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Kitabı oku: «The Toy Shop (1735) The King and the Miller of Mansfield (1737)», sayfa 4

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2 O. M. Meaning me, Sir? Do ye banter me, Sir?

Mast. If you take it to your self, Sir, I can't help it.

2 O. M. And is a Person of my Years and Gravity to be laugh'd at, then?

Mast. Why, really, Sir, Years and Gravity do make such Childishness very ridiculous, I can't help owning. However, I am very sorry I have none of those curious Trifles for your Diversion, but I have delicate Hobby Horses and Rattles if you please.

2 O. M. By all the Charms of Araminta, I will revenge this affront.

[Exit.

Gent. Ha, ha, ha! how contemptible is Rage in Impotence! But pray, Sir, don't you think this kind of Freedom with your Customers detrimental to your Trade?

Mast. No, no, Sir, the odd Character I have acquir'd by this rough kind of Sincerity and plain Dealing; together with the whimsical Humour of moralizing upon every Trifle I sell; are the Things, which by raising Peoples Curiosity, furnish me with all my Customers: And it is only Fools and Coxcombs I am so free with.

La. And in my Opinion, you are in the Right of it. Folly and Impertinence ought always to be the Objects of Satire and Ridicule.

Gent. Nay, upon second Thoughts, I don't know but this odd turn of Mind, which you have given your self, may not only be entertaining to several of your Customers, but, perhaps, very much so to your self.

Mast. Vastly so, Sir. It very often helps me to Speculations infinitely agreeable. I can sit behind this Counter, and fancy my little Shop, and the Transactions of it, an agreeable Representation of the grand Theater of the World. When I see a Fool come in here, and throw away 50 or 100 Guineas for a Trifle that is not really worth a Shilling, I am sometimes surpriz'd: But when I look out into the World, and see Lordships and Manors barter'd away for gilt Coaches and Equipage; an Estate for a Title; and an easy Freedom in Retirement for a servile Attendance in a Crowd; when I see Health with great eagerness exchang'd for Diseases, and Happiness for a Game at Hazard; my Wonder ceases. Surely the World is a great Toy-shop, and all it's Inhabitants run mad for Rattles. Nay, even the very wisest of us, however, we may flatter our selves, have some Failing or Weakness, some Toy or Trifle, that we are ridiculously fond of. Yet, so very partial are we to our own dear selves, that we over-look those Miscarriages in our own Conduct, which we loudly exclaim against in that of others; and, tho' the same Fool's Turbant fits us all,

You say that I, I say that You are He,
And each Man swears "The Cap's not made for me."

Gent. Ha, ha! 'Tis very true, indeed. But I imagine you now begin to think it Time to shut up Shop. Ladies, do ye want any Thing else?

1 La. No, I think not. If you please to put up that Looking-glass; and the Perspective, I will pay you for them.

Gent. Well, Madam, how do you like this whimsical Humourist?

1. La. Why, really, in my Opinion, the Man's as great a Curiosity himself, as any Thing he has got in his Shop.

Gent. He is so indeed. I think we have heard a great Deal of Folly very justly ridicul'd.

In this gay thoughtless Age He'as found a Way,
In trifling Things just Morals to convey.
'Tis his at once to please and to reform,
And give old Satire a new Pow'r to charm.
And, would you guide your Lives and Actions right,
Think on the Maxims you have heard to Night.

FINIS

Dramatis Personæ

MEN

WOMEN

SCENE, Sherwood Forest

THE KING AND THE MILLER

SCENE, Sherwood Forest

Enter several Courtiers as lost

1 Courtier. It is horrid dark! and this Wood I believe has neither End nor Side.

4 C. You mean to get out at, for we have found one in you see.

2 C. I wish our good King Harry had kept nearer home to hunt; in my Mind the pretty, tame Deer in London make much better Sport than the wild ones in Sherwood Forest.

3 C. I can't tell which Way his Majesty went, nor whether any-body is with him or not, but let us keep together pray.

4 C. Ay, ay, like true Courtiers, take Care of ourselves whatever becomes of Master.

2 C. Well, it's a terrible Thing to be lost in the Dark.

4 C. It is. And yet it's so common a Case, that one would not think it should be at all so. Why we are all of us lost in the Dark every Day of our Lives. Knaves keep us in the Dark by their Cunning, and Fools by their Ignorance. Divines lose us in dark Mysteries; Lawyers in dark Cases; and Statesmen in dark Intrigues: Nay, the Light of Reason, which we so much boast of, what is it but a Dark-Lanthorn, which just serves to prevent us from running our Nose against a Post, perhaps; but is no more able to lead us out of the dark Mists of Error and Ignorance, in which we are lost, than an Ignis fatuus would be to conduct us out of this Wood.

