THE PANTHEONITES. A DRAMATIC ENTERTAINMENT
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THE PANTHEONITES. A DRAMATIC ENTERTAINMENT. AS PERFORMED AT THE THEATRE-ROYAL IN THE HAY-MARKET.
LONDON: Printed for J. BELL, near Exeter-Change, in the Strand; and C. ETHERINGTON, at York. MDCCLXXIII.
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE COUNTESS of HERTFORD.
[]AS I flatter myſelf the public will agree in my opinion, that a burleſque of affected gentility, can be no where better addreſſed than to a Lady, whoſe elegant and liberal ideas of life, ornament even Nobi⯑lity, I have ventured this intruſion; which as it proceeds from a profound reſpect for your Ladyſhip's very diſtinguiſhed charac⯑ter, will, I hope, be conſidered in a fa⯑vourable light.
ADVERTISEMENT.
[][]THE Author of this Dramatic ſcrap, having from a fatal, and irreparable event in his family, laboured under a gloom of mind exceedingly diſadvantageous to Comic ideas, has reaſon to fear it wants much of that ſpirit, which a happier ſtate of imagination would have produced; but having promiſed a piece of this kind to Mr. * WESTON, as a performer of ſingular merit, he encountred a taſk rather irkſome, and to get the ſubject out of his way, purſued it with uncommon rapidity; however, from the favourable opinion of ſome judicious friends, hopes it will not be deemed un⯑worthy exiſtence on the ſtage or in the cloſet.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
[]- Sir FRANCIS FAIRLOVE,
- DAN. DRUGGER,
- Mr. WESTON.
- FARMER TILWELL,
- Mr. BANNISTER,
- TIM. TILWELL,
- Mr. FEARON.
- SKINFLINT,
- Mr. GENTLEMAN,
- FRIZEAU,
- Mr. JACOBS.
- DICKEY DRUGGER,
- Miſs FRANCIS.
- SERVANT,
- Mr. FRANCIS.
- Mrs. DEBORAH DRUGGER,
- Mrs. WILLIAMS,
- ANNA,
- Miſs PLATT.
- LISINI,
- Miſs CRAVEN.
SCENE, LONDON.
THE PANTHEONITES.
[]ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE I.
HA! honeſt farmer, well met.
Honeſt farmer! Hey day! what are all you London folks flatterers? Tho' by the bye, I believe I am as honeſt as moſt of my neighbours: Tom Tilwell can lay his hand upon his heart, and ſay he never be⯑lied providence, nor wiſhed a riſe of proviſions in his life.
Hoity toity! if many farmers were of this way of thinking, we cornfactors and ſaleſmen ſhould be ſoon as thin as Pharoah's lean kine—a parcel of poor devils indeed: the fineſt ſcheme in the world, except clipping and coining, would be totally ruined. No, no, Heaven ſend the landlords to raiſe their rents, and the farmers to keep pace with them.—Ah, you don't know the pleaſure and profit we enjoy.
Pleaſure! what, in ſtarving your fellow crea⯑tures?
Starving—no, no, mercy forbid! not ſo bad as that, only lock their jaws a little.
You don't, by appearance, maſter Skinflint, ſeem as if your jaws were much locked.
Me! why, you would not put me on a foot⯑ing with ragged weavers in Spittle-fields, or ſlip-ſhod taylors in Clement Danes.—You don't ſee into the bottom of things.—We are friends to government as well as ourſelves. The Engliſh, maſter Tilwell, Londoners particularly, are, with full bellies, inſolent, grumbling politicians; they pretend to think for themſelves.—Now [3] weaken the beer when you raiſe the price; clip ſhort their beef and pudding; keep proviſions high, and wages low—you have 'em as tame as ſo many pet pigeons.
At this rate your buſineſs is of great uſe.
The greateſt importance, I aſſure you.—We are on the Change-alley plan exactly; as they have at all times letters ready from Dantzig, Hamburgh, the Hague, or an expreſs from India over land, to influence ſtock, ſo we have accounts from every ſhire in England, to keep up the markets.
What then you have correſpondents in all parts of the kingdom.
Not one on that account.—We don't care how things really are; we can make them as we pleaſe.—Why I have burned the uplands with ſun-ſhine, and drowned the low-lands with rain a thouſand times. I was the means of lifting up the peck loaf two-pence laſt week; and have another petition from the bakers to the court of aldermen in my pocket; it's penned in ſuch a lamentable ſtile, that I don't doubt, with one or two more, working up to a ſhilling.
What when there's a fine crop, fine weather for harveſt, and new corn coming in?
No matter for that.—Did not you ſee a para⯑graph of mine in the papers laſt week, that all the old was gone. Yet, would you think it now, for all I take ſo much pains, and make it ſo fine a time for gentlemen of the cruſt, I was obliged to arreſt one of the fraternity yeſterday for a hundred and fifty.
He muſt be a bad manager indeed.
Apes quality—as moſt of our trades-people do now-a-days—keeps a country-houſe, a phae⯑ton, and, for ought I know, a miſtreſs. But I don't ſo much blame him for this, if he had any brains: why the blockhead, in five years trade for himſelf, never had ſenſe enough to make a loaf two or three ounces ſhort; and is ſo plaguy conſcientious, as not to uſe any allum, becauſe its unwholeſome.—Time for me to look ſharp, maſter Tilwell.
But after all, friend Skinflint, though I am a farmer, and may gain by it, I think it hard [5] that there ſhould be plenty and ſcarcity at the ſame time.
