[]

THE DEAF LOVER.

[Price One Shilling.]

[]

THE DEAF LOVER, A FARCE IN TWO ACTS; AS PERFORMED AT THE THEATRE ROYAL COVENT GARDEN.

WRITTEN BY F. PILON.

LONDON: PRINTED FOR J. BOWEN, CORNER OF BEAUFORT BUILDINGS, IN THE STRAND.

M DCC LXXX.

ADVERTISEMENT.

[v]

THE following little piece meeting with uncommon ſucceſs, after having been withdrawn from the ſtage, it may be expected that the author will ſay ſomething by way of apology for the ſcene, which in its former ſtate was deemed exceptionable; it was almoſt a literal tranſlation from the Poulet, a dramatic proverb, and pronounced by men of unqueſtionable judgement an excellent ſituation; but nothing is ſo difficult to decide on with certainty, as the effect any incident will have in repreſentation. Much as was thought of the Poulet in the cloſet, it was much diſliked on the ſtage, and the piece conſequently withdrawn for alteration. Fortunately for the author, he has ſucceeded in his ſecond attempt to pleaſe, and the farce is once more in poſſeſſion of the ſtage.

PROLOGUE.

[vi]
and ſpoken by Mr. LEE LEWES.
STATESMEN and Poets, oft', one fortune find;
This Court being diſcontent, our Bard reſign'd;
That is to ſay, reſign'd as Courtiers mean,
He was turn'd out, but would come in again.
On one good point he's bent, a reformation,
And bade me tell this grand Aſſociation,
He now has made a total alteration.
M1ſtakingly, he built on Gallic ground,
But prov'd French wit was, like French faith, unſound;
Hence wiſer grown, he's cautious in his views,
And makes no foreign compacts for his Muſe.
On foreign aid 'tis hazardous reliance,
But certain ruin's in a French alliance.
By Gar, Monſieur will ſay, you m1ſtake quite,
Mon Pais, my country, be toujours right;
Il faut vous allor, you muſt go to France,
If you would learn to make bon alliance;
Par l'alliance Bourbon, we long trick you;
Par l'alliance Amerique, trick dem too;
Voila Monſieur d'Eſtaing, has he not play'd,
One pretty trick, in taking de Grenade?
Is he not grand, invincible Hero?
Arrah, replies Teague, ask General Prevoſt!
[vii]So much with ſhot he bother'd him, they ſay,
He play'd an old French trick, and ran away,
Now home to France he's gone with broken thigh,
His leg being wounded, kays he came too nigh;
And, by St. Patrick, he deſerv'd his fate,
Who wou'd not give the women a retraat;
Had but the Iriſh brigade been there,
They'd given their hearts before they'd hurt the fair.
But talk no more of Heroes—name me one,
Like the brave tar, who met the Spaniſh Don
Without a ſword, and gave him up his own.
Oh! ſuch a trick, with all your gaſconade,
No French Monſieur, or Spaniard, ever play'd.
But, whilſt for valour's crown great nations ſight,
And wild Ambition takes the name of Right;
Ambiguous ſtates, each diff'rent power to fleece,
Equal ſuſpend the ſcale of war and peace;
Abjure all principle, but that they've lent,
And know no intereſt, but cent. per cent;
But, rouz'd by wrongs, the Genius of this land,
In ſelf-collected might, more firm ſhall ſtand;
Hibernia's cauſe, and Britain's, now made one,
We boaſt a fam'ly compact of our own;
Defies the treach'rous compact of Bourbon.
Whilſt Juſtice, as a flaming AEgis, throws
Confuſion and diſmay on England's foes;
Her thunder to the world ſhall ſpeak again,
She reigns th' unſhaken Sov'reign of the Main.

Dramatis Perſonae.

[]
  • Meadows, Mr. LEE LEWES.
  • Young Wrongward, Mr. ROBSON.
  • Old Wrongward, Mr. WILSON.
  • Canteen, Mr. WHITFIELD.
  • Sternhold, Mr. BATES.
  • Groom, Mr. FEARON.
  • 2d Servant, Mr. BRUNSDON.
  • 3d Servant, Mr. CUSHING.
  • 1ſt Gentleman, Mr. SMITH.
  • 2d Gentleman, Mr. LEDGER.
  • Cook, Mr. PAINTER.
  • William, Mr. STEVENS.
  • John, Mr. THOMPSON.
  • Sophia, Mrs. MORTON.
  • Betſy Bloſſom, Mrs. WILSON.
  • 1ſt Lady, Miſs GREEN.
  • 2d Lady, Miſs STEWART.

THE DEAF LOVER.

[9]

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A Room at an Inn. Meadows diſcovered in a Riding-dreſs with Canteen.
MEADOWS.

WAS there no poſſibility of bribing one of the ſervants?

CANTEEN.

None in the world, Sir, which indeed ſurprized me, for tho' I muſt confeſs they have all good places, I have known folks with better, and in a greater man's ſervice, who wou'd not let a bribe ſlip thro' their fingers for want of the trouble of clinching the f1ſt upon it.

MEADOWS.
[10]

What ſhall I do, Canteen? you are an old campaigner, and ſhould be ripe with ſtratagem in deſperate caſes!

CANTEEN.

I have got a ſcheme to ſerve you, if you'll undertake it.

MEADOWS.

Can you doubt me?

CANTEEN.

Then be attentive: Old Wrongward's houſe, on the approaching wedding, is throng'd as a fair with company; dreſs yourſelf in the ſtyle of an elderly gentleman travelling the country; pretend to miſapprehend ev'ry body; in ſhort aſſume the character of a deaf man, and, thus diſguiſed, put up at his houſe, as if you took it for an inn.

MEADOWS.

Pho! Pho! I ſhall be taken before a Mag1ſtrate.

CANTEEN.

Not you, indeed, Sir; at all theſe public weddings there are a great number of ſtrangers, invited by the chief gueſts; you'll paſs as a friend to ſome of the company—But grant you are taken for the character you aſſume, an old, deaf, blundering blockhead; your m1ſtakes will create [11]ſo much entertainment, that nobody will think of turning you out of doors till you have full opportunity of diſcovering yourſelf to your m1ſtreſs.

MEADOWS.

And do you think ſhe'll l1ſten to me?

CANTEEN.

