The Augustan Reprint Society
Thomas Baker
THE FINE LADY'S AIRS
(1709)
With an Introduction by
John Harrington Smith
Publication Number 25
Los Angeles
William Andrews Clark Memorial Library
University of California
1950
_GENERAL EDITORS_
H. RICHARD ARCHER, _Clark Memorial Library_
RICHARD C. BOYS, _University of Michigan_
EDWARD NILES HOOKER, _University of California, Los Angeles_
JOHN LOFTIS, _University of California, Los Angeles_
_ASSISTANT EDITOR_
W. EARL BRITTON, _University of Michigan_
_ADVISORY EDITORS_
EMMETT L. AVERY, _State College of Washington_
BENJAMIN BOYCE, _Duke University_
LOUIS I. BREDVOLD, _University of Michigan_
CLEANTH BROOKS, _Yale University_
JAMES L. CLIFFORD, _Columbia University_
ARTHUR FRIEDMAN, _University of Chicago_
SAMUEL H. MONK, _University of Minnesota_
ERNEST MOSSNER, _University of Texas_
JAMES SUTHERLAND, _Queen Mary College, London_
H.T. SWEDENBERG, JR., _University of California, Los Angeles_
INTRODUCTION
In the first decade of the eighteenth century, with comedy in train to be
altered out of recognition to please the reformers and the ladies, one of
the two talented writers who attempted to keep the comic muse alive in
something like her "Restoration" form was Thomas Baker.[1] Of Baker's four
plays which reached the stage, none has been reprinted since the
eighteenth century and three exist only as originally published. Of these
three the best is _The Fine Lady's Airs_; hence its selection for the
_Reprints_.
Baker's career in the theatre was as successful as should have been
expected by any young man who after his first play attempted to swim
against rather than with the current of taste. His first effort, entitled
_The Humour of the Age_, was produced at D.L. c. February 1701, and
published March 22,[2] the author having then but reached his "Twenty
First Year" (Dedication). It must have been well received, for Baker
speaks of "the extraordinary Reception this Rough Draught met with."
Indeed, it has in it, despite some "satire," a number of motifs which
would recommend it to the audience. Railton, the antimatrimonialist and
libertine of the piece, is given the wittiest lines, but his attempt to
seduce Tremilia, a grave Quaker-clad beauty, is frowned on by everyone,
including the author; and when the rake attempts to force the lady,
Freeman, a man of sense, intervenes with sword drawn and gives him a stern
lecture. In the end, when Tremilia, giving her hand to Freeman, turns out
to be an heiress who had assumed the Quaker garb to make sure of getting a
disinterested husband, the error of Railton's ways becomes apparent. At
the same time his cast mistress, whom he had succeeded in marrying off to
a ridiculous old Justice, is impressed by Tremilia's "great Example."
"How conspicuous a thing is Virtue!" says she, in an aside; and she
resolves to make the Justice a model wife. Despite much wit the play is
thus, in its main drift, exemplary.
Baker followed with _Tunbridge-Walks: Or, The Yeoman of Kent_, D.L. Jan.
1703, a play good enough to pass into the repertory and to be revived many
times in the course of the century. The variety of company and the holiday
atmosphere of the English watering-place had inspired good comedies of
intrigue, manners, and character eccentricities before this date (e.g.
Shadwell's _Epsom Wells_ and Rawlins' _Tunbridge-Wells_). Baker decorates
his scene with such "humours" as Maiden, "a Nice Fellow that values
himself upon all Effeminacies;" Squib, a bogus captain; Mrs. Goodfellow,
"a Lady that loves her Bottle;" her niece Penelope, "an Heroic Trapes;"
and Woodcock, the Yeoman, a rich, sharp, forthright, crusty old fellow
with a pretty daughter, Belinda, whom he is determined never to marry
but to a substantial farmer of her own class: her suitor, a clever
ne'er-do-well named Reynard, of course tricks the old gentleman by an
intrigue and a disguise. It is Reynard's sister Hillaria, however, "a
Railing, Mimicking Lady" with no money and no admitted scruples, but
enough beauty and wit to match when and with whom she chooses, who
dominates the play; and though Loveworth, whom she finally permits to win
her, is rather substantial than gay, she is gay enough for them both. The
action, though somewhat farcical, has verve throughout, and the dialogue
crackles. And, as regards the nature of comedy, Baker now knows where he
stands. There is no character who could possibly be taken as an "example."
On the contrary, whenever a pathetic or "exemplary" effect seems imminent
Hillaria or Woodcock is always there to knock it on the head. Thus when
Belinda goes into blank verse to lament the paternal tyranny which was
threatening to separate her from Reynard,
What Noise and Discord sordid Interest breeds!
Oh! that I had shar'd a levell'd State of Life,
With quiet humble Maids, exempt from Pride,
And Thoughts of Worldly Dross that marr their Joys,
In Any Sphere, but a Distinguished Heiress,
To raise me Envy, and oppose my Love.
Fortune, Fortune, Why did you give me Wealth to make me wretched!
Hillaria comes in:
Belinda in Tears--Now has that old Rogue been Plaguing her--Poor Soul!...
Come, Child, Let's retire, and take a Chiriping Dram, Sorrow's dry; I'le
divert you with the New Lampoon, 'tis a little Smutty; but what then; we
Women love to read those things in private. _(Exeunt)_
Within a year Baker had another play ready--_An Act at Oxford_, with the
scene laid in the university town and some of the characters Oxford types.
