versed with, and formed all his portraits from nature, it is more than probable, that if he had lived to have gained a more general knowledge of life, or if his circumstances had not been so straitened as to prevent his mingling with persous of rank, we might have seen his plays embellished with more finished characters, and adorned with a more polished dialogue. THE RECRUITING OFFICER, Com. by George Farquhar. Acted at Drury Lane 1705. This most entertaining and lively comedy, which is at this time, and probably will ever continue to be, one of the most standard and established amusements of the British stage, was written on the very spot where the author has fixed his scene of action, viz. at Shrewsbury, and at a time when he was himself a recruiting officer in that town, and, by all accounts of him, the very character he has drawn in that of Captain Plume. His Justice Balance was designed, as he tells us himself, as a compliment to a very worthy gentleman in that neighbourhood (Mr. Berkely, then recorder of Shrewsbury). Worthy, was a Mr. Owen, of Russason, on the borders of Shropshire. Brazen is unknown. Melinda was a Miss Harnage, of Balsadine, near the Wrekin. Sylvia was the daughter of Mr. Berkely, above-mentioned. He has dedicated the play in a familiar and at the same time grateful manner, to all friends round the Wrekin. The story is of the author's invention; the characters are natural, the dialogue is easy, and the wit entirely spirited and genuine. In short, to say the least we can in its praise, we can scarcely keep within the limits assigned us; and, were we to say the most, we could scarcely do justice to its merit. An anecdote, connected with this play, is related of Quin, which only shows that great, as well as humble actors, will occasionally trip. Quin was performing the part of Balance with Mrs. Woffington, who was playing the part of his daughter. Quin, having, it is supposed, taken a little more wine than usual after dinner, addressed her thus: Sylvia, how old were you when your mother was married?"—"What, Sir!" said the actress, tittering.-"Pshaw! " says he, "I mean, how old were you when your mother was born?”—“I regret, Sir, that I cannot answer you precisely on either of those questions; but I can tell you, if that be necessary, how old I was when my mother died!" Cos. Pray, sergeant, what writing is this upon the face of it? Serg. K. The crown, or the bed of honour bed of honour? SCENE I.- The Market Place. Drum beats the Grenadier's March. Enter SERGEANT KITE, followed by THOMAS APSerg. K. Oh! a mighty large bed! bigger PLETREE, COSTAR PEARMAIN, and the Mob. by half than the great bed at Ware-ten Serg. K. If any gentlemen soldiers or others thousand people may lie in it together, and have a mind to serve his majesty, and pull never feel one another. Serg: K. Sound! ay, so sound that they never wake. Cos. Wauns! I wish again that my wife lay there. down the French king; if any, prentices have Cos. My wife and I would do well to lie severe masters, any children have undutiful in't-But do folk sleep sound in this same bed parents; if any servants have too little wages, of honour? or any husband too much wife, let them repair to the noble sergeant Kite, at the sign of the Raven, in this good town of Shrewsbury, and they shall receive present relief and entertainment. Gentlemen, I don't beat my Serg. K. Say you so! then I find, brotherdrums here to ensnare or inveigle any man; Cos. Brother! hold there, friend; 1 am no for you must know, gentlemen, that I am a kindred to you that I know of yet.-Lookye, man of honour: besides, I don't beat up for sergeant, no coaxing, no wheedling, d'ye see; common soldiers; no, I list only grenadiers; if I have a mind to list, why so; if not, why grenadiers, gentlemen.-Pray, gentlemen, ob- 'tis not so: therefore, take your cap and your serve this cap-this is the cap of honour; it brothership back again, for I am not dispodubs a man a gentleman in the drawing of a sed at this present writing.-No coaxing; no trigger; and he that has the good fortune to brothering me, faith! be born six feet high was born to be a great Serg. K. I coax! I wheedle! I'm above it, man.