No More Learning

_Just_. Oh, horrible! What, no antidote?

_O'Con_. Curum benakere bono fullum.

_Just_. What, does he say I must row in a boat to Fulham?

_Rosy_. He says he'll undertake to cure you for three thousand
pounds.

_Mrs. Bri_. Three thousand pounds! three thousand halters! --No,
lovee, you shall never submit to such impositions; die at once, and be
a customer to none of them.

_Just_. I won't die, Bridget--I don't like death.

_Mrs. Bri_. Psha! there is nothing in it: a moment, and it is
over.

_Just_. Ay, but it leaves a numbness behind that lasts a plaguy
long time.

_Mrs. Bri_. O my dear, pray consider the will.


_Enter_ LAURETTA.

_Lau_. O my father, what is this I hear?

_O'Con_. Quiddam seomriam deos tollam rosam.

_Rosy_. The doctor is astonished at the sight of your fair
daughter.

_Just_. How so?

_O'Con_. Damsellum livivum suvum rislibani.

_Rosy_. He says that he has lost his heart to her, and that if
you will give him leave to pay his addresses to the young lady, and
promise your consent to the union, if he should gain her affections,
he will, on those conditions, cure you instantly, without fee or
reward.

_Just_. The devil! did he say all that in so few words? What a
fine language it is! Well, I agree, if he can prevail on the girl. --
[_Aside_. ] And that I am sure he never will.

_Rosy_. Greal.

_O'Con_. Writhum bothum.

_Rosy_. He says you must give this under your hand, while he
writes you a miraculous receipt. [_Both sit down to write_. ]

_Lau_. Do, mamma, tell me the meaning of this.

_Mrs. Bri_. Don't speak to me, girl. --Unnatural parent!

_Just_. There, doctor; there's what he requires.

_Rosy_. And here's your receipt: read it yourself.

_Just_. Hey! what's here? plain English!

_Rosy_. Read it out; a wondrous nostrum, I'll answer for it.

_Just_. [_Reads_. ] _In reading this you are cured, by your
affectionate son-in-law,_ O'CONNOR. --Who in the name of Beelzebub,
sirrah, who are you?

_O'Con_. Your affectionate son-in-law, O'Connor, and your very
humble servant, Humphrey Hum.

_Just_. 'Tis false, you dog! you are not my son-in-law; for I'll
be poisoned again, and you shall be hanged. --I'll die, sirrah, and
leave Bridget my estate.

_Mrs. Bri_. Ay, pray do, my dear, leave me your estate; I'm sure
he deserves to be hanged.

_Just_. He does, you say! --Hark'ee, Bridget, you showed such a
tender concern for me when you thought me poisoned, that, for the
future, I am resolved never to take your advice again in anything. --
[_To_ LIEUTENANT O'CONNOR] So, do you hear, sir, you are an
Irishman and a soldier, ain't you?

_O'Con_. I am sir, and proud of both.

_Just_. The two things on earth I most hate; so I tell you what--
renounce your country and sell your commission, and I'll forgive you.

_O'Con_. Hark'ee, Mr. Justice--if you were not the father of my
Lauretta, I would pull your nose for asking the first, and break your
bones for desiring the second.

_Rosy_. Ay, ay, you're right.

_Just_. Is he? then I'm sure I must be wrong. --Here, sir, I give
my daughter to you, who are the most impudent dog I ever saw in my
life.

_O'Con_. Oh, sir, say what you please; with such a gift as
Lauretta, every word is a compliment.

_Mrs. Bri_. Well, my lovee, I think this will be a good subject
for us to quarrel about the rest of our lives.

_Just_. Why, truly, my dear,--I think so, though we are seldom at
a loss for that.

