University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I. DIMPLE'S Lodgings.
JESSAMY meeting JONATHAN.

JESSAMY.

WELL, Mr. Jonathan, what success with the fair?

JONATHAN.

Why, such a tarnal cross tike you never saw! You would have counted she had lived upon crab-apples and vinegar for a fortnight. But what the rattle makes you look so tarnation glum?

JESSAMY.

I was thinking, Mr. Jonathan, what could be the reason of her carrying herself so coolly to you.

JONATHAN.

Coolly, do you call it? Why, I vow, she was fire-hot angry: may be it was because I buss'd her.

JESSAMY.

No, no, Mr. Jonathan; there must be some other cause; I never yet knew a lady angry at being kissed.

JONATHAN.

Well, if it is not the young woman's bashfulness, I vow I can't conceive why she shouldn't like me.

JESSAMY.

May be it is because you have not the Graces, Mr. Jonathan.

JONATHAN.

Grace! Why, does the young woman expect I must be converted before I court her?

JESSAMY.

I mean graces of person: for instance, my lord tells us that we must cut off our nails even at top, in small segments of circles—though you won't understand that; in the next place, you must regulate your laugh.

JONATHAN.

Maple-log seize it! don't I laugh natural?

JESSAMY.

That's the very fault, Mr. Jonathan. Besides, you absolutely misplace it. I was told by a friend of mine that you laughed outright at the play the other night, when you ought only to have tittered.

JONATHAN.

Gor! I—what does one go to see fun for if they can't laugh?

JESSAMY.

You may laugh; but you must laugh by rule.

JONATHAN.

Swamp it—laugh by rule! Well, I should like that tarnally.

JESSAMY.

Why, you know, Mr. Jonathan, that to dance, a lady to play with her fan, or a gentleman with his cane, and all other natural motions, are regulated by art. My master has composed an immensely pretty gamut, by which any lady or gentleman, with a few years' close application, may learn to laugh as gracefully as if they were born and bred to it.

JONATHAN.

Mercy on my soul! A gamut for laughing—just like fa, la, sol?

JEREMY.

Yes. It comprises every possible display of jocularity, from an affettuoso smile to a piano titter, or full chorus fortissimo ha, ha, ha! My master employs his leisure hours in marking out the plays, like a cathedral chanting-book, that the ignorant may know where to laugh; and that pit, box, and gallery may keep time together, and not have a snigger in one part of the house, a broad grin in the other, and a d—d grum look in the third. How delightful to see the audience all smile together, then look on their books, then twist their mouths into an agreeable simper, then altogether

shake the house with a general ha, ha, ha! loud as a full chorus of Handel's at an Abbey commemoration.

JONATHAN.

Ha, ha, ha! that's dang'd cute, I swear.

JESSAMY.

The gentlemen, you see, will laugh the tenor; the ladies will play the counter-tenor; the beaux will squeak the treble; and our jolly friends in the gallery a thorough base, ho, ho, ho!

JONATHAN.

Well, can't you let me see that gamut?

JESSAMY.

Oh! yes, Mr. Jonathan; here it is. [Takes out a book.]
Oh! no, this is only a titter with its variations. Ah, here it is. [Takes out another.]
Now, you must know, Mr. Jonathan, this is a piece written by Ben Johnson, which I have set to my master's gamut. The places where you must smile, look grave, or laugh outright, are marked below the line. Now look over me. "There was a certain man"—now you must smile.

JONATHAN.

Well, read it again; I warrant I'll mind my eye.

JESSAMY.

"There was a certain man, who had a sad scolding wife,"—now you must laugh.

JONATHAN.

Tarnation! That's no laughing matter though.

JESSAMY.

"And she lay sick a-dying";—now you must titter.

JONATHAN.

What, snigger when the good woman's a-dying! Gor, I—

JESSAMY.

Yes, the notes say you must—"and she asked her husband leave to make a will,"—now you must begin to look grave;—"and her husband said"—

JONATHAN.

Ay, what did her husband say? Something dang'd cute, I reckon.

JESSAMY.

"And her husband said, you have had your will all your life-time, and would you have it after you are dead, too?"

JONATHAN.

