THE LAME LOVER,
A COMEDY
IN THREE ACTS.
As it is Performed at the
THEATRE-ROYAL in the HAY-MARKET.
By SAMUEL FOOTE, Esq.
LONDON,
Printed for PAUL VAILLANT: and sold by P. ELMSLY,
in the Strand; and ROBINSON and ROBERTS, No. 25,
Pater-noster-Row. MDCCLXX.
TO
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
FRANCIS SEYMOUR CONWAY,
EARL OF HERTFORD,
LORD CHAMBERLAIN OF
HIS MAJESTY'S HOUSEHOLD,
TO WHOSE
POLITENESS AND CANDOUR
THE AUTHOR
OWES EVERY ACKNOWLEDGMENT,
THIS COMEDY IS
GRATEFULLY DEDICATED
BY
HIS LORDSHIP'S
MOST OBLIGED
AND
MOST OBEDIENT SERVANT,
North End.
SAM. FOOTE.
PROLOGUE.
Written and Spoken by Mr. GENTLEMAN.
_Prologues, like cards of compliment, we find,
Most as unmeaning as politely kind;
To beg a favour, or to plead excuse,
Of both appears to be the gen'ral use.
Shall my words, tipt with flattery, prepare
A kind exertion of your tend'rest care?
Shall I present our Author to your sight,
All pale and trembling for his fate this night?
Shall I sollicit the most pow'rful arms
To aid his cause--the force of beauty's charms?
Or tell each critic, his approving taste
Must give the sterling stamp, wherever plac'd?
This might be done--but so to seek applause
Argues a conscious weakness in the cause.
No--let the Muse in simple truth appear,_
Reason _and_ Nature _are the judges here:
If by their strict and self-describing laws,
The sev'ral characters to-night she draws;
If from the whole a pleasing piece is made,
On the true principles of light and shade;
Struck with the harmony of just design,
Your eyes--your ears--your hearts, will all combine
To grant applause:--but if an erring hand
Gross disproportion marks in motley band,
If the group'd figures false connexions show,
And glaring colours without meaning glow,
Your wounded feelings, turn'd a diff'rent way,
Will justly damn--th'_ abortion _of a play.
As Farquhar has observ'd, our English law,
Like a fair spreading oak, the Muse should draw,
By Providence design'd, and wisdom made
For honesty to thrive beneath its shade;
Yet from its boughs some insects shelter find,
Dead to each nobler feeling of the mind,
Who thrive, alas! too well, and never cease
To prey on justice, property, and peace.
At such to-night, with other_ legal _game,
Our vent'rous author takes satiric aim;
And brings, he hopes, originals to view,
Nor pilfers from th' Old Magpie, nor the New[1].
But will to Candour chearfully submit;
She reigns in boxes, galleries, and pit._
1. Alluding to Mr. Garrick's Prologue to the Jubilee.
Dramatis Personæ.
MEN.
Sir LUKE LIMP, _Mr. Foote_.
Serjeant CIRCUIT, _Mr. Vandermere_.
Colonel SECRET, _Mr. Robson_.
JACK, _Mr. Weston_.
Mr. WOODFORD, _Mr. Knowles_.
Mr. FAIRPLAY, _Mr. Wheeler_.
First SERVANT, _Mr. Dancer_.
Second SERVANT, _Mr. Griffiths_.
WOMEN.
Mrs. CIRCUIT, _Mrs. Gardner_.
CHARLOT, _Mrs. Jewell_.
Mrs. SIMPER, _Mrs. Saunders_.
BETTY, _Mrs. Read_.
THE LAME LOVER.
ACT I.
_Enter_ Serjeant CIRCUIT _and_ CHARLOT.
CHARLOT.
I tell you, Sir, his love to me is all a pretence: it is amazing that
you, who are so acute, so quick in discerning on other occasions,
should be so blind upon this.
SERJEANT.
But where are your proofs, Charlot? What signifies your opening matters
which your evidence cannot support?
