The Augustan Reprint Society
Charles Macklin
THE MAN OF THE WORLD
(1792)
With an Introduction by
Dougald MacMillan
Publication Number 26
Los Angeles
William Andrews Clark Memorial Library
University of California
1951
_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
During his extraordinarily long career as an actor, Charles Macklin wrote
several plays. The earliest is _King Henry VII; or, The Popish Imposter_,
a tragedy based on the Perkin Warbeck story, performed at Drury Lane 18
January 1745/6 and published the same year. As the Preface states, it "was
design'd as a Kind of Mirror to the present Rebellion"; and it provided
the author with a part in which he could express, through the character of
Lord Huntley, his own aversion to foreign influences in the land, to
"_French_ and Priest-rid Weakness" and "Romish Tyranny." This and his
succeeding plays were obviously composed to provide parts for himself; so
no others were published until he had retired. They were his stock in
trade, since Macklin seldom maintained a stable connection with one of the
theatres. Instead he appeared now here now there for brief engagements or
on special occasions, rather than as a regular member of the company,
often carrying his plays with him. Thus a number have survived only in
manuscript. The Larpent Collection contains seven,--the tragedy just
mentioned, four farces, and two five-act comedies, one of these in three
states.[1] This is _The Man of the World_ here reproduced for the first
time in over a century and a half, despite the opinion expressed by Isaac
Reed, in 1782, that "This play, ... in respect to originality, force of
mind, and well-adapted satire, may dispute the palm with any dramatic
piece that has appeared within the compass of half a century...."[2]
Originally it had been performed in Dublin in 1764 under the title _The
True-born Scotchman_, but in 1770 the Examiner of Plays in London refused
to license it. It was re-submitted in 1779 and again forbidden, but was
finally allowed and performed at Covent Garden on 10 May 1781, with the
author in the part of Sir Pertinax Macsycophant.
Himself irascible and passionate, Macklin had been the most admired
Shylock of his century. His specialty was the performance of character
parts, often dialect roles, either broadly comic or cruel and ironic. The
central figure of this, his best comedy, is such a part. It combines those
features that the author could portray so effectively, the broad dialect,
the callous selfishness, the hypocrisy, the passionate resistance to all
appeals to sentiment and the imperviousness to affection. One can detect
in the creation strong resemblances to Macklin's interpretation of
Shylock, something of Sir Giles Overreach, who was also known to
eighteenth-century play-goers, and possibly of Tartuffe. In his resolute
defiance of the conventions of comedy of sensibility, Macklin resisted the
pressure to allow Sir Pertinax to soften in the end and terminate the play
on a note of happy reconciliation and family harmony.
In thus preserving the toughness of Sir Pertinax consistently to the end,
Macklin remained true to the tradition of critical, satiric comedy that he
had been bred in but that by this time had almost disappeared. Protesting
against the refusal of a license for his play, in 1779, Macklin composed a
defense of satiric comedy. He insists upon the reformatory function of
comedy and upon the satiric method of performing this task. "The business
of the Stage," he says, "is to correct vice, and laugh at folly ... This
piece is in support of virtue, morality, decency, and the Laws of the
Land: it satirizes both public and private venality, and reprobates
inordinate passions and tyrannical conduct in a parent ... Now, with
regard to my comedy is it not just and salutary that the subtilty [_sic_],
pride, insolence, cunning, and the thorough-paced villany [_sic_] of a
backbiting Scotchman should be ridiculed? What a wretched state the Comic
Muse and the Stage would be reduced to, were the prohibition of laughing
at the corruption and other vices of the age to prevail!"[3] True the
Comic
Muse, long sick, as Garrick said in his prologue to _She Stoops to
Conquer_, had almost died, though farces had done something to sustain
her. Fielding's and Garrick's little satires had largely avoided
sentiment; and the personal, often gross farces of Foote had continued to
use ridicule. But even these lack the forceful pertinacity of Macklin's
denunciation of hypocrisy and vice. It is perhaps too bad that he fell so
far into caricature in the portraits of Lord Lumbercourt and his daughter,
that the main love stories do smack of sensibility, and that he turned his
hero into a mouthpiece for the opposition to the Tory ministries of the
early years of George III. And it is perhaps true that all the characters,
including Sir Pertinax, are more true to the theatre than to the actual
life of the last quarter of the eighteenth century. Still, Sir Pertinax is
vigorous, and the author's position is unmistakable.
The earliest portion of _The Man of the World_ in the Larpent Collection
is a passage in the fourth act of _The School for Husbands_, performed at
Covent Garden as _The Married Libertine_ on 28 January 1761, twenty years
before _The Man of the World_ was finally presented in London. Elsewhere I
have compared the three complete versions submitted to the Examiner and
have shown why the Lord Chamberlain could not permit it to be licensed.[4]
_The Man of the World_ was first published in England, with Macklin's
farce _Love a la Mode_, by subscription, in a handsome quarto. Facing the
title-page is a portrait of the author, "in his 93.^d Year," engraved by
John Condé after Opie, for which the trustees of the fund paid 25 guineas.
Preceding the text of the play are the list of subscribers, which contains
many eminent names, an "Advertisement from the Editor," explaining the
occasion and method of publication and giving an account of the handling
of the fund by the trustees, and a dedication to Lord Camden, dated 10
December 1792, and signed by Macklin, though one rather suspects that
Arthur Murphy had a hand in its composition. These pieces of front matter
have been omitted from the present reproduction as containing nothing
material to the reading or interpretation of the play. The _Dramatis
Personae_ follow, and the text begins with signature B page 1, and runs to
signature K2^{V}. _Love a la Mode_, not reprinted here, then follows,
with separate title-page and pagination.
