CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE’S SUBMISSION.

Scene—Captain Absolute’s Lodgings.

Present—Captain Absolute and his Father.

Capt. Absolute. Now for a parental lecture. I hope he has heard nothing of the business that has brought me here. I wish the gout had held him fast in Devonshire, with all my soul!

Enter Sir Anthony.

Sir, I am glad to see you here, and looking so well!—your sudden arrival at Bath made me apprehensive for your health.

Sir Anth. Very apprehensive, I dare say, Jack. What, you are recruiting here, eh?

Capt. A. Yes, sir, I am on duty.

Sir Anth. Well, Jack, I am glad to see you, though I did not expect it; for I was going to write to you on a little matter of business. Jack, I have been considering that I grow old and infirm, and shall probably not trouble you long.

Capt. A. Pardon me, sir, I never saw you look more strong and hearty, and I pray fervently that you may continue so.

Sir Anth. I hope your prayers may be heard with all my heart. Well then, Jack, I have been considering that I am so strong and hearty I may continue to plague you a long time. Now, Jack, I am sensible that the income of your commission, and what I have hitherto allowed you, is but a small pittance for a lad of your spirit.

Capt. A. Sir, you are very good.

Sir Anth. And it is my wish, while yet I live, to have my boy make some figure in the world. I have resolved, therefore, to fix you at once in a noble independence.

Capt. A. Sir, your kindness overpowers me. Yet, sir, I presume you would not wish me to quit the army?

Sir Anth. Oh! that shall be as your wife chooses.

Capt. A. My wife, sir!

Sir Anth. Ay, ay, settle that between you; settle that between you.

Capt. A. A wife, sir, did you say?

Sir Anth. Ay, a wife; why, did not I mention her before?

Capt. A. Not a word of her, sir.

Sir Anth. Od so! I mustn’t forget her though—Yes, Jack, the independence I was talking of is by a marriage; the fortune is saddled with a wife; but I suppose that makes no difference.

Capt. A. Sir, sir, you amaze me!

Sir Anth. Why, what the devil’s the matter with the fool? Just now you were all gratitude and duty.

Capt. A. I was, sir; you talked to me of independence and a fortune, but not a word of a wife.

Sir Anth. Why, what difference does that make? Ods life, sir! if you have the estate, you must take it with the live stock on it, as it stands.

Capt. A. Pray, sir, who is the lady?

Sir Anth. What’s that to you, sir? Come, give me your promise to love, and to marry her directly.

Capt. A. Sure, sir, this is not very reasonable, to summon my affections for a lady I know nothing of!

Sir Anth. I am sure, sir, ’tis more unreasonable in you to object to a lady you know nothing of.

Capt. A. You must excuse me, sir, if I tell you, once for all, that in this point I cannot obey you.

Sir Anth. Harkye, Jack! I have heard you for some time with patience, I have been cool, quite cool; but take care; you know I am compliance itself,—when I am not thwarted! No one more easily led,—when I have my own way; but don’t put me in a frenzy.

Capt. A. Sir, I must repeat it,—in this I cannot obey you.

Sir Anth. Now, d—n me! if ever I call you Jack again, while I live!

Capt. A. Nay, sir, but hear me.

Sir Anth. Sir, I won’t hear a word, not a word; not one word: so give me your promise by a nod; and I’ll tell you what, Jack (I mean, you dog!), if you don’t, by——

Capt. A. What, sir, promise to link myself to some mass of ugliness!——

Sir Anth. Zounds, sirrah! the lady shall be as ugly as I choose: she shall have a hump on each shoulder; she shall be as crooked as the crescent; her one eye shall roll like the bull’s in Cox’s museum; she shall have a skin like a mummy, and the beard of a Jew; she shall be all this, sirrah! yet, I’ll make you ogle her all day, and sit up all night to write sonnets on her beauty.

Capt. A. This is reason and moderation, indeed!

Sir Anth. None of your sneering, puppy! no grinning, jackanapes!

Capt. A. Indeed, sir, I never was in a worse humour for mirth in my life.

Sir Anth. ’Tis false, sir; I know you are laughing in your sleeve! I know you’ll grin when I am gone, sirrah!

Capt. A. Sir, I hope I know my duty better.