CHARLOT.
Surely, Sir, strong circumstances in every court should have weight.
SERJEANT.
So they have collaterally, child, that is by way as it were of
corroboration, or where matters are doubtful; then indeed, as Plowden
wisely observes "Les circonstances ajout beaucoup depoids aux
faits."--You understand me?
CHARLOT.
Not perfectly well.
SERJEANT.
Then to explain by case in point; A, we will suppose, my dear, robs B
of a watch upon Hounslow heath--dy'e mind, child?
CHARLOT.
I do, Sir.
SERJEANT.
A, is taken up and indicted; B swears positively to the identity of
A.--Dy'e observe?
CHARLOT.
Attentively.
SERJEANT.
Then what does me A, but sets up the alibi C, to defeat the affidavit
of B.--You take me.
CHARLOT.
Clearly.
SERJEANT.
So far you see then the ballance is even.
CHARLOT.
True.
SERJEANT.
But then to turn the scale, child, against A, in favour of B, they
produce the circumstance D, viz. B's watch found in the pocket of
A; upon which, the testimony of C being contradicted by B,--no, by
D,--why then A, that is to say C,--no D,--joining B, they convict
C,--no, no, A,--against the affidavit of C.--So this being pretty
clear, child, I leave the application to you.
CHARLOT.
Very obliging, Sir. But suppose now, Sir, it should appear that the
attention of Sir Luke Limp is directed to some other object, would not
that induce you to--
SERJEANT.
Other object! Where?
CHARLOT.
In this very house.
SERJEANT.
Here! why the girl is non compos; there's nobody here, child, but a
parcel of Abigals.
CHARLOT.
No, Sir?
SERJEANT.
No.
CHARLOT.
Yes, Sir, one person else.
SERJEANT.
Who is that?
CHARLOT.
But remember, Sir, my accusation is confined to Sir Luke.
SERJEANT.
Well, well.
CHARLOT.
Suppose then, Sir, those powerful charms which made a conquest of you,
may have extended their empire over the heart of Sir Luke?
SERJEANT.
Why, hussy, you don't hint at your mother-in-law?
CHARLOT.
Indeed, Sir, but I do.
SERJEANT.
Ay; why this is point blank treason against my sovereign authority: but
can you, Charlot, bring proof of any overt acts?
CHARLOT.
Overt acts!
SERJEANT.
Ay; that is any declaration by writing, or even word of mouth is
sufficient; then let 'em demur if they dare.
CHARLOT.
I can't say that, Sir; but another organ has been pretty explicit.
SERJEANT.
Which?
CHARLOT.
In those cases a very infallible one--the eye.
SERJEANT.
Pshaw! nonsense and stuff.--The eye!--The eye has no authority in a
court of law.
CHARLOT.
Perhaps not, Sir, but it is a decisive evidence in a court of love.
SERJEANT.
Hark you, hussy, why you would not file an information against the
virtue of madam your mother; you would not insinuate that she has been
guilty of crim. con.?
CHARLOT.
Sir, you mistake me; it is not the lady, but the gentleman I am about
to impeach.
SERJEANT.
Have a care, Charlot! I see on what ground your action is
founded--jealousy.
CHARLOT.
You were never more deceiv'd in your life; for it is impossible, my
dear Sir, that jealousy can subsist without love.
SERJEANT.
Well.
CHARLOT.
And from that passion (thank heaven) I am pretty free at present.
SERJEANT.
Indeed!
CHARLOT.
A sweet object to excite tender desires!
SERJEANT.
And why not, hussy?
CHARLOT.
First as to his years.
SERJEANT.
What then?
CHARLOT.
I own, Sir, age procures honor, but I believe it is very rarely
productive of love.
SERJEANT.
Mighty well.
CHARLOT.
And tho' the loss of a leg can't be imputed to Sir Luke Limp as a
fault--
SERJEANT.
How!
CHARLOT.
