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_ ACT II - SCENE II
SCENE II. The Mall.
[Enter JESSAMY.]
JESSAMY.
Positively this Mall is a very pretty place. I hope the cits won't
ruin it by repairs. To be sure, it won't do to speak of in the same
day with Ranelagh or Vauxhall; however, it's a fine place for a young
fellow to display his person to advantage. Indeed, nothing is lost
here; the girls have taste, and I am very happy to find they have
adopted the elegant London fashion of looking back, after a genteel
fellow like me has passed them.--Ah! who comes here? This, by his
awkwardness, must be the Yankee colonel's servant. I'll accost him.
[Enter JONATHAN.]
JESSAMY.
Votre tres-humble serviteur, Monsieur. I understand Colonel Manly, the
Yankee officer, has the honour of your services.
JONATHAN.
Sir!--
JESSAMY.
I say, Sir, I understand that Colonel Manly has the honour of having
you for a servant.
JONATHAN.
Servant! Sir, do you take me for a neger,--I am Colonel Manly's waiter.
JESSAMY.
A true Yankee distinction, egad, without a difference. Why, Sir, do
you not perform all the offices of a servant? do you not even blacken
his boots?
JONATHAN.
Yes; I do grease them a bit sometimes; but I am a true blue son of
liberty, for all that. Father said I should come as Colonel Manly's
waiter, to see the world, and all that; but no man shall master me. My
father has as good a farm as the colonel.
JESSAMY.
Well, Sir, we will not quarrel about terms upon the eve of an
acquaintance from which I promise myself so much
satisfaction;--therefore, sans ceremonie--
JONATHAN.
What?--
JESSAMY.
I say I am extremely happy to see Colonel Manly's waiter.
JONATHAN.
Well, and I vow, too, I am pretty considerably glad to see you; but
what the dogs need of all this outlandish lingo? Who may you be, Sir,
if I may be so bold?
JESSAMY.
I have the honour to be Mr. Dimple's servant, or, if you please,
waiter. We lodge under the same roof, and should be glad of the honour
of your acquaintance.
JONATHAN.
You a waiter! by the living jingo, you look so topping, I took you for
one of the agents to Congress.
JESSAMY.
The brute has discernment, notwithstanding his appearance.--Give me
leave to say I wonder then at your familiarity.
JONATHAN.
Why, as to the matter of that, Mr.--; pray, what's your name?
JESSAMY.
Jessamy, at your service.
JONATHAN.
Why, I swear we don't make any great matter of distinction in our state
between quality and other folks.
JESSAMY.
This is, indeed, a levelling principle.--I hope, Mr. Jonathan, you have
not taken part with the insurgents.
JONATHAN.
Why, since General Shays has sneaked off and given us the bag to hold,
I don't care to give my opinion; but you'll promise not to tell--put
your ear this way--you won't tell?--I vow I did think the sturgeons
were right.
JESSAMY.
I thought, Mr. Jonathan, you Massachusetts men always argued with a gun
in your hand. Why didn't you join them?
JONATHAN.
Why, the colonel is one of those folks called the Shin--Shin--dang it
all, I can't speak them lignum vitae words--you know who I mean--there
is a company of them--they wear a china goose at their button-hole--a
kind of gilt thing.--Now the colonel told father and brother,--you must
know there are, let me see--there is Elnathan, Silas, and Barnabas,
Tabitha--no, no, she's a she--tarnation, now I have it--there's
Elnathan, Silas, Barnabas, Jonathan, that's I--seven of us, six went
into the wars, and I staid at home to take care of mother. Colonel
said that it was a burning shame for the true blue Bunker Hill sons of
liberty, who had fought Governor Hutchinson, Lord North, and the Devil,
to have any hand in kicking up a cursed dust against a government which
we had, every mother's son of us, a hand in making.
JESSAMY.
Bravo!--Well, have you been abroad in the city since your arrival?
What have you seen that is curious and entertaining?
JONATHAN.
Oh! I have seen a power of fine sights. I went to see two
marble-stone men and a leaden horse that stands out in doors in all
weathers; and when I came where they was, one had got no head, and
t'other wern't there. They said as how the leaden man was a damn'd
tory, and that he took wit in his anger and rode off in the time of the
troubles.
JESSAMY.
But this was not the end of your excursion?
JONATHAN.
Oh, no; I went to a place they call Holy Ground. Now I counted this
was a place where folks go to meeting; so I put my hymn-book in my
pocket, and walked softly and grave as a minister; and when I came
there, the dogs a bit of a meeting-house could I see. At last I spied
a young gentlewoman standing by one of the seats which they have here
at the doors. I took her to be the deacon's daughter, and she looked
so kind, and so obliging, that I thought I would go and ask her the way
to lecture, and--would you think it?--she called me dear, and sweeting,
and honey, just as if we were married: by the living jingo, I had a
month's mind to buss her.
JESSAMY.
Well, but how did it end?
JONATHAN.
Why, as I was standing talking with her, a parcel of sailor men and
boys got round me, the snarl-headed curs fell a-kicking and cursing of
me at such a tarnal rate, that I vow I was glad to take to my heels and
split home, right off, tail on end, like a stream of chalk.
JESSAMY.
Why, my dear friend, you are not acquainted with the city; that girl
you saw was a--[whispers.]
JONATHAN.
Mercy on my soul! was that young woman a harlot!--Well! if this is
New-York Holy Ground, what must the Holy-day Ground be!
JESSAMY.
Well, you should not judge of the city too rashly. We have a number of
elegant, fine girls here that make a man's leisure hours pass very
agreeably. I would esteem it an honour to announce you to some of
them.--Gad! that announce is a select word; I wonder where I picked it
up.
