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The Works of Charles Lamb in Four Volumes, Volume 4 written by Charles Lamb

C >> Charles Lamb >> The Works of Charles Lamb in Four Volumes, Volume 4







MR. H----.

A FARCE, IN TWO ACTS.

AS IT WAS PERFORMED AT DRURY LANE THEATRE,
DECEMBER, 1806.

* * * * *

"Mr. H----, thou wert DAMNED. Bright shone the morning on the
play-bills that announced thy appearance, and the streets were filled
with the buzz of persons asking one another if they would go to see
Mr. H----, and answering that they would certainly; but before night
the gaiety, not of the author, but of his friends and the town, was
eclipsed, for thou wert DAMNED! Hadst thou been anonymous, thou haply
mightst have lived. Bet thou didst come to an untimely end for thy
tricks, and for want of a better name to pass them off--" _Theatrical
Examiner_.

* * * * *

CHARACTERS.

Mr. H---- _Mr. Elliston_.
BELVIL _Mr. Bartley_.
LANDLORD PRY _Mr. Wewitzer_.
MELESINDA _Miss Mellon_.
MAID TO MELESINDA _Mrs. Harlowe_.
Gentlemen, Ladies, Waiters, Servants, &c.

_Scene_--BATH.


PROLOGUE, SPOKEN BY MR. ELLISTON.

If we have sinn'd in paring down a name,
All civil, well-bred authors do the same.
Survey the columns of our daily writers--
You'll find that some Initials are great fighters.
How fierce the shock, how fatal is the jar,
When Ensign W. meets Lieutenant R.
With two stout seconds, just of their own gizzard,
Cross Captain X. and rough old General Izzard!
Letter to Letter spreads the dire alarms,
Till half the Alphabet is up in arms.
Nor with less lustre have Initials shone,
To grace the gentler annals of Crim. Con.
Where the dispensers of the public lash
Soft penance give; a letter and a dash--
Where Vice reduced in size shrinks to a failing,
And loses half her grossness by curtailing.
Faux pas are told in such a modest way,--
"The affair of Colonel B---- with Mrs. A----"
You must forgive them--for what is there, say,
Which such a pliant Vowel must not grant
To such a very pressing Consonant?
Or who poetic justice dares dispute,
When, mildly melting at a lover's suit,
The wife's a Liquid, her good man a Mute?
Even in the homelier scenes of honest life,
The coarse-spun intercourse of man and wife,
Initials I am told have taken place
Of Deary, Spouse, and that old-fashion'd race;
And Cabbage, ask'd by brother Snip to tea,
Replies, "I'll come--but it don't rest with me--
I always leaves them things to Mrs. C."
O should this mincing fashion ever spread
From names of living heroes to the dead,
How would Ambition sigh, and hang the head,
As each loved syllable should melt away--
Her Alexander turn'd into great A----
A single C. her Caesar to express--
Her Scipio shrunk into a Roman S----
And, nick'd and dock'd to these new modes of speech,
Great Hannibal himself a Mr. H----.


MR. H----,

A FARCE, IN TWO ACTS.


* * * * *


ACT I.

SCENE.--_A Public Room in an Inn. Landlord, Waiters, Gentlemen, &c._

_Enter_ MR. H.

_Mr. H._ Landlord, has the man brought home my boots?

_Landlord_. Yes, Sir.

_Mr. H._ You have paid him?

_Landlord_. There is the receipt, Sir, only not quite filled up, no
name, only blank--"Blank, Dr. to Zekiel Spanish for one pair of best
hessians." Now, Sir, he wishes to know what name he shall put in, who
he shall say "Dr."

_Mr. H._ Why, Mr. H. to be sure.

_Landlord_. So I told him, Sir; but Zekiel has some qualms about it.
He says he thinks that Mr. H. only would not stand good in law.

_Mr. H._ Rot his impertinence! Bid him put in Nebuchadnezzar, and not
trouble me with his scruples.

_Landlord_. I shall, Sir. [_Exit_.

_Enter a Waiter._

_Waiter_. Sir, Squire Level's man is below, with a hare and a brace
of pheasants for Mr. H.

_Mr. H._ Give the man half-a-crown, and bid him return my best
respects to his master. Presents, it seems, will find me out, with
any name or no name.

