Conscious of her superior charms they stand,And rival'd quite by such a beauteous pieceOf mortal composition; they, reluctant,Hide their diminish'd heads.
Conscious of her superior charms they stand,And rival'd quite by such a beauteous pieceOf mortal composition; they, reluctant,Hide their diminish'd heads.
Loveyet.You extol her in very rapturous strains, George—I hope you have not been smitten by her vast perfections, like the Cherubims.
Frankton.I am really enraptur'd with the bewitching little Goddess!
Loveyet.Do you positively think her so much superior to the generality of women?
Frankton.Most indubitably I do—don't you, pray?
Loveyet.I thought her handsome once—but—but—but you certainly are not in love with her.
Frankton.Not I, faith. Ha, ha, ha. My enamorata and yours are two distinct persons, I assure you—and two such beauties!—By all that's desirable, if there was only one more in the city who could vie with the lovely girls, and boast of the same elegantly proportioned forms; the same beauty, delicacy and symmetry of features; the same celestial complexion, in which the lily and carnation are equally excell'd; the same——
Loveyet.Oh, monstrous! Why, they exceed all the Goddesses I ever heard of, by your account.
Frankton.Well, if you had let me proceed, I should have told you that if one more like them could be found in town, they would make a more beautiful triple than the three renowned goddesses who were candidates for beauty and a golden apple long ago; but no matter now.—The account you have given of the lovely Harriet, has rekindled the flame she so early inspir'd me with, and I already feel myself all the lover; how then shall I feel, when I once more behold the dear maid, like the mother of mankind—"with grace in all her steps, heaven in her eye; in every gesture, dignity and love!"
Frankton.Aye—and what do you think of your father's sending for you to marry you to this same beautiful piece of mortality?
Loveyet.Is it possible? Then I am happy indeed! But this surpasses my most sanguine hopes!
Frankton.Did you suppose he would object to the alliance then?
Loveyet.I did not know,—my hope was only founded on theprobabilityof his approving it.
Frankton.Well, I can now inform you that your hope has a better basis to rest on, and that there is as fair a prospect of its being shortly swallowed up in fruition as ever Cupid and Hymen presented to a happy mortal's view.—For your farther comfort, I have the pleasure to acquaint you, that Mr. Trueman is equally fond of the match.
Loveyet.Better and better—my dear George! You are the best of friends,—my happy genius! My very guardian angel!
Frankton.Well said, Heroics—come, spout away.
Loveyet.Yes, Iamhappy, very happy, indeed: Moralists disparage this world too much,—thereissuch a thing as happiness under the sun,—Ifeelit now most irrefragably,—hereit vibrates in a most extatic manner.
Frankton.Why, you are positively the arrantest love-sick swain that ever had recourse to a philter.
Loveyet.Profane heretic in love! Did not you extol the two Seraphims just now in the same generous language? But you have never experienced the blissful transition from doubt and solicitude to certainty and peace, as I do now.
Frankton.How do you know that?
Loveyet.I only conjecture so—Did you ever feel the same transports I do?
Frankton.How, in the name of sense, should I know how you feel?
Loveyet.Feel!—I feel that kind heaven, my friend, my father, and my dearest girl, all conspire to bless me!
Frankton.There he rides his hobby-horse again.
Loveyet.Aye, and a generous horse he is—he carries me very pleasantly, I assure you.
Frankton.Yes, and, I dare say, could convey you more agreeably and speedily to Paradise than the Ass did Mahomet.
Loveyet.Ha, ha. I think you have improved my idea.
Frankton.To improve your reason, and check your strange delirium, I have.
Loveyet.I will talk more dispassionately;—but my heartwillpalpitate at the thought of meeting the lovely source of its joy, and the ultimatum of all its wishes!
Frankton.I suppose you know she lives with Mr. Friendly.
Loveyet.With Mr. Friendly!
Frankton.Yes, she is nearly related to his family, and as the style in which they live, corresponds with her former prosperity better than the present ineligible situation of her father does, he has granted them her valuable company, after their repeated solicitations had prov'd the sincerity of their regard.
Loveyet.But how do you account for Mr. Trueman's poverty, since fortune has lately put it so much in Harriet's power to relieve him from it? I dare not think it arises from her want of filial regard; I do not know anything so likely to abate the ardour of my attachment as a knowledge of that; but it is an ungenerous suggestion, unworthy the benignity and tenderness of the gentle Harriet.
Frankton.It is so.—Two things, on the part of the old gentleman, are the cause: his pride will not suffer him to be the subject of a daughter's bounty; and his regard for that daughter's welfare, makes him fearful of being instrumental in impairing her fortune.
Loveyet.I thought the angelic girl could not be ungrateful to the parent of her being; but don't let us tarry—I am already on the wing.
Frankton.You are too sanguine; you must not expect to succeed without a little opposition.
Loveyet.How! what say you? pray be explicit.
Frankton.I will remove your suspense.—There is a Mr. Worthnought, a thing by some people call'd a man, a beau, a fine gentleman, a smart fellow; and by others a coxcomb, a puppy, a baboon and an ass.
Loveyet.And what of him?
Frankton.Nothing; only he visits Miss Harriet frequently.
Loveyet.Hah!—and does she countenance his addresses?
Frankton.I'll explain.—He imagines she is fond of him, because she does not actually discard him; upon which presumption he titters, capers, vows, bows, talks scraps of French, and sings an amorous lay—with such an irresistibly languishing air, that she cannot do less than compliment him—on the fineness of his voice, for instance; the smartness of his repartees, the brilliancy of his wit, the gaiety and vivacity of his temper, his genteel carriage, his handsome person, his winning address, his——
Loveyet.Hah! you surely cannot be in earnest, Frankton.
