New hay at the old market: an occassional drama, in one act: written by George Colman, (the younger, ) on opening the Hay-Market Theatre. On the 9th of June, 1795.

Table of contents

- [titlepage]

- ADVERTISEMENT.

- DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

- SCENE I.—An Antichamber in the Manager's House; Fustian and Daggerwood discovered.— Fustian sitting in one chair, Daggerwood, asleep, in another.

- SCENE II.—The inside of the Theatre. Two women, discovered sweeping the Stage. A pail and mop in the corner.

- SONG.

New Hay at the Old Market.

FINIS.

New Hay at the Old Market; AN OCCASIONAL DRAMA, IN ONE ACT: WRITTEN BY GEORGE COLMAN, (THE YOUNGER,) ON OPENING THE Hay-Market Theatre. On the 9th of JUNE, 1795.

LONDON: PRINTED BY W. WOODFALL. FOR T. CADELL, AND W. DAVIES, STRAND. 1795. [PRICE ONE SHILLING.]

ADVERTISEMENT.

IT may be necessary to inform the Reader, who has not seen the following Sketch represented on the Stage, that the character of Apewell is meant merely as a vehicle for Mr. Caulfield's Imitations: with which both the Mimick, and the Author of the Piece, are convinced, the respectable persons imitated, have too much good sense to be offended. They are given as Portraits, not as Caricatures; and the Publick has pronounced them to be strong, but unexaggerated likenesses of originals, whom its discernment has long patronised and admired.

Although the Author has been a litte free with his good friends the Winter Managers, (who are a little free with his Season) he thinks it needless to offer any apology to them. He is upon too good a footing with them to suppose that they expect it. Friends and neighbours may joke with each other. ‘Tap for tap, and so part fair.’

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

MEN.

FUSTIAN,

Mr. SUETT.

DAGGERWOOD,

Mr. BANNISTER, Jun.

APEWELL,

Mr. CAULFIELD.

MANAGER's SERVANT,

Mr. BLAND.

PROMPTER,

Mr. WALDRON.

CARPENTER,

Mr. BENSON.

WOMEN.

Mrs. BEEZOM,

Mrs. HOPKINS.

MOLLY BEEZOM,

Mrs. GIBBS.

SCENE I.—An Antichamber in the Manager's House; Fustian and Daggerwood discovered.— Fustian sitting in one chair, Daggerwood, asleep, in another.

The Clock strikes Eleven.

FUSTIAN.

EIGHT, nine, ten, eleven!—Zounds! Eleven o'clock; and here have I been waiting ever since Nine, for an interview with the Manager.

A Servant crosses the Stage.

Harkye, young man! Is your master visible yet?

SERVANT.

Sir!

FUSTIAN.

I say, can I see your master?

SERVANT.

He has two gentlemen with him at present, Sir!

FUSTIAN.

Aye—the old answer. Who is this asleep here, in the corner?

SERVANT.

Oh! that, Sir, is a gentleman who wants to come out.

FUSTIAN.

Come out! Then wake him, and open the door. Gad, the great difficulty, at this house, is to get in.

SERVANT.

Ha, Ha! I mean he wants to appear on the Stage, Sir. 'Tis Mr, Sylvester Daggerwood, of the Dunstable Company.

FUSTIAN.

Oho! A country candidate for a London truncheon. A sucking Prince of Denmark—damme, he snores like a Tinker. Fatigued with his journey, I suppose.

SERVANT.

No, Sir—he has taken a nap in this room these five mornings—but hasn't been able to obtain an audience, here, yet.

FUSTIAN.

No, nor at Dunstable neither, I take it.

SERVANT.

I am so loth to disturb him, poor gentleman, that I never wake him till a full half hour after my master is gone out.

FUSTIAN.

Upon my soul, that's very obliging! I must keep watch, here, I find, like a Lynx. Well, friend, you'll let your master know Mr. Fustian is here, when the two gentlemen have left him at leisure.

SERVANT.