Politic, politic.—If all the fiſh that's caught was brought to market, and all the meat that's killed ſold, both would ſoon be a drug. There is one inſtance among many—Mat. Marrow-bone, of Honey-lane market, as pretty a fellow as ever whetted a knife, will frequently, rather than take a halfpenny a pound under the fixed price on Saturday night, tip ten guineas worth into the Thames on Sunday morning. He has ſhow'd me his Thames regiſter, and a ſweet pretty collection of drowned joints there is. However, I adviſed him for the future, to bury all; becauſe, you know, in the water it may feed and increaſe the ſtock of fiſh, which might hurt the fleſh trade. Mat. took the hint—ah, he's a ſenſible ſpirited fellow as ever ſold thirteen ounces for a pound; and can afford to live genteelly.
Well, notwithſtanding what you ſay, I am for peace and plenty. You ſhall hear my thoughts on that ſubject, in a ſong taught me by our vicar, as hearty an old blade as ever wore black, or uſed a tobacco-ſtopper.
SONG.
I like the tune and your ſinging, maſter Til⯑well, [7] but the words are horribly againſt trade; I would not have them ſung in one of our com⯑mittees for ten quarters of wheat.
Committees!
Yes, we have ſeven every week; the fore-ſtalling one meets Sunday afternoon, at Iſling⯑ton, to tax Monday's market at Smithfield; on Monday the ſtaff-of-life committee meet in Mark Lane, to ſettle how much a quarter; on Tueſ⯑day the coal committee, to pray for ſtrong eaſt⯑erly winds three months together the beginning of winter; Wedneſday the provender committee, to ſettle hay, ſtraw, and oats; Thurſday the Billingſgate committee, to price fiſh; Friday the monopolizing committee, to engroſs hops; and on Saturday the brewing committee, to make, as ſoon as poſſible, beer four pence a pot.
Well, ſome of us are bad enough in the country; but here, I find, you famiſh one an⯑other by rule.
Fair game, maſter Tilwell, the public is very fair game. But you don't like the ſubject, I ſee; till you think better of it, we'll change it—I had almoſt forgot to wiſh you joy.
Joy! of what?
Your ſon-in-law, Dan, Drugger's good for⯑tune.
What has he got a good bargain of tobacco?
So I find their hurry and joy have made them forget you.—The lottery ticket you gave your youngeſt daughter Anna, is come up a blank—that to Deborah, your eldeſt, twenty thouſand pounds.
Twenty thouſand pounds!
Certainly; the tobacco trade was given up in three days, a houſe was taken near Groſvenor-Square in three more, a French valet, a French cook, an Italian waiting woman, and a long &c. have been engaged within the laſt week.
You aſtoniſh me! I muſt go immediately to this new ſhop of politeneſs.—Fortune ſeldom grants her favours right, elſe poor Anna, who deſerves ten times as much as Deb. would have had the prize.
Well, I promiſed to call at the Exchequer to day about it—for it muſt be ſold immediately—and I'll meet you at Dan's in leſs than two hours.
A French cook! a French valet! and an Italian waiting woman!—Why good luck has turned the brains of the ideots, if they ever had any, upſide down—But this methodical miniſter of famine; what muſt I think of him? that no monſter in human ſhape can exceed that man who labours to increaſe the miſery, and to prey on the vitals of the poor.
Hollo: Uncle!
What ſignifies that; you think I can do no⯑thing by myſelf—I maunt be in leading-ſtrings all my life—I found the way well enough, and called at our butter merchant's, who gave me two large glaſſes of ſuch rare ſtuff—
As ſeem to have rais'd your ſpirits: well, I am glad you made no blunder.
Blunder! No no. I cannot help laughing to think of the good fortune I have had; but you'll tell nobody?
I can't till I know.
Coming by the great church with the huge round top—
St. Paul's?
Ay, ay; I met with a very fine lady, all ſilks and ſattins, who fell downright in love with me.
How d'ye know?
Becauſe ſhe look'd as if ſhe did; and beſides more, ſhe told me ſhe did.
Very free at firſt ſight!
Free! Oh la, as free as any thing: ſhe aſked me to take a glaſs of wine; I could not for ſhame refuſe her; ſo ſhe told me ſhe was a knight and baronet's daughter, that ſhe would take me to her papa's houſe in ſomething ſquare, but was afraid till ſhe knew how the land lay. [11] Why ſhe told me ſuch things as would make one's hair ſtand an end; about one man flying ten feet high on a rope; another jumping with a ladder like any thing; and another, O la! riding full ſpeed with his head on a pint pot; and other moſt wonderful conjurations.
So you are quite ſure of her?
Sure as if we had been at church together. Sure indeed! Why ſhe gave me her hand, and two hearty ſmacks upon it.
SONG. *
So, ſo; the butter merchant's good ſtuff, with the lady's kindneſs and wine, have made you as merry as a country feaſt at Chriſtmas.—Pray how did you part at laſt?
Why ſhe could not ſtay, but appointed me to [12] meet her to-morrow, preciſely twelve o'clock, at the cap and bells in Knaves-acre.
A moſt excellent direction; pray, nephew, what's a clock now?
A clock? why—oh la! I've loſt my fine eight guinea watch!
Have you ſo? Oh, the lady has only bor⯑row'd it: there are a great many ſuch knight's daughters about this town: perhaps ſhe has made love to your purſe too.
Adſwooks, and ſo ſhe has!
So you had a hearty ſmack for one, and a ſhake by the hand for the other.
Four golden guineas, and a queen Ann's crown piece given me by aunt Tibby. I ſhall never be able to face home again.
Never fear; I'll make all up if you behave well while we are in town, but be ſure to mind.
