Produced by David Widger
THE BEAUX-STRATAGEM
By George Farquhar
'He was a delightful writer, and one to whom
I should sooner recur for relaxation and
entertainment and without after-cloying and disgust,
than any of the school of which he may be said
to have been the last The Beaux-Stratagem
reads quite as well as it acts: it has life,
movement, wit, humour, sweet nature and sweet
temper from beginning to end.'
CHARLES COWDEN CLARKE
PREFACE
_The Author_. 'It is surprising,' says Mr. Percy Fitzgerald,
'how much English Comedy owes to Irishmen.' Nearly fifty
years ago Calcraft enumerated eighty-seven Irish dramatists in
a by no means exhaustive list, including Congreve, Southerne,
Steele, Kelly, Macklin, and Farquhar--the really Irish
representative amongst the dramatists of the Restoration, the true
prototype of Goldsmith and Sheridan. Thoroughly Irish by
birth and education, Captain George Farquhar (1677-1707)
had delighted the town with a succession of bright, rattling
comedies--Love and a Bottle (1698), The Constant Couple
(1699), Sir Harry Wildair (1701), The Inconstant (1702),
The Twin Rivals (1702), The Recruiting Officer (1706). In
an unlucky moment, when hard pressed by his debts, he sold
out of the army on the strength of a promise by the Duke of
Ormond to gain him some preferment, which never came. In
his misery and poverty, with a wife and two helpless girls to
support, Farquhar was not forsaken by his one true friend,
Robert Wilks. Seeking out the dramatist in his wretched
garret in St Martin's Lane, the actor advised him no longer to
trust to great men's promises, but to look only to his pen for
support, and urged him to write another play. 'Write!' said
Farquhar, starting from his chair; 'is it possible that a man
can write with common-sense who is heartless and has not a
shilling in his pockets?' 'Come, come, George,' said Wilks,
'banish melancholy, draw up your drama, and bring your sketch
with you to-morrow, for I expect you to dine with me. But as
an empty purse may cramp your genius, I desire you to accept
my mite; here is twenty guineas.' Farquhar set to work, and
brought the plot of his play to Wilks the next day; the later
approved the design, and urged him to proceed without
delay. Mostly written in bed, the whole was begun, finished,
and acted within six weeks. The author designed to dedicate
it to Lord Cadogan, but his lordship, for reasons unknown,
declined the honour; he gave the dramatist a handsome present,
however. Thus was _The Beaux-Stratagem_ written. Farquhar
is said to have felt the approaches of death ere he finished the
second act. On the night of the first performance Wilks
came to tell him of his great success, but mentioned that
Mrs. Oldfield wished that he could have thought of some more
legitimate divorce in order to secure the honour of Mrs. Sullen.
'Oh,' said Farquhar, 'I will, if she pleases, solve that
immediately, by getting a real divorce; marrying her myself, and
giving her my bond that she shall be a widow in less than a
fortnight' Subsequent events practically fulfilled this prediction,
for Farquhar died during the run of the play: on the
day of his extra benefit, Tuesday, 29th April 1707, the plaudits
of the audience resounding in his ears, the destitute,
broken-hearted dramatist passed to that bourne where stratagems
avail not any longer.
_Criticism of The Beaux-Stratagem_. Each play that
Farquhar produced was an improvement on its predecessors,
and all critics have been unanimous in pronouncing _The Beaux-Stratagem_
his best, both in the study and on the stage, of which
it retained possession much the longest. Except _The Recruiting
Officer_ and _The Inconstant_, revived at Covent Garden in 1825,
and also by Daly in America in 1885, non of Farquhar's other
plays has been put on the stage for upwards of a century.
Hallam says: 'Never has Congreve equalled _The Beaux-Stratagem_
in vivacity, in originality of contrivance, or in clear
and rapid development of intrigue'; and Hazlitt considers it
'sprightly lively, bustling, and full of point and interest:
the assumed disguise of Archer and Aimwell is a perpetual
amusement to the mind.' The action--which commences,
remarkably briskly, in the evening and ends about midnight
the next day--never flags for an instant. The well-contrived
plot is original and simple (all Farquhar's plots are excellent),
giving rise to a rapid succession of amusing and sensational
incidents; though by no means extravagant or improbable, save
possibly the mutual separation of Squire Sullen and his wife in
the last scene--the weak point of the whole. Farquhar was a
master in stage-effect. Aimwell's stratagem of passing himself
off as the wealthy nobleman, his brother (a device previously
adopted by Vanbrugh in _The Relapse_ and subsequently by
Sheridan in his _Trip to Scarborough_), may perhaps be a
covert allusion to the romantic story of the dramatist's own
deception by the penniless lady who gave herself out to be
possessed of a large fortune, and who thus induced him to
marry her.
The style adopted is highly dramatic, the dialogue being
natural and flowing; trenchant and sprightly, but not too witty
for a truthful reflex of actual conversation. The humour is
genial and unforced; there is no smell of the lamp about it,
no premeditated effort at dragging in jests, as in Congreve.
As typical examples of Farquhar's _vis comica_ I Would cite the
description of Squire Sullen's home-coming, and his 'pot of
ale' speech, Aimwell's speech respecting conduct at church, the
scene between Cherry and Archer about the £2000, and the
final separation scene--which affords a curious view of the
marriage tie and on which Leigh Hunt has founded an argument
for divorce. This play contains several examples of Farquhar's
curious habit of breaking out into a kind of broken blank verse
occasionally for a few lines in the more serious passages.