I hope, Sir, at least you will allow it a misfortune.
SERJEANT.
Indeed!
CHARLOT.
A pretty thing truly, for a girl, at my time of life, to be ty'd to a
man with one foot in the grave.
SERJEANT.
One foot in the grave! the rest of his body is not a whit the nearer
for that.--There has been only an execution issued against part of
his personals, his real estate is unencumbered and free--besides, you
see he does not mind it a whit, but is as alert, and as merry, as a
defendant after non-suiting a plaintiff for omitting an S.
CHARLOT.
O! Sir! I know how proud Sir Luke is of his leg, and have often heard
him declare, that he would not change his bit of timber for the best
flesh and bone in the kingdom.
SERJEANT.
There's a hero for you!
CHARLOT.
To be sure, sustaining unavoidable evils with constancy is a certain
sign of greatness of mind.
SERJEANT.
Doubtless.
CHARLOT.
But then to derive a vanity from a misfortune, will not I'm afraid be
admitted as a vast instance of wisdom, and indeed looks as if the man
had nothing better to distinguish himself by.
SERJEANT.
How does that follow?
CHARLOT.
By inunendo.
SERJEANT.
Negatur.
CHARLOT.
Besides, Sir, I have other proofs of your hero's vanity, not inferior
to that I have mention'd.
SERJEANT.
Cite them.
CHARLOT.
The paltry ambition of levying and following titles.
SERJEANT.
Titles! I don't understand you?
CHARLOT.
I mean the poverty of fastening in public upon men of distinction, for
no other reason but because of their rank; adhering to Sir John till
the Baronet is superceded by my Lord; quitting the puny Peer for an
Earl; and sacrificing all three to a Duke.
SERJEANT.
Keeping good company! a laudable ambition!
CHARLOT.
True, Sir, if the virtues that procur'd the father a peerage, could
with that be entail'd on the son.
SERJEANT.
Have a care, hussy--there are severe laws against speaking evil of
dignities.--
CHARLOT.
Sir!
SERJEANT.
Scandalum magnatum is a statute must not be trifled with: why you are
not one of those vulgar sluts that think a man the worse for being a
Lord?
CHARLOT.
No, Sir; I am contented with only, not thinking him the better.
SERJEANT.
For all this, I believe, hussy, a right honourable proposal would soon
make you alter your mind.
CHARLOT.
Not unless the proposer had other qualities than what he possesses by
patent. Besides, Sir, you know Sir Luke is a devotee to the bottle.
SERJEANT.
Not a whit the less honest for that.
CHARLOT.
It occasions one evil at least; that when under its influence, he
generally reveals all, sometimes more than he knows.
SERJEANT.
Proofs of an open temper, you baggage: but, come, come, all these are
but trifling objections.
CHARLOT.
You mean, Sir, they prove the object a trifle.
SERJEANT.
Why you pert jade; do you play on my words? I say Sir Luke is--
CHARLOT.
Nobody.
SERJEANT.
Nobody! how the deuce do you make that out?--He is neither person
attained or outlaw'd, may in any of his majesty's courts sue or be
sued, appear by attorney, or in propria persona, can acquire, buy,
procure, purchase, possess, and inherit, not only personalities, such
as goods, and chattels, but even realities, as all lands, tenements,
and hereditaments, whatsoever, and wheresoever.
CHARLOT.
But, Sir--
SERJEANT.
Nay, further child, he may sell, give, bestow, bequeath, devise,
demise, lease, or to farm lett, ditto lands, to any person
whomsoever--and--
CHARLOT.
Without doubt, Sir; but there are notwithstanding in this town a great
number of nobodies, not described by lord Coke.
SERJEANT.
Hey!
CHARLOT.
There is your next-door neighbour, Sir Harry Hen, an absolute blank.
SERJEANT.
How so, Mrs. Pert?
CHARLOT.
