THE BEAU METAMORPHIZED, OR THE GENEROUS MAID: AN AFTER-PIECE, IN TWO ACTS.
[Rejected by the Managers of the New Theatre, when offered to them for performance.]
BY AN AMERICAN CITIZEN OF PHILADELPHIA.
FIRST EDITION.
PHILADELPHIA: PRINTED BY JOSEPH C. CHARLESS, FOR THE AUTHOR. 1800.
TO THE READER.
THE Author of this and former essays may be charged by some with presumption; from the harsh critic and illiberal classic, he expects but little mercy: on the other hand, he looks for every indulgence from the liberal critic and generous classic. The author does not presume to rank himself among the learned; he is sensible of the disadvantages he labours under in point of education and situation in life; he, however, will not give up the right of defending himself against the assertions of two partial and narrow-minded men. That he has been most shamefully treated by the managers of the new theatre, he will make appear to the Reader, by the following circumstances: ......
The Triumphs of Love was brought before the bar of the Public, on friday evening, May 22d, 1795, and acquitted with as much honour, as the Author could wish (considering the curtailed manner in which it was performed.) At the instance of a number of gentlemen the piece was printed. On the opening of the theatre the ensuing season, the Author requested the managers to give it a second representation,.....they refused,.....the Author appealed to the Public,.....they replied,.....he replied in turn, but the [Page iv] doors of the press were shut against him (he believed) through the influence of the managers.
The following are the pieces alluded to:
Knowing that a great number of the citizens are daily expecting to hear the Triumphs of Love, or the Happy Reconconciliation, announced for performance, it is requisite that they should be informed how that piece is situated, by A FAIR RECITAL OF FACTS.
Occasionally visiting the theatre, I was, at times, much disgusted, to see and hear pieces performed, so foreign to the circumstances of a republican people; which prompted me, at my leisure moments, to throw my ideas into a proper train to produce a drama, which would be more consonanant to the ears of Americans. Upon accomplishing a piece, and aware of the foible common to human nature, of being too partial to what originates with ourselves, I put it, for perusal, into the hands of several persons, whom I know to be judges of that peculiar species of writing: it was returned by them with high encomiums. I was requested by them to submit it to the managers of the new theatre: pursuing their advice, I did. Some weeks it lay with them; they finally rejected it. I informed the gentlemen of their dicision, they were not a little surprised, and expressed themselves in terms of indignation; there matters rested. The piece was [Page v] thrown aside to sleep, as I supposed the sleep of death. The flower was born, and as I expected, to blush unseen forever from the public eye: but upon the opening of the new theatre on the ensuing season, I was again requested by the alluded to friends of the piece to present it once more to the managers. I replied, it was in vain; comparatively speaking, it would be like opposing a feather to a strong north-wester. I told them I thought I discovered a confirmed temper in the managers to trample on native productions. They wished me to give it up to them, and leave it to their management. I accordingly did. They waited upon the managers with it, were promised by them to pay it due attention. There it remained a length of time, without receiving a direct answer, though they were frequently importuned to give one, or return the play. At last, beyond the eleventh hour, it was shoved into the world, unmercifully dissected by, (what was called by the managers) necessary expungings. Notwithstanding its mutilated state, it was received with the strongest marks of approbation, by one of the most respectable audiences the house ever contained. That, and the flattering compliments I had paid me the next day, joined with the desire of many, induced me to have it published: by so doing, I am out of pocket. Sometime ago, I sent the managers a second composition, an after-piece in two acts; informed them how I was circumstanced with respect to the first; observed that if the two were played in concert, there was no doubt but in all human probability they would have [Page vi] an overflowing house, and it would give a start to the sale of my first piece. But they were not disposed to perform either; the reasons given, were not of the most forcible kind......I shall conclude, by asserting to the managers, in the full face of the Public, that the Triumphs of Love, or Happy Reconciliation, with all the imperfections which they or those who influenced them, may charge it with, as it was well received in the first instance, has an undoubted right of taking its place or chance with other pieces in the early part of the season.
The following answer appeared in the same gazette, the next evening:
The essay by the Author of the Triumphs of Love, or Happy Reconciliation, in the gazette of yesterday, cannot (a correspondent remarks) carry with it, to a judicious Public, any reflections on the managers of the new theatre. That Author certainly misplaced his abilities when they were employed in the production of a dramatic performance.....of this, the citizens had an opportunity of judging last season, at the theatre. The Happy Reconciliation has been published, and few who have read it would wish to spend an evening to see it represented. It is absurd to suppose the managers have an inclination to trample on native productions, when they possess merit. The managers have embarked in a business which is attended with a very heavy expense, and it is their duty to bring forward the most celebrated [Page vii] pieces which are to be found in the English language, whether American or English productions.
The proceeding answer was handed to Mr. Brown:
Want of time prevented me from replying to a correspondent in your paper of the 25th instant, who has undertaken to espouse the cause of the managers of the new theatre.... The correspondent takes a stride over a greater part of what he calls, the Author's essay, without answering his complaints against them, but throws them upon the mercy of the Public. The correspondent observes, "The Author certainly misplaced his abilities when employed in the dramatic line, of that, the citizens had an opportunity of judging last season, at the theatre."..... What would the correspondent be at; what is his inference? Surely he will not be so bold as to insinuate that the comedy was not well received; or does he suppose that a piece performed amid the plaudits of a numerous and a respectable assembly was not some evidence of its merit? Is this handsome of the managers, is it fair in their agent, the correspondent? With respect to the Author's misplacing his talent, as the correspondent remarks, he has no reason to believe he has; it is one of Nature's choicest gifts, which he will cultivate at convenient seasons: perhaps the time will come when we shall have managers of more enlarged minds. The correspondent takes notice that "The Happy Reconciliation has been [Page viii] published, and few who have read it, would wish to spend an evening to see it performed." What a limping assertion is that.....how has the correspondent obtained his information? Has he heard the general opinion of those who have read the piece, or does he according to the countryman's phrase, measure other people's corn by his bushel. The correspondent concludes by observing, "It is the duty of the managers to bring forward pieces of merit whether of American or European production." To cherish native productions is evidently their duty, but it is doubted by some, whether they conceive it to be their interest. It is believed by many, that while ever they can play off their old threadbare pieces, or new ones which they have nothing but the trouble of bringing up, the poor native dramatist may throw his mantle over his head, and mourn in silence. No premiums, no benefits to be given for imported dramas The fear of a benefit is the rub which startles the managers and makes their souls shrink within them. The Author again concludes with the correspondent as he did with the managers; as the Triuphs of Love, or the Happy Reconcilition was cordially received on its first appearance, according to European usages it has a positive right to a second representation.