-Sir, will you give me leave to try this sir; I have serv'd twenty campaigns-But, sir, cap upon your head? [To Costar Pearmain. you talk well, and I must own that you are Cos. Is there no harm in't? won't the cap a man every inch of you; a pretty, young, list1) me? sprightly fellow!-I love a fellow with a spirit; but I scorn to coax: 'tis base; though I must say, that never in my life have I seen a man better built. How firm and strong he treads! he steps like a castle! but I scorn to wheedle any man.-Come, honest lad! will you take share of a pot? Serg. K. No, no, no more than I can.Come, let me see how it becomes you. Cos. Are you sure there be no conjuration in it? no gunpowder-plot upon me? Serg. K. No, no, friend; don't fear, man. Cos. My mind misgives me plaguily.-Let me see it. [Going to put it on] It smells woundily of sweat and brimstone: smell, Tummas. Tho. Ay, wauns, does it. 1) Eulist. Cos. Nay, for that matter, I'll spend my penny with the best he that wears a head; that is, begging your pardon, sir, and in a fair way. Serg. K. Give me your hand then; and now, gentlemen, I have no more to say than roll. [Draws it out] Let me see- -[Reads] this-here's a purse of gold, and there is a Imprimis, Mrs. Shely Snikereyes, she sells tub of humming ale at my quarters; 'tis the potatoes upon Ormond Key in Dublinking's money, and the king's drink: he's a Peggy Guzzle, the brandy woman at the generous king, and loves his subjects. I hope, Horse Guards at Whitehall-Dolly Waggentlemen, you won't refuse the king's health. gon, the carrer's daughter at Hull-MadaMob. No, no, no. moiselle Van Bottomflat, at the Buss-then Serg. K. Huzza, then! huzza, for the king Jenny Oakum, the ship-carpenter's widow and The honour of Shropshire. Mob. Huzza! Serg. K. Beat drum. at Portsmouth; but I don't reckon upon her, for she was married at the same time to two lieutenants of marines, and a man-of-war's [Exeunt shouting; Drum beating a Gre-boatswain. nadier's March. Capt. P. A full company-you have named five-Come, make them half a dozen. Kite, Enter CAPTAIN PLUME, in a Riding Habit. is the child a boy or a girl? Capt. P. By the grenadier's march, that should be my drum; and by that shout it should Serg. K. A chopping boy. Capt. P. Then set the mother down in your beat with success. Let me see-four o'clock. list, and the boy in mine; and now go com[Looks at his Watch] At ten yesterday fort the wench in the straw. morning I left London-pretty smart riding; but nothing to the fatigue of recruiting. Re-enter SERGEANT KITE. Serg. K. Welcome to Shrewsbury, noble captain! from the banks of the Danube to the Severn side, noble captain! you're welcome. Capt. P. A very elegant reception indeed, Mr. Kite. I find you are fairly entered into your recruiting strain-Pray what success? Serg. K. I've been here a week, and I've recruited five. Capt. P. Five! Pray what are they? Serg. K. I have listed the strong man of Kent, the king of the gipsies, a Scotch pedler, a scoundrel attorney, and a Welch parson. Capt. P. An attorney! wert thou mad? list a lawyer! discharge him, discharge him this minute. Serg. K. Why, sir? Serg. K. I shall, sir. Capt. P. But hold, have you made any use of your German doctor's habit since you arriv'd? Serg. K. Yes, yes, sir, and my fame's all about the country for the most faithful fortune-teller that ever told a lie. I was obliged to let my landlord into the secret for the convenience of keeping it so; but he is an honest fellow, and will be faithful to any roguery that is trusted to him. This device, sir, will get you men, and me money, which I think is all we want at present.-But yonder comes your friend, Mr. Worthy. Has your honour any further commands? Capt. P. None at present. [Exit Sergeant Kite] 'Tis indeed the picture of Worthy, but the life's departed. Enter WORTHY. Capt. P. Because I will have nobody in my What, arms across, Worthy! methinks you company that can write: I say, this minute should hold them open when a friend's so discharge him. near. The man has got the vapours in his Serg. K. And what shall I do with the ears I believe. I must expel this melancholy parson. Capt. P. Can he write? Serg. K. Hum! he plays rarely upon the fiddle. Capt. P. Keep him by all means. But how stands the country affected? were the people pleas'd with the news