University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

The Mausoleum.
Enter Trope with Facil, laughing.
Facil.
In my life I ne'er knew an adventure so drole!

Trope.
But what is it, dear Facil, pray tell me the whole?

Facil.
So I will, when a little calm breath I can draw,
In ceasing to laugh at the figure I saw.

Trope.
What figure?

Facil.
Why, Rumble: I now see him stand
With his garments half-button'd, a scroll in his hand;
And the poor frighted girl!—

Trope.
What the deuce do you mean?
In an odd wanton frolic has Rumble been seen—
To an Abigail's room did the old Bard repair?

Facil.
No, no, I'll relate to you all the affair.—
You must know that our punch had so heated my brain,
That to sleep half the night I endeavour'd in vain;
But was just in a slumber, between three and four,
When a half-array'd figure threw open my door:
'Twas a poor trembling damsel, who hastily said,
“Rise! rise! or you'll surely be burnt in your bed!”
And I heard Rumble's voice thrice repeat the word “Fire!”
But as that dreadful word was soon follow'd by “Lyre,”
I perceiv'd the good girl, I now held by the arm,
Had mistaken his verse for a cry of alarm.

Trope.
Very good!—he has often these starts in the night.
But how did you calm the poor girl in her fright?

Facil.
The wild little wench, like a poor frighted hare,
Knew not which way to run, and did nothing but stare;
When, holding the door of my chamber a-jar,
We perceiv'd, by the aid of the bright morning-star,
The old Bard, who of liquor had taken his fill,
Sally forth from his quarters in odd dishabille;
With punch and with poetry heated, he swaggers,
And reels down the stairs, like a horse in the staggers,
Repeating with emphasis, several times,
The unfortunate word in his dangerous rhymes;
And the girl, who now saw her mistake very clear,
Laugh'd, in spite of her shame, at the source of her fear.

Trope.
And you, I suppose, when her terror was fled,
Taught her bloom to revive by the warmth of your bed?

Facil.
No, indeed; had her panic been only affected,
I perhaps had been foolish, as you have suspected;
But her fear and her modesty both were so true
That they won my regard, and she safely withdrew.

Trope.
But where's our friend Rumble?

Facil.
O, nobody knows.

Trope.
To some shady retreat he is gone to compose.

Facil.
On the house-top, perhaps, like a bird he may sit;
He considers keen air as a friend to his wit.
It would not surprize me this phœnix to see
Oddly perch'd on a bough of an old lofty tree;
For he thinks he writes best when he's nearest to heaven:
But he'll soon want his breakfast—'tis much after seven.

Trope.
Hark! what is that noise, like the woodman's loud stroke?

Facil.
As I live, it is Rumble in yon shatter'd oak!
Don't you see where he's sitting astride on the branch?
He has crack'd that large limb by the weight of his paunch.

Trope.
I believe he's asleep!—shall we give him a call,
Lest he chance in his slumber to get a bad fall?

Facil.
Never fear:—here is one to take care of his life,
Here's the nurse of our Brobdignag baby, his wife.

Enter Mrs. Rumble, hastily.
Mrs. Rumble.
Pray, Gentlemen, where is my dear Mr. Rumble?—
I have news for you Poets, to make you all grumble!—
But where is my husband?—I seek him in haste.

Facil.
Dear Ma'am! we're surpriz'd that, with singular taste,
From the soft arms of Beauty he strangely has fled,
To embrace the rough limbs of an oak in their stead!—
On that bough you may see him.

Mrs. Rumble.
Ah! barbarous man!
He will venture his life, let me say what I can.
I am sure some mischance will his genius o'erwhelm,
T'other day he fell down from the top of an elm.—
Mr. Rumble! take care!—Mr. Rumble, my dear!

Facil.
In this case, my dear Madam, you've nothing to fear.
Behold! 'tis an incident only for mirth,
For the bough gently falling consigns him to earth.

Mrs. Rumble.
I rejoice he is landed!

Enter Rumble, stretching himself and yawning.
Mrs. Rumble.
My dear Mr. Rumble!
It is well you have met with so easy a tumble:
I wish that your fancy was not so romantic;
All the people will think you are perfectly frantic.

Rumble.
Peace, woman!—I care not for idle derision,
I have had a superb elegiacal vision:
Homer says, with great truth, “Onar ek dios esti.”

Mrs. Rumble.
On first waking, my dear, you are apt to be testy;
But I'm glad if the Muse has been kind to your slumbers,
And I hope we shall hear your mellifluous numbers.

