_Enter_
LAURETTA
_and_ MRS.
Richard Brinsley Sheridan
Pitt_.
Drummer, Soldiers, Countrymen, _and_ Servant.
SCENE--A TOWN IN ENGLAND.
ACT I.
SCENE I. --LIEUTENANT O'CONNOR's Lodgings.
_Enter_ SERJEANT TROUNCE, CORPORAL FLINT, _and four_
SOLDIERS.
1 _Sol_. I say you are wrong; we should all speak together, each
for himself, and all at once, that we may be heard the better.
2 _Sol_. Right, Jack, we'll argue in platoons.
3 _Sol_. Ay, ay, let him have our grievances in a volley, and if
we be to have a spokesman, there's the corporal is the lieutenant's
countryman, and knows his humour.
_Flint_. Let me alone for that. I served three years, within a
bit, under his honour, in the Royal Inniskillions, and I never will
see a sweeter tempered gentleman, nor one more free with his purse. I
put a great shammock in his hat this morning, and I'll be bound for
him he'll wear it, was it as big as Steven's Green.
4 _Sol_. I say again then you talk like youngsters, like militia
striplings: there's a discipline, look'ee in all things, whereof the
serjeant must be our guide; he's a gentleman of words; he understands
your foreign lingo, your figures, and such like auxiliaries in
scoring. Confess now for a reckoning, whether in chalk or writing,
ben't he your only man?
_Flint_. Why the serjeant is a scholar to be sure, and has the
gift of reading.
_Trounce_: Good soldiers, and fellow-gentlemen, if you make me
your spokesman, you will show the more judgment; and let me alone for
the argument. I'll be as loud as a drum, and point blank from the
purpose.
_All_. Agreed, agreed.
_Flint_. Oh, faith! here comes the lieutenant. --Now, Serjeant.
_Trounce_. So then, to order. --Put on your mutiny looks; every
man grumble a little to himself, and some of you hum the Deserter's
March.
_Enter_ LIEUTENANT O'CONNOR.
_O'Con_. Well, honest lads, what is it you have to complain of?
_Sol_. Ahem! hem!
_Trounce_. So please your honour, the very grievance of the
matter is this:--ever since your honour differed with justice
Credulous, our inn-keepers use us most scurvily. By my halbert, their
treatment is such, that if your spirit was willing to put up with it,
flesh and blood could by no means agree; so we humbly petition that
your honour would make an end of the matter at once, by running away
with the justice's daughter, or else get us fresh quarters,--hem! hem!
_O'Con_. Indeed! Pray which of the houses use you ill?
1 _Sol_. There's the Red Lion an't half the civility of the old
Red Lion.
2 _Sol_. There's the White Horse, if he wasn't case-hardened,
ought to be ashamed to show his face.
_O'Con_. Very well; the Horse and the Lion shall answer for it at
the quarter sessions.
_Trounce_. The two Magpies are civil enough; but the Angel uses
us like devils, and the Rising Sun refuses us light to go to bed by.
_O'Con_. Then, upon my word, I'll have the Rising Sun put down,
and the Angel shall give security for his good behaviour; but are you
sure you do nothing to quit scores with them?
_Flint_. Nothing at all, your honour, unless now and then we
happen to fling a cartridge into the kitchen fire, or put a
spatterdash or so into the soup; and sometimes Ned drums up and down
stairs a little of a night.
_O'Con_. Oh, all that's fair; but hark'ee, lads, I must have no
grumbling on St. Patrick's Day; so here, take this, and divide it
amongst you. But observe me now,--show yourselves men of spirit, and
don't spend sixpence of it in drink.
_Trounce_. Nay, hang it, your honour, soldiers should never bear
malice; we must drink St. Patrick's and your honour's health.
_All_. Oh, damn malice! St. Patrick's and his honour's by all
means.
_Flint_. Come away, then, lads, and first we'll parade round the
Market-cross, for the honour of King George.
1 _Sol_. Thank your honour. --Come along; St. Patrick, his honour,
and strong beer for ever! [_Exeunt_ SOLDIERS. ]
_O'Con_. Get along, you thoughtless vagabonds! yet, upon my
conscience, 'tis very hard these poor fellows should scarcely have
bread from the soil they would die to defend.
_Enter_ DOCTOR ROSY.
Ah, my little Dr. Rosy, my Galen a-bridge, what's the news?
