  The School of Action was the play which Steele was endeavouring to finish in 1723-5. The fragment which we have would have required a great deal of revising before it could have been put upon the stage. The MS., from which the piece was printed by Nichols, is in the British Museum (Add. MS., 5145c). It is not in Steele's writing, and the first few leaves are now wanting. I have restored the original reading in several instances in which Nichols made unnecessary alterations. There are several memoranda on the subject among the Blenheim MSS. Here is one of them:— "Minutes for the play itself.—First Act. The beginning as I have it at Home in ye Scheme between Brainwell and Lightfoot; after yt ye calling over ye House wth the actors, and ye severall purposes yt ye Playhouse might be usefull for signified.—Act 2d. The Country family wait as in an Inn at the playhouse; all that can be done by the playhouse to terrifie ye Attorney and his Wife, and all that can delight ye young Lady by Theatricall Powers is exposed and explained. A Critick upon various Actions.—Act 3d. The Electra of Sophocles, where Mrs. Porter is to be the Queen, and ye Tragedy of Sophocles to be made ye Moddle is thoroughly set forth in a way attempted to be truly sublime.—Act 4th. The Country The following notes evidently refer to another piece:—"To take the play yt Lyes in loose parts in my Scrutoire and lay it together for the Stage: To ridicule ye whole Mechanick of Dr. Faustus, &c., and all things of that DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.Mr. Severn, a barrister, lover of Miss Dolly. Mr. Humber, his friend. Mr. Pincers, an old wealthy country Attorney, guardian to Dolly. Ralph, his Man. Mr. Dotterell, Mr. Gwillyn, Mrs. Pincers. Miss Dolly, Ward to Pincers. Mrs. Umbrage, an Actress. Mrs. Fennell. Her Daughter, a Candidate for the Stage. Barber, Constable, Waiter, Servants, Rabble, &c. THE SCHOOL OF ACTION.ACT THE FIRST.
Sev. The world is much more easily imposed upon, than you studious and modest men imagine. Hum. Dear Severn, if such superficial qualifications as you talk of will accomplish gentlemen and ladies, I own to you, hard has been our fate, in having suffered pains and penalties (fit only for malefactors) in great schools, and been immured in college the best years of life, to acquire learning and attain to sciences that are all useless when we come into the world. Sev. Pardon me, dear Humber, I did not say useless; I only argue that you had better, to make your fortune, have ordinary qualifications, such as a good mien, common understanding, and an easy address, than great faculties and talents under the oppression of bashfulness, rusticity, or—— Hum. Or knowledge. Sev. It shall be or knowledge if you please—if you mean knowledge kept to a man's self, or in a man's keeping, that is afraid or ashamed to exert it. Hum. Well, be it as you propose; go on. Sev. I say, then, your taste for books and fine writing, your judgment in the faculties of the soul, my town education, and skill in the airs, motions, graces, and abilities of the body, will enable us to carry on this our design of supporting a new playhouse, and keeping a School of Action. Hum. Well, if we break—I can go down again to my fellowship at Oxford, and laugh and be laughed at among a parcel of worthy and ingenious men, whom I will entertain with my adventures; and I think the undertaking cannot but introduce at least matter of humour and mirth: if it does not advance our fortunes, it will heighten our conversation.—But to your School of Action. Sev. As all that reside in inns of court and universities, though they do not enter into any of the learned professions, are yet better accomplished for any other ways of life by having the same education with those who go into them; so will all who come to our School of Action be better qualified in their own characters, by being instructed among players, who are taught to become any part which shall be imposed upon them. Hum. Thou art a rare sanguine fellow to think this will do. But I have observed confidence in a man's self that he shall perform a thing, helps him forward better than any other quality about him—Well, hang it, in order to make this experiment, I will be as enterprising and confident as you. Sev. Let me, then, observe one thing, for fear of your relapsing into your academic shyness; that you must beware of standing as if you were a thinking statue, a case for a spirit to reflect in, and not a mind and body acting Hum. Thou art in the right: I have studied eloquence till I am dumb. Sev. I am glad you see your want and infirmity. If you will speak, I know you will talk well. I know when you are unreservedly familiar you talk very well, as you did t'other night concerning the principles of motion and rest. Suppose, as you are resolved to talk, you would resolve also to move, and practise a little local motion. Give me leave to show you how you perform it. Go to the other side of the stage. [He walks thither.] Thus you walked—thus your shoulders—thus your legs—thus your breast—thus your hips.—Pray adventure back again—thus— Hum. Pish! I am a little hurt, and grow peevish with this mimicry; though I believe you are right enough. Sev. Well, I only show you: it is not necessary you should, as to the present purpose, be jaunty; you are to mind more important matters. You are censor, observe, upon the sense and spirit of what is said; leave the manner of doing it to me, the prompter. Hum. But, as you are picking up people from all quarters, are the old gentleman and his lady, the young girl, and the maid and man, who came hither last night, all to be players? and why are they accommodated here in the tiring-room, as if it were an ordinary lodging? Sev. You shall know all in due time and order. Ho!