The moment, Sir, they make their Exit.

Exit Servant.

FUSTIAN.

Make their Exit! This fellow must have lived here some time, by his language: and I'll warrant him, lies by rote, like a Parrot. sits down and pulls out a manuscript If I could but nail this Manager for a minute, I'd read him such a Tragedy!

DAGGERWOOD, dreaming

"Nay, an thou'lt mouth, I'll rant as well as thee."

FUSTIAN.

Eh? Damme, he's talking in his sleep! acting Hamlet before twelve tallow candles in the country.

DAGGERWOOD.

"To be, or not to be"—

FUSTIAN.

Yes—he's at it.—Let me see turning over the leaves of his Play I think there's no doubt of its running.

DAGGERWOOD. dreaming

"That is the question."—"Who would fardles bear."

FUSTIAN.

Zouns! There's no bearing you!—His Grace's patronage will fill half the side Boxes—and I'll warrant we'll stuff the criticks into the Pit.

DAGGERWOOD. dreaming

"To groan, and sweat"—

"When he himself might his Quietus make"—

FUSTIAN.

Quietus! I wish, with all my heart I could make your's. The Countess of Crambo insists on the best places for the first night of performance. She'll sit in the Stage Box.

DAGGERWOOD. still dreaming

"With a bare bodkin."

FUSTIAN.

O, the devil! There's no enduring this! Sir, Sir! waking him Do you intend to sleep any more?

DAGGERWOOD, waking

Eh! What?—When?

"Methought I heard a voice cry sleep no more."

FUSTIAN.

Faith, Sir, you heard something very like it; and that voice was mine.

DAGGERWOOD.

Sir, I'm your most respectful servant to command, Sylvester Daggerwood—whose benefit is fixed for the eleventh of June, by particular desire of several persons of distinction. You'd make an excellent Macbeth, Sir.

FUSTIAN.

Sir!

DAGGERWOOD.

"Macbeth doth murder sleep; the innocent sleep;"

"Balm of hurt minds; great nature's second course."—

faith, and very often the first course, too; when a dinner is unavoidably defer'd, by your humble servant to command, Sylvester Daggerwood.

FUSTIAN.

I am sorry Sir, you should ever have occasion to postpone so pleasant a performance.

DAGGERWOOD.

Eating, Sir, is a most popular entertainment. An entertainment for man and horse, as I may say. But I am apt to appear nice, Sir—and, some how or other, I never could manage to sit down to dinner in a bad Company.

FUSTIAN.

Has your company been bad, then, of late, Sir?

DAGGERWOOD.

Damn'd bad indeed, Sir—The Dunstable Company:—where I have eight shillings a week, four bits of candle, one wife, three shirts, and nine children.

FUSTIAN.

A very numerous family.

DAGGERWOOD.

A crowded house, to be sure, Sir; but not profitable. Mrs. Daggerwood a fine figure, but unfortunately stutters; so, of no use in the theatrieal line. Children too young to make a debut—except my eldest, Master Apollo Daggerwood; a youth of only eight years old; who has twice made his appearance in Tom Thumb, to an overflowing and brilliant barn—house, I mean—with unbounded and universal applause.

FUSTIAN.

Have you been long upon the Stage Mr. Daggerwood?

DAGGERWOOD.

Fifteen years since I first smelt the lamp, Sir. My father was an eminent Button-maker, at Birmingham; and meant to marry me to Miss Molly Metre, daughter to the rich Director of the Coal-works, at Wolverhampton: but I had a soul above buttons, and abhorred the idea of a mercenary marriage. I panted for a liberal profession —so ran away from my father, and engaged with a travelling company of Comedians. In my travels, I had soon the happiness of forming a romantick attachment with the present Mrs. Daggerwood— wife to Sylvester Daggerwood, your humble servant to command, whose benefit is fixed for the eleventh of June, by the particular desire of several persons of distinction. So, you see, Sir, I have a taste.

FUSTIAN.

