 | The City-Ramble : or, A Play-house Wedding |  |
ACT the First.
Enter Don Garcia and Carlo.D. Garc.
“Thou know'st I have been thy Master. Thou hast paid me
“A three Years Servitude. And 'tis my Love
“That gave thee Heat, and Growth to what thou now art.
“I have trusted thee with all I had at home,
“In foreign Staples, or upon the Seas,
“To thy Direction; tyed the good Opinions
“Both of my self and Friends, to thy Endeavours,
“So fair were thy Beginnings. But with these
“As I remember you had never Charge
“To love your Master's Daughter. No, bold Sir.
“But I'll soon clip the Wings of that Ambition,
“And make you know you're but a Merchant's Factor.
Carlo.
“Sir, I do liberally confess I'm yours,
“Bound both by Love and Duty to your Service,
“In which without a Boast I have been faithful.
“I have not lost in Bargain, nor delighted
“T'enrich my Wardrobe at your Cost; have given no Pensions
“To needy Kindred, or more hungry Libertines;
“Nor lavishly in Play consum'd your Stock:
“These and the Miseries that do attend 'em,
“I dare with Innocence pronounce are Strangers
“To my more temp'rate Actions.
D. Garc.
'Twas no more
Than Duty. You discharg'd the Trust I gave you.
Carlo.
And for your Daughter, she the beauteous Lucia,
You have honour'd with that Title, you remember
Your younger Brother the true Root to that fair Branch,
Bred in the Trade of War to hardy Virtue,
At Candia's fatal Siege against the proud Mahometan,
There lodg'd i'th' Heroes common Bed of Honour
He left a mourning Widow, and his Lucia,
Expos'd to th'Fury of the conq'ring Infidels
Fled to a Christian Port, there found a Vessel
Bound home for Italy. 'Twas my good Fortune
In the same Bark to ply my ablest Eloquence
To hush the streaming Tears of that fair Mourner
Paid to a Father's too lamented Death.
D. Garc.
A Christian Office, every good Man's Duty.
Carl.
When in the Sight of our wish'd Port we came,
There rose that Storm, an Enemy more dreadful
Than the pursuing Infidels. From their Hands
Such lovely Eyes perhaps might have found Mercy;
But Winds and Seas have none. Here on a Rock
The Ship was bulg'd and lost, all left to perish.
This sinking Fair caught by her flowing Tresses,
I stem'd the Billows, bore her safe to Shore,
Drown'd only in a second Flood of Tears
For her lost Mother. Both I could not save.
Home, Sir, I brought her, gave her to your Arms,
Whilst in the Transports for her blest Deliverance
You bent a Knee at once to Heaven and Carlo.
D. Garc.
I hope then you have no Ingratitude
To charge me with.
Carlo.
Ah, no; your darling Lucia
So gratefully receiv'd, that dear Adoption,
(Your own a barren Bed) you nurs'd your Heiress,
So cherish'd and so lov'd, that you commanded her
To use no more the Name of Neice and Uncle,
But Child and Father—And for me, you lodg'd me
In your embracing Arms so near your Heart,
That as you found I had been nurst in Merchandize,
You rais'd me up to Trust, made me your Factor;
Whilst three blest Years, beneath so warm a Roof,
And your own warmer Smiles I have liv'd happy.
D. G.
And this repeated Tale is all to tell me.
In mere Humanity to a helpless Creature
You did a generous Act of Vertue—Virtue,
Its own Reward; the Service paid it self.
But if your Lucia thought me not so paid,
But nearer touch'd with a more tender Sense
Of a sav'd Life, a Gift receiv'd from me,
Her Gratitude at last grew up to Love—
D. Garc.
Love! Love to thee, bold Intruder to that Heart,
Reserv'd by a kind Father's Care to lodge
A worthier Guest than thee, thou insolent Varlet.
Carlo.
Hold, Sir—These Insults are ignoble. And to answer you
With all the Modesty of him that has been
Your faithful Servant: Though I must not play
The Boaster; Merit, when too much opprest,
Where all Tongues else are dumb may find its own.