Frankton.To be serious then,—the sum total of the affair, I take to be this.—In order to kill a heavy hour, she sometimes suffers the fool to be in her company, because the extravagance of his behaviour, and the emptiness of his upper region furnish her with a good subject for ridicule; butyourpresence will soon make him dwindle into his primitive insignificance.
Loveyet.If your prediction proves false, Harriet will be false indeed;—but I must see her straightway.
Frankton.I think you go pretty well fraught with the fruits of our united deliberations.
Loveyet.Deliberations!—away with the musty term—
No caution need my willing footsteps guide;—When Love impels—what evil can betide?Patriots may fear, their rulers lack more zeal,And nobly tremble for the public weal;To front the battle, and to fear no harm,Theshieldmust glitter on the warrior's arm:Let such dull prudencetheirdesigns attend,ButLove,unaided,shallobtain its end!
No caution need my willing footsteps guide;—When Love impels—what evil can betide?Patriots may fear, their rulers lack more zeal,And nobly tremble for the public weal;To front the battle, and to fear no harm,Theshieldmust glitter on the warrior's arm:Let such dull prudencetheirdesigns attend,ButLove,unaided,shallobtain its end!
[Exeunt.
SceneII.Old Loveyet'sHouse.
EnterOld LoveyetandTrueman.
Loveyet.I tell you it is the most infernal scheme that ever was devis'd.
Trueman.And I tell you, sir, that your argument is heterodox, sophistical, and most preposterously illogical.
Loveyet.I insist upon it, sir, you know nothing at all about the matter; and, give me leave to tell you, sir—
Trueman.What—give you leave to tell me I know nothing at all about the matter! I shall do no such thing, sir—I'm not to be govern'd by youripse dixit.
Loveyet.I desire none of your musty Latin, sir, for I don't understand it, not I.
Trueman.Oh, the ignorance of the age! To oppose a plan of government like the new Constitution. Like it, did I say?—There never was one like it:—neither Minos, Solon, Lycurgus nor Romulus, ever fabricated so wise a system;—why it is a political phenomenon, a prodigy of legislative wisdom, the fame of which will soon extend almostultramundane, and astonish the nations of the world with its transcendent excellence.—To what a sublime height will the superb edifice attain!
Loveyet.Your aspiring edifice shall never be erected inthisState, sir.
Trueman.Mr. Loveyet, you will not listen to reason: only attend calmly one moment—[Reads.]—"We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquillity, provide—"
Loveyet.I tell you I won't hear it.
Trueman.Mark all that. [Reads again.] "Section the first.—All legislative powers herein granted shall be vested in a Congress of the United States, which shall consist of a Senate and House of Representatives." Very judicious and salutary, upon my erudition.—"Section the second—"
Loveyet.I'll hear no more of your sections.
Trueman."Section the second.—The House of Representatives—"
Loveyet.They never shall represent me, I promise them.
Trueman.Why, you won't hear me out.
Loveyet.I have heard enough to set me against it.
Trueman.You have not heard aquantum sufficitto render you competent to give a decisive opinion; besides, you hear with passion and prejudice.
Loveyet.I don't care for that; I say it is a devilish design upon our liberty and property; by my body, it is;—it would reduce us to poverty and slavery.
EnterHumphry, listening.
Humphry.What's that about liberty, and property, and slavery, and popery, and the devil? I hope the pope and the devil an't come to town for to play the devil, and make nigers of us!
Trueman.You will have it your own way.
Loveyet.To be sure I will—in short, sir, the old Constitution is good enough for me.
Humphry.I wonder what Constitution magnifies.
Trueman.The old Constitution!—ha, ha, ha, ha. Superlatively ludicrous and facetious, upon my erudition; and highly productive of risibility—ha, ha, ha. The old Constitution! A very shadow of a government—a perfectcaput mortuum;—why, one of my schoolboys would make a better: 'tis grown as superannuated, embecilitated, valetudinarianated, invalidated, enervated and dislocated as an old man of sixty odd.
Loveyet.Ah, that's me—that's me—sixty odd, eigh—[Aside.] I—I—ugh, ugh, I know what you want:—a consolidation and annihilation of the States.
Trueman.A consolidation and annihilation!—You certainly have bid defiance to the first rudiments of grammar, and sworn war against the whole body of lexicographers. Mercy on me! If words are to be thus abus'd and perverted, there is an end of the four grand divisions of grammar at once: If consolidation and annihilation are to be us'd synonymously, there is a total annihilation of all the moods, tenses, genders, persons, nouns, pronouns, verbs, adverbs, substantives, conjunctions, interjections, prepositions, participles,—
[Coughs.
Humphry.Oh dear, oh dear,—what a wise man a Schoolmaster is!
Trueman.How can the States be consolidated and annihilated too? If they are consolidated or compounded into one national mass, surely the individual States cannot be annihilated, for, if they were annihilated, where would be the States to compose a consolidation?—Did you ever study Logic, sir?
Loveyet.No, but I've studied common sense tho', and that tells me I am right, and consequently you are wrong; there, that's as good logic as yours.
Trueman.You mean Paine'sCommon Sense, I suppose—yes, yes, there you manifest something like common sense, Mr. Loveyet.
Loveyet.'Tis no such thing, sir; it lately took three speakers, and much better ones than Paine, no less than three whole days, to prove that consolidation and annihilation are one and the same thing.
Trueman.An execrable Triumvirate—ascandalum magnatumto all public bodies: I suppose they and their adherents are now sitting in Pandemonium, excogitating their diabolical machinations against us.
Loveyet.A pack of nonsensical stuff!
Trueman.Harkee, Mr. Loveyet, I will propound a problem to you. We will suppose there are two parallel lines drawn on this floor, which, notwithstanding they may be very contiguous to each other, and advancead infinitum, can never approximate so near as to effect a junction, in which fundamental axiom all mathematicians profess a perfect congruity and acquiescence:—now, to elucidate the hypothesis a little, we will suppose here is one line; and we will further suppose here is another line. [Draws his cane overLoveyet'sfeet, which makes him jump.] Now we will suppose that line is you, and this line is compos'd, form'd, constituted, made up of discernment, political knowledge, public spirit, and true republicanism,—but, as I predicated antecedently,thatline is you—[Striking his cane onLoveyet'sfeet.] You must not forgetthat.