_Rosy_. All things are as they were, my Alexander; the justice is
as violent as ever: I felt his pulse on the matter again, and,
thinking his rage began to intermit, I wanted to throw in the bark of
good advice, but it would not do. He says you and your cut-throats
have a plot upon his life, and swears he had rather see his daughter
in a scarlet fever than in the arms of a soldier.
_O'Con_. Upon my word the army is very much obliged to him. Well,
then, I must marry the girl first, and ask his consent afterwards.
_Rosy_. So, then, the case of her fortune is desperate, hey?
_O'Con_. Oh, hang fortune,--let that take its chance; there is a
beauty in Lauretta's simplicity, so pure a bloom upon her charms.
_Rosy_. So there is, so there is. You are for beauty as nature
made her, hey! No artificial graces, no cosmetic varnish, no beauty in
grey, hey!
_O'Con_. Upon my word, doctor, you are right; the London ladies
were always too handsome for me; then they are so defended, such a
circumvallation of hoop, with a breastwork of whale-bone that would
turn a pistol-bullet, much less Cupid's arrows,--then turret on turret
on top, with stores of concealed weapons, under pretence of black
pins,--and above all, a standard of feathers that would do honour to a
knight of the Bath. Upon my conscience, I could as soon embrace an
Amazon, armed at all points.
_Rosy_. Right, right, my Alexander! my taste to a tittle.
_O'Con_. Then, doctor, though I admire modesty in women, I like
to see their faces. I am for the changeable rose; but with one of
these quality Amazons, if their midnight dissipations had left them
blood enough to raise a blush, they have not room enough in their
cheeks to show it. To be sure, bashfulness is a very pretty thing;
but, in my mind, there is nothing on earth so impudent as an
everlasting blush.
_Rosy_. My taste, my taste! --Well, Lauretta is none of these. Ah!
I never see her but she put me in mind of my poor dear wife.
_O'Con_. [_Aside_. ] Ay, faith; in my opinion she can't do a
worse thing. Now he is going to bother me about an old hag that has
been dead these six years.
_Rosy_. Oh, poor Dolly! I never shall see her like again; such an
arm for a bandage--veins that seemed to invite the lancet. Then her
skin, smoothe and white as a gallipot; her mouth as large and not
larger than the mouth of a penny phial; her lips conserve of roses;
and then her teeth--none of your sturdy fixtures--ache as they would,
it was but a small pull, and out they came. I believe I have drawn
half a score of her poor dear pearls--[_weeps_]--But what avails
her beauty? Death has no consideration--one must die as well as
another.
_O'Con_. [_Aside_. ] Oh, if he begins to moralize---[_Takes
out his snuff-box_. ]
_Rosy_. Fair and ugly, crooked or straight, rich or poor--flesh
is grass--flowers fade!
_O'Con_. Here, doctor, take a pinch, and keep up your spirits.
_Rosy_. True, true, my friend; grief can't mend the matter--all's
for the best; but such a woman was a great loss, lieutenant.
_O'Con_. To be sure, for doubtless she had mental accomplishments
equal to her beauty.
_Rosy_. Mental accomplishments! she would have stuffed an
alligator, or pickled a lizard, with any apothecary's wife in the
kingdom. Why, she could decipher a prescription, and invent the
ingredients, almost as well as myself: then she was such a hand at
making foreign waters! --for Seltzer, Pyrmont, Islington, or
Chalybeate, she never had her equal; and her Bath and Bristol springs
exceeded the originals. --Ah, poor Dolly! she fell a martyr to her own
discoveries.
_O'Con_. How so, pray?
_Rosy_. Poor soul! her illness was occasioned by her zeal in
trying an improvement on the Spa-water by an infusion of rum and acid.
_O'Con_. Ay, ay, spirits never agree with water-drinkers.
_Rosy_. No, no, you mistake. Rum agreed with her well enough; it
was not the rum that killed the poor dear creature, for she died of a
dropsy. Well, she is gone, never to return, and has left no pledge of
our loves behind. No little babe, to hang like a label round papa's
neck. Well, well, we are all mortal--sooner or later--flesh is grass--
flowers fade.
_O'Con_. [_Aside_. ] Oh, the devil! --again!
_Rosy_. Life's a shadow--the world a stage--we strut an hour.
_O'Con_. Here, doctor. [_Offers snuff_. ]
_Rosy_. True, true, my friend: well, high grief can't cure it.
