University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A Tailor's Work-Shop.
Abrahamides discovered. Enter Bernardo and Bartholomëus.
Abrahamides.
Welcome, Bernardo!—Now, what say our friends?

Bern.
Great Abrahamides, the chief of all
Who led th'embattled Tailors first to war,
Success attends you to your utmost wish:
Behold, the brave Bartholomëus is come,
Willing to hear, and aid your utmost aim.

Abr.
His mien is noble, and bespeaks the Tailor;
Not of the Dunghill and degenerate race,
But such as the brave Elliot led to battle.
Will he not bend before a master's frown?
Or flow dissolving in the tankard's tears?

Bern.
Injurious thought!

Bart.
To ease you of your fears,
I will retire: You'll one day know me better.

Abr.
Forgive me, stranger, if, in caution old,
I fear to trust appearance ev'n like thine.
Whence and what art thou?

Bart.
In Wapping's distant realm I drew my breath;
Where long my father held his peaceful sway.
Fir'd with the love of liberty and beer,
Urg'd by Bernardo's friendship, I am come
To offer aid; if aid, so mean as mine,
Can aught avail a cause so great, so just!

Abr.
Say, who thy sire?

Bart.
The old Bartholomëus.

Abr.
Thrice happy omen! Welcome to my arms,
Thou generous son of that brave man I lov'd:
We oft in early youth together work'd,
On the same board together cross-legg'd sat;
In summer cucumbers, in winter cabbages,
Together eat. Oft at the skittle-ground—

Bern.
Consider, Sir, this time admits no pause
For friendship's softer ties: One hour, perhaps,
Decides our utmost fate!

Abr.
Well urg'd, Bernardo.—Say, thou generous youth,
How stands thy state? speak, if in peace or war?

Bart.
In peace profound with all the neighbouring chiefs:
Nor that alone; for amity's strict league
Unites us all.—Far on the adverse coast,
As far as Redriff's ample range extends,
Great Christophorides resides in state.
While Northward, to Whitechapel's awful Mount,
The great Humphryminos, renown'd in arms,
Leads the tremendous sons of Spital-Fields.

Bern.
What are your numbers, and how disciplin'd?

Bart.
Full fifteen hundred men complete in arms.

Abr.
A goodly band!—Now, gallant stranger, hear!
By good intelligence I'm well inform'd,
The tyrant masters meet in close divan,
At the Five Bells. Part of their dark design
Is known, the rest conceal'd: But, I've ta'en care
To place Isaacos, with a chosen band,
Instructed to discover, or disturb
Their inmost councils from their destin'd aim:
Be it thy care to haste Humphryminos
And Christophorides to this night's council;
While each subaltern chief prepares the men.

Bart.
I will, brave chief.—Where is the council held?

Abr.
Why, at the Orange-Tree in White-Hart-Yard.

Bart.
'Till then, farewell!

Abr.
Nay, quick! be Mercury;
Set feathers to thy heels, and fly like thought,
From them, to me again!

Bart.
The spirit of the time shall teach me speed.

[Exit.
Bern.
Spoke like a sprightly Tailor!

Abr.
A gallant youth!
Bernardo, ere the midnight clock has struck,
Be thou with me; some doubts perplex my breast
Which this night's council must or clear or cure.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

An Apartment in Francisco's house.
Enter Francisco and Dorothea.
Dor.
Francisco, stay! unkind Francisco, stay!
Nor let thy Dorothea plead in vain:
Consider, love, thy swaddled legs, thy gout, and all thy pains.

Fran.
Cease, Dorothea, to perplex my breast
With idle fears: Whene'er my duty calls,
Thou know'st, nor gout, nor rheumatism can stop me:
Cease then to ask for what I must deny.

Dor.
True, I'm a woman; therefore full of fear;
But, tho' my body's weak, my mind is noble,
For that is full of thee: On thee I gaze,
Watch every virtue, catch the kindling flame!
Cease then to tax thy Dorothea's heart
With idle fears; those fears are all for thee!
Oh, but this night absent thyself from council,
And Dorothea then will ask no more!

Fran.
It cannot, must not be.

Dor.
Cannot? must not?

Fran.
Ah, no!

Dor.
And yet there was a time, my Franky,
When Dolly might obtain a greater suit:
If she but look'd as if she had a want,
Thy penetrating eyes, and generous heart,
Watch'd every look, prevented every wish:
There was a time, when in the afternoon,
As you prepar'd to take your usual nap,
No pillow pleas'd but Dorothea's breast;
When to the last your eyes would gaze on her,
'Till poppy sleep oppress'd them; she with joy
Strok'd thy lank cheeks, and lull'd thy soul to rest:
But, ah! that time (I know not why) is past.