What, Sir! a man who is not suffer'd to hear, see, smell, or in short
to enjoy the free use of any one of his senses; who, instead of having
a positive will of his own, is deny'd even a paltry negative; who can
neither resolve or reply, consent or deny, without first obtaining the
leave of his lady: an absolute monarch to sink into the sneaking state
of being a slave to one of his subjects--Oh fye!
SERJEANT.
Why, to be sure, Sir Harry Hen, is as I may say--
CHARLOT.
Nobody Sir, in the fullest sense of the word--Then your client Lord
Solo.
SERJEANT.
Heyday!--Why you would not annihilate a peer of the realm, with a
prodigious estate and an allow'd judge too of the elegant arts.
CHARLOT.
O yes, Sir, I am no stranger to that nobleman's attributes; but then,
Sir, please to consider, his power as a peer he gives up to a proxy;
the direction of his estate, to a rapacious, artful attorney: and as to
his skill in the elegant arts, I presume you confine them to painting
and music, he is directed in the first by Mynheer Van Eisel, a Dutch
dauber; and in the last is but the echo of Signora Florenza, his
lordship's mistress and an opera singer.
SERJEANT.
Mercy upon us! at what a rate the jade runs!
CHARLOT.
In short, Sir, I define every individual who, ceasing to act for
himself, becomes the tool, the mere engine of another man's will, to be
nothing more than a cypher.
SERJEANT.
At this rate the jade will half unpeople the world: but what is all
this to Sir Luke? to him, not one of your cases apply.
CHARLOT.
Every one--Sir Luke has not a first principle in his whole composition;
not only his pleasures, but even his passions are prompted by others;
and he is as much directed to the objects of his love and his hatred,
as in his eating, drinking, and dressing. Nay, though he is active,
and eternally busy, yet his own private affairs are neglected; and
he would not scruple to break an appointment that was to determine a
considerable part of his property, in order to exchange a couple of
hounds for a lord, or to buy a pad-nag for a lady. In a word--but he's
at hand, and will explain himself best; I hear his stump on the stairs.
SERJEANT.
I hope you will preserve a little decency before your lover at least.
CHARLOT.
Lover! ha, ha, ha!
_Enter Sir_ LUKE LIMP.
Sir LUKE.
Mr. Serjeant, your slave--Ah! are you there my little--O Lord! Miss,
let me tell you something for fear of forgetting--Do you know that you
are new christen'd, and have had me for a gossip?
CHARLOT.
Christen'd! I don't understand you.
Sir LUKE.
Then lend me your ear--Why last night, as Colonel Kill'em, Sir William
Weezy, Lord Frederick Foretop, and I were carelessly sliding the
Ranelagh round, picking our teeth, after a damn'd muzzy dinner at
Boodle's, who should trip by but an abbess, well known about town, with
a smart little nun in her suite. Says Weezy (who, between ourselves,
is as husky as hell) Who is that? odds flesh, she's a delicate wench!
Zounds! cried Lord Frederick, where can Weezy have been, not to have
seen the Harietta before? for you must know Frederick is a bit of
Macaroni, and adores the soft Italian termination in _a_.
CHARLOT.
He does?
Sir LUKE.
Yes, a delitanti all over.--Before? replied Weezy; crush me if ever I
saw any thing half so handsome before!--No! replied I in an instant;
Colonel, what will Weezy say when he sees the Charlotta?--Hey! you
little----
CHARLOT.
Meaning me, I presume.
Sir LUKE.
Without doubt; and you have been toasted by that name ever since.
SERJEANT.
What a vast fund of spirits he has!
Sir LUKE.
And why not, my old splitter of causes?
SERJEANT.
I was just telling Charlot, that you was not a whit the worse for the
loss.
Sir LUKE.
The worse! much the better, my dear. Consider, I can have neither
strain, splint, spavin, or gout; have no fear of corns, kibes, or that
another man should kick my shins, or tread on my toes.
SERJEANT.
Right.
Sir LUKE.