This answer, Mr. Brown refused to insert: the Author then carried it to Mr. Bache (who had extracted the managers' reply from Mr. Brown's paper) he also refused to insert it.
[Page ix]The Author will make further remarks on the last part of the managers' reply. They say, "They conceive it their duty to bring forward the most celebrated pieces which are to be found in the English language." This they have not done; they have imposed a number of plays on the American Public, which were with much difficulty dragged over the English stage. I could instance many, but will confine myself to two, viz. Cheap Living; and Knave or not.
CHEAP LIVING, a Comedy, by Mr. Reynolds. Character of that Piece, from the European Magazine for November, 1797, viz.
The principal novelty in this piece is the character of Sir Edward Bloomsly, a boy of the age of sixteen, who is not only completely versed in all the scenes of dissipation; but is endowed also with a greater portion of wisdom than generally falls to the lot of men of double his age: we cannot approve of this delineation, which we consider as improbable and unnatural, and liable to do mischief to the rising generation: we think the present mode of education is too liable already, to tempt inexperienced youth to tread the path of folly, where their virtue and property are too often lost: we therefore consider the performance as having an immoral tendency.
KNAVE OR NOT. Character of this Piece, from the European Magazine for November, 1798, viz.
This comedy has both merits and defects. The drift of the piece is favourable to virtue; but the satire is rather that of Juvenal than Horace, and hardly that of the comic muse: in the grave scenes, the language is vigorous and animated; but the comic ones want sprightfulness and elegance. As a performance which has a tendency to make mankind dissatisfied with each other, by the gloomy view it gives of human nature, we are not surprised at the cold reception it met with.
KNAVE OR NOT. Remarks on the above Piece, from Brown's Gazette of February 13th, 1799.
This piece, which was performed to a very respectable audience, on monday evening, is certainly one of the most servile and insipid productions that ever disgraced the boards of a well regulated theatre: respecting it, any exertion of impartial criticism would be needless; it is composed of materials so repugnant to genius, and so diffusive of dulness that submitting to the obscurity it must soon be inevitably doomed to, we shall add no other eulogiums on its sublimity, than to acknowledge it must be seen to be admired, heard to be understood.
[Page xi]During the representation which was attended with much yawning, nodding and hissing, the performers laboured under a weight they could not sustain without expressing evidently a sense of their burden; they must of course rejoice in getting rid of [...].
Such are the choice comedies which the managers bring forward to an American audience, as the most celebrated pieces which are to be found in the English language, so much for that assertion.....Again.... It is absurd (say these self-important gentlemen) to suppose the managers have an inclination to trample on native productions, when they possess merit. What is called refusing to perform a second time, a native piece, which was well received on the first representation; does not this appear like trampling on native productions. The managers may say they have lately given a proof to the contrary, by giving several representations to a new comedy, entitled the Wedding in Wales, said to be written by a citizen of Philadelphia, which has been called a native production: true, the piece may have been written in Philadelphia, but the author might as well have wrote it in Wales, or any other part of England, and presented it to the managers in London, for representation, where it might have met the same fate as the above-mentioned pieces, and afterwards ushered upon our stage, as one of the most celebrated pieces to be found in the English language. The Author takes the liberty of extracting (from Brown's gazette of March the 11th last) some thoughts on the piece before it was acted.
The friends of taste and the drama, will learn with pleasure, that an original performance is announced for representation. The genius of America has too long been reproached with the poverty and sterility of its productions. Few persons have been sufficiently bold to appear before the Public as candidates for literary fame; and it is to be regretted, that among those, some, whose productions have merited a better fate, have been treated with indifference or neglect.
The dignity of the American theatre, has too long been impaired by the almost exclusive representation of foreign plays, which, however well adapted they may be to the state of European manners, lose much of that interes there which they excited in the places of their nativity; nothing perhaps, has more repressed the reputation of dramatic amusements in this country, than total reliance on foreign productions: and it may not be incorrect to assert that no theatre merits extensive patronage, which does not excite and cherish the cultivation and exercise of domestic talents.
This writer no doubt had an intention to serve the Author of the Wedding in Wales: but unfortunately, his observation are against him, and operate most forcibly against the managers. He observes, "the dignity of the American theatre has too long been impaired by the, almost exclusive representation of foreign plays, which [Page xiii] however well adapted they may be to the state of European manners, lose much of that interest here, which they excited in the places of their nativity." It may be enquired, whether the Wedding in Wales, is not as foreign in its nature, as any play that ever appeared on our stage?
The Author takes the liberty of introducing an abridgment of strictures on the Wedding in Wales (as they appeared in Mr Brown's gazette of the 15th of March last, signed Neander) from Porcupine's gazette of March 16th the whole being too lengthy.
THE WEDDING IN WALES.
