________________________________________________
_ ACT II SCENE II
A Dressing Room.
FRANK ROCHDALE writing; WILLIAMS attending.
FRANK.
[Throwing down the Pen.]
It don't signify--I cannot write. I blot, and tear; and tear,
and blot; and----. Come here, Williams. Do let me hear you,
once more. Why the devil don't you come here?
WILLIAMS.
I am here, sir.
FRANK.
Well, well; my good fellow, tell me.
You found means to deliver her the letter yesterday?
WILLIAMS.
Yes, sir.
FRANK.
And, she read it----and----did you say,
she--she was very much affected, when she read it?
WILLIAMS.
I told you last night, sir;
--she look'd quite death struck, as I may say.
FRANK.
[Much affected.]
Did----did she weep, Williams?
WILLIAMS.
No, sir; but I did afterwards--I don't know what ail'd me;
but, when I got out of the house, into the street,
I'll be hang'd if I did'nt cry like a child.
FRANK.
You are an honest fellow, Williams.
[A Knock at the Door of the Room.]
See who is at the door.
[WILLIAMS opens the Door.]
[Enter JOHN.]
WILLIAMS.
Well, what's the matter?
JOHN.
There's a man in the porter's lodge,
says he won't go away without speaking to Mr. Francis.
FRANK.
See who it is, Williams. Send him to me,
if necessary; but don't let me be teased, without occasion.
WILLIAMS.
I'll take care, sir.
[Exeunt WILLIAMS and JOHN.]
FRANK.
Must I marry this woman, whom my father has chosen for me; whom I expect here to-morrow? And must I, then, be told 'tis criminal to love my poor, deserted Mary, because our hearts are illicitly attach'd? Illicit for the heart? fine phraseology! Nature disowns the restriction; I cannot smother her dictates with the polity of governments, and fall in, or out of love, as the law directs.
[Enter DENNIS BRULGRUDDERY.]
Well, friend, who do you come from?
DENNIS.
I come from the Red Cow, sir.
FRANK.
The Red Cow?
DENNIS.
Yes, sir!--upon Muckslush Heath--hard by your honour's father's
house, here. I'd be proud of your custom, sir, and all the good
looking family's.
FRANK.
[Impatiently.]
Well, well, your business?
DENNIS.
That's what the porter ax'd me, "Tell me your business, honest man,"
says he--"I'll see you damn'd first, sir," says I:
--"I'll tell it your betters;--and that's Mr. Francis Rochdale, Esquire."
FRANK.
Zounds! then, why don't you tell it? I am Mr. Francis Rochdale.
--Who the devil sent you here?
DENNIS.
Troth, sir, it was good nature whisper'd me to come to your honour:
but I believe I've disremembered her directions, for damn the
bit do you seem acquainted with her.
FRANK.
Well, my good friend, I don't mean to be violent;
only be so good as to explain your business.
DENNIS.
Oh, with all the pleasure in life.--Give me good words, and I'm as aisy as an ould glove: but bite my nose off with mustard, and have at you with pepper,--that's my way.--There's a little crature at my house;--she's crying her eyes out;--and she won't get such another pair at the Red Cow; for I've left nobody with her but Mrs. Brulgruddery.
FRANK.
With her? with who? Who are you talking off?
DENNIS.
I'd like to know her name myself, sir;
--but I have heard but half of it;--and that's Mary.
FRANK.
Mary!--Can it be she?--Wandering on a heath! seeking refuge in a wretched hovel!
DENNIS.
A hovel! O fie for shame of yourself, to misbecall a genteel tavern!
I'd have you to know my parlour is clean sanded once a week.
FRANK.
Tell me, directly--what brought her to your house?
DENNIS.
By my soul, it was Adam's own carriage:
a ten-toed machine the haymakers keep in Ireland.
FRANK.
Damn it, fellow, don't trifle, but tell your story;
and, if you can, intelligibly.
DENNIS.
Don't be bothering my brains, then, or you'll get it as clear
as mud. Sure the young crature can't fly away from the Red Cow,
while I'm explaining to you the rights on't--Didn't she promise
the gentleman to stay till he came back?
FRANK.
Promised a gentleman!--Who?--who is the gentleman?
DENNIS.
Arrah, now, where did you larn manners? Would you ax a
customer his birth, parentage, and education?
