Scene I.
Enter Peter, Archer.
Pet.
Honest Archer, welcome.
Arch.
Are all Things ready
according to your Orders?
Pet.
They are. Are my Master and his
Wife near?
Arch.
Just by,—have you a large Fire,
for it is bitter cold.
Pet.
Ev'ry Thing's in Order; but is she
as peevish a Scold as she is reported.
Arch.
She was before the Frost,—but
thou knowest such Weather as this tames
Man and Beast.
Pet.
Why ay that's true,—then is a
Scold worse than a Beast,—for I ne'er
heard that the coldest Weather cou'd tame
such sort of Cattle; many a Night has my
Wife been out in Frost and Snow, yet I
ne'er found her a whit the better for it. But
tell me some News of our new Mistress.
-- 31 --
Arch.
I fancy she had her Education at
Billingsgate, and my poor Master I fear
will lead a Dog's Life with her; for she
seems to me to have Mercury at her Fingers
End.
AIR I. The Twitcher.
I.
Whoe'er, to a Wife
Is link'd, for his Life,
Is plac'd in most wretched Condition:
Tho' plagu'd with her Tricks,
Like a Blister she sticks,
And Death is his only Physician,
And Death is his only Physician,
Poor Man!
II.
To trifle and toy,
May give a Man Joy,
When summon'd by Love, or by Beauty;
But, where is the Bliss in
Our Conjugal Kissing,
When Passion is prompted by Duty.
When Passion is prompted by Duty.
Poor Man!
III.
The Cur who possess'd
Of Mutton the best,
A Bone he cou'd leave at his Pleasure:
-- 32 --
But, if to his Tail
'Tis ty'd, without Fail
He's harrass'd and plagu'd beyond Measure.
He's harrass'd and plagu'd beyond Measure.
Poor Cur!
[Exit Archer.
Enter Manley, Margaret.
Man.
Where are these Knaves? what no
more Slaves to hold my Stirrups, nor to
take my Horse. Peter, James, Ralph,
Gregory.
Enter Servants.
All.
Here, here, Sir.
Man.
Her, Sir, here, Sir,—ye Loggerheads,
Puppies, what not Attendance, no
Regard, no Duty, ye slothful Knaves, be
gone and fetch my Supper in; Rogues, do I
speak, and don't ye flye; sit down Peg,
and welcome,—nay, good sweet Peg, be
merry when I bid thee,—these are Country
Clownish Fellows. Pr'ythee be merry.
—off with my Boots, Sirrah. Ye Rogues,
ye Villains.
Mar.
Sure he will run himself out of
Breath, and then it will be my Turn to
speak.
Man.
Out, ye Rogue, you pluck my
Boot awry; take that, and mind the pulling
off the other. Be merry, Peg. Some
-- 33 --
Water here, ho—Where are my Slippers?
Shall I have some Water?—Stay, Rogues,
Draw on my Boots again.—Come, Peg,
wash and welcome. You Whoreson Villain,
will you let it fall?
Mar.
'Twas an unwilling Fault.
AIR II. Joan be not so coy.
Man.
Peg, be not so shy.
Tol, lol, lol, derol.
None loves you better than I.
Tol, lol, lol.
Mar.
Fool, be not so vain.
Tol, lol, derol.
I'll have my Turn to reign.
Tweedledum, Tweedledum.
Man.
Peg, I'll use thee well.
Tol, lol, lol, derol.
But hope not to bear the Bell.
Tol, lol, lol, derol.
Mar.
I'll be snubb'd by none,
Tol, lol, lol, derol.
I'll break your Heart or my own.
Tweedledum, Tweedledum.
Man.
Come, Peg, sit down,—I know
you have a Stomach; come, fall too and
welcome—sweet Peg—What's this, Mutton?
Serv.
Yes, Sir.
Man.
Who bought it?
Serv.
I, Sir.
-- 34 --
Man.
You, Sir.—Why, Rascal, 'tis a
Piece of a Dog; it has not the least Look
of Mutton; 'tis shrivell'd and burnt to a
Cinder.—Where is the Cook? How dare
you bring such rotten Meat to my Table,
d'ye mean to poison me, ye Joltheads?
Mar.
Pray, Husband, be content, the
Meat's good Meat, and I'm hungry; I must
and will eat some of it.
Man.
Not for the World, Peg,—I love
thee better than so, 'tis burnt, and will
breed Choler, and we are both too full of
Choler already—I love thee too well to give
thee any thing to hurt thee,—we'll fast Tonight,
To-morrow we shall be better furnish'd.
Mar.
Say what you will, Sir, I'll eat
some of it; was I brought hither to be
starv'd?
Man.
Why, you ill-natur'd Rascals, will
you stand still, and see your Mistress poison
herself; take it out of her Sight. [Sends
the Meat away.] Well, Peg, this Night
we'll fast for Company. Come, I'll shew,
thee to thy Bed-chamber.
Mar.
I must eat something, or else I shall
be sick; these two Days have I fasted at
Home out of Peevishness, and now I must
starve out of Necessity,—but an Egg.
Man.
No, no, pr'ythee don't talk on't;
to Bed upon a full Stomach—Come, Peg.
[Exit.
Arch.
Did'st ever see the like, Peter?
-- 35 --
Pet.
Never—he kills her in her own
Humour.
Arch.
He sets out well, I wish he may
hold it; Wives and stumbling Horses are
best manag'd by keeping always a tight
Rein; let 'em but go their own Gate, and
they'll break your Neck.
Pet.
Come, Archer, let's drink Success
to him for the Honour of English Husbands,
and give us a Song.
Arch.
Such as I can I will,—with all
my Heart.
AIR III. Bessy Bell.
How sweetly glide the Hours away,
While chearfully we're drinking;
By Wine the Soul's made brisk and gay,
And Courage is kept from sinking.
Since Life's so short, let's take our Swing,
Let Bacchus reign ador'd, Sir,
Who makes the Slave as blest as a King,
And the Beggar as great as a Lord, Sir.
Who makes, &c.
And the Beggar, &c.
Where are you, Rogues? Peter, Ralph,
Archer.
[Within.
Arch.
Let's away, or we shall be all
ruin'd.
[Exit.
-- 36 --
James Worsdale [1735], A cure for a scold. A Ballad farce of Two acts. (Founded upon Shakespear's taming of a Shrew) As it is Acted by his Majesty's Company of Comedians at the Theatre Royal in Drury-Lane. By J. Worsdale, Portrait-Painter (Printed for L. Gilliver [etc.], London) [word count] [S32200].