Partaking as it does of the elements of both comedy and force,
it is the prototype of Goldsmith's _She Stoops to Conquer_, which
it resembles in many respects. It will be remembered that
Miss Hardcastle compares herself to Cherry (Act III.), and
young Marlow and Hastings much resemble Archer and
Aimwell. Goldsmith was a great admirer of the works of his
fellow-countryman, especially _The Beaux-Stratagem_, and refers
to them several times (Citizen of the World, letter 93; History
of England, letter 16; Vicar of Wakefield, ch. 18), and in the
Literary Magazine for 1758 he drew up a curious poetical scale
in which he classes the Restoration dramatists thus:--
Congreve--Genius 15, Judgment 16, Learning 14, Versification 14;
Vanbrugh--14, 15,14,10; Farquhar--15, 15, 10, io. Unlike
Goldsmith, unhappily, Farquhar's moral tone is not high;
sensuality is confounded with love, ribaldry mistaken for wit
The best that can be said of him that he contrasts favourably
with his contemporary dramatists; Virtue is not _always_
uninteresting in his pages. He is free from their heartlessness,
malignity, and cruelty. The plot of _The Beaux-Stratagem_ is
comparatively inoffensive, and the moral of the whole is
healthy. Although a wit rather than a thinker, Farquhar in
this play shows himself capable of serious feelings. It is
remarkable how much Farquhar repeats himself. Hardly an
allusion or idea occurs in this play that is not to be found
elsewhere in his works. In the Notes I have pointed out many of
these coincidences.
_The Characters_. This play has added several distinct
original personages to our stock of comedy characters, and it
affords an excellent and lifelike picture of a peculiar and
perishing phase of the manners of the time, especially those
obtaining in the country house, and the village inn frequented
by highwaymen. The sly, rascally landlord, Boniface (who
has given his name to the class), is said to have been drawn
from life, and his portrait, we are told, was still to be seen
at Lichfield in 1775. The inimitable 'brother Scrub,' that
'indispensable appendage to a country gentleman's kitchen'
(Hazlitt), with his ignorance and shrewd eye to the main
chance, is likewise said to have been a well-known personage
who survived till 1759, one Thomas Bond, servant to Sir
Theophilus Biddulph; others say he died at Salisbury in 1744.
Although Farquhar, like Goldsmith, undoubtedly drew his
incidents and personages from his own daily associations,
there is probably no more truth in these surmises than in
the assertion (repeatedly made, though denied in his preface
to _The Inconstant_) that Farquhar depicts himself in his young
heroes, his rollicking 'men about town,' Roebuck, Mirabel,
Wildair, Plume, Archer. Archer (copied by Hoadley in
his character of Ranger in _The Suspicious Husband_) is a
decided improvement on his predecessors, and is the best of
all Farquhar's creations; he is assuredly the most brilliant
footman that ever was, eminently sociable and, with all his
easy, rattling volubility, never forgetful of his self-respect
and never indifferent to the wishes or welfare of others. As
Hunt has pointed out, the characters of Archer and Aimwell
improve as the play progresses; they set out as mere intriguers,
but prove in the end true gentlemen. They are sad rogues, no
doubt, but they have no bitter cynicism, no meanness; Aimwell
refuses to marry Dorinda under any deception. They
thoroughly good fellows at bottom, manly, accomplished his
spirited, eloquent, generous--the forerunners of Charles Surfor.
Marriage retrieves them and turns them into respectable and
adoring husbands. Though rattle-brained, much given to
gallantry, and somewhat lax in morality, they are not knaves
or monsters; they do not inspire disgust. Even the lumpish
blockhead, Squire Sullen--according to Macaulay a type of
the main strength of the Tory party for half a century after the
Revolution--contrasts favourably with his prototype Sir John
Brute in Vanbrugh's _Provoked Wife_, He is a sodden sot,
who always goes to bed drunk, but he is not a demon; he does
not beat his wife in public; he observes common decency
somewhat. His wife is a witty, attractive, warm-hearted
woman, whose faults are transparent; the chief one being that
she has made the fatal mistake of marrying for fortune and
position instead of for love. There is something pathetic in her
position which claims our sympathy. She is well contrasted with
her sister-in-law, the sincere, though somewhat weakly drawn,
Dorinda; whilst their mother-in-law, Lady Bountiful, famed for
her charity, is an amusing and gracious figure, which has often
been copied. Cherry, with her honest heart and her quickness
of perception, is also a distinct creation. Strange to say, the
only badly drawn character is Foigard, the unscrupulous Irish
Jesuit priest. Farquhar is fond of introducing an Irishman into
each of his plays, but I cannot say that I think he is generally
successful; certainly not in this instance. They are mostly
broad caricatures, and speak an outlandish jargon, more like
Welsh than Irish, supposed to be the Ulster dialect: anything
more unlike it would be difficult to conceive. The early
conventional stage Irishman, tracing him from Captain. Macmorris
in Henry V.,through Ben Jonson's _Irish Masque_ and _New
Inn_, Dekker's Bryan, Ford's Mayor of Cork, Shadwell's
O'Divelly (probably Farquhar's model for Foigard), is truly
a wondrous savage, chiefly distinguished by his use of the
expletives 'Dear Joy!' and 'By Creesh!' This character
naturally rendered the play somewhat unpopular in Ireland,
and its repulsiveness is unrelieved (as it is in the case of
Teague in _The Twin Rivals_) by a single touch of humour or
native comicality. It is an outrage.
