Frederick Reynolds

“ Mari. So I thought—why you'll never please her while you remain as you are.—You must alter your manners.—She is all life!—all spirits!—and loves a man the very opposite to you.
Ennui. I've an idea—I'm very sorry—in fact—how can I please her?
Mari. There's the difficulty—let me see—the sort of man she prefers is—you know Sir Harry Hustle?—a man all activity and confidence!—who does every thing from fashion, and glories in confessing it.
Ennui. Sir Harry Hustle?—in fact—he's a modern blood of fashion. ”

“ Vapid. "Die all! die nobly! die like demi-gods!"—Huzza, huzza! 'tis done! 'tis past! 'tis perfect.
Flor. Huzza!—the poet at last; "Stop him who can!"
Lady. Confusion!—tell me, sir, immediately, what do you mean by this new insult?
Vapid. "Die all! die nobly! die like demi-gods!"—oh, it's glorious!—Ah, old Scratch, are you there?—Joy, joy! give me joy!—I've done your business! the work's past!—the labour's o'er, my boy!—"think of that, Master Brook—think of that!"
Lady. My lord, I am vilely treated.—I desire you'll insist on an explanation.
Flor. He can't speak, madam. ”

“ Vapid. I'll tell you,—write a play,—and, bad as it may possibly be, say it's a translation from the French, and interweave a few compliments on the English, and, my life on't, it does wonders.—Do it, and say you had the thought from me.
Lady. Sir, do you mean to deride me?
Vapid. No.—But only be cautious in your style—women are in general apt to indulge that pruriency and warm luxuriancy of fancy they possess,—but do be careful—be decent—if you are not, I have done with you.
Lady. Sir, I desire you'll be more respectful.—I don't understand it at all. ”

“ Ennui. Yes, in parliament—as well without a head as with one—do you think a man wants a head for a long speech, damme!—
Enter Servant.
Servant. Her ladyship is waiting, ma'am.
Louisa. Oh, I attend her,—Mr Ennui, your most obedient.
Ennui. [Taking her Hand.] With your leave, ma'am.—You see, Scratch—you see.
Lord. Why, Louisa!—
Ennui. Keep your distance, Scratch—contemplate your superiors,—look at me with the same awful respect a city beau looks at a prince,—this way, most angelic—Scratch, cut your head off—this way, most angelic. ”

“ Mari. And would you have really run away with me, Mr Vapid?
Vapid. Yes, I really would.
Mari. Then come along this moment.
Vapid. Hush!—here's the old lady! keep dying, as before, and we'll effect the business—more equivoque!
Enter Lady Waitfor't.
Lady. Well, Mr Vapid, how does she do? lord! she's in strong convulsions.
Vapid. Yes, ma'am, she's dying; where are the drops?
Lady. Here, sir.
Vapid. There are very few—are there any more of the same kind?
Lady. Yes, plenty.
Vapid. Fetch them,—'tis the only hope—if you have any hartshorn too, bring a little of that. ”

“ Vapid. Get into print!—pshaw! every body gets into print now.—Kings and quacks—peers and poets—bishops and boxers—tailors and trading justices—can't go lower, you know—all get into print!—But we soar a little higher,—we have privileges peculiar to ourselves.—Now, sir, I—I, for my part, can talk as I please,—say what I will, it is sure to excite mirth,—for, supposing you don't laugh at my wit, I laugh myself, Neville, and that makes every body else do the same—so allons! ”

“ Louisa. Sir!
Ennui. In one word, I'll tell you my character,—I'm a lad of fashion!—I love gaming—I hate thinking—I like racing—I despise reading—I patronize boxing—I detest reasoning—I pay debts of honour,—not honourable debts—in short, I'll kick your servants—cheat your family, and fight your guardian—and so if you like me, take me—heh, damme!—I'm tired already!—yaw—aw.
[Yawns aside.
Louisa. Astonishing!—Mr Ennui—
Ennui. Ma'am? yaw—aw!
[Aside.
Louisa. Mr Ennui, can you be in your senses?
Ennui. In fact—I don't comprehend [Forgetting himself.] —Oh—ay—senses! [Recollecting himself.] ”

“ As I live, Vapid, the dramatic author—he is come to Bath to pick up characters, I suppose.
Ennui. In fact—pick up!
Nev. Yes—he has the ardor scribendi upon him so strong, that he would rather you'd ask him to write an epilogue to a new play, than offer him your whole estate—the theatre is his world, in which are included all his hopes and wishes.—In short, he is a dramatic maniac. And to such an extent does he carry his folly, that if he were not the best natured fellow in the world, every body would kick him out of doors. ”

