First performed at the St. James's Theatre, on 11th August, 1862.
Characters.Costumes of the day.
Now, Kerr, my love, I am convinced you have finished that egg—more than finished; not only
have you consumed all the white, but I'm sure you must have eaten the delicate tissue with
which it has been enveloped by nature. You know I want the table; now do let Betsy clear away,
and pray, love, don't go on scraping the shell on purpose to be aggravating.
Betsy, another egg, and take care it is boiled enough.
Another egg! now really, Kerr, my love, this is too bad! one egg is enough for any reasonable gentle- man, an extraordinary appetite may create a demand for two, but nobody wants a third egg. Kerr, love, I am convinced you require one on purpose to be annoying— and do finish that cup of tea, it's getting quite cold.
I like my tea cold, one swallows it quicker.
Now, Kerr, dear, be consistent, you don't like your tea cold, only ten minutes ago you were grumbling—
Mrs. Kerr, I never grumble.
I beg pardon, I mean you were remarking that your tea was not hot enough. You are dawdling unnecessarily, Kerr, dear. Observe, I have finished my breakfast long ago.
Well, Mrs. Kerr, if you choose to bolt your
Well, Kerr, my love, I don't die.
No, I admit the results don't seem to be the same in England, unfortunately.
What's that, Kerr, dear, "unfortunately?"
Psha! fortunately, fortunately!
Kerr, unfortunately was the word.
Well, well, then it was only a lapsus linguæ.
Kerr, I don't pretend to understand Greek; but I am sufficiently mistress of my mother tongue, to be able to say, Kerr, you are a brute!
Madam, when a lady so far forgets her duties, as to designate her husband by a term, invented to specify beings below the level of humanity—
Kerr, I don't care for fine words
Heyday, Kerr! Mrs. Kerr, what's all this? something like a scene, eh? Ha, it strikes me I ought to have tapped at the door, before walking in, and allowed things to simmer down a little; nevertheless, as I am an unwilling witness, what's it all about?
Oh! nothing nothing at all, I was merely giving a very brief expression of my opinion as to my husband's temper.
Ha! a lady criticising her husband's temper
Thank goodness the egg has come.
Well, sir, you said you wanted it boiled enough.
Zounds! I didn't say I wanted to eat a cannon ball. But you answer, do you, you hussey, you
answer. Observe, Danby, she answers, of course natural enough, when these menials observe that
a man is not master of his own
Thank you, sir.
Isn't it? then consider you forfeit two-pence by your impertinence.
Very amusing isn't it, Mr Danby?
Oh! amazingly so. Last night I paid two shillings to see a farce that was not half so funny. But seriously speaking, my dear Kerr, what do you mean about not being master of your own house? why, I'm perfectly sure that the domestic government of Mrs. Kerr, even if it exists, must be so lenient that it is not even felt. She, as Romeo says, is—"Ever fair "—
Oh! Mr. Danby.
It's Iago, my dear boy, that says that, not Romeo. Do you fancy for a moment that the
love-sick idiot Romeo, could have formed such a perfect idea of what a wife ought to be, as is
expressed in the immortal speech from which you have quoted a line and a half? no, sir, in the
mouth of that consummate man of the world, Iago, did our immortal bard put that epitome of
household wisdom. Popular prejudice is against Iago, sir, but he was a great man, decidedly a
grand creature. I'm very glad you put me in mind of that speech, Danby, Mrs. Kerr shall read
it at once.
Kerr, my darling, I've something else to do.
Ha! here it is. "Othello "—
Psha! I've something else to do, I tell you.
Madam!
I say, Kerr, drop it, and get her out of the way, I want to speak to you.
Something of consequence?
The utmost.
I'll manage it.
Kerr, my darling, your dramatic readings are not at all likely to amuse me, perhaps you will
be more successful in amusing Mr. Danby.
Ha, I thought I should cause a retreat; but she shall read the passage, nevertheless—there,
I have turned down the corner, she can't miss it.
I wished to speak to you alone.
Well, we are alo —
Well, sir, I'm sure any reasonable person—
There you are, answering again—without another word, go!
Well, look here, Kerr, my boy, you know we have been intimate friends for many years.
I wonder whether he wants to borrow money. Proceed.
We have confided to each other our little joys and troubles.
Yes,
No, no, thank goodness! I'm quite comfortable in that way.
