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Distress upon Distress : or, Tragedy in True Taste

A Heroi-Comi-Parodi-Tragedi-Farcical Burlesque
  
  
  

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ACT I.
 1. 
 2. 
  
  
 2. 


25

ACT I.

SCENE I.

AIR I.
Enter Gamble in a Passion .
Sings.
Woe heap'd on Woe, as Wave on Wave,
A Sea of Sorrows fills my Breast ,
Can mortal Man more Trouble have?
By Love and Debt at once oppress'd .


26

Enter Spunge in a Fury, and trips up Gamble .
Gamble.
Whence this Insult?

Spunge.
Insult, Sir?

Gamble.
Ay, Insult!

Spunge.
Be calm a Moment, and a Moment mind,
Attentive list with philosophic Ear ,
From Passion purged.


27

AIR II.
Gamble.
Sir, you're a Scoundrel—
(Loud Symphony.
Sir, a Scoundrel, Damme —

(Da Capo.
Spunge.
Thy boiling Rage in frothy Phrase reeks out:
Repell'd by Reason's Shield, condens'd, the Steam,
In dribbling Drops, falls down— my Wrath subsides.

Gamble.
Sir, I'll be damn'd—


28

Spunge.
You may;

Gamble.
I say I will, before I'll put this up;
Therefore be quick, and give me Satisfaction.

Enter Beverage.
Beverage.
Be quiet, Puppies, are you drunk,
Or dreaming? Is this a Day to fight on?
This brave Day, when our young Landlord
Fanfly's come of Age.

Spunge.
No, I was wrong, I'll take another Time.

Beverage.
Another Time, what Time? Hark ye, my Friend,

29

Since you're for Time, pray give me Leave to speak ,
What Time to pay this Bill off, will you take?

Gamble.
We have gone too far.

Beverage.
Yes, in my Debt you have.
So I have seen, in an unfurnish'd Room ,
A needy Spider raise his air-spread Loom;
From one poor Speck at first his Web begins,
Thread after Thread, the Tax-free Tenant spins.
Day after Day, thus you've increas'd your Score,
You've spun your Threads out, and I'll trust no more.

Spunge.
Either I dream, or else I am awake ,
Did not I hear my dear Miss Molly speak?

30

So have I seen—I can't tell what at present,
But something, somewhere, very like her.

Beverage.
Come, leave your Ogling, let's attend the Squire.
For him, the Sparkling Glass shall oft go round,
For him, our Streets in strong October's drown'd,
For him, each pimpled Cheek shall redder grow,
For us he comes; and therefore Friends we'll go.

(Exeunt Beverage and Gamble.
Spunge.
I will but make a Simile and follow;
So—so—so,
I don't know how to stay, or how to go,
Like some poor spunging Guest, who drinks his Part,
But when the Reck'ning's call'd, sleeps o'er the Quart,
When waked and question'd what he has to pay,
His Money gone, he don't know what to say,
But like me, softly takes himself away.

(Exit on Tiptoe.
 

This Passage has occasioned many Disputes among the Learned, how a Man could sing, if he was in a Passion? But it is easily set to rights, by supposing Gamble to be a Welchman. Paulus Purgantius.

This is a very just Metaphor: For as Tears are of a very briny or salt Nature, they are aptly expressed by the Sea.

These are very natural Distresses, and I believe one Way or other affect every Reader.

Henry Hum.

It is necessary here to premise the Art of the Author, in so well opening of his Poem, consonant to his Title-Page. For it is Distresse upon Distress, for a Man to be in Love and Debt at the same Time.

This tripping up is perfectly pantomimical, and has been used with very great Success in several dramatic Entertainments, particularly King Lear, where Kent trips up the Gentleman-Usher with a very good Grace; and the Audience, as well as the several royal Personages it is done before, is convinced, that the old Nobleman is a very good Wrestler. H. H.

And philosophic hear.—This is the true reading. Ear is a pedantic Interpolation, alluding to an old Maxim in the Schools. H non est Litera. P. P.

Dam me quasi da me, pro mihi, vel redde mihi, or give me, or unto me, Satisfaction; Porphyrius Torrentius, and Lambinus, concur with me in the reading; for we cannot suppose, in a dramatic Performance, the Author would allow any Personages of the Drama to swear.

This is a fine physical, hydrostatical Metaphor.

For any Fluid rarified by Heat, when it meets with a cold Medium immediately condensing, conglobes in pearly Particles, adhesing to the chilly metalline, or lignified Superficies.

H. H.

What Body it was that the elemental Effluvias adhered to, I was long unable to determine; but fancy the Annotator must mean, by the Word Superficies, a Kettle's Covering, commonly called a Pot-lid; and the Words, metalline and lignified, I take to relate to the essential Quality of Matter it was made out of.

P. P.

This is wrong pointed: He has stopped this Line with a Semicolon, and it should be with a Colon.

Here is a Quibling on the Word Time, which is beneath the Dignity of a Tragedy Writer. To be sure, the Man had a Right to ask for his Money; but as the other does not seem ready to comply, the Demand was certainly not well timed. P. P.

So I have seen—very unclassical—Lege, So have I seen. P. P.

He is either one or t'other. This is reducing Things to a Certainty, and indeed I wish all our modern Tragedy Writers would be as explicit; for it is impossible sometimes to tell by their Writings, whether they are asleep or awake.

I do not understand how a Man can take himself away; yet it is a common Phrase among the love-selling Ladies of Covent-Garden, Drury-Lane, the Strand, &c. &c. &c. &c. &c. &c.


31

SCENE II.

Enter Miss Molly and her Governess.
Miss.
How long, Mama, must I request in vain?
Sigh for Delights, yet ne'er Delights obtain .
Want, wish, and whimper, whimper, wish, and want,
I will not bear it longer, no nor can't.

