THREE WEEKS AFTER MARRIAGE: A FARCE, IN TWO ACTS. BY ARTHUR MURPHY. REMARKS. THE caprice of public opinion condemned this farce on its first representation, in 1764, under the title of What must we all come to; but in 1776, Mr. Lewis ventured to produce it for his benefit, with its present name, and it was then established in favour. This smart little piece is well conceived, occasionally verging on caricature: the flippant foolery of Sir Charles Rackett, the ridiculous airs of his lady, the pertness of Dimity, &c. produce a piquant and laughable tout ensemble. ACT I. SCENE I. Enter WOODLEY and DIMITY. Dim. Po! po! no such thing;-I tell you, Mr. Woodley, you are a mere novice in these affairs. Wood. Nay, but listen to reason, Mrs. Dimity; has not your master, Mr. Drugget, invited me down to his country-seat? has not he promised to give me his daughter Nancy in marriage? and with what pretence can he now break off? Dim. What pretence!-you put a body out of all patience. Go on your own way, Sir; my advice is lost upon you. Wood. You do me injustice, Mrs. Dimity. Your advice has governed my whole conduct. Have not I fixed an interest in the young lady's heart? Dim. An interest in a fiddlestick!-You ought to have made sure of the father and mother What, do you think the way to get a wife, at this time of day, is by speaking fine things to the lady you have a fancy for? that was the practice, indeed, but things are altered now. You must address the old people, Sir; and never trouble your head about your Mistress. Wood. But you know, my dear Dimity, the old couple have received every mark of attention from me. Dim. Attention! to be sure you did not fall asleep in their company; but what then? you should have entered into their characters, played with their humours, and sacrificed to their absur dities. Wood. But, if my temper is too frank Dim. Frank, indeed! yes, you have been frank enough to ruin yourself. Have not you to do with a rich old shopkeeper, retired from bus ness with a hundred thousand pounds in his pocket, to enjoy the dust of the London-road, which he calls living in the country? and yet you must find fault with his situation What, if he has made a ridiculous gimcrack of his house and gardens? you know his heart is set upon it: and could not you have commended his taste? But you must be too frank! "Those walks and alleys are too regular;-those evergreens should not be cut into such fantastic shapes."-And thus you ad vise a poor old mechanic, who delights in every thing that's monstrous, to follow nature. O you are likely to be a successful lover! Wood. But why should I not save a father-inlaw from being a laughing-stock? Dim. Make him your father-in-law first. And | then the mother; how have you played your cards in that quarter? She wants a tinsel man of fashion for her second daughter. "Don't you see (says she) how happy my eldest girl is made by her match with Sir Charles Rackett? She has been married three entire weeks, and not so much as one angry word has passed between them! Nancy shall have a man of quality too." Wood. And yet I know Sir Charles Rackett perfectly well. Dim. Yes, so do I; and I know he'll make his lady wretched at last. But what then? you should have humoured the old folks: you should have been a talking, empty fop to the good old lady; and to the old gentleman, an admirer of his taste in gardening. But you have lost him: he is grown fond of this beau, Lovelace, who is here in the house with him; the coxcomb ingratiates himself by flattery, and you're undone by frankness. Wood. And yet, Dimity, I wont despair. Dim. And yet you have reason to despair; a million of reasons: to-morrow is fixed for the wedding day; Sir Charles and his lady are to be here this very night; they are engaged, indeed, at a great rout in town, but they take a bed here, notwithstanding. The family is sitting up for them; Mr. Drugget will keep you all in the next room there, till they arrive; to-morrow the business is over; and yet you don't despair!