—Harry!—Who waits there? [Enters a Servant.] Is the whole house come? Serv. They are all here, sir, except the thunderer and the candle-snuffer; they say it is a mistake, and that they are never required to come to rehearsal. Sev. Tell them they shall forfeit; the thunderer shall pay two groats; they—they shall be fined a day's pay. [Exit Servant.]—My dear friend, while the company is Hum. In the playhouse? Sev. Pray, hear. In the playhouse? no. Of all things in nature, stage-plays (as he calls them) are his aversion. But they are no less Miss Dolly's delight. As I had my education, that is to say, ate and drank, conversed and lay some years every night at Gray's Inn, I made a notable pleader before our bench of justices in Cumberland, and grew very intimate with Mr. Pincers. He took such a fancy to my promising parts—for, you must know, I pretended to be a rogue to gain his good-will—that, with a hint of five hundred pounds reward for my share in the transaction, he communicated to me a design of disposing of this young lady by way of sale. Hum. Good—and thought you a proper broker to find out a husband, or rather a purchaser. Sev. Right. "Mr. Severn," said he, "you know there is nothing more common than to observe that orphans are a prey, by reason of their great wealth, and marry unhappily." Hum. And therefore—— Sev. And therefore he would have a receipt for all her fortune, for delivering half of it to the man who should marry her—"which," said he, "shall be no fraud to the gentleman; for he shall settle only an equivalent for ten thousand pounds, which is the moiety. By this means," continued my conscientious friend, "I shall observe how he behaves to this poor girl; and can, if he deserves it, leave the other moiety to them by my will." Hum. And what did you say to this hopeful project? Sev. I fell in with it, and promised to find him a right young fellow for his purpose. Hum. Did you so, sir? [As going.] Sev. Now you grow a mere scholar again. Hum. An honest gentleman is a mere scholar where a sharper is a wit—I will leave your accursed town to-night. Sev. I will convince you that there is nothing mean or dishonourable on my part; but a lucky incident I should be stupid not to take hold of. Hum. Say it; but your prologue is so long, you seem to know that the plot of your play is not easily to be defended. Sev. You cannot say that till you know it. I agreed with him to find a young gentleman suitable to her, who shall bring as good an estate as she shall, and settle all upon her and the children of the marriage. Hum. Well—who is the gentleman whom you have thought of to do this? On whom will you bestow the poor innocent girl who has never injured you? Sev. Why, I have been thinking that over and over; and it is so hard to look into another's breast, that one may, after all appearances, be mistaken; and, therefore, I have resolved upon the only man who I was sure was honest—even my own proper self. Hum. You are most conscientiously impartial and disinterested. Sev. I think myself conscientious, though neither impartial nor disinterested. I consider that he would certainly sell her elsewhere on his own terms, without regard to her happiness. In my hands she will have her estate her own, with the incumbrance only of a man who loves her, and whom I believe she loves, and who may increase that estate for her. Consider, he would do what he designed, whether I would or not. Hum. I consider you will do what you design, whether I will or not. Nay, further, I cannot but own the circumstances much alleviate the guilt on your part. Nay, if you fairly get the girl's good-will, I will allow your attempt not only excusable, but praiseworthy. Sev. There spoke my good genius.—In the country, as much as he trusted me in the secret of cheating her, he never let me see her alone, or without witnesses; his wife, the maid, or man, or all of them, were constantly present. But, as she is a great lover and reader of plays, and of a great deal of wit and humour, we could speak one language and look another, above their knowledge or observation. I sent for him to town in order to marry her, insisting on my five hundred pounds; for he would not trust me, did he not know my price. I have lodged all here, whence they shall never go out till dear miss implores it of me, or has justice done her by me or somebody to her liking. Hum. There you justify all the art you can use for yourself. And may you win and wear her, since you plot her redemption though yourself should not succeed! Sev. Well, we have done talking; let us to action. My business is to review my forces, and not neglect my main plot, but consider my playhouse and my mistress at the same time; and, while I am preparing the one, make love to the other.—Here, Jack, call all the actors—let the whole house march.—Tragedy drums and trumpets, fifes, kettledrums and clarions shall wake my country lodgers, fright my old parchment, and charm my little northern pilgrim—my dear refugee—I will understand her no other. Beat, sound, and play. Make all people be in their posts round the stage, and answer in all parts to the stage.—All shall be done that can be to make her pass her time pleasantly. She shall always expect to see me, but not see me till I have abundant convincing proofs that I am in her favour. Thus if I can save her, and Pin. [Within.] Ho! chamberlain, bring me my boots—where is the chamberlain?—What is the noise?