Distress upon Distress : or, Tragedy in True Taste A Heroi-Comi-Parodi-Tragedi-Farcical Burlesque |
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 | Distress upon Distress : or, Tragedy in True Taste |  |
Arietta asleep in a Chair, Ghost walks on with a Candle.
Ghost.
In dismal Ditty, doleful sounding Verse,
I'm sent thy Fall, Arietta, to rehearse.
(Bell tolls.
But hark, the Bellman summons me away,
If I had Time, I had much more to say.
(Exit.
(Wakes.
Methought I heard a melancholy Tone;
Well, from henceforth I'll never lie alone:
I was a-dream'd, as how a Ghost was here,
My Cap stands right up, and I quake for Fear.
(Noise.
Oh me, what Noise is that?
Oh! 'Squire, 'Squire, 'Squire, 'Squire, 'Squire!
In Straw-fill'd Sty, thus have I heard a Swine
Sigh for her Mate, for her Companion pine;
Send thro' the senseless Pales, her snuffling Groans,
Eccho'd by squeaking Pigs in shriller Tones.
(Goes to the Door, and shrieks.
Enter Capriola, with a Bottle in one Hand, and a Phial in t'other.
Capriola.
At last she's found, now by my best Brocade,
I'll not depart 'till I have sluic'd the Jade .
(Arietta behind the Skreen.
Think not to skreen thee from thy Rival's Sight .
Arietta.
I hear a Voice, coarse as the Fish-Wife's Throat,
Whose Sound was loud as those who Flounders cry,
As harsh as Sand-Boys, or as Brick-Dust Sellers:
Thy foul-mouth'd Tongue, all Billingsgate exceeding,
Declares you know not what belongs to Breeding.
Trollop, I scorn to force Discourse unto ye,
But hear, ye Slut, come do as I command ye,
Drink me this Bottle off of British Brandy?
Drink it all up, or else, by all my Woes,
Full in your Face this Aquafortis goes.
Be quick, be quick, immediately obey me,
I'll mark you else, Miss, tho' the Squire slay me.
Arietta.
What, wou'd you poison me? Sure, you're but jesting.
No Words, I charge you; but now pray be tasting.
Arietta.
Let me conjure you, Madam, pray excuse me?
I never wrong'd you, why shou'd you abuse me?
I, like fair Rosamond, in Woodstock Bower,
Am sacrific'd to Eleanor's fierce Power.
Capriola.
Not wrong'd me! O thou tinsel trapish Trull,
O give me Patience, all ye sheepish dull;
Ye hen-peck'd Husbands, and ye oft-kicked Cowards!
No rather give me Rage, remorseless Rage,
Fill with fell Hate, my Breast ye Prudes disgrac'd,
Ye antiquated Toasts, give me your Spleen?
Ye Gamesters, Goalers, and ye purse-proud Traders,
Give me your merciless stern Minds a Moment?
Now, by my Soul, you Jade, unless you drink it,
Upon thy white-wash'd Face this Phila flies,
Levels thy Nose, and burns out both thy Eyes.
Arietta.
(Drinks.
Oh! oh! oh!
I'm in a dismal Pickle.
Like a Tetotum, my poor Head is whirling.
So reels Arietta 'till she drops to Ground.
Enter Squire Fanfly.
Fanfly.
O Brimstone, thou shalt sleep to Night in Bridewell.
Thou Cinder-sifting, dirty, stroling Punk;
Oh Arietta—Oh ye Powers—she's drunk.
Arietta.
I am, indeed; I'm in a sad Condition.
Oh! I am sick. What's that which dances by me?
Behold, the Tea-Table is all a-float;
See Tea-Cups failing, Tea-Spoons turn'd to Oars,
Chairs, Night-Gowns, Pillows, Lap-Dogs, Cards, and Counters,
Oh! Water, Water, Oh—Oh—
(Sleeps.
Fanfly.
At length she's dumb, her nimble Tongue stands still,
Her talking Faculties by Sleep are numb'd,
And ev'ry Sound has left her silent Lips.
O thou sweet-pleasing Sleep, whose ebon Wand,
With drowsy Poppies wreath'd, can slumb'rous charm
Silence is fix'd on tattle-loving Fair.
Capriola.
Since then, to Night, you can't this Lady see,
Come, my dear Squire, come along with me?
Fanfly.
Avaunt, get out, I'd rather see a Tipstaff.
Capriola.
Yes, I will go, curse on your steady Muscle.
Oh! I could hate myself for being kind
To savage Man, the only Beast untam'd.
Each Brute, from Instinct, feels a separate Taste,
But motley-minded Man mimics them all.
First, like a Spaniel, fawning, then puts on
An Ape's Grimace, and Monkey-like he plays,
Sly as the wily Fox, insidious plots,
Or rudely rushes, like the Mountain Bull,
And all to win poor, weak, defenceless Woman.
