The Mirror of Taste, and Dramatic Censor

O’Ded. And so you begged!

Sailor. Begged! no. I just axed for a bit of bread and a mug o’ water. That’s no more than one Christian ought to give another, and if you call that begging, why I beg to differ in opinion.

O’Ded. According to the act you are a vagrant, and the justice may commit ye; (aside to the officer) lookye, Mr. Officer – you’re in the wrong box here. Can’t you see plain enough, by his having lost an arm, that he earns a livelihood by the work of his hands; so lest he should be riotous for being detained, let me advise you to be off. I’ll send him off after you with a flea in his ear – the other way.

Officer. Thank ye, sir, thank ye. I’m much obliged to you for your advice, sir, and shall take it, and so my service to you. [Exit.

O’Ded. Take this my honest lad; (gives money) say nothing about it, and give my service to Nancy.

Sailor. Why now, heaven bless you honour forever; and if ever you’re in distress, and I’m within sight of signals, why hang out your blue lights; and if I don’t bear down to your assistance, may my gun be primed with damp powder the first time we fire a broadside at the enemy. [Exit.

O’Dedimus rings a bell

O’Ded. Ponder! Now will this fellow be thinking and thinking, till he quite forgets what he’s doing. Ponder, I say! (enter Ponder.) Here, Ponder, take this letter to farmer Flail’s, and if you see Mrs. Muddle, his neighbour, give my love and duty to her.

Ponder. Yes, yes, sir; but at that moment, sir, I was immersed in thought, if I may be allowed the expression; I was thinking of the vast difference between love and law, and yet how neatly you’ve spliced them together in your last instructions to your humble servant, Peter Ponder, clerk. – Umph!

O’Ded. Umph! is that your manners, you bear-garden? Will I never be able to larn you to behave yourself? Study me, and talk like a gentleman, and be damn’d to ye.

Ponder. I study the law; I can’t talk it.

O’Ded. Cant you? Then you’ll never do. If your tongue don’t run faster than your client’s, how will you ever be able to bother him, you booby?

Ponder. I’ll draw out his case; he shall read, and he’ll bother himself.

O’Ded. You’ve a notion. Mind my instructions, and I don’t despair of seeing you at the bar one day. Was that copy of a writ sarved yesterday upon Garble, the tailor?

Ponder. Aye.

O’Ded. And sarve him right too. That’s a big rogue, that runs in debt wid his eyes open, and though he has property, refuses to pay. Is he safe?

Ponder. He was bailed by Swash the brewer.

O’Ded. And was the other sarved on Shuttle, the weaver?

Ponder. Aye.

O’Ded. Who bailed him?

Ponder. Nobody. He’s gone to jail.

O’Ded. Gone to jail! Why his poverty is owing to misfortune. He can’t pay. Well, that’s not our affair. The law must have its course.

Ponder. So Shuttle said to his wife, as she hung crying on his shoulder.

O’Ded. That’s it; he’s a sensible man; and that’s more than his wife is. We’ve nothing to do with women’s tears.

Ponder. Not a bit. So they walked him off to jail in a jiffey, if I may be allowed the expression.

O’Ded. To be sure, and that was right. They did their duty: though for sartin, if a poor man can’t pay his debts when he’s at liberty, he wont be much nearer the mark when he’s shut up in idleness in a prison.

Ponder. No.

O’Ded. And when he that sent them there comes to make up his last account, ’tis my belief that he wont be able to show cause why a bill shouldn’t be filed against him for barbarity. Are the writings all ready for sir Rowland?

Ponder. All ready. Shall I now go to farmer Flail’s with the letter?

O’Ded. Aye, and if you see Shuttle’s wife in your way, give my service to her; and d’ye hear, as you’re a small talker, don’t let the little you say be so cursed crabbed; and if a few kind words of comfort should find their way from your heart to your tongue, don’t shut your ugly mouth, and keep them within your teeth. You may tell her that if she can find any body to stand up for her husband, I shan’t be over nice about the sufficiency of the bail. Get you gone.

Ponder. I shall. Let me see! farmer Flail – Mrs. Muddle, his neighbour – Shuttle’s wife – and a whole string of messages and memorandums – here’s business enough to bother the brains of any ordinary man! You are pleased to say, sir, that I am too much addicted to thinking – I think not. [Exit Ponder.