_Rosy_. This is all as it should be. --My Alexander, I give you
joy, and you, my little god-daughter; and now my sincere wish is, that
you may make just such a wife as my poor dear Dolly. [_Exeunt
omnes_. ]



A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH

_A COMEDY_

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

AS ORIGINALLY ACTED AT DRURY LANE THEATRE IN 1777

LORD FOPPINGTON _Mr. Dodd. _
SIR TUNBELLY CLUMSY _Mr. Moody. _
COLONEL TOWNLY _Mr. Brereton. _
LOVELESS _Mr. Smith. _
TOM FASHION _Mr. J. Palmer. _
LA VAROLE _Mr. Burton. _
LORY _Mr. Baddeley. _
PROBE _Mr. Parsons. _
MENDLEGS _Mr. Norris. _
JEWELLER _Mr. Lamash_
SHOEMAKER _Mr. Carpenter. _
TAILOR _Mr. Parker. _
AMANDA _Mrs. Robinson. _
BERINTHIA _Miss Farren. _
MISS HOYDEN _Mrs. Abington. _
MRS. COUPLER _Mrs. Booth. _
NURSE _Mrs. Bradshaw. _

Sempstress, Postilion, Maid, _and_ Servants.

SCENE--SCARBOROUGH AND ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD.


PROLOGUE
SPOKEN BY MR. KING

What various transformations we remark,
From east Whitechapel to the west Hyde Park!
Men, women, children, houses, signs, and fashions,
State, stage, trade, taste, the humours and the passions;
The Exchange, 'Change Alley, wheresoe'er you're ranging,
Court, city, country, all are changed or changing
The streets, some time ago, were paved with stones,
Which, aided by a hackney-coach, half broke your bones.
The purest lovers then indulged in bliss;
They ran great hazard if they stole a kiss.
One chaste salute! --the damsel cried--Oh, fie!
As they approach'd--slap went the coach awry--
Poor Sylvia got a bump, and Damon a black eye.

But now weak nerves in hackney-coaches roam,
And the cramm'd glutton snores, unjolted, home;
Of former times, that polish'd thing a beau,
Is metamorphosed now from top to toe;
Then the full flaxen wig, spread o'er the shoulders,
Conceal'd the shallow head from the beholders.
But now the whole's reversed--each fop appears,
Cropp'd and trimm'd up, exposing head and ears:
The buckle then its modest limits knew,
Now, like the ocean, dreadful to the view,
Hath broke its bounds, and swallowed up the shoe:
The wearer's foot like his once fine estate,
Is almost lost, the encumbrance is so great.
Ladies may smile--are they not in the plot?
The bounds of nature have not they forgot?
Were they design'd to be, when put together,
Made up, like shuttlecocks, of cork and feather?
Their pale-faced grandmammas appeared with grace
When dawning blushes rose upon the face;
No blushes now their once-loved station seek;
The foe is in possession of the cheek!
No heads of old, too high in feather'd state,
Hinder'd the fair to pass the lowest gate;
A church to enter now, they must be bent,
If ever they should try the experiment.
As change thus circulates throughout the nation,
Some plays may justly call for alteration;
At least to draw some slender covering o'er,
That _graceless wit_
[Footnote: "And _Van_ wants grace, who never wanted wit. "
--POPE. ]
which was too bare before:
Those writers well and wisely use their pens,
Who turn our wantons into Magdalens;
And howsoever wicked wits revile 'em,
We hope to find in you their stage asylum.

* * * * *




ACT I.

