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WHAT we muſt ALL come to A COMEDY In TWO ACTS, As it was intended to be ACTED at the THEATRE-ROYAL in COVENT-GARDEN.

—Otium et oppidi
Laudat rura ſui—
HOR.
—Nugae ſeria ducent
In mala—
HOR.

LONDON, Printed for P. VAILLANT, facing Southampton-ſtreet, in the Strand. MDCCLXIV.

(Price One Shilling.)

Advertiſement.

[]

THE idea of the Character of DRUGGET, in the following piece, was taken from a paper written by Mr. POPE, and publiſhed in the Guardian, No. 173. The reader will perceive ſome ſtrictures of true humour from thence inſerted in this little Comedy. The violent differences between Sir Charles and Lady Rackett about a trifle, and the renewal of thoſe differences by venturing, after they had ſubſided, to reſume the object in thorough good humour, are, it is conceived, founded in Nature, becauſe ſimilar incidents often occur in real life. To ſhew the paſſions thus frivolouſly agitated, and to point out the ridicule ſpringing from their various turns and ſhiftings, was the main drift of the enſuing ſcenes. But ſome people were determined not to hear, and the Author could not be induced by any private motives to ſend the Performers a ſecond time into ſo painful a ſervice as that of the Stage always is, when a few are unwilling to be entertained.

Dramatis Perſonae.

[]
MEN.
  • Sir CHARLES RACKETT, Mr. DYER.
  • DRUGGET, Mr. SHUTER.
  • LOVELACE, Mr. CUSHING.
  • WOODLEY, Mr. WHITE.
WOMEN.
  • Lady RACKETT, Miſs ELLIOT.
  • Mrs. DRUGGET, Mrs. PITT.
  • NANCY, Miſs HALLAM.
  • DIMITY, Mrs. GREEN.

A Servant, &c.

WHAT we muſt ALL come to.

[1]

ACT I.

Enter WOODLEY and DIMITY.
Dimity.

PO! Po!—no ſuch thing—I tell you, Mr. Woodley, you are a mere novice in theſe affairs.

Wood.

Nay, but liſten to reaſon. Mrs. Dimity—has not your maſter, Mr. Drugget, invited me down to his country-houſe, in order to give me his daughter Nancy in marriage; and with what pretence can he now break off?

Dim.

What pretence! — you put a body out of all patience—but go on your own way, Sir; my advice is all loſt upon you.

Wood.

Come now, do me juſtice—have not I fix'd an intereſt in the young lady's heart?

Dim.

An intereſt in a fiddleſtick?—You ought to have made love to the father and [2]mother—what, do you think the way to get a wiſe, is by ſpeaking fine things to the lady you've a fancy for?—That was the practice, indeed, but things are alter'd now—you muſt addreſs the old people, Sir; and never trouble your head about your miſtreſs—None of your letters, and verſes, and ſoft looks, and fine ſpeeches,—"Have compaſſion, thou angelic creature, on a poor, dying"—Pſhaw! ſtuff! nonſenſe! all out of faſhion.—Go your ways to the old Curmudgeon, humour his whims—"I ſhall eſteem it an honour, Sir, to be allied to a gentleman of your rank and taſte." "Upon my word, he's a pretty young gentleman."—Then wheel about to the mother: "Your daughter, Ma'am, is the very model of you, and I ſhall adore her for your ſake." "Here, come hither, Nancy, take this gentleman for better for worſe." "La, Mama, I can never conſent."—"I ſhould not have thought of your conſent—the conſent of your relations is enough: why how now, Huſſey!—So away you go to church, the knot is tied, and you quarrel like contrary elements all the reſt of your lives—that's the way of the world now."

Wood.

But you know, my dear Dimity, the old couple have received every mark of mention from me.

Dim.
[3]

Attention! to be ſure you did not fall aſleep in their company; but what then?—You ſhould have entered into their characters, play'd with their humours, and ſacrificed to their abſurdities.

Wood.

Bat if my temper is too frank—

Dim.

Frank, indeed! I hate the word, except when I receive a letter.—Have not you to do with a rich old ſhopkeeper, retired from buſineſs with an hundred thouſand pounds in his pocket, to enjoy the duſt of the London road, which he calls living in the country—and yet you muſt find fault with his ſituation!—What if he has made a ridiculous gimcrack of his houſe and gardens, you know his heart is ſet upon it; and could not you have commended his taſte? But you muſt be too frank!—"Thoſe walks and alleys are too regular—thoſe evergreens ſhould not be cut into ſuch fantaſtic ſhapes."—And thus you adviſe a poor old mechanic, who delights in every thing that's monſtrous, to follow nature—Oh, you're likely to be a ſucceſsful lover!

Wood.

But why ſhould not I ſave a father-in-law from being a laughing-ſtock?

Dim.

Make him your father-in-law firſt—

Wood.

Why he can't open his windows for the duſt—he ſtands all day looking thro' a pane of glaſs; and he calls that living in the freſh air, and enjoying his own thoughts.

Dim.
[4]

Po! Po!—you have ruin'd yourſelf by talking ſenſe to him; and all your nonſenſe to the daughter won't make amends for it.—And then the mother; how have you play'd your car [...]s in that quarter?—She wants a tinſel man of faſhion for her ſecond daughter—"Don't you ſee

(ſays ſhe)

how happy my eldeſt girl is made by marrying Sir Charles Rackett—Nancy ſhall have a man of quality too."

Wood.

And yet I know Sir Charles Rackett perfectly well.

Dim.

Yes, ſo do I; and I know he'll make his lady wretched at laſt—But what then? You ſhould have humour'd the old folks, —you ſhould have been a talking empty fop, to the good old lady; and to the old gentleman, an admirer of his taſte in gardening. But you have loſt him—he is grown fond of this beau Lovelace, that's here in the houſe with him; the coxcomb ingratiates himſelf by flattery, and you're undone by frankneſs.

Wood.

And yet, Dimity, I won't deſpair.

Dim.

And yet you have reaſon, a million of reaſons—To-morrow is fix'd for the wedding-day; Sir Charles and his lady are to be here this very night—they are engag'd, indeed, at a great rout in town, but they take a bed here, not withſtanding.—The family is fitting up for them; Mr. Drugget will keep ye all up, in the next room there [5]till they arrive—and to-morrow the buſineſs is over—and yet you don't, deſpair!—Huſh!—, hold your tongue; here he comes, and Lovelace with him.—Step this way with me, and, I'll deviſe ſomething, I warrant you.—'Tis enough to vex a body, to ſee an old father and mother marrying their daughter as they pleaſe, in ſpite of all I can do.

Exeunt.
Enter DRUGGET and LOVELACE.
Drug.

And ſo you like my houſe and gardens, Mr. Lovelace.

Love.

Oh! perfectly, Sir; they gratify my taſte of all things. One ſees villas where nature reigns in a wild kind of ſimplicity; but then they have no appearance of art, no art at all.

Drug.

Very true, rightly diſtinguiſh'd:—now mine is all art; no wild nature here; I did it all myſelf.

Love.

What, had you none of the great proficients in gardening to aſſiſt you?

Drug.

Lackaday! no, —ha! ha! I did it all myſelf—I love my garden. The front of my houſe, Mr. Lovelace, is not that very pretty?

Love.

Elegant to a degree!

Drug.

Don't you like the ſun-dial, plac'd juſt by my dining-room windows?

Love.

A perfect beauty!

Drug.
[6]

I knew you'd like it—and the motto is ſo well adapted—Tempus edax, & index rorum. And I know the meaning of it—Time eateth and diſcovereth all things—ha! ha!—pretty, Mr. Lovelace!—I have ſeen people ſo ſtare at it as they paſs by—ha! ha!