—— Ralph [Within.] The drums. Pin. What is the matter? Ralph. The train-bands, belike, master. Pin. Ho! chamberlain! Hum. While the rest of the country family are thus deceived, Dolly is let into the whole matter, and won't be surprised at anything. If she humours the deceit it is a good symptom on your side.—This must be a fruitful circumstance of mirth. Sev. Nymphs, shepherds, ghosts, angels, and demons, shall tease the old rascal; and all the while Miss Dolly see and hear nothing but according to the notice I have given her. Hum. While you are thus busied about your people, and managing your design, which I have not much taste for (I want that mercury about me), I will go about the house and view the accommodations—they say it is the most convenient one in the world. Sev. Sir, take your humour; I will pursue mine, and call you when the circumstance is above my reach. [Exit Humber.] Well, march by; let the kings take place of all the people, next them bishops, then judges—no, we had as good not to discompose their dresses. [Among the march of the actors he observes Will Dotterell.] Ho! Mr. Dotterell, Mr. Dotterell. Dot. Sir! Your most humble servant, good Mr. Severn. What, have you a part for me in your new play? It was you that first thought of making an actor of me, and I have gained some reputation; and, harkee, you have made a deal of me, I can tell you. Sev. Ay, ay, I know thou art a town favourite—thy name is not spoken of but it raises mirth. Let us see, what parts have you acted? You have acted all manner of things as well as persons. You began, I think, a flower-pot, in Dioclesian Dot. It was thought I laid her on as well as another, for you may remember she was a bitter one, and she provoked me some six or seven drubs beyond what the poet writ for her. Sev. Well, look you, Will, I design greater things for you than any poet of them all; why, you shall act a ghost in the ensuing play. Dot. A ghost of me! No, it can never be. Sev. Yes, yes, you oaf, you shall be a country ghost. You shall come to the country gentleman who lay here last night in the figure of his deceased brother, a fat justice of the peace, who left all his money in his hands—and he cheats him. Why, I don't know but you may be the luckiest ghost that ever appeared. Who knows but the old rascal may repent and pay you? If he does I'm sure you'll take it. Dot. Nay, nay, there's no doubt of that. What has the poor money done? I will take it, as you say. Sev. Look you there: when you have done this part you are a most accomplished player, you have gone through all the degrees of action. You came out of the parsley-bed, as they say to the children; you have been everything—— Dot. A ghost! I shall never be sober enough. What if it be a country ghost—yet every man is serious after his death. I shall certainly laugh, and discover all. Sev. Well, bid him they call Dicky come to me. Dot. Dicky, Dicky, come to me; come, Dicky, come to Mr. Severn. I am not a ghost yet; you need not be afraid.
Sev. Mr. Spider, I have a part for you; but I am afraid you have too good an air, too much dignity in your person, to do it well. Spi. Oh, I warrant you they never put me to act anything in tragedy, though my genius and temper is altogether for great and sublime things. Sev. No doubt on't, Mr. Spider, but you must be content at present to do me a courtesy, and still keep in comedy; for you are to be a tapster. Spi. What! when Mr. Dotterell (as I apprehend) is to be a ghost, am I to be but a tapster? Sev. Why, you are to be a tapster to the inn in which he is to be a ghost, so that he's in a manner in your keeping. All the ghosts in inns are kept there by the tapster or chamberlain; now you are to be both in this inn that I imagine. Spi. Oh! oh! I begin to conceive you. I am to be a live tapster, and Mr. Dotterell is to be the ghost of a dead man that died in the inn and left a power of money Sev. But there is another thing that, I fear, will go much against you; and that is, you are to be excessively saucy. Spi. No, I shall make no scruple of that if he proves an unmannerly guest, I'll warrant you.—But, Mr. Dotterell, let us go and lay our heads together. Sev. Now, gentlemen, you are going out in your own persons, and no man living can tell which of you should take place. Certainly, Mr. Spider, you are somebody or other; and, Mr. Dotterell, so are you. Now I would fain know which of you is to take place. Spi. Pray, good Mr. Dotterell. Dot. Nay, nay, Mr. Spider, I'll never be outdone in civility; you must pardon me, indeed, sir. Spi. Nay, sir. Dot. Nay, sir. Spi. Nay, sir. Dot. Nay, nay, nay, sir, if you go to that. [Turns aside. Spi. Nay, but, good sir—excuse me, sir. [Turning another way. Dot. Oh, Mr. Spider, your servant for that, sir. [Takes him up in his arms. Spi. Sir, you conquer me beyond expression; sir, you run away with me. Dot. Indeed, sir, I must say you are a very easy gentleman; you are carried away with the least civility, look you, sir; for——[Carrying him backwards and forwards. Spi. Plague on't, what a misfortune it is to be a little fellow! Though I have a soul as great as Hercules, this fellow can deal with me. Dot. Oh, my dear little Dicky Spider! [Exit, kicking him in his arms. Sev. [Solus]. Here's a great piece of difficulty adjusted; but I observe very few difficulties of ceremony of much greater moment than this, and wish they were all to be so ended. Well, now have I the hardest task in all my affair to pursue: To persuade a woman who is young, pleasant, and agreeable, to act a part for me to another; to make love for me, instead of receiving love made to her; and there is no way of obtaining of 'em but by making love to them. They are used to no other language, and understand no other.—Ho! who waits there?