Fran.
Oh, peace! thou fair upbraider, chide no more!
Thou know'st my heart still glows with fondness for thee;
But, go I must: The fate of all the trade
Depends on this night's council; 'tis decisive.
Campbello, the great father of the trade,
With his own hand hath summon'd: Absence now
Would cast reproach on all my former fame!

Dor.
Oh, didst thou know but all, thou wouldst not go.

Fran.
What means my love?

Dor.
Alas, I fear to tell!

Fran.
Keep me not on the rack!—Perplex no more,
But tell me all!

Dor.
Wilt thou not chide me then?

Fran.
Chide thee, my love?

Dor.
Oh, smooth that angry brow,
I'll tell thee all.—Last night, I had a dream!

Fran.
A dream! a dream!

Dor.
Nay, hear me, ere you blame!—
Methought you took me in a one-horse chaise,
Unto the Star and Garter, Richmond-Hill.
Placid and pleas'd, we had a charming ride:
But, while we gaz'd on the rich prospect round,
Sudden, methought, I stumbled; anxious fear
Urg'd me to catch at thee—at thee, my love,
My best support—but thou, alas! wert gone:
When, lo! far off, the bottom of the Hill,
I saw thee rising from the watry Thames,
All dripping wet! with eager haste I ran:
As I drew nigh, what words can paint my fears,
When I beheld blood trickling down thy face:
At that sad sight, I wak'd with horror!

Fran.
Wet?

Dor.
Dripping wet!

Fran.
And bloody too?

Dor.
All a gore blood! and from that hour to this,
Remembrance chills me with the very thought!

Fran.
Trust me, my love, my heart recoils with fear!

Dor.
Oh, seize the happy omen! stay at home!
I'll send a message, that you're sick in bed.

Fran.
What, for a dream? no; it shall ne'er be said,
A dream could awe a Master-Tailor's soul!—
Besides, inform me, what's this dream to me,
More than the world in general?

Dor.
Gallant man!
[Fran. going.
Yet, stay, Francisco, stay!

Fran.
Thou plead'st in vain!
How would St. Clement's sons, renown'd in art,
And their proud dames, (whose mantuas sweep the ground,
With heads made up of wool, and rumps of cork)
Attaint the lustre of Francisco's name,
Should it be known, a dream could e'er deter
Him from his duty! no; come what come may,
I'm fix'd to go; for 'tis our council-day.

Dor.
Oh, rigid virtue! more than stoick pride!
Since then thou wilt go, leave not thy cloak behind:
Screen thy lov'd self, thy Dolly's dearer half,
From the dank dew, and each unkindly fog:
Sure rigid honour does not that forbid.

Fran.
In that, and every thing that's free from shame,
Francisco lives but to oblige his Dolly.

Dor.
'Tis kindly said!—Who waits without? come in!
Enter Mopperella.
Forth from the cloaths-press, fetch the red roqueleau.
[Mopperella goes out, and returns with a roqueleau.
And now, one parting kiss! one more! farewell!
Remember well—Hold, hold, my boding heart!—
Whate'er Francisco's fate, his Dolly suffers!
Oh, my Francisco!

Fran.
Oh, my Dorothea!

[Exeunt severally.

SCENE III.

A Room at the Five Bells.
Campbello, Hagglestonon, Pearcy, Francisco, Regniades, &c. in council.
Camp.
My friends, a set of worthy men you are,
Prudent, and just, and careful for the trade.
In various meetings, and with long debate,
With no small toil, at length it was resolv'd,
This night's conclusive meeting crowns the whole:
Whether by open war, or covert guile,
We now debate: Who can advise, may speak!

Hag.
'Tis true, this point demands our utmost care;
And since no generous usage can restrain
Those sons of riot, harsher means be tried!
For if their insults you unpunish'd bear,
A train of horrid ills will soon ensue,
Even to the ruin of our antique trade.
Therefore, by my advice, be forthwith rais'd
A large subscription, plac'd in proper hands,
Which may let loose the merciless stern law
To hunt the slaves, like hell-hounds, thro' the world!

