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_ ACT V
SCENE I.--Enter FUSTIAN, SNEERWELL, Prompter, FIREBRAND, LAW, PHYSICK.
Fust.
I am glad you have made your escape; but I hope you will
make the matter up before the day of action: come,
Mr Firebrand, now if you please go on; the moment Common
Sense goes off the stage Law and Physick enter.
Fireb.
Oh! my good lords of Physick and of Law,
Had you been sooner here you would have heard
The haughty queen of Common Sense throw out
Abuses on us all.
Law.
I am not now
To learn the hatred which she bears to me.
No more of that--for now the warlike queen
Of Ignorance, attended with a train
Of foreigners, all foes to Common Sense,
Arrives at Covent-garden; and we ought
To join her instantly with all our force.
At Temple-bar some regiments parade;
The colonels, Clifford, Thavies, and Furnival,
Through Holborn lead their powers to Drury-lane,
Attorneys all compleatly armed in brass:
These, bailiffs and their followers will join,
With justices, and constables, and watchmen.
Phys.
In Warwick-lane my powers expect me now:
A hundred chariots with a chief in each,
Well-famed for slaughter, in his hand he bears
A feather'd dart that seldom errs in flight.
Next march a band of choice apothecaries,
Each arm'd with deadly pill; a regiment
Of surgeons terrible maintain the rear.
All ready first to kill, and then dissect.
Fireb.
My lords, you merit greatly of the queen,
And Ignorance shall well repay your deeds;
For I foretel that by her influence
Men shall be brought (what scarce can be believed)
To bribe you with large fees to their undoing.
Success attend your glorious enterprize;
I'll go and beg it earnest of the Sun:
I, by my office, am from fight debarr'd,
But I'll be with you ere the booty's shared.
[Exeunt FIREBRAND, LAW, and PHYSICK]
Fust.
Now, Mr Sneerwell, we shall begin my third and last act; and I believe I may defy all the poets who have ever writ, or ever will write, to produce its equal: it is, sir, so crammed with drums and trumpets, thunder and lightning, battles and ghosts, that I believe the audience will want no entertainment after it: it is as full of shew as Merlin's cave itself; and for wit--no rope-dancing or tumbling can come near it. Come, begin.
[A ridiculous march is played.]
[Enter Queen IGNORANCE, attended with Singers,
Fidlers, Rope-dancers, Tumblers, &c.]
Q. Ign.
Here fix our standard; what is this place called?
1st Atten.
Great madam, Covent-garden is its name.
Q. Ign.
Ha! then methinks we have ventured too far,
Too near those theatres where Common Sense
Maintains her garrisons of mighty force;
Who, should they sally on us ere we're joined
By Law and Physick, may offend us much.
[Drum beats within.]
But ha! what means this drum?
1st Atten.
It beats a parley, not a point of war
[Enter HARLEQUIN.]
Harl.
To you, great queen of Ignorance, I come
Embassador from the two theatres;
Who both congratulate you on your arrival;
And to convince you with what hearty meaning
They sue for your alliance, they have sent
Their choicest treasure here as hostages,
To be detain'd till you are well convinced
They're not less foes to Common Sense than you.
Q. Ign.
Where are the hostages?
Harl.
Madam, I have brought
A catalogue, and all therein shall be
Deliver'd to your order; but consider,
Oh mighty queen! they offer you their all;
And gladly for the least of these would give
Their poets and their actors in exchange.
Q. Ign.
Read the catalogue.
Harl.
[Reads.]
"A tall man, and a tall woman, hired at a vast price. A strong man exceeding dear. Two dogs that walk on their hind legs only, and personate human creatures so well, they might be mistaken for them. A human creature that personates a dog so well that he might almost be taken for one. Two human cats. A most curious set of puppies. A pair of pigeons. A set of rope-dancers and tumblers from Sadler's-wells."
Q. Ign.
Enough, enough; and is it possible
That they can hold alliance with my friends
Of Sadler's-wells? then are they foes indeed
To Common Sense, and I'm indebted to 'em.
Take back their hostages, for they may need 'em;
And take this play, and bid 'em forthwith act it;
There is not in it either head or tail.
Harl.
Madam, they will most gratefully receive it.
The character you give would recommend it,
Though it had come from a less powerful hand.
Q. Ign.
The Modish Couple is its name; myself
Stood gossip to it, and I will support
This play against the town.
I Att.
Madam, the queen
Of Common Sense advances with her powers.
Q. Ign.
Draw up my men, I'll meet her as I ought;
This day shall end the long dispute between us.
[Enter Queen COMMON SENSE with a Drummer.]
Fust.
