Chapter 6

_Enter_ JUSTICE CREDULOUS _and_ MRS. BRIDGET CREDULOUS.

_Just_. Odds life, Bridget, you are enough to make one mad! I tell you he would have deceived a chief justice; the dog seemed as ignorant as my clerk, and talked of honesty as if he had been a churchwarden.

_Mrs. Bri_. Pho! nonsense, honesty!--what had you to do, pray, with honesty? A fine business you have made of it with your Humphrey Hum: and miss, too, she must have been privy to it. Lauretta! ay, you would have her called so; but for my part I never knew any good come of giving girls these heathen Christian names: if you had called her Deborrah, or Tabitha, or Ruth, or Rebecca, or Joan, nothing of this had ever happened; but I always knew Lauretta was a runaway name.

_Just_. Psha, you're a fool!

_Mrs. Bri_. No, Mr. Credulous, it is you who are a fool, and no one but such a simpleton would be so imposed on.

_Just_. Why zounds, madam, how durst you talk so? If you have no respect for your husband, I should think _unus quorum_ might command a little deference.

_Mrs. Bri_. Don't tell me!--Unus fiddlestick! you ought to be ashamed to show your face at the sessions: you'll be a laughing-stock to the whole bench, and a byword with all the pig-tailed lawyers and bag-wigged attorneys about town.

_Just_. Is this language for his majesty's representative? By the statutes, it's high treason and petty treason, both at once!

_Enter_ SERVANT.

_Ser_. A letter for your worship.

_Just_. Who brought it?

_Ser_. A soldier.

_Just_. Take it away and burn it.

_Mrs. Bri_. Stay!--Now you're in such a hurry--it is some canting scrawl from the lieutenant, I suppose.--[_Takes the letter.-- Exit_ SERVANT.] Let me see:--ay, 'tis signed O'Connor.

_Just_. Well, come read it out.

_Mrs. Bri_. [_Reads_.] _Revenge is sweet_.

_Just_. It begins so, does it? I'm glad of that; I'll let the dog know I'm of his opinion.

_Mrs. Bri_. [_Reads_.] _And though disappointed of my designs upon your daughter, I have still the satisfaction of knowing I am revenged on her unnatural father; for this morning, in your chocolate, I had the pleasure to administer to you a dose of poison!_--Mercy on us!

_Just_. No tricks, Bridget; come, you know it is not so; you know it is a lie.

_Mrs. Bri_. Read it yourself.

_Just_. [_Reads_.] _Pleasure to administer a dose of poison_!--Oh, horrible! Cut-throat villain!--Bridget!

_Mrs. Bri_. Lovee, stay, here's a postscript.--[_Reads_.] _N.B. 'Tis not in the power of medicine to save you_.

_Just_. Odds my life, Bridget! why don't you call for help? I've lost my voice.--My brain is giddy--I shall burst, and no assistance.-- John!--Laury!--John!

_Mrs. Bri_. You see, lovee, what you have brought on yourself.

_Re-enter_ SERVANT.

_Ser_. Your worship!

_Just_. Stay, John; did you perceive anything in my chocolate cup this morning?

_Ser_. Nothing, your worship, unless it was a little grounds.

_Just_. What colour were they?

_Ser_. Blackish, your worship.

_Just_. Ay, arsenic, black arsenic!--Why don't you run for Dr. Rosy, you rascal?

_Ser_. Now, sir?

_Mrs. Bri_. Oh, lovee, you may be sure it is in vain; let him run for the lawyer to witness your will, my life.

_Just_. Zounds! go for the doctor, you scoundrel. You are all confederate murderers.

_Ser_. Oh, here he is, your worship. [_Exit_.]

_Just_. Now, Bridget, hold your tongue, and let me see if my horrid situation be apparent.

_Enter_ DOCTOR ROSY.

_Rosy_. I have but just called to inform--hey! bless me, what's the matter with your worship?