Love.

Why now I don't believe there's a nobleman in the kingdom has ſuch a thing.

Drug.

Oh no—they have got into a falſe taſte.—I bought that bit of ground, the ether ſide of the road—and it looks very pretty—I made a duck-pond there, for the lake of the proſpect.

Love.

Charmingly imagin'd!

Drug.

My leaden images are well—

Love.

They exceed ancient ſtatuary.—

Drug.

I love to be ſurpriz'd at the turning of a walk with an inanimate figure, that looks you full in the face, and can ſay nothing to you, while one is enjoying one's own thoughts—ha! ha!—Mr. Lovelace, I'll point out a beauty to you—Juſt by the haw-haw, at the end of my ground, there is a fine Dutch figure, with a ſcythe in his hand, and a pipe in his mouths—that's a jewel, Mr. Lovelace.—

Love.

That eſcap'd me: a thouſand thanks for pointing it out—I obſerve you have two very fine yew-trees before the houſe.

Drug.

Lackaday, Sir! they look uncouth—I have a deſign about them—I intend [7]—ha! ha! it will, be very pretty, Mr. Lovelace—I intendto have them cut into the ſhape of the two giants at Guild-hall—ha! ha!

Love.

Exquiſite!—Why then they won't look like trees,—

Drug.

Oh, no, no—not at all—I won't have any thing in my garden that looks like what it is—ha! ha!

Love.

Nobody underſtands theſe things like you, Mr. Drugget.

Drug.

Lackaday! it's all my delight now—this is what I have been working for. I have a great improvement to make ſtill—I propoſe to have my evergreens cut into fortifications! and then I ſhall have the Moro caſtle, and the Havanna; and then near it ſhall be ſhips of myrtle, failing upon ſeas of box to attack the town: won't that make my place look very rural, Mr. Lovelace?

Love.

Why you have the moſt fertile invention, Mr. Drugget.

Drug.

Ha! ha! this is what I have been working for. I love my garden—but I muſt beg your pardon for a few moments—I muſt ſtep and ſpeak with a famous nurſery-man, who is come to offer me ſome choice things—Do go and join the company, Mr. Lovelace—my daughter Rackett and Sir Charles will be here preſently—I ſhan't go to bed till I ſee 'em—ha! ha! [8]—I did all this myſelf, Mr. Lovelace—this is what I have been working for—I fin'd for Sheriff to enjoy theſe things—ha! ha!

Exit.
Love.

Poor Mr. Drugget! Mynheer Van Thundertentrunck, in his little box at the ſide of a dyke, has as much taſte and elegance.—However, if I can but carry off his daughter, if I can rob his garden of that flower—why then I ſhall ſay, "This is what I have been working for."

Enter DIMITY.
Dim.

Do lend us your aſſiſtance, Mr. Lovelace—you're a ſweet gentleman, and love a good-natur'd action.

Love.

Why how now! what's the matter?

Dim.

My maſter is going to cut the two yew-trees into the ſhape of two devils, I believe; and my poor miſtreſs is breaking her heart for it.—Do, run and adviſe him againſt it—ſhe is your friend, you know ſhe is, Sir.

Love.

Oh, if that's all—I'll make that matter eaſy directly.

Dim.

My miſtreſs will be for ever oblig'd to you; and you'll marry her daughter in the morning.

Love.

Oh, my rhetoric ſhall diſſuade him.

Dim.

And, Sir, put him againſt dealing with that nurſery-man; Mrs. Drugget hates him.

Love.
[9]

Does ſhe?

Dim.

Mortally.

Love.

Say no more, the buſineſs is done.

Exit.
Dim.

If he ſays one word, old Drugget will never forgive him.—My brain was at it's laſt ſhift; but if this plot takes—So, here comes our Nancy.

Enter NANCY.
Nan.

Well, Dimity, what's to become of me?

Dim.

My ſtars! what makes you up, Miſs?—I thought you were gone to bed!

Nan.

What ſhould I go to bed for? only to tumble and toſs, and fret, and be uneaſy—they are going to marry me, and I am frighted out of my wits.

Dim.

Why then you're the only young lady within fifty miles round, that would be frighten'd at ſuch a thing.

Nan.

Ah! if they would let me chuſe for myſelf.

Dim.

Don't you like Mr. Lovelace?

Nan.

My mama does, but I don't; I don't mind his being a man of faſhion, not I.

Dim.

And, pray, can you do better than follow the faſhion?

Nan.

Ah! I know there's a faſhion for dreſſing the hair, and a faſhion for new [10]bonnets—but I never heard of a faſhion for the heart.

Dim.

Why then, my dear, the heart moſtly follows the faſhion now.

Nan.

Does it?—Pray who ſets the faſhion of the heart?

Dim.

All the fine ladies in London, o'my conſcience.

Nan.

And what's the laſt new faſhion, pray?

Dim.

Why to marry any fop, that has a few deceitful agreeable appearances about him; ſomething of a pert phraſe, a good operator for the teeth, and a tolerable taylor.

Nan.

And do they marry without loving?

Dim.

Oh! marrying for love has been a great while out of faſhion.

Nan.

Why then I'll wait till that faſhion comes up again.

Dim.

And then, Mr. Lovelace, I reckon—

Nan.

Pſhaw! I don't like him: he talks to me as if he was the moſt miſerable man in the world, and the confident thing looks ſo pleas'd with himſelf all the while.—I want to marry for love, and not for card-playing—I ſhould not be able to bear the life my ſiſter leads with Sir Charles Rackett—and I'll forfeit my new cap, if they don't quarrel ſoon.

Dim.

I'll be ſworn they will—but what ſay you then to Mr. Woodley?

Nan.
[11]

Ah!—I don't know what to ſay—but I can ſing ſomething that will explain, my mind.

SONG.

I.
WHEN firſt the dear youth paſſing by,
Diſclos'd his fair form to my ſight,
I gaz'd, but I could not tell why;
My heart it went throb with delight.
2.
As nearer he drew, thoſe ſweet eyes
Were with their dear meaning ſo bright,
I trembled, and, loſt in ſurprize,
My heart it went throb with delight.
3.
When his lips their dear accents did try
The return of my love to excite,
I feign'd, yet began to gueſs why
My heart it went throb with delight.
4.
We chang'd the ſtol'n glance, the fond ſmile,
Which lovers alone read aright;
We look'd, and we ſigh'd, yet the while
Our hearts they went throb with delight.
5.
Conſent I ſoon bluſh'd, with a ſigh
My promiſe I ventur'd to plight;
Come, Hymen, we then ſhall know why
Our hearts they go throb with delight.
[12] Enter WOODLEY.
Wood.

My ſweeteſt angel! I have heard all, and my heart overflows with love and gratitude.

Nan.

Ah! but I did not know you was liſtening. You ſhould not have betray'd me ſo, Dimity: I ſhall be angry with you.

Dim.

Well, I'll take my chance for that.—Run both into my room, and ſay all your pretty things to one another there, for here comes the old gentleman—make haſte away.—

Exeunt Woodley and Nancy.
Enter DRUGGET.
Drug.

A forward preſuming coxcomb! Dimity, do you ſtep to Mrs. Drugget, and ſend her hither.

Dim.

Yes, Sir;—It works upon him I ſee.—

Exit.
Drug.