Governess.
These sixty Years come Lammas, I ne'er knew,
A Miss so mad, so Husband-mad as you.

Miss.
Within my Trunk, I secretly have hid,
'Tis yet untouch'd, a Pot of Marmalade:
To you I'll give it, grant me?

Governess.
Never speak it.


32

Miss.
Why then the Devil fetch me but I'll break it .
Shall I still Samplers stitch, or all the Day,
Like a mere Child, with jointed Babies play?
You'll break my Heart, dear Ma'am, what do you mean?
I'm now no Girl, this Month I've been fourteen,
Soon I'll be wed, I hope, and bedded too,
I am old enough, tho' not so old as you.

Governess.
Long have I hobbled, wrinkled, thro' this Life,
A Virgin, Widow, and a widow'd Wife .
I've try'd all Troubles, I have felt the Jars
Of Cholics, Cramps, Hysterics, and Catarrhs .
Yet never grumbled, never look'd awry,
Till now you force me—fye upon ye fye.


33

Enter Arietta, with two Tragedy Handkerchiefs.
Arietta.
Oh, who wou'd put their Trust in faithless Man?
Have I for him refused the Lord knows who,
Pensions and Placemen, Dukes, Et Cetera .
Oh I cou'd tear my Tucker, burn my Tete,
Let me have Room to rave in, now I fret,
Pray let me fan myself—Lord, how I sweat

Miss.
Ma'am, with Submission, but I beg to know,
If you think fit to fit a Bit or so,
If Love, it is the Cause of your o'erthrow?


34

Arietta.
Madam, your Servant, but pray now be seated,
Heigh, ho! Lord help me, I'm so tosticated .
Know ye, young Fanfly's Lady?

Miss.
Very well.—

Arietta.
Miss, you'll excuse me, but I think it 'tant.

Miss.
Dear, Ma'am, proceed, I vow I meant no Harm.

Governess.
No, that I'll swear for, pray, Ma'am, don't be warm.


35

Arietta.
Then Ladies know I was, but what of that?
I am at present, but I don't know what .
On that fam'd Stage, where Perseus oft has flew,
Where Faustus conjur'd, and where Orpheus play'd,
With warbling Songs, I've charm'd attentive Crouds,
And Lords done Homage round me as at Court.
The Levee-throng'd Dependants watch their Prince,
To catch the secret Whisper, snatch his Smiles,
And then strut happy Home, big grown with Hope.
At length, one fatal Eve the Squire came,
Protested Love, presented, but, O Gods!
His Words were weighty, for his Gifts were large.
He begg'd, I granted, but I can no more:
He's lost, I'm left, and all my Splendour's o'er .

Miss.
Madam, for once, a Girl's Advice receive,
No longer for the unconstant Fanfly grieve.

36

Were I like you, I'd all Resentment smother,
And since I've lost one Love, I'd get another .

Governess.
Be ruled, good Madam, think how old I am,
Take my Advice, my Dear, and drink a Dram .

Arietta.
Wou'd I were drunk; nay, drunk I will be too,
And when I am I'll make the Devil to do .
Ye gilded Chariot, and ye rich Brocade,
And the dear Joys of midnight Masquerade,
A long Adieu, now thro' the filthy Town,
In dirty Hackney, and in plain silk Gown,
Must I be drove; perhaps 'tis worse decreed,
And thro' the Streets in Pattens I must tread.
Perhaps mend Stockings; O, ye cruel Gods!
Or scrub my Flesh off in the sharp Soap-Suds.

Governess.
Hope for the best, my Dear, send for the Squire.


37

Arietta.
I to the Creature send, excuse me Ma'am,
What like a Wife petition? if I do;
And now, I think on't, I will make a Vow .

38

Hear me ye Naiads, Fairies, Nymphs and Fawns,
Who wanton lave amidst the chrystal Streams;
That o'er the smooth-worn Pebbles plays
Thro' flow'ry Vales, and daisy-sprinkled Meads:
And ye who govern the high-waving Woods;
Who secret dwell in sun-sequestred Groves,
And nightly dance thro' arch-embower'd Walks.
Ye Hamadryads hear! Ye sullen Gnomes
That flit on foggy Clouds from Earth uprais'd:
Ye purer Sylphs, that skim the midway Air;
And all ye Genii of the Deep attend.
If I request, petition, send, or sue,
May Thunder split my Snuff-box all to pieces,
And Lightnings burn my Brussels Mob to Ashes.

Miss.
But you'll see him Madam.


39

Arietta.
I'll be blind first truly; no, I'll now,
With weary, wandring, melancholy, tread;
Goaded by Griefs, disconsolately creep:
On the soft Pillow rest my aching Head,
Sob like a Child, and sigh my self to sleep,
Snore out my Wrongs and dream—the Lord knows what
What I in Vision see, that I'll fullfil,
If 'tis my Blood, or Pen-dipt-Ink to spill:
To end my Woes at once by well-set Knife ,
Or vindicate my Wrongs, and write my Life .

(Exit curt'sying.
 

More Distress.

Here Reader, in this Speech there is an Antitheses worthy Observation. It consists of the different Modus which Miss Molly makes use of, in applying the Verb Break.

First, as breaking the Pot of Marmalade.

Secondly, as breaking her own Heart.

I could have been better pleased with it, had the Verb been both Times used in the first Person.

H. H.

By way of Ænigma. H. H.

Distress again. P. P.

Common Distress is represented by one Tragedy Handkerchief; but as this is uncommon Distress, and two-fold, and Author has judiciously doubled the Hieroglyphic. P. P.

Plotinus, in his Dissertation upon Semi-colons, mightily recommends the Use of an Et Cetera. And Gerard Van Bergen, in the six Volumes he has published upon the Use and Antiquity of an Hyphen, has given us its Etymology and Cuts, how it is used by various Nations. H. H.