Have you! Then sit down, and I'll read you my Tragedy. I am determined somebody shall hear it before I go out of the house. sits down

DAGGERWOOD.

A Tragedy!—Sir, Ill be ready for you in a moment. Let me prepare for woe. takes out a very ragged pocket-handkerchief.

"This handkerchief,

"Did an Egyptian to my mother give."

FUSTIAN.

Faith, I should think so:—and, to all appearance one of the Norwood party.

DAGGERWOOD.

Now, Sir, your title; and then for the Dram. Pers.

FUSTIAN.

The title, I think will strike. The fashion of Plays, you know, now, is to do away old prejudices; and to rescue certain characters from the illiberal odium with which custom has mark'd them. Thus we have a generous Israelite, an amiable Cynick, and so on. Now, Sir, I call my play—The Humane Footpad.

DAGGERWOOD.

What!

FUSTIAN.

There's a title for you! Isn't it happy?—eh? How do you like my footpad?

DAGGERWOOD.

Humph!—Why I think he'll strike—but then he ought to be properly executed.

FUSTIAN.

Oh, Sir, let me alone for that. An exception to a general rule is, now, the grand secret for dramatick composition. Mine is a freebooter of benevolence, and plunders with sentiment.

DAGGERWOOD.

There may be something in that: and for my part, I was always with Shakespeare. ‘"Who steals my purse steals trash."’ I never had any weighty reasons, yet, for thinking otherwise. Now, Sir, as we say, please to "leave your damnable faces, and begin."

FUSTIAN.

My damnable faces!

DAGGERWOOD.

Come—"we'll to't like french faulconers."

FUSTIAN. reading

Scene first: a dark wood: night.

DAGGERWOOD.

A very awful beginning.

FUSTIAN. reading

The moon behind a cloud.

DAGGERWOOD.

That's new. An audience never saw a moon behind a cloud before.—but it will be devilish difficult to paint.

FUSTIAN.

Don't interrupt.—Where was I?—Oh—behind a cloud.

DAGGERWOOD.

"The cloud capt towers, the gorgeous palaces—"

FUSTIAN.

Hey, the devil! what are you at?

DAGGERWOOD.

Beg pardon: But that speech never comes into my head but it runs away with me. Proceed.

FUSTIAN.

Enter— reading

DAGGERWOOD.

"The solemn temples"—

FUSTIAN.

Nay then, I've done.

DAGGERWOOD.

So have I. I'm dumb.

FUSTIAN.

Enter Egbert, musing. reading

DAGGERWOOD.

O, P?

FUSTIAN.

Pshaw! what does that signify?

DAGGERWOOD.

Not much. "The great Globe itself"—

FUSTIAN. reading

Egbert musing. Clouded in night I come.—

DAGGERWOOD. starting up

"The cloud capt towers, the gorgeous palaces,"

"The solemn temples," &c. &c. &c.

FUSTIAN gets up.

Damme, he's mad! A bedlamite! raves like Lear, and foams out a folio of Shakespeare withour drawing breath. I'm almost afraid to stay in the room with him.

Enter SERVANT.

Oh, I'm glad you are come, friend! Now I shall be deliver'd. Your master would be glad to see me, I warrant.

SERVANT.

My Master is just gone out, Sir.

FUSTIAN.

Gone out!

DAGGERWOOD.

"O, day and night, but this is wond'rous strange!"

FUSTIAN.

What without seeing me—who have been waiting for him these three hours!

DAGGERWOOD.

Three hours! Pugh!—I've slept, here, for five mornings in his old arm Chair.

SERVANT.

He ordered me to tell you, Gentlemen, he was particularly sorry—but he is obliged to hurry down to the Hay-Market. The Theatre opens this Evening—and Mr. Bannister Jun. and Mr. Suett, are to meet him there, on particular business.

FUSTIAN.

They are? and what the devil, friend, have I to do with Mr. Bannister Jun.? Damn Mr. Bannister Jun.

DAGGERWOOD.