The yew-trees ought not to be cut, becauſe they'll help to keep off the daſt, and I am too near the road already—a ſorry ignorant fop!—When I am in ſo fine a ſituation, and can ſee every carriage that goes by.—And then to abuſe the nurſery-man's rarities!—A finer ſucking pig in lavender, with ſage growing in his belly, was never ſeen!—And yet he wants me not to have it—But have it I will.— [13]There's a fine tree of knowledge too, with Adam and Eve in juniper; Eve's noſe not quite grown, but it's thought in the ſpring will be very forward—I'll have that too, with the ſerpent in ground-ivy—two poets in wormwood—I'll have them both. Ay; and there's a Lord Mayor's feaſt in honeyſuckle; and the whole court of Aldermen in hornbeam: and three modern beaux in jeſſamine, ſomewhat ſtunted: they all ſhall be in my garden, with the Dragon of Wantley in box—all—all—I'll have 'em all, let my wife and Mr. Lovelace ſay what they will—

Enter Mrs. DRUGGET.
Mrs. D.

Did you ſend for me, lovey?

Drug.

The yew-trees ſhall be cut into the giants of Guild-hall, whether you will or not.

Mrs. D.

Sure my own dear will do as he pleaſes.

Drug.

And the pond, tho'you praiſe the green banks, ſhall be wall'd round, and I'll have a little fat boy in marble, ſpouting up water in the middle.

Mrs. D.

My ſweet, who hinders you?

Drug.

Yes, and I'll buy the nurſery-man's whole catalogue—Do you think after retiring to live all the way here, almoſt [14]four miles from London, that I won't do as I pleaſe in my own garden?

Mrs. D.

My dear but why are you in ſuch a paſſion?

Drug.

I'll have the lavender pig, and the Adam and Eve, and the Dragon of Wantley, and all of 'em—and there ſhan't be a more romantic ſpot on the London road then mine.

Mrs. D.

I'm ſure it's as pretty as hands can make it.

Drug.

I did it all myſelf, and I'll do more—And Mr. Lovelace ſhan't have my daughter.—

Mrs. D.

No! what's the matter now, Mr. Drugget?

Drug.

He ſhall learn better manners than to abuſe my houſe and gardens.—You put him in the head of it, but I'll diſappoint ye both—And ſo you may go and tell Mr. Lovelace that the match is quite off.

Mrs. D.

I can't comprehend all this not I—but I'll tell him ſo, if you pleaſe, my dear—I am willing to give myſelf pain, if it will give you pleaſure: muſt I give myſelf pain?—don't aſk me, pray don't.

Drug.

I am reſolv'd, and it ſhall be ſo.

Mrs. D.

Let it be ſo then.

(Cries)

Oh! oh! cruel man! I ſhall break my heart if the match is broke off—if it is not concluded to-morrow, ſend for an undertaker, and bury me the next day.

Drug.
[15]

How! I don't want that neither—

Mrs. D.

Oh! oh!—

Drug.

I am your lord and matter, my dear, but not your executioner—Before George, it muſt never be ſaid that my wife died of too much compliance—Cheer up, my love—and this affair ſhall be ſettled as ſoon as Sir Charles and Lady Rackett arrive.

Mrs. D.

You bring me to life again—you know, my ſweet, what an happy couple Sir Charles and his Lady are—they have been married theſe ſix weeks, and have never had the leaſt difference—Why ſhould not we make our Nancy as happy?

Enter DIMITY.
Dim.

Sir Charles and his Lady, Ma'am.

Mrs. D.

Oh! charming! I'm tranſported with joy!—Where are they? I long to ſee 'em.

Exit.
Dim.

Well, Sir; the happy couple are arriv'd.

Drug.

Yes, they do live happy, indeed.

Dim.

But how long will it laſt?

Drug.

How long! don't forbode any ill, you jade—don't, I ſay—It will laſt during their lives, I hope.

Dim.

Well, mark the end of it—Sir Charles, I know, is gay. and good-humour'd [16]—but he can't bear the leaſt contradiction, no, not in the mereſt triſle.

Drug.

Hold your tongue—hold your tongue.

Dim.

Yes, Sir; I have done;—and yet there is in the compoſition of Sir Charles a certain humour, which, like the flying gout, gives nodiſturbance to the family till it ſettles in the head—When once it fixes there, mercy on very body about him! but here he comes.

Exit,
Enter Sir CHARLES.
Sir Cha.

My dear Sir, I kiſs your hand—but why ſtand on ceremony? to find you up thus late, mortifies me beyond expreſſion.

Drug.

'Tis but once in a way, Sir Charles.

Sir Cha.

My obligations to you are inexpreſſible; you have given me the moſt amiable of girls; our tempers accord like uniſons in muſic.

Drug.

Ah! that's what makes me happy in my old days; my children and my garden are all my care.

Sir Cha.

And my friend Lovelace—he is to have our ſiſter Nancy, I find.

Drug.

Why my wife is ſo minded.

Sir Cha.

Oh, by all means, let her be made happy—A very pretty fellow Lovelace [17]—And as to that Mr.—Woodley I think you call him—he is but a plain underbred, ill-faſhion'd ſort of a—Nobody knows him, he is not one of us—Oh, by all means marry her to one of us.

Drug.

I believe it muſt be ſo—Would you take any refreſhment?

Sir Cha.

Nothing in nature—it is time to retire.

Drug.

Well, well! good night then, Sir Charles—ha! here comes my daughter—good night, Sir Charles.

Sir Cha.

Bon repos!

Drug.
(Going out)

My Lady Rackett, I'm glad to hear how happy you are,

(without)

I won't detain you now—there's your good man waiting for you—good night, my girl.

Sir Cha.

I muſt humour this old putt, in order to be remember'd in his will.

Enter Lady RACKETT.
Lady R.

O la!—I'm quite fatigu'd—I can hardly move—why don't you help me, you barbarous man?

Sir Cha.

There; take my arm—"Was ever thing ſo pretty made to walk."

Lady R.

But I won't be laugh'd at—I don't love you.

Sir Cha.

Don't you?

Lady R.
[18]

No. Dear me! this glove! Why don't you help me off with my glove? pſhaw!—Yow aukward thing, let it alone; you an't fit to be about me, I might as well not be married for any uſe you are of—reach me a chair—You have no compaſſion, for me—I am ſo glad to ſit down—Why do you drag me to routs—You know I hate 'em?

Sir Cha.

Oh! there's no exiſting, no breathing, unleſs one does as other people of faſhion do.

Lady R.

But I'm out of humour, I loſt all my money.

Sir Cha.

How much?

Lady R.

Three hundred.

Sir Cha.

Never fret for that—I don't value three hundred pounds to contribute to your happineſs.

Lady R.

Don't you?—not value three hundred pounds to pleaſe me?

Sir Cha.

You know I don't.

Lady R.

Ah! you fond fool!—but I hate gaming—It almoſt metamorphoſes a woman into a fury—do you know that I was frighted at myſelf ſeveral times to-night—I had an huge oath at the very tip of my tongue.

Sir Cha.

Had ye?

Lady R.

I caught myſelf at it—and ſo I bit my lips—and then I was cramm'd up in a corner of the room with ſuch a ſtrange [19]party at a whiſt-table, looking at black and red ſpots—did you mind 'em?

Sir Cha.

You know I was buſy elſe where.

Lady R.

There was that ſtrange unaccountable woman, Mrs. Nightſhade—She behav'd ſo ſtrangely to her huſband, a poor; inoffenſive, good-natur'd, good ſort of a good for nothing kind of man, —but ſhe ſo teiz'd him—"How could you play that card? Ah, you've a head, and ſo has a pin—You're a numſcull, you know you are—Ma'am, he has the pooreſt head in the world, he does not know what he is about; you know you don't—Ah ſye!—I'm aſham'd of you!"

Sir Cha.

She has ſerv'd to divert you, I ſee.

Lady R.

