 Prologue and Act I of The Tender Husband or The Accomplished Fools by Richard Steele. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Prologue In the first drives and infancy of farce, when fools were many and when plays were scarce, the raw unpracticed authors could with ease a young and unexperienced audience, please. No single character had ever been shown, but a whole herd of fobs was all their own, rich in originals they set to view in every piece a cox-com that was new. But now our British theatre can boast drolls of all kinds of vast unthinking host, full of folly and of vice, it shows cuckolds and sits and boards and pimps and bows. Rough country nights are found of every shear, of every fashion, gentle fobs appear, and punks of different characters we meet, as frequent on the stage as in the pit. Our modern wits are forced to pick and cull, and here and there by chance clean up a fool, long ere they find the necessary spark, they search the town and beat about the park. To all his most frequented haunts resort, oft dog him to the ring and oft to court, as love of pleasure or of place invites, and sometimes catch him taking snuff at wights. However, to do you right, the present age breeds very hopeful monsters for the stage that scorn the paths their dull forefathers trod, and won't be blockheads in the common road. Thou but surveyed this crowded house to-night, he is still encouragement for those that write. Our author to divert his friends to-day, stalks with variety of fools his play, and that there may be something gay and new to ladies errant has exposed to view. The first the damsel travelled in romance, the other more refined, she comes from France, rescue like courteous knights, the nymph from danger, and kindly treat, like well-bred men, the stranger. Gramatis Personae Sir Harry Gobin, brother-in-law to Mr. Tipkin, read by Campbell Shalp. I'm Free Gobin, son of Sir Harry Gobin and suitor to Biddy Tipkin, his cousin. Read by Aaron White. Mr. Tipkin, a banker, Biddy Tipkin's uncle, read by Larry Wilson. Claremont Sr., read by Todd. Captain Claremont, brother of Claremont Sr., read by Stephen Fellows. Mr. Pounce, a lawyer, Fane Love's brother, read by Thomas Peter. Mrs. Claremont, read by T.J. Burns. Aunt, Mrs. Tipkin, read by Thon. Neese, Biddy Tipkin, Mr. Tipkin's niece, read by Emma Hatton. Fane Love, mistress to Claremont Sr., read by Sonia. Jenny, the maid to Mrs. Claremont, recorded by Lola Janey. Boy, read by Liania. Servant, read by Larry Wilson. Narrated by Abahi. Scene, London, the tender husband or the accomplished fools. Act the first. Scene one. Claremont Sr.'s house. Enter Claremont Sr. and Fane Love. Well, Mr. Fane Love, how do you go on and you're amore with my wife? I am very civil and very distant. If she smiles or speaks, I bow and gaze at her, then throw down my eyes as if oppressed by fear of offence, then steal a look again till she again sees me. This is my general method. And it is right. For such a fine lady has no guard to her virtue but her pride. Therefore you must constantly apply yourself to that. But, dear Lucy, as you have been a very faithful but a very costly wench to me, so my spouse also has been constant to my bed, but careless of my fortune. Ah, my dear! How could you leave your poor Lucy and run into friends to see sights and show your gallantry with a wife? Was not that unnatural? She brought me a noble fortune, and I thought she had a right to share it. Therefore carried her to see the world, forsooth, and make a tour of friends in Italy, where she learned to lose her money gracefully, to admire every vanity in our sex, and contend every virtue in her own, which, with ten thousand other perfections, are the ordinary improvements of a traveled lady. Now I can neither mortify her vanity, that I may live at ease with her, or quite discard her till I have catched her a little enlarging her innocent freedoms, as she calls them. For this end I am content to be a French husband, though now and then with the secret pangs of an Italian one. And therefore, sir, or madam, you are thus equipped to attend and accost her ladyship. It concerns you to be diligent, if we holy part. I need say no more. If we do not, I'll see the well provided for. I'll do all I can, I warrant you, but you are not to expect I'll go much among the men. No, no. You must not go near men. You are only, when my wife goes to a play, to sit in a side box with pretty fellows. I don't design you to personate a real man. You are only to be a pretty gentleman. Not to be of any use or consequence in the world, as to yourself, but merely as a property to others, such as you see now and then have a life in the entail of a great estate that seem to have come into the world only to be tags in the pedigree of a wealthy house. You must have seen many of that species. I apprehend you such as standing assemblies with an indolent softness and contempt of all round them, who make a figure in public and are scorned in private. I have seen such a one with a pocket-glass to see his own face and an effective perspective to know others. Imitates each. Ah, ah, that's my man, thou dear rogue. Let me alone. I'll lay my life, I'll horn you. That is, I'll make it appear I might if I could. Aye, that will please me quite as well. To show you the progress I have made I last night won of her five hundred pounds, which I have brought you safe. Giving him bills. Oh, that damn vice! That woman can imagine all household care, regard for posterity and fear of poverty must be sacrificed to a game at cards. Suppose she had not had it to pay and you had been capable of finding your account another way. That's but a suppose. I say she must have complied with everything you asked. Ha, but she knows you never limit her expenses. Aside. I'll gain him from her forever if I can. With this you have repaid me two thousand pounds and if you did not refund thus honestly I could not have supplied her. We must have parted. Then you shall part. Aside. If the other way fails. However, I can't blame your fondness of her. She has so many entertaining qualities with her vanity. Then she has such a pretty unthinking air while she saunts us round the room and pretels sentences. That was her turn from her infancy. She always had a great genius for knowing everything but what was necessary she should. The widths of the age, the great beauties, and short-lived people of vogue were always her discourse and imitation. Thus the case stood when she went to France but her fine follies improved so daily that though I was then proud of her being called Mr. Claremont's wife, I am now as much out of continence to hear myself called Mrs. Claremont's husband. So much is the superiority of her side. I am sure if ever I gave myself a little liberty I never found you so indulgent. I should have the whole sex on my back should I pretend to be trench a lady so well visited as mine is. Therefore I must bring it about that it can appear her own act if she reforms or else I shall be pronounced jealous and have my eyes pulled out for being open. But I hear my brother Jack coming who, I hope, has brought yours with him. Hist, not a word. Inter-Captain Claremont and Pounce I found him out at last, brother, and bought you the obsequious Mr. Pounce. I saw him at a distance in a crowd whispering in their turns with all about him. He's a gentleman so received, so courted and so trusted. I am very glad if you saw anything like that. If the approbation of others can recommend me where I much more desire it to this company. Oh, the civil person! But dear Pounce, you know I am your professed admirer. I always celebrated you for your excellent skill and address for that happy knowledge of the world which makes you seem born for living with the persons you are with wherever you come. Now my brother and I want your help in a business that requires a little more dexterity than we ourselves are masters of. You know, sir, my character is helping the distressed which I do freely and without reserve while others are for distinguishing rigidly on the justice of the occasion and so lose the grace of the benefit. Now it is my profession to assist a free-hearted young fellow against an unnatural, long-lived father to disencommer men of pleasure of the vexation of unwieldly estates to support a feeble title to an inheritance, to— I have been well acquainted with your merits ever since I saw you with so much compassion prompt a stammering witness in Westminster Hall that wanted instruction. I love a man that can venture his ears with so much bravery for his friend. And, dear sir, spare my modesty and let me know to what all this pengeric tends. Why, sir, what I would say is on behalf of my brother, the Captain here, whose misfortune it is that I was born before him. I am confident he had rather you should have been so than any other man in England. You do me justice, Mr. Pounce, but though it is to that gentleman I am still the younger brother, and you know we that are so are generally condemned to sharps, colleges, or inns of court. But you, sir, have escaped him. You have been trading the noble mart of glory. That's true, but the General makes such haste to finish the war that we redcoats may be soon out of fashion, and then I am a fellow of the most easy, indolent disposition in the world. I hate all manner of business. A composed temper indeed. In such a case I should have no way of livelihood but calling over this gentleman's dogs in the country, drinking his stale beer to the neighbourhood or marrying a fortune. To be short, Pounce, I am putting Jack upon marriage, and you are so public an envoy, or rather, plenty potentary, from the very different nations of Cheapside, Covent Garden, and St. James's. You have, too, the bienn and language of each place so naturally that you are the properest instrument I know in the world to help an honest young fellow to favour in one of them by credit in the other. By what I understand of your many prefaces, gentlemen, the purpose of all this is that it would not in the least discompose this gentleman's easy, indolent disposition to fall into twenty thousand pounds, though it came upon him never so suddenly. You were a very discerning man. How could you see so far through me as to know I love a fine woman, pretty equipped, good company, and a clean habitation? Well, though I am so much a conjurer, what's then? You know a certain person into whose hands you now and then recommend a young heir to be relieved from the vexation of tenants, taxes, and so forth? What? My worthy friend in city patron Hezekiah Tipkin, banker in Lombard Street, would the noble captain lay any sums in his hands? No, but the noble captain would have treasure out of his hands. You know his niece. To my knowledge, ten thousand pounds in money. Such a stature, such a blooming countenance, so easy a shape. In jewels of a grandmother's five thousand. Her wit so lively, her mean so alluring. In land a thousand a year. Her lips have that certain prominence, that swelling softness that they invite to a pressure. Her eyes that languish that they give pain, though they look only inclined to rest. Her whole person that one charm. Raptures, raptures. How can it so insensibly to itself lead us through cares it knows not, through such a wilderness