Dougald MacMillan
The University of North Carolina
Notes to the Introduction
[Footnote 1: See _Catalogue of the Larpent Plays in the Huntington
Library_ (1939), Nos. 55, 58, 64, 96, 184, 274, 311, 500, 558.]
[Footnote 2: _Biographia Dramatica_ (1812), III, 15.]
[Footnote 3: Quoted by Edward Abbot Parry, _Charles Macklin_ (1891), p.
179.]
[Footnote 4: See _The Huntington Library Bulletin_, No. 10 (October,
1936), pp. 79-101.]
THE MAN OF THE WORLD.
A COMEDY.
BY
MR. CHARLES MACKLIN.
AS PERFORMED AT THE
_THEATRES-ROYAL, DRURY-LANE AND COVENT-GARDEN_.
_LONDON_:
PRINTED BY J. BELL, BOOKSELLER TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS
THE PRINCE OF WALES,
AT THE BRITISH LIBRARY, STRAND.
MDCCXCIII.
[Illustration: CHARLES MACKLIN (COMEDIAN) _in his 93d. Year_.
Printed for the Author by John Bell British Library London July 1792]
_Dramatis Personæ_.
COVENT-GARDEN.
Men.
_SIR PERTINAX MACSYCOPHANT_, MR. WILSON.
_EGERTON_, MR. LEWIS.
_LORD LUMBERCOURT_ MR. THOMPSON.
_SIDNEY_, MR. AICKIN.
_MELVILLE_, MR. HULL.
_COUNSELLOR PLAUSIBLE_ MR. CUBITT.
_SERJEANT EITHERSIDE_, MR. MACREADY.
_SAM_, MR. LEDGER.
_JOHN_, MR. ROCK
_TOMLINS_, MR. EVATT.
Women
_LADY MACSYCOPHANT_ MISS. PLATT.
_LADY RODOLPHA LUMBERCOURT_, MRS. POPE.
_CONSTANTIA_, MRS. MOUNTAIN.
_BETTY HINT_, MRS. ROCK.
_NANNY_, MRS. DEVERETT.
THE MAN OF THE WORLD.
_ACT I. SCENE I_.
_A Library_. _Enter_ BETTY _and_ SAM.
_Betty_. The Postman is at the gate, Sam; pray step and take in the
letters.
_Sam_. John the gardener is gone for them, Mrs. Betty.
_Bet_. Bid John bring them to me, Sam: tell him I am here in the Library.
_Sam_. I'll send him to your ladyship in a crack, madam. [_Exit_.
_Enter_ NANNY.
_Nan_. Miss Constantia desires to speak to you, Mrs. Betty.
_Bet_. How is she now? any better, Nanny?
_Nan_. Something; but very low spirited still. I verily believe it is as
you say.
_Bet_. O! I would take my book oath of it. I can not be deceived in that
point, Nanny.--Ay, ay, her business is done, she is certainly breeding,
depend upon it.
_Nan_. Why so the housekeeper thinks too.
_Bet_. Nay, I know the father--the man that ruined her.
_Nan_. The deuce you do?
_Bet_. As sure as you are alive, Nanny;--or I am greatly deceived,--and
yet--I can't be deceived neither.--Was not that the cook that came
gallopping so hard over the common just now?
_Nan_. The same:--how very hard he gallopped;---he has been but three
quarters of an hour, he says, coming from Hyde Park Corner.
_Bet_. And what time will the family be down?
_Nan._ He has orders to have dinner ready by five; there are to be lawyers
and a great deal of company here--he fancies there is to be a private
wedding to night between our young Master Charles and Lord Lumbercourt's
Daughter, the Scotch lady, who he says is just come post from Bath in
order to be married to him.
_Bet._ Ay, ay--Lady Rodolpha--nay, like enough--for I know it has been
talked of a good while;--well, go tell Miss Constantia that I will be with
her immediately.
_Nan._ I shall, Mrs. Betty. [_Exit._
_Bet._ Soh! I find they all believe the impertinent creature is
breeding--that's pure! it will soon reach my lady's ears, I warrant.
_Enter_ JOHN.
Well, John, ever a letter for me?
_John._ No, Mrs. Betty, but here is one for Miss Constantia.
_Bet._ Give it me.--Hum!--my lady's hand.
_John._ And here is one which the postman says is for my young master--but
it's a strange direction. [_reads._] '_To_ Charles Egerton, _Esq._'
_Bet._ O! yes, yes,--that is for Master Charles, John:--for he has dropped
his father's name of Macsycophant, and has taken up that of Egerton--the
parliament has ordered it.
_John._ The parliament!--pr'ythee, why so, Mrs. Betty?
_Bet._ Why you must know, John, that my lady, his mother, was an Egerton
by her father:--she stole a match with our old master, for which all her
family on both sides have hated Sir Pertinax and the whole crew of the
Macsycophants ever since.
_John._ Except Master Charles, Mrs. Betty.
_Bet._ O! they dote upon him, though he is a Macsycophant--he is the pride
of all my lady's family:--and so, John,--my lady's uncle, Sir Stanley
Egerton dying an old bachelor, and, as I said before, mortally hating our
old master, and all the crew of the Macsycophants, left his whole estate
to Master Charles, who was his godson,--but on condition that he should
drop his father's name of Macsycophant, and take up that of Egerton--and
that is the reason, John, why the parliament has made him change his name.
_John._ I am glad that Master Charles has got the estate, however--for he
is a sweet tempered gentleman.
_Bet._ As ever lived:--but come, John, as I know you love Miss Constantia,
and are fond of being where she is--I will make you happy;--you shall
carry her letter to her.
_John._ Shall I, Mrs. Betty?--I am very much obliged to you.--Where is
she?
_Bet._ In the housekeeper's room settling the dessert.--Give me Mr.
