Oh, these are the gardens, are they, very well—that will do.  Exit Waiter, R. H. They look very pretty, really. I am a slave to first impressions, and I can see that I shall like them. How odd! Here have I been staying two whole days, and did not know of their existence. But then, I'm a newly married man, and I have to attend to my newly married wife, and new duties—and that will easily account for my ignorance upon such matters. (bell rings, R.H.) How the bells ring in this house, to be sure! Ah, well! since my marriage I have discovered they are not the only belles that have confounded noisy clappers. I'm a slave to first impressions, and if I had heard my wife's clapper before marriage, instead of after, I think it is very likely she would never have been Lady Meadows.                                         Exit, C.

This way—this way my lady, if you please—take care of the step—this is the door.

Is this the public room?

Yes, my lady—opening, as you see, upon gardens, which I trust you will excuse my saying, are delightful. But you will of course, prefer private apartments, my lady?

Oh, certainly—but do not let me be detained long. I must have post horses as soon as possible.

You may rely upon me, my lady—I will now give orders for a sitting room to be prepared for you, and then   arrange about the horses. In the meantime, madam, you will not be intruded upon here.                                         Exit L.H.

(sits.) Heigho! I almost regret now that I consented so hastily to this marriage with Frank. To my uncle, Sir Marmaduke Meadows, I look for everything beyond the mere pittance I now possess. Frank is poor—nay, poorer than myself, and greatly do I fear that when my uncle finds I have wedded his nephew, his only sister's only child—whom he has so long and so pertinaciously discarded, that his wrath will overcome the love he has so long professed for me. So much for family feuds. Poor Frank! much and dearly as I love him, I cannot help fancying that it would have been better for us both, had we never met. (looks at watch.) Gracious heaven! (starts up.) Three o'clock, and I was to have joined Frank by two at the latest. Why, the packet sails at five—and I have yet another stage to go. (rings bell.) Yes, we must cross the water—land on the continent—and there remain until the anger of our mutual uncle shall abate. If he sees us in the first fit of his fury, we are disinherited, that's certain. Heavens! how impatient Frank will be at my non-arrival. (rings bell.) Enter Doiley with book, L.H. Now, sir, I am most impatient about the horses. I am going to Havre to night, and shall, I fear, be too late for the packet if detained.

The horses will be ready, my lady, precisely in half an hour.

  Half an hour?

Am sorry to say you cannot possibly have them before.

Well, sir, but then—

But then, my lady, you may depend on them. I beg pardon, madam, but I have brought a list of the ladies and gentlemen at present staying here. (giving her book.) Perhaps you will do me the honour of permitting me to enter your name?

Never mind that. (looks over book, carelessly.) It is very unlikely that any one I know is stopping here. (aside.) Nor, indeed, do I desire to see any person, until my uncle has decided what my fate, and that of Frank is to be. Ah! what do I see? Sir Marmaduke Meadows here?

Yes, my lady, Sir Marmaduke has been staying here for several days past.

Oh, heavens! how particularly unfortunate, to think that my uncle should be staying here. The very person, to avoid whom, I am now about to quit England. When I entered this house, I ran into the very lion's mouth.                                         (partly aside.)

Oh dear, no—I beg your ladyship's pardon—when you ran into this house, you ran not into the lion's mouth, but the “Bull's Head.”

Psha! Shew me to my private room immediately— quick, sir.

  But, my lady, it is not quite ready yet.

Ready or not, I must go.

Thank you, thank you—that will do.

That is Sir Marmaduke, my lady.

I know it. (aside.) What shall I do? Come, come, lead me, sir, directly to my chamber. (trying to hurry him off.)

Wouldn't you like to have a peep at the old gentleman, my lady?

Oh, no!

Sir Marmaduke is here, my lady.

How shall I avoid him?

Pretty gardens—decidedly pretty. Ha! a young lady. Good day, madam.

He sees me—I cannot escape! I must risk the disobedience. Oh, love, love! assist me.

Good day, ma'am—very fine morn—Why, bless me —is it—it is—it's my niece Emily.

