Rovers, The; or, The Double Arrangement - Act 2
ACT II . Scene — a Room in an ordinary Lodging-House, at Weimar. — Puddingfield and Beefington discovered, sitting at a small deal table, and playing at All-Fours. — Young Pottingen, at another table in the corner of the room, with a pipe in his mouth, and a Saxon mug of a singular shape beside him, which he repeatedly applies to his lips, turning back his head, and casting his eyes towards the Firmament — at the last trial he holds the mug for some moments in a directly inverted position; then replaces it on the table, with an air of dejection, and gradually sinks into a profound slumber. — The pipe falls from his hand, and is broken. —
Beef. I beg.
Pudd. [ deals three cards to Beefington ] Are you satisfied?
Beef. Enough. What have you?
Pudd. High — Low — and the Game.
Beef. Damnation! 'tis my deal. [ deals — turns up a knave ] One for his heels!
Pudd. Is king highest?
Beef. No. [ sternly ] The game is mine. The knave gives it me.
Pudd. Are knaves so prosperous?
Ay, marry are they in this world. They have the game in their hands. Your kings are but noddies to them.
Pudd. Ha! Ha! Ha! — Still the same proud spirit, Beefington, which procured thee thine exile from England.
Beef. England! my native land! — when shall I revisit thee?
Beef. [ continues ] Phoo — Hang All-Fours; what are they to a mind ill at ease? — Can they cure the heart-ache? — Can they sooth banishment? — Can they lighten ignominy? — Can All-Fours do this? — O! my Puddingfield, thy limber and lightsome spirit bounds up against affliction — with the elasticity of a well-bent bow; but mine — O! mine —
Y. Pot. What is the matter, Comrades? — you seem agitated. Have you lost or won?
Beef. Lost. — I have lost my country.
Y. Pot. And I my sister. — I came hither in search of her.
Beef. O, England!
Y. Pot. O, Matilda!
Beef. Exiled by the tyranny of an Usurper, I seek the means of revenge, and of restoration to my country.
Y. Pot. Oppressed by the tyranny of an Abbot, persecuted by the jealousy of a Count, the betrothed husband of my sister languishes in a loathsome captivity — Her lover is fled no one knows whither — and I, her brother, am torn from my paternal roof, and from my studies in chirurgery, to seek him and her, I know not where — to rescue Rogero, I know not how. Comrades, your counsel — my search fruitless — my money gone — my baggage stolen! What am I to do? — In yonder Abbey — in these dark, dank vaults, there, my friends — there lies Rogero — there Matilda's heart —
SCENE II.
Enter Waiter.
Waiter. Sir, here is a person who desires to speak with you.
Beef. [ goes to the door, and returns with a letter, which he opens — on perusing it his countenance becomes illuminated, and expands prodigiously ] Hah, my friend, what joy!
Pudd. What? tell me — let your Puddingfield partake it.
Beef. See here —
Pudd. What? —
Beef. [ in a significant tone ] A newspaper!
Pudd. Hah, what sayst thou! — A newspaper!
Beef. Yes, Puddingfield, and see here, [ shews it partially ] from England.
Pudd. [ with extreme earnestness ] Its name!
Beef. The Daily Advertiser —
Pudd. Oh ecstasy!
Beef. [ with a dignified severity ] Puddingfield, calm yourself — repress those transports — remember that you are a man.
Pudd. [ after a pause with suppressed emotion ] Well, I will be — I am calm — yet tell me, Beefington, does it contain any news?
Beef. Glorious news, my dear Puddingfield — the Barons are victorious — King John has been defeated — Magna Charta, that venerable, immemorial inheritance of Britons, was signed last Friday was three weeks, the third of July Old Style.
Pudd. I can scarce believe my ears — but let me satisfy my eyes — shew me the paragraph.
Beef. Here it is, just above the advertisements.
Pudd. [ reads ] " The great demand for Packwood's Razor Straps " —
Beef. 'Pshaw! what, ever blundering — you drive me from my patience — see here, at the head of the column.
Pudd. [ reads ] " A hireling Print, devoted to the Court,
" Has dared to question our veracity
" Respecting the events of yesterday;
" But by to-day's accounts, our information
" Appears to have been perfectly correct.
" The Charter of our Liberties received
" The Royal signature at five o'clock,
" When Messengers were instantly dispatch'd
" To Cardinal Pandulfo; and their Majesties,
" After partaking of a cold collation,
" Return'd to Windsor. " — I am satisfied.