Mind! I warrant me—four guineas—but now I think on't, three of them were light ones—that's ſome comfort however.
Ha! ha! ha! You won't let care hang long on your mind: Come, we'll ſtep on to your cou⯑ſin Drugger's; I am told ſtrange things of them.
If they are as ſtrange as the knight's daughter, I ſhan't much like to ſtay amongſt them.—Oh, my poor watch and queen Ann's crown.
SCENE II.
Puff, puff, puff,—poo—poo: I ſhall be choak'd—ugh!—ugh!—at this rate of becom⯑ing a fine gentleman, I ſhall be obliged to ſwal⯑low as much flower every day, as would make a tolerable pudding.
Dat is true; but I cannot help it, Sir; Madam Drugger ſay ſhe vil ave your head as vite as von twelve cake.
I know that; but its very hard a man can't catch gentility without having his eyes blinded and his breath ſtopp'd; ſcrape and rub away that I may at leaſt get my ſight again; ſo ſo—there—now pray Mr. Fr—Fr—Fr—what a miſ⯑chief is your name.
Name!—A ha!—I am call Jean, Jaque, Pierre, Louis, Frederique Frizeau.
Frizeau! why there is enough for a whole family!
All perſon in France derive from de nobleſſe have a great many name.
Nobleſſe! What's that?
Vat you call the nobilite! de count, de duke, de baron: My great grandfather was marquis de Soup Maigre.
But a thin ſort of a title that, Mounſieur, a—a—what the plague is it?
Jean, Jaque, Louis, Pierre, Frederique Fri⯑zeau.
Jean, Jaque—if I had half ſo long a name, I ſhould never get through the firſt queſtion of the catechiſm—how ſhall I remember it?
You call a me Frizeau, dat ſhall be enough.
Is that the quality way?
Yes, Sir.
Why then, Mounſieur Frizeau, if your great grandfather was a marquis, how come you to be a valet de chamber?
Fortune de la guerre.
So, by the ſhrug of your ſhoulders, and the length of your face, that's French for ill luck—ay, I thought ſo—I'm better off than you, for I'm a gentleman, and a fine one too, though my great grandfather only kept a ſnuff-ſhop.—Did you never hear of little Abel Drugger the tobac⯑coniſt?
Not in my life!
Oh la! They have got him in one of their plays; you would burſt your ſides to ſee him: when the little great man that makes every body laugh, and every body cry, does him, you ſhall go.
Me tank you, Sir.—Now, Sir, rince your hand in this perfume vater, and I will ſprinkle your handkerchief.
So ſo; this will make me a kind of a walk⯑ing noſegay.
He! he! he! Your honneur is in de right.
Why I was ſomething of that there ſort when I lived in Bucklerſbury; the tobacco duſt ſticking to my cloaths made every one that came near me ſneeze heartily; ſo at the Gooſe and grid-iron they gave me a nick-name; little Dan. the moving ſnuff-ſhop.
Prenez garde, Monſieur—have a care, you muſt not talk of Bucklerbury nor tobac, it will ſpoil your qualité.
Quality!—where ſhould it come from? tho' if I had taken Deborah's advice—
Your lady's advice.
Right, my lady's advice—I had forgot—one can't learn every thing together.—Rome was not built in a day, nor London-bridge neither, and conſidering I have only taken up this here trade a month, I do pretty well—eh?
Admirable!
Almoſt as well as if I had ſerved an appren⯑ticeſhip—but as I was going to ſay, neighbour Cathartic the apothecary, made two tickling ſpeeches for me to ſpeak at Guildhall; and if I had but mounted under one of the giants, for I'm not free of the huſtings, I ſhould have been knighted as round as a robin.
Sans doubte dat is true.
But I never minded holding my head high till now I'm oblig'd to it, for fear of having a ſteel collar put on, and my feet into the dancing-ſchool ſtocks.
You pleaſe, Sir, put on a your coat?
Ay, ay, let's ſee—oons, the French ſon of a cabbage has made ſleeves as if I had no more giblets than a gooſe.
Dere, it is on: ma foy it is very neat: No Engliſe tayleur could ave fit a you ſo vell; it ſit cloſe as your ſkin.
Cloſe! why it pinions my ſhoulders further back than the people that go up Holborn hill.
My lady order that to throw out your ſheſt, ſhe ſay you ſtoop widout.
So then I muſt have my ſhoulders in a vice to throw out my cheſt, and disjoint my ancles to turn out my toes.—I can tell you Friz. this here trade of faſhion is not ſo eaſy as ſome people imagine—I would rather ſpin tobacco four—
Tobac again!
I am dumb.
You pleaſe, Sir, put on your cutteau de chaſſe.
You may put it on yourſelf—I have no more uſe of my arms than an Egyptian mummy—be⯑ſides I forget which ſide it ſhould be.
Alway de left—dere, Sir, it hang admirably!
Sir, there is one Mr. Tilwell wants to ſee you?
Tilvel! Vat is dat? does he come in the coach or the ſedan?
He came on foot, Mr. Frizeau.
On foot!—is he dreſs like a gentilhome?
No, Mr. Frizeau; he's like a farmer, and has boots on.
Boot! What buſineſs has ſuch ruſtique figure do here?
I believe, little Friz. it is my Debor—I mean my lady's father, mayn't I ſee him?
Fader—a ha—dat is another ting; he may come up;
but mind a your conſe⯑quence, your diſtance, your character.
I muſt be ſtiff with him whether I will or no.
So friend, where's Dan. Drugger?
Dan!—Mr. Drugger is dere.