What d'ye think I would change with Bill Spindle for one of his
drumsticks, or chop with Lord Lumber for both of his logs?
SERJEANT.
No!
Sir LUKE.
No, damn it, I am much better.--Look there--Ha!--What is there I am not
able to do? To be sure I am a little aukward at running; but then, to
make me amends, I'll hop with any man in town for his sum.
SERJEANT.
Ay, and I'll go his halves.
Sir LUKE.
Then as to your dancing, I am cut out at Madam Cornelly's, I grant,
because of the croud; but as far as a private set of six couple, or
moving a chair-minuet, match me who can.
CHARLOT.
A chair-minuet! I don't understand you.
Sir LUKE.
Why, child, all grace is confined to the motion of the head, arms, and
chest, which may sitting be as fully displayed, as if one had as many
legs as a polypus.--As thus--tol de rol--don't you see?
SERJEANT.
Very plain.
Sir LUKE.
A leg! a redundancy! a mere nothing at all. Man is from nature an
extravagant creature. In my opinion, we might all be full as well as we
are, with but half the things that we have.
CHARLOT.
Ay, Sir Luke; how do you prove that?
Sir LUKE.
By constant experience.--You must have seen the man who makes and uses
pens without hands.
SERJEANT.
I have.
Sir LUKE.
And not a twelvemonth agone, I lost my way in a fog, at Mile-End, and
was conducted to my house in May-Fair by a man as blind as a beetle.
SERJEANT.
Wonderful!
Sir LUKE.
And as to hearing and speaking, those organs are of no manner of use in
the world.
SERJEANT.
How!
Sir LUKE.
If you doubt it, I will introduce you to a whole family, dumb as
oysters, and deaf as the dead, who chatter from morning till night by
only the help of their fingers.
SERJEANT.
Why, Charlot, these are cases in point.
Sir LUKE.
Oh! clear as a trout-stream; and it is not only, my little Charlot,
that this piece of timber answers every purpose, but it has procured me
many a bit of fun in my time.
SERJEANT.
Ay!
Sir LUKE.
Why, it was but last summer, at Tunbridge, we were plagued the whole
season by a bullet-headed Swiss from the canton of Bern, who was always
boasting, what, and how much he dared do; and then, as to pain, no
Stoic, not Diogenes, held it more in contempt.--By gods, he vas no more
minds it dan notings at all--So, foregad, I gave my German a challenge.
SERJEANT.
As how!--Mind, Charlot.
Sir LUKE.
Why to drive a corkin pin into the calves of our legs.
SERJEANT.
Well, well.
Sir LUKE.
Mine, you may imagine, was easily done--but when it came to the Baron--
SERJEANT.
Ay, ay.
Sir LUKE.
Our modern Cato soon lost his coolness and courage, screw'd his nose up
to his foretop, rapp'd out a dozen oaths in high Dutch, limp'd away to
his lodgings, and was there laid up for a month--Ha, ha, ha!
_Enter a Servant, and delivers a Card to_ Sir Luke.
Sir LUKE _reads_.
"Sir Gregory Goose desires the honour of Sir Luke Limp's company to
dine. An answer is desired." Gadso! a little unlucky; I have been
engag'd for these three weeks.
SERJEANT.
What, I find Sir Gregory is return'd for the corporation of _Fleesum_.
Sir LUKE.
Is he so? Oh ho!--That alters the case.--George, give my compliments to
Sir Gregory, and I'll certainly come and dine there. Order Joe to run
to alderman Inkle's, in Threadneedle-street; sorry can't wait upon him,
but confin'd to bed two days with _new influenza_.
CHARLOT.
You make light, Sir Luke, of these sort of engagements.
Sir LUKE.
What can a man do? These damn'd fellows (when one has the misfortune to
meet them) take scandalous advantage; teaze, When will you do me the
honour, pray, Sir Luke, to take a bit of mutton with me? Do you name
the day--They are as bad as a beggar, who attacks your coach at the
mounting of a hill; there is no getting rid of them, without a penny to
one, and a promise to t'other.