of hopes, fears, joys, sorrows, desires, despairs, ecstasies, and torments, with so sweet yet so anxious vicissitude? Why, I thought you had never seen her. No more I hadn't. Who told you then of her inviting lips, her soft sleepy eyes? You yourself. Sure you rave, I never spoke of her afford to you. Why, you won't face me down. Did you not just now say she had ten thousand pounds in money, five in jewels, and a thousand a year? I confess my own stupidity and her charms. Why, if you were to meet, you would certainly please her. You have the can't of loving. But pray, may we be free, that young gentleman. A very honest, modest gentleman of my acquaintance, one that has much more in him than he appears to have. You shall know him better, sir, this is Mr. Pounce. Mr. Pounce, this is Mr. Fainlove. I must desire you to let him be known to you and your friends. I shall be proud. Well, then, since we may be free, you must understand, the young lady, by being kept from the world, has made a world of her own. She has spent all her solitude in reading romances. Her head is full of shepherds, knights, flowery meads, groves, and streams. So that if you talk like a man of this world to her, you do nothing. Oh, let me alone. I've been a great traveller in Fairyland myself. I know Oro and Artis. Cassandra, Straya and Clalia are my intimate acquaintance. Go, my heart's envoys. Tender sighs make haste. And with your breath swell the soft suffer's blast. Then, near that fair one, if you chance to fly, tell her in whispers, it is for her I die. That would do, that would do. Her very language. Why, then, dear Pounce, I know thou art the only man living that can serve him. Gentlemen, you must pardon me. I am soliciting the marriage-settlement between her and a country booby, her cousin, Humphrey Gubbin, Sir Harry's heir, who has come to town to take possession of her. Well, all that I can say to the matter is, that a thousand pounds on the day of Jack's marriage to her is more than you'll get by the dispatch of those deeds. Why, a thousand pounds is a pretty thing, especially when it is to take a lady fairer out of the hands of an obstinate, ill-bred clown, to give her to a gentle swain, a dying, enamoured knight. Aye, dear Pounce, consider about that the justice of the thing. Besides, he has just come from the glorious Blenheim. Look ye, Captain, I hope you have learned an implicit obedience to your leaders. Tis all I know. Then if I am to command, make not one step without me, and since we may be free, I am also to acquaint you. There will be more merit in bringing this matter to bear than you imagine, yet right measures make all things possible. We'll follow yours exactly. But the great matter against us is want of time, for the Nymph's uncle and Squire's father this morning met and made an end of the matter. But the difficulty of a thing, Captain, shall be no reason against attempting it. I have so great an opinion of your conduct that I warrant you we conquer all. I am so intimately employed by old Tipkin, and so necessary to him that I may perhaps puzzle things yet. I have seen Dika Jol the Nave very dexterously. Well, really, sir, generally speaking, it is by knowing what a man thinks of himself, in giving him that, to make him what else you please. Now, Tipkin is an absolute lombard street-wit, a fellow that rolls on the strength of fifty thousand pounds. He is called on change, sly boots, and by the force of a very good credit and very bad conscience, he is a leading person. But we must be quick, or he'll sneer old Sir Harry out of his senses and strike up the sale of his niece immediately. But my rival, what's he? There's some hopes there, for I hear the booby is as averse as his father is inclined to it. One is as obstinate as the other is cruel. He is, they say, a pert blockhead, and very lively out of his father's sight. He that gave me his character called him a docile dunce, a fellow rather absurd than a direct fool. When his father's absent, he'll pursue anything he's put upon. But we must not lose time. Pray be you two brothers at home to wait for any notice from me, pretty gentlemen and I, whose face I have known, take a walk and look about for him. Aside to feign love. So, so young lady. Exeunt. Scene Two St. James's Park Enter Sir Harry Gubbin and Tipkin. Look ye, brother Tipkin, as I told you before, my business in town is to dispose of an hundred head of cattle and my son. Brother Gubbin, as I signified to you in my last, bearing date, September 13, my niece has a thousand pounds per annum. And because I have found you a plain-dealing man, particularly in the easy-pad you put into my hands last summer, I was willing you should have the refusal of my niece provided that I have discharged from all retrospects while her guardian and one thousand pounds for my care. Ah, but brother, you rate her too high. The war has fetched down the price of women. The whole nation is overrun with petticoats. Our daughters lie upon our hands, brother Tipkin. Girls are drugs, sir, mere drugs. Look ye, sir Henry, let girls be what they will. A thousand pounds a year is a thousand pounds a year and a thousand pounds a year is neither girl nor boy. Look ye, Mr. Tipkin, the main article with me is that foundation of wife's rebellion and husband's cockledom that cursed pin-money, five hundred pounds per annum pin-money. The word pin-money, sir Henry, is a term. It is a term, brother, we never had in our family, nor ever will. Make her jointure and widowhood accordingly large, but four hundred pounds a year is enough to give no account of. Well, sir Henry, since you can't swallow these pins, I will abate to four hundred pounds. And to mollify the article, as well as specify the uses, we'll put in the names of several female utensils, as needles, knitting needles, tape, thread, scissors, spodkins, vans, playbooks, with other toys of that nature. And now, since we have as good as concluded on the marriage, it will not be improper that the young people see each other. I don't think it put until the very instant of marriage, lest they should not like one another. They shall meet. As for the young girl, she cannot dislike numbs, and for numbs I never suffered him to have anything he liked in his life. He'll be here immediately. He has been trained up from his childhood under such a plant as this. In my hand, I have taken pains in his education. Sir Harry, I approve your method, for since you have left off, honey, you might otherwise want exercise, and this is a subtle expedient to preserve your own help and your son's good manners. It has been the custom of the gobbins to preserve severity and discipline in their families. I myself was tamed the day before my wedding. Aye, sir Harry, had you not been well cuddled in your youth, you had never been the man you are. You say right, sir. Now I feel the benefit of it. There's a crab tree near your house which flourishes for the good of my posterity, and has brushed our jackets from father to son for several generations. I'm glad to hear you have all things necessary for the family within yourselves. Oh, yonder, I see numbs is coming. I have dressed him in the very suit I had on at my own wedding, which is a most becoming apparel. Enter Humphrey Gubbin. Truly the youth makes a good marriageable figure. Come forward, numbs. This is your uncle Tipkin, your mother's brother, numbs, that is so kind as to bestow his niece upon you. Appart. Don't be so glum, sirrah. Don't bow to a man with a face as if you'd knock him down. Don't, sirrah. I'm glad to see you, cousin Humphrey. He is not talkative. I observe already. He is very shrewd, sir, when he pleases. Appart. Do you see this crab-stick you dog? Well, numbs, don't be out of humor. Appart. Will you talk? Come, we're your friends, numbs. Come, lad. Humphrey Gubbin. Appart to his father. You're a pure fellow for a father. This is always your tricks to make a great fool of one before company. Don't disgrace me, sirrah, you grim, graceless rogue. Brother, he has been bred up to respect and silence before his parents. Yet did you but hear what a noise he makes sometimes in the kitchen, or the kennel. He's the loudest of them all. Well, sir Harry, since you assure me he can speak, I'll take your word for it. I can speak when I see occasion, and I can owe my tongue when I see occasion. Well, said numbs. Appart. Sirrah, I see you can do well, if you will. Pray walk up to me, cousin Humphrey. I walk to and fro between us with your hat under your arm. Appart. Clear up your countenance. I see, sir Harry. You hadn't set him but capering under a French dancing-master. He does not mince it. He has not learned to walk by a couant or moray. His pieces are natural, sir Harry. I don't know. But if so, we walk in the west of England. I write numbs, and so we do. Ha-ha-ha! Pray, brother, observe his make. None of your laugh-backed, wishy-washy breed. Come, hither numbs. Appart. Can't you stand still? Measuring his shoulders. I presume this is not the first time, sir Harry, you have measured his shoulders with your cane. Lucky, brother, two foot and a half in the shoulders. Two foot and a half? We must make some settlement on the younger children. Not like him, quota. He may see his cousin when he pleases. But, Arky-uncle, I have a scruple I had better mention before marriage than after. What's that? What's that? My cousin, you know, is akin to me. I don't think it lawful for a young man to marry his own relations. Arky, Arky numbs, we have got a way to solve all that. Appart. Sir Rah, consider this cudgel, your cousin. Suppose I'd have you marry your grandmother. What then? Well, has your father satisfied you in the point, Mr. Humphrey? Aye. Aye, sir, very well. I've not the least scruple remaining. No, no, not in the least, sir. Then, Arky-brother, we'll go take a wet and settle the whole affair. Come, we'll leave numbs here. He knows the way. Appart. Not marry your own relations, sir Rah. Exceint. Very fine, very fine. How proudly this park is stocked with soldiers, and deer, and ducks, and ladies. Ha! Where the old fellow's gone? Where can they be true? I'll ask these people. Interpounds and feign love. Ah, you pretty young gentleman, did you see my father? Your father, sir? A weasel-faced cross, old gentleman with spindle shanks. No, sir. A crab-tree stick in his hand. We hadn't met anybody with these marks, but sure I have seen you before. Are not you Mr. Humphrey-Gubbin, son and heir to Sir Henry-Gubbin? I am his son, and heir. But how long I shall be, I can't tell, for he talks every day of disinheriting me. Dear sir, let me embrace you. I may tend to be offended if I take the liberty to kiss you. Mr. Feign Love, pray. Kiss the gentleman. Feign Love kisses. Nay, dear sir, don't stand and be surprised for I have had a desire to be better known to you ever since I saw you at one day clinch your fist at your father when his back was turned upon you. But I must earn I very much admire a young gentleman of spirit. Why, sir? Why, sir? Will it not vex a man to the art to have an old fool snubbing a body every minute of full company? Oh, fine. He uses you like a boy. Like a boy? He lays on me now and then as if I were one of his hounds. You can't think what a rage he was in this morning because I boggled a little up marrying my own cousin. A man can't be too scrupulous, Mr. Humphrey. A man can't be too scrupulous. Sir, I could as soon love my own flesh and blood. We should squabble like a brother and sister. Do you think we should not? Mr.