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MOODY HARCOURT

SPARKISH

BELVILLE

WILLIAM Countrymen, &c.

MISS PEGGY

ALITHEA
LUCY.

ACT I.

SCENE I-Harcourt's Lodgings.

HARCOURT and BELVILLE discovered sitting. Har. Ha, ha, ha! and so you are in love, nephew; not reasonably and gallantly, as a young gentle

man ought, but sighingly, miserably so; not content to be ankle-deep, you have sous'd over head and ears; ha, Dick?

Bel. I am pretty much in that condition, indeed,

uncle.

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Har. Nay, never blush at it: when I was of your age I was asham'd too; but three years at college, and half a one at Paris, methinks, should have cured you of that unfashionable weakness— modesty.

Bel. Could I have released myself from that, I had perhaps been at this instant happy in the possession of what I must despair now ever to obtain. Heigho!

Har. Ha, ha, ha! very foolish indeed.

Bel. Don't laugh at me, uncle; I am foolish, I know; but, like other fools, I deserve to be pitied. Har. Pr'ythee don't talk of pity; how can I heip you? For this country girl of yours is certainly mar ried.

Bel. No, no; I won't believe it; she is not mar ried, nor she sha'n't be, if I can help it.

Har. Well said, modesty; with such a spirit you can help yourself, Dick, without my assistance.

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Bel. But you must encourage and advise me too, | you, sir; but as I did not know him, I said you were or I shall never make anything of it. not at home, but would return directly; And so will I too," said he, very shortly and surlily! and away he went, mumbling to himself.

Har. Provided the girl is not married; for I never encourage young men to covet their neighbours' wives.

Har. Very well, Will; I'll see him when he comes. Bel. My heart assures me, that she is not married. [Exit Servant.] Moody call to see me! He has Har. O, to be sure, your heart is much to be re-something more in his head than making me a lied upon; but to convince you that I have a fellow- | visit; 'tis to complain of you, I suppose. feeling of your distress, and that I am as nearly allied to you in misfortunes as in relationship, you must know

Bel. What, uncle? You alarm me!

Har. That I am in love, too.

Bel. Indeed!

Har. Miserably in love.

Bel. That's charming.

Bel. How can he know me?

Har. We must suppose the worst, and be prepared for him; tell me all you know of this ward of his, this Peggy-Peggy what's her name?

Be.. Thrift, Thrift, uncle.

Har. Ay, ay, Sir Thomas Thrift's daughter, of Hampshire; and left very young, under the guardianship of my old companion and acquaintance,

Har. And my mistress is just going to be married Jack Moody. to another.

Bel. Better and better.

Bel. Your companion!-he's old enough to be your father.

Har. I knew my fellow-sufferings would please you; but now prepare for the wonderful wonder-of-vantage of me in years, as well as wisdom. When wonders!

Bel. Well.

Har. My mistress is in the same house with yours. Bel. What, are you in love with Peggy, too? [Rising from his chair. Har. Well said, jealousy. No, no; set your heart at rest; your Peggy is too young, and too simple for me. I must have one a little more knowing, a little better bred, just old enough to see the difference between me and a coxcomb, spirit enough to break from a brother's engagements, and choose for her

self.

Bel. You don't mean Alithea, who is to be married to Mr. Sparkish?

Har. Can't I be in love with a lady that is going to be married to another, as well as you, sir?

Bel. But Sparkish is your friend ?

Har. Pr'ythee don't call him my friend; he can be nobody's friend, not even his own. He would thrust himself into my acquaintance, would introduce me to his mistress, though I have told him again and again that I was in love with her; which, instead of ridding me of him, has made him only ten times more troublesome, and me really in love. He should suffer for his self-sufficiency.

Bel. 'Tis a conceited puppy. And what success with the lady?

Har. No great hopes; and yet if I could defer the marriage a few days, I should not despair; her honour, I am confident, is her only attachment to my rival: she can't like Sparkish; and if I can work upon his credulity, a credulity which even popery would be ashamed of, I may yet have the chance of throwing sixes upon the dice to save me.

Bel. Nothing can save me.

Har. No, not if you whine and sigh, when you should be exerting everything that is man about you. I have sent Sparkish, who is admitted at all hours into the house, to know how the land lies for you, and if she is not married already

Bel. How cruel you are; you raise me up with one hand, and then knock me down with the other. Har. Well, well, she shan't be married. [Knocking at the door. This is Sparkish, I suppose; don't drop the least hint of your passion to him; if you do, you may as well advertise it in the public papers. Bel. I'll be careful.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. An odd sort of a person, from the country, I believe, who calls himself Moody, wants to see

Har. Thank you, nephew; he has greatly the adI first launched from the university into this ocean of London, he was the greatest rake in it; I knew him well for near two years, but all of a sudden he took a freak (a very prudent one) of retiring wholly into the country.