What, that him! Why he's kickſhaw'd out like a quack doctor: I ſhould as ſoon have known him in lawn ſleeves as this gingerbread trumpery.
Muſter Tilwell, I am glad to ſee you.
Miſter! Why not father? I have more reaſon to be aſham'd of thee than thou haſt of me; give us thy hand, tho'—not ſtir!—why man thy arms are fixed like the wings of a ſkewer'd rabbit.
I have got twenty thouſand pounds.
What does the money pinion you?
No, the faſhion.
Faſhion!
I'm the tip of the mode.
You're a buckram doll.
From top to toe.
Top to toe!
Before, behind, and all round.
Well, if this be faſhion, I would not be in it for the beſt ſtack of wheat in my haggard.
That's becauſe you don't know what it is to be a gentleman.
May-hap not—pray what do you call that bauble that hangs at your ſide?
Why a—Friz—
A cutteau to chaſſe.
Right, a chaſſe.
I thought it had been a new-faſhioned carving-knife.
True, that's the Engliſh of the French name.
I was afraid you was arming to fight.
Fight! Damme if I do.
What, you ſwear too?
The pink of gentility.
I ſee you are wonderfully improved; but where's Deborah?
Oh, my lady's as buſy as a bee, getting dreſſes for the maſquerade at the Pantheon to night.
So, here's fine work going on I find.
But ſhe'll be home by five o'clock to dinner.
Five! this is my time, and I could pick a bit if I had it.
Friz. do you think there is any vulgar meat left?
Me cannot tell, Sir; there was left at ſupper laſt night ſome charman fricaſſe of de frog.
Rot your frogs.
And nice ragoo of ſnail.
Confound your ſnails; if this be the caſe, I'll go to an eating-houſe, and get ſomething ſub⯑ſtantial to cloſe the orifice of the ſtomach; in the afternoon I'll call and aſk my girls how they do, and if they ſhould be as much frenchified as you are, I ſhan't care how ſoon I jog home to farm.
I'm going to the Herald's-office, to get a coat of arms.
Coat of arms! what need you go there? a hogſhead of tobacco ſupported by two bunches of leaves, and a ſnuff-mill for a creſt, will ſerve you well enough.
Murder! fire! fire! murder.
What's the matter, Tim?
Nothing but tricks in this plaguy London. When you came up ſtairs, I went down into the kitchen, for I'm as hungry as a hawk, where the lanthern-jawed picture of ſtarvation of a cook, gave me ſome pee-paſh, or paſh-pee, I think he called it.
Aha! the callapaſh and callapee; dat is turtle.
Plague on his P's, Q's and turtle too; I had not ſwallowed above two mouthfuls, before my throat was burnt to a cinder.
Dat was de Chian.
Chian! I wiſh you and all your countrymen were ſouſed over head and ears in it; I ſhan't get the ſkin on my mouth this month.
Yes, if you learn to be a gentleman; it ſcorched me at firſt, but now I can ſwallow ſpoonfuls without winking.
Come, come, Tim. we'll go to ſome good Britiſh beef and beer, the one to rub, and the other to waſh off this outlandiſh traſh. Good bye, Dan.
Allons, Don.
I don't underſtand French.
No, nor I neither; but a word or two gives a man a polite air.
Good bye, Dan. and you, monſieur Cockatoo.
SCENE III.
So delightful a temperature of the weather, Madam, may induce us to ſay, with the tender Otway, ‘"This fair day ſeems as 'twere ſent to invite the world abroad."’
The elements do, indeed, ſeem particularly harmonious, Sir
An emblem of your happy diſpoſition, Madam, which never admits a cloud to hang on it.
I am tolerably at eaſe, Sir Francis, and ſtrive to keep myſelf ſo; there is no occaſion to pur⯑ſue care, it too often falls in our way unſought.
Perfectly right—but you are philoſophical on every occaſion; the calmneſs, or rather pleaſure, with which you heard your ſiſter's good fortune, is a peculiar inſtance.
As I had formed [...]o expectations, the diſap⯑pointment of my chance was eaſily borne.
Not ſo eaſily, Madam: though you have given me but very diſtant expectation of being made happy by your fair hand, yet I ſhould be much more unſatisfied if hope was turned up a poſitive blank.
Sir Francis, the world calls you a man of honour, and I believe you one, believe your profeſſions are ſincere, however beyond what I can merit; but, Sir, that father who brought me up with the utmoſt tenderneſs, claims a ſhare in the diſpoſal; eſpecially as I'm ſure he'll never do it againſt my inclinations.
Far be it from me to infringe upon his juſt and natural authority; had I your leave, his opinion ſhould be ſoon conſulted.
I have often told you, Sir, the difference of birth and fortune.
Virtue and good ſenſe are far above them.
I am not, like my ſiſter, fond of the ſplendor of life.
Therefore the more wor [...]y to enjoy it. Splen⯑dor is but a rattle to weak minds; its dignity riſes from due application.
A rattle I think indeed, for the very notion of it ſeems to have rattled our family out of their ſenſes: but as my father is every day expected in town, I hope his prudence will ſet them to rights a little.
Your father, Madam, ſo ſoon expected! May I be indulged with liberty to aſk his opinion of the propoſals I have made for you to ſhare my fortune and my heart.
What ſeems, ſo far, proper to you, Sir, I can have no objection to.
You make me happy.—Remember you are to be a ſhepherdeſs at the Pantheon maſquerade to⯑night, and I am to be your Arcadian ſwain. Pray what dreſs has Mrs. Drugger fixed on?
