. Father Sir Jacob, he is as wicious as an old ram.

Maj. Stop whilst you are safe, Master Sneak: for the sake of your amiable lady, I pardon what is past-But for you

Bruin. Well!

Maj. Dread the whole force of my fury. Bruin. Why, look'ye, Major Sturgeon, I don't much care for your poppers and sharps, because why, they are out of my way; but if you will doff with your boots, and box a couple of bouts

husband and wife: if you were a man, you would not stand by and see a poor woman beat and abused by a brute, you would not.

Sneak. Oh, Lord, I can hold out no longer! Why, brother Bruin, you have set her a veeping: my life, my lovy, don't veep: did I ever think I should have made my Molly veep! Mrs. Sneak. Last legs, you lubberly

Sir Jac. Oh fie, Molly!

[Strikes him.

Mrs. Sneak. What, are you leagued against me, Sir Jacob?

Sir Jac. Pr'ythee, don't expose yourself before the whole parish. But what has been the occasion of this?

Mrs. Sneak. Why, has not he gone and made himself the fool of the fair? Mayor of Garratt indeed! Ecod, I could trample him under my feet.

Sneak. Nay, why should you grudge me my purfarment?

Mrs. Sneak. Did you ever hear such an oaf? Why, thee wilt be pointed at wherever thee goest, Look'ye, Jerry, mind what I say; go, get 'em to choose somebody else, or never come near me again.

Sneak. What shall I do, father Sir Jacob?

Sir Jac. Nay, daughter, you take this thing in too serious a light; my honest neighbours thought to compliment me: but come, we'll settle the business at once. Neighbours, my son Sneak being seldom amongst us, the duty will never be done: so we will get our honest friend Heel-tap to execute the office: he is, I think, every way qualified.

Mob. A Heel-tap!

Heel. What d'ye mean? As Master Jeremy's deputy?

Sir Jac. Ay, ay; his locum tenens.

Sneak. Do, Crispin; do, be my locum tenens. Heel. Give me your hand, Master Sneak; and to oblige you, I will be the locum tenens.

Sir Jac. So, that is settled: but now to heal the other breach: Come, major, the gentlemen, of your cloth seldom bear malice; let me interpose between you and my son.

Maj. Your son-in-law. Sir Jacob, docs deserve

a castigation; but on recollection, a cit would but sully my arms. I forgive him.

Sir Jac. That's right: as a token of amity, and to celebrate our feast, let us call in the fiddles. Now, if the major had but his shoes, he might join in a country dance.

Maj. Sir Jacob, no shoes; a major must be never out of his boots; always ready for action. Mrs. Sneak will find me lightsome enough.

Sneak. What, are all the vomen engaged?

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

SCENE L-The Street.

Enter BEVER and YOUNGER. Young. No, Dick, you must pardon me. Bev. Nay, but to satisfy your curiosity. Young. I tell you, I have not a jot. Bev. Why, then, to gratify me.

ACT I.

Young. At rather too great an expense. Bev. To a fellow of your observation and turn, I should think, now, such a scene a most delicate

treat.

Young. Delicate! Palling, nauseous, to a dreadful degree. To a lover, indeed, the charms of the niece may palliate the uncle's fulsome formality.

Bev. The uncle! ay; but then, you know, he is only one of the group.

Young. That's true; but the figures are all finished alike. A maniere, a tiresome sameness throughout.

Bev. There you will excuse me; I am sure there is no want of Variety.

Young. No! then let us have a detail. Come, Dick, give us a bill of the play.

Bev. First, you know, there's Juliet's uncle. Young. What, Sir Thomas Lofty! the modern Midas, or, rather (as fifty dedications will tell you), the Pollio, the Atticus, the patron of genius, the protector of arts, the paragon of poets, decider of merit, chief justice of taste, and sworn appraiser to Apollo and the tuneful Nine. Ha, ha! Oh, the tedious, insipid, insufferable coxcomb!

Bev, Nay, now, Frank, you are too extravagant. He is universally allowed to have taste, sharp-judging Adriel, the muse's friend, himself

a muse.