Egerton's letter, and I'll leave it on the table in his dressing room. I
see it's from his brother Sandy.--So,--now go and deliver your letter to
your sweetheart, John.
_John._ That I will;--and I am much beholden to you for the favour of
letting me carry it to her:--for though she should never have me, yet I
shall always love her, and wish to be near her, she is so sweet a
creature.--Your servant, Mrs. Betty. [_Exit._
_Bet._ Your servant, John. Ha, ha, ha! poor fellow! he perfectly dotes on
her--and daily follows her about with nosegays and fruit and the first of
every thing in the season.--Ay, and my young Master Charles too is in as
bad a way as the gardener:--in short--every body loves her,--and that's
one reason why I hate her.--For my part, I wonder what the deuce the men
see in her--a creature that was taken in for charity.--I am sure she's not
so handsome.--I wish she was out of the family once:--if she was, I might
then stand a chance of being my lady's favourite myself;--ay, and perhaps
of getting one of my young masters for a sweetheart,--or at least the
chaplain: but as to him, there would be no such great catch if I should
get him. I will try for him however,--and my first step shall be to tell
the doctor all I have discovered about Constantia's intrigues with her
spark at Hadley.--Yes,--that will do,--for the doctor loves to talk with
me,--loves to hear _me_ talk too,--and I verily believe--he, he, he!--that
he has a sneaking kindness for me,--and this story will make him have a
good opinion of my honesty,--and that, I am sure, will be one step
towards----O! bless me,--here he comes,--and my young master with him.--
I'll watch an opportunity to speak to him as soon as he is alone,--for I
will blow her up I am resolved,--as great a favourite and as cunning as
she is. [_Exit._
_Enter_ EGERTON _in great warmth and emotion_;
SIDNEY _following, as in conversation_.
_Sid_. Nay, dear Charles, but why are you so impetuous?--why do you break
from me so abruptly?
_Eger. [With great warmth_.] I have done, sir,--you have refused.--I have
nothing more to say upon the subject.--I am satisfied.
_Sid. [With a glow of tender friendship_.] Come, come--correct this
warmth,--it is the only weak ingredient in your nature, and you ought to
watch it carefully. If I am wrong,--I will submit without reserve;--but
consider the nature of your request--and how it would affect me:--from
your earliest youth, your father has honoured me with the care of your
education, and the general conduct of your mind; and, however singular and
morose his temper may be to others,--to me--he has ever been respectful
and liberal.--I am now under his roof too,--and because I will not abet an
unwarrantable passion by an abuse of my sacred character, in marrying you
beneath your rank,--and in direct opposition to your father's hopes and
happiness,--you blame me--you angrily break from me--and call me unkind.
_Eger. [With tenderness and conviction_.] Dear Sidney,--for my warmth I
stand condemned: but for my marriage with Constantia, I think I can
justify it upon every principle of filial duty,--honour,--and worldly
prudence.
_Sid_. Only make that appear, Charles, and you know you may command me.
_Eger. [With great filial regret_.] I am sensible how unseemly it appears
in a son to descant on the unamiable passions of a parent;--but, as we are
alone, and friends,--I cannot help observing in my own defence,--that when
a father will not allow the use of reason to any of his family--when his
pursuit of greatness makes him a slave abroad--only to be a tyrant at
home,--when a narrow partiality to Scotland, on every trivial occasion,
provokes him to enmity even with his wife and children, only because they
dare give a national preference where they think it most justly due;--and
when, merely to gratify his own ambition, he would marry his son into a
family he detests,--[_great warmth_.] sure, Sidney, a son thus
circumstanced (from the dignity of human reason and the feelings of a
loving heart) has a right--not only to protest against the blindness of a
parent, but to pursue those measures that virtue and happiness point out.
_Sid_. The violent temper of Sir Pertinax, I own, cannot be defended on
many occasions, but still--your intended alliance with Lord Lumbercourt--
_Eger_. [_With great impatience._] O! contemptible!--a trifling, quaint,
haughty, voluptuous, servile tool,--the mere lackey of party and
corruption; who, for the prostitution of near thirty years and the ruin of
a noble fortune, has had the despicable satisfaction, and the infamous
honour--of being kicked up and kicked down--kicked in and kicked out,--
just as the insolence, compassion, or convenience of leaders
predominated:--and now--being forsaken by all parties, his whole political
consequence amounts to the power of franking a letter, and the right
honourable privilege of not paying a tradesman's bill.
_Sid_. Well, but, dear Charles, you are not to wed my lord,--but his
daughter.
_Eger_. Who is as disagreeable to me for a companion, as her father for a
friend, or an ally.
_Sid_. What--her Scotch accent, I suppose, offends you?
_Eger_. No, upon my honour--not in the least,--I think it entertaining in
her;--but were it otherwise--in decency--and indeed in national affection
(being a Scotchman myself), I can have no objection to her on that
account,--besides, she is my near relation.
_Sid_. So I understand. But pray, Charles, how came Lady Rodolpha, who, I
find, was born in England, to be bred in Scotland?
_Eger_. From the dotage of an old, formal, obstinate, stiff, rich, Scotch
grandmother, who, upon a promise of leaving this grandchild all her
fortune, would have the girl sent to her to Scotland, when she was but a
year old, and there has she been ever since, bred up with this old lady in
all the vanity and unlimited indulgence that fondness and admiration could
bestow on a spoiled child--a fancied beauty and a pretended wit.
_Sid_. O! you are too severe upon her.