Sir Anth. None of your passion, sir! none of your violence, if you please; it won’t do with me, I promise you.

Capt. A. Indeed, sir, I never was cooler in my life.

Sir Anth. ’Tis a confounded lie! I know you are in a passion at your heart; I know you are, you hypocritical young dog; but it won’t do.

Capt. A. Nay, sir, upon my word——

Sir Anth. So you will fly out! Can’t you be cool, like me? What the devil good can passion do? passion is of no service, you impudent, insolent, overbearing reprobate! There, you sneer again! don’t provoke me! but you rely upon the mildness of my temper; you do, you dog! you play upon the meekness of my disposition! Yet, take care; the patience of a saint may be overcome at last. But mark!—I give you six hours and a half to consider of this: if you then agree, without any condition, to do every thing on earth that I choose, why—confound you! I may in time forgive you. If not, zounds! don’t enter into the same hemisphere with me! don’t dare to breathe the same air, or use the same light with me; but get an atmosphere and a sun of your own! I’ll strip you of your commission! I’ll lodge a five-and-threepence in the hands of trustees, and you shall live on the interest. I’ll disown you, I’ll disinherit you, I’ll unget you! and d—n me! if ever I call you Jack again! [Exit.]

Capt. A. Mild, gentle, considerate father! I kiss your hands.

Enter Fag.

Fag. Assuredly, sir, your father is wroth to a degree; he comes downstairs eight or ten steps at a time, muttering, growling, or thumping the banisters all the way; I and the cook’s dog stand bowing at the door—rap! he gives me a stroke on the head with his cane; bids me carry that to my master; then kicking the poor turnspit into the area, d—ns us all for a puppy triumvirate! Upon my credit, sir, were I in your place, and found my father such very bad company, I should certainly drop his acquaintance.

Capt. A. Cease your impertinence, sir; did you come in for nothing more? Stand out of the way.

[Pushes him aside, and exit.

Fag. So! Sir Anthony trims my master; he is afraid to reply to his father, then vents his spleen on poor Fag! When one is vexed by one person, to revenge one’s self on another who happens to come in the way, shows the worst of temper, the basest——

Enter Errand Boy.

Boy. Mr. Fag! Mr. Fag! your master calls you.

Fag. Well, you little, dirty puppy, you needn’t bawl so: the meanest disposition, the——

Boy. Quick, quick, Mr. Fag!

“YOU LITTLE, IMPERTINENT, INSOLENT, KITCHEN-BRED—— ”

Fag. Quick, quick, you impudent jackanapes! am I to be commanded by you, too? you little, impertinent, insolent, kitchen-bred—— [Kicks him off, and exit.

Scene—The North Parade.

Enter Captain Absolute.

Capt. A. ’Tis just as Fag told me, indeed. Whimsical enough, ’faith. My father wants to force me to marry the very girl I am plotting to run away with. He must not know of my connection with her yet awhile. He has too summary a method of proceeding in these matters; however, I’ll read my recantation instantly. My conversion is something sudden, indeed; but, I can assure him, it is very sincere. So, so, here he comes; he looks plaguy gruff. (Steps aside.)

Enter Sir Anthony.

Sir Anth. No—I’ll sooner die than forgive him! Die, did I say? I’ll live these fifty years to plague him. At our last meeting, his impudence had almost put me out of temper; an obstinate, passionate, self-willed boy! Who can he take after? This is my return for getting him before all his brothers and sisters! for putting him at twelve years old into a marching regiment, and allowing him fifty pounds a year, besides his pay, ever since! But I’ve done with him; he’s anybody’s son for me: I never will see him more, never, never; never, never.

Capt. A. Now for a penitential face! (Advances.)

Sir Anth. Fellow, get out of the way!

Capt. A. Sir, you see a penitent before you.

Sir Anth. I see an impudent scoundrel before me.

Capt. A. A sincere penitent. I am come, sir, to acknowledge my error, and to submit entirely to your will.

Sir Anth. What’s that?

Capt. A. I have been revolving, and reflecting, and considering on your past goodness, and kindness, and condescension to me.

Sir Anth. Well, sir?

Capt. A. I have been likewise weighing and balancing what you were pleased to mention concerning duty, and obedience, and authority.

Sir Anth. Well, puppy?

