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_ ACT III SCENE II
A mean Parlour at the Red Cow.
A Table--Pen, Ink, and Paper on it.--Chairs.
MARY and MRS. BRULGRUDDERY discovered.
MRS. BRUL.
Aye, he might have been there, and back, over and over again;
--but my husband's slow enough in his motions, as I tell him,
till I'm tir'd on't.
MARY.
I hope he'll be here soon.
MRS. BRUL.
Ods, my little heart! Miss, why so impatient? Hav'n't you as genteel a parlour as any lady in the land could wish to sit down in?--The bed's turn'd up in a chest of drawers that's stain'd to look like mahogany:--there's two poets, and a poll parrot, the best images the jew had on his head, over the mantlepiece; and was I to leave you all alone by yourself, isn't there an eight day clock in the corner, that when one's waiting, lonesome like, for any body, keeps going tick-tack, and is quite company?
MARY.
Indeed, I did not mean to complain.
MRS. BRUL.
Complain?--No, I think not, indeed!--When, besides having a handsome house over your head, the strange gentleman has left two guineas--though one seems light, and t'other looks a little brummish--to be laid out for you, as I see occasion. I don't say it for the lucre of any thing I'm to make out of the money, but, I'm sure you can't want to eat yet.
MARY.
Not if it gives any trouble;
--but I was up before sunrise, and have tasted nothing to-day.
MRS. BRUL.
Eh! why, bless me, young woman! ar'n't you well?
MARY.
I feel very faint.
MRS. BRUL.
Aye, this is a faintish time o'year; but I must give you a little
something, I suppose:--I'll open the window, and give you a little air.
[DENNIS BRULGRUDDERY, singing, without.]
They handed the whiskey about,
'Till it smoked thro' the jaws of the piper;
The bride got a fine copper snout,
And the clergyman's pimples grew riper.
Whack doodlety bob,
Sing pip.
MARY.
There's your husband!
MRS. BRUL.
There's a hog;--for he's as drunk as one, I know, by his beastly bawling.
Enter DENNIS BRULGRUDDERY, singing.
Whack doodlety bob,
Sing pip.
MRS. BRUL.
"Sing pip," indeed! sing sot! and that's to your old tune.
MARY.
Hav'n't you got an answer?
MRS. BRUL.
Hav'n't you got drunk?
DENNIS.
Be aisy, and you'll see what I've got in a minute.
[Pulls a Bottle from his Pocket.]
MRS. BRUL.
What's that?
DENNIS.
Good Madeira, it was, when the butler at the big house gave it me.
It jolts so over the heath, if I hadn't held it to my mouth,
I'd have wasted half.
[Puts it on the Table.]
--There, Miss, I brought it for you; and I'll get a glass
from the cupboard, and a plate for this paper of sweet cakes,
that the gentlefolks eat, after dinner in the desert.
MARY.
But, tell me if--
DENNIS.
[Running to the Cupboard.]
Eat and drink, my jewel; and my discourse shall serve for the
seasoning. Drink now, my pretty one!
[Fills a Glass.]
for you have had nothing, I'll be bound.--Och, by the powers!
I know the ways of ould mother Brulgruddery.
MRS. BRUL.
Old mother Brulgruddery!
DENNIS.
Don't mind her;--take your prog;--she'd starve a saint.
MRS. BRUL.
I starve a saint!
DENNIS.
Let him stop at the Red Cow, as plump as a porker, and you'd
send him away, in a week, like a weasel.--Bite maccaroony, my darling!
[Offering the Plate to MARY.]
MARY.
I thank you.
DENNIS.
'Faith, no merit of mine; 'twas the butler that stole it:--take some.
[Lets the Plate fall.]
Slips by St. Patrick!
MRS. BRUL.
[Screaming.]
Our best china plate broke all to shivers!
DENNIS.
Delf, you deceiver; delf. The cat's dining dish, rivetted.
MARY.
Pray now, let me hear your news.
DENNIS.
That I will.--Mrs. Brulgruddery, I take the small liberty
of begging you to get out, my lambkin.
MRS. BRUL.
I shan't budge an inch. She needn't be asham'd of any thing
that's to be told, if she's what she should be.
MARY.
I know what I should be, if I were in your place.
MRS. BRUL.
Marry come up! And what should you be then?
MARY.
More compassionate to one of my own sex, or to any one in misfortune.
Had you come to me, almost broken hearted, and not looking like
one quite abandoned to wickedness, I should have thought on your
misery, and forgot that it might have been brought on by your faults.
DENNIS.
At her, my little crature! By my soul, she'll bother the ould one!
--'Faith, the Madeira has done her a deal of service!
MRS. BRUL.
