THE CONTRACT: A COMEDY. OF TWO ACTS. AS IT WAS PERFORMED AT THE Theatre Royal, in the Hay-Market.
LONDON: Printed for the AUTHOR, by J. MILLIDGE: And ſold by T. DAVIES, in Ruſſel-Street, Covent-Garden; T. CADELL, and T. EVANS, in the Strand. MDCCLXXVI. [PRICE ONE SHILLING.]
PROLOGUE,
[]Dramatis Perſonae.
[]- Colonel Lovemore, an old Officer,
- Mr. PARSONS,
- Martin, Servant to the Colonel.
- Mr. WHITEFIELD,
- Commodore Capſtern,
- Mr. BANNISTER,
- Captain Spritely,
- Mr. R. PALMER.
- Miſs Eleanor Briggs, an old Maid,
- Mrs. GARDNER,
- Betty, her Maid,
- Miſs PLATT,
- Maria,
- Miſs ESSEX.
[]THE CONTRACT.
ACT I. SCENE I.
HEIGH-HO!
Dear Ma'am, what's the matter with you? you a'nt ill, I hope.
Never worſe in my life, Betty.
Lud! Ma'am, you frighten me!
Betty.
Ma'am.
In the bottom drawer of my walnut-tree cheſt, Betty, there lies, if the moths have not devoured it, my Practice of Piety; look for it, good girl, and bring it me hither.
Yes, Madam. Sure my miſtreſs is in a bad way to think of ſuch things.
Well! 'tis what we muſt all come to. O Time, Time, what a cruel deſtroyer thou art!
Where are all my roſes fled? all faded, gone!
Well, Betty!
Here it is, Ma'am, but in ſuch a pickle;—bleſs me, I believe your ladyſhip has not looked in it theſe ten years.
Give it me, child. Let me ſee: ſomewhere towards the end, on a blank leaf, if I am not miſtaken, are the births of the family:
O, here it is:—Eleanor, daughter of Thomas and Sarah, born—chriſtened, July 14, 17 hundred, and, let me ſee, 38, 48, 58, and 7, is—O Lud, Betty, I am an old woman, poſitively an old woman. Here—take away the filthy memorandum, and never let it ſee the light 'till—
'Till the birth of your firſt boy, Ma'am.—Fye, fye, Madam; never mind ſuch muſty re⯑cords, but conſult this better and more faith⯑ful monitor.
As the poet ſays. O Betty, how provoking it is that I ſhould begin to grow old and ugly, juſt at the time I want to be young and handſome!
Indeed, Ma'am, you wrong your charms; in my opinion, you have not look'd ſo well theſe five years.
Go, go, you're a wicked flatterer.
Indeed but I a'nt, Ma'am. Beſides, if you were a little older, you'd be young enough yet I think, for the Colonel. Methinks, Ma'am, 'tis a thouſand pities you two did not come to⯑gether ſome fifteen or twenty years ago.
Why really, Betty, I wiſh we had; but then matters did not ſuit. You muſt know the Co⯑lonel was under the direction of an old ſurly guardian, who wanted him to marry his niece; and becauſe he refuſed, kept him out of [4] his fortune by law and chicanery;—whilſt I was teiz'd to death by an immortal old aunt, who threatened to diſinherit me, if I married without her conſent.—About five years ago I became my own miſtreſs, with ſome thou⯑ſands in my pocket, and then the Colonel was gone to the Eaſt-Indies.
There, to be ſure, he was out of luck.
Since that, however, his advancement in the army, with the eſtate left him by his uncle, and the law-ſuit with his guardian determined in his favour, have made him a match for the beſt fortune in the kingdom, at the age of—
Near ſixty—I'll anſwer for it.
In ſhort, Betty, whilſt we were young we had nothing but love to beſtow one another; and now we have—
Every thing elſe, I ſuppoſe.
Even ſo, indeed.—But the worſt of the ſtory is yet to come: for do you know, Betty, ſuch fools were we, ſuch abſolute ſtrangers to human nature, as to vow everlaſting fidelity to each other, and to enter into—
No contract, I hope.
The very thing.—To enter into contract ne⯑ver to marry any body elſe, under forfeiture of every thing we were poſſeſſed of in the world.
Well, and you intend to perform it?
Never, Betty. What! marry a worn-out ſoldier of ſixty!—and turn nurſe!—Beſides, theſe poor remains of beauty are not worth his acceptance.
And you have no other reaſon in nature?—no, to be ſure:—Ha! ha! ha! I find how it is then.—
You do'nt ſuſpect my conſtancy, I hope: do you know, Mrs. Betty, I ſhall be very angry with you?
Indeed, Madam, you will not.—Come, come, I know—
Why, what do you know, Mrs. Saucebox?
Why, Madam, I know you go much oftener of late than you us'd to Lady Mary's; I know too, that her nephew—nay, Madam, you need not bluſh—the agreeable Capt. Spritely, is juſt returned from his travels; and that he is one of the handſomeſt, beſt-made, moſt agreeable young fellows in the whole county—
Betty, hold your impertinent tongue—hold your tongue this minute, or—Do you really think the Captain is ſo handſome?