Though I'm a younger Brother, and my Birth-right
Claims but ten thousand Crowns, I stand as fair
To raise your beauteous Branch to Wealth and Honour
As the haughtiest Pretender.
D. Garc.
Thou!
Carlo.
Yes, I Sir.
I have been bred a Merchant, and the World's
His Granary. Nature's rich Veins are all
His Mines of Gold. And as a Graduate Student
I have reach'd the Depth of that great Art, that World
Lies all before me. If I want my share on't,
I must degenerate into that Vice
Of which I never yet was guilty, Sloth.
And to the Honour of the Sons of Industry,
I dare pronounce this Glory justly ours:
There must be Soul and Sense to found a Fortune,
When Fools are born to find it.
D. Garc.
This fair Character
You have given th'industrious Merchant is a Justice
I thank you for: Nor can deny your Mastership
In that great Science. I confess the Wealth
Of that wide World our Canvas Wings soar round,
Lies fair for our bold Reach. But still that World's
A Lottery; and even our brightest Hopes
Turn but upon the fickle Goddess Wheel.
We plough a dangerous Deep for our rich Harvest,
Not always is the prosperous one—And all
Your promis'd Grandeur to my happy Daughter
Is still to build, young Boaster.—Can you blame me then
(Be your own Judge) when my Paternal Care
In the Disposal of an only Child
Prefers the present Now to your To-morrow.
Does not auspicious Providence present me
A Husband for my Daughter, Lord of that prodigious Fortune—
Carlo.
Fortune! yes, the blind Deity's Darling, loaded with her Favours,
The Blessing of five hundred thousand Crowns:
Nay, born to a Title too, his Veins Right Honourable,
No less, Sir, than a Count—You see I do him Justice.
D. Garc.
And is not this a Husband worthy—
Carlo.
Not, Sir, of your Daughter.
So far from worthy of her Arms,—an Object
Even of her lowest Scorn, beneath Contempt.
Nay, Sir, don't think a spiteful Rival speaks.
Ask your own Eyes. Behold him in his Person,
That despicable Wretch; and his unfurnish'd
Inside, if possible, ten times more Wretch:
An Æsop and an Idiot, double-compound
Deformity—Had you pickt me out a Rival
Entitled to the Stamp of his Creation,
The Divine Image, Man; a Choice cou'd make
Your Lucia happy, though me miserable;
To such a worthier Claim I could have yielded,
Forc'd my poor breaking Heart even to have resign'd her,
And dy'd to bless a Creature so belov'd.
D. Garc.
I must confess indeed the Choice I've made her
Both in his Person and his Intellectuals,
Is not so worthy as I cou'd have wish'd him.
Carlo.
Do you confess it then, own his Unworthiness,
And would you lodge a Monster in her Arms,
Her Days all Sorrow, and her Nights all Horror.
D. Garc.
I'll hear no more. This Monster, as you call him,
Though his unhappy Figure is not moulded
To your nice Approbation, still the Form
He wears is Heav'n's Creation.
So is Nature's
Most abject Birth, a Toad's the Work of Heav'n.
D. Garc.
No matter what he is, but who I am.
She marries where I please. And to perform
The fix'd Resolve I have made; this very Minute,
I here discharge you from my House: You enter
Within these Gates no more; and for my Daughter,
I'll give her Housing safe from your keen Talons.
Carlo.
Sir, I have been your Servant: And to shew you
I am all Obedience still, I am gone this Minute.
But if she be your Daughter, Sir, be you
Her Father, if her Tyrant can be so.
[Exit.
Enter at another Door Lucia.
D. Garc.
Well, Daughter, I have done you and my self Justice.
Your Favourite, your Carlo—
Luc.
You have banish'd.
D. Garc.
Yes, from my Roof but not thy Heart. No there
He still reigns Lord.
Luc.
If he does reign there, is it
A Crime beyond all Mercy to receive
A kind Preserver to my tendrest Thoughts?
D. Garc.
Ay, there's the Claim he boasts. He rescu'd you
From the devouring Waves.—What if I snatch'd
A Treasure from the Flames, is't mine because I sav'd it?