Bel. There he gain'd such an ascendancy over the odd disposition of his neighbour, Sir Thomas, that he left him sole guardian to his daughter; who forfeits half her fortune, if she does not marry with his consent. There's the devil, uncle.

Har. And are you so young, so foolish, and so much in love, that you would take her with half her value? Ha, nephew?

Bel. I'll take her with anything, with nothing.

Har. What! such an unaccomplish'd, awkward, silly creature? He has scarce taught her to write; she has seen nobody to converse with, but the country people about 'em; so she can do nothing but dangle her arms, look gawky, turn her toes in, and talk broad Hampshire.

Bel. Don't abuse her sweet simplicity; had you but heard her talk, as I have done, from the gardenwall in the country, by moon-light

Har. Romeo and Juliet, I protest; ha, ha, ha! "Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious" ha, ha, ha! How often have you seen this fair Capulet?

Bel. I saw her three times in the country, and spoke to her twice; I have leap'd an orchard-wall, like Romeo, to come at her; played the balcony scene, from an old summer-house in the garden; and if I lose her, I will find out an apothecary, and play the tomb scene too.

Har. Well said, Dick ! this spirit must produce something; but has the old dragon ever caught you sighing at her?

Bel. Never in the country; he saw me yesterday kissing my hand to her, from the new tavern window that looks upon the back of his house, and immediately drove her from it, and fastened up the

window-shutters.

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What, your nephew too, and a little dumpish, or so; have more wit than you used to have; besides, if you have been giving him a lecture upon economy, you have as much as you think you have, I shall be I suppose you, who never had any, can best de-out of your reach, and this profligate metropolis, in scribe the evils that arise from the want of it. I less than a week." Moody would fain have got rid never mind my own affairs, not I; "The gods take of him, but the other held him by the sleeve, so I care of Cato."-I hear, Mr. Belville, you have got a left 'em; rejoiced most luxuriously to see the poor pretty snug house, with a bow-window that looks devil tormented. into the Park, and a back-door that goes out into it. Very convenient, and well-imagined; no young handsome fellow should be without one; you may be always ready there, like a spider in his web, to seize upon stray'd women of quality.

Har. As you used to do you vain fellow, you; pr'ythee don't teach my nephew your abandoned tricks; he is a modest young man, and you must not spoil him.

Bel. I thought you said, just now, that he was not married; is not that a contradiction, sir? [Harcourt still makes signs to Belville.]

Spark. Why, it is a kind of one; but considering your modesty, and ignorance of the young lady, you are pretty tolerably inquisitive, methinks; en, Harcourt! ha, ha, ha!

Har. Pooh, pooh! don't talk to that boy, tell me all you know.

Spark. May be so, but his modesty has done some Spark. You must know, my booby of a brothermischief at our house; my surly, jealous brother-in-law hath brought up this ward of his (a good forin-law saw that modest young gentleman casting a wishful eye at his forbidden fruit, from the new tavern window.

Bel. You mistake the person, Mr. Sparkish; I don't know what young lady you mean.

Har. Explain yourself, Sparkish, you must mistake; Dick has never seen the girl.

Spark. I don't say he has; I only tell you what Moody says. Besides, he went to the tavern himself, and inquired of the waiter who dined in the back room, No. 4; and they told him it was Mr. Belville, your nephew; that's all I know of the matter, or desire to know of it, faith.

Har. He kiss'd his hand, indeed, to your lady, Alithea, and is more in love with her than you are, and very near as much as I am; so look about you; such a youth may be dangerous.

Spark. The more danger the more honour: I defy you both; win her and wear her, if you can; Dolus an virtus in love as well as in war! though you must be expeditious, faith; for I believe, if I don't change my mind, I shall marry her to-morrow, or the day after. Have you no honest clergyman, Harcourt, no fellow-collegian to recommend me, to do

the business?

Har. Nothing ever, sure, was so lucky. [Aside.] Why, faith, I have, Sparkish; my brother, a twinbrother, Ned Harcourt, will be in town to-day, and proud to attend your commands. I am a very generous rival, you see, to lend you my brother to marry the woman I love.

Spark. And so am I too, to let your brother come so near us; but Ned shall be the man; poor Alithea grows impatient; I can't put off the evil day any longer. I fancy the brute, her brother, has a mind to marry his country idiot at the same time.