Whether through objections by the University authorities or not (they
would perhaps have thought themselves justified in bringing pressure,
for Baker certainly does not treat his _alma mater_ with great respect)
the play in this form was not acted. Baker published it in 1704, in the
Dedication referring to "the most perfect Enjoyment of Life, I found at
Oxford" and disclaiming any intention to give offence, he then salvaged
most of the play in a revision, _Hampstead Heath_ (D.L. Oct. 1705),
with the scene changed to Hampstead. It is as non-edifying as
_Tunbridge-Walks_. The note is struck on the first page, when Captain
Smart, who has been trying to read a new comedy entitled _Advice to All
Parties_, flings it down with expressions of ennui; shortly thereafter
Deputy Driver, a member of a Reforming Society, appears on the scene to be
twitted because while pretending to reform the whole world he can't keep
his own wife from gadding; and matters proceed with Smart's project to
trick a skittish independence-loving heiress into keeping a compact she
had made to marry him, and his friend Bloom's attempts at the cagey virtue
of Mrs. Driver. The latter project comes to nothing, but both hunter and
hunted find pleasure in the chase while it lasts. When Mrs. D. returns to
the Deputy at the end, her motive for reassuming his yoke is a sound one--
she's out of funds; and her advice to him, "If you'd check my Rambling,
loose my Reins," is sound Wycherleyan sense. It must be admitted that when
one compares the dialogue of _Hampstead Heath_ with that of the _Act_ some
punches are shown to have been pulled in the revision.[4] While keeping
the play comic Baker still did not wish to push the audience too far.
In December, 1708 he made his fourth and (as it proved) final try for fame
and fortune in the theatre with _The fine Lady's Airs,_ He claims that it
was well received (see Dedication) and he had his third night, but
D'Urfey, whose enmity Baker had incurred, says (Pref. to _The Modern
Prophets_) that the play was "hist," and _The British Apollo_, which
carried on a feud with Baker in August and September of 1709, makes the
same assertion in several places.[5] This, to be sure, is testimony from
enemies. But obviously the play was far less liked than _Tunbridge-Walks_
had been, and thus (to compare a small man with a great one) Baker's
experience was something like Congreve's, when, after the great success of
_Love for Love, The Way of the World_ won only a tepid reception. And it
is chiefly Congreve whom he takes for his model; the play is an attempt at
a level of comedy higher than Baker had aimed at before. He does not
always succeed: Congreve's kind of writing was not natural to Baker, and
the lines sometimes labor. Still, the Bleinheim-Lady Rodomont duel has
merit; and Sir Harry Sprightly (though of course he owes something to
Farquhar's Wildair), Mrs. Lovejoy, and Major Bramble are all in Baker's
best manner. On the whole it was a better play than the audience in 1708
deserved. Presumably Baker felt this, for he wrote no more for the stage.
Most of the account of Baker's life pulled together in the DNB article on
him has a decidedly apocryphal ring to it. The statement (first made in
_The Poetical Register_, 1719) that he was "Son of an Eminent Attorney of
the City of London" sounds like something manufactured out of whole cloth
by a compiler who in fact had no idea whose son Baker was. The _Biographia
Dramatica_ had "heard" that the effeminate Maiden in _Tunbridge-Walks_
was absolutely, and without exaggeration, a portrait of the author's
own former character, whose understanding having at length pointed
out to him the folly he had so long been guilty-of, he reformed it
altogether ... and wrote this character, in order to ... warn others
from that rock of contempt, which he had himself for some time been
wrecked on.
Nothing on its face more improbable than this could well be imagined.
And that Baker could have "died ... of that loathsome Distemper the
_Morbus Pediculosus_" (sketch of him in _Scanderbeg,_ 1747) does not sound
likely, either.[6]
A lead to more solid information is furnished by the circumstance of
Baker's having been educated at Oxford. We have seen (above) that he was
barely twenty-one when _The Humour of the Age_ was printed in March of
1701. A Thomas Baker, son of John Baker of Ledbury, Hereford, was entered
at Brasenose College, Oxford, on March 18, 1697, aged seventeen.[7] The
ages falling so pat, this must be our dramatist. Upon taking his B.A. at
Christ Church in 1700 he must immediately have set to scribbling his first
play (the Dedication says that it was "writ in two months last summer").
Perhaps at this time he lived in London in some such boarding-house as
furnishes the scene for the play.
He may have been already studying law, for at least by 1709 (we cannot
tell how much earlier) he was "by trade an Attorney."[8] It seems likely
that various touches in the comedies reflect his training for this
calling. In _The Humour of the Age_, Pun and Quibble, the principal fops,
are a pair of articled law-clerks who detest green-bags and (it comes
out at one point) are collaborating on a play. (Readers of the present
reprint will note, also, that the money which Master Totty brings with him
from the country is to recompense an attorney for training him in law).
Perhaps Baker could never afford to study law as those well off did: there
may be a tinge of sour grapes in the observation in _Tunbridge-Walks_ that
"since the Lawyers are all turn'd Poets, and have taken the Garrets in
Drury Lane, none but Beaus live in the Temple now, who have sold all
their Books, burnt all their Writings, and furnish'd the Rooms with
Looking-glass and China." But this is light-hearted, as becomes a man who
has not yet had a setback as a stage-poet. Two years later, after the
stopping of _An Act at Oxford_ had put him to much trouble, he is souring
somewhat, for the poor Oxford scholar says in _Hampstead Heath_ that no
profession nowadays offers much prospect of success for a man trained
as he, and, as for poetry, one can only expect to be "two years writing
a Play, and sollicit three more to get it acted; and for present
Sustenance one's forc'd to scribble _The Diverting Post, A Dialogue
between Charing-Cross and Bow Steeple_, and Elegies upon People that are
hang'd."
When in December 1708 _The Fine Lady's Airs_ gained only a moderate
success Baker must have thought of a living in the Church as a _pis
aller_, for he enrolled at Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge, March 8,
1709, and took an M.A. there the same year. In a final attempt to succeed
with his pen he seems to have tried periodical journalism in the guise of
"Mrs. Crackenthorpe" in _The Female Tatler. The British Apollo_, at least,
pinned this on him. "The author poses as a woman," it says, in effect,
"and some may thus be taken in,"
But others will swear that this wise Undertaker
By Trade's an At--ney, by Name is a B--r,
Who rambles about with a Female Disguise on
And lives upon Scandal, as Toads do on Poyson.[9]
Perhaps it was this which, taken quite literally, produced the _Biographia
Dramatica's_ canard as to Baker's effeminacy (see above).
