Scene First.—
A Room in "The Five Bells," Putney, overlooking the river, which is seen through a large
French window, which opens on a balcony. The curtain rises to the air of "The Jolly Young
Waterman."
Enter Smuggins, L.
Smug.
Huzza, for the fine weather! it brings the jolly amateur young watermen out in shoals.
(calling off, L.) Sally, my lass! put the pork gravy into the eel pies, and a
little soda into the mild the thunder turned, and give the pale an extra
squeeze of the camomile—must strike when the fish bite, and thirsty amateur young watermen
will swallow anything.
Tom Tittlebat.
(without from river) Hollo! Five Bells, ahoy! (a boatswain's whistle
is heard) Port your helm, you lubbers, and let me have a clear sheer.
Smug.
(looking off over balcony, c.) It's that young devilskin, Tom Tittlebat, the
bosun, as he calls himself, of the Red Rovers—and as pretty a wide-awake pup he is at every
game that was ever invented since the world was the world, and the river the river.
Tom.
(without, c.) Back your taupsel, you Parfleet porpoise, and bring up short,
or I'll run aboard of you.
Enter Tom Tittlebat up stairs into balcony, c.
Tom.
Hollo ! old spigot and faucet, how are you my buck o' thunder! (cuts a nautical
caper, à la T.P. Cooke, and runs down to Smuggins and slaps him violently on the
back) My precious eyes! I've had a fight, any way, through a channel fleet of
billy-boats and Chelsea washing tubs to get alongside of you. (pulling up the slack of
his trousers and slapping Smuggins on the back and breast) Well, and how are you, old
Mopstick ? As great a rogue as ever, old Doublechalk ? Are any of our men up yet ?
(lighting a cigar with German tinder) How's your Sally ? still all smiles and
ringlets, trim waist and crinoline, eh? (hitting him harder on the back and stomach,
and knocking his straw hat over his eyes) You old Pirate of Putney!
Smug.
That will do, Mr. Tittlebat, that will do—though you're an amateur fresh-water bosun, don't
behave as sich—I arn't paid for punching, and I won't stand it gratis.
Tom.
Well, well, old Swipey, don't be cantankerous. (snaps bon-bon cracker under his
nose) Ha, ha, ha ! that's a Cherbourg eight-and-forty pounder. There's such
a jolly party of us coming to you, to-day. Our captain's got a new boat on the stocks at
Datchet, which we're going to launch and christen— splice my sister's dancing shoes, it will
be such a jolly spree, old— (about to strike him again—Smuggins retreats) Never
mind, I'll owe you one—such a hamper of grog, and such a bucket of pretty girls. Oh ! Jemmy
Johnson, squeeze me— there never was such boatful of beauties.
(knocks Smuggins's hat over his eyes and goes up with a nautical swagger—Jem Drinkwater,
Ben Skillaglee, and Gus Gobble call without from river—Hollo! Five Bells, ahoy! Port—sherry!
Boarders away—hurroo! hurroo!)
Tom.
(bawling with hands to mouth) Hurroo ! larboard—starboard—half a turn a head
! Stop her—ease her—hurroo!
Music—Air, "Poll, dang it, how de do?"—Jem, Ben, and Gus climb over
balcony and enter with two or three more Amateur Boatmen.
Jem.
Well, Tom, my hearty, here we are—as fresh as paint and as lively as juvenile muttons.
Where's the captain—not shown nob yet.
Tom.
(making a salt-water bow) No, your honor; he told me to drop down in the gig,
and that he'd follow in a Hansom as soon as he'd worked up his reck'ning at the caboose, and
could get the weather gauge of his mother, who was looming rather squally in the offing,
(gives a knowing wink) Flick.
Jem.
Cocoa nuts and candle grease, that looks awkward, suppose the old lady should lay him
aboard, and put a stopper on his flitting.
Gus.
That would be a damper.
Ben.
A regular floorer.
Gus.
(smacking lips) Such a pigeon pie and lobster salad.
Jem.
(sighing) Such champagne and iced punch.
Ben.
(sentimentally) Such dooced fine girls and moonlight to come home.
Tom.
(imitating the niggers) "Such a getting up stairs and a playing on the
fiddle."
Jem.
At all events, we'd better refresh. Smuggins!
Enter Smuggins, L. 1 E.
Jem.
Eel pies and pale.
Gus.
And plenty of them—look alive, my herooster! (throws him, over to Ben, who throws him
to Jem, who throws him to Tom, who runs between his legs and nearly upsets him)
Smug.
(in a rage) I'll put it in the bill—I'll put it in the bill.