Rumble.
In my dream I've compos'd, and with clear continuity,
Such emollient verse for the grief of viduity,
'Twould have sooth'd the sad relict of old king Mausolus!

Mrs. Rumble.
In our passions the Nine may have charms to control us;
But your Muse, I'm afraid, might as well have miscarried,
For the lady you praise as a widow is married!

Rumble.
Peace, woman! you're crazy!

Facil.
How! married, dear Madam!

Mrs. Rumble.
Ay, married! as sure as we're children of Adam.
You know, Sir, rich folks, with a licence, have power
To marry without the canonical hour;
And, leaving her guests o'er their punch to carouse,
My Lady at midnight receiv'd a new spouse.

Rumble.
Mrs. Rumble, I fear 'tis our punch that has bred
These nuptial phantasma's in your giddy head:
Your story has nothing of concatenation.

Mrs. Rumble.
Mr. Rumble, you aways will doubt my narration!
But I deal not in fiction, although a Bard's wife;
On the truth of this secret I'd venture my life:
From one of the house-maids I happen'd to worm it,
And here comes a gentleman who will confirm it.

Enter Carey.
Mrs. Rumble.
Your voice, Mr. Carey, will prove I am right;
Pray was not her Ladyship married last night?

Carey.
Dear Madam! your question can hardly be serious.

Mrs. Rumble.
I am sure she was wed, though the wedding's mysterious.

Carey.
Do you really believe it?—dear Madam, to whom?
It must be to one of these Bards, or a groom:
For, excepting ourselves and the men of her train,
Not a male did this mansion last night entertain:
But whence your conjecture? on what is it grounded?

Rumble.
Silly woman! I tell you your brain is confounded;
But I think we may guess, from your dream of this fact,
How in widowhood you will be tempted to act;
I suppose, when I've finish'd my scene of mortality,
However you sorrow in shew and verbality,
You soon will renounce all your dignified gravity;
And, entic'd by some bellman's poetical suavity,
Go to church with a fellow who deigns to rehearse
A quatrain on your charms in his annual verse.

Mrs. Rumble.
O you barbarous man! by so cruel a jest
Would you wound the chaste love of so tender a breast?
You know me too well to believe what you say.—
Thank my stars! here's an evidence coming this way;
And you'll see truth and justice are both on my side.

Enter Miss Jasper.
Mrs. Rumble.
(hastily).
Miss Jasper! pray is not my Lady a Bride?

Miss Jasper.
You are right, my dear Madam.

Carey.
It cannot be real!

Miss Jasper.
From you Bards I request a sublime hymeneal.

Trope.
So suddenly married!

Facil.
You certainly joke.

Miss Jasper.
A word of more truth in my life I ne'er spoke.

Carey.
What d'ye mean, my dear Fanny? pray do not deceive us.

Mrs. Rumble.
What infidels, Madam! they will not believe us.

Facil.
Pray, to what happy man may so fair a prize fall?

Miss Jasper.
The Bridegroom I'll soon introduce to you all;
And you Poets, I trust, will a new string employ,
With singular pleasure to echo his joy.

Rumble.
So my fine elegiacs are now out of season;—
I was mad, to think woman a creature of reason,
And on widowhood's slippery virtues to raise
The luminous fabric of rythmical praise!
But I'll haste to be gone from this scene of fatuity:
Come along, Mrs. Rumble; I've done with viduity.—
My Lady may welcome more juvenile comers,
I have no time to waste upon conjugal mummers.

Miss Jasper.
Mr. Rumble! pray stay, in our joy to partake.

Mrs. Rumble.
Stay, my dear Mr. Rumble! you'll stay for my sake.
Though the grand and the gloomy is all your delight,
I confess that festivity pleases my sight;
Pray indulge me for once!—it would half break my heart
Without seeing the Bridegroom were we to depart.

Rumble.
Curiosity ruin'd your grandmother Eve;
And to gratify yours you shall not have my leave:
From a farcical scene it is time we should go,
And who plays the Jack Pudding I want not to know.

Mrs. Rumble.
My Lady may still wish your verse to peruse!

Rumble.
For Politics henceforth I give up the Muse;
Though political paths may have some tortuosity,
To enter on them I have less scrupulosity,
Than to feed your vain sex with poetical flummery,
And at last be the dupe of their amorous mummery.
But I'll have my revenge, and, before my spleen cools,
I will prove all the sex-flattering poets are fools.—
Come away, Mrs. Rumble!—your duty's submission.

