iiiiitmiMim HOARE The Spoiled Child ::^' THE MINOR DRAMA. No. CXXXIIL THE SPOILED CHILD: A FARCE, IN TWO ACTS, BY PRINCE HOARE. AB PERFORMED IN THE LONDON AND AMERICAN THEATRES' TO WHICH ARE ADDED A DeBCription of the Costume Cast of the Characters, Eatranoeg and Exits, R«la* tivc Positions, and the whole of the Stage Business. NEW YORK: SAMUEL FRENCH, 122 Nassau-Strekt, (up stairs.) Cf.ST OF CHARAC7£RS.-(THE SPOILED CHILD.) OLD PICKLE. LITTLE PICKLE, TAGG, JOHN, THOMAS, RICHARD, WILLIAM, MISS PICKLE, MARIA, SUSAN, MARGERY, PARK, 1830. . Jones Miss Clara Fislier Placide Povey Haydea King Collet Mrs. Wheatley Mrs. Godey Miss Brundage Mrs. Durie BOWERY, 1850. Glenn Miss S. Denin Winans Jordan Rose Rogers Armand Mrs. Broadley Miss K. Dennin Mrs. Yeomana Mrs. Stone COSTUMES. Little Pickk, Jacket and trowscrs. ruff. 2nd, Ragged. Old Pickle, Old man's pepper and salt coat vest and breeches. Tagg, Black light pants. black coat much delapidated. John, Farmer's frock and breeche» Miss Pickle, Figured satin overdress, quilted petticoat, cap, Ac. Maria^ White muslin skirt with pantelettes ribbons, &c. Margery, Dark common old woman's dress.' STAGE DIRECTIONS. L. means Fir^ Entrance, Left. R. First Entrance, Eight. S. E. L. Secm6 Entrance, Left. S. E. R. Second Entrance, Right. U. E. L. Upper Entrance. Left. TJ. E. R. Upper Entrance. Rifjht. C. Centre. L. C. Left of Cerdre R. C. Right of Centre. T. E. L. Third Entrance, Left. T. E. R. Third Entrance, Right. C. D. Centre Door. D. R. Door Riff hi. D. L. Door Left. U. D. L. Upper Door, Left. U. D. R. Upper Dm, RigU. '^,*The reader is supposed to be on the Stage, facing the Audience. uSq/) LiNlVKKSi 1 > OF < ..IJFORN 7, />/^v SA:\'1A IJAKliAHA ^91 S7 THE SPOILED CHILD. Scene I. — A dining parlor — Pickle and sister sitting hy a tables on ichich plates are laid for dinner, the sister working. Old P. Well, well, sister, a little patience, and these holi- days will be over ; the boy then goes to school, and all will bo quiet. Miss P. Ay, till the next breaking up. No, no, brother, unless he is severely punished for what he has already done, depend', upon it, this vicious humor will be confirmed into habit, and his follies increase in proportion with his years. Old P. Now, would not any one think, to hear you talk, that my son was a thief, or had actually some vice in him. For my part, I don't pretend to justify or excuse his excesses ; yet I own there is something so whimsical in all his tricks, that I can't in my heart but forgive him ; ay. and for aught I know, love him too, the better into the bargain. 3Iiss P. Yes, truly, because you never have been a sufferer by them. Had you been rendered ridiculous, as I have been by his tricks, as you call them, you would have been the first to com- plain and punish. Old P. Nay, as to that, he has not spared even me, his father ; I too have been the butt of his mirlh ! is there a day passes that I don't break my shins over stumbling blocks, that he lays in my way ? so that I live as if I were in an enemy's country — mines all over the rouUl^^, and auibu.^c-ide.-; iu every passage. 4 THE SPOILED CHILD. Miss P. Your bouse too, turned inside out ; the table broke, the furniture spoiled. Old P. Furniture spoiled! why there is not a door but is arm- ed with a bason of water on top, and left just a-jar, so that egad I can't walk over my own house, without running the risk of be- ing wet through. Mi^s P. Yet, you still pardon and forgive him, and forgive and pardon ; till your authority will become as ridiculous in his eyes, as your childish partiality is already in those of all your acquain- tance. But no wonder, the child's spoiled, since you superintend his education yourself — j'ou indeed ! Old P. Sister, sister, don't provoke me ; at any rate I have wit enough to conceal my ignorance. I don't pretend to write verses and nonsence as some folks do. 3/m P. Now would you rail at me for the disposition I was bom with 1 can I help it, if the gods have made me poetical, as the divine bard says? Old P. Made you poetical indeed ! you have made yourself the dupe of every rhyming puppy. Blood, if from your birth, you had any claim to this ; if 3'ou had been born in a street near a college ; ay, or even next door to a day school, I might not have been so surprised. But, damn it, madam, in the middle of the minories, what had you to do with poetry and stuflF? Miss P. Provoking ignorance ! Old P. Have not you rendered yourself the sneer of all your acquaintance ? are your best and dearest friends ever so happy as when they are amusing and laughing at you, with your re- fined intercourse with Mr. Tagg, the author, a fellow that strolls about the country, spouting and acting in every barn he comes to ? was not he once found concealed in your closet, to the utter scandal of my house, and the ruin of your reputation ? Miss P. If 3'ouhad the smallest spark of taste, you would admire