A Trip to Scarborough; and, The Critic Part 18

"_Whisk._ I thank thee, Fortune, that hast thus bestowed A weapon to chastise this insolent. [_Takes up one of the swords_.]

_Beef._ I take thy challenge, Spaniard, and I thank thee, Fortune, too! [_Takes up the other sword_.]"

_Dang._ That's excellently contrived!--It seems as if the two uncles had left their swords on purpose for them.

_Puff._ No, egad, they could not help leaving them.

"_Whisk_. Vengeance and Tilburina!

_Beef_. Exactly so-- [_They fight--and after the usual number of wounds given_, WHISKERANDOS _falls_.]

_Whisk_. O cursed parry!--that last thrust in tierce Was fatal.--Captain, thou hast fenced well! And Whiskerandos quits this bustling scene For all eter-- _Beef_.--nity--he would have added, but stern death Cut short his being, and the noun at once!"

_Puff_. Oh, my dear sir, you are too slow: now mind me.-- Sir, shall I trouble you to die again?

"_Whisk_. And Whiskerandos quits this bustling scene For all eter-- _Beef_.--nity--he would have added,--"

_Puff_. No, sir--that's not it--once more, if you please.

_Whisk_. I wish, sir, you would practise this without me--I can't stay dying here all night.

_Puff_. Very well; we'll go over it by-and-by.--[_Exit_ WHISKERANDOS.] I must humour these gentlemen!

"_Beef_. Farewell, brave Spaniard! and when next--"

_Puff_. Dear sir, you needn't speak that speech, as the body has walked off.

_Beef_. That's true, sir--then I'll join the fleet.

_Puff_. If you please.--[Exit BEEFEATER.] Now, who comes on?

"_Enter_ GOVERNOR, _with his hair properly disordered_.

_Gov_. A hemisphere of evil planets reign! And every planet sheds contagious frenzy! My Spanish prisoner is slain! my daughter, Meeting the dead corse borne along, has gone Distract!

[_A loud flourish of trumpets_.] But hark! I am summoned to the fort: Perhaps the fleets have met! amazing crisis! O Tilburina! from thy aged father's beard Thou'st pluck'd the few brown hairs which time had left! [Exit.]"

_Sneer_. Poor gentleman!

_Puff_. Yes--and no one to blame but his daughter!

_Dang_. And the planets-- _Puff_. True.--Now enter Tilburina!

_Sneer._ Egad, the business comes on quick here.

_Puff._ Yes, sir--now she comes in stark mad in white satin.

_Sneer._ Why in white satin?

_Puff._ O Lord, sir--when a heroine goes mad, she always goes into white satin.--Don't she, Dangle?

_Dang._ Always--it's a rule.

_Puff._ Yes--here it is--[_Looking at the book_.]

"Enter Tilburina stark mad in white satin, and her confidant stark mad in white linen."

"_Enter_ TILBURINA _and_ CONFIDANT, _mad, according to custom_."

_Sneer._ But, what the deuce! is the confidant to be mad too?

_Puff._ To be sure she is: the confidant is always to do whatever her mistress does; weep when she weeps, smile when she smiles, go mad when she goes mad.--Now, Madam Confidant--but keep your madness in the background, if you please.

"_Tilb._ The wind whistles--the moon rises--see, They have kill'd my squirrel in his cage: Is this a gra.s.shopper?--Ha! no; it is my Whiskerandos--you shall not keep him--I know you have him in your pocket--An oyster may be cross'd in love!--who says A whale's a bird?--Ha! did you call, my love?--He's here! he's there!--He's everywhere! Ah me! he's nowhere! [_Exit_.]"

_Puff._ There, do you ever desire to see anybody madder than that?

_Sneer._ Never, while I live!

_Puff._ You observed how she mangled the metre?

_Dang._ Yes,--egad, it was the first thing made me suspect she was out of her senses!

_Sneer._ And pray what becomes of her?

_Puff._ She is gone to throw herself into the sea, to be sure--and that brings us at once to the scene of action, and so to my catastrophe--my sea-fight, I mean.

_Sneer._ What, you bring that in at last?

_Puff._ Yes, yes--you know my play is called _The Spanish Armada_; otherwise, egad, I have no occasion for the battle at all.--Now then for my magnificence!--my battle!--my noise!--and my procession!--You are all ready?

_Und. Promp_. [_Within._] Yes, sir.

_Puff_. Is the Thames dressed?

"_Enter_ THAMES _with two_ ATTENDANTS."

_Thames_. Here I am, sir.

_Puff_. Very well, indeed!--See, gentlemen, there's a river for you!--This is blending a little of the masque with my tragedy--a new fancy, you know--and very useful in my case; for as there must be a procession, I suppose Thames, and all his tributary rivers, to compliment Britannia with a fete in honour of the victory.

_Sneer_. But pray, who are these gentlemen in green with him?

_Puff_. Those?--those are his banks.

_Sneer_. His banks?

_Puff_. Yes, one crowned with alders, and the other with a villa!--you take the allusions?--But hey! what the plague!--you have got both your banks on one side.--Here, sir, come round.-- Ever while you live, Thames, go between your banks.--[_Bell rings._] There; so! now for't!--Stand aside, my dear friends!--Away, Thames!

[_Exit_ THAMES _between his banks._]

[_Flourish of drums, trumpets, cannon, &c., &'c. Scene changes to the sea--the fleets engage--the music plays--"Britons strike home."--Spanish fleet destroyed by fire-s.h.i.+ps, &c.--English fleet advances--music plays, "Rule Britannia."--The procession of all the English rivers, and their tributaries, with their emblems, &c., begins with Handel's water music, ends with a chorus to the march in Judas' Maccabaeus.--During this scene,_ PUFF _directs and applauds everything--then_ _Puff_. Well, pretty well--but not quite perfect. So, ladies and gentlemen, if you please, we'll rehea.r.s.e this piece again to-morrow.

[_Curtain drops._]