Yes, Madam; and what's more, I believe has no diſlike to your ladyſhip.
Impoſſible! however, I will confeſs I have ſeen the Captain, and am—
Moſt horribly in love with him—
No; not that—but what if he ſhould not like me?
Ridiculous! let me ſee e'er a young adven⯑turer in England, without ſix-pence to his for⯑tune, refuſe a woman of your ſenſe and beauty with twenty thouſand pounds.
But what muſt I do with the poor Colonel! By the laſt letters I had from him, he depends on marrying me the moment he returns: the very houſe I am now in, and the furniture be⯑longing to it, are his; he requeſted me, in the moſt tender manner, to live in it 'till he came, and to conſider every thing that belonged to him as much my property as his own faithful heart: what's to be done, Betty?
Done, Madam? why turn him off at once, and take the Captain. Why, there is no more now-a-days in changing one's lover than in changing ones linen.
Aye, but this plaguy contract—ſigned and ſealed, Betty,
Why that circumſtance, indeed, is rather againſt us; but time, Madam, time may re⯑concile all things.
True, Betty; but how to keep off the old lover, and to bring on the new one—that—
Aye, Madam, that's the queſtion—Let me ſee—O! I have it. If the mountain won't come to Mahomet, why, then Mahomet muſt come to the mountain—that is, if you cannot go to the Captain, why, then the Captain muſt come to you.
But how, my dear Machiavel—tell me but how?
O, leave that to me—Suppoſe, now, ſuppoſe—
Well, what?
Suppoſe—but huſh! we're interrupted.
Commodore Capſtern, Madam.
O heavens!—that ſea-monſter!—then I'll lay my life on't his old friend the Colonel is not far off,—now will he overwhelm me with his fore-caſtle jeſts on our approaching nup⯑tials. [8] For heaven's ſake, Betty, throw out ſome tub to this old whale, or he'll devour me. Step down immediately, my good girl, and make ſome excuſe for me.—Say I'm ill—I'm gone abroad—any thing to get rid of him—this is the moſt impertinent interruption!
Well, Ma'am, I'll do what I can for you, but I fear 'twill be to no purpoſe: if I drive him to ſea, he'll ſwim aſhore again in half an hour. However, I'll try.
Well, theſe chambermaids are certainly the moſt uſeful creatures in the univerſe: there is not a greater genius for lying and intrigue, within an hundred miles, than this truſty Abi⯑gail of mine:—and yet, after all, I begin to have ſome qualms of conſcience about my poor old Colonel—But Spritely is ſo handſome, O love, love, what a vow-breaker art thou!
Well, Betty; what news?—is he off?
O yes, Madam, I diſpatched him; he ſaid he'd call again preſently; but I told him, I was ſure you would not be back ſoon.—God forgive me for galloping, as nurſe Trueman ſays—I declare it went againſt me—he's ſuch a good creature. Why do you know, he gave me half a crown?
O yes, the beſt creature in the world to be ſure.
To buy me a can of flip, he ſaid, to drink his old friend the Colonel's health—your huſ⯑band elect, as he call'd him.
Impertinent enough—huſband elect indeed!
Don't abuſe him tho', ma'am—I hope he'll call again preſently.
I hope not—however if he does, remember, I poſitively will not be at home to him—But now, Betty, for your ſcheme; how ſhall I con⯑trive to ſee my dear Spritely? for poſitively I cannot live without him.
Indeed! well then I'll e'en take pity on you; ſuppoſe now, we could now contrive to bring him into this very houſe, lodge him under the ſame roof.
But how, dear Betty?
I have it—as ſoon as your old lover comes home, whom you expect every hour—hark—
A ſervant, madam, in a blue livery, brought this.
Turn'd up with yellow?
Yes, madam, and deſir'd me to give it into your own hands immediately.
Ay, 'tis he.
Who, ma'am?
Why, who ſhould it be, but the Colonel?
Lud bleſs us, he here already!
Let him wait below till his maſter comes.
Your old admirer, Martin, I ſuppoſe.
"This moment arrived from Dover, and will be with you in five minutes!"—bleſs me, Betty, I am all of a tremble—what ſhall I do?
O, if the enemy's at our gates, ma'am, there is no time to be loſt: in, in, as faſt as poſſible, and undreſs yourſelf, you look horribly hand⯑ſome as you are.
Undreſs child—what doſt thou mean?
Mean, madam? why did not you tell me juſt now, you could not bear the thought of [11] marrying the Colonel; what have you to do then, but to undreſs, to look as old and ugly as you can, that he may be indifferent about you and give up the contract.
Admirable thought—thou art my beſt of monitors!
And yet it will take a world of pains to make ſo fine a woman as Miſs Eleanor Briggs look plain.
O your humble ſervant, madam: now muſt I wear two faces.
That you have done a great while, by the by.
O yes, madam, be very fond of your huſband, and not care a farthing for him, 'tis all the faſhion, ma'am, quite the bon ton I aſſure you.
Well, but, my dear girl, you have not let me into your real ſcheme about Spritely yet.