Exit, L.
Tom.
(cutting a caper) Hurroo! whack fol de riddle flick!
Gus.
Now, Tom, pipe five bells, and summon our fairy passengers to our sailors' pie-house
pic-nic.
Enter Smuggins and Waiters. With pies and ale, which they place on tables and
exit.
Tom.
(going to balcony—blowing whistle) Eel pies and pale— hurrah, my beauties!
tumble up, tumble up, tumble up.
Lively Music—Enter Miss Levite, Miss Chubb, Miss Bloomer, Miss Faddle, Miss Schottische,
&c., &c., by balcony, R.
Ben.
(bowing ridiculously) Homage to beauty — welcome belles, to the Bells.
Miss L.
Get out. (tapping him on the head) Welcome putty to Putney. (all
laugh)
Gus.
Bravo! sharp as a needle ; had you there, Ben, my boy.
Miss L.
Now then, who's going to solicit the inexpressible honour of taking me to the pies?
(holding out her hand) Look sharp, somebody, or Gobble will have finished them
before I sit down.
Ben.
Allow me. Gentlemen, follow suit.
(the Gentlemen conduct the Ladies to the tables with great ceremony, by the tips of their
fingers)
Tom.
(imitating the walk of the Ladies) Oh, my aunt Sarah's Tom Tabby! they
wibblelewobble, and back and fill like pouter pigeons— (imitating the strut and coo of
a pigeon) ooo— ooo—ooo, &c., &c. Oh, give me a gal with a natteral
clipper run fore and aft—none of your watch-spring gridirons or horsehair works of
fiction.
Harry.
(without, L.) Hollo! Red Rovers, ahoy!
All.
The captain—the captain !
Enter Harry Halcyon, L.
All.
(waving hats) Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah !
Ben.
Not in uniform! there's stormy weather in the offing.
Harry.
Excuse me, my dear friends, but I cannot accompany you to day—an affair of the utmost
importance obliges me to remain in town.
Miss L.
Oh, what a cruel disappointment. (petting him) Poor dear little Tommy
Goodchild, he's afraid of offending his mamma—ha, ha, ha!
Miss B.
(laughing) Dear little innocence, he shall have a dolly Polly, and ride in a
coachy poachy—ha, ha, ha!
Harry.
(gaily pinching their cheeks) No, no, you satirical little sirens, not quite
so bad as that; but, it's nevertheless a matter of great moment.
Miss L.
I see, you've had a topper on the Stock Exchange, and are obliged to absquatulate.
Miss B.
You've fit a dooel, or druv your dog cart through a plate glass
winder ?
Tom.
You've put the pot on for the Derby, or boned the knocker of Buckingham palace ?
Harry.
(laughing) No, all safe on those points, but as we are brother sailors, and
you are all pretty well acquainted with my domestic arrangements, I don't mind telling you
that the great fortune I was going to marry––
Miss L.
(tossing up her head with great contempt) Miss Squeers, the lovely and
accomplished daughter of old Seneca Squeers, the pettifogging attorney of Pump-court, Temple,
and Woolsack-villa, Twickenham.
Miss B.
The thinnest, stuckupist, miminipimenest bit of waxwork that ever was smothered in a
crinoline.
Miss L.
For whose sweet society you have so long neglected your (vainly adjusting dress and
hair) more personable friends.
Tom.
(aside, imitating) Oh, peacocks and pigs pettitoes, arn't we spoons on our
photographs!
Harry.
I admit my delinquency; but it's a melancholy fact that the prize is about to be snatched
from me. I have, (conceitedly) though it may seem incredible, a rival—a
tradesman fellow—a—soap and candle maker.
Miss L.
Oh, support me, Gobble, or somebody—I shall faint—so elegant and irresistible an Adonis,
bowled out by a kitchen dip—what a fatality.
Harry.
He's very rich, that's the pull he has against me ; but I've thought of a plan to get to
windward of him.
Miss L.
By tipping him into his melting vat, or soaping the old gentleman.
Harry.
No, by a far bolder coup—by giving him a wife.
Miss L.
Goodness gracious ! a real one ?
Harry.
No, only make-believe for a little while; you, for instance, or Caroline, or
Fanny.
Miss L.
(with indignation) I beg your pardon, sir, you're quite mistaken in your
parties
Miss B. and Ladies.
(imitating Miss L.) Oh, quite—quite.
Miss L.
Though we are philanthropic enough to accept little dinners and dances, and obligingly
condescend to enliven your boating excursions, we're highly respectable, and have fathers and
brothers officers in the army and navy.
Tom.