That were to turn Protection to a Tyrant,
And Charity a Thief. No, thou cheap Fool,
Know both thy self and me. Think to what Price
My Favours have advanc'd thee, far above
That poor Aspirer.
Luc.
Yes, I own your Favours,
Your kind Adoption of a wretched Orphan:
And all the Golden Hopes to which you've rais'd me.
D. Garc.
Then raise thy self yet higher, and think what Plans
Of Glory I have lay'd thee.
Luc.
No, think to what a Bed of Death you have doom'd me,
In such a loath'd Embrace as you've provided me.
If you have showr'd upon me all those warm
Paternal Smiles, and dress'd me up so gay
And only crown'd for Sacrifice; the insulting Infidels,
And all the swallowing Waves that Carlo saved me from
Were Mercy to this Cruelty.
D. Garc.
Ay, now the cunning Syren pleads her Cause.
Woman, true Woman never wants Pretences
To screen her Shame, and justify Rebellion.
Luc.
A Rebel! No, your duteous Daughter still;
For here I make this solemn Protestation,
I'll never wed the Man I love without your Leave and Liking,
Nor him you chuse for me without my own.
This Duty, Sir, I owe, and this I'll pay you.
Do's Nature, Law, or Heav'n ask more! No, Sir,
When a kind Father has rais'd up a Child
To the fair Bloom of Life and Hopes of Love, enrich'd
With every shining Grace, Wit, Sense, and Honour.
When he has thus handed her with Blessings into the World,
I know no rightful Pow'r he has to send her with Curses out of it.
D. Garc.
Ay, every Thing's a Curse but your own darling Traitor Carlo.
Enter Count.
But hush, the Count—See, Minion, you receive him
With that Respect, or—Well, Honourable Sir—
Count.
Honourable! I am Right Honourable. Don't you know I
am a Count?
D. Garc.
Happy in that illustrious Title to make a noble Husband—
Count.
Ay, ay, a Husband! My Nurse and my Lady Mother tells
me I am good for nothing but a Husband: And sent me a purpose to
make sweet Mrs. Lucia a Countess.
Luc.
Well, Sir, as Thrift and Industry are your Favourite Vertues,
and you expect your Daughter shou'd copy her Original, before
I enter into the Merits of the weighty Cause before me; pray
let me ask one reasonable preliminary Question.
D. Garc.
What Question you please.
Luc.
Then, Sir, if I shou'd cast an Eye of Love on this dear Creature,
And take the noble Don to my Embraces—
Count.
Courage; dear Daddy that must be; do you hear how she
compliments me?
Do you design that I shall generously oblige the World by
handing him round in common to the publick View; or that I should
make the best Improvement of my good Fortune, erect him a little
Theater, and set up a Stage?
D. Garc.
A Stage; for what?
Luc.
For the Sight of this pretty Monster! Ah, Sir, do but consider,
how the Pence and the Pounds would come trolling in! Such a
Raree-show well managed would bring an Estate.
D. Garc.
Hold thou ungracious Brute, how dar'st thou treat me
with this impudent Ribaldry! Sure I deserv'd a serious Answer from
thee.
Luc.
A serious Answer! How can you expect one?
That Lord of Rubbish, that Scare-crow for a Husband
Propos'd in earnest! Every trembling Vein,
All my whole Mass, ev'n Nature starts at th'Horror
Of such a serious Thought.
D. Garc.
Ay, thy own Traitor Carlo,
That black Usurper of thy Heart, has left
No room for second Thoughts.
Luc.
Nay, now you make me blush to think so poorly of me.
My Love to Carlo the Cause of my Aversion to this Spectacle!
Were there no Carlo here—no, nor in the World—
Nay, had you nurs'd me in a Cave, shew'd me no human Face but that, told me
This was the only Creature of his Kind,
And we the only Two left to preserve the Breed,
I'd drop the whole extinguish'd Race of Mankind
Before I'd stoop to touch a Filth so loathsome.