-Hush! hold your tongue; here comes Lovelace: step in, and I'll devise something, I warrant you. [Exit WOODLEY.] The old folks shall not have their own way. It is enough to vex a body, to see an ald father and mother marrying their daughter as hey please, in spite of my judgment, and all I aan do. Enter LOVELACE. Dim. Do lend us your assistance, Mr. Lovelace. You are a sweet gentleman, and love a good-natured action. Love. Why, how now! what's the matter? Dim. My master is going to cut the two yewtrees into the shape of two devils, I believe; and my poor mistress is breaking her heart for it. Do, run and advise him against it. She is your friend, you know she is, Sir. Love. Oh, if that's all, I'll make that matter easy directly. Dim. My mistress will be for ever obliged to you; and you will marry her daughter in the morning. Love. Oh, my rhetoric shall dissuade him. Nan. Well, Dimity, what's to become of me? thought you were gone to bed. Nan. What should I go to bed for? only to are going to marry me, and I am frightea st of my wits. Dim. Why then you are the only young lady within fifty miles round, that would be frightened at such a thing. Nan. Ah! if they would let me choose for myself. Dim. Don't you like Mr. Lovelace? Nan. My mamma does, but I don't; I don't mind his being a man of fashion, not I. Dim. And, pray, can you do better than to follow the fashion? Nan. Ah! I know there's a fashion for new bonnets, and a fashion for dressing the hair; but I never heard of a fashion for the heart. Dim. Why then, my dear, the heart mostly follows the fashion now. Nan. Does it? Pray, who sets the fashion of the heart? Dim. All the fine ladies in London, o' my conscience. Nan. And what's the last new fashion, pray? Dim. Why to marry any fop that has a few deceitful agreeable appearances about him; something of a pert phrase, a good operator for the teeth, and a tolerable tailor. Nan. And do they marry without loving? Dim. Oh! marrying for love has been a great while out of fashion. Nan. Why then I'll wait till that fashion comes up again. Dim. And then, Mr. Lovelace, I reckon― Nan. Pshaw! I don't like him: he talks to me as if he was the most miserable man in the world and the confident thing looks so pleased with himself all the while. I want to marry for love, and not for card-playing. I should not be able to bear the life my sister leads with Sir Charles Rackett. Shall I tell you a secret? I will forfeit my new cap, if they don't quarrel soon. Dim. Oh, fie! no! they wont quarrel yet awhile. A quarrel in three weeks after marriage, would bo somewhat of the quickest. By and by we shall hear of their whims and their humours. Well, but if you don't like Mr. Lovelace, what say you to Mr. Woodley? Nan. Ah!-I don't know what to say--but 1 can sing something that will explain my mind. When first the dear youth, passing by, Disclos'd his fair form to my sight, My heart it went throb with delight. I trembled, and, lost in surprise, My heart it went throb with delight. Come, Hymen, we then shall know why Wood. My sweetest angel! I have heard it all, tumble, and toss, and fret, and be uneasy. They and my heart overflows with love and gratitude VOL. I.... 20 25 Nan. Ah! but I did not know you were listen- | sure: must I give myself pain? Don't ask me ing. You should not have betrayed me so, Di-pray don't; I can't support all this uneasiness mity; I shall be angry with you. Dim. Well, I'll take my chance for that. Run both into my room, and say all your pretty things to one another there, for here comes the old gentleman-make haste, away. [Exeunt WOODLEY and NANCY. Drug. A forward, presuming coxcomb! Dimity, do you step to Mrs. Drugget, and send her hither. Dim. Yes, Sir;-it works upon him, I see. [Exit. Drug. The yew-trees ought not to be cut, because they'll help to keep off the dust, and I am too near the road already. A sorry, ignorant fop! When I am in so fine a situation, and can see every cart, wagon, and stage-coach, that goes by. And then to abuse the nursery-man's rarities! A finer sucking pig in lavender, with sage growing in his belly, was never seen! And yet he wants me not to have it: but have it I will.-There's a fine tree of knowledge, with Adam and Eve in juniper; Eve's nose not quite grown, but it's thought in the spring will be very forward: I'll have that too, with the serpent in ground ivy. Two poets in wormwood! I'll have them both. Ay; and there's a Lord Mayor's feast in honeysuckle; and the whole court of aldermen in hornbeam: they all shall be in my garden, with the Dragon of Wantley in box, all, all; I'll have them all, let my wife and Mr. Lovelace say what they will. Enter MRS. DRUGGET. Mrs. D. Did you send for me, lovey? Drug. The yew-trees shall be cut into the giants at Guildhall, whether you will or not. Mrs. D. Sure my own dear will do as he pleases. Drug. And