(aside) And uncles and aunts field-marshals in the horse marines.
Harry.
Nay—nay, my little darlings, don't be indignant. (bowing) I never for a
moment intended the slightest reflection. I merely wished to enlist your services as
brother sailors, to aid
me to pass off a loblolly boy landlubber, who is trying to swamp me.
Miss L.
Oh, if you put it to us as brother sailors, and didn't intend to affront us, we're available
in any way you require.
Miss B. and Ladies.
Yes, yes—in any way.
Harry.
Thanks—thanks, my charming philanthropists. This is my plan. The candle maker, whose name by
the way is Simcox, is now on his road to Twickenham to sign his marriage contract with
my intended—now the first thing to be done is to waylay and smug him.
Tom.
(rubbing hands and jumping) Remember, remember the fifth of November—flick
!
Harry.
This, Tom, I entrust to you ; to show his manliness and the symmetry of his figure in a
fancy nautical costume, he's pulling himself up with the tide in a wager boat; now, do you
jump into our gig, run athwart his hause and capsize him. You (to Ben and
others) be on the look out to pick him up and bring him in here—after that the ladies
must take him in hand, (looking over balcony) There he is—look sharp, or he'll
shoot the bridge and baffle us.
Tom.
Sharp as a rifle shot. Flick !
Exit by balcony, followed by Ben and others.
Harry.
Now, my darlings, you must exert all your fascinations and persuade him to accompany you to
Datchet; when there, (to Miss Levite) if my dear Emily Jane will condescend to
follow my instructions, my grand coup shall come off, and I'll win the stakes in a
canter. (a great noise without, and voice of Simcox heard in altercation with Tom and
the Watermen outside) It's done—it's done. Tom's run into him like a white
squall.
Miss L.
Oh, poor fellow, he'll be drowned !
Harry.
No, it's all right—Ben and Gus have caught him with the boat hook—they're hauling him in—eh,
a piece of his ducks has come away, and he's in again. Oh, isn't he frightened? —all right,
they've hooked him again.
Miss L.
(laughing) Oh, what an object.
Music—Enter Ben, Gus, and Tom, with others, supporting Simcox, who is very pale and
haggard, with a torn piece of trousers hanging behind.
Miss L.
Good gentleman, are you drowned ?
Simcox.
(faintly) Not quite, but as near as a toucher—that infernal little scoundrel
who ran into me—if ever I come across him again, (violently) I'll
Tom.
(advancing impudently—with a nautical bow) Here's your Panama, sir.
(giving him straw hat) Very sorry for the
accident, but I caught a crab, and before I could recover, I was aboard of you.
(aside) Flick !
Simcox.
Caught a crab! Damme, I've caught my death, or pretty near it, to say nothing of being
caught by the slack of my trousers with a boat-hook, which, besides giving me a fearful
scratch, carried away an extensive section of the canvas.
(shows back of trousers)
Miss L.
Dear me, how distressing.
Simcox.
Very, ma'am, a boat-hook's a very awkward instrument to be caught by, it's first cousin to
the drags, and you know how they lay hold, ma'am, of you. (shuddering)
Ough!
Miss L.
It must be dreadful. (giving him a chair) Pray sit down, and take something
to restore you.
Simcox.
Thank you, ma'am, I'm much obliged. (sits and jumps up immediately) Oh !
Miss L. and Ladies.
Eh ! what's the matter ?
Simcox.
Nothing—nothing; only—I—I—for inexpressible reasons I'd rather stand. (aside)
Oh, I forgot my appointment with Mr. Squeers. I beg your pardon, ladies and gentlemen, I'm
much obliged to you for the attention you have shown me, but I've particular business at
Twickenham, which compels me to take my leave. (bows ridiculously, and going
C.)
Miss L.
(stopping him) No—no—we cannot suffer you to go alone after your accident, we
have a cutter with an awning, and (insinuatingly) nice soft cushions waiting
for us at the stairs, (looking at him with fascination) if you will condescend
to be our passenger we will land you (looking at him tenderly and sighing)
safely at your destination.
Simcox.
Oh! you are very kind, I'm sure; but—I thank you, I really couldn't think
(aside) She's a dooced pretty girl, and I think she's struck with me—it's
astonishing how fatal I am in this costume. Ahem ! I—I—I— (Miss Levite looks smilingly
at him—he swaggers and smiles ridiculously at her—aside) She's dooced pretty, and no
mistake—and there's no doubt I've made an impression upon her. (swaggers— Miss Levite
exchanges looks of intelligence with Harry and the rest who laugh and enjoy the idea of
cheating Simcox)
Tom.