SCENE I. --_The Hall of an Inn_.
_Enter TOM FASHION and LORY, POSTILION following with a
portmanteau_.
_Fash_. Lory, pay the postboy, and take the portmanteau.
_Lory. [Aside to TOM FASHION_. ] Faith, sir, we had better
let the postboy take the portmanteau and pay himself.
_Fash. [Aside to LORY_. ] Why, sure, there's something left
in it!
_Lory_. Not a rag, upon my honour, sir! We eat the last of
your wardrobe at New Malton--and, if we had had twenty miles
further to go, our next meal must have been of the cloak-bag.
_Fash_. Why, 'sdeath, it appears full!
_Lory_. Yes, sir--I made bold to stuff it with hay, to save
appearances, and look like baggage.
_Fash. [Aside_. ] What the devil shall I do? --[_Aloud_. ]
Hark'ee, boy, what's the chaise?
_Post_. Thirteen shillings, please your honour.
_Fash_. Can you give me change for a guinea?
_Post_. Oh, yes, sir.
_Lory. [Aside_. ] So, what will he do now? --[_Aloud_. ]
Lord, sir, you had better let the boy be paid below.
_Fash_. Why, as you say, Lory, I believe it will be as well.
_Lory_.
Yes, yes, I'll tell them to discharge you below,
honest friend.
_Post_. Please your honour, there are the turnpikes too.
_Fash_. Ay, ay, the turnpikes by all means.
_Post_. And I hope your honour will order me something for
myself.
_Fash_. To be sure; bid them give you a crown.
_Lory_. Yes, yes--my master doesn't care what you charge
them--so get along, you--
_Post_. And there's the ostler, your honour.
_Lory_. Psha! damn the ostler! --would you impose upon the
gentleman's generosity? --[_Pushes him out_. ] A rascal, to be
so cursed ready with his change!
_Fash_. Why, faith, Lory, he had nearly posed me.
_Lory_. Well, sir, we are arrived at Scarborough, not worth
a guinea! I hope you'll own yourself a happy man--you have
outlived all your cares.
_Fash_. How so, sir?
_Lory_. Why, you have nothing left to take care of.
_Fash_. Yes, sirrah, I have myself and you to take care of
still.
_Lory_. Sir, if you could prevail with somebody else to do
that for you, I fancy we might both fare the better for it. But
now, sir, for my Lord Foppington, your elder brother.
_Fash_. Damn my eldest brother.
_Lory_. With all my heart; but get him to redeem your
annuity, however. Look you, sir; you must wheedle him, or you
must starve.
_Fash_. Look you, sir; I would neither wheedle him, nor
starve.
_Lory_. Why, what will you do, then?
_Fash_. Cut his throat, or get someone to do it for me.
_Lory_. Gad so, sir, I'm glad to find I was not so well
acquainted with the strength of your conscience as with the
weakness of your purse.
_Fash_. Why, art thou so impenetrable a blockhead as to
believe he'll help me with a farthing?
_Lory_. Not if you treat him _de haut en bas_, as you
used to do.
_Fash_. Why, how wouldst have me treat him?
_Lory_. Like a trout--tickle him.
_Fash_. I can't flatter.
_Lory_. Can you starve?
_Fash_. Yes.
_Lory_. I can't. Good by t'ye, sir.
_Fash_. Stay--thou'lt distract me. But who comes here? My
old friend, Colonel Townly.
_Enter_ COLONEL TOWNLY.
My dear Colonel, I am rejoiced to meet you here.
_Col. Town_. Dear Tom, this is an unexpected pleasure! What,
are you come to Scarborough to be present at your brother's
wedding?
_Lory_. Ah, sir, if it had been his funeral, we should have
come with pleasure.
_Col. Town_. What, honest Lory, are you with your master
still?
_Lory_. Yes, sir; I have been starving with him ever since I
saw your honour last.
_Fash_. Why, Lory is an attached rogue; there's no getting
rid of him.
_Lory_. True, sir, as my master says, there's no seducing me
from his service. --[_Aside_. ] Till he's able to pay me my
wages.
_Fash_. Go, go, sir, and take care of the baggage.
_Lory_. Yes, sir, the baggage! --O Lord! [_Takes up the
portmanteau_. ] I suppose, sir, I must charge the landlord to
be very particular where he stows this?
_Fash_. Get along, you rascal. --[_Exit_ LORY _with
the portmanteau_. ] But, Colonel, are you acquainted with my
proposed sister-in-law?
_Col. Town_. Only by character. Her father, Sir Tunbelly
Clumsy, lives within a quarter of a mile of this place, in a
lonely old house, which nobody comes near. She never goes abroad,
nor sees company at home; to prevent all misfortunes, she has her
breeding within doors; the parson of the parish teaches her to
play upon the dulcimer, the clerk to sing, her nurse to dress,
and her father to dance;--in short, nobody has free admission
there but our old acquaintance, Mother Coupler, who has procured
your brother this match, and is, I believe, a distant relation of
Sir Tunbelly's.
_Fash_. But is her fortune so considerable?
_Col. Town_. Three thousand a year, and a good sum of money,
independent of her father, beside.
_Fash_. 'Sdeath! that my old acquaintance, Dame Coupler,
could not have thought of me, as well as my brother, for such a
prize.
_Col. Town_. Egad, I wouldn't swear that you are too late--
his lordship, I know, hasn't yet seen the lady--and, I believe,
has quarrelled with his patroness.
_Fash_. My dear Colonel, what an idea have you started!
_Col. Town_. Pursue it, if you can, and I promise you shall
have my assistance; for, besides my natural contempt for his
lordship, I have at present the enmity of a rival towards him.
_Fash_. What, has he been addressing your old flame, the
widow Berinthia?
_Col. Town_. Faith, Tom, I am at present most whimsically
circumstanced. I came here a month ago to meet the lady you
mention; but she failing in her promise, I, partly from pique and
partly from idleness, have been diverting my chagrin by offering
up incense to the beauties of Amanda, our friend Loveless's wife.
_Fash_. I never have seen her, but have heard her spoken of
as a youthful wonder of beauty and prudence.
_Col. Town_. She is so indeed; and, Loveless being too
careless and insensible of the treasure he possesses, my lodging
in the same house has given me a thousand opportunities of making
my assiduities acceptable; so that, in less than a fortnight, I
began to bear my disappointment from the widow with the most
Christian resignation.
_Fash_. And Berinthia has never appeared?
_Col. Town_. Oh, there's the perplexity! for, just as I
began not to care whether I ever saw her again or not, last night
she arrived.
_Fash_. And instantly resumed her empire.
_Col. Town_. No, faith--we met--but, the lady not
condescending to give me any serious reasons for having fooled me
for a month, I left her in a huff.
_Fash_. Well, well, I'll answer for it she'll soon resume
her power, especially as friendship will prevent your pursuing
the other too far. --But my coxcomb of a brother is an admirer of
Amanda's too, is he?
_Col. Town_. Yes, and I believe is most heartily despised by
her. But come with me, and you shall see her and your old friend
Loveless.
Fash. I must pay my respects to his lordship--perhaps you can
direct me to his lodgings.
_Col. Town. _ Come with me; I shall pass by it.
_Fash. _ I wish you could pay this visit for me, or could
tell me what I should say to him.
_Col. Town. _ Say nothing to him--apply yourself to his bag,
his sword, his feather, his snuff-box; and when you are well with
them, desire him to lend you a thousand pounds, and I'll engage
you prosper.
_Fash. _ 'Sdeath and furies! why was that coxcomb thrust into
the world before me? O Fortune, Fortune, thou art a jilt, by Gad!
[_Exeunt. _