I'm ſure of it, Sir; I'd ſtake my life to a cartouch box, that your letters from camp have been intercepted, and ſome damn'd ſtory trump'd up by that old villain her guardian, to make her marry his own ſon.

MEADOWS.

It muſt be ſo, my Sophia otherwiſe could never have forgot me.

CANTEEN.

It muſt be ſo! Lord, Sir, if you were not ſo much in love, it would appear to you as plain as a pike-ſtaff; but when once love gets into a man's head, poor reaſon is brought before a court-martial of the paſſions, and caſhiered without a hearing.

MEADOWS.

But it will be neceſſary to appriſe Sophia of this, if I can by any means convey a letter to her.

CANTEEN.

A light breaks in upon me; I met a little flower girl ſtanding at the inn-door, as freſh, and as [12]blooming as the ſweeteſt roſe in her baſket— Don't you imagine a letter may be conveyed by her into the garriſon?

MEADOWS.

Can we truſt her?

CANTEEN.

She's as ſure as a rifle barrel, Sir;—You know what a ſmooth tongue and a ſmart figure will do with a girl in the country; I have perſuaded her, that I am over head and ears in love with her— and have ſwore, by the god of love, and the god of battles, that I'll make her Mrs. Canteen, if ſhe pleaſes, before to-morrow morning.

MEADOWS.

Where is ſhe?

CANTEEN.

Selling noſegays to paſſengers, as they go in and out of their carriages; but I'll bring her to you, Sir, in the drawing of a trigger, in the mean time write your letter;—There's pen, ink, and paper on the table.

Exit Canteen.
MEADOWS.
[Writing.]

My all depends on her receiving this letter—otherwiſe, the ſurprize of ſo unexpectedly meeting me, might occaſion a diſcovery —

[Seeing Canteen and Betſy Bloſſom.]

Oh! here come Mars and Venus already.

[13] Enter Canteen and Betſy Bloſſom.
BETSY.

Noſegays, your Honour?

MEADOWS.

Come hither, my pretty dear, and let me ſee them.

Looks in the baſket.
BETSY.

O Sir, don't tumble over my baſket! I can't let you pick and chuſe at a common price.

CANTEEN.
[Aſide to her.]

Let him take which he pleaſes, he's as generous as a Prince, huſſey.

BETSY.

Is he? by Goſh then he ſhall have the myrtle and the jeſſamine, and the two moſs roſes I was taking up to the Squire's, where the great wedding is to be.

MEADOWS.

What's that you ſay? Are you going to the houſe, where the great wedding is to be?

BETSY.

Yes, and I ſhall ſell all my noſegays there, and am promiſed a ribban for a bride-favor, by John the Butler.

CANTEEN.
[14]

O ho! John the Butler! I find I'm not ſole proprietor of my little noſegay merchant.

MEADOWS.
[Taking her by the band.]

Now, my ſweet dear, blooming little Flora, if you will grant me one favour, I will give you a guinea.

BETSY.

Who I, Sir! I'd have you to know, Sir, that I ſcorn your guineas—I am no ſuch parſon— though I'm poor, I'm honeſt, that let me tell you— and I'd rather ſell noſegays with my vartue, than ride in a coach and ſix without it.

CANTEEN.

Zounds! what an exploſion was there, from a carbine like a pocket p1ſtol—why who's going to meddle with your vartue? I tell you, you may keep the guinea and your vartue together.

BETSY.

May I?

CANTEEN.

Yes; but I find, Betſy, I'm greatly deceiv'd in your temper. I thought you were as meek as a violet, but I find you are as ſharp as a ſweet briar.

MEADOWS.

I only want you, my dear, to take this letter for me, and deliver it into the young Lady's [15]hand who is to be married to-morrow; and to take care that nobody ſees you.

BETSY.

As ſure as a gun I know who you are.

MEADOWS.

Ay, prithee who am I?

BETSY.

You are her old ſweetheart, and ſhe has turned falſe-hearted.

CANTEEN.

Oons what a witch it is! I'll go and prepare your dreſs, Sir.

Exit Canteen.
BETSY.

It's the talk of the whole village how Miſs Sophia had forſaken a malicious officer that was in love with her.

MEADOWS.

Will you take this letter for me?

BETSY.

That I will with all my heart, —and between ourſelves tho' I am a poor girl, give her her own into the bargain.

MEADOWS.

My dear, you muſt not ſay a word to her; only deliver the letter.

BETSY.

What then you wou'd not have me ſcold her?

MEADOWS.
[16]

By no means, —that wou'd ruin me for ever in her eſteem; but what is your name, my love?

BETSY.

Betſy Bloſſom, an't pleaſe you.

(Curtſying.)
MEADOWS.

Well, my dear Betſy, go off immediately, and remember that the whole happineſs of my life depends on your care and ſecreſy.

SONG.
BETSY.
Believe me, Sir, you'll find me true,
As any girl you ever knew,
I know no art,
To hide my heart,
And ſince with flow'rs firſt I ſtood
To young or old
I never ſold
Two faces under a hood.
Tis true I dreſs in ſimple gown
And never ſaw the flaunting town
Where Ladies ſhine
In ſilks ſo fine
Still I think myſelf as good
As toaſted belle
Whilſt I ne'er ſell
Two faces under a hood.
Exeunt Meadows and Betſy Bloſſom.

SCENE II.

[17]
Old Wrongward and Sternhold diſcover'd. Sternhold reading the Papers to him, Old Wrongward in his Gouty Chair, wrapt up in Flannels.
OLD WRONGWARD.

You are a terrible reader, Sternhold: can't you ſpeak your words ſhorter?—you ſound every ſyllable, as if you had a ſpeaking-trumpet at your mouth.

STERNHOLD.

I can't help it, your honor; it is a way I have got.

OLD WRONGWARD.

It's like the grind of an ill-ton'd barrel-organ in my ears—but go on, for you were born a pariſh clerk, and will chaunt every thing in pſalm-tune to the end of the chapter.

STERNHOLD.
(reading)

Rome, April 1ſt. Yeſterday morning between twelve and one, his Holineſs the Pope was ſafely deliver'd of twins—the mother and children are well, and likely to live.

OLD WRONGWARD.

Why is the fellow mad? the Pope deliver'd of twins! zounds! you may as well tell me of [18]St. Paul's dancing the hayes, or the Monument turning prize-fighter.

