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[Illustration: INKLE AND YARICO
INKLE--BY HEAVENS! A WOMAN!
ACT I. SCENE III.
PAINTED BY HOWARD. PUBLISHD BY LONGMAN & CO. ENGRAVD BY HEATH.]
INKLE AND YARICO; AN OPERA, IN THREE ACTS;
AS PERFORMED AT THE THEATRES ROYAL
COVENT GARDEN, AND HAYMARKET.
BY
GEORGE COLMAN, THE YOUNGER;
PRINTED, UNDER THE AUTHORITY OF THE MANAGERS,
FROM THE PROMPT BOOK.
WITH REMARKS BY MRS. INCHBALD.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, AND ORME, PATERNOSTER ROW.
T. Davison, Whitefriars,
London.
REMARKS.
This is a drama, which might remove from Mr. Wilberforce his aversion
to theatrical exhibitions, and convince him, that the teaching of moral
duty is not confined to particular spots of ground; for, in those
places, of all others, the doctrine is most effectually inculcated,
where exhortation is the most required--the resorts of the gay, the
idle, and the dissipated.
This opera was written, when the author was very young; and, should
he live to be very old, he will have reason to be proud of it to his
latest day--for it is one of those plays which is independent of time,
of place, or of circumstance, for its value. It was popular before the
subject of the abolition of the slave trade was popular. It has the
peculiar honour of preceding that great question. It was the bright
forerunner of alleviation to the hardships of slavery.
The trivial faults of this opera are--too much play on words (as it is
called) by Trudge; and some classical allusions by other characters,
in whose education such knowledge could not be an ingredient.
A fault more important, is--that the scene at the commencement of the
opera, instead of Africa, is placed in America. It would undoubtedly
have been a quick passage, to have crossed a fourth part of the
western globe, during the interval between the first and second acts;
still, as the hero and heroine of the drama were compelled to go to
sea--imagination, with but little more exertion, might have given them
a fair wind as well from the coast whence slaves are _really_ brought,
as from a shore where no such traffic is held[1].
As an opera, Inkle and Yarico has the singular merit not to be
protected, though aided, by the power of music: the characters are so
forcibly drawn, that even those performers who sing, and study that
art alone, can render every part effectual: and singers and actors of
future times, like those of the past, and of the present, will find
every character exactly suited to their talents.
This opera has been performed in every London theatre, and in every
theatre of the kingdom, with the same degree of splendid success. It
would have been wonderful had its reception been otherwise; for the
subject is a most interesting one, and in the treatment of it, the
author has shewn taste, judgment--virtue.
[Footnote 1: No doubt the author would have ingenuity to argue away
this objection--but that, which requires argument for its support in a
dramatic work, is a subject for complaint. As slaves are imported from
Africa, and never from America, the audience, in the two last acts of
this play, feel as if they had been in the wrong quarter of the globe
during the first act. Inkle could certainly steal a native from
America, and sell her in Barbadoes, but this is not so consonant with
that nice imitation of the order of things as to rank above criticism.]
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
COVENT GARDEN.
INKLE _Mr. Johnstone._
SIR CHRISTOPHER CURRY _Mr. Quick._
CAMPLEY _Mr. Davies._
MEDIUM _Mr. Wewitzer._
TRUDGE _Mr. Edwin._
MATE _Mr. Darley._
YARICO _Mrs. Billington._
NARCISSA _Mrs. Mountain._
WOWSKI _Mrs. Martyr._
PATTY _Mrs. Rock._
HAYMARKET.
INKLE _Mr. Bannister, jun._
SIR CHRISTOPHER CURRY _Mr. Parsons._
MEDIUM _Mr. Baddeley._
CAMPLEY _Mr. Davies._
TRUDGE _Mr. Edwin._
MATE _Mr. Meadows._
YARICO _Mrs. Kemble._
NARCISSA _Mrs. Bannister._
WOWSKI _Miss George._
PATTY _Mrs. Forster._
_SCENE,--First on the Main of America: Afterwards in Barbadoes._
INKLE AND YARICO.
* * * * *
ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE I.
_An American Forest._
_Medium._ [_Without._] Hilli ho! ho!
_Trudge._ [_Without._] Hip! hollo! ho!--Hip!----
_Enter MEDIUM and TRUDGE._
_Med._ Pshaw! it's only wasting time and breath. Bawling won't persuade
him to budge a bit faster, and, whatever weight it may have in _some_
places, bawling, it seems, don't go for argument here. Plague on't! we
are now in the wilds of America.
_Trudge._ Hip, hillio--ho--hi!----
_Med._ Hold your tongue, you blockhead, or----
_Trudge._ Lord! sir, if my master makes no more haste, we shall all be
put to sword by the knives of the natives. I'm told they take off heads
like hats, and hang 'em on pegs, in their parlours. Mercy on us! My
head aches with the very thoughts of it. Hollo! Mr. Inkle! master;
hollo!
_Med._ [_Stops his mouth._] Head aches! Zounds, so does mine, with your
confounded bawling. It's enough to bring all the natives about us; and
we shall be stripped and plundered in a minute.
_Trudge._ Aye; stripping is the first thing that would happen to us;
for they seem to be woefully off for a wardrobe. I myself saw three, at
a distance, with less clothes than I have, when I get out of bed: all
dancing about in black buff; just like Adam in mourning.
_Med._ This is to have to do with a schemer! a fellow who risks his
life, for a chance of advancing his interest.--Always advantage in
view! Trying, here, to make discoveries, that may promote his profit in
England. Another Botany Bay scheme, mayhap. Nothing else could induce
him to quit our foraging party, from the ship; when he knows every
inhabitant here is not only as black as a pepper-corn, but as hot into
the bargain--and _I_, like a fool, to follow him! and then to let him
loiter behind.--Why, nephew;--Why, Inkle.--[_Calling._]
_Trudge._ Why, Inkle----Well! only to see the difference of men! he'd
have thought it very hard, now, if I had let him call so often after
me. Ah! I wish he was calling after me now, in the old jog-trot way,
again. What a fool was I to leave London for foreign parts!----That
ever I should leave Threadneedle-street, to thread an American forest,
where a man's as soon lost as a needle in a bottle of hay!
_Med._ Patience, Trudge! Patience! If we once recover the ship----
_Trudge._ Lord, sir, I shall never recover what I have lost in coming
abroad. When my master and I were in London, I had such a mortal snug
birth of it! Why, I was _factotum_.
_Med._ Factotum to a young merchant is no such sinecure, neither.
_Trudge._ But then the honour of it. Think of that, sir; to be clerk as
well as _own man_. Only consider. You find very few city clerks made
out of a man, now-a-days. To be king of the counting-house, as well
as lord of the bed-chamber. Ah! if I had him but now in the little
dressing-room behind the office; tying his hair, with a bit of red
tape, as usual.
_Med._ Yes, or writing an invoice in lampblack, and shining his shoes
with an ink-bottle, _as usual_, you blundering blockhead!
_Trudge._ Oh, if I was but brushing the accounts or casting up the
coats! mercy on us! what's that?
_Med._ That! What?
_Trudge._ Didn't you hear a noise?
_Med._ Y--es--but--hush! Oh, heavens be praised! here he is at last.
_Enter INKLE._
Now, nephew!
_Inkle._ So, Mr. Medium.
_Med._ Zounds, one would think, by your confounded composure, that you
were walking in St. James's Park, instead of an American forest: and
that all the beasts were nothing but good company. The hollow trees,
here, sentry boxes, and the lions in 'em, soldiers; the jackalls,
courtiers; the crocodiles, fine women; and the baboons, beaus. What the
plague made you loiter so long?
_Inkle._ Reflection.
_Med._ So I should think; reflection generally comes lagging behind.
What, scheming, I suppose; never quiet. At it again, eh? What a happy
trader is your father, to have so prudent a son for a partner! Why, you
are the carefullest Co. in the whole city. Never losing sight of the
main chance; and that's the reason, perhaps, you lost sight of us,
here, on the main of America.
_Inkle._ Right, Mr. Medium. Arithmetic, I own, has been the means of
our parting at present.
_Trudge._ Ha! A sum in division, I reckon.
[_Aside._
_Med._ And pray, if I may be so bold, what mighty
scheme has just tempted you to employ your head,
when you ought to make use of your heels?
_Inkle._ My heels! Here's pretty doctrine! Do you think I travel merely
for motion? What, would you have a man of business come abroad, scamper
extravagantly here and there and every where, then return home, and
have nothing to tell, but that he has _been_ here and there and every
where? 'Sdeath, sir, would you have me travel like a lord?