And then to crown all—there was my Lady Clackit, who runs on with an eternal volubility of nothing, out of all ſeaſon, time, and place—In the very midſt of the game ſhe begins, "Lard, Ma'am, I was apprehenſive I ſhould not be able to wait on your La'ſhip—my poor little dog, Pompey—the ſweeteſt thing in the world, —a ſpade led!—there's the knave—I was fetching a walk, Me'm, the other morning in the Park—a fine froſty morning it was—I love froſty weather of all things—Let me look at the laſt trick—and ſo Me'm, little Pompey—And if your La'ſhip was to ſee the dear creature pinch'd with the froſt, and [20]mincing his ſteps along the Mall—with his pretty little innocent face—I vow I don't know what to play—And ſo, Me'm, while I was talking to Captain Flimſey—Your La'ſhip knows Captain Flimſey—Nothing but rubbiſh in my hand—I can't help it—And ſo, Me'm, five odious frights of dogs beſet my poor little Pompey—the dear creature has the heart of a lion, but who can reſiſt five at once—And ſo Pompey barked for aſſiſtance—the hurt he receiv'd was upon his cheſt—the doctor would not adviſe him to venture out till the wound is heal'd, for fear of an inflammation—Pray what's trumps?"

Sir Cha.

My dear, you'd make a moſt excellent actreſs.

Lady R.

Well, now let's go to bed—but Sir Charles, how ſhockingly you play'd that laſt rubber, when I ſtood looking over you!

Sir Cha.

My love, I play'd the truth of the same.

Lady R.

No, indeed, my dear, you play'd it wrong.

Sir Cha.

Po! nonſenſe! you don't underſtand it.

Lady R.

I beg your pardon, I am allow'd to play better then you.

Sir Cha.

All conceit, my dear, I was perfectly right.

Lady R.
[21]

No ſuch thing, Sir Charles, the diamond was the play.

Sir Cha.

Po! po! ridiculous! the club was the card againſt the world.

Lady R.

Oh, no, no, no, I ſay it was the diamond.

Sir Cha.

Zounds! Madam, I ſay it was the club.

Lady R.

What do you fly into ſuch a paſſion for?

Sir Cha.

'Sdeath and fury, do you think I don't know what I'm about? I tell you once more the club was the judgment of it.

Lady R.

May be ſo—have it your own way

(walks about, and ſings.)
Sir. Cha.

Vexation! you're the ſtrangeſt woman that ever liv'd, there's no converſing with you—Look'ye here, my Lady Rackett—it's the cleareſt caſe in the world, I'll make it plain in a moment.

Lady R.

Well, Sir! ha! ha! ha!

(witha ſneering laugh)
Sir Cha.

I had four cards left—a trump was led—they were ſix—no, no, no, they were ſeven, and we nine—then you know—the beauty of the play was to—

Lady R.

Well, now it's amazing to me, that you can't ſee it—give me leave, Sir Charles—your left hand adverſary had led his laſt trump—and he had before fineſs'd the club, and rough'd the diamond—now if you had put on your diamond—

Sir Cha.
[22]

Zoons! Madam, but we play'd for the odd trick.

Lady R.

And ſure the play for the odd trick—

Sir Cha.

Death and fury! can't you hear me?

Lady R.

Go on, Sir.

Sir Cha.

Zoons, hear me I ſay—will you hear me?

Lady R.

I never heard the like in my life;

(Hums a tune, and walks about fretfully.)
Sir Cha.

Why then you are enough to provoke the patience of a Stoic—(Looks at her, and ſhe walks about, and laughs uneaſily.) Very well, Madam;—You know no more of the game than a hobby-horſe—no more than my coachman.

Lady R.

Ha! ha!—

(takes cut a glaſs, aud ſettles her hair.)
Sir Cha.

You're a vile woman, and I'll not ſleep another night under one roof with you.

Lady R.

As you pleaſe, Sir.

Sir Cha.

Madam it ſhall be as I pleaſe—I'll order my chariot this moment—

(going)

I know how the cards ſhould be play'd as well as any man in England, that let me tell you—

(going)

—And when your family were ſtanding behind counters, meaſuring out tape, and bartering for Whitechapel needles, my anceſtors, my anceſtors, Madam, were ſquandering away [23]whole eſtates at cards; whold eſtates, my Lady Rackett—

(She hums a tune and he looks at her)

—Why then, by all that's dear to me, I'll never exchange another word with you, good, bad, or indifferent—Look'ye, my Lady Rackett—thus it ſtood—the trump being led, it was then my buſineſs—

Lady R.

To ſineſſe the club.

Sir Cha.

Damn it, I have done with you for ever, and ſo you may tell your father.

Exit.
Lady R.

What a paſſion the gentleman's in! ha! ha!

(laughs in a peeviſh manner)

, I promiſe him, I'll not give up my judgment.

Enter Sir CHARLES.
Sir Cha.

My Lady Rackett, look'ye, Ma'am—once more out of pure good-nature—

Lady R.

Sir, I am convinc'd of your goodnature.

Sir Cha.

That, and that only prevails with me to tell you, the club was the play.

Lady R.

Well, be it ſo—I have no objection.

Sir Cha.

It's the cleareſt point in the world—we were niney and—

Lady R.

And for that very reaſoh:—you know the club was the beſt in the houſe.

Sir Cha.

There is no ſuch thing as talking to you—You're a baſe woman—I'll part from you for ever; you may live here with [24]your father, and admire his fantaſtical evergreens, till you grow as fantaſtical yourſelf—I'll ſet out for London this inſtant—

(Stops at the door)

The club was not the beſt in the houſe.

Lady R.

How calm you are! Well!—I'll go to bed;—will you come?—you had better—come then—you ſhall come to bed—not come to bed when I aſk you?—Poor Sir Charles!

Looks and laughs, then Exit.
Sir Cha.

That eaſe is provoking.

(Cros;ſes to the oppoſite door, where ſhe went out)

—I tell you the diamond was the play, and I here take my final leave of you—

(walks back, as faſt as be can)

I am reſolv'd upon it, and I know the club was not the beſt in the houſe.

Exit.

ACT II.

Enter DIMITY.
Dimity.

HA! ha! ha! oh! heavens! I ſhall expire in a fit of laughing—This is the modiſh couple that were ſo happy—ſuch a quarrel as they have had—the whole houſe is in an uproar—ha! ha! A rare proof of the happiness they enjoy in high life. I ſhall [25]never hear people of faſhion mention'd again, but I ſhall be ready to die in a fit of laughter—ho! ho! ho!

Enter DRUGGET.
Drug.

Hey! how! what's the matter, Dimity—What am I call'd down ſtairs for?

Dim.

Why there's two people of faſhion—

(Stifles a laugh.)
Drug.

Why you ſaucy minx!—Explain this moment.

Dim.

The fond couple have been together by the ears this half hour—are you ſatisfied now?—

Drug.

Ay!—what have they quarrell'd—what was it about?

Dim.

Something above my comprehenſion and your's too, I believe—People in high life underſtand their own forms beſt—And here comes one that can unriddle the whole affair.

Exit.
Enter Sir CHARLES.
Sir Cha.
(To the people within)

I ſay, let the horſes be put-to this moment—So, Mr. Drugget.

Drug.

Sir Charles, here's a terrible buſtle—I did not expect this—what ean be the matter?

Sir Cha.
[26]

I have been us'd by your daughter, in ſo baſe, ſo contemptuous a manner, that I am determin'd not to ſtay in this houſe to-night.

Drug.

This is a thunder-bolt to me! after ſeeing how elegantly and faſhionably you liv'd together, to find new all ſunſhine vaniſh'd—Do, Sir Charles, let me heal this breach, if poſſible.

Sir Cha.