_Enter 2d Waiter._

_2d Waiter._ Sir, the man that makes up the Directory is at the door.

_Mr. H._ Give him a shilling; that is what these fellows come for.

_2d Waiter._ He has sent up to know by what name your Honor will
please to be inserted.

_Mr. H._ Zounds, fellow, I give him a shilling for leaving out my
name, not for putting it in. This is one of the plaguy comforts of
going anonymous.

[_Exit 2d Waiter._

_Enter 3d Waiter._

_3d Waiter._ Two letters for Mr. H. [_Exit._

_Mr. H._ From ladies (_opens them_). This from Melesinda, to remind
me of the morning-call I promised; the pretty creature positively
languishes to be made Mrs. H. I believe I must indulge her
(_affectedly_). This from her cousin, to bespeak me to some party, I
suppose (_opening it_),--Oh, "this evening"--"Tea and
cards"--(_surveying himself with complacency_). Dear H., thou art
certainly a pretty fellow. I wonder what makes thee such a favorite
among the ladies: I wish it may not be owing to the concealment of
thy unfortunate----pshaw!

_Enter 4th Waiter._

_4th Waiter._ Sir, one Mr. Printagain is inquiring for you.

_Mr. H._ Oh, I remember, the poet; he is publishing by subscription.
Give him a guinea, and tell him he may put me down.

_4th Waiter_. What name shall I tell him, Sir?

_Mr. H._ Zounds, he is a poet; let him fancy a name.

[_Exit 4th Waiter._

_Enter 5th Waiter._

_5th Waiter_. Sir, Bartlemy the lame beggar, that you sent a private
donation to last Monday, has by some accident discovered his
benefactor, and is at the door waiting to return thanks.

_Mr. H._ Oh, poor fellow, who could put it into his head? Now I shall
be teased by all his tribe, when once this is known. Well, tell him I
am glad I could be of any service to him, and send him away.

_5th Waiter_. I would have done so, Sir; but the object of his call
now, he says, is only to know who he is obliged to.

_Mr. H._ Why, me.

_5th Waiter_. Yes, Sir.

_Mr. H._ Me, me, me; who else, to be sure?

_5th Waiter_. Yes, Sir; but he is anxious to know the name of his
benefactor.

_Mr. H._ Here is a pampered rogue of a beggar, that cannot be obliged
to a gentleman in the way of his profession, but he must know the
name, birth, parentage, and education of his benefactor! I warrant
you, next he will require a certificate of one's good behavior, and a
magistrate's license in one's pocket, lawfully empowering so and so
to--give an alms. Anything more?

_5th Waiter_. Yes, Sir; here has been Mr. Patriot, with the county
petition to sign; and Mr. Failtime, that owes so much money, has sent
to remind you of your promise to bail him.

_Mr. H._ Neither of which I can do, while I have no name. Here is
more of the plaguy comforts of going anonymous, that one can neither
serve one's friend nor one's country. Damn it, a man had better be
without a nose, than without a name. I will not live long in this
mutilated, dismembered state; I will to Melesinda this instant, and
try to forget these vexations. Melesinda! there is music in the name;
but then, hang it! there is none in mine to answer to
it. [Exit.

(_While Mr. H. has been speaking, two Gentlemen have been observing
him curiously_.)

1_st Gent._ Who the devil is this extraordinary personage?

2_d Gent._ Who? Why, 'tis Mr. H.

1_st Gent._ Has he no more name?

2_d Gent._ None that has yet transpired. No more! why, that single
letter has been enough to inflame the imaginations of all the ladies
in Bath. He has been here but a fortnight, and is already received
into all the first families.

1_st Gent._ Wonderful! yet, nobody know who he is, or where he comes
from!

2_d Gent._ He is vastly rich, gives away money as if he had infinity;
dresses well, as you see; and for address, the mothers are all dying
for fear the daughters should get him; and for the daughters, he may
command them as absolutely as----. Melesinda, the rich heiress, 'tis
thought, will carry him.

