The Mirror of Taste, and Dramatic Censor

Charles. Surely now a frank acknowledgment of error deserves a milder epithet than meanness.

Helen. As you seem equally disposed, sir, to quarrel with my words, as you are to question my conduct, I fear you will have little cause to congratulate yourself on this forced and tiresome interview.

Charles. Forced interview! Did ever woman so consider the anxiety of a lover to seek explanation and forgiveness! Helen, Helen, you torture me; is this generous? – is it like yourself? surely if you lov’d me —

Helen. Charles – I do love you – that, is, I did love you, but – I don’t love you, but (aside) ah! now I’m going to make bad worse.

Charles. But what, Helen?

Helen. The violence of temper you have discovered this morning, has shown me the dark side of your character; it has given a pause to affection, and afforded me time to reflect – now though I do really and truly believe that – you – love me Charles.

Sir W. (behind) I must see my daughter directly – where is she!

Enter Tiffany running

Tiffany. Ma’am, ma’am, your father’s coming up stairs, with a letter in his hand, muttering something about Mr. Charles; as sure as life you’ll be discovered.

Helen. For heav’n’s sake hide yourself; I would not have him find you here for worlds – here, step into the music-room.

Charles. Promise me first your forgiveness.

Helen. Charles, retire, I entreat you – make haste, he is here.

Charles. On my knees —

Helen. Then kneel in the next room.

Charles. Give me but your hand.

Helen. That is now at my own disposal – I beseech you go – (Charles just gains the door when enter sir Willoughby with a letter in his hand, and Lady Worret.)

Sir W. Gadzooks! Here’s a discovery!

Helen. A discovery, sir? (Helen looks at the door)

Sir W. Ay, a discovery indeed! – Ods life! I’m in a furious passion!

Helen. Dear sir, not with me I hope —

Lady W. Let me entreat you sir Willoughby to compose yourself; recollect that anger is very apt to bring on the gout.

Sir W. Damn the gout, I must be in a passion – my – life – harkye, daughter —

Helen. They know he’s here! so I may as well own it at once.

Lady W. Pray compose yourself, remember we have no proof.

Sir W. Why that’s true – that is remarkably true – I must compose myself – I will– I do– I am composed – and now let me open the affair with coolness and deliberation! Daughter, come hither.

Helen. Yes, sir – now for it! —

Sir W. Daughter, you are in general, a very good, dutiful, and obedient child —

Helen. I know it, papa – and was from a child, and I always will be.

Lady W. Allow me, sir Willoughby – you are in general, child, a very headstrong, disobedient, and undutiful daughter.

Helen. I know it, mamma – and was from a child, and always will be.

Lady W. How, madam! – Remember, sir Willoughby – there is a proper medium between too violent a severity, and too gentle a lenity.

Sir W. Zounds, madam, in your own curs’d economy there is no medium – but don’t bawl so, or we shall be overheard.

Lady W. Sir Willoughby, you are very ill I’m sure; but I must now attend to this business, daughter, we have heard that Charles —

Sir W. Lady Worret, my love, let me speak – you know, child, it is the duty of an obedient daughter, to obey her parents.

Helen. I know it, papa, and when I obey you, I am generally obedient.

Lady W. In short, child, I say again, we learn that Charles —

Sir W. Lady Worret, lady Worret, you are too abrupt, od-rabbit it, madam, I will be heard: this affair concerns the honor of my family, and on this one occasion, I will be my own spokesman.

Lady W. Oh heavens! Your violence affects my brain.

Sir W. Does it? I wish it would affect your tongue, with all my heart: bless my soul, what have I said! Lady Worret! lady Worret! you drive me out of my senses, and then wonder that I act like a madman.

Lady W. Barbarous man, your cruelty will break my heart, and I shall leave you, sir Willoughby, to deplore my loss, in unavailing despair, and everlasting anguish. [Exit.

Sir W. (aside) I am afraid not: such despair and anguish will never be my – happy – lot! – bless me, how quiet the room is – what can be – oh, my wife’s gone! now then we may proceed to business – and so daughter, this young fellow, Charles, has dared to return, in direct disobedience to his father’s commands.