— Pray, gentlemen, may I crave the favour of your names? Sir, I am the very person that he has been employed to drop the articles of marriage between you and your cousin. I? Say you so. Then you can inform me in some things concerning myself. Pray, sir, what estate am I here to? To fifteen hundred pounds a year, an entailed estate. I'm glad to hear it with all my heart. And can you satisfy me in another question? Pray, how old am I at present? Three and twenty last March. Why, sure as you are there, they have kept me back. I have been told by some of the neighbour that I was born the very year the pigeon house was built, and everybody knows the pigeon house is three and twenty. Why, I find there have been tricks played me. I have obeyed him all along, as if I had been obliged to it. Not at all, sir. Your father can't cut you out of one acre of fifteen hundred pounds a year. What a fool have I been to give him his head so long. A man of your beauty and fortune may find out ladies enough that are not akin to you. Lucky, Mr... What are you call? As to my beauty. I don't know, but they may take a liking to that. But, sir, may I crave your name? My name, sir, is Pounce, at your service. Pounce? What a P? Yes, sir, and Samuel, with an S. Why, then, Mr. Samuel Pounce, do you know any gentle woman that you think I could like? For to tell you truly, I took an antipathy to my cousin ever since my father proposed her to me, and since everybody knows I came up to be married, I don't care to go down and look balked. I have a thought just coming into my head. Do you see this young gentleman? He has a sister, a prodigious fortune. Faith, you two shall be acquainted. I can't pretend to expect so accomplished a gentleman as Mr. Humphrey from my sister, but, being a friend, I'll be at his service in the affair. If I add your sister, she and I should be like two turtles. Mr. Humphrey, you shan't be fooled any longer. I'll carry you into company. Mr. Feynlove, you shall introduce him to Mrs. Claremont's toilet. She'll be highly taken with him, for she loves a gentleman whose manner is particular. What, sir, a person of your pretensions, a clear estate, no portions to pay? It is barbarous your treatment. Mr. Humphrey, I'm afraid you want money. There's for you. Giving a purse. What a man of your accomplishments! And yet you see, sir, how they use me. Dear sir, you are the best friend I ever met with in all my life. Now I am flush of money. Bring me to your sister, and I warrant you for my behaviour. A man's quite another thing with money in his pocket, you know. Pounce, aside. Oh, little the oaf wonders why I should give him money. You shall never want Mr. Humphrey while I have it, Mr. Humphrey. But, dear friend, I must take my leave of you. I have some extraordinary business on my hands. I can't stay, but you must not say a word. But you must be in the way half an hour hence, and I'll introduce you at Mistress Claremont's. Make him believe you are willing to have your cousin Bridget till opportunity serves. Farewell, dear friend. Exit Pounce and fain love. Farewell, good Mr. Samuel Pounce. But let's see my cash. It is very true, the old saying. A man meets with more friendship from strangers than his own relations. Well, let's see my cash. One, two, three, four. There on that side. One, two, three, four on that side. It is a foolish thing to put all one's money in one pocket. It is like a man's old estate in one county. These five in my fob. I'll keep these in my hand lest I should have present occasion. But this town's full of pickpockets. I'll go home again. Exit Whistling. End of Act One. Act Two of The Tender Husband or The Accomplished Fools by Richard Steele. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Act The Second. Scene The Park. Enter Pounce and Captain Claremont with his arm in a scarf. You are now well enough instructed both in the aunt and niece to form your behaviour. But to talk with her apart is the great matter. The antiquated virgin has a mighty affectation for youth and is a great lover of men and money. One of these, at least, I am sure I can gratify her in by turning her pence in the annuities or the stocks of one of the companies. Somewhere or other I'll find to entertain her and engage you with the young lady. Since that is her ladyship's turn, so busy and fine a gentleman as Mr Pounce must need be in her good graces. So shall you, too. But you must not be seen with me at first meeting. I'll dog him while you watch at a distance. Exit. Enter aunt and niece. Was it not my gallant that whistled so charmingly in the parlor before he went out this morning? He's a most accomplished cavalier. Come, niece, come. You don't do well to make sport with your relations, especially with a young gentleman that has so much kindness for you. Kindness for me? What a phrase is there to express the darts and flames, the sights and languishes of an expecting lover. Pray, niece, forbear this idle trash, and talk like other people. Your cousin Humphrey will be true and hearty in what he says, and that's a great deal better than the talk and compliment of romances. Good madam, don't wound my ears with such expressions. Do you think I could ever love a man that's true and hearty? What a peasant like Amour do these coarse words import. True and hearty. Pray, aunt, endeavor a little at the embellishment of your style. Aluckaday, cousin Biddy, these idle romances have quite turned your hand. How often must I desire you, madam, to lay aside that familiar name, cousin Biddy? I never hear it without blushing. Did you ever meet with a heroine in those idle romances, as you call them, that was termed Biddy? Ah, cousin, cousin, these are mere vapours, indeed, nothing but vapours. No, the heroine has always something soft and engaging in her name, something that gives us a notion of the sweetness of her beauty and behaviour, a name that glides through half a dozen tender syllables, as Elismanda, Clydamra, Didamia, that runs upon vowels off the tongue, not hissing through one's teeth, or breaking them with consonants. To a strange rudeness those familiar names they give us, when there is Aurelia, Zatarisa, Gloriana for people of condition, Ancelia, Chloris, Corina, Mopsa for their maids and those of lower rank. Looky, Biddy, this is not to be supported. I know not where you learned this nicety, but I can tell you forsooth, as much as you despise it, your mother was a Bridget for you, and an excellent housewife. Good madam, don't upbrain me with my mother Bridget, and an excellent housewife. Yes, I say she was, and spent her time in better learning than you ever did, not in reading a thight and battles of dwarves and giants, but in writing out receipts for broths, posits, coddles, and surfeit waters, as became a good country gentlewoman. My mother and a Bridget. Yes, niece, I say again, your mother, my sister, was a Bridget, the daughter of her mother Marjorie, of her mother Cisly, of her mother Alice. Have you no mercy? Oh, the barbarous genealogy! Of her mother Winifred, of her mother Joan. Since you will run on, then I must needs tell you I am not satisfied with the point of my nativity. Many an infant has been placed in a cottage with obscure parents till by chance some ancient servant of the family has known it by its marks. Aye, you had best be searched. That's like you're calling the winds to fanning gills before I don't know how much company. And the tree that was blown by it had, forsooth, a spirit imprisoned and a trunk of it. Ignorance! Then a cloud this morning had a flying dragon in it. What eyes had you that you could see nothing? For my part I look upon it to be a progeny, and expect something extraordinary will happen to me before night. But you have a gross relish of things. What noble descriptions and romances had been lost if the writers had been persons of your goo? I wish the authors had been hanged and their books burned before you had seen them. Simplicity! A parcel of improbable lies. Indeed, madam, your railery is coarse. Fit only to corrupt young girls and fill their heads with a thousand foolish dreams of I don't know what. Nay, now, madam, you grow extravagant. What I say is not to vex, but advise you for your good. What, to burn phloxies, artaxers, aroon dates, and the rest of the heroic lovers, and may take my country booby, cousin Humphrey, for a husband? Oh dear, oh dear, bitty. Pray, good dear, learn to act and speak like the rest of the world. Come, come, you shall marry your cousin and live comfortably. Live comfortably? What kind of life is that? A great heiress live comfortably? Pray, and learn to raise your ideas. What is, I wonder, to live comfortably? To live comfortably is to live with prudence and fragility, as we do in Lombard Street. As we do, that's a fine life, indeed, with one servant of each sex. Let's see how many things our coachman is good for. He rubs down his horses, lays the cloth, wets the knives, and sometimes makes beds. A good servant should turn his hand to everything in a family. Nay, there's not a creature in our family that has not two or three different duties. As John is butler, footman, and coachman, so Mary is cook, laundress, and chambermaid. Well, and do you laugh at that? No, not I, nor at the coach horses, though one has an easy trot for my uncle's riding, and tether an easy pace for your side-saddle. And so you cheer at the good management of your relations, do you? No, I'm well satisfied that all the house are creatures of business. But, indeed, was in hopes that my poor little lapdog might have lived with me upon my fortune without unemployment. But my uncle threatens every day to make him a turnspit, that he too, in his fear, may help us to live comfortably. Her key, cousin Bitty. I vow I'm out of countenance when our butler, with his careful face, drives us all stowed in a chariot drawn by one horse ambling, and tethered trotting with his provisions behind for the family, from Saturday night till Monday morning, bound for Hackney. Then we make a comfortable figure indeed. So we do, and so will you always, if you marry your cousin Humphrey. Name not the creature. Creature? What? Your own cousin, a creature? Oh, let's be going. I see Yonder another creature that does my uncle's law business, and has, I believe, made ready the deeds. Those barbarious deeds. What? Mr. Pound's a creature, too? Nay, now I'm sure you're ignorant. You shall stay, and you'll learn more wit from him in an hour than in a thousand of your foolish books in an age. Enter Pound's. You're servant, Mr. Pound's. Ladies, I hope I don't interrupt any private discourse. Not in the least, sir. I should be loath to be esteemed one of those who think they have a privilege of mixing in all companies, without any business, but to bring forth a loud laugh of vain jest. Nice, aside. He talks with the mean and gravity of a paddling. Madam, I bought the other day at three-and-a-half, and served at seven. Then pray, sir, sell for me in time. Nice, mind him. He has an infinite deal of wit. This that I speak of was for you. I never neglect