The Works of Henry Fielding, vol. 12. Fielding Harold

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      SCENE VI. —To them, LUCKLESS

       Luck. Mr Bookweight, your servant. Who can form to himself an idea more amiable than of a man at the head of so many patriots working for the benefit of their country.

       Book. Truly, sir, I believe it is an idea more agreeable to you than that of a gentleman in the Crown-office paying thirty or forty guineas for abusing an honest tradesman.

       Luck. Pshaw! that was only jocosely done, and a man who lives by wit must not be angry at a jest.

       Book. Look ye, sir, if you have a mind to compromise the matter, and have brought me any money —

       Luck. Hast thou been in thy trade so long, and talk of money to a modern author? You might as well have talked Latin or Greek to him. I have brought you paper, sir.

       Book. That is not bringing me money, I own. Have you brought me an opera?

       Luck. You may call it an opera if you will, but I call it a puppet-show.

       Book. A puppet-show!

       Luck. Ay, a puppet show; and is to be played this night at Drury-lane playhouse.

       Book. A puppet-show in a playhouse!

       Luck. Ay, why, what have been all the playhouses a long while but puppet-shows?

       Book. Why, I don't know but it may succeed; at least if we can make out a tolerable good title-page: so, if you will walk in, if I can make a bargain with you I will. Gentlemen, you may go to dinner.

      SCENE VII. —Enter JACK-PUDDING, Drummer, Mob

       Jack-P. This is to give notice to all gentlemen, ladies, and others, that at the Theatre Royal in Drury-lane, this evening, will be performed the whole puppet-show called the Pleasures of the Town; in which will be shewn the whole court of nonsense, with abundance of singing, dancing, and several other entertainments: also the comical and diverting humours of Some-body and No-body; Punch and his wife Joan to be performed by figures, some of them six foot high. God save the King.

      [Drum beats.

      SCENE VIII. – WITMORE with a paper, meeting LUCKLESS

       Wit. Oh! Luckless, I am overjoyed to meet you; here, take this paper, and you will be discouraged from writing, I warrant you.

       Luck. What is it? – Oh! one of my play-bills.

       Wit. One of thy play-bills!

       Luck. Even so – I have taken the advice you gave me this morning.

       Wit. Explain.

       Luck. Why, I had some time since given this performance of mine to be rehearsed, and the actors were all perfect in their parts; but we happened to differ about some particulars, and I had a design to have given it over; 'till having my play refused by Marplay, I sent for the managers of the other house in a passion, joined issue with them, and this very evening it is to be acted.

       Wit. Well, I wish you success.

       Luck. Where are you going?

       Wit. Anywhere but to hear you damned, which I must, was I to go to your puppet-show.

       Luck. Indulge me in this trial; and I assure thee, if it be successless, it shall be the last.

       Wit. On that condition I will; but should the torrent run against you, I shall be a fashionable friend and hiss with the rest.

       Luck. No, a man who could do so unfashionable and so generous a thing as Mr Witmore did this morning —

       Wit. Then I hope you will return it, by never mentioning it to me more. I will now to the pit.

       Luck. And I behind the scenes.

      SCENE IX. – LUCKLESS, HARRIOT

       Luck. Dear Harriot!

       Har. I was going to the playhouse to look after you – I am frightened out of my wits – I have left my mother at home with the strangest sort of man, who is inquiring after you: he has raised a mob before the door by the oddity of his appearance; his dress is like nothing I ever saw, and he talks of kings, and Bantam, and the strangest stuff.

       Luck. What the devil can he be?

       Har. One of your old acquaintance, I suppose, in disguise – one of his majesty's officers with his commission in his pocket, I warrant him.

       Luck. Well, but have you your part perfect?

       Har. I had, unless this fellow hath frightened it out of my head again; but I am afraid I shall play it wretchedly.

       Luck. Why so?

       Har. I shall never have assurance enough to go through with it, especially if they should hiss me.

       Luck. Oh! your mask will keep you in countenance, and as for hissing, you need not fear it. The audience are generally so favourable to young beginners: but hist, here is your mother and she has seen us. Adieu, my dear, make what haste you can to the playhouse.

      [Exit.

      SCENE X. – HARRIOT, MONEYWOOD

       Har. I wish I could avoid her, for I suppose we shall have an alarum.

       Money. So, so, very fine: always together, always caterwauling. How like a hangdog he stole off; and it's well for him he did, for I should have rung such a peal in his ears. – There's a friend of his at my house would be very glad of his company, and I wish it was in my power to bring them together.

       Har. You would not surely be so barbarous.

       Money. Barbarous! ugh! You whining, puling fool! Hussey, you have not a drop of my blood in you. What, you are in love, I suppose?

       Har. If I was, madam, it would be no crime,

       Money. Yes, madam, but it would, and a folly too. No woman of sense was ever in love with anything but a man's pocket. What, I suppose he has filled your head with a pack of romantick stuff of streams and dreams, and charms and arms. I know this is the stuff they all run on with, and so run into our debts, and run away with our daughters. Come, confess; are not you two to live in a wilderness together on love? Ah! thou fool! thou wilt find he will pay thee in love just as he has paid me in money. If thou wert resolved to go a-begging, why did you not follow the camp? There, indeed, you might have carried a knapsack; but here you will have no knapsack to carry. There, indeed, you might have had a chance of burying half a score husbands in a campaign; whereas a poet is a long-lived animal; you have but one chance of burying him, and that is, starving him.

       Har. Well, madam, and I would sooner starve with the man I love than ride in a coach and six with him I hate: and, as for his passion, you will not make me suspect that, for he hath given me such proofs on't.

       Money. Proofs! I shall die. Has he given you proofs СКАЧАТЬ