All's for the best, hey! my little Alexander?
_O'Con_. Right, right; an apothecary should never be out of
spirits. But come, faith, 'tis time honest Humphrey should wait on the
justice; that must be our first scheme.
_Rosy_. True, true; you should be ready: the clothes are at my
house, and I have given you such a character, that he is impatient to
have you: he swears you shall be his body-guard. Well, I honour the
army, or I should never do so much to serve you.
_O'Con_. Indeed I am bound to you for ever, doctor; and when once
I'm possessed of my dear Lauretta, I will endeavour to make work for
you as fast as possible.
_Rosy_. Now you put me in mind of my poor wife again.
_O'Con_. Ah, pray forget her a little: we shall be too late.
_Rosy_. Poor Dolly!
_O'Con_. 'Tis past twelve.
_Rosy_. Inhuman dropsy!
_O'Con_. The justice will wait.
_Rosy_. Cropped in her prime!
_O'Con_. For heaven's sake, come!
_Rosy_. Well, flesh is grass.
_O'Con_. O, the devil!
_Rosy_. We must all die--
_O'Con_. Doctor!
_Rosy_. Kings, lords, and common whores--
[_Exeunt_ LIEUTENANT O'CONNOR _forcing_ Rosy _off_. ]
SCENE II. --_A Room in_ JUSTICE CREDULOUS' _House_.
_Enter_ LAURETTA _and_ MRS. BRIDGET CREDULOUS.
_Lau_. I repeat it again, mamma, officers are the prettiest men
in the world, and Lieutenant O'Connor is the prettiest officer I ever
saw.
_Mrs. Bri_. For shame, Laura! how can you talk so? --or if you
must have a military man, there's Lieutenant Plow, or Captain Haycock,
or Major Dray, the brewer, are all your admirers; and though they are
peaceable, good kind of men, they have as large cockades, and become
scarlet, as well as the fighting folks.
_Lau_. Psha! you know, mamma, I hate militia officers; a set of
dunghill cocks with spurs on--heroes scratched off a church door--
clowns in military masquerade, wearing the dress without supporting
the character. No, give me the bold upright youth, who makes love to-
day, and his head shot off to-morrow. Dear! to think how the sweet
fellows sleep on the ground, and fight in silk stockings and lace
ruffles.
_Mrs. Bri_. Oh, barbarous! to want a husband that may wed you to-
day, and be sent the Lord knows where before night; then in a
twelvemonth perhaps to have him come like a Colossus, with one leg at
New York, and the other at Chelsea Hospital.
_Lau_. Then I'll be his crutch, mamma.
_Mrs. Bri_. No, give me a husband that knows where his limbs are,
though he want the use of them:--and if he should take you with him,
to sleep in a baggage-cart, and stroll about the camp like a gipsy,
with a knapsack and two children at your back; then, by way of
entertainment in the evening, to make a party with the serjeant's wife
to drink bohea tea, and play at all-fours on a drum-head:--'tis a
precious life, to be sure!
_Lau_. Nay, mamma, you shouldn't be against my lieutenant, for I
heard him say you were the best natured and best looking woman in the
world.
_Mrs. Bri_. Why, child, I never said but that Lieutenant O'Connor
was a very well-bred and discerning young man; 'tis your papa is so
violent against him.
_Lau_. Why, Cousin Sophy married an officer.
_Mrs. Bri_. Ay, Laura, an officer of the militia.
_Lau_. No, indeed, ma'am, a marching regiment.
_Mrs. Bri_. No, child, I tell you he was a major of militia.
_Lau_. Indeed, mamma, it wasn't.
_Enter_ JUSTICE CREDULOUS.
_Just_. Bridget, my love, I have had a message.
_Lau_. It was cousin Sophy told me so.
_Just_. I have had a message, love--
_Mrs. Bri_. No, child, she would say no such thing.
_Just_. A message, I say.
_Lau_. How could he be in the militia when he was ordered abroad?
_Mrs. Bri_. Ay, girl, hold your tongue! --Well, my dear.
_Just_. I have had a message from Doctor Rosy.
_Mrs. Bri_. He ordered abroad! He went abroad for his health.
_Just_. Why, Bridget! --
_Mrs. Bri_. Well, deary. --Now hold your tongue, miss.