Hey-day! where's Common Sense's army?
Promp.
Sir, I have sent all over the town, and
could not get one soldier for her, except that poor
drummer, who was lately turned out of an Irish regiment.
Drum.
Upon my shoul but I have been a drummer
these twenty years, master, and have seen no wars yet;
and I was willing to learn a little of my trade before I
died.
Fust.
Hush, sirrah! don't you be witty; that is not
in your part.
Drum.
I don't know what is in my part, sir; but T
desire to have something in it; for I have been tired
of doing nothing a great while.
Fust.
Silence!
Q. C. S.
What is the reason, madam, that you bring
These hostile arms into my peaceful realm?
Q. Ign.
To ease your subjects from that dire oppression
They groan beneath, which longer to support
Unable, they invited my redress.
Q. C. S.
And can my subjects then complain of wrong?
Base and ungrateful! what is their complaint?
Q. Ign.
They say you do impose a tax of thought
Upon their minds, which they're too weak to bear.
Q. C. S.
Wouldst thou from thinking then absolve mankind?
Q. Ign.
I would, for thinking only makes men wretched;
And happiness is still the lot of fools.
Why should a wise man wish to think, when thought
Still hurts his pride; in spite of all his art,
Malicious fortune, by a lucky train
Of accidents, shall still defeat his schemes,
And set the greatest blunderer above him.
Q. C. S.
Urgest thou that against me, which thyself
Has been the wicked cause of? Which thy power,
Thy artifice, thy favourites have done?
Could Common Sense bear universal sway,
No fool could ever possibly be great.
Q. Ign.
What is this folly, which you try to paint
In colours so detestable and black?
Is't not the general gift of fate to men?
And though some few may boast superior sense,
Are they not call'd odd fellows by the rest?
In any science, if this sense peep forth,
Shew men the truth, and strive to turn their steps
From ways wherein their gross forefathers err'd,
Is not the general cry against them straight?
Sneer.
This Ignorance, Mr Fustian, seems to know
a great deal.
Fust.
Yes, sir, she knows what she has seen so often; but you
find she mistakes the cause, and Common Sense can never
beat it into her.
Q. Ign.
Sense is the parent still of fear; the fox,
Wise beast, who knows the treachery of men,
Flies their society, and skulks in woods,
While the poor goose, in happiness and ease,
Fearless grows fat within its narrow coop,
And thinks the hand that feeds it is its friend;
Then yield thee, Common Sense, nor rashly dare
Try a vain combat with superior force.
Q. C. S.
Know, queen, I never will give up the cause
Of all these followers: when at the head
Of all these heroes I resign my right,
May my curst name be blotted from the earth!
Sneer.
Methinks, Common Sense, though, ought to give it up,
when she has no more to defend it.
Fust.
It does indeed look a little odd at present; but I'll get
her an army strong enough against its acted. Come, go on.
Q. Ign.
Then thus I hurl defiance at thy head.
Draw all your swords.
Q. C. S.
And, gentlemen, draw yours.
Q. Ign.
Fall on; have at thy heart.
[A fight]
Q. C. S.
And have at thine.
Fust.
Oh, fie upon't, fie upon't! I never saw a worse battle
in all my life upon any stage. Pray, gentlemen, come
some of you over to the other side.
Sneer.
These are Swiss soldiers, I perceive, Mr Fustian; they
care not which side they fight of.
Fust.
Now, begin again, if you please, and fight away; pray
fight as if you were in earnest, gentlemen.
[They fight.]
Oons, Mr Prompter! I fancy you hired these soldiers out o
f the trained bands--they are afraid to fight even in jest.
[They fight again.]
There, there--pretty well. I think, Mr Sneerwell, we have
made a shift to make out a good sort of a battle at last.
Sneer.
Indeed I cannot say I ever saw a better.
Fust.
You don't seem, Mr Sneerwell, to relish this battle
greatly.
Sneer.
I cannot profess myself the greatest admirer of this
part of tragedy; and I own my imagination can better
conceive the idea of a battle from a skilful relation
of it than from such a representation; for my mind
is not able to enlarge the stage into a vast plain,
nor multiply half a score into several thousands.
Fust.
Oh; your humble servant! but if we write to please you
and half a dozen others, who will pay the charges of the house?
Sir, if the audience will be contented with a battle or two,
instead of all the raree-fine shows exhibited to them in what
they call entertainments----
Sneer.
Pray, Mr Fustian, how came they to give the name of
entertainments to their pantomimical farces?
Fust.