Waiter. Sir; do you call, sir? Sev. Pray, sir, call Mrs. Umbrage hither. If she be in the green-room, tell her I beg to speak with her—I must form myself into all the good humour I can to entertain her, or I shall never get her to come into it.
Oh, here she comes.—Well, madam, I have cast parts for you, and named you to many, but never so very nice a one as I am to desire of you to undertake at present. To overlook yourself and deliver the application made to another which had been more rightly directed to yourself, is a greatness of mind—is a candour, to be found only in Mrs. Umbrage. Umb. Well, Mr. Severn, you have waved your cap sufficiently; you have done homage and made your acknowledgments; pray proceed to the matter. Sev. The northern young lady you have often heard me talk of, is in town, and lay in this house last night. Umb. That has been the conversation of the green-room.—But what do you design in all this you are going to let me into? Sev. I would be well with that young lady. Nay, I think I am so. Umb. A man may often be mistaken in those points, as knowing as you are. Sev. I grant it, madam; I have a mind to know it more explicitly, and have the most evident proofs of it; which I will not desire till I have given her sufficient testimony of a disinterested zeal and service for her. Umb. That is, indeed, the noblest and the surest way to approach a sensible spirit, as I have heard you describe hers to be. Pray let me hear what argument you have for thinking she has a disposition towards you; for you know we naturally are too apt to believe what we wish. Sev. A good opinion is in a man's own power to create. I took care to appear in the best manner where she was; to be always in great good humour, and show a wonderful deference to her in all my actions; which I constantly expressed by my eye only, as afraid of notice and observation. She had her eyes as attentive to mine, and she never lost the least expression that I made to her, but turned away her eyes when mine grew too familiar.—But give me leave to tell you one particular occasion wherein I plainly think she declared herself to me. Umb. That will be worth hearing indeed; I shall be glad to hear the language of the eyes translated by the tongue. [Smiling. Sev. You are to know, madam, that there happened one day in the north, a great Quaker's wedding at which she and I were present. They went with the greatest gravity and decorum through the whole circumstance of it. But at night she was invited, so was I, to see the Umb. You are going into a fine story; but I must trust your discretion. Sev. Madam, you may. [Bowing.] To be sure, the bridegroom is laid by his bride; the company stands in the most profound silence, as contemplating the objects before them; he a young man of twenty-five, she a young woman of twenty; he wishing our absence; she fearing it. The eyes of everyone of us spectators naturally searching the object with which they could best be pleased in the same condition, my eyes met Miss Pincers', in which there was such a sweet compliance, such a revel invitation, immediately checked when observed and answered by me, that I have ever since concluded that she had something more than goodwill for me. Umb. Well, if she has it, I shall be far from lessening it; but will, as you seem to desire, accompany her, and improve it. Sev. I form great hopes of success from that declaration; but as the lady is mighty theatrically disposed, I beseech you to show her the pleasure and beauties of the house. Umb. All that is in my power; all that is not I must leave to you. Sev. I will not doubt of success. To gain a she, a sure she-friend provide; ACT THE SECOND.
Pin. Fie, Miss Dolly; do you say you heard no manner of noise when I was knocking my heart out? Dolly. None in the least. In the country they talked of the rattling of coaches here in London. I heard nothing of it; I can hardly think I am yet in the City. Mrs. Pin. Why, Miss Dolly, you won't say so, sure! Did you hear no drums nor trumpets? Dolly. Not in the least. Mrs. Pin. O gemini! Then, to be sure, the house is haunted, and the man of the inn has killed some traveller, and hid him behind the hangings, and we are all disturbed for it—'tis so to be sure. Ralph. It is no otherwise. I wonder Counsellor Severn would bring master to such an inn as this is, so I do. Pin. Chamberlain! why, chamberlain!