But when Desire by full Possession's cloy'd,
Like secret skulking Moles, they coward hide,
Or bray, like stupid Asses, of our Favours.
Woman to undeserving Man was given,
The last best Gift of ever-bounteous Heaven,
Fond, like a Child, at first the Play-Thing pleas'd,
But soon, too soon, the self-same Beauty teiz'd;
Ideot-like dotes, or Savage-like destroys:
While wretched Woman-kind betray'd, like me,
Can only curse the Sex, as I do thee .
(Spits at him, and exit.
Fanfly.
Put her to Bed, and let's go in to Supper,
And, in Despite of Grief, let us be merry .
The Sweet-heart thus her bonny Sailor leaves,
And yields reluctant to the Wind-rais'd Waves,
Turns quick, and views the Vessel with a Fright,
Stretching away, and less'ning to her Sight,
Sighing, at last she sees it lose the Shore,
Then looks, and looks, till she can look no more.
The scrupulous Exactness that Mr. W. pays to the coming of Hamlet's Ghost, here must be remembered.
Hamlet tells the Ghost, Be thy Intents wicked or charitable.
Mr. W. will have it, Be thy Advent wicked or charitable. Now, be judge, O Reader, how nicely this is altered.
The Son says, Be thy Intentions good or bad, this is plain.
The Critic says, Be thy Coming good or bad, not quite so clear. H. H.
The Ghost says, according to Shakespear, Confined fast in Fires.
According to Mr. Warburton, Confined too fast in Fires.
To shew Mr. W. that I can alter as well as himself, nay, and amend his own Edition, behold an Example.
O Buckingham, beware of yonder Dog,
His venom Tooth will rankle to the Death. Warburton.
Q. Margaret, Richard III. Act I. Scene 3.
I say it should be.
His venom Tooth will rankle thee to Death.
Sluic'd the Jade.—It should be, souc'd the Jade.
Sluic'd is too indelicate a Word for a fine Lady to make use of. I think it is the Business of every Commentator, to be nice in regulating the Ideas of his Characters, or else we may construe Expressions, put into the Mouths of nice Ladies, to very gross Meanings. Well has Mr. W. shewed us an Example of that, by his Note in King Lear, Act I. Scene 2, Regan says, Which the most precious Square of Sense possesses. On this, he thus judiciously, delicately remarks.
By the Square of the Senses, we are here to understand, the four nobler Senses, viz. Seeing, Hearing, Tasting, and Smelling; for a young Lady could not, with any Decency, insinuate, she knew of any Pleasure which the fifth afforded.
He is so very nice, in respect of the Senses, that he will not allow them to be pierced. It is not right, he thinks, so he alters a Line in Lear's Curse,
From A Father's Curse pierce every Sense about thee,
To A Father's Curse pierce every Fence about thee.
Here is a Piece of Wit, which may pass unnoticed by the Reader, if I do not put him in Mind of it: It is this—
Think not to skreen thee.—Memorandum, she is gone behind the Skreen.
Foul-mouth'd Tongue.
In As you like it, you may meet with the Word foul.
Foul is most foul, being foul to be a Scoffer.
This, I believe, is obvious to the meanest Capacity, Homeliness is made worse, if the Ugly pretend to rail at the Deformed.
But the Sagacity of Mr. W. renders it,
Foul is foul, being found to be a Scoffer. And declares, the Repetition of foul is too absurd to come from Shakespear.
Playing upon Words was not Shakespear's greatest Beauty, but it was very much his Practice. Allow me, Reader, to give you a Specimen of Mr. W. playing upon Words himself.
He, in his Notes on the Witches of Macbeth, their Charms, and Incantations, says, as extravagant shocking and absurd all this is, the Play has had the Power to charm and bewitch every Audience, from that Time to this.
And since I have offered a Specimen of his Humour, give me Leave to exhibit one of his Wit.
In the same Play he says, after some Account of the Sun, and its Rays, Optics, &c. a Rainbow is no more a Reflection of the Sun, than a Tune of a Fiddle.
This Tag is in true Tragedy Taste. Here are a Parcel of trite Common Place Similies crouded together, and Half a Dozen Verses at the End, which is on Purpose, that the Heroine may make a graceful Exit. H. H.
This is right. And in Despite of Grief, &c.
So Antipholis, in the Comedy of Errors, Act III. Scene 1, says, And in Despite of Wrath, mean to be merry; for he has received several Rebuffs from his Wife, and is resolved to go to another House.
And in Despite of her Wrath, be merry.
But Mr. W. renders it,
And in Despite of Mirth, mean to be merry.
| Distress upon Distress : or, Tragedy in True Taste | |