_Eger_. I do not think so, Sidney; for she seems a being expressly
fashioned by nature to figure in these days of levity and dissipation:--
her spirits are inexhaustible: her parts strong and lively; with a
sagacity that discerns, and a talent not unhappy in painting out the weak
side of whatever comes before her:--but what raises her merit to the
highest pitch in the laughing world is her boundless vanity and spirits in
the exertion of those talents, which often render her much more ridiculous
than the most whimsical of the characters she exposes--[_in a tone of
friendly affection._] and is _this_ a woman fit to make _my_ happiness?--
_this_ the partner that Sidney would recommend to me for life?--to _you_,
who best know me, I appeal.
_Sid_. Why, Charles, it is a delicate point,--unfit for _me_ to
determine--besides, your father has set his heart upon the match.
_Eger_. [_Impatiently._] All that I know:--but still I ask and insist upon
your candid judgment,--is she the kind of woman that you think could
possibly contribute to my happiness? I beg you will give me an explicit
answer.
_Sid_. The subject is disagreeable;--but, since I must speak,--I do not
think she is.
_Eger_. [_a start of friendly rapture._] I know you do not; and I am sure
you never will advise the match.
_Sid_. I never did. I never will.
_Eger_. [_With a start of joy._] You make me happy,--which I assure you I
never could be with your judgment against me in this point.
_Sid_. And yet, Charles, give me leave to observe, that Lady Rodolpha,
with all her ridiculous and laughing vanity, has a goodness of heart, and
a kind of vivacity that not only entertains,--but upon seeing her two or
three times, she improves upon you; and when her torrent of spirits
abates, and she condescends to converse gravely--you really like her.
_Eger_. Why ay! she is sprightly, good humoured, and, though whimsical,
and often too high in her colouring of characters, and in the trifling
business of the idle world,--yet I think she has principles, and a good
heart,--[_with a glow of conjugal tenderness._] but in a partner for life,
Sidney, (you know your own precept, and your own judgment)--affection,
capricious in its nature, must have something even in the external
manners,--nay in the very mode, not only of beauty, but of virtue itself--
which both heart and judgment must approve, or our happiness in that
delicate point cannot be lasting.
_Sid_. I grant it.
_Eger_. And that mode,--that amiable essential I never can meet--but in
Constantia. You sigh.
_Sid_. No. I only wish that Constantia had a fortune equal to yours. But
pray, Charles, suppose I had been so indiscreet as to have agreed to marry
you to Constantia--would _she_ have consented, think you?
_Eger_. That I cannot say positively,--but I suppose so.
_Sid_. Did you never speak to her upon that subject then?
_Eger_. In general terms only;--never directly requested her consent in
form,--[_he starts into a warmth of amorous resolution._] but I will this
very moment--for I have no asylum from my father's arbitrary design, but
my Constantia's arms.--Pray do not stir from hence:--I will return
instantly. I know she will submit to your advice--and I am sure you will
persuade her to my wish, as my life, my peace, my earthly happiness,
depend on my Constantia. [_Exit._
_Sid_. Poor Charles! he little dreams that I love Constantia too,--but
to what degree I knew not myself, till he importuned me to join their
hands.--Yes--I love--but must not be a rival; for he is dear to me as
fraternal affinity:--my benefactor--my friend--and that name is sacred:--
it is our better self; and ever ought to be preferred;--for the man who
gratifies his passions at the expence of his friend's happiness, wants but
a head to contrive--for he has a heart capable of the blackest vice.
_Enter_ BETTY, _running up to_ Sidney.
_Bet_. I beg pardon for my intrusion, sir. I hope, sir, I do not disturb
your reverence!
_Sid_. Not in the least, Mrs. Betty.
_Bet_. I humbly beg you will excuse me, sir:--but I wanted to break my
mind to your honour--about a scruple that lies upon my conscience:--and
indeed I should not have presumed to trouble you, sir, but that I know you
are my young master's friend,--and my old master's friend,--and indeed--a
friend to the whole family: [_runs up to him and curtsies very low._] for
to give you your due, sir, you are as good a preacher as ever went into a
pulpit.
_Sid_. Ha, ha, ha! do you think so, Mrs. Betty?
_Bet_. Ay, in truth do I; and as good a gentleman too as ever came into a
family, and one that never gives a servant a bad word, nor that does any
one an ill turn neither behind their back, nor before their face.
_Sid_. Ha, ha, ha! why you are a mighty well spoken woman, Mrs. Betty, and
I am mightily beholden to you for your good character of me.
_Bet_. Indeed, sir, it is no more than you deserve, and what all the world
and all the servants say of you.
_Sid_. I am much obliged to them, Mrs. Betty.--But pray what are your
commands with me?
_Bet_. Why, I'll tell you, sir:--to be sure I am but a servant, as a body
may say--and every tub should stand upon its own bottom;--but--[_she takes
hold of him familiarly, looks first about cautiously, and speaks in a
low familiar tone of great secrecy._] my young master is now in the china
room in close conference with Miss Constantia;--I know what they are
about--but that is no business of mine--and therefore I made bold to
listen a little--because you know, sir, one would be sure--before one took
away any body's reputation.
_Sid_. Very true, Mrs. Betty,--very true indeed.
_Bet_. O! heavens forbid that I should take away any young woman's good
name--unless I had a good reason for it; but, sir, [_with great
solemnity._] if I am in this place alive, as I listened, with my ear close
to the door,--I heard my young master ask Miss Constantia the plain
marriage question--upon which I started--and trembled--nay my very
conscience stirred within me so,--that I could not help peeping through
the key-hole.
_Sid_. Ha, ha, ha! and so your conscience made you peep through the
key-hole, Mrs. Betty?
_Bet_. It did indeed, sir:--and there I saw my young master upon his
knees--lord bless us--and what do you think he was doing?--kissing her
hand as if he would eat it--and protesting--and assuring her--he knew that
you, sir, would consent to the match--and then the tears ran down her
cheeks as fast--
_Sid._ Ay!
_Bet._ They did indeed. I would not tell your reverence a lie for the
world.
