________________________________________________
_ ACT I - SCENE I
SCENE I. OLD LOVEYET'S House.
Enter OLD LOVEYET.
Ugh, ugh, ugh,--what a sad rage for novelty there is in this foolish world! How eagerly all your inspectors in the Daily Advertiser, the New-York Packet, and all the long catalogue of advertisers and intelligencers, catch'd at the news of the day just now at the Coffee-House; though a wise man and a king has told them, there's nothing new under the sun. Ugh, ugh, ugh.
[Enter THOMAS.]
Well, Thomas, what's the news?
[Eagerly.]
THOMAS.
Nothing strange, sir.
LOVEYET.
That's more than I can say, Thomas, for I'm sure 'tis strange to hear so many people praise this same new Constitution, as it is call'd.--Has the New-York Journal been brought to-day?
THOMAS.
Yes, sir.
[Fetches the newspaper.
LOVEYET.
Look if it contains anything worth reading, Thomas;
anything in behalf of the good old cause.
THOMAS.
Yes, sir, here's something will suit your honour's notion to a hair.
[Offers it to LOVEYET.]
LOVEYET.
No, Thomas, do you read it,--I'm afraid I shall cast my eyes upon
something that's on the other side of the question; some wicked
consolidation scheme or another.
THOMAS.
Why, you know, sir, there's never anything in this
paper but what's on your side of the question.
LOVEYET.
True, true; by my body, you're right enough, Tom.
--I forgot that: but never mind; since you've got
the paper, do you read it.
THOMAS.
He only wants me to read, because he can't see to do it himself,
--he's almost as blind as a bat, and yet he won't use
spectacles for fear of being thought old.
[Aside.]
LOVEYET.
Come, Thomas, let's have it,--I'm all ears to hear you.
THOMAS.
'Tis a pity you have not a little more eyesight
and brains along with your ears.
[Aside.]
[Reads.]
"Extract of a letter from a gentleman in Boston, dated February the third, 1788.
--Our convention will pass the federal government by a considerable majority:
The more it is examined, the more converts are made for its adoption. This you may rely on."
LOVEYET.
'Tis a cursed lie.
--Why, why, you confounded scoundrel, do you mean to ridicule your master?
THOMAS.
I ask pardon, sir;
I thought it was the New-York Journal;
but I see it is Mr. Child's Daily Advertiser.
LOVEYET.
A plague on his aristocratic intelligence!
--Begone, you vile foe to American Liberty, or I'll--
[Exit THOMAS.]
[Enter TRUEMAN.]
What, my friend Trueman! well, what's the news, eigh?
TRUEMAN.
I have not learn'd a single monosyllable, sir.
LOVEYET.
Nothing concerning this same Constitution there is so much talk about, friend Horace? A miserable Constitution, by the bye. If mine was no better,--ugh, ugh, ugh,--I say, if--ugh, ugh, if my constitution was no better than this same political one, I solemnly swear, as true as I am this day, man and boy, two score and three years, five months, eleven days, six hours, and, and,--[Pulling out his watch.] fifty-nine minutes old; why, I--I--I would,--I don't know what I wou'd not do. Ugh, ugh.
TRUEMAN.
Mr. Loveyet, you run on in such a surprising manner with your narrations, imprecations, admirations, and interrogations, that, upon my education, sir, I believe you are approaching to insanity, frenzy, lunacy, madness, distraction,--a man of your age--
LOVEYET.
Age, sir, age!--And what then, sir, eigh! what then? I'd have you to know, sir, that I shall not have lived forty years till next spring twelvemonth, old as I am; and if my countenance seems to belie me a little or so, why--trouble, concern for the good of my country, sir, and this tyrannical, villainous Constitution have made me look so; but my health is sound, sir; my lungs are good, sir, [Raising his voice.]--ugh, ugh, ugh,--I am neither spindle-shank'd nor crook-back'd, and I can kiss a pretty girl with as good a relish as--ugh, ugh,--ha, ha, ha. A man of five and forty, old, forsooth! ha, ha. My age, truly!--ugh, ugh, ugh.
TRUEMAN.
You talk very valiantly, Mr. Loveyet; very valiantly indeed; I dare say now you have temerity and enterprise enough, even at this time of day, to take a wife.
LOVEYET.
To be sure I have. Let me see,--I shou'd like a woman an inch or two less than six feet high now, and thick in proportion: By my body, such a woman wou'd look noble by the side of me when she was entient.
TRUEMAN.
Oh, monstrous! Entient! an entient woman by the side of an antient husband!
Most preposterous, unnatural, and altogether incongruous!
LOVEYET.
Poh, a fig for your high-flown nonsense.
I suppose you think it would cost me a great deal of trouble.
TRUEMAN.