O’Ded. By my soul, if an attorney wasn’t sometimes a bit of a rogue, he’d never be able to earn an honest livelihood. Oh Mr. O’Dedimus! why have you so little when your heart could distribute so much!

Sir Rowland, without

Sir Row. Mr. O’Dedimus – within there!

O’Ded. Yes, I’m within there.

Enter sir Rowland

Sir Row. Where are these papers? I thought the law’s delay was only felt by those who could not pay for its expedition.

O’Ded. The law, sir Rowland, is a good horse, and his pace is slow and sure; but he goes no faster because you goad him with a golden spur; but every thing is prepared, sir; and now, sir Rowland, I have an ugly sort of an awkward affair to mention to you.

Sir Row. Does it concern me?

O’Ded. You know, sir Rowland, at the death of my worthy friend, the late lord Austencourt, you were left sole executor and guardian to his son, the present lord, then an infant of three years of age.

Sir Row. What does this lead to? (starting)

O’Ded. With a disinterested view to benefit the estate of the minor, who came of age the other day, you some time ago embarked a capital of 14,000l. in a great undertaking.

Sir Row. Proceed.

O’Ded. I have this morning received a letter from the agent, stating the whole concern to have failed, the partners to be bankrupts, and the property consigned to assignees not to promise, as a final dividend, more than one shilling in the pound. This letter will explain the rest.

Sir Row. How! I was not prepared for this – What’s to be done?

O’Ded. When one loses a sum of money that isn’t one’s own, there’s but one thing to be done.

Sir Row. And what is that?

O’Ded. To pay it back again.

Sir Row. You know that to be impossible, utterly impossible.

O’Ded. Then, sir Rowland, take the word of Cornelius O’Dedimus, attorney at law, his lordship will rigidly exact the money, to the uttermost farthing.

Sir Row. You are fond, sir, of throwing out these hints to his disadvantage.

O’Ded. I am bold to speak it – I am possessed of a secret, sir Rowland, in regard to his lordship.

Sir Row. (alarmed.) What is it you mean?

O’Ded. I thought I told you it was a secret.

Sir Row. But to me you should have no secrets that regard my family.

O’Ded. With submission, sir Rowland, his lordship is my client, as well as yourself, and I have learned from the practice of the courts, that an attorney who blabs in his business has soon no suit to his back.

Sir Row. But this affair, perhaps, involves my deepest interest – my character – my all is at stake.

O’Ded. Have done wid your pumping now – d’ye think I am a basket full of cinders, that I’m to be sifted after this fashion?

Sir Row. Answer but this – does it relate to Charles, my son?

O’Ded. Sartinly, the young gentleman has a small bit of interest in the question.

Sir Row. One thing more. Does it allude to a transaction which happened some years ago – am I a principal concerned in it?

O’Ded. Devil a ha’porth – it happened only six months past.

Sir R. Enough – I breathe again.

O’Ded. I’m glad of that, for may-be you’ll now let me breathe to tell you that as I know lord Austencourt’s private character better than you do, my life to a bundle of parchment, he’ll even arrest ye for the money.

Sir R. Impossible, he cannot be such a villain!

Abel Grouse. (without) What ho! is the lawyer within?

Sir Row. Who interrupts us?

O’Ded. ’Tis the strange man that lives on the common – his name is Abel Grouse – he’s coming up.

Sir R. I’ll wait till you dismiss him, for I cannot encounter any one at present. Misfortunes crowd upon me; and one act of guilt has drawn the vengeance of Heaven on my head, and will pursue me to the grave. [Exit to an inner room.

O’Ded. Och! if a small gale of adversity blows up such a storm as this, we shall have a pretty hurricane by and by, when you larn a little more of your hopeful nephew, and see his new matrimonial scheme fall to the ground, like buttermilk through a sieve.

Enter Abel Grouse

Abel Grouse. Now, sir, you are jackall, as I take it, to lord Austencourt.

O’Ded. I am his man of business, sure enough; but didn’t hear before of my promotion to the office you mention.

Ab. Gr. You are possessed of all his secret deeds.

O’Ded. That’s a small mistake – I have but one of them, and that’s the deed of settlement on Miss Helen Worret, spinster.