1 C. But, my Lord, this is no time for Preaching methinks. And for all your Morals, Day-light would be much preferable to this Darkness I believe.

3 C. Indeed wou'd it. But come, let us go on, we shall find some House or other by and by.

4 C. Come along.

[Exeunt.

Enter the King alone

No, no, this can be no publick Road that's certain: I am lost, quite lost indeed. Of what Advantage is it now to be a King? Night shews me no Respect: I cannot see better, nor walk so well as another Man. What is a King? Is he not wiser than another Man? Not without his Counsellors I plainly find. Is he not more powerful? I oft have been told so, indeed, but what now can my Power command? Is he not greater and more magnificent? When seated on his Throne, and surrounded with Nobles and Flatterers, perhaps he may think so, but when lost in a Wood, alas! what is he but a common Man? His Wisdom knows not which is North and which is South; his Power a Beggar's Dog would bark at; and his Greatness the Beggar would not bow to. And yet how oft are we puff'd up with these false Attributes? Well, in losing the Monarch, I have found the Man.

[The Report of a Gun is heard.

Hark! Some Villain sure is near! What were it best to do? Will my Majesty protect me? No. Throw Majesty aside then, and let Manhood do it.

Enter the Miller

Mil. I believe I hear the Rogue. Who's there?

King. No Rogue, I assure you.

Mil. Little better, Friend, I believe. Who fir'd that Gun?

King. Not I, indeed.

Mil. You lie, I believe.

King. Lie! lie! How strange it seems to me to be talk'd to in this Stile. [Aside.] Upon my Word I don't.

Mil. Come, come, Sirrah, confess; you have shot one of the King's Deer, have not you?

King. No indeed, I owe the King more Respect. I heard a Gun go off, indeed, and was afraid some Robbers might have been near.

Mil. I am not bound to believe this, Friend. Pray who are you? What's your Name?

King. Name!

Mil. Name! yes Name. Why you have a Name, have not you? Where do you come from? What is your Business here?

King. These are Questions I have not been us'd to, honest Man.

Mil. May be so; but they are Questions no honest Man would be afraid to answer, I think: So if you can give no better Account of your self, I shall make bold to take you along with me, if you please.

King. With you! What Authority have you to —

Mil. The King's Authority, if I must give you an Account, Sir. I am John Cockle, the Miller of Mansfield, one of his Majesty's Keepers in this Forest of Sherwood; and I will let no suspected Fellow pass this Way that cannot give a better Account of himself than you have done, I promise you.

King. I must submit to my own Authority. [Aside.] Very well, Sir, I am glad to hear the King has so good an Officer: And since I find you have his Authority, I will give you a better Account of myself, if you will do me the Favour to hear it.

Mil. It's more than you deserve, I believe; but let's hear what you can say for yourself.

King. I have the Honour to belong to the King as well as you, and, perhaps, should be as unwilling to see any Wrong done him. I came down with him to hunt in this Forest, and the Chace leading us to Day a great Way from Home, I am benighted in this Wood, and have lost my Way.

Mil. This does not sound well; if you have been a hunting, pray where is your Horse?

King. I have tired my Horse so that he lay down under me, and I was oblig'd to leave him.

Mil. If I thought I might believe this now.

King. I am not used to lie, honest Man.

Mil. What! do you live at Court, and not lie! that's a likely Story indeed.

King. Be that as it will. I speak Truth now I assure you; and, to convince you of it, if you will attend me to Nottingham, if I am near it; or give me a Night's Lodging in your own House, here is something to pay you for your Trouble, and if that is not sufficient, I will satisfy you in the Morning to your utmost Desire.

Mil. Ay, now I am convinc'd you are a Courtier; here is a little Bribe for to Day, and a large Promise for To-morrow, both in a Breath: Here, take it again, and take this along with it —John Cockle is no Courtier, he can do what he ought – without a Bribe.

King. Thou art a very extraordinary Man I must own; and I should be glad, methinks, to be further acquainted with thee.

Mil. Thee! and Thou! Prythee don't thee and thou me; I believe I am as good a Man as yourself at least.

King. Sir, I beg your Pardon.

Mil. Nay, I am not angry, Friend, only I don't love to be too familiar with any-body, before I know whether they deserve it or not.

King. You are in the Right. But what am I to do?