Loveyet.S'death, sir, do you mean to make a mathematical instrument of me, to try experiments with?
Trueman.Now take notice—as the East is to the West, the North Pole to the South ditto, the Georgium Sidus to this terraqueous globe, or the Aborigines of America to the Columbians of this generation, so is that line to this line, or Mr. Loveyet to true wisdom and judgment; sometimes appearing to verge towards a coalition with them, but never to effect it. There, sir,—in this argument, you have a major, a minor and a conclusion, consonant to the received principles of logic.
Loveyet.Confound your senseless comparisons; your problems, your mathematics, and your Georgium Sidus.
Humphry.Aye, confound your gorgon hydras, I say too.
Loveyet.Here you have been spending your breath to prove—what?—that I am not a rational human being, but a mathematical line.
Trueman.I know you are not a mathematical line; you are not the twentieth part so straight and well made;—I only wish to convince you that the present government is anignis fatuusthat is leading you and thousands more to ruin.
Loveyet.But I don't choose to be convinc'd by you.
Trueman.No more than you'll be convinc'd you are sixty years old, I suppose.
Loveyet.Now see there again, see there! isn't this enough to try Job's patience? I'll let you know that my bodily and political Constitutions are both good, sir, both sound alike.
Trueman.I know they are. Ha, ha, ha.
Humphry.Pray, old gentleman, what sort of things may them same constitutions be?
Trueman.Avaunt, thou plebeian, thou ignoramus!
Humphry.Why, I lay now I can say that as good as you, for all you're such a fine scholard.—I won't be plain, thou ignorant mouse.
Trueman."Monstrum horrendum, cui lumen ademptum!"
Humphry.Monstrous memorandums, cu—no, I can't say that; that's too hard for me. Well, what a glorious thing it is for to have good larning.
Loveyet.Sixty odd years indeed! provoking wretch!
Humphry.What a bloody passion he's in!
Trueman.Pray, Mr. Loveyet, do not anathematize me so;—if you do not civilize your phraseology a little, I must have recourse to a little castigation, for,necessitas non habet legem, you know, Mr. Loveyet.
Loveyet.I know nothing about such nonsense, not I.
Trueman.You are the most unenlightened, contumacious, litigious, petulant, opprobrious, proditorious, misanthropic mortal I ever confabulated a colloquy with; by the dignity of my profession you are.
Humphry.What monstrous queer words he discourses the old fellow with!
Loveyet.Mighty pleasant and witty, by my body; sixty years, forsooth!—But I'll be aveng'd of you.—Your daughtersha'n't have my son—there, sir,—how do you like that? Sixty years, indeed! Ugh, ugh.
Humphry.What an old reprobate it is! He swears till he sweats again.
Trueman.What an unlucky affair!
[Aside.
Loveyet.And give me leave to tell you, Mr. Schoolmaster, I was an old—I—I mean—I was agreatfool to disparage him so much as to think of the match.
Trueman.Illiberal aspersion! But were I as contemptible as you think me, a disastrous war has rendered me so; and as for my child, Providence has placed her above dependence on an unfortunate father: the bequest of a worthy relation has made her, what the world calls, rich; but her mind—is far richer; the most amiable temper, improved by a virtuous and refined education (not to mention her beauty) deservedly makes her the object of general love and respect, and renders your present resolution a matter of perfect indifference to me.
Loveyet.Well, well, so be it; but you never shall be Charles's father-in-law, for all that—that's as fix'd as fate,—you may beg my forgiveness for your faults by and by, but your daughter shall never be mine, I promise you.
Trueman.Conceited old sot!
[Exit.
Humphry.He's gone at last.
Loveyet.What broughtyouhere, pray?
Humphry.Why, my legs, to be sure.—Here, old gentleman, if you'll promise you won't get in such a passion as you did just now, I've got some news to tell you.
Loveyet.I in a passion? 'tis no such thing—I didn't mind anything he said, because he's old and fretful;—but what news, eigh—what news?
Humphry.Here's a letter for you.
[Gives it toLoveyet.
Loveyet.[Opens the letter and reads.] I am heartily glad, 'faith! [Reads again.]—'Od's my life, I'm as happy as the Great Mogul, and as good-natur'd—
Humphry.That's clever; I likes to see people good-natur'd,—it makes me as happy as the Great Pogul.
Loveyet.I'll go tell old Trueman's daughter, Charles is coming, but not for her—I know she'll be mortify'd, poor girl, but I can't help that. Who gave you this letter?
Humphry.Why your son, to be sure.
Loveyet.When did you leave theHavanna, pray?
Humphry.TheHavanna?
Loveyet.Yes, are you not from the West-Indies?
Humphry.Who—me?—not I.
Loveyet.Why, what the plague makes you think he was my son, then?
Humphry.Because he said you was his father—that's a good reason, an't it? But it's a wise son knows his own father, as the old saying is.
Loveyet.How can that be, when the letter is dated in the Island of Cuba, the twentieth day of January, and he says he don't expect to leave it till the beginning of March, and this is only February, so it is impossible he shou'd be here yet.
Humphry.May be you an't the old gentleman, then.
Loveyet.To be sure I an't anoldgentleman. Did he say I was old, eigh?
Humphry.Yes, I believe he did.
Loveyet.I believe you lie—and I'll let you know that I an't old enough to be his father, you—
Humphry.Well, if the case lies there, that settles the harsh, d' ye see; but, for my part, I think how you look old enough and ugly enough to be his great-grandfather, as the old saying is.
Loveyet.Sirrah, get out of my house, or I'll break your bones for you.