Bel. How! country idiot, sir?

Har. Hold your tongue. [Apart to Belville.] I thought he had been married already.

Spark. No, no, he's not married, that's the joke

of it.

Bel. No, no, he is not married.

Har. Hold your tongue. [Elbowing Belville.] Spark. Not he; I have the finest story to tell you: by-the-by, he intends calling upon you-for he asked me where you lived-to complain of modesty there. He picked up an old raking acquaintance of his as we came along together, Will Frankly, who saw him with his girl, skulking and muffled up, at the play last night; he plagu'd him much about ma. trimony, and his being ashamed to show himself; swore he was in love with his wife, and intended to cuckold him. "Do you?" cried Moody, folding his arms, and scowling with his eyes thus" You must

tune let me tell you), as he coops up and fattens his chickens, for his own eating; he is plaguy jealous of her, and was very sorry that he could not marry her in the country, without coming up to town; which he could not do on account of some writings or other; so what does my gentleman? He persuades the poor silly girl, by breaking a sixpence, or some nonsense or another, that they are to all intents married in heaven; but that the laws require the signing of articles, and the church service to complete their union: so he has made her call him husband, and bud, which she constantly does; and he calls her wife, and gives out she is married, that she may not look after younger fellows, nor younger fellows after her, egad; ha, ha, ha! and all won't do. Bel. Thank you, sir. What heavenly news, uncle!

[Aside.]

Har. What an idiot you are, nephew. [Apart.] And so then you make but one trouble of it, and are both to be tack'd together the same day?

Spark. No, no, he can't be married this week; he d-ns the lawyers for keeping him in town; besides, I am out of favour; and he is continually snarling at me, and abusing me for not being jealous. [Knocking at the door. There he is; I must not be seen with you, or he'll suspect something; I'll go with your nephew to his house, and we'll wait for you, and make a visit to my wife that is to be, and perhaps we shall show young modesty here a sight of Peggy too.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. Sir, here's the strange odd sort of a gentleman come again, and I have shown him into the fore-parlour.

Spark. That must be Moody. Well said, Will; an odd sort of a strange gentleman indeed; we'll step into the next room till he comes into this, and then you may have him all to yourself; much good may he do you. [Going.] Remember that he is married, or he'll suspect me of betraying him.

[Exeunt SPARKISH and BELVILLE Har. Show him up, Will. [Erit Servant.] Now must I prepare myself to see a very strange, though a very natural metamorphosis; a once high-spirited, handsome, well-dress'd, raking prodigal of the town, sunk into a surly, suspicious, economical, country sloven.

Enter MOODY.

you forgot me?
Moo. Mr. Harcourt, your humble servant have

long absence from the town, the grumness of thy
Har. What, my old friend, Jack Moody! By thy

countenance, and the slovenliness of thy habit, I should give thee joy; you are certainly married.

Moo. My long stay in the country will excuse my dress, and I have a suit at law that brings me up to town, and puts me out of humour; besides, I must give Sparkish ten thousand pounds to-morrow to take my sister off my hands.

Har. Your sister is very much obliged to you: being so much older than her, you have taken upon you the authority of a father, and have engaged her to a coxcomb.

Moo. I have, and to oblige her: nothing but coxcombs or debauchees are the favourites now a-days; and a coxcomb is rather the more innocent animal

of the two.

Har. She has sense and taste, and can't like him; so you must answer for the consequences.

ble.-You have heard of a wolf in sheep's clothing; and I have seen your innocent nephew kissing his hands at my windows.

Har. At your sister, I suppose; not at her uniess he was tipsy. How can you, Jack, be so outrage. ously suspicious? Sparkish has promised to introduce him to his mistress.

Moo. Sparkish is a fool, and may be what I'll take care not to be.-I confess my visit to you, Mr. Harcourt, was partly for old acquaintance sake, but chiefly to desire your nephew to contine his gallantries to the tavern, and not send 'em in looks, signs, or tokens, on the other side of the way. I keep no brothel; so pray tell your nephew.

[Going.

Har. Nay, pr'ythee, Jack, leave me in better humour. Well, I'll tell him; ha, ha, ha! Poor Moo. When she is out of my hands, her husband | Dick, how he'll stare. This will give him a repumust look to the consequences. He's a fashionable | tation, and the girls won't laugh at him any longer. fool, and will cut his horns kindly. Shall we dine together at the tavern, and send for my nephew to chide him for his gallantry? Ha, ha ha! we shall have fine sport.

Har. And what is to secure your worship from consequences? I did not expect marriage from such a rake one that knew the town so well; fie, fie, Jack.