Ho, ho, ho! There the old man was even with her; he was up to the notch—ha, ha, ha!

JESSAMY.

But, Mr. Jonathan, you must not laugh so. Why you ought to have tittered piano, and you have laughed fortissimo. Look here; you see these marks, A, B, C, and so on; these are the references to

the other part of the book. Let us turn to it, and you will see the directions how to manage the muscles. This [turns over]
was note D you blundered at.—You must purse the mouth into a smile, then titter, discovering the lower part of the three front upper teeth.

JONATHAN.

How? read it again.

JESSAMY.

"There was a certain man"—very well!—"who had a sad scolding wife,"—why don't you laugh?

JONATHAN.

Now, that scolding wife sticks in my gizzard so pluckily that I can't laugh for the blood and nowns of me. Let me look grave here, and I'll laugh your belly full, where the old creature's a-dying.

JESSAMY.

"And she asked her husband"—[Bell rings.]
My master's bell! he's returned, I fear.—Here, Mr. Jonathan, take this gamut; and I make no doubt but with a few years' close application, you may be able to smile gracefully."

[Exeunt severally.

SCENE II. CHARLOTTE'S Apartment.

Enter MANLY.
MANLY.

WHAT, no one at home? How unfortunate to meet the only lady my heart was ever moved by, to find her engaged to another, and confessing her partiality for me! Yet engaged to a man who, by her intimation, and his libertine conversation with me, I fear, does not merit her. Aye! there's the sting; for, were I assured that Maria was happy, my heart is not so selfish but that it would dilate in knowing it, even though it were with another. But to know she is unhappy!—I must drive these thoughts from me. Charlotte has some books; and this is what I believe she calls her little library. [Enters a closet.
Enter DIMPLE leading LETITIA.

LETITIA.

And will you pretend to say now, Mr. Dimple, that you propose to break with Maria? Are not the banns published? Are not the clothes purchased? Are not the friends invited? In short, is it not a done affair?

DIMPLE.

Believe me, my dear Letitia, I would not marry her.

LETITIA.

Why have you not broke with her before this, as you all along deluded me by saying you would?

DIMPLE.

Because I was in hopes she would, ere this, have broke with me.

LETITIA.

You could not expect it.

DIMPLE.

Nay, but be calm a moment; 'twas from my regard to you that I did not discard her.

LETITIA.

Regard to me!

DIMPLE.

Yes; I have done everything in my power to break with her, but the foolish girl is so fond of me that nothing can accomplish it. Besides, how can I offer her my hand when my heart is indissolubly engaged to you?

LETITIA.

There may be reason in this; but why so attentive to Miss Manly?

DIMPLE.

Attentive to Miss Manly! For heaven's sake, if you have no better opinion of my constancy, pay not so ill a compliment to my taste.

LETITIA.

Did I not see you whisper her to-day?

DIMPLE.

Possibly I might—but something of so very trifling a nature that I have already forgot what it was.

LETITIA.

I believe she has not forgot it.

DIMPLE.

My dear creature, how can you for a moment suppose I should have any serious thoughts of that trifling, gay, flighty coquette, that disagreeable— Enter CHARLOTTE.

DIMPLE.

My dear Miss Manly, I rejoice to see you; there is a charm in your conversation that always marks your entrance into company as fortunate.

LETITIA.

Where have you been, my dear?

CHARLOTTE.

Why, I have been about to twenty shops, turning over pretty things, and so have left twenty visits unpaid. I wish you would step into the carriage and whisk round, make my apology, and leave my cards where our friends are not at home; that, you know, will serve as a visit. Come, do go.

LETITIA.

So anxious to get me out! but I'll watch you. [Aside.]
Oh! yes, I'll go; I want a little exercise. Positively [Dimple offering to accompany her]
, Mr. Dimple, you shall not go; why, half my visits are cake and caudle visits; it won't do, you know, for you to go. [Exit, but returns to the door in the back scene and listens.]

DIMPLE.

This attachment of your brother to Maria is fortunate.

CHARLOTTE.

How did you come to the knowledge of it?

DIMPLE.

I read it in their eyes.

CHARLOTTE.