the effusions of Mr. Tagg's pen ; and be enchanted at his admira- ble acting as much as T am. Old P. D'ye tell me I can't educate my own child ? why I can make a lord chancelor, or an archbishop of Canterbury of him, which ever I like, just as I please. {In repeating tlie laM words, Pickle leans upon the table, which sud- denly slides to the end of the stage. Pickle falls down.) Miss P. How's this ! I'll lay my life, this is another trick of that little mischievous wretch. THE SPOILED CHILD. D Old P. An ungrateful little rascal ! to serve me such a trick, just as I bad made an archbishop of him ! but as he can't be far oflf, I'll immediately correct him. Here, Thomas — {going oid, he meets Thomas and servants bringiug in dinner) But, adso, here's dinner : well, I'll defer my severity till that's over : but if I don't make him suffer for this trick, say my name is not Pickle. {They sit down to table, Pickle cuts up the pheasant.') Sister, this is the first pheasant we have had this season — it looks well ; shall I help you ? they say anger makes a man dry, but mine has made me hungry. Sister, here's a wing for you, and some of the breast. Enter Susan, a cook maid, in haste. Susan. Oh dear, sir ! oh dear ma'am ! oh dear, stop ! Old P. Stop, sir — madam — why, what ails the girl ? what's the matter? Susan, Oh, sir, my young master — ma'am the parrot — ma'am — oh dear ! Old P. Parrot, and young master f what the devil does the girl mean ? Miss P. Mean ! why as sure as I live, that vile boy has been hurting my poor bird, {gets up) Susan. Hurting ! no indeed, ma'am ; I'll tell you the whole truth ; J was not to blame, indeed I was not, ma'am ; besides I am morally certain, 'twas the strange cat that kill'd it this morning. Miss P. How ! kill'd it, say you ? go on, let's hear. Susar. Why, ma'am, the truth is — I did but just step out of the kitchen for a moment, but in comes my young master, whips the pheasant that was roasting for dinner, from off the spit, and claps down your ladyship's parrot, picked and trussed in its place. Old P. The parrot— the devil ! Miss P. Oh ! the monster — savage — my poor dear creature ! Old P. What the plague ! a young dog — did he want to poisop us with old Poll. Susan. And so, ma'am, I kept a basting, and a basting, and never thougnt I was basting poor Poll, till just now, I found the pheasant, and all the parrot's featliers, hid in the kitchen cup- board. Miss P. Oh my sweet, my ))eantiful young bird — I had just taught it to talk too ! THK SPOILED CHILD. Old P. You taught it to talk ! it taught you to talk, you mean. I'm sure it was old enough, for it was hatched in the hard frost. Miso P. Well, brother, what excuse now ; but run, Susan and d'ye hear, take John and Enter John, slowly and lame, his face and leg hound up. Oh John, here is a piece of business ! John, {_in a country dialect') Ay, ma'am, sure eno' what, you have heard, I see j business indeed, ma'am : the poor thing will never recover Miss P. (joyfully) What, John, is it a mistake of Susan's — is it still alive ? but where, where is it, John ? John. Safe in stable, an' it was as sound — made her a hot mash would not touch it ; so crippled, will never have a leg to put to ground again ! Old P. No, I'll swear to that — for here's one of them, (holding up a leg upon a fork) Miss P. What does the fool mean ? hot mash and stable — tell me of the parrot, stupid. John, [drawling) Parrot, ma'am ! Miss P. Speak, idiot : what, what is in the stable ; what are you talking of? Johi. Master's favorite mare Daisy, ma'am, poor thmg. Old P. (alarmed) What! how! any thing the matter with Daisy — I would not part Tvith her, for Joh7i. Ay, sir, quite done up — won't fetch five pound, at next fair. Aisi P. This dunce's ignorance distracts me ; come along, Susan.' [exit.'] Old P. Why, what can it be ; what the devil ails her ? John. Why, sir, the long and short of the whole affair is, as how — he's cut me too, all across the face — mercy if I don't lose my eye. Old P. This cursed fellow, will drive me mad, the mare, the mare, you scoundrel, the mare ! John. Yes, sir. the mare — then, too, my shins ; master Salve, the surgeon, says I must noint them wi Old P. Plague of your shins you dog; what's the matter with the mare 7 THE SPOILED CHILD. 