Preſently, preſently, ma'am—lud! you are ſo impatient, but let us go into your dreſſing⯑room, they may ſhew him in here, and we ſhall be interrupted, come, come, in, in, and I'll unriddle.
Pray, Sir, walk in, I'll let my miſtreſs know, Sir—I'm glad to ſee your honour look ſo well.
Thank you, Charles, deſire your miſtreſs not to hurry herſelf—
—for I ſhould be full as well pleaſed if ſhe did not come at all. I ſuppoſe by this time, Martin, ſhe's fainting at the news of my arrival.
O yes, Sir, ſuch a perfuſion I ſuppoſe of hartſhorn and ſalvoletile—theſe meetings of old lovers are ſo affecting—
Or affected, Martin—
I ſuppoſe they can hardly keep life and ſoul in her: poor ſoul! it's a miracle if ſhe ſur⯑vives it; I wiſh it was over with all my heart.
And ſo do I with all my ſoul.
If ſhe ſhould not get over it, Sir.
Well, what then?
Why to be ſure it would be dreadful—
Terrible, ſhocking!
But then you know, Sir, 'twou'd annul the contract.
True, Martin, we muſt endeavour to recon⯑cile theſe things;—I'm a philoſopher, you know.
Let me ſee, Sir, 'tis now about ſixteen years ſince you ſaw her laſt; Miſs Eleanor, I'm afraid, muſt be pretty far advanced by this time.
Why yes, Martin, I'm afraid ſo—and yet ſhe's an amiable woman, with a thouſand good qualities; and if we could call back ſome twenty odd ſprings or ſo, I ſhould prefer her to—but this little Maria, whom I have brought over with me, has got ſuch hold of my heart—by the by—where have you lodged her, Martin?
O not far off, Sir, ſhe's within call.
If we could but find an opportunity of intro⯑ducing her into the family, put her off for a relation or ſo—
That may be eaſily done, Sir.
But what ſay you to my appearance, do I look old and ugly enough?
O yes, Sir, old and ugly enough in con⯑ſcience.
I would wiſh to be as diſagreeable in her eyes as I am ſure ſhe will be in mine.
O I warrant ſhe'll let you off eaſily enough.
Heaven grant ſhe may! and then—for my ſweet Maria!—I'll ſend for the beſt taylor in town, have a wig made, as the advertiſe⯑ment ſays, to imitate nature; recover my dancing at the ſchool for grown gentle⯑men, and be as young and jemmy as the beſt of 'em.
Huſh—huſh—methinks I hear the ruſtling of ſilks, mind your p's and q's, Sir, don't for⯑get your ſighs and raptures now for heaven's ſake.
Here ſhe comes, egad.
There the old fright is, ſure enough: now, Sir, keep it up.
O never fear me.
She comes, ſhe comes, the charmer of my heart—O, Eleanora!
My deareſt Colonel, is it then given me once more to behold—O ſupport me, or I die—he's a horid creature!
After ſo many years of tedious abſence, again to look on thoſe dear eyes, to taſte theſe balmy lips.
She ſtinks like a pole-cat.
Fie, Colonel, I cannot bear it—Oh! it is too much!
It is indeed.
O, Martin, this is inſupportable!
Very well, Sir, extremely well, keep it up.
Now, madam, mind your cue.
Colonel, I vow and proteſt I bluſh at my own behaviour, but exceſs of joy, betray'd me into a weakneſs unbecoming the delicacy of my ſex.
Not in the leaſt, my lovely Eleanora.—I'm glad ſhe's come down a little however.
Paſſion like ours, my dear, is above forms, and after ſuch an abſence, love muſt be allow'd to plead his own cauſe with warmth and energy.
I grant it, Colonel: but after all, we are not quite ſo young as when we parted laſt; the world perhaps will ſay theſe raptures don't be⯑come us ſo well as they might ſome few years ago.
Why really, my dear, in ſpite of all my paſ⯑ſion, I muſt ſubſcribe to your opinion; but you were always the pattern of prudence and diſ⯑cretion: the time is come, as you ſay, when we ſhould endeavour to moderate the affections; indeed, my dear, ours were far too violent.
To laſt long, I thought.
Ay, Colonel, we ſhould endeavour to be calm a little.
True, my dear, to look upon one another as I may ſay, with a kind of coolneſs.
Ay, a ſort of affected indifference.
Let our love gradually ſubſide into eſteem.
And mellow into friendſhip: O the joys of virtuous friendſhip! Don't you think, Co⯑lonel, time has made dreadful havoc with theſe poor features?
Why, really no, not much, the bloom indeed is a little off the plumb—but, to be ſure, as [17] to myſelf, I am not the ſame man—ſadly altered you ſee.
Very little, I think; the crows-foot on your right eye is a little larger indeed, but otherwiſe you are juſt the ſame you were fifteen years ago.
For your ſake, I wiſh I were; but old age creeps upon me—it does indeed: And then this nervous weakneſs—O, I have ſuffered dreadfully with the rheumatiſm.
Not ſo much as I have.
This cough will make an end of me ſoon.
O, mine's a thouſand times worſe.