The interest of the piece commences with the introduction of Maria, and is from thence strongly kept up to the conclusion: but this interest is excited and supported more by the peculiar situation of the parties, than by any powerful poetic skill, or those feeling touches and irresistable applications to the human heart, in which Shakespeare so abounds. Human misery ever excites human sympathy, without the assistance of poetry; and it is no difficult thing to bring people into trouble: a distracted, injured woman, with dishevelled hair; an old, worthy and unfortunate man, exposed to a pitiless storm; and an innocent, helpless and friendless infant, are easily imagined, and cannot fail to excite interest. If we think of Lear in the same situation, Llowellen claims but little of our attention.
The story of Maria is interesting and affecting, but I find very little novelty in it. The principal incidents, and even some of the more minute ones, [Page xiv] such as the real priest and license having been used instead of a false one, through the agency of the servant of a perfidious master, is an old contrivance. Sometime since, I accidentally picked up on my kitchen table, a little book, entitled "The History of the Farmer's Daughter," in which the history of Maria is, among other things, very strongly pourtrayed; we there find this same deception practised by a servant on his master, respecting the priest and the license; and the circumstance of the apprehension of Maria, as a vagrant may also be found in it. As I have never seen this book any where else, and as it is very coarsely written, I suppose its circulation is principally among chambermaids.
It will not I think, be contested, that the play has any originality of character or much skill in the conduct and contrivance of the plot: of wit and humour it is almost entirely destitute.
It is confidently asserted, that the piece has been written for the performers, and the several characters drawn and cast for their supposed particular merits: I know not if the fact be so, but nothing can be more contemptible, nothing more certainly ensures a speedy death to a play: it has incorporated with it the seeds of its own dissolution. A play should be written after nature, and not after players...... to see a poet descending to take measure of an actor, and cast out his performance accordingly, instead of the actor adapting himself [Page xv] to the poet, is a ridiculous, unpardonable inversion of every thing honourable or dignified in authorship.
Strictures on the Triumphs of Love, from Messrs. Fenno, and Bache's papers, of monday, May 25th, 1795.
[From Mr. Fenno's.]
On friday evening was performed a comedy (said to be written by a citizen of Philadelphia) called the Triumphs of Love, or the Happy Reconciliation. The piece, though wanting in incident to make it interesting, has some degree of merit. Sambo and Patrick, are characters calculated to irritate the risible muscles; they were happily conceived, and supported with tolerable point and humour. We were sorry to see two such admirable actresses as Mrs. Whitlock and Mrs Marshall, appearing in characters so very insignificant as Mrs. Peevish and Rachel Friendly. * The performers in general, exerted themselves to give all possible support to the piece.
[From Mr. Bache's.]
On friday evening, a first representation was given of the new comedy of the Triumphs of Love, written by an American citizen. The writer has [Page xvi] endeavoured to expose the folly of too much restraint in the education of youth, and the impropriety of a practice among the religious society called Friends, to discourage alliances between their children and those without the pale of their church. In this comedy are interwoven sentiments that do honour to the writer's heart, both as a man and as a citizen, on several interesting topics, such as negro slavery, and our glorious revolution. The language throughout the piece, is pure and appropriate, but the plot wants interest and incident, * the sentiments are also rather trite. It shews the writer a man of feeling, and some observation, but who wants that knowledge of the stage, necessary to succeed in dramatic composition. The Triumphs of Love has much of nature in it, but it is plain, sober nature, without that point required to command the attention and interest the feelings, and that relief necessary for stage effect. The audience received it with their wonted indulgence, and applauded it much throughout.
Thus matters stand between these two pieces; one the production of a native and a citizen of Philadelphia, the scene in Philadelphia, the characters common to our country, received with applause upon its first representation, and afterwards rejected when offered for a second representation.
[Page xvii]The other wrote by a foreigner, and on a foreign subject; the author and the piece cherished by the managers, and had three representations.
The Author submits (with defference) to the Reader, if such a decided partiality in favour of the production of a stranger is not trampling on native productions.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
- REALWORTH, guardian to Miss Sophia Prankish.
- CHARLES REALWORTH.
- VAINLY, a young foreigner on his travels, carried away by national prejudices, but naturally of a good heart.
- BOASTLY, a superficial character.
- BOB STUBLE [...], a young countryman, and servant to Boastly.
- FINIKIN, a servant to Vainly.
- THIMBLE, a taylor.
- PUFF, a hair-dresser.
- MISS PRANKISH, an heiress, secretly engaged to Charles Realworth.
- MISS SPRIGHTLY, niece to Realworth.
- POLLY, maid to Miss Prankish.
THE BEAU METAMORPHIZED, OR THE GENEROUS MAID.
ACT. I.
—SCENE I.
HANG me if I like this new fashion of hiding ones face.
Nor I, it looks as if one was under sentence of death, or ashamed to shew ones face.
Suppose we were to take off these sable curtains and put on our hats.
Agreed.
Polly, bring our hats.
Yes ma'm.
A little more on this side, Polly,—
—that's the dandy, that shews a significant, intelligent eye.
I don't like that mode of wearing the hat,—
— that is the way I like to wear mine, then I can look at those confident male creatures with a full front.
We are in a land of liberty, every one can follow their own taste: Polly, where is my dear little Bunny?
Here it is Miss.
How can you caress that mischievous, nut-cracking thing?
O, my dear, he was a present, I love the little animal for the donor's sake.
Ha, ha, ha, and when the donor takes his place, poor Bun will be in a bad plight, as it happens to most pets; recently, Miss Fondly had a favourite lap-dog, which she was so fond of, she would not let it poke its nose out of doors, least the dear creature might be indisposed; every night, forsooth, must have it to sleep with her: but when she got a husband, poor Flora was discarded, and now is a poor, neglected, forlorn little devil as can be—
Ha, ha, ha, that is rather bordering on levity, Clara.
Mum, Soph, a reproof from any one but you—
—are we not for the circus this evening, have you secured a a beau for the purpose.