such opportunities to serve my friends. Indeed, Mr. Pound's, you are, I protest without fluttery, the wittiest man in the world. I'll show you, madam, I said last night, before I had a hundred head of citizens, that Mrs. Bolsheba Tipkin was the most ingenious young lady in the Liberties. Well, Mr. Pound's, you are so facetious. But you are always among the great ones. There's no wonder you have it. Nice, aside. Idol! Idol! Madam, you know Alderman Greygoose. He's a notable joking man. Well, says he, here's Mrs. Bolsheba's health. She's my mistress. That man makes me split my sides with laughing. He's such a wag. Aside. Mr. Pound's pretends Greygoose said all this, but I know, to his own wit, for he's in love with me. Pound's, apart. But, madam, there's a certain affair I should communicate to you. I, to certainly so. Aside. He wants to break his mind to me. Captain Claremont, passing. Oh, Mr. Claremont, Mr. Claremont. Ladies, pray let me introduce this young gentleman. He is my friend, a youth of great virtue and goodness, for all he's in a red coat. If he's your friend, we need not doubt his virtue. Ladies, you are taking the cool breath of the morning. Nice, aside. A pretty phrase. That's the pleasantest time this warm weather. It is the season of the pearly do's and gentle zephas. Nice, aside. I, pray mind that again, Aunt. Shouldn't we repose ourselves on your deceit? I love improving company, and to communicate. To certainly so. Aside. He's in love with me, and wants opportunity to tell me so. I don't care if we do. Aside. He's a most ingenious man. Exiant aunt and pounce. We enjoy here, madam, all the pretty landscapes of the country without the pains of going thither. Art and nature are in a rivalry, or rather a confederacy, to adorn this beautyous park with all the agreeable variety of water, shade, walks and air. What can be more charming than these flowery lawns? Or these gloomy shades. Or these embroidered valleys. Or that transparent stream. Or these bowing branches on the banks of it that seem to admire their own beauty in the crystal mirror. I am surprised, madam, at the delicacy of your phrase. Can such expressions come from Lombard Street? Alas, sir. What can be expected from an innocent virgin that has been immersed almost one and twenty years from the conversation of mankind under the care of an Urganda of an aunt? Bless me, madam, how have you been abused? Many a lady before your age has had a hundred lances broken in her service, and as many dragons cut to pieces in honour of her. Nice, aside. Oh, the charming man! Do you believe Pamela was one and twenty before she knew Muciderus? Nice, aside. I could hear him ever. A lady of your wit and beauty might have given occasion for a whole romance and folio before that age. Nice, aside. Oh, the powers! Who can it be? How youth unknown! But let me, in the first place, know whom I talk to, for, sir, I am wholly unacquainted with both your person and your history. You seem, indeed, by your deportment and the distinguishing mark of your bravery which you bear to have been in conflict. May I not know what cruel beauty obliged you to such adventures till she pitied you? Captain Claremont, aside. Oh, the pretty cockscomb! Oh, Blenum, Blenum. Oh, Cordelia, Cordelia. You mentioned the place of battle. I would feign here an exact description of it. Our public papers are so defective. They don't so much as tell us how the sun rose on that glorious day. Were there not a great many flights of vultures before the battle began? Oh, madam, they've eaten up half my acquaintance. Certainly never birds of prey were so feasted. By report, they might have lived half a year on the very legs and arms of our troops left behind them. Had we not fought nearer wood, we should never have got legs enough to have come home upon. The joiner of the foot-guards is made as fortune by it. I shall never forgive your general. He has put all my ancient heroes out of countenance. He has pulled down Cyrus and Alexander as much as Lewisly grand. But your own part in that action? Only that slight hurt, for the astrologist said at my nativity. Nor fire, nor sword, nor pike, nor musket shall destroy this child. Let him but avoid fair eyes. But, madam, may I crave the name of her that has so captivated my heart. I can't guess whom you mean by that description. But if you ask my name, I must confess, you put me upon revealing what I always keep as the greatest secret I have. For would you believe it, they have called me. I don't know how to own it, but they have called me Bridget. Bridget? Bridget. Bridget? Spare my confusion, I beseech you, sir, and if you have occasion to mention me, let it be by Parthenissa. For that's the name I have assumed ever since I came to years of discretion. The insupportable tyranny of parents, to fix names on helpless infants which they must blush at all their lives after. I don't think there's a surname in the world to match it. No. What do you think of Tipkin? Tipkin? Why, I think if I was a young lady that had it, I'd part with it immediately. Pray, how would you get rid of it? I'd change it for another. I could recommend to you three very pretty syllables. What do you think of? Claremont. Claremont. Claremont. Very well. But what right have I to it? If you will give me leave, I'll put you in possession of it. By a very few words I can make it over to you and your children after you. Oh, Phi, whither are you running? You know a lover should sigh in private and languish whole years before he reveals his passion. He should retire into some solitary grove and make the woods and wild beasts his confidence. You should have told it to the echo half a year before you had discovered it, even to my handmaid. And yet besides, to talk to me of children, did you ever hear of a heroine with a big belly? What can a lover do, madam, now the race of giants is extinct? Had I lived in those days there had not been a mortal six-foot high but should have owned Parthenisa for the Paragon of Beauty, or measured his length on the ground. Parthenisa should have been heard by the Brooks in deserts at midnight, the Echo's burden and the river's murmur. That had been a golden age indeed. But see, my aunt has left her grave, companion, and is coming toward us. I command you to leave me. Thus Oro and Arthas, once Satira dismissed him her presence, threw himself at her feet and implored permission but to live. Offering to Neil. And thus Satira raised him from the earth, permitting him to live in love. Exit Claremont. Enter Aunt. Is not Mr. Pounce's conversation very improving, niece? Is not Claremont a very pretty name, aunt? He has so much prudence. He has so much gallantry. So sententious in his expressions. So polished in his language. All he says is, me things, so like a sermon. All he speaks savers of romance. Romance, niece? Mr. Pounce, what savers of romance? No, I mean his friend, the accomplished Mr. Claremont. Thy, for one of your years to command a young fellow. One of my years is mightily governed by example. You did not dislike Mr. Pounce. What, sensorious too? I find there is no trusting you out of the house. A moment's fresh air does but make you still more in love with strangers and despise your own relations. I am certainly by the power of an enchantment placed among you. But I hope I, this morning, employed one to seek adventures and break the charm. Vapers, Biddy, indeed. Nothing but vapours. Cousin Humphrey shall break the charm. Name him not. Call me still Biddy, rather than name that brute. Exeunt, aunt, and niece. Enter Captain Claremont and Pounce. A perfect Quixote in petticoats. I tell thee, Pounce, she governs herself wholly by romance. It has got into a very blood. She starts by rule and blushes by example. Could I but have produced one instance of a lady's complying at first sight I should have gained her promise on the spot. How am I bound to curse the cold constitutions of the Philoclairs and Stateras? I am undone for want of precedence. I am sure I laboured hard to favour your conferences and ply the old woman all the while with something that tickled either her vanity or her covetousness. I considered all the stocks, old and new company, her own complexion and youth, partners for sword-blades, chamber of London, banks for charity, and mine in ventures, till she told me I had the repute of the most facetious man that ever came to getaways. For you must know public knaves and stock-jobbers pass for wits at her end of the town, as common cheats and games to do what yours. I pity the drudgery you have gone through, but what's next to be done towards getting my pretty heroine? What should next be done an ordinary method of things? You have seen her. The next regular approach is that you cannot subsist a moment without sending forth musical complaints of your misfortune by way of serenade. I can nick you there, sir. I have a scribbling army friend that has written a triumphant, rare, noisy song in honour of the late victory that will hit the nymphs fantastic to a hair. I'll get everything ready as fast as possible. While you are playing upon the fort, I'll be within and observe what execution you do and give you intelligence accordingly. You must have an eye upon Mr. Humphrey while I feed the vanity of Parthenissa, for I am so experienced in these matters that I know none but coxcoms think to win a woman by any dessert of their own. No, it must be done rather by complying with some prevailing humour of your mistress than exerting any good quality in yourself. It is not the lover's merit that wins the field, but to themselves alone the beauty is healed. End of Act II Act III of The Tender Husband or The Accomplished Fools by Richard Steele. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Act III Scene I Mrs. Claremont's Room Enter Mrs. Claremont, Fane Love, and her lapdog, and Jenny. Madam, the footman that's recommended to you is Bilal, if your ladyship were pleased to take him. Oh, Faye, I don't believe I'll think on it. It is impossible he should be good for anything. The English are so saucy with their liberty, I'll have all my lower servants French. There cannot be a good footman born out of an absolute monarchy. Try and be held into your ladyship for believing so well after my servants in England. Indeed, Jenny, I wish thou'dt would really French, for thou art plain English in spite of example. Here, arms, but do hang on, and you move perfectly upon joints, not with the swim of the whole person. But I am talking to you and have not adjusted myself to-day. What a pretty company a glass is to have another self. Kisses the lapdog in Fane Love's arms. To converse in soliloquy, to have company that never contradicts or displeases us. The pretty visible echo of our actions. How easy, too, it is to be disencompered with stays, where a woman has anything like shape, if no shape a good heir. But I look best when I am talking. You always look well. For I am always talking you mean so. That disquietes thy sullen English temper. But I don't really look so well when I am silent. If I do but offer to speak, then I may say that, oh, bless me, Jenny, I am so pale. I am afraid of myself. I have not laid on half red enough. What a do-baked thing I was before I improved myself and travelled for beauty. However, my face is very prettily designed today. Indeed, madam, you begin to have so fine in hand that you are younger every day than other. The ladies abroad used to call me Madam Ozil Titian. I was so famous for my colouring, but pretty wench, bring me my black eyebrows out of the next room. Madam, I have them in my hand. It would be happy for all that are to see you today if you could change your eyes, too. Galent enough. No, hang it, I'll wear these I have on. This mode of visage takes mightily. I had three ladies last week come over after my complexion. I think to be a fair woman this fortnight till I find I am aped too much. I believe there are a hundred copies of me already. Dear madam, will your ladyship please to let me be of the next countenance you leave off? You may, Jenny, but I assure you it is a very pretty piece of ill nature for a woman that has any genius for beauty to observe the servile imitation of her manner, her motion, her glances and her smiles. I indeed, madam, nothing can be so ridiculous as to imitate the inimitable. Indeed, as you say, feign love, the French mean is no more to be learned than the language without going to there. Then again, to see some poor ladies who have clownish, pernurious English husbands turn and torture their old clothes into so many forms and dye them into so many colours to follow me. What sayest, Jenny? What sayest? Not a word. Why, madam, all I can say... Nay, I believe, Jenny, thou hast nothing to say any more than the rest of thy countrywomen. The splenatics speak just as the weather lets them. They are mere talking barometers. Abroad the people of quality go on so eternally and still go on and are gay and entertain. In England discourse is made up of nothing but question and answer. I was to the day at a visit where there was a profound silence for, I believe, a third part of a minute. And your ladyship there? They infected me with their dullness. Who can keep up their good humour at an English visit? They sit as at a funeral, silent in the midst of many candles. One perhaps alarms the room. Tis very cold weather. Then all the mutes play their fans till some other question happens and then the fans go off again. Madam, your spinet master has come. Bring him in. He's very pretty company. His spinet is? He never speaks himself. Speak, Simpleton. What then? He keeps out silence, does not he? Oh, sir, you must forgive me. I have been very idle. Well, you pardon me. Master Bowes. Did you think I was perfect in the song? Bowes. But pray, let me hear it once more. Let us see it. Reads. With studied airs and practised smiles Flavia my ravished heart beguiles The charms we make are ours alone Nature's works are not our own Her skillful hand gives every grace And shows her fancy in her face She feeds with art an amorous rage Nor fears the force of coming age You sing it very well, but I confess I wish you'd give more into the French manner Observe me, Hamet à la Français Oui, studied airs and practised smiles Flavia my ravished heart beguiles The charms we make are ours alone Nature's works are not our own Her skillful hand gives every grace And shows her fancy in her face She feeds with art an amorous rage Nor fears the force of coming age The whole person, every limb, every nerve sings The English way has only been for that time A mere musical instrument Just sending forth a sound Without knowing they do so Now I'll give you a little of it Like an English woman You are to suppose I've denied you twenty times Looked silly and all that Then, with hands and face insensible I have a mighty cold With studied airs and practised smiles Flavia my ravished heart beguiles The charms we make are ours alone Nature's works are not our own Her skillful hand gives every grace And shows her fancy in her face She feeds with art an amorous rage Nor fears the force of coming age Inter-servant Madam Captain Claremont And a very strange gentleman Are come to wait on you Let him and the very strange gentleman come in Oh, madam, that's the country gentlemen I was telling you off Enter Humphrey and Captain Claremont Madam, may I do myself the honour To recommend Mr. Gobin, son and heir To Sir Harry Gobin, to your ladyship's notice Mr. Gobin, I am extremely pleased with your suit To Zantique and originally from France It is always locked up, madam When I am in the country My father prizes it more early To make a very pretty dance in suit and a mask Oh, Captain Claremont, I have a quarrel with you Enter Servant Madam, your ladyship's husband Desires to know whether you see company today or not Who, you clown? Mr. Claremont, madam He may come in Enter Claremont, senior Very humble servant I am going to take the air this morning in my coach And did myself the honour, before I went To receive your commands Finding you saw company At any time when you know I do You may let me see you Pray, how did you sleep last night? Aside If I had not asked him that question They might have thought we lay together Here feigned love, looking through a perspective Bows to Claremont, senior But, Captain, I have a quarrel with you I have utterly forgot those three coupés You promised to come again and show me Then, madam, you have no commands this morning? Your humble servant, sir But, oh As she is going to be led by the captain Have you signed that mortgage to pay off My Lady Faddle's winnings at Hombre? Yes, madam Then all's well, my honour's safe Exit Claremont, senior Come, Captain, lead me this step For I'm apt to make a false one You shall show me I'll show you, madam, tis no matter for a fiddle I'll give you them the French way in a teaching-tune Pray more quick Oh, mademoiselle, qu'est-ce que fait-vous? Ah, moi There again Now slide, as it were, with and without measure There, you outed the gypsy And you have all the smiles of the dance to a tittle Why, truly, I think that the greatest part I have seen an English woman dance a jig With the severity of a vestal virgin If this be French dancing and singing Or fancy art could do it Oh, oh Capers aside I protest, Mr. Gobin You have almost the step Without any of our country bashfulness Give me your hand Ha, ha So, so, a little quicker That's right, ha Captain, your brother delivered the spark to me To be diverted here till he calls for him Exit Claremont This going so on makes one's money jingle confoundedly I'm resolved on never carry above one pocketful ear after You do it very readily You amaze me Are the gentlemen in France generally so well-bred As we are in England? Are they, madem? Ha But, young gentlemen When shall I see the sister? Ha, is not the eye a one jumps the better? She'll be mightily taken with you, I'm sure One would not think to us in you You're so gay and dense, so very high What, sure day or me? Did you think I was wind-golled? I am saying too, if I please But I want till I see your sister This is a mighty pretty house Well, do you know that I like this gentleman extremely? I should be glad to inform him But were you never in France, Mr. Gobin? No, but I'm always thus pleasant If my father's not by Too faint love I protest I'd advise your sister to have me I'm for marrying her at once Why should I stand shilly-shally like a country bumpkin? Mr. Gobin, I daresay she'll be as forward as you We'll go in and see her Then he has not yet seen the ladies in love with I protest very new and galant Mr. Gobin, she must needs believe you a frank person Fain love, I must see the sister too I'm resolved she shall like him There needs not time true passion to discover The most believing is the most a lover Scene two Nice's lodgings Enter Nice How Claremont, Claremont to be struck at first sight I am ashamed of my weakness I find in myself all the symptoms of a raging amour I love solitude, I grow pale I sigh frequently, I call upon the name of Claremont When I don't think of it His person is ever in my eyes And his voice in my ears Me thinks I long to lose myself in some pensive grove Or to hang over the head of some warbling fountain With a loot in my hand Softening the murmurs of the water Enter Aunt Biddy, biddy Where's Biddy Tipkin? Whom do you inquire for? Come, come, he's just a coming at the park door Who is coming? Your cousin Humphrey Who should be coming? Your lover, your husband that is to be Pray, my dear, look well And be civil for your credit and mine too If he answers my idea I shall rally the rustic to death Pist, here he is Enter Humphrey Aunt, your rumble servant Is that ha? Aunt? Yes, cousin Humphrey, that's your cousin Bridget Well, I'll leave you together Exit Aunt They sit Aunt does as she be done by cousin Bridget Though she not cousin Ha! What are you, a Londoner And not speak to a gentleman? Ah, lucky cousin The old folks resolving to marry us I thought it would be proper to see how I liked you Is not caring to buy a pig in a poke For I love to look before I leap Sir, your person in a dress Bring to my mind the whole history of Valentine and Orison What, would they marry me to a wild man? Pray answer me a question or two Aye aye, as many as you please, cousin Bridget What would were you taken in? How long have you been caught? Caught Where were your haunts? My aunts Are not clothes very uneasy to you? Is this strange dress the first you ever wore? How? Are you not a great admirer of roots and raw flesh? Let me look upon your nails Don't you love blackberries, haws, and pig nuts, mightily? How? Can't thou deny that thou were suckled by a wolf? You have not been so barbarous, I hope, since you came among men As to hunt your nurse, have you? Ought my nurse I tis so she's distracted as sure as a gun Arquee, cousin, pray will you let me ask you a question or two If thou hast yet learned the use of language, speak, monster How long have you been thus? Thus, what would thou say? What's the cause of it? Tell me truly now, do you never love anybody before me? Go, go, thou were to savage Rises They never let you go abroad, I suppose Thou were to monster, I tell thee And, Dean, cousin, though tis a folly to tell thee so I'm afraid thou art a mad woman I'll have thee carried into some forest I'll carry thee into a dark room I hate thee I wish you did There's no eight lost, I assure you Cousin Bridget Cousin Bridget, quota, I'd as soon claim kindred with a mountain bear I detest thee You never do any harm in these fits, I hope But do you hate me in earnest? Does thou ask it, ungentle forester? Yes, for I've a reason, lucky It happens very well if you hate me And are in your senses For to tell you truly I don't much care for you And there is another fine woman, as I am informed That is in some hopes of having me Nice, aside This merits my attention Lucky, do you see, as I said before Since I don't care for you I would not have you set your eye on me But if you like anybody else Let me know it, and I'll find out a way For us to get rid of one another And deceive the old folks that would couple us This wears the face of an amour There is something in that thought Which makes thy presence less insupportable Nay, nay Now you're growing fond If you come with these maids tricks To say you hate at first And afterwards like me You'll spoil the old design Don't fear it When I think of consorting with thee May the wild boar defile the cleanly ermine May the tiger be wedded to the kid When I think of thee May the