Part 3

_Roger._ It's worser than that, it is not as you read in the Flying Mercury and the Country Journal, but they call un the King of France, they do indeed.

_Sideboard._ Hush! The bell rings, I must go into 'em.

_Roger._ Do so, Master Sideboard, and I'll step down--Beff, I'll tell you what Master Sideboard, it's my Opinion they'll never come to speak English while they live--Beff. (_Exeunt_)

(_Scene discovers them_ [JACK, WILDFIRE, FOXCHASE, SIR ROBERT, ABBÉ, _and_ FLORID] _at Table_)

_Jack._ Mort de ma Vie! I am burnt alive.

_Wildfire._ Come, come, off with your Glass.

_Foxchase._ Ay, ay, off with this Bumper.

_Jack._ Gentlemen, I believe you take me for the Fire Eater, I can't swallow liquid Flames; can't we have the coffee and the Liquor?

_Wildfire._ There's more trouble with one Fellow that won't drink, than with fifty that will, off with it I say.

_Sir Robert._ Drink Boy, you're fairly hunted.

_Jack._ (_Drinks_) Vive l'Amour.

_Wildfire._ And so Monsieur Abbé, you say that the French are making great Armaments.

_Abbé._ Ver great Marine, Monsieur, ver great Marine.

_Jack._ The French are a very politic Nation; they never make a Treaty, but with an Intent to break it, when it suits their Conveniency--so you'll find they will at last give Laws, as Fashions to Europe.

_Wildfire._ Never fear, you'll find that John Bull will be too many for Louis Baboon any day in the year. Let 'em land here, we'll shew 'em what a figure Slaves will cut in a Land of Liberty. Come now, I'll give you a Toast--Monsieur need not drink it, but as he began the subject he must excuse my National Partiality--here's Old England for ever.

_All._ Hurra! Hurra! Hurra!

_Jack._ L'Angleterre.

_Wildfire._ L'Angleterre! Say it in plain English, Old England.

_Florid._ (_Drunk_) Ay, ay, give me another Bumper to it--it's both agreeable to the Public Sense and the Moral Sense.

_Jack._ Old England. (_Squeamishly_)

_Foxchase._ Wounds! I wish they have not made a Papist of him.

_Jack._ A Papist! Do you suppose there's Religion in France?

_Abbé._ Ah! Pour ça non--parmi les honêtes Gens, wid les Espirits forts, dare is none at all. Religion it is ver pretty Bagatelle to quarrel about, but ma foi, dat is all.

_Florid._ Yes, they have the Religion of Nature, and the Theory of agreeable Sensations. (_Drinks_) They have the Ideas of Beauty and Virtue, and by the favor of the Sylvan Nymphs, they pursue their platonic Loves (_Drinks_) and invoking first the Genius of the Place--what is the Bottle come round again? This is indulging the Pleasurable Perceptions arising from the Organ of Bodily Sensations (_Drinks_) and invoking first the Genius of the Place (_Very drunk_) obtain some faint and distant view of the Sovereign Genius, and first Beauty.

_Wildfire._ Pha! Sauce with your Jargons--come Foxchase give us an honest song.

_Foxchase._ With all my Heart. (_During the song Jack steals off_)

_Wildfire._ Hang the Fellow--he's off.

_Foxchase._ Let's after him. (_Exeunt_)

_Florid._ Ay, let's bring him back to indulge the Social Affections.

_Sir Robert._ Gentlemen never mind him, let's make an End of our Bottle. I am afraid Mr. Quicksett is in the right. (_Follows_)

_Abbé._ (_Sings_)

Boire a long trait De ce vin frais Et ne jamais quitter la Table, Que pour Dancer Rire a Chanter C'est se jouir d'un sort delectable. (_Exeunt_)

(_Scene another Apartment. Enter_ LADY BETTY _and_ HARRIET)

_Lady Betty._ Well, but my dear Harriet, I assure you.

_Harriet._ Nay, but Ma'am, how can your Ladyship say so?