of my coming to town? spirit. [Slaps Worthy on the Shoulder. Wor. Plume! my dear captain! return'd! safe and sound, I hope. Capt. P. You see I have lost neither leg Serg. K. Sir, the mob are so pleased with nor arm; then, for my inside, 'tis neither your honour, and the justices and better sort troubled with sympathies nor antipathies; and of people are so delighted with me, that we I have an excellent stomach for roast beef. shall soon do your business. But, sir, you Wor. Thou art a happy fellow: once I have got a recruit here that you little think of. was so. Capt. P. Who? Serg. K. One that you beat up for the last time you were in the country. You remember your old friend Molly, at the Castle. Capt. P. She's not-I hope Serg. K. She was brought to bed yesterday. Capt. P. Kite, you must father the child. Serg. K. And so her friends will oblige me to marry the mother. Capt. P. If they should, we'll take her with us; she can wash you know, and make a bed upon occasion. Serg. K. But your honour knows that I am married already. Capt. P. To how many? Serg. K. I can't tell readily-I have set Capt. P. What ails thee, man? no inundations nor earthquakes in Wales I hope! Has your father rose from the dead, and reassumed his estate? Wor. No. Capt. P. Then you are married, surely? Capt. P. Then you are mad, or turning methodist? Wor. Come, I must out with it. Your once gay roving friend is dwindled into an obsequious, thoughtful, romantic, constant coxcomb. Capt. P. And pray what is all this for? Capt. P. Shake hands, brother. If thou go. them down here upon the back of the muster- to that, behold me as obsequious, as thought ful, and as constant a coxcomb as your worship. Wor. For whom? Wor. O ho! very well. I wish you joy, Mr. Kite. Capt. P. For a regiment-but for a woman! Serg. K. Your worship very well may; for 'Sdeath! I have been constant to fifteen at a I have got both a wife and child in half an time, but never melancholy for one. Pray hour. But as I was saying, you sent me to who is this wonderful Helen? comfort Mrs. Molly-my wife, I mean-But Wor. A Helen indeed! not to be won un-what do you think, sir? she was better comder ten years siege; as great a beauty, and forted before I came. as great a jilt. Capt. P. But who is she? do I know her? Capt. P. As how? Serg. K. Why, sir, a foolman in livery had brought her ten guineas to buy her babywo-clothes. Capt. P. Who, in the name of wonder, could send them? Serg. K. Nay, sir, I must whisper that- Capt. P. Sylvia! generous creature! Capt. P. That's impossible. I know no man that will hold out a ten years siege. Wor. What think you of Melinda? Capt. P. Melinda! you must not think to surmount her pride by your humility. Would you bring her to better thoughts of you, she must be reduced to a meaner opinion of herself. Let me see, the very first thing that I Serg. K. Here are the guineas, sir. I took would do, should be to make love to her the gold as part of my wife's portion. Nay, chambermaid. Suppose we lampooned all the further, sir, she sent word the child should pretty women in town, and left her out; or, be taken all imaginable care of, and that she what if we made a ball, and forgot to invite intended to stand godmother. The same foother, with one or two of the ugliest. man, as I was coming to you with the news, Wor. These would be mortifications, I called after me, and told me that his lady must confess; but we live in such a precise would speak with me: I went; and upon heardull place, that we can have no balls, no ing that you were come to town she gave me lampoons, nohalf-a-guinea for the news, and ordered me Capt. P. What! no young ones? and so to tell you that justice Balance, her father, many recruiting officers in town! I thought who is just come out of the country, would 'twas a maxim among them to leave as many be glad to see you. recruits in the country as they carried out. Capt. P. There's a girl for you, Worthy. Wor. Nobody doubts your good will, no- Is there any thing of woman in this? No, ble captain! witness our friend Molly at the 'tis noble, generous, manly friendship. The Castle; there have been tears in town about common jealousy of her sex, which is nothing that business, captain. but their avarice of pleasure, she