SCENE.—In the Street.
(MR. H. walking, BELVIL meeting him.)
BELVIL My old Jamaica school-fellow, that I have not seen for so many years? it must, it can be no other than Jack (going up to him). My dear Ho——
MR. H. (Stopping his mouth.)
Ho——! the devil, hush.
BELVIL
Why sure it is—
MR. H.
It is, it is your old friend Jack, that shall be nameless.
BELVIL
My dear Ho——
MR. H. (Stopping him.)
Don't name it.
BELVIL
Name what?
MR. H.
My curst, unfortunate name. I have reasons to conceal it for a time.
BELVIL
I understand you—Creditors, Jack?
MR. H.
No, I assure you.
BELVIL
Snapp'd up a ward, peradventure, and the whole Chancery at your heels?
MR. H.
I don't use to travel with such cumbersome luggage.
BELVIL
You ha'n't taken a purse?
MR. H. To relieve you at once from all disgraceful conjectures, you must know, 'tis nothing but the sound of my name.
BELVIL Ridiculous! 'tis true your's is none of the most romantic, but what can that signify in a man?
MR. H.
You must understand that I am in some credit with the ladies.
BELVIL
With the ladies!
MR. H.
And truly I think not without some pretensions. My fortune—
BELVIL
Sufficiently splendid, if I may judge from your appearance.
MR. H.
My figure—
BELVIL
Airy, gay, and imposing.
MR. H.
My parts—
BELVIL
Bright.
MR. H.
My conversation—
BELVIL
Equally remote from flippancy and taciturnity.
MR. H.
But then my name—damn my name.
BELVIL
Childish!
MR. H. Not so. Oh, Belvil, you are blest with one which sighing virgins may repeat without a blush, and for it change the paternal. But what virgin of any delicacy (and I require some in a wife) would endure to be called Mrs.——?
BELVIL Ha! ha! ha! most absurd. Did not Clementina Falconbridge, the romantic Clementina Falconbridge, fancy Tommy Potts? and Rosabella Sweetlips sacrifice her mellifluous appellative to Jack Deady? Matilda her cousin married a Gubbins, and her sister Amelia a Clutterbuck.
MR. H.
Potts is tolerable, Deady is sufferable, Gubbins is bearable, and
Clutterbuck is endurable, but Ho—
BELVIL Hush, Jack, don't betray yourself. But you are really ashamed of the family name?
MR. H. Aye, and of my father that begot me, and my father's father, and all their forefathers that have borne it since the conquest.
BELVIL
But how do you know the women are so squeamish?
MR. H. I have tried them. I tell you there is neither maiden of sixteen nor widow of sixty but would turn up their noses at it. I have been refused by nineteen virgins, twenty-nine relicts, and two old maids.
BELVIL
That was hard indeed, Jack.
MR. H. Parsons have stuck at publishing the banns, because they averred it was a heathenish name; parents have lingered their consent, because they suspected it was a fictitious name; and rivals have declined my challenges, because they pretended it was an ungentlemanly name.
BELVIL
Ha, ha, ha, but what course do you mean to pursue?
MR. H. To engage the affections of some generous girl, who will be content to take me as Mr. H.
BELVIL
Mr. H.?
MR. H. Yes, that is the name I go by here; you know one likes to be as near the truth as possible.
BELVIL
Certainly. But what then? to get her to consent—
MR. H. To accompany me to the altar without a name—in short to suspend her curiosity (that is all) till the moment the priest shall pronounce the irrevocable charm, which makes two names one.
BELVIL
And that name—and then she must be pleased, ha, Jack?
MR. H. Exactly such a girl it has been my fortune to meet with, heark'e (whispers)—(musing) yet hang it, 'tis cruel to betray her confidence.
BELVIL
But the family name, Jack?
MR. H.
As you say, the family name must be perpetuated.
BELVIL
Though it be but a homely one.
MR. H. True, but come, I will shew you the house where dwells this credulous melting fair.
BELVIL
Ha, ha, my old friend dwindled down to one letter. [Exeunt.]
SCENE.—An Apartment in MELESINDA'S House.
MELESINDA sola, as if musing.
MELESINDA H.H.H. Sure it must be something precious by its being concealed. It can't be Homer, that is a Heathen's name; nor Horatio, that is no surname; what if it be Hamlet? the Lord Hamlet—pretty, and I his poor distracted Ophelia! No, 'tis none of these; 'tis Harcourt or Hargrave, or some such sounding name, or Howard, high born Howard, that would do; may be it is Harley, methinks my H. resembles Harley, the feeling Harley. But I hear him, and from his own lips I will once for ever be resolved.
Enter MR. H.
MR. H.
My dear Melesinda.
MELESINDA My dear H. that is all you give me power to swear allegiance to,—to be enamoured of inarticulate sounds, and call with sighs upon an empty letter. But I will know.
MR. H. My dear Melesinda, press me no more for the disclosure of that, which in the face of day so soon must be revealed. Call it whim, humour, caprice, in me. Suppose I have sworn an oath, never, till the ceremony of our marriage is over, to disclose my true name.
MELESINDA Oh! H.H.H. I cherish here a fire of restless curiosity which consumes me. 'Tis appetite, passion, call it whim, caprice, in me. Suppose I have sworn I must and will know it this very night.
MR. H. Ungenerous Melesinda! I implore you to give me this one proof of your confidence. The holy vow once past, your H. shall not have a secret to withhold.
MELESINDA My H. has overcome: his Melesinda shall pine away and die, before she dare express a saucy inclination; but what shall I call you till we are married?
MR. H. Call me? call me any thing, call me Love, Love! aye, Love, Love will do very well.
MELESINDA
How many syllables is it, Love?
MR. H. How many? ud, that is coming to the question with a vengeance. One, two, three, four,—what does it signify how many syllables?
MELESINDA
How many syllables, Love?
MR. H.
My Melesinda's mind, I had hoped, was superior to this childish curiosity.
MELESINDA
How many letters are there in it?
[Exit MR. H. followed by MELESINDA repeating the question.]