_The First Performance_. _The Beaux-Stratagem_ was first
performed on Saturday, 8th March 1707, at the Theatre Royal
(or, as it was sometimes called, the Queen's Theatre), situated
in the Haymarket, on the site afterwards occupied by Her
Majesty's Theatre. It ran for ten nights only, owing to
benefits. The cast on that occasion was a strong one. Robert
Wilks (a brother-Irishman), who performed Archer, was the
foremost actor of the day. He was Farquhar's lifelong friend,
and appeared in all his plays, except _Love and a Bottle_ which
was produced in London during Wilks's absence in Dublin.
This actor's most famous part was 'Sir Harry Wildair' (_The
Constant Couple_), which our author drew on purpose for him, and
which ran for fifty-two nights on its first appearance. Farquhar
himself said that when the stage had the misfortune to lose
Wilks, 'Sir Harry Wildair' might go to the Jubilee! Peg
Woffington is said to have been his only rival in this part. Sullen
was the last original character undertaken by Verbruggen, a
leading actor of the time. It was from Verbruggen's wife
(probably the 'Mrs. V------' of Farquhar's letters) that the famous
Mrs. Oldfield received her earliest instructions in acting. The
last-named lady was the original Mrs. Sullen. Her connection
with Farquhar is very interesting and romantic. She resided
with her aunt, Mrs. Voss, who kept the Mitre Tavern in St,
James's Market (between Jeryrm Street, Regent Street, and the
Haymarket). One day, when she was aged sixteen, Farquhar,
a smart young captain of twenty-two, happened to be dining
there, and he overheard her reading Beaumont and Fletcher's
_Scornful Lady_ aloud behind the bar. When Farquhar, much
struck by her musical delivery and expression, pressed her to
resume her reading, the tall and graceful girl consented with
hesitation and bashfulness; although she afterwards confessed,
'I longed to be at it, and only needed a decent entreaty.' The
dramatist quickly acquainted Sir John Vanbrugh with the
jewel he had thus accidentally found, and she obtained through
him an engagement at the Theatre Royal as 'Candiope' in
Dryden's _Secret Love_. She soon became the fine lady of the
stage, and was the original representative of no less than
sixty-five characters. Pope disliked and satirised her severely;
on the other hand, Cibber worshipped her. According to some,
Farquhar fell violently in love with her, and she is the 'Penelope'
of his letters; but although she often spoke of the happy
hours she spent in his company, there appears to be no foundation
for this surmise. Bowen, a low comedian of considerable talent,
afterwards accidentally killed by Quin the
actor, was Foigard; and Scrub--originally written for Colley
Cibber, who, however, preferred Gibbet--was represented by
Norris, a capital comic actor, universally known as 'Jubilee
Dicky' on account of his representation of 'Dicky' in _The
Constant Couple_. He had an odd, formal little figure, and a high
squeaking voice; if he came into a coffee-house and merely
called 'Waiter!' everybody present felt inclined to laugh. He
had previously appeared in Farquhar's four principal plays, as
also had Mills, who did Aimwell. Cibber tells us that the
play was better received at Drury Lane than at the Haymarket,
as, owing to the larger size of the latter house, it was difficult
to hear.
_Later Stage History_. Originally brought out under the
title _The Stratagem_ only, which it retained in the playbills till
1787 (though printed with 'Beaux'), this play continued to be
very popular with the stage down to the dawn of the present
century; and many great actors and actresses appeared from
time to time in its characters; In 1721 Quin acted in
Lincoln's Inn Fields as Squire Sullen. The part of Mrs. Sullen
has been undertaken by Mrs. Pritchard (1740 and 1761), Peg
Woffington (1742, along with Garrick as Archer for the first
time, and Macklin as Scrub), Mrs. Abington (1774, 1785,
1798), Mrs. Barry (1778), Miss Farren (1779), Mrs. Jordan
(1802), Mrs. C. Kemble (1810), Mrs. Davison (1818), and Miss
Chester (1823, for Dibdin's benefit, with Liston as Scrub).