the pond, though you praise the green banks, shall be walled round; and I'll have a little fat boy in marble, spouting up water in the middle. Drug. I am resolved, and it shall be so. Drug. How! I don't want that neither. Drug. I am your lord and master, my dear, but Mrs. D. You bring me to life again. You know, my sweet, what a happy couple Sir Charles and his lady are. Why should not we make our Nancy as happy? Enter DIMITY. Dim. Sir Charles and his lady, Ma'am. Drug. How long! Don't forbode any ill, you jade; don't, I say. It will last during their lives, hope. Dim. Well, mark the end of it. Sir Charles, I know, is gay and good-humoured; but he can': bear the least contradiction, no, not in the merest trifle. Drug. Hold your tongue; hold your tongue. Dim. Yes, Sir, I have done; and yet there is in the composition of Sir Charles a certain humour, which, like the flying gout, gives no disturbance to the family, till it settles in the head: when once it fixes there, mercy on every body about him! But here he comes. Enter SIR CHARLES. [Erit. Sir C. My dear Sir, I kiss your hand. But why stand on ceremony? To find you up at this late hour mortifies me beyond expression. Mrs. D. My sweet, who hinders you? Drug. Yes, and I'll buy the nursery-man's whole catalogue. Do you think, after retiring to live all the way here, almost four miles from Lon-ble; don, that I wont do as I please in my own garden? Mrs. D. My dear, but why are you in such a passion? Drug. I'll have the lavender pig, and the Adam and Eve, and the Dragon of Wantley, and all of 'em; and there sha'n't be a more romantic spot on the London road than mine. Mrs. D. I'm sure it is as pretty as hands can make it. Drug. I did it all myself, and I'll do more. And Mr. Lovelace sha'n't have my daughter. Mrs. D. No! what's the matter now, Mr. Drugget? Drug. He shall learn better manners than to abuse my house and gardens. You put him into the head of it, but I'll disappoint ye both. And So you may go and tell Mr. Lovelace that the match is quite off. Mrs. D. I can't comprehend all this, not I. But I'll tell him so, if you please, my dear. I am wiling to give myself pain, if it will give you plea Drug. 'Tis but once in a way, Sir Charles. Sir C. My obligations to you are inexpressi you have given me the most amiable of girls; our tempers accord like unisons in music. Drug. Ah! that's what makes me happy in my old days; my children and my garden are all my care. Sir C. And my friend Lovelace-he is to have our sister Nancy, I find. Drug. Why, my wife is so minded. Sir C. O, by all means, let her be made happy. A very pretty fellow Lovelace; as to that MrWoodley, I think you call him-he is but a plain, underbred, ill-fashioned, sort of a-Nobody knows him; he is not one of us. Oh, by all means marry her to one of us. Drug. I believe it must be so. Would you take any refreshment? Sir C. Nothing in nature-it is time to retire to rest. Drug. Well, well, good night, Sir Charles. Ha! here comes my daughter. Good night, Si Charles. Sir C. Bon repos. Enter LADY RACKETT. mincing his steps along the Mall, with his pretty innocent face-1 vow I don't know what to play Lady R. Dear Sir! I did not expect to see you And so, Me'm, while I was talking to Captain up so late. Flimsey-Your la'yship knows Captain Flimsey Drug. My Lady Racket:, I am glad to hear-Nothing but rubbish in my hand-I can't help how happy you are: I wont detain you now. There's your good man waiting for you; good night, my girl. [Erit. Sir C. I must humour this old pot, in order to be remembered in his will. Lady R. O, la! I am quite fatigued. I can hardly move. Why don't you help me, you barbarous man? Sir C. There, take my arm. it-And so, Me'm, five odious frights of dogs beset my poor little Pompey-the dear creature has the heart of a lion, but who can resist five at once? And so Pompey barked for assistance. The hurt he received was upon his chest; the doctor would not advise him to venture out till the wound is healed, for fear of an inflammation -Pray, what's trumps?" Sir C. My dear, you'd make a most excellent Lady R. But I wont be laughed at. [Looking actress. tenderly at him.] I don't love you. Sir C. Don't you? Lady R. No. Dear me! this glove! why don't you help me off with my glove? Pshaw! you awkward thing, let it alone; you an't fit to be about my person. I might as well not be married, for any use you are of. Reach me a chair. You have no compassion for me. I am so glad to sit down. Why do you drag me to routs? You know I hate them. Sir C. Oh! there is no existing, no breathing, unless one does as other people of fashion do. Lady R. But I am out of humour: I lost all my money. Sir C. How much? Lady R. Three hundred. Sir C. Never fret for that. I don't value three hundred pounds to contribute to your happiness. Lady R. Don't you ?