7 John. Well, sir, then, as I was coming home this morning with letters ; moreover, I had the charge of a message to your honor from the two magpies. Old P. AVell, well, I know — go on. John. Coming over Black Down, what does I see, but young master tearing over the turf upon Daisy, so I calls to him to stop — tho'f 3'our honor had forbid him to ride her — but what docs he, but smack his whip full in my face, and dash over the gate into Stoney lane. Old P. Stoney lane — well, what — and so John. Well, sir, I'll tell you, farmer Flail met them, and had but just time to save himself in a hedge, before smack, mare and master comes down over a stone heap. Old P. Oh, ruined ! undone ! John. Ay, sir : poor thing, she'll never ci'awl again, so cut , but what's the worst of the story . Old P. What ! any thing worse ? how ! hey what 1 John. Oh yes, sir, much worse ; when I rated him about it, he snatches up Tom Carter's long whip, and lays me so over the legs ; and before I could catch hold of him, he slipt out of the stable, and was off like a shot. Old P. Well, if ever I forgive him this — no, I'll send him this moment back to school — school, zounds, I'll send him to sea. Erder Miss Pickle. Miss P. Well, brother, here comes your precious child ; he'^ muttering all the way up stairs to himself; some fresh mischief, I warrant. Old P. Ay, here he comes : stand back, let's watch him ; though I never can contain my passion long. (They retire up stage.) Enter Little Pickle. Lit. P. Well, so far all goes on rarely. Dinner must be near ready. Old Poll will taste well, I dare say — parrot and bread sauce ; they suppose they are going to have a nice young pheas- ant ; an old parrot's a great rarity, I'm sure, I can't help thinking how devilish tough the drumsticks will be — a fine piece of work aunt will make, when 'tis found out ; ecod, for aught I know, that may be better far llian t'other — no doubt, Sukey will tell, THi; SPOLED CHILD. and John too, about the horse ; a parcel of sneaking fellows always tell, tell, tell, I only wish I could catch 'em at school once, that's all — I'd pay 'em well for it, I'd bo bound. Oh, ho, here they are, and as 1 live, my father and aunt — it's all out, I sec — to be sure I've not got into a fine scrape now. I almost wish I was safe back at school again. {They come fc/rward.') Oh sir, how do you do sir ; I was just coming to — Old P. Come, come, no fooling now ; how dare you look me in the face after the mischief you have done. Lit. P. Mischief, sii", what mischief? but pray tell me sir, what have I done ? Old P. This impudence provokes me beyond all — is it nothing to behave as you do ? distract my house, beat my servants ; will nothing but my ruin satisfy you. You know the value I set upon that mare j^ou have spoil'd forever. Lit. P. But, sir, hear me — indeed I was not so much to blame, sir, not so very much. Miss P. Dont aggravate your faults, by pretending to excuse them : no, thank heaven, nothing can make me good-humored again — never, never, sirrah, how was it 1 Lit. P. Dear sir, I own I was unfortunate ; but I had heard you often complain how wild and vicious Daisj' was ; and indeed, sir, I never saw you ride her, but I trembled lest some sad ac- cident might befal you. Old P. Well, and what's all this to the purpose ? Lit. P. And so, sir, I resolved, sooner than you should suffer, to venture my own neck, and so try to tame her for you ; that was all, sir ! and so I was no sooner mounted, but off she set — I could not help that, you know, sir, and so this misfortune happened — but indeed, sir — Old P. Come, child, don't deceive me ; could I b'^. sure this was your motive Lit. P. Indeed, indeed, sir — Old P. And that it is purely love and regard to your old father, that makes you thus teaze and torment him ? perhaps I might be inclined to — Joh/i. Yes, sir ; but 'twas no love and regard to I, made him be at me so. Lit. P. John, you know you were to blame ; sir, indeed the truth is, John was scolding me for it, and when I told him as I THB SPOILED CHILD. 9 have told you, why I did it, he said that it was no business of mine, and that if your neck was broke, 'twas no such great matter — Old P. What, no matter to have my neck broke ? Lit. P. No, sir, so he said ; and I was vexed to hear him speak so of you ; and I believe I might take up the whip, and gave him a cut or two on the legs ; it could not hurt him much. Old P. Well, child, 1 believe I must forgive you, and so shall John too — there he is sorry he has hurt you and will contrive to requite you some way or other, I warrant. Miss P. And so, my injuries are to remain unredressed, but I will not be so treated ; unless your boy is sent away instantly, I'll quit your house. Old P. Ay, ay, I had forgot poor Poll ; what did you roast the parrot for, you young dog ? Lit. P. Why, sir, I knew you and my aunt were so fond of it, that I thought she would like to see it well dressed ; but, dear aunt you must be angry with me, and you think, with reason. Miss P. Don't speak to me ; I am not so weak as your father, whatever you may think. Lit. P. But, indeed, aunt, you must hear me ; had I not loved you as I do, I should not have thus offended you ; but twas mere- ly my regard for your character. John. Character ! — ha, ha ! [Little Pickle heats John off, and rettmis.] Lit. P. Why, dear aunt, I always heard that ladies never kept parrots or lap-dogs, till they could no longer keep their lovers ; and when at school, I told 'em you had a parrot, the boys all said, then you must l>e a foolish old maid. Miss P. Indeed ! impudent young wretches ! Lit. P. Yes, aunt, and so I resolved you should no longer be thouglit so ; for I think you arc a great deal too young, and too handsome, for an old maid. [Taking her Aawd.] Old P. Come, sister, faith you must forgive him ; no female heart can withstand that. Miss p. Brother, you know T can forgive where I see occasion ; but though these faults are thus excused, how will you answer to % charge of scandal and ill-nature ? 