Mr. Bates, be a true friend, and sooth my nephew | devil a word of your infirmities will she touch to consent to my proposal. Bates. You have raised the fiend, and ought to lay him; however, I'll do my best for you; when the head is turned, nothing can bring it right again so soon as ten thousand pounds; shall I promise for you? Whit. I'll sooner go to Bedlam myself. [Exit BATES. Why, I'm in a worse condition than I was before. If this widow's father will not let me off without providing for his daughter, I may lose a great sum of money, and none of us be the better for it; my nephew half mad; myself half married; and no remedy for either of us. Enter SERVANT. Serv. Sir Patrick O'Neale is come to wait upon you, would you please to see him? Whit. By all means, the very person I wanted; don't let him wait. [Erit SERVANT.] I wonder if he has seen my letter to the widow; I will sound him by degrees, that I may be sure of my mark before I strike the blow. Enter SIR PATRICK O'NEALE. upon; I have brought her up to softness and to gentleness, as a kitten to new milk; she will spake nothing but no and yes, as if she were dumb; and no tame rabbit or pigeon will keep house, or be more injanious with her needle and tambourine Whit. She is vastly altered then since I saw her last, or I have lost my senses, and in either case we had much better, since I must speak plain, not come together Sir P. Till you are married, you mean-with all my heart, it is the more gentale for that, and like our family: I never saw Lady O'Neale, your mother-in-law, who, poor crater, is dead, and can never be a mother-in-law again, till the week before I married her; and I did not care if I had never seen her then, which is a comfort too in case of death, or accidents in life. Whit. But you don't understand me, Sir Patrick, I say— Sir P. I say, how can that be, when we both spake English? Whit. But you mistake my meaning, and don't comprehend me. Sir P. Then you don't comprehend yourself, Mr. Whizzle, and I have not the gift of prophecy to find out, after you have spoke, what never was in you. Whit. Let me entreat you to attend to me a Sir P. Mr. Whizzle, your humble servant; it gives me great pleasure, that an old jontleman of your property, will have the honour of being united with the family of the O'Neales; we have been too much jontlemen not to spend our estate, as you have made yourself a kind of jontleman by getting one; one runs out one way, and t'other-out runs in another, which makes them both meet at last, and keeps up the balance of Europe. Whit. I am much obliged to you, Sir Patrick: I am an old gentleman, you say true; and I was thinking Sir P. And I was thinking if you was ever so old, my daughter can't make you young again; she has as fine, rich, tick blood in her veins, as any in all Ireland. I wish you had a swate crater of a daughter like mine, that we might make a double cross of it. Whit. That would be a double cross indeed! [Aside. Sir P. Though I was miserable enough with my first wife, who had the devil of a spirit, and the very model of her daughter, yet a brave man never shrinks from danger, and I may have better luck another time. Whit. Yes, but I am no brave man, Sir Patrick, and I begin to shrink already. Sir P. I have bred her up in great subjection; she is as tame as a young colt, and as tinder as a sucking chicken; you will find her a true jontlewoman, and so knowing that you can teach her nothing; she brings every thing but money, and you have enough of that, if you have nothing else, and that is what I call the balance of things. Whit. But I have been considering your daughter's great deserts, and my great age Sir P. She is a charming crater; I would venture to say that, if I was not her father. Whit. I say, Sir, as I have been considering your daughter's great deserts, and as I own I have great demerits Sir P. To be sure you have, but you can't help that; and if my daughter was to mention any thing of fleering at your age, or your stinginess, by the balance of power, but I would make her repate it a hundred times to your face, to make her ashamed of it; but mum, old gentleman, the little. Sir P. I do attend, man; I don't interrupt you with it. Whit. Your daughter Sir P. Your wife that is to be. Go on. Whit. My wife that is not to be-Zounds! will you hear me? Sir P. To be or not to be, is that the question? I can swear