Yes, your's, Vainly.
O lord! that surfeiting coxcomb?
Be not so censoreous, 'tis a comely youth.
He is well enough as to personal accomplishments; but the creature is so full of prejudices in favour of his own nation, he wont admit that the Americans have any genius or any taste; he is constantly ridiculing the American character,—faith, if I had my will of those foreigners, who affect to dispise our country, I'd make them all march out of it, to the tune of yankee doodle.
We will try if we can't reduce him down to our republican standard.
That will not be so easy; why his man is an hour and a half every day dressing his hair, and to be sure, when he is about ushering into the street, to observe his motions is truly diverting; I have had a full view of him, first he views himself in the glass —
—as so, burying his chin in a great bolster of a neck-cloth—
—goes to the front door, looks ar his legs, and starts off just so—
—ha, ha, ha.
O, here comes his counterpart, his man Finikin.
Madam, my master's compliments to you.
—Surely the fellow is afraid of my Bun, now for some fun,—
—is that note for me.
Yes mem.—
Why do you not give it me?—
O lard, O lard, O lard, pray mem, eh, eh, eh, my mother, when she was, eh, eh, eh, she was frightened.
Your mother frightened! the man is out of his senses.—
O murder, murder, I am killed, oh, oh, oh!—
Ha, ha, ha, how could you teaze the poor devil so.
Remember the old saying, there is almost as much pleasure in teazing as in pleasing, here is the note all rumpled,—
—ha, it is a letter and the seal broken, 'tis no crime to read it,—
—
My dear Vainly, I am to acknowledge your's of the present day, you say you are engaged to go to the circus with Miss P. and Miss S. that you are in an unfortunate predicament with them two ladies, that you have reason to believe they are both in love with you, that you have a partiality for Miss S. but the great fortune of Miss P. is an object, and that you want my advice: I'll give it you. Prefer Miss S. it is true she is a mad-cap, but a few years of matrimony will cool her, but as for the other, with all her fortune, she will be a bad bargain, she will lead you a hell of a life, she is the damndest vixen that ever was born, but by the by, I shall venture upon her, I have her at my option, as you observe, the great fortune is a great object, I shall have a devil of a job to tame the [Page 24] shrew, but I'll make her say, before I have done done with her, that the moon is a pancake.
I will tear it into a thousand pieces.—
—no I'll preserve it; it shall snare the lying villain some of these days in the face—
—abominable, lying wretch; Vainly too, one can scarcely be civil to those animals, but their presumption leads them to suppose one is in love with them.
Ha, ha, ha, they are not worth anxious thoughts, we will lay our heads together to be revenged upon them in some merry way.
Ladies I am your's, I hope I shall have the exquisite pleasure of being told you are well: Miss Prankish, your face resembles the great representative of nature behind a cloud, and like that glorious luminary, you have the power of dispelling vapours.
Then we shall be deprived of Mr. Vainly's company.
Well said Clara.—
Ha, ha, ha, 'pon my soul miss, ha, ha, ha, your wit, ha, ha, ha, is so blunt, ha, ha, ha, it almost knocked me down.
Conceited coxcomb.—
But you must all be wits or authors in this country; I have just finished reading a performance, when some people have designated by the name of —
— a play, and it almost suffocated me
How so?
It smelled so much of—
—de [...] et de pomade. *
Will you allow it to have no merit, Mr. Vainly?
No, no, no, no, no,—no sentiment, no satire, no humour,—a burlesque, a jargon, a jumble of nonsence,—without plot, without incident,—an imposition upon the public.
O, how I could lug him by the ears,—
—it no doubt has its defects, as most dramatic pieces have, yet the audience were highly entertained with it, it went off with great eclat— but it was written by an American, and not one of the first grade; had it been the composition of a classic, as one of those who call themselves the first order of beings, perhaps it might have passed in your estimation.
—To be sure, it was a damn'd piece of presumption in the fellow—
—but it is a mere farce for your first classics to attempt a dramatic; your country affords no matter, no subject, no, nothing to lay the ground-work of a play upon.
Your servant, Mr. Vainly, I hope you are well.
I thank you, sir, pretty good health, only a little fever in the head.
No wonder, with such a quantity of hair upon it—
—you would feel a great relief if you were to have the fore part of your hair reduced.
O lard, O lard, then I should become a prey to the flies—no, no, no, no, sir, I would not have my top reduced upon any consideration, no, no, sir, not on any account,—any news, any news, Mr. Realworth?
A ship from London, just arrived.
Letters from my son, one for you Miss Prankish, you my niece, and one for you Mr. Vainly, and for several of his friends.—
Heaven be thanked, Charles informs me there is a prospect of a general peace in Europe; O that mankind would enforce it upon their hearts, that they are but one great family, and instead of destroying each other, would unite in promoting their general happiness in their transcient and at most, short-lived residence on this earth,—
—well, what writes Charles to ye?
He mentions peace too, with other occurrences, which are between him and me, not necessary for you to know, sir.—Since he has been in England, he is highly improved;—Rest assured, sir, your son conducts himself in such a way, as gives a general bill of credit to his countrymen; I have been with him in the first society in England, where he was the admiration of the company, the whisper went round—what an accomplished American!
The account you give of my son, Mr. Vainly, is truly flattering, and extremely grateful to a parent's ear.
A gentleman wishes see you without.
I will attend.
O how I am rejoiced at the idea of seeing my dear cousin Charles, we may look for him every day.
Not more than I do,—
—if the vessel has but a tolerable passage, we may look for him every day.
I shall be happy to shake him by the hand, he is a prince of a fellow, he has been much improved by being in England.—
—Allons, allons, ladies, we shall be too late for the riding man.
We are ready.
Scene changes to another apartment.
I have pounded at this door, until I almost beat my knuckles bare, and not a soul would come to open it; I believe this is the house master sent me to; as they would not open the door, I think I had a right to open it myself.