_Lady Betty._ Surely Madamoiselle Harriet you'll give me leave to know better than one who has never been beyond the Dust and Smoke of melancholy London.

_Harriet._ Well, I protest and now I can scarcely refrain from laughing at the Conceit of it.

_Lady Betty._ The Conceit!

_Harriet._ Dear Ma'am, your Ladyship can't be in earnest, sure, there's no Mystery--

_Lady Betty._ No Mystery--but I tell you there's a Je ne sais quoi--

_Harriet._ Dear Ma'am, I hope your Ladyship won't be in a passion about it.

_Lady Betty._ Is it not enough to provoke anybody to be contradicted in a thing that a person has voyag'd for? But I tell you Madam, not one in a thousand of the English know how to blow the Nose--it's a thing not understood in this country.

_Harriet._ With all my Heart, Ma'am, if you will have it so.

_Lady Betty._ It's very true though--the people of this Country don't know how to blow the Nose--or to walk, or to sit down, or to rise up, or to cough, or to spit, or to sneeze--now let me hear you sneeze.

_Harriet._ I wou'd oblige you Ma'am with such a thing, if I possibly cou'd.

_Lady Betty._ Oh, you can't then, here, take a pinch of snuff to provoke a Sneeze. (_Gives snuff_)

_Harriet._ I have no Objection to a pinch of snuff, Ma'am. (_Takes snuff_)

_Lady Betty._ Look ye there, now, that's not the way to take Snuff. The thing does not consist in stuffing it up the Nostrils, as if you were gormandizing upon it--with your Arm lifted up, and your Head shrunk down, just as if you were frighten'd at something--but it must be introduced as a grace to Conversation. Now observe me--I make the most of my Person--hold my Head up with an air. Then suppose me in the middle of a story about an Amour, or the French Court, or a new fashion, or what you will--then I open my Snuff-box, then look at myself in the glass, and reclaim a straggling Hair--then I proceed. I wave my Arm out to its full length, then I gradually bring it to, forming a graceful Semicircle, and never move my head towards my hand--thus (_Mimicks_) but I make my hand pay its devoirs to my head--thus. (_Mimicks_) Then I apply my fingers with the utmost delicatesse--and I smile--I smile and look as if I were thinking--and then I don't souse my hand down at once, thus--(_Mimicks_) but I restore it to its place in the same graceful manner--thus--you see now the Semicircle opens. Then with an elegant turn of my wrist, I drop my Arm in a gentle dying--dying fall.

_Harriet._ Well now as I live and breathe, my Lady Betty I never cou'd have thought there was so much Consequence in a Trifle.

_Lady Betty._ Trifle! Trifles are the most important things in Life. The Beau Monde is made up of Trifles--Paris is made up of Trifles--I am made up of Trifles--the French are all Trifles, and so vive la Bagatelle. But my dear Madamoiselle Harriet you're a perfect corpse child, let me put on a little Rouge--no, I have none about me; and then your Cap (_Takes off a very small one_)--fie, done, it's large enough for a Soapboiler's Wife--here let me put this Bouquet in your Hair. There, now you have Cap enough--the Creature looked odiously handsome before--I cou'd not bear it.

_Harriet._ Dear Ma'am, but I'm afraid I shall take cold.

_Lady Betty._ Cold! What then? If you do, you'll be in the fashion. But I assure you, child, you must voyage, indeed, and 'till you do, I lend you one of my faces to keep you in Countenance.

_Harriet._ Ma'am I am very much oblig'd to you, but Heav'n has given me a face.

_Lady Betty._ Heav'n has given you a face! He! He! He! Well to be sure that notion is downright Insulaire, fit only for an Island--the Sentiments of the Continent, I assure you my dear are much sublimer. Heav'n has given you a face--but I'll give you a better face, you shall have one of mine--how do you like this face? It has been generally taken notice of. They may talk what they will of their great Painters--my brush exceeds 'em all--the Coloring is so mellow, and so rich and so glowing--

_Harriet._ Ma'am as for your coloring, nobody can dispute it--but don't your Ladyship think a great Painter can draw a little more like the life?