_Med._ No, the Lord forbid!
_Inkle._ Travelling, uncle, was always intended for improvement; and
improvement is an advantage; and advantage is profit, and profit is
gain. Which in the travelling translation of a trader, means, that you
should gain every advantage of improving your profit. I have been
comparing the land, here, with that of our own country.
_Med._ And you find it like a good deal of the land of our own
country----cursedly encumbered with black legs, I take it.
_Inkle._ And calculating how much it might be made to produce by the
acre.
_Med._ You were?
_Inkle._ Yes; I was proceeding algebraically upon the subject.
_Med._ Indeed!
_Inkle._ And just about extracting the square root.
_Med._ Hum!
_Inkle._ I was thinking too, if so many natives could be caught, how
much they might fetch at the West Indian markets.
_Med._ Now let me ask you a question, or two, young cannibal catcher,
if you please.
_Inkle._ Well.
_Med._ Ar'n't we bound for Barbadoes; partly to trade, but chiefly to
carry home the daughter of the governor, Sir Christopher Curry, who has
till now been under your father's care, in Threadneedle-street, for
polite English education?
_Inkle._ Granted.
_Med._ And isn't it determined, between the old folks, that you are to
marry Narcissa, as soon as we get there?
_Inkle._ A fixed thing.
_Med._ Then what the devil do you do here, hunting old hairy negroes,
when you ought to be obliging a fine girl in the ship? Algebra, too!
You'll have other things to think of when you are married, I promise
you. A plodding fellow's head, in the hands of a young wife, like a
boy's slate, after school, soon gets all its arithmetic wiped off: and
then it appears in its true simple state: dark, empty, and bound in
wood, Master Inkle.
_Inkle._ Not in a match of this kind. Why, it's a table of interest
from beginning to end, old Medium.
_Med._ Well, well, this is no time to talk. Who knows but, instead of
sailing to a wedding, we may get cut up, here, for a wedding dinner:
tossed up for a dingy duke, perhaps, or stewed down for a black
baronet, or eat raw by an inky commoner?
_Inkle._ Why sure you ar'n't afraid?
_Med._ Who, I afraid? Ha! ha! ha! No, not I! What the deuce should I
be afraid of? Thank Heaven I have a clear conscience, and need not be
afraid of any thing. A scoundrel might not be quite so easy on such
an occasion; but it's the part of an honest man not to behave like a
scoundrel: I never behaved like a scoundrel--for which reason I am an
honest man, you know. But come--I hate to boast of my good qualities.
_Inkle._ Slow and sure, my good, virtuous Mr. Medium! Our companions
can be but half a mile before us: and, if we do but double their steps,
we shall overtake 'em at one mile's end, by all the powers of arithmetic.
_Med._ Oh curse your arithmetic!
[_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_Another part of the Forest.--A ship at anchor in the bay at
a small distance.--Mouth of a cave._
_Enter SAILORS and MATE, as returning from foraging._
_Mate._ Come, come, bear a hand, my lads. Tho'f the bay is just under
our bowsprits, it will take a damned deal of tripping to come at
it--there's hardly any steering clear of the rocks here. But do we
muster all hands? All right, think ye?
_1st. Sail._ All to a man----besides yourself, and a monkey----the
three land lubbers, that edged away in the morning, goes for nothing,
you know--they're all dead, may-hap, by this.
_Mate._ Dead! you be--Why they're friends of the captain; and if not
brought safe aboard to-night, you may all chance to have a salt eel for
your supper--that's all--Moreover the young plodding spark, he with the
grave, foul weather face, there, is to man the tight little frigate,
Miss Narcissa--what d'ye call her? that is bound with us for Barbadoes.
Rot'em for not keeping under weigh, I say! But come, let's see if a
song will bring 'em too. Let's have a full chorus to the good merchant
ship, the Achilles, that's wrote by our captain.
SONG.
_The Achilles, though christen'd, good ship, 'tis surmis'd,_
_From that old man of war, great Achilles, so priz'd,_
_Was he, like our vessel, pray fairly baptiz'd?_
_Ti tol lol, &c._
_Poets sung_ that _Achilles--if, now, they've an itch_
_To sing_ this, _future ages may know which is which;_
_And that one rode in Greece--and the other in pitch._
_Ti tol lol, &c._
_What tho' but a merchant ship--sure our supplies:_
_Now your men of war's gain in a lottery lies,_
_And how blank they all look, when they can't get a prize!_
_Ti tol lol, &c._
_What are all their fine names? when no rhino's behind,_
_The Intrepid, and Lion, look sheepish you'll find;_
_Whilst, alas! the poor Æolus can't raise the wind!_
_Ti tol lol, &c._
_Then the Thunderer's dumb; out of tune the Orpheus;_
_The Ceres has nothing at all to produce;_
_And the Eagle I warrant you, looks like a goose._
_Ti tol lol, &c._
_1st. Sail._ Avast! look a-head there. Here they come, chased by a
fleet of black devils.
_Midsh._ And the devil a _fire_ have I to give them. We han't a grain
of powder left. What must we do, lads?
_2d. Sail._ Do? Sheer off to be sure.
_Midsh._ [_Reluctantly._] Well, if I must, I must. [_Going to the other
side, and holloing to INKLE, &c._] Yoho, lubbers! Crowd all the sail
you can, d'ye mind me!
[_Exeunt_ SAILORS.
_Enter MEDIUM, running across the stage, as pursued by the Blacks._
_Med._ Nephew! Trudge! run--scamper! Scour--fly! Zounds, what harm did
I ever do to be hunted to death by a pack of bloodhounds? Why nephew!
Oh, confound your long sums in arithmetic! I'll take care of myself;
and if we must have any arithmetic, dot and carry one for my money.
[_Runs off._
_Enter INKLE and TRUDGE, hastily._
_Trudge._ Oh! that ever I was born, to leave pen, ink, and powder for
this!
_Inkle._ Trudge, how far are the sailors before us?
_Trudge._ I'll run and see, sir, directly.
_Inkle._ Blockhead, come here. The savages are close upon us; we shall
scarce be able to recover our party. Get behind this tuft of trees with
me; they'll pass us, and we may then recover our ship with safety.
_Trudge._ [_Going behind._] Oh! Threadneedle-street, Thread--
_Inkle._ Peace.
_Trudge._ [_Hiding._]--Needle-street. [_They hide behind trees. Natives
cross. After a long pause, INKLE looks from the trees._]
_Inkle._ Trudge.
_Trudge._ Sir. [_In a whisper._]
_Inkle._ Are they all gone by?
_Trudge._ Won't you look and see?
_Inkle._ [_Looking round._] So all is safe at last. [_Coming forward._]
Nothing like policy in these cases; but you'd have run on, like a booby!
A tree, I fancy, you'll find, in future, the best resource in a hot
pursuit.
_Trudge._ Oh, charming! It's a retreat for a king, sir: Mr. Medium,
however, has not got up in it; your uncle, sir, _has run on like a
booby_; and has got up with our party by this time, I take it; who are
now most likely at the shore. But what are we to do next, sir?
_Inkle._ Reconnoitre a little, and then proceed.
_Trudge._ Then pray, sir, proceed to reconnoitre; for the sooner the
better.
_Inkle._ Then look out, d'ye hear, and tell me if you discover any
danger.
_Trudge._ Y----Ye--s--Yes.
_Inkle._ Well, is the coast clear?
_Trudge._ Eh! Oh lord!--Clear! [_Rubbing his eyes._] Oh dear! oh dear!
the coast will soon be clear enough now, I promise you----The ship is
under sail, sir!
_Inkle._ Confusion! my property carried off in the vessel.
_Trudge._ All, all, sir, except me.
_Inkle._ They may report me dead, perhaps, and dispose of my property
at the next island. [_The vessel appears under sail._]
_Trudge._ Ah! there they go. [_A gun fired._]----That will be the last
report we shall ever hear from 'em I'm afraid.--That's as much as to
say, Good bye to ye. And here we are left--two fine, full-grown babes
in the wood!
_Inkle._ What an ill-timed accident! Just too, when my speedy union
with Narcissa, at Barbadoes, would so much advance my interests.--Ah,
my Narcissa, I never shall forget thy last adieu.--Something must be
hit upon, and speedily; but what resource? [_Thinking._]
_Trudge._ The old one--a tree, sir.--'Tis all we have for it now. What
would I give, now, to be perched upon a high stool, with our brown
desk squeezed into the pit of my stomach--scribbling away an old
parchment!----But all my red ink will be spilt by an old black pin of
a negro.