Fifty at leaſt; all the habits of Europe, Aſia, Africa, and America, yet not one poſitively: my brother-in-law ſhe has turned over too almoſt as often; from a Punch to Tom Fool, from a chimney-ſweeper to a baker, and ſo on.—But I muſt bid you good morning, Sir; by the time I ſhall reach home, ſhe'll be returned, and in a ſad buſtle.
I am walking within twenty yards of Mr. Drugger's, and ſhall be happy to attend you.
Sir, you are extremely obliging.
ACT THE SECOND.
[28]LISINI, reach me a chair—now my ſmell⯑ing-bottle—I ſhan't recover myſelf this half hour.
Vat be de matter, my Lady?
Matter! why as I was coming from the maſ⯑carade ſhop, as faſt as the horſes could go—for you know it's quality, faſhion to drive neck or nothing—a naſty cart, with wheels as high as a may-pole, came plump againſt my phiz-a-phiz, and threw poor Whipcord off the box.—I don't think he'll turn a corner with ſpirit for a month to come.
Dat was bad inteet.
I would not have him ſpoiled for any thing; he has drove me a whole fortnight, and done no miſchief, except running over an old fellow with [29] a wooden leg, and that you know is nothing at all.
Noting in the varld—but me hope your Lady⯑ſhip gat no hurt—you might have broke a de bone.
So I might, but I ſhould not have minded that, only it would have kept me from the Pantheon to night, and that muſt have been worſe than breaking of a neck.
Your Ladyſhip ſay very true; ſure dat ſame Pantheon muſt be de fine place.
A perfect candle-light Paradiſe.—Did you never ſee it?
No, Matam.
Oh dear, that's a pity—you ſhall go ſome day or other—though it's hardly worth ſeeing now; it is but half-a-crown by day-light; when it was five-and-three-pence, the thing was well enough; now I ſuppoſe tag rag and bobtail go there.
It be moſt like—it is too cheap.
How do I look to day?
Charman as de morn in May.
Have I enough of the roogee on my cheeks?
Me give a your Ladyſhip von leetel touch—now you bloom as de roſe.
Has the man been here about the two teeth I want putting in?
Yes, Madam, and he ſay, he will be here in de von hour, and the leetel chimney-ſweep wit him.
Chimney-ſweeper! what does he bring him for?
He could not do without. Your Ladyſhip muſt know, dat de chimney-ſweep, tho' he be black, has very white a toots; ſo de man take dem out of his mout, and put dem piping hot into your mout.
Is that the quality way?
Quite, me aſſure you—and de two toots will only coſt ten guinea.
Cheap as dirt; if I like them I'll buy every tooth in his head, and give him mine into the bargain—they'll ſerve to gnaw a cruſt well enough.—Has my dancing-maſter called?
Not yet, Matam.
I wiſh duke William's four corner march, the cuſhion dance, and bobbing-joan were in faſhion, I could foot it away with the beſt of them; but I'm afraid I ſhan't come round your luffers, your allimandies, and your paſty-pies a great while.
All in goot time.
I am pretty well in the minuet ſwim tho'; did I tell you the agreement Mr. Drugger and I have made?
No, Matam.
Why you know it would be fooliſh to live in the old dogtrot way like Darby and Joan, ſo he gives me leave to have as many gallants as I pleaſe, and I am to let him have a trate a trate with any lady he chuſes.
Dat be de very pink of qualité.
Has the man brought the Turkiſh carpet?
He ſay he have not vone large enough, but ſome ver fine Inglis.
I'll have nothing Engliſh about me dead or alive.
Your latyſhip be quite in de right.
Now, Mr. Mounſeer?
Matam, dere be de man about de Northum⯑berland pye-ball horſes.
What! has he got a ſet of thoſe dear creaters?
He ſay he ave, and that they vill be no more as five hundred guinea the ſix.
Cheap as two eggs a penny—have they long tails?
So long they ſweep a de ground.
Delightful!—What a daſh I ſhall cut with theſe in my phiz a phiz—I love long tails vaſtly—what do you think, Liſi?
And me too; dey are much better as the ſhort.
Tell the man he may bring them home to⯑morrow; I am too buſy to think of any thing but the maſquerade to day.
I ſhall, Matam—Your latyſhip ſiſter.
Hum!
Well, ſiſter, have you fixed the important point of your dreſs yet?
I don't know whether I have or not; I have ordered ſix different ones for fear of the worſt.
Well, I am amazed you can take ſo ſudden and violent a delight in ſuch a confuſed ſenſe⯑leſs aſſembly, where wit hobbles upon ſtilts, and common ſenſe dare not peep in.
So that's your idear of things—you would [34] have me as countrified as yourſelf—it may do for a farmer's daughter, but not for me.
Strange diſtinction! had not you and I one father?
I don't know—mayhap not—for I have heard as how my lord Shineaway, that lived in our neighbourhood, liked mother hugely before I was born—and how—
Hold—the child who would taint a parent's virtue to catch at the ridiculous idea of falſe no⯑bility, falls below the loweſt of the vulgar.
Lack-a-day, good Mrs. Tinder—what a fuſs the thing is in—I ſuppoſe you have got that wiſe ſpeech out of ſome of your books that you are ſo fond of.
There is no occaſion to conſult books for what nature alone can tell us.
Well, well, if you don't like things here, you know your way into the country again.
I do: and therefore intended to return with my father—without ſo genteel a diſmiſſion.
Genteel!—ha! ha! ha! a fine thing indeed for a country girl to talk of gentility—no, no, you muſt leave that to us who are better bred.
Who have a better opinion of themſelves, you mean; indeed, ſiſter, real good breeding, and the aukward affectation of it, are ſo different, that it is impoſſible to know one by the other.