_Jus_. A message from Dr. Rosy, and Dr. Rosy says--
_Lau_. I'm sure, mamma, his regimentals--
_Just_. Damn his regimentals! --Why don't you listen?
_Mrs. Bri_. Ay, girl, how durst you interrupt your papa?
_Lau_. Well, papa.
_Just_. Dr. Rosy says he'll bring--
_Lau_. Were blue turned up with red, mamma.
_Just_. Laury! --says he will bring the young man--
_Mrs. Bri_. Red! yellow, if you please, miss.
_Just_. Bridget! --the young man that is to be hired--
_Mrs. Bri_. Besides, miss, it is very unbecoming in you to want
to have the last word with your mamma; you should know--
_Just_. Why, zounds! will you hear me or no?
_Mrs. Bri_. I am listening, my love, I am listening! --But what
signifies my silence, what good is my not speaking a word, if this
girl will interrupt and let nobody speak but herself? --Ay, I don't
wonder, my life, at your impatience; your poor dear lips quiver to
speak; but I suppose she'll run on, and not let you put in a word. --
You may very well be angry; there is nothing, sure, so provoking as a
chattering, talking--
_Lau_. Nay, I'm sure, mamma, it is you will not let papa speak
now.
_Mrs. Bri_. Why, you little provoking minx----
_Just_. Get out of the room directly, both of you--get out!
_Mrs. Bri_. Ay, go, girl.
_Just_. Go, Bridget, you are worse than she, you old hag. I wish
you were both up to the neck in the canal, to argue there till I took
you out.
_Enter_ SERVANT.
_Ser_. Doctor Rosy, sir
_Just_. Show him up. [_Exit_ SERVANT. ]
_Lau_. Then you own, mamma, it was a marching regiment?
_Mrs. Bri_. You're an obstinate fool, I tell you; for if that had
been the case----
_Just_. You won't go?
_Mrs. Bri_. We are going, Mr. Surly. --If that had been the case,
I say, how could----
_Lau_. Nay, mamma, one proof----
_Mrs. Bri_. How could Major----
_Lau_. And a full proof----
[JUSTICE CREDULOUS _drives them off_. ]
_Just_. There they go, ding dong in for the day. Good lack! a
fluent tongue is the only thing a mother don't like her daughter to
resemble her in.
_Enter_ DOCTOR ROSY.
Well, doctor, where's the lad--where's Trusty?
_Rosy_. At hand; he'll be here in a minute, I'll answer for't.
He's such a one as you an't met with,--brave as a lion, gentle as a
saline draught.
_Just_. Ah, he comes in the place of a rogue, a dog that was
corrupted by the lieutenant. But this is a sturdy fellow, is he,
doctor?
_Rosy_. As Hercules; and the best back-sword in the country.
Egad, he'll make the red coats keep their distance.
_Just. _ O the villains; this is St. Patrick's day, and the rascals
have been parading my house all the morning. I know they have a design
upon me; but I have taken all precautions: I have magazines of arms,
and if this fellow does but prove faithful, I shall be more at ease.
_Rosy_. Doubtless he'll be a comfort to you.
_Re-enter_ SERVANT.
_Ser_. There is a man below, inquires for Doctor Rosy.
_Rosy_. Show him up.
_Just_. Hold! a little caution--how does he look?
_Ser_. A country-looking fellow, your worship.
_Just_. Oh, well, well, for Doctor Rosy; these rascals try all
ways to get in here.
_Ser_. Yes, please your worship; there was one here this morning
wanted to speak to you; he said his name was Corporal Breakbones.
_Just_. Corporal Breakbones!
_Ser_. And Drummer Crackskull came again.
_Just_. Ay, did you ever hear of such a damned confounded crew?
Well, show the lad in here! [_Exit_ SERVANT. ]
_Rosy_. Ay, he'll be your porter; he'll give the rogues an
answer.
_Enter_ LIEUTENANT O'CONNOR, _disguised_.
_Just_. So, a tall--Efacks! what! has lost an eye?
_Rosy_. Only a bruise he got in taking seven or eight highwaymen.
_Just_. He has a damned wicked leer somehow with the other.
_Rosy_. Oh, no, he's bashful--a sheepish look----
_Just_. Well, my lad, what's your name?
_O'Con_. Humphrey Hum.
_Just_. Hum--I don't like Hum!
_O'Con_. But I be mostly called honest Humphrey----
_Rosy_. There, I told you so, of noted honesty.