10 THE SPOILED CHILD. Lit. P. Ill-nature, madam ! I'm sure nobody can accuse me oi that. Miss P. How -will you justify the report you spread of my being locked up in my closet with Mr. Tagg, the author ; can you defend so vile an attempt to injure my dear reputation ? Old P. What ! that too, I suppose, was from your care of her character ; and so to hinder your aunt from being thought an old maid, you locked her up in her closet, with this author, as he is called. Lit. P. Nay, indeed, dear madam, I beseech you, 'twas no such thing — all I said was, you were amusing yourself in your closet, with a favorite author. Miss P. I amuse myself in my closet with a favorite author — worse and worse. Old P. Sister, have patience — hear. ]\Iiss P. I am ashamed to hear you support the boy in such in- solence, I indeed who am scrupulous to a fault ; but no longer will I remain subject to such impertinence. I'll quit your house, sir, and you shall quit all claim to my fortune. This moment I will alter my will, and leave my money to a stranger, sooner than to your family. [exit Old P. Leave my house and her money to a stranger — oh, the three per cent consols ! oh the India stock ! — go, go, child, fly, throw yourself at your aunt's feet, implore her pardon — say any thing to please her — I shall run distracted ! oh, those consols I Lit. P. I am gone, sir ; shall I say she may die as soon as she pleases ; but she must not leave her money to a stranger. [exit latighing Old P. Ay, ay, there's a good boy ; say any thing to please her, that will do very well, say she may die as soon as she pleases ; but she must not leave her money to a stranger. Sure, never was man so tormented. Well, I thought when my poor dear wife, Mrs. Pickle died, and left me a disconsolate widower, I stood some chance of being a happy man ; but I know not how it is, I could bear the vexation of my wife's bad temper, better than this woman's ; — all ray married friends were as miserable as myself, that was some relief, but now, faith here she comes, and in fine ill humor no doubt. Enter Miss Pickle. THK SPOLF.n CHILD. 11 Miss P. Brother, I have given directions for my departure, and am now come to tell you, I will persist in my design unless you this moment adopt the scheme I j-esterday proposed for my nephew's amendment. Old P. Why, my dear sister, you know there is nothing I would not do to satisfy and appease you ; but for Heaven's sake, reflect on what a dangerous experiment you are now driving me — to abandon my only child ; to pretend that he ie not mine, and to receive a beggar's brat into my arms, impossible. Miss P. Very well, sir. then I am gone. [ffoijis! Old P. Stop, sister, stop — was ever man so used ; how long is this scheme of yours to last ? how long am I to be deprived of him ? 3Iiss P. IIow long ; why, until he is brought duly to reflect on his bad behavior, which nothing will induce him to do, as soon as thinking himself no longer your son, but the child ot poor parents. I yesterday spoke to Margaret, his old nurse, and she fully comprehends the whole affair. Old P. But why, in addition to the quitting my own child, am I to have the torment of receiving hers. "Won't the sending him away be sufBcient. Miss P. Unless the plot is managed my way, I will have nothing to say to it, but be gone. Can't you see that his dis- tress, at losing his situation, will bo augmented by seeing it possessed by another. Come, come, brother, a week's purgatory will reform him, depend upon it. Old P. Why to be sure, as you say, 'twill reform him, and as we shall have our eyes upon him all the while, — and Margaret was his own nurse. Miss P. You may be sure she will take care of him ; well, since she is settled, the sooner 'tis done the better. — I'll send for him this moment. Old P. I see you are finally resolved, and no other way will content you — well, heaven protect my poor child. Enter Littlk Picklk. Lit. P. Did you send for me, aunt 1 Old P. Child, come hither; I have a secret to disclose to you, at which you will be surprised. Lit. P. A secret, sir ! Miss P. Yes, and one which requii'os your utmost courage to 12 THE SPOILED CHILD. hear — you are no longer to consider that person as your father — he is not so. Margaret, who nursed you, has confessed, and the thing is sufficiently proved, that you are not his son, but hers ; she exchanged you, when an infant, for my real nephew ; and her conscience has at last, compelled