And damn Mr. Suett; what the devil have I to do with Mr. Suett? Now he has shirk'd us, I'll lay an even bet he is gone to neither of 'em.

FUSTIAN.

Pretty treatment! pretty treatment truly! to be kept here, half the morning, kicking my heels in a Manager's anti-room, shut up with a mad Dunstable actor.

DAGGERWOOD.

Mad! Zounds! Sir I'd have you to know that "when the wind's southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw."

FUSTIAN.

Tell your master, friend, tell your master— but no matter.—He done catch me here again that's all. Damme, I'll go home, turn my play into a pageant, put a triumphal procession at the end on't, and bring it out at one of the Winter Theatres. Exit

DAGGERWOOD to the Servant.

Young man you know me. I shall come to the old arm chair again, tomorrow—but must go to Dunstable the day after, for a week, to finish my engagement. Wish for an interview,—inclination to tread the London boards, and so on. You remember my name—Mr. Sylvester Daggerwood; whose benefit is fix'd for the eleventh of June, by particular desire of several persons of distinction.

SERVANT.

I shall be sure to tell him, Sir.

DAGGERWOOD.

"I find thee apt;

"And duller wouldst thou be than the fat weed,

"That rots itself at ease on Lethe's wharf,

"Would'st thou not stir in this."—Open the street door. "Go on! I'll follow thee."

Exit after Servant▪

SCENE II.—The inside of the Theatre. Two women, discovered sweeping the Stage. A pail and mop in the corner.

1st Woman.

Come, bustle, child! Bustle, Molly Beezom, bustle! We sha'n't have the stage ready against our gentlefolks come to rehearsal.

2d.

There, mother, I ha' done.

1st.

Have you? Well then, now, Molly, as we have a little leisure—foh! how it tires a body to scrub down these dusty boards, after a long winter!—As we have a little leisure, Molly, I'll just give you a bit of advice.

2d.

Do, mother;—for I be a fresh comer from the country. Yesterday was my first sweeping day, you do know. I cod, it be pure fun to be among these Actor-folks!

1st.

Hold your tongue, hussey! Listen to me. I have swept the boards of a Winter, and Summer House, these eighteen years; and am old enough to have some experience.

2d.

That you be, mother.—Old enough in all conscience.

1st.

Take care, then, of these Actors. I had you up from the country, after begging this here place for you, with great entreaties and imprecations; so mind you be mean yourself. Take care of these Actors, I say. 'Tis a ticklish sitivation for a young girl. Don't let them palaver you over.

2d.

Palaver me! Law, mother, what's that?

1st.

Aye—there it is now, to want experience. Why it's just as they serv'd me, when I was such a green goose as yourself.

2d.

Why, sure, there be no harm in 'em:— and they be main civil. One on 'em chuck'd me under the chin, as good natur'd,—and told me I was a pretty little Dusdemony.

1st.

Hussey, hussey! I must hear no more of these doings. You'll be devour'd.

2d.

La, mother! sure and sure, they wont eat me?

1st.

Eat you! There's no knowing what may happen.

2d.

Ben't there indeed!—Well, if I hant been told, in our village, that your Actor men be hungry enough to eat any thing; and that the gentry sometimes throws oranges to 'em, from the two-shilling gallery, out o' compassion.

1st.

Ha! Ha!—Lord help your simple head! Oranges out of the gallery!—The thing is possible here, to be sure; but in the winter Houses—why, child, they would never reach half way to the stage. 'Tis as much as they can do to see the actors, there. But no matter for that:—take you care of yourself, Molly—you are raw, child, and unexperienced. I be uneasy enough about you, I can tell you that.

2d.

Don't you be in a santigue, mother, about I. Ise warant me, when I ha been here awhile, Ise be as knowing as the best of 'em.

1st.

Go up stairs, hussey, directly, and dust out the dressing-rooms.

2d.

I doesn't like to go up alone, mother: I be afeard.

1st.

Afeard!—Of what, you goose-cap?

2d.