(aside) Oh! you addle-pated Cochin China—it's no credit to bamboozle
you—you're such a sappy.
Simcox.
After all it's a long pull, particularly (making wry face) situated is I
am—and the cushions, eh? I've a great mind (looking at Miss Levite sillily)
Miss L.
(affectionately) Now do come with us—do—I should be so
happy. (laughing sillily and hiding face) He, he, he !
Simcox.
Well—well, (pointedly) as you seem so much to wish it, I will accept your
politeness.
Tom.
(forgetting himself) Sold again, and got the money. Flick!
Simcox.
(turning) Eh?
Tom.
I said, your coming with us in our wherry was wherry funny, and that you were a
brick.
Simcox.
(suspiciously) Oh—ah!(aside) I don't half like that young
powder monkey. I think he capsized me on purpose. (to Miss Levite) You're glad
I consent to join your party ?
Miss L.
Glad! (sighing) Oh! I shall never. (pretending confusion) Oh
! what will mamma say ? (aside) Did you ever see such a Tom Noddy ? Now then,
Red Rovers, to Twickenham —aboard and away !
Tom.
(blowing whistle close to Simcox's ear, who starts) Tumble up—tumble up
—tumble up, Red Rovers, away!
Gus.
(with bottle and glass) Stop—stop, the parting glass !
Ben.
And the Rovers' Barcarolle. Pipe up, Tom, pull the stroke, and we'll drop in with the coal
box.
Barcarolle.
A rover's life for me,
My home the stormy sea,
A path traced by the wind
A path of joy I find.
La, la, la, la, &c.
There's beauty everywhere,
So varied and so rare,
And tender hearts are found
The happy earth around.
La, la, la, la, &c.
So here's a parting glass
To every pretty lass,
And may each happy be,
When far away we plough the sea.
La, la, la, la, &c.
At the end of which all go up to exit by balcony—Miss Levite coquetting with Simcox.
Scene closed in.
Scene Second.—A Garden belonging to the Villa.
Squeers.
(without, L.) You go down to the river, Jacob) and you, Sally, run to the
railway. Cook, keep back the partridges, and, Dick, run to the pastrycook's for more ice.
Enter Mr. Squeers, L.
Squeers.
Oh dear, oh dear! half-past two, and no signs of Simcox— what with anxiety, and the heat,
and scolding the servants, I'm like the ices I've provided for the luncheon, dissolving into a
dew. (fanning himself with hat—calling faintly, then violently)
Selina! Selina! Selina! come here directly, or you'll find your father a pearl
drop in the cup of a tulip. Oh, it's an awful calamity for a father to have a daughter who
wishes him farther because he won't let her do as she pleases, which is, of course, to marry
and make a fool of herself—eh, there's something white yonder, bobbing among the trees.
(putting up telescope) No, it's only a boy's kite; perverse little minx, to
object to my views for her happiness, just as if girls knew what was good for them—to prefer a
poor, paltry—ah! there's somebody now. (putting up glass) Yes, yes—it is—psha,
it's a donkey nibbling thistles. Selina! Selina! Selina!
Enter Selina, L.
Selina.
I'm here, pa', what is your pleasure ?
Squeers.
Ask a man, who is suffering every variety of misery, what's his pleasure! Ah, that's right,
snigger and chuckle and hug yourself at my disappointment, but your triumph won't be long,
he'll be here presently and my wish will be accomplished.
Selina.
Oh, pa', how can you be so cruel; think of the debt of gratitude you owe Mr. Halcyon—but for
his courage and gallantry you would have lost your life.
Squeers.
Pooh, pooh! because I happened to make a false step in getting on board a steamer, and he
jumped after me, and kept me up till they threw me a life buoy, am I to sacrifice you, my
fortune, and everything to him ? No, no—I did all that usages of good society required on such
occasions—I made him a feeling speech, eloquently expressive of my gratitude; wrote a letter
to the Humane Society, and recommended him for a medal; and invited him to dinner; but I never
imagined he would expect me to make him my son-in-law, and give him ten thousand pounds.
Selina.
Oh, pa, I'm ashamed of you. (crosses to c.)
Enter Tom Tittlebat, disguised as a messenger to the Electric Telegraph Company, L. 1
E.
Tom.
(loudly) Mr. Squeers, Parchment Villa.
Squeers.
Eh—what! a telegram ?
Tom.
Yes, sir. (giving letter) Two and six porterage—flick ! I mean quick.
Squeers.
Two and sixpence—it's an imposition, I never paid more than a shilling.
Tom.