[Exit, bearing off Mrs. Rumble.
Miss Jasper.
Poor woman! I pity her dismal condition,
And am griev'd that so roughly he makes her return:—
But here's one to console us for every concern.

Enter Jasper.
Miss Jasper.
To you, my good friends, I the Bridegroom present,
And you all will rejoice in this happy event.

Carey.
Dear Jasper! o'erwhelm'd by this joyous surprize,
I am almost afraid to believe my own eyes!
Are you really return'd? and, in truth, are you married?
Has this excellent plan been so suddenly carried?
Or, with potent illusion and artful pretences,
Has this fair little sorceress cheated our senses?

Jasper.
You may trust in her magic, as honest and true;
She has render'd me happy, and so she will you:
To you, my dear Carey, I give her for life;
So enchanting a sister must prove a sweet wife;
And, with pleasure I add, you'll receive your fair Bride
With the fortune she merits completely supplied.

Carey.
Her heart in itself is an opulent dower!

Jasper
(to Facil and Trope.)
My worthy old friends! in this fortunate hour
It increases my joy to meet you on this spot.

Facil.
I rejoice in your bliss!

Trope.
I am charm'd with your lot!

Jasper.
And with double delight the good fortune I view,
Which may prove I retain a warm friendship for you:
I've a scheme for ye both, my dear Facil and Trope,
That will meet with your hearty concurrence, I hope.
You must yield to my wish—I will not be denied
From any vain scruples of generous pride.

Facil.
With hearts so enliven'd by seeing you blest,
We shall hardly refuse whatsoe'er you request.

Jasper.
Though a few dainty whims, of a singular kind,
Have o'erclouded the worth of her excellent mind,
The soul of my Lady Sophia is fraught
With the true mental treasures of generous thought.
She perceives, and disclaims for the rest of her days,
The foibles to which false refinement betrays:
She now thinks this proud fabric of ill-applied art
The ridiculous whim of too feeling a heart.
Sir Simon had many calm virtues, whose claim
From ungrateful Oblivion shall rescue his name:
But all the distinctions of rank are confus'd,
Fame herself is insulted, and Art is abus'd,
When the plume and the laurel insultingly wave
O'er the honest plain Merchant's preposterous grave:
Convinc'd of this truth, 'tis my Lady's design
To alter this dome on a new plan of mine.
Here with Freedom and Ease you, my friends, may reside;
Good apartments for each I shall quickly provide:
For this dome, where the Founder shall rise in a nich,
Is to prove an asylum for artists not rich.

Carey.
I am charm'd with your project, dear Jasper!

Jasper.
Yet hear:—
By the will there's a fund of four hundred a year
Of real hard cash, from incumbrances free,
Which my Lady herself is to guide as trustee,
To support any structure she chuses to plan,
To perpetuate the name of her worthy good man;
This between you, dear Bards, she is pleas'd to adjust:
And when opulent Honesty sinks in the dust,
May his heirs ever use what he leaves upon earth
In securing calm comfort to Genius and Worth!

Facil.
We always have said, and your actions evince,
You, Jasper, were born with the soul of a prince;
But our gratitude how shall we utter to you?

Jasper.
By returning your thanks where they chiefly are due.
My Lady's pure bounty, that scorns to be stinted,
Surpast in your favour whatever I hinted:—
To prove that I wed not from motives of pelf,
I have settled her wealth on her generous self;
She is rich, and intends to make use of her treasure
In the purchase of noble and permanent pleasure:
At the highest of interest our gold we employ,
When it brings a return of benevolent joy.—
Thank my stars! all my wishes are crown'd with success;
Kind Fortune, I just now have learn'd by express,
Outruns, in our favor, the slow step of Law:
Old Vellum, alarm'd by our hints of a flaw
In the base legal work that Fraud led him to frame,
The reversion he stole has propos'd to disclaim,
Upon terms which I now, for tranquillity's sake,
At my Lady's request, shall be willing to take.—
But come, my good friends, let us haste to the hall,
Where the Bride will be happy to welcome you all.

Carey.
Well, my friend! I confess, in the course of my life,
I have oft been provok'd with your new lovely wife;
But for this her last act her late whims I forgive,
And shall bless the kind creature as long as I live.—
You will teach, as you mold her to life's sweetest duty,
All her virtues to shine as complete as her beauty:
And may each childless widow, in youth's lively state,
Who has yielded an honest old husband to fate,
In a partner like you find the surest relief,
And to sensible joy turn fantastical grief!