Though this may seem somewhat indelicate, it is very natural. For to be a Passion, or be in a Heat, are compatible, nay sometimes synonymous. Now it is not at all contradictory to the animal System to suppose, that when any one is in a Heat, Perspiration may ensue. P. P.

Pro intoxicated, aude common Conversation.

To mutilate, metamorphise, and transmigrate the English Language, is at present the polite Taste, while on the contrary, the Under-bred, instead of curtailing out of an unwonted Generosity, add to their Dialect, e. g. Mem pro Madam at St. James's. Misturs pro Madam, St. Giles's.

H. H.

Here I cannot help observing the Particularity of Stile used by Tradesmen, Brokers, &c. of the Metropolis of Great Britain. They look on the Pronouns He or I to be no ways essential in their Advertisements, but think the Word Said sufficient.

And I hear there is a Complaint lodged in Nassan Court, by said Pronouns, backed by Particle The, against Dublin News Printers, for same Fault. Said Printers not given said Words fair Play in Advertisements.

Don't know what.

This Line is perfectly metaphysical. For her Ideas being certainly too circumstantially disturbed, i. e. (disturbed by her present Circumstances) it was impossible by this Parity of Reasoning, she could form a proper Assemblage of them, or range them in a just Order, to think that what she was.

More Distress. H. H.

Natural enough. P. P.

Very natural that too. H. H.

Clymax of Naturalities. H. P.

I am at a Loss how to understand the Adjective dear, whether it relates to the Dearness of the Ticket, or whether the Joys she had there were dear pro endear'd to her.

Make a Vow—This Vow is made with Premeditation, and as it ought to be; for tho' Swearing is at present in tip top Taste, and quite the Thing, I don't believe the Generality of Gentlemen Cursers take a sufficient Time to recollect what they are going to do when they swear; for it is proper to consider, that an Oath may be sometimes used periodically, sometimes expletively, at other Times by way of Corroboration.

Further, I must needs say, that tho' there are some Persons, called Clergymen, who will make a Bustle about Duty, Decency, and Religion, and pretend, indeed, to have Swearing abolish'd, it would be as pernicious to Conversation, as the Prohibition of Spirits would be to Dram-Drinkers; For as Oaths not only interlard but make up two Parts in three of several Persons Conversation, what could those choice Spirits say if they were not to swear. Why, upon the nicest Calculation, according to de Moivre, Sympson Leibnitz, &c. it therefore follows, that they must be condemned to sit silent two Thirds of that Time they now fill up with such elegant Volubility. P. P. H. H.

There is something so daringly wicked in this calling upon God to confirm a momentous Relation, or upon the least Affront received, commanding a Deity to condemn them to eternal Perdition, that I cannot think common Swearers believe there is a God that hears them; or, perhaps, more modest, imagine the Deity thinks such Reptiles too much below his Notice to punish.

Here is a long Speech, which, I believe, was introduced for no other Design than to show the Author was deep read in Romance, and had a tolerable or intolerable Knack at Description. P. P.

He is to be commended for it, since as every Reader is look'd on as a Guest, and an Author is to furnish out as good a Feast as he can for the Reader's Entertainment; and, as at Gentlemen's Houses vast Pieces of Plate, ornamented, tho' useless, adorn the Side-board; so, as Authors can seldom, that way, please their Guests, they are right to open the Richness of their Fancy for them. H. H.

This was once in Vogue.

This is at present the Taste.

SCENE Moorefields. Enter Phlebotome.
Phlebotome.
The Morning rises black, as black as Ink;
Perhaps Apollo has a dirty Shirt on:
It looks as if 'twou'd Rain, or Hail, or Snow;
It looks, methinks, it looks I don't know how;
Hah! Who comes here? Are you, or are you not .


40

Enter Scarebabe.
Scarebabe.
I am Sir.

Phlebotome.
What?

Scarebabe.
Your humble Servant.

Phlebotome.
Either my Optics err, the visual Ray
Refracted, densely beams obliquely forth ,
Or thou art Scarebabe.

Scarebabe.
Sir; the same.
A Letter, Sir, from Squire Fanfly's Mother.

41

She says he's mad, and therefore begs your Worship
Will seize her Son, and put him into Bedlam,
'Till by your Discipline he's gain'd his Senses.

Phlebotome.
She writes me here, bad English, but no Matter,
I'll seize the Squire, and give him Castigation.
Conclude it done—have you more Bus'ness with me.

Enter Caustic with a black Eye.
Caustic.
Seek not for Business; shun the rash Pursuit;
Behold, by Business, what to me's befallen.
Had I been born but rich I had been bless'd.
Safe then each Day in indolentic Ease;
Supine, my Life insipidly had slid.
Thro' the throng'd Park, I'd lazy lownge along,
Arm linked in Arm with my laced Coat compeers,
And dawdling dangle with affected Limp.
Or big with pleasing Contemplation stand
'Gainst the Pier-Glass, and look whole Hours away :
Then nightly trifle round Theatric Scenes,

42

Retailing Remnants of stale Repartée.
Or o'er the exhilerating Coffee join,
In Speculations for the Nation's Good;
Or with harmonious Taste, or clenched Fist,
Direct Jack Broughton's, or the Opera rule.

Phlebotome.
Permit me, Friend, by mild Request, to probe
Thy febrile Mind: I view thy Eye contus'd;
Fist-swol'n, perhaps; exhibit thou the Cause.