SCENE.—A Room in the Inn. (Two Waiters disputing.)
FIRST WAITER
Sir Harbottle Hammond, you may depend upon it.
SECOND WAITER
Sir Hardy Hardcastle, I tell you.
FIRST WAITER
The Hammonds of Huntingdonshire.
SECOND WAITER
The Hardcastles of Hertfordshire.
FIRST WAITER
The Hammonds.
SECOND WAITER
Don't tell me: does not Hardcastle begin with an H?
FIRST WAITER
So does Hammond for that matter.
SECOND WAITER Faith, so it does if you go to spell it. I did not think of that. I begin to be of your opinion; he is certainly a Hammond.
FIRST WAITER
Here comes Susan Chambermaid, may be she can tell.
Enter Susan.
BOTH
Well, Susan, have you heard any thing who the strange gentleman is?
SUSAN Haven't you heard? it's all come out; Mrs. Guesswell, the parson's widow, has been here about it. I overheard her talking in confidence to Mrs. Setter and Mrs. Pointer, and she says, they were holding a sort of cummitty about it.
BOTH
What? What?
SUSAN There can't be a doubt of it, she says, what from hisfigger and the appearance he cuts, and his sumpshous way of living, and above all from the remarkable circumstance that his surname should begin with an H., that he must be—
BOTH
Well, well—
SUSAN
Neither more nor less than the Prince.
BOTH
Prince!
SUSAN
The Prince of Hessy-Cassel in disguise.
BOTH
Very likely, very likely.
SUSAN
Oh, there can't be a doubt on it. Mrs. Guesswell says she knows it.
FIRST WAITER Now if we could be sure that the Prince of Hessy what-do-you-call-him was in England on his travels.
SECOND WAITER
Get a newspaper. Look in the newspapers.
SUSAN
Fiddle of the newspapers, who else can it be?
BOTH
That is very true (gravely).
Enter Landlord.
LANDLORD Here, Susan, James, Philip, where are you all? The London coach is come in, and there is Mr. Fillaside, the fat passenger, has been bawling for somebody to help him off with his boots. (The Chambermaid and Waiters slip out.)
(Solus.) The house is turned upside down since the strange gentleman came into it. Nothing but guessing and speculating, and speculating and guessing; waiters and chambermaids getting into corners and speculating, ostlers and stable-boys speculating in the yard, I believe the very horses in the stable are speculating too, for there they stand in a musing posture, nothing for them to eat, and not seeming to care whether thay have any thing or no; and after all what does it signify? I hate such curious—odso, I must take this box up into his bed-room—he charged me to see to it myself—I hate such inquisitive—I wonder what is in it, it feels heavy (Reads) "Leases, title deeds, wills." Here now a man might satisfy his curiosity at once. Deeds must have names to them, so must leases and wills. But I wouldn't—no I wouldn't—it is a pretty box too—prettily dovetailed—I admire the fashion of it much. But I'd cut my fingers off, before I'd do such a dirty—what have I to do—curse the keys, how they rattle—rattle in one's pockets—the keys and the halfpence (takes out a bunch and plays with them). I wounder if any of these would fit; one might just try them, but I wouldn't lift up the lid if they did. Oh no, what should I be the richer for knowing? (All this time he tries the keys one by one.) What's his name to me? a thousand names begin with an H. I hate people that are always prying, poking and prying into things,—thrusting their finger into one place—a mighty little hole this—and their keys into another. Oh Lord! little rusty fits it! but what is that to me? I wouldn't go to—no no—but it is odd little rusty should just happen. (While he is turning up the lid of the box, MR. H. enters behing him unperceived.)
MR. H.
What are you about, you dog?
LANDLORD Oh Lord, Sir! pardon; no thief as I hope to be saved. Little Pry was always honest.
MR. H.
What else could move you to open that box!
LANDLORD Sir, don't kill me, and I will confess the whole truth. This box happened to be lying—that is, I happened to be carrying this box, and I happened to have my keys out, and so—little rusty happened to fit—
MR. H. So little rusty happened to fit!—and would not a rope fit that rogue's neck? I see the papers have not been moved: all is safe, but it was as well to frighten him a little (aside).
Come, Landlord, as I think you honest, and suspect you only intended to gratify a little foolish curiosity—
LANDLORD
That was all, Sir, upon my veracity.
MR. H.
For this time I will pass it over. Your name is Pry, I think.
LANDLORD
Yes, Sir, Jeremiah Pry, at your service.
MR. H. An apt name, you have a prying temper. I mean, some little curiosity, a sort of inquisitiveness about you.
LANDLORD A natural thirst after knowledge you may call it, Sir. When a boy I was never easy, but when I was thrusting up the lids of some of my school-fellows' boxes,—not to steal any thing, upon my honour, Sir,—only to see what was in them; have had pens stuck in my eyes for peeping through key-holes after knowledge; could never see a cold pie with the legs dangling out at top, but my fingers were for lifting up the crust,—just to try if it were pigeon or partridge,—for no other reason in the world. Surely I think my passion for nuts was owing to the pleasure of cracking the shell to get at something concealed, more than to any delight I took in eating the kernel. In short, Sir, this appetite has grown with my growth.
MR. H. You will certainly be hanged some day for peeping into some bureau or other, just to see what is in it.
LANDLORD That is my fear, Sir. The thumps and kicks I have had for peering into parcels, and turning of letters inside out,—just for curiosity. The blankets I have been made to dance in for searching parish-registers for old ladies' ages,—just for curiosity! Once I was dragged through a horse-pond, only for peeping into a closet that had glass doors to it, while my Lady Bluegarters was undressing,—just for curiosity!
MR. H. A very harmless piece of curiosity, truly; and now, Mr. Pry, first have the goodness to leave that box with me, and then do me the favour to carry your curiosity so far, as to enquire if my servants are within.
LANDLORD I shall, Sir. Here, David, Jonathan,—I think I hear them coming,—shall make bold to leave you, Sir.
[Exit.]
MR. H.
Another tolerable specimen of the comforts of going anonymous!
Enter two Footmen.