STERNHOLD.

Shall I go on?

OLD WRONGWOOD.

Read over that laſt article again, for I'm ſure you have made a blunder.

STERNHOLD
(reads.)

Rome, April 1ſt. Yeſterday morning between twelve and one, his Holineſs the Pope was ſafely delivered of twins—the mother and children are well, and likely to live.

OLD WRONGWARD.

Truly this is a moſt extraordinary event if it be a fact, and muſt cauſe ſtrange confuſion among the Cardinals; but upon ſecond thoughts it's not altogether paſt belief, for there's a well-known ſtory of a female Pope, who was diſcovered by her pregnancy, Pope Joan I think ſhe was called —but give me the paper, for damn me if I can believe it yet—

(takes the paper and reads)

‘Mr. Printer, if you think the following croſs readings’—croſs readings! ha! ha! ha!—confound thoſe croſs readings—as if things were not croſs enough of themſelves.

Enter Sophia and Betſy Bloſſom.
SOPHIA.
(aſide to Betſy.)

And he ſeem'd deeply concern'd?

BETSY.
[19]

Oh, deeply concern'd, and his eyes, poor ſoul, as red as blood with crying.

OLD WRONGWARD.

Is not that Soply I ſee? eh! how's this? where's my ſon George! has the raſcal the impudence to ſtir an inch from your apron-ſtring?

SOPHIA.

Sir, he cannot with propriety leave the company; more eſpecially, as infirmities prevent your entertaining them.

OLD WRONGWARD.

Infirmities! why what infirmities have I got, except a little touch of the gout, now and then? If I could walk, and had the uſe of my right hand, and could ſee without ſpectacles, I'd be as hale a man as any in the county.

(Seeing Betſy Bloſſom)

But who is that little blooming rogue with you?

SOPHIA.

A ſlower-girl, Sir; ſhe has brought me ſome jeſſamine and moſs roſes.

OLD WRONGWARD.

Ay? tell her to come this way, and let me look at her moſs roſes.

SOPHIA.
(aſide to Betſy.)

Go ſhew him your noſegays, Betſy, and keep him in chat, whilſt I run and write an anſwer.

BETSY.
[20]

But Lord, Ma'am, he bears ſuch a terrible character, l'm atraid to go nigh him.

SOPHIA.

Pho! pho! never fear him; he has not been out of that chair, except at bed times, theſe three months, but is roll'd up and down the houſe like a great baby; go to him, I ſay, and I'll return immediately.

Exit Sophia.
OLD WRONGWARD.

You may go about your buſineſs, Sternhold, I'm tired of your damn'd drone—It's worſe than an old cloath's man in London.

STERNHOLD.

Lord! Lord! What will this world come to!

Exit Sternhold
BETSY.
(Aſide.)

By Goſs, as he can't budge, I'll have a little fun with him.

OLD WRONGWARD.

Come hither, my pretty maid, and let me look at your moſs roſes.

BETSY.
(Runs up to him.)

Aye to be ſure, Sir, there are not ſo fine ones in all the country.

OLD WRONGWARD.
[21]
(Taking up the flowers.)

Upon my word they are fine ones—But is Sophy gone? Is there nobody ſees us?

BETSY.

Not a ſoul, we are both together, all alone by ourſelves.

OLD WRONGWARD.

But are you ſure that there's nobody l1ſtening?

BETSY.

Oh! very ſartin, Sir,

OLD WRONGWARD.

Then give me a kiſs, you little ſmiling rogue.

BETSY.

Oh dear Sir, woud'n't you be aſhamed to kiſs ſuch a poor girl as I?

OLD WRONGWARD.

Aſhamed! not I, by the Lord Harry; come hither I ſay.

BETSY.
(Aſide.)

Now to plague him—Why you muſt know, Sir, that I'm afraid ſome of the family will ſee us; but if you'll fetch a walk with me any where.

OLD WRONGWARD.

Fetch a walk with her! I could as ſoon fetch the Tower upon my back.

BETSY.
[22]

But now I look at your legs, I ſuppoſe you can't walk.—O Lud! They're like mill poſts.

OLD WRONGWARD.

No, no, not quite ſo bad, they're a little ſwelled to be ſure, but there's a great deal of flannel about them.

BETSY.

Shall I help you, Sir?

(takes him by the hand and pulls him.)
OLD WRONGWARD
(Roars out.)

Zounds! you've broke my arm, you jade.

Sophia at the back of the Stage.
SOPHIA.

Betſy!

BETSY.

I'm coming, Ma'am.

(going.)
OLD WRONGWARD.

Then you won't come and kiſs me, huſſey?

BETSY.

I think it is you that won't kiſs me, Sir.— Lord! Sir, if you want a kiſs, why don't you come and take it?

OLD WRONGWARD.

O you wicked baggage, you know that I can't ſtir—I'd give half my eſtate for a pair of legs to be revenged of you.

BETSY.
[23]

Then you won't ſetch a walk, Sir, nor give me a kiſs —very well!—I'll not be denied the next man I aſk—good by, Sir—I muſt go, ha! ha! ha!

SONG.
What! refuſe me a kiſs?
I ſhall die ſure with grief,
To be robb'd of ſuch bliſs,
What can bring me relief?
One, one kiſs, cruel man,
What! deny me again?
Then I'll go where the willow ſo green grows,
And trembling droops o'er the brook,
There, to each gentle zephyr that by blows,
My ſighs ſhall tell I'm forſook.
But why ſhould I, if man diſdain
To heal this hapleſs boſom's pain,
Compleat the tyrant's triumph quite
And fooliſh maiden die for ſpite?
No, no,
I'll go,
And ſince a falſe one you do prove,
I'll die of any thing but love.
Exit Betſy. Enter Young Wrongward.
YOUNG WRONGWARD.

What, Sir, is not Sophia here?

OLD WRONGWARD.
[24]

She was here this moment.

YOUNG WRONGWARD.

What's the matter with you, Sir? I hope you're not ill?

OLD WRONGWARD.

No, but I was bargaining for ſome moſs roſes, and they have prickt my fingers ſo confoundedly.

YOUNG WRONGWARD.

I have very bad news to tell you, Sir; Meadows has been ſeen about the houſe.

OLD WRONGWARD.