Garrick's repeated performances of Archer, in light blue and
silver livery, were supremely good, more particularly in the
scenes with Cherry, the picture scene with Mrs. Sullen, and when
he delivers Lady Howd'ye's message. He generally acted with
Weston, an inimitable Scrub; but at O'Brien's benefit at Drury
Lane, 10th April 1761, Garrick himself played Scrub to O'Brien's
Archer. On one occasion Garrick had refused Weston a loan of
money, and Weston not appearing at the greenroom, Garrick
came forward before the curtain and announced that he would
himself play Scrub, as Weston was ill. Weston, who was in the
gallery with a sham bailiff, shouted out, 'I am here, but the
bailiff won't let me come '; whereupon the audience insisted
on Garrick's paying the loan and relieving the debtor so as to
enable him to play Scrub! Other famous Scrubs were Shutes
(1774), Quick (1778, 1785, 1798), Bannister, junior (1802, will
C. Kemble as Aimwell), Dowton (1802), Liston (1810), Johnstone
(1821), and Keeley (1828, with C. Kemble as Arches
and Miss Foote as Cherry; it ran for twelve nights at Covenl
Garden). Goldsmith is said to have expressed a desire to art
this part. On the occasion of Mrs. Abington's benefit (Covenl
Garden, November 19, 1785), she took the part of Scrub for that
night only, for a wager, it is said. Ladies were desired to send
their servants to retain seats by four o'clock, and the pit and
boxes were laid together. She disgraced herself, acting the
part with her hair dressed for 'Lady Racket' in the afterpiece
(_Three Hours After Marriage_). In April 1823 another female
impersonator of this part appeared--not very successfully--in
Miss Clara Fisher, with Farren as Archer. This was in Dublin
(Hawkins' Street), where the play was frequently performed
about 1821-1823. It was also the piece chosen for the re-opening
of Smock Alley Theatre, Dublin, in 1759, when Mrs. Abington
made her first appearance on the Irish stage as Mrs. Sullen.
Miss Pope (1774), Mrs. Martyn (1785, 1798), and Mrs.
Gibbs (1819) were the principal exponents of Cherry. In 1819
Emery did Gibbet.
About 1810 the play was performed at the Royal Circus
under Elliston as a _ballet d'action_, in order to evade the Patent
Act. Otherwise, neither this play nor any other of Farquhar's
seems ever to have been 'adapted' for the modern stage. In the
present half-century _The Beaux-Stratagem_ has been but seldom
performed. It was acted in London in 1856. In February
1878 Mr. Phelps gave it extremely well in the Annexe Theatre
at the Westminster Aquarium. Lastly, William Farren, as
Archer, revived it at the Imperial Theatre, on Monday, 22nd
September 1879, with great success, a new Prologue (spoken
by Mrs. Stirling) being written for the occasion. There were
several matinees given in succession. The cast included Mr.
Kyrle Bellew as Gibbet; Mr. Lionel Brough as Scrub; Miss
Marie Litton as Mrs. Sullen; Mrs. Stirling--one of her last
appearances--as Lady Bountiful; Dorinda, Miss Meyrick;
Cherry, Miss Carlotta Addison; Gipsy, Miss Passinger;
Aimwell, Mr. Edgar; Sir Charles Freeman, Mr. Denny;
Sullen, Mr. Ryder; Foigard, Mr. Bannister; Boniface, Mr.
Everill; Hounslow, Mr. Bunch; Bagshot, Mr. Leitch. The
Epilogue for this occasion was written by Mr. Clement Scott.
I know not if the play has been acted since that date.
_Bibliography_. The first edition was published in a small
quarto (78 pages) by Bernard Lintott, 'at the Cross-Keys
next Nando's Coffeehouse in Fleet Street' between the two
Temple gates. The British Museum Catalogue dates it 1707
(the copy in my possession, however, bears no date), but it is
supposed not to have been published till 1710, three years
after Farquhar's decease; whence some have erroneously dated
his death in that year. Lintott, on January 27, 1707, had
paid the dramatist £30. in advance for this play, double what
he usually gave for a play. The same publisher issued the
first complete edition of Farquhar's plays in an octavo volume,
dedicated to John Eyre, with a quaint illustration prefixed to
each play (we reproduce that prefixed to _The Beaux-Stratagem_),
introducing all the characters of the play, and a frontispiece
representing Farquhar being presented to Apollo by Ben
Jonson. The general title-page is undated, but the title-pages
of the various plays bear the date 1711, and all bear Lintott's
name (sometimes alone, sometimes with others) save _Sir Harry
Wildair_, which is said to be printed by James Knapton. Some
say this volume did not appear till 1714. In 1760 Rivington
published an edition of Farquhar which appears to be slightly
'bowdlerised.' At least two complete editions of his works
were published in Dublin; one, described as the seventh, in
two volumes small octavo, by Risk and Smith, in 1743 (including
a memoir, and _Love and Business_), in which the title-pages
of the various plays bear different dates, ranging from 1727
to 1741, _The Beaux-Stratagem_ being described as the twelfth
edition, and dated 1739; the other, charmingly printed by
Ewing in three 16mo volumes, dated 1775, with a vignette
portrait and other illustrations, and containing a life by Thomas
Wilkes. An Edinburgh edition of The _Beaux-Stratagem_, with
life, appeared in 1768, and an edition in German in 1782 by J.
Leonhardi, under the title _Die Stutzerlist_. Separate editions
of the play also appeared in 1748, 1778, and 1824 (New York),
and it is included in all the various collections of English
plays, such as Bell's, Oxberry's, Inchbald's, Dibdin's,
Cumberland's, etc., and in the collected editions of Farquhar's
works dated 1718, 1728, 1736, 1742, 1760, and 1772. The principal
modern editions of Farquhar are Leigh Hunt's (along with
Wycherley, Vanbrugh, and Congreve), and Ewald's (1892), in
two volumes large octavo.
ADVERTISEMENT
The reader may find some faults in this play,
which my illness prevented the amending of;
but there is great amends made in the representation,
which cannot be matched, no more than
the friendly and indefatigable care of Mr. Wilks,
to whom I chiefly owe the success of the play.
GEORGE FARQUHAR.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
With names of the original actors and actresses.