Helen. I had better confess it all at once – he has, he has, my dear papa. I do confess it was very, very wrong; but pray now do forgive —

Sir W. I– forgive him! never; nor his father will never forgive him; sir Rowland writes me here, to take care of you; I have before given him my solemn promise to prevent your meeting, and I am sorry to say, I haven’t the least doubt that you know he is here, and will —

Helen. I do confess, he is here, papa.

Sir W. Yes, you’ll confess it fast enough, now I’ve found it out.

Helen. Indeed I was so afraid you would find it out, that I —

Sir W. Find it out! his father writes me word, he has been here in the village these three hours!

Helen. In the village! Oh, what, you heard he was in the village!

Sir W. Yes, and being afraid he should find his way to my house – egad I never was brisker after the fox-hounds than I was after you, in fear of finding you at a fault, you puss.

Helen. Oh! you were afraid he should come here, were you?

Sir W. Yes; but I’ll take care he shan’t; however, as my maxim is (now my wife doesn’t hear me) to trust your sex no farther than I can possibly help, I shall just put you, my dear child, under lock and key, ’till this young son of the ocean, is bundled off to sea again.

Helen. What! lock me up!

Sir W. Damme if I don’t. Come, walk into that room, and I’ll take the key with me. (pointing to the room where Charles entered.)

Helen. Into that room?

Sir W. Yes.

Helen. And do you think I shall stay there by myself?

Sir W. No, no. Here Tiffany! (enter Tiffany) Miss Pert here shall keep you company. I’ll have no whisperings through key-holes, nor letters thrust under doors.

Helen. And you’ll really lock me up in that room!

Sir W. Upon my soul I will.

Helen. Now, dear papa, be persuaded; take my advice, and don’t.

Sir W. If I don’t, I wish you may be in Charles Austencourt’s arms in three minutes from this present speaking.

Helen. And if you do, take my word for it I might be in his arms if I chose, in less than two minutes from this present warning.

Sir W. Might you so? Ha, ha! I’ll give you leave if you can: for unless you jump into them out of the window, I’ll defy the devil and all his imps to bring you together.

Helen. We shall come together without their assistance, depend on it, papa.

Sir W. Very well; and now, my dear, walk in.

Helen. With all my heart; only remember you had better not. (He puts her in.)

Sir W. That’s a good girl; and you, you baggage, in with you (to Tiffany, who goes in.)

Sir W. (shuts the door and locks it) “Safe bind, safe find,” is one of my lady Worret’s favourite proverbs; and that’s the only reason why I in general dislike it (going.)

Enter Falkner

Sir W. Once more welcome, my dear Falkner. What brings you back so soon?

Falk. You have a daughter —

Sir W. Well, I know I have.

Falk. And a wife.

Sir W. I’m much obliged to you for the information. You have been a widower some years I believe.

Falk. What of that? do you envy me?

Sir W. Envy you! what! because you are a widower? Eh? Zounds, I believe he is laughing at me (aside.)

Falk. I am just informed that every thing is finally arranged between your lady and his lordship respecting Helen’s marriage.

Sir W. Yes, every thing is happily settled.

Falk. I am sincerely sorry to hear it.

Sir W. You are! I should have thought Mr. Falkner, that my daughter’s happiness was dear to you.

Falk. It is, and therefore I do not wish to see her married to lord Austencourt.

Sir W. Why then what the devil is it you mean?

Falk. To see her married to the man of her heart, with whom I trust to see her as happy – as you are with lady Worret.

Sir W. Yes, ha! ha! ha! yes! but you are in jest respecting my daughter.

Falk. No matter! where is Helen?

Sir W. Safe under lock and key.

Falk. Under lock and key!

Sir W. Ay, in that very room. I’ve locked her up to keep her from that hot-headed young rogue, Charles Austencourt. Should you like to see her? She’s grown a fine young woman.

Falk. With all my heart.

Sir W. You’ll be surprised, I can tell you.

Falk. I dare say.