After grinding out a greater or less amount of this hack-work,[10] Baker
gave up trying to write. His disappearance from the scene thereafter is
accounted for by his appointment (1711) to a living in Bedfordshire, where
he was Rector of Bolnhurst till his death, and (1716-31) Vicar of
Ravensden. As the Bolnhurst school was founded upon a bequest from him in
1749,[11] he presumably died in that year--but not, I should guess, of
_morbus pediculosus_.
_John Harrington Smith
University of California, Los Angeles_
NOTES TO INTRODUCTION
[Footnote 1: The other was William Burnaby. His plays have been given a
modern editing by F.E. Budd (Scholartis Press, 1931).]
[Footnote 2: Nicoll, _Early Eighteenth Century Drama_, Handlist of Plays.
For all subsequent statements as to dates of production I follow this
source.]
[Footnote 3: It was still too lively, however, to be acted outside London.
The Harvard Theatre Collection has a copy once owned by Joe Haines with
"cuts" designed to soften it for playing in the provinces. Such lines as,
"The Godly never go to Taverns, but get drunk every Night at one another's
Houses," "Citizens are as fond of their Wives, as their Wives are of other
People," and "Virtue's an Impossibility ... every Citizen's Wife pretends
to't," are carefully expunged.]
[Footnote 4: E.g., Bloom to Mrs. Driver, "One moment into that Closet, if
it be but to read the Practice of Piety" becomes "One Moment into that
Closet, Dear, dear Creature; they say it's mighty prettily furnish'd," And
in her aside, "I vow, I've a good mind; but Virtue--the Devil, I ne're was
so put to't i' my Life," for the words "the Devil" are substituted the
words "and Reputation."]
[Footnote 5: No. 50, Sept. 14; No. 61, Oct. 26.]
[Footnote 6: According to the impression I have of this "morbus" it was a
skin-ailment particularly appropriated to beggars, who might contract it
upon long exposure to filth and louse-bites. Even then, though there would
doubtless be a certain amount "of discomfort about it, it would scarcely
prove fatal.]
[Footnote 7: This and subsequent vital statistics as to Baker's university
and clerical career are from the account of him in J. and J.A. Venn,
_Alumni Cantabrigienses_, 1922 _et sq_.]
[Footnote 8: _British Apollo_, No. 49, Sept. 14, 1709.]
[Footnote 9: _Ibid._]
[Footnote 10: Both Paul Bunyan Anderson, "The history and authorship of
Mrs. Crackenthorpe's _Female Tatler_," _MP_, XXVIII (1931), 354-60, and
Walter Graham, "Thomas Baker, Mrs. Manley, and _The Female Tatler_," _MP_,
XXXIV (1937), 267-72, think that some, at least, of the _F.T._ is from
Baker's pen, but they disagree as to what part and how much. I am
considering the matter and may have an opinion to express in future.]
[Footnote 11: _Victoria History of Bedfordshire_, II, 181 n.; III, 128.]
THE
Fine Lady's Airs:
OR, AN
EQUIPAGE of LOVERS.
A
COMEDY.
As it is Acted at the
THEATRE-ROYAL IN _DRURY-LANE._
Written by the Author of the _Yeoman of Kent_.
_LONDON_:
Printed for BERNARD LINTOTT at the _Cross-Keys_, between
the Two _Temple_ Gates in _Fleetstreet_.
Price 1_s._ 6_d_.
TO
Sir _ANDREW FONTAINE_
To Address a Man of your Character, gives me greater Concern than to
finish the most Elaborate Play, and support the various Conflicts which
naturally attend ev'ry Author; how the Town in general will receive it.
To harangue some of the First Quality, whose Titles are the greatest
Illustration we can give 'em, is a sort of Common-Place Oratory; which
Poets may easily vary in copying from one another; but, when I'm speaking
to the most finish'd young Gentleman any Age has produced, whose
distinguish'd Merits exact the nicest Relation, I feel my inability, and
want a Genius barely to touch on those extraordinary Accomplishments,
which You so early, and with so much ease, have made Your self perfect
Master of.
But, when I reflect on the Affability of Your Temper, the generous and
obliging Reception, You always gave me, and the ingaging Sweetness of Your
Conversation, I'm the more incourag'd to pay my Duty to You in this
Nature, fully persuading my self, You'll lay aside the Critick, by
considering, in how many Respects, Your condescending Goodness has shown
You are my Friend.
The vast stock of Learning You acquir'd in Your Non-age, has manifested to
the World, that a Scholar, and a fine Gentleman are not Inconsistent, and
rendered You so matchless an Ornament to the University of _Oxford_,
particularly to _Christ-Church-_College, where You imbib'd it.
'Tis a Misfortune that attends many of our _English_ Gentlemen to set out
for Travel without any Foundation; and wanting a Tast of Letters, and the
Knowledge of their own Country, the Observations they make Abroad, to
reflect no further, are generally useless and impertinent.
But You so plentifully were furnish'd with all this Kingdom afforded, that
Foreign Languages became Natural to You, and the unparallell'd Perfections
You accumulated Abroad, particularly Your most Judicious and Critical
Collection of Antiquities, made You so eminently Conspicuous, and justly
Admir'd at the Great Court of _Hannover_, and since Your Return, have so
cordially recommended You to the good Graces of the most Discerning
Nobleman in the Kingdom.
Amongst other Degrees of Knowledge, I have heard You express some value
for Poetry; which, cou'd one imitate Your right Tast of those less
profitable Sciences, who permit it but at some Seasons, as a familiar
Companion to relieve more serious Thoughts, and prevent an Anxiety, which,
the constant Application, You have always been inclin'd to give harder
Studies, might probably draw on You, is an Amusement worthy the greatest
Head-piece. But 'tis so deluding a Genius, Dramatick Poetry especially,
that many are insensibly drawn into to it, 'till it becomes a Business. To
avoid that Misfortune, I'm now almost fix'd to throw it intirely by, and
wou'd fain aim at something which may prove more serviceable to the
Publick, and beneficial to my self.