Caustic.
Ask thou the Cause: 'Twas Squire Fanfly did it;
If I forgive it; but it is no Matter;
Few Words are best; so I'll relate it briefly.
As Yesternoon I thro' St. James's walk'd,
With tuneful Sound, enquiring, as I past,
Who wanted Ease from the toe-troubling Corn,

43

A neat white-stockin'd Footman, down whose Ears
Two twisted Papers dangled (pendant thus
The String tied Cherry vibrates: Infant play)
In Squire Fanfly's Name, with courteous Air,
Requested my Attendance; hapless Jobb.
Within th'unrefreshing Hall, high hung
With steely Trophies , and the Huntsman's Spoil:
Chilly I wait; at length my Patient's brought,
On Couch reclin'd, his Legs in Flannel wrapp'd :
With tender Care, as I one Foot uncloath'd,
Full in my Breast the other he discharg'd;
Prone on the Ground I fell. As I uprose;
Thro' the resistless Air, with agile Whirl
His Slipper, wooden-heel'd, he threw direct,
Luckless my Eye received it, flashing Fire.


44

Phlebotome.
These Symptoms indicate the Youth is mad.
As creaking Signs, or the thick throbbing Corn,
Or Sink offensive, bode impending Showers;
So the prognosticating Symptoms shew,
The State morbific. Diagnostics are
Signals which Nature holds out in Distress:
Then the Physician, as a Pilot, acts
To steer the Body from the Rocks of Death,
And tide it safely to the Bay of Health.

Scarebabe.
A Set of Sharpers now attend the Squire,
And Leech-like live upon him: 'Tis To-day
He's come to Age, & open House he keeps
At Beverage the Vintner's.

Caustic.
So, he may.
No more of that for me, I spunge no more.—
Who'd be that sordid sycophantic Wretch,
To cringe, be kick'd, or flatter for a Dinner,
And turn led Captain. No, if e'er I do,
May I be bruised in every aching Limb,
In the strong Blanket toss'd 'twixt Earth and Air,

45

By 'Jaculation dire,—sickly Sport:
So poor Jack Needy suffer'd . Luckless Youth.

Scarebabe.
I saw him toss'd.
A Sight, so dirty-sad, my Eyes did ne'er behold.

Phlebotome.
So dirty, peace;
It is unutterable; yet I'll tell it .
In that wet Season, when descending Rains
Stream thro' the Streets, and swell along the Lanes.
When Mud obnoxious o'er the Pavement spread,
Soils the white Stocking at each mirey Tread.
When the shrill Link-boy plies the Playhouse Door,
And Mack'rel pleasing Cry, is heard no more.
When Strength-restoring Oysters are in prime;
Or, in plain English, it was Winter-Time;
Then was Peel Garlick toss'd.

Caustic.
How did he bear it?


46

Phlebotome.
At the first Toss he puked, then loudly swore,
But when the Blanket burst, he said no more;
But dropt down swift into the common Shore.
O'erwhelm'd with Filth, he wallow'd in the Mud,
And groap'd his Way out, flound'ring thro' the Flood.

Caustic.
Why must the Great have Privilege to kick,
And not the Poor return it? Partial Fate!
Domitian thus the Spider's Prey purloined ,
And tilted Flies for Pastime. Cruel Sport!
Ye Gods, why gave ye me a Monarch's Soul,
And wrapp'd it up in such a wretched Case!

Phlebotome.
But see, who's this approaches? With what State
She seems to tread, and side-long how she holds
Her Hoop wide op'ning, O Circean Cave .
Know ye the Dame?


47

Scarebabe.
Yes, 'tis Capriola.
A Mistress Fanfly keeps, let us go seek the Squire.

Caustic.
I know where to find him.

Phlebotome.
Go you before, and I will follow after .
Methinks I walk in Stilts, I'm so elated,
To have a wealthy Patient: o'the Rapture!
As Gallen has it in his second Chapter.

48

Cathartics and Narcotics I'll apply,
Nephretics and Emetics we must try,
And drain for Drugs the Dispensary dry.
The Attorney thus to lengthen out his Suit,
Forbids Peace-making, and foments Dispute;
Incessant watches o'er his Client's Purse,
Makes good Things bad, and bad he makes much worse.
So Squire Fanfly, if I can allure him,
I'll make him mad, and afterwards I'll cure him.

 

By this Speech we learn that Phlebotome was one of those Philosophers called Scepties. They were remarkable for doubting if they could see, or doubting the Existence of whatever they did see; like some Moderns who cannot, will not, or must nor believe their Eyes, nor too critically attend to the Evidence and Examination of any of their other Senses. H. H.

Obliquely forth—That is, the Rays of Light don't come in a direct Line but oblique. For Rays are made to converge when they are refracted towards each other by their being drawn from the Center of Convexity on the other Side, as by this Proposition will more plainly appear.

AB is to CD as the Lines of Refraction by Convexion, i. e. as q is to p, or p to q; and as AB to EF so (CD= p/q or q/p A B to p/q or q/p NO; and, so is K: L to M: N; and, so is WX to YZ. Ergo, AB pq/qp is as the Side of Refraction to the Angle of Incidence C: D: : E.

H. H.

The Messenger telling the Purport of the Letter is very natural, for he might have looked over as she wrote, or read it before she sent it.

The Meaning of this is an Allusion to Narcissus looking at himself, till, according to the Author of Henry VII. or the Popish Impostor, be vanished into nothing. H. H.

John Broughton, formerly a Waterman, but for some Years last past remarkable for his Skill in the Science of Offence, called Boxing; and for the teaching of which he established an Athletical Academy to instruct the polite Youth of London in the Exercise of the Fist, and all the Dexterity of Cross-Buttocks. But as there are some too delicate to be taught with the naked Hand, he has Gloves lin'd with Hair, and quilted Breast-Plates, for the very fine Gentlemen to practise in.

Non his Juventus orta parentibus, &c. Hor. Lib. iii. Od. 6.

There are also several more heroical Bruisers, who fight pitch'd. Combats on his Stage, and to see which Half-Guineas, and Crowns, are given for Tickets.

P. P.

Steelly Trophies.—Read it stilly Trophies; Weapons that were silent and unus'd. Richard III. The Hum of either Army stilly sounds. P. P.