SONG.
[Last Valentine's Day.]
_A voyage over seas had not entered my head,_
_Had I known but on which side to butter my bread,_
_Heigho! sure I--for hunger must die!_
_I've sail'd like a booby; come here in a squall,_
_Where, alas! there's no bread to be butter'd at all!_
_Oho! I'm a terrible booby!_
_Oh, what a sad booby am I!_
_In London, what gay chop-house signs in the street!_
_But the only sign here is of nothing to eat._
_Heigho! that I----for hunger should die!_
_My mutton's all lost; I'm a poor starving elf!_
_And for all the world like a lost mutton myself._
_Oho! I shall die a lost mutton!_
_Oh! what a lost mutton am I!_
_For a neat slice of beef, I could roar like a bull;_
_And my stomach's so empty, my heart is quite full._
_Heigho! that I--for hunger should die!_
_But, grave without meat, I must here meet my grave,_
_For my bacon, I fancy, I never shall save._
_Oho! I shall ne'er save my bacon!_
_I can't save my bacon, not I!_
_Trudge._ Hum! I was thinking----I was thinking, sir--if so many
natives could be caught, how much they might fetch at the West India
markets!
_Inkle._ Scoundrel! is this a time to jest?
_Trudge._ No, faith, sir! Hunger is too sharp to be jested with. As for
me, I shall starve for want of food. Now you may meet a luckier fate:
you are able to extract the square root, sir; and that's the very best
provision you can find here to live upon. But I! [_Noise at a distance._]
Mercy on us! here they come again.
_Inkle._ Confusion! Deserted on one side, and pressed on the other,
which way shall I turn?--This cavern may prove a safe retreat to us for
the present. I'll enter, cost what it will.
_Trudge._ Oh Lord! no, don't, don't----We shall pay too dear for our
lodging, depend on't.
_Inkle._ This is no time for debating. You are at the mouth of it: lead
the way, Trudge.
_Trudge._ What! go in before your honour! I know my place better, I
assure you--I might walk into more mouths than one, perhaps. [_Aside._]
_Inkle._ Coward! then follow me. [_Noise again._]
_Trudge._ I must, sir; I must! Ah, Trudge, Trudge! what a damned hole
are you getting into!
[_Exeunt into a Cavern._
SCENE III.
_A cave, decorated with skins of wild beasts, feathers, &c. In the
middle of the scene, a rude kind of curtain, by way of door to an
inner apartment._
_Enter INKLE and TRUDGE, as from the mouth of the cavern._
_Inkle._ So far, at least, we have proceeded with safety. Ha! no bad
specimen of savage elegance. These ornaments would be worth something
in England.--We have little to fear here, I hope: this cave rather
bears the pleasing face of a profitable adventure.
_Trudge._ Very likely, sir! But for a pleasing face, it has the
cursed'st ugly month I ever saw in my life. Now do, sir, make off as
fast as you can. If we once get clear of the natives' houses, we have
little to fear from the lions and leopards: for by the appearance of
their parlours, they seem to have killed all the wild beast in the
country. Now pray, do, my good master, take my advice, and run away.
_Inkle._ Rascal! Talk again of going out, and I'll flea you alive.
_Trudge._ That's just what I expect for coming in.--All that enter here
appear to have had their skins stript over their ears; and ours will be
kept for curiosities--We shall stand here, stuffed, for a couple of
white wonders.
_Inkle._ This curtain seems to lead to another apartment: I'll draw it.
_Trudge._ No, no, no, don't; don't. We may be called to account for
disturbing the company: you may get a curtain-lecture, perhaps, sir.
_Inkle._ Peace, booby, and stand on your guard.
_Trudge._ Oh! what will become of us! Some grim, seven foot fellow
ready to scalp us.
_Inkle._ By heaven! a woman.
[_As the curtain draws, YARICO and WOWSKI discovered asleep._
_Trudge._ A woman! [_Aside._]--[_Loud._] But let him come on; I'm
ready--dam'me, I don't fear facing the devil himself--Faith it is a
woman--fast asleep too.
_Inkle._ And beautiful as an angel!
_Trudge._ And egad! there seems to be a nice, little plump bit in the
corner; only she's an angel of rather a darker sort.
_Inkle._ Hush! keep back--she wakes. [_YARICO comes forward--INKLE and
TRUDGE retire to opposite sides of the scene._]
SONG.--YARICO.
_When the chace of day is done,_
_And the shaggy lion's skin,_
_Which for us, our warriors win,_
_Decks our cells at set of sun;_
_Worn with toil, with slap opprest,_
_I press my mossy bed, and sink to rest._
_Then, once more, I see our train,_
_With all our chase renew'd again:_
_Once more 'tis day,_
_Once more our prey_
_Gnashes his angry teeth, and foams in vain._
_Again, in sullen haste, he flies,_
_Ta'en in the toil, again he lies,_
_Again he roars--and, in my slumbers, dies._
_INKLE and TRUDGE come forward._
_Inkle._ Our language!
_Trudge._ Zounds, she has thrown me into a cold sweat.
_Yar._ Hark! I heard a noise! Wowski, awake! whence can it proceed? [_She
awakes WOWSKI, and they both come forward--YARICO towards INKLE_; _WOWSKI
towards TRUDGE._]
_Yar._ Ah! what form is this?----are you a man?
_Inkle._ True flesh and blood, my charming heathen, I promise you.
_Yar._ What harmony in his voice! What a shape! How fair his skin
too----[_Gazing._]
_Trudge._ This must be a lady of quality, by her staring.
_Yar._ Say, stranger, whence come you?
_Inkle._ From a far distant island; driven on this coast by distress,
and deserted by my companions.
_Yar._ And do you know the danger that surrounds you here? Our woods
are filled with beasts of prey--my countrymen too----(yet, I think they
cou'd'nt find the heart)--might kill you.----It would be a pity if you
fell in their way----I think I should weep if you came to any harm.
_Trudge._ O ho! It's time, I see, to begin making interest with the
chamber maid. [_Takes WOWSKI apart._]
_Inkle._ How wild and beautiful! sure there is magic in her shape, and
she has rivetted me to the place. But where shall I look for safety?
let me fly and avoid my death.
_Yar._ Oh! no--don't depart.----But I will try to preserve you; and if
you are killed, Yarico must die too! Yet, 'tis I alone can save you;
your death is certain, without my assistance; and, indeed, indeed you
shall not want it.
_Inkle._ My kind Yarico! what means, then, must be used for my safety?
_Yar._ My cave must conceal you: none enter it, since my father was
slain in battle. I will bring you food by day, then lead you to our
unfrequented groves by moonlight, to listen to the nightingale. If you
should sleep, I'll watch you, and awake you when there's danger.
_Inkle._ Generous maid! Then, to you will I owe my life; and whilst it
lasts, nothing shall part us.
_Yar._ And shan't it, shan't it indeed?
_Inkle._ No, my Yarico! For when an opportunity offers to return to my
country, you shall be my companion.
_Yar._ What! cross the seas!
_Inkle._ Yes, Help me to discover a vessel, and you shall enjoy
wonders. You shall be decked in silks, my brave maid, and have a house
drawn with horses to carry you.
_Yar._ Nay, do not laugh at me--but is it so?
_Inkle._ It is indeed!
_Yar._ Oh wonder! I wish my countrywomen could see me----But won't your
warriors kill us?
_Inkle._ No, our only danger on land is here.
_Yar._ Then let us retire further into the cave. Come--your safety is
in my keeping.
_Inkle._ I follow you--Yet, can you run some risk in following me?
DUETT.
[O say, Bonny Lass.]
Inkle. _O say, simple maid, have you form'd any notion_
_Of all the rude dangers in crossing the ocean?_
_When winds whistle shrilly, ah! won't they remind you,_
_To sigh with regret, for the grot left behind you?_
Yar. _Ah! no, I could follow, and sail the world over,_
_Nor think of my grot, when I look at my lover;_
_The winds, which blow round us, your arms for my pillow,_
_Will lull us to sleep, whilst we're rocked by each billow._
Both. _O say then my true love, we never will sunder,_
_Nor shrink from the tempest, nor dread the big thunder:_
_Whilst constant, we'll laugh at all changes of weather,_
_And journey all over the world both together._
[Exeunt; as retiring further into the cave.