FIRST FOOTMAN
You speak first.
SECOND FOOTMAN
No, you had better speak.
FIRST FOOTMAN
You promised to begin.
MR. H. They have something to say to me. The rascals want their wages raised, I suppose; there is always a favour to be asked when they come smiling. Well, poor rogues, service is but a hard bargain at the best. I think I must not be close with them. Well, David—well, Jonathan.
FIRST FOOTMAN
We have served your honour faithfully——
SECOND FOOTMAN
Hope your honour won't take offence——
MR. H.
The old story, I suppose—wages?
FIRST FOOTMAN
That's not it, your honour.
SECOND FOOTMAN
You speak.
FIRST FOOTMAN
But if your honour would just be pleased to——
SECOND FOOTMAN
Only be pleased to——
MR. H.
Be quick with what you have to say, for I am in haste.
FIRST FOOTMAN
Just to——
SECOND FOOTMAN
Let us know who it is——
FIRST FOOTMAN
Who it is we have the honour to serve.
MR. H.
Why me, me, me; you serve me.
SECOND FOOTMAN
Yes, Sir; but we do not know who you are.
MR. H. Childish curiosity! do not you serve a rich master, a gay master, an indulgent master?
FIRST FOOTMAN Ah, Sir! the figure you make is to us, your poor servants, the principal mortification.
SECOND FOOTMAN When we get over a pot at the public-house, or in a gentleman's kitchen, or elsewhere, as poor servants must have their pleasures—when the question goes round, who is your master? and who do you serve? and one says, I serve Lord So-and-so, and another, I am Squire Such-a-one's footman——
FIRST FOOTMAN
We have nothing to say for it, but that we serve Mr. H.
SECOND FOOTMAN
Or Squire H.
MR. H. Really you are a couple of pretty modest, reasonable personages; but I hope you will take it as no offence, gentlemen, if, upon a dispassionate review of all that you have said, I think fit not to tell you any more of my name, than I have chosen for especial purposes to communicate to the rest of the world.
FIRST FOOTMAN
Why then, Sir, you may suit yourself.
SECOND FOOTMAN
We tell you plainly, we cannot stay.
FIRST FOOTMAN
We don't chuse to serve Mr. H.
SECOND FOOTMAN
Nor any Mr. or Squire in the alphabet——
FIRST FOOTMAN
That lives in Chris-cross Row.
MR. H. Go, for a couple of ungrateful, inquisitive, senseless rascals! Go hang, starve, or drown!—Rogues, to speak thus irreverently of the alphabet—I shall live to see you glad to serve old Q—to curl the wig of great S—adjust the dot of little i—stand behind the chair of X, Y, Z—wear the livery of Et-caetera—and ride behind the sulky of And-by-itself-and!
[Exit in a rage.]
ACT II
SCENE.—A handsome Apartment well lighted, Tea, Cards, &c.—A large party of Ladies and Gentlemen, among them MELESINDA.
FIRST LADY
I wonder when the charming man will be here.
SECOND LADY
He is a delightful creature! Such a polish——
THIRD LADY
Such an air in all that he does or says——
FOURTH LADY
Yet gifted with a strong understanding——
FIFTH LADY
But has your ladyship the remotest idea of what his true name is?
FIRST LADY They say, his very servants do not know it. His French valet, that has lived with him these two years——
SECOND LADY
There, Madam, I must beg leave to set you right: my coachman——
FIRST LADY
I have it from the very best authority: my footman——
SECOND LADY
Then, Madam, you have set your servants on——
FIRST LADY No, Madam, I would scorn any such little mean ways of conning at a secret. For my part, I don't think any secret of that consequence.
SECOND LADY That's just like me; I make a rule of troubling my head with nobody's business but my own.
MELESINDA But then, she takes care to make everybody's business her own, and so to justify herself that way——(aside).
FIRST LADY
My dear Melesinda, you look thoughtful.
MELESINDA
Nothing. SECOND LADY
Give it a name.
MELESINDA
Perhaps it is nameless.
FIRST LADY As the object——Come, never blush, nor deny it, child. Bless me, what great ugly thing is that, that dangles at your bosom?
MELESINDA
This? it is a cross: how do you like it?
SECOND LADY
A cross! Well, to me it looks for all the world like a great staring H.
(Here a general laugh.)
MELESINDA
Malicious creatures! Believe me it is a cross, and nothing but a cross.
FIRST LADY
A cross, I believe, you would willingly hang at.
MELESINDA
Intolerable spite!
(MR. H. is announced.)
(Enter MR. H.)
FIRST LADY
O, Mr. H. we are so glad——
SECOND LADY
We have been so dull——
THIRD LADY So perfectly lifeless——You owe it to us, to be more than commonly entertaining.
MR. H.
Ladies, this is so obliging——
FOURTH LADY O, Mr. H. those ranunculas you said were dying, pretty things, they have got up——
FIFTH LADY
I have worked that sprig you commended—I want you to come——
MR. H.
Ladies——
SIXTH LADY
I have sent for that piece of music from London.
MR. H.
The Mozart—(seeing Melesinda.)—Melesinda!
SEVERAL LADIES AT ONCE
Nay positively, Melesinda, you shan't engross him all to yourself.
(While the Ladies are pressing about MR. H. the Gentlemen shew signs of displeasure.)
FIRST GENTLEMAN
We shan't be able to edge in a word, now this coxcomb is come.
SECOND GENTLEMAN
Damn him, I will affront him.
FIRST GENTLEMAN
Sir, with your leave, I have a word to say to one of these ladies.
SECOND GENTLEMAN
If we could be heard——
(The ladies pay no attention but to MR. H.)
MR. H. You see, gentlemen, how the matter stands. (Hums an air.) I am not my own master: positively I exist and breathe but to be agreeable to these——Did you speak?
FIRST GENTLEMAN
And affects absence of mind, Puppy!
MR. H. Who spoke of absence of mind, did you, Madam? How do you do, Lady Wearwell—how do? I did not see your ladyship before—what was I about to say—O—absence of mind. I am the most unhappy dog in that way, sometimes spurt out the strangest things—the most mal-a-propos—without meaning to give the least offence, upon my honour—sheer absence of mind—things I would have given the world not to have said.