Wrapp'd—Read it lapp'd; the Word wrapp'd is an Interpolation: To be wrapp'd is to be bound tight, which was not proper in the Gout, as we suppose to be the Case with the Squire. P. P.

Prone.—He could not fall prone; for when a Man has a Blow on the Breast he falls backwrd. Vide Slack upon Broughton. I therefore read, Thrown on the Ground, I fell.

As I uprose—Erroneous. It should be, as I suppose; for we may suppose he was senseless by the Blow.

P. P.

This should be wrote and at full, and not, &. P. P.

So poor John Needy suffered—it must be read: For, if you read it Jack Needy, the Sound of Jaculation in the preceding Line, and the Sound of Jack in the succeeding one, breaks all Hexameter Harmony. H. H.

Vide modern Tragedies for Precedents of this Stile and Manner.

Domitian, the Roman Emperor, used to amuse himself with killing Flies, till he had destroyed the Maggot-bred Progeny, upon which it was wittily said, by a Philosopher, (who was asked if the Emperor had any one with him) no, not so much as a Fly.

This is an odd Epithet, and I am convinced the Author never designed it so; but by the Blunder of some ignorant Transcriber, it has crept into the Text. In the first Place, Circe never wore a Hoop. Secondly, she lived not in a Cave. Thirdly, but enough has been said to prove what it is not; let us consider what it is. This Doctor is a learned Man; hē there speaks Latin, Cave beware; and the other Word is either calling her by her Name, which was Cecilia; as for Instance, Oh Cicely, beware, don't stumble; for she might hold her Hoop so high, that she could not look before her: Or else it is, Oh Silesian Cave; her Hoop might he made of that Sort of Stuff. P. P.

This is very natural; for if one goes before, the other must follow after, unless, as it sometimes happens, on the Stage, for one to pull the other back, and so go out first, according to the old Proverb, he is first at last, though he was behind before. P. P.

Mr. Pedasculus has a Mind to be merry with his Proverb, and wrest the Author's Meaning to an Explanation never intended. To pull one back, and step in his Place, or get before him, in an Action common to all Men, as well off, as on the Stage, and may be properly called, the Art of Supplanting. H. H.

SCENE, Covent-Garden.
Enter Capriola, and Servant.
Capriola.
Away; go troop, or I will tread your Guts out.
Arietta, o'the Sing-song dirty Trull,
For her neglected?

Servant.
Be but easy, Madam.

Capriola.
And shall a bunting Ballad-singer hold him?
Sooner shall Spaws with Kennel Water flow;
Sooner shall Modesty Preferment gain;
Sooner I'll hang myself, and there's an End on't.

Servant.
Here comes the Lady.


49

Capriola.
O! the dirty Minx.

Enter Arietta .
Arietta.
Are you the Wench whom they Capriola call?

Capriola.
Yes, Miss Mock-modesty, what then?

Arietta.
—That's all.
Some People are impertinent, 'tis true,
And wou'd rob other People of their Due,
But, Ma'am, excuse me, I don't think 'tis you.

Capriola.
Good lack-a-day, and so they bid me tell you.

50

Lord, I shall faint, but I despise such Creatures ,
If I must talk, it shall be to your Betters.
Your Impudence, all Billingsgate exceeding,
Declares you know not what belongs to Breeding.

Arietta.
Madam, you're humble, but you're so notorious,
I dare not talk, you know the World's censorious.
Shou'd my Friends see me hold you in Discourse ,
I shou'd be thought as bad as you, or worse.

Capriola.
As bad as me! Ill Manners I detest,
Begging your Pardon, you're a nasty Beast.
Have you forgot how high in Drury-Lane,
Drench'd by the Drippings of the drizzling Rain,
On broken Bedstead, deck'd by dirty Rugs,
You nightly snor'd, bit by Blood-loving Bugs?
At Morning's Dawn you left your stinking Flocks,
To foot Silk Stockings, and to mend old Socks;
In Winter Evening, you'd the Parish teaze,
With bak'd Ox Cheek, or calling out grey Pease.
At Midnight strole along the silent Lane,
And draggled, sneak to Garret back again.


51

Arietta.
Methinks, Ma'am, you are drest in a delicate Taste,
What a Pity it is your Complexion won't last?
How her Cloaths are hung on, and how set is each Feature,
Let me die, but I think you're a comical Creature.
But least the Dispute, by bad Words, should grow long,
I'll the Argument end, Child, and give you a Song.

Enter Jack Handy.
Jack Handy.
Stand clear, make way, bear back, get farther off .

Capriola.
Why, what's the Matter, pray good Captain Puff?

Jack Handy.
Young Squire Fanfly's coming, that's enough.


52

Enter Squire Fanfly. Beverage kicking his Drawer .
Fanfly.
At length, my Friends, at last is come the Day,
The long-expected, the long-talk'd-of Day,
This Day of Days; and now we'll make a Night on't .

(Huzza.
Gamble.
Permit me, Squire, to join this happy Cry,
And as I stand on Tiptoe with you joy.

Fanfly.
Tom Gamble, Friend, thy Merit's truly great,
Whether you crack a Joke, or break a Pate;

53

I've seen thy Stick high brandish'd o'er the Foe,
Flash on his Face, and bleed him at a Blow:
Then o'er the Midnight Glass, I have heard thee speak,
And Puns, like Hiccups, from thy Bosom break:
So like thy Wit, embottl'd Small-beer works,
Flies frothy up, and rumbling bursts the Corks.
And thou, my Beverage, I've seen,
Trip up the nimblest on the Green,
And heard thee in stentorean Sounds,
Out-roar the deep-mouth'd op'ning Hounds:
So have I heard, amidst the Shouts
Of Bonfires, Mobs on Powder Plots,
A snapping Cracker shake the Plain,
And bounce and burst, and bounce again.

Beverage.
But you've done more, what's all that we can show,
To what the Squire has done, or what the Squire may do?