No, no; some clever young blade will save you the trouble.
LOVEYET.
By my body, I should love dearly to have such a partner;
she would be a credit to me when she had me under the arm.
TRUEMAN.
Under the thumb, you mean.
LOVEYET.
Under the Devil, you mean.
TRUEMAN.
You're right; you might as well be under the Devil's government
as petticoat government; you're perfectly right there.
LOVEYET.
I'm not perfectly right;--I--I--I mean you are not perfectly right; and as for her age, why I should like her to be--let me see--about ten years younger than myself: a man shou'd be at least ten years older than his wife.
TRUEMAN.
Ten years; fifty-three and ten are sixty-three.
Then you mean your wife shall be fifty-three years of age.
LOVEYET.
S'death, sir! I tell you I am but two and forty years old: She sha'n't be more than thirty odd, sir, and she shall be ten years younger than I am too.
TRUEMAN.
Yes, thirty odd years younger than you are; ha, ha. The exiguity of those legs is a most promising earnest of your future exploits, and demonstrate your agility, virility, salubrity, and amorosity; ha, ha, ha. I can't help laughing to think what a blessed union there will be between August and December; a jolly, buxom, wanton, wishful, plethoric female of thirty odd, to an infirm, decrepit, consumptive, gouty, rheumatic, asthmatic, phlegmatic mortal of near seventy; ha, ha. Exquisitely droll and humourous, upon my erudition. It puts me in mind of a hot bed in a hard winter, surrounded with ice, and made verdant and flourishing only by artificial means.
LOVEYET.
Pshaw, you're a fool!
Enter TOUPEE.
TOUPEE.
Pardonnez moy, monsieur.
I hope it not be any intrusion; par dieu,
I will not frize dat Jantemon a la mode
Paris no more, becase he vas fronte me.
TRUEMAN.
What's the matter, Mr. Toupee?
TOUPEE.
I vill tella your honare of the fracas. I vas vait on monsieur a--choses, and make ma compliment avec beaucoup de grace, ven monsieur vas read de news papier; so I say, is your honare ready for be dress? De great man say, "No--, d--n de barbare."
[In a low voice.]
I tell de parsone, sare, I have promise 'pon honare for dress one great man vat is belong to de Congress, 'bout dis time, sans manquer: De ansare vas (excuse moy, monsieur), "go to h-ll, if you be please; I must read 'bout de Constitution." Dis is de ole affair, monsieur, en verite.
LOVEYET.
Sixty-three, indeed! Heaven forbid! But if I was so old,
my constitution is good; age is nothing, the constitution
is all,--ugh, ugh, ugh.
TOUPEE.
Sare, you vill give me leaf, vat is dat Constitution?
LOVEYET.
Hold your prating, you booby.
TOUPEE.
You booby,--Vat is dat booby, I vonder!
TRUEMAN.
Ha, ha, a good constitution!
With great propriety did the man ask you
what constitution you meant. Ha, ha, ha.
TOUPEE.
Par Dieu, monsieur de Schoolmastare sall larn a me vat is de booby!
oui, an de Constitution,--foy d'Homme d'Honneur.
TRUEMAN.
What a figure for a sound constitution! ha, ha.
LOVEYET.
Ugh, hang you for an old simpleton!
Talk of my age and constitution.--Ugh, ugh, ugh.
[Exit.]
TRUEMAN.
Fractious old blockhead!
TOUPEE.
Blockhead! Pourquoi you call a mine head von block, sare?
TRUEMAN.
I mean that old curmudgeon who goes hobbling along there, like a man of forty.
TOUPEE.
Pardonnez moy, monsieur; S'il vous plait, ve make de eclaircissement,
if you tell me vat is de interpretation--you booby.
TRUEMAN.
What! have you the effrontery to call me a booby?
S'death, you scoundrel, what do you mean?
TOUPEE.
Vous ne m'entendez pas.
[Hastily.]
TRUEMAN.
Do you threaten me, you insignificant thing? Do you call me names?
TOUPEE.
Diable! me no stand under your names.
TRUEMAN.
Zounds and fury! I am raving.
Must I bear to be abus'd in this manner, by a vile Tonsor?
TOUPEE.
Yes, you Schoolmastare; you tell me vat be you booby.
TRUEMAN.
Pertinacious, audacious reptile!
[Canes TOUPEE.]
TOUPEE. Ah, mon dieu! mon dieu!
[Runs off.]
TRUEMAN.
To insult a professor of Orthography, Analogy, Syntax, and Prosody! _
Read next: Act 1 - Scene 2
Read previous: Dramatis Personae
Table of content of Politician Out-Witted
GO TO TOP OF SCREEN
Post your review
Your review will be placed after the table of content of this book