FIRST GENTLEMAN
Do you hear the coxcomb?
FIRST LADY
Great wits, they say——
SECOND LADY
Your fine geniuses are most given——
THIRD LADY
Men of bright parts are commonly too vivacious——
MR. H. But you shall hear. I was to dine the other day at a great nabob's, that must be nameless, who, between ourselves, is strongly suspected of—being very rich, that's all. John, my valet, who knows my foible, cautioned me, while he was dressing me, as he usually does where he thinks there's a danger of my committing a lapsus, to take care in my conversation how I made any allusion direct or indirect to presents —you understand me? I set out double charged with my fellow's consideration and my own, and, to do myself justice, behaved with tolerable circumspection for the first half hour or so—till at last a gentleman in company, who was indulging a free vein of raillery at the expense of the ladies, stumbled upon that expression of the poet, which calls them "fair defects."
FIRST LADY
It is Pope, I believe, who says it.
MR. H. No, Madam; Milton. Where was I? O, "fair defects." This gave occasion to a critic in company, to deliver his opinion on the phrase—that led to an enumeration of all the various words which might have been used instead of "defect," as want, absence, poverty, deficiency, lack. This moment I, who had not been attending to the progress of the argument (as the denouement will shew) starting suddenly up out of one of my reveries, by some unfortunate connexion of ideas, which the last fatal word had excited, the devil put it into my head to turn round to the Nabob, who was sitting next me, and in a very marked manner (as it seemed to the company) to put the question to him, Pray, Sir, what may be the exact value of a lack of rupees? You may guess the confusion which followed.
FIRST LADY
What a distressing circumstance!
SECOND LADY
To a delicate mind—
THIRD LADY
How embarrassing—
FOURTH LADY
I declare I quite pity you.
FIRST GENTLEMAN
Puppy!
MR. H. A Baronet at the table, seeing my dilemma, jogged my elbow; and a good-natured Duchess, who does every thing with a grace peculiar to herself, trod on my toes at that instant: this brought me to myself, and—covered with blushes, and pitied by all the ladies—I withdrew.
FIRST LADY
How charmingly he tells a story.
SECOND LADY
But how distressing!
MR. H. Lord Squandercounsel, who is my particular friend, was pleased to rally me in his inimitable way upon it next day. I shall never forget a sensible thing he said on the occasion—speaking of absence of mind, my foible—says he, my dear Hogs—
SEVERAL LADIES
Hogs——what—ha—
MR. H. My dear Hogsflesh—my name—(here an universal scream)—O my cursed unfortunate tongue!—H, I mean—Where was I?
FIRST LADY
Filthy—abominable!
SECOND LADY
Unutterable!
THIRD LADY
Hogs——foh!
FOURTH LADY
Disgusting!
FIFTH LADY
Vile!
SIXTH LADY
Shocking!
FIRST LADY
Odious!
SECOND LADY
Hogs——pah!
THIRD LADY
A smelling bottle—look to Miss Melesinda. Poor thing! it is no wonder.
You had better keep off from her, Mr. Hogsflesh, and not be pressing
about her in her circumstances.
FIRST GENTLEMAN
Good time of day to you, Mr. Hogsflesh.
SECOND GENTLEMAN
The compliments of the season to you, Mr. Hogsflesh.
MR. H.
This is too much—flesh and blood cannot endure it.
FIRST GENTLEMAN
What flesh?—hog's-flesh?
SECOND GENTLEMAN
How he sets up his bristles!
MR. H.
Bristles!
FIRST GENTLEMAN
He looks as fierce as a hog in armour.
MR. H. A hog!——Madam!——(here he severally accosts the ladies, who by turns repel him).
FIRST LADY
Extremely obliged to you for your attentions; but don't want a partner.
SECOND LADY
Greatly flattered by your preference; but believe I shall remain single.
THIRD LADY Shall always acknowledge your politeness; but have no thoughts of altering my condition.
FOURTH LADY Always be happy to respect you as a friend; but you must not look for any thing further.
FIFTH LADY No doubt of your ability to make any woman happy; but have no thoughts of changing my name.
SIXTH LADY Must tell you, Sir, that if by your insinuations, you think to prevail with me, you have got the wrong sow by the ear. Does he think any lady would go to pig with him?
OLD LADY Must beg you to be less particular in your addresses to me. Does he take me for a Jew, to long after forbidden meats?
MR. H. I shall go mad!—to be refused by old Mother Damnable—she that's so old, nobody knows whether she was ever married or no, but passes for a maid by courtesy; her juvenile exploits being beyond the farthest stretch of tradition!—old Mother Damnable!
[Exeunt all, either pitying or seeming to avoid him.]
SCENE.—The Street. BELVIL and another Gentleman.
BELVIL Poor Jack, I am really sorry for him. The account which you give me of his mortifying change of reception at the assembly, would be highly diverting, if it gave me less pain to hear it. With all his amusing absurdities, and amongst them not the least, a predominant desire to be thought well of by the fair sex, he has an abundant share of good nature, and is a man of honour. Notwithstanding all that has happened, Melesinda may do worse than take him yet. But did the women resent it so deeply as you say?
GENTLEMAN O intolerably—they fled him as fearfully when 'twas once blown, as a man would be avoided, who was suddenly discovered to have marks of the plague, and as fast; when before they had been ready to devour the foolishest thing he could say.
BELVIL Ha! ha! so frail is the tenure by which these women's favourites commonly hold their envied pre-eminence. Well, I must go find him out and comfort him. I suppose, I shall find him at the inn.
GENTLEMAN
Either there or at Melesinda's.—Adieu.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE.—MR. H——'S Apartment.
MR. H. (solus) Was ever any thing so mortifying? to be refused by old Mother Damnable!—with such parts and address,—and the little squeamish devils, to dislike me for a name, a sound.—O my cursed name! that it was something I could be revenged on! if it were alive, that I might tread upon it, or crush it, or pummel it, or kick it, or spit it out—for it sticks in my throat and will choak me.