Fanfly.
What I have done? (but 'tis not fair to boast)
Can none remember, and yet sure all must,
How I disputed once with the fam'd Henley ?

54

When Folly, like a chatt'ring Magpye, sat
Full on my Forehead, thro' the whole Debate,
On Wings of Bats between us Dullness bore,
And common Sense stood trembling at the Door,
Words wav'd on Words, on Nonsense, Nonsense roll'd,
And I myself appear'd the greatest Scold.

Arietta
comes forward.
O Arietta, O my warbling Dear,
Whose Voice is sweeter than the tuneful Sound
Of well-match'd Beagles, op'ning in full Cry;
Thy Eyes are brighter than the Glow-worms Light,
Thy Cheeks are redder than the ripen'd Peach,
Suffer thy Swain those fragrant Fruits to reach.

Capriola goes between.
Capriola.
That I forbid, nay, start not, Sir, 'tis I.


55

Arietta.
Turn this Way, Squire, this Way cast your Eye .
SONG.
By the Joys of Embrace, when entwin'd in my Arms,
While languishing Love fill'd our Eyes,
You murmuring swore, you'd be true to my Charms,
And sealed it with short-broken Sighs .


56

Fanfly.
Bravo, my Life, my lovely Arietta,
There—there's my Purse, if you want Money, take it,
But take not me, for I am all Arietta's.
Sooner shall Jews sly Jesuits become,
And Presbyterians kiss the Toe of Rome.
Wits follow Whitfield, Whores adore plain Dealing.
St. Giles's to St. James's shall remove,
Sooner than I'll neglect this Lady's Love.


57

Capriola.
Squire, stand off, I'll—O thou saucy Slut,
E'er I bear this, I'll—Let me go, Sirrah.

Arietta.
What wou'd Capriola's Mutton-Fist be at?

Capriola.
Your negro Nose, Arietta, that is flat.

Fanfly.
So pendant cross a Line, I've oft seen hung,
Two tail-ty'd Cats, and spitting as they swung;
Teeth gnash with Teeth, with Talons, Talons jar,
'Till scratching ends this caterwauling War.

Capriola.
Where shall the wretched Capriola waddle?
Upon Misfortunes now I sit a-straddle .
Will you not kiss me, Squire?

Fanfly.
Fiddle faddle.

Arietta.
Your Absence, Madam, will prevent Reproach,
Will you walk off, or will you have a Coach?


58

Capriola.
Trollop, 'tis well, at length, my ebbing Pride
Returns again, swift as a high Spring-Tide:
And by this Box, this Pinchbeck-Box, I swear ;
Which never more this Pinch of Snuff shall share,
I, unconcern'd, Inconstancy can bear.
I'll take a Link myself and light you Home;
Nay, make your Bed, and sweep you out your Room:
But first a Pound of Gun-powder I'd buy,
Under the Bed it secretly shou'd lye;
Then take a Match, and to repay this Evil,
I'll blow you both together to the Devil.

(Throws Snuff in Arietta's Face, and exit.
Arietta.
O, Squire Fanfly, I am almost choak'd;
How cou'd you leave me for a Slut so saucy?
How did you get her? tell me; I'll forgive you.


59

Fanfly.
So I will.
Once on a Time, past Twelve o'Clock at Night,
When ev'ry Lamp was out, and at each Stand
The drowsy Watchman snor'd thro' the dark Street;
No Flambeaux-blazing Chariot flash'd along,
But gloomy Night in humdrum Silence mop'd;
Disguis'd with Drink, and for a Frolick fit;
By Help of Ladder raised to mend the Roof,
Hap'ly I stole, unheeded, to her Garret.

Beverage.
'Twas lucky, tho' you did not break your Bones.

Fanfly.
So it was.
I found the sleepy, trapish, tipling, Fair,
Snoring, supinely, on a three-legg'd Chair.
A ragged Stocking hid one tawny Fist,
Drawn, like a Muffatee, a-down her Wrist.
Drop'd by her Side lay diff'rent colour'd Yarn,
With which the industrious Nymph was wont to darn.
A twinkling Light within the Socket gleam'd;
I reel'd to reach it, and the Damsel scream'd:
I snatch'd the Fair, half-waking, to my Breast;
And then; but mum, I must not tell the rest .


60

Arietta.
O, the dear Rake, the lovely midnight Rogue;
O, I could jump into a Ditch to meet thee,
And wander with thee in a Winter's Rain.
Let pimpled Prudes on Citron Waters dote,
And may stale Maids their sleek-comb'd Lap-dogs love;
For thee, my Dear, Imperial Tea I'd spill,
Forgo the Fashion, and forget Quadrille.

Fanfly.
Here this Coquets, curse on your Constitutions,
My Heart dances a Hornpipe;
I am I know not how; but when 'tis Night
I will do—what I will.

Arietta.
And so you shall.
Go now, and take a Bottle with your Friends;
But stay not late, nor come not, Love, in Liquor.
Like the poor Turtle I shall sit forlorn,
Waiting to welcome you, and have the Bed warm'd.

(Exit.
Enter Sybilla the Governess.
Governess.
Sir, if you please, a Word or two with you.

Fanfly.
Madam, your humble Servant; how do you do.


61

Governess.
Well, Sir, I thank you, and hope you're so too.

Fanfly.
Here! bring some Wine.

Governess.
I'll drink none as I live.

Fanfly.
Pray, Lady fair, one single Glass receive.

Governess.
No; pray excuse me.

Fanfly.
Pray excuse me, Ma'am.
One single Glass can never do you Harm.