Sir W. We’ll pop in upon her when she least expects it. I’ll bet my life you’ll be astonished at her appearance.

Falk. Well, I shall be glad to see your daughter; but she must not marry this lord.

Sir W. No! Who then?

Falk. The man she loves.

Sir W. Hey! oh yes! but who do you mean! Charles Austencourt? (opening the door.)

Enter Lady Worret, suddenly

Lady W. Charles Austencourt!

Falk. (aloud, and striking the floor with his stick.) Ay, Charles Austencourt!

Charles. (entering) Here am I. Who calls?

Helen and Tiffany come forward, and Tiffany goes off

Sir W. Fire and fagots! what do I see?

Lady W. Ah Heavens defend me! what do I behold?

Falk. Why, is this the surprise you promised me? The astonishment seems general. Pray, sir Willoughby, explain this puppet show!

Lady W. Ay! pray sir Willoughby explain —

Sir W. Curse me if I can.

Helen. I told you how it would be, papa, and you would not believe me!

Sir W. So! pray, sir, condescend to inform lady Worret and me, how you introduced yourself into that most extraordinary situation.

Charles. Sir, I shall make no mystery of it, nor attempt to screen you from her ladyship’s just reproaches, by concealing one atom of the truth. The fact is, madam, that sir Willoughby not only in my hearing, gave Miss Helen his unrestricted permission to throw herself into my arms, but actually forced her into the room where I was quietly seated, and positively and deliberately lock’d us in together!

Lady W. Oh! I shall expire!

Sir W. I’ve heard of matchless impudence, but curse me if this isn’t the paragon of the species! Zounds! I’m in a wonderful passion! Daughter, I am resolved to have this affair explained to my satisfaction.

Helen. You may have it explained, papa, but I fear it won’t be to your satisfaction.

Charles. No, sir, nor to her ladyship’s either, and now, as my situation here is not remarkably agreeable I take my leave: madam, your most obedient, and sir Willoughby, the next time you propose an agreeable surprise for your friends —

Sir W. Harkye sir, how you came into my house I can’t tell, but if you don’t presently walk out of it.

Charles. I say, I heartily hope that you may accomplish your purpose.

Sir W. Zounds, sir, leave my house.

Charles. Without finding yourself the most astonished of the party! [Exit.

Sir W. Thank heaven my house is rid of him.

Lady W. As usual, sir Willoughby, a precious business you’ve made of this!

Sir W. Death and furies, my Lady Worret —

Falk. Gently, my old friend, gently: I’m one too many here during these little domestic discussions; but before I go, on two points let me caution you; let your daughter choose her own husband if you wish her to have one without leaping out of the window to get at him; and be master of your own house and your own wife if you do not wish to continue, what you now are, the laughing-stock of all your acquaintance. – [Exit.

Lady W. Ah! the barbarian!

Sir W. (appears astonished) I’m thunderstruck (makes signs to Helen to go before.)

Helen. Won’t you go first, papa?

Sir W. Hey? If I lose sight of you till you’ve explained this business, may I be laid up with the gout while you are galloping the Gretna Green! “Be master of your house and wife if you don’t wish to continue, what you now are! – Hey? the laughing-stock of all your acquaintance!” Sir Willoughby Worret the laughing stock of all his acquaintance! I think I see my self the laughing-stock of all my acquaintance (pointing to the door) I’ll follow you ladies! I’ll reform! ’tis never too late to mend! [Exeunt.

End of act IV

ACT V

SCENE I. – An apartment at sir Willoughby Worret’s. Enter sir Willoughby and lady Worret

Sir W. Lady Worret! lady Worret! I will have a reform. I am at last resolved to be master of my own house, and so let us come to a right understanding, and I dare say we shall be the better friends for it in future.

Lady W. You shall see, sir Willoughby, that I can change as suddenly as yourself. Though you have seen my delicate system deranged on slight occasions, you will find that in essential ones I have still spirit for resentment.