_Just_.
Drummer, Soldiers, Countrymen, _and_ Servant.
SCENE--A TOWN IN ENGLAND.
ACT I.
SCENE I. --LIEUTENANT O'CONNOR's Lodgings.
_Enter_ SERJEANT TROUNCE, CORPORAL FLINT, _and four_
SOLDIERS.
1 _Sol_. I say you are wrong; we should all speak together, each
for himself, and all at once, that we may be heard the better.
2 _Sol_. Right, Jack, we'll argue in platoons.
3 _Sol_. Ay, ay, let him have our grievances in a volley, and if
we be to have a spokesman, there's the corporal is the lieutenant's
countryman, and knows his humour.
_Flint_. Let me alone for that. I served three years, within a
bit, under his honour, in the Royal Inniskillions, and I never will
see a sweeter tempered gentleman, nor one more free with his purse. I
put a great shammock in his hat this morning, and I'll be bound for
him he'll wear it, was it as big as Steven's Green.
4 _Sol_. I say again then you talk like youngsters, like militia
striplings: there's a discipline, look'ee in all things, whereof the
serjeant must be our guide; he's a gentleman of words; he understands
your foreign lingo, your figures, and such like auxiliaries in
scoring. Confess now for a reckoning, whether in chalk or writing,
ben't he your only man?
_Flint_. Why the serjeant is a scholar to be sure, and has the
gift of reading.
_Trounce_: Good soldiers, and fellow-gentlemen, if you make me
your spokesman, you will show the more judgment; and let me alone for
the argument. I'll be as loud as a drum, and point blank from the
purpose.
_All_. Agreed, agreed.
_Flint_. Oh, faith! here comes the lieutenant. --Now, Serjeant.
_Trounce_. So then, to order. --Put on your mutiny looks; every
man grumble a little to himself, and some of you hum the Deserter's
March.
_Enter_ LIEUTENANT O'CONNOR.
_O'Con_. Well, honest lads, what is it you have to complain of?
_Sol_. Ahem! hem!
_Trounce_. So please your honour, the very grievance of the
matter is this:--ever since your honour differed with justice
Credulous, our inn-keepers use us most scurvily. By my halbert, their
treatment is such, that if your spirit was willing to put up with it,
flesh and blood could by no means agree; so we humbly petition that
your honour would make an end of the matter at once, by running away
with the justice's daughter, or else get us fresh quarters,--hem! hem!
_O'Con_. Indeed! Pray which of the houses use you ill?
1 _Sol_. There's the Red Lion an't half the civility of the old
Red Lion.
2 _Sol_. There's the White Horse, if he wasn't case-hardened,
ought to be ashamed to show his face.
_O'Con_. Very well; the Horse and the Lion shall answer for it at
the quarter sessions.
_Trounce_. The two Magpies are civil enough; but the Angel uses
us like devils, and the Rising Sun refuses us light to go to bed by.
_O'Con_. Then, upon my word, I'll have the Rising Sun put down,
and the Angel shall give security for his good behaviour; but are you
sure you do nothing to quit scores with them?
_Flint_. Nothing at all, your honour, unless now and then we
happen to fling a cartridge into the kitchen fire, or put a
spatterdash or so into the soup; and sometimes Ned drums up and down
stairs a little of a night.
_O'Con_. Oh, all that's fair; but hark'ee, lads, I must have no
grumbling on St. Patrick's Day; so here, take this, and divide it
amongst you. But observe me now,--show yourselves men of spirit, and
don't spend sixpence of it in drink.
_Trounce_. Nay, hang it, your honour, soldiers should never bear
malice; we must drink St. Patrick's and your honour's health.
_All_. Oh, damn malice! St. Patrick's and his honour's by all
means.
_Flint_. Come away, then, lads, and first we'll parade round the
Market-cross, for the honour of King George.
1 _Sol_. Thank your honour. --Come along; St. Patrick, his honour,
and strong beer for ever! [_Exeunt_ SOLDIERS. ]
_O'Con_. Get along, you thoughtless vagabonds! yet, upon my
conscience, 'tis very hard these poor fellows should scarcely have
bread from the soil they would die to defend.
_Enter_ DOCTOR ROSY.
Ah, my little Dr. Rosy, my Galen a-bridge, what's the news?