My dear boy, why remind me of our long-standing friendship? do you think it ever fades from
my mind? command my services without preamble. If you are Pythias I am Damon, if you are Damon
I am Pythias.
Very well, Kerr, now listen. I need not tell you that I am tenderly devoted to my wife.
Certainly, one assumes that as a matter of course.
From her I have no secrets.
That stands to reason. Go on.
No secrets—except one.
I see. And it's about the one secret you have come to talk—well.
Well—ahem! you see there is a lovely woman—ah! you smile.
Do I? I meant to frown. The beginning of the tale looks smoky; but continue, there is a lovely woman.
Miss Matilda Tangle, who gives lessons in music and singing at St. John's Wood. During my wife's visit to Brighton, I was one of Matilda's pupils—ah, you shake your head; you don't believe I could take lessons in music and singing.
Oh, yes, I do, when the charming woman gave them in London, and your wife was in Brighton. My shake of the head referred to the propriety of the story, not to its probability.
Ah, Kerr, my boy, she's a delightful creature !
Ha! a perfect musician, doubtless.
Why, as to that, I don't think she knows much more about music than you or I; but that's no matter.
No, no, of course not.
I assure you, Kerr, she's a most fascinating creature—so much feeling, so much delicacy.
Look at this cane.
Ah, a reward for your proficiency— well, it is very pretty.
Yes, but what was still prettier than the cane itself, was the tasteful manner in which it was given; only think, at the conclusion of one of my lessons, I was about to leave, and going to the corner for my old walking stick, I found this beside it.
Ha!
Do you know I was at first in a confounded rage, I suspected there was another—another—
Another pupil, exactly.
But would you believe it, Matilda's explanation was most satisfactory—nay, it made her more charming than ever. You recollect my old thick walking stick, with a great knob for a handle?
Certainly, an ugly thing enough; but you car- ried it so long, that one began to identify it with yourself.
Well, Matilda could not bear it, and resolved to give me another; but how to do it delicately?—why she placed this neat little cane where I should be sure to find it.
Ha! this is what she told you?
Yes!
And do you believe it?
Implicitly!
Danby, you are what I call a good creature.
No, no, something much more important.
Frequently, frequently!
Well, I perceived it was my duty to break off all further correspondence with the adored Matilda, and I wrote her a letter to that effect, stating—
That your lessons would be discontinued.
Precisely! Well, I thought the affair was as good as settled.
Ah, there's the devil of it; these affairs never will settle.
Oh, you have found that out yourself—have you?
I! Bless you, no; but I have heard so.
I find this letter at the club; which perhaps you'll read.
Well, I'll do my best. There's the signature, "Matilda," sure enough; and the fact that it begins with "Dear friend" is not obscured by the circumstances that there is double "e" in the dear, and the friend lacks an "i." But all that lies between is extremely dark and difficult. "Unless I see your hat on a clock to-morrow"—what the deuce does she want to see that for?
No, no, you don't understand, "Unless I see you at one o'clock to morrow."
Ha, ha, just so. As you seem to be master of the language read it yourself.
"Unless I see you at one o'clock to-morrow, I shall do myself the pleasure of calling on Mrs. Danby Symes the day after. Your well wisher, Matilda."
The purpose is clear, though the writing is obscure. Do you know I don't find this proceeding quite so delicate as the other, eh?
No, certainly not.
You'll go, of course?
No, there's the difficulty. I can't; my wife has made an appointment with a fashionable spirit-rapper, and I have promised to accompany her; so I thought if you would call in my place.
My dear boy, I'm delighted with the commission. A visit to a charming woman is something quite in my way.
Eh?
That is when the interests of a dear friend are at stake; what shall I say?—that you are gone to Paris—or better still, California, that's farther off.
As you please. And by way of consolation you may put this case in her hands.
Bless me, a diamond bracelet ! I say, Danby, what have you been doing? no forgetfulness of
the laws of meum and tuum, I hope.
Set your mind at rest; they're only Bristol diamonds, purchased in Hanway Passage. But you may keep that fact to yourself.
All right—I see here's the address inside.
Mrs. Danby Symes.
My wife! Pocket—pocket.
Safe as in the caverns of the deep.
Ah! my dear Jemima, how cheerful you look.
Yes. Hasn't Danby told you? I'm going with him to Bogie, the Spirit-rapper's, to converse with all my deceased aunts and uncles; it will be so lively; suppose you come with us.
I? Oh! yes. My nerves are in a fit condition to converse with ghosts and hobgoblins.