Humphry.I'm a going—howsomever, give me the letter again; you've got no business with it—you an't his father.
Loveyet.You lie! I am his father—if he was here, he wou'dn't deny it.
Humphry.Why, he is here, I tell you—here in New-York. I suppose how he's made a small mistake about the day of the month, and says he's just arrived from the East-Indies, for he's cursed apt for to make blunders;—that about the corn and the pigs; ha, ha, ha.
Loveyet.Do you laugh at me, you vagabond?
Humphry.Not I, old gentleman; I've got too much respect for old age, I'll insure you.
Loveyet.I shall go distracted!
Humphry.Put on your spectacles and look again—I'm sure your eyes must perceive you, for I'll give my corporal oath he an't in the East-Indies.
Loveyet.It is not the East-Indies, you great calf; you mean the West-Indies.
Humphry.No matter if it's East or West; the odds an't much for the matter o' that.
Loveyet.What an abominable fool!
Humphry.I'm no more a fool than you are—
Loveyet.Be gone, you scoundrel! Here, Thomas—[EnterThomas.], lug this fellow out of doors.
Thomas.Yes, sir.
Humphry.No, you sha'n't tho', d' ye see.
Thomas.I'm cursedly afraid of the great two-handed fellow too.
[Aside, and exit withHumphry.
Loveyet[manet].
Abusive rascal! But I won't put myself in a passion with such a vile animal.—I—I'll read the letter again.
"Honour'd Sir,
"I have just time enough to acquaint you by theOceanus, Captain Seaborn, who is now preparing to sail, that I have at length adjusted my business so as to be able to leave this place for New-York, the beginning of March; in which case you may look for me before the first of April next; when I promise myself the happiness of seeing you once more, and enjoying the society of the best of parents: till then I shall continue to be, with truly filial attachment, and anxious expectation of the happy event, your obliged and dutiful son,—Charles Loveyet."
I wonder he don't say anything of the coffee and madeira I wrote to him about;—egad, I must mind the main chance; a penny sav'd, is a penny got; and charity begins at home. By strictly attending to these excellent maxims, I am worth about five and twenty per cent. more than any other merchant in the city; and as for that stupid proverb, money is the root of all evil, 'tis well enough for those to say so, who have none; for my part, I know that much of the good things of this world is better than not enough—that a man can live longer upon a hundred thousand pounds than one thousand pounds—that if, the more we have the more we want, the more we have the more we make—and that it is better to make hay while the sun shinesagainsta rainy day, when I shall be upon my last legs, than to work and toil like an assinthe rain; so it plainly appears that money is the root of all good;—that's my logic.—I long to see the young rogue tho'—I dare say he looks very like his father;—but, had I thought old Trueman wou'd have us'd me so ill, I wou'd not have wrote forhim yet; for he shall not have his old sweetheart:—if he offers to disobey me in this respect, by my body, I'll disinherit the ungracious dog immediately.
[Exit.
SceneIII.Another part ofLoveyet'sHouse.
DollyandThomas.
Thomas.I've set a bowl of grog before him, pretty much to the northward, and a luncheon of bread and beef almost as big as his head; for he said he was consumed hungry.
Dolly.I language to behold him;—but I'm afraid he'll be rude to a body. [EnterHumphry, with a large luncheon of bread and butter.] Oh, as I'm alive, it is Humphry; old Cubb, the miller's son! Now will the great bear be for rumpling and hugging a body, as he us'd to do.
[Aside.
Humphry.How d' ye do again, as the saying is? You're a devilish honest fellow, as I'm a gentleman; and thank 'e for your frugality, with all my heart: I've eaten up all the beef and grog, so I thought I wou'd go to the cupboard, and cut a small slice of bread and butter, d' ye see.
Thomas.Why didn't you cut yourself a larger slice, while you was about it?
Humphry.Oh, it's big enough, thank 'e; I never eat much at a meal; but if I crave more, I'll speak. [SeesDolly.] Wha—what—Doll! is that you? Oh, the wonderful works of nature! Who'd ha' thought to ha' found you here. What, don't you know me? not know your old sweetheart? By Job, I want to buss you, most lasciviously.
[Crams all the bread in his mouth in haste, and offers to kiss her.—Thomashinders him.
Dolly.Oh, oh!
Thomas.What, do you dare to do such a thing before me, you country brute?
Humphry.Aye, no sooner said than done; that's my way.
Thomas.But you sha'n't say nor do your lascivious tricks before me, I warrant you.
Dolly.Oh, the filthy beast! he has frightened me out of my seventy-seven senses; he has given me a fever.
Humphry.I don't care if you'll give me a favour, or not; for I don't value it an old horse-shoe, not I; I can get favours enough in New-York, if I go to the expense.—I know what—I suppose you forget when Jack Wrestle, the country mack-marony—
Dolly.Oh, oh!
Humphry.Why, in the country you us'd for to kiss me without axing.
Dolly.I scorn your words, you worthless blackguard; so I do.
[Cries.
Thomas.Sir, I'd have you to know, sir, that I won't suffer you, sir, to abuse this young lady, sir, in this manner, sir; and, sir—in short, sir, you're a dirty fellow, for your pains, sir.
Humphry.And you're a great litterly lubber, as the saying is; and if you'll be so friendly as for to fetch the mug of ale you promis'd me, I'll lick you out of pure gratitude: have a care—grog makes me fight like a tyger.
Thomas.It's a bargain,—I shou'd be sorry to try you; but I'll go lace you ale a little, and that will spoil your fighting, I warrant you.
[Aside, and exit.
Dolly.You sha'n't fight him.—Oh, law, I wou'dn't trust myself with him alone, for the riches of the Indians!
[Exit, after him.