The Devil he has! Then, boy, we are undone. If ſhe ſees him, our intercepting his letters, and the ſtory of his marriage with another will all be diſcovered.

YOUNG WRONGWARD.

She has ſeen no ſtranger to-day?

OLD WRONGWARD.

Not a ſoul to my knowledge, except a poor little innocent flower girl.

YOUNG WRONGWARD.

It's no matter; that woman, I'm perſuaded, has brought her a letter.

OLD WRONGWARD.

Ecod, like enough.

YOUNG WRONGWARD.
[25]

Then Sir, if you will ſit with the company, I'll go in purſuit of her, and if in the power of gold, I'll get ev'ry thing our of her.

Exit Young Wrongward:
OLD WRONGWARD.

Ay, with all my heart, —here, William.

Enter William.
WILLIAM.

Did you call, Sir!

OLD WRONGWARD.

Roll me into the company

[William goes behind the chair and rolls it]

Softly you raſcal, if legs could be purchaſed, what wou'dn't I give for a new pair?

Exit William, rolling off Old Wrongward.

SCENE III. Changes to the outſide of Old Wrongward's houſe.

Enter John.
JOHN.

What a couple of damn'd rogues my maſter and I are, to ſtop all theſe here letters—it would [26]go greatly againſt my conſcience, only for what I get by it—Well, my maſter cheats his ward, and I cheat my maſter, for he has never ſeen this picture

(pulls out a minature)

nor the letter that came with it yet—if theſe ar'n't mock diamonds round it, it will bring a pretty penny—let me ſee now.

Enter Betſy Bloſſom.
BETSY.

Good day, Mr. John.

JOHN.

Ah! my pretty Betſy—come hither, my little dear.

BETSY.

What's that you are looking at ſo cloſe, Mr. John?

JOHN.

Only a picture, my love, are you a good judge of painting Betſy?

BETSY.

Painting! Lord, Sir, you muſt aſk ſome fine London Lady that queſtion; we poor folks in the country know nothing of the matter.

JOHN.

How do you like that, Betſy?

ſhews her the miniature.
BETSY.

It has a vaſt fine frame round it.

JOHN.
[27]

Yes, yes, you are a great judge of painting, I ſee clearly.

BETSY.

And looks as natural as you that are ſpeaking to me.

JOHN.

Eh! why, zounds! ſhe takes it for my picture.

BETSY.

What fine eyes!

JOHN.

Fine eyes! oh! yes, ſhe takes it for me.

BETSY.

And two cheeks like cherries—then ſuch pretty hair—ſo curl'd, ſo frized and ſo flower'd, it looks like a white thorn in full bloſſom.

JOHN.

You muſt know, my dear, I wore my hair ſo when that was drawn for me.

BETSY.

Is this your picture, Mr. John?

JOHN.

I thought you knew that already.

BETSY.

I vow, I took it for a gentleman's.

JOHN.
[28]

What, then, you don't think it like me?

BETSY.

Like you? no more like you than a carnation is like a butcher's broom.

JOHN.

Butcher's broom! what a Fleet-market compariſon!—You think then I am alter'd ſince it was drawn for me?

BETSY.

Oh! quite chang'd, you are as brown as a cheſnut to what you were; and your eyes, that were once ſo blue, are now as grey as the very willows.

JOHN.

I am ſitting for a ſtriking likeneſs, I find.

BETSY.

Then your forehead's grown ſquare—your chin ſharp—your noſe flat—your teeth— no, they're not grown at all—for I cant ſee above one or two left in your head.

JOHN.

Zounds! have done, you unmerciful baggage: give me my picture. I may be alter'd a little, but it is impoſſible I can be ſo damnably metamorphos'd as you deſcribe.

BETSY.

What, after making a bargain?

[29] Enter Young Wrongward.
YOUNG WRONGWARD.

So, ſo, Mr. John, what bargain is this you have been ſtriking?

JOHN.

Bargain! Sir—I was only agreeing about ſome tulips.

BETSY.

That was all, your honour—John only wanted ſome tulips of me.

JOHN.
(Aſide to Betſy.)

Not a word of the picture.

YOUNG WRONGWARD.

But, Sir, can't the gardener ſupply you?

JOHN.

Sir, he ſays, I want too many, and that he won't ſpoil his beds to pleaſe me or any man in England.

BETSY.

Now, Sir, I can give him plenty, and never mind ſpoiling a bed when it is made worth my while.

YOUNG WRONGWARD.

I believe you, young damſel—Harkee, John,

(aſide to John.)

—I ſuppoſe this girl has been employed [30]by Meadows to convey a letter to Sophia. Get you gone, and I'll ſound her.

JOHN,

You had better leave her to me, Sir.

YOUNG WRONGWARD.

No, no, ſhe's too artful for you.

JOHN.

Ay, and for you too, I'll be ſworn—I don't like to leave her alone with him.

YOUNG WRONGWARD.

Not gone yet, Sir?

JOHN.

Oh! yes, I'm gone—

(aſide)

—Very far gone, I find, in love, for now am I as jealous as the Devil of him—Oh! my poor picture, I ſhall never ſee it's face again.

Exit John.
YOUNG WRONGWARD.

Can you keep a ſecret, my dear?

BETSY.

I don't know, Sir; I never was tried.

YOUNG WRONGWARD.

Come, come, I know you have; and if you'll divulge it to me, I'll give you more than you got from Captain Meadows.

BETSY.

Captain Meadows! who is he, Sir? I don't know him—

(aſide)

—He's only pumping me now, but he ſhall get nothing by it.

YOUNG WRONGWARD.
[31]

What, then, you have neither brought nor received a letter here to-day?

BETSY.

Lord! Sir, who'd truſt the likes of me with a letter?

YOUNG WRONGWARD.

Let me ſee now, in which pocket have you got it?

(attempts to ſearch her.)
BETSY.

Keep your hands to yourſelf, I have nothing ſmuggled about me—you ſhan't rummage me like a cuſtom-houſe officer.

YOUNG WRONGWARD
(pulls out a purſe.)

Look at this, huſſey—I have both power and inclination to reward you.

BETSY.

I'm ſure, Sir, there's nothing I wouldn't do to ſerve you.

YOUNG WRONGWARD.

Then you'll give me the letter?

BETSY.

Letter! Lord! Sir, what letter?