My plaguy ancestors! if they had left me but a Van or a Mac, or an Irish O', it had been something to qualify it.—Mynheer Van Hogsflesh—or Sawney Mac Hogsflesh,—or Sir Phelim O'Hogsflesh,—but downright blunt———. If it had been any other name in the world, I could have borne it. If it had been the name of a beast, as Bull, Fox, Kid, Lamb, Wolf, Lion; or of a bird, as Sparrow, Hawk, Buzzard, Daw, Finch, Nightingale; or of a fish, as Sprat, Herring, Salmon; or the name of a thing, as Ginger, Hay, Wood; or of a colour, as Black, Grey, White, Green; or of a sound, as Bray; or the name of a month, as March, May; or of a place, as Barnet, Baldock, Hitchin; or the name of a coin, as Farthing, Penny, Twopenny; or of a profession, as Butcher, Baker, Carpenter, Piper, Fisher, Fletcher, Fowler, Glover; or a Jew's name, as Solomons, Isaacs, Jacobs; or a personal name, as Foot, Leg, Crookshanks, Heaviside, Sidebottom, Longbottom, Ramsbottom, Winterbottom; or a long name, as Blanchenhagen, or Blanchenhausen; or a short name, as Crib, Crisp, Crips, Tag, Trot, Tub, Phips, Padge, Papps, or Prig, or Wig, or Pip, or Trip; Trip had been something, but Ho———.
(Walks about in great agitation,—recovering his calmness a little, sits down.)
Farewell the most distant thoughts of marriage; the finger-circling ring, the purity-figuring glove, the envy-pining bride-maids, the wishing parson, and the simpering clerk. Farewell, the ambiguous blush-raising joke, the titter-provoking pun, the morning-stirring drum.—No son of mine shall exist, to bear my ill-fated name. No nurse come chuckling, to tell me it is a boy. No midwife, leering at me from under the lids of professional gravity. I dreamed of caudle. (Sings in a melancholy tone) Lullaby, Lullaby,—hush-a-by-baby—how like its papa it is!—(makes motions as if he was nursing). And then, when grown up, "Is this your son, Sir?" "Yes, Sir, a poor copy of me,—a sad young dog,—just what his father was at his age,—I have four more at home." Oh! oh! oh!
Enter Landlord.
MR. H.
Landlord, I must pack up to-night; you will see all my things got ready.
LANDLORD Hope your Honor does not intend to quit the Blue Boar,—sorry any thing has happened.
MR. H.
He has heard it all.
LANDLORD Your Honour has had some mortification, to be sure, as a man may say; you have brought your pigs to a fine market.
MR. H.
Pigs!
LANDLORD What then? take old Pry's advice, and never mind it. Don't scorch your crackling for 'em, Sir.
MR. H. Scorch my crackling! a queer phrase; but I suppose he don't mean to affront me.
LANDLORD What is done can't be undone; you can't make a silken purse out of a sow's ear.
MR. H.
As you say, Landlord, thinking of a thing does but augment it.
LANDLORD
Does but hogment it, indeed, Sir.
MR. H. Hogment it! damn it, I said, augment it.
LANDLORD Lord, Sir, 'tis not every body has such gift of fine phrases as your Honour, that can lard his discourse.
MR. H.
Lard!
LANDLORD
Suppose they do smoke you—
MR. H.
Smoke me?
LANDLORD One of my phrases; never mind my words, Sir, my meaning is good. We all mean the same thing, only you express yourself one way, and I another, that's all. The meaning's the same; it is all pork.
MR. H.
That's another of your phrases, I presume. (Bell rings, and the
Landlord called for.)
LANDLORD
Anon, anon.
MR. H.
O, I wish I were anonymous.
[Exeunt several ways.]
SCENE.—Melesinda's Apartment.
(MELESINDA and Maid.)
MAID Lord, Madam! before I'd take on as you do about a foolish—what signifies a name? Hogs—Hogs—what is it—is just as good as any other for what I see.
MELESINDA Ignorant creature! yet she is perhaps blest in the absence of those ideas, which, while they add a zest to the few pleasures which fall to the lot of superior natures to enjoy, doubly edge the—
MAID Superior natures! a fig! If he's hog by name, he's not hog by nature, that don't follow—his name don't make him any thing, does it? He don't grunt the more for it, nor squeak, that ever I hear; he likes his victuals out of a plate, as other Christians do, you never see him go to the trough—
MELESINDA
Unfeeling wretch! yet possibly her intentions—
MAID For instance, Madam, my name is Finch—Betty Finch. I don't whistle the more for that, nor long after canary-seed while I can get good wholesome mutton—no, nor you can't catch me by throwing salt on my tail. If you come to that, hadn't I a young man used to come after me, they said courted me—his name was Lion—Francis Lion, a tailor; but though he was fond enough of me, for all that, he never offered to eat me.
MELESINDA How fortunate that the discovery has been made before it was too late. Had I listened to his deceits, and, as the perfidious man had almost persuaded me, precipitated myself into an inextricable engagement, before—
MAID No great harm, if you had. You'd only have bought a pig in a poke—and what then? Oh, here he comes creeping—
Enter MR. H. abject.
Go to her, Mr. Hogs—Hogs—Hogsbristles—what's your name? Don't be afraid, man—don't give it up—she's not crying—only summat has made her eyes red—she has got a sty in her eye, I believe—(going.)
MELESINDA
You are not going, Betty?
MAID O, Madam, never mind me—I shall be back in the twinkling of a pig's whisker, as they say. [Exit.]
MR. H. Melesinda, you behold before you a wretch who would have betrayed your confidence, but it was love that prompted him; who would have tricked you by an unworthy concealment into a participation of that disgrace which a superficial world has agreed to attach to a name—but with it you would have shared a fortune not contemptible, and a heart—but 'tis over now. That name he is content to bear alone—to go where the persecuted syllables shall be no more heard, or excite no meaning —some spot where his native tongue has never penetrated, nor any of his countrymen have landed, to plant their unfeeling satire, their brutal wit, and national ill manners—where no Englishman—(Here Melesinda, who has been pouting during this speech, fetches a deep sigh.) Some yet undiscovered Otaheite, where witless, unapprehensive savages shall innocently pronounce the ill-fated sounds, and think them not inharmonious.