Why, what's the matter?
Oh! don't ask me; Kerr has been at his old tricks.
Old tricks, madam, that is an expression—
There, there, there, Mr. Kerr, if you must have scenes, select a time when I am not present.
Thank ye, dear, thank ye;
With the greatest pleasure—if Danby—
I!—Oh! certainly, certainly.
Of course, Mr. Symes, it's quite enough for you to discover what pleases our dear Jemima, and it is agreeable to you directly. How different you are from some people.
Yes, how different you are from some people, eh, Danby?
By-the-bye, are you going to see the new sensation drama, next Monday? They say it will be wonderful. Such a scene, a woman is apparently murdered, her body is thrown down into a coal trap, and she comes up safe and sound through the coal trap next door. Immense effect! London Street, with real gas lamps, and a Hansom cab, with real horse to heighten the illusion.
Bless you, Kerr never takes me anywhere. However, I shall ask Mr. Rigsby if he can get me a couple of box orders.
Rigsby? Oh! yes, I know—your friend, the literary gentleman, whose farce was damned the week before last.
Most undeservedly; an envious clique, my dear,—
Devilish large clique, it filled pit, boxes, stalls, and gallery; but I hope Rigsby will get the orders. As Monday is the first night of the sensation drama, there will be a chance of another damn, and that sort of thing is much more diverting than the play itself.
Amiable creature!
Bless me! it's half-past twelve, we must go.
Take a cab, there's no time to lose.
All right, I'll just slip on my coat.
Now, Danby.
I'm ready. Good bye, Kerr. After dinner we can discuss the—politics of the day.
Ah! that's what I call a gem of a husband— a perfect jewel, you'll never be like him, Kerr.
I don't know, perhaps I shall try; possibly I shall be just in time. In the meantime I have I have—
What?
Turned down the corner.
"Turned down the corner," what does he mean by that? I'm sure I can't tell, and I shan't
trouble my head to find out; but I shall content myself with the vague knowledge that Kerr
means to be disagreeable, as usual.
Never loud, poor finikin thing!
Ha, allowed her husband to choose her dresses and stint her crinoline. H'm, h'm!
I dare say, indeed! hem, hem! "salmon's tail."
What's the use of having a mind, if you can never give one a bit of it.
Oh, you are reading after all. Capital! I knew you would.
Nothing of the sort, Mr. Mudgeon.
Now, now, Mrs. M., I caught you in the middle of a line, "See suitors following and not look behind." A very excellent line, too, to be remarked in the spirit as well as the letter. If a lady in one private box sees a gentleman look at her from another, she need not be in too great a hurry to return the compliment.
What a man you are, Kerr! But bless me, how smart you look! a camelia in your button hole, too, and a turned-down collar. I don't think I ever saw you take such pains with yourself since our wedding-day.
Blessed reminiscence!
But where are you going?
Oh, to pay a visit or two—horrid bore.
Not at all. I'll go too.
Here's a pretty business. But, my dear, my love, my darling.
I see that I please you at last, or you would not call me by so many kind names. Look here,
Kerr, dear, I confess that I have read the speech, and without entering into particulars, I
have drawn from it a general lesson of meekness, docility, and devotion. Hitherto, I have
striven to maintain a sort of ridiculous independence, had my own way, and allowed you to go
yours; now I determine to begin a new course; we'll live but for one another. Shall I order a
cab at once, dear?
This will never do. My darling, nothing can be more gratifying to me than this determination to lead a new course; and we'll begin to-morrow.
To-day, to-day, dear.
Presently, presently. But really, my love, I think you had better not go; some of my friends are very disagreeable.
That they are friends of yours is quite enough.
This sudden fit of devotion is most oppressive. Now just consider that—
I do, I consider everything, and I arrive at the conclusion that you shan't go without me!—no, you shan't indeed, Kerry Perry, dear.
He, he, he I tell you what then, I don't know why I should waste my hours on people for whom I don't care a button. I'll—yes, I'll stop at home myself.
With me—yes, that will be delightful; and lest you should change your mind, allow me to take
your coat and hat—we shall be so happy.
What a thing it is to have a secret from one's wife. An hour ago that woman would no more
have dared to prevent me from going where I pleased than to lead a forlorn hope, but now I'm
as timid as a hare.
Tell Mr. Mudgeon I'm here.
What's that?
Oh, my dear Rigsby, allow me.