Spi. Do you call, sir? Pin. Do you call, sir? Ay, marry do I, sir. What has Spi. Trumpets and kettle-drums! Poor gentleman! Pin. Poor gentleman! no, no poor gentleman.—I am afraid this house is no better than it should be. Spi. Has not your worship lain warm? The bed is as good a bed as any in the house. A man of fifteen hundred a-year lay in it, and slept all night. He came to town to be fluxed. He was very much a gentleman, and owned he slept very well; and his bones ached but little in that easy bed. Pin. Rogue! put honest folks, that have been man and wife these twenty years, into a p—— bed together! Mrs. Pin. In a p—— bed, husband! Take the law of him. Pin. Sirrah! has not Counsellor Severn been here this morning? Go, sirrah, bring me some water and a towel; I'll go to the Counsellor's chambers immediately. I'll trounce this house. [Exit Spider. Dolly. [Aside.] I'll look over my letter again. [Reads.] "Be afraid of nothing; but know, that the disagreeable shapes Mr. Pincers is entertained with are not to appear to you; and when you know this, you may partake of that diversion of tormenting those who attempt only to sell and betray you. What you see are persons and appearances belonging to the several plays which are acted in this house."—Oh me! how pure is all this!
Spi. Here is the water and towel, and here is a barber if you want him. [Exit. Pin. Harkee, Mr. Barber; you look like an honest man, put on your trimming cloths about me. I'll inquire of you what sort of people live in this house—Ha! what's this here?
Spi. Sir, do you call for nothing this morning? are not you dry, nor your wife neither, ha, old dry-boots? Pin. What does this mean? A letter come directed to me out of the air—and my brother coming! Wife! Margery, do you see that letter? What can it mean? Look you, sauce-box; good man, Tapster, I shall take a course with you, sirrah, I shall. Spi. You are a sneaking country bumpkin, sir.
Pin. Bless us! there comes on my brother, in his old boots and grey riding-coat. 'Tis he: I ha'n't the heart to speak to it. Dot. [Aside.] A country ghost! I shall laugh out. How frightened the dog is! I'll warrant the rogue has a great sum of money of mine. I'll make him give it me.—[To Pincers.] Repent, and don't cheat your brother, and break your word with a man that is dead and buried.—I shall laugh before the old put has refunded——[Aside. Mrs. Pin. There is the justice come to fetch us away with him—he's come for Dolly's portion.—You know I was always for giving it all to her since Nancy's death. Dot. Give me my money—give me my money. Pin. Oh! how I tremble! yet dare not speak to him. [He comes nearer. Dot. Show my last will and testament. Give me my money. Pin. I cannot speak to him, to tell him I'll do everything. Dot. I will haunt thee, and tear thy wife from the fell—— Mrs. Pin. He presents the figure of the poor child we had to cheat Dolly with! Oh, husband, he'll have me to punish thy sins! Oh, he has me, now, now, husband! [They both sink with the Barber at a trap-door.] Ralph. "He presents the figure of the poor child we had to cheat Dolly with!" How shall I get off this ground. [Going away, fearfully. Marg. Oh, Ralph! can you leave me? [They meet trembling, as if they found the place open.] Ralph. Let us keep together, and not go underground in a strange place. Marg. Tell me, Ralph, whether there was anything between you and Nan? Ralph. Ask no questions, ask no questions, good Margery. [Exeunt. Dolly. Whither shall I go, or where will this adventure end? Sure, Mr. Severn will——
Umb. The pretty good-natured absurdity! [Aside.]—But, madam, you forgot Lorenzo that you mentioned just now: you must see his—[Whistle. Scene changes.] there, madam, there's the place he spoke those charming words in. But I forget, madam, you are a country lady, and delight rather in airy prospects, tracts of land, and beauteous lawns. [Scene changes to the Park. Dolly. Is this the Park? Pray, madam, where is the Birdcage Walk, where lovers meet for intrigue? Umb. You shall see it in due time; for I have a thousand other things to tell you of. You must understand human life, and what passes in the world, before you give yourself away.—But I must not inform you of it abruptly and hastily. Dolly. It will be charitable in you, madam, to do so. Umb. I know you must be an admirer of poetry and good sense, without which music is insipid, or at least but half-informed. Dolly. I have wished myself at London a thousand times, to see operas; but I would not have them sing nonsense. Umb. Therefore, madam, I hope you'll like the poetry which Mr. Severn has ordered for the stage in celebration of two faithful lovers: they were persons in an humble condition, and no ways conspicuous but by their passion for each other; indeed, just what they should be conspicuous for——
Dolly. Oh! but the poetry—what a sad thing 'twould have been if one of them had been left alive—But pray let's see the poetry. Umb. Have but patience and we will have convenience, miss, to sit down and hear it. [Scene changes to a bower. "Think not with rigorous judgment seized, But let us take our places, and carry it gravely, suitable to your fortune and merit. [Here it is performed. ACT THE THIRD.