Hark, what noiſe is that?
I tell you I will come up, and be d—'d to you.
As I live, my old friend the Commodore!
'Tis he, ſure enough, firing his nine pounders at my ſervants for not giving him admittance.
D—n you all, I tell you, I will come up; the fleet's arrived, and I muſt ſalute the admiral.
Why, what the devil's the matter with you all?—why, what do you keep your ports block'd up for in time of peace, ha?
Ha, Frank, give me thy hand, old boy; ſplit my top-ſails, but I'm glad to ſee thee—ay, and my little coz here too—give thee joy, my girl, with all my heart!—Ods life, Frank, ſhe's a pretty tight frigate ſtill, wants a little careening or ſo; you'll ſheath her when you get into her dock, ha, boy?—by your leave, old friend.
I vow, couſin Capſtern, you are a moſt in⯑delicate creature.
I'm glad to ſee him in health and ſpirits, however.
Glad to ſee me in health and ſpirits!—that's but a cold freſh-water compliment, Frank; but I excuſe you, you lovers can think of nothing but one another: I tell you what, cuz, you're a happy woman; I've known my friend Frank here, man and boy, theſe eight and forty years; we croſs'd the Medi⯑terranean together three times, and an honeſter fellow never ſtep'd between ſtem and ſtern:— [19] Give me thy hand, old meſſmate; I was glad to hear you was landed—I thought you would caſt anchor here, ſo I came full ſail to meet you.
We are abliged to you, Commodore. I wiſh he was in the Mediterranean again with all my heart.
What! you're bound for Matrimony-Point, I ſuppoſe; why, let me ſee, if the tide's with you, and a tolerable briſk gale, you may be in by this time to-morrow: I think I can keep a reckoning pretty well, I'm ſeldom out in my log-book, ha, Frank?
Fie, Commodore, how can you be ſo in⯑decent?
You put the lady to the bluſh, Jack.
I vow, Captain, you are quite vulgar: I believe you take me for a ſhip.
And a good thing too, couſin. Now I think on't, I remember, when I was a midſhipman, I made a good ſong upon that; it goes to the tune of—To all ye ladies now at land—I'll ſing it if you will, what ſay you, Frank?
O by all means, let's have it.
[20]Nonſenſe—never tell me; you've been long enough doubling the Cape, now you're got into ſmooth water and ſafe riding, get to your [21] moorings as faſt as you can; where's your graplings, my boy? Send for the parſon imme⯑diately. Harkee, Mrs. Demure, I inſiſt upon giving you away for old acquaintance ſake—when muſt it be—to-morrow—or next day?
The day, Sir, as yet is not determined.
Not determin'd! more ſhame for you; I tell you, Cuz. I muſt and will dance at your wed⯑ding; and what's more, d'ye ſee, I'll ſtand god⯑father to your firſt bantling, and give you a cool hundred to buy rigging for it; if I ſay it I'll do't, that's the humour of Commodore Capſtern.
Pri'thee, Couſin, don't run on ſo ridiculouſly—I wiſh he was out of the houſe.
But do you hear; if it's a boy, his name muſt be Capſtern; and if it's a girl, you ſhall call it after my firſt ſhip, the Venus Frigate, a ſweet veſſel ſhe was as ever ſwam upon the ſalt ſeas—Miſs Venus it ſhall be—an excellent name—come, come, you muſt and ſhall ſwing in the ſame hammock to-morrow night.
Zounds, Sir, do you take us for a boy and a girl!
Aye, Sir, to precipitate matters, Sir.
Precipitate! I don't know what you call pre⯑cipitate; it's a d—n'd hard word, by the [...]e, [22] and not in my dictionary: but I'll tell you what, Cuz, a veſſel that has got love in the ſails, and af⯑fection in the poop, will run you fifteen knots an hour; now you don't ſeem to care to go above three.
You're very facetious, Commodore; but things of this nature are not to be done in a hurry, let me tell you.
No, my friend, at our time of life people ſhould not be hurried.
Very true, Colonel.
Now's your time, Madam.
Many things muſt be done, Sir, I aſſure you, before we come together; how do you know, Couſin, but I may expect the Colonel will ſettle ſomething on my Nephew.
Your Nephew! who the devil's he? Sink me in a ſtorm if ever I heard you had one; who is he?
Who is he? why my ſiſter Dolly's ſecond ſon, the other died abroad; this is juſt arrived from the coaſt of Barbary.
Yes, I brought him from thence within this half hour.
This may prove a lucky circumſtance, Martin.
Take the hint Sir, and improve upon it—a Niece, a Niece.
The coaſt of Barbary! the devil he did; you miſtake COZ. I fancy he came over with Dr. Salamander, and the other gentlemen there from Otahite.
What Nephew is that, my dear!
O the ſweeteſt youth, my dear, that ever you ſet your eyes on; and ſo fond of his aunt; we do ſomething for him, poſitively muſt.
O with all my heart: he ſhall come in at our deaths with my niece, if you approve of it, ſhare and ſhare alike.
Your niece, Colonel!