“ Rather experienced or so—a little antique, eh!—however, the same motive that makes her a good aunt to me, will make her a good wife to you—you understand me?
Lord. Dam'me if I do.
Flor. Well, well, no matter—come, I want to hear every thing—to know what remarkable occurrences have happened since I left England.—Pray, Lady Waitfor't, inform me—do let me know every little circumstance.
Lady. Rather, sir, we should ask of you what happened in your travels?
Flor. Oh, nothing so shocking!—no man can be the herald of his own praise. ”

“ Lady. Leave the room immediately—no reply—I will be obeyed— [To Marianne, who exits.] Mr Floriville, we are very happy to see you.
Flor. Ma'am, you do me honour—my lord, where's Harry?—I thought to have found him here;—what, he didn't chuse to stay?—so much the better—it shows he's not a man of ceremony—we do the same in Italy. But, hark ye, uncle,—is this the lady I'm to call my aunt?
Lord. My gorge is rising: I shall certainly do him a mischief. ”

“ Why, as to dramatic genius, sir, the fact is this—to give a true picture of life, a man should enter into all its scenes,—should follow nature, sir—but modern authors plunder from one another—the mere shades of shadows.—Now, sir, for my part, I dive into the world—I search the heart of man;—'tis true I'm called a rake—but, upon my soul, I only game, drink, and intrigue, that I may be better able to dramatize each particular scene. ”

“ Louisa. If you have the least sense of fear for yourself, or regard for me, I beg we may return to Lady Walton's.
Lady. No, no, I tell you I ordered William at the back gate, that he might conduct us through the paddock to our carriage; you know we might have been whole hours getting through the crowd the other way—do be a little patient, hav'n't I as much reason to be alarmed as yourself?
Louisa. Yes, but you have not the apprehension I have; I don't know why, but I am terrified beyond description. ”

“ Enter Lord Scratch.
Lord. What a wonderful virtue is the art of hear [Pg 12] ing!—may I die, if a listener be found any where:—Zounds! am not I a peer, and don't I talk by prerogative?—and, if I mayn't talk ten times as much as another person, what's the use of my peerage?
Ennui. I've an idea—I don't comprehend you.
Lord. That fellow Neville wouldn't hear a word I had to say:—abandoned young dog!—he's come to Bath to invent tales against that divinity, Lady Waitfor't, again, I suppose—but my ward, Louisa, shall be put out of his power for ever—she shall marry you to-morrow. ”

“ Knocks.—Peter opens the Door, and lets in Vapid.
Vapid. Well, here it is;—where's Neville?
Peter. Not within, sir.
Vapid. Yes, yes, here it is:—I must see him.
Peter. Sir, he's gone out.
Vapid. Gone out? impossible!
Peter. Impossible! it's very true, sir.
Vapid. Gone out! why, I've brought him the epilogue—the new epilogue to Mr What's-his-name's comedy; the very best thing I ever wrote in my life; I knew it would delight him.
Peter. Sir, he has been gone out above these two hours.
Vapid. Then he'll never forgive himself as long as he lives; why, it's all correct—all chaste! ”

“ Ennui. I've an idea—if we've common fortune, this will do every thing.
Nev. No,—Lady Waitfor't's arts are numberless—she is so perfect a hypocrite, that I even doubt her confessing her real sentiments to her minion Willoughby; and when she does a bad action, she ever pretends 'tis from a good motive.
Enter Vapid.
Vapid. Gad, I forgot—you'll recollect the epilogue, Neville.
Nev. Yes,—I'll write to my cousin to-day.
Vapid. But, not a word of the love affair to him—any where else indeed it might do one a service—but never tell an intrigue to a dramatic author.
[Pg 19] Ennui. In fact—why not sir? ”

“ Vapid. Ay, Neville, there it is—now, do take my advice, and write a play—if any incident happens, remember, it is better to have written a damned play, than no play at all—it snatches a man from obscurity—and being particular, as this world goes, is a very great thing. ”

“ To those who can wisely bear with the faults of their own time, nor think all that is good is gone by, the representation of the present comedy will give high entertainment; particularly in those scenes in which Vapid is concerned.—Reynolds could hardly mistake drawing a faithful portrait of this character, for it is said—he sat for himself.
Yet those, who expect to be highly delighted with "The Dramatist," must bring with them to the theatre a proper acquaintance with the stage, and also of its power over certain of its votaries. ”

