 | The Taxes |  |
ACT II.
SCENE I.
Mr. BAYES alone, walking in a musing posture.Mr. BAYES.
Let me consider—a plot—why
really it would be wond'rous odd to
have a play without one—yes, yes—a
plot will he highly necessary—we must
have a plot!—and I'll take care there shall be
one, such as it is, but I'll not be concerned in it
myself: I am one in the country interest, and the
redress of grievances shall meet with no interruptions
from any plot of my hatching—and yet
there shall be a plot, because 'twill shew some
people in a true light, and can do us no hurt—
for there's Lord Worthy has so distinguish'd and
establish'd a character, that he has nothing to fear,
let them play what tricks they will—and there's
our Princess too, has too much goodness and spirit
to be drawn aside, when she is once let into
the true state of things—so let 'em plot it as
they will, 'twill all come to nothing! However
cutting them short off again, as their disappointment
will be greater, so those who wish well to
the state, will be the more rejoiced—wretches, who
have liv'd so long upon the spoil of their country
ought to be set in a true light—I know they are
now at their wit's end, and have schemes of all
sorts, upon the anvil—Lord Worthy's appearing
at court, is a riddle they can't find out—and they
are so divided in their opinions, how they are to
manage it under these difficulties, that it sets 'em
a quarrelling among themselves—One urges this—
and another that—Like sailors without a compass,
they know not were they are, nor how to steer,—
quite out of their reckoning—I know some of our
greatest stock-jobbers, are now in a room, by themselves
at Jonathan's—I'll e'en send them old Politick
—I have hinted to him already, that if he
happens to call there, he may hear of some business
—This Politick, you must know, was born and
bred a plotmonger—the place has been in his family,
ever since the conquest—it descends from
father to son, like that of the Dimmocks, our famous
champions, upon coronation days; 'tis true
—he is a crafty old fox—but then he makes no great
dispatch—He is one that takes time to think!—
So that our business will be concluded, while he
sits hammering, and consequently our carrying our
point, when they least think of it, will be so much
the more excellent—He is always plying here
about 'change time, I'll e'en go find him out, and
send him—
[Exit.
SCENE II.
Jonathan's Coffee-House.SAMPSON, GRIPE, and TRANSFER, in a room by themselves.
SAMPSON.
Here's nothing but bad news!—I find 'tis true,
This man has been at court—our faithful spy
Met him in his return, and he reports,
His chearful looks declar'd his scheme's success—
What he's contriving there, 'tis time must shew—
But 'tis agreed, our Princess asks his counsels,
Admits him to her closet—He's already
The peoples idol—as he passes by them
'Tis through a shower of blessings!—yet 'tis said,
His looks retain that plain, and humble cast,
As would persuade the love that follows him,
(Which is his every act's interpreter,)
The zeal that seeks their good, would spare their praises.
I hear he's got a scheme to—mend the times!
That is to say, to make 'em worse for us—
He's a weak man to think on't—'Tis a work,
I hope, beyond his skill—but—if you say
The people's voice has join'd him—a general outcry
May do some hurt—
TRANSFER.
And that's the case at present—
The town, grown frantick, with this scheme of his,
Treats us, indeed, but scurvily—have you heard
Th'opprobrious names they give us? We're compar'd
To flies, that bask, and fatten on corruption—
We're call'd the sponges, that have drank too deep
The dews, that should have water'd larger spots.
Nay, what is worse, (the soul-mouth'd scandal, rising
Still to a higher pitch) we're call'd, the feeders
Of bloated bribery, sellers of state poison,
Which, lurking in the blood, the nerves unbraces
Of gallant resolution—
GRIPE.
Why, Mr. Transfer, this will bear an action—
And Mr. Sampson, won't you join with me
To sue such folks for slander?—
Mr. Gripe,
We'll wave it for the present—Our business now
Takes a more general scope—we first must search
What this scheme is, before we are prepar'd
To countermine it—therefore, let us each
Disperse ourselves, and lye in rumour's way—
Th'intelligence we meet with, will determine
What we have more to do.—
GRIPE.
Yes, yes; come, let us be going.—
[As they are going, they are met by Old Mr. Politick, who returns with them and they seat themselves.—
OLD POLITICK.
Your servant, gentlemen.
GRIPE.
O! Mr. Politick, your humble servant—you
are the very man I was thinking of—I know it
would be doing great injustice to your good intelligence,
to suppose you are a stranger to these reports—
that Lord Worthy—is—attempting—
something—at court—so I sha'nt trouble you
with that piece of news—but, to come to the
point—why sir—we have some reason to be
to break in, (it seems) upon our business—come
—come—we look upon you, as one of us—
we have let you into all our secrets—and you
must own, you have been a considerable gainer—
But now, as you are an able and wise man, 'tis
your turn to do us a piece of service—you must
give us your advice.—
POLITICK.