Oh, mama! mama! mama!—I have got two of the fineſt butterflies in this here box—I had a rare chace after them before I could knock them down with my hat—you would have laughed like any thing.
Lard, this boy is ſo troubleſome—I have other-gueſs'd fiſh to fry than butterflies to day, child.
Yan, yan, yan, ya,—if you won't laugh you may let it alone.
What do you intend to do with the butter⯑flies, Dickey? keep them, I ſuppoſe, to admire their beautiful colours.
No, no; hang colours—I ſhall have the rareſt ſport with them—you ſhall ſee it if you will—
What ſport, my dear?
Why I'll put a pin thro' one to ſee if it ſpins as well as a bumble bee; and I'll pull a wing off the other to ſee if it can fly then—won't that be comical?
Fie, my dear, you ſhould not be ſo cruel.
What's that, Dickey?
Why aunt ſays as how that I muſt not ſpit the butterfly on a pin.
But you ſhall, if you like it.
Look ye there now—do you know, mama, that ſhe gave me a ſlap the other day for only biting a piece of the kitten's ear off?
Did ſhe ſo!—Marry come up, indeed—for the future I'll let her know ſhe's not your miſ⯑treſs.
No, no,—tho' you're my aunt you're not my miſtreſs—mama ſays ſo—and ſo take that.
For ſhame, ſiſter, how can you think of en⯑couraging cruelty in a young mind—it is laying the ſhameful foundation of an unfeeling heart—ſuch kind of ſport, as you call it, encouraged among boys, often makes them, when grown to riper years, very inhuman members of ſociety.
I don't want you to teach me.
No nor me neither.
I ſhan't attempt it, for it is in vain to think that you can act prudently for your child, when you are taking all imaginable pains to ſpoil your huſband, yourſelf, and the whole family: I ſhall when diſtant wiſh you well, but from appear⯑ances have very little to hope; for where folly and faſhion hold the reins, errors ſpring up with every hour, and ruin cannot be far off.
La, mama, this aunt of mine is as four as a crab-apple, and as croſs as a puſſy-cat.
Ah, we ſhan't be troubled long with her—ſhe ſhall ſoon troop into the country.
Adſlidikins, I'm glad of it—then I'll do whatever I have a mind—I won't be afraid to [38] ſnitch off Mounſeer's macaroni tail if I can get at it—nor to ſquirt aqua fortis into any body's eyes I meet.
What a witty creater it is—he knows but every thing; he has a deal more of me than of Mr. Drugger in him.
Ver much ſo inteet, Matam.
If it would not plague him too much to give him learning, who knows but he might come to be a biſhop, or a judge, or an alderman, or a deputy, or ſome ſuch great man.
He vil ave fortune enough widout dat—School ſpoil a de ſpirit.
So I ſay—great ſcholars are always dull.
Mama, do you know how I ſerved our butter-woman juſt now?
How?
Why Sammy Shuttlecock and I, ſeeing her at the door with a baſket of eggs under her arm—
You ſtole ſome—he! he! he!
No, no,—better than that—ha! ha! ha! we pulled a jack cord acroſs the hall, tripped up her heels, and ſouce ſhe went head foremoſt into the baſket; ſuch a ſmaſh, and ſuch a face! ha! ha! ha!
Ha! ha! ha! ha!
He! he! he! he! it is ſo pleaſant.
By jingo, I'll go and have t'other peep at her, for ſhe won't get it rubbed and ſcrubbed off her face this half hour.
This boy is ſo diverting, that I had almoſt forgot my jewels—I'll go and lay them out. If Mr. Drugger ſhould come, bid him wait. I'll come back in five minutes.
This clipping of words is very tireſome to an Engliſh tongue; but if fools of faſhion like foreign jargon and foreign ſervility, who can blame Frizeau and I for aſſuming both; if we can feather our neſts among theſe new made [40] gentry, let them have the pleaſure of what they don't underſtand, while we laugh in our ſleeves, and ſnack the gain. Here comes my beau of a maſter—he puts me in mind of Bellameer in the puppet-ſhow—he's as ſtiff as a ſtake, and as dull as a log.
Liſ. where's my Lady?
Sir, ſhe will be here in de four or five minute.
Liſ. how do you like me?
Admirable!—If you was in Italè, all the ladies fall in love wit you—your honour is ſo handſome.
D'ye think ſo? have you fallen in love with me?
You make a me bluſh, Sir.
I uſed to bluſh myſelf, before I learned gen⯑tility; but its all over now.—Come near, little Liſ.—But it's no matter if my Lady ſhould hear, ſhe has given me leave.
Vat, Sir?
I could find in my heart to give you a good ſmacking buſs to begin with, but that I can't ſtoop to take one.
You are merry, Sir.
Will you be my miſtreſs?
Your miſtreſs!
I would not give a farthing for an Engliſh one.—I'll keep you a chair; I can't mount a coach.
Me cannot tell vat you mean.
A handſome lodging near Soho; three meals a-day regularly, and a black boy with a white turbot upon his head.
I muſt keep this fool in ſuſpence, to have a little diverſion with him
—Your honour muſt give me time to tink.
I thought the black boy would do the buſi⯑neſs.—Think! ay, ay, you may think as long as you like; I'm in no hurry: its more for the name of the thing than any thing elſe.
[42]Well, Mr. Drugger, have you been at the Harild's office? Liſi. go, and bring me word when the maſcarade man comes.
Yes, my dear, and—
Dear!—Monſtrous!—Such words might do well enough while we were behind the counter; but with twenty thouſand pounds in our pocket, for ſhame!
