Scarborough and the Critic | Page 7

reading, then?
Lord Fop.
Oh, passionately, madam; but I never think of
what I read. For
example, madam, my life is a perpetual stream of pleasure, that glides

through with such a variety of
entertainments, I believe the wisest of
our ancestors never had the least conception of any of 'em. I rise,
madam, when in town, about twelve o'clock. I don't rise sooner,
because it is the worst thing in the world for the complexion: not that I
pretend to be a beau; but a man must endeavour to look decent, lest he
makes so odious a figure in the side-bax, the ladies should be
compelled to turn their eyes upon the play. So at twelve o'clock, I say, I
rise. Naw, if I find it is a good day, I resalve to take the exercise of
riding; so drink my chocolate, and draw on my boots by two. On my
return, I dress; and, after dinner, lounge perhaps to the opera.
Ber.
Your lordship, I suppose, is fond of music?
Lord Fop. Oh,
passionately, on Tuesdays and Saturdays; for then there is always the
best company, and one is not expected to undergo the fatigue of
listening.
Aman. Does your lordship think that the case at the opera?
Lord Fop. Most certainly, madam. There is my Lady Tattle, my Lady
Prate, my Lady Titter, my Lady Sneer, my Lady Giggle, and my Lady
Grin--these have boxes in the front, and while any
favourite air is
singing, are the prettiest company in the
waurld, stap my
vitals!--Mayn't we hope for the honour to see you added to our society,
madam?
Aman. Alas! my lord, I am the worst company in the world

at a concert, I'm so apt to attend to the music.
Lord Fop. Why,
madam, that is very pardonable in the
country or at church, but a
monstrous inattention in a polite assembly. But I am afraid I tire the
company?
Love. Not at all. Pray go on.
Lord Fop. Why then, ladies,
there only remains to add,
that I generally conclude the evening at
one or other of the clubs; nat that I ever play deep; indeed I have been
for some time tied up from losing above five thousand paunds at a
sitting. Love. But isn't your lordship sometimes obliged to attend the
weighty affairs of the nation?
Lord Fop. Sir, as to weighty affairs, I
leave them to
weighty heads; I never intend mine shall be a burden to
my body. Ber. Nay, my lord, but you are a pillar of the state.
Lord
Fop. An ornamental pillar, madam; for sooner than
undergo any part
of the fatigue, rat me, but the whole building should fall plump to the
ground!
Aman. But, my lord, a fine gentleman spends a great deal

of his time in his intrigues; you have given us no account of them yet.


Lord Fop. [Aside.] So! she would inquire into my
amours--that's
jealousy, poor soul!--I see she's in love with me.--[Aloud.] O Lord,
madam, I had like to have forgot a
secret I must need tell your
ladyship.--Ned, you must not be so jealous now as to listen.
Love.
[Leading_ BERINTHIA _up the stage.] Not
I, my lord; I am too
fashionable a husband to pry into the
secrets of my wife.
Lord Fop.
[Aside to_ AMANDA squeezing her
hand_.] I am in love with you to
desperation, strike me
speechless!
Aman. [Strikes him on the ear.]
Then thus I return
your passion.--An impudent fool!
Lord Fop.
God's curse, madam, I am a peer of the realm!
Love. [Hastily
returning.] Hey! what the devil, do
you affront my wife, sir? Nay,
then--
[Draws. They fight.]
Aman. What has my folly done?--Help!
murder! help! Part
them for Heaven's sake.
Lord Fop. [Falls back
and leans on his sword.] Ah!
quite through the body, stap my vitals!

Enter SERVANTS.
Love. [Runs to LORD FOPPINGTON.] I hope
I ha'nt
killed the fool, however. Bear him up.--Call a surgeon there.
Lord Fop. Ay, pray make haste. [Exit SERVANT.
Love. This
mischief you may thank yourself for.
Lord Fop. I may say so; love's
the devil indeed, Ned.
Re-enter_ SERVANT, _with PROBE.

Ser.
Here's Mr. Probe, sir, was just going by the door.
Lord Fop. He's the
welcomest man alive.
Probe. Stand by, stand by, stand by; pray,
gentlemen,
stand by. Lord have mercy upon us, did you never see a
man run through the body before?--Pray stand by.
Lord Fop. Ah, Mr.
Probe, I'm a dead man.
Probe. A dead man, and I by! I should laugh
to see that,
egad.
Love. Pr'ythee don't stand prating, but look upon
his
wound.
Probe. Why, what if I don't look upon his wound this
hour, sir?
Love. Why, then he'll bleed to death, sir.
Probe. Why,
then I'll fetch him to life again, sir.
Love. 'Slife! he's run through the
body, I tell thee.
Probe. I wish he was run through the heart, and I
should
get the more credit by his cure. Now I hope you are satisfied?
Come, now let me come at him--now let me come at him.--
[Viewing
his wound.] Oops I what a gash