Maybe you didn't, sir, but 'lectricity's riz since the 'lantric telegraph's lost, so fork
out flick—quick.
Squeers.
Well, you're a sharp young chick.
Tom.
Yes, sir, in our business we're 'bleeged to be needles,
Squeers.
Ah! well, let's see. (puts on spectacles and opens letter)
Tom.
(aside to Selina) Don't you know me, miss—I'm Tom Tittlebat, bosun of the Red
Rovers.
Selina.
Ah, you come from––
Tom.
Our captain, Mr. Halcyon; we've smuggled Mr. Simcox, and have got him safe under hatches—the
telegram's to bring you and your papa to see him in his glory. Oh, such a lark !
(laughing and dancing) Ha, ha, ha!
Squeers.
Well, this is most extraordinary. (turning and seeing Tom) Hollo, you young
shaver, what are you laughing at ?
Tom.
Laughing, sir! oh dear, no. I've got a bad toothache —it screws my face nine bobble square.
(pretending to be in pain) Oh—oh— (suddenly altering tone) the
two and six if you please, sir, for I must mizzle.
Squeers.
Well, well— (giving money) there, though I know it's a swindle.
Tom.
Yes, sir—like enough, sir—write to the office. (aside) Sold again—flick—look
out, miss, we shall have such a game. Oh, my sister's dancing shoes, won't we pay him out.
Squeers.
(turning) Eh, what ?
Tom.
I said, sir, I must have it out—oh—oh—oh.
Exit, L.
Selina.
Well, pa', what is it?
Squeers.
An anonymous telegram warning me of Simcox— listen. "Mr. Squeers—You think Mr. Simcox is
worthy of your daughter—you're a fool."—That's civil.—" If you wish to see him in his true
character drop in upon him this afternoon at the "Swan," at Datchet, he's there with a party
of bosom friends." When he ought to be here signing his wedding contract. "'A word to the
wise'—he's a humbug." There, my dear, what do you think of that ? Ought I to believe it ?
Selina.
Certainly, pa,' I always told you he was deceitful.
Squeers.
Well, but you see, my dear—his fortune!
Selina.
Oh! pa,' think of my happiness.
Squeers.
I do, my dear, and as a prudent parent
Selina.
Would sell me to a man 1 could never love!
Squeers.
Well, well, I've a great mind to see if this warning be true. I confess I've
misgivings—you've got your hat on— we'll go directly, (going) and if I find him
playing you false, I'll––
Selina.
Marry me to Mr. Halcyon, there's a dear pa'.
Squeers.
No—no—I don't promise that.
Selina.
(coaxing him) Oh! yes, you do, dear pa'—you only want a good excuse to break
with Mr. Simcox, and make me happy.
Squeers.
(relenting) No—no—I don't.
Selina.
Oh! yes you do, dear, dear pa'.
Squeers.
I don't.
Selina.
You do.
Squeers.
Oh! you coaxing little gipsy—I don't—I don't.
Selina.
You do—you do !
Exeunt, R.
Scene Third.—
The River Side at Datchet—practicable water— the opposite bank the village, &c.
Music— The Scene opens on a gay and animated tableau—a new wherry suspended by poles in c. of
stage, in which Miss Levite and others are seated— Harry, Gus, Ben, Jem,&c. swing the boat
with garlands.
Chorus.
So here's a parting glass
To every pretty lass,
And may each happy be
When far away we plough the sea.
Harry.
Bravo ! my gallant Rovers—success to (pointing to boat) the White Squall—the
skimmer of the Thames—the Petrel of Putney!
All.
(shout) Hurrah! &c.
Enter Tom Tittlebat, L., boatswain's dress.
Tom.
Square the yards, and bouse up taut, my noble commanders, I delivered the telegram, and the
enemy's bearing down upon us—going large before the wind—top-gallants —sky-scrapers, and
moon-rakers. Flick !
Harry.
That's your sort, young Flibberty-jibbet. (to Miss Levite and Ladies) How's
your patient, pretty mermaids?
Miss L.
(removing cloak and showing Simcox asleep in boat) As well as can be
expected—sweetly slumbering under the influences of a champagne lunch and a patent
(shaking boat) somniferator.
Harry.
It's time to rouse him and prepare for the attack— leave him a clear ship, and hurrah ! for
the boarders.
(Music—the Gentlemen assist the Ladies to descend during the following dialogue—the
Gentlemen twist the garland round Simcox's arms and give the ends to the Ladies, who place
themselves in the position of sailors about to heave on a rope)
Enter Mr. Squeers and Selina, L.
Squeers.