her to make the discovery. Lit. P. I another person's child ! impossible! ah, you arc only joking with me now, to see whether I love you or not ; but in- deed, I am yours — my heart tells me I am only, only yours. Old P. I am afraid you deceive yourself; there can be no doubt of the truth of Margaret's account. Lit. P. Good heavens dear sir, don't say so — I will not be- lieve it — it can never be — must I then give up all I respect and love to the possession of another ? believe me, sir, it is not the splendor of riches I repine at quitting : 'tis the happiness I never till now felt half the value of — the happiness of calling you father. Old P. Assure yourself of our protection ; but no longer can you remain in this house. I must not do an injury to my own child : you belong to others, to them you must now go j for I here declare you are not my child. Lit. P. Will not my soiTOw, my tears, atone for my faults — sweet is the look of repentance in the heart resolved never to of- fend again — let it then now plead for me ; yet sir, for an instant hear me — pity me — can you resolve to turn from your presence one, once so beloved — can you so soon forget how often you have pressed me to your heart, and swore I was dearer to you than your life. What ! no answer ? — dear aunt, if yet I dare to call you so, intercede in my behalf. Heavens ! she knows me not j indeed I can scarcely repent having ever used you ill — I know you must hate me, but believe me, I never had any ill will or malice toward you. {Tliey iceep) Ah, then, too sure, I know that I am not your child — or would distress which draws tears of pity, fail to move nature in you ? Miss P. Comfort yourself: we must ever consider you with compassif)n and regard : Vjut now you must be gone. — Margaret is waiting without to receive you. Lit, P. Then farewell — I must away ; but at least forgive me ; pardon the faults I have committed; you cannot sure, in pity, deny me that. the spoiled child. 13 Song — Little Pickle. Since then I'm doomed this sad reverse to prove, To quit each object of my infant care : Torn from an honored parent's tender love, And driven the keenest storms of fate to bear, Ah, then forgive me, pitied let me part, Your frowns, too sure , would break my sinking heart. Oft have you said I was your only joy ; Ah, wretch to forfeit such an envied bliss ; You too have deigned to call me darling boy. And owned your fondness with a mother's kiss, Ah then forgive me, &&. "Where'er I go, uhate'cr my lowly state, Yet grateful mem'ry still shall linger here ; Perhaps, when musing o'er my cruel fate, You still may greet me with a tender tear. Ah then forgive, &c. {exeunt ACT 11. Scene i. — A parlor. Enter Miss Pickle and Margery. Mar. And so, as I was telling your ladyship, poor little roas- ter does so take it to heart, and so weep and wail it almost makes me cry to hear him. Miss P. Well, since he begins already to repent, his punish- ment shall be but short ; but have you brought your boy with you? Mar. Ay, have I — poor Tommy ; he came from aboard a ship, but now ; and is so grown and altered — sure enough, he believes every word I have told him, as your honor ordered me — and 1 warrant he is so sheepish and shamefaced — but here comes my master, he has heard it already Enter Old Pickle. But my lady, shall I fetch my poor Tommy to you ? — lie's wait ing without. Old P. What, that ill-looking young rascal in the hall — he with the jacket and trowsers "i" Mar. Ay, your honor. What, then you have seen him ? Old P. Seon him, ay, and felt him too — the booby met mo 14 THR SPOI.ED cnii.n. l>olt at the corner — run bis cursed carroty pole full in my face, and has loosened half the teeth in my head, I believe. Mar. Poor lad, he's a sailor and but awkward as yet, and so shy I warrant ye ; — but will your honor be kind to him ? Old P. Kind to him — why I am to pass for his father, am not I? Mar. Ay, I wish your honor had been poor Tommy's father : but no such luck for me, as I say to my husband. Old P. Indeed your husband is very much obliged to you, and so am I. Mar. And is he then to be a fine young gentleman, and your honor's son ? Old P. Eh, what, my son ? no, no, not so. I shall have this cursed Tommy palmed upon me, by and by, for my own child. Miss P. Why, brother ; the woman knows that well enough already. Has she not had her instructions from me ? Mar. Yes, I know 'tis only make believe: but do your hon- or, let me see my poor Tommy once dressed in his fine smart clothes ? Old P. Damn me, I don't half like that Tommy. Miss P. But now go and fetch him here to us — I should like much to see him. Mar. Do you, madam, speak kindly to him ; for my poor boy, is so daunted, he'll never dare look in your honor's face. Old P. Face ! I hope he won't look quite so close to mine again. Mar. He's quite dashed, indeed, madam. {exit Old P. Yes, and he has dashed some of my teeth out, plague on him. Miss p. Now, Mr. Pickle, I insist upon you observing a prop- er decorum and behaviour towards this poor lad — observe the condescension of my deportment. Methinks I feel a strange in- clination already in his favor ; perhaps I may advance him, by and by, to me my page ; shall I, brother ? — oh here he comes, and I declare, as prepossessing a countenance as ever I saw. Enter little Pickle, dressed like a sailor, with Margery. Miss P. Come hither, child — was there ever such an engaging air. Mar. Go, Tommy do as you are bid, there's a good boy ; thank his honor for his goodness to yuu THE SPOILED CHILD. 