1_st Gent._ And is it possible that a mere anonymous--

2_d Gent._ Phoo! that is the charm.--Who is he? and what is he? and
what is his name?----The man with the great nose on his face never
excited more of the gaping passion of wonderment in the dames of
Strasburg, than this new-comer, with the single letter to his name,
has lighted up among the wives and maids of Bath; his simply having
lodgings here, draws more visitors to the house than an election.
Come with me to the Parade, and I will show you more of him.

[_Exeunt_.
SCENE _in the Street. Mr. H. walking, BELVIL meeting him._

_Belvil._ My old Jamaica school-fellow, that I have not seen for so
many years? it must--it can be no other than Jack _(going up to
him)._ My dear Ho----

_Mr. H. (Stopping his mouth)._ Ho----! the devil. Hush.

_Belvil._ Why, sure it is----

_Mr. H._ It is, it is your old friend Jack, that shall be nameless.

_Belvil._ My dear Ho----

_Mr. H. (Stopping him)._ Don't name it.

_Belvil._ Name what?

_Mr. H._ My curst unfortunate name. I have reasons to conceal it for
a time.

_Belvil._ I understand you--Creditors, Jack?

_Mr. H._ No, I assure you.

_Belvil._ Snapp'd up a ward, peradventure, and the whole Chancery at
your heels?

_Mr. H._ I don't use to travel with such cumbersome luggage.

_Belvil._ You ha'n't taken a purse?

_Mr. H._ To relieve you at once from all disgraceful conjecture, you
must know, 'tis nothing but the sound of my name.

_Belvil_ Ridiculous! 'tis true yours is none of the most romantic;
but what can that signify in a man?

_Mr. H._ You must understand that I am in some credit with the
ladies.

_Belvil._ With the ladies!

_Mr. H._ And truly I think not without some pretensions. My fortune--

_Belvil._ Sufficiently splendid, if I may judge from your appearance.

_Mr. H._ My figure--

_Belvil._ Airy, gay, and imposing.

_Mr. H._ My parts--

_Belvil._ Bright.

_Mr. H._ My conversation--

_Belvil._ Equally remote from flippancy and taciturnity.

_Mr. H._ But then my name--damn my name!

_Belvil._ Childish!

_Mr. H._ Not so. Oh, Belvil, you are blessed with one which sighing
virgins may repeat without a blush, and for it change the paternal.
But what virgin of any delicacy (and I require some in a wife) would
endure to be called Mrs.----?

_Belvil._ Ha, ha, ha! most absurd. Did not Clementina Falconbridge,
the romantic Clementina Falconbridge, fancy Tommy Potts? and
Rosabella Sweetlips sacrifice her mellifluous appellative to Jack
Deady? Matilda her cousin married a Gubbins, and her sister Amelia a
Clutterbuck.

_Mr. H._ Potts is tolerable, Deady is sufferable, Gubbins is
bearable, and Clutterbuck is endurable, but Ho----

_Belvil._ Hush, Jack, don't betray yourself. But you are really
ashamed of the family-name?

_Mr. H._ Ay, and of my father that begot me, and my father's father,
and all their forefathers that have borne it since the Conquest.

_Belvil_. But how do you know the women are so squeamish?

_Mr. H_. I have tried them. I tell you there is neither maiden of
sixteen nor widow of sixty but would turn up their noses at it. I
have been refused by nineteen virgins, twenty-nine relicts, and two
old maids.

_Belvil_. That was hard indeed, Jack.

_Mr. H_. Parsons have stuck at publishing the banns, because they
averred it was a heathenish name; parents have lingered their
consent, because they suspected it was a fictitious name; and rivals
have declined my challenges, because they pretended it was an
ungentlemanly name.

_Belvil_. Ha, ha, ha! but what course do you mean to pursue?

_Mr. H_. To engage the affections of some generous girl, who will be
content to take me as Mr. H.

_Belvil_. Mr. H.?

_Mr. H_. Yes, that is the name I go by here; you know one likes to be
as near the truth as possible.

_Belvil_. Certainly. But what then? to get her to consent--

_Mr. H_. To accompany me to the altar without a name--in short, to
suspend her curiosity (that is all) till the moment the priest shall
pronounce the irrevocable charm, which makes two names one.

_Belvil_. And that name--and then she must be pleased, ha, Jack?

_Mr. H_. Exactly such a girl it has been my fortune to meet with;
hark'e (_whispers_)--(_musing_). Yet, hang it! 'tis cruel to betray
her confidence.