_Just_. There, he sees it already!--Poison in my face, in capitals! Yes, yes, I'm a sure job for the undertakers indeed!

_Mrs. Bri_. Oh! oh! alas, doctor!

_Just_. Peace, Bridget!--Why, doctor, my dear old friend, do you really see any change in me?

_Rosy_. Change! never was man so altered: how came these black spots on your nose?

_Just_. Spots on my nose!

_Rosy_. And that wild stare in your right eye!

_Just_. In my right eye?

_Rosy_. Ay, and, alack, alack, how you are swelled!

_Just_. Swelled!

_Rosy_. Ay, don't you think he is, madam?

_Mrs. Bri_. Oh! 'tis in vain to conceal it!--Indeed, lovee, you are as big again as you were this morning.

_Just_. Yes, I feel it now--I'm poisoned!--Doctor, help me, for the love of justice! Give me life to see my murderer hanged.

_Rosy_. What?

_Just_. I'm poisoned, I say!

_Rosy_. Speak out!

_Just_. What! can't you hear me?

_Rosy_. Your voice is so low and hollow, as it were, I can't hear a word you say.

_Just_. I'm gone then!--_Hic jacet_, many years one of his majesty's justices!

_Mrs. Bri_. Read, doctor!--Ah, lovee, the will!--Consider, my life, how soon you will be dead.

_Just_. No, Bridget, I shall die by inches.

_Rosy_. I never heard such monstrous iniquity.--Oh, you are gone indeed, my friend! the mortgage of your little bit of clay is out, and the sexton has nothing to do but to close. We must all go, sooner or later--high and low--Death's a debt; his mandamus binds all alike--no bail, no demurrer.

_Just_. Silence, Dr. Croaker! will you cure me or will you not?

_Rosy_. Alas! my dear friend, it is not in my power; but I'll certainly see justice done on your murderer.

_Just_. I thank you, my dear friend, but I had rather see it myself.

_Rosy_. Ay, but if you recover, the villain will escape.

_Mrs. Bri_. Will he? then indeed it would be a pity you should recover. I am so enraged against the villain, I can't bear the thought of his escaping the halter.

_Just_. That's very kind in you, my dear; but if it's the same thing to you, my dear, I had as soon recover, notwithstanding.--What, doctor, no assistance!

_Rosy_. Efacks, I can do nothing, but there's the German quack, whom you wanted to send from town; I met him at the next door, and I know he has antidotes for all poisons.

_Just_. Fetch him, my dear friend, fetch him! I'll get him a diploma if he cures me.

_Rosy_. Well, there's no time to be lost; you continue to swell immensely. [_Exit_.]

_Mrs. Bri_. What, my dear, will you submit to be cured by a quack nostrum-monger? For my part, as much as I love you, I had rather follow you to your grave than see you owe your life to any but a regular-bred physician.

_Just_. I'm sensible of your affection, dearest; and be assured nothing consoles me in my melancholy situation so much as the thoughts of leaving you behind.

_Re-enter_ DOCTOR ROSY, _with_ LIEUTENANT O'CONNOR _disguised_.

_Rosy_. Great luck; met him passing by the door.

_O'Con_. Metto dowsei pulsum.

_Rosy_. He desires me to feel your pulse.

_Just_. Can't he speak English?

_Rosy_. Not a word.

_O'Con_. Palio vivem mortem soonem.

_Rosy_. He says you have not six hours to live.

_Just_. O mercy! does he know my distemper?

_Rosy_. I believe not.

_Just_. Tell him 'tis black arsenic they have given me.

_Rosy_. Geneable illi arsnecca.

_O'Con_. Pisonatus.

_Just_. What does he say?

_Rosy_. He says you are poisoned.

_Just_. We know that; but what will be the effect?

_Rosy_. Quid effectum?

_O'Con_. Diable tutellum.

_Rosy_. He says you'll die presently.