15 Lit. P. Be you the old fellow that's just come to be my father 1 Old P. [aside) Old fellow ! he's devilish dashed, to be sure — down in the mouth, quotha — the most impudent young dog I ever saw yes, I am the old fellow, as you call it — will you be a good child ? Lit. P. Ay, but what will you give me — must I be a good boy for nothing? Old P. [mivticking] Good for nothing ! nay, that I'll swear you are already : but I must dissemble a little. [aside] Well, and how long have you been come home from sea, eh ? how do you like a sailor's life ? Song. — Little Pickle. I am a brisk and sprightly lad, But just come home from sea, sir. Of all the lives I ever led, A sailor's life for me, sir. Yeo, yeo, yeo ! yeo, yeo, yeo ! Whilst the boatswain pipes all hands, With* a yeo, yeo, yeo, sir. What girl but loves the merry tar, We o'er the oceau roam, sir, lu every clime we find a port, la every port a home, sir. Yeo, yeo, yeo, &c. But when our country's foes are nigh Each hastCQS to bis gun, sir. We make the boasting Frenchman fly And bang the haughty dons, sir. Yeo, yeo, yeo, &c. Our foes subdued, oQce more on shore, We spend our cash with glee, sir. And wheUj8,ll's gone, we drown our care, And out again to sea, sir. Yeo, yeo, yeo ! yeo, yeo, yeo I And when all's gone, again to sea. With a yeo, yeo, yeo, sir. Old P. So this is the way I'm to be entertained in future, with forecastle jokes, and tarpaulin songs. Miss P. Brother, do not speak so harshly to the poor lad ; he's amongst strangers, and wants encouragement. Come to me, my pretty boy, I'll be your friend. 1(3 THE SPOILED CHILD. Lit P. Friend ! Here's an old hulk. Oh, what, you're my grandmother — father, must I not call her granny ? Miss F. Grandmother ! is this stupidity or impudence ? Old P. What, he wants encouragement, sister — jes, poor soul, he's amongst strangers ; he's found out one relation, however, sister. This boy's assurance diverts me ; I like him. [aside\ LU. P. Here's a squall coming ! granny's mortish cross. La, father, what makes your mother there, look so foul-weathered ? Miss P. Mother, indeed ! Old P. Oh, nothing at all, my dear, she's the best humored person in the world ; go throw yourself at her feet and ask her for her blessing — perhaps she may give you something. Lit. P. A blessing ! I shan't be much richer for that neither; I'll throw myself at her feet and ask her for a guinea — [kneels] — dear granny, give me your watch, [catches hold of ii.^ La, what a pretty one ! Miss P. Stand off, wretch — am I to be robbed, as well as in- sulted ? Mar. Fie, child ; learn to behave better. Lit. p. Behave myself, yon old witch — learn you to behave better yourself. What do )-ou do here? up with your helm, and sheer off — cut and run, you old hag. (^Beats her off.) I am a young gentleman, now, and must not remember poor relations. {Exit. Old P. Well, sister, this plan of yours succeeds, I hope, to your satisfaction. He'll make a mighty pretty page, sister — what an engaging air he has, sister. This is some revenge for her treat- ment of my poor boy. (^Aside.) Miss P. You may well triumph in the success of your mean artifices. I perceive this to be all a contrivance, and the boy is taught to insult me thus — but, sir, others may know my value, though you chose to remain in ignorance of it ; and ere long, sir, I can tell 3'ou, j'ou may repent of this unparalleled treatment of unprotected innocence. {Exit, Old P. Others know her value ! what, sho means her lover, the player-man, I suppose- but I'll watch her, and her consols too ; and if I catch him again in my house, it shall be his last appear- ance this season, I can tell him that ; and the next part he plays shall be Captain Macheath, in the prison scene, egad. {Exit. THE SPOILED CHILD. 