Don't trouble yourself, Mr. Mudgeon.
Yes, precisely.
Stop, stop! that's my coat.
Precisely—your hat, please.
What the devil is the meaning of this. He writes that his wife wishes to see me at one o'clock precisely, and no sooner do I shew the tip of my nose than he runs off with my hat and coat.
Ah, Mr. Rigsby, alone?
Yes; Mr. Mudgeon has retired into his study.
Looking sulky, no doubt?
On the contrary, he seemed to be in remarkably high spirits.
Well, never mind about that. I want you to get me a couple of box orders, or, better still, a private box for the new piece on Monday.
I should be very happy, but they say all the places are taken, and I shall doubtless have some difficulty.
My dear Mr. Rigsby, if there had been no difficulty I should not have sent for you; so make
haste to the Theatre and make haste back again. There's your hat.
No, no, not exactly!
Of course not. I was only joking. You have left them in the hall.
No, I haven't; the fact is, Mr. Mudgeon, put them both on, and ran out of the room with them on his head and shoulders.
Oh, the sad man, the wicked, wicked man!
Don't put yourself out, he's only gone into the study.
Study with a hat on! fiddlesticks! Well, exchange is no robbery, and as there's no time to
be lost; I have Mr. Mudgeon's hat and coat in the other room, the villain, and as he has taken
yours it is but fair. We shall see, Mr. Mudgeon, we shall see.
There's a screw loose here; but what's the particular nature of the screw, I can't make out.
Obliged to come back after all; that cursed case is in the pocket of my coat. There.
Not a moment must be lost.
He seems in a hurry, perhaps he'll leave something behind. Tut, tut, it's getting on for half-past one, already. Why the devil does that idiot Symes bother his friends with his infernal scrapes?
These are quite at your service, Mr.— Kerr my love, you here?
Of course I am where should I be? You know I can't go out without my hat and coat.
The dissimulating traitor!
Perhaps, you'll trust me with them now.
Perhaps, you want to go out now.
No, no, not at all; but I left my handkerchief in the pocket.
Yes, yes—I see.
The devil!
Pray what may this be?
That—he, he! the idea of a woman of your sense and penetration asking such a question. Why it's a case, to be sure.
Oh, I am perfectly aware that it is a case,
Why, my dear, how very slow of apprehension you are to-day. Intended—of course it was intended for you. Don't you see I had planned a little surprise.
Allow me to observe, Mr. Mudgeon, that my name, thank goodness, is not Matilda Tangle—the
name written on this card.
What the devil can I say?
Oh, Kerr, Kerr, that ever I should have lived to see this day. My only consolation is
gone—that you are a brute, I have known too long; that your personal appearance is the reverse
of attractive, I am painfully aware—but I did flatter myself that your moral principles were
sound.
She is clearly mistress of the position, and I must bear all this for the sake of Danby
Symes. Symes be hanged, I'll tell the truth at once. Ahem! my darling, don't cry.
No carneying, Mr. Mudgeon.
I admit that I told you a little falsehood.
Don't talk of telling a little falsehood, Mr. Mudgeon, you have been doing a little falsehood.
I admit that I was about to take the jewel case to Miss Matilda Tangle, but it was on the part of my friend, Danby Symes.
Now, Kerr, not another word; that you are false to me is bad enough, but your attempt to make a scapegoat of your friend is contemptible beyond the power of expression. A bold profligate is at any rate preferable to a sneaking traitor.
Traitor! sneaking! that I should be talked to in this way. I tell you, my dear, that Symes—
Zounds! here he is, and his wife too.
Back already?
Yes, the spirit-rapper has mysteriously disappeared.
With a suddenness that has caused considerable mortification to his landlord.
All wrong. I've not been able to leave the house.
Why, my dear, you have been crying.
It's too true, Jemima, dear, I'm the weakest as well as the most miserable of women.
What in the world is the matter?
Look out for squalls, friend Danby.
Observe this.
The deuce!
Oh, how beautiful!
Perhaps; but it's connected with something very ugly. These glittering baubles were purchased by my husband as a present for one Miss Matilda Tangle.
Oh-h-h!
Oh, Kerr, Kerr, Kerr, I'm sorry to find you in such a painful position.
Curse your sorrow! I want you to help me out of it.
Hush! consider my wife.
Fie, Mr. Kerr! you who are in the possession of a treasure, that makes you the envy of all your acquaintance.