Sir, 'tis impoſſible—I'll not live with her a day longer.

Drug.

Nay, nay, don't be over haſty, —let me intreat you, go to bed and ſleep upon it—in the morning when you're cool—

Sir Cha.

Oh, Sir, I am very cool, I aſſure—ha! ha!—it is not in her power, Sir, to—to—a—a—to diſturb the ſerenity of my temper—Don't imagine that I'm in apaſſion—I'm not ſo eaſily ruffled as you may imagine—But quietly and deliberately. I can reſent ill uſage—I can repay the injuries done me by a falſe, ungrateful, deceitful wife, with the ſeverity, and at the ſame time with the compoſure of an old judge, harden'd in his office—That man, am, I, Sir.

Drug.

The injuries done you by a treacherous wife!—my daughter I hope—

Sir Cha.

Her character is now fully known to me—ſhe's a vile woman! that's all I have to ſay, Sir.

Drug.
[27]

Hey! how!—a vile woman—what has ſhe done—I hope ſhe is not capable—

Sir Cha.

I ſhall enter into no detail, Mr. Drugget, the time and circumſtances won't allow it at preſent—But depend upon it I have done with her—a low, unpoliſh'd, uneducated, falſe, impoſing—See if the horſes are put-to.

Drug.

Mercy on me! in my old days to hear this.

Enter Mrs. DRUGGET.
Mrs. D.

Deliver me! I am all over in ſuch a tremble—Sir Charles, I ſhall break my heart if there's any thing amiſs.

Sir Cha.

Madam, I am very ſorry for your ſake—but there is no poſſibility of living with her.

Mrs. D.

My poor dear girl! What can ſhe have done?

Sir Cha.

What all her ſex can do, the very ſpirit of them all.

Drug.

Ay! ay! ay!—She's bringing ſoul diſgrace upon us—This comes of her marrying a man of faſhion.

Sir Cha.

Faihion, Sir!—That ſhould have inſtructed her better—She might have been ſenſible of her happineſs—Whatever you may think of the fortune you gave her, my rank in life, claims reſpect—claims obedience, [28]attention, truth, and love, from one raiſed in the world as ſhe has been by an alliance with me.

Drug.

And let me tell you, however you may eſtimate your quality, my daughter is dear to me.

Sir Cha.

And, Sir, my character is dear to me.

Drug.

Yet you muſt give me leave to tell you—

Sir Cha.

I won't hear a word.

Drug.

Not in behalf of my own daughter?

Sir Cha.

Nothing can excuſe her—'tis to no purpoſe—She has married above her; and if that circumſtance makes the Lady forget herſelf, ſhe at leaſt ſhall ſee that I can and will ſupport my own dignity.

Drug.

But, Sir, I have a right to aſk—

Mrs. D.

Patience, my dear, be a little calm.

Drug.

Mrs. Drugget, do you have patience, I muſt and will enquire.

Mrs. D.

Don't be ſo haſty, my love; have ſome reſpect for Sir Charles's rank; don't be violent with a man of his faſhion.

Drug.

Hold your tongue, woman, I ſay—you're not a perſon of faſhion at leaſt—My daughter was ever a good girl.

Sir Cha.

I have found her out.

Drug.

Oh! then it's all over—and it does not ſignify arguing about it.

Mrs. D.
[29]

That ever I ſhould live to ſee this hour!

Sir Cha.

I know her thoroughly—and there is no ſuch thing as being connected with her a moment longer.

Mrs. D.

How the unfortunate girl could take ſuch wickedneſs in her head, I can't imagine—I'll go and ſpeak to the unhappy creature this moment.

Exit.
Sir Cha.

She ſtands detected now—detected in her trueſt colours.

Drug.

Well, grievous as it may be, let me hear the circumſtances of this unhappy buſineſs.

Sir Cha.

Mr. Drugget, I have not leiſure now—but her behaviour has been ſo exaſperating, that I ſhall make the beſt of my way to town—My mind is fixed—She ſees me no more, and ſo, your ſervant, Sir.

Exit.
Drug.

What a calamity has here befallen us! as good a girl, and as well diſpos'd till the evil communication of high life, and faſhionable vices, turn'd her to folly.

Enter LOVELACE.
Love.

Joy! joy! Mr. Drugget, I give you joy.

Drug.

Don't inſult me, Sir—I deſire you won't.

Love.
[30]

Inſult you, Sir!—is there any thing inſulting, my dear Sir, if I take the liberty to congratulate you on—

Drug.

There! there!—the manners of high life for you—He thinks there's nothing in all this—the ill behaviour of a wife he thinks an ornament to her character—Mr. Lovelace, you ſhall have no daughter of mine.

Love.

My dear Sir, never bear malice—I have reconſider'd the thing, and curſe catch me if I don't think your notion of the Gulid-hall giants, and the court of Aldermen in hornbeam—

Drug.

Well! well! well! there may be people of the court end of the town in hornbeam too.

Love.

Yes, faith, ſo there may—and I believe I could recommend you a tolerable collection—however, with your daughter I am ready to venture.

Drug.

But I am not ready—I'll not venture my girl with you—no more daughters of mine ſhall have their minds deprav'd by polite vices.

Enter WOODLEY.

Mr. Woodley—you ſhall have Nancy to your wife, as I promis'd you—take her tomorrow morning.

Wood.
[31]

Sir, I have not words to expreſs—

Love.

What the devil is the matter with the old haberdaſher now?

Drug.

And hark ye, Mr. Woodley—I'll make you a preſent for your garden, of a coronation dinner in greens, with the champion riding on horſeback, and the ſword will be full grown before April next.

Wood.

I ſhall receive it, Sir, as your favour.

Drug.

Ay, ay! I ſee my error in wanting an alliance with great folks—I had rather have you, Mr.Woodley, for my ſon-in-law, than any courtly fop of 'em all. Is this man gone!—Is Sir Charles Rackett gone?

Wood.

Not yet;—he makes a bawling yonder for his horſes—I'll ſtep and call him to you.

Exit.
Drug.

I am out of all patience—I am out of my ſenſes, —I muſt ſee him once more—Mr. Lovelace, you nor no perſon of faſhion, ſhall ruin another daughter of mine.

Exit.
Love.

Droll this!—damn'd droll! And every ſyllable of it Arabic to me—the queer old putt is as whimſical in his notions of life as of gardening. If this be the caſe—I'll bruſh, and leave him to his exotics.

Exit.
[32] Enter Lady RACKETT, Mrs. DRUGGET, and DIMITY.
Lady R.

A cruel barbarous man! to quarrel in this unaccountable manner; to alarm the whole houſe, and expoſe me and himſelf too.

Mrs. D.

Oh! child! I never thought it would have come to this—your ſhame won't end here; it will be all over St. James's pariſh by to-morrow morning.

Lady R.

Well, if it muſt be ſo, there's one comfort, the ſtory will tell more to his diſgrace than mine.

Dim.

As I'm a ſinner, and ſo it will, Madam. He deſerves what he has met with, I think.

Mrs. D.

Dimity, don't you encourage her—No, no, no, my dear child, the disgrace will be all your own.

Lady R.

Will it?—I am ſure I ſhan't bluſh for any thing that has paſt—I know a little more of the world than that comes to.

Mrs. D.

You ſhock me to hear you ſpeak ſo—I did not think you had been ſo harden'd.

Lady R.

Harden'd do you call it?—I have Iiv'd in the world to very little purpoſe, if ſuch trifles as theſe are to diſturb my reſt.

Mrs. D.
[33]

You wicked girl!—Do you call it a trifle to be guilty of falſhood to your huſband's bed?

Lady R.

How!—

(Turns ſhort, and ſlares at her.)
Dim.