Cou'd I have the Vanity to hope your Approbation of this _Comedy_, 'twou'd
be so current a Stamp to it, that none, who have the Honour to know You,
wou'd pretend to dispute it's Merit; but tho' I'm satisfy'd in Your good
Nature, I must be aw'd with Your Judgment; and am sensible there are
Errors in it infinitely more obvious to Your Eye, than a greater Part of
the Polite World; however, as it had the Fortune to be well receiv'd, and
by some of the best Judges esteem'd much preferable to any of my former,
and as it was highly favour'd the Third Night with as beautiful an
Appearance of Nobility, and other fine Ladies, as ever yet Grac'd a
Theatre. I hope, you'll in some measure Protect it, at least that you'll
pardon this Presumption, since I have long pleas'd my self with the Hopes,
and impatiently waited an Opportunity of publickly declaring how much I
am,
_SIR_,
_Your most Devoted,
and Obedient humble Servant_,
PROLOGUE.
Written by Mr. MOTTEUX.
_So long the solitary Stage has mourn'd,
Sure now you're pleas'd to find our Sports return'd.
When Warriors come triumphant, all will smile,
And Love wirh Conquest crown the Toyls of_ Lille.
_Tho from the Field of Glory you're no Starters,
Few love all Fighting, and no Winter-Quarters.
Chagrin French Generals cry_, Gens temerare
_Dare to take_ Lille! _We only take the Air.
No, bravely, with the Pow'rs of_ Spain _and_ France,
_We will--Entrench; and stand--at a distance:
We'll starve 'em--if they please not to advance.
Long thus, in vain, were the Allies defy'd,
But 'twas ver cold by that damn'd River Side.
So as they came too late, and we were stronger,
Scorn the Poltrons, we cry'd--
March off;_ morbleu, _we'll stay for 'em no longer;
The little Monsieurs their Disgrace may own,
Now ev'n the Grand ones makes their Scandal known.
Mean while, without you half our Season's wasted.
Before 'tis_ Lent _sufficiently we've fasted.
No matter how our Op'ra Folks did fare,
Too full a Stomach do's the Voice impair._
Nay, you your selves lost by't; for saunt'ring hither
You're safe from all but Love, four Hours together.
Some idle Sparks with dear damnd Stuff, call'd Wine,
Got drunk by Eight, and perhaps sows'd by Nine,
O'er Politicks and Smoke some rail'd some writ,
The Wiser yawn'd, or nodded o'er their Wit.
O'er Scandal, Tea, Cards, or dull am'rous Papers,
The Ladies had the Spleen, the Beaux the Vapors.
Some went among the Saints without Devotion;
Nay more, 'tis fear'd went thro' a wicked Motion.
But the kind Female Traders well may boast,
When we're shut up, their Doors are open'd most.
I dare engage, they, by the Vint'ners back'd,
Wou'd raise a Fund, so they alone might act.
With them 'tis ne'er Vacation, tho' we lose,
The Courts shut up, they Chamber Practice use.
Since therefore without Plays, tho' call'd a Curse,
The Good grow bad, the Bad grow worse and worse,
Show misled Zeal what Ills infest the Age,
And truly to reform, support the_ British _Stage_.
Dramatis Personæ.
MEN.
Sir _Harry Sprightly_. Mr._Mills_.
Brigadier _Blenheim_, just return'd from the Army. Mr._Wilks_
Mr. _Nicknack_, a Beau-Merchant. Mr._Cibber_.
_Major Bramble_, a factious old Fellow. Mr._Johnson._
Master _Totty_, a great Boy. Mr._Bullock_.
_Knapsack_, an Attendant on the _Collonel_. Mr._Pinkethman_.
_Shrimp_, Sir Harry's Valet. Mr._Norris_.
WOMEN.
Lady _Rodomont_. Mrs._Oldfield_.
Lady _Toss-up_. Mrs._Porter_.
Mrs. _Lovejoy_, Cousin to Lady _Rodomont_. Mrs._Bradshaw_.
Mrs. _Flimsy_, Lady _Toss-up's_ Woman. Mrs._Saunders_.
_Orange-Woman._ Mr. _Pack_.
_Mercer, Manto-Maker, Sempstress, Toyman, India-Woman,_
and other Attendants.
SCENE LONDON.
In the Month of _December_.
THE
Fine Lady's Airs:
OR, AN
EQUIPAGE of LOVERS.
ACT I. SCENE I.
_Sir_ Harry _discover'd dressing; and_ Shrimp _attending_.
Sir _Har_. Where had you been last Night, you drunken Dog, that you
cou'dn't take care of me when I was drunk.
_Shr_. I happen'd, Sir, to meet with some very honest Gentlemen, that have
the Honour to wait upon other Gentlemen, where Wit and Humour brighten'd
to that degree, we pass'd about the Glass, 'till we lost our Senses.
Sir _Har_. Wit, you Rascal! Have you Scoundrels the impudence to suppose
your selves reasonable Creatures?
_Shr_. Sir, we are as much below Learning, indeed, as our Masters are
above it; but why mayn't a Servant have as good natural Parts?
Sir _Har_. Mend your Manners, Sirrah; or you shall serve the Queen.
_Shr_. Ev'ry Man ought to mend his Manners, Sir, that pretends to a Place
at Court; but the Queen's mightily oblig'd to some People.--Has a
Gentleman an impudent rakish Footman, not meaning my self, Sir, that wears
his Linen, fingers his Money, and lies with his Mistress;--You Dog, you
shall serve the Queen.--Has a Tradesman a Fop Prentice, that airs out his
Horses, and heats his Wife, or an old Puritan a graceless Son, that runs
to the Play-House instead of the Meeting, they are threathen'd with the
Queen's Service; so that Her Majesty's good Subjects, drink her Health,
wish success to her Arms, and send her all the Scoundrels i'the Nation.
Sir _Har_. Fellows that han't sense to value a Civil Employment are
necessary to front an Army, whose thick Sculls may repulse the first Fury
of the Enemy's Cannon Bullets.
_Shr_. I hope, then, the _English_ are so wise to let the _Dutch_ march
foremost.--But why, Sir, shou'd you Gentlemen ingross all the Pleasures
o'Life, and not allow us poor Dogs to imitate you in our own Sphere;--You
wear lac'd Coats; We lac'd Liv'ries;--You play at Picquet; We at
All-Fours;--You get drunk with Burgundy; We with Geneva;--You pinck Holes
with your Swords; We crack Sculls with our Sticks;--You are Gentlemen; We
are hang'd.