Don't, Jemima, don't.
Talk to him, Danby; explain to him the enormity—you, at any rate, know what is right.
Ah! yes, my dear, you have a jewel of a husband.
Oh! Kerr, Kerr, Kerr, a man of your age—of your apparent respectability—
Why, you impudent scoundrel.
Pshaw! you see the fix I'm in.
Danby, if you go on in that way I shall kick you.
My mind's made up. Sir Cresswell Cresswell.
Hush, hush, my dear, don't do anything rash, a private grief is after all better than a public scandal. Perhaps things may not be quite so bad as they seem. This Miss Matilda Jangle—
Tangle.
Oh! you know the name
I—I—of course, I heard it just now as you did.
Exactly. Now Mr. Mudgeon, do you really love this woman?
Love her! I hate her, I detest her, I execrate her name, I curse the hour she was born!
Overdone, overdone.
You'll promise never to see her again?
Why, I've never seen her at all—I only—
Now, Kerr, Kerr, don't prevaricate.
The kicking will come or I'm a Dutchman.
You promise never to write to her?
Certainly, certainly.
Well, well—then as nothing more can be done under the circumstances, let bygones be bygones.
Here, Mr. Mudgeon, your hand—yours, dear.
How very clever people are when it's other people's business they have to settle. Do you imagine for a moment that I shall condescend to wear gewgaws purchased for Miss Tangle?
Well, I don't know; diamonds are diamonds.
Yes, even when they come from Bristol.
Just give me that case, dear.
Command me as you will, madam.
Here is the address of the creature for whom the jewels were bought; you will take them
back.
I—
A very excellent plan, does you credit, my love.
You will put the case in the creature's hands, and you will say—
Oh, say that I am gone to Paris, or better still, California, that's further off.
And you will add with emphasis that I know all.
Excellent and now I think you can kiss and be friends.
Kerr, here is my cheek.
My own darling, if you knew all.
I know too much.
Now then, all is settled, and I can bid you good-bye, dear.
You are going already?
Only for a few minutes. I have a call to
You'll perform your mission faithfully?
Oh, yes, he won't be caught by the bright eyes of Miss What's-her-name. He won't follow the example of Mr. Mudgeon.
No, no, Mr. Mudgeon is an example to avoid. Oh, Kerr, Kerr !
I know I shall kick that fellow before the day is out.
Really, Mr. Mudgeon, I think under the present painful circumstances, a slight show of contrition would be more becoming than this ostentatious levity.
Why in the world should I be contrite?—when, as I have already told you, it's Danby who—
Now, Mr. Mudgeon, having already tried the effect of that falsehood—
Falsehood! Mrs. Mudgeon?
Having already tried the effect of that falsehood, and found that it answers no end whatever, common sense should teach you not to persist in it any longer.
Mrs. Mudgeon, if you suppose I'm going to endure this altered tone for ever—
Mr. Mudgeon, you will find other alterations in me, besides this tone, you will find milliners' bills grow longer and their items grow heavier—jewellers' bills hitherto unknown to this establishment will be frequent in their appearance.
The deuce, Madam, I shall be ruined!
Very well, you may as well be ruined by me, as by Miss Tangle; with my bills you'll at any rate be ruined respectably; and mind after this shameful abuse of confidence, you shall never stir out of this house without me.
That we shall see, madam.
We shall indeed, sir. Quite ready!
Well, madam, if you choose to make yourself ridiculous, it's your own fault; I've told you
the truth,
The ticket—thank you. No, Mr. Mudgeon, you shan't escape me.
Heyday! another screw loose it seems; or perhaps it's the same screw not yet tightened.
People rush in and out of the house in a way that's—Hallo! Here's another wonder!—my cane
Mr. Rigsby, you here alone!
Yes, Mrs. Symes, I am, and under very singular circumstances; no sooner did I set my foot on the threshold, than Mr. Mudgeon ran out so violently that he nearly knocked me down, and then Mrs. Mudgeon ran after him.
I understand perfectly. It was a continuation of the scene that took place this morning.
Scene! well, so it is a sensation scene in the strongest sense of the word. Might a trustworthy gentleman ask what it all means?
Oh, the matter may be explained in two words. Mrs. Mudgeon has discovered that Mudgeon has been in the habit of visiting a certain Miss Tangle.
Matilda Tangle?
Yes, that's the name.
Capital! Now I see how my cane came here. You must know Miss Tangle is an acquaintance of mine.