YOUNG WRONGWARD.
[32]

Come, I inſ1ſt upon your taking this

[gives her money].

And now.

BETSY.

And now, your honour, I'll go home to my father's, and bring you the letter immediately.

YOUNG WRONGWARD.

Your father's! how came it there?

BETSY.

It came by the poſt, yeſterday, from Devonſhire.

YOUNG WRONGWARD.

Devonſhire! what the Devil is Devonſhire to me?

BETSY.

I thought you wanted to know ſomething about my brother the gardener, who wrote us a main long letter yeſterday, and, what ſurprized us all, he's going to be married.

YOUNG WRONGWARD.

A moſt intereſting piece of information I muſt confeſs. She's a downright ideot.—How ridiculous do my ſuſpicions make me!

Exit young Wrongward.
BETSY.

By Goſs, I have trickt him nicely. So now to my dear Mr. Canteen.

[Canteen enters
CANTEEN.
[33]

Ah! Betſy, I've been watching you, and I fear'd you'd have turn'd traitor and betray'd us.

BETSY.

No, Mr. Canteen, I never wou'd do that— I wou'd not betray you, no, not for five pound.

CANTEEN.

What not for five pound? O matchleſs fidelity!—But come, have you got an anſwer?

BETSY.

Yes, I have that and John's picture both together.

CANTEEN.

John's picture? well, this is the firſt time I ever knew a man vain of his uglineſs! If I had ſuch an old lion's head riveted upon my ſhoulders, I'd quarrel with a baſon of ſpring water, for reflecting my own countenance on me.

BETSY.

Ay—but his picture is very handſome—it's no more like him than box is like ſouthernwood.

CANTEEN.

No, then he has ſet for his picture by proxy, or perhaps, like many others coxcombs, purchas'd it, as we ſometimes do ſhoes, ready made. But come, let us look at it.

BETSY.
[34]

Here it is.

ſhews the miniature.
CANTEEN.

Zounds! this is my maſter's picture.

BETSY.

What, captain Meadows's?

CANTEEN.

His own likeneſs—and the very miniature I ſaw him incloſe about ſix weeks ago to Miſs Sophia.

BETSY.

As ſure as can be, he ſtole it.

CANTEEN.

I don't know how he came by it: but you're certain he gave it you?

BETSY.

Quite ſartin.

CANTEEN.

Then come along, my Betſy; if you behave well now, I'll make great advantages of this diſcovery: you ſhall introduce me to John as your brother, and I'll terrify him with a confeſſion before I have done with him.

Exeunt Betſy and Canteen.

SCENE changes to a View before the Stables.

[35]
Enter Meadows diſguis'd as an old Gentleman, with the Groom.
MEADOWS.

I hope your hay is good, friend?

GROOM.

It's no matter how my hay is. I tell you, you are m1ſtaken in the houſe; this is no inn.

MEADOWS.

Why if you think ſo, give him a feed of oats; but take care to rub him down well.

GROOM.

Rub down the Devil! I tell you, my maſter keeps no inn.

MEADOWS.

Throw a few beans among the oats, if you have any.

GROOM.

Throw a few beans among the oats! Zounds! who promis'd to give you any oats?

MEADOWS.

That's a good lad, I know you'll take care of him.

GROOM.

He's as deaf as a door nail.—He doesn't underſtand a word I ſay.

MEADOWS.
[36]

Did you ſpeak to me, young man?

GROOM.

I have been bawling to you this hour, to tell you this is no inn: yonder is the George, or the Swan, or the King's Arms, where you'll get your horſe and yourſelf taken care of.

Bawling in his ear.
MEADOWS.

Well, well, I'll take your word for the goodneſs of your corn; you had no occaſion to be ſo loud in praiſe of it.

GROOM.

What the Devil ſhall I do with him? He drove his horſe into the ſtable, before I knew where I was, and if I turn him adrift, I ſhall be proſecuted by act of parliament.

MEADOWS.

My good lad, do you hear me?

GROOM.

I wiſh I could make you hear me as plain.

MEADOWS.

I like your countenance.

GROOM.

That's more than I do your's.

MEADOWS.
[37]

There's ſomething in it tells me, you will do the beaſt juſtice, therefore here's a ſhilling for you—and if I find I have not been m1ſtaken in the opinion I have formed of you, I ſhall remember you when I go away alſo.

GROOM.

This is the firſt word of ſenſe I have got out of him—well, as his horſe is in the ſtable, let him ſtay there; my maſter, I'm ſure, will never miſs his one night's keep; but then the beſt joke will be when he gets into the houſe—ha! ha! ha! I ſhall kill myſelf with laughing at the thoughts of it.

MEADOWS.

Ha! ha! ha! Very good, very good indeed.

GROOM.

What the Devil does he laugh at?

MEADOWS.

I find you are a fellow of a good deal of humour.

GROOM.

Humour! What does he mean?

MEADOWS.

You tell a deviliſh good ſtory, but I can't ſtay to hear the end of it, for I'm greatly fatigued and very weary—now remember you rub him [38]down well, and don't forget the beans amongſt the oats.

Exit Meadows.
GROOM.

I tell a dev'liſh good ſtory, and have a great deal of humour! If'tis ſo, you are the firſt that ever diſcovered my talents—Well! I have got a ſhilling from you, ſo mum's the word, you're deaf—I am dumb, old gentleman.

Exit Groom.
END OF FIRST ACT.

ACT II.

[39]

SCENE I. A Hall in Old Wrongward's Houſe; ſeveral Servants running acroſs the Stage with Supper.

1ſt SERVANT.

He's ſwearing like a dragon about the iced cream.

2d SERVANT.

I wiſh he was to feed upon nothing elſe till his temper became as cool as his ſtomach.

Enter Cook.
COOK.

A man had better ſtand cook in Belzebub's kitchen. Here have I been broiling myſelf, like a beef-ſteak, for theſe two hours, and am thanked in a volley of oaths for it afterwards.

Enter third Servant.
3d SERVANT.

There's not a drop of Madeira in the room; and the Butler is to be turn'd-off to-morrow.

Enter Meadows, draws a Chair, and ſits.
MEADOWS.
[40]

Aye, I like this.—It's an old ſaying, good buſineſs makes a good houſe.

SERVANT.

This is ſome gentleman invited to ſupper; we had better tell him it's on the table.