Aye, Jack, don't you remember her? the only ſurviving daughter of my brother Tom?
Tom! why I always thought he died a bachelor.
Ay, but there, my dear Commodore, you are egregiouſly miſtaken.
An excellent ſcheme. I tell you what, Colonel, I was thinking, if you approve of it, to ſend for Charles immediately, and let him live with us.
With allmy heart; provided, my dear, which I'm ſure you'll have no objection to, you give me leave to introduce my little Angelica; 'tis the prettieſt little innocent wench.—Martin, this will do charmingly.
Agreed; this is delightful, Betty, he has no Suſpicions
—we ſhall be ſo happy in ſeeing the young folks—well; I'll go and ſend for my nephew.
And I'll write to my niece, to come imme⯑diately—well, good bye to you, Jack.
Couſin, your ſervant, we ſhall always be hap⯑py to ſee you, your humble ſervant, Couſin.
Yours, noble commodore; juſqu' au revoir.
Yours juſk-a-river; why what the Devils that! a pox of your parlevous I ſay; there's no good going forward, when an old Engliſh ſoldier be⯑gins ſputt'ring French: there's ſomething at the bottom of all this. I expected to find my two lo⯑vers at cloſe quarters, kiſſing and ſmuggling, and, egad! inſtead of that, they were gaping at [25] one another like a couple of oyſters. Then this Nephew and Niece—two undiſcovered Iſlands, that are not in my map. Yonder's the Colo⯑nel's valet and my Lady's maid, they're us'd to theſe ſeas, and mayhap may have a chart of 'em: I'll go a little cruize after 'em however; every gentleman of curioſity now a days takes a trip in ſearch of ſome terra incognita, ſo I'll not be out of the faſhion. If I ſay it I'll do't, that's the humour of Commodore Capſtern.
ACT II.
WELL, Colonel, how do you like my nephew?
Prodigiouſly! a very agreeable young fellow.
And handſome, is not he?
Ay, and ſo polite.
And ſo well made!
Has read a good deal.
And dances moſt delightfully—he has very fine eye-brows.
And no bad underſtanding—But pray what ſay you to my niece?
Oh! I doat on her.
And ſo do I.
She is very ſenſible.
Has fine eyes, has not ſhe?
And ſeem perfectly good natur'd—ſhe'll do any thing you deſire her.
I ſhall try that.
And has the prettieſt foot—Well, after all, my dear, there's nothing like the company of young people—'tis ſo pleaſant—
So it is—there's ſomething ſo chearful and joyous—why, do you know? when I'm in company with my nephew, I forget all my infirmities, and fancy I'm fifteen again.
Egad, and juſt ſo it is with me—would you believe it, my dear, when I'm with my niece, I have all the vigour and ſpirit of five and twenty.
I'm glad they're with us.
And ſo am I—it makes the time paſs away ſo prettily; we ſha'n't think it half ſo long before we're married.
Apropos, now you talk of that, Colonel, when are we to be tack'd together?
When you pleaſe, my dear; there's no hurry, we can marry, you know, now—or—
Let it alone—juſt as you will.
Suppoſe then we put it off for—a week.
A fortnight.
A month.
A year—as long as—
As may be neceſſary to ſettle our—But then, that—that—that Contract—what is become of it? Now for a trial.
Do you know now, Miſs Eleanor, between friends, I think that was but a fooliſh thing of us.
Very young indeed, and pretty ridiculous.
Extremely ſo—ſomething in it ſo illiberal.
True; ſo miſtruſtful, as it were.
As if you and I—
That love one another ſo dearly—
Doubted each other's honour—or were to be bound by ſuch ties—
As reſtrain only the baſeſt of mankind.
Now for it.
What did you do with that filthy paper?
It lies, I believe, upon my dreſſing table—I'll ſtep in and fetch it if you will.
Do, if it is only for the curioſity.
And luckily, I have got the counterpart in my pocket—now, love, aſſiſt me! If I could but get rid of theſe fetters—Well, thank heaven, ſhe has no ſuſpicion of my paſſion for Maria—but huſh—ſhe comes.
Here it is—and in a ſweet pickle.
And here is the counterpart.
Did you ever ſee ſuch a couple of old decay'd barriſters?
A little fatigued and dirty—or ſo—worn out.
Like ourſelves, Colonel, a little the worſe for wear.
'Tis mighty ſoft.
Decaying—mouldering!
I fancy it would tear eaſily.
Suppoſe we try.
With all my heart.
And with all mine—look here, I'm be⯑ginning—
So am I—go on—
Away with it.
Proceed.
Bravo!—it's done.
It's finiſhed.
I'm glad on't.
So am I.
Now we're at liberty,
Now we are free my dear Eleanor.
My dear Colonel.
I believe I ſhall die a bachelor.
And I a virgin—O dreadful!—well good bye to you—I'll go and ſee my nephew.
And I'll go and drink a diſh of tea, with my niece. Adieu.
Your ſervant—Ha, ha, ha!
So, Madam, I'm glad to ſee you ſo merry.