-not value three hundred pounds to please me? Sir C. You know, I don't. Lady R. Ah! you fond fool!-But I hate gaming: it almost metamorphoses a woman into a fury. Do you know that I was frighted at myself several times to-night? I had a huge oath at the very tip of my tongue. Sir C. Had ye? Lady R. I caught myself at it; but I bit my lips, and so I did not disgrace myself. And then I was crammed up in a corner of the room, with such a strange party at a whist-table, looking at black and red spots: did you mind them? Lady R. Why don't you hand me up stairs? Oh! I am so tired; let us go to rest. Sir C. [Assisting her.] You complain, and yet raking is the delight of your little heart. Lady R. [Leaning on him as he walks away.] It is you that make a rake of me. Oh, Šir Charles, how shockingly you played that last rubber, when I stood looking over you! Sir C. My love, I played the truth of the game. Lady R. No, indeed, my dear, you played it wrong. Ah! Sir Charles, you have a head. Sir C. Po! nonsense! you don't understand it. Lady R. I beg your pardon: I am allowed to play better than you. Sir C. All conceit, my dear: 1 was perfectly right. Lady R. No such thing, Sir Charles. How can you dispute it? The diamond was the play. Sir C. Po! ridiculous! the club was the card against the world. Lady R. Oh, no, no, no; I say it was the diamond. Sir C. Zounds! Madam, I say it was the club. for? Sir C. Death and fury! do you think I don't know what I am about? I tell you once more, the club was the judgment of it. Lady R. May be so. Have it your own way, Sir. [Walks about and sings. Sir C. Vexation! you're the strangest woman that ever lived; there's no conversing with you. Lookye here, my Lady Rackett; it is the clearest case in the world; I'll make it plain to you in a moment. Sir C. You know I was busy elsewhere. Lady R. There was that strange, unaccountable woman, Mrs. Nightshade: she behaved so fretfully to her husband, a poor, inoffensive, good- Lady R. Very well, Sir. To be sure you must natured, good sort of a good-for-nothing kind of be right. [With a sneering laugh. man: but she so teazed him-" How could you Sir C. Listen to me, Lady Rackett; I had four play that card? Ah, you've a head, and so has a cards. Trumps were out. The lead was mine. pin-You're a numskull, you know you are- They were six-no, no, no, they were seven, and Ma'am, he has the poorest head in the world, hewe nine; then, you know, the beauty of the play does not know what he is about; you know you don't-Oh, fy!-I'm ashamed of you!" Sir C. She has served to divert you, I see. Lady R. And to crown all, there was my lady Clackit, who runs on with an eternal 'larum about nothing, out of all season, time, and place In the very midst of the game she begins, "Lard, Ma'am, I was apprehensive I should not be able to wait on your la'ship; my poor little dog, Pompey-the sweetest thing in the world,-a spade led there's the knave-I was fetching a walk, Me'm, the other morning in the Park; a fine frosty morning it was; I love frosty weather of all things. Let me look at the last trick-and so, M'em, little Pompey-Oh! if your la'ship was to see the lear creature pinched with the frost, and was to Lady R. Well, now it's amazing to me, that you can't perceive: give me leave, Sir Charles. Your left hand adversary had led his last trump, and he had before finessed the club, and roughed the diamond: now if you had led your diamondSir C. Zoons! Madam, but we played for the odd trick. Lady R. And sure the play for the odd trick- Lady R. I never heard the like in my life. heard. the patience of a Stoic.-[Looks at her; he walks | you will stay and hear me. Don't think to carry about and laughs.]-Very well, Madam; you it in this manner. Madam, I must and will be know no more of the game than your father's leaden Hercules on the top of the house. You know no more of whist than he does of gardening. Lady R. Go on your own way, Sir. [Takes out a glass, and settles her hair. Sir C. Why then, by all that's odious, you are the most perverse, obstinate, ignorant Lady R. Polite language, Sir! Sir C. You are, Madam, the most perverse, the most obstinate-you are a vile woman! Lady R. I am obliged to you, Sir. Sir C. You are a vile woman, I tell you so, and I will never sleep another night under one roof with you. Lady R. As you please. Lady R. Oh! lud; with that terrible countenance!