University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

A Room at the Five Bells.
Campbello, Hagglestonon, Pearcy, Francisco, Regniades, &c. in council.
Camp.
My friends, a set of worthy men you are,
Prudent, and just, and careful for the trade.
In various meetings, and with long debate,
With no small toil, at length it was resolv'd,
This night's conclusive meeting crowns the whole:
Whether by open war, or covert guile,
We now debate: Who can advise, may speak!

Hag.
'Tis true, this point demands our utmost care;
And since no generous usage can restrain
Those sons of riot, harsher means be tried!
For if their insults you unpunish'd bear,
A train of horrid ills will soon ensue,
Even to the ruin of our antique trade.
Therefore, by my advice, be forthwith rais'd
A large subscription, plac'd in proper hands,
Which may let loose the merciless stern law
To hunt the slaves, like hell-hounds, thro' the world!

Pear.
Much I approve great Hagglestonon's plan.
United firmly, we have nought to fear:
But if in our own body should be found
Some hollow bosoms, men who, void of shame,
Prefer ignoble ease to glorious toil,
And meanly with their rude demands comply;
Should there be such (as worthy cause I have
To fear there are) where is your remedy?
To what end serves the patriot's honest toil,
If silken slaves of ease thus bar success?
Ills such as these who can prevent or cure?

Reg.
That can I.
Sage Latitatos, learned in the law,
With much sound wisdom prov'd, that not alone
The rebels who demand, but all who give
More than the stated price assign'd by law,
Are liable to prosecution deep.
Be it thy care, oh, father of the trade,
Thou sage Campbello, with thy utmost strength
And speed, to forward Hagglestonon's plan:
Spare no offender! then we soon shall know
Our friends from foes; as all the wise prefer
An avow'd enemy to a doubtful friend.

Fran.
Rude am I in my speech, and little skill'd
In soft persuasive arts; but yet, I trust
By facts my injur'd character to save.
Nor need I now relate, oh, Tailors here,
The services which I have done the trade;
They are all known: Arts such as these I leave
To them, who think that boasting gives them honour.
Yet some, in justice to myself, I must—
When, at the time of general mourning, all
To Bedfordbury, and to White-Hart-Yard,
Straight ran in crouds, with haste to intercept
Each others' men, submitting to their terms,
Stepp'd not I forth, and check'd the rude Barbarians?
Who was it first propos'd this very plan?
Was that the action of a doubtful friend?
Who call'd the general meeting in the Strand?
Ye came, 'tis true; but what did ye effect?
Ye spent the time in noisy vain debates.
Seeing you wavering, and irresolute,
With honest scorn, I cater'd for myself:
What could I do?—Say, if a baron sends
To me for cloaths, what, must I leave him cloathless?
Or, if a duke, who pays me nobly, sends
For a rich birth-day suit, what, must I say
I can't afford to pay my journeymen?
Oh, inconsiderate, ungrateful men!
Little I thought, that after all my toils,
From early youth down to decrepid age,
Reproach should ever stain my honest fame;
Less, it should come from Pearcy's flippant tongue.
'Tis true, I gave more than the law allows;
So have you all: If you call that a crime,
From guilt like that not even Pearcy's free.

Pear.
Who dares name guilt, and with a Pearcy's name?

Fran.
That dare I!

Pear.
You know your age protects you;
Your safety else you would not hazard thus.

Fran.
Safety from thee?—

Camp.
Hold, hold, my noble friends!
Restrain your fire, check this impetuous rage,
Nor let these sparks be kindled into flame.
Pearcy, be dumb, and learn respect to age!
Thy worth, Francisco, still will be remember'd,
Long as the Tailors' business has a being.
Think not, thou venerable man, that words,
Hastily dropp'd in council, point at thee;
For whosoever strives to wrong thy fame,
Will find the dart recoil upon himself.

Reg.
Ere I would wrong the great Francisco's fame,
May my right-hand forget to hold the needle!
Whate'er I spoke was for the common good:
The ill was general, fatal the effect,
Which to prevent was th'utmost of my aim.

Pear.
Forgive me, sage Francisco, if rash youth
Forget respect, so due to age like thine.

Fran.
Oh, great Regniades, and Pearcy too,
Forgive my warmth, if, when my fame's attack'd,
My swelling heart e'en bursts with indignation!
For what is dearer to a Tailor's soul?
Acknowledgment like this restores my love:
I am no Scythian, nurs'd with tiger's milk,
But yield with joy to friendship's softer tie.

Camp.
Ay, this is right!—Say, shall I put the question?
Is it resolv'd, that one and all unite?

Omnes.
All, all; all nine, as but one man.

Camp.
Well have ye done, well ended long debates,
Synod of Tailors, like to what you are!
Yet, ere we part—

[A noise is heard, of breaking windows and shouting.
Enter Waiter.
Waiter.
Haste, gentlemen! my worthy masters, run!
For all the journeymen are up in arms;
Caps, hats, and brick-bats fly about the street,
And knock down every master that they meet!

[Exeunt.