Faith, sir, out of their peculiar modesty; intimating that after the audience had been tired with the dull works of Shakspeare, Jonson, Vanbrugh, and others, they are to be entertained with one of these pantomimes, of which the master of the playhouse, two or three painters, and half a score dancing-masters are the compilers. What these entertainments are, I need not inform you, who have seen 'em; but I have often wondered how it was possible for any creature of human understanding, after having been diverted for three hours with the production of a great genius, to sit for three more and see a set of people running about the stage after one another, without speaking one syllable, and playing several juggling tricks, which are done at Fawks's after a much better manner; and for this, sir, the town does not only pay additional prices, but loses several fine parts of its best authors, which are cut out to make room for the said farces.
Sneer.
'Tis very true; and I have heard a hundred say the same
thing, who never failed being present at them.
Fust.
And while that happens, they will force any entertainment
upon the town they please, in spite of its teeth.
[Ghost of COMMON SENSE rises.]
Oons, and the devil, madam! what's the
meaning of this? You have left out a scene. Was ever such an
absurdity as for your ghost to appear before you are killed.
Q. C. S.
I ask pardon, sir; in the hurry of the battle I forgot
to come and kill myself.
Fust.
Well, let me wipe the flour off your face then. And now,
if you please, rehearse the scene; take care you don't make
this mistake any more though, for it would inevitably damn
the play if you should. Go to the corner of the scene, and
come in as if you had lost the battle.
Q. C. S.
Behold the ghost of Common Sense appears.
Fust.
'Sdeath, madam, I tell you you are no ghost--you are
not killed.
Q. C. S.
Deserted and forlorn, where shall I fly.
The battle's lost, and so are all my friends.
[Enter a Poet.]
Poet.
Madam, not so; still you have one friend left.
Q. C. S.
Why, what art thou?
Poet.
Madam, I am a poet.
Q. C. S.
Whoe'er thou art, if thou'rt a friend to misery,
Know Common Sense disclaims thee.
Poet.
I have been damn'd
Because I was your foe, and yet I still
Courted your friendship with my utmost art.
Q. C. S.
Fool! thou wert damn'd because thou didst pretend
Thyself my friend; for hadst thou boldly dared,
Like Hurlothrumbo, to deny me quite,
Or, like an opera or pantomime,
Profess'd the cause of Ignorance in publick,
Thou might'st have met with thy desired success;
But men can't bear even a pretence to me.
Poet.
Then take a ticket for my benefit night.
Q. C. S.
I will do more--for Common Sense will stay
Quite from your house, so may you not be damn'd.
Poet.
Ha! say'st thou? By my soul, a better play
Ne'er came upon a stage; but, since you dare
Contemn me thus, I'll dedicate my play
To Ignorance, and call her Common Sense:
Yes, I will dress her in your pomp, and swear
That Ignorance knows more than all the world.
[_Exit_.]
[Enter FIREBRAND.]
Fireb.
Thanks to the Sun for this desired encounter.
Q. C. S.
Oh, priest! all's lost; our forces are o'erthrown--
Some gasping lie, but most are run away.
Fireb.
I knew it all before, and told you too
The Sun has long been out of humour with you.
Q. C. S.
Dost thou, then, lay upon the Sun the faults
Of all those cowards who forsook my cause?
Fireb.
Those cowards all were most religious men:
And I beseech thee, Sun, to shine upon them.
Q. C. S.
Oh, impudence! and darest thou to my face?--
Fireb.
Yes, I dare more; the Sun presents you this,
[Stabs her.]
Which I, his faithful messenger, deliver.
Q. C. S.
Oh, traytor! thou hast murder'd Common Sense.
Farewel, vain world! to Ignorance I give thee,
Her leaden sceptre shall henceforward rule.
Now, priest, indulge thy wild ambitious thoughts;
Men shall embrace thy schemes, till thou hast drawn
All worship from the Sun upon thyself:
Henceforth all things shall topsy-turvy turn;
Physick shall kill, and Law enslave the world;
Cits shall turn beaus, and taste Italian songs,
While courtiers are stock-jobbing in the city.
Places requiring learning and great parts
Henceforth shall all be hustled in a hat,
And drawn by men deficient in them both.
Statesmen--but oh! cold death will let me say
No more--and you must guess et caetera.
[Dies.]
Fireb.
She's gone! but ha! it may beseem me ill
T' appear her murderer. I'll therefore lay
This dagger by her side; and that will be
Sufficient evidence, with a little money,
To make the coroner's inquest find self-murder.
I'll preach her funeral sermon, and deplore
Her loss with tears, praise her with all my art.
Good Ignorance will still believe it all.
[Exit.]
[Enter Queen IGNORANCE, &c.]