SERJEANT.
True; and then for such a time too--three weeks! I wonder they expect
folks to remember. It is like a retainer in Michaelmas term for the
summer assizes.
Sir LUKE.
Not but, upon these occasions, no man in England is more punctual
than----
_Enter a Servant, who gives_ Sir Luke _a Letter_.
From whom?
SERVANT.
Earl of Brentford. The servant waits for an answer.
Sir LUKE.
Answer!--By your leave, Mr. Serjeant and Charlot. [_Reads._] "Taste for
music--Mons. Duport--fail--Dinner upon table at five"--Gadso! I hope
Sir Gregory's servant an't gone.
SERVANT.
Immediately upon receiving the answer.
Sir LUKE.
Run after him as fast as you can--tell him, quite in despair--recollect
an engagement that can't in nature be missed,--and return in an instant.
CHARLOT.
You see, Sir, the Knight must give way for my Lord.
Sir LUKE.
No, faith, it is not that, my dear Charlot; you saw that was quite an
extempore business.--No, hang it, no, it is not for the title; but to
tell you the truth, Brentford has more wit than any man in the world;
it is that makes me fond of his house.
CHARLOT.
By the choice of his company he gives an unanswerable instance of that.
Sir LUKE.
You are right, my dear girl. But now to give you a proof of his wit:
You know Brentford's finances are a little out of repair, which
procures him some visits that he would very gladly excuse.
SERJEANT.
What need he fear? His person is sacred; for by the tenth of William
and Mary--
Sir LUKE.
He knows that well enough; but for all that--
SERJEANT.
Indeed, by a late act of his own house, (which does them infinite
honour) his goods or chattels may be----
Sir LUKE.
Seiz'd upon when they can find them, but he lives in ready-furnish'd
lodgings, and hires his coach by the month.
SERJEANT.
Nay, if the sheriff return "non inventus"--
Sir LUKE.
A pox o' your law, you make me lose sight of my story. One morning,
a Welch coach-maker came with his bill to my Lord, whose name was
unluckily Loyd. My Lord had the man up. You are call'd, I think, Mr.
Loyd?--At your Lordship's service, my Lord.----What, Loyd with an
L?--It was with an L indeed, my Lord.--Because in your part of the
world I have heard that Loyd and Floyd were synonymous, the very same
names.--Very often indeed, my lord.--But you always spell your's with
an L?--Always.--That, Mr. Loyd, is a little unlucky; for you must know
I am now paying my debts alphabetically, and in four or five years you
might have come in with an F; but I am afraid I can give you no hopes
for your L.--Ha, ha, ha!
_Enter a_ SERVANT.
SERVANT.
There was no overtaking the servant.
Sir LUKE.
That is unlucky: tell my Lord I'll attend him.--I'll call on Sir
Gregory myself.
SERJEANT.
Why, you won't leave us, Sir Luke?
Sir LUKE.
Pardon, dear Serjeant and Charlotta; have a thousand things to do for
half a million of people positively; promised to procure a husband for
Lady Cicely Sulky, and match a coach-horse for Brigadier Whip; after
that, must run into the city to borrow a thousand for young At-all at
Almack's; send a Cheshire cheese by the stage to Sir Timothy Tankard in
Suffolk; and get at the Herald's Office a coat of arms to clap on the
coach of Billy Bengal, a nabob newly arriv'd: so you see I have not a
moment to lose.
SERJEANT.
True, true.
Sir LUKE.
At your toilet to-morrow at ten you may--
_Enter a_ SERVANT _abruptly, and runs against Sir_ LUKE.
Can't you see where you are running you, rascal!
SERVANT.
Sir, his grace the Duke of----
Sir LUKE.
Grace!--Where is he?--Where--
SERVANT.