_Manent TRUDGE and WOWSKI._
_Trudge._ Why, you speak English as well as I, my little Wowski.
_Wows._ Iss.
_Trudge._ Iss! and you learnt it from a strange man, that tumbled from
a big boat, many moons ago, you say?
_Wows._ Iss--Teach me--teach good many.
_Trudge._ Then, what the devil made them so surprized at seeing us! was
he like me? [_Wowski shakes her head._] Not so smart a body, mayhap.
Was his face, now, round and comely, and--eh! [_Stroking his chin._]
Was it like mine?
_Wows._ Like dead leaf--brown and shrivel.
_Trudge._ Oh, oh, an old shipwrecked sailor, I warrant. With white and
grey hair, eh, my pretty beauty spot?
_Wows._ Iss; all white. When night come, he put it in pocket.
_Trudge._ Oh! wore a wig. But the old boy taught you something more
than English, I believe.
_Wows._ Iss.
_Trudge._ The devil he did! What was it?
_Wows._ Teach me put dry grass, red hot, in hollow white stick.
_Trudge._ Aye, what was that for?
_Wows._ Put in my mouth--go poff, poff!
_Trudge._ Zounds! did he teach you to smoke?
_Wows._ Iss.
_Trudge._ And what became of him at last? What did your countrymen do
for the poor fellow?
_Wows._ Eat him one day--Our chief kill him.
_Trudge._ Mercy on us! what damned stomachs, to swallow a tough old
tar! Ah, poor Trudge! your killing comes next.
_Wows._ No, no--not you--no--[_Running to him anxiously._]
_Trudge._ No? why what shall I do, if I get in their paws?
_Wows._ I fight for you!
_Trudge._ Will you? Ecod she's a brave good-natured wench! she'll be
worth a hundred of your English wives.--Whenever they fight on their
husband's account, it's _with_ him instead of _for_ him, I fancy. But
how the plague am I to live here?
_Wows._ I feed you--bring you kid.
SONG.--WOWSKI.
[One day, I heard Mary say.]
_White man, never go away----_
_Tell me why need you?_
_Stay, with your Wowski, stay:_
_Wowski will feed you._
_Cold moons are now coming in;_
_Ah, don't go grieve me!_
_I'll wrap you in leopard's skin:_
_White man, don't leave me._
_And when all the sky is blue,_
_Sun makes warm weather,_
_I'll catch you a cockatoo,_
_Dress you in feather._
_When cold comes, or when 'tis hot,_
_Ah, don't go grieve me!_
_Poor Wowski will be forgot--_
_White man, don't leave me!_
_Trudge._ Zounds! leopard's skin for winter wear, and feathers for a
summer's suit! Ha, ha! I shall look like a walking hammer-cloth, at
Christmas, and an upright shuttlecock, in the dog days. And for all
this, if my master and I find our way to England, you shall be part of
our travelling equipage; and, when I get there, I'll give you a couple
of snug rooms, on a first floor, and visit you every evening, as soon
as I come from the counting-house. Do you like it?
_Wows._ Iss.
_Trudge._ Damme, what a flashy fellow I shall seem in the city! I'll
get her a _white_ boy to bring up the tea-kettle. Then I'll teach you
to write and dress hair.
_Wows._ You great man in your country?
_Trudge._ Oh yes, a very great man. I'm head clerk of the counting-house,
and first valet-de-chambre of the dressing-room. I pounce parchments,
powder hair, black shoes, ink paper, shave beards, and mend pens. But
hold! I had forgot one material point--you ar'n't married, I hope?
_Wows._ No: you be my chum-chum!
_Trudge._ So I will. It's best, however, to be sure of her being
single; for Indian husbands are not quite so complaisant as English
ones, and the vulgar dogs might think of looking a little after their
spouses. But you have had a lover or two in your time; eh, Wowski?
_Wows._ Oh, iss--great many--I tell you.
DUETT.
Wows. _Wampum, Swampum, Yanko, Lanko, Nanko, Pownatowski,_
_Black men--plenty--twenty--fight for me,_
_White man, woo you true?_
Trudge. _Who?_
Wows. _You._
Trudge. _Yes, pretty little Wowski!_
Wows. _Then I leave all, and follow thee._
Trudge. _Oh then turn about, my little tawny tight one!_
_Don't you like me?_
Wows. _Iss, you're like the snow!_
_If you slight one----_
Trudge. _Never, not for any white one;_
_You are beautiful as any sloe._
Wows. _Wars, jars, scars, can't expose ye,_
_In our grot----_
Trudge. _So snug and cosey!_
Wows. _Flowers, neatly_
_Pick'd, shall sweetly_
_Make your bed._
Trudge. _Coying, toying,_
_With a rosy_
_Posey,_
_When I'm dosey,_
_Bear-skin nightcaps too shall warm my head._
Both. _Bearskin nightcaps, &c. &c._
ACT THE SECOND.
SCENE I.
_The Quay at Barbadoes, with an Inn upon it. People employed in
unlading vessels, carrying bales of goods, &c._
_Enter several PLANTERS._
_1st Plant._ I saw her this morning, gentlemen, you may depend on't. My
telescope never fails me. I popp'd upon her as I was taking a peep from
my balcony. A brave tight ship, I tell you, bearing down directly for
Barbadoes here.
_2d Plant._ Ods, my life! rare news! We have not had a vessel arrive in
our harbour these six weeks.
_3d Plant._ And the last brought only Madam Narcissa, our Governor's
daughter, from England; with a parcel of lazy, idle, white folks about
her. Such cargoes will never do for our trade, neighbour.
_2d Plant._ No, no; we want slaves. A terrible dearth of 'em in Barbadoes,
lately! But your dingy passengers for my money. Give me a vessel like a
collier, where all the lading tumbles out as black as my hat. But are you
sure, now, you ar'n't mistaken? [_To 1st Planter._]
_1st Plant._ Mistaken! 'sbud, do you doubt my glass? I can discover a
gull by it six leagues off: I could see every thing as plain as if I
was on board.
_2d Plant._ Indeed! and what were her colours?
_1st Plant._ Um! why English----or Dutch----or French----I don't
exactly remember.
_2d Plant._ What were the sailors aboard?
_1st Plant._ Eh! why they were English too----or Dutch----or
French----I can't perfectly recollect.
_2d Plant._ Your glass, neighbour, is a little like a glass too much:
it makes you forget every thing you ought to remember. [_Cry without_,
"A sail, a sail!"]
_1st Plant._ Egad, but I'm right though. Now, gentlemen!
_All._ Aye, aye; the devil take the hindmost.
[_Exeunt hastily._
_Enter NARCISSA and PATTY._
SONG.
_Freshly now the breeze is blowing,_
_As yon ship at anchor rides;_
_Sullen waves, incessant flowing,_
_Rudely dash against the sides._
_So my heart, its course impéded,_
_Beats in my perturbed breast;_
_Doubts, like waves by waves succeeded,_
_Rise, and still deny it rest._
_Patty._ Well, ma'am, as I was saying----
_Nar._ Well, say no more of what you were saying--Sure, Patty, you
forget where you are; a little caution will be necessary now, I think.
_Patty._ Lord, madam, how is it possible to help talking? We are in
Barbadoes here, to be sure--but then, ma'am, one may let out a little
in a private morning's walk by ourselves.
_Nar._ Nay, it's the same thing with you in doors.
_Patty._ I never blab, ma'am, never, as I hope for a gown.
_Nar._ And your never blabbing, as you call it, depends chiefly on that
hope, I believe.
_Patty._ I have told the story of our voyage, indeed, to old Guzzle,
the butler.
_Nar._ And thus you lead him to imagine I am but little inclined to the
match.
_Patty._ Lord, ma'am, how could that be? Why I never said a word about
Captain Campley.
_Nar._ Hush! hush! for heaven's sake.
_Patty._ Aye! there it is now. But if our voyage from England was so
pleasant, it wasn't owing to Mr. Inkle, I'm certain. He didn't play the
fiddle in our cabin, and dance on the deck, and come languishing with a
glass of warm water in his hand, when we were sea-sick. Ah, ma'am, that
water warm'd your heart, I'm confident. Mr. Inkle! No, no; Captain
Cam----
_Nar._ There is no end to this! Remember, Patty, keep your secrecy, or
you entirely lose my favour.