“ Louisa. I know not—return to lady Waitfor't's again, I will not—I had rather be a wanderer all my life—to lady Walton's there is no excuse for returning, and I know no friend in Bath I dare intrude upon.—I have so high an opinion, Mr Floriville, of your honour, that, notwithstanding your present situation, there is no man on earth I would sooner confide in;—can you then think of any place where I may rest in safety for a few hours, and then I will set out for my uncle's in the country. ”

“ Vapid. This'll do—mutual equivoque! equal misunderstanding! my own case exactly!
Mari. Your own case! Lord! you base man, have you got a young lady in your lodgings?
Vapid. Ridiculous! don't talk about young ladies at such an awful—the very situation in my comedy! the last scene to a syllable!—here's an opportunity of improving the denouement!
Enter Peter.
Peter. Ma'am, my master is returned—the occasion of his delay has been a long interview with Mr Willoughby,—he doesn't know you are here.
Louisa. Marianne, excuse me—you'll be safe from Lady Waitfor't here—indeed I'm very ill. ”

“ Lord. The epilogue!—fire and forefathers!
[Lady holds him.
Lady. Ay, or the prologue.
Lord. The prologue! blood and gunpowder!
[Vapid comes from behind the sofa, and smacks him on the back.
Vapid. Prologue or epilogue!—I'm the man—I'll write you both.
Lord. There he is again!
Lady. Oh! I shall faint with vexation!—My lord, I desire you'll misinterpret nothing—every thing shall be explained to you.—Marianne!
Lord. Here's the curtain up with a vengeance!
[Pg 28] Enter Marianne.
Lady. Answer me directly, how came that gentleman in this apartment? I know it is some trick of yours.
Vapid. ”

“ Yes,—the stage is his aversion, and some way or other——I have it—it's an odd thought, but may do much—suppose we tell him Ennui has written a play.
Will. The luckiest thought in the world! it will make him hate him directly.
Lady. Well, leave it to me—I'll explain the matter to him myself,—and my life on't it proves successful. You see, Willoughby, my only system is to promote happiness.
Will. It is indeed, Lady Waitfor't—but if this fails, may I still hope for your interest with Miss Courtney? ”

“ Letty. Yes,—I hope so, though I confess I think your aunt is better than either of us.
Mari. More shame for you—she is a woman of sentiment, and hums you over with her flourishes about purity, and feelings.—Feelings!—'faith, she ought to be ashamed of herself—no other woman would talk in that manner.
Letty. You mistake her—she is a woman of virtue, [Pg 9] and can't help feeling for the vices and misfortunes of others.
Mari. Then why can't she do as I have done, Letty? keep her feelings to herself—If I had given way to them half so much as she has—Oh Lord! ”

“ Oh, the villain! well, my lord, and pray who is the man I come to meet?
[Pg 54] Lord. Why, who should it be but the stage ruffian? if there was a sofa in the room, my life on't, he'd pop from behind it.—Zounds! that fellow will lay straw before my door every nine months!
Lady. This is fortunate.— [Aside.] —Well, sir, if I discover Louisa, I hope you'll be convinced I came here to redeem her, and not disgrace myself. Tell me, sir, immediately, where she is concealed. ”

“ If the face is the picture of the mind, that intended aunt of mine is a great hypocrite, and the story I heard of the poet proves it.—But now for a frolic—'gad it's very strange I could never reform, and become a serious thinking being—but what's the use of thinking? ”

“ No, if you'll believe me, I don't like him at all,—he's a sour old fellow—is always abusing our sex, and thinks there is only one good woman under heaven:—now, I'm sure that's a mistake, for I know I'm a good woman, and I think, Letty, you are another. ”

“ Yes, sir, very fond of plays, or any thing relating to them.
Vapid. Delightful!—now am I the happiest dog alive:—yes, yes, Vapid! let the town damn your plays, the women will never desert you. [Seats himself.] You needn't stay, sir. [Exit Servant.] That's a good sign, that fellow isn't used to this kind of business—so much the better—practice is the destruction of love——yes, I shall indulge a beautiful woman,—gratify myself, and, perhaps, get the last scene for my unfinished comedy.
[Pg 21] Enter Lady Waitfor't.
Lady. Sir, your most obedient.
Vapid. Ma'am. ”