That! that's a mere trifle indeed—I have been in as good places as any body, and not a creature minds it now, I'm ſure.

Mrs. D.

My Lady Rackett, my Lady Rackett, I never could think to ſee you come to this deplorable ſhame.

Lady R.

Surely the baſe man has not been capable of laying any thing of that ſort to my charge—

(Aſide.)

All this is unaccountable to me—hai ha!—'tis ridiculous beyond meaſure.

Dim.

That's right, Madam:—Laugh at it—you ſerv'd him right.

Mrs. D.

Charlotte! Charlotte! 'm aſtoniſh'd at your wickedneſs.

Lady R.

Well, I proteſt and vow I don't comprehend all this—has Sir Charles accus'd me?

Mrs. D.

Oh! too true he has—he has found you out, and you have behav'd baſely he ſays.

Lady R.

Madam!

Mrs. D.

You have fallen into frailty like many others of your ſex, he ſays, and he is reſolv'd to come to a ſeparation directly.

Lady R.

Why then if he is ſo baſe a wretch as to diſhonour me in that manner, his heart ſhall ake before I live with him again.

Dim.
[34]

Hold to that, Ma'am, and let his head ake into the bargain.

Mrs. D.

Oh! what ſhall I do? it is all too true I find.

Lady R.

True!—'tis falſe as ſcandal, and the vileſt calumny that ever was invented.

Dim.

Po! never go to deny it—own it Ma'am.

Lady R.

Stand away;—don't talk to me—Sir Charles! Sir Charles!—Pray, Madam, let Mr. Woodley have my ſiſter—I am unfortunate ever to have ſeen ſo vile a ſlanderer—is it poſſible that he could have talked thus meanly of me?

Mrs. D.

Your poor father heard it as well as me.

Lady R.

Then let your doors be open'd for him this very moment—let him return to London—if he does not, I'll lock myſelf up, and the falſe one ſhan't approach me, tho' he beg on his knees at my very door—a baſe injurous man!

Exit.
Mrs. D.

Dimity, do let us follow, and hear what ſhe has to ſay for herſelf.

Exit.
Dim.

She has excuſe enough I warrant her—What a noiſe is here indeed!—I have liv'd in polite families, where there was no ſuch baſtie made about nothing.

Exit.
Enter Sir CHARLES, and DRUGGET.
Sir Cha.

Tis in vain Sir, my reſolution is taken—

Drug.
[35]

Well, but conſider, I am her father, —indulge me only till we hear what the girl has to ſay in her defence.

Sir Cha.

She can have nothing to ſay—no excuſe can palliate ſuch behaviour.

Drug.

Don't be too poſitive—there may be ſome miſtake.

Sir Cha.

No miſtake—did not I ſee her, hear her myſelf?

Drug.

Lackaday! I am an unfortunate man!

Sir Cha.

She will be unfortunate too—with all my heart—She may thank herſelf—She might have been happy had ſhe been ſo diſpos'd.

Drug.

Why truly, I think ſhe might.

Enter Mrs. DRUGGET.
Mrs. D.

I wiſh you'd moderate your anger a little—and let us talk over this affair with temper—my daughter denies every tittle of your charge.

Sir Cha.

Denies it! denies it!

Mrs. D.

She does indeed.

Sir Cha.

And that aggravates her fault.

Mrs. D.

She vows you never found her out in any thing that was wrong.

Sir Cha.

So! She does not allow it to be wrong then!—Madam, I tell you again, I know her thoroughly, I ſay I have found her out, and I am now acquainted with her character.

Mrs D.
[36]

Then ycu are in oppoſite ſtories—She ſwears, my dear Mr. Drugget, the poor girl ſwears ſhe never was guilty of the ſmalleſt infidelity to her huſband's bed in her born days.

Sir Cha.

And what then?—What if ſhe does ſay ſo!

Mrs. D.

And if ſhe ſays truly, it is hard her character ſhould be blown upon without juſt cauſe.

Sir Cha.

And is ſhe therefore to behave ill in other reſpects? I never charg'd her with infidelity to me, Madam—there I allow her innocent.

Drug.

And did not you charge her then?

Sir Cha.

No, Sir, 1 never dreamt of ſuch a thing.

Drug.

Why then, if ſhe's innocent, let me tell you, you're a ſcandalous perſon.

Mrs. D.

Prithee, my dear—

Drug.

Be quiet—tho' he is a man of quality, I will tell him of it—did not I fine for ſheriff?—yes, you are a ſcandalous perſon to defame an honeſt man's daughter.

Sir Cha.

What have you taken into your head now?

Drug.

You charg'd her with falſhood to your bed.

Sir Cha.

No—never—never.

Drug.

But I ſay you did—you call'd yourſelf a cuckold—did not he, wife?

Mrs. D.

Yes, Lovey, I'm witneſs.

Sir Cha.
[37]

Po! po! po! no ſuch thing—

Drug.

But I aver you did—

Mrs D.

You did indeed, Sir—

Sir Cha.

But I tell you no—poſitively, no.

Drug. and Mrs. D.

And I ſay yes—poſitively yes—

Sir Cha.

'Sdeath, this is all madneſs—

Drug.

You ſaid you had found her out in the very fact—

Sir Cha.

Mr. Drugget—give me leave, Sir—

Drug.

That ſhe follow'd the ways of moſt of her ſex—

Sir Cha.

I ſaid ſo—and what then?

Drug.

There he owns it—owns that he call'd himſelf a cuckold—and without rhyme or reaſon into the bargain—

Sir Cha.

I never own'd any ſuch thing—

Drug.

You own'd it even now—now—now—now—

Enter DIMITY, in a fit of laughing.
Dim.

What do you think it was all about—ha! ha!—the whole ſecret is come out, ha! ha!—It was all about a game of cards—ha! ha!—

Drug.

A game of cards!—

Dim.

(Laughing)

It was all about a club and a diamond

(runs out laughing.)
Drug.

And was that all, Sir Charles?

Sir Cha.

And enough too, Sir—

Drug.
[38]

And was that what you found her out in?

Sir Cha.

I can't bear to be contradicted, when I'm clear that I'm in the right.

Mrs. D.

Oh!—I underſtand the affair now—this was only one of thoſe polite disputes, which people of quality, who have nothing elſe to differ about, muſt always be liable to.

Drug.

I never heard of ſuch a heap of nonſenſe in all my life—Woodley ſhall marry Nancy.

Mrs. D.

Don't be in a hurry, my love, this will be all made up.

Drug.

Why does not he go and aſk her pardon then?

Sir Cha.

I beg her pardon! I won't debaſe myſelf to any of you—I ſhan't forgive her, you may reſt aſſur'd—

Exit.
Drug.

Now there—there's a pretty fellow for you—

Mrs. D.

I'll ſtep and prevail on my Lady Rackett to ſpeak to him—then all will be well.

Exit.
Drug.

A ridiculous fop! I'm glad it's no worſe however.

Enter NANCY.

So Nancy—you ſeem in confuſion, my girl!

Nan.

How can one help it?—With all this noiſe in the houſe, and you're going to [39]marry me as ill as my ſiſter—I hate Mr. Lovelace.

Drug.

Why ſo child?

Nan.

I know theſe people of quality deſpiſe us all out of pride, and would be glad to marry us out of avarice.

Drug.

The girl's right.

Nan.

They marry one woman, live with another, and love only themſelves.

Drug.

And then quarrel about a card.

Nan.

I don't want to be a gay lady—I want to be happy.

Drug.

And ſo you ſhall—don't fright yourſelf, child—ſtep to your ſiſter, bid her make herſelf eaſy—go, and comfort her, go—

Nan.

Yes, Sir.