MELESINDA
Oh!
MR. H.
Who knows but among the female natives might be found—
MELESINDA
Sir! (raising her head).
MR. H.
One who would be more kind than—some Oberea—Queen Oberea.
MELESINDA
Oh!
MR. H. Or what if I were to seek for proofs of reciprocal esteem among unprejudiced African maids, in Monomotopa.
Enter Servant.
SERVANT
Mr. Belvil. [Exit.]
Enter BELVIL.
MR. H.
In Monornotopa (musing.)
BELVIL Heyday, Jack! what means this mortified face? nothing has happened, I hope, between this lady and you? I beg pardon, Madam, but understanding my friend was with you, I took the liberty of seeking him here. Some little difference possibly which a third person can adjust—not a word—will you, Madam, as this gentleman's friend, suffer me to be the arbitrator—strange—hark'e, Jack, nothing has come out, has there? you understand me. Oh I guess how it is—somebody has got at your secret, you hav'n't blabbed it yourself, have you? ha! ha! ha! I could find in my heart—Jack, what would you give me if I should relieve you—
MR. H. No power of man can relieve me (sighs) but it must lie at the root, gnawing at the root—here it will lie.
BELVIL No power of man? not a common man, I grant you; for instance, a subject—it's out of the power of any subject.
MR. H.
Gnawing at the root—there it will lie.
BELVIL Such a thing has been known as a name to be changed; but not by a subject—(shews a Gazette).
MR. H. Gnawing at the root (suddenly snatches the paper out of Belvil's hand); ha! pish! nonsense! give it me—what! (reads) promotions, bankrupts—a great many bankrupts this week—there it will lie (lays it down, takes it up again, and reads) "The King has been graciously pleased"—gnawing at the root—"graciously pleased to grant unto John Hogsflesh"—the devil—"Hogsflesh, Esq., of Sty Hall, in the county of Hants, his royal licence and authority"—O Lord! O Lord!—"that he and his issue"—me and my issue—"may take and use the surname and arms of Bacon"—Bacon, the surname and arms of Bacon—"in pursuance of an injunction contained in the last will and testament of Nicholas Bacon, Esq. his late uncle, as well as out of grateful respect to his memory:"—grateful respect! poor old soul——here's more—"and that such arms may be first duly exemplified"—they shall, I will take care of that—"according to the laws of arms, and recorded in the Herald's Office."
BELVIL Come, Madam, give me leave to put my own interpretation upon your silence, and to plead for my friend, that now that only obstacle which seemed to stand in your way of your union is removed, you will suffer me to complete the happiness which my news seems to have brought him, by introducing him with a new claim to your favour, by the name of Mr. Bacon.
(Takes their hands and joins them, which Melesinda seems to give consent to with a smile.)
MR. H. Generous Melesinda!—my dear friend—"he and his issue," me and my issue—O Lord!—
BELVIL
I wish you joy, Jack, with all my heart.
MR. H. Bacon, Bacon, Bacon—how odd it sounds. I could never be tired of hearing it. There was Lord Chancellor Bacon. Methinks I have some of the Verulam blood in me already—methinks I could look through Nature—there was Friar Bacon, a conjurer—I feel as if I could conjure too—
Enter a Servant.
SERVANT Two young ladies and an old lady are at the door, enquiring if you see company, Madam.
MR. H.
"Surname and arms"—
MELESINDA
Shew them up.—My dear Mr. Bacon, moderate your joy.
Enter three Ladies, being part of those who were at the Assembly.
FIRST LADY
My dear Melesinda, how do you do?
SECOND LADY
How do you do? We have been so concerned for you—
OLD LADY
We have been so concerned—(seeing him)—Mr. Hogsflesh—
MR. H. There's no such person—nor there never was—nor 'tis not fit there should be—"surname and arms"—
BELVIL It is true what my friend would express; we have been all in a mistake, ladies. Very true, the name of this gentleman was what you call it, but it is so no longer. The succession to the long-contested Bacon estate is at length decided, and with it my friend succeeds to the name of his deceased relative.
MR. H.
"His Majesty has been graciously pleased"—
FIRST LADY
I am sure we all join in hearty congratulation—(sighs).
SECOND LADY
And wish you joy with all our hearts—(heigh ho!)
OLD LADY
And hope you will enjoy the name and estate many years—(cries).
BELVIL
Ha! ha! ha! mortify them a little, Jack.
FIRST LADY
Hope you intend to stay—
SECOND LADY
With us some time—
OLD LADY
In these parts—
MR. H. Ladies, for your congratulations I thank you; for the favours you have lavished on me, and in particular for this lady's (turning to the old Lady) good opinion, I rest your debtor. As to any future favours—(accosts them severally in the order in which he was reftised by them at the assembly)—Madam, shall always acknowledge your politeness; but at present, you see, I am engaged with a partner. Always be happy to respect you as a friend, but you must not look for any thing further. Must beg of you to be less particular in your addresses to me. Ladies all, with this piece of advice, of Bath and you
Your ever grateful servant takes his leave.
Lay your plans surer when you plot to grieve;
See, while you kindly mean to mortify
Another, the wild arrow do not fly,
And gall yourself. For once you've been mistaken;
Your shafts have miss'd their aim—Hogsflesh has saved
his Bacon.
* * * * *
THE PAWNBROKER'S DAUGHTER
A FARCE
(1825)
* * * * *
CHARACTERS
FLINT, a Pawnbroker.
DAVENPORT, in love with Marian.
PENDULOUS, a Reprieved Gentleman.
CUTLET, a Sentimental Butcher.
GOLDING, a Magistrate.
WILLIAM, Apprentice to Flint.
BEN, Cutlet's Boy.
MISS FLYN.
BETTY, her Maid.
MARIAN, Daughter to Flint.