As I breathe, there is my old flame Bob Stubble [...]—
—May I be soused up to the chin in a ditch if that is not my sweetheart Poll D [...]iry—
—O, Polly, do I grasp thee once more in my arms!—
O lord, you will suffocate me, and your plagued beard scrubs so.
—I could eat you up, I am so glad to see you—
— why I hardly knew you at first, you are so metaphorsosist.
Ah, we are obliged to dress in a different manner in town.—In the name of wonder what brought you to the city?
You.
Me?
Aye, you—I have had no rest, day nor night, since you went away.
An honest hearted soul as ever lived—
—no more of that Bob; I told you before it would not do, we are too poor to come together; remember the old saying, when poverty comes in at the door, love flies out of the windows.
Can't we fasten them down?
Say no more, I am determined,—where do you live?
With Mr. Beastly.
Mr. Boastly you mean.
Beastly his name ought to be, he doth not behave like a human parson, he is got a great big house and mighty fine goods, but he grinds guts most damndably.
Why, does he not give you enough to eat?
No—why don't you see how I have fell away? there is nothing but slops for breakfast, picking of bones for dinner, and nothing at all for supper; that is not at all like our country are, where we could swim in a pan of milk, and have a stroke at an apple pye as big as a tea-table, with other cuts and come again.
You must try to dispose of your greedy country appetite, and purchase a city one.—Have you been to see any of the public amusements?
That word is rather too high learned for me, shews you mean.
Yes.
I have been to two shews; at the first one I saw the devil a riding on horseback.
Ha, ha, ha, you were at the circus I suppose, where you saw Mr. Ricketts performing feats of horsemanship.
You may call him by what name you please, but I am sure he was the devil, for none but the devil could have done what he did.
Where was the other shew?
That was at a monstrous great house right over the road, called a play-house.
Over the road! you will be making use of your country phrases,—the street you should say.— What play did you see acted?
Let me think—there was two plays, one made me cry desperately, and the other made me laugh terribly,—
—now I have got it, the first was, was, was Romo, Romo and, and Julo, it was all about love; it infected me cruelly: a poor lady died and came to life, and died again; and a poor young man killed himself too—it made us all cry horribly.
What was the other play?
I remember that very well, it was called the Rump; O lord! how we all did laugh; there was a girl that boxed for all the world like a man, she digged a young man, called Watty, in the sides confoundedly.
Ha, ha, ha, your description of the performance is truly entertaining.—How did you like the appearance of the house, did not the ladies look beautiful?
O gramery, yes.—What do you think I wished, Poll?
How the deuce can I tell?
Why, I wished I was the President, that I might have all them ladies, faith, I'd keep a grand sargulo.
O, you'd make a charming faithful husband........He sings most charmingly, the family being out of the way▪ I'll get him to sing,—
— well Robert, have you learned any new songs? you used to be famous for singing new songs, I dare say you have got some.
Ah, that I have, and I have sung them over and over again, because they were wrote by a man belonging to our town.
Who is he?
Tim Scribble, you know Tim Scribble, don't you?
Bless me, Tim Scribble the cobler, has he turned poet?
I don't know what you call poet, but he has turned song-maker.
Who could have thought it!
Aye, so says other folks besides you, and it has caused him some enemies, there is Swagger the lawyer, Dr. Sneer, and Parson Guttle run him down all they can, they say, "the cobler had better stick to his last," they think, because he was not brought up in a high place of learning, he can't have any sense.
Pray Bob, let me hear Tim's songs, I am all in a gig till I hear them.
Well, I'll begin one upon our Saint's day.
Who was he?
Why, did you never hear of our Saint, old Tammany, the engin who loved grog so well?
O yes, I have heard of St. Tammany,— please to begin.
—
—
Permit me, loveliest, and sweetest of creatures to kiss this fair hand.—
—And you would make a charming faithful wife—
— I courted her before you did.
—What a Mohawk! Pray sir, who is your hair-dresser?
Ask about.
I shall have some fun with my rustic Bob and this English petit maître.—
Elegant language!
Pray who made your breeches?
—Did ever any one hear such vulgarism!—you should have said inexpressibles, such indelicacies are enough to make one faint.
You are damned squamish, suppose I was to make you swallow half a dozen of your teeth, how would you like it? You need not think to be running your rigs upon one neither.
Adieu, my charmer.—I shall see you again Mr. Clod.—
And damn me if you shan't feel me too.
Scene changes to another room.
We lost the best of the performance in consequence of going so late, but what we saw was very entertaining, ha, ha, ha, I was as much diverted with a country fellow who laughed so immoderately, he opened his pondrous jaws that you might almost have shoved a wheel-barrow down his throat, ha, ha, ha.
Our beau went home sick, the fellow is one half of his time hipped; I'll tell you what popped into my head, Clara, as we were coming home, if we can succeed in it, it will afford us sufficient satisfaction, ha, ha, ha, which is to contrive to get Vainly's top cut off, and to create a quarrel between him and Boastly.
May be they may kill each other, and the world be deprived of a great loss.
I have no apprehension of that, beaus and bragadoes are not fond of fighting, they may possibly meet, but I'll engage their wounds won't be very mortal.
I think I should like to see them at it, methinks I see Boastly standing thus—
—with hand shaking, and Vainly, thus, setting his cravat, now sir, are you ready? then at it, bouze, bouze, one fires to the right, and the other to the left.
Ladies, tea is ready.
I am glad of it, I have got an excellent appetite.
Scene changes to Boastly's house.
Who did you see at Mr. Realworth's?
Why, I saw Poll Dairy, and a frigasee'd frizzled fellow, I have seen with Mr. Vainly.
Who did you give the note to?
The note?—
— may I be blistered if I did not forget it—
Who did you give it to?