Capt. A. Why, then, sir, the result of my reflections is, a resolution to sacrifice every inclination of my own to your satisfaction.

Sir Anth. Why, now you talk sense, absolute sense; I never heard anything more sensible in my life. Confound you! you shall be Jack again.

“SIR, YOU SEE A PENITENT BEFORE YOU.”

Capt. A. I am happy in the appellation.

Sir Anth. Why then, Jack, my dear Jack, I will now inform you who the lady really is. Nothing but your passion and violence, you silly fellow, prevented me telling you at first. Prepare, Jack, for wonder and rapture—prepare. What think you of Miss Lydia Languish?

Capt. A. Languish! What, the Languishes of Worcestershire?

Sir Anth. Worcestershire! no. Did you never meet Mrs. Malaprop and her niece, Miss Languish, who came into our country just before you were last ordered to your regiment?

Capt. A. Malaprop! Languish! I don’t remember ever to have heard the names before. Yet stay, I think I do recollect something—Languish—Languish—She squints, don’t she? A little red-hair’d girl!

Sir Anth. Squints! A red-hair’d girl! Zounds! no!

Capt. A. Then I must have forgot; it can’t be the same person.

Sir Anth. Jack! Jack! what think you of blooming love-breathing seventeen?

Capt. A. As to that, sir, I am quite indifferent; if I can please you in the matter, ’tis all I desire.

Sir Anth. Nay, but Jack, such eyes! such eyes! so innocently wild! so bashfully irresolute! Not a glance but speaks and kindles some thought of love! Then, Jack, her cheeks! her cheeks, Jack! so deeply blushing at the insinuations of her tell-tale eyes! Then, Jack, her lips! Oh, Jack, lips, smiling at their own discretion! and, if not smiling, more sweetly pouting—more lovely in sullenness! Then, Jack, her neck! Oh, Jack! Jack!

Capt. A. And which is to be mine, sir, the niece or her aunt?

Sir Anth. Why, you unfeeling, insensible puppy, I despise you. When I was of your age, such a description would have made me fly like a rocket! The aunt, indeed! Ods life! when I ran away with your mother, I would not have touched anything old or ugly to gain an empire.

Capt. A. Not to please your father, sir?

Sir Anth. To please my father—Zounds! not to please—Oh, my father—Odso!—yes, yes; if my father, indeed, had desired—that’s quite another matter. Though he wasn’t the indulgent father that I am, Jack.

Capt. A. I dare say not, sir.

Sir Anth. But, Jack, you are not sorry to find your mistress is so beautiful?

Capt. A. Sir, I repeat it, if I please you in this affair, ’tis all I desire. Not that I think a woman the worse for being handsome; but, sir, if you please to recollect, you before hinted something about a hump or two, one eye, and a few more graces of that kind; now, without being very nice, I own I should rather choose a wife of mine to have the usual number of limbs, and a limited quantity of back: and though one eye may be very agreeable, yet, as the prejudice has always run in favour of two, I should not wish to affect a singularity in that article.

Sir Anth. What a phlegmatic sot it is! Why, sirrah, you are an anchorite! a vile, insensible stock! You a soldier! You’re a walking block, fit only to dust the company’s regimentals on! Ods life! I’ve a great mind to marry the girl myself!

Capt. A. I am entirely at your disposal, sir; if you should think of addressing Miss Languish yourself, I suppose you would have me marry the aunt; or if you should change your mind, and take the old lady,—’tis the same to me, I’ll marry the niece.

Sir Anth. Upon my word, Jack, thou art either a very great hypocrite, or—but, come, I know your indifference on such a subject must be all a lie—I’m sure it must—come now, d—n your demure face; come, confess, Jack, you have been lying—ha’n’t you? You have been playing the hypocrite, eh?—I’ll never forgive you, if you ha’n’t been lying and playing the hypocrite.

Capt. A. I’m sorry, sir, that the respect and duty which I bear to you should be so mistaken.

Sir Anth. Hang your respect and duty! But come along with me. I’ll write a note to Mrs. Malaprop, and you shall visit the lady directly. Her eyes shall be the Promethean torch to you—come along: I’ll never forgive you, if you don’t come back stark mad with rapture and impatience—if you don’t, egad, I’ll marry the girl myself. [Exeunt.

R. B. Sheridan.