Sev. I have often begged you to let me shift for myself, let my character sink or swim. Every man who attempts any new thing must allow mankind to talk of him as they please. I do not regard what the world says, but what they should say. Hum. It is very odd that we have never happy moments but at midnight, so different are our tempers; and we are made to keep together from no other rule, but that we never expostulate upon past mistakes; to meet again after a misunderstanding, contains in itself all manner of apology, all expostulation; but, if I might, I would complain that the business of the house is neglected while you are attending your amours. Sev. No; there is a present leisure to attend anything of that kind, to hear any person or persons that pretend to the stage, to examine scenes or goods to be shown or exhibited there, and give them their answers.—Let us take our places accordingly. Hum. It is wondrous to consider the folly of mankind, that think so lightly and so meanly of the faculties of a player.—Roscius had three thousand scholars, and but one only fit for the purpose. Sev. There's no arguing mankind out of their humour or their taste; they may be gained upon by skill and labour, but that must be felt before it's seen. Hum. Now you begin to philosophise: but let us hear the people, in spite of vernacular dialect or tone, attempting to represent the most difficult characters of state. Mr. Duntaxat, if you please, we will now sit down and hear them. [They sit down at table accordingly.] Mr. Severn, you see he consents to take out places. [Rings the bell.] Who waits?
Servant. A great many people, sir; but none so importunate to be admitted as the Welsh gentleman, who offers to act the character of Hamlet for his own pleasure. Hum. Plague on him, whose pleasure will it be besides? Sev. Oh, all the world will like him; let us admit him by all means. Hum. He, in his vernacular tone, will disparage a scene forever by repeating it; but do as you will. Sev. Pray desire the gentleman to walk in: pray, gentlemen, keep your countenance, for he is no fool; or if he is, he is a valiant one, and hath a great estate half-way up the atmosphere.
Sir, we understand the high obligation you lay upon us (pray sit down, sir) in condescending to tread the stage in the character of the Prince of Denmark; in which, sir, you are so far right, that he was a prince of a very ancient family, and not unworthy a gentleman of your character to represent. Gwil. I have a respect for him, both for his plutt and his prains, and think I could do him justice. Sev. There is no doubt of it, good sir; and if you please to pronounce the sentence, "To be and not to be," you'll mightily raise these gentlemen's expectations and gratitude to you for the favour you intend them. Gwil. Sir, that will I do, if the gentlemen please to hear it. [They all rise, and come forward with him. Gwil. "To pee and not to pee," &c. Sev. Most admirably spoke, sir. Be pleased to give us time to concert measures what day to act this play. Let our tailor wait upon you to adjust the shape and all things necessary. [Exit Gwillyn. Hum. It's well we have got well clear of this humorous exceptious gentleman; but I was in terrible pain lest he should have observed your inclination to laugh.—But let us not lose time, but go on to answer other persons. [Rings the bell.
Hum. Who waits without? Servant. Very many people, sir; but the lady with her daughter says she has been here so often that she will be next admitted. Sev. She will! she insists to see us altogether and makes a difficulty even to show her daughter's face. Now that is so preposterous and humourous, that I could not answer her civilly and in general, and so put her off. Hum. Let her come in, however, and have her answer from us all.