—Why, sir, I-I-I-I forgot to give it, sir.
Forgot to give it, stupid bumkin, did I not send you for that express purpose, where is it?
You have lost it—
I will shake your soul out, you scoundrel.
There is two of us can play at that kind of work.—
Do you dare, villain, to take me by the collar! in my own house too?
Damn ye, sir, if I'll let you, or the President of the United States, as much as I like him, take me by tne collar, without taking my own part, if you let go hold of me, I will let go hold of yon, you make such a work about a piece of white paper with a red patch upon it.
Was there ever such impudence! I will shake you to pieces.
And I will shake too.
ACT. II.
SCENE I.
There, they fit, fit to a notch, sir.
They do not fit me, they are a monstrous deal too big, horrid clumsy; what is the reason you American tradesmen have no taste, I see I shall be compelled to send my old clothes back to England to have new one made by them—
— come try the coat on
worse and worse, see how it bulges out.
If you were to wear it for a day, sir, it would settle to your person.
Settle the devil—
—as Paddy says, it fits me as well as if I had not been by when my measure was taken. I'll tell you what, Thimble, you should turn cobler, you are no more fit for a taylor than my horse, why, they are not fit for a mechanic to wear.
Mechanic to wear! who has a better right to wear good and well fitted clothes, than mechanics? are they not the most useful and industrious part ot the people? I must tell you, sir, you are the most arrogant, insulting young coxcomb [Page 36] I ever worked for, and you and your clothes may go to England or to the devil, for what I care, I will never work a stitch more for you again.
Sol, fa, la, equality with a devil to it, he is a general I suppose, or a member of congress—
Well, sir, what is your business?
I am come, sir, at the instance of Miss Prankish, to cut your hair.
Did you serve your time in London?
No sir.
Then you do not know how to cut hair.
I hope, sir, you don't think that genius and taste are entirely confined to London.
A pert fellow—
—well, I'll try you; Miss Prankish has placed you at the head of your profession—
—bring my dressing gown, tol, lol, de-rol—
—you understand your business, you say?
I am not to speak in my own praise, sir.
Hand me that glass, Finikin, come on Monsieur Frisseur, you are certain you can cut hair well, if you don't please me, I'll put you to death: I want it cut so as to admit of an easy comb, to fall gently over my forehead not quite so low, you understand weeding or thinning the hair.
Yes sir,—
—I have got my instructions from Miss Prankish—
Ah, you handle the hair tolerably well, now take care you don't go too close,—
—damme you have spoil'd my hair by that one slash—
—close to the skull by all that's damnable, why damn you, sir, what did you mean by cutting it so.
Sir, it is impossible for you to judge until it is finished; if you will let me go on, I'll be bound I'll please you; your top was so large you think I cut more off than I did.
—Give me your comb.—
—Ruined! ruined! impossible you can mend it, come go on—
—that's closer still—
I shall be obliged to stay in the house until my hair grows out again.
If you will have patience and let me finish it, sir, I am sure you will be satisfied, I'll cut it in the present American fashion.
Damn your American fashion—
—have you done sir?
Yes sir.
—You have made a pretty devil of me to be sure—
—there, my servant can do the rest.
Thank you, sir. He, he, he, I have capershered him, he, he, he—
See what a figure the fellow has made of me.
Horrible, sir, he has sheered you as close as a Nottingham sheep.
Don't you want your tail shorter, sir?
Turn the fellow out of doors, damn him.
—Will you be so good as to walk home.—
Oui Monsieur Bagatelle.
Oh, oh, murder, murder, the damn'd yankee barber has blinded me.—
Scene in a room in Realworth's house.
Ha, ha, ha, I believe there is not such a crack'd brain in this city, as my mistress, yet she is a generous, good soul, she thinks no more of money than snuff: The other day she received a letter from a poor woman who was in the utmost distress, what did she do? why, not like most people, give money and think no more of it; no, she answered the letter, and with her own dear hands put in a bank note, and sent it immediately to her: next day she and I went to see the object, where we were witnesses to one of the most distressing scenes that ever was beheld, it would have melted the heart of a stone....a poor woman with several small children, destitute of the common necessaries of life, with nothing hardly to cover their little bodies; she proved to be a poor creature who had the misfortune of having a bad husband who did nothing for her but get her into trouble once a year, and abused her into the bargain; curse such scoundrel husbands, I say, they should all be put in jail, and made to pound plaister of Paris: as I was saying, when she saw their distress, we went to a shop where she bought clothing for them all, and the next day sent them every thing that was necessary to make them comfortable and happy, heaven bless her, tho' she is wild, she is as good as she is rich.
Well Poll, I am come to bid you good by.
Lord help me, are you enlisted?
Yes.
What made you enlist?
To fight.
What could possess you?
Because I could not possess you.
Ah, why have you made a slave of yourself?
As for that, I have learned so much since I have been in this place, as to know, they are the greatest slaves, who depend on faithless women or damned cross masters.
—O, I can't bear the thoughts of your going to the wars, you will be scalped or tomahawked by the cruel savages, and I shall never, never see you more.
Now I am sorry I enlisted.
I will try to get you off.
No, no, Polly, that would make me look calfish.
It is often done.
No, I must go, I will not be a servant man again, I have had a heart's scolding of it, if I am to be a servant, it shall be to serve my country.
You will go then?
Within this half hour—
I will not take leave of you, you must not go.
I never had my heart so tried—
— once more farewell: if you will not let me take a parting kiss, I will say God preserve you—
—Can't you run away?
Never, never, I'll never desert my colours ....I'll sing you a parting song, it was made by Tim Scribble, for my cousin Bob, when he enlisted, it will answer very well for me and you—
—
He, he, he, I can tell you news, Miss Polly, Bob Stubble [...]'s master has given him a devil of a flogging, and turn'd him off.