This is "The Swan," and sure enough here's a party of amateur watermen and their ladies, but
(looking round) I don't see Simcox.
Selina.
Oh! you may be sure he is not far off. Let us sit down in this arbour and see the
sports.
Squeers.
Miss Squeers, perhaps you'll be kind enough to
remember that I have not brought you here to amuse yourself with viewing aquatic
sports, but to obtain evidence against a truant lover; but as the weather is warm, and you are
tired, I don't mind sitting down for a few minutes, and giving you some slight refreshment,
(sitting in arbour and striking table) Waiter!
Enter Waiter from house, L.
Waiter.
What's your pleasure, sir ?
Squeers.
A glass of grog.
Waiter.
Yes—yes— directly, sir. (going towards house)
Squeers.
Without spirit, sugar, or lemon.
Waiter.
Yes, sir—directly, sir. (calling) A glass of water with a cinder in it.
Exit into house, L.
Harry.
Now, all together with a will.
(Simcox snores— Ladies pull the garlands—Simcox sits up, very drunk)
Selina.
See—see, papa, where he is.
Squeers.
And evidently intoxicated—oh, the scoundrel.
Simcox.
Hollo, hollo! where am I ? eh! oh dear, I've drifted out to sea. (they sway the
boat) Oh dear, oh dear—there's a storm. (holding) I shall be capsized
and drowned—oh dear, steward—steward. (looking over the side of the boat) Eh !
oh! I'm ashore—but where? where? (seeing Ladies, &c.) Oh! I know, it's the
Elysian fields—I'm a sort of Sardanapalus or Don Giovanni. (singing from Don
Giovanni) Hollo! I'm a little top heavy. (laughing sillily) Would you
oblige me by keeping the boat steady for half a minute—I think. I should feel firmer on terra
firma. (tries to get out—the Ladies jerk the boat, he falls out, is caught by Harry,
Gus, &c.
Tom.
All right, governor, port your helm—steady she goes.
(the Gentlemen put Simcox on his feet, he's still drunk- Mr. Squeers and Selina observe
him)
Selina.
Dreadful—isn't it, pa'?
Squeers.
Shocking—he's several sheets in the wind at the very least.
Simcox.
Thank you, thank you—now I'm as right as a trivet—hollo, hollo ! there's a vibration even
here. (laughing) If I should be called upon to give evidence before the
Insanity Commission as to the state of the Thames just now, I should say that it is decidedly
inebriated—and that the oscillations attendant on that happy state are distinctly felt on the
banks.
Tom.
(blowing whistle) Three cheers for the red, white, and blue. (all
shout three times)
Simcox.
(seeing Squeers and Selina) Ah ! how are you, old six and eightpence. Selina,
my darling, how are you ? (laughing)
I'm pretty well, I thank you. (singing) "Three cheers for the red,
white, and blue."
Squeers.
Come, Selina, come—we've seen enough. Mr. Simcox, I'm surprised at you—how is it I find you
in this ungentlemanly state ?
Simcox.
Ungentlemanly state—(staggers up against Squeers —Tom prevents him from
falling) I deny—indignantly deny— the degrading aspersion. I've been drinking
champagne, sir— Clicot's best—and I'll maintain that a man who becomes obfusticated under the
influence of such a benign and expensive beverage, is in a gentlemanly state—a
noblemanly state—in fact, a highly respectable state, sir. (singing and
dancing) " Hurrah for the red, white, and blue."
Squeers.
Come, come, Selina—this is not a scene for you.
Selina.
Yes it is, pa', for it shows me what I am to expect when I am married.
Squeers.
Mr. Simcox, I request, sir, that you will immediately return to London. I never saw
propriety so shamefully outraged by a gentleman who should know better, and is on the point of
becoming my son-in-law.
Simcox.
My dear, respectable, and respected matrimonial parent, you're too pre—pre—cipitate in your
conclusions ; allow me to rub a lucifer and enlighten your dilapidated understanding. In the
first place, you see, there's no mistake about it, I'm very drunk; very well, that's
allowed—well, then you see I've made some agreeable— (smiling at Ladies) I may
say, charming acquaintances.
Squeers.
Shut your eyes, Selina—I insist on your not seeing this impropriety.
Selina.
No, no, pa, I'm learning another lesson.
Simcox.
Having met with what they call an accidental collision—but which, between you and me and the
Morning Post, I think for certain reasons (looking affectionately at Miss
Levite) was an intentional capsize—for I was pitched head over heels into the river,
and was hauled out again with a boat hook in the slack of my—ducks—which—never mind—made me
feel uncomfortable at the time. My sweet young friends here, taking compassion on my forlorn
condition, gave me a soft seat in their boat and brought me here, where I've been feasted like
a prince on lobster salad, game pies, and champagne, until—ha, ha, ha!