What must be, must be! (affects suddenly to see him.) Eh? oh, dear—what do I see? Oh, my dear, dear, dearest uncle! (embraces him.) How delighted I am to see you. (aside.) I wish you were a thousand miles off! How unlucky!

Oho! Why, you little puss—prettier than ever, I declare. How pleased I am to see you. (aside.) I wish she was at Jericho. (to her.) I'm a victim to first impressions, and it's my belief you are handsomer than ever. Give me a kiss.                                         (they embrace.

  Oh, my dear uncle!

Oh, my charming niece! (aside.) Considering that she was to have been my heiress, I'm afraid she won't be pleased at hearing of my marriage.

I heartily wish this interview was over!

How I wish this interview was over!

I quite dread to tell him of my marriage.

I quite dread to tell her of my marriage.

And yet he must be told, for of course he'll hear of it.

And yet she must be told, for of course she'll hear of it.

So the sooner it is done the better!

So the sooner it is done the better!

Ahem! uncle—

Ahem! niece—

Matrimony is an awful thing.

Very!

It should be well considered before adopted.

I believe you.

But when the heart is fairly entangled in love's web, we are warranted in adopting it.

True.

Then you think so uncle?

Oh, most certainly.

  I am glad to hear that. Then, again, before we take so important a step, we ought to consult those who are interested in our happiness.

Can she suspect? True, true my girl. But there are cases wherein people are justified in acting for themselves.

Can he suspect? At least I am glad to hear him say so.

(aside.) I'll come to the point at once. The fact is, Emmy, since I saw you last— (aside.) —now to screw up my courage.

Yes, uncle—and the fact is, since I saw you last— (aside.) Now for determination!

I've—I've got married!

And so have I.

The devil you have! I didn't expect that, though. Well, there Emmy, don't blush—I don't blush, you see. It's what we must all come to.

But, my dear uncle, are you really married?

Why, yes, I believe I am. I'm booked—I may say, hooked, at last. The old dowager, Mrs. Singley, did my business. I'm a victim to first impressions, and the moment I saw her I liked her, and—

And so you married her to prove it? Well, my dear uncle, I believe the lady you have married to be a very amiable woman, although her temper is a little violent. (Sir Marmaduke groans.)   And I most heartily wish you may be happy.

She has taken the news of my marriage better than I expected.

He has received the news of my marriage better than I expected.

Rely upon it, my dear niece, my marriage shall make no difference to your pecuniary prospects—that shall be my care. Yet, stay—how came you to marry without my consent?

Why I must own it was very wrong.

Wrong! indeed it was very, very wrong—unpardonable!

Oh, no, no—not unpardonable, because you know well, my dear uncle, “there are cases wherein people are justified in acting for themselves.”

Oh, you little baggage! Well, I suppose I must forgive you. And now let me know whom you have married.

How furious he would become if he knew that my bridegroon was his own discarded nephew.

Now, then, tell me his name. If I like the match, I'll give you the Belton estate—If I don't, you shan't have a penny.

But, my dear uncle, what qualities do you expect my husband to possess?

Qualities, girl! Those that women never think of   looking for in a husband, but which fathers, uncles, and guardians always do. As long as the fellow is young, good looking, well made, light hearted and loving, the lady is tolerably content. But I require rank, family, station, principle, respectability, and wealth. Now, Emmy, has your husband these qualifications?

Why I should think—that is, I mean to say that— that—that—

What the devil do you mean by all this stammering? “I mean that—that—that”—Say yes or no. Is he of good family?

Oh dear yes, as good as yours. (aside.) Your own nephew.

So far so good. What's his name?

His name?

Yes. Why, hasn't the fellow got a name?

Of course he has—his name is Frank.

Frank! I don't much like that name; it reminds me of that Frank who—ah, well, no matter. Is he good looking?

Oh, very—very good looking.

I thought I should have an answer to that question soon enough. Where were you married?

At St. George's, Hanover Square; and as soon as the ceremony was over, we left town in a chaise drawn by four   beautiful black horses.

Black horses! I'm a victim to first impressions, and I don't like black horses.

Indeed! If I had known that I would have changed their colour.

After all, Emily, I scarcely know how to forgive your wedding without my consent.

Nay, nay, you must do so, dear uncle, and I'll promise most faithfully—

What?