Humphry.[Mimicking her.] What an unfaithless trollop! She's got to be very vartuous since she's liv'd in town, but vartue is but skin deep, as the saying is:—wou'dn't even let me kiss her;—I meant nothing but the genteel thing neither,—all in an honest way. I wonder what she can see in that clumsy booby's face, for to take his part, sooner than I!—but I'll go buy a new coat and breeches, and get my head fricaseed, and my beard comb'd a little, and then I'll cut a dash with the best on 'em. I'll go see where that ill-looking fellow stays with the ale.
[Exit.
End of the Second Act.
SceneI.A Barber's Shop.
Humphryin new clothes, reading a newspaper.—Toupeeshaving him.
Humphry.Pray now, master barber, what does Constitution mean? I hears so many people a quarrelling about it,—I wish I cou'd get somebody to give me the exclamation of it; here it is among the news too. It's spelt C, O, N, con—S, T, I, sti—consti—T, U, tu—constitu—T, I, ti—constituti—O, N, on—con-sti-tu-ti-on,—but your city folks calls it Constitushon; they've got such a queer pronouncication.
Toupee.Vat you please, sare?
Humphry.Yes, it pleases me well enough; I only want to know what it magnifies.
Toupee.Je ne vous entens pas, monsieur.
Humphry.Why, what outlandish dialogue is that you're a talking? I can't understand your lingo as well as the Schoolmaster's, with his monstrous memorandums, and his ignorant mouses.
Toupee.You be 'quainted with monsieur de Schoolmastare, monsieur?
Humphry.Yes, mounsieur; he and the consumptive old gentleman, old what's his name, was a wrangling about that confounded name that I was axing you about;—caw—con—[Looks at the paper.] aye, Constitution.
Toupee.Dat Constitution is no bon;—de Schoolmastare vas strike me for dat. By gar, I get de satisfaction!
Humphry.He talks as crooked as a Guinea niger.
[Aside.
Toupee.He vas call me—ah, le diable!—block; dis—[Points to his head.] blockhead, oui, blockhead.
Humphry.If you've got a mind, I'll lather him for you.
Toupee.Yes; den I vill lader you for nothing.
Humphry.You lather me for nothing?—I'll lather you for less yet, you barber-looking—
Toupee.No, no; me lader you so.
[LathersHumphry'sface.
Humphry.Oh, with soap-suds, you mean:—I ax pardon, mounsieur; I thought how you was a going for to lather me without soap-suds or razor, as the old proverb is.
Toupee.Dat is no possible, monsieur.
Humphry.I believe not; you shou'd be shav'd as clean as a whistle, if you was; 'faith should you.
Toupee.Yes, I will shave you very clean;—here is de bon razor for shave de beard. [Draws the razor over the back ofHumphry'shand, to shew him it can cut a hair.]
Humphry.[Bellowing out.] You ill-looking, lousy, beard-combing, head-shaving rascal! Did you ever know any body for to have a beard upon their hand?
Toupee.You be von big 'merican brute, sur mon âme!
Humphry.You lie, as the saying is. What a mouth he makes whenever he goes for to talk his gibberage!—He screws it upfor all the world like a pickled oyster. I must have a care I don't get some of that snuff out of his nose.
Toupee.You please for taste de snuff?
Humphry.I don't care if Ismellsome. [Takes a pinch of snuff, which makes him sneeze, whileToupeeis shaving him; by which he gets his face cut.]
Toupee.Prenez garde à vous!
Humphry.The devil take the snuff and you!
[Going.
Toupee.S'il vous plaît, monsieur, you vill please for take de—de—vat is dat—de lettre—de shallange to monsieur de Schoolmastare, for fight me?
Humphry.Yes, that I will, with the most carefullest manner;—he shall have it in the greatest pleasure.
[Toupeegives a paper toHumphry.
Toupee.Dat is de bon civility,—I vill be your—a—very good friend.
Humphry.Thank 'e kindly, Mounsieur.
[Exeunt, severally.
SceneII.A Street.
EnterYoung LoveyetandHumphry.
Loveyet.Not find where he lives?
Humphry.No;—you're the most unluckiest gentleman for making of blunders,—didn't you tell me how your father liv'd in number two hundred and fifty, in Queen-Street, in the three-story brick house?
Loveyet.I did; is not that the house?
Humphry.No—why, your father don't live there.
Loveyet.Did you enquire for Mr. Loveyet?
Humphry.Yes, I saw Mr. Loveyet.
Loveyet.The devil is in the fellow, I believe. Did you give him my letter?
Humphry.Yes, but I didn't want to.
Loveyet.Why not?
Humphry.Becase I wanted for to carry it to your father.
Loveyet.What makes you think Mr. Loveyet is not my father?
Humphry.Somebody told me so that's got a good right to know; I've his own words for it.
Loveyet.My father tell you so?
Humphry.The young man is crazy, I believe.—I say Mr. Loveyet said you wasn't his son; so I suppose he can't be your father by that.
Loveyet.I forgot that the letter would probably produce this misunderstanding. [Aside.]—He is the only one I know, whom I have a right to call my father.
Humphry.May be you're the old fellow's bastard, and if you're a bastard, you can't be a son, you know: aye, that's the catch, I suppose.
Loveyet.Your new clothes make you quite smart, Mr. Cubb.
Humphry.Yes, don't I look quite smart, with these here new clothes? they're all new, I'll insure you—only a little the worse for wear; I bought 'em at the vandue option, at the Fly-Market.
Loveyet.But how came you by that patch on one side of your face, and that large crop of beard on the other?
Humphry.Mounsieur, the outlandish barber, give me a small cut across the whiskers; but the best of all you ha'n't seen yet;—see here.
[Pulls off his hat.
Loveyet.Aye, now you look something like—quite fierce—entirely the fine gentleman, upon my falsehood. A genteel dress is the very soul of a man, Mr. Cubb.
Humphry.Like enough, for I've got more soul to shew myself, now I cut such a dash; I've got a soul to see the shews at the play-house; and, I think, I've got a great deal more soul to spend a few shillings at the ale-house.
