Chapter II: 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_. _Fash_. Heyday! what the devil have we here? Sure my gentleman's grown a favourite at court, he has got so many people at his levee. _Lory_. Sir, these people come in order to make him a favourite at court--they are to establish him with the ladies. _Fash_. Good Heaven! to what an ebb of taste are women fallen, that it should be in the power of a laced coat to recommend a gallant to them? _Lory_. Sir, tailors and hair-dressers debauch all the women. _Fash_. Thou sayest true. But now for my reception. _Lord Fop_. [_To_ TAILOR.] Death and eternal tortures! Sir--I say the coat is too wide here by a foot. _Tai_. My lord, if it had been tighter, 'twould neither have hooked nor buttoned. _Lord Fop_. Rat the hooks and buttons, sir! Can any thing be worse than this? As Gad shall jedge me, it hangs on my shoulders like a chairman's surtout. _Tai_. 'Tis not for me to dispute your lordship's fancy. _Lory_. There, sir, observe what respect does. _Fash_. Respect! damn him for a coxcomb!--But let's accost him.--[_Coming forward_.] Brother, I'm your humble servant. _Lord Fop_. O Lard, Tam! I did not expect you in England. --Brother, I'm glad to see you.--But what has brought you to Scarborough, Tam!--[_To the_ TAILOR.] Look you, sir, I shall never be reconciled to this nauseous wrapping-gown, therefore pray get me another suit with all possible expedition; for this is my eternal aversion.--[_Exit_ TAILOR.] Well but, Tam, you don't tell me what has driven you to Scarborough.-- Mrs. Calico, are not you of my mind? _Semp_. Directly, my lord.--I hope your lordship is pleased with your ruffles? _Lord Fop_. In love with them, stap my vitals!--Bring my bill, you shall be paid to-morrow. _Semp_. I humbly thank your worship. [Exit.] _Lord Fop_. Hark thee, shoemaker, these shoes aren't ugly, but they don't fit me. _Shoe_. My lord, I think they fit you very well. _Lord Fop_. They hurt me just below the instep. _Shoe_. [_Feels his foot_.] No, my lord, they don't hurt you there. _Lord Fop_. I tell thee they pinch me execrably. _Shoe_. Why then, my lord, if those shoes pinch you, I'll be damned. _Lord Fop_. Why, will thou undertake to persuade me I cannot feel? _Shoe_. Your lordship may please to feel what you think fit, but that shoe does not hurt you--I think I understand my trade. _Lord Fop_. Now, by all that's good and powerful, thou art an incomprehensive coxcomb!--but thou makest good shoes, and so I'll bear with thee. _Shoe_. My lord, I have worked for half the people of quality in this town these twenty years, and 'tis very hard I shouldn't know when a shoe hurts, and when it don't. _Lord Fop_. Well, pr'ythee be gone about thy business.-- [_Exit_ SHOEMAKER.] Mr. Mendlegs, a word with you.--The calves of these stockings are thickened a little too much; they make my legs look like a porter's. _Mend_. My lord, methinks they look mighty well. _Lord Fop_. Ay, but you are not so good a judge of those things as I am--I have studied them all my life--therefore pray let the next be the thickness of a crown-piece less. _Mend_. Indeed, my lord, they are the same kind I had the honour to furnish your lordship with in town. _Lord Fop_. Very possibly, Mr. Mendlegs; but that was in the beginning of the winter, and you should always remember, Mr. Hosier, that if you make a nobleman's spring legs as robust as his autumnal calves, you commit a monstrous impropriety, and make no allowance Tor the fatigues of the winter. [_Exit--_ MENDLEGS.] _Jewel_. I hope, my lord, these buckles have had the unspeakable satisfaction of being honoured with your lordship's approbation? _Lord Fop_. Why, they are of a pretty fancy; but don't you think them rather of the smallest? _Jewel_. My lord, they could not well be larger, to keep on your lordship's shoe. _Lord Fop_. My good sir, you forget that these matters are not as they used to be; formerly, indeed, the buckle was a sort of machine, intended to keep on the shoe; but the case is now quite reversed, and the shoe is of no earthly use, but to keep on the buckle.--Now give me my watches [SERVANT _fetches the watches_,] my chapeau, [SERVANT _brings a dress hat_,] my handkerchief, [SERVANT _pours some scented liquor on a handkerchief and brings it_,] my snuff-box [SERVANT _brings snuff-box_.] There, now the business of the morning is pretty well over. [_Exit_ JEWELLER.] _Fash_. [_Aside to_ LORY.] Well, Lory, what dost think on't?--a very friendly reception from a brother, after three years' absence! _Lory_. [_Aside to_ TOM FASHION.] Why, sir, 'tis your own fault--here you have stood ever since you came in, and have not commended any one thing that belongs to him. [SERVANTS _all go off._] _Fash_. [_Aside to_ LORY.] Nor ever shall, while they belong to a coxcomb.--[_To_ LORD FOPPINGTON.] Now your people of business are gone, brother, I hope I may obtain a quarter of an hour's audience of you? _Lord Fop_. Faith, Tam, I must beg you'll excuse me at this time, for I have an engagement which I would not break for the salvation of mankind.--Hey!--there!