I had forgot; my memory's ſhort; it's a family diſorder; it came from my great-grand⯑father, Abel.
Have you bought the coats of arms?
Yes; I have bought ſix cuckoos, with an owl in the creſt, for myſelf; ſeven golden lions, and a green crocodile for you.
A crocodile! why did not you get me an oli⯑phant?
Becauſe there was not one to be ſold—the na⯑bobs have beſpoke them all.
But have you choſen pretty colours to put them on?
I did not ſtint for that; I've bought all the colours in the rainbow.
So far ſo good.—Mind that you go to-mor⯑row and get a hundred mooſeum tickets, for I'm quite detarmin'd to have the empreſs of Ruſſy's head and both the ear-rings.
Matam, de maſc man be come wit the dreſs.
Come, Mr. Drugger, I'll chuſe one for you.
I thank you—but I have thought of one myſelf.
What is it?
A rare comical one; I once at Chriſtmas time frightened three old women almoſt out of their ſenſes with it.
Frightened!
I'll wrap myſelf in a long white ſheet, flower my face, and clap tobacco-ſtoppers in my mouth to make huge teeth.
But how are you to talk then?
Talk!—I believe moſt of them that go, might wear tobacco-ſtoppers as well as me, for all the good things they ſay.
Pah, pah, you ſhall have no ſuch feely farely nonſenſe.—Come along, I'll make a Turk, a Jew, a Punch, or ſomething or other of you.
A Turk—why I would not give a roll of pigtail—
Pigtail!—foh—Will you never forget Buck⯑lerſbury?
Why this ſon-in-law and daughter of mine, are as hard to be ſeen as if he was a Lord and ſhe a Lady.—Well, Sir Francis, I am a plain man, and thank you heartily, though not in fine words, for the honourable propoſal you have made my girl, Anna; though, to be ſure, ſhe could never have expected ſuch a match, yet, I ſay it that ſhould not ſay it, ſhe's as much above her ſiſter Deborah, as good wheat is above tares.
Fye, father!
It was for that ſuperiority beyond compariſon, I firſt conceived, and have ſince cheriſhed a paſ⯑ſion for your daughter. Nature has been very kind to her perſon, yet more ſo to her mind.
I think ſo too—and, Sir Francis, if ſhe has no objections, I can't have any. But this by the bye—I would not have her married to an Emperor againſt her liking.
Nor would I form a wiſh upon any other principle.
Well then, now what ſays the girl herſelf?—Nay, bluſh not, honeſt hearts have no occaſion for it.
I am ſenſible of Sir Francis's condeſcenſion, and proud to have obtained it; yet ſtill there is a diſparity of ſtation which alarms me, therefore I requeſt ſome days to think, before I come to a reſolution.
Well ſaid—none but fools take a leap in the dark. Ah, ſhe has always been a comfort to me; when ramping Deb. uſed to be at ſwing-ſwong, thread-needle, or riding jack-aſſes, this Anna always had a book or pen in her hand; [46] and do you know, tho' I don't like French much, ſhe would be taught it.
Sir, I ave tell a de ſquire and my lady; dey expect you in the drawing room.
Squire and lady! Mercy on us! I ſuppoſe we ſhall have theſe mad lottery folks lord and lady Bucklerſbury ſoon.
What, rob a chimney-ſweeper's mouth to fur⯑niſh my own! no, no, I ſuffer enough already.
Well, take your own way; what's bred in the bone will never out of the fleſh—its a pity my good luck brought you from behind a counter.
If it had not, what then?—I could have had my pipe and pot at the Cheſhire-cheeſe, and talked about politics and liberty by wholeſale.
So Deborah;—hey day!—why thou art grown a grenadier ſince I ſaw thee laſt.
No wonder at that, ſhe has ſix inches of [47] wood under her heels, and eighteen of hair a top of her head—ſhe's two feet ſhorter by night than ſhe is by day.
Well ſaid, Mr. Wit.
What won't you vouchſafe your father a word, Deb.?
It is not the faſhion, Sir, to call people by their names.
No!—What have they names for then—fa⯑ſhion, quotha; if faſhion makes all its followers as fooliſh as you, my ſervice to it—but, Madam, then, for that's what you want I ſuppoſe.
Yes; that 'll go down like a ſugar-plum—you ſee how it makes her cock up her chin.
What do you think all this foolery I hear of, and ſee about your houſe, will come to?—Miſ⯑chief on't, can't fortune put good luck into your purſes without building windmills in your heads?
Windmills! Pray now, father—
Father!—Bucklerſbury.
Sir, I meant; pray now, Sir, how does a windmill feel—I would fain know, becauſe as how, ever ſince I turn'd gentleman, there has been a whirligig in my brain, and I have been as giddy as a gooſe.
Yes, and if you are guided by Madam here, you'll be ſerved up, Mr. Gooſe, to a parcel of hungry knaves, who will pick you to the bone.
I have changed my mind, Mr. Drugger; I'll be a Wenus to night, and maſter Dickey ſhall be a Coopid—I'll go and dreſs this minute, to ſee how I look.
Ah!
Do you know me?
Not I: Nor don't deſire it.
I am a gentleman.
From what country?
The moon.
I thought you was outlandiſh.
Ha! ha! ha! ſnap my buttons, if this is not the rareſt rig.
Tim! what April-day gambol is this?
He has put my heart in ſuch a fluſtration, that it goes thump, thump, thump, like a buck⯑ing-bat.
Uncle, you muſt lend me money to buy this caſe.
What to do?