Ab. Gr. Leave your quibbling, sir, and speak plump to the point – if habit hasn’t hardened your heart, and given a system to your knavery, answer me this: lord Austencourt has privately married my daughter?

O’Ded. Hush!

Ab. Gr. You were a witness.

O’Ded. Has any body told you that thing?

Ab. Gr. Will you deny it?

O’Ded. Will you take a friend’s advice?

Ab. Gr. I didn’t come for advice. I came to know if you will confess the fact, or whether you are villain enough to conceal it.

O’Ded. Have done wid your bawling – sir Rowland’s in the next room!

Ab. Gr. Is he? then sir Rowland shall hear me – Sir Rowland! – he shall see my daughter righted – Ho there! Sir Rowland!

O’Ded. (aside) Here’ll be a devil of a dust kicked up presently about the ears of Mr. Cornelius O’Dedimus, attorney at law!

Enter sir Rowland

Sir Row. Who calls me?

Ab. Gr. ’Twas I!

Sir Row. What is it you want, friend?

Ab. Gr. Justice!

Sir Row. Justice! then you had better apply there, (pointing to O’Dedimus.)

Ab. Gr. That’s a mistake – he deals only in law– ’tis to you that I appeal – Your nephew, lord Austencourt, is about to marry the daughter of sir Willoughby Worret.

Sir Row. He is.

Ab. Gr. Never! I will save him the guilt of that crime at least!

Sir Row. You are mysterious, sir.

Ab. Gr. Perhaps I am. Briefly, your nephew is privately married to my daughter – this man was present at their union – will you see justice done me, and make him honourably proclaim his wife?

Sir Row. Your tale is incredible, sir – it is sufficient, however, to demand attention, and I warn you, lest by your folly you rouse an indignation that may crush you.

Ab. Gr. Hear me, proud man, while I warn you! My daughter is the lawful wife of lord Austencourt – double is the wo to me that she is his wife: but as it is so, he shall publicly acknowledge her – to you I look for justice and redress – see to it, sir, or I shall speedily appear in a new character, with my wrongs in my hand, to hurl destruction on you. [Exit.

Sir Row. What does the fellow mean?

O’Ded. That’s just what I’m thinking —

Sir Row. You, he said, was privy to their marriage.

O’Ded. Bless ye, the man’s mad!

Sir Row. Ha! you said you had a secret respecting my nephew.

O’Ded. Sir, if you go on so, you’ll bother me!

Sir Row. The fellow must be silenced – can you not contrive some means to rid us of his insolence?

O’Ded. Sir, I shall do my duty, as my duty should be done, by Cornelius O’Dedimus, attorney at law.

Sir Row. My nephew must not hear of this accursed loss – be secret on that head, I charge you! but in regard to this man’s bold assertion, I must consult him instantly – haste and follow me to his house.

O’Ded. Take me wid ye, sir; for this is such a dirty business, that I’ll never be able to go through it unless you show me the way. [Exeunt.

End of act I

ACT II

SCENE I. – A library at Sir Willoughby’s. Enter Helen with Servant

Helen. Lord Austencourt – true – this is his hour for persecuting me – very well, desire lord Austencourt to come in. (exit servant) I won’t marry. They all say I shall. Some girls, now, would sit down and sigh, and moan, as if that would mend the matter – that will never suit me! Some indeed would run away with the man they liked better – but then the only man I ever liked well enough to marry – is – I believe, run away from me. Well! that won’t do! – so I’ll e’en laugh it off as well as I can; and though I wont marry his lordship, I’ll teaze him as heartily as if I had been his wife these twenty years.

Enter lord Austencourt

Lord A. Helen! too lovely Helen! once more behold before you to supplicate for your love and pity, the man whom the world calls proud, but whom your beauty alone has humbled.

Helen. They say, my lord, that pride always has a fall some time or other. I hope the fall of your lordship’s hasn’t hurt you.

Lord A. Is it possible that the amiable Helen, so famed for gentleness and goodness, can see the victim of her charms thus dejected stand before her.

Helen. Certainly not, my lord – so pray sit down.

Lord A. Will you never be for one moment serious?