Betty, I'm the happieſt creature in the uni⯑verſe. Do you know I've regain'd my freedom, am miſtreſs of myſelf, and from this moment ſhall enjoy the ſovereign happineſs of woman, to act juſt as I pleaſe: In ſhort, my old Damon and I have been comparing notes, ſettled our love accounts, ſtruck the balance, and diſſolved the partnerſhip.
And now I hope you are at liberty to ſet up for yourſelf.
Yes, Betty, the Contract is torn; look there, 'tis moulting time with poor Cupid.
So I ſee—and the ground is ſtrew'd with his feathers.
And now, Betty, for my dear Captain; have you ſounded his inclinations, as I deſir'd you?
I have.
Well! and how?
Oh! he doats upon you—ſighs and wiſhes—but as I told you, has his fears—he's hor⯑ribly [32] afraid you ſhould change your mind, and therefore you know what I told you about ar⯑ticles, the ſettlement, and all that.
Yes, yes, every ſcruple ſhall be ſatisfied, and every doubt remov'd—I've given my lawyer orders about it. Well, I muſt go and dreſs—if he comes, you'll let me know immediately—and, do you hear, let me ſee no more of my Couſin Capſtern.
No, no, Madam, leave that to me.
Betty, you'll come in, and help to dreſs me.
I'll follow you Ma'am, in two minutes.—To be ſure, I'm a falſe Jade, but it is in a good cauſe, and what's more, I ſhall be well paid for it—now's the time to releaſe my poor pri⯑ſoner. Mr. Capſtern, Mr. Capſtern.
Is the coaſt clear?
Ay, ay, all's ſafe, you may come in.
Keep a good look oat tho'—the enemy's juſt a-ſtern of us.
O never fear, Sir, I'll take care of that.
Thou art an honeſt girl, Bet: the beſt advice⯑boat that has come in this tide; I ſee how the land lies; fine work, I'faith—that an old hulk, like my Couſin Eleanor, ſhould wiſh to be new rigg'd and mann'd—I'm not ſurpriz'd—but that my honeſt ſenſible friend Frank, ſhould want to ſlip his cable too—but I'll counter plot 'em; a couple of ridiculous dotards—but what ſay the young folks! how blows the wind there?
O, as fair as we could wiſh, Sir; they wou'd never have conſented to marry the old ones, tho' they are both ſtarving.
Why, that's noble!
Beſides, they have taken a huge fancy one to another, and if they could ſhake off this unnatural connection, which neceſſity forc'd them to and get a little ſomething to live upon, they wou'd be the happieſt of all human beings. But I told 'em of your honour's ſcheme, and they came into it immediately—they are reſolv'd to follow your honour's direction in every thing.
Why, that's right—mayhap, they may be the better for it—I like the young rogues [34] they're a couple of pretty little cock-boats, I intend to ſplice 'em together, call 'em the Union frigate, and launch 'em into the world with a good ballaſt mayhap in their bottom.
God bleſs your honour for your goodneſs; they're a couple of ſweet creatures, that they are; I told 'em of your honour's generoſity. I'm ſure Mr. Martin and I'll do any thing to ſerve your honour, and I hope your honour will remember us.
That I will, by and by, my girl; in the mean time, there's a biſcuit and a dram for you.
And ſo, Maria, you ſay, has promis'd the old Colonel to marry him.
Yes, Sir, but I cou'd hardly perſuade her to it; ſhe did not like to promiſe, ſhe ſaid, where ſhe never meant to perform: But I told her 'twas all fair.
Fair! aye, to be ſure—don't we always hang out falſe colours, to deceive the enemy? I did it all laſt war, or I ſhou'd not have ſo many ſhi⯑ners in my pocket.
And now, Sir, all we have to do is to pre⯑vent—
Theſe two ſhatter'd old hulks from ſplitting on the rocks; I'll ſend a fire-ſhip out, and blow 'em up firſt—let me ſee—
—aye, that will do. The beſt part of our plot is yet behind, my girl; always cloſe your line of battle with a firſt rate—that's my maxim.
Mrs. Betty! Mrs. Betty! where are you?
Here, here, man: what's the matter? come in, there's nobody here but the Commodore.
O Sir, I'm glad you're here, for our ſhip leaks confoundedly.
To work then, boy; pump away, and we'll clear her, I warrant you. But where's the da⯑mage?
O Sir, theſe impatient young lovers will ruin all, and ſpoil our ſport with the old ones.
How ſo?
I heard them juſt now making an appoint⯑ment to meet in the blue room, to ſettle mat⯑ters, as they call'd it. If my maſter, or your miſtreſs, ſhould over hear them—
By Neptune, the luckieſt thing that could happen; the very point in the compaſs that blows faireſt for us. Now, firſt and ſecond mate, obſerve my orders
Yes, your honour.
Let 'em be ſeen.
By whom?
By your miſtreſs. Let 'em be overheard.
By whom?
By your maſter—Have you never a back ſtair-caſe, never an old ſcreen to ſtand behind?
O, Sir, if that be all, in the next room are two of the moſt convenient cloſets for an eves dropper, not a word, nor a whiſper can eſcape.