Never to do so any more.

Psha! Well, if I like the fellow, I will forgive you. And now introduce him to me.

Introduce him! (aside.) Oh, dear, dear! Why, uncle, the fact is, he's not with me.

Not with you! Why, do you mean to say the fellow allows his young, beautiful, and newly wedded wife to be rambling about the country, alone and unprotected? I am a victim to first impressions, and I feel that I shall hate him.

Oh, that dislike will never do. But, my dear uncle, peculiar circumstances—

Peculiar circumstances! none could justify such conduct —at least, nothing but illness. And newly married men have no business to be ill without their wives' consent.

I must change my plan, or Frank's case is   hopeless. How true it is, that when once we begin to attempt deception, every step leads us further from the truth. My dear uncle, you mistake me; when I said that my husbaud was not with me, I meant that he was not here, here in the room with me.

Well, my own eyesight tells me that—

But of course he travels with me—in fact, he cannot bear to lose sight of me even for an hour.

Ha! that's better; and where is he now?

He's—he's— (aside.) —I wonder where he is? He's strolling through the gardens.

I am most impatient to see him, and if he be half as amiable and excellent as I perceive you think him to be, you shall find that I know how to reward affection. So go—bring him hither; I'll just slip off my morning gown, and put on my coat, and come back directly, and most likely bring your new aunt with me. Oh, Emmy, Emmy! this said matrimony makes sad havoc with ones' old habits.                                         Exit, R. H.

What a distressing situation is this of mine? I want a husband—nay, must find one, and that directly. This meeting with my uncle is most peculiarly unfortunate. If I dare tell him—but that's impossible. If I could slip off without seeing him again—no, that won't do. Oh dear, dear, what am I to do for a husband?

(without.) There, there, you may   leave the baggage in the hall. I shall not be here long, and as to you, Humphrey— Enters, followed by Humphrey, L. H. As to you, you may go to the Tap and get something to eat.

Eat! Mayn't I have something to drink as well as to eat?

Why of course you may—eating includes drinking.

Eating includes drinking, does it; then does bread include beer?

Get out of my sight, you matter-of-fact scoundrel! Get out, I say!                                         Exit Humphrey, L.H. That fellow plagues my very life out; he takes everything literally, and has no more idea of making a figure of speech than he has of making a figure of marble. Now let me consider. What is to be my next route? The year of probation that was to elapse before my marriage with Sophy Weston is almost expired, and one month's more travelling will bring the happy moment. Happy!—Did I say happy? yes, I said happy. Hem! I mustn't be rash; I have heard people say that happiness doesn't always attend weddings.

A fresh arrival.

Yet I love Sophy Weston dearly—better than anything else in the world—stop, that's almost going too far.

Looks like a gentleman.

Then she's got a nice little fortune; besides which, marrying, as in that case I shall, with my aunt's permission, I   shall become entitled to the handsome property left me upon that condition. Yes, all things considered, I certainly do love Sophy Weston better than anything else in the world.

I've a great mind to speak to him.

Egad! the sooner I'm married the better. I wish I was married now.

He wishes he was married now. So much the better for me. What an embarrassing situation; but I have no alternative —my uncle will be back directly, and unless I devise some scheme to continue the deception, Frank and I are ruined. Sir—sir!

Ma'am! A lady here?—Your most obedient. (aside.) A pretty woman.

Pray, sir, do you—do you—

She seems embarrassed—I'll help her out. Yes, ma'am, I do sometimes.

Do you think—

Think! yes, occasionally—but not often. My greatest enemies can't accuse me of thinking much.

That is not exactly what I mean.

Isn't it really? Then perhaps you'll have the goodness to say what it really is that you do mean—for hang me, if I can tell.

Do you— (aside.) —I cannot utter the words. Do you think it will rain?

  Rain? why that depends upon whether the weather continues dry. If it does continue dry, we shall have no rain —but if it turns out wet, it will not continue dry. (aside.) What the deuce is she driving at?

The truth is, sir, I—I have something I wish to name to you.

To me! (aside.) What can she have to name to me? Pray proceed, ma'am.

I have that to say which at first will very greatly surprise you.