Helen. Oh, yes, my lord! I am never otherwise when I think of your lordship’s proposals – but when you are making love and fine speeches to me in person, ’tis with amazing difficulty I can help laughing.

Lord A. Insolent vixin. (aside) I had indulged a hope, madam, that the generosity and disinterested love I have evinced —

Helen. Why as to your lordship’s generosity in condescending to marry a poor solitary spinster, I am certainly most duly grateful – and no one can possibly doubt your disinterestedness, who knows I am only heiress to 12,000l. a year – a fortune which, as I take it, nearly doubles the whole of your lordship’s rent roll!

Lord A. Really, madam, if I am suspected of any mercenary motives, the liberal settlements which are now ready for your perusal, must immediately remove any such suspicion.

Helen. Oh, my lord, you certainly mistake me – only as my papa observes, our estates do join so charmingly to one another!

Lord A. Yes: – that circumstance is certainly advantageous to both parties (exultingly.)

Helen. Certainly! – only, as mine is the biggest, perhaps yours would be the greatest gainer by the bargain.

Lord A. My dear madam, a title and the advantages of elevation in rank amply compensate the sacrifice on your part.

Helen. Why, as to a title, my lord (as Mr. O’Dedimus, your attorney, observes) there’s no title in my mind better than a good title to a fine estate – and I see plainly, that although your lordship is a peer of the realm – you think this title of mine no mean companion for your own.

Lord A. Nay, madam – believe me – I protest – I assure you – solemnly, that those considerations have very little – indeed no influence at all with me.

Helen. Oh, no! – only it is natural that you should feel (as papa again observes) that the contiguity of these estates seem to invite a union by a marriage between us.

Lord A. And if you admit that fact, why do you decline the invitation?

Helen. Why, one doesn’t accept every invitation that’s offered, you know – one sometimes has very disagreeable ones; and then one presents compliments, and is extremely sorry that a prior engagement obliges us to decline the honour.

Lord A. (aside) Confound the satirical huzzy – But should not the wishes of your parents have some weight in the scale?

Helen. Why, so they have; their wishes are in one scale, and mine are in the other; do all I can, I can’t make mine weigh most, and so the beam remains balanced.

Lord A. I should be sorry to make theirs preponderate, by calling in their authority as auxiliaries to their wishes.

Helen. Authority! – Ho! what, you think to marry me by force! do ye my lord?

Lord A. They are resolute, and if you continue obstinate —

Helen. I dare say your lordship’s education hasn’t precluded your knowledge of a very true, though rather vulgar proverb, “one man may lead a horse to the water, but twenty can’t make him drink.”

Lord A. The allusion may be classical, madam, though certainly it is not very elegant, nor has it even the advantage of being applicable to the point in question. However I do not despair to see this resolution changed. In the mean time, I did not think it in your nature to treat any man who loves you with cruelty and scorn.

Helen. Then why don’t you desist, my lord? If you’d take an answer, you had a civil one: but if you will follow and teaze one, like a sturdy beggar in the street, you must expect at last a reproof for your impertinence.

Lord A. Yet even in their case perseverance often obtains what was denied to poverty.

Helen. Yes, possibly, from the feeble or the vain; but genuine Charity, and her sister, Love, act only from their own generous impulse, and scorn intimidation.

Enter Tiffany

Tiffany. Are you alone, madam?

Helen. No; I was only wishing to be so.

Tiff. A young woman is without, inquiring for sir Willoughby, ma’am; I thought he had been here.

Helen. Do you know her?

Tiff. Yes, ma’am; ’tis Fanny, the daughter of the odd man that lives on the common.

Helen. I’ll see her myself – desire her to walk up. [Exit Tiffany.

Lord A. (seems uneasy) Indeed! what brings her here?

Helen. Why, what can be the matter now? your lordship seems quite melancholy on a sudden.

Lord A. I, madam! oh no! – or if I am – ’tis merely a head ach, or some such cause, or perhaps owing to the influence of the weather.

Helen. Your lordship is a very susceptible barometer – when you entered this room your countenance was set fair; but now I see the index points to stormy.

Lord A. Madam, you have company, or business – a good morning to you.

Helen. Stay, stay, my lord.

Lord A. Excuse me at present, I have an important affair – another time.

Helen. Surely, my lord, the arrival of this innocent girl does not drive you away!