Hum. Madam, what are your commands here? Mrs. Fen. Gentlemen, I am a gentlewoman of a very ancient family. Sev. Very likely, madam; but, indeed, madam, we sit here to provide for the stage, and not to hear pedigrees. If you are of a house of yesterday, and please to-day—you'll pardon me, madam—-that is what we are to mind chiefly; but pray, madam, break into your business. Mrs. Fen. Why, gentlemen, this young lady in a mask with me is my daughter, and I propose her for the stage; for I am reduced, and starve or beg we must not. Sev. But, madam, please to show us how your daughter will help to keep us from wanting. Madam, we have a great charge already. Mrs. Fen. Why, you see, gentlemen, her height is very well; she is neither tall nor short. Sev. We allow it, madam; but that is not all: she must speak with a good air and grace.—Won't she unmask? Must not we see more than thus much of her? Mrs. Fen. No, no, gentlemen, we must come to some manner of agreement before you see any further. To be a maid of honour, a waiting lady on your Statiras and Roxanas, Sev. Well, but, madam, that is not all; for let her be for dumb show only, her face is not all; she must be well limbed [They whisper and confer.]—she may sometimes be in a boy's dress—a Cupid, a young heir to a great family, a page, or a gentleman-usher. Mrs. Fen. Why, I was aware of the objection, and have had a model taken of her legs, which you shall see, gentlemen. There they are; as fine a straight leg and Sev. Well, madam, you speak of your goods so advantageously, and set them off so reasonably, that if the lady pleases to show her face, we shall give twenty shillings a week, certain. Mrs. Fen. She is your servant, and shall constantly attend rehearsals. [Daughter unmasks. Sev. On my word, a very surprising face.—Pray, madam, may I beg the favour to see those pretty lips move? Daughter. Yes, sir. Sev. Pray, madam, raise your voice a note higher. Mrs. Fen. Gentlemen, I beg she may be kept wholly for tragedy, for she takes prodigiously after me. She can act only an haughty part; I was prodigiously haughty in my youth. She will never act naturally anything but what's cruel and unnatural, as the men call it. Sev. But, madam, can't she repeat any verses, any parts of a play? It's strange she should have an inclination to the stage, and yet nothing by heart. Mrs. Fen. Oh, I have inured her to get as many things as possible to arm her against the wiles of men; as those concerning Sir Charles Sedley—Say on, good Betty. Daughter. "Sedley has that prevailing gentle art, Sev. "The loosest wishes!"—I fancy somebody or other has seen her legs otherwise than by a model—she speaks so sensibly! [Aside. Daughter. "Raise such a conflict, kindle such a fire Sev. Well, madam, pluck up a spirit; and let us hear you grace it, and do it with an air. Speak it politely, with a side face; you are to imagine an audience though there is none; and pray speak it with courage— "Sedley has that prevailing," &c. Hum. Madam, you may be sure of all the encouragement and care your beauty and merit deserve. [Exeunt Mrs. Fennell and Daughter. Well, now, let us look into some scenes that are under examination, whether proper to be exhibited or not. Let the scene of Mr. Buskin come on.
Busk. "In vain has conquest waited on my sword, Hum. Ho! brave, ho! brave. What's to come after that? Busk. "All this was vain, since Clidiamira's eyes Hum. Ay, ay, to be sure, they can do no less, if Clidiamira's really angry; but not so fast, not so fast, if you please. Busk. Pray, sir, give me leave—Oh, Mr. Humber, is it you? Your humble servant.—I submit—I know you are a critic. Hum. To be free, sir, you must know this way of Busk. How, strip me! Hum. Ay, strip you—for if it be not sense in your doublet, it is not in your long robe. High heels on your shoes, or the feathers on your beaver, cannot exalt you a tittle. No; you must know, good folks, this is all a cheat. Such stuff as this is only a tragedy of feathers—it is only lace and ribbon in distress; undress the actor, and the speech is spoiled. All. Strip him—strip him! [They pull off his clothes. Hum. Now speak, now speak. Busk. Give me my truncheon at least; I got it by heart with a stick in my hand. Many. Ha, ha, ha; let him have his truncheon—let him have his truncheon. Busk. Nay—pray, gentlemen and ladies, let me come on the same board.—Nay— Hum. You shall do that.—Well, but begin. Busk. "In vain has conquest"—shan't I have a little of the trumpet? All. No, no, no. Busk. Then the drum only? All. No, no. Busk. "Oh, Clidiamira—oh! oh! oh!"—It won't do; one can't follow either love or honour without some equipage. Hum. Well then, master, to keep you in countenance, you shall take up your things, and in your doublet speak that sentiment in the play called The Patriot, Hum. But I see you grow uneasy, to be diverted from your main design; I'll only trouble you with two circumstances, which to me appear very magnificent, tragical, and great: the one is a great favourite in a court, a man of consummate honour, who was surrounded with many difficulties and enemies. They got the better of him so far, as that he must be sacrificed unless he would open a letter which came by an error into his hand, but was directed to his enemy. He comes on in a soliloquy, but chooses to preserve his honour and abstain from opening it, and goes on to his ruin. He says but a word or two; but let him come.