What's to be said, is said before me; and that's flat.
MARY.
Do tell it, then,
[To DENNIS.]
but, for others' sakes, don't mention names. I wish to hide nothing
now, on my own account; though the money that was put down for me,
before you would afford me shelter, I thought might have given me
a little more title to hear a private message.
MRS. BRUL.
I've a character, for virtue, to lose, young woman.
DENNIS.
When that's gone, you'll get another--that's of a damn'd impertinent
landlady. Sure, she has a right to her parlour; and hav'n't I brought
her cash enough to swallow up the Red Cow's rent for these two years?
MRS. BRUL.
Have you!--Well, though the young lady misunderstands me,
it's always my endeavour to be respectful to gentlefolks.
DENNIS.
Och, botheration to the respect that's bought, by knocking one
shilling against another, at an inn! Let the heart keep open house,
I say; and if charity is not seated inside of it, like a beautiful
barmaid, it's all a humbug to stick up the sign of the christian.
MRS. BRUL.
I'm sure Miss shall have any thing she likes, poor dear thing!
There's one chicken--
DENNIS.
A chicken!--Fie on your double barbarity!
Would you murder the tough dunghill cock, to choke a customer?
--A certain person, that shall be nameless, will come to you
in the course of this day, either by himself, or by friend,
or by handwriting.
MARY.
And not one word--not one, by letter, now?
DENNIS.
Be asey--won't he be here soon? In the mean time, here's
nineteen guineas, and a seven shilling piece, as a bit of a postscript.
MRS. BRUL.
Nineteen guineas and----
DENNIS.
Hold your gab, woman.--Count them, darling!--
[Putting them on the Table--MARY counts the Money.]
MRS. BRUL.
[Drawing DENNIS aside.]
What have you done with the rest?
DENNIS.
The rest!
MRS. BRUL.
Why, have you given her all?
DENNIS.
I'll tell you what, Mrs. Brulgruddery; it's my notion,
in summing up your last accounts, that, when you begin to dot,
ould Nick will carry one; and that's yourself, my lambkin.
SHUFF.
[Without.]
Holo? Red Cow!
DENNIS.
You are call'd, Mrs. Brulgruddery.
MRS. BRUL.
I, you Irish bear!--Go, and
[Looking towards the window.]
--Jimminy! a traveller on horseback!
and the handsomest gentleman I ever saw in my life.
[Runs out.]
MARY. Oh, then it must be he!
DENNIS.
No, 'faith, it isn't the young squire.
MARY.
[Mournfully.]
No!
DENNIS.
There--he's got off the outside of his horse: it's that
flashy spark I saw crossing the court yard, at the big house.
--Here he is.
[Enter TOM SHUFFLETON.]
SHUFF.
[Looking at MARY.]
Devilish good-looking girl, upon my soul!
[Sees DENNIS.]
Who's that fellow?
DENNIS.
Welcome to Muckslush Heath, sir.
SHUFF.
Pray, sir, have you any business, here?
DENNIS.
Very little this last week, your honour.
SHUFF.
O, the landlord. Leave the room.
DENNIS.
[Aside.]
Manners! but he's my customer. If he don't behave
himself to the young cratur, I'll bounce in, and
thump him blue.
[Exit.]
SHUFF.
[Looking at MARY.]
Shy, but stylish--much elegance, and no brass: the most
extraordinary article that ever belonged to a brazier.
--[Addressing her.]
Don't be alarmed, my dear. Perhaps you didn't expect a stranger?
MARY.
No, sir.
SHUFF.
But you expected somebody, I believe, didn't you?
MARY.
Yes, sir.
SHUFF.
I come from him: here are my credentials.
Read that, my dear little girl, and you'll
see how far I am authorized.
[Gives her a Letter.]
MARY.
'Tis his hand.
[Kissing the Superscription.]
SHUFF.
[As she is opening the Letter.]
Fine blue eyes, faith, and very like my Fanny's.
Yes, I see how it will end;--she'll be the fifteenth Mrs. Shuffleton.
MARY.
[Reading.]
When the conflicts of my mind have subsided, and opportunity
will permit, I will write to you fully. My friend is instructed
from me to make every arrangement for your welfare. With heartfelt
grief I add, family circumstances have torn me from you for ever!----
[Drops the Letter, and is falling, SHUFFLETON supports her.]
SHUFF.
Ha! damn it, this looks like earnest!
They do it very differently in London.
MARY.
[Recovering.]
I beg pardon, sir--I expected this; but I----I----
[Bursts into Tears.]
SHUFF.
[Aside.]
O, come, we are getting into the old train; after the shower,
it will clear.--My dear girl, don't flurry yourself;
--these are things of course, you know. To be sure,
you must feel a little resentment at first, but----
MARY.