Moo. I'll tell you my security; I have married no London wife.

Har. That's all one; that grave circumspection in marrying a country wife, is like refusing a deceitful, pamper'd, Smithfield jade, to go and be cheated by a friend in the country.

Moo. I wish the devil had both him and his simile. Aside. Har. Well, never grumble about it; what's done can't be undone. Is your wife handsome and young?

Moo. She has little beauty but her youth, nothing to brag of but her health, and no attraction but her modesty; wholesome, homely, and housewifely; that's all.

Har. You talk as like a grazier as you look, Jack. Why did you not bring her to town before, to be taught something?

Moo. Which something I might repent as long as

I live.

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Moo. As rich as if she had the wealth of the mogul. She'll not ruin her husband, like a London baggage, with a million of vices she never heard of: then, because she's ugly, she's the likelier to be my own; and being ill-bred, she'll hate conversation; and since silly and innocent, will not know the dif ference between me and you; that is, between a man of thirty and one of forty.

Har. Fifty to my knowledge. [MOODY turns off, and grumbles.] But see how you and I differ, Jack; wit to me is more necessary than beauty; I think no young woman ugly that has it, and no handsome woman agreeable without it.

Moo. 'Tis my maxim; he's a fool that marries; but he's a greater that does not marry a fool. I know the town, Mr. Harcourt; and my wife shall be virtuous in spite of you or your nephew.

Har. My nephew! poor sheepish lad, he runs away from every woman he sees: he saw your sister Alithea at the opera, and was much smitten with her; he always toasts her, and hates the very name of Sparkish. I'll bring him to your house, and you shall see what a formidable Tarquin he is.

Moo. I have no curiosity, so give yourself no trou

Moo. I am not to be laugh'd out of my senses, Mr. Harcourt. I was once a modest young genieman myself; and I never have been half so mischievous before or since, as I was in that state of innocence.-And so, old friend, make no ceremony with me; I have much business, and you have much pleasure, and, therefore, as I hate forms, I will excuse your returning my visit, or sending your nephew to satisfy me of his modesty and so your servant. [Exit.

Har. Ha, ha, ha! poor Jack! what a life of suspicion does he lead! I pity the poor fellow, though he ought and will suffer for his folly.-Folly!-'tis treason, murder, sacrilege! When persons of a certain age will indulge their false, ungenerous appetites, at the expense of a young creature's happiness, dame Nature will revenge herself upon them, for thwarting her most heavenly will and pleasure.

ACT II.

[Erit,

SCENE I-A Chamber in Moody's house.

Enter PEGGY and ALITHEA.

Peg. Pray, sister, where are the best fields and woods to walk in in London?

Ali. A pretty question! Why, sister, Vauxhall, Kensington Gardens, and St. James's Park, are the most frequented.

Peg. Pray, sister, tell me why my bud looks so grum here in town, and keeps me up so close, and won't let me go a-walking, nor let me wear my best gown yesterday?

Ali. O, he's jealous, sister!
Peg. Jealous! What's that?

Ali. He's afraid you should love another man.

Peg. How should he be afraid of my loving another man, when he will not let me see any but himself?

Ali. Did he not carry you yesterday to the play? Peg. Ay; but we sat amongst ugly people: he would not let me come near the gentry, who sat under us, so that I could not see 'em. He told me none but naughty women sat there; but I would have ventured for all that

Ali. But how did you like the play?

Peg. Indeed I was weary of the play; but I liked hugeously the actors; they are the goodliest, properest men, sister.

Ali. O, but you must not like the actors, sister. Peg. Ay, how should I help it, sister? Pray, sister, when my guardian comes in, will you ask leave for me to go a-walking?

Ali. A-walking! ha, ha, ha! Lord, a country gentlewoman's pleasure is the drudgery of a footpost; and she requires as much airing as her husband's horses. [Aside.] But here comes my brother; I'll ask him, though I'm sure he'll not grant it. Enter MOODY.

Peg. O my dear, dear bud, welcome home; why dost thou look so fropish? Who has nager'd thee? Moo. You're a fool. [PEGGY goes aside and cries.] Ali. Faith, and so she is, for crying for no fault; poor, tender creature!

and the

Moo. What, would you have her as impudent as yourself; as arrant a girlflirt, a gadder, a magpie; and to say all, a mere notorious town woman. Ali. Brother, you are my only censurer; honour of your family will sooner suffer in your wife that is to be, than in me, though I take the innocent liberty of the town.

Moo. Hark you, mistress; do not talk so before my wife: the innocent liberty of the town!

Ali. Pray what ill people frequent my lodgings? I keep no company with any woman of scandalous reputation.

