The Politician Out-Witted Part 2

TRUEMAN. Ten years; fifty-three and ten are sixty-three. Then you mean your wife shall be fifty-three years of age.

LOVEYET. S'death, sir! I tell you I am but two and forty years old: She sha'n't be more than thirty odd, sir, and she shall be ten years younger than I am too.

TRUEMAN. Yes, thirty odd years younger than _you_ are; ha, ha. The exiguity of those legs is a most promising earnest of your future exploits, and demonstrate your agility, virility, salubrity, and amorosity; ha, ha, ha. I can't help laughing to think what a blessed union there will be between August and December; a jolly, buxom, wanton, wishful, plethoric female of thirty odd, to an infirm, decrepit, consumptive, gouty, rheumatic, asthmatic, phlegmatic mortal of near seventy; ha, ha. Exquisitely droll and humourous, upon my erudition. It puts me in mind of a hot bed in a hard winter, surrounded with ice, and made verdant and flouris.h.i.+ng only by artificial means.

LOVEYET. Pshaw, you're a fool!

_Enter TOUPEE._

TOUPEE. Pardonnez moy, monsieur. I hope it not be any intrusion; par dieu, I will not frize dat Jantemon a la mode Paris no more, becase he vas fronte me.

TRUEMAN. What's the matter, Mr. Toupee?

TOUPEE. I vill tella your honare of the fracas. I vas vait on monsieur a--choses, and make ma compliment avec beaucoup de grace, ven monsieur vas read de news papier; so I say, is your honare ready for be dress? De great man say, "No--, d--n de barbare." [_In a low voice._] I tell de parsone, sare, I have promise 'pon honare for dress one great man vat is belong to de Congress, 'bout dis time, sans manquer: De ansare vas (excuse moy, monsieur), "go to h-ll, if you be please; I must read 'bout de Const.i.tution." Dis is de ole affair, monsieur, en verite.

LOVEYET. Sixty-three, indeed! Heaven forbid! But if I was so old, my const.i.tution is good; age is nothing, the const.i.tution is all,--ugh, ugh, ugh.

TOUPEE. Sare, you vill give me leaf, vat is dat Const.i.tution?

LOVEYET. Hold your prating, you b.o.o.by.

TOUPEE. You b.o.o.by,--Vat is dat b.o.o.by, I vonder!

TRUEMAN. Ha, ha, a good const.i.tution! With great propriety did the man ask you what const.i.tution you meant. Ha, ha, ha.

TOUPEE. Par Dieu, monsieur de Schoolmastare sall larn a me vat is de b.o.o.by!

oui, an de Const.i.tution,--foy d'Homme d'Honneur.

TRUEMAN. What a figure for a sound const.i.tution! ha, ha.

LOVEYET. Ugh, hang you for an old simpleton! Talk of _my_ age and const.i.tution.--Ugh, ugh, ugh.

[_Exit._

TRUEMAN. Fractious old blockhead!

TOUPEE. Blockhead! Pourquoi you call a mine head von block, sare?

TRUEMAN. I mean that old curmudgeon who goes hobbling along there, like a man of forty.

TOUPEE. Pardonnez moy, monsieur; S'il vous plait, ve make de eclairciss.e.m.e.nt, if you tell me vat is de interpretation--you b.o.o.by.

TRUEMAN. What! have you the effrontery to call me a b.o.o.by? S'death, you scoundrel, what do you mean?

TOUPEE. Vous ne m'entendez pas. [_Hastily._

TRUEMAN. Do you threaten me, you insignificant thing? Do you call me names?

TOUPEE. Diable! me no stand under your names.

TRUEMAN. Zounds and fury! I am raving. Must I bear to be abus'd in this manner, by a vile Tonsor?

TOUPEE. Yes, you Schoolmastare; you tell me vat be you b.o.o.by.

TRUEMAN. Pertinacious, audacious reptile! [_Canes TOUPEE._

TOUPEE. Ah, mon dieu! mon dieu! [_Runs off._

TRUEMAN. To insult a professor of Orthography, a.n.a.logy, Syntax, and Prosody!

SCENE II. _A Street._

_Enter YOUNG LOVEYET._

In compliance with the commands of a father, here I am, once more in the place of my nativity. Duty to him, and curiosity to know, why he has enjoined my sudden departure so peremptorily, as well as a desire to see New-York (perhaps never to leave it more) have all conspir'd to bring me here sooner than I am expected,--let me see--yes, I must try to find out Frankton first. [_HUMPHRY crosses the stage._] Here, friend, honest man, prithee stop.

HUMPHRY. What's your will?

LOVEYET. Can you inform me, friend, where one Mr. Frankton lives?

HUMPHRY. No, I don't know where anybody lives in this big city, not I; for my part, I believe how they all lives in the street, there's such a monstrous sight of people a scrouging backards and forards, as the old saying is. If I was home now--

LOVEYET. Where is your home, if I may make so free?

HUMPHRY. Oh, you may make free and welcome, for the more freer the more welcomer, as the old saying is; I never thinks myself too good to discourse my superiors: There's some of our townsfolks now, why some of 'um isn't so good as I, to be sure. There's Tom Forge, the blacksmith, and little Daniel Snip, the tailor, and Roger Peg, the cobbler, and Tim Frize, the barber, and Landlord Tipple, that keeps the ale-house at the sign of the Turk's Head, and Jeremy Stave, the clerk of the meeting-house, why, there an't one of 'um that's a single copper before a beggar, as the old saying is; but what o' that? We isn't all born alike, as father says; for my part, I likes to be friendly, so give us your hand. You mus'n't think how I casts any reflections on you; no, no, I scorn the action. [_They shake hands._]

That's hearty now--Friends.h.i.+p is a fine thing, and, a friend indeed is a friend in need, as the saying is.

LOVEYET. What an insufferable fool it is! [_Half aside._

HUMPHRY. Yes, it is insufferable cool, that's sartin; but it's time to expect it.

LOVEYET. Worse and worse!

HUMPHRY. Yes, I warrant you it will be worser and worser before long; so I must e'en go home soon, and look after the corn and the wheat, or else old father will bring his pigs to a fine market, as the old proverb goes.

LOVEYET. You're quite right; you mean your father wou'd bring his corn to a fine market: You mean it as a figurative expression, I presume.

HUMPHRY. Not I, I isn't for none of your figure expressions, d' ye see, becase why, I never larnt to cipher;--every grain of corn a pig! Ha, ha, ha. That's pleasant, ecod; why the Jews wou'dn't dare for to shew their noses out o'doors, everything wou'd smell so woundily of pork! Ha, ha, ha.

LOVEYET. A comical countryman of mine this. [_Aside._] What is your name, my honest lad?

HUMPHRY. Why, if you'll tell me your name, I'll tell you mine, d' ye see; for, one good turn desarves another, as the old saying is, and, evil be to them that evil thinks, every tub must stand upon its own bottom, and, when the steed is stolen, shut the stable door, and, while the gra.s.s grows, the mare starves--the horse I mean; it don't make no odds, a horse is a mare, but a mare an't a horse, as father says, d' ye see--and----

LOVEYET. What a monstrous combination of nonsense!

HUMPHRY. Don't tell me what I am, but tell me what I have been--