Resentment! When I am never, never to see him again! Morning and night, my voice will be raised to Heaven, in anguish, for his prosperity!--And tell him,--pray, sir, tell him, I think the many, many bitter tears I shall shed, will atone for my faults; then you know, as it isn't himself, but his station, that sunders us, if news should reach him that I have died, it can't bring any trouble to his conscience.
SHUFF.
Mr. Rochdale, my love, you'll find will be very handsome.
MARY.
I always found him so, sir.
SHUFF.
He has sent you a hundred pound bank note
[Giving it to her.]
till matters can be arranged, just to set you a-going.
MARY.
I was going, sir, out of this country, for ever.
Sure he couldn't think it necessary to send me this
for fear I should trouble him!
SHUFF.
Pshaw! my love, you mistake:
the intention is to give you a settlement.
MARY.
I intended to get one for myself, sir.
SHUFF.
Did you?
MARY.
Yes, sir, in London. I shall take a place in the coach to-morrow morning;
and I hope the people of the inn where it puts up, at the end of
the journey, will have the charity to recommend me to an honest service.
SHUFF.
Service? Nonsense! You----you must think differently.
I'll put you into a situation in town.
MARY.
Will you be so humane, sir?
SHUFF.
Should you like Marybone parish, my love?
MARY.
All parishes are the same to me, now I must quit my own, sir.
SHUFF.
I'll write a line for you, to a lady
in that quarter, and--Oh, here's pen and ink.
[Writes, and talks as he is writing.]
I shall be in London myself, in about ten days,
and then I'll visit you, to see how you go on.
MARY.
O sir! you are, indeed a friend!
SHUFF.
I mean to be your friend, my love. There,
[Giving her the Letter.]
Mrs. Brown, Howland-Street; an old acquaintance of mine;
a very goodnatured, discreet, elderly lady, I assure you.
MARY.
You are very good, sir, but I shall be ashamed to look
such a discreet person in the face, if she hears my story.
SHUFF.
No, you needn't;--she has a large stock of charity for
the indiscretions of others, believe me.
MARY.
I don't know how to thank you, sir. The unfortunate must
look up to such a lady, sure, as a mother.
SHUFF.
She has acquired that appellation.
----You'll be very comfortable;--and, when I arrive in town, I'll--
[Enter PEREGRINE.]
Who have we here?--Oh!--ha!--ha!--This must be the gentleman
she mentioned to Frank in her letter.--rather an ancient ami.
[Aside.]
PEREG.
So! I suspected this might be the case.
[Aside.]
You are Mr. Rochdale, I presume sir?
SHUFF.
Yes, sir, you do presume;--but I am not Mr. Rochdale.
PEREG.
I beg your pardon, sir, for mistaking you for so bad a person.
SHUFF.
Mr. Rochdale, sir, is my intimate friend.
If you mean to recommend yourself in this quarter,
[Pointing to Mary.]
good breeding will suggest to you, that
it mustn't be done by abusing him, before me.
PEREG.
I have not acquired that sort of good breeding, sir, which
isn't founded on good sense;--and when I call the betrayer
of female innocence a bad character, the term, I think,
is too true to be abusive.
SHUFF.
'Tis a pity, then, you hav'n't been taught a little better,
what is due to polished society.
PEREG.
I am always willing to improve.
SHUFF.
I hope, sir, you won't urge me to become your instructor.
PEREG.
You are unequal to the task: if you quarrel with me
in the cause of a seducer, you are unfit to teach me
the duties of a citizen.
SHUFF.
You may make, sir, a very good citizen; but, curse me,
if you'll do for the west end of the town.
PEREG.
I make no distinctions in the ends of towns, sir:
--the ends of integrity are always uniform: and
'tis only where those ends are most promoted, that
the inhabitants of a town, let them live east or west,
most preponderate in rational estimation.
SHUFF.
Pray, sir, are you a methodist preacher, in want of a congregation?
PEREG.
Perhaps I'm a quack doctor, in want of a Jack Pudding.
--Will you engage with me?
SHUFF.
Damn me if this is to be borne.
--Sir, the correction I must give you, will--
PEREG.
[With Coolness.]
Desist, young man, in time, or you may repent your petulance.
MARY.
[Coming between them.]
Oh, gentlemen! pray, pray don't--I am so frightened! Indeed, sir, you mistake.
[To PEREGRINE.]
This gentleman has been so good to me!
[Pointing to SHUFFLETON.]
PEREG.
Prove it, child, and I shall honour him.
MARY.