_Rosy_. All things are as they were, my Alexander; the justice is
as violent as ever: I felt his pulse on the matter again, and,
thinking his rage began to intermit, I wanted to throw in the bark of
good advice, but it would not do. He says you and your cut-throats
have a plot upon his life, and swears he had rather see his daughter
in a scarlet fever than in the arms of a soldier.
_O'Con_. Upon my word the army is very much obliged to him. Well,
then, I must marry the girl first, and ask his consent afterwards.
_Rosy_. So, then, the case of her fortune is desperate, hey?
_O'Con_. Oh, hang fortune,--let that take its chance; there is a
beauty in Lauretta's simplicity, so pure a bloom upon her charms.
_Rosy_. So there is, so there is. You are for beauty as nature
made her, hey! No artificial graces, no cosmetic varnish, no beauty in
grey, hey!
_O'Con_. Upon my word, doctor, you are right; the London ladies
were always too handsome for me; then they are so defended, such a
circumvallation of hoop, with a breastwork of whale-bone that would
turn a pistol-bullet, much less Cupid's arrows,--then turret on turret
on top, with stores of concealed weapons, under pretence of black
pins,--and above all, a standard of feathers that would do honour to a
knight of the Bath. Upon my conscience, I could as soon embrace an
Amazon, armed at all points.
_Rosy_. Right, right, my Alexander! my taste to a tittle.
_O'Con_. Then, doctor, though I admire modesty in women, I like
to see their faces. I am for the changeable rose; but with one of
these quality Amazons, if their midnight dissipations had left them
blood enough to raise a blush, they have not room enough in their
cheeks to show it. To be sure, bashfulness is a very pretty thing;
but, in my mind, there is nothing on earth so impudent as an
everlasting blush.
_Rosy_. My taste, my taste! --Well, Lauretta is none of these. Ah!
I never see her but she put me in mind of my poor dear wife.
_O'Con_. [_Aside_. ] Ay, faith; in my opinion she can't do a
worse thing. Now he is going to bother me about an old hag that has
been dead these six years.
_Rosy_. Oh, poor Dolly! I never shall see her like again; such an
arm for a bandage--veins that seemed to invite the lancet. Then her
skin, smoothe and white as a gallipot; her mouth as large and not
larger than the mouth of a penny phial; her lips conserve of roses;
and then her teeth--none of your sturdy fixtures--ache as they would,
it was but a small pull, and out they came. I believe I have drawn
half a score of her poor dear pearls--[_weeps_]--But what avails
her beauty? Death has no consideration--one must die as well as
another.
_O'Con_. [_Aside_. ] Oh, if he begins to moralize---[_Takes
out his snuff-box_. ]
_Rosy_. Fair and ugly, crooked or straight, rich or poor--flesh
is grass--flowers fade!
_O'Con_. Here, doctor, take a pinch, and keep up your spirits.
_Rosy_. True, true, my friend; grief can't mend the matter--all's
for the best; but such a woman was a great loss, lieutenant.
_O'Con_. To be sure, for doubtless she had mental accomplishments
equal to her beauty.
_Rosy_. Mental accomplishments! she would have stuffed an
alligator, or pickled a lizard, with any apothecary's wife in the
kingdom. Why, she could decipher a prescription, and invent the
ingredients, almost as well as myself: then she was such a hand at
making foreign waters! --for Seltzer, Pyrmont, Islington, or
Chalybeate, she never had her equal; and her Bath and Bristol springs
exceeded the originals. --Ah, poor Dolly! she fell a martyr to her own
discoveries.
_O'Con_. How so, pray?
_Rosy_. Poor soul! her illness was occasioned by her zeal in
trying an improvement on the Spa-water by an infusion of rum and acid.
_O'Con_. Ay, ay, spirits never agree with water-drinkers.
_Rosy_. No, no, you mistake. Rum agreed with her well enough; it
was not the rum that killed the poor dear creature, for she died of a
dropsy. Well, she is gone, never to return, and has left no pledge of
our loves behind. No little babe, to hang like a label round papa's
neck. Well, well, we are all mortal--sooner or later--flesh is grass--
flowers fade.
_O'Con_. [_Aside_. ] Oh, the devil! --again!
_Rosy_. Life's a shadow--the world a stage--we strut an hour.
_O'Con_. Here, doctor. [_Offers snuff_. ]
_Rosy_. True, true, my friend: well, high grief can't cure it.
