Fielding Harold

The Works of Henry Fielding, vol. 12


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together.

      With thee, the barren rocks, where not one step

      Of human race lies printed in the snow,

      Look lovely as the smiling infant spring."

       Mar. sen. Augh! will you please to read that again, sir?

       Luck. "Then hence my sorrow, hence my ev'ry fear."

       Mar. sen. "Then hence my sorrow." – Horror is a much better word. – And then in the second line – "No matter where, so we are bless'd together." – Undoubtedly, it should be, "No matter where, so somewhere we're together." Where is the question, somewhere is the answer. – Read on, sir.

       Luck. "With thee, – "

       Mar. sen. No, no, I could alter those lines to a much better idea.

      "With thee, the barren blocks, where not a bit

      Of human face is painted on the bark,

      Look green as Covent-garden in the spring."

       Luck. Green as Covent-garden!

       Mar. jun. Yes, yes; Covent-garden market, where they sell greens.

       Luck. Monstrous!

       Mar. sen. Pray, sir, read on.

       Luck.

      "LEANDRA: oh, my Harmonio, I could hear thee still;

      The nightingale to thee sings out of tune,

      While on thy faithful breast my head reclines,

      The downy pillow's hard; while from thy lips

      I drink delicious draughts of nectar down,

      Falernian wines seem bitter to my taste."

       Mar. jun. Here's meat, drink, singing, and lodging, egad.

       Luck. He answers.

       Mar. jun. But, sir —

       Luck.

      "Oh, let me pull thee, press thee to my heart,

      Thou rising spring of everlasting sweets!

      Take notice, Fortune, I forgive thee all!

      Thou'st made Leandra mine. Thou flood of joy

      Mix with my soul, and rush thro' ev'ry vein."

       Mar. sen. Those two last lines again if you please.

       Luck. "Thou'st made," &c.

       Mar. jun.

      " – Thou flood of joy,

      Mix with my soul and rush thro' ev'ry vein."

      Those are two excellent lines indeed: I never writ better myself: but, Sar —

       Luck.

      "Leandra's mine, go bid the tongue of fate

      Pronounce another word of bliss like that;

      Search thro' the eastern mines and golden shores,

      Where lavish Nature pours forth all her stores;

      For to my lot could all her treasures fall,

      I would not change Leandra for them all."

      There ends act the first, and such an act as, I believe, never was on this stage yet.

       Mar. jun. Nor never will, I hope.

       Mar. sen. Pray, sir, let me look at one thing. "Falernian wines seem bitter to my taste."

      Pray, sir, what sort of wines may your Falernian be? for I never heard of them before; and I am sure, as I keep the best company, if there had been such sorts of wines, I should have tasted them. Tokay I have drank, and Lacrimas I have drank, but what your Falernian is, the devil take me if I can tell.

       Mar. jun. I fancy, father, these wines grow at the top of Parnassus.

       Luck. Do they so, Mr Pert? why then I fancy you have never tasted them.

       Mar. sen. Suppose you should say the wines of Cape are bitter to my taste.

       Luck. Sir, I cannot alter it.

       Mar. sen. Nor we cannot act it. It won't do, sir, and so you need give yourself no farther trouble about it.

       Luck. What particular fault do you find?

       Mar. jun. Sar, there's nothing that touches me, nothing that is coercive to my passions.

       Luck. Fare you well, sir: may another play be coercive to your passions.

      SCENE II. – MARPLAY, senior, MARPLAY, junior

       Mar. sen. Ha, ha, ha!

       Mar. jun. What do you think of the play?

       Mar. sen. It may be a very good one, for aught I know: but I am resolved, since the town will not receive any of mine, they shall have none from any other. I'll keep them to their old diet.

       Mar. jun. But suppose they won't feed on't?

       Mar. sen. Then it shall be crammed down their throats.

       Mar. jun. I wish, father, you would leave me that art for a legacy, since I am afraid I am like to have no other from you.

       Mar. sen. 'Tis buff, child, 'tis buff – true Corinthian brass; and, heaven be praised, tho' I have given thee no gold, I have given thee enough of that, which is the better inheritance of the two. Gold thou might'st have spent, but this is a lasting estate that will stick by thee all thy life.

       Mar. jun. What shall be done with that farce which was damned last night?

       Mar. sen. Give it them again to-morrow. I have told some persons of quality that it is a good thing, and I am resolved not to be in the wrong: let us see which will be weary first, the town of damning, or we of being damned.

       Mar. jun. Rat the town, I say.

       Mar. sen. That's a good boy; and so say I: but, prithee, what didst thou do with the comedy which I gave thee t'other day, that I thought a good one?

       Mar. jun. Did as you ordered me; returned it to the author, and told him it would not do.

       Mar. sen. You did well. If thou writest thyself, and that I know thou art very well qualified to do, it is thy interest to keep back all other authors of any merit, and be as forward to advance those of none.

       Mar. jun. But I am a little afraid of writing; for my writings, you know, have fared but ill hitherto.

       Mar. sen. That is because thou hast a little mistaken the method of writing. The art of writing, boy, is the art of stealing old plays, by changing the name of the play, and new ones, by changing the name of the author.

       Mar. jun. If it was not for these cursed hisses and catcalls —

       Mar. sen. Harmless musick, child, very harmless musick, and what, when one is but well seasoned to it, has no effect at all: for my part, I have been used to them.

       Mar. jun. Ay, and I have been used to them too, for that matter.

       Mar. sen. And stood them bravely too. Idle young actors are fond of applause, but, take my word for it, a clap is a mighty silly, empty thing, and does no more good than a hiss; and, therefore, if any man loves hissing, he may have his three shillings worth at me whenever he pleases. [Exeunt.

      SCENE III. —A Room in BOOKWEIGHT'S house. – DASH, BLOTPAGE, QUIBBLE, writing at several tables

       Dash. Pox on't, I'm as dull as an ox, tho' I have not a bit of one within me. I have not dined these two days, and yet my head is as heavy as any alderman's or lord's. I carry about me symbols of all the elements; my head is as heavy as water, my pockets are as light as air, my appetite is as hot as fire, and my coat is as