pole cat, cat or wall with the civet When I harbour the least thought of thee May the silver thames forget its course When I like thee May I be soused over adineers in an oars-pond But do you hate me Into aunt Forever, and you me? Most artily Aunt, aside Ha! I like this There come two promises and protestations I'm very glad I've found a way to please you You promise to be constant? Till death Thou best of savages Thou best of savages? Poor bitty Aunt, aside Oh, the pretty couple Joking on one another Well, how do you like your cousin Humphrey now? Much better than I thought I should He's quite another thing than what I took him for We both have the same passion for one another We wanted only an occasion to open our oars, Aunt Oh, how does we'll rejoice my brother and Sir Harry? We'll go to him No, I must fetch a walk with a new acquaintance Mr. Samuel Ponce An excellent acquaintance for your husband Come, niece, come Farewell, Rustic Bye, bitty Rustic, bitty Pretty creatures Exeunt End of Act III Act IV of The Tender Husband or The Accomplished Fools by Richard Steele This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Act IV Scene A Street Inter-Captain Claremont and Pounce Does she expect me then at this very instant? I tell you, she ordered me to bring the painter at this very hour Precisely to draw her niece For to make her picture peculiarly charming She is now that downcast pretty shame That worn cheek glowing with the fear and hope of today's fate With the inviting coy affection of a bride All in her face at once Now I know you are a pretender that way Enough I warrant to personate the character on such an inspiring occasion You must have the song I spoke of performed at this window At the end of which I'll give you a signal Everything is ready for you Your pencil, your canvas stretched, your— Be sure you play your part in humour To be a painter for a lady you'll have the excessive flattery of a lover The ready invention of a poet And the easy gesture of a player Come, come, no more instructions My imagination outruns all you can say Be gone, be gone Exit Pounce A song Why lovely charmer, tell me why So very kind and yet so shy Why does that cold forbidding air Give damps of sorrow and despair Or why that smile my soul subdue And kindle up my flames anew In vain you strive with all your art By turns to freeze and fire my heart When I behold a face so fair So sweet a look, so soft an air My ravish soul is charmed all o'er I cannot love thee less nor more After the song Pounce appears beckoning the captain Captain, captain Exit Captain Scene two Neese's lodgings, two chairs and a table Enter Aunt and Neese Indeed, Neese, I am as much overjoyed To see your wedding day as if it were my own But why must it be huddled up so? Oh, my dear, a private wedding is much better Your mother had such a bustle at hers With feasting and fooling Besides, they did not go to bed till two in the morning Since you understand things so well I wonder you never married yourself My dear, I was very cruel thirty years ago And nobody has asked me since Alas! a day! Yet I assure you There was a great many matches proposed to me There was Sir Gilbert Jolly But he forsooth could not please He drank ale and smoked tobacco And was no fine gentleman forsooth But then again there was young Mr. Peregrine Shapley Who had travelled and spoke French And smiled at all I said He was a fine gentleman But then he was consumptive And yet again to see how one may be mistaken Sir Jolly died in half a year And my lady Shapley Has by that thin slip eight children That should have been mine But here's the bridegroom Enter Humphrey So, cousin Humphrey Your servant ladies So, my dear So, my savage Oh, Fi, no more of that to your husband, Biddy No matter, I like it as well as I know my cousin loves me as well as I do her I'll leave you together I must go and get ready an entertainment for you When you come home Exit Well cousin Are you constant? Do you hate me still? As much as ever What unhappiness it is When people's inclinations jump I wish I knew what to do with you Can't you get nobody, do you think, to marry you? Nice, aside Oh, Claremont, Claremont, where art thou? Enter Aunt and Captain Claremont, disguised This, sir, is the lady whom you are to draw You see, sir, as good flesh and blood As a man with desire to put in colours I must have her maiden picture Then the painter must make haste Ah, cousin Hold thy tongue, good savage Madam, I'm generally forced to numold every feature In men nature's handiwork But here she is made so finished and original That I despair of my copies coming up to it Do you hear that, niece? I don't desire you to make graces where you find none To see the difference of the fair sex I protest to you, madam, my fancy is utterly exhausted With inventing faces for those that sit to me The first entertainment I generally meet Were the complaints for want of sleep They never look so pale in their lives As when they sit for their pictures Then so many touches and retouches When the face is finished That wrinkle ought not to have been Those eyes are too languid, that colour's too weak That side-look hides them all on the left cheek In short, the whole likeness is struck out But in you, madam, the highest I can come up to Will be but rigid justice A comical dog, this Truly, the gentleman seems to understand his business Sir, if your pencil flatters like your tongue You are going to draw a picture that won't be at all like me Aside Sure, I have heard that voice somewhere Madam, be pleased to place yourself near me Near is still, madam, here falls the best light You must know, madam, there are three kinds of airs Which the ladies must alight in There is your hearty, your mild and your pensive air The hearty may be expressed with the head A little more erect than ordinary And the countenance with a certain disdain in it So she may appear almost, but not quite inexorable This kind of air's generally heightened With a little knitting of the brows I gave my lady scornwell the choice of a dozen frowns Before she could find one to her liking But what's the mild air? The mild air's composed of a languish and a smile But if I might advise I'd rather be a pensive beauty The pensive usually feels her pulse Leans on one arm Or sits ruminating with a book in her hand Which conversation she is supposed to choose Rather than the endless importunities of lovers A comical dog! Upon my word he understands his business well I'll tell you, niece, how your mother was drawn She had an orange in her hand And a nose-gay in her bosom But a look so pure and fresh-coloured You'd have taken her for one of the seasons You seem indeed, madam, most inclined to the pensive The pensive delights also in the fall of waters Past oral figures Or any rural view suitable to a fair lady Who, with a delicate spleen, has retired from the world As sick of its flattery and admiration No, since there is room for fancy in a picture I would be drawn like the Amazon Tholet Stress With a spear in my hand and a helmet on a table before me At a distance behind let there be a dwarf Holding by the bridle a milk-white palfrey Madam, the thought is full of spirit And if you please there shall be a cupid stealing away your helmet To show that love should have a part in all gallant actions That circumstance may be very picturesque Here, madam, shall be your own picture Hear the palfrey and hear the dwarf The dwarf must be very little, or we shan't have room for him A dwarf cannot be too little I'll make him a blackamore to distinguish him From the other too powerful dwarf Ah, the cupid I'll place that beautyess boy near you To look very natural He'll certainly take you for his mother Venus I leave these particulars to your own fancy Please, madam, to uncover your neck a little A little lower still A little, little lower I'll be drawn thus, if you please, sir Ladies, have you heard the news of a late marriage Between a young lady of great fortune And a younger brother of a good family Pray, sir, how is it? This young gentleman, ladies, is a particular acquaintance of mine And much about my age and stature Look me full in the face, madam He accidentally met the young lady Who had in her other perfections of her sex Hold up your head, madam, that's right She let him know that his person and discourse Were not altogether disagreeable to her The difficulty was how to gain a second interview Your eyes full upon mine, madam For never was there such a sire In all the valleys of Arcadia's that unfortunate youth During the absence of her he loved A lucky day, poor young gentleman Nice, aside It must be he What a charming amour is this At length, ladies, he bethought himself of an expedient He dressed himself just as I am now And came to draw her picture Your eyes full upon mine, pray, madam So, dog, I warrant him And by that means found an opportunity Of carrying her off and marrying her Indeed, your friend was a very vicious young man Yet perhaps the young lady was not displeased At what he had done But, madam, what were the transports Of the lover when she made him that confession? I daresay she thought herself very happy When she got out of the guardian's hands Tis very true, niece There are abundance of those headstrong young baggages About town The gentleman has often told me he was strangely struck At first sight, but when she sat to him for her picture And assumed all those graces that are proper for the occasion His torment was so exquisite His passion so violent that he could not have lived a day Had he not found means to make the charmer of his heart his own Tis certainly the foolishest thing in the world To stand surely, Charlie, about a woman When one has them on to marry her The young painter turned poet on the subject I believe I have the words by heart A sonnet, pray repeat it While gentle Parthenissa walks And sweetly smiles in gaily talks A thousand shaves around her fly A thousand swains unheeded die If then she labours to be seen With all her killing air and mean From so much beauty, so much art What mortal can secure his heart Oh, if fancy, if it was sung It would make a very pretty catch My servant has a voice, you shall hear it Here it is sung Why, this is pretty I think a painter should never be without a good singer It brightens the feature strangely My profess, I'm mightily pleased I'll but just step in and give some orders And be with you presently Exit Was not this adventurous painter called Claremont? It was Claremont, the servant of Parthenissa But let me beseech that beauty is made to resolve And make the incident I feign to her a real one Consider, madam, your environ by cruel and treacherous guards Which would force you to a disagreeable marriage Your case is exactly the same with the princess Of the Leontines and Clalia How can we commit such a solicism against all rules? What in the first leave of our history to have the marriage? You know it cannot be The pleasantest part of the history will be after marriage No, I never yet read of a night that entered tilt Or tournament after wedlock, tis not to be expected When the husband begins, the hero ends All that noble impulse to glory All the generous passion for adventure Is consumed in the nuptial torch I don't know how it is, but Mars and Hyman never hit it