D. Garc.
Ay, now the poisonous Fury swells; but know
I shall find ways, young Fiend, to lay this Devil.
And first I'll lock thee up.
Luc.
And make a Cage-bird of me.
Ay, Sir, but I shall sing the same Tune still.
D. Garc.
And you are sure you shall!
Luc.
So very sure on't,
That bar me Liberty, nay, Bread, and Life.
This you may do: My Person's in your Pow'r.
But know, to the Confusion of all your weak Attacks,
Nor starving shall e'er mould me to that Tool,
A Wretch so abject as t'embrace that Fool.
[Exit.
D. Garc.
This perverse Obstinate, this stubborn Jezabel.
Count.
Who, Mrs. Lucia! Why do you think then she has not
an Affection for me!
D. Garc.
Death! What a Question's here.
[Aside.
Affection, barb'rous Woman, with her Usage of thee!
Count.
Nay, as you say, she has us'd me a little strangely: But
what signifies all that? I have heard my wise Mother tell me that
these cunning young Wenches will never let a Man find the bottom
of 'em; never speak what they think, but use them worst that they
love best. Who knows then after all, but this may be Love all
this while.
D. Garc.
Love, in the Devil's Name!
Well, be't or be't not Love, it shall be Love
Before I have done with her: Let me alone
To battle this coy Dame; so Courage, Don,
Bear up thy Head—fear nothing.—She's thy own, Boy.
Count.
Fear! I fear neighter Man, Woman nor Child, but my
Nurse and my Lady Mother. I fear!
D. Garc.
Well, if I can but hammer this tough Rebel
To mould her to my purpose, I am happy.
At least I have this Block safe. No Soft-wax Tools
To work so well upon as fearless Fools.
[Exeunt.
C. C. Man.
Well, Eubby, methinks the Play begins with a little Warmth.
C. C. Wife.
Ay, ay; here's like to be warm Work indeed, when the
Devil blows the Bellows. What a Spirit of Lucifer has that spiteful
old Father to force that ingenious young Girl into the Arms of so nauseous
a Fool?
C. C. Man.
O fie, Child, fie. That Fool is worth Five hundred
thousand Crowns, the weighty Summ of Five thousand pounds a year.
C. C. Wife.
Well, and what then! Will his Five thousand weight
furnish his light Noddle with five Grains of Sense to recommend him to
the Arms of a Woman of her Wit! But 'tis like your Conscience. Just
so you'd serve your own Flesh and Blood, that poor Girl yonder. Because
her childless rich Uncle left her a Portion of Ten thousand Pounds in your
Hands payable upon Day of Marriage, provided forsooth, she marries with
her Father's Consent, you'll never let her marry at all.
No, not with her Player-man, I can assure you. No, I
have provided her a Knight and an Alderman—
C. C. Wife.
Out on him for an antiquated Piece of Mortality, a Match
for her Grandmother if she had one. This fusty old Dottrel of yours I
confess has a little more worldly Muck raked up together, and perhaps
can boast treble the Thousands of this honest Gentleman.
C. C. Man.
Ay, twice treble his creeping Fortunes.
C. C. Wife.
Yes, there's the Charm that recommends him. Fie, Husband,
how can you debase your self to such sordid Avarice; nay to such unnatural
Cruelty as to undoe your poor Daughter with so wretched a Choice
for her, and refuse her so worthy a Choice of her own. Methinks you
might be proud to match her to so well-bred a Gentleman, and born from
so noble a Family, if 'twere only to mend her City-breed. For tho' the
poor Girl for Honesty, Wit, Youth, and Beauty may deserve him, she'll
bring him no extraordinary Enrichments to his Scutcheon, when her
Grandfather was but a Coster-monger.
C. C. Man.
Mum! Do you know where you are? We'll talk of Family-matters
at a more proper Time and Place. 'Tis other business brings us here.
C. C. Wife.
Yes to reform the Vices of the Stage.
Oh, Husband, for true Reformation-work
They who to mend the World abroad wou'd come,
Shou'd first begin, and correct all at home.
| The City-Ramble : or, A Play-house Wedding | |