[Illustration: Dramatis1]
S C E N E.--Lichfield.
PROLOGUE
_Spoken by Mr. Wilks_.
WHEN strife disturbs, or sloth corrupts an age,
Keen satire is the business of the stage.
When the _Plain-Dealer_ writ, he lash'd those crimes,
Which then infested most--the modish times:
But now, when faction sleeps, and sloth is fled,
And all our youth in active fields are bred;
When through Great Britain's fair extensive round,
The trumps of fame, the notes of UNION sound;
When Anna's sceptre points the laws their course,
And her example gives her precepts force: {10}
There scarce is room for satire; all our lays
Must be, or songs of triumph, or of praise.
But as in grounds best cultivated, tares
And poppies rise among the golden ears;
Our product so, fit for the field or school,
Must mix with nature's favourite plant--a fool:
A weed that has to twenty summers ran,
Shoots up in stalk, and vegetates to man.
Simpling our author goes from field to field,
And culls such fools as many diversion yield {20}
And, thanks to Nature, there's no want of those,
For rain or shine, the thriving coxcomb grows.
Follies to-night we show ne'er lash'd before,
Yet such as nature shows you every hour;
Nor can the pictures give a just offence,
For fools are made for jests to men of sense.
THE BEAUX-STRATAGEM
ACT I., SCENE I.
_A Room in Bonifaces Inn_.
_Enter Boniface running_.
_Bon_. Chamberlain! maid! Cherry! daughter Cherry!
all asleep? all dead?
_Enter Cherry running_.
_Cher_. Here, here! why d'ye bawl so, father? d'ye think
we have no ears?
_Bon_. You deserve to have none, you young minx! The
company of the Warrington coach has stood in the
hall this hour, and nobody to show them to their
chambers.
_Cher_. And let 'em wait farther; there's neither red-coat
in the coach, nor footman behind it. {10}
_Bon_. But they threaten to go to another inn to-night.
_Cher_. That they dare not, for fear the coachman should
overturn them to-morrow.--Coming! coming!--
Here's the London coach arrived.
_Enter several people with trunks, bandboxes, and other
luggage, and cross the stage_.
_Bon_. Welcome, ladies!
_Cher_. Very welcome, gentlemen!--Chamberlain, show
the _Lion and the Rose_. [_Exit with the company_.
_Enter Aimwell in a riding-habit, and Archer
as footman, carrying a portmantle_.
_Bon_. This way, this way, gentlemen!
_Aim_. [_To Archer_.] Set down the things; go to the
stable, and see my horses well rubbed. {20}
_Arch_. I shall, sir. [_Exit_.
_Aim_. You're my landlord, I suppose?
_Bon_. Yes, sir, I 'm old Will Boniface, pretty well known
upon this road, as the saying is.
_Aim_. O Mr. Boniface, your servant!
_Bon_. O sir!--What will your honour please to drink, as
the saying is?
_Aim_. I have heard your town of Lichfield much famed
for ale; I think I 'll taste that. {29}
_Bon_. Sir, I have now in my cellar ten tun of the best ale
in Staffordshire; 'tis smooth as oil, sweet as milk,
clear as amber, and strong as brandy; and will be
just fourteen year old the fifth day of next March,
old style.
_Aim_. You're very exact, I find, in the age of your ale.
_Bon_. As punctual, sir, as I am in the age of my children.
I'll show you such ale!--Here, tapster [_Enter
Tapster_] broach number 1706, as the saying is.--Sir,
you shall taste my _Anno Domini_.--I have lived
in Lichfield, man and boy, above eight-and-fifty
years, and, I believe, have not consumed eight-and-fifty
ounces of meat. {42}
_Aim_. At a meal, you mean, if one may guess your sense
by your bulk.
_Bon_. Not in my life, sir: I have fed purely upon ale; I
have eat my ale, drank my ale, and I always sleep
upon ale.
_Enter Tapster with a bottle and glass, and exit_.
Now, sir, you shall see!--[_Fitting out a glass_.]
Your worship's health.--[_Drinks_.] Ha! delicious,
delicious! fancy it burgundy, only fancy it, and 'tis
worth ten shillings a quart. {51}
_Aim_. [Drinks,] 'Tis confounded strong!
_Bon_. Strong! it must be so, or how should we be strong
that drink it?
_Aim_. And have you lived so long upon this ale, landlord?
_Bon_. Eight-and-fifty years, upon my credit, sir--but it
killed my wife, poor woman, as the saying is.
_Aim_. How came that to pass?
_Bon_. I don't know how, sir; she would not let the ale
take its natural course, sir; she was for qualifying
it every now and then with a dram, as the saying
is; and an honest gentleman that came this way
from Ireland, made her a present of a dozen bottles
of usquebaugh--but the poor woman was never
well after: but, howe'er, I was obliged to the
gentleman, you know. {66}
_Aim_. Why, was it the usquebaugh that killed her?
_Bon_. My Lady Bountiful said so. She, good lady, did
what could be done; she cured her of three
tympanies, but the fourth carried her off. But
she's happy, and I 'm contented, as the saying is.
_Aim_. Who 's that Lady Bountiful you mentioned?
_Bon_. 'Ods my life, sir, we'll drink her health.--[Drinks.]
My Lady Bountiful is one of the best of women.