Sir W. I’ll have my house in future conducted as a gentleman’s should be, and I will no longer suffer my wife to make herself the object of ridicule to all her servants. So I’ll give up the folly of wishing to be thought a tender husband, for the real honour of being found a respectable one. I’ll make a glorious bonfire of all your musty collection of family receipt-books! and when I deliver up your keys to an honest housekeeper, I’ll keep one back of a snug apartment in which to deposit a rebellious wife.

Lady W. That will be indeed the way to make yourself respectable. I have found means to manage you for some years, and it will be my own fault if I don’t do so still.

Sir W. Surely I dream! what? have you managed me? Hey? Zounds! I never suspected that. Has sir Willoughby Worret been lead in leading-strings all this time? Death and forty devils, madam, have you presumed to manage me?

Lady W. Yes, sir; but you had better be silent on the subject, unless you mean to expose yourself to your daughter and all the world.

Sir W. Ay, Madam, with all my heart; my daughter and all the world shall know it.

Enter Helen

Helen. Here’s a pretty piece of work! – what’s the matter now, I wonder?

Lady W. How dare you overhear our domestic dissentions. What business have you to know we were quarrelling, madam?

Helen. Lord love you! if I had heard it, I should not have listened, for its nothing new, you know, when you’re alone; though you both look so loving in public.

Sir W. That’s true – that is lamentably true – but all the world shall know it – I’ll proclaim it; I’ll print it – I’ll advertise it! – She has usurped my rights and my power; and her fate, as every usurper’s should be, shall be public downfall and disgrace.

Helen. What, papa! and won’t you let mamma-in-law rule the roast any longer?

Sir W. No, – I am resolved from this moment no longer to give way to her absurd whims and wishes.

Helen. You are!

Sir W. Absolutely and immovably.

Helen. And you will venture to contradict her?

Sir W. On every occasion – right or wrong.

Helen. That’s right – Pray, madam, don’t you wish me to marry lord Austencourt?

Lady W. You know my will on that head, Miss Helen!

Helen. Then, papa, of course you wish me to marry Charles Austencourt.

Sir W. What! no such thing – no such thing – what! marry a beggar?

Helen. But you won’t let mamma rule the roast, will you, sir?

Sir W. ’Tis a great match! I believe in that one point we shall still agree —

Lady W. You may spare your persuasions, Madam, and leave the room.

Sir W. What – my daughter leave the room? Stay here, Helen.

Helen. To be sure I shall – I came on purpose to tell you the news! oh, tis a pretty piece of work!

Sir W. What does the girl mean?

Helen. Why, I mean that in order to ruin a poor innocent girl, in our neighbourhood, this amiable lord has prevailed on her to consent to a private marriage – and it now comes out that it was all a mock marriage, performed by a sham priest, and a false license!

Lady W. I don’t believe one word of it.

Sir W. But I do – and shall inquire into it immediately.

Lady W. Such a match for your daughter is not to be relinquished on slight grounds; and though his lordship should have been guilty of some indiscretion, it will not alter my resolution respecting his union with Helen.

Sir W. No – but it will mine – and to prove to you, madam, that however you may rule your household, you shall no longer rule me– if the story has any foundation – I say – she shall not marry lord Austencourt.

Lady W. Shall not?

Sir W. No, Madam, shall not – and so ends your management, and thus begins my career of new-born authority. I’m out of leading-strings now, and madam, I’ll manage you, damn me if – I – do – not! [Exit sir Willoughby.

Helen. (to Lady W) You hear papa’s will on that head, ma’am.

Lady W. I hear nothing! – I see nothing! – I shall go mad with vexation and disappointment, and if I do not break his resolution, I am determined to break his heart; and my own heart, and your heart, and the hearts of all the rest of the family. [Exit.

Helen. There she goes, with a laudable matrimonial resolution. Heigho! with such an example before my eyes, I believe I shall never have resolution to die an old maid. Oh, Charles, Charles – why did you take me at my word! – Bless me! sure I saw him then – ’tis he indeed! So, my gentleman, are you there? I’ll just retire and watch his motions a little (retires.)