All's for the best, hey! my little Alexander?
_O'Con_. Right, right; an apothecary should never be out of
spirits. But come, faith, 'tis time honest Humphrey should wait on the
justice; that must be our first scheme.
_Rosy_. True, true; you should be ready: the clothes are at my
house, and I have given you such a character, that he is impatient to
have you: he swears you shall be his body-guard. Well, I honour the
army, or I should never do so much to serve you.
_O'Con_. Indeed I am bound to you for ever, doctor; and when once
I'm possessed of my dear Lauretta, I will endeavour to make work for
you as fast as possible.
_Rosy_. Now you put me in mind of my poor wife again.
_O'Con_. Ah, pray forget her a little: we shall be too late.
_Rosy_. Poor Dolly!
_O'Con_. 'Tis past twelve.
_Rosy_. Inhuman dropsy!
_O'Con_. The justice will wait.
_Rosy_. Cropped in her prime!
_O'Con_. For heaven's sake, come!
_Rosy_. Well, flesh is grass.
_O'Con_. O, the devil!
_Rosy_. We must all die--
_O'Con_. Doctor!
_Rosy_. Kings, lords, and common whores--
[_Exeunt_ LIEUTENANT O'CONNOR _forcing_ Rosy _off_. ]
SCENE II. --_A Room in_ JUSTICE CREDULOUS' _House_.
_Enter_ LAURETTA _and_ MRS. BRIDGET CREDULOUS.
_Lau_. I repeat it again, mamma, officers are the prettiest men
in the world, and Lieutenant O'Connor is the prettiest officer I ever
saw.
_Mrs. Bri_. For shame, Laura! how can you talk so? --or if you
must have a military man, there's Lieutenant Plow, or Captain Haycock,
or Major Dray, the brewer, are all your admirers; and though they are
peaceable, good kind of men, they have as large cockades, and become
scarlet, as well as the fighting folks.
_Lau_. Psha! you know, mamma, I hate militia officers; a set of
dunghill cocks with spurs on--heroes scratched off a church door--
clowns in military masquerade, wearing the dress without supporting
the character. No, give me the bold upright youth, who makes love to-
day, and his head shot off to-morrow. Dear! to think how the sweet
fellows sleep on the ground, and fight in silk stockings and lace
ruffles.
_Mrs. Bri_. Oh, barbarous! to want a husband that may wed you to-
day, and be sent the Lord knows where before night; then in a
twelvemonth perhaps to have him come like a Colossus, with one leg at
New York, and the other at Chelsea Hospital.
_Lau_. Then I'll be his crutch, mamma.
_Mrs. Bri_. No, give me a husband that knows where his limbs are,
though he want the use of them:--and if he should take you with him,
to sleep in a baggage-cart, and stroll about the camp like a gipsy,
with a knapsack and two children at your back; then, by way of
entertainment in the evening, to make a party with the serjeant's wife
to drink bohea tea, and play at all-fours on a drum-head:--'tis a
precious life, to be sure!
_Lau_. Nay, mamma, you shouldn't be against my lieutenant, for I
heard him say you were the best natured and best looking woman in the
world.
_Mrs. Bri_. Why, child, I never said but that Lieutenant O'Connor
was a very well-bred and discerning young man; 'tis your papa is so
violent against him.
_Lau_. Why, Cousin Sophy married an officer.
_Mrs. Bri_. Ay, Laura, an officer of the militia.
_Lau_. No, indeed, ma'am, a marching regiment.
_Mrs. Bri_. No, child, I tell you he was a major of militia.
_Lau_. Indeed, mamma, it wasn't.
_Enter_ JUSTICE CREDULOUS.
_Just_. Bridget, my love, I have had a message.
_Lau_. It was cousin Sophy told me so.
_Just_. I have had a message, love--
_Mrs. Bri_. No, child, she would say no such thing.
_Just_. A message, I say.
_Lau_. How could he be in the militia when he was ordered abroad?
_Mrs. Bri_. Ay, girl, hold your tongue! --Well, my dear.
_Just_. I have had a message from Doctor Rosy.
_Mrs. Bri_. He ordered abroad! He went abroad for his health.
_Just_. Why, Bridget! --
_Mrs. Bri_. Well, deary. --Now hold your tongue, miss.
_Jus_. A message from Dr. Rosy, and Dr. Rosy says--
_Lau_. I'm sure, mamma, his regimentals--
_Just_. Damn his regimentals! --Why don't you listen?