Lord A. Bless me, madam, what an idea! certainly not; but I have just recollected an engagement of consequence – some other time – Madam, your most obedient – [Exit.

Enter Fanny

Fan. I beg pardon, madam, I’m fearful I intrude; but I inquired for sir Willoughby, and they showed me to this room. I wished to speak with him on particular business – your servant, madam.

Hel. Pray stay, my good girl – I rejoice in this opportunity of becoming acquainted with you – the character I have heard of you has excited an affectionate interest – you must allow me to become your friend.

Fanny. Indeed, indeed, madam, I am in want of friends; but you can never be one of them.

Helen. No! Why so?

Fan. You, madam! Oh no – you are the only enemy I ever had.

Hel. Enemy! This is very extraordinary! I have scarce ever seen you before – Assuredly I never injured you.

Fan. Heaven forbid I should wish any one to injure you as deeply.

Hel. I cannot understand you – pray explain yourself.

Fan. That’s impossible, madam – my lord would never forgive me.

Hel. Your lord! Let me entreat you to explain your meaning.

Fan. I cannot, madam; I came hither on business of importance, and no trifling business should have brought me to a house inhabited by one who is the cause of all my wretchedness.

Hel. This is a very extraordinary affair! There is a mixture of cultivation and simplicity in your manner that affects me strongly – I see, my poor girl, you are distressed; and though what you have said leaves on my mind a painful suspicion —

Fan. Oh heavens, madam! stay, I beseech you! – I am not what you think me, indeed I am not – I must not, for a moment, let you think of me so injuriously: yet I have promised secrecy! but sure no promise can be binding, when to keep it we must sacrifice all that is valuable in life – hear me, then madam – the struggle is violent; but I owe it to myself to acknowledge all.

Hel. No, no, my dear girl! I now see what it would cost you to reveal your secret, and I will not listen to it; rest assured, I have no longer a thought to your disadvantage: curiosity gives place to interest: for though ’tis cruelty to inflict a wound, ’tis still more deliberate barbarity to probe when we cannot hope to heal it. (going.)

Fan. Stay, madam, stay – your generosity overpowers me! oh madam! you know not how wretched I am.

Hel. What is it affects you thus? – come, if your story is of a nature that may be revealed, you are sure of sympathy.

Fan. I never should have doubted; but my father has alarmed me sadly – he says my lord Austencourt is certainly on the point of marriage with you.

Hel. And how, my dear girl, if it were so, could that affect you? Come, you must be explicit.

Fan. Affect me! merciful Heaven! can I see him wed another? He is my husband by every tie sacred and human.

Hel. Suffering, but too credulous girl! have you then trusted to his vows?

Fan. How, madam! was I to blame, loving as I did, to trust in vows so solemn? could I suppose he would dare to break them, because our marriage was performed in secret?

Hel. Your marriage, child! Good Heavens, you amaze me! but here we may be interrupted – this way with me. If this indeed be so all may be well again: for though he may be dead to feeling be assured he is alive to fear: the man who once descends to be a villain is generally observed to be at heart a coward. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. – The door of a country inn. – Ponder sitting on a portmanteau

Ponder. I’ve heard that intense thinking has driven some philosophers mad! – now if this should happen to me, ’twill never be the fate of my young patron, Mr. Charles Austencourt, whom I have suddenly met on his sudden return from sea, and who never thinks at all. Poor gentleman, he little thinks what —

Enter Charles Austencourt

Charles. Not gone yet? How comes it you are not on the road to my father? Is the fellow deaf or dumb. Ponder! are ye asleep?

Pon. I’m thinking, whether I am or not.

Charles. And what wise scheme now occupies your thoughts?

Pon. Sir, I confess the subject is beneath me (pointing to the portmanteau.)

Char. The weight of the portmanteau, I suppose, alarms you.

Pon. If that was my heaviest misfortune, sir, I could carry double with all my heart. No, sir, I was thinking that as your father, sir Rowland, sent you on a cruize, for some cause best known to himself; and as you have thought proper to return for some cause best known to yourself, the chances of war, if I may be allowed the expression, are, that the contents of that trunk will be your only inheritance, or, in other words, that your father will cut you off with a shilling – and now I’m thinking —