Enter Charles Austencourt, cautiously

Charles. What a pretty state am I reduced to? though I am resolved to speak with this ungrateful girl but once more before I leave her for ever; here am I, skulking under the enemy’s batteries as though I was afraid of an encounter! – Yes, I’ll see her, upbraid her, and then leave her for ever! heigho! she’s a false, deceitful – dear, bewitching girl, and – however, I am resolved that nothing on earth – not even her tears, shall now induce me to forgive her. (Tiffany crosses the stage.)

Charles. Ha! – harkye, young woman! pray are the family at home?

Tiffany. My lady is at home, sir – would you please to see her?

Charles. Your lady – do you mean your young lady?

Tiffany. No, sir, I mean my lady.

Charles. What, your old lady? – No – I don’t wish to see her. Are all the rest of the family from home —

Tiffany. No, sir – sir Willoughby is within – I’ll tell him you are here. (going.)

Charles. By no means – stay – stay! what then, they are all at home except Miss Helen.

Tiffany. She’s at home too, sir – but I suppose she don’t wish to see you.

Charles. You suppose!

Tiffany. I’m sure she’s been in a monstrous ill-humour ever since you came back, sir.

Charles. The devil she has! – and pray now are you of opinion that my return is the cause of her ill-humour?

Tiffany. Lord, sir – what interest have I in knowing such things? —

Charles. Interest! – oh, ho! the old story! why harkye, my dear – your mistress has a lord for her lover, so I suppose he has secured a warmer interest than I can afford to purchase – however, I know the custom, and thus I comply with it, in hopes you will tell me whether you really think my return has caused your young mistress’ ill-humour – (gives money).

Tiffany. A guinea! well! I declare! why really, sir – when I say Miss Helen has been out of humour on your account, I don’t mean to say it is on account of your return, but on account of your going away again —

Charles. No! my dear Tiffany!

Tiffany. And I am sure I don’t wonder at her being cross about it, for if I was my mistress I never would listen with patience (any more than she does) to such a disagreeable creature as my lord, while such a generous nice gentleman as you was ready to make love to me.

Charles. You couldn’t?

Tiffany. No, sir – and I’m sure she’s quite altered and melancholy gone since you quarrelled with her, and she vows now more than ever that she never will consent to marry my lord, or any body but you – (Helen comes forward gently.)

Charles. My dear Tiffany! – let me catch the sounds from your rosy lips. (Kisses her) —

Helen. (separating them) Bless me! I am afraid I interrupt business here!

Charles. I – I – I – Upon my soul, Madam – what you saw was —

Tiffany. Ye – ye – yes – upon my word, ma’am – what you saw was —

Helen. What I saw was very clear indeed! —

Charles. Hear me but explain – you do not understand. —

Helen. I rather think I do understand.

Tiffany. Indeed, Ma’am, Mr. Charles was only whispering something I was to tell you —

Helen. And pray, ma’am, do you suffer gentlemen in general to whisper in that fashion? – what do you stand stammering and blushing there for? – why don’t you go?

Tiffany. Yes, ma’am, – but I assure you —

Helen. What! you stay to be whispered to again, I suppose. [Exit Tiffany.

Charles. Let me explain this, – oh, Helen – can you be surprised?

Helen. No, sir, I can’t be surprised at any thing after what I have just witnessed —

Charles. On my soul, it was excess of joy at hearing you still lov’d me, that led me into this confounded scrape.

Helen. Sir, you should not believe it – I don’t love you. I wont love you, – and after what I have just seen, you can’t expect I should love you —

Charles. Helen! Helen! you make no allowance for the fears of a man who loves you to distraction. I have borne a great deal, and can bear but very little more —

Helen. Poor man! you’re sadly loaded with grievances, to be sure; and by and by, I suppose, like a horse or a mule, or some such stubborn animal, having more than you can bear, you’ll kick a little, and plunge a little, and then down on your knees again!

Charles. I gloried even in that humble posture, while you taught me to believe you loved me.

Helen. ’Tis true, my heart was once your own, but I never can, nor ought to forgive you – for thinking me capable of being unfaithful to you.