To do! to make my fortune. I'll ſhow my⯑ſelf at the fairs in our country—Walk in, Ladies, walk in, Gemmen—the curoſity of curoſities is to be ſeen here—the man in the moon—at two pence a-piece—no more than two pence a-piece—now's your time. Swooks, I'll go and aſk the man what it's to be, and then you'll lend me the money, uncle.
Matam, Monſieur Metamorphoſe wiſh to ſpeak von word to you.
I'll go to him.
Among other ſtrange matters, ſon Daniel, what, in the name of wonder, made you chuſe a French ſervant?
Two very good reaſons; firſt, becauſe it's faſhionable; and ſecond, becauſe I may beat him for my diverſion.
Beat!
Oh! a Frenchman will bear it like ſtock-fiſh, You ſhall ſee.—Frizeau!
Your Honeur.
There.
Vat vor is dat?
To pleaſe myſelf.—There.
Damn it, that's too much for Engliſh fleſh and blood to bear:—Off Frenchman, and now, as we are pretty well matched, if you have a mind for a ſet-to, maſter of mine?
What, are not you French?
No more than you; I'm a Cockney every inch; Bow-bell for ever—I tranſmogrified my⯑ſelf to make a fool of you.
I believe that was done to your hands.
Ha! ha! ha!
I thought to have picked up ſome ſplinters about you; but if they can't be got without kicking and thumping, let them that like to earn money that way, take them; Barny Blunt won't, damme if he will.
Well ſaid, beef and pudding.
Yes, yes, Liſini, I am quite detarmined now, Wenus is the thing.
Oh maſter Skinflint, have you ſettled about our ticket?
Yes, it is ſettled—your favourite number forty-five has deceived you.
Deceived!
Yes truly; for the twenty thouſand happens to be your ſiſter's, not yours.
If this be true, I ſhan't think Fortune ſo blind as I took her to be.
Here it is certified at the Exchequer; 45, blank; 46, 20,000l.
It will only coſt a guinea, uncle.—Hey-day! what's matter that cooſins wear ſuch Good-Fri⯑day faces?
I believe I muſt turn man in the moon too.
You ſhall go partners with me if you will; we'll act and hold the blanket at the door, day about.
Well, I ſhall get out of the ſtocks, however.
Miſs Anna, though I have been rather a diſ⯑agreeable meſſenger to your ſiſter, yet I may wiſh you joy of good fortune.
What, Sir!
The lottery-office keeper ignorantly gave the prize of your number to your ſiſter, and her blank to you.
My ſiſter's diſappointment leſſens the pleaſure of my advantage, though it relieves me from a material difficulty.—Sir Francis, I aſked ſome days to contemplate your generous offer—this event has ſolved my doubts—Now I have ſome⯑thing more than an honeſt heart to beſtow, I yield my hand with pleaſure: the man who acts diſintereſtedly in marriage, well deſerves all a woman can beſtow.
Madam, this delicate generoſity is worthy the moſt, elevated mind; and to deſerve it, ſhall be the ſtudy of my life.
I never ſhed a tear ſince my boyhood, except when thy poor mother died; now, my good girl, thou haſt filled my eyes with the water of joy.
I believe, Sir, you'll have no occaſion for a Signora.—Shall I have the Soho lodging—three meals a day—a ſedan—a black boy with a white turbot upon his head? ha! ha! ha!
What's the meaning of all this?
The Gentleman wanted an Italian miſtreſs, ſo made propoſals to me, while I ſpoke broken Engliſh.
A miſtreſs! why he could not have gone fur⯑ther if he had been really a Lord. Well, Dan. what do you expect to do now?—I ſuppoſe all the tobacco is gone in trumpery.
Every quid.
Look you, friend Drugger, don't be quite caſt down; if your relations here will help you to a couple of hundred, I can pop you into a ſnug public houſe at Wapping; and I think you'll make a pretty little ſmart ſkinker.
Yes, I can run up and down ſtairs as tightly as any one of my inches.
I could cry for madneſs—Groſvenor-ſquare changed for Wapping. Our nobles are come to nine-pence with a witneſs.
Not ſo bad as you think; ſome Wapping landladies are very fine.
True; I have ſeen 'em myſelf with a ring upon every ſinger.
Siſter, tho' on the ſuppoſed advance of your fortune you have treated me rather ungenteelly, yet I pity your ſituation, and ſhall recommend it to Sir Francis's notice.
Madam, it has already ſtruck me: Mr. Drug⯑ger, that you may not be obliged to enter again into trade, which you ſo imprudently left, I'll ſettle upon you the intereſt of ten thouſand pounds, and the principal at your deceaſe on your ſon, provided he is put under the guardian⯑ſhip of his aunt here.
Muſt I be a gentleman ſtill?
Not in the ſtile you have been.
I'm glad of it, I ſhall have my arms at liberty.
Down on your knees, and thank ſuch noble and generous friendſhip.
She may—if I do I can't get up again, my French coat won't let me.
Muſt not I have one peep more at the dear ſweet Pantheon?
Yes, yes, we'll enjoy the entertainment of this evening, as already propoſed.
Couſin Drugger, come down to our neigh⯑bourhood, and I'll lead you ſuch a fox-chace—if you don't break your neck, you ſhall ſtand a fair chance of doing it.
Pretty ſport that.
Adod, my heart's ſo full that I can't ſay, ſo I'll try if I can ſing what I think.
SONG.
- Zitationsvorschlag für dieses Objekt
- TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 4889 The Pantheonites A dramatic entertainment As performed at the Theatre Royal in the Hay Market. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-5FE1-C