"Heaven bless you, sir, you'll come back again?"
says she--"That's what I will, before you can say,
parsnips, my darling," says he.
FRANK.
Damnation! what does this mean?--explain your errand,
clearly, you scoundrel, or--
DENNIS.
Scoundrel!--Don't be after affronting a housekeeper.
Havn't I a sign at my door, three pigs, a wife, and a man sarvant?
FRANK.
Well, go on.
DENNIS.
Damn the word more will I tell you.
FRANK.
Why, you infernal----
DENNIS.
Oh, be asy!--see what you get, now, by affronting Mr. Dennis Brulgruddery.
[Searching his Pockets.]
I'd have talk'd for an hour, if you had kept a civil
tongue in your head!--but now, you may read the letter.
[Giving it.]
FRANK.
A letter!--stupid booby!
--why didn't you give it to me at first?--Yes, it is her hand.
[Opens the Letter.]
DENNIS.
Stupid!--If you're so fond of letters,
you might larn to behave yourself to the postman.
FRANK.
[Reading and agitated.]
--Not going to upbraid you--Couldn't rest at my father's--Trifling assistance--Oh, Heaven! does she then want assistance?--The gentleman who has befriended me--damnation!--the gentleman!--Your unhappy Mary.--Scoundrel that I am!--what is she suffering!--but who, who is this gentleman?--no matter--she is distress'd, heart breaking! and I, who have been the cause;--I, who----here----[Running to a Writing Table, and opening a Drawer] Run--fly--despatch!--
DENNIS.
He's mad!
FRANK.
Say, I will be at your house, myself--remember, positively come,
or send, in the course of the day.--In the mean time, take this,
and give it to the person who sent you.
[Giving a Purse, which he has taken from the Drawer.]
DENNIS.
A purse!--'faith, and I'll take it.
--Do you know how much is in the inside?
FRANK.
Psha! no.--No matter.
DENNIS.
Troth, now, if I'd trusted a great big purse to a stranger,
they'd have call'd it a bit of a bull:--but let you and I count
it out between us,
[Pouring the Money on the Table.]
for, damn him, say I, who would cheat a poor girl in distress,
of the value of a rap.--One, two, three, &c.
[Counting.]
FRANK.
Worthy, honest fellow!
DENNIS.
Eleven, twelve, thirteen--
FRANK.
I'll be the making of your house, my good fellow.
DENNIS.
Damn the Red Cow, sir,--you put me out.--Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen.--Nineteen fat yellow boys, and a seven shilling piece.--Tell them yourself, sir; then chalk them up over the chimney-piece, else you'll forget, you know.
FRANK.
O, friend, when honesty, so palpably natural as yours, keeps the account, I care not for my arithmetic.--Fly now,--bid the servants give you any refreshment you chuse; then hasten to execute your commission.
DENNIS.
Thank your honour!--good luck to you! I'll taste the beer;--but, by my soul, if the butler comes the Red Cow over me, I'll tell him, I know sweet from sour.
[Exit DENNIS.]
FRANK. Let me read her letter once more.
[Reads.]
I am not going to upbraid you; but after I got your letter, I could not rest at my father's, where I once knew happiness and innocence.--I wish'd to have taken a last leave of you, and to beg a trifling assistance;--but the gentleman who has befriended me in my wanderings, would not suffer me to do so; yet I could not help writing, to tell you, I am quitting this neighbourhood for ever!--That you may never know a moment's sorrow, will always be the prayer of Your unhappy
MARY.
My mind is hell to me! love, sorrow, remorse, and--yes--and jealousy,
all distract me:--and no counsellor to advise with; no friend to whom I may--
[Enter TOM SHUFFLETON.]
FRANK.
Tom Shuffleton! you never arrived more apropos in your life.
SHUFF.
That's what the women always say to me. I've rumbled on the road,
all night, Frank. My bones ache, my head's muzzy--and we'll drink
two bottles of claret a-piece, after dinner, to enliven us.
FRANK.
You seem in spirits, Tom, I think, now.
SHUFF.
Yes;--I have had a windfall--Five hundred pounds.
FRANK.
A legacy?
SHUFF.
No.--The patient survives who was sick of his money.
'Tis a loan from a friend.
FRANK.