despises; Capt. P. I hope Sylvia has not heard of it. and can part with the lover, though she dies Wor. Oh, sir! have you thought of her? for the man. Come, Worthy, where's the I began to fancy you had forgot poor Sylvia. best wine? for there I'll quarter. Capt. P. Your affairs had quite put mine Wor. Horton has a fresh pipe of choice out of my head. Tis true, Sylvia and I had Barcelona, which I would not let him pierce once agreed, could we have adjusted prelimi- before, because I reserved it for your welnaries; but I am resolved never to bind my-come to town. self to a woman for my whole life, till I Capt. P. Let's away, then. Mr. Kite, go to know whether I shall like her company for the lady, with my humble service, and tell half an hour. If people would but try one her I shall only refresh a little and wait another before they engaged, it would prevent upon her. all these elopements, divorces, and the devil knows what. Wor. Nay, for that matter, the town did not stick to say that. Capt. P. I have country towns for that reason. If your town has a dishonourable thought of Sylvia it deserves to be burned to the ground. I love Sylvia, I admire her frank generous disposition; in short, were I once a general, I would marry her. Wor. Faith, you have reason; for were you but a corporal, she would marry you. But my Melinda coquets it with every fellow she sees; I'll lay fifty pounds she makes love to you. Capt. P. I'll lay you a hundred that I return it if she does. Re-enter SERGEANT KITE. Serg. K. You know, sir, that you sent me to comfort the good woman in the straw, Mrs. Molly; my wife, Mr. Worthy. Wor. Hold, Kite! have you seen the other recruiting captain? Serg. K. No, sir; I'd have you to know I don't keep such company. Capt. P. Another! who is he? Wor. My rival, in the first place, and the most unaccountable fellow: but I'll tell you more as we go. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-An Apartment: Enter MELINDA and SYLVIA, meeting. Mel. Welcome to town, cousin Sylvia. [They salute] I envied you your retreat in the country; for Shrewsbury, methinks, and all your heads of shires, are the most irregular places for living: here we have smoke, noise, scandal, affectation and pretension; in short, every thing to give the spleen, and nothing to divert it: then the air is intolerable. Syl. Ob, madam! I have heard the town commended for its air. Mel. But you don't consider, Sylvia, how long I have lived in't! for I can assure you, that to a lady the least nice in her constitu tion, no air can be good above half a year. Syl. My meaning needs no interpretation, Change of air I take to be the most agree-madam. able of any variety in life. Mel. Better it had, madam, for methinks Syl. As you say, cousin Melinda, there are you are too plain. several sorts of airs? Syl. If you mean the plainness of my perMel. Pshaw! I talk only of the air we son, I think your ladyship's as plain as me to, breathe, or more properly of that we taste. the full. Have not you, Sylvia, found a vast difference in the taste of airs? Mel. Were I sure of that, I would be glad to take up with a rakish officer as you do. Syl. Again! lookye madam, you are in your own house Syl. Pray, cousin, are not vapours a sort of air? Taste air! you might as well tell me I may feed upon air! But, pr'ythee, my dear Melinda! don't put on such an air to me. have excused you. Your education and mine were just the same; and I remember the time when we never desire to have my visit returned. troubled our heads about air, but when the sharp air from the Welsh mountains made our fingers ache in a cold morning at the boarding-school. Mel. And if you had kept in yours I should Syl. Don't be troubled, madam, I sha'n't Mel. Our education, cousin, was the same, but our temperaments had nothing alike; you have the constitution of a horse. Syl. So far as to be troubled neither with spleen, cholic, nor vapours. I need no salts for my stomach, no hartshorn for my head, nor wash for my complexion; I can gallop all the morning after the hunting horn, and all the evening after a fiddle. Mel. I am told your captain is come to town. Syl. Ay, Melinda, he is come, and I'll take care he sha'n't go without a companion. Mel. You are certainly