too, if it wants a little of that. Whit. Dear Sir Patrick, hear me. I confess myself unworthy of her; I have the greatest regard for you, Sir Patrick; I should think myself honoured by being in your family, but there are many reasons Sir P. To be sure there are many reasons why an old man should not marry a young woman; but that was your business, and not mine. Whit. I have wrote a letter to your daughter, which I was in hopes you had seen, and brought me an answer to it. Sir P. What the devil, Mr. Whizzle, do you make a letter-porter of me? Do you imagine, you dirty fellow, with your cash, that Sir Patrick O'Neale would carry your letters? I would have you know that I despise letters, and all that belong to 'em; nor would I carry a letter to the king, Heaven bless him, unless it came from myself. Whit. But, dear Sir Patrick, don't be in a passion for nothing. Sir P. What, is it nothing to make a pennypostman of me? But I'll go to my daughter directly, for I have not seen her to-day; and if I find that you have written any thing that I wont understand, I shall take it as an affront to my family; and you shall either let out the noble blood of the O'Neales, or I will spill the last drop of the red puddle of the Whizzles. [Going, returns — Harkye, you Mr. Whizzle, Wheezle, Whistle what's your name? You must not stir till I come back; if you offer to ate, drink, or sleep till my honour is satisfied, 'twill be the worst male you ever took in your life; you had better fast a year, and die at the end of six months, than dare to lave your house. So now, Mr. Wheezle, you are to do Enter THOMAS. Sad work, Thomas! Tho. Sad work, indeed! why would you think Whit. So much the better; then nobody will believe it. Tho. But they come to me to inquire. Tho. What signifies that? I was telling lady Gabble's footman, at the door just now, that it was all a lie, and your nephew looks out of the twopair-of-stairs window, with eyes all on fire, and tells the whole story; upon that there gathered such a mob! Whit. I shall be murdered, and have my house pulled down into the bargain! Tho. It is all quiet again. I told them the young man was out of his senses, and that you were out of town; so they went away quietly, and said they would come and mob you another time. Whit. Thomas, what shall I do? Tho. Nothing you have done, if you will have matters amend. Whit. I am out of my depth, and you wont lend me your hand to draw me out. Tho. You were out of your depth to fall in love; swim away as fast as you can, you'll be drowned if you marry. Whit. I'm frightened out of my wits; yes, yes, 'tis all over with me; I must not stir out of my house; but am ordered to stay to be murdered in it for aught I know ;-what are you muttering, Thomas? Pr'ythee speak out and comfort me. Tho. It is all a judgment upon you; because your brother's foolish will says the young man must have your consent, you wont let him have her, but will marry the widow yourself; that's the dog in the manger; you can't eat the oats, and wont let those who can. Whit. But I consent that he shall have both the widow and the fortune, if we can get him into his right senses. Tho. For fear I should lose mine, I'll get out of Bedlam as soon as possible; you must provide yourself with another servant. Whit. The whole earth conspires against me! you shall stay with me till I die, and then you shall have a good legacy, and I wont live long I oromise you. [Knocking at the door. Tho. Here are the undertakers already. [Erit. Whit. What shall I do? my head can't bear it; I will hang myself for fear of being run through the body. Re-enter THOMAS, with bills. Tho. Half a score people I never saw before, with these bills and drafts upon you for payment, signed Martha Brady. Whit. I wish Martha Brady was at the bottom of the Thames! what an impudent extravagant baggage, to begin her tricks already! Send them the devil, and say I wont pay a farthing. Tho. You'll have another mob about the door. [Going. Whit. Stay, stay, Thomas; tell them I am very busy, and they must come to-morrow morning;stay, stay, that is promising payment; no, no, no tell 'em they must stay till I am married, and so they will be satisfied, and tricked into the bargain. Tho. When you are tricked we shall all be satisfied. [Aside and erit. Whit. That of all dreadful things, I should think of a woman, and that woman should be