What, gentlemen, I conceive you are afraid
this Lord Worthy is going to sink your markets—
phoo—phoo—phoo—what can he attempt against
such money'd gentlemen as you are—I know
there are some weak people, who dream of more
influence than they have, and think themselves
qualify'd to do great things—But let me tell you,
to prescribe alterations in the present measures, at
least, to do it with success, requires a better judgment
than Lord Worthy's furnish'd with—there
may be as wise heads in the world as his—But
pray, have you learn'd any thing certain of what
regulations he is driving at?—
SAMPSON.
No, Mr. Politick, he keeps his counsels lock'd
up in the Princesses closet, their conferences together,
are close and private; only, if we may credit
the best accounts we can meet with, there's some
black weather, rising from that quarter, that
threatens us with a storm.
I hear, indeed, that Lord Worthy has been graciously
receiv'd by the Princess; I must say, this
has not a good look—and, 'tis generally reported,
that he is greatly beloved by the people—This is
likewise a very bad circumstance!—He is a man,
they say, that has no regard for his interest—the
good of his country, and that of his fellow citizens,
as he proudly calls the people, is the only object,
he pretends, that puts him upon taking these measures
—and, you know, there's no rightly managing
a man of such principles—But, let me consider
—a place!—could not we contrive to get a
place for him?—No—a place would have no good
effect upon him—But let me think—a new title
—no—no—an offer of this kind would be
thrown away upon him; because,'tis his constant
declaration, that there is no honour, but in an
honourable action—so I am afraid we must let
him alone—there is, I say, no good to be done
with one of his character.—
GRIPE.
So I find at last, his good character is to ruin
us—but what—if he is so shallow, as not to mind
his own interest, I do say he has no business to
interfere with ours—let me tell you, Mr. Politick,
whatever he may pretend to be—we are
certainly much better friends to the government,
than he is, or can be—This leads me to a thought
to so wise a man as you are—But, suppose now,
you was to write a pamphlet, in which you was
to represent us, as the props, or, I think it would
sound better, if you call'd us the Pillars of
the state.—
POLITICK.
I thank you, Mr. Gripe, for that excellent hint,
the thought may be work'd up to carry a good
argument—and I'll take care to dress it in a
proper light.—
TRANSFER.
But, Mr. Politick, whatever is proper to be
done, must not be delay'd—this Lord Worthy,
by all report, has a plaguy long head of his own,
and this good character you have given him, may
be apt to fix him in our Princesses good graces—
this is what we must prevent—if possible—and if
something is not instantly done, it may be too
late to seek a remedy—Come—come—come—
you must exert yourself—you must remember 'tis
now or never.—
POLITICK.
Well, well, the business shall be done—I must
say that for myself, I have met with as difficult
jobs as this, which I have rubb'd through, before
now; and so to make short of it, you shall
soon see me play him such a trick!—that, if I have
Let me see—as we are all friends, I'll let you
into the secret—I'll now go this instant, and take
care that it shall be publish'd, through city, town,
and country,—that this Lord Worthy is an enemy
to the government, an errant Jacobite.
GRIPE.
Right!—quite right! Mr. Politick!—a Jacobite!
—an excellent contrivance!—He is endeavouring
to make the times better! hah! hah! hah!
—make the times better—we know what he means
by better times.—a Jacobite! an excellent thought!
—However, though we know he is perfectly
innocent of the charge—yet this, Mr. Politick,
you understand me, will be a sufficient handle for
us, to spread such reports of him—an excellent
thought!—Besides, a fellow that is for breaking
in upon our measures, must necessarily be a friend
to the Pretender.—Well well, don't let us lose
time—pray, Mr. Politick, be expeditious—
a Jacobite! hah! hah! hah! an excellent plot!
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
An appartment in the palace.BRITANNIA walking, with a roll in her hand.
Enter Lord WORTHY.
BRITANNIA.
You see, my lord, this roll has kept us company
E'er since we parted, and we take it kindly
This freedom us'd with us—But, e'er we treat
On other subjects, it first concerns us
To clear ourselves—
WORTHY.
My liege, my honest breast ne'er harbour'd thought,
To charge you with one grievance—grace and lustre
Have still shone round you, and if those had reach'd us,
Complaint had still been dumb—Our constitution,
Has never boasted yet a tenderer guardian.
BRITANNIA.