Indeed, indeed he has.--Pray, pray don't quarrel! when two such generous people meet, it would be a sad pity. See, sir, [To PEREGRINE.] he has recommended me to a place in London;--here's the letter to the good lady, an elderly lady, in Marybone parish! and so kind, sir, every body, that knows her, calls her mother.
PEREG.
[Looking at the superscription.]
Infamous! sit down, and compose yourself, my love;--the gentleman and I shall soon come to an understanding. One word, sir: [Mary sits at the back of the Scene, the Men advance.] I have lived long in India;--but the flies, who gad thither, buzz in our ears, till we learn what they have blown upon in England. I have heard of the wretch, in whose house you meant to place that unfortunate.
SHUFF.
Well! and you meant to place her in snugger lodgings, I suppose?
PEREG.
I mean to place her where----
SHUFF.
No, my dear fellow, you don't;----unless you answer it to me.
PEREG.
I understand you.--In an hour, then, I shall be at the Manor-house,
whence I suppose, you come. Here we are both unarmed;
and there is one waiting at the door, who, perhaps, might interrupt us.
SHUFF.
Who is he?
PEREG.
Her father;--her agonized father;----to whose entreaties I have yielded; and brought him here, prematurely.--He is a tradesman;--beneath your notice:--a vulgar brazier;--but he has some sort of feeling for his child! whom, now your friend has lured her to the precipice of despair, you would hurry down the gulf of infamy.--For your own convenience, sir, I would advise you to avoid him.
SHUFF.
Your advice, now, begins to be a little sensible;
and if you turn out a gentleman, though I suspect
you to be one of the brazier's company,
I shall talk to you at Sir Simon's.
[Exit.]
MARY.
Is the gentleman gone, sir?
PEREG.
Let him go, child; and be thankful that you have escaped from a villain.
MARY.
A villain, sir!
PEREG.
The basest; for nothing can be baser than manly strength, in the
specious form of protection, injuring an unhappy woman.
When we should be props to the lily in the storm, 'tis damnable
to spring up like vigorous weeds, and twine about the drooping
flower, till we destroy it.
MARY.
Then, where are friends to be found, sir?
He seemed honest; so do you; but, perhaps, you may be as bad.
PEREG.
Do not trust me. I have brought you a friend, child,
in whom, Nature tells us, we ever should confide.
MARY.
What, here, sir?
PEREG.
Yes;--when he hurts you, he must wound himself;
--and so suspicious is the human heart become,
from the treachery of society, that it wants that security.
I will send him to you.
[Exit.]
MARY.
Who can he mean? I know nobody but Mr. Rochdale, that, I think,
would come to me. For my poor dear father, when he knows all
my crime, will abandon me, as I deserve.
[Enter JOB THORNBERRY, at the Door PEREGRINE has gone out at.]
JOB.
Mary!
[MARY shrieks and falls, her Father runs to her.]
My dear Mary!--Speak to me!
MARY.
[Recovering.]
Don't look kindly on me, my dear father!
Leave me; I left you:--but I was almost mad.
JOB.
I'll never leave you,
till I drop down dead by your side. How could you run away from me, Mary?
[She shrieks.]
Come, come, kiss me, and we'll talk of that another time.
MARY.
You hav'n't heard half the story, or I'm sure you'd never forgive me.
JOB.
Never mind the story now, Mary;--'tis a true story that
you're my child, and that's enough for the present.
I hear you have met with a rascal. I hav'n't been told who, yet.
Some folks don't always forgive; braziers do. Kiss me again,
and we'll talk on't by and by. But, why would you run away, Mary?
MARY.
I could'nt stay and be deceitful; and it has often cut me
to the heart, to see you show me that affection, which I knew I didn't deserve.
JOB.
Ah! you jade! I ought to be angry; but I can't.
Look here--don't you remember this waistcoat? you worked it for me, you know.
MARY.
I know I did.
[Kissing him.]
JOB.
I had a hard struggle to put it on, this morning; but I squeezed
myself into it, a few hours after you ran away.
--If I could do that, you might have told me the worst,
without much fear of my anger. How have they behaved to you, Mary?
MARY.
The landlord is very humane, but the landlady------
JOB.
Cruel to you? I'll blow her up like gunpowder in a copper.
We must stay here to-night;--for there's Peregrine,
that king of good fellows, we must stay here till he
comes back, from a little way off, he says.
MARY.
He that brought you here?
JOB.
Ay, he. I don't know what he intends--but I trust all to him;--and when he returns, we'll have such a merry-making! Hollo! house! Oh, damn it, I'll be good to the landlord; but I'll play hell with his wife! Come with me, and let us call about us a bit. Hollo!--house! Come, Mary! odsbobs, I'm so happy to have you again! House!--Come, Mary.
[Exeunt.] _
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