mad, cousin. Syl. And there's a pleasure in being mad Which none but madmen know. Mel. Thou poor romantic quixote! hast thou the vanity to imagine that a young sprightly officer, that rambles over half the globe in half a year, can confine his thoughts to the little daughter of a country justice in an obscure part of the world? Syl. Pshaw! what care I for his thoughts! I should not like a man with confined thoughts; it shows a narrowness of soul. Mel. O'my conscience, Sylvia, hadst thou been a man thou hadst been the greatest rake in Christendom. Syl. I should have endeavoured to know the world. But now I think on't, how stands your affair with Mr. Worthy? Mel. He's my aversion. Syl. Vapours! Mel. What do you say, madam? Mel. The sooner, therefore, you make an end of this the better. Syl. I am easily persuaded to follow me inclinations; and so, madam, your humbly servant. [Exit. Mel. Saucy thing! Enter Lucy. Lucy. What's the matter, madam? Mel. Did not you see the proud nothing, how she swelled upon the arrival of her fellow? Lucy. I don't believe she has seen him yet. Mel. Nor shan't, if I can help it. Let me see-I have it-bring me pen and ink—Hold, I'll go write in my closet. Lucy. An answer to this letter, I hope, ma- Mel. Who sent it? Mel. He's a fool, and I'm tired of him: send it back unopened. Lucy. The messenger's gone, madam. ACT II. SCENE I-An Apartment. Enter JUSTICE BALANCE and CAPTAIN PLUME. Just B. Lookye, captain, give us but blood for our money, and you shan't want men. Adds my life, captain, get us but another marshal of France, and I'll go myself for a soldier. Capt. P. Pray, Mr. Balance, how does your fair daughter? Syl. I say that you should not use that honest Just B. Ah, captain! what is my daughter fellow so inhumanly; he's a gentleman of to a marshal of France? we're upon a nobler parts and fortune, and besides that he's my subject; I want to have a particular description Plume's friend; and by all that's sacred if you of the last battle. don't use him better I shall expect satisfaction. Capt P. The battle, sir, was a very pretty Mel. Satisfaction! you begin to fancy your-battle as any one should desire to see; but we self in breeches in good earnest. But to be were all so intent upon victory that we never plain with you, I like Worthy the worse minded the battle: all that I know of the for being so intimate with your captain, for matter is, our general commanded us to beat I take him to be a loose, idle, ill-mannerly the French, and we did so; and if he pleases coxcomb. but to say the word, we'll do it again. But Syl. Ob, madam! you never saw him per- pray, sir, how does Mrs. Sylvia? haps since you were mistress of twenty thou- Just B. Still upon Sylvia! for shame, capsand pounds: you only knew him when you tain! you are engaged already, wedded to the were capitulating with Worthy for a settle-war; victory is your mistress, and 'tis below ment, which perhaps might encourage him a soldier to think of any other. to be a little loose and unmannerly with Capt. P. As a mistress I confess, but as a friend, Mr. Balance. Just B. Come, come, captain, never mince the matter; would not you debauch my daughter boy! lack-a-day, madam! that alone may conif you could? vince you 'twas none of mine: why, the girl, Capt. P. How, sir? I hope she is not to be madam, is my sergeant's wife, and so the poor debauched. creature gave out that I was the father, in Just B. Faith, but she is, sir, and any wo- hopes that my friends might support her in man in England of her age and complexion, case of necessity-That was all, madam-My by a mau of your youth and person. Lookye, boy! no, no, no! captain, once I was young, and once an officer, as you are, and I can guess at your thoughts now by what mine were then; and Serv. Madam, my master has received some I remember very well that I would have given ill news from London, and desires to speak one of my legs to have deluded the daughter with you immediately; and he begs the capof an old country gentleman as like me as I tain's pardon that the can't wait on him as was then like you. he promised. Capt. P. But, sir, was that country gentleman your friend and benefactor? Just B. Not much of that. Capt. P. There the comparison breaks: the