Loveyet.That's true; I'm glad you remind me of my promise.
Humphry.Not I, I didn't remind you,—I scorn it.
Loveyet.I dare say you do. [Gives him money.] There, drink my health with that.
Humphry.With all my heart—soul, I mean;—aye, here's soul enough—[Jingling the money.]—to buy the matter o' twenty mugs;—come, let's go at once.
Loveyet.I?—excuse me, sir; I have particular business elsewhere.—Sir, your most humble servant.
Humphry.Sir, I am your most humble sarvint too. [Bows awkwardly.]
[Exeunt, severally.
SceneIII.Mr. Friendly'sHouse.
EnterHarriet.
[Knocking at the door.] What an incessant knocking! Mr. Friendly's family are out, and between their company and my own, I expect to be engaged all day: I am fairly tired of these morning visits;—they are fashionable, and, therefore, agreeable,to those who can make propriety and happiness subservient to custom and false politeness; but, for my part—
EnterServant.
Servant.Miss Airy is waiting in her carriage, madam.
Harriet.Admit her. [ExitServant.] She is the only one I wish to see this morning.
EnterMaria.
Maria.My dear Harriet, I am rejoic'd to find you at home;—I this minute heard something, which I knew would make you happy; and that, I trust, is a good excuse for troubling you twice a day with my company.
Harriet.You wrong my friendship, Maria, if you think you can oblige me too often with your desirable company; 'tis true I was wishing for a little cessation of that torrent of formal visitors which is pouring in from morning till night; but far be it from Harriet to reckon her Maria among that number.
Maria.You are very good, my dear; but you must give me leave to be a little jealous that I am not the only one who is favoured with such a preference.
Harriet.Indeed, I do not know any one I have a particular desire to see this morning, except yourself.
Maria.You forget Mr. Loveyet, when you say so.
Harriet.Poh! I am not talking of men.
Maria.No; but it is very probable you arethinkingofa man.
Harriet.And pray what reason have you to think, that my thoughts run upon such an improper subject?
Maria.Improper subject,—ha, ha, ha. So my very discreet, prudish little Harriet never lets man enter into her head; tho' it is pretty notorious somebody has enter'd into her heart long ago.
Harriet.Your discernment must be very subtle, if you know all that is in my heart.
Maria.I only judge of your heart, by your tongue; and the abundance of the former is generally inferred from the speech of the latter.—Yes, yes—that constant, hypocritical heart of yours is now throbbing with love, hope, curiosity, and—a thousand speechless sensations, the improper subject of which, I do not hesitate to declare, is odious man; and that man, the accomplished Mr. Loveyet.
Harriet.Pshaw,—how can you tantalize one so?
Maria.Well, well, it shall not be serv'd like Tantalus any more:hewas doom'd to behold; and, beholding, to wish and languish for the tempting draught, in vain: but a better doom awaits the happy Harriet;—what she desires is not thus interdicted, but will soon be obtain'd, and—
Harriet.How strangely you talk, Maria.
Maria.Well, I will not keep you in suspense any longer. Old Mr. Loveyet has received a letter from his son, signifying his intention to leave the West-Indies shortly after its date, so you may expect to see him very soon. Then hey for a wedding, &c.
Harriet.Ha, ha; you are a droll girl.
Maria.But my time is precious; I am just going to the widow Affable's:—about twelve months ago she paid me a visit, when, agreeably to the form in such cases made and provided, she beg'd I would be more sociable, and she would take it so kindly of me:—accordingly I shall step inen passant, to shew her my sociability and kindness, which I shall, perhaps, repeat at the end of another year.
Harriet.How can you be so cruel? The pleasure I experience in your society, makes me regret that any one should be deprived of it.
Maria.That is very strange:—I should imagine, if you priz'd my company so much, you would wish me to withhold it from others; because, the more I bless them with my presence, the less will come to your share, you know, my dear;—nor is it easy to conceive how you could be so fond of my sweet person, without being jealous at the partiality of others;—but, after all, good people, they say, are scarce; and my humble admirers shall find the saying verified in me; because they are not fully sensible of my superior value; but, since you prove the contrary, by extolling my conversation and friendship so much, I likewise shall observe a contrary conduct, and indulge you with atête-à-têtefrequently, my dear.—But I have fifty places to call at yet:—I am to wait on Miss Nancy Startup, Miss Biddy Dresswise, Miss Gaudy, Miss Titterwell, Mrs. Furbelow, Mrs. Neverhome, Mrs—et cætera, et cætera; which visits I mean to pay with all the formality and fashionable shortness in my power: from thence I shall proceed to Mademoiselle Mincit, the milliner; from thence to two or three score of shops in William-Street, to buy a prodigious number of important—
Harriet.Trifles.
Maria.You are right, my dear;—as I live, I would not be one of those officious "Nothing else, Ma'ms?" for all the goods from the North Church to Maiden-Lane.—Adieu,—I leave you to meditate on what I have told you.
Harriet.Farewell. [ExitMaria.] Now Maria is gone, I will see no more company.—If anything can be an excuse for a falsehood, the present occasion offers a very good one:—I feel my mind pretty much at ease, and I do not choose to have it disturbed by the impertinence of pretended friends.—Who is there?
EnterServant.
Servant.Madam.
Harriet.Whoever calls to see me to-day, remember I am not at home.
Servant.Mr. Worthnought is here now, Madam; must I deny you to him?
Harriet.Undoubtedly. [ExitServant.] I am disgusted with the repetition of that coxcomb's nonsense.—[Sighs.]—I wish Charles was here:—In spite of the false delicacy of that tyrant, Custom, which forbids us to speak the exquisite effusions of a susceptible heart, I can now speak boldly, while that heart dictates to the willing tongue what complacence it feels at the prospect of its Charles's return.