_Patty._ Never fear me, ma'am. But if somebody I know is not acquainted
with the Governor, there's such a thing as dancing at balls, and
squeezing hands when you lead up, and squeezing them again when you
cast down. I'm as close as a patch box. Mum's the word, ma'am, I
promise you.
[_Exit._
_Nar._ How awkward is my present situation! Promised to one, who,
perhaps, may never again be heard of; and who, I am sure, if he ever
appears to claim me, will do it merely on the score of interest--pressed
too by another, who has already, I fear, too much interest in my
heart--what can I do? What plan can I follow?
_Enter CAMPLEY._
_Camp._ Follow my advice, Narcissa, by all means. Enlist with me under
the best banners in the world. General Hymen for my money! little
Cupid's his drummer: he has been beating a round rub-a-dub on our
hearts, and we have only to obey the word of command, fall into the
ranks of matrimony, and march through life together.
_Nar._ Then consider our situation.
_Camp._ That has been duly considered. In short, the case stands
exactly thus--your intended spouse is all for money; I am all for love.
He is a rich rogue; I am rather a poor honest fellow. He would pocket
your fortune; I will take you without a fortune in your pocket.
_Nar._ Oh! I am sensible of the favour, most gallant Captain Campley;
and my father, no doubt, will be very much obliged to you.
_Camp._ Aye, there's the devil of it! Sir Christopher Curry's confounded
good character knocks me up at once. Yet I am not acquainted with him
neither; not known to him even by sight; being here only as a private
gentleman, on a visit to my old relation, out of regimentals, and so
forth; and not introduced to the Governor, as other officers of the
place. But then, the report of his hospitality--his odd, blunt, whimsical
friendship--his whole behaviour--
_Nar._ All stare you in the face; eh, Campley?
_Camp._ They do, till they put me out of countenance.
_Nar._ What signifies talking to _me_, when you have such opposition
from others? Why hover about the city, instead of boldly attacking the
guard? Wheel about, captain! face the enemy! March! Charge! Rout
'em!--Drive 'em before you, and then--
_Camp._ And then--
_Nar._ Lud ha' mercy on the poor city!
_Enter PATTY, hastily._
_Patty._ Oh lud, ma'am, I'm frightened out of my wits! sure as I'm
alive, ma'am, Mr. Inkle is not dead; I saw his man, ma'am, just now,
coming ashore in a boat, with other passengers, from the vessel that's
come to the island.
[_Exit._
_Nar._ Then one way or other I must determine.--[_To CAMPLEY._] Look'ye,
Mr. Campley, something has happened which makes me wave ceremonies.--If
you mean to apply to my father, remember, that delays are dangerous.
_Camp._ Indeed!
_Nar._ I mayn't be always in the same mind, you know. [_Smiling._]
[_Exit._
_Camp._ Nay, then--Gad, I'm almost afraid too--but living in this state
of doubt is torment. I'll e'en put a good face on the matter; cock my
hat; make my bow; and try to reason the Governor into compliance. Faint
heart never won a fair lady.
SONG.
_Why should I vain fears discover,_
_Prove a dying, sighing swain?_
_Why turn shilly-shally lover,_
_Only to prolong my pain?_
_When we woo the dear enslaver,_
_Boldly ask, and she will grant;_
_How should we obtain a favour,_
_But by telling what we want?_
_Enter TRUDGE and WOWSKI, (as from the ship), with a dirty runner to one
of the inns._
_Run._ This way, sir; if you will let me recommend----
_Trudge._ Come along, Wows! Take care of your furs, and your feathers,
my girl!
_Wows._ Iss.
_Trudge._ That's right.--Somebody might steal 'em, perhaps.
_Wows._ Steal!--What that?
_Trudge._ Oh Lord! see what one loses by not being born in a christian
country.
_Run._ If you would, sir, but mention to your master, the house that
belongs to my master; the best accommodations on the quay.--
_Trudge._ What's your sign, my lad?
_Run._ The Crown, sir.--Here it is.
_Trudge._ Well, get us a room for half an hour, and we'll come: and
harkee! let it be light and airy, d'ye hear? My master has been used to
your open apartments lately.
_Run._ Depend on it.--Much obliged to you, sir.
[_Exit._
_Wows._ Who be that fine man? He great prince?
_Trudge._ A prince--Ha! ha!----No, not quite a prince--but he belongs
to the Crown. But how do you like this, Wows? Isn't it fine?
_Wows._ Wonder!
_Trudge._ Fine men, eh?
_Wows._ Iss! all white; like you.
_Trudge._ Yes, all the fine men are like me. As different from your
people as powder and ink, or paper and blacking.
_Wows._ And fine lady--Face like snow.
_Trudge._ What! the fine lady's complexions? Oh, yes, exactly; for too
much heat very often dissolves 'em! Then their dress, too.
_Wows._ Your countrymen dress so?
_Trudge._ Better, better a great deal. Why, a young flashy Englishman
will sometimes carry a whole fortune on his back. But did you mind the
women? All here--and there; [_Pointing before and behind._] they have it
all from us in England.--And then the fine things they carry on their
heads, Wowski.
_Wows._ Iss. One lady carry good fish----so fine, she call every body
to look at her.
_Trudge._ Pshaw! an old woman bawling flounders. But the fine girls we
meet, here, on the quay--so round and so plump!
_Wows._ You not love me now?
_Trudge._ Not love you! Zounds, have not I given you proofs?
_Wows._ Iss. Great many: but now you get here, you forget poor Wowski!
_Trudge._ Not I. I'll stick to you like wax.
_Wows._ Ah! I fear! What make you love me now?
_Trudge._ Gratitude, to be sure.
_Wows._ What that?
_Trudge._ Ha! this it is, now, to live without education. The poor dull
devils of her country are all in the practice of gratitude, without
finding out what it means; while we can tell the meaning of it, with
little or no practice at all.--Lord, Lord, what a fine advantage
christian learning is! Hark'ee, Wows!
_Wows._ Iss.
_Trudge._ Now we've accomplished our landing, I'll accomplish you. You
remember the instructions I gave you on the voyage?
_Wows._ Iss.
_Trudge._ Let's see now--What are you to do, when I introduce you to
the nobility, gentry, and others--of my acquaintance?
_Wows._ Make believe sit down; then get up.
_Trudge._ Let me see you do it. [_She makes a low courtesy._] Very
well! and how are you to recommend yourself, when you have nothing to
say, amongst all our great friends?
_Wows._ Grin--show my teeth.
_Trudge._ Right! they'll think you've lived with people of fashion. But
suppose you meet an old shabby friend in misfortune, that you don't
wish to be seen speak to--what would you do?
_Wows._ Look blind--not see him.
_Trudge._ Why would you do that?
_Wows._ 'Cause I can't see good friend in distress.
_Trudge._ That's a good girl! and I wish every body could boast of so
kind a motive for such cursed cruel behaviour.--Lord! how some of your
flashy bankers' clerks have _cut_ me in Threadneedle street.--But come,
though we have got among fine folks, here, in an English settlement, I
won't be ashamed of my old acquaintance: yet, for my own part, I should
not be sorry, now, to see my old friend with a new face.--Odsbobs! I
see Mr. Inkle--Go in, Wows; call for what you like best.
_Wows._ Then I call for you--ah! I fear I not see you often now. But
you come soon----
SONG.
_Remember when we walked alone,_
_And heard, so gruff, the lion growl:_
_And when the moon so bright it shone,_
_We saw the wolf look up and howl;_
_I led you well, safe to our cell,_
_While tremblingly,_
_You said to me,_
_--And kiss'd so sweet--dear Wowski tell,_
_How could I live without ye?_
_But now you come across the sea,_
_And tell me here no monsters roar;_
_You'll walk alone, and leave poor me,_
_When wolves, to fright you, howl no more._
_But ah! think well on our old cell,_
_Where tremblingly,_
_You kiss'd poor me--_
_Perhaps you'll say--dear Wowski tell,_
_How can I live without ye?_
[_Exit WOWSKI._
_Trudge._ Who have we here?
_Enter FIRST PLANTER._
_Plant._ Hark'ee, young man! Is that young Indian of yours going to our
market?
_Trudge._ Not she--she never went to market in all her life.
_Plant._ I mean, is she for our sale of slaves? Our black fair?
_Trudge._ A black fair, ha! ha! ha! You hold it on a brown green, I
suppose.
_Plant._ She's your slave, I take it?
_Trudge._ Yes; and I'm her humble servant, I take it.
_Plant._ Aye, aye, natural enough at sea.--But at how much do you value
her?