Exit.
Drug.

I'll ſtep and ſettle the matter with Mr. Woodley this moment.

Exit.
Enter Sir CHARLES, with a pack' of cards in his hand.
Sir Cha.

Never was any thing like her behaviour—I can pick out the very cards I had in my hand, and then 'tis as plain as the ſun—there—now—there—no—damn it—no—there it was—now let's ſee—They had four by honours—and we play'd for the odd trick—damnation! honours were divided—ay!—honours were divided—and then a trump was led—and the other ſide had the—confuſion!—this prepoſterous woman has [40]put it all out of my head

(puts the cards into his pocket.)

Mighty well, Madam; I have done with you.

Enter Mrs. DRUGGET.
Mrs. D.

Come, Sir Charles, let me prevail—come with me and ſpeak to her.

Sir Cha.

I don't deſire to ſee her face.

Mrs. D.

If you were to ſee her all bath'd in tears, I am ſure it would melt your very heart.

Sir Cha.

Madam, it ſhall be my fault if ever I'm ſo treated again—I'll have nothing to ſay to her

(going, ſtops)

does ſhe give up the point?

Mrs. D.

She does, ſhe agrees to an thing.

Sir Cha.

Does ſhe allow that the club was the play?

Mrs. D.

Juſt as you pleaſe—She's all ſubmiſſion.

Sir Cha.

Then I'll ſtep and ſpeak to her—I never was clearer in any thing in my life.

Exit.
Mrs. D.

Lord love 'em, they'll make it up now—and then they'll be as happy as ever.

Exit.
Enter NANCY.
Nan.

Well! they may talk what they will of taſte, and genteel life—I don't think it's natural—give me Mr. Woodley—La! there's that odious thing coming this way.

[41] Enter LOVELACE.
Love.

My charming little innocent, I have not ſeen you theſe three hours.

Nan.

I have been very happy theſe three hours.

Love.

My ſweet angel, you ſeem diſconcerted—And you neglect your pretty figure—no matter for the preſent; in a little time I ſhall make you appear as graceful and genteel as your ſiſter.

Nan.

That is not what employs my thoughts, Sir.

Love.

Ay, but my pretty little dear, that, ſhou'd engage your attention—to ſet off and adorn the charms that nature has given you, ſhould be the buſineſs of your life.

Nan.

Ah! but I have learnt a new ſong that contradicts what you ſay, and tho' I am not in a very good humour for ſinging, yet you ſhall hear it.

Love.

By all means;—dont check your fancy—I am all attention.

Nan.

It expreſſes my ſentiments, and when you have heard them you won't teize me any more.

SONG.

I.
TO dance, and to dreſs, and to flaunt it about,
To run to Park, play, to aſſembly and rout,
[42]To wander for ever in whim's giddy maze,
And one poor hair torture a million of ways,
To put, at the glaſs, ev'ry feature to ſchool,
And practiſe their art on each fop and each fool,
Of one thing to think, and another to tell,
Theſe, theſe are the manners of each giddy belle.
2.
To ſmile, and to ſimper, white teeth to diſplay;
The time in gay follies to trifle away;
Againſt ev'ry virtue the boſom to ſteel,
And only of dreſs the anxieties feel;
To be at Eve's ear, the inſidious decoy,
The pleaſure ne'er taſte yet the miſchief enjoy,
To boaſt of ſoft raptures they never can know,
Theſe, theſe are the manners of each giddy beau.
Exit.
Love.

I muſt have her notwithſtanding this—for tho' I am not in love, yet I'm in debt.

Enter DRUGGET.
Drug.

So, Mr. Lovelace! any news from above-ſtairs? Is this abſurd quarrel at an end—have they made it up?

Love.

Oh! a mere bagatelle, Sir—theſe little fracas among the better ſort of people never left long—elegant trifles cauſe elegant diſputes, and we come together elegantly again—as you ſee—for here they come, in perfect good humour.

[43] Enter Sir CHARLES and Lady RACKETT, Mrs. DRUGGET.
Sir Cha.

Mr. Drugget, I embrace you, Sir; you ſee me now in the moſt perfect harmony of ſpirits.

Drug.

What, all reconcil'd again?

Lady R.

All made up, Sir—I knew how to bring the gentleman to—this is the firſt difference, I think we ever had, Sir Charles.—

Sir Cha.

And I'll be ſworn it ſhall be the laſt.

Drug.

I am at eaſe again—Sir Charles, I can ſpare you an image to put on the top of your houſe in London.

Sir Cha.

Infinitely oblig'd to you.

Mrs. D.

My dear, they are as happy now as two intriguing ducks in our pond yonder—You'll give Nancy, to Mr. Lovelace?

Sir Cha.

Oh, to be ſure, my friend Lovelace muſt be the man.

Lady R.

And then my ſiſter and I ſhall be near neighbours, and we ſhall ſo rival each other in the beau monde.

Drug.

Well! well! I believe it muſt be ſo—we'll talk of theſe matters in the morning—It's time to retire now—I am glad to ſee you happy again—and now I'll wiſh you a good night, Sir Charles—Mr. Lovelace, [44]this is your way—fare ye well both—I am glad your quarrels are at an end—This way, Mr. Lovelace—come, come my dear—come, we'll go and take care of one another.

Exeunt Lovelace, Drugget, and Mrs. Drugrret.
Lady R.

Ah! your a ſad man, Sir Charles, to behave to me as you have done—

Sir Cha.

My dear, I grant it—and ſuch an abſurd quarrel too—ha! ha!

Lady R.

Yes—ha! ha!—about ſuch a trifle—

Sir Cha.

It's pleaſant how we could both fall into ſuch an error—ha! ha!—

Lady R.

Ridiculous beyond expreſſion, —ha! ha!

Sir Cha.

And then the miſtake your father and mother fell into—ha! ha!

Lady R.

That too is a diverting part of the ſtory—ha! ha! but Sir Charier, muſt I I ſtay and live with my father till I grow as fantaſtical as his own evergreens?

Sir Cha.

No, no, prithee—don't remind me of my folly.

Lady R.

Ah! my relations were all ſtanding behind counters ſelling Whitechapel needles, while your family were ſpending great eſtates.

Sir Cha.

Nay, nay, ſpare my bluſhes.

Lady R.

How could you ſay ſo low a thing?—I don't love you.

Sir Cha.

It was indelicate I grant it.

Lady R.
[45]

Am I a vile woman?

Sir. Cha.

How can you, my angel?

Lady R.

I ſhan't forgive you!—I'll have you on your knees for this.

(Sings and plays with him.)

—("Go, naughty man")—Ah! Sir Charles—

Sir Cha.

The reſt of my life ſhall aim at convincing you how ſincerely I love—

Lady R.
(Sings)

"Go, naughty man, I can't abide you"—Well! come let us go to reſt

(Going.)

Ah, Sir Charles!—now it's all over, the diamond was the play—

Sir Cha.

Oh no, no, no, —my dear! ha! ha!—It was the club indeed—

Lady R.

Indeed, my love, you're miſtaken—

Sir Cha.

Oh, no, no, no,—

Lady R.

But I ſay, yes, yes, yes—

(Both laughing.)
Sir Cha.

Pſhaw, no ſuch thing—ha! ha!—

Lady R.

'Tis ſo, indeed—ha! ha!—

Sir Cha.

No—no—no—you'll make me die with laughing—

Lady R.

Ay, and you make me laugh too—ha! ha!

(Toying with him.)
Enter FOOTMAN.
Footm.

Your honour's cap and ſlippers—

Sir Cha.