Indeed! (aside.) Never saw her before. Quite an adventure! What can it mean? Her bashfulness—her blushes —her confusion—I've made an impression—love at first sight— tender hearted creature! (aloud.) Surprise me, will it? Oh, dear no, nothing surprises me now-a-days; it's a very common case I assure you.

Not mine, sir.

No! (aside.) She's regularly caught, poor thing!

I scarcely know how to utter what I have to say.

Banish your scruples, ma'am—look upon me as a friend, as a— (aside.) —shall I say admirer? No, I won't be rash.

A little courage and it is done. I'll be candid then, sir: I want—I want—

Yes, ma'am, you want—

  I wish—I wish—

Yes, ma'am, you wish—that's the point. (aside.) Tender lamb! She's certainly smitten.

I want a—a—

A what?

A husband.

A husband! of course you do. I know a great many young ladies in the same condition. But where are the husbands to come from—that's the point.

But in my case, the affair to which I allude, namely, matrimony—

Matrimony! (aside.) Egad! she speaks plain enough —she's determined there shall be no mistake about the matter.

The matrimony to which I allude is only a joke.

Matrimony only a joke! (aside.) 'Pon my soul, a very singular person this—calls matrimony a joke! Well, ma'am, all I can say is that though the matrimony to which you allude may be joke—the matrimony of people in general is decidedly no joke at all.

And the request I have to make of you is simply this. Will you—will you be—my—my—

Yes, ma'am, your—your what?

My husband!

Your husband! That's a poser. I mustn't be rash— rash! I have been rash—very much so. It is very rash of me   to converse with one so susceptible.

Pray do not misunderstand me.

Misunderstand you! Why, no—after what you have said, it's impossible.

I am married already.

Married already! The devil you are? and want another husband?

Exactly so!

Bigamy! avaunt!

Observe me, sir, I merely wish you to pass for my husband for half an hour.

Pass for your husband for half an hour?

That is all—only for half an hour.

How odd! I mustn't be rash! Pass for her husband for half an hour! She's a very pretty woman! 'Pon my honour, it's a great temptation—there isn't one man out of a dozen could resist it.

The facts are simply these: I have just now, within this very house, encountered a gentleman, to whom it is absolutely necessary I should introduce my husband—to prevent misfortune falling upon that husband—he is, unfortunately not here. I therefore wish some person—you, sir, if you please, to personate him—in half an hour my horses will be here to convey me on the road, and then the deception may cease.

She wishes me to personate her husband! I wonder   how the real husband would like it. I've a great mind to oblige her. (looks at watch.) Just half-past three. How very odd it will sound. Bachelor at half-past three, married man at five-and-twenty minutes to four—five minutes after four, bachelor again! Well, ma'am, I consent—I'll surrender my liberty for thirty minutes—for half an hour from this moment I'll be your husband.

A thousand thanks!

A thousand thanks for thirty minutes!

But remember, sir, you must give me your solemn promise, that until the half hour has elapsed, you will not fail to sustain the character you have assumed.

Madam, I promise, faithfully promise, and when— when was a Bamboozle known to break his word?

A what?

A Bamboozle! That's me—I'm a Bamboozle—Captain Frank Bamboozle, very much at your service. (aside.) She doesn't seem struck with the name, though! Madam, I promise to keep my word—nay, I swear it, for one half hour, I'll be your husband.

Enough, sir, I am satisfied.

And so am I—and so I ought to be with such a pretty wife. Give me your arm. (they walk arm in arm about the stage.) Here we are, my spouse and I! it isn't everybody that picks up wives as fast as I do—or gets rid of them as quickly.   (aside.) She's very pretty—ahem! you'll excuse me. (offers to kiss her.) Nay, don't start away—consider my delicate privileges —now just one kiss to seal the bargain.

Sir, you will not surely distress me!

Certainly not! beg pardon, but as I am only to be your husband for half an hour, why, you see, there's no time to be lost.

Sir, you take advantage of my unfortunate situation.

Oh, if it's disagreeable. I'll say no more about it at present—but still a husband ought to be a husband, or else a husband is no husband at all.

Here comes Sir Marmaduke.

What, that elderly gentleman?

