University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE draws and discovers Liveretta reclin'd on a Bulk; on one Side, a Black-shoe Boy playing on a Bladder and String; on the other, a Chimney-sweeper playing on a Salt-Box with a Rolling-Pin.
She rises and comes forward.
[dies.
Smut
the Chimney-sweeper.
Thus, have I seen fair Elms, which topp'd the Wood,
Which all the Rage of angry Winters stood,
Whose lofty Summits sought the vaulted Sky,
Whose far-spread Roots did threat'ning Storms defy,
By sudden Tempests from Earth's Bosom torn,
Become the Sport of Boreas, and his Scorn.

Japan the Shoe-boy.
Here, in these Ruins, hapless Men may see
How vain is Beauty! vain Philosophy!
The Paphian Goddess form'd her lovely Face,
And in her Steps we saw a Juno's Grace;
Faultless in Form, and in her Temper sweet,
In Conversation gay, but yet discreet;
Her Eyes at once both Love and Awe inspir'd,
And chill'd the Bosom which their Light'ning fir'd:
Her Voice was such, that when it bless'd our Ears,
We thought we heard the Musick of the Spheres.
How have I follow'd in dark Nights and Rain,
The Nymph to Wapping, even from Field-Lane,
To hear her cry Sheeps Heads, and thought the long
And dirty Walk rewarded by her Song:
But still, th'Heroick Beauties of her Mind
Those of her matchless Form as far out-shin'd,
As Sol in Blaze of gorgeous Light array'd
Exceeds the Gleam by Farthing-Candle made.
Oh! with what Equanimity she'd bear
Th'Assaults of Hunger and inclement Air!
Thro' Frost and Snow she would her Wainfleets cry,
Nor mention Cold, if Customers would buy.
No Northern Blasts could keep the Fair One in,
Nor soalless Shoes, all Ills were drown'd in Gin.
Gin dry'd her Feet, Gin thaw'd the frozen Air,
Rags might let Water in, but Gin kept out all Care.

Smut.
Ye Members, see the Ruin you've brought on.
And view, in her, the Mischiefs you have done.
That Constancy of Mind, by which she'd slight
The Sleet, the Cold of blust'ring Winter's Night,
By which, courageously, thro' Seas she bore
Of Wants, which daily flow upon the Poor,
Is, by prohibiting that Gin be drunk,
Shut from the Day, in endless Darkness sunk.

Jap.
So the wreck'd Mariner who vig'rous laves,
With brawny Arms, the small insulting Waves,
Like Neptune triumphs, o'er the Billows rides,
And stems courageously opposing Tides;
Is, by a Mountain Sea which threats the Coast,
O'erlaid, and spight of Resolution lost.

Smut.
Coriolanus so unmov'd could hear
His Country's Groans, the humbled Senate's Pray'r,
Firmly resolv'd to make th'ungrateful Town
Repent the vile Ingratitude they'l shewn,
He banish'd all Compassion from his Breast,
And to her Fall inexorable press'd;
Yet when his Mother sued for destin'd Rome,
The Hero's Constancy was overcome.

Jap.
Let us bear hence this Quintessence of Merit,

Smutt.
For dead she is, and dy'd for want of Spirit.

[They carry her off.
SCENE changes to a Distiller's Back-Shop.
Enter Worm with a Rope in his Hand.
Whether 'tis better here to live contemn'd,
Or else, to Misery to put an End;
Bravely to swing beyond the Reach of Fate,
And scorn a World we can't enjoy in State,
Is now the Question? Can Worm's Spirit bear
To sell his Horse, and to put down his Chair,
Ev'n when he'd thought of driving with a Pair.
Can I submit on Sundays to walk out,
For Air, for Cakes, for Twopenny and Stout,
With Wife and Children trudge thro' Clouds of Dust,
Can I bear this, ye Gods, or is it just!
Must my dear Wife her dear Repeater lose,
Wear Yard-wide Stuffs, who'll now plain Silks refuse,
And my poor Babes,—must they too want lac'd Shoes.
Must I such Woe, such Desolation see,
I, who supported them in Finery.
[Puts the Noose about his Neck.
No; I'll choak the Thought, I'll take my Flight,
And bid the cruel, churlish World good night.

[Hangs himself.
Enter Mrs. Worm.
Who's there? John—Tom—have I no Servants then?
Sarah—Mary—What! neither Maids nor Men?

Enter a Man-Servant.
Madam—did your Ladyship—Madam, call?

Mrs. Worm.
[Servant bows, sees his Master hanging, and makes Signs—pulls out his Knife, and in dumb Shew seems to ask if he shall cut him down.
[Spies her Husband.
[Aside.
[Bursts out a crying.
[Aside.
[The Servant cuts him down.
Enter Three Men.

1 Serv.
How came this fatal Accident about?

Mrs. Worm.
Fatal indeed; it stops my going out.