Sir _Har_. A fine Relation; but, methinks, the latter Part of it might
deter you from such Courses.
_Shr_. I'm a Predestinarian, Sir; which is an Argument of a great Soul,
and will no more baulk a drunken Frolick, than I would a pretty Lady that
takes a Fancy to me.
Sir _Har_. No more of your Impertinence; attend, I hear Company (Shrimp
_goes to the Door_) Brigadier _Blenheim_ return'd from the Army!
_Enter_ Collonel, _and_ Knapsack.
Sir _Har_. My noblest, dearest Collonel, let me imbrace you as a
_Britain_, and as a Friend. _Ajax_ ne'er boasted _English_ Valour;
_Ulysses_ ne'er such Conduct; nor _Alexander_ such Successes. The Queen
rejoices; the Parliament vote you Thanks; and ev'ry honest Loyal Heart
bounds at our General's Name.
_Col_. Ay, Sir _Harry_, to be thus receiv'd, rewards the Soldier's Toils;
and, faith, we have maul'd the fancy _French-men,_ near Twenty Thousand we
left fast asleep, taught the remaining few a new Minuet-step, and sent 'em
home to sing _Te Deum_.
_Knap_. Ay, Sir, and if they are not satisfied, next Campaign the
_English_ shall stand still, and laugh at their Endeavours; the _Dutch_
Snigger-snee 'em; the _Scotch_ Cook them; and the wild _Irish_ eat 'em.
_Col_. Oh! The glorious Din of War; the Energy of a good Cause, and the
Emulation of a brave Confederacy.--To sound the Charge; Make a vigorous
Attack, the Enemy gives ground,--To pour on fresh Vollies of a sure
Destruction, and return deafn'd with shouts o' Victory, and adorn'd with
glitt'ring Standards of the vanquish'd Foe.
_Knap_. To hang up in _Westminster-Hall_, and make the Lawyers stare off
their Briefs;--But the Harmony of sounding a Retreat,--to hug my self with
two Arms, and walk substantially upon both my Pedestals, or the health of
Mind in lying sick at _Amsterdam_.
_Col_. Ay, here's a sorry Rascal, that lags always behind, and is afraid
to look Death i'the Face.
_Knap_. Why, really, Sir, 'tisn't manners to march before the _Colonel_;
and upon a warm Engagement, I have heard you talk musically of good
Conduct. Besides, that Mr._ Death_ is but a Hatchet-face Beau, so lean,
and wither'd like an old Dutchess, or a Doctor o' Physick, I had as live
see the Devil.
Sir _Har_. But when the Lines are forc'd, the Enemy slain, and the Placs
loaded with rich Plunder.--
_Knap_. None so nimble, none so valiant, none so expert as your very
humble Servant _Nehemiah Knapsack_.
_Col_. But, who are the raigning Beauties o'the Age? What Favours will
they grant a Soldier after a hard Campaign, fatiguing Marches, desp'rate
Attempts, and narrow Escapes, to preserve them from Rapine, Violence, and
Slav'ry, that they may laugh away the Day in gay Diversions, and pass the
silent Night in silver Slumbers on their Downy Beds?
Sir _Har_. Just as many Favours as you have Money or _Mechlin_ Lace to
purchase: Women apprehend not the Danger of War, and therefore have no
Notion of Gratitude.
_Coll_. Oh! The thoughts of scatt'ring small Shot among the sparkling
Tribe, to feast my Senses upon dear Variety, have ev'ry Day a new dazling
Beauty, and ev'ry Hour to taste the Joys of Love.
Sir _Har_. Don't fancy, _Collonel_, because you have beat the _French_ you
must conquer all the Ladies; there are Women that dare resist you boldly,
will exact your Courage beyond attacking a Fortress, and maintain a hotter
Engagement.
_Col._ If you mean Women of the Town, some of 'em wou'd give a Man a warm
Reception--Yet I long to be traversing the _Park_, ogling at the Play,
peeping up at Windows, and ferreting the Warren o' _Covent-Garden_, till I
seize on some skittish dapper Doxie, whose pretty black Eyes, dimpling
Cheeks, heaving Breasts, and soft Caresses, wou'd melt a Man--for half a
Guinea.
_Knap_. How I long too, to wheedle in with some Buxom Widow, that keeps a
Victualling-House, to provide me with Meat, Drink, Washing and Lodging--to
find out some delicious Chamber-Maid, that will pawn her best Mohair-Gown,
sell even her Silver-Thimble, and rob her Mistress to shew how truly she
loves me; or intrigue with some Heroick Sempstress, that will call me her
_Artaxerxes_, her _Agamemnon_, and give me six new Shirts.
Sir _Har_. And now the tedious Summer is elaps'd, and Winter ushers in
neglected Joys; Armies march home victorious from the Field, Ladies from
Parks and Plains that mourn'd their absence; a Croud of Pleasures glut the
varying Appetite, and Friends long absent meet with gayest Transports.
_Col_. Ay, Winter is the gay, the happy Season: I hate a Solitary Rural
Life, as if one were at variance with the World; to walk with Arms
a-cross, admire Nature's Works in Woods and Groves, talk to the Streams,
and tell the Trees our Passion, while Eccho's make a Mock at all we say--
Give me the shining Town, the glittering Theatres; there Nature best is
seen in Beauteous Boxes, where Beaus transported with the Heavenly Sight,
the little God sits pleas'd in ev'ry Eye, and Actors dart new Vigour from
the Stage, supported By the Spirit of full Pay--But what great Fortunes
buz about the Town; Red-Coats have carry'd off good store of Heiresses,
and that's the sure, tho' not the sweetest Game; besides, Sir _Harry_,
they talk of Peace, and we that have nothing but the Sword to trust to,
ought to provide against that dreadful Day.
_Knap_. Really, Sir, I have had some Thoughts of Marriage too; there's
nothing like being settl'd, to have a House of one's own, and Attendants
about one; besides, I'm the last Male, of a very ancient Family, and
shou'd I die without Children, the _Knap-sacks_ wou'd be quite extinct.