Yes, yes! pray be cautious.

Trust to me—I'll puzzle the old fellow, never fear.

Now, my girl, I'm ready, and I hope to find your husband ready, too. I have told my lady that you and your husband are here. Where is he? I quite long to see him. And is this the gentleman?

It is, sir—this is my husband.

Well! My wife can tell a fib with a good grace, and a good face, anyhow.

I am very glad to see him. (aside.) I'm a victim to first impressions, and I am almost certain I shall like him. Sir, I am glad to make your acquaintance. (crosses, C.)

(C.)   Sir, I am glad to make yours.

(R.) Our meeting is certainly very unexpected.

Unexpected? why yes, I rather think it is.

Particularly so by me.

Yes, and particularly so by me.

But it will, I hope, turn out fortunate.

Can't say how it will turn out yet—perhaps end in my being turned out.

But, sir, I think I shall like you.

Not a doubt in life about that. (aside.) I ought to say something—I must say something about my wife—ahem! Here goes—hit or miss—sink or swim—ahem! I think you know my wife, don't you sir?

Know her? Why of course I do! She's my niece!

Your niece? to be sure she is! You look as though you thought I didn't know that—but it was a joke of mine, that's all.

I don't see much fun in the joke.

No? well now, I think it's very funny—ahem! (aside.) He looks grave—I must change the subject “from grave to gay.” I suppose, sir, you were surprised when you heard of our marriage?

Very much, indeed, sir. I thought I ought to have been consulted—

And so I thought, too—and so I told— (aside.) What's   my wife's name, I wonder? I'll chance it. Mary is the most common English female name. Polly answers to others, too. As I was saying, sir, and so I told my wife, Polly—

Polly? and who the devil is Polly? That lady's name is Emily.

Emily? of course it is—we all know that very well— but it's all the same. Emily, one way—Polly another—a kind of anagram, don't you see? (aside.) He doesn't! The truth is —I call her Polly for shortness.

Why Polly is just the same length as Emily.

Exactly so—right again! But Polly sounds shorter than Emily—and besides, my wife requested me to call her Polly—didn't you, Polly?

(R.) I believe I did.

I'm sure of it. I recollect you said you had a particular aversion to the name of Emily.

Then I must say, that I am very far from being pleased with the remark. Emily was her mother's name, and therefore ought to be respected.

(L.) Ahem! I mustn't be rash here!

But, be that as it may, I must say it sounds very odd, to hear Emily called Polly.

Don't it? But people who see much of the world, always see strange things. Now for instance, the church at which we were married, is dedicated to St. Basil, and there   once upon a time—

St. Basil? why your wife Emily—I mean Polly, told me, you were married at St. George's, Hanover Square.

And so we were. You may always credit what my wife says. I never knew her to tell a fib! (aside.) That was found out! But the truth is—let me see, what is the truth? The truth is, we were first of all married in France.

In France? Well, I never heard of that before.

No! I dare say not.

I'll be bound he didn't! Yes, sir, we were married in France—and upon our return to this kingdom, the ceremony was repeated at the express request of my wife Polly's father.

Your wife Polly's father! Why he's been dead these seventeen years.

More—more—nearly eighteen—full seventeen and a half! but he directed in his will that if his daughter married in a foreign land, the ceremony should be repeated upon her return to England.

Very prudent, indeed. I can assure you it is quite new to me.

New? (aside.) No doubt about that—new as imported.

And now, respecting your wedding. My niece Emily—I mean, Polly—tells me it was a stylish affair.

Oh, very—very stylish affair—especially the first—I mean the one in France. Lots of the nobility was there—and   in fact, it was more than once rumoured that the king himself would attend.

The king of France?

No, the King of Otaheite. And then after the ceremony we bowled away—

In a new travelling carriage.

As I was about to say, in a new travelling carriage—

Drawn by beautiful horses.

True—drawn by a pair of beautiful horses.

A pair! Why, Emily—I mean, Polly—said four horses!

