(1) If a European, when he has cut off his beard and put false hair on
his head, or bound up his own natural hair in regular hard knots, as
unlike nature as he could possibly make it; and after having rendered
them immovable by the help of the fat of hogs, has covered the whole
with flour, laid on by a machine with the utmost regularity; if when
thus attired he issues forth, and meets with a Cherokee Indian, who has
bestowed as much time at his toilet, and laid on with equal care and
attention his yellow and red oker on particular parts of his forehead
or cheeks, as he judges most becoming; whoever of these two despises the
other for this attention to the fashion of his country, whichever
first feels himself provoked to laugh, is the barbarian.'--Sir Joshua
Reynolds's _Discourses,_ vol. i. pp. 231, 232.
(2) This name was originally spelt Braughton in the manuscript, and was
altered to Branghton by a mistake of the printer. Branghton, however,
was thought a good name for the occasion and was suffered to stand. 'Dip
it in the ocean,' as Sterne's barber says of the buckle, 'and it will
stand!'
(3) A lady of quality, in allusion to the gallantries of a reigning
prince, being told, 'I suppose it will be your turn next?' said, 'No, I
hope not; for you know it is impossible to refuse!'
(4) '_Gertrude._ For the passion of patience, look if Sir Petronel
approach. That sweet, that fine, that delicate, that--for love's sake,
tell me if he come. Oh, sister Mill, though my father be a low-capt
tradesman, yet I must be a lady, and I praise God my mother must call me
madam. Does he come? Off with this gown for shame's sake, off with this
gown! Let not my knight take me in the city cut, in any hand! Tear't!
Pox on't (does he come?), tear't off! _Thus while she sleeps, I sorrow
for her sake._ (Sings.)
_Mildred._ Lord, sister, with what an immodest impatiency and
disgraceful scorn do you put off your city-tire! I am sorry to think you
imagine to right yourself in wronging that which hath made both you and
us.
_Ger._ I tell you, I cannot endure it: I must be a lady: do you wear
your quoiff with a London licket! your stamel petticoat with two guards!
the buffin gown with the tuftafitty cap and the velvet lace! I must be a
lady, and I will be a lady. I like some humours of the city dames well;
to eat cherries only at an angel a pound; good: to dye rich scarlet
black; pretty: to line a grogram gown clean through with velvet;
tolerable: their pure linen, their smocks of three pound a smock, are
to be borne withal: but your mincing niceries, taffity pipkins, durance
petticoats, and silver bodkins--God's my life! as I shall be a lady, I
cannot endure it.
_Mil._ Well, sister, those that scorn their nest oft fly with a sick
wing.
_Ger._ Bow-bell! Alas! poor Mill, when I am a lady, I'll pray for thee
yet i'faith; nay, and I'll vouchsafe to call thee sister Mill still; for
thou art not like to be a lady as I am, yet surely thou art a creature
of God's making, and may'st peradventure be saved as soon as I (does he
come?). _And ever and anon she doubled in her song._
_Mil._ Now (lady's my comfort), what a profane ape's here!
Enter SIR PETRONEL FLASH, MR. TOUCHSTONE, and MRS. TOUCHSTONE.
_Ger._ Is my knight come? O the lord, my band! Sister, do my cheeks look
well? Give me a little box o' the ear, that I may seem to blush. Now,
now! so, there, there! here he is! O my dearest delight! Lord, lord! and
how does my knight?
_Touchstone._ Fie, with more modesty.
_Ger._ Modesty! why, I am no citizen now. Modesty! am I not to be
married? You're best to keep me modest, now I am to be a lady.
_Sir Petronel._ Boldness is a good fashion and court-like.
_Ger._ Aye, in, a country lady I hope it is, as I shall be. And how
chance ye came no sooner, knight?
_Sir Pet._ Faith, I was so entertained in the progress with one Count
Epernoun, a Welch knight: we had a match at baloon too with my Lord
Whackum for four crowns.
_Ger._ And when shall's be married, my knight?
_Sir Pet._ I am come now to consummate: and your father may call a poor
knight son-in-law.
_Mrs. Touchstone._ Yes, that he is a knight: I know where he had money
to pay the gentlemen ushers and heralds their fees. Aye, that he is a
knight: and so might you have been too, if you had been aught else but
an ass, as well as some of your neighbours. An I thought you would
not ha' been knighted, as I am an honest woman, I would ha' dubbed you
myself. I praise God, I have wherewithal. But as for you, daughter--
_Ger._ Aye, mother, I must be a lady to-morrow; and by your leave,
mother (I speak it not without my duty, but only in the right of my
husband), I must take place of you, mother.
_Mrs. Touch._ That you shall, lady-daughter; and have a coach as well as
I.
_Ger._ Yes, mother; but my coach-horses must take the wall of your
coach-horses.
_Touch._ Come, come, the day grows low; 'tis supper time: and, sir,
respect my daughter; she has refused for you wealthy and honest matches,
known good men.
_Ger._ Body o' truth, citizen, citizens! Sweet knight, as soon as
ever we are married, take me to thy mercy, out of this miserable city.
Presently: carry me out of the scent of Newcastle coal and the hearing
of Bow-bell, I beseech thee; down with me, for God's sake.'-Act I. Scene
i.
This dotage on sound and show seemed characteristic of that age (see
_New Way to Pay Old Debts,_ etc.)--as if in the grossness of sense,
and the absence of all intellectual and abstract topics of thought and
discourse (the thin, circulating medium of the present day) the mind was
attracted without the power of resistance to the tinkling sound of
its own name with a title added to it, and the image of its own person
tricked out in old-fashioned finery. The effect, no doubt, was also more
marked and striking from the contrast between the ordinary penury and
poverty of the age and the first and more extravagant demonstrations of
luxury and artificial refinement.
(5) _'Gertrude._ Good lord, that there are no fairies nowadays, Syn.
_Syndefy._ Why, Madam?
_Ger._ To do miracles, and bring ladies money. Sure, if we lay in a
cleanly house, they would haunt it, Synne? I'll sweep the chamber soon
at night, and set a dish of water o' the hearth. A fairy may come and
bring a pearl or a diamond. We do not know, Synne: or there may be a pot
of gold hid in the yard, if we had tools to dig for't. Why may not we
two rise early i' the morning, Synne, afore anybody is up, and find
a jewel i' the streets worth a hundred pounds? May not some great
court-lady, as she comes from revels at midnight, look out of her coach,
as 'tis running, and lose such a jewel, and we find it? ha!
_Syn._ They are pretty waking dreams, these.
_Ger._ Or may not some old usurer be drunk overnight with a bag of
money, and leave it behind him on a stall? For God's sake, Syn, let's
rise to-morrow by break of day, and see. I protest, la, if I had as much
money as an alderman, I would scatter some on't i' the streets for poor
ladies to find when their knights were laid up. And now I remember my
song of the Golden Shower, why may not I have such a fortune? I'll sing
it, and try what luck I shall have after it.'--Act V. Scene i.'