2 Serv.
He breathes and groans.

Mrs. Worm.
—convey him to his Room.
Joe, do you run, bid Mr. Launcet come
[Exit Joe.
To let him blood; bid Sarah warm his Bed:
James, do you chafe the Temples of his Head.
[Servants carry off Worm.
Oh cruel Fortune! thou hast shewn thy Spight,
I shou'd have seen the Drawing-Room To-night.
This cruel Baulk, what Flesh and Blood can bear!
Oh cursed Luck! Oh Destiny severe!
By Decency confin'd, I stay at Home,
But still my Heart is in the Drawing-Room.

[Exit.
SCENE the Street.
Scrubb, Japan.
Scrubb.
Ha!
Dare to dispute the hungry Lion's Prey,
With the wing'd Light'nings of the Thund'rer play;
Scale Heav'ns high Battlements, insult Jove's Throne,
Deride his Godhead, and his Pow'r disown,
Rather than dare to think my Fair One's dead.

Jap.
'Tis true, your Anger like the Gods I dread,
To you I owe, whene'er you have it, Bread.
But still—

Scrub.
What! shall a very Mortal dare to say
Immortal Beauties are become mere Clay!
Safer thou may'st set heav'nly Pow'r at nought,
'Tis daring for a God to think the Thought.

Jap.
We sought all Means to give the Fair Relief,
And hop'd, by Harmony, to sooth her Grief;
With Salt-box Lid, and with a Rolling-pin,
I thought to drown the racking Loss of Gin,
While Smut, in Concert, on the Bladder play'd,
The softest Airs, to calm the ruffled Maid:
But Death, thy Rival, hastily came in,
And promising no less than Seas of Gin,
Found her blind Side; she taken with the Snare,
He snapp'd her up, as Greyhound wou'd a Hare.

Scr.
Has Death then ta'en her by so vile a Trick?

Jap.
And bore her off, as Buzzard does a Chick.

Scrub.
Vile Poltroon, Death, base Scoundrel, treach'rous Slave,
Do'st hope to find an Azyle in the Grave?
In Earth's dark Bowels vainly dost thou dive,
And to elude my Rage, do'st vainly strive:
To th'Center dart, I'll to the Center too,
Or plunge in Seas, thro' Seas will I pursue;
If by the fiery Lake thou think'st t'escape
In th'fiery Lake, I'll seize thee for the Rape,
Drag thee to Light, force thee to quit thy Prize,
And give the World new Blaze from Liveretta's Eyes.

Death descends from the Clouds in a gilt Chariot, his Dress compleat, a large Bag-Wig aud solitaire lac'd Wastecoat, clock'd Stockings, &c. Snuff-Box in his Hand, several Footmen behind his Chariot.
Death.
Methought, as I drove by, to take the Air,
Complaints and Threats broke, roundly, on my Ear.
My Name is Death; and if there's any one
Will call me to account for what I've done,
I wear a Sword, Mardi, and Strike me dead
If I fear any Man that wears a Head.

Scr.
The Threats and eke Complaints from me arose,
My Name is Scrub, and if thou'rt Death, we're Foes.
Thou'st Robb'd me—

Death.
Robb'd thee! why Prithee what had'st thou to lose,
Except thy Wits, which offer'd, I'd refuse.

Scrub.
Thou'st robb'd me with insinuating Art,
Of Liveretta, Princess of my Heart.
With Mountain-Promises, thou drew'st her in,
And mad'st her hope Eternal Seas of Gin.

Death.
Scrub, give's thy Hand—we'er Friends;
I'm not the Death,
Who charm'd with Liveretta, stopt her Breath;
I am the Death of thoughtless Fools Estates,
And bring young Spendthrifts to the Prison-Grates.
Of gay beau Tradesmen, and your trusting Taylor,
I kill the Stock, then give them to the Jailor.

Scrub.
In what an Error then have I gone on!
I find, by you, there are more Deaths than one.

Death.
Oh! we're a numerous Clan.

Scrub.
—But by the Bye,
Is there a Death, my Friend, for Poverty?

Death.
There is, and if you wou'd conciliate
This Death, you'll do it at an easy Rate;
Lay common Sense and Decency aside,
Flatter the GREAT, burn Incense to their Pride;
Keep a large Stock of Billinsgate at hand,
And let your Writings be mere Ropes of Sand;
'Tis hard to answer, what none understand.
A Flow of Words employ, instead of Sense;
Instead of Truth, make use of Impudence:
Lye roundly; if refuted, lye again;
Beware of Wit, for that will prove thy Bane.
A great Man never will be pleas'd to see
An Understrapper have more Wit than he.
In Probity the same; the Men who rule
By Conscience, write a Man, or Wise, or Fool:
Banish that Clog, only thy Interest prize,
Pimp, flatter, lye, and thou wilt surely rise.

[Death returns to his Chariot.
Scrub.
By Means so vile I never will be rich.

[Exit.
Death.
Thou'lt then live poor, and die, like Dog in Ditch.

[Speaks out of his Chariot.
[Flies off.