Sir _Har._ The Talk, the Pride, and Envy of the Town is Lady _Rodomont_,
whose Wit surprizes, whose Beauty ravishes, and a clear Estate of Six
thousand a Year distracts the admiring Train; but the Misfortune is, she
has Travell'd, had Experience, well vers'd in Gallantries of various
Courts; she admits Coquets, and rallies each Pretender, so resolutely fond
of Liberty, she slights the most accomplish'd of Mankind, there _Collonel_
is a Siege to prove a _Roman_ or a _Grecian_ Bravery.
_Col._ A _Roman_ or a _Grecian_, say you, bold _Britains_ laugh at all
their baubling Fights; and had _Achilles_, with his batt'ring Rams, felt
half the Fury of an _English_ General, _Troy_ had ne'er bully'd out a Ten
Years Siege--but Ladies are more craftily subdu'd; you mustn't storm a
Nymph with Sword and Pistol, pursue her as you wou'd a tatter'd
_Frenchman_, push her Attendants into the _Danube_, then seize her, and
clap her into a Coach--I'll baffle her at her own Argument, swear I'd not
wed a _Phoenix_ of her Sex, and laugh at Dress and Beauty, Wit and
Fortune, when purchas'd only at the Price of Liberty--then sweeten her
again with ogling Smiles, look Babies in her Eyes, and vow she's handsome;
and when she thinks each artful Glance has caught me, that now's the time
to Conquer, and to Laugh, and with malicious Cunning mentions Marriage,
I'll start, and change, and beg her not to name it, for 'tis a Thought
that rouses Madness in me, 'till out of Spight and Spleen, and Woman's
Curiosity, the Knot's abruptly ty'd, to prove my feign'd Resolves, and
boast her Power.
Sir _Har._ Tis well design'd, and may the Soldier animate the Lover: For
my part, I'm so devoted to my Pleasures, and so strangely bigotted to a
single Life, I have sold an Estate of Two thousand a Year, to buy an
Annuity of Four: I love to Rake and Rattle thro' the Town, and each
Amusement, as it happens, pleases. The Ladies call me Mad Sir _Harry_, a
Careless, Affable, Obliging Fellow, whom, when they want, they send for. I
wear good Cloaths to 'Squire'em up and down; have Wit enough to Chat, and
make'em Giggle, and Sense enough to keep their Favours secret--But from
Romantick Love, Good Heav'n defend me. A Moment's Joy's not worth an Age's
Courtship; and when the Nymph's Demure, and Dull and Shy, and Foolish and
Freakish, and Fickle, there are Billiards at the _Smyrna_, Bowles at
_Marybone_, and Dice at the _Groom-Porter_'s--Are you for the Noon-Park.
_Col._ With all my Heart.
Sir _Har._ There the _Beau-Monde_ appear in all their Splendour--Here,
_Shrimp_, [_Enters._] entertain the _Collonel_'s Servant--An Hour hence
you'll hear of us at _White_'s. [_Exeunt._
_Shr._ Mr. _Knapsack_, are you for a Dish of _Bohee_: My Master has been
just drinking, and the Water boils--
[_Goes out, and returns with a Tea-Table._
_Knap._ Not to incommode you about it, Mr. _Shrimp_.
_Shr._ Well, Mr. _Knapsack_, we brave _Britains_ conquer all before us:
Why you have done Wonders this Campaign.
_Knap._ Ay, Mr. _Shrimp_, the Name of an _English_ General Thunder-strikes
the _French_, as much as it invigorates the Allies; for when he comes, he
cuts you off Ten or Twenty thousand, with the same Ease as a Countryman
wou'd mow down an Acre of Corn; tho', after all, I was in some pain for
our Forces, not being able to do 'em any personal Service; for you must
know, Mr. _Shrimp_, I am mightily subject to Convulsions, and just before
ev'ry Engagement I was unluckily seiz'd with so violent a Fit, they were
forc'd to carry me back to the next wall'd Town.
_Shr._ Are you for much Sugar in your Tea, Sir?
_Knap._ As much as you please, Sir.
_Shr._ Have you made many Campaigns, Mr. _Knapsack_?
_Knap._ This was the first, Mr. _Shrimp_, and I'm not positive that I
shall ever make another; for next Summer, I believe, some Business of
moment will confine me to this Kingdom--Pray, Mr. _Shrimp_, why don't you
exert your self in the Service; the Gentlemen of the Army wou'd be glad of
so sprightly an Officer as you among 'em.
_Shr._ O dear, Mr. _Knapsack_, I'm of so unfortunate a Stature, they'd
trample me under their Feet; besides, I have no Genius to Fighting; I
cou'd like a Commission in a Beau-Regiment, that always stays at home,
because a Scarlet-Lac'd-Suit, a Sash and Feather command Respect, keep off
Creditors, and make the Ladies fly into our Arms.
_Knap._ Ay, Mr. _Shrimp_, I don't doubt but you have good store
of Mistresses. Why you look a little thin upon the matter, ha!
_Shr._ No, no, Mr. _Knapsack_, I'm as moderate at that Sport, as any Man;
I must own, when a pretty Lady comes betimes in a Morning to my Master,
and he, poor Gentleman, is in a dead Sleep with hard Drinking, I do now
and then take her into the next Room, play the Fool with her a little till
my Master wakes, then give her a Dram of Surfeit-Water, and put her to Bed
to him, now there's Safety in such an Amour, for my Master hasn't his
Mistresses from a profess'd Baud; I have found him out a conscientious old
Gentlewoman, that's one of the sober Party, and acquainted with most
Citizens Daughters, that have as much Inclination to turn Whores as a
Chamber-Maid out of Place, and the old Lady is so passionately fond of my
Master, because he was once so charitable to do her the Favour, she sends
him the choicest of all her Ware--but to pick up a dirty Drab in the
Eighteen-penny-Gallery, with a rusty black Top-knot, a little Flower in
her Hair, a turn'd Smock, and no Stockings, the Jade wou'd poyson you like
Eighteen-penny-Wine.
_Knap._ I find, Mr. _Shrimp_, you Gentlemens Gentlemen have all your Cues.
