 | The What D'ye Call It |  |
Enter Steward, Squire, Kitty, Dock, and others in Country Habits.
Steward.
So, you are ready in your Parts,
and in your Dress too, I see;
your own best Cloaths do the
Business. Sure never was
Play and Actors so suited. Come, range your
selves before me, Women on the Right, and
Men on the Left. Squire Thomas, you make a
good Figure.
[The Actors range themselves.
Ay, thanks to Barnaby's Sunday
Cloaths; but call me Thomas Filbert, as I
am in the Play.
Steward.
Chear up, Daughter, and make
Kitty Carrot the shining Part: Squire Thomas
is to be in Love with you to Night, Girl.
Kitty.
Ay, I have felt Squire Thomas's Love
to my Cost. I have little Stomach to play, in
the Condition he hath put me into.
[Aside.
Steward.
Jonas Dock, dost thou remember
thy Name?
Dock.
My Name? Jo—Jo—Jonas. No—
that was the Name my Godfathers gave me.
My Play Name is Timothy Pea—Pea—
Peascod; ay, Peascod—and am to be shot
for a Deserter.—
Steward.
And you, Dolly?
Dolly.
An't please ye, I am Dorcas, Peascod's
Sister, and am to be with Child, as it
were.
1st Country-m.
And I am to take her up,
as it were—I am the Constable.
2d Country-m.
And I am to see Tim shot,
as it were—I am the Corporal.
Steward.
But what is become of our Sergeant?
Dorcas.
Why Peter Nettle, Peter, Peter.
[Enter Nettle.]
Nettle.
These Stockings of Susan's cost a
woundy deal of pains the pulling on: But
what's a Sergeant without red Stockings?
I'll dress thee, Peter, I'll dress thee.
Here, stand still, I must twist thy Neckcloth;
I would make thee hold up thy Head, and
have a ruddy Complexion; but prithee don't
look black in the Face, Man.
[Twisting his
Neckcloth.]
Thou must look fierce and dreadful.
[Making Whiskers with a Cork.]
But
what shall we do for a Grenadier's Cap?
Steward.
Fetch the Leathern Bucket that
hangs in the Bellfry; that is curiously painted
before, and will make a Figure.
Nettle.
No, no, I have what's worth
twenty on't: The Pope's Mitre, that my
Master Sir Roger seiz'd, when they would
have burnt him at our Market Town.
Steward.
So, now let every body withdraw,
and prepare to begin the Play.
My Daughter debauched! and by that Booby
Squire! Well, perhaps the Conduct of this
Play may retrieve her Folly, and preserve her
Reputation. Poor Girl! I cannot forget thy
Tears.
[Enter Sir Roger.]
Sir Roger.
Look ye, Steward, don't tell
me you can't bring them in. I will have a
Ghost; nay, I will have a Competence of
Ghosts. What, shall our Neighbours think
we are not able to make a Ghost? A Play
without a Ghost is like, is like,—igad it is like
nothing.
Sir, be satisfied; you shall have
Ghosts.
Sir Roger.
And is the Play as I order'd it,
both a Tragedy and a Comedy? I would
have it a Pastoral too: and if you could make
it a Farce, so much the better—and what
if you crown'd all with a Spice of your
Opera? You know my Neighbours never
saw a Play before; and d'ye see, I would
shew them all sorts of Plays under one.
Steward.
Sir Roger, it is contrived for that
very purpose.
[Enter two Justices.]
Sir Roger.
Neighbours, you are welcome.
Is not this Steward of mine a pure ingenious
Fellow now, to make such a Play for us these
Christmas Holidays.
[Exit Steward bowing.]
—A rare Headpiece! He has it here, i faith.
[Pointing to his own Head.]
But indeed, I
gave him the Hint.—To see now what
Contrivance some Folks have! We have so
fitted the Parts to my Tenants, that ev'ry
Man talks in his own way!—and then we
have made just three Justices in the Play, to
be play'd by us three Justices of the Quorum.
1st Justice.
Zooks!—so it is;—main
Ingenious.—And can we sit and smoke at
the same time we act?
Sir Roger.
Ay, ay,—we have but three
or four Words to say,—and may drink and
be good Company in Peace and Silence all the
while after.
But how shall we know when
we are to say these same Words?
Sir Roger.
This shall be the Signal—
when I set down the Tankard, then speak you,
Sir Humphry,—and when Sir Humphry sets
down the Tankard, speak you, Squire Statute.
1st Justice.
Ah, Sir Roger, you are old Dog
at these things.
2d Justice.
To be sure.
Sir Roger.
Why Neighbours, you know,
Experience, Experience—I remember your
Harts and your Bettertons—But then to
see your Othello, Neighbours,—how he would
rave and roar, about a foolish flower'd Handkerchief!
—and then he would groul so
manfully,—and he would put out the Light,
and put the Light out so cleverly! but hush
—the Prologue, the Prologue.
[They seat themselves with much Ceremony at the Table, on which are Pipes and Tobacco, and a large Silver Tankard.
| The What D'ye Call It | |