a widow, and that woman should be an Irish one. -Who have we here? Another of the family, I [Retires. suppose. Enter WIDOW as Lieutenant O'Neale, seeming ly fluttered, and putting up his sword, TuoMAS following. Tho. I hope you are not hurt, captain. Wid. O, not at all, at all; 'tis well they run away, or I should have made them run faster; I shall teach them how to snigger and look through glasses at their betters; these are your maccaroons, as they call themselves; by my soul but I would have taught them better manners, if they would have stood still till I had overtaken them; these whipper-snappers look so much more like girls in breeches, than those I see in petticoats, that fait and trot, it is a pity to hurt 'em ; but to business; friend, where is your master? Tho. There, captain; I hope he has not of fended you. Wid. If you are impartinent, Sir, you will offend me; lave the room. Tho. I value my life too much not to do that what a raw-boned Tartar! I wish he had not been caught and sent here. [Aside to WHITTLE; eril Whit. Her brother, by all that's terrible! and as like her as two tigers! I sweat at the sight of him; I'm sorry Thomas is gone; he has been [Aside. quarrelling already. Wid. Is your name Whittol? Wid. Then they told no lies, fait; so far, so good. [Takes out a letter.] Do you know that handwriting? Whit. As well as I know this good friend of mine, who helps me upon such occasions. [Showing his right hand, and smiling. Wid. You had better not show your teeth, Sir, till we come to the jokes-the hand-writing is yours. Whit. Yes, Sir, it is mine. [Sighs Wid. Death and powder! what do you sigh for? Are you ashamed, or sorry, for your handy works? Whit. Partly one, partly t'other. Wid. Will you be plased, Sir, to rade it aloud, that you may know it again when you hare it. Whit. [Takes the letter and reads.] “Mə dam" Wid. Would you be plased to let us know what Madam you mean? for woman of quality, and woman of no quality, and woman of all qualities, are so mixed together, that you don't know one from t'other, and all are called madams; you should always read the superscription before you open the letter. Whit. I beg your pardon, Sir.-.-I don't like this ceremony. [Avide.] "To Mrs. Brady, in Pall-mall." Wid. Now prosade-fire and powder, but I would Whit. Sir, what's the matter? Wid. Nothing at all, Sir; pray go on. Whit. "Madam,-As I prefer your happiness to the indulgence of my own passions" Wid. I will not prefer your happiness to the indulgence of my passions-Mr. Whittol, rade on. Whit. "I must confess that I am unworthy of your charms and virtues." Wid. Very unworthy indeed; rade on, Sir. Whit. "I have, for some days, had a severe struggle between my justice and my passion"Wid. I have had no struggle at all: my justice and passion are agreed. Whit. "The former has prevailed, and I beg leave to resign you, with all your accomplishments, to some more deserving, though not more admiring servant, than your miserable and devoted, THOMAS WHITTLE." Wid. And miserable and devoted you shall be -to the postscript: rade on. Whit. "Postscript:-let me have your pity, but not your anger." Wid. In answer to this love epistle, [Snatches the letter.] you pitiful fellow, my sister presents you with her tinderest wishes, and assures you that you have, as you desire, her pity, and she generously throws her contempt too into the bargain. Tears the letter, and throws it at him. Whit. I'm infinitely obliged to her. Wid. I must beg lave in the name of all our family to present the same to you. Whit. I am ditto to all the family. Wid. But as a brache of promise to any of our family was never suffered without a brache into somebody's body, I have fixed upon myself to be your operator; and I believe that you will find that I have as fine a hand at this work, and will give you as little pain, as any in the three kingdoms. [Sits down and looses her knee-bands. Whit. For Heaven's sake, captain, what are you about? Wid. I always loosen my garters for the advantage of lunging; it is for your sake as well as my own, for I will be twice through your body, Defore you shall feel me once. Whit. What a terrible fellow it is! I wish Thomas would come in. [Aside. Wid. Come, Sir, prepare yourself; you are not the first, by half a score, that I have run through and through the heart, before they knew what was the matter with them. Whit. But, captain, suppose I will marry your sister? Wid. I have not the laste objection, if you recover of your wounds. Callaghan O'Connor lives very happy with my great aunt, Mrs. Deborah O'Neale, in the county of Gallway; except a small asthma he got by my running him through the lungs, at the Currough: he would have forsaken her, if I had not stopped his perfidy by a famous family styptic I have here: O, ho! my little old boy, but you shall get it. [Draws. Whit. What shall I do ?