_Lady Betty._ Like the life! That's a cold northern Sentiment again--why can't you see that if it were like the life one might soon become an old face? Now I like to be a new face every day--then the men cry, what a deal of sweetness my Lady Betty has in her face--ay, and what a deal of fire--and what a deal of meaning--and what a--and what a Je ne sais quoi! But I shall lay aside this face soon, and you shall have the preference of it.

_Harriet._ Dear Ma'am, I wou'd not rob your Ladyship on any Account.

_Lady Betty._ Oh you'll not derob me at all, and then I'll let you have a Copy of my Receipt how to be a fine Lady, it was made in Paris upon the most minute observation. I was assisted in it by Monsieur Capriole my dancing Master, Madam D'Epingle my Milliner, La Jeuness my hair dresser, and Fanchonette my waiting Maid.

_Harriet._ Dear Ma'am, let me have it of all things--it must needs be a curiosity.

_Lady Betty._ I believe I have it in my Pocket--here it is--I'll read it to you. "Take a score of French Phrases, everyday, bien tournées, and mix 'em well together to qualify the Barbarity of the English. Be sure to have a thorough contempt for the Milliners and the Tradesfolk of your own country. Be sure never to visit with your Husband, if you have a mind to be happy with him, don't see the horrid creature above one in a quarter."

_Harriet._ I suppose your Ladyship means as Falstaff says in a quarter of an hour.

_Lady Betty._ Well, by all that's pleasant, I shall never survive that. No child, once in a quarter of a year is enough to see the domestic Animal, to get one's pin-money of him--or to make him mortgage--or sell--or anything to pay one's gaming Debts. But I'll go on. "Be sure to have a Douceur and a fierté ready to command in the Countenance." Now if one of these Insulaires--one of these Island People shou'd come within the Hemisphere of my Hoop there's my fierté--and if one meets with anything that has voyaged, that has depatriated as the Clive calls it in the Play--there's my Douceur--but don't interrupt. "Be sure never to be happy if anybody of your acquaintance keeps more Card Tables than yourself--"

_Harriet._ Is that an Essential to Happiness Ma'am?

_Lady Betty._ Assurement Ma'am'selle. A fine Lady can never sleep in her Bed if anybody that she has a regard for keeps more Card Tables than herself. There was my Lady Fanny Brilliant, and I, vying about it for a whole half year--first she had twenty--then I had five more--then she kept Sundays then I kept Sundays--then she had thirty--then I had forty--then she added, then I added--then she--then I--then she again--then I again--'till at last, there was not a Hole or corner in the House but was cramm'd--and you'd think the front of the House wou'd come down, with all the Men's backs lolling out of the Window. I was oblig'd to play in my Bed-chamber in the Servant's Hall--everywhere--and if she had urg'd me further I should have had a Tent in the Courtyard, and on the leads of the House, but upon casting up the Accounts, I had the Majority by seven--and I lost a cool fifteen hundred more than her.

(_Enter_ JACK BROUGHTON)

_Jack._ Mesdames, votre tres humble--I have made my Escape from the Savages below--I believe they are following me--no--à la mode d'Angleterre to make an end of their Bottle.

_Lady Betty._ And mon cher Cavalier, you are come most à propos to decide a dispute between Miss Harriet and me. Is it not true what Molière says, there is no happiness out of Paris?

_Jack._ Madam, hors de Paris, il n'y a pas de salut. The French to be sure, are the dearest creatures in the World. Under an absolute Monarch, you'll see them dance, and sing, and laugh, and ogle, and dress, and display their pretty little small talk--while an English John Trott, with his head full of Politics, shall knit his brow, and grumble, and plod, unhappy and discontented amidst all his boasted Liberty and Pudding.