—you frighten me away. [Runs in and shuts the door. Sir C. [Following her.] You shall not fly me thus. Confusion! open the door-will you open it? this contempt is beyond enduring. [Walks away.] I intended to have made it clear to her, but now let her continue in her absurdity. She is not worth my notice. My resolution is taken. She has touched my pride, and I now renounce her for ever; yes, for ever; not to return, though she were to request, besecch, and implore, on her very knees. [Erit Lady R. [Peeping in.] Is he gone? [Comes Sir C. Madam, it shall be as I please. I'll forward.] Bless me! what have I done?-I order my chariot this moment. [Going.] I know have carried this too far, I believe. I had better how the cards should be played as well as any call him back. For the sake of peace I'll give up man in England, that let me tell you. [Going] the point. What does it signify, which was the -And when your family were standing behind best of the play?-It is not worth quarrelling counters, measuring out tape, and bartering for about.-How!-here he comes again.-I'll give Whitechapel needles, my ancestors, my ances-up nothing to him. He shall never get the better tors, Madam, were squandering away whole es- of me: I am ruined for life if he does. I will tates at cards; whole estates, my Lady Rackett. conquer him, and I am resolved he shall see it. [She hums a tune, and he looks at her.] Why then, by all that's dear to me, I'll never exchange another word with you, good, bad, or indifferent. [Goes and turns back.] Will you command your temper, and listen to me? Lady R. Go on, Sir. Sir C. Can't you be cool as I am?-Lookye, my Lady Rackett: thus it stood. The trumps being all out, it was then my business Lady R. To play the diamond, to be sure. Sir C. Damnation! I have done with you for ever; for ever, Madam, and so you may tell your father. [Going. Lady R. What a passion the gentleman is in! Sir C. Will you let me speak? Sir C. Once more, then out of pure good na ture Lady R. Oh! Sir, I am convinced of your good nature Sir C. That, and that only, prevails with me to tell you, the club was the play. Lady R. I am prodigiously obliged to you for the information. I am perfectly satisfied, Sir. Sir C. It is the clearest point in the world. Only mind now. We were nine, and— Lady R. And for that reason, the diamond was the play. Your adversary's club was the best in the house. Sir C. Why then, such another fiend never existed. There is no reasoning with you. It is in vain to say a word. Good sense is thrown away upon you. I now see the malice of your heart. You are a base woman, and I part from you for ever. You may live here with your fa ther, and admire his fantastical evergreens, till you become as fantastical yourself. I'll set out for London this moment. Your servant, Madam. [Turns and looks at her.] The club was not the best in the house. Lady R. How calm you are!-Well, I'll go to bed. Will you come? You had better. Not come when I ask you?-Oh! Sir Charles. [Runs in and shuts the door. Sir C. [Looking in.] No; she wont open it Lady R. [Within.] Don't be such a torment. Lady R. [Laughing.] No-no-ho, ho! Sir C. Hell and confusion! what a puppy I make of myself! I'll bear this usage no longer. To be trifled with in this sort by a false, treacherous, [Runs to the door and speaks through the key-hole. The diamond was not the play. [Walks away as fast as he can.] I know what I am about, [Looks back in a violent rage.] and the club was not the best in the house. ACT II. [Eril Enter DIMITY, laughing violently. Dim. Oh, I shall die; I shall expire in a fit of laughing. This is the modish couple that were so happy! such a quarrel as they have had; the whole house is in an uproar. Ho, ho, ho! a rare proof of the happiness they enjoy in high life. I shall never hear people of fashion mentioned again, but I shall be ready t, crack my sides. They were both-Ho, ho, ho! This is three weeks after marriage, I think. Enter DRUGGET. [Going. Drug. Hey! how! what's the matter, Dimity? Sir C. That ease is so provoking. I desire-What am I called down stairs for? |