In his coach at the door.--If you an't better engaged would be glad of
your company to go into the city, and take a dinner at Dolly's.
Sir LUKE.
In his own coach did you say?
SERVANT.
Yes, Sir.
Sir LUKE.
With the coronets--or--
SERVANT.
I believe so.
Sir LUKE.
There's no resisting of that.--Bid Joe run to Sir Gregory Goose's.
SERVANT.
He is already gone to alderman Inkle's.
Sir LUKE.
Then do you step to the Knight--hey!--no--you must go to my
Lord's--hold, hold, no--I have it--Step first to Sir Greg's, then pop
in at Lord Brentford's just as the company are going to dinner.
SERVANT.
What shall I say to Sir Gregory?
Sir LUKE.
Any thing--what I told you before.
SERVANT.
And what to my Lord?
Sir LUKE.
What!--Why tell him that my uncle from Epsom--no--that won't do, for
he knows I don't care a farthing for him--hey!--Why tell him--hold
I have it--Tell him, that as I was going into my chair to obey his
commands, I was arrested by a couple of bailiffs, forced into a hackney
coach, and carried to the Py'd Bull in the Borough; I beg ten thousand
pardons for making his grace wait, but his grace knows my misfor----
[_Exit Sir_ Luke.
CHARLOT.
Well, Sir, what dy'e think of the proofs? I flatter myself I have
pretty well established my case.
SERJEANT.
Why, hussy, you have hit upon points; but then they are but trifling
flaws, they don't vitiate the title, that stands unimpeach'd; and--But,
madam, your mother.
_Enter Mrs._ CIRCUIT.
Mrs. CIRCUIT.
What have you done with the Knight?--Why you have not let him depart?
CHARLOT.
It was not in my power to keep him.
Mrs. CIRCUIT.
I don't wonder at that; but what took him away?
CHARLOT.
What will at any time take him away--a Duke at the door.
Mrs. CIRCUIT.
Are you certain of that?
SERJEANT.
Why truly, chuck, his retreat was rather precipitate for a man that is
just going to be marry'd.
Mrs. CIRCUIT.
The prospect of marriage does not always prove the strongest attachment.
SERJEANT.
Pardon me, lovee; the law allows no higher consideration than marriage.
Mrs. CIRCUIT.
Pshaw!
SERJEANT.
Insomuch, that if duke A was to intermarry with chambermaid B,
difference of condition would prove no bar to the settlement.
Mrs. CIRCUIT.
Indeed!
SERJEANT.
Ay; and this was held to be law by Chief-baron Bind'em, on the famous
case of the Marquis of Cully, and Fanny Flip-flap the French dancer.
Mrs. CIRCUIT.
The greater blockhead the Baron: but don't pester me with your odious
law cases.--Did not you tell me you was to go to Kingston to day to try
the crown causes?
SERJEANT.
I was begg'd to attend for fear his Lordship should not be able to sit;
but if it proves inconvenient to you--
Mrs. CIRCUIT.
To me! Oh, by no means in the world; I am too good a subject to desire
the least delay in the law's execution: and when d'ye set out?
SERJEANT.
Between one and two; I shall only just give a law lecture to Jack.
Mrs. CIRCUIT.
Lord! I wonder Mr. Circuit you would breed that boy up to the bar.
SERJEANT.
Why not, chuck? He has fine steady parts, and for his time moots a
point--
Mrs. CIRCUIT.
Steady! stupid you mean: nothing sure cou'd add to his heaviness but
the being loaded with law. Why don't you put him into the army?
SERJEANT.
Nay, chuck, if you choose it, I believe I have interest to get Jack a
commission.
Mrs. CIRCUIT.
Why, Mr. Circuit, you know he is no son of mine; perhaps a cockade may
animate the lad with some fire.
SERJEANT.
True, lovee; and a knowledge of the law mayn't be amiss to restrain his
fire a little.
Mrs. CIRCUIT.
I believe there is very little danger of his exceeding that way.