Indeed, my lord, we would not seek to govern,
The states join'd with us in our happy system,
So as to let them feel our warmth, and fill
Their orbs opaque with lustre—but aim not,
By stretch of lawless power, to over-rule
Their force centrifugal, which the same hand
That fill'd us with our glory, lent to them;
Whereby they may preserve a healthful distance,
And qualify their course with temperate coolness!
This league in operations, theirs and ours,
Gives order mutual aspect—Let 'em both
Be weigh'd, each 'gainst the other to a grain,
And keep the ballance even to a hair.
WORTHY.
Spoke like yourself—when monarchy stands rein'd,
Far better so than absolute—for power
Warp'd from it's lender's purpose, is a storm,
That, raging from the east, indeed proclaims
It's strength, by scorching up our fields;
By scattering destruction, wrecks, and death,
But render'd sensible by warmth and light.
Power rules in love—and, not an atom lost,
Beholds each blessing given, reflected back,
From every object gilded with it's ray:
True mark of royal greatness, mutual ardor,
Given and receiv'd—Best plan of government:
Best—because plan'd by nature—where our states,
By a well-temper'd mixture—happy compound
Of freedom and dependence—giving proof,
By bending in their curves to princely love,
Of being true liege subjects—but without
Delivering up one inch of liberty.
BRITANNIA.
The order of our state then keeps due course,
When they both act in concert!—
[Waving the roll.
This we've perus'd—which, with becoming freedom,
Glowing with loyal zeal, and patriot warmth,
Kindly informs us, how our grace and favour,
Have been witheld, from shedding on our people
Their benign influence—With finite powers,
We cannot see men's thoughts!—if, by professions,
Our ear has been impos'd on, 'tis a weakness,
Our uprightness of heart, may well attone for—
But—now!—complaint has reach'd us—to redress,
Our care has wings!—and therefore, in our choice
Of Men, who, in our burthens, and our honours,
Have dividend with us, lest our mistaking
Suspicion on our love—only to Honour,
That bears the mark, of having stood The Test,
We'll yield our confidence—To This! to This,
We'll give the half-way meeting—nay we'll seek it
In it's retirement!—and, where'er we find it,
Preventing application, we'll assign it
Our offices of highest trust; that so
The ray of delegated power, may shine
Enlivening as our own—to preserve which,
Free from all spots, we'll learn ourselves to doubt
Profession unassay'd—They shall not mix
Their beam with ours, with whom fair character,
A feather in the scale, kicks up in air,
While base self-interest (in the worth they set on't)
Weighs to the ground—who with the shew of duty,
(The juggling mask of civil hypocrites!)
Seek but to serve themselves—our love shall be
More on the watch—nor will we hug to our breast
Such hollow-hearted zeal, to th'exclusion
Of our more faithful subjects—but we'll seek
T'erect our building on a Broader Base.
Party's hot-raging fever—
The cable of the state, for separate drawings,
Weak'ning the very purpose of it's make,
Whose union gives strength to every thread—
The honest toil that gives it, and the ends
For which 'tis given!—and (both these weigh'd together)
The one shall teach us Thrift—the other Justice.
In our Exchequer lodg'd, 'tis still the lender's!
'Tis trusted with us, as the seed that's sown,
To yield 'em back their harvest—But to take
Somewhat from off the burthen—
As we design to practise for the future,
Aiding frugality, the publick calls
We'll draw to narrower compass—the defence
Of British liberties, (too rich a jewel
To trust with mercenaries!) we'll assign
To our Militia—whose native ardor
Will give an edge to valor, keener far
Than sordid hire can set, with the link'd motives
Of Altars! Civil and Religious Rites!
Of Property and Freedom! uninspir'd!—
This guard of love (trusting our cause to heaven!)
To guard our colonies, and send our veterans
To gather laurels in our Western World!—
To think, we pluck in waste the ripen'd fruits,
Of painful industry, we purpose freely,
Of our own grace to sink the gatherer's toll;
Pensions, and needless Places, and the Sums
We've paid for foreign aids, of which, the profits
We'll take as part of the too great supplies
Our present danger calls for—
Of braided bays and olive—seated between
Plenty and Honour!—with fell Treachery, bound
Behind her chariot wheels, crouching in fear—)
Returns in her triumphal chariot home,
Our Savings shall redeem our property,
From sharp-fang'd mortgages—and debt's decrease,
Shall make each year, still happier than the last—
That, what full-gorg'd collection else devours
May reach us with less burthen—to turn each
Occurrence to advantage, those in the' excise,
Who've follow'd trade, we'll turn back to their work,
And save our bread from foreign harpeis claws.
As for the rest—we'll take 'em to our navy—
Our dilatory laws to mend their pace;
Nor shall the love of fees prolong the cure
Of heart-sick poverty!
[Referring to the roll.