That's fortunate, indeed; then ſtow your lumber there—do you, Martin, convey the Colonel to one, and let Betty ſhut up her miſtreſs in the other; give 'em a hint firſt of the lovers deſign, and jealouſy will do the reſt.
But won't this precipitate matters, Sir?
O leave that to me; if this does not open their eyes, let 'em ſink like a couple of blind puppies, and go to the bottom.
But what's to become of your honour?
O I ſhall wrap myſelf up in the ſhrouds, peep at 'em from above, then drop ſouſe down upon deck like a water-ſpout, and overwhelm them; come, come, every man to his gun; touch the wild-fire and away—briſk, briſk, my lad, the engagement is beginning, and the firſt fire, they ſay, is half the battle. I'll be with 'em, I warrant you; if I ſay't I'll do't, that's the humour of Commodore Cap⯑ſtern.
Well! I wiſh this buſineſs was over, and Maria fairly mine. O the delicious creature! methought 'twas but a faint promiſe which ſhe made me—the little gypſy inſiſts upon a ſettle⯑ment too; my old girl would have been very [38] well contented without one—but if a man will have dainties, he muſt expect to pay for 'em. I have ſome qualms of conſcience ſtill about poor Eleanor; and then that old Commodore will ſo fire his broad ſides upon me.
The devil's in theſe girls, I think—a little falſe jade!
Who's that, Martin? what's the matter now?
O nothing, Sir; nothing at all; only Miſs Maria—
Maria! what of her? is ſhe gone? is ſhe off?
O no, Sir, I believe ſhe'll be on preſently, but not with your honour.
What do you mean, Sirrah?
Only, Sir, that Miſs Maria, your honour's new neice, Sir, and Captain Sprightly, Miſs Eleanor's new nephew, are a little acquainted with each other, Sir, that's all. I heard 'em whiſpering together, and if I am not miſ⯑taken, [39]
they are coming this way. There's ſomething in the wind, I'm ſure.
O Martin, if I could but conceal myſelf any where.
That you may eaſily do, Sir; here's a very convenient cloſet, Sir; ſtep in, and ſhut the door after you, I'll let you know when they come—in, in.
So, I have caged my bird, and yonder comes Betty with her's.
I'm ſorry to ſay it, Ma'am, but it certainly is as I tell you, and if you'll ſtep into this cloſet a moment you'll be convinc'd of it; for I ſee 'em coming.
Here they are, Sir.
Come in, my ſweet Maria; don't be ſo ter⯑rified, there's nobody near us.
I'm ſo afraid of being watch'd. I wou'd not be overheard for the world.
Fear nothing, my ſoul; the old frights are both abroad, they have been gone out this half hour.
To prepare matters for their wedding, I ſuppoſe, and buy cords for our execution—but we ſhall ſlip our necks out of the collar, I can aſſure 'em.
Or get a reprieve at the gallows.
O, Spritely, our fate advances to a criſis, and I tremble for the event—Suppoſe our noble friend who has promiſed to ſupport, ſhould forſake and leave us to poverty and ruin.
Be not alarm'd, my love, he is the wor⯑thieſt of all human beings.
Who the devil is he?
You have promiſed and vow'd to marry the Colonel, I think.
Certainly.
And mean to fulfil it?
O no doubt of it—when next we meet I am to fix the day with him, and then—
Aye, and then, Maria—
Take the firſt opportunity of decamping with my dear Spritely.
The devil you will.
There's the girl of my heart; and I—
Aye, what will you do?
Why, as ſoon as Mouldy Miſs and I—
Thank you for the title.
Have ſettled our affairs, and appointed the time for our happy union, then will I fly to the generous Commodore—
I am much obliged to you, good couſin Capſtern.
Where I hope to meet—
Well, that's as you behave; in the mean time, before we build for ourſelves, let us take care of the ancient ſtructures here.
O the ridiculous pair of turtles! that ever age and youth ſhou'd think of coming toge⯑ther—that June and January, froſt and ſun⯑ſhine, the frigid and torrid zones, ſhou'd want to unite.
So, ſo!
Very fine, indeed!
But come, my love, the time ſlips away, and we may be diſcovered—we muſt not be ſeen together. Farewel, my ſweet Maria.
Dear Spritely, adieu—I muſt to my old Cambyſes.
And I muſt pay my compliments to Siſy⯑gambis.
Here's your old Cambyſes.
Here's your old Siſygambis.
Here's fine work.
This is luck indeed.
Your ſervant, noble Colonel.
Your ſervant, Miſs Eleanor.
I'm thunderſtruck!
I'm all amazement!
At length, Sir, I have diſcovered your baſeneſs.
At length, madam, I'm ſatisfied of your infidelity—What, wed your own nephew!
Marry your own neice!
Play the fool with a boy!
Marry a chit at laſt! a girl! O fie, Colonel! and you too, Sir,
whom I have cheriſh'd like a viper in my boſom—
And you, falſe crocodile,
whom I have—
Ha, ha, ha, ha!
The Commodore too!
Et tu Brute!