Humphrey, listening, aside Consumed in the nuptial torch Mars and Hyman, what can all this mean? I am very glad I can hardly read They could never get these foolish fancies into my head I had always a strong brain Arche cousin is not this painter a comical dog I think he's very agreeable company Why then I tell you what, marry him A painter is a very gentile calling He's an ingenious fellow and certainly poor I fancy he'd be glad on it I'll keep my hat out of the room a minute or two That's all the time you have to consider Exit Fortune points out to us this only occasion of our happiness Loves of celestial origin And needs no long acquaintance to be manifest Lovers like angels speak by intuition Their souls are in their eyes Nice, aside Then I fear he sees mine But I can't think of abridging our emers And cutting off all the farther decoration of disguise, serenade, and adventure Nor would I willingly lose the merit of long services Midnight sighs and plaintive solitudes Were there not a necessity Then to be seized by stealth Why, madam, you are a great fortune And should not be married the common way Indeed, madam, you ought to be stolen, nay In strictness, I don't know, but you ought to be ravished But then our history will be so short I grant it, but you don't consider there's a device in another's Leading you instead of this person that's to have you And, madam, though our moors can't furnish out a romance They'll make a very pretty novel Why smiles, my fair I am almost of opinion that had a rune date Spent as pressing as Claremont Cassandra had been but a pocketbook But it looks so ordinary to go out a door to be married Indeed, I ought to be taken out of a window And run away with him Enter Humphrey and Pounce Well, cousin, the coach is at the door If you please, I'll lead you I put myself into your hands, good savage But you promise to leave me I'll tell you plainly You must not think of having me Pounce to Claremont You'll have the opportunity enough to carry her off The old fellows will be busy with me I'll gain all the time I can But be bold and prosper Claremont, you follow us Upon the wings of love End of Act IV Act V of The Tender Husband Or The Accomplished Fools By Richard Steele This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org Act V Scene I Claremont Senior's House Enter Claremont Senior and Fane Love Then she gave you this letter And bid you read it as a paper of verses This is the place, the hour, the lucky minute Now I am rubbing up my memory To recollect all you said to me When you first ruined me That I may attack her right Your eloquence would be needless It is so unmoddish to need persuasion Modesty makes a lady embarrassed But my spouse is above that As, for example Reading her letter Fane Love, you don't seem to want wit Therefore I need say no more Than that distance to a woman of the world In no man but a husband An hour hence come up the back stairs To my closet Adieu, mon mignon I'm glad you are punctual I'll conceal myself to observe your interview Aside Oh, torture, but this wench Must not see it Be sure you come time enough To save my reputation Remember your orders Distance becomes no man but a husband I am glad you are in so good humor on the occasion But you know me to be but a bully in love That can bluster only till the minute of engagement But I'll top my part And form my conduct by my own sentiments If she grows coy I'll grow more saucy It was so I was one myself Well, my dear rival Your assignation draws nigh You are to put on your transport Your impatient throbbing heart Won't let you wait her arrival Let the dull family thing in husband Who reckons his moments by his cares Be content to wait But you are a gallant And measure time by ecstasies I hear her coming, to your post Good husband, know your duty And don't be in the way When your wife has a mind to be in private To your post, into the coal hole Enter Mrs. Claremont Welcome, my dear, my tender charmer Oh, to my longing arms Feel the heart-pant That falls and rises As you smile off-rown Oh, the ecstatic moment Aside I think that was something Like what has been said to me Very well, faint love I protest I value myself For discerning I knew you had fire Through all the respect you showed me But how came you to make no direct advances, young gentlemen? Why was I forced to admonish a gallantry? Why, madam, I knew you a woman of breeding And above the senseless nice tease Of an English wife The French way is You are to go so far Whether you are agreeable or not If you are so happy as to please Nobody that is not of a constrained behaviour Is at a loss to let you know it Besides, if the humble servant Makes the first approaches He has the impudence of making a request But not the honour of obeying a command Right. A woman's man should conceal Passion in a familiar air of indifference Now there's Mr. Claremont I can't allow him the least freedom But the unfashionable fool grows so fond of me That he cannot hide it in public I, madam, I have often wondered At your ladyship's choice of one That seems to have so little of the Beaumont In his carriage But just what you force him to While there were so many pretty gentlemen Dancing Oh, young gentleman, you are mightily mistaken If you think such animals as you And pretty Bo Titmouse And Pert Billy Butterfly Though I suffer you to come in And play about my rooms Are any ways in competition With a man whose name one would wear Oh, madam, then I find we are A woman of sense must have respect For a man of that character But alas, respect What is respect? Respect is not the thing Respect has something too solemn For soft moments You things are more proper for hours of dalliance Claremont, senior, peeping How I have wronged this fine lady I find I am to be cockled Out of her pure esteem for me Besides, those fellows For whom we have respect Have none for us I warrant on such an occasion Claremont would have ruffled a woman out of all form While you... Claremont, senior, aside A good hint Now my cause comes on Since then you allow us fitter for soft moments Why do we misemploy them? Let me kiss that beauty's hand And clasp that graceful frame How feign love What, you don't design to be impertinent? But my lips have a certain roughness on them today And they... No... No, they are all softness The delicious sweetness is inexpressible Here language fails Let me applaud thy lips Not by the utterance But by the touch of mine Enter Claremont, senior, drawing his sword Ha! Villain! Ravisher! Invader of my bed and honour! Draw! What means this insolence? This intrusion into my privacy? Wa...what? Do you come into my very closet without knocking? Who put this into your head? My injuries have alarmed me And I'll bear no longer But sacrifice your bravado, the author of them Oh! Poor Mr. Feign Love Must he die for his compliance and innocent freedoms with me? How could you, if you might? Oh, the sweet youth! What! Fight, Mr. Feign Love! What will the ladies say? Let me come at the intruder on ladies' private hours The unfashionable monster! I'll prevent all future interruption from him Let me come Drawing his sword Oh! the brave, pretty creature! Look at his youth and innocence! He's not made for such rough encounters Stand behind me, poor Feign Love There's not a visit in town, sir Where you shall not be displayed at full length for this intrusion I banish you for ever From my sight and my bed I obey you, madam For distance is becoming in no man but a husband Giving her the letter which she reads and falls into a swan I've gone too far Kissing her The impertinent was guilty of nothing but what my indiscretion led her to This is the first kiss I've had these six weeks But she awakes Well, Jenny, you topped your part indeed Come to my arms, thou ready-willing, fair one Thou hast no vanities, no niceties But art thankful for every instant of love that I bestow on thee Embracing her What? Am I then abused? Is it a wench, then, of his? Oh, me! Was ever poor, abused wife Poor innocent lady thus injured Runs and seizes Feign Love's sword Oh, the brave, pretty creature Hurt Mr. Feign Love Look at his youth, his innocent, ha-ha! Interposing Have a care, have a care, dear sir I know by myself she'll have no mercy I'll be the death of her Let me come on Stand from between us, Mr. Claremont I would not hurt you Pushing and crying Run, run, Jenny Exit Jenny Looks at her upbraidingly before he speaks Well, madam, are these the innocent freedoms you claimed of me? Have I deserved this? How has there been a moment of yours Ever interrupted with the real pangs I suffer? The daily importunities of creditors Who became so by serving your profuse fanities Did I ever murmur at supplying any of your diversions While I believed them, as you call them, harmless? Must, then, those eyes that used to glad my heart With their familiar brightness Hang down with guilt? Guilt has transformed thy whole person Nay, the very memory of it Fly from my growing passion I cannot fly, nor bear it Oh, look not What can you say? Speak quickly Offering to draw I never saw you moved before Don't murder me, impenitent I am wholly in your power as a criminal But remember I have been so in a tender regard But how have you considered that regard? Is it possible you can forgive Which you ensnared me into? Oh, look at me kindly You know I have only aired in my intention Nor saw my danger Till, by this honest art You had shown me what is to venture To the utmost limit of what is lawful You laid that train, I'm sure, to alarm Not to betray my innocence Mr. Claremont scorned such baseness Therefore, I kneel, I weep I am convinced Niels, Claremont's senior Takes her up embracing her Then kneel and weep no more, my fairest My reconciled Be so in a moment, for no I cannot Without ringing my own heart Give you the least compunction Be in humor It shall be your own fault if ever There's a serious word more on this subject I must correct every idea that rises in my mind And learn every gesture of my body anew I detest the thing I was No, no, you must not do so Our joy and grief, honour and reproach Are the same You must slide out of your faupery by degree So that it may appear your own act But this wench She is already out of your way You shall see the catastrophe of her fate yourself But still, keep up the fine lady till we go out of town You may return to it with as decent airs as you please And now that I have shown you your error I'm in so good humour as to repeat you a couplet on the occasion They only who gain minds, true laurels wear It is less to conquer than convince the fair Exeant Scene 2 Tipkin's house Enter pounce with papers A table, chairs, pen, ink and paper Tis the delight to go all these old rascals And set them at variants about stakes Which I know neither of them will ever have possession of Enter Tipkin and Sir Harry Do you design Sir Harry that they shall have an estate in their own hands And keep house themselves, poor things? No, no, sir, I know better They shall go down into the country And live with me, not touch farthing of money But having all things necessary provided They shall go tame about the house and breed Well, Sir Harry, then, considering that all human things are subject to change It behoves every man that has a just sense of mortality To take care of his