_Trudge._ Just as much as she has saved me--My own life.
_Plant._ Pshaw! you mean to sell her?
_Trudge._ [_Staring._] Zounds! what a devil of a fellow! Sell Wows!--my
poor, dear, dingy, wife!
_Plant._ Come, come, I've heard your story from the ship.--Don't let's
haggle; I'll bid as fair as any trader amongst us. But no tricks upon
travellers, young man, to raise your price.----Your wife, indeed! Why
she's no christian!
_Trudge._ No; but I am; so I shall do as I'd be done by: and, if you
were a good one yourself, you'd know, that fellow-feeling for a poor
body, who wants your help, is the noblest mark of our religion.--I
wou'dn't be articled clerk to such a fellow for the world.
_Plant._ Hey-day! the booby's in love with her! Why, sure, friend, you
would not live here with a black?
_Trudge._ Plague on't; there it is. I shall be laughed out of my
honesty, here.--But you may be jogging, friend; I may feel a little
queer, perhaps, at showing her face--but, dam me, if ever I do any
thing to make me asham'd of showing my own.
_Plant._ Why, I tell you, her very complexion----
_Trudge._ Rot her complexion--I'll tell you what, Mr. _Fair-trader_, if
your head and heart were to change places, I've a notion you'd be as
black in the face as an ink-bottle.
_Plant._ Pshaw! the fellow's a fool--a rude rascal--he ought to be sent
back to the savages again. He's not fit to live among us christians.
[_Exit PLANTER._
_Trudge._ Oh, here comes my master, at last.
_Enter INKLE, and a second PLANTER._
_Inkle._ Nay, sir, I understand your customs well; your Indian markets
are not unknown to me.
_2d Plant._ And, as you seem to understand business, I need not tell
you, that dispatch is the soul of it. Her name you say is--
_Inkle._ Yarico: but urge this no more, I beg you; I must not listen
to it: for, to speak freely, her anxious care of me demands, that
here,--though here it may seem strange--I should avow my love for her.
_Plant._ Lord help you for a merchant!--It's the first time I ever
heard a trader talk of love; except, indeed, the love of trade, and the
love of the _Sweet Molly_, my ship.
_Inkle._ Then, sir, you cannot feel my situation.
_Plant._ Oh yes, I can! we have a hundred such cases just after a
voyage; but they never last long on land. It's amazing how constant
a young man is in a ship! But, in two words, will you dispose of her,
or no?
_Inkle._ In two words, then, meet me here at noon, and we'll speak
further on this subject: and lest you think I trifle with your
business, hear why I wish this pause. Chance threw me, on my passage to
your island, among a savage people. Deserted,--defenceless,--cut off
from companions,--my life at stake--to this young creature I owe my
preservation;--she found me, like a dying bough, torn from its kindred
branches; which, as it drooped, she moistened with her tears.
_Plant._ Nay, nay, talk like a man of this world.
_Inkle._ Your patience.--And yet your interruption goes to my present
feelings; for on our sail to this your island--the thoughts of time
mispent--doubt--fears--for call it what you will--have much perplexed
me; and as your spires arose, reflections still rose with them; for
here, sir, lie my interests, great connexions, and other weighty
matters--which now I need not mention----
_Plant._ But which her presence here will mar.
_Inkle._ Even so--And yet the gratitude I owe her--
_Plant._ Pshaw! So because she preserved your life, your gratitude is
to make you give up all you have to live upon.
_Inkle._ Why, in that light indeed--This never struck me yet, I'll
think on't.
_Plant._ Aye, aye, do so--Why, what return can the wench wish more than
taking her from a wild, idle, savage people, and providing for her,
here, with reputable hard work, in a genteel, polished, tender,
christian country?
_Inkle._ Well, sir, at noon----
_Plant._ I'll meet you--but remember, young gentleman, you must get her
off your hands--you must, indeed.--I shall have her a bargain, I see
that--your servant!--Zounds, how late it is--but never be put out of
your way for a woman--I must run--my wife will play the devil with me
for keeping breakfast.
[_Exit._
_Inkle._ Trudge.
_Trudge._ Sir!
_Inkle._ Have you provided a proper apartment?
_Trudge._ Yes, sir, at the Crown here; a neat, spruce room they tell
me. You have not seen such a convenient lodging this good while, I
believe.
_Inkle._ Are there no better inns in the town?
_Trudge._ Um----Why there is the Lion, I hear, and the Bear, and the
Boar--but we saw them at the door of all our late lodgings, and found
but bad accommodations within, sir.
_Inkle._ Well, run to the end of the quay, and conduct Yarico hither.
The road is straight before you: you can't miss it.
_Trudge._ Very well, sir. What a fine thing it is to turn one's back on
a master, without running into a wolf's belly! One can follow one's
nose on a message here, and be sure it won't be bit off by the way.
[_Exit._
_Inkle._ Let me reflect a little. Part with her!--My interest, honour,
engagements to Narcissa, all demand it. My father's precepts too--I can
remember, when I was a boy, what pains he took to mould me.--School'd
me from morn to night--and still the burden of his song was--Prudence!
Prudence! Thomas, and you'll rise. His maxims rooted in my heart, and
as I grew--_they_ grew; till I was reckoned, among our friends, a
steady, sober, solid, good young man; and all the neighbours call'd
me _the prudent Mr. Thomas_. And shall I now, at once, kick down the
character which I have raised so warily?--Part with her--sell her!--The
thought once struck me in our cabin, as she lay sleeping by me; but, in
her slumbers, she passed her arm around me, murmured a blessing on my
name, and broke my meditations.
_Enter YARICO and TRUDGE._
_Yar._ My love!
_Trudge._ I have been showing her all the wigs and bales of goods we
met on the quay, sir.
_Yar._ Oh! I have feasted my eyes on wonders.
_Trudge._ And I'll go feast on a slice of beef, in the inn, here.
[_Exit._
_Yar._ My mind has been so busy, that I almost forgot even you. I wish
you had stayed with me--You would have seen such sights!
_Inkle._ Those sights have become familiar to me, Yarico.
_Yar._ And yet I wish they were not--You might partake my pleasures--but
now again, methinks, I will not wish so--for, with too much gazing, you
might neglect poor _Yarico_.
_Inkle._ Nay, nay, my care is still for you.
_Yar._ I am sure it is: and if I thought it was not, I would tell you
tales about our poor old grot--bid you remember our palm-tree near the
brook, where in the shade you often stretched yourself, while I would
take your head upon my lap, and sing my love to sleep. I know you'll
love me then.
SONG.
_Our grotto was the sweetest place!_
_The bending boughs, with fragrance blowing,_
_Would check the brook's impetuous pace,_
_Which murmur'd to be stopp'd from flowing._
_'Twas there we met, and gaz'd our fill:_
_Ah! think on this, and love me still._
_'Twas then my bosom first knew fear,_
_--Fear to an Indian maid a stranger--_
_The war-song, arrows, hatchet, spear,_
_All warn'd me of my lover's danger._
_For him did cares my bosom fill:--_
_Ah! think on this, and love me still._
_For him, by day, with care conceal'd,_
_To search for food I climb'd the mountain;_
_And when the night no form reveal'd,_
_Jocund we sought the bubbling fountain._
_Then, then would joy my bosom fill;_
_Ah! think on this and love me still._
[_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_An Apartment in the House of SIR CHRISTOPHER CURRY._
_Enter SIR CHRISTOPHER and MEDIUM._
_Sir Chr._ I tell you, old Medium, you are all wrong. Plague on your
doubts! Inkle _shall_ have my Narcissa. Poor fellow! I dare say he's
finely chagrined at this temporary parting--Eat up with the blue
devils, I warrant.
_Med._ Eat up by the black devils, I warrant; for I left him in hellish
hungry company.
_Sir Chr._ Pshaw! he'll arrive with the next vessel, depend
on't--besides, have not I had this in view ever since they were
children? I must and will have it so, I tell you. Is not it, as it
were, a marriage made above? They _shall_ meet, I'm positive.
_Med._ Shall they? Then they must meet where the marriage was made; for
hang me, if I think it will ever happen below.
_Sir Chr._ Ha!--and if that is the case--hang me, if I think you'll
ever be at the celebration of it.
_Med._ Yet, let me tell you, Sir Christopher Curry, my character is as
unsullied as a sheet of white paper.