2d SERVANT
[going up to Meadows.]

Certainly!—It's on the table, Sir.

MEADOWS.

No, I'll not pull off my boots till I go to bed.

2d SERVANT.

Pull of his boots! who ſaid any thing about his boots? Tho', now I look at them, damn me if ever I ſaw a dirtier pair in the courſe of my life.

MEADOWS.

What have you got for ſupper?

WILLIAM.

Every thing the ſeaſon can afford, is on the table, Sir?

MEADOWS.

Why, you blockhead, woodcocks are not in ſeaſon.

WILLIAM.

I ſaid nothing about woodcocks—but, Sir, there's a delightful carp ſtewed in claret—a fine [41]jack roaſted with a pudding in his belly—ſome choice pheaſants—and ſuch cherry tarts—apple pies, jellies, iced creams, and ſweetmeats, that my teeth water at the bare thoughts of them.

MEADOWS.

Very well, that will do, my friend; but take care you get me ſome good muſhroom ſauce to it.

2d SERVANT.

Muſhroom ſauce! to what, Sir?

MEADOWS.

A broil'd fowl will do well enough.

WILLIAM.

A broil'd fowl! I didn't mention a word of broil'd fowl—did I, Bob?

2d SERVANT.

Not a ſyllable.

WILLIAM.

Zounds! he's deaf.

2d SERVANT.

Or mad; ſpeak louder to him—try if you can make him hear you.

WILLIAM.
(Bawling in his ear.)

Supper is on the table, Sir; and if you are invited to the houſe by my maſter, it will be as much as our places are worth, if we do not bring you up to him immediately.

MEADOWS.
[42]

Well, do the beſt you can for me.

WILLIAM.

Ah! it's all in vain to talk to him; let us ſee if we can make him underſtand by ſigns.

(makes ſigns they will ſhew him the way.)
MEADOWS.

Bleſs you, my lad, I am not particular.

Exit Meadows and Servants.
SCENE changes to an elegant apartment—Old Wrongward, Young Wrongward, and a large party at ſupper.
OLD WRONGWARD.

Fill me a bumper of Madeira—though the enemy has got poſſeſſion of the greater part of my outworks, I'll take care to keep him from the citadel, whilſt there's a flaſk in my cellar to ſupport me.

(drinks.)
Enter Meadows and John.
WILLIAM.

This way, Sir.

MEADOWS.

Aye! I ſee all your rooms are full, but it's no matter, I'm fond of company.

OLD WRONGWARD
[43]
(Aſide to Young Wrongward.)

Here's a ſtranger! do you know him, George?

YOUNG WRONGWARD.

I ſuppoſe he's a friend to ſome of the company.

OLD WRONGWARD.

Certainly—go to him, boy, and aſk him if he has ſupp'd.

YOUNG WRONGWARD.
(comes to Meadows.)

Sir, I eſteem myſelf particularly honour'd in the favour of this viſit—here, William, lay a ſide table for this gentleman—As we are juſt done ſupper, I beg, Sir, you'll not conſider yourſelf a ſtranger.

retires to his ſeat.
MEADOWS.

Very dear, indeed, Sir; good Virginia is hard to be come at, but I always carry a box of Oroonoko in my pocket

(pulls out a box.)
A table is laid for Meadows; he ſits.
OLD WRONGWARD.
(to Meadows.)

Warm travelling, Sir.

MEADOWS.

There was none ſtirring, when I was in town, Sir.

OLD WRONGARD.

Stirring! no nor moving for it, Sir, in this part of the world—though the gout conſines me [44]to this chair, I feel myſelf as hot as if I was roaſting on ths coaſt of Guinea.

Enter Sophia.
SOPHIA.
(aſide.)

Yonder he ſits; if he ſhould be diſcovered, all my hopes of happineſs are gone for ever.

MEADOWS.
(aſide.)

I feel myſelf in ſuch agitation at the ſight of my Sophia, that I fear it will mar my counterfeiting.

Sophia ſits next to Young Wrongward; they talk.
OLD WRONGWARD.

Come, old gentleman, I'll give you a toaſt, that I'm ſure you'll have no objection to—here's to the young couple.

All the company drink.)
MEADOWS.

With all my heart; I'm ſure he has not a better ſubject in his dominions.

OLD WRONGWARD.

Ay, and what's better, he's going the right road to raiſe more good ſubjects.

MEADOWS.

The King!

(drinks.)
OLD WRONGWARD.

The King! why I drank my ſon and daughter that is to be's health.

MEADOWS.
[45]

Ah, Sir! there's no anſwering for what people will ſay.

OLD WRONGWARD.

No anſwering for what people will ſay! damn me if ever I knew any thing ſo impudent in the whole courſe of my life before.

YOUNG WRONGWARD.

Pray does any of the company know him?

1ſt LADY.

I don't, for my part.

1ſt GENTLEMAN.

Nor I.

2d LADY.

Nor I.

2d GENTLEMAN.

Nor I, nor any of us.

ALL.

No, not one of us.

SOPHIA.

How I tremble for him, now.

OLD WRONGWARD.

Here, William, who ſhew'd this old fellow here?

WILLIAM.
[46]

I did, Sir; I took him to be one of the company.

OLD WRONGWARD.

Why, nobody here knows him.

MEADOWS.
(to Old Wrongward.)

Sir, I have the pleaſure of drinking your health.

OLD WRONGWARD.
(to Young Wrongward.)

Did you ever know any thing like this, George?

MEADOWS.
(to William.)

Do you hear, my lad? Send up the boot-catcher to me.

OLD WRONGWARD.

Send up the boot-catcher to him, we'll ſend up the thief-catcher to him—this fellow is come to rob the houſe.

MEADOWS.

This wine is dev'liſh good; but I have a poor head, and am very ſleepy—Bon repos, good folks; I muſt leave you.

(gets up.)
OLD WRONGWARD.

Stop him, George.

[Young Wrongward and Company ſtop him.
MEADOWS.
[47]

Why, Gentlemen, all this preſſing: it is to no purpoſe; I am determined to go to bed; and as a proof of it, there's half a crown for my ſhare of the bill, as I can't ſtay till its called—will nobody give me a light?

OLD WRONGWARD
(to William.)

Why, you raſcal, can you give no rational account of this man?

WILLIAM.