Ay, give me my night cap—and here, take theſc ſhoes off

(He takes 'em off, and leaves 'em at a diſiance)

Indeed my [46]Lady Rackett, you make me ready to expire with laughing—ba! ha!—

Lady R.

You may laugh—but I'm right notwithſtanding—

Sir Cha.

How can you ſay ſo?

Lady R.

How can you ſay otherwiſe?

Sir Cha.

Well now mind me, my Lady Rackett—We can now talk of this matter in good humour—

Lady R.

So we can—and it's for that reaſon I venture to ſpeak to you—are theſe the ruffles I bought for you?

Sir Cha.

They are, my dear.

Lady R.

They are very pretty—but indeed you play'd the card wrong—

Sir Cha.

Po, there is nothing ſo clear—if you will but hear me—only hear me—

Lady R.

Ah!—but do you hear me—the thing was thus—your club being the beſt in the houſe—

Sir Cha.

How can you talk ſo!—

(Somewhat peeviſh.)
Lady R.

See there now—

Sir Cha.

Now ſee—this was the affair—

Lady R.

Pſhaw! fiddleſtick! hear me firſt.

Sir Cha.

Po—no—damn it—let me ſpeak—

Lady R.

Well, to be ſure you're a ſtrange man—

Sir Cha.

Plague and torture!—there is no ſuch thing as converſing with you—

Lady R.
[47]

Very well, Sir—fly out again—

Sir Cha.

Look here now—here's a pack of cards—now you ſhall be convinc'd—

Lady R.

You may talk till to-morrow, I know I'm right

(walks about.)
Sir Cha.

Why then by all that's perverſe, you are the moſt headſtrong—Can't you look here now—here are the very cards—

Lady R.

Go on; you'll find it out at laſt—

Sir Cha.

Damn it! will you let a man ſhew you! Po! it's all nonſenſe—I'll talk no more about it—

(Puts up the cards.)

Come, we'll go to bed

(Going.)

Now only ſtay a moment—

(Takes out the cards)

—Now, mind me—ſee here—

Lady R.

No, it does not ſignify—your head will be clearer in the morning—I'll go to bed—

Sir Cha.

Stay a moment, can't ye—

Lady R.

No—my head begins to ake—

(Affectedly.)
Sir Cha.

Why then damn the cards—there—there—

(Throwing the cards about.)

and there, and there—you may go to bed by yourſelf—and confuſion ſeize me, If I live a moment longer with you—

(Putting on his ſhoes again.)
Enter DIMITY.
Dim.

Did you call, Sir?

Sir Cha.

No—never—never—Madam—

Dim.
[48]
(In a fit of laughing)

—What, at it again!

Lady R.

Take your own way, Sir—

Sir Cha.

Now then I tell you once more you are a vile woman.

Dim.

Law! Sir—This is charming!—I'll run and tell the old couple.

Exit.
Sir Cha.
(Still putting on his ſhoes)

—You are the moſt perverſe obſtinate, nonſenſical—

Lady R.

Ha! ha! don't make me laugh again, Sir Charles—

Sir Cha.

Hell and the devil—will you ſit down quietly and let me convince you—

Lady R.

I don't chuſe to hear any more about it—

Sir Cha.

Why then, I believe you are poſſeſs'd—it is in vain to talk ſenſe and reaſon to you—

Lady R.

Thank you for your compliment, Sir—ſuch a man

(With a ſneering laugh)

I never knew the like—

(Sits down.)
Sir Cha.

I promiſe you, you ſhall repent of this uſage—before you have a moment of my company again—it ſhan't be in a hurry you may depend, Madam—Now ſee here—I can prove it to a demonſtration

(Sits down by her, ſhe gets up.)

Lookye there again now—you have the moſt perverſe and peeviſh temper—I wiſh I had never ſeen your face—I wiſh I was a thouſand miles off from you—ſit down but one moment—

Lady R.

I'm diſpos'd to walk about, Sir—

Sir Cha.
[49]

Why then may I periſh if ever—a blockhead—an ideot I was to marry

(Walks about)

ſuch a provoking—impertinent—

(She ſits down.)

—Damnation!—I am ſo clear in the thing—She is not worth my notice—

(Sits down, turns his back, and looks uneaſy.)

I'll take no more pains about it—

(Pauſes for ſome time, then looks at her.)

Is not it very ſtrange, that you won't hear me?

Lady R.

Sir I am very ready to hear you—

Sir Cha.

Very well then—very well—you remember how the game ſtood—I'll write it down and ſend it to Arthur's; and if the beſt judges there—

Lady R.

I wiſh you'd untie my necklace, it hurts me—

Sir Cha.

Why can't you liſten?—

Lady R.

I tell you it hurts me terribly—

Sir Cha.

Death and confuſion!—there is no bearing this—farewell—

Exit.
Enter Mr. and Mrs. DRUGGET, WOODLEY, LOVELACE, and NANCY.
Drug.

What's here to do now?

Lady R.

Never was ſuch a man born—I did not ſay a word to the gentleman—and yet he has been raving about the room like a madman.

Drug.

And about a club again, I ſuppoſe, [50]come hither, Nancy; Mr. Woodley, ſhe is yours for life—

Mrs. D.

My dear, how can you he ſo—

Drug.

It ſhall be ſo—take her for life, Mr. Woodley.

Wood.

My whole life ſhall be devoted to her happineſs—

Love.

The devil! and ſo I am to be left in the lurch in this manner, am I?

Lady R.

Oh! my dear Sir, this is nothing—I have a lure to bring the gentleman back again—

Drug.

Never tell me—it's too late now—Mr. Woodley, I recommend my girl to your care—I ſhall have nothing now to think of, but my greens, and my images, and my ſhrubbery—tho', mercy on all married folks, ſay I!—for theſe wranglings are, I am afraid, What we muſt All come to.

Lady Rackett, coming forward.
WHAT we muſt all come to? What?—Come to what?
Muſt broils and quarrels be the marriage lot?
If that's the wiſe, deep meaning of our poet,
The man's a fool! a blockhead! and I'll ſhew it.
What could induce him in an age ſo nice—
So fam'd for virtue, ſo refin'd from vice,
To form a plan ſo trivial, falſe, and low?
As if a belle could quarrel with a beau:
[51]As if there were—in theſe thrice happy days,
One who from nature, or from reaſon ſtrays!
There's no croſs huſband now; no wrangling wife,—
The man is downright ignorant of life.
'Tis the millennium this—devoid of guile,
Fair gentle Truth, and white-rob'd Candour ſmile.
From every breaſt the forbid love of gold
Is baniſh'd quite—no boroughs now are ſold!
Fray tell me, Sirs—(for I don't know, I vow,)
Pray—is there ſuch a thing as Gaming now?
Do peers make laws againſt that giant Vice,
And then at Arthur's break them in a trice?
No—no—our lives are virtuous all, auſtere and hard;—
Pray, ladies, —do you ever ſee a card?
Thoſe empty boxes ſhew you don't love plays;
The managers, poor ſouls! get nothing now a days.
If here you come—by chance—but once a week,
The pit can witneſs that you never ſpeak:
Penſive Attention ſits with decent mien;
No paint, no naked ſhoulders to be ſeen!
And yet this grave, this moral, pious age,
May learn one uſeful leſſon from the ſtage.
Shun ſtrife, ye fair, and once a conteſt o'er,
Wake to a blaze the dying flame no more—
[52]From fierce debate ſly all the tender Love,
And Venus cries, "Coachman, —Put-to my doves."
The genial bed no blooming Grace prepares,
"And every day becomes a day of cares."
FINIS.
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Citation Suggestion for this Object
TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 4242 What we must all come to A comedy in two acts as it was intended to be acted at the Theatre Royal in Covent Garden. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-5FB2-1