Her last husband, Sir Charles Bountiful, left her
worth a thousand pound, a year; and, I believe,
she lays out one-half on't in charitable uses for the
good of her neighbours. She cures rheumatisms,
ruptures, and broken shins in men; green-sickness,
obstructions, and fits of the mother, in women; the
king's evil, chincough, and chilblains, in children:
in short, she has cured more people in and about
Lichfield within ten years than the doctors have
killed in twenty; and that's a bold word. {84}
_Aim_. Has the lady been any other way useful in her
generation?
_Bon_. Yes, sir; she has a daughter by Sir Charles, the
finest woman in all our country, and the greatest
_fortune_. She has a son too, by her first husband,
Squire Sullen, who married a fine lady from London
t' other day; if you please, sir, we 'll drink his health.
_Aim_. What sort of a man is he? {92}
_Bon_. Why, sir, the man 's well enough; says little, thinks
less, and does--nothing at all, faith. But he's a
man of a great estate, and values nobody.
_Aim_. A sportsman, I suppose?
_Bon_. Yes, sir, he's a man of pleasure; he plays at
whisk and smokes his pipe eight-and-forty hours
together sometimes.
_Aim_. And married, you say? {100}
_Bon_. Ay, and to a curious woman, sir. But he's a--he
wants it here, sir. [_Pointing to his forehead_.
_Aim_. He has it there, you mean?
_Bon_. That's none of my business; he's my landlord,
and so a man, you know, would not--But--ecod, he's
no better than--Sir, my humble service to you.--
[_Drinks_.] Though I value not a farthing what he
can do to me; I pay him his rent at quarter-day;
I have a good running-trade; I have but one
daughter, and I can give her--but no matter for
that. {111}
_Aim_. You're very happy, Mr. Boniface. Pray, what
other company have you in town?
_Bon_. A power of fine ladies; and then we have the
French officers.
_Aim_. Oh, that's right, you have a good many of those
gentlemen: pray, how do you like their company?
_Bon_. So well, as the saying is, that I could wish we had
as many more of'em; they're full of money, and pay
double for everything they have. They know, sir,
that we paid good round taxes for the taking of 'em,
and so they are willing to reimburse us a little.
One of 'em lodges in my house. {123}
_Re-enter Archer_.
_Arch_. Landlord, there are some French gentlemen
below that ask for you.
_Bon_. I'll wait on 'em.--[_Aside to Archer_.] Does your
master stay long in town, as the saying is?
_Arch_. I can't tell, as the saying is.
_Bon_. Come from London?
_Arch_. No. {130}
_Bon_. Going to London, mayhap?
_Arch_. No.
_Bon_. [_Aside_.] An odd fellow this.--[_To Aimwell_.] I beg
your worship's pardon, I 'll wait on you in half a
minute. [_Exit_.
_Aim_. The coast's clear, I see.--Now, my dear Archer,
welcome to Lichfield!
_Arch_. I thank thee, my dear brother in iniquity.
_Aim_. Iniquity! prithee, leave canting; you need not
change your style with your dress. {140}
_Arch_. Don't mistake me, Aimwell, for 'tis still my
maxim, that there is no scandal like rags, nor any
crime so shameful as poverty.
_Aim_. The world confesses it every day in its practice
though men won't own it for their opinion. Who
did that worthy lord my brother, single out of the
side-box to sup with him t' other night?
_Arch_. Jack Handicraft, a handsome, well-dressed,
mannerly, sharping rogue, who keeps the best company
in town. {150}
_Aim_. Right!' And, pray, who married my lady
Manslaughter t'other day, the great fortune?
_Arch_. Why, Nick Marrabone, a professed pickpocket,
and a good bowler; but he makes a handsome
figure, and rides in his coach, that he formerly used
to ride behind.
_Aim_. But did you observe poor Jack Generous in the
Park last week.
_Arch_. Yes, with his autumnal periwig, shading his
melancholy face, his coat older than anything but
its fashion, with one hand idle in his pocket, and
with the other picking his useless teeth; and, though
the Mall was crowded with company, yet was poor
Jack as single and solitary as a lion in a desert.
_Aim_. And as much avoided for no crime upon earth
but the want of money. {166}
_Arch_. And that's enough. Men must not be poor;
idleness is the root of all evil; the world's wide
enough, let 'em bustle. Fortune has taken the weak
under her protection, but men of sense are left to
their industry. {171}
_Aim_. Upon which topic we proceed, and, I think, luckily
hitherto. Would not any man swear now, that I am
a man of quality, and you my servant, when if our
intrinsic value were known--
_Arch_. Come, come, we are the men of intrinsic value
who can strike our fortunes out of ourselves, whose
worth is independent of accidents in life, or revolutions
in government: we have heads to get money
and hearts to spend it. {180}
_Aim_. As to pur hearts, I grant ye, they are as willing
tits as any within twenty degrees: but I can have
no great opinion of our heads from the service they
have done us hitherto, unless it be that they have
brought us from London hither to Lichfield, made
me a lord and you my servant.
_Arch_. That 's more than you could expect already. But
what money have we left?
_Aim_. But two hundred pound. {189}
_Arch_. And our horses, clothes, rings, etc.--Why, we
have very good fortunes now for moderate people;
and, let me tell you, that this two hundred pound,
with the experience that we are now masters of, is
a better estate than the ten we have spent--Our
friends, indeed, began to suspect that our pockets
were low, but we came off with flying colours,
showed no signs of want either in word or deed.