All I can tell you is, he has ſet the whole family in an uproar—the groom ſays, he's deaf —the butler ſays, he's mad; but all agree in pronouncing him the moſt impudent, troubleſome, dirty old fellow, ever came into a houſe —do but look at his boots, Sir.

SOPHIA
(aſide.)

Love has inſpired me with a thought for his deliverance.

(comes forward.)

Bleſs me! I know this Gentleman's face perfectly well—it is the celebrated Doctor Humdrum; I ſaw him ſeveral times at Bath, tho' I never ſpoke to him: he's the firſt phyſician in England; but has been troubled with a moſt obſtinate deafneſs for ſeveral years; and, what is moſt extraordinary, does every thing in this power to conceal it.

OLD WRONGWARD.
[48]

Deaf! why does he come here to plague us with his deafneſs?

SOPHIA.

I thought, Sir, you had more humanity than not to feel for ſuch a misfortune.

OLD WRONGWARD.

But are you ſure he's deaf?

SOPHIA.

Does not hear a word you ſay to him.

MEADOWS.

You'll let me go to bed then? Upon my ſoul, it gives me pain to part from ſuch good company; but I'm quite weary.

OLD WRONGWOOD.

Ay, poor Gentleman, I pity him, he ſhall have a bed—he has taken the houſe for an inn, I ſuppoſe; a very good joke, faith—ha! ha! ha!

MEADOWS.

Ha! ha! ha! a dev'liſh good ſong, a dev'liſh good ſong indeed; but I can't ſtay to encore it.

Bon repos, bon repos!
Exit Meadows, lighted.
OLD WRONGWARD.
[49]

George, do you go and ſee the Gentleman is taken great care of.

Fiddles behind. Exit Young Wrongward.
OLD WRONGWARD.

Ha! here come the fiddles—come girls, foot it away, I'll ſit up with you an hour extraordinary, and if this confounded gout would give my joints a holiday, I'd have a reel with the youngeſt of you.

A Dance. [Exeunt, rolling off Old Wrongward.

SCENE III.

Enter Sophia, Canteen, and Betſy Bloſſom.
SOPHIA.

So, Captain Meadows's ſervant is your brother, Betſy.

BETSY.

Oh, that was only—he! he!

with affected confuſion.
CANTEEN.

Yes, Ma'am, as Betſy wou'd ſay, that was only to deceive John, your Guardian's privy counſellor.

SOPHIA.

I underſtand you, you are her ſweetheart.

BETSY.
[50]

Oh! dear, your lay'ſhip—you do ſo ſhame one.

SOPHIA.

But how have you proceeded ſince this diſcovery?

BETSY.

Vaſtly clever, I warrant him; he has frightened the butler out of his wits.

CANTEEN.

I threatened him with a proſecution for ſtopping the picture, unleſs he turned King's evidence and informed againſt his maſter—my menaces had the deſired effect, and he is devoted to our ſervice.

SOPHIA.

Very well, don't be out of the way for a moment; I dont know how ſoon we may want you and your evidence—but, as a reward for your and Betſy's ſervices, whenever you have her conſent, I will give her a portion.

Exit.
BETSY.

I thank your ladyſhip, I'm ſure I do.

CANTEEN.

Now is my freedom gone.

BETSY.

What, you won't marry me?

CANTEEN.
[51]

Elſe how ſhou'd I loſe my freedom?

BETSY.

I dont know what you mean, Mr. Canteen, by loſing your freedom; but, if I thought you loſt any thing when you married me, I wou'dn't have you for all my love to you.

CANTEEN.

Pho! pho! you little fool, by giving up my freedom, I mean, I give up my heart into your poſſeſſion for life.

BETSY.

Do you? Then, by goſh! you ſhall have my heart for life inſtead of it.

Exeunt.
SCENE changes to a Bed-chamber. Enter Meadows followed by a Chambermaid with lights.
MAID.

This is my young Lady's apartment; and you muſt not ſtay here.

MEADOWS.

My good girl, you needn't give yourſelf the trouble, I never have my bed warmed.

MAID.

I didn't come to warm your bed—I want you to get out of the room.

MEADOWS.
[52]

No, no, it's a bad cuſtom; good night to you.

MAID.

Odds my life but he'd provoke a ſaint,

(very loud.)

I tell you again and again that this is my young Lady's room, and you muſt quit it.

MEADOWS.

A ſack poſſet! I'll not taſte it. Come let me lock my door, for I muſt be ſtirring early.

She gets between him and the door.
MAID.

The Devil a door do you lock here to-night.

MEADOWS.

Ah! you wanton young baggage, I underſtand you; but all thoſe days are over with me.

MAID.

Oh, Lord! what has the old naſty fellow got into his head now?

MEADOWS.

But come, we'll have one ſmack, and then bon ſoir.

MAID.

Help, help, murder!

Offers to kiſs her.
[53] Enter Servants.
1ſt SERVANT.

What's the matter, Sally?

MAID.

This old villain was going to ruinate me.

2d SERVANT.

I wiſh he was out of the houſe; I wonder my maſter gave him a bed.

MEADOWS.

You'll take care to call me early.

2d SERVANT.

Damn me! if I call you.

3d SERVANT.

It's a ſhame for a man at your years to behave ſo.

MAID.

Ay, an old man like you, with one foot in the grave.

MEADOWS.

You are m1ſtaken, my dear, I can get up as well as any young fellow in England.—I am a mighty good riſer, I muſt mount carly, therefore call me by five.

2d SERVANT.

We may as well talk to a ſtone wall.

MAID.
[54]

I ſhall loſe my place for this.

MEADOWS.

You needn't wait for the light.

Sits down as if to undreſs.
2d SERVANT.

Wait for the light! Damn me! if I had my will, but I'd darken your lights for you, and leave you to grope your way out of the houſe.

MEADOWS.

Why, I believe, that's the ſafeſt way, ſo bring me an extinguiſher; you're a good natur'd lad, and I'll remember you for this.

WILLIAM.

If I cou'd write, I'd make him underſtand me at once.—Can you write, Joe?

2d SERVANT.

I can chalk main well, but nobody can underſtand it except myſelf.

WILLIAM.

Why you, Bob, went to ſchool, I know.

3d SERVANT.

Ay, but it's ſo long ago, I forgot all my larning: I'll make my mark, if you pleaſe.