_Mrs. Bri_. Ay, girl, how durst you interrupt your papa?
_Lau_. Well, papa.
_Just_. Dr. Rosy says he'll bring--
_Lau_. Were blue turned up with red, mamma.
_Just_. Laury! --says he will bring the young man--
_Mrs. Bri_. Red! yellow, if you please, miss.
_Just_. Bridget! --the young man that is to be hired--
_Mrs. Bri_. Besides, miss, it is very unbecoming in you to want
to have the last word with your mamma; you should know--
_Just_. Why, zounds! will you hear me or no?
_Mrs. Bri_. I am listening, my love, I am listening! --But what
signifies my silence, what good is my not speaking a word, if this
girl will interrupt and let nobody speak but herself? --Ay, I don't
wonder, my life, at your impatience; your poor dear lips quiver to
speak; but I suppose she'll run on, and not let you put in a word. --
You may very well be angry; there is nothing, sure, so provoking as a
chattering, talking--
_Lau_. Nay, I'm sure, mamma, it is you will not let papa speak
now.
_Mrs. Bri_. Why, you little provoking minx----
_Just_. Get out of the room directly, both of you--get out!
_Mrs. Bri_. Ay, go, girl.
_Just_. Go, Bridget, you are worse than she, you old hag. I wish
you were both up to the neck in the canal, to argue there till I took
you out.
_Enter_ SERVANT.
_Ser_. Doctor Rosy, sir
_Just_. Show him up. [_Exit_ SERVANT. ]
_Lau_. Then you own, mamma, it was a marching regiment?
_Mrs. Bri_. You're an obstinate fool, I tell you; for if that had
been the case----
_Just_. You won't go?
_Mrs. Bri_. We are going, Mr. Surly. --If that had been the case,
I say, how could----
_Lau_. Nay, mamma, one proof----
_Mrs. Bri_. How could Major----
_Lau_. And a full proof----
[JUSTICE CREDULOUS _drives them off_. ]
_Just_. There they go, ding dong in for the day. Good lack! a
fluent tongue is the only thing a mother don't like her daughter to
resemble her in.
_Enter_ DOCTOR ROSY.
Well, doctor, where's the lad--where's Trusty?
_Rosy_. At hand; he'll be here in a minute, I'll answer for't.
He's such a one as you an't met with,--brave as a lion, gentle as a
saline draught.
_Just_. Ah, he comes in the place of a rogue, a dog that was
corrupted by the lieutenant. But this is a sturdy fellow, is he,
doctor?
_Rosy_. As Hercules; and the best back-sword in the country.
Egad, he'll make the red coats keep their distance.
_Just. _ O the villains; this is St. Patrick's day, and the rascals
have been parading my house all the morning. I know they have a design
upon me; but I have taken all precautions: I have magazines of arms,
and if this fellow does but prove faithful, I shall be more at ease.
_Rosy_. Doubtless he'll be a comfort to you.
_Re-enter_ SERVANT.
_Ser_. There is a man below, inquires for Doctor Rosy.
_Rosy_. Show him up.
_Just_. Hold! a little caution--how does he look?
_Ser_. A country-looking fellow, your worship.
_Just_. Oh, well, well, for Doctor Rosy; these rascals try all
ways to get in here.
_Ser_. Yes, please your worship; there was one here this morning
wanted to speak to you; he said his name was Corporal Breakbones.
_Just_. Corporal Breakbones!
_Ser_. And Drummer Crackskull came again.
_Just_. Ay, did you ever hear of such a damned confounded crew?
Well, show the lad in here! [_Exit_ SERVANT. ]
_Rosy_. Ay, he'll be your porter; he'll give the rogues an
answer.
_Enter_ LIEUTENANT O'CONNOR, _disguised_.
_Just_. So, a tall--Efacks! what! has lost an eye?
_Rosy_. Only a bruise he got in taking seven or eight highwaymen.
_Just_. He has a damned wicked leer somehow with the other.
_Rosy_. Oh, no, he's bashful--a sheepish look----
_Just_. Well, my lad, what's your name?
_O'Con_. Humphrey Hum.
_Just_. Hum--I don't like Hum!
_O'Con_. But I be mostly called honest Humphrey----
_Rosy_. There, I told you so, of noted honesty.
_Just_.