17 Enter Little Pickle. Lit. P. There they go — ha, ha, ha ! my scheme has gone on rarely, rather better than their's, I think — blessings on the old nurse for consenting to it. I'll teach them to turn people out of doors. Let me see, what trick shall I play them now— suppose I set the house on fire ? no, no, 'tis too soon for that as yet — that will do very well by and by. — Let me consider — I wish I could see my sister, I'd discover myself to her, and then we might contrive something together nicely — that stair-case leads to her room ; I'll try and call her. [goes to the door and listens.] There's no body in the way, hist, hist; Maria, Maria: she hears me — she's coming this way [runs and hides himself.] Enter Maria. Maria. Sure somebody called me, [looks round] no, there's no- body here; heighho, I've almost cry'd myself blind about my poor brother, for so I shall always call him, ay, and love him too. Well, I'll e'en go back and lock myself up in my room, and not see the stupid wretch they have taken into the house, I am Fesolved. {Going.') Lit. p. [Runningt forward.] Maria, sister, stop an instant. Maria. How's this — Maria ! sister ! Lit. P. What, don't you know me then ; can you so soon have forgotten your brother 1 Maria. My brother Charles, impossible ! Lit. P. 'Tis e'en so, faith ; 'twas all a trick about the nurse and child ; I coaxed the old woman to confess the whole to me — borrowed this dress as you see, and am returned to plague 'em a little now — that's all. But now you and I must consult togeth- er how to revenge ourselves ; I'll let 'em see who's the best at tricking. Maria. Dear Charles, I'm so glad and overjoyed ! Lit. P. Well, well, be glad and overjoyed when you are more at leisure : for now we must proceed to business — let mc see — how shall we vex them ? what shall it be ? you can't contrive to kill yourself for the loss of me, can you ? that would have a lino effect. Is there nothing I can think of ? suppose you protend to fall in love with me, and we run away together ? Maria. That will do admirably. Depend upon my playing my part with a good will : for I owe them some revenge for their treatment of you ; besides, you know I can refuse you nothing. 18 THE SPOILED CHILD. Enter Old Pickle, heliind. Lit. P. Thank yju a thousand times my dearest Maria ; thus then we'll contrive it. {^seeing old Pickle coming behind^they prete?id to vhisper.) Old P. What ! how's this ? dear Maria, and I'll refuse you noth- ing. Death and the devil ! my daughter has fallen in love with that young scoundrel, and his yeo, yeo, yeo ; see too, they em- brace. [Comes fortmrd.] Mighty well, young madam, 'tis mighty well, but come, you shall be locked up immediately ! and you, you youdg rascal, shall be whipped out of the house. Lit. P. Avast, you're taken all a back there ; we will not part ; here's my anchor fixed. Here I am, moored for ever. {Old Pickle takes hold of her haiul to take her away y site resists, and Little Pickle detains her by the other hand.) Maria. No, we'll never part. Oh, cruel fate ! Old P. He's infected her with his assurance already. "What, you young minx, do you own you love him ? Maria. Love him, sir I adore aim. ; and in spite of your utmost opposition, ever, ever shall. Oh, sir, {kneels) let me now confess to you, the inmost secret of my breaking heart ; I have long loved him ; long have I felt the resistless passion j long have I known Old P. (interrupting her.) Oh, ruined ! undone ! what a wretch- ed old man I am : but, i\Iaria, child Maria. Think not to dissuade me, sir — vain attempt ! no, sir, my affections are fixed, irrevocably fixed, never to be recall- ed. Old P. Oh dear, what shall I do ? what will become of me? but how is this, you young villain ; how have you dared to talk to her thus ? oh, a plague on all mj plots ; I've lost my daugh- ter, and for aught I know, my son too. Why, child, he is a poor beggar, he's not worth a sixpence. Maria. My soul abhors so low a thought ! I despise wealth — know, sir, I cherish nobler sentiments ; The generous youth shall own, I loved him for himself alone, Old P. What, poetr}'^, nay, tht-n 'tis time to prevent further mischief — go to your room; a good key shall insure your safety 5 THE SPOILED CHILD. 19 and this young rascal shall go back to sea, and his yeo, yeo, yeo, if he will. Maria. I obey your harsh commands, sir, and am gone ; but, alas, I leave my heart behind me. [Exit Maria. Old P. Now, for you ; don't look so audacious, sirrah, don't fancy you belong to me ; I utterly disclaim you. Lit. P. {Laughing.) But that's rather too late, now ; there's a squall ; steer small, old one, you have publicly said I was your son, and damme, I'll make you stand to it, sir. Old P. The devil — here's an affair — John, Thomas, William, Susan ; I shall be bullied, pressed, and murdered for aught I know, by this young pirate. Lit. P. No, no, I'll not lose so good a father ; one so kind to me — Enter servants. Old P. Take that fellow, and turn out him of doors imme- diately ; take him, I say. Servants. Fellow ! who, sir 1 Old P. Who, why zounds, don't you see him 1 John. What, my new young master ! no, sir, I've turned one out already, I'll turn out no more. Lit. P. That's my hearty ; giv's your hand, shipmate. {Shakes hands.) Old P. He is not your young master ; he's no son of mine ; away with him, I say. Susan. Why, sir, did not you tell us but now, that old Mar- gery's child was your real son ; and