_Lady Betty._ Then the French Ladies, what lives they lead! The Husband makes it the Business of his life to ruin himself for his Wife's diversions. They keep separate chariots as well as separate Beds. She is sure to have the handsomest fellows for her Laqueys--they are all sur le bon Ton. And then the pleasures of the agreeable Billet-doux, and dear enchanting Quadrille.

_Jack._ Oh my Lady Betty! The Joys of a life of Play are inexpressible--it leads a Person into the politest company, actuates the Spirits with the sweetest Vicissitudes of Passions--hope and fear, Pleasure and Anxiety, running an eternal Round.

_Lady Betty._ There Madamoiselle Harriet, there's a life for you, but dear Heart, I must run away, this is Opera Night.

_Harriet._ Is your Ladyship very fond of Operas?

_Lady Betty._ Do you think Ma'am, I am like your English people of Quality, that go only because everybody goes--I'm a very Lady Townly for Operas--I expire at an Opera! Oh that enchanting air. (_Sings_)

_Harriet._ Don't you think a good Play has something more rational and more natural than an Opera?

_Lady Betty._ I detest Plays--but I shall go to the first good Play that's acted--my Lady Tattleaid and I have made a Party to go and talk at the first good Play. But mon cher Cavalier, what do you think? When I arriv'd on this Island, I expected to hear of nothing but politics, and Crown Point and Scalping, but I find all the People of Fashion's thoughts are taken up about another thing--they're all in an uproar about an Opera-singer's sore Throat--some say there was a sore throat--others say there was not a sore throat. You know Lord Maggoti, he spoke to me the other night, to be of his Party for the Sore Throat. I have not taken my Party yet, tho' I believe I shall be for the Sore Throat; but I must be gone.

_Harriet._ Had not your Ladyship better spend the Evening with us?

_Lady Betty._ No, Madamoiselle, I must run away--Lord it's six o'clock--I shall be too late. I have an appointment there--Signora Sorethroatini is to take notice of me, after her first Song.

_Harriet._ That will certainly do your Ladyship a great deal of Honor.

_Lady Betty._ Assurement, it will--there was my Lady Scatterbrain making Interest for it--but she can't have a Curts'y 'till Tuesday--and who wou'd choose to have it on a Tuesday--there will be nobody there to see it. But it will be charming tonight, when at the End of her Song she drops me a Salute--then I rise up and I return it; then all the Eyes are directed to me, and the whisper runs along the Rows, "Did you not see the Sorethroatini do the Honors to Lady Betty Mockmode?"

(_Without_) Jarnie! Les Anglois sont les Diables.

_Jack._ Hey! What's the meaning of all this?

(_Enter French Servants and throw themselves on their Knees one with his Nose bloody, another without a Wig_)

_St. Louis._ Monsieur, pour l'amour de Dieu!

_Bourguignon._ Ayez pitié de moi Monsieur.

_La Fleur._ Ah mon Dieu! Partagez nous Monsieur.

_Jack._ How comes this?

_St. Louis._ (_Pointing to his nose_) De Englishman bob wid his head.

_Bourguignon._ And give me one knock in my Stomach make me tink my Soul and Body, and all come up.

_La Fleur._ Monsieur--tare all my Coat.

_Jack._ Who's without there? Roger--let some attend.

(_Enter_ ROGER _with his fist doubled_)

_Roger._ It's my Opinion Master I cou'd beat a dozen of 'em, I cou'd indeed.

_Jack._ What is all the meaning of this?

_Roger._ They're always doing Keekshaws, and quarrelling with the Cook--so that there's no Peace for us below stairs, and when I was abroad they were always jeering me, and so I bethink me now that I am in a Land of Liberty, a free born Briton shou'd not be impos'd upon by such Powder-Puffs.

_Jack._ Sirrah! Get out of the Room, or you shall walk off with two Ears less.

_Roger._ I will Master, thoff an' I said, it's my Opinion I cou'd beat a dozen of un--I cou'd indeed. (_Exit_)

_Jack._ Pauvre St. Louis, Bourguignon, La Fleur, courage. I will accommodate you better in a few days.

_St. Louis._ Fort bien Monsieur.