Beef. Yet here again — there are some further particulars [ turns to another part of the Paper ] " Extract of a Letter from Egham — " My dear friend, we are all here in high spirits — the inte- " resting event which took place this morning at Runnymede, in " the neighbourhood of this town " —
Pudd. Hah! Runnymede — enough — no more — my doubts are vanished — then are we free indeed! —
Beef. I have, besides, a letter in my pocket from our friend, the immortal Bacon, who has been appointed Chancellor. — Our outlawry is reversed! — What says my friend — shall we return by the next packet?
Pudd. Instantly, instantly!
Both. Liberty! — Adelaide! — revenge!
Enter from the Abbey, pushed out of the gates by the Porter, a Troubadour, with a bundle under his cloak, and a Lady under his arm. Troubadour seems much in liquor, but caresses the Female Minstret .
Fem. Min. Trust me, Gieronymo, thou seemest melancholy. What hast thou got under thy cloak?
Trou. 'Pshaw, women will be inquiring. Melancholy! not I. — I will sing thee a song, and the subject of it shall be thy question — " what have I got under my cloak? " It is a riddle, Margaret — I learnt it of an Almanac-maker at Gotha — if thou guessest it after the first stanza, thou shalt have never a drop for thy pains. Hear me — and, d'ye mark! twirl thy thingumbob while I sing.
Fem. Min. 'Tis a pretty tune, and hums dolefully.
I bear a secret comfort here ,
A joy I'll ne'er impart;
It is not wine, it is not beer,
But it consoles my heart.
Fem. Min. [ interrupting him ] I'll be hang'd if you don't mean the bottle of cherry-brandy that you stole out of the vaults in the Abbey cellar.
Trou. I mean! — Peace, wench, thou disturbest the current of my feelings —
THE ANTI-JACOBIN .
This cherry-bounce, this lov'd noyau,
My drink for ever be;
But, sweet my love, thy wish forego,
I'll give no drop to thee!
[Both together.]
Trou. This cherry-bounce this lov'd noyau,
F.M. That cherry-bounce that lov'd noyau,
Trou. My drink for ever be;
F.M. Thy drink for ever be;
Trou. But, sweet my love, thy wish forego!
F.M. But, sweet my love, one drop bestow.
Trou. I keep it all for me!
F.M. Nor keep it all for thee!
End of Act II.
Act the Third — contains the eclaircissemens and final arrangement between Casimere, Matilda, and Cecilia; which so nearly resemble the concluding Act of " Stella , " that we forbear to lay it before our Readers.
Beef. I beg.
Pudd. [ deals three cards to Beefington ] Are you satisfied?
Beef. Enough. What have you?
Pudd. High — Low — and the Game.
Beef. Damnation! 'tis my deal. [ deals — turns up a knave ] One for his heels!
Pudd. Is king highest?
Beef. No. [ sternly ] The game is mine. The knave gives it me.
Pudd. Are knaves so prosperous?
Ay, marry are they in this world. They have the game in their hands. Your kings are but noddies to them.
Pudd. Ha! Ha! Ha! — Still the same proud spirit, Beefington, which procured thee thine exile from England.
Beef. England! my native land! — when shall I revisit thee?
Beef. [ continues ] Phoo — Hang All-Fours; what are they to a mind ill at ease? — Can they cure the heart-ache? — Can they sooth banishment? — Can they lighten ignominy? — Can All-Fours do this? — O! my Puddingfield, thy limber and lightsome spirit bounds up against affliction — with the elasticity of a well-bent bow; but mine — O! mine —
Y. Pot. What is the matter, Comrades? — you seem agitated. Have you lost or won?
Beef. Lost. — I have lost my country.
Y. Pot. And I my sister. — I came hither in search of her.
Beef. O, England!
Y. Pot. O, Matilda!
Beef. Exiled by the tyranny of an Usurper, I seek the means of revenge, and of restoration to my country.
Y. Pot. Oppressed by the tyranny of an Abbot, persecuted by the jealousy of a Count, the betrothed husband of my sister languishes in a loathsome captivity — Her lover is fled no one knows whither — and I, her brother, am torn from my paternal roof, and from my studies in chirurgery, to seek him and her, I know not where — to rescue Rogero, I know not how. Comrades, your counsel — my search fruitless — my money gone — my baggage stolen! What am I to do? — In yonder Abbey — in these dark, dank vaults, there, my friends — there lies Rogero — there Matilda's heart —
SCENE II.