Moo. No, you keep the men of scandalous reputation company.

Ali. Would you not have me civil? Answer them at public places? Walk with them when they join me in the Park, Kensington Gardens, or Vauxhall? Moo. Hold, hold; do not teach my wife where the men are to be found; I believe she's the worse for your town documents already. I bid you keep her in ignorance as I do.

Peg. Indeed, be not angry with her, bud: she will tell me nothing of the town, though I ask her a thousand times a day.

Moo. Then you are very inquisitive to know,

find.

I

Peg. Not I, indeed, dear; I hate London: our place-house in the country is worth a thousand of 't; would I were there again!

Moo. So you shall, I warrant. But were you not talking of plays and players when I came in? You are her encourager in such discouses. [To ALITHEA. Peg. No, indeed, dear; she chid me just now for liking the player-men.

Moo. Nay, if she is so innocent as to own to me her liking them, there's no harm in't. Aside.] Come, my poor rogue, but thou likest none better

than me?

Peg. Yes, indeed, but I do: the player-men are finer folks.

Moo. But you love none better than me?
Peg. You are my own dear bud, and I know you:
I hate strangers.

Moo. Ay, my dear, you must love me only; and not be like the naughty town women, who only hate their husbands, and love every man clse; love plays, visits, fine coaches, fine clothes, fiddles, balls, treats, and so lead a wicked town life.

Peg. Nay, if to enjoy all these things be a town life, London is not so bad a place, dear. don.

Moo. How! if you love me you must hate

Moo. Ay, I warrant you.
Peg. Ay, I warrant you.

Moo. Why, you do not, I hope?

[ACT II

Peg. No, no, bud; but why have we no playermen in the country?

Moo. Ha! Mrs. Minx, ask me no more to go to a play.

Peg. Nay, why, love? I did not care for going; but when you forbid me, you make me, as it were, desire it. Pray let me go to a play, dear? Moo. Hold your peace; I won't. Peg. Why, love?

Moo. Why, I'll tell you.

Peg. Pray, why, dear?

Moo. First, you like the actors: and the gailants like you.

may

Peg. What, a homely country girl? No, bud, nobody will like me.

Moo. I tell you yes, they may.

Peg. No, no, you jest-I won't believe you; I

will go.

Moa I tell you, then, that one of the most raking fellows in town, who saw you there, told me he was in love with you.

Peg. Indeed: who, who, pray, who was't? Moo. I've gone too far, and slipt before I was aware. How overjoy'd she is! Aside. Peg. Was it any Hampshire gallant? any of our neighbours?-'Promise you I am beholden to him. Moo. I promise you, yon lie; for he would but ruin you, as he has done hundreds.

Peg. Ay, but if he loves me, why should he ruin me? Answer me to that. Methinks he should not;

I would do him no harm.

Ali. Ha, ha, ha!

Moo. 'Tis very well; but I'll keep him from doing you any harm, or me either. But here comes company; get you in, get you in.

Peg. But pray, husband, is he a pretty gentleman that loves me?

the door. What, all the libertines of the town Moo. In, baggage, in. [Thrusts her in, and shuts brought to my lodging by this easy coxcomb!

'Sdeath! I'll not suffer it.

Enter SPARKISH, HARCOURT, and BELVILLE.

Spark. Here, Belville, do you approve my choice? Dear little rogue, I told you I'd bring you acquainted with all my friends the wits. [To ALITHEA. Moo. Ay, they shall know her as well as you yourself will, I warrant you.

[Aside.

Spark. This is one of those, my pretty rogue, that you must make welcome; for he's modest. [BELVILLE are to dance at your wedding to-morrow; and one crosses and salutes ALITHEA; HARCOURT does the sume.] Harcourt makes himself welcome, and has not the same foible, though of the same family.

Har. You are too obliging, Sparkish. (ALITHEA and SPARKISH retire.]

Moo. And so he is, indeed. The fop's horns will as naturally sprout upon his brows as mushrooms upon dunghills. [Aride. tioned to me. Har. This, Mr. Moody, is my nephew you mersight of him will be sufficient, without poppy or I would bring him with me; for a mandragora, to restore you to your rest. [Joina ALITHEA and SPARKISH.]

Bel. I am sorry, sir, that any mistake or impru Lon-ness: it was not so intended, I assure you, sir. dence of mine should have given you any uneasi

Peg. But, bud, do the town women love the player-men too?

for that. My wife, sir, must not be smirk'd and Moo. It may be so, sir, but not the less criminal nodded at from tavern windows. I am a good shot,

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