_Sid_. I believe it, Mrs. Betty--and what did Constantia say to all this?
_Bet_. O!--O! she is sly enough; she looks as if butter would not melt in
her mouth; but all is not gold that glitters; smooth water, you know, sir,
runs deepest:--I am sorry my young master makes such a fool of himself--
but--um!--take my word for it, he is not the man,--for though she looks as
modest as a maid at a christening--[_hesitating._] yet--ah!--when
sweethearts meet--in the dusk of the evening--and stay together a whole
hour--in the dark grove--and embrace--and kiss--and weep at parting,--why
then you know, sir, it is easy to guess all the rest.
_Sid._ Why did Constantia meet any body in this manner?
_Bet._ [_Starting with surprise_.] O! heavens!--I beg, sir, you will not
misapprehend me; for I assure you I do not believe they did any harm--that
is, not in the grove--at least, not when I was there;--and she may be
honestly married for aught I know.--O! lud! sir,--I would not say an ill
thing of Miss Constantia for the world,--for to be sure she is a good
creature:--'tis true, my lady took her in for charity, and indeed has bred
her up to the music and figures;--ay, and reading all the books about
Homer--and Paradise--and Gods and Devils,--and every thing in the world,--
as if she had been a dutchess: but some people are born with luck in their
mouths, and then--as the saying is--you may throw them into the sea--
[_deports herself most affedtedly._] but--if I had had dancing masters--
and music masters--and French Mounseers to teach me--I believe I might
have read the globes, and the maps,--and have danced,--and have been as
clever as other folks.
_Sid._ Ha, ha, ha! no doubt on it, Mrs. Betty;--but you mentioned
something of a dark walk,--kissing,--a sweetheart and Constantia.
_Bet._ [_Starts into a cautious hypocrisy_.] O! lud! sir--I don't know any
thing of the matter: she may be very honest for aught I know: I only say,
that they did meet in the dark walk,--and all the servants observe that
Miss Constantia wears her stays very loose--looks very pale--is sick in a
morning, and after dinner: and, as sure as my name is Betty Hint,
something has happened that I won't name,--but--nine months hence--a
certain person in this family may ask me to stand godmother, for I think I
know what's what, when I see it as well as another.
_Sid_. No doubt you do, Mrs. Betty.
_Bet_. [_Cries, turns up her eyes, and acts a most friendly hypocrisy_.] I
do, indeed, sir. I am very sorry for Miss Constantia. I never thought she
would have taken such courses--for in truth I love her as if she was my
own sister; and though all the servants say that she is breeding--yet, for
my part, I don't believe it; but--one must speak according to one's
conscience, you know, sir.
_Sid_. O! I see you do.
_Bet_. [_Going and returning_.] I do indeed, sir: and so your servant,
sir--but--I hope your worship won't mention my name in this business;--or
that you had any _item_ from me.
_Sid_. I shall not, Mrs. Betty.
_Bet_. For, indeed, sir, I am no busybody, nor do I love fending nor
proving; and, I assure you, sir, I hate all tittling and tattling, and
gossiping and backbiting, and taking away a person's good name.
_Sid_. I observe you do, Mrs. Betty.
_Set_. I do indeed, sir. I am the farthest from it in the world.
_Sid_. I dare say you are.
_Bet_. I am indeed, sir, and so your humble servant.
_Sid_. Your servant, Mrs. Betty.
_Bet_. [_Aside, in great exultation_.] So! I see he believes every word I
say,--that's charming. I'll do her business for her I am resolved.
[_Exit._
_Sid_. What can this ridiculous creature mean by her dark walk,--her
private spark, her kissing, and all her slanderous insinuations against
Constantia, whose conduct is as unblamable as innocence itself? I see envy
is as malignant in a paltry waiting wench, as in the vainest or most
ambitious lady of the court.--It is always an infallible mark of the
basest nature; and merit in the lowest, as well as in the highest station,
must feel the shaft of envy's constant agents--falsehood and slander.
_Enter_ SAM.
_Sam_. Sir, Mr. Egerton and Miss Constantia desire to speak with you in
the china room.
_Sid_. Very well, Sam. [_Exit_ Sam.] I will not see them.--What is to be
done? inform his father of his intended marriage,--no--that must not be;--
for the overbearing nature and ambitious policy of Sir Pertinax would
exceed all bounds of moderation; for he is of a sharp, shrewd, unforgiving
nature.--He has banished one son already, only for daring to differ from
his judgment concerning the merits of a Scotch and an English historian.--
But this young man must not marry Constantia.--Would his mother were here!
She, I suppose, knows nothing of his indiscretion:--but she shall, the
moment she comes hither. I know it will offend him; no matter: it is our
duty to offend,--when that offence saves the man we love from a
precipitate action, which the world must condemn, and his own heart,
perhaps, upon reflection, for ever repent: yes,--I must discharge the duty
of my function, and of a friend,--though I am sure to lose the man, whom I
intend to serve. [_Exit._
END OF THE FIRST ACT.
_ACT II. SCENE I_.
_Enter_ CONSTANTIA _and_ EGERTON.
_Con_. Mr. Sidney is not here, sir.
_Eger_. I assure you I left him, and begged he would stay till I returned.
_Con_. His prudence, you see, sir, has made him retire; therefore we had
better defer the subject till he is present; in the mean time, sir, I hope
you will permit me to mention an affair that has greatly alarmed and
perplexed me: I suppose you guess what it is.
_Eger_. I do not, upon my word.
_Con_. That is a little strange.--You know, sir, that you and Mr. Sidney
did me the honour of breakfasting with me this morning in my little study.
_Eger_. We had that happiness, madam.