money I don't know what you mean, brother What do you drive at, brother? This instrument is executed by you, your son and my niece Which discharges me of all retrospects It is confessed, brother, but what then? All that remains is that you pay me for the young lady's twelve years' board As also all other charges, as wearing a peril, etc. What is this you say? Did I give you my discharge from all retrospects, as you call it? And after all, do you come with this and tother and all that? I find you are I tell you, sir, to your face, I find you are I find too what you are, Sir Harry What am I, sir? What am I? Why, sir, you are angry Sir, I scorn your words, I am not angry Mr. pounces my witness, I am as gentle as a lamb Would it not make any flesh or life angry To see a close hunk come after all with the demand of Mr. pounce, pray inform Sir Harry at this point Indeed, Sir Harry, I must tell you plainly That Mr. Chippkin in this demands nothing but what he may recover For though this case may be considered a multifarium That is to say, as is usually commonly Vicatum or Volgule expressed Yet I say, when we only observe that the power is settled as the law requires As sends you, Patrice, by the consent of the father That circumstance imports you are well acquainted with the advantages Which accrue to your family by this alliance Which corroborates Mr. Chippkin's demand And avoids all objections that can be made Why, then, I find you are his adviser in all this Lucky, sir, to show you I love to promote among my clients a good understanding Though Mr. Chippkin may claim four thousand pounds I'll engage for him, and I know him so well That he shall take three thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight pounds For shillings and eight-pence farthing Indeed, Mr. Pounce, you are too hard upon me You must consider a little, Sir Harry is your brother Three thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight pounds For shillings and eight-pence farthing For what I say? For what, sir? For what, sir? For what you wanted, sir? A fine lady is always in want, sir Her very clothes would come to that money in half the time Three thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight pounds For shillings and eight-pence farthing for clothes Pray, how many suits does she wear out in a year? Oh, yes, sir, a fine lady's clothes are not old by being worn But by being seen Well, I'll save her clothes for the future After I have got her into the country A war on her she shall not appear more in this wicked town Where clothes are worn out by sight And as to what you demand I tell you, sir Tis extortion Sir Harry, do you accuse me of extortion? Yes, I say extortion Mr. Pounce, write down that There are very good laws provided against Scandal and Columne Loss of reputation may tend to loss of money Item for having accused Mr. Tipkin of extortion Nay, if you come to your items Look ye, Mr. Tipkin This is an inventory of such goods as were left to my niece Bridget By her deceased father And which I expect shall be forthcoming at her marriage to my son And Primus, a golden locket of her mother's With something very ingenious and Latin on the inside of it Item, a couple of muskets with two shoulder-belts and bandoliers Item, a large silver coddle-cup with a true story engraven on it But Sir Harry Item, a bays vial with almost all the strings to it And only a small hole on the back But nevertheless, sir This is the furniture of my brother's bed-chamber that follows The suite of tapestry hangings, with the story of Judith and Holofernes Torn only where the head should have been off An old bed-stead curiously wrought about the posts Consisting of two load of timber, a home, a basin, three razors, and a comb-case Look ye, sir, you see I can item it Alas, Sir Harry, if you had ten choir of items It is all answered in the word retrospect Why then, Mr. Pounce and Mr. Tipkin, you are both rascals Do you call me rascal, Sir Harry? Yes, sir Write it down, Mr. Pounce, at the end of the leaf If you have room, Mr. Pounce, put down villain, son of a whore Kermudgen, hunks, and scoundrel Not so fast, Sir Harry, he cannot write so fast You are at the word villain A son of a whore I take it was next You may make the account as large as you please, Sir Harry Come, come, I won't be used thus Hark ye, sirrah, draw What do you do at this end of the town without a sword? Draw, I say Sir Harry, you are a military man, a colonel of the militia I am so, sirrah, and will run such an extorting dog as you through the guts To show the militia is useful Oh dear, oh dear, how am I concerned to see persons of your figure thus moved? The wedding is coming in, we'll settle these things afterwards I am calm Tipkin, live these two hours, but expect Enter Humphrey, leading niece Mrs. Claremont, led by feign love Captain Claremont and Claremont, senior Who are these? Hey, De, who are these, Sir Harry, her? Some frolic, to his wedding day, no matter Ha, ha, for their master, Ronco, come You must stir your stumps, you must dance Come, old lads, kiss the light, ease Sir Tipkin, Sir Harry, I beg pardon for an introduction so malapropos I know sudden familiarity is not the English way Alas, Mr. Gubbin, this father and uncle of yours must be new muddled How they stare, both of them Hark, ye numbs, who is this you have brought hither? Is it not the famous fine lady, Mrs. Claremont? What a pox did you let her come near your wife? Look ye, don't expose yourself and play some mad cutery prank to disgrace me before her I shall be laughed at because she knows I understand better I congratulate madam, you're coming out of the bondage of a virgin state A woman can't do what she will properly till she's married Did you hear what she said to your wife? Enter Aunt, before a service of dishes So, Mr. Brightgroom, pray take that napkin and serve your spouse the day according to custom Mrs. Claremont, pray no more yet Madam, I must beg your pardon I can't possibly like all that vast load of meat that you are sending into table Besides, it is so offensively sweet It wants that, oh, go, we are so delighted with in France You pardon it, since we did not expect you Aside, who is this? Oh, madam, I only speak for the future Little sauces are so much more polite Look ye, I'm perfectly for the French way Wherever I'm admitted I take the haul upon me The French, madam, I'd have you to know You'll not like it at first out of a natural English sulleness But that will come upon you by degrees When I first went to France, I was mortally afraid of a frog But in a little time I could eat nothing else except salads Eat frogs? Have I kissed one that has ate frogs? Pa, pa! Oh, madam, a frog and a salad are delicious fare It is not long come up in France itself But their glorious monarch has introduced the diet Which makes him so spiritual He eradicated all gross food by taxes And, for the glory of the monarch, sent the subject a grazing But I fear I defer the entertainment and aversion of the day Now, father, uncle, before we go any further I think it is necessary we should know who and who's together Then I'll give either of you two hours to guess which is my wife And, it is not my cousin, so far I'll tell you How? What do you say? But, oh, you mean she is not your cousin now She's nearer akin, that's well enough Well said, numbs, ha, ha, ha No, I don't mean so I tell you I don't mean so My wife hides her face under a rat All looking at feign love Well, what does the puppy mean, his wife under a hat? Aye, aye, that's she, that's she A good jazz faith Hark, ye numbs, what dost mean, child? Is that a woman, and are you really married to her? I am sure of both Are you so, sirrah? Then, sirrah, this is your wedding dinner, sirrah Do you see, sirrah, here's roast meat Oh, oh, what, be a merry man? Older, Mr. Claremont, brother Ponce, Mr. Wife Nobody stand by a young merry man Runs behind feign love Did not the dog say brother Ponce? What is this, Mrs. Ruggout? This, Madame Claremont, who the devil are you all? Which especially, who the devil are you two? Beats Humphrey and feign love of the stage, following Tipkin to Ponce Master Ponce, all my niece's fortune will be demanded now For I suppose that red coat has her Don't you think you and I had better break? Ponce to Tipkin You may as soon as you please, but is my interest to be honest a little longer Well, bitty, since you would not accept your cousin I hope you hand disposed of yourself elsewhere If you'll for a little while suspend your curiosity You shall have the whole history of my mirror to this nuptial day Under the title of the loves of Claremont and Parthenissa Then, Madame, your portion is in safe hands Some old gentleman is in vain to contend He is honest Mr. Ponce shall be my engineer And I warrant you, we beat you out of all your holds What, then, is Mr. Ponce a rogue? Apart to Tipkin He must have some trick, brother, it cannot be He must have cheated the other side, for I'm sure he's honest Mr. Ponce, all your sister has won of this lady She has honestly put into my hands And I'll return at her, at this lady's particular request And the thousand pounds you promised in your brother's behalf I'm willing it should be hers also Then go in and bring them all back to make the best of an ill game We'll eat the dinner and have a dance together Or we shall transgress all form Re-enter Fane Love, Humphrey and Sir Harry Well, since you say you are worth something And the boy has set his heart upon you I'll have patience till I see you further Come, come, Sir Harry You shall find my alliance more considerable than you imagine The pounces are a family that will always have money If there's any in the world Come, fiddles A dance here You've seen the extremes of the domestic life A son too much confined Too free, a wife By generous bonds you either should restrain And only on their inclinations gain Wives to obey must love Children revere While only slaves are governed by their fear End of Act V Epilogue Brightons who constant war with factors rage For liberty against each other wage From foreign insults save this English stage No more Italian-scrolling tribe admit In tongues unknown, tis popery in wit The songs their selves confess From Rome they bring And tis high mass for all to know they sing Husbands take care, the danger may come nigh'er The women say their eunuch is a friar But is it not a serious ill to see Europe's great arbiters so mean can be Passive with an effected joy to sit Suspend their native taste of manly wit Neglect their comic humor tragic rage For known defects of nature and of age Arise for shame ye conquering Brighton's rise Such unadorned effeminacy despise Admire, if you will, dot on foreign wit Not what Italians sing, but Romans writ So shall less works, such as tonight's slight play At your command with justice die away Till then forgive your writers that can't bear You should such very tramontains appear The nations which condemn you to revere Let Anna's soil be known for all its charms As famed for liberal sciences as arms Let those derision meet who would advance Manors or speech from Italy or France Let them learn you, who would your favour find And English be the language of mankind End of epilogue End of The Tender Husband Or The Accomplished Fools by Richard Steele