I'm afraid, Mr. Rigsby, you are not very choice in your acquaintance.
Pooh, pooh! She's a little fifth-rate singer, and wants me to get her an engagement
somewhere. Well,
Ha, ha, ha! what a droll coincidence. Hush!—Mrs. Mudgeon.
He has escaped me—the wretch has escaped me.
Why what's the matter now?
Oh, these men, these men. I followed him to a cigar shop at the corner of the street. The shop had two doors, my dear, and while I waited at one, he went off at the other, as I learned by subsequent enquiry. He's gone to see that odious Matilda.
Now, don't be too hasty in your conclusions.
Oh, he wouldn't have dodged me in that way for nothing; but never mind, I know my course. Mr. Rigsby, you have done me one favour in getting me the box, I want you to do me another.
Always happy, my dear Mrs. Mudgeon.
Just call on Mr. Sparkle, he's a jeweller, in Hanway Passage, just by here, and desire him
to send a bracelet exactly like that which Mr. Mudgeon bought the other day. Mudgeon is an old
customer, and he knows him well.
It shall be done, Madam. How these married women do send a poor bachelor running about.
Really, my dear, I think you are going a little too far.
How so, Mrs. Symes?
Now don't get cross with me, that's a love, I only speak for your good, and I really think that the exposure of a domestic squabble to a thoughtless young man like that is imprudent, to say the least of it.
What have I to do with prudence?
Oh, you are at home first. I thought you would soon be tired of waiting. Come, come, don't
frown any more, or pout any more. I merely gave you the slip, and walked a few yards up the
Tottenham Court Road, just for the principle of the thing.
Oh! then my feelings have been wounded out of mere wantonness.
Tut—tut—surely there's been enough of this bickering.
Well, that's all settled.
You have seen the creature.
No, she wasn't at home. Her uncle had just come up from the country, and they were both gone to an early dinner at Cremorne; so I left the case, and wrote a few lines.
In which you said—
Oh, never mind what he said—the whole affair is settled, and we'll talk no more about it.
Well, Mrs. Mudgeon, I've been to Sparkle's, but he don't seem to understand the order.
It was not so very difficult. You told him to send a bracelet exactly like that which Mr. Mudgeon bought the other day.
Yes; and he says that he knows Mr. Mudgeon perfectly, but he adds that he has not sold him anything since New Year's day, when he bought a necklace.
Precisely; the necklace I gave you, my love.
Ha, to be sure; truth is truth, and you certainly did give me the necklace. But Sparkle must remember the bracelet.
No, he says business has been very bad, and the only bracelet he has sold for the last fortnight was purchased by Mr. Danby Symes.
Oh, you bought a bracelet, did you? I don't recollect that that was given to me.
No, no; my intention was, as you may perceive—
Don't tax your inventive powers too severely, Mr. Symes.
Well, my love, does the truth dawn upon you at last?
Be quiet, Kerr, dear.
I see it's no use disguising the fact. I own that I did buy the very bracelet,
I tell you what—
Hush! recollect my wife is here.
So is mine, and I shan't stand this nonsense any longer.
I think we had better change the subject.
By all means change the subject. By the bye, here's a topic already; Mr. Rigsby, you have got my cane.
Yours! your cane?
Gad, how she looks! Yes, it was a present that is—I bought—I borrowed—I—
Enough, enough, Mr. Symes; I know the history of that cane perfectly. Oh, Mrs. Kerr, my dear
Mrs. Kerr, I am the most miserable of women!
There, Mrs. Mudgeon, hear that. Oh, Danby, Danby! What do you think of the brute, now?
Oh, Kerr, my dear, don't ask. I'll never suspect you any more.
As for me—Sir Cresswell Cresswell!
Pooh, pooh! A private grief is better than a public scandal, you know. It's my turn to play
the part of peacemaker now.
Jemima!
You wretch!
Well, my love, now we are better friends than ever, I think I'll promise to alter my rough way a little. You once called our friend Symes a model husband, and hinted that you would like me to resemble him.
No, no, Kerr, dear; do nothing of the sort— be your own grumpy, darling, disagreeable self.
Ah, you once called him a gem of a husband— a perfect jewel!
Very well, and I'll call him a jewel now, with this qualification that he is really charming at the first glance, but on closer inspection turns out to be only Bristol Diamonds.
Printed by Thomas Scott, Warwick Court, Holborn.