Four! Well, she was right as she always is—Polly is never wrong. When I said a pair of horses, I meant a pair first, and another pair behind them. Perhaps it would have been more correct had I said two pair of horses? because here, a pair is understood to mean two; but in the part of the country where I have been residing, a pair always means four, two and two. (aside.) He seems surprised—talk about something else. But the great beauty of the horses of which I am speaking, was their colour—white—white as the driven snow.

White! why Emily—I mean Polly—said they were black!

Black? did she say black? (aside.) (aside.) Then it wasn't a white lie. Then for once she was wrong. Yes, my wife Polly is decidedly wrong for once. The horses were white—white as   milk.

It's very strange she should have made such a mistake!

Very! very strange! and yet no—now I come to think of it, it is not strange at all—I recollect the horses had particularly black eyes. Don't you recollect remarking the exceeding blackness of the white horses' eyes?

I think I do.

Oh! I remember it perfectly well. You see Polly has confounded the blackness of the horses' eyes with the colour of their coats.

I suppose that was it.

Can't be the possibility of a doubt about it.

A very agreeable talkative fellow! Romances a little, I think, but not disagreeably. I'm a victim to first impressions, and I know I shall like him. Hark ye, sir! I always said that if I liked my niece's husband, he should have the family gold snuff box set with diamonds. I do like you, so pray accept it.                                         (offers it.

My dear, sir, you're too good—I really do not deserve so valuable a gift. (takes it.) You'll regret giving it to me—I am sure you will. Pray take it back. You won't? oh, then the affront must be pocketed. (pockets box—aside.) Everything is going on right. Hadn't you better let me kiss you, just to keep up appearances?

Certainly not.

  Don't say so. (looks at watch.) There's nearly a quarter gone out of the half hour, and nothing connubial. I must —I will. (struggles with her.)

Sir, forbear. Uncle!

Oh, never mind me—kiss away, I shan't look.

There, he says you're to kiss me. Now you really must. (kisses her.) You'll excuse us, sir, but we have not been married long—I may say, comparatively speaking, not a quarter of an hour, so it's pardonable. (aside.) That kiss was uncommonly sweet—I'll have another. Give me another kiss, Polly.

This is unbearable. (loudly.) Forbear, sir, or I must retire.

Hollo, Emily—I mean Polly—refuse to kiss your husband! Fie, girl! kiss him this moment, I insist.

That's right, old boy. Kiss your husband this moment, Polly. (kisses her—aside.) If the real husband could see us, how pleased he would be.

This is unpardonable, sir.

Don't be angry, Polly.

No, don't be angry, Emily—I mean Polly—I like to witness such affection. (aside.) How devotedly fond they are of each other.

Well, everything's smooth at present. I think we had better manage to get out of the room. (aloud.) Come, Polly,   we'll go and have lunch. (crossing L., arm-in-arm.)

Stay—stay, yonder comes my wife, so I'll introduce you before you go.

We shall be discovered now.

Never fear—not a bit of it. I'm sure we look like man and wife.

Mind how you act—the old lady is very keen-sighted.

Don't be alarmed. The deuce is in it if I can't gammon an old woman.

Did my niece mention to you, sir, that I was married?

No, sir, I think not. Did you, Polly? No, I'm sure not.

Then, such being the case, you'll be surprised to hear that I have recently married Mrs. Singley—

Mrs. Singley! I'm obfuscated! Mrs. Singley of—

Of Singley Lodge? yes.

The devil!

Hollo! Pray, sir, what do you mean by calling my wife the devil? Don't you know that truth is a libel?

So—so Mrs. Singley is your aunt, is she?

Yes, by marriage.

Yes, and she's my aunt—but not by marriage. I had that aunt in the natural way.

Mrs. Singley your aunt?

  It's too true. I must be off—the climate here is too hot to hold me.

Come along, Sophy.

That was her voice—I ought to know it.

Besides which, she is the guardian of my dear Sophy Weston. Let me go—I must depart.

No, no—you must keep your promise to me.

Surely I saw her coming.

I wish you saw her going.

Yes, and as good luck will have it, here she comes, and our pretty little ward, Sophy Weston, is with her.

This marriage will be the death of me.

It is certainly very unfortunate.

Unfortunate! It's not to be borne. Madam, you'll excuse me—but I must be off; I'm quite tired of being your husband—so, if you please, we'll have a divorce without troubling Doctors' Commons.