Governess.
Well, Squire, I vow you're such another Man—!
I'm quite confounded; but, since here I am,
And I must drink, my Dear, I'll drink a Dram.
(Drinks.
But to my Purpose, Sir, you are to know,
Since my poor Husband's Death, who left me low;
Tho', little did he think it wou'd be so;
I've kept a Boarding-School, 'tis now three Years,
To shew young Misses Plain-work, and their Pray'rs.
I form their female Minds, I mend their Tastes,
Teach them to read, and raise the various Pastes;

62

To knot the bordering Fringe, to whip the Seam,
The Lawn to flourish, and to skim the Cream.
Amidst the pretty, prattl'ing, playing, Fair,
(By their kind Parents trusted to my Care,)
There's one Miss Languish, handsome, on my Word,
And rich enough to make a Man a Lord

Fanfly.
For me, perhaps.

Governess.
Perhaps so—Lack-a-day.
Yet who knows that; for, as some Folks will say,
We'are gone To-morrow, tho' we're here To-day.
All our first Bread we're certain where we eat;
The Wisest knows not where his last he'll get;
For tho' we're born we are not bury'd yet.
But to my Purpose; tho', as I was saying,
Miss Molly Languish; well, a-lack-a-day;
Indeed, 'tis Pity; so, indeed, you'll say:

63

She pouts, she glouts, she moaps, she frets, she fumes,
And all for what? Why, for a Husband truly:
But how do you think all this is brought about,
Why Love and Murder always will come out,
As my Spouse us'd to say—that's without Doubt .

Fanfly.
What's this to me, Ma'am?

Governess.
Why, Sir, you shall hear.
There is a Fellow that belongs to you,
Who, like a Peacock, struts and makes a Shew,
Has turn'd her Head, and makes her talk of Wedlock;
Of losing Maidenheads, and merry Christ'nings:
This Fellow follows us from Street to Street,
Winks thro' the Windows, ogles her incessant;
At Meals at Home, on Sunday at the Church;
No Place is free, he frights me with his Stares,
He spoils our Dinner, and disturbs our Prayers.

Fanfly.
What is his Name?

Governess.
Spunge, Sir, I think, he's call'd.


64

Fanfly.
Go, somebody, and seek him.

Beverage.
Here he comes, unlook'd for.

Enter Spunge, drunk.
Fanfly.
O, come hither Scoundrel:
You spunging, shifting, sharking, shuffling Wretch,
Who, Spaniel-like, at well-fill'd Tables waits.—

Governess.
Ay, Mr. what d'ye call'm; marry come up—

Fanfly.
Nay, give me Leave, Madam. Hark ye, Sirrah.
How dare you?

Spunge.
Be fuddl'd, I presume:
Why, I have been drinking Bumpers to your Health,
And, if you grudge it, Sir, why then, good-bye to you.


65

Fanfly.
Hold, Sir, take one Glass more before you go .

(Throws Wine in his Face.
Spunge.
How soon you see a modest Man is dash'd ,
It's damn'd ungen'rous tho', to give me Wine ,
And hit me in the Teeth with it.

Fanfly.
You'll go a Courting, will you, courting Ladies!

Governess.
Ay, and fine Ladies too! Meat for his Master.

Spunge.
Had I been sober, tho' you are a Squire,
You had not dared to strike me.


66

Fanfly.
Dared not, damn you.

Spunge.
Damn you; no, you dare not.

Fanfly.
Give me a Horsewhip, Cane, a Mop, or Beesom.

Gamble.
O Sir, have Patience

Fanfly.
Preach Patience to your Creditors, you Block-head :
Where is the Scoundrel?

Spunge.
Who is it you mean?

Fanfly.
Go to the Pump you Sloven, and get clean.
Go pump him, that will wash him, for he wants it .

(Hits a Mop in his Face.
Spunge.
Be warn'd, ye Youths, ye ever-thirsty Souls,
Who fond of Frolicks, doat on midnight Bowls;

67

By my Example learn to shun my Fate,
How wretched is the Man who loves to prate:
If you can work; O! stick to what your Trade is,
Strong Liquors leave, and making Love to Ladies.

(Carried off.
Fanfly.
Wou'd ye, fair Maids, our secret Failings scan,
And as you pick your Laces chuse the Man.
Tho' Lace bespangled hides the strong clos'd Seam,
And the Paste Buckles o'er the Instep beam:
Tho' o'er the Hat the Milk-white Feather's spread,
The Plumy Play-Thing shades a brainless Head.
Did ye but know the gay embroider'd Coat
Oft cloaths a Coxcomb, oft conceals a Sot.
But 'tis in vain, fatally fond of Shew,
You see, and sigh in Secret—Heav'ns! a Beau
You wish to wed—and often after find
A rotten Carcase and a wretched Mind.
Splendid thus monumental Marbles shine,
Tho' foul Corruption fills the gorgeous Shrine.

Beverage.
Now, if you please, Sir, we'll go in to Dinner.

Fanfly.
With all my Heart, Tom Beverage, make some Punch :

68

Then, like a Thing, o'me the mad Macedonian,
Like Cæsar, Cyrus, or like any other.
But why shou'd I of any other tell,
None but myself can be my Parallel :
Then, like myself, exalted will I stand,
With a Pint Bumper in my lifted Hand;
Time, Life's worst Load, in Liquor shall be lost,
And at each Glass we'll sacrifice a Toast:
Noctural Rites, uncheck'd by saucy Care,
To Joy-inspiring Bacchus we'll prepare;
God of good Fellow, Vintage-blessing Power,
O beam propitious on our social Hour,
With smiling Bowls we'll laugh the Night away;
We'll love Tomorrow, but get drunk To-day.

 

This is a Scene of Altercation. I cannot help reminding the Reader of the Diversity of Scenes, Stiles, and Similes in this elaborate Performance. And herein I follow the Steps of the Editor of Mr. Pope's Works, who has pointed out to every Reader, all the Species of Writing, the Author of the Essay on Man used in the latter Part of that Poem, doubting, or despising the Capacities of his Readers; or else imagining, that Philosophy and Poetry are always to be examined by classical Scale and Compass, like the Mathematician, who only read Virgil, to examine by the Map, how, Navigator-like, he had conducted Æneas in his Voyage. H. H.