is not that he ? did not my lady tell us all, we were to look upon him as her nephew ? Juhn. Wh}"-, master only does this to try us, and see whether we mind his orders or not. Servahts. Ay, ay, that's all, that's it. Susan. No, sir, we know our young master too well, for all that — not your son, why he's like your honor, as one pea is like another. Lit. P. That's my good girl. {Kisses Susan.) John. Aj^, heaven bless him ; and may he shortly succeed your honor, in your estate and fortune. [Exeunt servants* 20 THE SPOILED CHILD. Old P. Rogues, villains ! I am abused, robbed ; there's a con- spiracy formed against me ; and this little pirate is at the head of the gang. Lit. P. Nice and no near, messmate ; you see you're all out in your dead reckoning ; your sun's under a cloud, and your obser- vation not worth a rope's end. Elder servant with a letter. Old. P. Odso, but here's a letter from my poor boy. I see ; this is comfort indeed. "Well, I'll send for him home without further delay. {Reads.) ' Honored sir, ' I heartily repent of having so far abused your goodness whilst I was blest with your protection ; but as I fear no penitence will ever restore me to your favor, I have resolved to put it out of my power again to oflfend you, by instantly bidding adieu to my country for ever.' How's this ? adieu to his country for ever. Here, John, run ; go directly to Margery, and fetch home my son, and — Lit. p. You may save yourself the trouble, 'tis too late — ^you'll never bring him to now, make as many signals or lire as many guns as you please. Old P. What do you mean ? Lit. P. Mean ! why he and I have changed births, you know. Old P. Changed births ! Lit. P. Ay, I'm got into his hammock, and he's got into mine, that's all ; he's some leagues off at sea by this time ; for the tide serves, and the wind's fair ; Botany-bay's the word, my boys, (^Exit singing yeo.) Old P. Botany-bay ! well, then my misery is indeed complete ; will nobody do me the kindness to shoot me through the head — unhappy Pickle ; but I'll instantly see about this myself; and if 'tis true, why I'll come back just to blow your brains out, and so bo either hanged or sent to Botany-bay, after him. (^ExeurU.) Scene II. — A garden, a seat in a hower. Enter Miss Pickle. Miss P. This is the hour of my appointment with Mr. Tagg, and ray brother's absence is favorable indeed. "Well, after such THE SPOILED CHILD. 2l treatment, can lie be surprised f I throw myself into the arms of so passionate an admirer. My fluttering little heart tells me, this is an important crisis in my happiness ; how much these vile men have to answer for, in thus bewitching us silly girls. Tagg behind the scenes. The heavy hours are past That part my love and me, (enters) My longing, eyes may hope at last Their only joy to see. Thus most charming of her sex, do I prostrate myself before the shrine of your beauty. (Kneels.) Miss P. Mr. Tagg, I have seized this opportunity to meet you ; but why, my dear Mr. Tagg, will you persist 1 I never can be yours. Tagg. And is then my happiness a dream, an airy nothing, a phantom ? oh, barbarous fair one ! pity a wretch whose only crime is love. If I am mad, 'tis you have made me so, adorable lovely — what shall I ca'l you ? thou most beautiful Ophelia. Miss P. Indeed, Mr. Tagg, you make me blush with your compliments. Tagg. Compliments ! oh call not, by that hacknied term, the voice of truth — lovely nymph, ah, deign to hear me ! I'll teach you what it is to love — oh, of Leinster famed for maidens fair. Miss P. Love ! dear Mr. Tagg, oh moderate your transports, be advised, think no more of this fatal passion. Tagg. Think no more of it ! can love be controlled by advice 1 Miss P. Will Cupid our mothers obey, Though my heart was as frozen as ice, At his flame 'twould have melted away. Tagg. Ob, then, consent, my angel, to join our hearts in one, or give me death in a bumper. 3Iiss P. Can I refuse any thing to such a lover. (Aside) But were I, my dear friend, to consent to our tender union, how could we contrive our escape ? my brother's vigilance would overtake us, and you might have reason to roj)cnt his anger. Tagg. Oh, he's a goth, a mere Vandyke, my love, Say what men will, wedlock's a pill Bitter to swallow and hard of digestion: 22 THE SFOILKD CHILD. But fear makes the danger seem double, Say, Hymen, what mischief can trouble — I have contrived the plot, and every scene of the elopement, but in this shady blest retreat, will I unfold it all — let's sit down like Jessica, and the fair Lorenza, here — Would you taste the noontide air To yon fragrant bower repair. {tliey sit down in the hmcer.) Since music is the food of love, we'll to the nightingale's com- plaining note. Tune our distresses, and record our throats. {While Tagg is speaking^ little Pickle steals around the stage, gets behind tlie bower and sews their clothes together y then goes 0wl,'63(D474388)476