(singing) "Hurrah for the red, white, and blue." Let's have a dance, old boy—a
naughty-gal hornpipe—eh, my darling Selina, and we'll make it (trying to put
his arm round her) pas de ducks.
Squeers.
(with umbrella) Keep off, sir—keep off, I'm disgusted with you, and so is
Selina. Come home, my dear, come home. Oh, you pirate—you corsair, (threatening him
with umbrella)
Simcox.
(laughing and singing) " Hurrah for the red, white
and blue." Foot it, old boy—foot it. (seizes umbrella and tries to pull it
away) Yo ho—heave ho—yo ho, &c., &c.
Squeers.
(pulling) Let go, sir—let go. (the stick comes from the umbrella; and
Simcox who has been pulling violently, falls backwards; Mr. Squeers at the same time is near
falling, but is saved by Selina—in a rage, flourishing stick of umbrella) Oh, you—you
drunken vagabond—you—you—you
Tom.
(knocks hat over Mr. Squeers' eyes) Flick ! Hurrah for the red, white, and
blue, (the Ladies and Watermen raise Simcox)
Squeers.
(furiously) Oh, you lawless scoundrels—you—you —I'll make you pay for this.
(pulls Selina off, amid the jeers of all)
Simcox.
Go to Bath, you old fool, and have your head shaved.
Harry.
Now, my stormy petrels—clear decks for action! Pipe all hands for a caper.
Tom.
Aye, aye, your honour! (blows whistle) Toe and heelers ahoy! stretch along
your flying jibs—stand by your lifts and braces, and hurrah for a naughty gal
hornpipe!
(hornpipe by all the Characters, in which Simcox takes a prominent part, dancing with
Miss Levite, an eccentric drunken pas, after the manner of Mr. Leclerq in "Jack's Return from
Canton." At the conclusion he falls, and is placed in a chair and carried towards the house,in
procession Barcarolle—and closed in)
Scene Fourth.—The Garden. Same as Scene Second.
Enter Mr. Squeers and Selina, L.
Squeers.
Oh, the profligate drunken ruffian!
Selina.
Yes, pa', and everything else that's hateful and disreputable. Oh, what an escape I've had!
if you had forced me to marry him, oh, pa! in a very short time I should have been obliged to
have had him up in the Matrimonial Grief Court, before Mr. Mustard and Cresswell.Sir Cresswell Cresswell was the very first judge of the new Divorce Court,
appointed in 1858, and became enormously famous — his name was a byword for divorce
proceedings throughout the Victorian era. He presided over the court until his death in 1863.
Pairing him with the invented "Mr. Mustard" makes a culinary joke
Squeers.
It is indeed dreadful to speculate to what lengths he might have carried his misconduct; and
I, as a father who loves his child, am glad that I—yet, confound him—he's very well to do in
the world, and I shall not easily find so good a match for you; for you see, my dear, the
candles place his matrimonial qualifications in so strong a light, that I, as an
attorney and a prudent father, I think––
Selina.
Oh, pa, I'm ashamed of you ! would you, for the sake of a few paltry hundred pounds, made by
melting kitchen stuff, make me miserable for life ?
Squeers.
Pooh, pooh—romantic folly, fit only for a story
book and domestic dramas. Who ever heard of people being miserable with a fine
house and a carriage, and two thousand a year?
Selina.
But love, pa! love! without that even Claude Melnotte's palace, and a dozen carriages, and
twenty thousand a year would be—
Squeers.
Silly puss—prudent marriages are like saving bank deposits; present sacrifices, for future
comforts -umbrellas and cork soles for rainy days.
Selina.
Yes, but to be continually carrying our gingham under our arm, particularly in the sunshine,
when a pink parasol is the fashion, and stamping about in thick highlows, when the weather
warrants bronze, is very trying to the youthful mind.
Squeers.
Ah! you'll thank me for my care of you by-and- bye; so I shall look over Mr Simcox's little
discretion, and when you are married, you can wean him from his flighty ways, and reform him;
that's far better than making a disturbance for a youthful frolic, and letting his money go
out of the family.
Selina.
Then, pa', you'll force me to show a spirit and act for myself; so, once for all, take
notice (firmly) that I won't marry him, under any circumstances.
Squeers.
Selina—Miss Squeers! (with comic dignity) Do you happen to recollect that I
am your father ?
Selina.