MAID.
[55]

And it's my misfortune to neither read nor write

WILLIAM.

'Sdeath and fire, he's undreſſing! we muſt do ſomethign immediately.

[Meadows lays down a caſe of large piſtols.
2d SERVANT.

What ſwinging piſtols he has!

MEADOWS.

Lay you there, my good friends—I hope I ſhan't have the ſame need for you here as at the laſt inn where I lay.

2d SERVANT.

Do you hear that?

MEADOWS.

I am ſorry I ſhot the oſtler and kitchen maid, I own; but what am I to think of people who come into my room after I am in bed?

ALL SERVANTS.

Oh! the bloody minded old rogue!

MEADOWS.

I know the advantages which may be taken of my deafneſs, and am determined to ſecure myſelf.

WILLIAM.
[56]

I am determined to do the ſame, and ſo good night.

runs off.
2d SERVANT.

I'll ſtay no longer.

Exit.
3d SERVANT.

Oh! if I am hindmoſt, may I be ſhot like the poor oſtler and kitchen maid!

Exit.
MAID.

And may I be burnt if I ſtay to be ſhot!

Exit.
MEADOWS.

Oh, Fortune, auſpicious to my warmeſt hopes! —Now cou'd I but ſee, and converſe one moment with my Sophia.—Ha! yonder comes a light—'tis ſhe—'tis ſhe herſelf, my adorable Sophia.

Enter Sophia.
SOPHIA.

I am come to tell you to lock yourſelf in immediately— to-morrow I'll ſpeak to you—it is dangerous for us to continue a moment together.

MEADOWS.

But isn't to-morrow to be your wedding-day? am I not to loſe you for ever to-morrow?

SOPHIA.
[57]

No, Meadows, I am now ſatisfied of your honour and my guardian's villany; a plot has been juſt diſcovered to me, will aſtoniſh you— To-morrow I will quit this houſe, and put myſelf under yonr protection.

MEADOWS.

My love, my life! you tranſport me.

Falls upon his knees and kiſſes her hand.
Enter Young Wrongward.
YOUNG WRONGWARD.

He ſhall leave the houſe to-night.—Ha! what do I ſee?

SOPHIA aſide.

It's all over, and I may as well throw off the maſk now as to-morrow.

Old Wrongward roll'd in.
OLD WRONGWARD.

He deſerves a horſe-pond inſtead of a good bed.

MEADOWS.

I ſhou'd prefer a good bed notwithſtanding, Mr. Wrongward.

OLD WRONGWARD.
[58]

Why he has got his hearing.

MEADOWS.

Yes, Sir, and my feeling too, of reſentment for the baſe advantage you took of me and this young lady.

OLD WRONGWARD.

Advantage! who the devil are you?

MEADOWS.

Can't you diſcover Meadows under this diſguiſe? that man whom you have ſo much injured?

OLD WRONGWARD,

Meadows! this is curſed unlucky—but, George, we muſt get him out of the houſe as faſt as poſſible.

CANTEEN without.
CANTEEN.

If you don't come by fair means, I'll lay you by the heels, and force you into court.

Enter Canteen, John, and Betſy.
YOUNG WRONGWARD.

All, I fear, is diſcover'd.

OLD WRONGWARD.
[59]

Eh! who is that fellow got hold of John?

CANTEEN.

Let his worſhip know, John; or I ſhall be committed for an aſſault, in the very act of thief-taking.

JOHN.

Why, Sir, if I muſt ſpeak, it is you and my young maſter have brought me to this diſgrace.

OLD WRONGWARD.

Who, I and my Son? why the fellow has loſt his wits—or elſe he is drunk—take him to bed, I hate a drunkard.

JOHN.

Lies won't do now, I muſt ſpeak truth, or ſuffer for it—Captain Meadows, I humbly aſk your forgiveneſs, but ev'ry letter you ſent to Miſs Sophia, I ſtopt, by the poſitive orders of both my maſters.

CANTEEN.

It's all very true, Sir, and amongſt the reſt, he ſtop'd the miniature you ſent Miſs Sophia, by which he was diſcovered—for the ugly dog had the impudence to attempt to paſs it upon my Betſy, here, for his own proper likeneſs.

YOUNG WRONGWARD.
[60]

Out of my ſight, raſcal—come Sophia, I am ſorry you have been d1ſturbed—Captain, you may have a bed, if you pleaſe.

MEADOWS.

No, Sir, I ſhall quit your houſe, and take my Sophia with me.

Takes her by the hand.
OLD WRONGWARD.

What, would you ſteal a ward from her guardian?

YOUNG WRONGWARD.

Nay, if you proceed to force, make a priſoner of her—take the conſequence.

Draws.
MEADOWS.

She has been long a priſoner, Sir, in a place ſhe diſlikes; but here is my habeas for her removal.

(Pulls out a piſtol.)

So, as you reſpect the law, gentlemen, ſtand by.

OLD WRONGWARD.

Roll me out of the way; I ſhall be ſhot, or run through, between them.

YOUNG WRONGWARD.

What, have I no aſſ1ſtance? where are all my ſervants?

OLD WRONGWARD.
[61]

George, a word with you, George, this is a very ugly ſtory, and we had better make the beſt of it.

YOUNG WRONGWARD.

What, Sir, will you acquieſce in your diſhonour?

MEADOWS.

Good night; you ſhall hear from me.

Going.
OLD WRONGWARD.

Stay, Captain; I have ſomething to propoſe to you.

YOUNG WRONGWARD.

I perceive what you intend, but I will not ſtay to be a witneſs of your weakneſs, and my own ſhame—I ſhall take other ſteps to right myſelf.

Exit.
OLD WRONGWARD.

You ſee what an obſtinate boy he is: but I won't croſs your inclinations, Sophia; you have my conſent.—This is always my way, when I can't help it.

(Aſide.)
MEADOWS.
[62]

I take you at your word, Sir; but to-morrow will put your ward under the protection of the law, for I will never take advantage of her partiality in my favour, until ſhe is at full liberty to chooſe for herſelf.

True love a jealous delicacy knows,
And ſlights all dower, but what the heart beſtows.
FINIS.
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Zitationsvorschlag für dieses Objekt
TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 3610 The deaf lover a farce in two acts as performed at the Theatre Royal Covent Garden Written by F Pilon. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-6032-F