_Just_. Oh, horrible! What, no antidote?

_O'Con_. Curum benakere bono fullum.

_Just_. What, does he say I must row in a boat to Fulham?

_Rosy_. He says he'll undertake to cure you for three thousand pounds.

_Mrs. Bri_. Three thousand pounds! three thousand halters!--No, lovee, you shall never submit to such impositions; die at once, and be a customer to none of them.

_Just_. I won't die, Bridget--I don't like death.

_Mrs. Bri_. Psha! there is nothing in it: a moment, and it is over.

_Just_. Ay, but it leaves a numbness behind that lasts a plaguy long time.

_Mrs. Bri_. O my dear, pray consider the will.

_Enter_ LAURETTA.

_Lau_. O my father, what is this I hear?

_O'Con_. Quiddam seomriam deos tollam rosam.

_Rosy_. The doctor is astonished at the sight of your fair daughter.

_Just_. How so?

_O'Con_. Damsellum livivum suvum rislibani.

_Rosy_. He says that he has lost his heart to her, and that if you will give him leave to pay his addresses to the young lady, and promise your consent to the union, if he should gain her affections, he will, on those conditions, cure you instantly, without fee or reward.

_Just_. The devil! did he say all that in so few words? What a fine language it is! Well, I agree, if he can prevail on the girl.-- [_Aside_.] And that I am sure he never will.

_Rosy_. Greal.

_O'Con_. Writhum bothum.

_Rosy_. He says you must give this under your hand, while he writes you a miraculous receipt. [_Both sit down to write_.]

_Lau_. Do, mamma, tell me the meaning of this.

_Mrs. Bri_. Don't speak to me, girl.--Unnatural parent!

_Just_. There, doctor; there's what he requires.

_Rosy_. And here's your receipt: read it yourself.

_Just_. Hey! what's here? plain English!

_Rosy_. Read it out; a wondrous nostrum, I'll answer for it.

_Just_. [_Reads_.] _In reading this you are cured, by your affectionate son-in-law,_ O'CONNOR.--Who in the name of Beelzebub, sirrah, who are you?

_O'Con_. Your affectionate son-in-law, O'Connor, and your very humble servant, Humphrey Hum.

_Just_. 'Tis false, you dog! you are not my son-in-law; for I'll be poisoned again, and you shall be hanged.--I'll die, sirrah, and leave Bridget my estate.

_Mrs. Bri_. Ay, pray do, my dear, leave me your estate; I'm sure he deserves to be hanged.

_Just_. He does, you say!--Hark'ee, Bridget, you showed such a tender concern for me when you thought me poisoned, that, for the future, I am resolved never to take your advice again in anything.-- [_To_ LIEUTENANT O'CONNOR] So, do you hear, sir, you are an Irishman and a soldier, ain't you?

_O'Con_. I am sir, and proud of both.

_Just_. The two things on earth I most hate; so I tell you what-- renounce your country and sell your commission, and I'll forgive you.

_O'Con_. Hark'ee, Mr. Justice--if you were not the father of my Lauretta, I would pull your nose for asking the first, and break your bones for desiring the second.

_Rosy_. Ay, ay, you're right.

_Just_. Is he? then I'm sure I must be wrong.--Here, sir, I give my daughter to you, who are the most impudent dog I ever saw in my life.

_O'Con_. Oh, sir, say what you please; with such a gift as Lauretta, every word is a compliment.

_Mrs. Bri_. Well, my lovee, I think this will be a good subject for us to quarrel about the rest of our lives.

_Just_. Why, truly, my dear,--I think so, though we are seldom at a loss for that.

_Rosy_. This is all as it should be.--My Alexander, I give you joy, and you, my little god-daughter; and now my sincere wish is, that you may make just such a wife as my poor dear Dolly. [_Exeunt omnes_.]

End of Project Gutenberg's St. Patrick's Day, by Richard Brinsley Sheridan