(_Enter_ SIR ROBERT)

_Sir Robert._ I don't like all these strange doings here in my House. But come, come, Harriet, I must desire you to show this Lady into the next Room. Here's your Father coming upstairs, and he desires to have a little private conversation with my Son.

_Lady Betty._ So mon pauvre Marquis, they are going to make you a mere John Trott of an English Husband, sullenly civil to your Spouse, and morosely disobliging to the rest of the World--so a l'honneur, I leave you to your Tête à tête. Ma'm'selle Harriet, a good Evening, you shall certainly have one of my faces, and the Receipt--but I must run away to the Sorethroatini. (_Exit_)

_Sir Robert._ Now Jack, be upon your Guard--why don't those French Fellows get out of the Room? Go down Stairs Monsieur. I wou'd not have Mr. Quicksett see 'em for the world. Mr. Quicksett has his oddities, Jack, and hates the French so at this Juncture, that he wou'd willingly pay half his Estate in Taxes, to help 'em to a good drubbing, but be upon your guard, and talk discreetly.

_Jack._ Had not I better get St. Louis to arrange my dress before I receive the Gentleman's Visit?

_Sir Robert._ No, no, you must show no French Airs--he is willing to settle his Estate on his Daughter--and I long to have the Match concluded--so take care you don't spoil all. Here he comes.

(_Enter_ QUICKSETT)

Mr. Quicksett, this is my Son--Son, this is Mr. Quicksett, and so now I'll leave you together. (_Exit_)

_Quicksett._ Ay, he answers the Description I had of him.

_Jack._ Pardie, voila un droll de figure--I wish I was dress'd out that I might make the Man of Quality for him--but I'll shew him a pretty Gentleman as it is. Monsieur, votre tres humble--your commands with me, Sir.

_Quicksett._ (_Takes a chair and sits_) Why look ye young Man, your Father is my old Acquaintance, and as he propos'd this Match, I had as soon marry my Daughter into Sir Robert Broughton's Family, as any at all--but I then must not throw my Girl away and I must like the Man before I settle her for Life do you see?

_Jack._ Ma foi, voila un homme sans façon, sans Ceremonie--I'll sit down too. (_Draws a chair_)

_Quicksett._ But your French Education, young Gentleman, I am afraid won't recommend you to me. Odds my Life, it seems to have made a downright coxcomb of you.

_Jack._ Mr. Quicksett, if you are for indulging your Raillery, I shall be oblig'd to you--I love Raillery of all things--it is to me a party of pleasure, but prenez garde a vous--take care Mr. Quicksett. My Raillery is so brisk, it is like your fire Arms that discharge I don't know how often in a minute--Pi! Pa! Pauf!

_Quicksett._ Yes, it's just as I heard. (_Aside_)

_Jack._ Well, but courage, Mr. Quicksett, don't be frighten'd--you set out very well--keep it up. Vous ne repondez rien--'tis your turn now. (_Pauses_) Hem! Plait-il Mr. Quicksett, I wait your pleasure, Sir. Pardie! I believe the Gentleman is going to take a Nap. O--this is an English Visit, and I'll sustain an English Conversation. (_He continues silent for some time, looks at Mr. Quicksett and at last addresses him_) How do you do? How do y'do? What News? A very dull day. Egad I wish Monsieur Abbé were looking in upon us, it wou'd furnish him with some pleasant Hints for his Remarks on the English Nation. En bien, Mr. Quicksett--upon my Soul you have a great deal of very pretty Phrases, and most admirable repartee.

_Quicksett._ I hear you, Sir, I observe you--this is your French Education.

_Jack._ French Education is the only thing in the World to form a pretty Gentleman--it gives a man a notion how to live, and a taste for Intrigue.

_Quicksett._ You've had a great many Intrigues, I suppose.

_Jack._ Intrigue, Mr. Quicksett is the Pleasure of Life. If you were to see me in a Circle of French Ladies--before I went abroad I had not assurance to look a modest Woman in the face--but now--Je badine--I amuse them with small Talk--Je papillon--I am a very Butterfly.