Pear.
Much I approve great Hagglestonon's plan.
United firmly, we have nought to fear:
But if in our own body should be found
Some hollow bosoms, men who, void of shame,
Prefer ignoble ease to glorious toil,
And meanly with their rude demands comply;
Should there be such (as worthy cause I have
To fear there are) where is your remedy?
To what end serves the patriot's honest toil,
If silken slaves of ease thus bar success?
Ills such as these who can prevent or cure?

Reg.
That can I.
Sage Latitatos, learned in the law,
With much sound wisdom prov'd, that not alone
The rebels who demand, but all who give
More than the stated price assign'd by law,
Are liable to prosecution deep.
Be it thy care, oh, father of the trade,
Thou sage Campbello, with thy utmost strength
And speed, to forward Hagglestonon's plan:
Spare no offender! then we soon shall know
Our friends from foes; as all the wise prefer
An avow'd enemy to a doubtful friend.

Fran.
Rude am I in my speech, and little skill'd
In soft persuasive arts; but yet, I trust
By facts my injur'd character to save.
Nor need I now relate, oh, Tailors here,
The services which I have done the trade;
They are all known: Arts such as these I leave
To them, who think that boasting gives them honour.
Yet some, in justice to myself, I must—
When, at the time of general mourning, all
To Bedfordbury, and to White-Hart-Yard,
Straight ran in crouds, with haste to intercept
Each others' men, submitting to their terms,
Stepp'd not I forth, and check'd the rude Barbarians?
Who was it first propos'd this very plan?
Was that the action of a doubtful friend?
Who call'd the general meeting in the Strand?
Ye came, 'tis true; but what did ye effect?
Ye spent the time in noisy vain debates.
Seeing you wavering, and irresolute,
With honest scorn, I cater'd for myself:
What could I do?—Say, if a baron sends
To me for cloaths, what, must I leave him cloathless?
Or, if a duke, who pays me nobly, sends
For a rich birth-day suit, what, must I say
I can't afford to pay my journeymen?
Oh, inconsiderate, ungrateful men!
Little I thought, that after all my toils,
From early youth down to decrepid age,
Reproach should ever stain my honest fame;
Less, it should come from Pearcy's flippant tongue.
'Tis true, I gave more than the law allows;
So have you all: If you call that a crime,
From guilt like that not even Pearcy's free.

Pear.
Who dares name guilt, and with a Pearcy's name?

Fran.
That dare I!

Pear.
You know your age protects you;
Your safety else you would not hazard thus.

Fran.
Safety from thee?—

Camp.
Hold, hold, my noble friends!
Restrain your fire, check this impetuous rage,
Nor let these sparks be kindled into flame.
Pearcy, be dumb, and learn respect to age!
Thy worth, Francisco, still will be remember'd,
Long as the Tailors' business has a being.
Think not, thou venerable man, that words,
Hastily dropp'd in council, point at thee;
For whosoever strives to wrong thy fame,
Will find the dart recoil upon himself.

Reg.
Ere I would wrong the great Francisco's fame,
May my right-hand forget to hold the needle!
Whate'er I spoke was for the common good:
The ill was general, fatal the effect,
Which to prevent was th'utmost of my aim.

Pear.
Forgive me, sage Francisco, if rash youth
Forget respect, so due to age like thine.

Fran.
Oh, great Regniades, and Pearcy too,
Forgive my warmth, if, when my fame's attack'd,
My swelling heart e'en bursts with indignation!
For what is dearer to a Tailor's soul?
Acknowledgment like this restores my love:
I am no Scythian, nurs'd with tiger's milk,
But yield with joy to friendship's softer tie.

Camp.
Ay, this is right!—Say, shall I put the question?
Is it resolv'd, that one and all unite?

Omnes.
All, all; all nine, as but one man.

Camp.
Well have ye done, well ended long debates,
Synod of Tailors, like to what you are!
Yet, ere we part—

[A noise is heard, of breaking windows and shouting.
Enter Waiter.
Waiter.
Haste, gentlemen! my worthy masters, run!
For all the journeymen are up in arms;
Caps, hats, and brick-bats fly about the street,
And knock down every master that they meet!

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

A Street.
Enter Abrahamides solus.
Abr.
With what unequal tempers are we form'd!
What tho' adorn'd with splendor, arm'd with power,
Obedient Tailors tremble at my nod;
Tho' at each club the chair of honour's plac'd
For me alone; what tho' on every slate,
My name stands foremost—still I am unhappy;
I groan beneath the complicated pangs
Of love and of ambition!—Ye jarring pair,
Why do you join to rack a heart like mine?
Yet why should love be e'er denied the brave?
Is there no way to reap the fruit of both?
Conceal my love, ambition yet may thrive:
Come, plausive Prudence, neither vice nor virtue,
Yet worth them all; pale-fac'd Hypocrisy,
Lend thy smooth smile to hide my close design:
And, friendly Caution, with thy timid eye,
Watch, lest some spy should dog me to my haunt.