No, sir, you have promised to pass for my husband for half an hour.

So I have—fatal remembrance! (takes out watch.) Ten minutes to four. How tired I am of matrimony.

Come along, Sophy. Enters, L., followed by Sophy and Sir Marmaduke.—Bamboozle and Emily stand back to back, L. H. Now, my dear Sir Marmaduke, where's your niece and her bridegroom? I quite long to see them. (crosses to C.) Ah! there you are, you sly puss? So you've stolen a march   upon us?

I should like to march off.

Why, really, my dear madam, I believe I am not the only one who—

Spare my blushes.

Her blushes! She means her rouge, and that she doesn't spare herself.

Let me introduce my ward, Miss Weston. (they curtsey.) This young lady is betrothed to my nephew, Captain Frank Bamboozle. (Emily coughs—Bamboozle imitates her.) You don't know him?

Don't she? that's all you know about it.

Poor fellow, he is many, many miles away from us at this moment.

Is he? He wishes he was.

I quite long to see him.

Do you? then your longing will soon be gratified.

And I'm sure I may say the same. Dear Frank, how joyous will be our meeting!

Will it? I wish it may.

But oh, if he should prove inconstant.

I'd tear his eyes out.

I've got a pain in my optics.

(R.) Inconstant! I'd run him through the body.

  Bless me! I've got a pain in my side.

Some time or other I'll introduce you.

Thank you, ma'am, I shall be most happy.

Happy! Then you have all the happiness to yourself.

But your bridegroom, my dear?

Ah, that's the settler.

This is the gentleman, my dear. What, Frank, shamming modesty. Ha, ha! that's a good joke.

Is it? I'm glad you like it.

Talk to him, Emily—I mean, Polly. Tell him not to be shamefaced.

Polly be hanged! for getting me into this scrape.

Polly! why what do you mean? Our niece's name is Emily.

Don't be violent, my dear. Her husband is a very curious man—always calls her Polly.

Mercy on us!

Fact. There's lots of things you've got to learn yet. They've been twice married.

Twice!

Yes—at the wish of her father, although the old fellow has been dead these seventeen years. And what's still more strange is, that they drove away from church with four   white horses with black eyes.

Gracious me!

Surely I know that figure, and yet it cannot be.

Sophy's eyeing me—this won't do. I tell you, you must let me off from my promise. (takes out watch.) Seven minutes to four. I've been your husband for twenty-three minutes, and that's long enough.

I insist upon your promise being kept.

Oh, that promise. I have been rash, after all.

Sir, I beg to make your acquaintance.

Say something.

Yes, ma'am, I am delighted—

Don't croak so.

Croak, ma'am! I've got the toothache.

Nonsense! Speak!

You cruel wife. Madam, I am particularly proud— (aside.) —It's all over with me.

That voice—why, Sophy!—

That voice—why, my lady!—

Well, ladies, and what's the matter with the voice?

You are not in that secret yet.

I think the voice is a very nice voice.

So do I—but that isn't the point.

Sir Marmaduke, I demand to know the name of the gentleman to whom your niece is married.

  That's more than he can tell.

His name! Hang me if I can tell you—except that his first name is Frank.

Frank confession.

Frank!

Why, zounds! what's in the wind, now?

A storm—and I shall get pelted. Will you release me from my rash oath?

No.

Six minutes to four. Won't you?

No.

Oh, then take the consequences—or rather, I shall take the consequences. Further disguise is useless. (shows himself.) Behold!

Bamboozle!

Bamboozle it is!

Bamboozle! Who's he?

I will tell you, sir. Don't cry, Sophy— (crosses to her.) —he is not worthy of a single tear. That man is my worthless nephew, and has been betrothed to this young lady, yet now basely deserts her and weds another.

Then give me leave, sir, to tell you that you are a villain!

That's pleasant.

But I'll punish him. You have wedded, sir, without   my permission, and I will take care that the legacy which you have thus forfeited shall never be touched by you.

That's pleasant again! (to Emily.) See what you've done, by forcing me into a marriage!

And as to me, sir, know that in my heart love is at once changed into contempt!