_Aim_. Ay, and our going to Brussels was a good pretence
enough for our sudden disappearing; and, I
warrant you, our friends imagine that we are gone
a-volunteering. {201}
_Arch_. Why, faith, if this prospect fails, it must
e'en come to that I am for venturing one of the
hundreds, if you will, upon this knight-errantry; but,
in case it should fail, we 'll reserve t' other to carry
us to some counterscarp, where we may die, as we
lived, in a blaze.
_Aim_. With all my heart; and we have lived justly,
Archer: we can't say that we have spent our fortunes,
but that we have enjoyed 'em. {210}
_Arch_. Right! so much pleasure for so much money.
We have had our pennyworths; and, had I millions,
I would go to the same market again.--O London!
London!--Well, we have had our share, and let
us be thankful: past pleasures, for aught I know,
are best, such as we are sure of; those to come
may disappoint us. {217}
_Aim_. It has often grieved the heart of me to see how
some inhuman wretches murder their kind fortunes;
those that, by sacrificing all to one appetite, shall
starve all the rest. You shall have some that live
only in their palates, and in their sense of tasting
shall drown the other four: others are only epicures
in appearances, such who shall starve their nights
to make a figure a days, and famish their own to feed
the eyes of others: a contrary sort confine their
pleasures to the dark, and contract their specious
acres to the circuit of a muff-string. {228}
_Arch_. Right! But they find the Indies in that spot
where they consume 'em, and I think your kind
keepers have much the best on't: for they indulge
the most senses by one expense, there's the seeing,
hearing, and feeling, amply gratified; and, some
philosophers will tell you, that from such a
commerce there arises a sixth sense, that gives
infinitely more pleasure than the other five put
together, {237}
_Aim_. And to pass to the other extremity, of all keepers I
think those the worst that keep their money.
_Arch_. Those are the most miserable wights in being,
they destroy the rights of nature, and disappoint
the blessings of Providence. Give me a man that
keeps his five senses keen and bright as his sword,
that has 'em always drawn out in their just order and
strength, with his reason as commander at the head
of 'em, that detaches 'em by turns upon whatever
party of pleasure agreeably offers, and commands 'em
to retreat upon the least appearance of disadvantage
or danger! For my part, I can stick to my bottle
while my wine, my company, and my reason, hold
good; I can be charmed with Sappho's singing
without falling in love with her face: I love hunting,
but would not, like Actæon, be eaten up by my own
dogs; I love a fine house, but let another keep it;
and just so I love a fine woman. {255}
_Aim_. In that last particular you have the better of me.
_Arch_. Ay, you're such an amorous puppy, that I'm
afraid you 'll spoil our sport; you can't counterfeit
the passion without feeling it.
_Aim_. Though the whining part be out of doors in town,
'tis still in force with the country ladies: and let me
tell you, Frank, the fool in that passion shall-outdo
the knave at any time.
_Arch_. Well, I won't dispute it now; you command for
the day, and so I submit: at Nottingham, you
know, I am to be master. {266}
_Aim_. And at Lincoln, I again.
_Arch_. Then, at Norwich I mount, which, I think, shall
be our last stage; for, if we fail there, we'll embark
for Holland, bid adieu to Venus, and welcome
Mars.
_Aim_. A match!--Mum!
_Re-enter Boniface_.
_Bon_. What will your worship please to have for supper?
_Aim_. What have you got?
_Bon_. Sir, we have a delicate piece of beef in the pot,
and a pig at the fire.
_Aim_. Good supper-meat, I must confess. I can't eat
beef, landlord. {278}
_Arch_. And I hate pig.
_Aim_. Hold your prating, sirrah! do you know who you
are?
_Bon_. Please to bespeak something else; I have everything
in the house.
_Aim_. Have you any veal?
_Bon_. Veal! sir, we had a delicate loin of veal on
Wednesday last.
_Aim_. Have you got any fish or wildfowl? {287}
_Bon_. As for fish, truly, sir, we are an inland town, and
indifferently provided with fish, that 's the truth on't;
and then for wildfowl--we have a delicate couple of
rabbits. {291}
_Aim_. Get me the rabbits fricasseed.
_Bon_. Fricasseed! Lard, sir, they 'll eat much better
smothered with onions.
_Arch_. Psha! Damn your onions!
_Aim_. Again, sirrah!--Well, landlord, what you please.
But hold, I have a small charge of money, and your
house is so full of strangers that I believe it may
be safer in your custody than mine; for when this
fellow of mine gets drunk he tends to nothing.--Here,
sirrah, reach me the strong-box. {301}
_Arch_. Yes, sir.--[_Aside_.] This will give us a reputation.
[_Brings Aimwell the box_.
_Aim_. Here, landlord; the locks are sealed down both
for your security and mine; it holds somewhat
above two hundred pound: if you doubt it I'll
count it to you after supper; but be sure you lay it
where I may have it at a minute's warning; for my
affairs are a little dubious at present; perhaps I
may be gone in half an hour, perhaps I may be
your guest till the best part of that be spent; and
pray order your ostler to keep my horses always
saddled. But one thing above the rest I must beg,
that you would let this fellow have none of your
_Anno Domini_, as you call it; for he's the most
insufferable sot--Here, sirrah, light me to my chamber.