[Exit.

SCENE V.

Tittillinda's Lodgings.
Enter Tittillinda and Blousidora.
Titt.
Still must I mourn, for ever mourn my fate,
Oppress'd by Fortune, and a slave to Love!
Oh, would but Fortune smile, Love yet might bless
Our future days, and Abrahamides
Fill these lov'd arms, with joys unutterable.
Instead of that—

Blous.
Torment thyself no more!
Think what you are, your present happiness;
Great Abrahamides is still thy slave.

Titt.
In vain you urge me to forget my woes.

Blous.
How many ladies, in your situation,
Would think themselves completely blest to see
An Abrahamides sigh at their feet;
One who, by general voice of all the Flints,
From his sole merit was elected chief!

Titt.
True, Blousidora, merit such as his
Might gratify a woman's utmost pride:
Great is his merit; greater still his love.
Sure I shall ne'er forget that fatal day
When at the Court of Conscience first we met:
Urg'd by hard creditors, oppress'd by foes,
Obedient to the summons, there I came;
Full thirty shillings was the vast, vast debt:
Friendless, unknowing in the quirks of law,
While the brow-beating justices insult,
Forth from the croud there stept a gallant youth,
Whose form might claim attention ev'n from queens!
He ask'd the sum; then fifteen shillings paid,
(His whole week's wages) and subscrib'd a note,
By weekly payments to discharge the rest.

Blous.
Oh, generous youth! But tell me, hapless fair,
Was he till then unknown?

Titt.
His name, his form,
'Till that blest hour, were utterly unknown.
Forth from the wond'ring crowd he led me home;
Then order'd dinner, and some brandy-punch;
Enquir'd my name, my state, sooth'd all my griefs;
Then urg'd his passion in so soft a strain!
What could I do? my Blousidora, say!
Could I refuse the gentle generous youth?

Blous.
While he is faithful, why should you complain?

Titt.
Have I not cause? my Blousidora, say!
While cruel fortune frowns, he can't support me;
My father's doors are ever shut against me:
Whene'er that thought occurs, my spirits sink,
And my whole soul goes forth in sighs and tears!

[Weeps.
Blous.
Here comes the chief.

[Exit.
Enter Abrahamides.
Abr.
In tears, my Tittillinda?
Lift up thine eyes, and see who comes to chear thee.

Titt.
My Abrahamides!

Abr.
Yes, Tittillinda,
Thy faithful Abrahamides is come,
To sooth thy sorrows, chear thy drooping spirits.
But why these tears? why, with heart-rending sighs,
Heaves thy sad bosom? Is there aught on earth,
Within my power, I would not do to serve thee?

Titt.
Oh, generous youth!

Abr.
Trust me, my love, I fear'd
Some rude unfeeling bailiff was the cause
Of thy sad tears. But, most of all I fear'd
You pin'd for pleasures I could not afford!

Titt.
Oh, no! all pleasures center in thy arms.
I envy not the fair, whose happier fate
Nightly affords to go to Sadler's Wells;
Or to White-Conduit-House, where butter'd loaves
Assuage their hunger; and to cool their thirst,
Sweet-sliding syllabub affords its aid:
Free be their joys, joys once, alas, my own!
Nor yet unhappy Tittillinda's fate,
While Abrahamides continues love.

Abr.
Oh, my soul's joy, if Fortune crown our arms,
My Tittillinda shall no longer mourn:
A few short hours will soon decide our fate.
When next we meet, I'll raise thee to a height,
Shall gather all thy gazing neighbours round,
To wonder who the devil plac'd thee there.
But if we ne'er meet more—

Titt.
What means my love?

Abr.
Be ignorant, till thou applaud'st the deed.

Titt.
I seek to know no more than you reveal.
Yet, ere thou goest, drink some generous punch,
To chear thy drooping soul.

Abr.
Short be our joys,
Whene'er our duty calls.—But come, my love;
If Fate but favour us, our future days
Shall roll in peace, in luxury, and ease,
And all be crown'd with punch, with pork, with pease.

[Exeunt.