JONATHAN.
I don't want to know them.
JESSAMY.
Come, come, my dear friend, I see that I must assume the honour of
being the director of your amusements. Nature has given us passions,
and youth and opportunity stimulate to gratify them. It is no shame,
my dear Blueskin, for a man to amuse himself with a little gallantry.
JONATHAN.
Girl huntry! I don't altogether understand. I never played at that
game. I know how to play hunt the squirrel, but I can't play anything
with the girls; I am as good as married.
JESSAMY.
Vulgar, horrid brute! Married, and above a hundred miles from his
wife, and thinks that an objection to his making love to every woman he
meets! He never can have read, no, he never can have been in a room
with a volume of the divine Chesterfield.--So you are married?
JONATHAN.
No, I don't say so; I said I was as good as married, a kind of promise.
JESSAMY.
As good as married!--
JONATHAN.
Why, yes; there's Tabitha Wymen, the deacon's daughter, at home; she
and I have been courting a great while, and folks say as how we are to
be married; and so I broke a piece of money with her when we parted,
and she promised not to spark it with Solomon Dyer while I am gone.
You wouldn't have me false to my true-love, would you?
JESSAMY.
May be you have another reason for constancy; possibly the young lady
has a fortune? Ha! Mr. Jonathan, the solid charms: the chains of love
are never so binding as when the links are made of gold.
JONATHAN.
Why, as to fortune, I must needs say her father is pretty dumb rich; he
went representative for our town last year. He will give her--let me
see--four times seven is--seven times four--nought and carry one,-- he
will give her twenty acres of land--somewhat rocky though--a Bible, and
a cow.
JESSAMY.
Twenty acres of rock, a Bible, and a cow! Why, my dear Mr. Jonathan,
we have servant-maids, or, as you would more elegantly express it,
waitresses, in this city, who collect more in one year from their
mistresses' cast clothes.
JONATHAN.
You don't say so!--
JESSAMY.
Yes, and I'll introduce to one of them. There is a little lump of
flesh and delicacy that lives at next door, waitress to Miss Maria; we
often see her on the stoop.
JONATHAN.
But are you sure she would be courted by me?
JESSAMY.
Never doubt it; remember a faint heart never--blisters on my tongue--I
was going to be guilty of a vile proverb; flat against the authority of
Chesterfield. I say there can be no doubt that the brilliancy of your
merit will secure you a favourable reception.
JONATHAN.
Well, but what must I say to her?
JESSAMY.
Say to her! why, my dear friend, though I admire your profound
knowledge on every other subject, yet, you will pardon my saying that
your want of opportunity has made the female heart escape the poignancy
of your penetration. Say to her! Why, when a man goes a-courting, and
hopes for success, he must begin with doing, and not saying.
JONATHAN.
Well, what must I do?
JESSAMY.
Why, when you are introduced you must make five or six elegant bows.
JONATHAN.
Six elegant bows! I understand that; six, you say? Well--
JESSAMY.
Then you must press and kiss her hand; then press and kiss, and so on
to her lips and cheeks; then talk as much as you can about hearts,
darts, flames, nectar, and ambrosia--the more incoherent the better.
JONATHAN.
Well, but suppose she should be angry with I?
JESSAMY.
Why, if she should pretend--please to observe, Mr. Jonathan--if she
should pretend to be offended, you must-- But I'll tell you how my
master acted in such a case: He was seated by a young lady of eighteen
upon a sofa, plucking with a wanton hand the blooming sweets of youth
and beauty. When the lady thought it necessary to check his ardour,
she called up a frown upon her lovely face, so irresistibly alluring,
that it would have warmed the frozen bosom of age; remember, said she,
putting her delicate arm upon his, remember your character and my
honour. My master instantly dropped upon his knees, with eyes swimming
with love, cheeks glowing with desire, and in the gentlest modulation
of voice he said: My dear Caroline, in a few months our hands will be
indissolubly united at the altar; our hearts I feel are already so; the
favours you now grant as evidence of your affection are favours indeed;
yet, when the ceremony is once past, what will now be received with
rapture will then be attributed to duty.
JONATHAN.
Well, and what was the consequence?
JESSAMY.
The consequence!--Ah! forgive me, my dear friend, but you New England
gentlemen have such a laudable curiosity of seeing the bottom of
everything;--why, to be honest, I confess I saw the blooming cherub of
a consequence smiling in its angelic mother's arms, about ten months
afterwards.
JONATHAN.
Well, if I follow all your plans, make them six bows, and all that,
shall I have such little cherubim consequences?
JESSAMY.
Undoubtedly.--What are you musing upon?
JONATHAN.
You say you'll certainly make me acquainted?-- Why, I was thinking
then how I should contrive to pass this broken piece of silver--won't
it buy a sugar-dram?
JESSAMY.
What is that, the love-token from the deacon's daughter?--You come on
bravely. But I must hasten to my master. Adieu, my dear friend.
JONATHAN.
Stay, Mr. Jessamy--must I buss her when I am introduced to her?
JESSAMY.
I told you, you must kiss her.
JONATHAN.
Well, but must I buss her?
JESSAMY.
Why, kiss and buss, and buss and kiss, is all one.
JONATHAN.
Oh! my dear friend, though you have a profound knowledge of all, a
pungency of tribulation, you don't know everything.
[Exit.]
JESSAMY
[alone.]
Well, certainly I improve; my master could not have insinuated himself
with more address into the heart of a man he despised. Now will this
blundering dog sicken Jenny with his nauseous pawings, until she flies
into my arms for very ease. How sweet will the contrast be between the
blundering Jonathan and the courtly and accomplished Jessamy!
END OF THE SECOND ACT. _
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