_Quicksett._ That I do verily believe--go on, Sir, give yourself Airs.

_Jack._ A Frenchman is the only Person breathing that knows how to give himself Airs--a Frenchman has manners and in short everything. Is a Frenchman in a circle? He takes care neither to say anything nor do anything but what is perfectly obliging. He possibly lends his Ear to one--makes an obliging answer to another, recommends himself to this person with a whisper--to that with a Smile. He declares a civil War of Raillery upon some Person of Wit, says a handsome thing to the Mother, and a soft thing to the Daughter. Do you pay a visit to a Frenchman's Wife? He commodiously withdraws knowing that he is there de trop, that there is no manner of Occasion for him. And if he goes to take a Walk, he does it, thus--with an air--Ha! Ha! Head erect--with a Mien that says, "See me go by," and then the Ladies, they do so ogle, and so admire, and their hearts do so pit-a-pat, and they say to themselves, "Well to be sure that's a pretty fellow." Then cries he, "I know what you'd be at; vous voudriez me possesser--you would be glad to have me, you would be glad to have me." And then in all public places he smiles content, as much as to say, "Well to be sure, Je suis un aimable fripon--I am an agreeable Devil."

_Quicksett._ So, so, there's enough of it--it will never do--here. I don't come often to Town--but when I do, I generally see everything strange. Here, here's three Shillings for you.

_Jack._ What is this more of your Raillery, Sir?

_Quicksett._ There, take it (_Throws the Money down_)--you're worth three Shillings of any man's Money, and so now I'll go and see the Dromedary, and the tall man at Charing Cross.

(_Enter_ SIR ROBERT)

_Sir Robert._ Well, Mr. Quicksett, I told you he was reform'd.

_Quicksett._ No, no it will never do--he is reform'd indeed! To be plain with you Sir Robert, he's little better than a Monkey, I think. I have heard how he had the Mob at his heels today, and I don't wonder at it. There's no harm done, Sir Robert, I'll take the Girl into the Country with me.

_Sir Robert._ Nay but dear Mr. Quicksett, let me speak to you.

_Quicksett._ In short his Journey to France has made him a mere Ragout--and so I'll go and order Harriet to pack up all her things.

_Sir Robert._ (_To Jack_) I told you what your foppery wou'd do--Ecod I am so provok'd I cou'd find it in my Heart to marry the Girl myself.

_Quicksett._ I'll tell you what, Sir Robert--you're still hale and hearty, and to show how willing I am to match with you, say but the word and you shall have her yourself before that weasen-fac'd thing--but where's Harriet? (_Exit_)

_Sir Robert._ Nay, nay, but Mr. Quicksett. (_Follows him_)

_Jack._ Hey! Who's without there? Here comes that clodpated fellow--

(_Enter_ ROGER)

Roger, let all my People be ready for me to dress.

_Roger._ Why the things are detained at the Coostum Hoose, and so there's no cloaths, unless you'll put on Something out of the old Trunk, you left above Stairs before you went abroad.

_Jack._ What, put on an English dress!

_Roger._ It would give my heart joy to see it, Master.

_Jack._ Was ever an unfortunate Gentleman in such distress? Such a day of Embarras, I never knew--pelted by the Mob, and my Father now threatening to have the Girl himself. Old Cojer is still a tough piece of Oak, and if he shou'd get a chopping Boy Egad, it may spoil the Beau. Let me see--why as my French Manners are all mere Affectation and as it will be much harder for me to keep it up I don't know whether I had not better own the Truth.

_Roger._ You had, indeed Master, and be a brave Englishman as you was before.

_Jack._ Egad, I have a mind to surprize 'em with another Frolick--let me take a moment's thought. Roger do you follow me upstairs. (_Exit_)

(_Reenter_ SIR ROBERT _and_ QUICKSETT)

_Sir Robert._ The young Man, Mr. Quicksett has no harm in him in the main--