And I had it from her mouth. It would have amused you to have seen her! She, that thought it so great an impropriety to praise a gentleman that she could not bring out one word in your favour, found a redundancy to praise him.

DIMPLE.

I have done everything in my power to assist his passion there: your delicacy, my dearest girl, would be shocked at half the instances of neglect and misbehaviour.

CHARLOTTE.

I don't know how I should bear neglect; but Mr. Dimple must misbehave himself indeed, to forfeit my good opinion.

DIMPLE.

Your good opinion, my angel, is the pride and pleasure of my heart; and if the most respectful tenderness for you, and an utter indifference for all your sex besides, can make me worthy of your esteem, I shall richly merit it.

CHARLOTTE.

All my sex besides, Mr. Dimple!—you forgot your tête-à-tête with Letitia.

DIMPLE.

How can you, my lovely angel, cast a thought on that insipid, wry-mouthed, ugly creature!

CHARLOTTE.

But her fortune may have charms?

DIMPLE.

Not to a heart like mine. The man, who has been blessed with the good opinion of my Charlotte, must despise the allurements of fortune.

CHARLOTTE.

I am satisfied.

DIMPLE.

Let us think no more on the odious subject, but devote the present hour to happiness.

CHARLOTTE.

Can I be happy when I see the man I prefer going to be married to another?

DIMPLE.

Have I not already satisfied my charming angel, that I can never think of marrying the puling Maria? But, even if it were so, could that be any bar to our happiness? for, as the poet sings,

Come, then, my charming angel! why delay our bliss? The present moment is ours; the next is in the hand of fate. [Kissing her.]

CHARLOTTE.

Begone, Sir! By your delusions you had almost lulled my honour asleep.

DIMPLE.

Let me lull the demon to sleep again with kisses. [He struggles with her; she screams.]

Enter MANLY.

MANLY.

Turn, villain! and defend yourself.—[Draws.]
[VAN ROUGH enters and beats down their swords.]

VAN ROUGH.

Is the devil in you? are you going to murder one another? [Holding Dimple.]

DIMPLE.

Hold him, hold him,—I can command my passion. Enter JONATHAN.

JONATHAN.

What the rattle ails you? Is the old one in you? Let the colonel alone, can't you? I feel chock-full of fight,—do you want to kill the colonel?—

MANLY.

Be still, Jonathan; the gentleman does not want to hurt me.

JONATHAN.

Gor! I—I wish he did; I'd shew him Yankee boys play, pretty quick.—Don't you see you have frightened the young woman into the hystrikes?

VAN ROUGH.

Pray, some of you explain this; what has been the occasion of all this racket?

MANLY.

That gentleman can explain it to you; it will be a very diverting story for an intended father-in-law to hear.

VAN ROUGH.

How was this matter, Mr. Van Dumpling?

DIMPLE.

Sir,—upon my honour,—all I know is, that I was talking to this young lady, and this gentleman broke in on us in a very extraordinary manner.

VAN ROUGH.

Why, all this is nothing to the purpose; can you explain it, Miss? [To Charlotte.]
Enter LETITIA through the back scene.

LETITIA.

I can explain it to that gentleman's confusion. Though long betrothed to your daughter [to Van Rough]
, yet, allured by my fortune, it seems (with shame do I speak it) he has privately paid his addresses to me. I was drawn in to listen to him by his assuring me that the match was made by his father without his consent, and that he proposed to break with Maria, whether he married me or not. But, whatever were his intentions respecting your daughter, Sir, even to me he was false; for he has repeated the same story, with some cruel reflections upon my person, to Miss Manly.

JONATHAN.

What a tarnal curse!

LETITIA.

Nor is this all, Miss Manly. When he was with me this very morning, he made the same ungenerous reflections upon the weakness of your mind as he has so recently done upon the defects of my person.

JONATHAN.

What a tarnal curse and damn, too!

DIMPLE.

Ha! since I have lost Letitia, I believe I had as good make it up with Maria. Mr. Van Rough, at present I cannot enter into particulars; but, I believe, I can explain everything to your satisfaction in private.

VAN ROUGH.

There is another matter, Mr. Van Dumpling, which I would have you explain. Pray, Sir, have Messrs. Van Cash & Co. presented you those bills for acceptance?