_Sir Chr._ Well said, old fool's-cap! and it's as mere a blank as a
sheet of white paper. You are honest, old Medium, by comparison, just
as a fellow sentenced to transportation is happier than his companion
condemned to the gallows--Very worthy, because you are no rogue; tender
hearted, because you never go to fires and executions; and an affectionate
father and husband, because you never pinch your children, or kick your
wife out of bed.
_Med._ And that, as the world goes, is more than every man can say for
himself. Yet, since you force me to speak my positive qualities--but,
no matter,--you remember me in London; didn't I, as member of the
Humane Society, bring a man out of the New River, who, it was
afterwards found, had done me an injury?
_Sir Chr._ And, dam'me, if I would not kick any man into the New River
that had done me an injury. There's the difference of our honesty.
Oons! if you want to be an honest fellow, act from the impulse of
nature. Why, you have no more gall than a pigeon.
_Med._ And you have as much gall as a turkey cock, and are as hot into
the bargain--You're always so hasty; among the hodge-podge of your
foibles, passion is always predominant.
_Sir Chr._ So much the better.----Foibles, quotha? foibles are foils
that give additional lustre to the gems of virtue. You have not so many
foils as I, perhaps.
_Med._ And, what's more, I don't want 'em, Sir Christopher, I thank you.
_Sir Chr._ Very true; for the devil a gem have you to set off with 'em.
_Med._ Well, well; I never mention errors; that, I flatter myself, is
no disagreeable quality.--It don't become me to say you are hot.
_Sir Chr._ 'Sblood! but it does become you: it becomes every man,
especially an Englishman, to speak the dictates of his heart.
_Enter SERVANT._
_Serv._ An English vessel, sir, just arrived in the harbour.
_Sir Chr._ A vessel! Od's my life!----Now for the news--If it is but as
I hope--Any dispatches?
_Serv._ This letter, sir, brought by a sailor from the quay.
[_Exit._
_Sir Chr._ [_Opening the letter_] Huzza! here it is. He's safe--safe
and sound at Barbadoes. [Reading]----
_Sir,
My master, Mr. Inkle, is just arrived in your harbour_,
Here, read, read! old Medium--
_Med._ [Reading.] Um'--
_Your harbour;--we were taken up by an English vessel, on the
14th ult^{o}. He only waits till I have puffed his hair, to pay
his respects to you, and Miss Narcissa: In the mean time, he has
ordered me to brush up this letter for your honour, from_
_Your humble Servant, to command_,
TIMOTHY TRUDGE.
_Sir Chr._ Hey day! Here's a style! the voyage has jumbled the fellow's
brains out of their places; the water has made his head turn round. But
no matter; mine turns round, too. I'll go and prepare Narcissa directly;
they shall be married slap-dash, as soon as he comes from the quay. From
Neptune to Hymen: from the hammock to the bridal bed--Ha! old boy!
_Med._ Well, well; don't flurry yourself--you're so hot!
_Sir Chr._ Hot! blood, ar'n't I in the West Indies? Ar'n't I governor
of Barbadoes? He shall have her as soon as he sets his foot on shore.
"But, plague on't, he's so slow."--She shall rise to him like Venus out
of the sea. His hair puffed? He ought to have been puffing, here, out
of breath, by this time.
_Med._ Very true; but Venus's husband is always supposed to be lame,
you know, Sir Christopher.
_Sir Chr._ Well, now do, my good fellow, run down to the shore, and see
what detains him.
[_Hurrying him off._
_Med._ Well, well; I will, I will.
[_Exit._
_Sir Chr._ In the mean time I'll get ready Narcissa, and all shall be
concluded in a second. My heart's set upon it.--Poor fellow! after all
his rumbles, and tumbles, and jumbles, and fits of despair--I shall be
rejoiced to see him. I have not seen him since he was that high.--But,
zounds! he's so tardy!
_Enter SERVANT._
_Serv._ A strange gentleman, sir, come from the quay, desires to see you.
_Sir Chr._ From the quay? Od's my life!----'Tis he--'Tis Inkle! Show
him up directly.
[_Exit Servant._
The rogue is expeditious after all.--I'm so happy.
_Enter CAMPLEY._
My dear fellow! [_Shakes hands._] I'm rejoiced to see you. Welcome;
welcome here, with all my soul!
_Camp._ This reception, Sir Christopher, is beyond my warmest
wishes--Unknown to you----
_Sir Chr._ Aye, aye; we shall be better acquainted by and by. Well, and
how, eh! tell me!--But old Medium and I have talked over your affair a
hundred times a day, ever since Narcissa arrived.
_Camp._ You surprise me! Are you then really acquainted with the whole
affair?
_Sir Chr._ Every tittle.
_Camp._ And, can you, sir, pardon what is past?--
_Sir Chr._ Pooh! how could you help it?
_Camp._ Very true--sailing in the same ship--and--But when you consider
the past state of my mind----the black prospect before me.--
_Sir Chr._ Ha! ha! Black enough, I dare say.
_Camp._ The difficulty I have felt in bringing myself face to face to you.
_Sir Chr._ That I am convinced of--but I knew you would come the first
opportunity.
_Camp._ Very true: yet the distance between the Governor of Barbadoes
and myself. [_Bowing._]
_Sir Chr._ Yes--a devilish way asunder.
_Camp._ Granted, sir: which has distressed me with the cruellest doubts
as to our meeting.
_Sir Chr._ It was a toss up.
_Camp._ The old gentleman seems devilish kind.--Now to soften him.
[_Aside._] Perhaps, sir, in your younger days, you may have been in the
same situation yourself.
_Sir Chr._ Who? I! 'sblood! no, never in my life.
_Camp._ I wish you had, with all my soul, Sir Christopher.
_Sir Chr._ Upon my soul, Sir, I am very much obliged to you. [_Bowing._]
_Camp._ As what I now mention might have greater weight with you.
_Sir Chr._ Pooh! pr'ythee! I tell you I pitied you from the bottom of
my heart.
_Camp._ Indeed! if, with your leave, I may still venture to mention
Miss Narcissa--
_Sir Chr._ An impatient, sensible young dog! like me to a hair! Set
your heart at rest, my boy. She's yours; yours before to-morrow morning.
_Camp._ Amazement! I can scarce believe my senses.
_Sir Chr._ Zounds! you ought to be out of your senses: but dispatch--make
short work of it, ever while you live, my boy. Here she is.
_Enter NARCISSA and PATTY._
Here girl: here's your swain.
[_To NAR._
_Camp._ I just parted with my Narcissa, on the quay, sir.
_Sir Chr._ Did you! Ah, sly dog----had a meeting before you came to the
old gentleman.--But here--Take him, and make much of him--and, for fear
of further separations, you shall e'en be tacked together directly.
What say you, girl?
_Camp._ Will my Narcissa consent to my happiness?
_Nar._ I always obey my father's commands, with pleasure, sir.
_Sir Chr._ Od! I'm so happy, I hardly know which way to turn; but we'll
have the carriage directly; drive down to the quay; trundle old Spintext
into church, and hey for matrimony!
_Camp._ With all my heart, Sir Christopher; the sooner the better.
SIR CHRISTOPHER, CAMPLEY, NARCISSA, PATTY.
Sir Chr. _Your Colinettes, and Arriettes,_
_Your Damons of the grove,_
_Who like fallals, and pastorals,_
_Waste years in love;_
_But modern folks know better jokes,_
_And, courting once begun,_
_To church they hop at once--and pop--_
_Egad, all's done!_
All. _In life we prance a country dance,_
_Where every couple stands;_
_Their partners set--a while curvet--_
_But soon join hands._
Nar. _When at our feet, so trim and neat,_
_The powder'd lover sues,_
_He vows he dies, the lady sighs,_
_But can't refuse._
_Ah! how can she unmov'd e'er see_
_Her swain his death incur?_
_If once the squire is seen expire,_
_He lives with her._
All. _In life, &c. &c._
Patty. _When John and Bet are fairly met,_
_John boldly tries his luck;_
_He steals a buss, without more fuss,_
_The bargain's struck._
_Whilst things below are going so,_
_Is Betty pray to blame?_
_Who knows up stairs, her mistress fares_
_Just, just the same._
All. _In life we prance, &c. &c._
[Exeunt.
ACT THE THIRD.
SCENE I.