_Belvil_. But the family-name, Jack?

_Mr. H_. As you say, the family-name must be perpetuated.

_Belvil._ Though it be but a homely one.

_Mr. H._ True; but come, I will show you the house where dwells this
credulous melting fair.

_Belvil._ Ha, ha! my old friend dwindled down to one letter.

[_Exeunt._


SCENE._-An Apartment in_ MELESINDA'S _House._
MELESINDA _sola, as if musing._

_Melesinda._ H, H, H. Sure it must be something precious by its being
concealed. It can't be Homer, that is a Heathen's name; nor Horatio,
that is no surname: what if it be Hamlet? the Lord Hamlet--pretty,
and I his poor distracted Ophelia! No,'tis none of these; 'tis
Harcourt or Hargrave, or some such sounding name, or Howard,
high-born Howard, that would do; maybe it is Harley, methinks my H.
resembles Harley, the feeling Harley. But I hear him! and from his
own lips I will once forever be resolved.

_Enter Mr. H._

_Mr. H._ My dear Melesinda.

_Melesinda._ My dear H. that is all you give me power to swear
allegiance to,--to be enamored of inarticulate sounds, and call with
sighs upon an empty letter. But I will know.

_Mr. H._ My dear Melesinda, press me no more for the disclosure of
that, which in the face of day so soon must be revealed. Call it
whim, humor, caprice, in me. Suppose, I have sworn an oath, never,
till the ceremony of our marriage is over, to disclose my true name.

_Melesinda._ Oh! H, H, H. I cherish here a fire of restless curiosity
which consumes me. 'Tis appetite, passion, call it whim, caprice, in
me. Suppose I have sworn, I must and will know it this very night.

_Mr. H_. Ungenerous Melesinda! I implore you to give me this one
proof of your confidence. The holy vow once past, your H. shall not
have a secret to withhold.

_Melesinda_. My H. has overcome: his Melesinda shall pine away and
die, before she dare express a saucy inclination; but what shall I
call you till we are married?

_Mr. H_. Call me? call me anything, call me Love, Love! ay Love: Love
will do very well.

_Melesinda_. How many syllables is it, Love?

_Mr. H_. How many? ud, that is coming to the question with a
vengeance! One, two, three, four,--what does it signify how many
syllables?

_Melesinda_. How many syllables, Love?

_Mr. H_. My Melesinda's mind, I had hoped, was superior to this
childish curiosity.

_Melesinda_. How many letters are there in it?

[_Exit_ MR. H. _followed by_ MELESINDA _repeating the
question_.


SCENE.--_A Room in the Inn. Two Waiters disputing_.

_1st Waiter_. Sir Harbottle Hammond, you may depend upon it.

_2d Waiter_. Sir Harry Hardcastle, I tell you.

_1st Waiter_. The Hammonds of Huntingdonshire.

_2d Waiter_. The Hardcastles of Hertfordshire.

_1st Waiter_. The Hammonds.

_2d Waiter_. Don't tell me: does not Hardcastle begin, with an H?

_1st Waiter_. So does Hammond for that matter.

_2d Waiter_. Faith, so it does if you go to spell it, I did not think
of that. I begin to be of your opinion: he is certainly a Hammond.

_1st Waiter_. Here comes Susan Chambermaid: maybe she can tell.

_Enter_ SUSAN.

_Both_. Well, Susan, have you heard anything who the strange
gentleman is?

_Susan_. Haven't you heard? it's all come out! Mrs. Guesswell, the
parson's widow, has been here about it. I overheard her talking in
confidence to Mrs. Setter and Mrs. Pointer, and she says they were
holding a sort of a _cummitty_ about it.

_Both_. What? What?

_Susan_. There can't be a doubt of it, she says, what from his
_figger_ and the appearance he cuts, and his _sumpshous_ way of
living, and above all from the remarkable circumstance that his
surname should begin with an H., that he must be--

_Both_. Well, well--

_Susan_. Neither more nor less than the Prince.

_Both_. Prince!

_Susan_. The Prince of Hessey-Cassel in disguise.

_Both_. Very likely, very likely.

_Susan_. Oh, there can't be a doubt on it. Mrs. Guesswell says she
knows it.