[Exit.
SceneIV.Another part ofMr. Friendly'sHouse.
Worthnought, discovered solus.
Worthnought.Who comes here! He sha'n't see her, if I don't, 'foregad—Curse me, but he shall go away with a flea in his ear.
EnterYoung Loveyet, followed byHumphry.
Humphry.Mr. Lovit—Mr. Lovit.—[Takes him aside.] As I was a going along, d'ye see, I see you pop in here, and so I follow'd you, to tell you, how old Mr. Lovit said he was intend for to go for to see the old fellow's daughter, to tell her something about the letter. Don't Mrs. Harriet live here?
Loveyet.I'll make haste, and supersede the design of his errand, if possible;—it would be a pity he should come before I had appriz'd Harriet I was not in the West-Indies. [Aside.]—I am obliged to you for your information.
[ToHumphry.
Humphry.Thank 'e, as the saying is. [Going,—Worthnoughtwhispers with him.]—What's that to you?—How clumsy mounsieur has dress'd his calabash!—Powder'd over the face and eyes.
[Exit.
Worthnought.I wish I knew what he wanted with him;—perhaps it is something about me.
[Aside.
Loveyet.What Butterfly is this we have here!—I suppose it is the fop, Frankton mentioned.
[Aside.
Worthnought.Sir, I have the honour to be, with the profoundest respect and esteem, your most obedient, most devoted, and most obliged humble slave,foy d'Homme d'Honneur—Tol lol, &c.
[Sings.
Loveyet.A very pompous salutation, truly. [Aside.]—Your polite address does me too much honour, sir;—I cannot conceive how you can be my obliged slave, as I do not recollect I ever saw you before.
Worthnought.Why, sir, I'll tell you:—Your appearance, sir, bespeaks the gentleman of distinction, sir,—
Loveyet.Myappearance;—superficial coxcomb!
[Aside.
Worthnought.'Tis true, my words were words of course; but I meant every word, sir, 'pon hanor.—"Cupid, Gad of saft persuasion, &c."
[Sings affectedly, and takes snuff.
Loveyet.Humph,—To whom, sir, am I indebted, for so much civility?
Worthnought.Dick Worthnought, esquire, at your service, sir.
Loveyet.The very fool.
[Aside.
Worthnought.And give me leave to add, sir, that I feel the highest felicity, that you have given me so good an opportunity of asking you, in my turn, for the favour of your name, sir.
Loveyet.My name is Loveyet, sir.—With what solemnity the coxcomb talks!
[Aside.
Worthnought.A native of this city, I presume, Mr. Loveyet.
Loveyet.I am, sir; but I have been absent for some years, and, as I was a youth when I left the city, I cannot be supposed to have retained much of the Yorker.
Worthnought.Pardon me, sir;—to a person of penetration, the Yorker is still conspicuous under the disguise of the foreigner; and I am proud to have the hanor of being your countryman, sir.
Loveyet.I fancy the honour is by no means reciprocal.
[Aside.
Worthnought.You are acquainted with Miss Harriet Trueman, I presume, Mr. Loveyet.
Loveyet.I was formerly acquainted with the lady.
Worthnought.You must know, sir, that your humble servant has the hanor and felicity of being that lady's very humble admirer.
Loveyet.I dare say she is admired by all who have the pleasure of knowing her.
Worthnought.Give me leave, sir,—I mean her lover.
Loveyet.Conceited ape!
[Aside.
Worthnought.Youhave no pretensions, sir, I presume.
Loveyet.Pretensions?
Worthnought.Aye, sir; I thought you might have a smallpenchant, as the French call it;—you apprehend me; but she don't intend to see company to-day. I am monstrously chagrin'd, sir, 'foregad, that I have it not in my power to introduce you to the divine mistress of my heart; but, as matters are circumstanc'd, I think it is not worth our while to stay.
Loveyet.I mean to see Miss Trueman before I shall think so.
Worthnought.Oh, fie, sir;—you wou'd not force a lady to give you her company against her inclination:—perhaps, indeed, she may appear to receive you with some warmth, and you may flatter yourself you have fairly made a canquest of her, and think Dick Worthnought esquire, is out-rival'd; but if so, you are most demnably bit, 'foregad, for she's as slippery as ice, tho' not quite so cold;—she is the very standard of true modern coquetry, the quintessence of thebeau-monde, and the completest example of New-York levity, that New-York has the hanor to call its beautiful inhabitant: ha, ha,—she'll jilt you;—however, the dear creature, with all her amiable foibles, has been so profuse of her attention to me, that I should be ungrateful not to acknowledge the various favours she has hanor'd me with.
Loveyet.Consummate impudence! [Aside.]—Miss Trueman's character is well known, sir.
Worthnought.Miss Trueman's character! Demme, sir, do you mean to say anything against her character?
Loveyet.No;—and I will take care you shall not, with impunity.
Worthnought.You are the most unmannerly fellow I ever convers'd with, 'pan hanor.
Loveyet.And you the most contemptible puppy; or that fellow would be unmannerly enough to chastise you for your insolence.
Worthnought.That's a demnable rub, demme;—curse him, I'm afraid he isn't afraid of me, after all. [Aside.]—You wou'd find me as brave as yourself then; demme, but you wou'd.
Loveyet.I'll try you. [Offers to cane him, which makes him cry out.—Then enterHarriet, hastily.]
Harriet.Oh, dear!—what's the matter?
[SeeingCharles, she shrieks.
Loveyet.My dearest,—my adorable Harriet!
Harriet.Is it possible? I did not dream that Mr. Loveyet was the person who wanted to see me.
Loveyet.And am I again blest with a sight of the dear object of all my wishes and affections!—I thank you, heaven; you have been bountiful, indeed! The rolling billows, under your propitious guidance, have at length wafted me to my native land, to love and my dear Harriet.
Worthnought.What the devil does he mean!