_Shr._ Ah! Mr. _Knapsack_, there's more goes to the finishing of a true
Valet, than tying a Wig smartly, or answering a Dun genteely. I have
sometimes such weighty Matters warring in my Brains, and a greater
Conflict with my self how I shall manage 'em, than a Merchant's
Cash-keeper, that's run away with two thousand Pounds, and can't resolve
whether he shall trust the Government with it, or put it into the _East
India_ Company--I only wish it were my Fate to serve some Statesman in
Business; for Pimping often tosses a Man into a Place of three hundred a
Year, when Mony shall be refus'd, Merit repuls'd, and Relations thought
impudent for pretending to't.--But, I believe, Mr. _Knapsack_, our Hour's
elaps'd, for tho' our Masters may n't want us, we that are at Board-wages
love to smell out where they dine.
_Knap._ The Motion, Mr. _Shrimp_, is admirable, for really the Tea begins
to rake my Guts confoundedly. [_Exeunt._
SCENE _Changes to Lady_ Rodomont's.
_Enter Lady_ Rodomont, _and Mrs._ Lovejoy, _follow'd by a Servant._
_Ser._ Madam, the Mercer, the Manto-Maker, the Sempstress, the
India-Woman, and the Toy-Man attend your Ladiship without.
L. _Rod._ Admit 'em,--this Grandeur, Cozen, which those o' Quality assume
above the Populace, to have obsequious Mechanicks wait our Levee in a
Morning, is not disagreeable; then they are as constant as our Menials,
and the less Mony one pays 'em, the more constantly they attend.
Mrs. _Lov._ Those Ladies, Madam, that want Mony to pay 'em, wou'd gladly
excuse their Attendance.
L. _Rod._ Cozen, 'tis Ill-breeding to suppose People o' Quality want Mony,
they have Business, Visits, Company, and very often are not in a Humour to
part with it; when we have Mony, we are easie, whether we pay it or no;
and 'tis affronting the Nobility, not to observe their Decorums.
_The Trades-People Enter._
[_To the Mercer._] Mr. _Farendine_, this Silk has so glaring a Mixture of
preposterous Colours, I shall be taken for a North Country Bride; and so
very substantial, I believe you design'd it for my Heirs and Successours.
_Mer._ Madam, 'tis a very well wrought Silk.
L. _Rod._ So well wrought, it may serve one in a Family for twenty
Generations.--Have you sold any Wedding Suits lately?
_Mer._ Yes, Madam, I sold a yellow and white Damask, lin'd with a Cherry
and blew Sattin, and a Goslin green Petticoat to Mrs. _Winifred Widgeon_
i'the Peak, that marry'd Squire _Hog_ o' _Darby_,--'twas her Grandmother
_Trott_'s Fancy.
L. _Rod._ Nay, those old Governants, that were Dames of Honour to Queen
_Bess_, make their Daughters appear as monstrous in this Age, as they
themselves did in that.--Well, Mr. _Farendine_, when you have any thing
slight and pretty, let me see it. [_To the Manto-Maker_] Mrs. _Flounce_,
this Sleeve is most abominably cut.
_Mant. Mak._ Madam, 'tis exacly the Shape of my Lady _Snipe's_, and she s
allow'd to be the Pink o'the Mode.
L. _Rod._ My Lady _Snipe_, who ever heard of her?
Mrs. _Lov._ Oh! Madam, that's the over-dress'd Lady in _Fuller's Rents_,
the first in _England_, that wore Flow'rs in her Hair; She has 5000_l._
indeed, but they say 'tis in bad Hands, and the Town has neglected her
these ten Years.
L. _Rod._ And wou'd you have me appear like a Turn-stile Creature? why
d'you work for such Trumpery? have you not Business enough from Court.
_Mant. Mak._ Truly, Madam, I'm glad to accept of a Gown from any Body; for
the Ladies, now-a-days, are grown so saving, they make all their
Petticoats themselves.
L. _Rod._ Don't you work into the City too?
_Mant. Mak._ Yes, Madam, I have eleven Gowns to finish against Sunday, for
very good Customers, and very religious People.
L. _Rod._ Religious People! This Creature is so employ'd by the
_Canaille_, I shall have my Cloths cut to pieces, dear Cozen, let _Buda_
make me a Suit with Expedition, I'll present this to the Play-House.
_Semp._ Does your Ladyship like your Head, Madam?
L. _Rod._ The Lace, Mrs. _Taffety_, is so course and so heavy, I'm ready
to sink beneath the weight of it.
_Semp._ Madam, 'tis right _Mechlin_, cost me Six Guineas a Yard, and I
bought it too of a Merchant, that has smuggl'd many a hundred Pounds
worth.
L. _Rod._ There you please me, English People are extremely fond of what's
forbid, we commonly obey our Parents, and the Government much a-like; and
tho' the State prohibits _Flanders_ Lace, French Alamodes, and India
Sattins, we have 'em all by the way of _Holland_.--These Ruffles too are
so furiously starch'd, I shall throw People down as I move along.
_Semp._ The Ladies, Madam, love a stiff Ruffle, for shou'd the Wind blow
it aside, your Ladyship's Elbow might catch cold, but I'll slacken my Hand
i'the next.--Does your Ladyship want a very fine short Apron?
L. _Rod._ Women o' Quality, Mrs. _Taffety_ have left 'em off, and those
Ladies that do wear 'em, generally make 'em of their old Top-knots
[_to the India Woman_] Mrs. _Japan_, you are a Stranger here, I hav'n't
seen you since I paid off your last Bill,
_Ind. Wom._ Oh, Madam! I have been at Death's Door, the Hypocondriacks
have so prey'd upon my Spirits, they have destroy'd my Constitution, such
Rotations i'my Head, such an Oppression at my Stomach--but I ha' brought
you a Pound of Bohee, so purifying, 'twill give your Ladyship a new Mass
of Blood in a Quarter of an Hour.
L. _Rod._ Mrs. _Chince_ has much better.
_Ind. Wom._ Then will I eat Mrs. _Chince_.--Shall I show you some fine
India Pictures?
