History of English Humour Volume I Part 25

(_Hugging her._)

_Flo._ Little rogue! Prithee, fellow, don't be so familiar, (_pus.h.i.+ng him away_,) if I mayn't keep your ring, I can keep my kisses.

_Liss._ You can, you say! Spoke with the air of a chambermaid.

_Flo._ Reply'd with the spirit of a serving-man.

D'Urfey is said to have been the first, and Carey the last of those who at this period united the professions of musician, dramatist and song writer. The latter was the natural son of the Marquis of Halifax, who presented the crown to William III. He wrote the popular song "Sally in our Alley," and ridiculed Ambrose Philips in a poem called "Namby Pamby." Overcome either by embarra.s.sed circ.u.mstances, or the envy of rivals, he died by his own hand in 1743. He has much that is clever mingled with extravagant fancies. Most of his songs are amorous, though never indelicate. Some are for drinking bouts.

"Come all ye jolly Buccha.n.a.ls That love to tope good wine, Let's offer up a hogshead Unto our master's shrine, Come, let us drink and never shrink, For I'll tell you the reason why, It's a great sin to leave a house till we've drunk the cellar dry.

In times of old I was a fool, I drank the water clear, But Bacchus took me from that rule, He thought 'twas too severe; He filled a b.u.mper to the brim And bade me take a sup, But had it been a gallon pot, By Jove I'd tossed it up.

And ever since that happy time, Good wine has been my cheer, Now nothing puts me in a swoon But water or small beer.

Then let us tope about, my lads, And never flinch nor fly, But fill our skins brimfull of wine, And drain the bottles dry."

Many of his plays were burlesque operas, introducing songs. In one of them the "Dragon of Wantley," we have--

"Zeno, Plato, Aristotle, All were lovers of the bottle; Poets, Painters, and Musicians, Churchmen, Lawyers, and Physicians; All admire a pretty la.s.s, All require a cheerful gla.s.s, Every pleasure has its season, Love and drinking are no treason."

He was fond of jocose love-ditties, such as:

"Pigs shall not be So fond as we; We will out-coo the turtle-dove, Fondly toying, Still enjoying, Sporting sparrows we'll outlove."

Among his successful farces is the well-known Chrononhotonthologos written to ridicule some bombastic tragedies of the day.

Chrononhotonthologos is king of Queerummania, Bombardinian is his general, while his courtiers are Aldiborontiphoscophornio and Rigdum Funnidos. The following gives a good specimen of his ballad style.

"O! London is a dainty place, A great and gallant city, For all the streets are paved with gold, And all the folks are witty.

"And there's your lords and ladies fine, That ride in coach-and-six, Who nothing drink but claret wine, And talk of politicks.

"And there's your beauxs with powdered clothes, Bedaubed from head to s.h.i.+n; Their pocket-holes adorned with gold, But not one sous within."

CHAPTER X.

Vanbrugh--Colley Cibber--Farquhar.

Vanbrugh--a man of Dutch extraction as his name suggests--was one of the few whom literature led, though indirectly, to fortune. He became first known as a playwriter, but also having studied architecture conceived the idea of combining his two arts by the construction of a grand theatre on the site of the present Haymarket Opera House. The enterprise was doomed to be one of the many failures from which that ill-starred spot has become remarkable, and Vanbrugh after vainly attempting to support his undertaking by the exertion of all his dramatic power, determined to quit literature altogether, and devoted himself to the more remunerative profession. In this he was successful--he built Blenheim, Castle Howard, and half-a-dozen of the stately halls of England. We may suppose that he acquired wealth, for he built several houses for himself, and in them seems to have exhibited his whimsical fancy. One which he built near Whitehall was called by Swift "a thing like a goose pie," and he called that which he built for himself, near Greenwich, "the mince pie."

There is a considerable amount of rough humour in Vanbrugh, and some indelicacy, more like that of Aristophanes than of English writers. We find one gentleman calling another "Old Satan," and fas.h.i.+onable ladies indulging freely in oaths. A n.o.bleman tells a lady, before her husband, that he is desperately in love with her, "strike me speechless;" to which she replies by giving him a box on the ear, and her husband by drawing his sword. Everything bespeaks a low and primitive state of society; but we must also remember that while something strong was required, it was not then thought objectionable that the scenes of the drama should be very different from those of real life.

The following are from the "Relapse," the first play that made Vanbrugh known, and which we might therefore expect to be one of his most humorous comedies. Here we have a good caricature of the fops of the day. In the first, Lord Foppington in his fas.h.i.+onable tw.a.n.g, gives us his views, and sketches his mode of life.