Tragedian. "Here is my fate: 'tis put into my hands; Hum. You observe, Mr. Severn, here's no noise, no eclat, no bustle, but simple and calm greatness.—The next circumstance for which I beg your patience is that of a great English general, who, observing the confederate horse seized with a panic fear, and all, to a man, in the utmost disorder, assumes himself and mounts an eminence, and says he would stand there to revive the army. He did so; the enemies soon observed so remarkable an object, and cannonaded it. He stood the fury of their cannon while the army marched—But he comes on.
Gen. "Nothing, but seeing me meet all they fear, Hum. It is allowable to help great thoughts, and alarm the audience with warlike instruments, to give the inattentive a sense of what is truly sublime. But I won't detain you longer; let us go in; but as we are going off a stage, let me repeat to you a couple of verses. Would you reform an heedless guilty age, ACT THE FOURTH.
Pin. How do you say, sir? All this is a delusion! an imposition! Barb. Perfectly so, sir; no otherwise, indeed, sir; and they have seized Mr. Constable there, my neighbour, who came into the house to keep the peace, when they were waging war in it. Pin. What, lay hold upon a constable! detain the constable! Do they know what they do? Barb. Ay, they know very well; but they don't care what they do. Pin. And was the ghost a cheat, and calling this an inn all imposition? Barb. Yes, sir; but here Mr. Constable has found below stairs an inlet into the house, and whence he can let in all the people of Drury Lane and the parts adjacent. Pin. I have heard of Drury Lane in the country; but they will do as well as any for this purpose. Barb. That is most excellent good luck; we will swing them for false imprisonment, and that of so great an officer as a constable. Constable. But, sir, I want a warrant to do what I would on this occasion. Pin. There need none, sir; you have the law, which will uphold you in it; the recovery of your liberty, and my liberty, as well as that of the barber, will support you. There is in your person the liberty of every man in England. As you are a constable concerned, I am a lawyer. I'll stand by you, I warrant you. But let's be silent before you bring in the posse. Take these deeds in your care and custody. [Giving him deeds.] Observe, Mr. Barber, I deliver them to him; and now let us go, or him go, and let in his people. [Exit Constable.] What a prodigious villainy was here, Mr. Barber! I placed such a confidence in this Mr. Severn, and took counsel with him for the disposal of my niece, and thus he has served me; but I have put my deeds relating to her into the constable's hand; and if he can let his posse into the house, I'll warrant you we will recover all. [A noise of people:—"Beat down the doors; deliver the lady."] Barb. Hark, hark! he has got them in, I warrant ye the posse is raised; I'll warrant we shall have the whole city and country on our side. Pin. The whole matter is, how to conduct it legally. Let me be but of the council, and we will knock them all o' the head, and not transgress the law at all; we will murder the dogs, I would say the rogues. Why, what is there in it? they are no people, they are nobody in law; and if they are no people, to kill them is to kill nobody; for to fire at fera natura, creatures by nature wild—those animals are lawful game, and any man that has so much a year may kill them; so, Mr. Barber, any man may fire upon these fellows; these stage-players, who are no persons, have no right in themselves; and therefore any man may kill them. [A noise without:—"Deliver the lady; give her to her guardian; give her to her uncle."] Barb. They are just a-coming in; I know the neighbourhood and the constable; you shall direct us all. Pin. Nay, I'll warrant you all shall be safely and legally done.
Rabble. Where is the gentleman? where is the gentleman? Barb. Here he is, gentlemen; and the players have taken his niece from him; and, for aught we know, they have ravished her; but, let it be so or no, we'll indict them for it. Harkee, Mr. Pincers, will an indictment for a rape lie in Drury Lane? Pin. Lookee, gentlemen, we will fall upon them for taking her and her clothes; and then afterwards come upon them for the body, as we shall see cause; but we must find this body before we can do anything. Barb. We will bear all down before us but we will find her. Down with all their sham heavens, their counterfeit seas; down with their false unsafe lands; down with their windmills and their dragons; burn their barns; and when we have got the lady, fire the house.—Come, follow the gentleman. All. Ay, ay. Pin. Huzza, huzza! All. Huzza, huzza! [Dog barks. 1st Rabble. Don't mind their great dog; he barks a sham. He is no true dog. Unkennel the dog within. Harkee, neighbour, keep up your dogs—keep your dogs. Halloo, halloo! 2nd Rabble. Keep your dogs, gentlemen butchers; keep the dogs to charge their house. I'll warrant we'll spoil their battling, and rioting and fighting, and decoying all our daughters and nieces to see sights, and never Barb. We'll make this young lady as famous as Helen of Troy was. We'll burn all before us for her sake. Come, let us hunt, let's see what's about this house in all its parts—halloo, hunt. Pin. Let the constable march first; there's our safety, that's our security.—Take notice, I declare before all this company, it is in defence of this honest—— |
|