Young. Taste! by whom? underling bards that he feeds, and broken booksellers that he bribes. Look ye, Dick; what raptures you please when Miss Lofty is your theme, but expect no quarter for the rest of the family. I tell thee, once for all, Lofty is a rank impostor, the Bufo of an illiberal, mercenary tribe; he has neither genius to create, judgment to distinguish, nor generosity to reward; his wealth has gained him flattery from the indigent, and the haughty insolence of his pretence, admiration from the ignorant. Viola le portrait de votre oncle! Now

on to the next.

Bev. The ingenious and erudite Mr. Rust. Young. What, old Martin the medal-Monger? Bev. The same, and my rival in Juliet. Young. Rival! what, Rust? why, she's too modern for him, by a couple of centuries. Martin! why he likes no heads but upon coins. Married! the mummy! Why, 'tis not above a fortnight ago, that I saw him making love to the figure without a nose in Somerset-gardens: 1 caught him stroaking the marble plaits of her gown, and asked him if he was not ashamed to take such liberties with ladies in public?

Bed. What an inconstant old scoundrel it is! Young. Oh, a Dorimont. But how came this about! what could occasion the change? was it in the power of flesh and blood to seduce this adorer of virtù from his marble and porphyry? Bev. Juliet has done it; and, what will surprise you, his taste was a bawd to the business. Young. Pr'ythee explain.

Bev. Juliet met him last week at her uncle's: he was a little pleased with the Greek of her profile; but, on a closer inquiry, he found the turn-up of her nose to exactly resemble the bust of the princess Pompæa.

Young. The chaste moiety of the amiable Nero?

Bev. The same.

Young. Oh, the deuce! then your business

was done in an instant?

Bev. Immediately. In favour of the tip, he offered carte blanche for the rest of the figure; which, as you may suppose, was instantly caught at.

Young. Doubtless. But who have we here? Ben. This is one of Lofty's companions, a West Indian, of an overgrown fortune. He saves me the trouble of a portrait. This is Sir Peter Pepperpot.

Enter SIR PETER PEPPERPOT, and two Blacks.

Sir Pet. Careless scoundrels! hark'e, rascals! I'll banish you home you dogs! you shall back, and broil in the sun. Mr. Bever, your humble! Sir, I am your entirely devoted.

Bev. You seem moved! what has been the matter, Sir Peter.

[blocks in formation]

Sir Pet. Ay, lad, and a glorious cargo of turtle! It was lucky I went to Brighthelmstone; I nicked the time to a hair; thin as a lath, and a stomach as sharp as a shark's: never was in finer condition for feeding.

Bev. Have you a large importation, Sir Peter? Sir Pet. Nine; but seven in excellent order: the captain assures me they greatly gained ground on the voyage.

Bev. How do you dispose of them?

Sir Pet. Four to Cornhill, three to Almack's, and the two sickly ones I shall send to my borough in Yorkshire.

Young. Ay! what, have the provincials a relish for turtle?

Sir Pet. Sir, it is amazing how this country improves in turtle and turnpikes; to which (give me leave to say) we, from our part of the world, have not a little contributed. Why, formerly, sir, a brace of bucks on the mayor's annual day was thought a pretty moderate blessing. But, we, sir, have polished their palates: Why, sir, not the meanest member in my corporation but can distinguish the pash from the pee. Young. Indeed!

Sir Pet. Ay, and sever the green from the shell with the skill of the ablest anatomist. Young. And are they fond of it?

Sir Pet. Oh, that the consumption will tell you. The stated allowance is six pounds to an aldermen, and five to each of their wives.

Bev. A plentiful provision.

Sir Pet. But there was never known any waste. The mayor, recorder, and rector, are permitted to eat as much as they please.

Young. The entertainment is pretty expen

sive

Sir Pet. Land-carriage and all. But I contrived to smuggle the last that I sent them.

Bev. Smuggle! I don't understand you. Sir Pet. Why, sir, the rascally coachman had always charged me five pounds for the carriage. Damned dear! Now, my cook going at the same time into the country, I made him clap a capuchin upon the turtle, and for thirty shillings put him an inside passenger in the Doncaster fly.

Young. A happy expedient!

Bev. Oh, Sir Peter has infinite humour. Sir Pet. Yes: but the frolic had like to have proved fatal.

Young. How so?

Sir Pet. The maid at the Rummer, at Hatfield popped her head into the coach, to know if the company would have any breakfast: ecod, the turtle, sir, laid hold of her nose, and slapped

« السابقةمتابعة »