'Twould be a pity, then, Tom,
if the patient experienced improper treatment.
SHUFF.
Why, that's true:--but his case is so rare, that it isn't well
understood, I believe. Curse me, my dear Frank, if the disease
of lending is epidemic.
FRANK.
But the disease of trying to borrow, my dear Tom, I am afraid, is.
SHUFF.
Very prevalent, indeed, at the west end of the town.
FRANK.
And as dangerous, Tom, as the small-pox.
They should inoculate for it.
SHUFF.
That wouldn't be a bad scheme; but I took it naturally. Psha! damn it, don't shake your head. Mine's but a mere facon de parler: just as we talk to one another about our coats:--we never say, "Who's your tailor?" We always ask, "Who suffers?" Your father tells me you are going to be married; I give you joy.
FRANK.
Joy! I have known nothing but torment, and misery,
since this cursed marriage has been in agitation.
SHUFF.
Umph! Marriage was a weighty affair, formerly; so was a family coach;
--but domestic duties, now, are like town chariots;--they must be
made light, to be fashionable.
FRANK.
Oh, do not trifle. By acceding to this match, in obedience to my father,
I leave to all the pangs of remorse, and disappointed love, a helpless,
humble girl, and rend the fibres of a generous, but too credulous heart,
by cancelling like a villain, the oaths with which I won it.
SHUFF.
I understand:--A snug thing in the country.
--Your wife, they tell me, will have four thousand a year.
FRANK.
What has that to do with sentiment?
SHUFF.
I don't know what you may think; but, if a man said to me, plump,
"Sir, I am very fond of four thousand a year;" I should say,
--"Sir, I applaud your sentiment very highly."
FRANK.
But how does he act, who offers his hand to one woman,
at the very moment his heart is engaged to another?
SHUFF.
He offers a great sacrifice.
FRANK.
And where is the reparation to the unfortunate he has deserted?
SHUFF.
An annuity.--A great many unfortunates sport a stylish carriage,
up and down St. James's street, upon such a provision.
FRANK.
An annuity, flowing from the fortune,
I suppose, of the woman I marry! is that delicate?
SHUFF.
'Tis convenient. We liquidate debts of play, and usury,
from the same resources.
FRANK.
And call a crowd of jews and gentlemen gamesters together,
to be settled with, during the debtor's honeymoon!
SHUFF.
No, damn it, it wouldn't be fair to jumble the jews into the
same room with our gaming acquaintance.
FRANK.
Why so?
SHUFF.
Because, twenty to one, the first half of the creditors
would begin dunning the other.
FRANK.
Nay, far once in your life be serious.
Read this, which has wrung my heart, and repose it,
as a secret, in your own.
[Giving the Letter.]
SHUFF.
[Glancing over it.]
A pretty, little, crowquill kind of a hand.--"Happiness,--innocence,--trifling assistance--gentleman befriended me--unhappy Mary."--Yes, I see--[Returning it.]--She wants money, but has got a new friend.--The style's neat, but the subject isn't original.
FRANK.
Will you serve me at this crisis?
SHUFF.
Certainly.
FRANK.
I wish you to see my poor Mary in the course of the day. Will you talk to her?
SHUFF.
O yes--I'll talk to her. Where is she to be seen?
FRANK.
She writes, you see, that she has abruptly left her father
--and I learn, by the messenger, that she is now in a miserable,
retired house, on the neighbouring heath.--That mustn't
deter you from going.
SHUFF.
Me? Oh, dear no--I'm used to it. I don't care how retired the house is.
FRANK.
Come down to my father to breakfast. I will tell you afterwards
all I wish you to execute.--Oh, Tom! this business has unhinged
me for society. Rigid morality, after all, is the best coat of
mail for the conscience.
SHUFF.
Our ancestors, who wore mail, admired it amazingly; but to mix
in the gay world, with their rigid morality, would be as singular
as stalking into a drawing-room in their armour:--for dissipation
is now the fashionable habit, with which, like a brown coat,
a man goes into company, to avoid being stared at.
[Exeunt.] _
Read next: Act 2: Scene 3
Read previous: Act 2: Scene 1
Table of content of Englishman's Fireside: A Comedy, in Five Acts
GO TO TOP OF SCREEN
Post your review
Your review will be placed after the table of content of this book