favours, sir, that I Just B. Pho, pho! I hate set speeches: if have done you any service, captain, it was to please myself. I love thee, and if I could part with my girl you should have her as soon as any young fellow I know; but I hope you have more honour than to quit the service, and she more prudence than to follow the camp; but she's at her own disposal; she has fifteen hundred pounds in her pocket, and so -Sylvia, Sylvia! [Calls. Enter SYLVIA. Enter a Servant. [Exit. Capt. P. Il news! Heaven avert it! nothing could touch me nearer than to see that generous worthy gentleman afflicted. I'll leave you to comfort him, and be assured that if my life and fortune can be any way serviceable to the father of my Sylvia, he shall freely command both. [Exeunt severally. SCENE II.-An Apartment. Enter JUSTICE BALANCE and SYLVIA. Syl. Whilst there is life there is hope, sir; perhaps my brother may recover. Just B. We have but little reason to expect it; the doctor acquaints me here, that before this comes to my hands he fears I shall have no son-Poor Owen!-but the decree is just; I was pleased with the death of my fa Syl. There are some letters, sir, come by ther, because he left me an estate, and now I the post from London; I left them upon the am punished with the loss of an heir to intable in your closet. herit mine. I must now look upon you as Just B. And here is a gentleman from Ger- the only hopes of my family, and I expect many. [Presents Capt. B. to her] Captain, that the augmentation of your fortune will you'll excuse me; I'll go and read my letters give you fresh thoughts and new prospects. and wait on you. [Exit. Syl. My desire in being punctual in my Syl. Sir, you are welcome to England. obedience, requires that you would be plain Capt. P. You are indebted to me a welco-in your commands, sir. me, madam, since the hopes of receiving it Just B. The death of your brother makes from this fair hand was the principal cause you sole heiress to my estate, which you know of my seeing England. is about two thousand pounds a year: this Syl. I have often heard that soldiers were fortune gives you a fair claim to quality and sincere; shall I venture to believe public re-a title: you must set a just value upon yourport? self, and in plain terms, think no more of capCapt. P. You may, when 'tis backed by pr- tain Plume. vate insurance; for I swear, madam, by the Syl. You have often commended the gentlehonour of my profession, that whatever dan-man, sir. feet. gers I went upon it was with the hope of Just B. And I do so still; he's a very pretty making myself more worthy of your esteem; fellow; but though I liked him well enough and if ever I had thoughts of preserving my for a bare son-in-law, I don't approve of him life, 'twas for the pleasure of dying at your for an heir to my estate and family: fifteen hundred pounds indeed I might trust in his Syl. Well, well, you shall die at my feet, hands, and it might do the young fellow ậ or where you will; but you know, sir, there kindness; but, odds my life! two thousand is a certain will and testament to be made pounds a year would ruin him, quite turn his brain. A captain of foot worth two thousand pounds a year! 'tis a prodigy in nature! beforehand. Capt. P. My will, madam, is made already, and there it is; and if you please to open this paper, which was drawn the evening before our last battle, you will find whom I left my heir. Enter a Servant. Sero. Sir, here's one with a letter below for your worship, but he will deliver it into no hands but your own. Syl. Mrs. Sylvia Balance. [Opens the Will and reads] Well, captain, this is a handsome Just B. Come, show me the messenger. and a substantial compliment; but I can as[Exit with Servant. sure you I am much better pleased with the Syl. Make the dispute between love and bare knowledge of your intention, than I duty, and I am prince Prettyman exactly. If should have been in the possession of your my brother dies, ah, poor brother! if he lives, legacy: but, methinks, sir, you should have ah, poor sister! It is bad both ways. I'll try left something to your little boy at the Castle. it again-Follow my own inclinations and Capt. P. That's home. [Aside] My little break my father's heart, or obey his commands |