_The Quay._
_Enter PATTY._
_Patty._ Mercy on us! what a walk I have had of it! Well, matters go on
swimmingly at the Governor's--The old gentleman has ordered the carriage,
and the young couple will be whisked here, to church, in a quarter of an
hour. My business is to prevent young sobersides, young Inkle, from
appearing, to interrupt the ceremony.--Ha! here's the Crown, where I
hear he is housed: So now to find Trudge, and trump up a story, in the
true style of a chambermaid. [_Goes into the house._] [_PATTY within._]
I tell you it don't signify, and I will come up. [_TRUDGE within._] But
it does signify, and you can't come up.
_Re-enter PATTY with TRUDGE._
_Patty._ You had better say at once, I shan't.
_Trudge._ Well then, you shan't.
_Patty._ Savage! Pretty behaviour you have picked up amongst the
Hottypots! Your London civility, like London itself, will soon be lost
in smoke, Mr. Trudge: and the politeness you have studied so long in
Threadneedle-street, blotted out by the blacks you have been living
with.
_Trudge._ No such thing; I practised my politeness all the while I was
in the woods. Our very lodging taught me good manners; for I could
never bring myself to go into it without bowing.
_Patty._ Don't tell me! A mighty civil reception you give a body,
truly, after a six weeks parting.
_Trudge._ Gad, you're right; I am a little out here, to be sure.
[_Kisses her._] Well, how do you do?
_Patty._ Pshaw, fellow! I want none of your kisses.
_Trudge._ Oh! very well--I'll take it again. [_Offers to kiss her._]
_Patty._ Be quiet. I want to see Mr. Inkle: I have a message to him
from Miss Narcissa. I shall get a sight of him, now, I believe.
_Trudge._ May be not. He's a little busy at present.
_Patty._ Busy--ha! Plodding! What he's at his multiplication table again?
_Trudge._ Very likely; so it would be a pity to interrupt him, you know.
_Patty._ Certainly; and the whole of my business was to prevent his
hurrying himself--Tell him, we shan't be ready to receive him, at the
Governor's, till to-morrow, d'ye hear?
_Trudge._ No?
_Patty._ No. Things are not prepared. The place isn't in order; and the
servants have not had proper notice of the arrival. Sir Christopher
intends Mr. Inkle, you know, for his son-in-law, and must receive him
in public form, (which can't be till to-morrow morning) for the honour
of his governorship: why the whole island will ring of it.
_Trudge._ The devil it will!
_Patty._ Yes; they've talked of nothing but my mistress's beauty and
fortune for these six weeks. Then he'll be introduced to the bride, you
know.
_Trudge._ O, my poor master!
_Patty._ Then a breakfast; then a procession; then--if nothing happens
to prevent it, he'll get into church, and be married in a crack.
_Trudge._ Then he'll get into a damn'd scrape, in a crack.
_Patty._ Hey-day! a scrape! How!
_Trudge._ Nothing, nothing----It must out----Patty!
_Patty._ Well!
_Trudge._ Can you keep a secret?
_Patty._ Try me.
_Trudge._ Then [_Whispering._] My master keeps a girl.
_Patty._ Oh, monstrous! another woman?
_Trudge._ As sure as one and one make two.
_Patty._ [_Aside._] Rare news for my mistress!--Why I can hardly believe
it: the grave, sly, steady, sober Mr. Inkle, do such a thing!
_Trudge._ Pooh! it's always your sly, sober fellows, that go the most
after the girls.
_Patty._ Well; I should sooner suspect _you_.
_Trudge._ Me? Oh Lord! he! he!--Do you think any smart, tight, little,
black-eyed wench, would be struck with my figure? [_Conceitedly._]
_Patty._ Pshaw! never mind your figure. Tell me how it happened?
_Trudge._ You shall hear: when the ship left us ashore, my master
turned as pale as a sheet of paper. It isn't every body that's blest
with courage, Patty.
_Patty._ True.
_Trudge._ However, I bid him cheer up; told him, to stick to my elbow:
took the lead, and began our march.
_Patty._ Well?
_Trudge._ We hadn't gone far, when a damn'd one-eyed black boar, that
grinned like a devil, came down the hill in jog trot! My Master melted
as fast as a pot of pomatum!
_Patty._ Mercy on us!
_Trudge._ But what does I do, but whips out my desk knife, that I used
to cut the quills with at home; met the monster, and slit up his throat
like a pen--The boar bled like a pig.
_Patty._ Lord! Trudge, what a great traveller you are!
_Trudge._ Yes; I remember we fed on the flitch for a week.
_Patty._ Well, well; but the lady.
_Trudge._ The lady! Oh, true. By and by we came to a cave--a large
hollow room, under ground, like a warehouse in the Adelphi.--Well;
there we were half an hour, before I could get him to go in; there's no
accounting for fear, you know. At last, in we went, to a place hung round
with skins, as it might be a furrier's shop, and there was a fine lady,
snoring on a bow and arrows.
_Patty._ What, all alone?
_Trudge._ Eh!--No--no.--Hum--She had a young lion, by way of a lap-dog.
_Patty._ Gemini; what did you do?
_Trudge._ Gave her a jog, and she opened her eyes--she struck my master
immediately.
_Patty._ Mercy on us! with what?
_Trudge._ With her beauty, you ninny, to be sure: and they soon brought
matters to bear. The wolves witnessed the contract--I gave her away--The
crows croaked amen; and we had board and lodging for nothing.
_Patty._ And this is she he has brought to Barbadoes?
_Trudge._ The same.
_Patty._ Well; and tell me, Trudge;--she's pretty, you say--Is she fair
or brown? or----
_Trudge._ Um! she's a good comely copper.
_Patty._ How! a tawny?
_Trudge._ Yes, quite dark; but very elegant; like a Wedgwood tea-pot.
_Patty._ Oh! the monster! the filthy fellow! Live with a black-a-moor!
_Trudge._ Why, there's no great harm in't, I hope?
_Patty._ Faugh! I wou'dn't let him kiss me for the world: he'd make my
face all smutty.
_Trudge._ Zounds! you are mighty nice all of a sudden; but I'd have you
to know, Madam Patty, that Black-a-moor ladies, as you call 'em, are
some of the very few whose complexions never rub off! 'Sbud, if they
did, Wows and I should have changed faces by this time--But mum; not a
word for your life.
_Patty._ Not I! except to the Governor and family. [_Aside._] But I
must run--and, remember, Trudge, if your master has made a mistake
here, he has himself to thank for his pains.
[_Exit PATTY._
_Trudge._ Pshaw! these girls are so plaguy proud of their white and
red! but I won't be shamed out of Wows, that's flat.--
_Enter WOWSKI._
Ah! Wows, I'm going to leave you.
_Wows._ For what you leave me?
_Trudge._ Master says I must.
_Wows._ Ah, but you say in your country, women know best; and I say you
not leave me.
_Trudge._ Master, to be sure, while we were in the forest, taught
Yarico to read, with his pencil and pocket-book. What then? Wows comes
on fine and fast in her lessons. A little awkward at first, to be
sure--Ha! ha!--She's so used to feed with her hands, that I can't get
her to eat her victuals, in a genteel, christian way, for the soul of
me; when she has stuck a morsel on her fork, she don't know how to
guide it, but pops up her knuckles to her mouth, and the meat goes up
to her ear. But, no matter--After all the fine, flashy London girls,
Wowski's the wench for my money.
SONG.
_A clerk I was in London gay,_
_Jemmy linkum feedle,_
_And went in boots to see the play,_
_Merry fiddlem tweedle._
_I march'd the lobby, twirled my stick,_
_Diddle, daddle, deedle;_
_The girls all cry'd, "He's quite the kick."_
_Oh, Jemmy linkum feedle._
_Hey! for America I sail,_
_Yankee doodle, deedle;_
_The sailor-boys cry'd, "Smoke his tail!"_
_Jemmy linkum feedle._
_On English belles I turned my back,_
_Diddle, daddle, deedle;_
_And got a foreign fair quite black,_
_O twaddle, twaddle, tweedle!_
_Your London girls, with roguish trip,_
_Wheedle, wheedle, wheedle,_
_May boast their pouting under lip,_
_Fiddle, faddle, feedle._
_My Wows would beat a hundred such,_
_Diddle, daddle, deedle,_
_Whose upper lip pouts twice as much,_
_O, pretty double wheedle!_
_Rings I'll buy to deck her toes;_
_Jemmy linkum feedle;_
_A feather fine shall grace her nose,_
_Waving siddle seedle._
_With jealousy I ne'er shall burst;_
_Who'd steal my bone of bone-a?_
_A white Othello, I can trust_
_A dingy Desdemona._
[Exeunt.