Those other grievances,
That find not present help, thro' our love's zeal,
That hastens to redress the ills fore-nam'd,
Our care shall watch occasion, in their turns,
To remedy.
With all convenient speed, we would have publish'd:
No matter if they are out-run by rumour,
It will be still the better—we should like it,
To have the common joy engag'd for us—
And, good my lord, give it encouragement—
Let it exert itself in ev'ry shape:
It's good effects will keep down the disgust,
(Which else may shew it's teeth) of those who fatten
On our distractions, like Those cruel wretches,
Who, on our coasts, enrich themselves by Wrecks;
Whose thirst of cursed gold, makes nature savage,
To keep back help, and dries up pity's tears!—
Commands so full of Goodness to obey!—
We've nothing from our foreign foes to fear!—
And learn from hence, who regal sceptres sway,
'Tis love alone to glory leads the way;
The surest maxim, to be TRULY GREAT,
Is first to ease the burthens of THE STATE.
Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
Enter Mr. BAYES with the Taxes. Mr. Salt-Tax, as before, beating a march upon his box.Mr. BAYES.
Well, gentlemen, my business with you
now, is to reward you for your long
attendance, with the good news, that Lord Worthy
has stood your friend, and prov'd himself to be
a true lover of his country. But however, I must
tell you, that some of our wise stock-jobbers, had
as a Jacobite—but—this was generally
look'd upon, to be such a stale, and worn-out piece
of contrivance, that it gain'd no credit—but, not
to keep you any longer in suspence, I can assure
you, that all our affairs are greatly mended—
the method of paying our duties, is to be put upon
an easier footing—and the salaries we have for so
many years paid to collectors, is to be apply'd to
better purposes—so that I can now, with great
joy, congratulate you upon your happy deliverance
from ink-bottles dangling at button-holes,
and gauging walking-sticks, from this day
forward—There are all your good friends—
the excisemen—except the tradesmen among them
(and they are to be sent back to their shops again)
are all going to be metamorphos'd into honest
tars—and there is such spinning going forward,
for jackets and trowses—all hands are employ'd—
they work double tides—a trip to sea, will soon
take off the odium that now lies upon their characters;
and as soon as they have learned to tie their
silk handkerchiefs, and cock their narrow-brim'd
hats with an air, they may hope to reconcile
themselves again to their countrymen—And
now, gentlemen, and ladies, you'll give me great
pleasure, to tell me, you think my play ends
tolerably well—all I can say, in the behalf of
it, is—that my design was honest—and, unless
you have some excisemen, some jews, or stock-jobbers,
amongst you, I don't doubt but you will
—This is quite lucky, Sir Jonathan,
shall I presume, to beg the favour of you, upon
this happy occasion, to give us the song, you
was so obliging to entertain us with, the other
night—I know you are too good-humour'd, to
put us off with an excuse, as your voice is too good
to want one— [Turning to the audience]
The
song is rather—too grave—but consider, gentlemen!—
we can't be too serious in the cause of
Liberty!
THE SONG,
Sir Jonathan
sings.
Let the French hop and sing, and a cage relish best,
Like birds, who their freedom have lost from the nest,
But Britons, deserving a much better fate,
Should they chance to be catch'd by the lime-twigs of state,
Are birds that have fled, and sweet liberty known,
Whose songs are no more, when their freedom is gone!
So Judah's sweet harps on the willows were hung,
In a land of oppression, untun'd, and unstrung,
To ask of the captives a song was in vain,
Till liberty strung them, and tun'd them again.
Mr. BAYES.
By this song I intended to please the graver part
of my audience, who enter deeply into things, and
make sober reflections—but, as I would willingly
with a dance—Here! Mr. Salt-Tax, I find
your Box is in pretty good tune—Mr. Window-Tax,
Mr. Window-Tax,—Oh!—I see you are here
—well—now, Jack, I believe you may take off your
patch, and release your eye from darkness—and,
sweet Mrs. Mead, shall I beg the favour of you, to
honour my good friend here, with being his partner
—you two shall lead up—and, Mr. Malt-Tax,
where are you?—Ho! very well—here
Mrs. Hop, come, you two are old acquaintance!
I believe you may now venture to throw away
your crutch—you two shall be the next couple—
and here, Mr. Candle-Tax, and Mrs. Gin—
Madam! I am extremely obliged to you, that
you did not replenish your cask, for, in winding
up the bottom, if any of my actors had kill'd
themselves, with your pernicious liquor, as my
play is not a tragedy, it would have been quite
out of character—you two shall stand third—well,
Mr. Salt-Tax, I believe we are now ready—if you
please to strike up, and jig it away.
THE DANCE.
[Exeunt omnes.
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