_Con_. Just after you left me, upon opening my book of accompts, which lay
in the drawer of the reading desk, to my great surprise, I there found
this case of jewels, containing a most elegant pair of ear-rings, a
necklace of great value, and two bank bills in this pocket book, the
mystery of which, sir, I presume you can explain.
_Eger_. I can.
_Con_. They were of your conveying then?
_Eger_. They were, madam.
_Con_. I assure you they startled and alarmed me.
_Eger_. I hope it was a kind alarm;--such as blushing virtue feels, when,
with her hand, she gives her heart and last consent.
_Con_. It was not indeed, sir.
_Eger_. Do not say so, Constantia: come--be kind at once;--my peace and
worldly bliss depend upon this moment.
_Con_. What would you have me do?
_Eger_. What love and virtue dictate.
_Con_. O! sir, experience but too severely proves, that such unequal
matches as ours, never produce aught but contempt and anger in parents,
censure from the world, and a long train of sorrow and repentance in the
wretched parties,--which is but too often entailed upon their hapless
issue.
_Eger_. But that, Constantia, can not be our case: my fortune is
independent and ample,--equal to luxury and splendid folly. I have a right
to choose the partner of my heart,
_Con_. But I have not, sir.--I am a dependant on my lady,--a poor,
forsaken, helpless orphan--your benevolent mother found me--took me to her
bosom--and there supplied my parental loss--with every tender care--
indulgent dalliance, and with all the sweet persuasion that maternal
fondness, religious precept, polished manners, and hourly example could
administer--she fostered me: [_weeps._] and shall I now turn viper,--and
with black ingratitude sting the tender heart that thus hath cherished me?
shall I seduce her house's heir, and kill her peace?--No--though I loved
to the mad extreme of female fondness; though every worldly bliss that
woman's vanity or man's ambition could desire, followed the indulgence of
my love--and all the contempt and misery of this life, the denial of that
indulgence--I would discharge my duty to my benefactress--my earthly
guardian, my more than parent.
_Eger_. My dear Constantia, your prudence, your gratitude, and the cruel
virtue of your self-denial, do but increase my love, my admiration, and my
misery.
_Con_. Sir, I must beg you will give me leave to return these bills and
jewels.
_Eger_. Pray do not mention them:--sure my kindness and esteem may be
indulged so far without suspicion or reproach.--I beg you will accept of
them,--nay--I insist.
_Con_. I have done, sir: my station here is to obey.--I know, sir, they
are gifts of a virtuous mind--and mine shall convert them to the
tenderest, and most grateful use.
_Eger_. Hark! I hear a coach:--it is my father.--Dear girl, retire and
compose yourself.--I will send Sidney and my lady to you, and by their
judgment we will be directed: will that satisfy you?
_Con_. I can have no will but my lady's.--With your leave I will retire; I
would not see her in this confusion.
_Eger_. Dear girl, adieu! and think of love, of happiness, and the man who
never can be blest without you. [_Exit_ Constantia.
_Enter_ SAM.
_Sam_. Sir Pertinax and my lady are come, sir,--and my lady desires to
speak with you in her own room:--oh! here she is, sir. [_Exit._
_Enter Lady_ MACSYCOPHANT.
_Lady Mac_. [_In great confusion and distress._] Dear child, I am glad to
see you: why did you not come to town yesterday to attend the levee? your
father is incensed to the uttermost at your not being there.
_Eger_. [_With great warmth._] Madam, it is with extreme regret I tell
you, that I can no longer be a slave to his temper, his politics, and his
scheme of marrying me to this woman,--therefore you had better consent at
once to my going out of the kingdom, and my taking Constantia with me, for
without her I never can be happy.
_Lady Mac_. As you regard my peace, or your own character, I beg you will
not be guilty of so rash a step.--You promised me you never would marry
her without my consent.--I will open it to your father.--Pray, dear
Charles, be ruled:--let me prevail.
_Sir_ PERTINAX. [_Without, in great anger._]
_Sir Per_. Sir, wull ye do as ye are bid--and haud your gab, you rascal.--
You are so full of gab, you scoundrel.--Take the chesnut gelding, I say,
and return to town directly, and see what is become of my Lord
Lumbercourt.
_Lady Mac_. Here he comes.--I will get out of his way.--But I beg,
Charles, while he is in this ill humour that you will not oppose him, let
him say what he will--when his passion is a little cool, I will return,
and try to bring him to reason: but do not thwart him.
_Eger_. Madam, I will not. [_Exit_ Lady Mac.
_Sir Per_. [_Witbout._] Here, you Tomlins, where is my son Egerton?
_Tom_. [_Without._] In the library, sir.
_Sir Per_. [_Without._] As soon as the lawyers come, be sure bring me
word, [_Enters with great haughtiness, and in anger_. EGERTON _bows two or
three times most submissively low._] Weel, sir!--vary weel!--vary weel!--
are nat ye a fine spark? are nat ye a fine spark, I say?--ah! you are a--
so you wou'd not come up till the levee?
_Eger_. Sir, I beg your pardon--but--I was not very well; besides I
did not think my presence there was necessary.
_Sir Per_. [_Snapping him up._] Sir, it was necessary--I tauld you it was
necessary--and, sir, I must now tell you, that the whole tenor of your
conduct is most offensive.
_Eger_. I am sorry you think so, sir; I am sure I do not intend to offend
you.
_Sir Per_. I care not what you intend.--Sir, I tell you, you do offend.
What is the meaning of this conduct, sir? neglect the levee!--'sdeath,
sir, you--what is your reason, I say, for thus neglecting the levee, and
disobeying my commands?
_Eger_. [_With a stifled, filial resentment._] Sir, I am not used to
levees: nor do I know how to dispose of myself,--nor what to say, or do,
in such a situation.