As long as you remembered I was your daughter, sir, I was happy in giving you that title,
but now––
Squeers.
(in a rage) Very well, miss, very well, I know what you mean by this
perverseness; but do as you please, follow your foolish inclination, and marry that poodle,
swimming fellow; you've my free consent—marry him, marry him directly, I shall be delighted to
get you off my hands.
Selina.
(seizing both his hands, shaking them violently, and hugging him) Oh, thank
you, dear pa'! thank you, thank you a thousand times! I'll run back and tell him of your
kindness. Oh, thank you, thank you, you've made me so happy!
Runs off, R.
Squeers.
Well, that's cool, upon my life—the artful little gipsy! (calling) Here,
here, Selina, Selina! come back, I didn't mean—zounds! stop that young lady in the pork-pie
hat—stop her, stop her ! Selina, Selina! Parsons and pigeon pies! she'll be married and
settled before I can forbid the banns—Selina, Selina!
Exit running, R.
Scene Fifth.—
The River side at Datchet (same as Scene Third)
All the characters discovered—Simcox asleep in bottom of boat all shout as the scene
opens—enter Selina, L.
Selina.
Oh, Harry, dear Harry!
Enter Mr. Squeers, L.
Squeers.
Come here, you baggage.
Selina.
Now, pa', as you must perceive Mr. Simcox's indiscretions are incurable, won't you be
generous and make me happy ?
Squeers.
Well, well, I confess I'm getting pretty nearly cured of my diphtheria, and as you seem to
have made up your mind on the matter, why, as a foolish father who loves his daughter, I––
Selina.
(shaking both his hands and hugging him as before) Oh, thank you, dear, dear
pa'! thank you!
Squeers.
No, no, don't be so precipitate ; I don't consent yet. (abruptly to Harry)
Sir, the question I am about to ask you under any other circumstances might be deemed
impertinent, but, situated as we are at present, it is of vital importance and perfectly
justifiable. My daughter tells me you love her, and she endorses the assertion by stating that
she loves you. Now, sir, as a man and a father, I ask you—no, no, I mean as a father and an
attorney, I ask you, as a man and a bachelor, have you the means of supporting a wife ?
Harry.
I have—ample; and though at the present moment I cannot afford to keep an expensive
establishment, I shall shortly be in possession of an estate of three thousand a year.
Squeers.
I'm satisfied. Land is better than kitchen stuff all the world over, and as an attorney I am
accustomed to deal more with deeds than words, and as an affectionate father, I feel I am
securing the happiness of my child. There, there, bless you both, my children!
Selina.
Oh ! dear pa'—dear Harry ! (they embrace)
Simcox.
(sits up in boat) Eh ! hollo ! what's all this—one of the pirates hugging my
wife?
Squeers.
Your wife, you contemptible little rushlight; she's the wife of a better man.
Simcox.
A butterman! 0h! Selina! you'd better have stuck to sparmecity; but there's no accounting
for tastes—a pretty dance you've led me amongst you. What satisfaction am I to have for all my
sufferings—a capsize in the river—a prod with a boat hook— a headache—a fright and the loss of
my wife–––
All.
(laughing) Dreadful! shocking!
Simcox.
Barbarians ! has the march of crinoline gone upwards, and steeled your bosoms like your
muslins ?—is there no heart that pities me ?
Miss L.
Well, I'm not sure that mine doesn't, a little ; and if you were not so silly, and such a
guy, I might, perhaps––
Simcox.
Oh! wait till you see me in my uniform as a
Corporal in the West Diddlesex Congreves. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Congreve_rocketI flatter myself I am then rather, a
double extra "short four" Candles were sold by how many fit in a pound of
tallow — a "short four" meant four stubby candles per pound, i.e. very small and dumpy.
"Double extra short" is a comic intensification — the most squat, ridiculous candle
imaginable.—and as to my silliness, I can bring witnesses to prove I'm not near the
sappy I look.
Miss L.
Well then, if you're very pressing, and mean honourable, I don't mind taking pity on
you.
Simcox.
That's your sort—come over—I'm your man. (embraces her)
Tom.
Sold again, and got the money—flick!
Simcox.
Eh! that bosun scoundrel again! Oh! if I catch him. Oh! you young devilskin! how shamefully
I've been treated by all parties !
Harry.
You have indeed; never mind, forget and forgive —all's fair in love and war—so let's shake
hands and be friends.
Chorus.
So here's a parting glass,
To every pretty lass !
And may each happy be,
When far away we plough the sea.
Curtain
Printed by Thomas Scott, 1, Warwick Court, Holborn.