_Amanda._ Well I must own I think books the best entertainment in the world.

_Lord F._ I am so much of your ladys.h.i.+p's mind, madam, that I have a private gallery where I walk sometimes, which is furnished with nothing but books and looking gla.s.ses. Madam, I have gilded 'em so prettily, before G--, it is the most entertaining thing in the world to walk and look upon 'em.

_Amanda._ Nay, I love a neat library too, but 'tis I think the inside of a book should recommend it most to us.

_Lord F._ That, I must confess, I am not altogether so fond of. For to my mind the inside of a book is to entertain oneself with the forced product of another man's brain. Now, I think a man of quality and breeding may be much better diverted with the natural sprouts of his own. But to say the truth, madam, let a man love reading never so well, when once he comes to know this town, he finds so many better ways of pa.s.sing away the four-and-twenty hours that 'twere ten thousand pities he should consume his time in that.

For example, madam, my life, my life, madam, is a perpetual stream of pleasure that glides through such a variety of entertainments, I believe the wisest of our ancestors never had the least conception of any of 'em. I rise, madam, about ten o'clock. I don't rise sooner because it is the worst thing in the world for the complexion, not that I pretend to be a beau, but a man must endeavour to look wholesome, lest he make so nauseous a figure in the side box, the ladies should be compelled to turn their eyes upon the play. So at ten o'clock I say I rise. Now, if I find it a good day I resolve to take a turn in the park, and see the fine women; so huddle on my clothes and get dressed by one. If it be nasty weather I take a turn in the chocolate house, where as you walk, madam, you have the prettiest prospect in the world; you have looking gla.s.ses all round you. But I'm afraid I tire the company.

_Berinthia._ Not at all; pray go on.

_Lord F._ Why then, ladies, from thence I go to dinner at Lacket's, where you are so nicely and delicately served that, stab my vitals!

they shall compose you a dish no bigger than a saucer, shall come to fifty s.h.i.+llings. Between eating my dinner (and was.h.i.+ng my mouth, ladies) I spend my time till I go to the play, when till nine o'clock I entertain myself with looking upon the company; and usually dispose of one hour more in leading them out. So there's twelve of the four-and-twenty pretty well over. The other twelve, madam, are disposed of in two articles, in the first four I toast myself drunk, and t'other eight I sleep myself sober again. Thus, ladies, you see my life is an eternal round O of delight.

Lord Foppington's interview with his Court artists is well described--

_Tom Fas.h.i.+on._ There's that fop now, has not by nature wherewithal to move a cook-maid, and by that time these fellows have done with him, egad he shall melt down a countess! But now for my reception; I'll engage it shall be as cold a one as a courtier's to his friend, who comes to put him in mind of his promise.

_Lord F._ (_to his tailor._) Death and eternal tortures! Sir, I say the packet's too high by a foot.

_Tailor._ My lord, if it had been an inch lower it would not have held your lords.h.i.+p's packet-handkerchief.

_Lord F._ Rat my packet-handkerchief! have not I a page to carry it? You may make him a packet up to his chin a purpose for it; but I will not have mine come so near my face.

_Tailor._ 'Tis not for me to dispute your lords.h.i.+p's fancy.

_Lord F._ Look you, Sir, I shall never be reconciled to this nauseous packet, therefore pray get me another suit with all manner of expedition, for this is my eternal salvation. Mrs. Calico, are not you of my mind?

_Mrs. Cal._ O, directly, my lord! It can never be too low.

_Lord F._ You are positively in the right on't, for the packet becomes no part of the body but the knee.

(_Exit tailor._)

_Mrs. Cal._ I hope your lords.h.i.+p is pleased with your steenkirk.

_Lord F._ In love with it, stap my vitals! bring your bill, you shall be paid to-morrow.

_Mrs. C._ I humbly thank your honour. (_Exit._)

_Lord F._ Hark thee, shoemaker! these shoes an't ugly but they don't fit me.

_Shoemaker._ My lord, methinks they fit you very well.

_Lord F._ They hurt me just below the instep.

_Shoe._ (_feeling his foot_) My lord, they don't hurt you there.

_Lord F._ I tell thee they pinch me execrably.

_Shoe._ My lord, if they pinch you I'll be bound to be hanged, that's all.

_Lord F._ Why wilt thou undertake to persuade me that I cannot feel?