LUCY, her Maid.
* * * * *
ACT I.
SCENE I.—An Apartment at Flint's house.
FLINT. WILLIAM.
FLINT Carry those umbrellas, cottons, and wearing-apparel, up stairs. You may send that chest of tools to Robins's.
WILLIAM That which you lent six pounds upon to the journeyman carpenter that had the sick wife?
FLINT
The same.
WILLIAM
The man says, if you can give him till Thursday—
FLINT Not a minute longer. His time was out yesterday. These improvident fools!
WILLIAM The finical gentleman has been here about the seal that was his grandfather's.
FLINT He cannot have it. Truly, our trade would be brought to a fine pass, if we were bound to humour the fancies of our customers. This man would be taking a liking to a snuff-box that he had inherited; and that gentlewoman might conceit a favourite chemise that had descended to her.
WILLIAM The lady in the carriage has been here crying about those jewels. She says, if you cannot let her have them at the advance she offers, her husband will come to know that she has pledged them.
FLINT I have uses for those jewels. Send Marian to me. (Exit William.) I know no other trade that is expected to depart from its fair advantages but ours. I do not see the baker, the butcher, the shoemaker, or, to go higher, the lawyer, the physician, the divine, give up any of their legitimate gains, even when the pretences of their art had failed; yet we are to be branded with an odious name, stigmatized, discountenanced even by the administrators of those laws which acknowledge us; scowled at by the lower sort of people, whose needs we serve!
Enter Marian.
Come hither, Marian. Come, kiss your father. The report runs that he is full of spotted crime. What is your belief, child?
MARIAN That never good report went with our calling, father. I have heard you say, the poor look only to the advantages which we derive from them, and overlook the accommodations which they receive from us. But the poor are the poor, father, and have little leisure to make distinctions. I wish we could give up this business.
FLINT
You have not seen that idle fellow, Davenport?
MARIAN
No, indeed, father, since your injunction.
FLINT
I take but my lawful profit. The law is not over favourable to us.
MARIAN
Marian is no judge of these things.
FLINT
They call me oppressive, grinding.—I know not what—
MARIAN
Alas!
FLINT
Usurer, extortioner. Am I these things?
MARIAN You are Marian's kind and careful father. That is enough for a child to know.
FLINT Here, girl, is a little box of jewels, which the necessities of a foolish woman of quality have transferred into our true and lawful possession. Go, place them with the trinkets that were your mother's. They are all yours, Marian, if you do not cross me in your marriage. No gentry shall match into this house, to flout their wife hereafter with her parentage. I will hold this business with convulsive grasp to my dying day. I will plague these poor, whom you speak so tenderly of.
MARIAN
You frighten me, father. Do not frighten Marian.
FLINT
I have heard them say, There goes Flint—Flint, the cruel pawnbroker!
MARIAN
Stay at home with Marian. You shall hear no ugly words to vex you.
FLINT
You shall ride in a gilded chariot upon the necks of these poor,
Marian. Their tears shall drop pearls for my girl. Their sighs shall be
good wind for us. They shall blow good for my girl. Put up the jewels,
Marian. [Exit.]
Enter Lucy.
LUCY
Miss, miss, your father has taken his hat, and is slept out, and Mr.
Davenport is on the stairs; and I came to tell you—
MARIAN
Alas! who let him in?
Enter Davenport.
DAVENPORT
My dearest girl—
MARIAN
My father will kill me, if he finds you have been here!
DAVENPORT There is no time for explanations. I have positive information that your father means, in less than a week, to dispose of you to that ugly Saunders. The wretch has bragged of it to his acquaintance, and already calls you his.
MARIAN
O heavens!
DAVENPORT Your resolution must be summary, as the time which calls for it. Mine or his you must be, without delay. There is no safety for you under this roof.
MARIAN
My father—
DAVENPORT
Is no father, if he would sacrifice you.
MARIAN
But he is unhappy. Do not speak hard words of my father.
DAVENPORT
Marian must exert her good sense.
LUCY (As if watching at the window.) O, miss, your father has suddenly returned. I see him with Mr. Saunders, coming down the street. Mr. Saunders, ma'am!
MARIAN
Begone, begone, if you love me, Davenport.
DAVENPORT
You must go with me then, else here I am fixed.
LUCY Aye, miss, you must go, as Mr. Davenport says. Here is your cloak, miss, and your hat, and your gloves. Your father, ma'am—
MARIAN
O, where, where? Whither do you hurry me, Davenport?
DAVENPORT
Quickly, quickly, Marian. At the back door.—
[Exit Marian with Davenport, reluctantly; in her flight still holding the jewels.]
LUCY Away—away. What a lucky thought of mine to say her father was coming! he would never have got her off, else. Lord, Lord, I do love to help lovers.
[Exit, following them.]
SCENE II.—A Butcher's Shop.
CUTLET. BEN.
CUTLET
Reach me down that book off the shelf, where the shoulder of veal hangs.
BEN
Is this it?
CUTLET
No—this is "Flowers of Sentiment"—the other—aye, this is a good book.
"An Argument against the Use of Animal Food. By J.R." That means
Joseph Ritson. I will open it anywhere, and read just as it happens. One
cannot dip amiss in such books as these. The motto, I see, is from Pope.
I dare say, very much to the purpose. (Reads.)
"The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day,
Had he thy reason, would he sport and play?
Pleas'd to the last, he crops his flowery food,
And licks the hand"—
Bless us, is that saddle of mutton gone home to Mrs. Simpson's? It should have gone an hour ago.
BEN
I was just going with it.
CUTLET
Well go. Where was I? Oh!
"And licks the hand just raised to shed its blood."
What an affecting picture! (turns over the leaves, and reads).
"It is probable that the long lives which are recorded of the people before the flood, were owing to their being confined to a vegetable diet."
BEN The young gentleman in Pullen's Row, Islington, that has got the consumption, has sent to know if you can let him have a sweetbread.
CUTLET Take two,—take all that are in the shop. What a disagreeable interruption! (reads again). "Those fierce and angry passions, which impel man to wage destructive war with man, may be traced to the ferment in the blood produced by an animal diet."