It is pronounced Creters. P. P.

To hold you in Discourse—or to force Discourse, Phrases of Course.

Here you have in this Line, the whole Exercise of the Levee.

Ist. Stand clear. The great Man rises to go to his Coach.

2d. Make way. The Dependants are drawn up on each Side.

3d. Bear back. They squeeze against the Wainscot.

4th. Get farther off. Those who have forgot to see the Porter, and forced to stand on the Outside of the Door, now must leave lounging against the Rails.

However queer it is to be kicked, and though it may not be pleasing to feel, it is to see, since it is practised on the Stage with great Applause. H. H.

Think not, Reader, I am intending to ridicule the Tastes of an Audience, or imagine they cannot distinguish. Far be it from me, to hint at such a Falsity: But I would fain have the Actors never endeavour at Applause, by any Buffoonery, or debase the Dignity of Nature, by uncouth Grimace, and supply the Want of true Humour with farcical Face-making. H. H.

How to make Night of Day, I cannot reconcile this Line. I have often, indeed, heard Persons talk of making a Night on't; and out of Curiosity, I once went to see some Spirits perform; but they made nothing on't, unless making one another drunk could be termed making any Thing. P. P.

Vulgarly called Orator. Vide Dunciad. I have heard the Author of this Parody several Times disputed with him. If so, I really think he has very truly depicted himself. H. H.

This is a Parody on the Speech of Alexander the Great.

Can none remember? Yes sure all must.
When Glory, like a dazzling Eagle, stood
Perch'd on my Beaver, in the Granic Flood,
When Fortune's Self, my Standard trembling bore,
And the pale Fates stood frighted on the Shore,
When the Immortals on the Billows rode,
And I myself appear'd the leading God.

This Way cast your Eye.

It will be very proper for the Gentlemen and Ladies of the Theatre, the younger Sort I mean, to be very perfect in this Exercise of the Eye, and also in the verticular Motion of the Head. For it is common Practice among them, to talk to the Pit, more than to the Performer that's along with them; and also, when they are spoke to, it is proper for them to seem to mind what is said, and not, while a Description is related to them, or any Story that affects the Personage they represent, be looking round the Audience for their Acquaintance, &c. P. P.

Love fill'd our Eyes—Nonsense—Loving filling the Eyes, and Murmurs, and short-broken Sighs. These are all unnatural Phrases, fit only for Novel-Writers, &c.

It is now several Years since my first Cohabitation with my Wedlock-joined Friend, and though Nature calls for a Satisfaction of carnal Appetite, Posterity for an Increase of Inhabitants, and even Marriage-Laws demand fulfilling, I never met with any of the above-mentioned Languishings. They are heterogeneous to the Improvement of our Species, and since we are commanded to increase, we should go about to obey that Precept, as Philosophers, as Scholars, and as wise Men ought to do, soberly and cooly, as we should take off a Glass of Wine, not madly and voraciously, as intoxicating Epicures swallow Pint-Bumpers. P. P.

Whitfield, an itinerant Field-preacher, who was followed by Multitudes of both Sexes, whose weak Minds were startled by the terrible Anathemas he vociferously thundered against them. He set himself as a Refiner of the Christian Religion, in a Manner repugnant to all Rules of Decency, Morality, or good Manners.

N. B. These Things happened at a Time when the Works of Boyle, Barrow, Lock, and Tillotson, lay unheeded, on Dust-fill'd Shelves, and within a few Years of that remarkable Æra, called the Year of the Bottle-Conjurer.

This is a very pertinent Simile, to sit a-straddle upon Misfortune, i. e. to ride the wooden Horse of Adversity.

Pinchbeck—Pinchdeck'd Box it should be. It means to deck it with a Pinch of Snuff, or to be deck'd with a Pinch of Snuff. H. H.

Whether it should be deck'd, or no, I cannot tell certainly, since greater Men than me have been divided about using that Word: For, in the Tempest, Act I. Scene the Second, there is the Word deck'd, according to Mr. Theobalds.

Who deck'd with Tears the Sea.

Oxford Edit. Brack'd with Tears the Sea, i. e. made the Salt-water brackish.

Warburton. Mock'd with Tears the Sea.

Dr. Bentley. Stock'd with Tears the Sea.

I say, repugnantibus omnibus, it should be, flock'd, i. e. the Tears flock'd to the Sea. P. P.

I think our Squire is something more modest than Lothario however. P. P.

To make a Man—then Spunge should say, O Lord! It is a natural Exclamation of a Man much indebted himself, upon hearing of a Woman who would, make a Man, to break out into such a surprize—O Lord—For the Future therefore it must be thus;

------ handsome, on my Word,
And rich enough to make a Man.
Spunge.
—Oh Lord!

P. P.

Without doubt—alluding to the Apothegm of Pythagoras's Daughter, fine dubitante. H. H.

Wit.

More Wit.

Most Wit.

These are the three Degrees of Comparison in Wit. The first Degree is the Hum, i. e. endeavouring to impose on the Credulous, e. g. He says, he will give him another Glass of Wine; but, how does he give it? The other stands ready to take it; but how does he take it?

The second Degree of Wit consists in the Action of throwing a Glass of Wine. This may be properly called, Wit-pantomimical, just like throwing Tobacco-pipes out of a Joke, burning Waiters Wigs in Fun, scorching the Shoes of their sleey Companion, or blackening his Face, or hiding his Pocket-book.

The third is, the Paranomasia, or Pun, to dash and hit.

The Supplication.

The Replication.

The Application.

Punch—from Punic—base, treacherous; because it often steals away our Reason. P. P.

This borrowed Line is partly geometrical, partly mathematical, partly mechanical, and partly neither. H. H.

End of the First ACT.