You lie, but I'll give you one; I promised you the next time I saw you you should feel me—
Murder, murder, Miss Polly won't you help me!—
Scene changes to another apartment.
Ha, ha, ha, here he comes, mind, this is the chair, I will attack him on the right, and you on the left.
Ladies I hope I have the pleasure of seeing you compos mentis.
Compos mentis—
—please to sit down, Mr. Vainly.
—What the devil is in that chair!
—Bless my heart, there is a pin stuck up in the chair, an unlucky accident, I hope you are not hurt, sir,—he, he, he.—
Curse the pin.
— Lord help us! what ails you Mr. Vainly? you are strangely altered since I saw you last.
Do you think so—
—it is owing to my hair being cut: damn the scoundrel—
I see the cause of the change, Mr. Vainly has had his hair cut, ha, ha, ha, why you ha, ha, ha, look like Crop the conjurer.
Ha, ha, ha, mercy on us, ha ha, ha, it is owing to that, ha, ha, ha, you looked like a singed cat, what made you get shaved so close?
—Damn the fellow, I told him so—
You must get a wig made, to imitate your former hair, you can't appear at the assembly or any party in that trim.
—Villain, the damned barbering villain, if I but lay my hands upon him, I will beat him to mummy.
Get a scalp made.
Get a scalp made! I have been scalped pretty well, I think; it seems as if heaven and earth was combined against me,....the vile yankee hair-dresser, has shorn me as close as a sheep, and my friend Boastly is a going to blow out my brains.
That would be a difficult matter—
What, a challenge!
Yes, faith, here it is,—
—
Sir, I expect you will meet me this evening, a little before twi-light, before the grove to answer for an insult offered to one of my female friends,
N. B. It is not necessary to bring a second.
—You won't meet him, I hope.
—You won't expose your life, I hope, sir, don't meet him—
— Both. Pray don't go.
Ladies, upon my soul, you almost disarm me, but I will meet him, for the honour of old England, I will meet him—
—the time is near at hand, excuse me ladies, my honour is at stake, I must be gone.
Ha, ha, ha—ha, ha, ha.
To-morrow, heaven permit, I shall see my boy, after an absence of three years.
O, sir, let me entreat you to do me an act of friendship; I know you have a heart always ready to do good, it will not be the least of the many good deeds you have done.
What is [...] request, Polly?
It is, sir, to get a poor young countryman, a cousin of mine, his discharge; he last night, in a foolish frolic enlisted, I have tried to get him off but could not succeed, O, sir, it would be an act of the greatest charity, he is the only son of a poor old woman, and is her only support; O, do sir be so good.
My good girl, I'll try what I can do, but I am afraid it will be a difficult matter to accomplish. What is his captain's name?
O dear me, I dont know, if you please sir, I will go with you to his quarters.
O no, enquire for his name.
I beseech you, sir, to let me go with you immediately, or it will be too late, they are are to march in a short time.
I'll go with you.
Scene, the skirt of a Wood.
Upon my soul, I know of no lady I have offended, 'tis damned hard you won't inform me who is my accuser.
The lady enjoined me to secrecy.
Damn me Jack if I will fight you.
Then damn me, sir, if I don't post you. I know he won't fight—
Post me!
Yes sir, post you for a coward, all over the city.
Ha, ha, ha, post me for a coward, no, no, you shall not,.'''.have at you sir, take your distance.
He looks as if he was in earnest—
—Will you beg the lady's pardon, sir?
That is curious logic; I am to beg the lady's pardon, and you wont let me know who she is!
Have you not lately affronted a lady?
—No.
Upon your honour?
I shall make you no farther answer on that head, but must insist upon immediate satisfaction from you, so sir, prepare yourself.
Are you serious, sir?
—Yes.
I am satisfied, I don't wish to fight you.
He is afraid—
—Then I'll post you.
Post me!
Yes sir, I'll post you at the coffee house and at the corner of every street in the city; take your distance.
I will, and it shall be a pretty respectable distance too—
Scene an apartment in Realworth's house.
I humbly thank you, sir.
I am much displeased with you Polly, why was you not candid with me, you put me in a most embarrassed situation, when you discovered the real cause of your interesting yourself in the young man's behalf.
I was ashamed sir, to tell you.
Never be ashamed to tell the truth, a departure from it is a certain road to disgrace; lying is a key that unlocks the first door that leads to vice.
Sir, I hope you will pardon me for it, love perhaps may be my excuse.
Scene changes to Vainly's lodgings.
O lord, I have just heard my master is gone to fight a duel, if he is killed I shall be left at the mercy of these mohawks; oh, that I was once in my own dear country again, where I could purchase a bottle of porter for — and say what I please; they call this the land of liberty, yet one dare not speak his own mind, I was in a beer house the other night, and happened to say the American government was something like our English one, but not so good; a great big fisted fellow swore, that if I made that comparison again, he would beat my English head as flat as a flounder: I was obliged to be mum, I was as a lamb along side of a wolf: O gemmini! here is my master.
O sir, I am so glad to see you come back alive.
Follow me.
Yes sir.
Scene at Realworth's, sen.
Ha, ha, ha, I'll vow, Sophia, I would not have missed of this frolic upon any account.
— Miss Prankish, did I ever insult you?
Insult me! Now for turning the tables upon them—
Miss Prankish, did you not tell me that Vainly had affronted you, and requested me to resent it?
I did.
—I should be glad to know at what time or place, that I deviated from the rectitude of gentlemanhood.
You have both insulted me; you Mr. Boastly particularly.