That's particularly unpleasant!

(aside.) I must join in the cry! (to Bamboozle.) Oh, you deceitful man! To pretend to love me, when you knew so well you were betrothed to another. Oh! (retires up.)

Don't cry, Emmy—we pity you!

Don't cry, Sophy—we pity you!

Don't cry, Bamboozle—there's nobody to pity you. I can't stand this. I shall do something desperate—something desperately desperate! I feel I shall! (looks at his watch.) Five minutes and a half to four! Ladies and gentlemen, hear me. This is a female who has inveigled unsuspecting innocence— that's me—into a marriage with falsehood—that's she! I'm a sacrificed lamb—a lamb— (looks at his watch.) Five minutes exactly!

I don't believe a word of that!

Nor I.

Venture to speak against my niece, sir, and though you are her husband, I shall call you out.

I wish I had been called out before!

  No jesting, sir—I shall demand—

You may demand whatever you please—not a farthing will you get from me.

But I insist—

Hold! Remember this wretched man—

Bamboozle's a wretched man!

Is still my husband.

For three minutes and a quarter, and no more!

Oh, you monster!

Oh, you deceitful man!

Oh, you barbarian!

Oh, you—you—Bamboozle!

Delightful—exquisite! (looks at his watch.) Two minutes and a half to four! I shan't survive it—I shall certainly perish. Sudden death—coroner's inquest—verdict, “Died in a fit of Matrimony!” (falls into a chair.)

(without, L. H.) That will do—I shall find her, I dare say. Enter Frank Tiverton, L. H. What can have detained Emily? My impatience has induced me to retrace my steps, for the purpose of informing her of the happy events which have occurred. From the description of the innkeeper she, no doubt, is here. Ha—why, Bamboozle!

What, my friend, Frank Tiverton?

  Why is it really you, Bamboozle?

It's all that's left of me. Ill fortune and a bad wife have worn me to a skeleton.

What, my gay friend married?

Yes—no—yes— (aside.) —for a minute and a half, and no more.

And your wife—

Is there!

Where?

There—leaning against that vase.

That? (aside.) Fire and furies—that's my wife! Which did you say was your wife?

She is leaning against the vase.

Indeed!

Yes—that's my victimizer!

Why, as I live, there's my nephew!

Frank! Where? (aside.) My husband! His impetuosity will ruin all.

I shall go mad! (loudly.) What does all this mean? (they come down.) In the presence of all ye, I claim my wife!                                         (clock chimes four quarters.

Hold—stop—stay! Don't let a mouse run across the room! (clock strikes four.) It is—it is! Hurrah! I've got rid of my wife Polly!

Zounds, what does all this mean?

It means my dear uncle, that, fearing to excite your   anger if the truth was told, I persuaded this gentleman to personate my husband for half an hour—but further deception is needless, and I now avow myself the faithful wife of Frank Tiverton.

Yes, and I avow myself the faithful lover of my dear Sophy Weston.

I'm glad it is so; for now—now that all our unhappy differences are settled—which you, Emily, was not aware of— I am glad to find you the wife of my nephew Frank.

What do I hear? Unhappy differences arranged? Oh, joyful news!

Mercy on us—what strange things there are in the world!

Then the King of Otaheite—

I confess to the King of Otaheite!

And the double wedding—and the father's will—and the white horses with black eyes—

Were all trifling mistakes, for which I have to seek your forgiveness, and that of my dear aunt.

I will not refuse it!

Then I have secured my legacy! and you—

I shall not refuse it!

Then I have secured my snuff box! And you Sophy—

I cannot refuse it!

Then I have secured my sweetheart, (crosses with her to C. to Emily and Frank.)   To you I look for gratitude.

I cannot refuse it!

I cannot refuse it, provided—

What?

You promise not to steal my wife again.

And I cannot refuse my promise to that. Half an hour of such matrimony as mine has been is quite sufficient to satisfy a moderate man like me for a lifetime. And now, released from my troubles as a new married man—restored to the good opinion of my friends and my sweetheart—all that remains to plead for is—that without which all else is useless and unprofitable —favour and forgiveness from kind friends, for myself, and— (pointing to Emily.) —my wife Polly!