-well, Sir, if I must, I must; I'll meet you to-morrow morning in Hyde-Park, let the consequence be what it will. Wid. For fear you might forget that favour, I must beg to be indulged with a little pushing now; I have set my heart upon it; and two birds in hand is worth one in the bushes, Mr. Whittol-come, Sir. Whit. But I have not settled my matters. Wid. O, we'll settle them in a trice, I warrant you. [Puts herself in a position. Whit. But I don't understand the sword; I had rather fight with pistols. Wid. I am very happy it is in my power to oblige you; there, Sir, take your choice; I will plase you if I can. [Offers pistols. Whit. Out of the pan into the fire! there's no putting him off; if I had chosen poison, I dare swear he had arsenic in his pocket. [Aside.] Look ye, young gentleman, I am an old man, and you'll get no credit by killing me; but I have a nephew as young as yourself, and you'll get more honour in facing him. Wid. Ay, and more pleasure too-I expect ample satisfaction from him, after I have done your business; prepare, Sir. Whit. What the devil; wont one serve your turn? I can't fight, and I wont fight; I'll do any thing rather than fight; I'll marry your sister; my nephew shall marry her; I'll give him all my fortune; what would the fellow have? Here, nephew! Thomas! murder! murder! [He flies, and she pursues. Enter BATES and NEPHEW. Nep. I'll find a way to cool him! come out, Sir, I am as mad as yourself; I'll match you, I warrant you. Wid. I'll follow you ail the world over. Whit. Stay, stay, nephew, you sha'n't fight; we shall be exposed all over the town, and you may lose your life, and I shall be cursed from morning till night; do, nephew, make yourself and me happy; be the olive-branch, and bring peace into my family; return to the widow; will give you my consent, and your fortune, and a fortune for the widow, five thousand pounds! Do persuade him, Mr. Bates. Bates. Do, Sir; this is a very critical point of your life; I know you love her; 'tis the only method to restore us all to our senses. Nep. I must talk in private first with this hot young gentleman. Wid. As private as you plase, Sir. Whit. Take their weapons away, Mr. Bates; and do you follow me to my study, to witness my proposal; it is all ready, and only wants signing; come along, come along. [Exit. Bates. Victoria! victoria! give me your swords and pistols; and now do your worst, you spirited, loving, young couple; I could leap out of my skin! [Erú. Nep. O my charming widow; what a day have we gone through! Wid. I would go through ten times as much to deceive an old, amorous spark, like your uncle, to purchase a young one, like his nephew. Nep. I listened at the door all this last scene; my heart was agitated with ten thousand fears; suppose my uncle had been stout, and drawn his sword Wid. I should have run away as he did; when two cowards meet, the struggle is who shall run first; and sure I can beat an old man at any thing. Nep. Permit me thus to seal my happiness. [Kisses her. Enter WHITTLE and BATES; WHITTLE stares. Tho Into happiness. You have been foolsa Bates. Confusion! a long while, turn about and be wise; he has got the woman and his estate, give them your blessing, which is not worth much, and live like a Christian [Aside Whit. [Turning to BATES.] Hey-ayam afraid his head is not right yet! he was kneeling and kissing the captain's hand. Bates. Take no notice, all will come about. [Aside. Wid. I find, Mr. Whittol, your family loves kissing better than fighting; he swears, I am as like my sister as two pigeons. Enter SIR PATRICK O'NEALE. Sir P. I hope, Mr. Whizzle, you'll excuse my coming back to give you an answer, without having any to give; I hear a grate dale of news about myself, and came to know if it be true; they say my son is in London, when he tells me himself, by letter here, that he's at Limerick; and I have been with my daughter to