--is my carriage at the door? --You'll excuse me, brother. [_Going_.] _Fash_. Shall you be back to dinner? _Lord Fop_. As Gad shall jedge me, I can't tell; for it is passible I may dine with some friends at Donner's. _Fash_. Shall I meet you there? For I must needs talk with you. _Lord Fop_. That I'm afraid mayn't be quite so praper; for those I commonly eat with are people of nice conversation; and you know, Tam, your education has been a little at large.--But there are other ordinaries in town--very good beef ordinaries--I suppose, Tam, you can eat beef?--However, dear Tam, I'm glad to see thee in England, stap my vitals! [_Exit_, LA VAROLE _following_.] _Fash_. Hell and furies! is this to be borne? _Lory_. Faith, sir, I could almost have given him a knock o' the pate myself. _Fash_. 'Tis enough; I will now show you the excess of my passion, by being very calm.--Come, Lory, lay your loggerhead to mine, and, in cold blood, let us contrive his destruction. _Lory_. Here comes a head, sir, would contrive it better than both our loggerheads, if she would but join in the confederacy. _Fash_. By this light, Madam Coupler! she seems dissatisfied at something: let us observe her. _Enter_ MRS. COUPLER. _Mrs. Coup_. So! I am likely to be well rewarded for my services, truly; my suspicions, I find, were but too just.-- What! refuse to advance me a petty sum, when I am upon the point of making him master of a galleon! but let him look to the consequences; an ungrateful, narrow-minded coxcomb. _Fash_. So he is, upon my soul, old lady; it must be my brother you speak of. _Mrs. Coup_. Ha! stripling, how came you here? What, hast spent all, eh? And art thou come to dun his lordship for assistance? _Fash_. No, I want somebody's assistance to cut his lordship's throat, without the risk of being hanged for him. _Mrs. Coup_. Egad, sirrah, I could help thee to do him almost as good a turn, without the danger of being burned in the hand for't. _Fash_. How--how, old Mischief? _Mrs. Coup_. Why, you must know I have done you the kindness to make up a match for your brother. _Fash_. I am very much beholden to you, truly! _Mrs. Coup_. You may be before the wedding-day, yet: the lady is a great heiress, the match is concluded, the writings are drawn, and his lordship is come hither to put the finishing hand to the business. _Fash_. I understand as much. _Mrs. Coup_. Now, you must know, stripling, your brother's a knave. _Fash_. Good. _Mrs. Coup_. He has given me a bond of a thousand pounds for helping him to this fortune, and has promised me as much more, in ready money, upon the day of the marriage; which, I understand by a friend, he never designs to pay me; and his just now refusing to pay me a part is a proof of it. If, therefore, you will be a generous young rogue, and secure me five thousand pounds, I'll help you to the lady. _Fash_. And how the devil wilt thou do that? _Mrs. Coup_. Without the devil's aid, I warrant thee. Thy brother's face not one of the family ever saw; the whole business has been managed by me, and all his letters go through my hands. Sir Tunbelly Clumsy, my relation--for that's the old gentleman's name--is apprised of his lordship's being down here, and expects him to-morrow to receive his daughter's hand; but the peer, I find, means to bait here a few days longer, to recover the fatigue of his journey, I suppose. Now you shall go to Muddymoat Hall in his place.--I'll give you a letter of introduction: and if you don't marry the girl before sunset, you deserve to be hanged before morning. _Fash_. Agreed! agreed! and for thy reward-- _Mrs. Coup_. Well, well;--though I warrant thou hast not a farthing of money in thy pocket now--no--one may see it in thy face. _Fash_. Not a sous, by Jupiter! _Mrs. Coup_. Must I advance, then? Well, be at my lodgings, next door, this evening, and I'll see what may be done--we'll sign and seal, and when I have given thee some further instructions, thou shalt hoist sail and be one. [_Exit_.] _Fash_. So, Lory, Fortune, thou seest, at last takes care of merit! we are in a fair way to be great people. _Lory_. Ay, sir, if the devil don't step between the cup and the lip, as he used to do. _Fash_. Why, faith, he has played me many a damned trick to spoil my fortune; and, egad, I am almost afraid he's at work about it again now; but if I should tell thee how, thou'dst wonder at me. _Lory_. Indeed, sir, I should not. _Fash_. How dost know? _Lory_. Because, sir, I have wondered at you so often, I can wonder at you no more. _Fash_. No! what wouldst thou say, if a qualm of conscience should spoil my design? _Lory_. I would eat my words, and wonder more than ever. _Fash_. Why faith, Lory, though I have played many a roguish trick, this is so full-grown a cheat, I find I must take pains to come up to't--I have scruples. _Lory_. They are strong symptoms of death. If you find they increase, sir, pray make your will. _Fash_. No, my conscience shan't starve me neither: but thus far I'll listen to it. Before I execute this project, I'll try my brother to the bottom. If he has yet so much humanity about him as to assist me--though with a moderate aid--I'll drop my project at his feet, and show him how I can do for him much more than what I'd ask he'd do for me. This one conclusive trial of him I resolve to make.

Succeed or fail, still victory is my lot;
If I subdue his heart,'tis well--if not,
I will subdue my conscience to my plot.

[_Exeunt_.]