SCENE II. --LORD FOPPINGTON'S _Dressing-room. _
_Enter_ LORD FOPPINGTON _in his dressing-gown, and_ LA
VAROLE.
_Lord Fop. _ [_Aside. _] Well,'tis an unspeakable
pleasure to be a man of quality--strike me dumb! Even the boors
of this northern spa have learned the respect due to a title. --
[_Aloud. _] La Varole!
_La Var. _ Milor--
_Lord Fop. _ You ha'n't yet been at Muddymoat Hall, to
announce my arrival, have you?
_La Var. _ Not yet, milor.
_Lord Fop. _ Then you need not go till Saturday-[_Exit_
LA VAROLE] as I am in no particular haste to view my intended
sposa. I shall sacrifice a day or two more to the pursuit of my
friend Loveless's wife. Amanda is a charming creature--strike me
ugly! and, if I have any discernment in the world, she thinks no
less of my Lord Foppington.
_Re-enter_ LA VAROLE.
_La Var. _ Milor, de shoemaker, de tailor, de hosier, de
sempstress, de peru, be all ready, if your lordship please to
dress.
_Lord Fop. _ 'Tis well, admit them.
_La Var. _ Hey, messieurs, entrez!
_Enter_ TAILOR, SHOEMAKER, SEMPSTRESS, JEWELLER, _and_
MENDLEGS.
_Lord Fop. _ So, gentlemen, I hope you have all taken pains
to show yourselves masters in your professions?
_Tai_. I think I may presume, sir--
_La Var_. Milor, you clown, you!
_Tai_. My lord--I ask your lordship's--pardon, my lord. I
hope, my lord, your lordship will be pleased to own I have
brought your lordship as accomplished a suit of clothes as ever
peer of England wore, my lord--will your lordship please to view
'em now?
_Lord Fop_. Ay; but let my people dispose the glasses so
that I may see myself before and behind; for I love to see myself
all round. [_Puts on his clothes_. ]
_Enter_ TOM FASHION _and_ LORY. _They remain behind,
conversing apart_.