DIMPLE.

The deuce! Has he heard of those bills! Nay, then, all's up with Maria, too; but an affair of this sort can never prejudice me among the ladies; they will rather long to know what the dear creature possesses to make him so agreeable. [Aside.]
Sir, you'll hear from me. [To Manly.]

MANLY.

And you from me, Sir—

DIMPLE.

Sir, you wear a sword—

MANLY.

Yes, Sir. This sword was presented to me by that brave Gallic hero, the Marquis De la Fayette. I have drawn it in the service of my country, and in private life, on the only occasion where a man is justified in drawing his sword, in defence of a lady's honour. I have fought too many battles in the service of my country to dread the imputation of cowardice. Death from a man of honour would be a glory you do not merit; you shall live to bear the insult of man and the contempt of that sex whose general smiles afforded you all your happiness.

DIMPLE.

You won't meet me, Sir? Then I'll post you for a coward.

MANLY.

I'll venture that, Sir. The reputation of my life does not depend upon the breath of a Mr. Dimple. I would have you to know, however, Sir, that I have a cane to chastise the insolence of a scoundrel, and a sword and the good laws of my country to protect me from the attempts of an assassin—

DIMPLE.

Mighty well! Very fine, indeed! Ladies and gentlemen, I take my leave; and you will please to observe in the case of my deportment the contrast between a gentleman who has read Chesterfield and received the polish of Europe and an unpolished, untravelled American. [Exit.
Enter MARIA.

MARIA.

Is he indeed gone?—

LETITIA.

I hope, never to return.

VAN ROUGH.

I am glad I heard of those bills; though it's plaguy unlucky; I hoped to see Mary married before I died.

MANLY.

Will you permit a gentleman, Sir, to offer himself as a suitor to your daughter? Though a stranger to you, he is not altogether so to her, or unknown in this city. You may find a son-in-law of more fortune, but you can never meet with one who is richer in love for her, or respect for you.

VAN ROUGH.

Why, Mary, you have not let this gentleman make love to you without my leave?

MANLY.

I did not say, Sir—

MARIA.

Say, Sir!—I—the gentleman, to be sure, met me accidentally.

VAN ROUGH.

Ha, ha, ha! Mark me, Mary; young folks think old folks to be fools; but old folks know young folks to be fools. Why, I knew all about this affair. This was only a cunning way I had to bring it about. Hark ye! I was in the closet when you and he were at our hours. [Turns to the company.]
I heard that little baggage say she loved her old father, and would die to make him happy! Oh! how I loved the little baggage! And you talked very prudently, young man. I have inquired into your character, and find you to be a man of punctuality and mind the main chance. And so, as you love Mary and Mary loves you, you shall have my consent immediately to be married. I'll settle my fortune on you, and go and live with you the remainder of my life.

MANLY.

Sir, I hope—

VAN ROUGH.

Come, come, no fine speeches; mind the main chance, young man, and you and I shall always agree.

LETITIA.

I sincerely wish you joy [advancing to Maria]
; and hope your pardon for my conduct.

MARIA.

I thank you for your congratulations, and hope we shall at once forget the wretch who has given us so much disquiet, and the trouble that he has occasioned.

CHARLOTTE.

And I, my dear Maria,—how shall I look up to you for forgiveness? I, who, in the practice of the meanest arts, have violated the most sacred rights of friendship? I can never forgive myself, or hope charity from the world; but, I confess, I have much to hope from such a brother; and I am happy that I may soon say, such a sister.

MARIA.

My dear, you distress me; you have all my love.

MANLY.

And mine.

CHARLOTTE.

If repentance can entitle me to forgiveness, I have already much merit; for I despise the littleness of my past conduct. I now find that the heart of any worthy man cannot be gained by invidious attacks upon the rights and characters of others;—by countenancing

the addresses of a thousand;—or that the finest assemblage of features, the greatest taste in dress, the genteelest address, or the most brilliant wit, cannot eventually secure a coquette from contempt and ridicule.

MANLY.

And I have learned that probity, virtue, honour, though they should not have received the polish of Europe, will secure to an honest American the good graces of his fair countrywomen, and, I hope, the applause of THE PUBLIC.

THE END.