_1st Waiter_. Now if we could be sure that the Prince of Hessy
what-do-you-call-him was in England on his travels.

_2d Waiter_. Get a newspaper. Look in the newspapers.

_Susan_. Fiddle of the newspapers; who else can it be?

_Both_. That is very true (_gravely_).

_Enter_ LANDLORD.

_Landlord_. Here, Susan, James, Philip, where are you all? The London
coach is come in, and there is Mr. Fillaside, the fat passenger, has
been bawling for somebody to help him off with his boots.

[_The Chambermaid and Waiters slip out_.

(_Solus_.) The house is turned upside down since the strange
gentleman came into it. Nothing but guessing and speculating, and
speculating and guessing; waiters and chambermaids getting into
corners and speculating; hostlers and stable-boys speculating in the
yard; I believe the very horses in the stable are speculating too,
for there they stand in a musing posture, nothing for them to eat,
and not seeming to care whether they have anything or no; and after
all what does it signify? I hate such curious--odso, I must take this
box up into his bedroom--he charged me to see to it myself;--I hate
such inquisitive--I wonder what is in it--it feels heavy; (_reads_)
"Leases, title-deeds, wills." Here now a man might satisfy his
curiosity at once. Deeds must have names to them, so must leases and
wills. But I wouldn't--no I wouldn't--it is a pretty box
too--prettily dovetailed--I admire the fashion of it much. But I'd
cut my fingers off, before I'd do such a dirty--what have I to
do--curse the keys, how they rattle!--rattle in one's pockets--the
keys and the half-pence (_takes out a bunch and plays with them_). I
wonder if any of these would fit; one might just try them, but I
wouldn't lift up the lid if they did. Oh no, what should I be the
richer for knowing? (_All this time he tries the keys one by one._)
What's his name to me? a thousand names begin with an H. I hate
people that are always prying, poking and prying into
things,--thrusting their finger into one place--a mighty little hole
this--and their keys into another. Oh Lord! little rusty fits it! but
what is that to me? I wouldn't go to--no, no--but it is odd little
rusty should just happen--(_While he is turning up the lid of the
box, _Mr. H. _enters behind him unperceived._)

_Mr. H._ What are you about, you dog?

_Landlord._ Oh Lord, Sir I pardon; no thief, as I hope to be saved.
Little Pry was always honest.

_Mr. H._ What else could move you to open that box?

_Landlord._ Sir, don't kill me, and I will confess the whole truth.
This box happened to be lying--that is, I happened to be carrying
this box, and I happened to have my keys out, and so--little rusty
happened to fit--

_Mr. H._ So little rusty happened to fit!--and would not a rope fit
that rogue's neck? I see the papers have not been moved: all is safe,
but it was as well to frighten him a little (_aside_). Come,
Landlord, as I think you honest, and suspect you only intended to
gratify a little foolish curiosity--

_Landlord_. That was all, Sir, upon my veracity.

_Mr. H._ For this time I will pass it over. Your name is Pry, I
think?

_Landlord_. Yes, Sir, Jeremiah Pry, at your service.

_Mr. H._ An apt name: you have a prying temper--I mean some little
curiosity--a sort of inquisitiveness about you.

_Landlord_. A natural thirst after knowledge you may call it, Sir.
When a boy, I was never easy but when I was thrusting up the lids of
some of my schoolfellows' boxes,--not to steal anything, upon my
honor, Sir,--only to see what was in them; have had pens stuck in my
eyes for peeping through keyholes after knowledge; could never see a
cold pie with the legs dangling out at top, but my fingers were for
lifting up the crust,--just to try if it were pigeon or
partridge,--for no other reason in the world. Surely I think my
passion for nuts was owing to the pleasure of cracking the shell to
get at something concealed, more than to any delight I took in eating
the kernel. In short, Sir, this appetite has grown with my growth.

_Mr. H._ You will certainly be hanged some day for peeping into some
bureau or other just to see what is in it.

_Landlord._ That is my fear, Sir. The thumps and kicks I have had for
peering into parcels, and turning of letters inside out,--just for
curiosity. The blankets I have been made to dance in for searching
parish registers for old ladies' ages,--just for curiosity! Once I
was dragged through a horsepond, only for peeping into a closet that
had glass-doors to it, while my Lady Bluegarters was
undressing,--just for curiosity!