SERJEANT.
Charlot, send hither your brother. [_Exit_ Charlot.
Mrs. CIRCUIT.
I'll not interrupt you.
SERJEANT.
Far from it, lovee; I should be glad to have you a witness of Jacky's
improvement.
Mrs. CIRCUIT.
Of that I am no judge; besides, I am full of business to day--There is
to be a ballot at one for the _Ladies' Club_ lately established, and
lady Bab Basto has proposed me for a member.--Pray, my dear, when will
you let me have that money to pay my Lord Loo?
SERJEANT.
The three hundred you mean?
Mrs. CIRCUIT.
And besides, there is my debt to Kitty Cribbidge; I protest I almost
blush whenever I meet them.
SERJEANT.
Why really, lovee, 'tis a large sum of money.--Now, were I worthy to
throw in a little advice, we might make a pretty good hand of this
business.
Mrs. CIRCUIT.
I don't understand you.
SERJEANT.
Bring an action against them on the statute, in the name of my clerk;
and so not only rescue the _debt_ from their hands, but recover
likewise considerable _damages_.
Mrs. CIRCUIT.
A pretty conceit, Mr. Serjeant! but does it not occur to your wisdom,
that as I have (by the help of Captain Cog) been oftener a winner than
loser, the tables may be turned upon _us_?
SERJEANT.
No, no, chuck, that did not escape me; I have provided for that.--Do
you know, by the law, both parties are equally culpable; so that,
lovee, we shall be able to fleece your friends not only of what they
have _won_ of poor dearee, but likewise for what they have _lost_.
Mrs. CIRCUIT.
Why, what a paltry, pettifogging puppy art thou!--And could you suppose
that I would submit to the scandalous office?
SERJEANT.
Scandalous! I don't understand this strange perversion of words. The
scandal lies in _breaking_ the _laws_, not in bringing the offenders to
_justice_.
Mrs. CIRCUIT.
Mean-spirited wretch!--What, do you suppose that those laws could be
levell'd against people of their high rank and condition? Can it be
thought that any set of men would submit to lay legal restraints on
_themselves_?--Absurd and preposterous!
SERJEANT.
Why, by their public practice, my love, one would suspect that they
thought themselves excepted by a particular clause.
Mrs. CIRCUIT.
Oh! to be sure; not the least doubt can be made.
SERJEANT.
True, chuck--But then your great friends should never complain of
highwaymen stopping their coaches, or thieves breaking into their
houses.
Mrs. CIRCUIT.
Why, what has that to do with the business?
SERJEANT.
Oh! the natural consequence, lovee; for whilst the superiors are
throwing away their fortunes, and consequently their independence
_above_--you can't think but their domestics are following their
examples _below_.
Mrs. CIRCUIT.
Well, and what then?
SERJEANT.
Then! the same distress that throws the master and mistress into the
power of any who are willing to purchase them, by a regular gradation,
reduces the servants to actions, though more _criminal_, perhaps not
more _atrocious_.
Mrs. CIRCUIT.
Pshaw! stuff!--I have no head to examine your dirty
distinctions--Don't teize me with your jargon.--I have told you the
sums I shall want, so take care they are ready at your returning from
Kingston.--Nay, don't hesitate; recollect your own state of the case,
and remember, my honour is in pawn, and must, some way or other, be
redeem'd by the end of the week. [_Exit._
SERJEANT _solus_.
My honour is in pawn!--Good Lord! how a century will alter the meaning
of words!--Formerly, _chastity_ was the honour of women, and _good
faith_ and _integrity_ the honour of men: but _now_, a lady who ruins
her family by punctually paying her losses at play, and a gentleman
who kills his best friend in some trifling frivolous quarrel, are your
only tip-top people of _honour_. Well, let them go on, it brings grist
to our mill: for whilst both the sexes stick firm to their _honour_,
we shall never want business, either at Doctor's Commons, or the Old
Bailey. [_Exit._