[_Exit, lighted by Archer_.
_Bon_. Cherry! daughter Cherry! {315}
_Re-enter Cherry_.
_Cher_. D'ye call, father?
_Bon_. Ay, child, you must lay by this box for the
gentleman: 'tis full of money.
_Cher_. Money! all that money! why, sure, father, the
gentleman comes to be chosen parliament-man.
Who is he? {321}
_Bon_. I don't know what to make of him; he talks of
keeping his horses ready saddled, and of going
perhaps at a minute's warning, or of staying perhaps
till the best part of this be spent.
_Cher_. Ay, ten to one, father, he's a highwayman.
_Bon_. A highwayman! upon my life, girl, you have hit it,
and this box is some new-purchased booty. Now,
could we find him out, the money were ours.
_Cher_. He don't belong to our gang. {330}
_Bon_. What horses have they?
_Cher_. The master rides upon a black.
_Bon_. A black! ten to one the man upon the black
mare; and since he don't belong to our fraternity,
we may betray him with a safe conscience: I don't
think it lawful to harbour any rogues but my own.
Look'ee, child, as the saying is, we must go
cunningly to work, proofs we must have; the
gentleman's servant loves drink, I'll ply him that
way, and ten to one loves a wench: you must work
him t' other way. {341}
_Cher_. Father, would you have me give my secret for
his?
_Bon_. Consider, child, there's two hundred pound to
boot.--[_Ringing without_.] Coming! coming!--Child,
mind your business. [_Exit_.
_Cher_. What a rogue is my father! My father! I deny
it. My mother was a good, generous, free-hearted
woman, and I can't tell how far her good nature
might have extended for the good of her children.
This landlord of mine, for I think I can call him
no more, would betray his guest, and debauch his
daughter into the bargain--by a footman too!
_Re-enter Archer_.
_Arch_. What footman, pray, mistress, is so happy as to
be the subject of your contemplation? {355}
_Cher_. Whoever he is, friend, he'll be but little the
better for't.
_Arch_. I hope so, for, I 'm sure, you did not think of me.
_Cher_. Suppose I had?
_Arch_. Why, then, you 're but even with me; for the
minute I came in, I was a-considering in what
manner I should make love to you.
_Cher_. Love to me, friend!
_Arch_. Yes, child. {364}
_Cher_. Child! manners!--If you kept a little more
distance, friend, it would become you much better.
_Arch_. Distance! good-night, sauce-box. [_Going_.
_Cher_. [_Aside_.] A pretty fellow! I like his pride.--
[_Aloud_.] Sir, pray, sir, you see, sir [_Archer returns_]
I have the credit to be entrusted with your master's
fortune here, which sets me a degree above his
footman; I hope, sir, you an't affronted? {372}
_Arch_. Let me look you full in the face, and I 'll tell you
whether you can affront me or no. 'Sdeath, child,
you have a pair of delicate eyes, and you don't
know what to do with 'em!
_Cher_. Why, sir, don't I see everybody?
_Arch_. Ay, but if some women had 'em, they would kill
everybody. Prithee, instruct me, I would fain make
love to you, but I don't know what to say. {380}
_Cher_. Why, did you never make love to anybody
before?
_Arch_. Never to a person of your figure I can assure
you, madam: my addresses have been always confined
to people within my own sphere, I never
aspired so high before. [_Sings_.
But you look so bright,
And are dress'd so tight,
That a man would swear you 're right,
As arm was e'er laid over. {390}
Such an air
You freely wear
To ensnare,
As makes each guest a lover!
Since then, my dear, I 'm your guest,
Prithee give me of the best
Of what is ready drest:
Since then, my dear, etc.
_Cher_. [_Aside_.] What can I think of this man?--[_Aloud_.]
Will you give me that song, sir? {400}
_Arch_. Ay, my dear, take it while 'tis warm.--[_Kisses
her_.] Death and fire! her lips are honeycombs.
_Cher_. And I wish there had been bees too, to have
stung you for your impudence.
_Arch_. There 's a swarm of Cupids, my little Venus, that
has done the business much better.
_Cher_. [_Aside_.] This fellow is misbegotten as well as I.--
[Aloud.] What's your name, sir?
_Arch_. [_Aside_.] Name! egad, I have forgot it.--[_Aloud_.]
Oh! Martin. {410}
_Cher_. Where were you born?
_Arch_. In St Martin's parish.
_Cher_. What was your father?
_Arch_. St. Martin's parish.
_Cher_. Then, friend, good-night
_Arch_. I hope not.
_Cher_. You may depend upon't
_Arch_. Upon what?
_Cher_. That you're very impudent.
_Arch_. That you 're very handsome. {420}
_Cher_. That you're a footman.
_Arch_. That you're an angel.
_Cher_. I shall be rude.
_Arch_. So shall I.
_Cher_. Let go my hand.
_Arch_. Give me a kiss. [_Kisses her_.
[_Call without_.] Cherry! Cherry!
_Cher_. I'm--my father calls; you plaguy devil, how
durst you stop my breath so? Offer to follow me
one step, if you dare. [_Exit_.
_Arch_. A fair challenge, by this light! this is a pretty
fair opening of an adventure; but we are knight-errants,
and so Fortune be our guide. [_Exit_.