[Aside.
Harriet.Your unexpected appearance, and the unaccountable circumstance which attends it, have discomposed me in such a manner, that I cannot express, as I wish, how happy I am in your safe arrival.
Worthnought.Hah,—happy in his arrival! If so, she will not be very happy in his rival, I'm afraid.
[Aside.
Loveyet.I will explain the occasion of my charmer's fright immediately;—at present I can only tell you that your wou'd-be lover, here—
Harriet.My lover!
Loveyet.So he confidently call'd himself, and took such other insufferably vain and impudent freedoms with your name, that I attempted to give him a little wholesome admonition with this, if his effeminate cries had not brought my lovely Harriet in to prevent me; but the very attempt has proved him to be the basest of dastards. [While he is saying this,Worthnoughtmakes several attempts to interrupt him.]
Harriet.[ToWorthnought.] I am equally surpriz'd and incens'd, sir, that you would dare to take such freedoms with my name.
Loveyet.Be assured, Miss Harriet, if you condescend to grant your valuable company to such superficial gentry, they willever prove themselves as unworthy of it as he has; but your goodness does not let you suspect the use which such characters make of the intimacy they are honour'd with, or you would spurn their unmeaning flattery, and ridiculous fopperies, with indignation.
Harriet.I ever till now consider'd him as a respectful, well-meaning person, as far as regarded myself; and as such, gave him a prudent share of my civilities; but I never thought either his intellects or his person sufficient to entitle him to a partial intimacy.
Worthnought.You cannot deny, madam, that I have repeatedly experienced the most flattering proofs of your partiality, that a lady (who values her reputation) can ever bestow on her admirer.
Harriet.Contemptible thing! An admirer, forsooth! Of what?—Your ideas are too mean and frothy to let you admire anything but my dress, or some other trifle as empty and superficial as the trifler I am speaking to. My demeanour towards you was nothing but the effect of cheerfulness and politeness; qualities which, I believe, are inherent in me, and of which, therefore, all with whom I am acquainted are the objects; but your present unmanly and insupportably impudent discourse, makes me despise myself almost as much as you, for allowing such a wretch even that small degree of attention which he so illy deserved.
Worthnought.You are very insulting, madam, 'pan hanor.—
Loveyet.How apt such fellows are to havehonourin their mouths.
[Aside.
Worthnought.This is only a trick to conceal your inconstancy during his absence; but it is the nature of the sex to deceive us.
Harriet.'Tis the nature of a fool to say so; and if that fool does not instantly quit the subject and the house together, I must request the favour of Mr. Loveyet to make him.
Loveyet."As matters are circumstanced, Mr. Worthnought, I think it is not worth your while to stay."
Worthnought.Her unparallel'd rudeness shall not compel me to leave the house, till I please.
Loveyet."Oh, fie, sir,—you would not force a lady to give you her company against her inclination."
Worthnought.You are very fond of echoing my words, it seems.
Loveyet.Yes, when I can apply them to your disappointment and disgrace.—"I am monstrously chagrin'd, sir, 'foregad, that I have it not in my power to introduce you to the divine mistress of my heart." Ha, ha, ha.
Worthnought.'Tis very well,—I will have revenge;—if the laws of politeness (which I would rather die than infringe) did not forbid swearing before alady[In a contemptuous tone.], curse me, but I would d——n you for a—
Loveyet.[Interrupting him.]—"You must know, sir, I have the hanor and felicity of being this lady's very humble admirer."—You have failed in your predictions, I think, sir.
Worthnought.Yes, and she shall soon pay for her duplicity; tho' I would not have you think that her ill usage mortifies me in the least: I never was in love with her, nor did I ever intend marriage, which is more thanshecan say; and, I believe, it is fortunate for us both, that you arriv'd when you did, or something might have happened, which would have obliged me to marry her, merely to prevent her from being miserable.—Ha, ha, ha. Tol lol, &c.
[Exit.
Harriet.What a superlative wretch!
Loveyet.He is too contemptible to cost you a thought, Harriet:—none but the puppy tribe, and a few splenetic old maids, will pay any attention to his slander; they, no doubt, will spread it with avidity;—but to be traduced by such, is to be praised.—Hah!—there comes my father;—I forgot to tell you I expected him here: I will try if he knows me.
EnterOld Loveyet.
Old Loveyet.Madam, your most obedient;—Sir, your servant.
Loveyet.[Bows.] I find he does not know me:—Nature, be still; for now I feel he is indeed my father.
Harriet.Mr. Loveyet, I am happy to see you.
Old Loveyet.She would not be quite so happy, if she knew my errand. [Aside.]—I have waited on you, madam, upon disagreeable business.
Harriet.How, sir?—I beg you will not leave me in suspense: What is it?
Old Loveyet.It is a matter of a delicate nature, madam, and therefore, must not be spoken at random.
Loveyet.Heaven avert any unfavourable event!
[Aside.
Harriet.Mr. Loveyet, your cautious innuendoes give me sensible uneasiness.
Loveyet.I will withdraw, Miss Trueman;—My love—friendship, I would say, though it wishes to afford you happiness, and participate in your troubles, does not presume to intrude on the private conversation Mr. Loveyet wishes.
Harriet.I dare say your presence is no restraint, sir.
Old Loveyet.I don't know that, madam: pray, who is the gentleman?
Harriet.The gentleman is my very particular friend, sir.
Old Loveyet.By my body, here is rare work going on.—[Aside.]—Well, madam, as the gentleman is yourvery particular friend; and as hislove—friendship, I mean, is so great, that you dare to entrust all your secrets with him; I shall acquaint you, that, as you and my son have long entertained a partiality for each other, and being desirous to fulfill all my engagements, as well as to make him happy, I have wrote for him to come and conclude the marriage; but, for very good reasons, I have this day determined to forbid the bans; and Mr. Trueman says, he is very willing too.