_Sir Per_. [_With a proud, angry resentment._] Zounds! sir, do you nat see
what others do? gentle and simple,--temporal and spiritual,--lords,
members, judges, generals, and bishops,--aw crowding, bustling, and
pushing foremost intill the middle of the circle, and there waiting,
watching, and striving to catch a look or a smile fra the great mon,--
which they meet--wi' an amicable reesibility of aspect--a modest cadence
of body, and a conciliating co-operation of the whole mon,--which
expresses an officious promptitude for his service--and indicates, that
they luock upon themselves as the suppliant appendages of his power, and
the enlisted Swiss of his poleetical fortune;--this, sir, is what you
ought to do,--and this, sir, is what I never once omitted for these five
and thraty years,--let who would be minister.
_Eger_. [_Aside._] Contemptible!
_Sir Per_. What is that you mutter, sir?
_Eger_. Only a slight reflection, sir, not relative to you.
_Sir Per_. Sir, your absenting yourself fra the levee at this juncture is
suspeecious; it is looked upon as a kind of disaffection,--and aw your
countrymen are highly offended at your conduct,----for, sir, they do not
look upon you as a friend or a well-wisher either to Scotland or
Scotchmen.
_Eger_. [_With a quick warmth._] Then, sir, they wrong me, I assure you,--
but pray, sir, in what particular can I be charged--either with coldness
or offence to my country?
_Sir Per_. Why, sir, ever since your mother's uncle, Sir Stanly Egerton,
left you this three thousand pounds a year, and that you have, in
compliance with his will, taken up the name of Egerton, they think you are
grown proud;--that you have estranged yourself fra the Macsycophants--have
associated with your mother's family--with the opposeetion, and with those
who do not wish well till Scotland;----besides, sir, the other day, in a
conversation at dinner at your cousin Campbel M'Kenzie's, before a whole
table-full of your ain relations, did not you publicly wish a total
extinguishment of aw party, and of aw national distinctions whatever,
relative to the three kingdoms?--[_With great anger._] And you blockhead--
was that a prudent wish before so many of your ain countrymen?--or was it
a filial language to hold before me?
_Eger_. Sir, with your pardon, I cannot think it unfilial or imprudent.
[_With a most patriotic warmth._] I own I do wish--most ardently wish for
a total extinction of all party: particularly--that those of English,
Irish, and Scotch might never more be brought into contest or competition,
unless, like loving brothers, in generous emulation, for one common cause.
_Sir Per_. How, sir! do you persist? what!--would you banish aw party, and
aw distinction between English, Irish, and your ain countrymen?
_Eger_. [_With great dignity of spirit._] I would, sir.
_Sir Per_. Then damn you, sir,--you are nai true Scot.--Ay, sir, you may
look as angry as you will,--but again I say--you are nai true Scot.
_Eger_. Your pardon, sir, I think he is the true Scot, and the true
citizen, who wishes equal justice to the merit and demerit of every
subject of Great Britain; amongst whom I know but of two distinctions.
_Sir Per_. Weel sir, and what are those? what are those?
_Eger_. The knave and the honest man.
_Sir Per_. Pshaw! rideeculous.
_Eger_. And he, who makes any other--let him be of the North, or of the
South--of the East, or of the West--in place, or out of place--is an enemy
to the whole, and to the virtues of humanity.
_Sir Per_. Ay, sir, this is your brother's impudent doctrine--for the
which, I have banished him for ever fra my presence, my heart, and my
fortune.--Sir, I will have no son of mine, because truly he has been
educated in an English seminary, presume, under the mask of candour, to
speak against his native land, or against my principles.
_Eger_. I never did--nor do I intend it.
_Sir Per_. Sir, I do not believe you--I do not believe you.--But, sir, I
know your connections and associates, and I know too, you have a saucy,
lurking prejudice against your ain country:--you hate it;--yes, your
mother, her family, and your brother, sir, have aw the same, dark,
disaffected rankling; and, by that and their politics together, they will
be the ruin of you--themselves--and of aw who connect with them.--However,
nai mair of that now;--I will talk at large to you about that anon.--In
the mean while, sir--notwithstanding your contempt of my advice, and your
disobedience till my commands, I will convince you of my paternal
attention till _your_ welfare, by my management of this voluptuary--this
Lord Lumbercourt,--whose daughter you are to marry. You ken, sir, that the
fellow has been my patron above these five and thraty years.,
_Eger_. True, sir.
_Sir Per_. Vary weel.--And now, sir, you see, by his prodigality, he is
become my dependent; and accordingly I have made my bargain with him:--the
devil a baubee he has in the world but what comes thro' these clutches--
for his whole estate, which has three implicit boroughs upon it,--mark--is
now in my custody at nurse;--the which estate, on my paying off his debts,
and allowing him a life rent of five thousand pounds per annum, is to be
made over till me for my life, and at my death is to descend till ye and
your issue.--The peerage of Lumbercourt, you ken, will follow of course.--
So, sir, you see there are three impleecit boroughs, the whole patrimony
of Lumbercourt, and a peerage at one slap.--Why it is a stroke--a hit--a
hit.----Zounds! sir, a mon may live a century and not make sic an a hit
again.
_Eger_. It is a very advantageous bargain indeed, sir:--but what will my
lord's family say to it?
_Sir Per_. Why, mon, he cares not if his family were aw at the devil so
his luxury is but gratified:--only let him have his race-horse to feed his
vanity--his harridan to drink drams with him, scrat his face, and burn his
periwig, when she is in her maudlin hysterics,--and three or four
discontented patriotic dependents to abuse the ministry, and settle the
affairs of the nation, when they are aw intoxicated; and then, sir,:--the
fellow has aw his wishes, and aw his wants--in this world--and the next.
_Enter_ TOMLINS.