Ha, ha! what! my noble Cambyſes, and my fair couſin Siſygambis too! truly ridi⯑culous indeed! now do you look like a couple of Dutch bum-boats that had been loſt in a fog and fallen foul of one another; when the ſun comes out what a fooliſh figure they both cut! Well, couſin, am I to give you joy? what ſay you, Frank, are you married yet?
No, Sir,
Why then I ſay 'tis high time you were.
And pray, Mr. Capſtern, what right—
And pray, Mr. Capſtern, what privilege—
Aye, Sir, what right—
Aye, Sir, what privilege—
Z—ds, Sir, I have a right: I have a a privilege—a privilege which every honeſt man has a title to, to prevent his friend from playing the fool, and making himſelf either ridiculous or contemptible.
You take ſtrange liberties in my houſe, Mr. Capſtern.
I may take more, madam, perhaps, before I leave it. I ſhall beg leave to take the com⯑mand of the veſſel 'till I get you ſafe into port, and then you may ſuperſede me if you pleaſe—If I ſay it I'll do it, that's the humour of Commodore Capſtern.
I proteſt, Commodore, you're an arbitrary monarch.
Where there's a good king, as we always have at ſea, 'tis the beſt government, take my [46] word for it—come, come, my worthy friend, and moſt amiable couſin, if you have not a mind that the whole world ſhould laugh at you for a couple of ideots, fulfil your old contract, marry, and be happy. Go, go,
ſettle your matters im⯑mediately; I think I have powder and ſhot enough about me to ſilence this ſmall battery. I'll try at leaſt if they can hold out againſt my cannon here.
Well, Colonel, what ſay you?
Why, I think we have nothing elſe for it; my friend the Commodore, here, is a man of ſenſe; ſuppoſe for once we take his advice.
Any thing to oblige a friend of Mr. Love⯑more's.
Lets do it with a grace however.
Shall it be ſo?
O by all means—the thought is excellent! Ha, ha, ha!
Ha, ha, ha! well, Commodore, now the jeſt is over—we had only a mind to hum you [47] a little—you could never believe I ſeriouſly meant to marry that giggling girl there.
No, to be ſure, my little Cambyſes.
Or that I, when all the world knows I am turn'd of thirty, would throw myſelf away on a military macaroni of eighteen.
Never, my good Syſigambis, never; ſo, if you pleaſe, we'll e'en ſend for the parſon and tack you together.
Ay, to-morrow morning if you will.
To night, by heaven!—Spritely, Maria, come, give your uncle and aunt joy, like a dutiful nephew and niece as you are.
No more of that as thou lov'ſt me, Hal—Come, old girl, give me thy hand, and I think we ſhould join in thanking our good preſerver here, for giving us an opportunity of doing that now, which, if we had follow'd our own fooliſh inclinations, we ſhould in vain have wiſh'd to do a twelve-month hence.
Well, Commodore, I'll give the Colonel my hand, but you muſt promiſe to ſecure us from ridicule at all points: you muſt not ſend your ſmall ſhot after us.
O no; you have ſtruck your flag, begg'd for quarter, and there's an end of it. A Britiſh conqueror never inſults a fallen enemy. And now, my young friends, have you any ob⯑jection to following a good example?
None at all—I'll anſwer for both: but ma⯑trimony you know, Sir, is a long voyage, and who ſhall fit out the veſſel for us?
O that gentleman.
With all my heart. The pleaſure of riches is to be able, to give to thoſe that deſerve 'em; and the more ſhiners one has, the more pleaſure there is in diſpenſing 'em; that's my maxim. As they are going to loſe their uncle and aunt, the loſs cannot be better ſupplied than by a father: I have adopted them therefore for my own; and to ſhew you I'm no bad relation, ſhall preſent them with ten thouſand pounds to begin the world with.
Generous creature! O Spritely, how ſhall we repay our noble benefactor?
By loving one another better and better every day; and if your uncle and aunt had but a cap full of gratitude, they would contribute to ſtow your locker a little—what ſay you?—they have a long voyage to make, in a dangerous [49] ſea, a young pilot, and little proviſion but love.
Why, Commodore, as far as a few barrels of biſcuits and beer—
Well ſaid; and my couſin here, I'll anſwer for her, will not grudge to throw in ſome check ſhirts, a hammock and trowſers.
I ſha'n't ſcruple to follow the Colonel's example.
Then we'll furniſh the ſlops, I warrant; I'll tell you what, Frank: the greateſt pleaſure an honeſt man can enjoy aboard of this world, is to contribute to the happineſs of the whole crew. Give me thy hand, boy: coz, I give thee joy with all my heart: did not I tell you I'd dance at your wedding to-night? if I ſay it, I'll do't—that's the humour of Commodore Capſtern. And now, my brave boys and girls, you're all bound I find for the ſame port—I wiſh you a pleaſant voyage: and before you go, let an experienced old Tar give you a few ſailing orders.
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- Citation Suggestion for this Object
- TextGrid Repository (2016). TEI. 5130 The contract a comedy Of two acts As it was performed at the Theatre Royal in the Hay Market. . University of Oxford, License: Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License [http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/]. https://hdl.handle.net/11378/0000-0005-DBCB-0