tell her the news, but she would not stay at home to receive it, so I am come-O gramachree! my little din ousil craw, what have we got here? a piece of mummery! here is my son and daughter too, fait; what are you waring the breeches, Pat, to see how they become you when you are Mrs. Weezel? Wid. I beg your pardon for that, Sir! I wear them before marriage, because I think they become a woman better than after. Whit. What, is not this your son? [Astonished. Sir P. No, but it is my daughter, and that is the same thing. Wid. And your niece, Sir, which is better than either. Whit. Mighty well! and I suppose you have not lost your wits, young man? Nep. I sympathize with you, Sir; we lost 'em together, and found 'em at the same time. Whit. Here's villany! Mr. Bates, give me the paper; not a farthing shall they have till the law gives it 'em. now. Bates. We'll cheat the law, and give it them [Gives NEPHEW the paper. Whit. He may take his own, but he sha'n't have a sixpence of the five thousand pounds I promised him. Bates. Witness, good folks, he owns to the promise. Sir P. Fait, I'll witness dat, or any thing else in a good cause. Whit. What, am I choused again? Bates. Why, should not my friend be choused out of a little justice for the first time? Your hard usage has sharpened your nephew's wits; therefore, beware, don't play with edge-tools, you'll only cut your fingers. Sir P. And your trote too, which is all one; therefore, to make all asy, marry my daughter first, and then quarrel with her afterwards; that will be in the natural course of things. Whit. Here, Thomas! where are you? for the future. Whit. I will, if I can: but I can't look at 'em; I can't bear the sound of my voice, nor the sight of my own face; look ye, I am distressed and distracted! and can't come to yet; I will be reconciled if possible; but don't let me see or hear from you, if you would have me forget and forgive you -I shall never lift up my head again! Wid. I hope, Sir Patrick, that my preferring the nephew to the uncle will meet with your approbation? Sir P. You are out of my hands, Pat, so if you wont trouble me with your afflictions, I shall sincerely rejoice at your felicity. Nep. It would be a great abatement of my present joy, could I believe that this lady should be assisted in her happiness, or be supported in her afflictions, by any one but her lover and husband. Sir P. Fine notions are fine tings, but a fine estate gives every ting but ideas, and them too, if you'll appale to those who help you to spend it— what say you, widow? Wid. By your and their persuasion I will tell my mind to this good company; and for fear my words should want ideas too, I will add an Irish tune, that may carry off a bad voice, and bad matter, A widow bewitch'd with her passion, Though Irish, is now quite asham'd, Struck the cush la maw cree, Pray see all our errors with blindness, To be twice through your heart, The bottom, the top, and the middle, To give us delight, O, that's the best piping aud dancing! Your smiles are a dow'r for a lady, ARDEN OF FEVERSHAM: A TRAGEDY, IN FIVE ACTS. BY GEORGE LILLO. REMARKS. We have before alluded to this Play, (in our remarks on the Author's Tragedy of Fatal Curiosity, as founded on a well-known domestic trouble, recorded by Hollinshed, in his chronicle; and by Jacob, in his History of Feversham.—In 1592, a tragedy under the same title was published, by an anonymous writer; and in 1770 was reprinted by Edward Jacob, with an absurd preface, imputing it to Shakspeare. From this, Mr. Lillo formed the present tragedy, which he is said to have left unfinished to the care of Dr. John Hoadley, by whom it was completed. With some alteration, this piece might be well adapted for modern representation; it is pathetic and interesting, with many well-written passages. The last act in particular, with the death of Arden by the villany of Mosby, and the despair of Alicia, is not only deeply affecting, but is a sad proof of the folly and danger of the slightest acquaintance or association with the depraved. In 1790, Mr. Holman produced this tragedy, with alterations, for his benefit. [suit MOSBY alone. Mos. The morning's dark, and horrid as my purpose. And laugh at all to come. For other instru ments, SCENE I-The Street before ARDEN's door. There's Green: he bears him hard about this Thrice have my snare's been laid for Arden's life, |