_Tom_. Lady Rodolpha is come, sir.
_Sir Per_. And my lord?
_Tom_. Not yet, sir,--he is about a mile behind, the servants say.
_Sir Per_. Let me know the instant he arrives.
_Tom_. I shall, sir. [_Exit._
_Sir Per_. Step you out, Charles, and receive Lady Rodolpha;--and, I
desire you will treat her with as much respect and gallantry as possible;
for my lord has hinted that you have been very remiss as a lover.--So go,
go and receive her.
_Eger_. I shall, sir.
_Sir Per_. Vary weel,--vary weel;--a guid lad: go--go and receive her as a
lover should. [_Exit_ Egerton.] Hah! I must keep a devilish tight hand
upon this fallow, I see,--or he will be touched with the patriotic frenzy
of the times, and run counter till aw my designs.--I find he has a strong
inclination to have a judgment of his ain, independent of mine, in aw
political matters;--but as soon as I have finally settled the marriage
writings with my lord, I will have a thorough expostulation with my
gentleman, I am resolved,--and fix him unalterably in his political
conduct.--Ah!--I am frighted out of my wits, lest his mother's family
should seduce him to desert to their party, which would totally ruin my
whole scheme, and break my heart.--A fine time of day for a blockhead to
turn patriot;--when the character is exploded--marked--proscribed;--why
the common people--the vary vulgar--have found out the jest, and laugh at
a patriot now-a-days,---just as they do at a conjurer,--a magician,--or
any other impostor in society.--
_Enter_ TOMLINS, _and Lord_ LUMBERCOURT.
_Tom_. Lord Lumbercourt.
_Lord Lum_. Sir Pertinax, I kiss your hand.
_Sir Per_. Your lordship's most devoted.
_Lord Lum_. Why, you stole a march upon me this morning;--gave me the
slip, Mac;--tho' I never wanted your assistance more in my life.--I
thought you would have called on me.
_Sir Per_. My dear lord, I beg ten millions of pardons for leaving town
before you; but you ken that your lordship at dinner yesterday settled it
that we should meet this morning at the levee.
_Lord Lum_. That I acknowledge, Mac.--I did promise to be there, I own.
_Sir Per_. You did, indeed.--And accordingly I was at the levee and waited
there till every soul was gone, and, seeing you did not come, I concluded
that your lordship was gone before.
_Lord Lum_. Why, to confess the truth, my dear Mac, those old sinners,
Lord Freakish, General Jolly, Sir Antony Soaker, and two or three more of
that set, laid hold of me last night at the opera,--and, as the General
says, 'from the intelligence of my head this morning,' I believe we drank
pretty deep ere we departed; ha, ha, ha!
_Sir Per_. Ha, ha, ha! nay, if you were with that party, my lord, I do not
wonder at not seeing your lordship at the levee,
_Lord Lum_. The truth is, Sir Pertinax, my fellow let me sleep too long
for the levee.--But I wish I had seen you before you left town--I wanted
you dreadfully.
_Sir Per_. I am heartily sorry that I was not in the way:--but on what
account did you want me?
_Lord Lum_. Ha, ha, ha! a cursed awkward affair.--And, ha, ha, ha! yet I
cann't help laughing at it neither--tho' it vext me confoundedly.
_Sir Per_. Vext you, my lord! Zounds, I wish I had been with you:--but,
for heaven's sake, my lord,--what was it, that could possibly vex your
lordship?
_Lord Lum_. Why, that impudent, teasing, dunning rascal, Mahogany, my
upholsterer.--You know the fellow?
_Sir Per_. Perfectly, my lord.
_Lord Lum_. The impudent scoundrel has sued me up to some damned kind of
a--something or other in the law, that I think they call an execution.
_Sir Per_. The rascal!
_Lord Lum_. Upon which, sir, the fellow, by way of asking pardon--ha, ha,
ha! had the modesty to wait on me two or three days ago, to inform my
honour--ha, ha, ha! as he was pleased to dignify me,--that the execution
was now ready to be put in force against my honour;--but that out of
respect to my honour--as he had taken a great deal of my honour's money--
he would not suffer his lawyer to serve it, till he had first informed my
honour, because he was not willing to affront my honour; ha, ha, ha! a son
of a whore!
_SirPer_. I never heard of so impudent a dog.
_Lord Lum_. Now, my dear Mac,--ha, ha, ha! as the scoundrel's apology was
so very satisfactory, and his information so very agreeable--I told him
that, in honour, I thought that my honour cou'd not do less than to order
his honour to be paid immediately.
_Sir Per_. Vary weel--vary weel,--you were as complaisant as the scoundrel
till the full, I think, my lord.
_Lord Lum_. You shall hear,--you shall hear, Mac:--so, sir, with great
composure, seeing a smart oaken cudgel that stood very handily in a corner
of my dressing room, I ordered two of my fellows to hold the rascal, and
another to take the cudgel and return the scoundrel's civility with a good
drubbing as long as the stick lasted.
_Sir Per_. Ha, ha, ha!--admirable!--as guid a stroke of humour as ever I
heard of.--And did they drub him, my lord?
_Lord Lum_. Most liberally--most liberally, sir.--And there I thought
the affair would have rested, till I should think proper to pay the
soundrel,--but this morning, just as I was stepping into my chaise, my
servants all about me, a fellow, called a tipstaff, slept up and begged
the favour of my footman, who threshed the upholsterer, and of the two
that held him, to go along with him upon a little business to my Lord
Chief Justice.
_Sir Per_. The devil!
_Lord Lum_. And at the same instant, I, in my turn, was accosted by two
other very civil scoundrels, who, with a most insolent politeness, begged
my pardon, and informed me that I must not go into my own chaise.
_Sir Per_. How, my lord?--not into your ain carriage?