In what instance, Miss, have I offended you?—
I'll produce both your accusers—
—
My dear Vainly, I am to acknowledge your's of the present day, you say you are engaged to go to the circus with Miss P. and Miss S. that you are in an unfortunate predicament with those two ladies, that you have reason to believe they are both in love with you, that you have a partiality for Miss S. but the great fortune of Miss P. is an object, and that you want my advice: I'll give it you. Prefer Miss S. it is true she is a mad-cap, but a few years of matrimony will cool her, but as for the other, with all her fortune, she will be a bad bargain, she will lead you a hell of a life, she is the damndest vixen that ever was born, but by the by, I shall venture upon her, I have her at my option, as you observe, the great fortune is a great object, I shall have a devil of a job to tame the shrew, but I'll make her say, before I have done with her, that the moon is a pancake.
There sir, will you deny your own hand writing.—
How the devil did she come by that letter!—
Blast it, how did she get that damned letter!—
There is the proof, and how dare either of you to take such liberties with me? Was there ever ought in my behaviour, Mr. Boastly, to authoize you to dictate such sentiments of me?
—And pray sir, how did the vast magnitude of your profound wisdom and penetration discover that I was enamoured with your Adonised person?
—O damme, I wish I was out of her clutches—
—Miss, I had reason to suppose I was not disagreeable to you.
Well, I now sir, tell you in plain terms, you are very disagreeable to me, and so please to take your china limbs away.
—And you, sir, march—
March is the word—
—
If you don't go quietly, I'll call my maid Polly to turn you out—
—Ha, ha, ha,—ha, ha, ha,—ha, ha, ha,
Well, Clara, taking every thing into view, we have had ample satisfaction; I wish every coxcomb who presumes to sport with a woman's reputation, could be made to run a similar gauntlet.
Pray miss, may I not hope for pardon?
Come hither gentle Adonis, will you comply with my request if I do?
Faith I'll do any thing but hang myself—I'd lay my fortune at her feet, I so love the hussey—
The very thing I want you to do.
Prithee, dear girl, be not so ironic, I am ready to make an atonement for any offence I have given you; my fortune and my person, if you please are at your disposal.
—Sir, is it possible you can make such a sacrifice, as to lay your great fortune and pretty person, at the feet of a poor, unaccomplished American girl; you have lost sight of the grand object, Mr. Vainly, the fortune! the fortun! Miss Prankish has the fortune.
Curse on that letter, it was that fool, Boastly, drew me into this scrape, let me atone.
A thought has struck me, I'll try it I can't produce some good out of it—
—Well, sir, the first request I have to make is, that you will subscribe a something for the relief of those poor families, that have lately been burnt out of their houses; here is the subscription paper—
I will most cheerfully, for, however I may be biassed by national prejudices, my purse ever has and ever shall be open to the unfortunate of every country—
—Two hundred dollars, it almost makes me love the creature, generosity covers a multitude of foibles—
—You are very liberal Mr Vainly.
I am pleased you think so: Any other demand, Miss?
He begins to be rational, if I could get that great bolster about his neck reduced I think I [Page 49] should begin to like him—
—I have one other request to make.
Mention it.
It is to stretch your neck a little.
That is, you are determined I must hang myself.
No, hang me if I do, I want you to look somewhat genteeler about the neck....where is the occasion of that great wad under your chin?
Fashion me as you please.
That's a darling—
Not so tight, not so tight, by the lord, you'll choak me, let go, miss, let go.
No I won't till you make me certain promises.
What the devil does she want now, 'tis the devil to be in the clutches of a woman—
—Yes, I'll promise any thing.
That you never will wear so large a cushion again.
I can't give that up.
Won't you?—
O lord, O lord, damn it, yes I will.
Another promise yet.
Out with it.
You never will ridicule the American character again.
Never, never.
What a dear conformable creature thou art!
Now I expect that thou wilt be a dear conformable creature, and take a reformed young man into thy lovely arms—
Ah, Mr. Vainly, in the act of making love!
You see, Mr. Realworth, what love has brought me to....completely metamorphized to your republican system.
I hope you will not be less happy on that account; remember the old addage, "when you are in Rome, you must do as Rome does." I have the pleasure to inform you that your friend Charles is arrived, I expect him every moment.
From my soul I give you joy; Sir, I hope we shall soon have the pleasure of seeing him.
— Honoured sir, my dear Father!
My son, my dear Charles!—
— thank God!
My dear coz, and my friend Vainly! I am happy to see you again, I hope you have enjoyed good health during my absence, how are all our friends? I could ask a thousand questions in a breath.
Your friends are all well our city is vastly improved since you went away, and our country is generally prosperous and happy, thanked be heaven.
My Sophia and me have concluded to make confidants of our friends present.
—To ask dady's consent I suppose.
Beloved father, my adorable Sophia and me request your approbation for an union in the bands of wedlock.
—No, Charles, honour forbids it....you have deceived me—
—you have practised upon her innocence—you have stolen into the affections of her inexperienced age: Remember I have protected her from her tender infancy, I have been her guardian, and will still be so.
Sir, you wrong me.
Yes Sir, you do wrong him....if it was a crime to open the tender scene of love, I am the criminal, it was I who made the first advances, nor do I feel any indelicacy in avowing it; your son is a youth of real merit, and worthy of the hand and heart of any woman. In the preamble of my dear father's will, I see he held you nearest his heart.... though not rich in what the world is apt to pay court to, yet he knew you to be rich in honour and probity, he placed me (then an infant) with my patrimony, then under your care, and, by your judicious management, I have been put in possession of an independent fortune ....I cannot apply it to a better purpose, than to share it with the amiable son of my worthy guardian.
My dear girl, this declaration, coming from you, sufficiently satisfies me,—
—may heaven cement your hearts and afford you all that blissful happiness which the marriage state is capable of.
—I feel a just sense of the preference you have gave to me, and when I prove unworthy of your affection, may I be cast on the world with shame and disgrace: ... [Page 52] Gratitude, the noblest quality of the human mind, shall inspire me to love you with unremitting tenderness, thou generous maid.