BEN The two pound of rump-steaks must go home to Mr. Molyneux's. He is in training to fight Cribb.
CUTLET Well, take them; go along, and do not trouble me with your disgusting details.
[Exit Ben.]
CUTLET (Throwing down the book.) Why was I bred to this detestable business? Was it not plain, that this trembling sensibility, which has marked my character from earliest infancy, must for ever disqualify me for a profession which—what do ye want? what do ye buy? O, it is only somebody going past. I thought it had been a customer.—Why was not I bred a glover, like my cousin Langston? to see him poke his two little sticks into a delicate pair of real Woodstock—"A very little stretching ma'am, and they will fit exactly"—Or a haberdasher, like my next-door neighbour—"not a better bit of lace in all town, my lady—Mrs. Breakstock took the last of it last Friday, all but this bit, which I can afford to let your ladyship have a bargain—reach down that drawer on your left hand, Miss Fisher."
(Enter in haste, Davenport, Marian, and Lucy.)
LUCY This is the house I saw a bill up at, ma'am; and a droll creature the landlord is.
DAVENPORT
We have no time for nicety.
CUTLET
What do ye want? what do ye buy? O, it is only you, Mrs. Lucy.
Lucy whispers Cutlet.
CUTLET I have a set of apartments at the end of my garden. They are quite detached from the shop. A single lady at present occupies the ground floor.
MARIAN
Aye, aye, any where.
DAVENPORT
In, in.—
CUTLET
Pretty lamb,—she seems agitated. Davenport and Marian go in with
Cutlet.
LUCY I am mistaken if my young lady does not find an agreeable companion in these apartments. Almost a namesake. Only the difference of Flyn, and Flint. I have some errands to do, or I would stop and have some fun with this droll butcher. Cutlet returns.
CUTLET Why, how odd this is! Your young lady knows my young lady. They are as thick as flies.
LUCY You may thank me for your new lodger, Mr. Cutlet.—But bless me, you do not look well?
CUTLET
To tell you the truth, I am rather heavy about the eyes. Want of sleep,
I believe.
LUCY
Late hours, perhaps. Raking last night.
CUTLET No, that is not it, Mrs. Lucy. My repose was disturbed by a very different cause from what you may imagine. It proceeded from too much thinking.
LUCY The deuce it did! and what, if I may be so bold, might be the subject of your Night Thoughts?
CUTLET The distresses of my fellow creatures. I never lay my head down on my pillow, but I fall a thinking, how many at this very instant are perishing. Some with cold—
LUCY
What, in the midst of summer?
CUTLET
Aye. Not here, but in countries abroad, where the climate is different
from ours. Our summers are their winters, and vice versâ, you know.
Some with cold—
LUCY What a canting rogue it is! I should like to trump up some fine story to plague him. [Aside.]
CUTLET
Others with hunger—some a prey to the rage of wild beasts—
LUCY
He has got this by rote, out of some book.
CUTLET Some drowning, crossing crazy bridges in the dark—some by the violence of the devouring flame—
LUCY I have it.—For that matter, you need not send your humanity a travelling, Mr. Cutlet. For instance, last night—
CUTLET
Some by fevers, some by gun-shot wounds—
LUCY
Only two streets off—
CUTLET
Some in drunken quarrels—
LUCY (Aloud.) The butcher's shop at the corner.
CUTLET
What were you saying about poor Cleaver?
LUCY He has found his ears at last. (Aside.) That he has had his house burnt down.
CUTLET
Bless me!
LUCY
I saw four small children taken in at the green grocer's.
CUTLET
Do you know if he is insured?
LUCY
Some say he is, but not to the full amount.
CUTLET Not to the full amount—how shocking! He killed more meat than any of the trade between here and Carnaby market—and the poor babes—four of them you say—what a melting sight!—he served some good customers about Marybone—I always think more of the children in these cases than of the fathers and mothers—Lady Lovebrown liked his veal better than any man's in the market—I wonder whether her ladyship is engaged—I must go and comfort poor Cleaver, however.—[Exit.]
LUCY Now is this pretender to humanity gone to avail himself of a neighbour's supposed ruin to inveigle his customers from him. Fine feelings!—pshaw! [Exit.]
(Re-enter Cutlet.)
CUTLET What a deceitful young hussey! there is not a word of truth in her. There has been no fire. How can people play with one's feelings so!—(sings)—"For tenderness formed"—No, I'll try the air I made upon myself. The words may compose me—(sings).
A weeping Londoner I am,
A washer-woman was my dam;
She bred me up in a cock-loft,
And fed my mind with sorrows soft:
For when she wrung with elbows stout
From linen wet the water out,—
The drops so like to tears did drip,
They gave my infant nerves the hyp.
Scarce three clean muckingers a week
Would dry the brine that dew'd my cheek:
So, while I gave my sorrows scope,
I almost ruin'd her in soap.
My parish learning I did win
In ward of Farringdon-Within;
Where, after school, I did pursue
My sports, as little boys will do.
Cockchafers—none like me was found
To set them spinning round and round.
O, how my tender heart would melt,
To think what those poor varmin felt!
I never tied tin-kettle, clog,
Or salt-box to the tail of dog,
Without a pang more keen at heart,
Than he felt at his outward part.
And when the poor thing clattered off,
To all the unfeeling mob a scoff,
Thought I, "What that dumb creature feels,
With half the parish at his heels!"
Arrived, you see, to man's estate,
The butcher's calling is my fate;
Yet still I keep my feeling ways.
And leave the town on slaughtering days.
At Kentish Town, or Highgate Hill,
I sit, retired, beside some rill;
And tears bedew my glistening eye,
To think my playful lambs must die!
But when they're dead I sell their meat,
On shambles kept both clean and neat;
Sweet-breads also I guard full well,
And keep them from the blue-bottle.
Envy, with breath sharp as my steel,
Has ne'er yet blown upon my veal;
And mouths of dames, and daintiest fops,
Do water at my nice lamb-chops.
[Exit, half laughing, half crying.]