Q. Ign.
Beat a retreat; the day is now our own;
The powers of Common Sense are all destroy'd;
Those that remain are fled away with her.
I wish, Mr Fustian, this speech be common sense.
Sneer.
How the devil should it, when she's dead?
Fust. One would think so, when a cavil is made
against the best thing in the whole play; and I would
willingly part with anything else but those two lines.
Harl.
Behold! where welt'ring in her blood she lies.
I wish, sir, you would cut out that line, or alter it,
if you please.
Fust.
That's another line that I won't part with;
I would consent to cut out anything but the
chief beauties of my play.
Harl.
Behold the bloody dagger by her side,
With which she did the deed.
Q. Ign.
'Twas nobly done!
I envy her her exit, and will pay
All honours to her dust. Bear hence her body,
And let her lie in state in Goodman's fields.
[Enter Messenger.]
Mess.
Madam, I come an envoy from Crane-court.
The great society that there assemble
Congratulate your victory, and request
That firm alliance henceforth may subsist
Between your majesty's society
Of Grub-street and themselves: they rather beg
That they may be united both in one.
They also hope your majesty's acceptance
Of certain curiosities, which in
That hamper are contain'd, wherein you'll find
A horse's tail, which has a hundred hairs
More than are usual in it; and a tooth
Of elephant full half an inch too long;
With turnpike-ticket like an ancient coin.
Q. Ign.
We gratefully accept their bounteous gifts,
And order they be kept with proper care,
Till we do build a place most fit to hold
These precious toys: tell your society
We ever did esteem them of great worth,
And our firm friends: and tell 'em 'tis our pleasure
They do prepare to dance a jig before us.
[Exit Messenger]
My lords of Law and Physick, you shall find
I will not be ungrateful for your service:
To you, good Harlequin, and your allies,
And you, Squeekaronelly, I will be
A most propitious queen--But ha!
[Music under the stage.]
What hideous music or what yell is this?
Sure 'tis the ghost of some poor opera tune.
Sneer.
The ghost of a tune, Mr Fustian!
Fust.
Ay, sir, did you never hear one before? I had once a mind
to have brought the apparition of Musick in person upon
the stage, in the shape of an English opera. Come,
Mr Ghost of the Tune, if you please to appear in the
sound of soft musick, and let the ghost of Common Sense
rise to it.
[Ghost of COMMON SENSE rises to soft musick.]
Ghost.
Behold the ghost of Common Sense appears.
Caitiffs, avaunt! or I will sweep you off,
And clean the land from such infernal vermin.
Q. Ign.
A ghost! a ghost! a ghost! haste, scamper off,
My friends; we've kill'd the body, and I know
The ghost will have no mercy upon us.
Omnes.
A ghost! a ghost! a ghost! [_Run off_.
Ghost.
The coast is clear, and to her native realms
Pale Ignorance with all her host is fled,
Whence she will never dare invade us more.
Here, though a ghost, I will my power maintain,
And all the friends of Ignorance shall find
My ghost, at least, they cannot banish hence;
And all henceforth, who murder Common Sense,
Learn from these scenes that, though success you boast.
You shall at last be haunted with her ghost.
Sneer.
I am glad you make Common Sense get the better at last;
I was under terrible apprehensions for your moral.
Fust.
Faith, sir, this is almost the only play where she has
got the better lately. But now for my epilogue: if you
please to begin, madam.
EPILOGUE
GHOST.
The play once done, the epilogue, by rule,
Should come and turn it all to ridicule;
Should tell the ladies that the tragic bards,
Who prate of Virtue and her vast rewards,
Are all in jest, and only fools should heed 'em;
For all wise women flock to mother Needham.
This is the method epilogues pursue,
But we to-night in everything are new.
Our author then, in jest throughout the play,
Now begs a serious word or two to say.
Banish all childish entertainments hence;
Let all that boast your favour have pretence,
If not to sparkling wit, at least to sense.
With soft Italian notes indulge your ear;
But let those singers, who are bought so dear,
Learn to be civil for their cheer at least,
Nor use like beggars those who give the feast.
And though while musick for herself may carve,
Poor Poetry, her sister-art, must starve;
Starve her at least with shew of approbation,
Nor slight her, while you search the whole creation
For all the tumbling-skum of every nation.
Can the whole world in science match our soil?
Have they a LOCKE, a NEWTON, or a BOYLE?
Or dare the greatest genius of their stage
With SHAKSPEARE or immortal BEN engage?
Content with nature's bounty, do not crave
The little which to other lands she gave;
Nor like the cock a barley corn prefer
To all the jewels which you owe to her.
[THE END]
[Henry Fielding's Play: Pasquin] _
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