Enter Waiter.
Waiter. Sir, here is a person who desires to speak with you.
Beef. [ goes to the door, and returns with a letter, which he opens — on perusing it his countenance becomes illuminated, and expands prodigiously ] Hah, my friend, what joy!
Pudd. What? tell me — let your Puddingfield partake it.
Beef. See here —
Pudd. What? —
Beef. [ in a significant tone ] A newspaper!
Pudd. Hah, what sayst thou! — A newspaper!
Beef. Yes, Puddingfield, and see here, [ shews it partially ] from England.
Pudd. [ with extreme earnestness ] Its name!
Beef. The Daily Advertiser —
Pudd. Oh ecstasy!
Beef. [ with a dignified severity ] Puddingfield, calm yourself — repress those transports — remember that you are a man.
Pudd. [ after a pause with suppressed emotion ] Well, I will be — I am calm — yet tell me, Beefington, does it contain any news?
Beef. Glorious news, my dear Puddingfield — the Barons are victorious — King John has been defeated — Magna Charta, that venerable, immemorial inheritance of Britons, was signed last Friday was three weeks, the third of July Old Style.
Pudd. I can scarce believe my ears — but let me satisfy my eyes — shew me the paragraph.
Beef. Here it is, just above the advertisements.
Pudd. [ reads ] " The great demand for Packwood's Razor Straps " —
Beef. 'Pshaw! what, ever blundering — you drive me from my patience — see here, at the head of the column.
Pudd. [ reads ] " A hireling Print, devoted to the Court,
" Has dared to question our veracity
" Respecting the events of yesterday;
" But by to-day's accounts, our information
" Appears to have been perfectly correct.
" The Charter of our Liberties received
" The Royal signature at five o'clock,
" When Messengers were instantly dispatch'd
" To Cardinal Pandulfo; and their Majesties,
" After partaking of a cold collation,
" Return'd to Windsor. " — I am satisfied.
Beef. Yet here again — there are some further particulars [ turns to another part of the Paper ] " Extract of a Letter from Egham — " My dear friend, we are all here in high spirits — the inte- " resting event which took place this morning at Runnymede, in " the neighbourhood of this town " —
Pudd. Hah! Runnymede — enough — no more — my doubts are vanished — then are we free indeed! —
Beef. I have, besides, a letter in my pocket from our friend, the immortal Bacon, who has been appointed Chancellor. — Our outlawry is reversed! — What says my friend — shall we return by the next packet?
Pudd. Instantly, instantly!
Both. Liberty! — Adelaide! — revenge!
Enter from the Abbey, pushed out of the gates by the Porter, a Troubadour, with a bundle under his cloak, and a Lady under his arm. Troubadour seems much in liquor, but caresses the Female Minstret .
Fem. Min. Trust me, Gieronymo, thou seemest melancholy. What hast thou got under thy cloak?
Trou. 'Pshaw, women will be inquiring. Melancholy! not I. — I will sing thee a song, and the subject of it shall be thy question — " what have I got under my cloak? " It is a riddle, Margaret — I learnt it of an Almanac-maker at Gotha — if thou guessest it after the first stanza, thou shalt have never a drop for thy pains. Hear me — and, d'ye mark! twirl thy thingumbob while I sing.
Fem. Min. 'Tis a pretty tune, and hums dolefully.
I bear a secret comfort here ,
A joy I'll ne'er impart;
It is not wine, it is not beer,
But it consoles my heart.
Fem. Min. [ interrupting him ] I'll be hang'd if you don't mean the bottle of cherry-brandy that you stole out of the vaults in the Abbey cellar.
Trou. I mean! — Peace, wench, thou disturbest the current of my feelings —
THE ANTI-JACOBIN .
This cherry-bounce, this lov'd noyau,
My drink for ever be;
But, sweet my love, thy wish forego,
I'll give no drop to thee!
[Both together.]
Trou. This cherry-bounce this lov'd noyau,
F.M. That cherry-bounce that lov'd noyau,
Trou. My drink for ever be;
F.M. Thy drink for ever be;
Trou. But, sweet my love, thy wish forego!
F.M. But, sweet my love, one drop bestow.
Trou. I keep it all for me!
F.M. Nor keep it all for thee!
End of Act II.
Act the Third — contains the eclaircissemens and final arrangement between Casimere, Matilda, and Cecilia; which so nearly resemble the concluding Act of " Stella , " that we forbear to lay it before our Readers.
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