_Mr. H._ A very harmless piece of curiosity, truly; and now, Mr. Pry,
first have the goodness to leave that box with me, and then do me the
favor to carry your curiosity so far, as to inquire if my servants
are within.

_Landlord._ I shall, Sir. Here, David, Jonathan,--I think I hear them
coming,--shall make bold to leave you,
Sir. [_Exit._

_Mr. H._ Another tolerable specimen of the comforts of going
anonymous!

_Enter Two Footmen._

_1st Footman._ You speak first.

_2d Footman._ You had better speak.

_1st Footman._ You promised to begin.

_Mr. H._ They have something to say to me. The rascals want their
wages raised, I suppose; there is always a favor to be asked when
they come smiling. Well, poor rogues, service is but a hard bargain
at the best. I think I must not be close with them. Well,
David--well, Jonathan.

_1st Footman._ We have served your honor faithfully--

_2d Footman._ Hope your honor won't take offence--

_Mr. H._ The old story, I suppose--wages?

_1st Footman._ That's not it, your honor.

_2d Footman._ You speak.

_1st Footman._ But if your honor would just be pleased to--

_2d Footman._ Only be pleased to--

_Mr. H._ Be quick with what you have to say, for I am in haste.

_1st Footman._ Just to--

_2d Footman._ Let us know who it is--

_1st Footman._ Who it is we have the honor to serve.

_Mr. H._ Why me, me, me; you serve me.

_2d Footman._ Yes, Sir; but we do not know who you are.

_Mr. H._ Childish curiosity! do not you serve a rich master, a gay
master, an indulgent master?

_1st Footman._ Ah, Sir! the figure you make is to us, your poor
servants, the principal mortification.

_2d Footman._ When we get over a pot at the publichouse, or in a
gentleman's kitchen, or elsewhere, as poor servants must have their
pleasures--when the question goes round, who is your master? and who
do you serve? and one says, I serve Lord So-and-so, and another, I am
Squire Such-a-one's footman--

_1st Footman_. We have nothing to say for it, but that we serve Mr.
H.

_2d Footman_. Or Squire H.

_Mr. H_. Really you are a couple of pretty modest, reasonable
personages! but I hope you will take it as no offence, gentlemen, if,
upon a dispassionate review of all that you have said, I think fit
not to tell you any more of my name, than I have chosen for especial
purposes to communicate to the rest of the world.

_1st Footman_. Why, then, Sir, you may suit yourself.

_2d Footman_. We tell you plainly, we cannot stay.

_1st Footman_. We don't choose to serve Mr. H.

_2d Footman_. Nor any Mr. or Squire in the alphabet--

_1st Footman_. That lives in Chris-cross Row.

_Mr. H_. Go, for a couple of ungrateful, inquisitive, senseless
rascals! Go; hang, starve, or drown!--Rogues, to speak thus
irreverently of the alphabet--I shall live to see you glad to serve
old Q--to curl the wig of great S--adjust the dot of little i--stand
behind the chair of X, Y, Z--wear the livery of Etcaetera--and ride
behind the sulky of And-by-itself-and!
[_Exit in a rage_.




ACT II.

SCENE.--_A handsome Apartment well lighted, Tea, Cards, &c.--A large
party of Ladies and Gentlemen; among them MELESINDA._

_1st Lady_. I wonder when the charming man will be here.

_2d Lady_. He is a delightful creature. Such a polish--

_3d Lady_. Such an air in all that he does or says--

_4th Lady_. Yet gifted with a strong understanding--

_5th Lady_. But has your ladyship the remotest idea of what his true
name is?

_1st Lady_. They say, his very servants do not know it. His French
valet, that has lived with him these two years--

_2d Lady_. There, Madam, I must beg leave to set you right; my
coachman--

_1st Lady_. I have it from the very best authority; my footma--

_2d Lady_. Then, Madam, you have set your servants on--

_1st Lady_. No, Madam, I would scorn any such little mean ways of
coming at a secret. For my part, I don't think any secret of that
consequence.

_2d Lady_. That's just like me; I make a rule of troubling my head
with nobody's business but my own.