L. _Rod._ I hate those Shadows o' Men half finish'd.
_Ind Wom._ I must own the Substance of a Man well finish'd is much
better,--but here's a Set o'_Japan_ Cups will ravish your Ladyship, a
Tradesman's Wife long'd, and miscarry'd about 'em.
L. _Rod._ I'm overstock'd with _China_, and they say 'tis grown so common.
I intend to sacrifice mine to my Monkey.
_Ind. Wom._ Nay, pray, my Lady, buy somewhat of me, you know I'm in great
Tribulation, I trusted a couple of Trollops, that were turn'd out of the
Play-House, for having too much Assurance for the Stage, and set up a
little Shop in _Spring Garden_; and the bold Jades are gone a stroling
Fifty Pounds in my Debt. Besides, I have just now a lazy Trull of a
Daughter, that run away with a Foot Soldier, return'd big with the Lord
knows what, and that's no small Charge to me, that am forc'd to pad it
about for a Livelihood.
L. _Rod._ Well, you may leave a Pound of Powder.
_Ind. Wom._ [_Aside._] A Pound of Powder, pox o'your Generosity, these
great Ladies are grown as stingy as if they paid one ready Mony, were it
not for a City-bubble now and then, I might e'en go dance with the Dogs in
_May-Fair_.
L. _Rod._ [_To the Toy-Man._] Mr. _Gimcrack_, what new Fancies have you
brought this Morning?
_Toy-M._ A Pair of nice _Genoa_ Gloves for your Ladyship, curiously made
up in a gilt Wallnut Shell.
L. _Rod_ A Wallnut Shell! they can't be large enough.
_Toy-M._ Madam, I sold six Pair to my Lady _Strammell_, and her Arm's nine
Inches Diameter.
L. _Rod._ What else have you?
_Toy-M._ A choice Comb for your Eye-brows, Madam, an acute Pair o'
Pinchers for your Hair, and a most ingenious French Knife to slice the
Powder of your Ladyship's Forehead, with Tongs, Shovels, Grates, and
Fenders for your Ladyship's Tea-Table.
L. _Rod._ Well, carry the things in, let your Bills be deliver'd to the
Steward, and I'll order some part of your Mony.
_All._ We humbly thank your Ladyship. [_Exeunt._
L. _Rod._ Now, Cozen, we have dispatch'd these necessary Animals; pray,
tell me how the Town relishes my Appearance.
Mrs. _Lov._ Your Ladyship's inimitable Graces, and our vast Successes
abroad are the Topicks that furnish all Conversation; one Lady cries at
the gilt Chariot, another swoons at the prancing Horses; and my old Lady
_Lack-it_, swears you have so handsom a Set of Foot-men, the dreams of
nothing else; then your Ladyship's Furniture is most surprizing, ev'ry
thing was so admir'd, and handl'd last Visiting-day, the Ladies left
little of it behind 'em.
L. _Rod. Bagatelle_! Ladies steal from one another, not for the Value of
the thing, but to make an Alteration in their Closets.--But what do the
Malitious say, am I envy'd, Cozen, I wou'd n't ha' the Fatigue of an
Estate, unless I cou'd make the World uneasie about it.
Mrs. _Lov._ Oh! Spleen, Spleen, Madam, to the last Degree--my Lady
_Testy_ has tore fifty Fans about you, broke all her China, and beat her
Foot-man's Eye out; she says, 'tis a burning Shame, you monopolize all the
Fellows in the Town; and truly, there's a Statute against ingrossing.--My
Lady _Prudence Maxim_, cries, _A fine Estate is a fine Thing, finely
manag'd, but to overdo at first, to undo at last_. And Mrs. _Indigo_, the
Merchant's Wife, says, _If you knew the getting on't, you wou'd n't spend
it so fast_.
L. _Rod._ I have six thousand a Year, and resolve to live single, and
enjoy it; I have made the Tour of _Italy_ and _France_, have given my self
the Accomplishment of both Sexes, and design to Visit, Game, Revel, dust
the Park, haunt the Theatres, and out-flutter e'er a Fop i'the Nation; and
I know not why a Lady that has the best Estate i'the County shou'd n't
represent 'em in Parliament.
Mrs. _Lov._ But launching out too far, Madam, may draw Reflections on your
Conduct, the English Ladies are more reserv'd than Foreigners.
L. _Rod._ The English Ladies! Shall a Corner of _Europe_ teach me
Decorums, that have travers'd the whole. The French Ladies admire my
Gayety; the Italians are ravish'd with my Grandeur, and if the English
Ladies do blame my Conduct, who values the Censure of a little Island.--
Oh! what Transports do I feel, to provoke the Eyes and Whispers of the
Multitude,--Whose Equipage is that--My Lady _Rodomont_'s?--Whose
Visiting-day is it--My Lady _Rodomont_'s?--Who bespoke the Play to Night--
My Lady _Rodomont_?--But when she's once marry'd--What "Gentlewoman's that
with the great Belly--Sir _Marmaduke Mortgage_'s Wife, that's come to Town
to buy Clouts, her Husband lost his Estate at Roly-poly.--She's mighty Big
indeed, I'm afraid she'll ha' two. Unless one cou'd find out some Plant of
a Husband, with Life and no Soul; a governable, drudging Creature, that
wou'd love, honour and obey his Wife; and know so little of his own
Prerogative, as to change his Name for her.
Mrs. _Lov._ Really, Madam, I'm o' your Opinion, I'd have Petticoat-
Government pass thro' the Nation; the Ladies shou'd possess the Estates,
and make their Husbands a Jointure.
L. _Rod._ While a Woman o' Fortune remains unmarry'd, she's a Petty-Queen;
Lovers innumerable trace her Steps; each Coxcomb thinks to be the happy
Man, and ev'ry were her Presence makes a Court--but when her Reason's once
subdu'd by Love, and the fond, foolish Nymph resigns her Pow'r, she's but
a meer _Appendix_ to a Fellow.
_No more her darling Liberty can boast,
Lovers no more her_ quondam _Beauties toast,
But all her Pleasure, Pride and Charms are lost._
End of the First ACT.