Mil. You may do what you please. You are twelve Miles from Nottingham, and all the Way through this thick Wood; but if you are resolv'd upon going thither to Night, I will put you in the Road, and direct you the best I can; or if you will accept of such poor Entertainment as a Miller can give, you shall be welcome to stay all Night, and in the Morning I will go with you myself.

King. And cannot you go with me to Night?

Mil. I would not go with you to Night if you was the King.

King. Then I must go with you, I think.

[Exeunt.

Scene changes to the Town of Mansfield

Dick alone

Well, dear Mansfield, I am glad to see thy Face again. But my Heart aches, methinks, for fear this should be only a Trick of theirs to get me into their Power. Yet the Letter seems to be wrote with an Air of Sincerity, I confess; and the Girl was never us'd to lie till she kept a Lord Company. Let me see, I'll read it once more.

Dear Richard,
I am at last (tho' much too late for me) convinc'd of the Injury done to us both by that base Man, who made me think you false; he contriv'd these Letters, which I send you, to make me think you just upon the Point of being married to another, a Thought I could not bear with Patience, so aiming at Revenge on you, consented to my own Undoing. But for your own sake I beg you to return hither, for I have some Hopes of being able to do you Justice, which is the only Comfort of your most distrest but ever affectionate,
Peggy.

There can be no Cheat in this sure! The Letters she has sent are, I think, a Proof of her Sincerity. Well, I will go to her however: I cannot think she will again betray me: If she has as much Tenderness left for me, as, in spite of her Ill-usage, I still feel for her, I'm sure she won't. Let me see, I am not far from the House, I believe.

[Exit.

Scene changes to a Room

Peggy and Phœbe

Phœ. Pray, Madam, make yourself easy.

Peg. Ah! Phœbe, she that has lost her Virtue, has with it lost her Ease, and all her Happiness. Believing, cheated Fool! to think him false.

Phœ. Be patient, Madam, I hope you will shortly be reveng'd on that deceitful Lord.

Peg. I hope I shall, for that were just Revenge. But will Revenge make me happy? Will it excuse my Falshood? Will it restore me to the Heart of my much-injur'd Love? Ah! no. That blooming Innocence he us'd to praise, and call the greatest Beauty of our Sex, is gone. I have no Charm left that might renew that Flame I took such Pains to quench.

[Knocking at the Door.

See who's there. O Heavens 'tis he! Alas! that ever I should be asham'd to see the Man I love!

Enter Richard, who stands looking on her at a Distance, she weeping

Dick. Well, Peggy (but I suppose you're Madam now in that fine Dress) you see you have brought me back; is it to triumph in your Falshood? or am I to receive the slighted Leavings of your fine Lord?

Peg. O Richard! after the Injury I have done you, I cannot look on you without Confusion: But do not think so hardly of me; I stay'd not to be slighted by him, for the Moment I discover'd his vile Plot on you, I fled his Sight, nor could he e'er prevail to see me since.

Dick. Ah, Peggy! you were too hasty in believing, and much I fear, the Vengeance aim'd at me, had other Charms to recommend it to you: Such Bravery as that [Pointing to her Cloaths] I had not to bestow; but if a tender, honest Heart could please, you had it all; and if I wish'd for more, 'twas for your sake.

Peg. O Richard! when you consider the wicked Stratagem he contriv'd to make me think you base and deceitful, I hope you will, at least, pity my Folly, and, in some Measure, excuse my Falshood; that you will forgive me, I dare not hope.

Dick. To be forc'd to fly from my Friends and Country, for a Crime that I was innocent of, is an Injury that I cannot easily forgive to be sure: But if you are less guilty of it than I thought, I shall be very glad; and if your Design be really as you say, to clear me, and to expose the Baseness of him that betray'd and ruin'd you, I will join with you with all my Heart. But how do you propose to do this?

Peg. The King is now in this Forest a hunting, and our young Lord is every Day with him: Now, I think, if we could take some Opportunity of throwing ourselves at his Majesty's Feet, and complaining of the Injustice of one of his Courtiers, it might, perhaps, have some Effect upon him.

Dick. If we were suffer'd to make him sensible of it, perhaps it might; but the Complaints of such little Folks as we seldom reach the Ears of Majesty.

Peg. We can but try.

Dick. Well, If you will go with me to my Father's, and stay there till such an Opportunity happens, I shall believe you in earnest, and will join with you in your Design.

Peg. I will do any thing to convince you of my Sincerity, and to make Satisfaction for the Injuries which have been done you.

Dick. Will you go now?

Peg. I will be with you in less than an Hour.