Why, at the top of the—the Flys be the name on't, I fancy—where all the clouds be— just at the landing place, there be a huge man— A Polly, I do think the carpenters call him— stuff'd out wi' straw: they ha' squatted him there to sit bolt upright: and, tho' he be dead, he looks so mortal frightful, I doesn't care to go a near him.

1st.

Simpleton! it's the stuff'd Apollo, in Midas. Why you are n't afraid of a straw figure, are you?

2d.

No—not in the country:—but this be the ugliest scare-crow I ever put my eyes upon. I be timbersome at a dead actor, mother, tho' I doesn't much mind facing a live one.

1st.

Come, come; take your broom, and follow me.

2d.

Yes, mother—but, as we have a little bit leisure, as you do say, there be one thing I wish to ax you to do for me. But you wont be angry, now?

1st.

Well, child, what is it?

2d.

Why, if you would but go down, under this here stage—there be such mortal funny things —do, now, mother, just go down, and screw I up a trap.

1st.

I'll trap you, you idle minx! I will. Fine doings, truly! The girl will be ruin'd. Screw you up a trap, indeed!

2d.

La, mother, why not? Ise warrant me, now, if I was to ax the Carpenter, he would not have any dejection.

PROMPTER. Behind the scenes.

Any of the Performers come yet?

CARPENTER Behind the Scenes.

No, Sir. It wants ten minutes of the time.

1st Woman.

There! I'll be hang'd if it isn't Mr. Waldron, the Prompter, come to rehearsal.

2d.

Prompter! Oh! that be the gentleman as reads in a book; and do blow a little whistle, to call the actor-folks about un.

1st.

Come, run Molly, run! Take up your pail, and be off.

2d.

I be a coming, mother. Takes up the pail. Dear, now! I should like hugely to stay and see a bit o' their May-games. Dear, dear! what pure sport it be to live among these here shew-folks!

Exeunt women.

Enter PROMPTER and CARPENTER.

PROMPTER.

It doesn't signifye talking, master Carpenter: —new scenes, and fly-flaps, when there's occasion, to be sure:—but no extravagance.

CARPENTER.

Extravagance!—Lord help you, Mr. Waldron! We only wont to keep pace a bit with our neighbours. Look at 'em in the winter.

PROMPTER.

Winter! and how are we to keep pace with them there, you ninny hammer? They are too magnificent for us. They have a stud of Elephants at one house, and a stable full of Bulls at the other. We are too humble to vie with our neighbours in giving the publick any thing to see.

CARPENTER.

But you know they will expect some novelty, master Waldron.

PROMPTER.

Well, then, we'll give 'em something to hear: —that's a novelty, now, you know. But come, to business. What do you want?

CARPENTER.

Why, I want a new Moon.

PROMPTER.

What's become of the old one?

CARPENTER.

Torn down.

PROMPTER.

And pray, Sir, how came the Moon to be down?

CARPENTER.

The man that work'd it, run his hand through it, last year, when he was snuffing the candle. He was discharged for negligence.

PROMPTER.

Then, we want a new man in the Moon. Let me make a memorandum. Takes out his book, and writes. "Moon in decrease—new one wanted.—Man in it."—Well?

CARPENTER.

Five waves of the sea:—split all to pieces in the last dry weather. They must be made of deal.

PROMPTER, writing.

Memorandum—"The sea:—Deal." What next?

CARPENTER.

A scaffold for the Surrender of Calais. Mr. Bannister, jun. broke it down, the last time he was going to be hanged.

PROMPTER, writes.

"New scaffold—Surrender of Calais."—Ah! but where shall we get such another Hangman?— Poor fellow! Poor Parsons! The old cause, of our mirth is, now, the cause of our melancholy. He, who so often made us forget our cares, may well claim a sigh to his memory.

CARPENTER.

He was one of the comicalest fellows I ever see!

PROMPTER.

Aye, and one of the honestest, master Carpenter. When an individual has combined private worth with publick talent, he quits the bustling scene of life with two-fold applause, and we doubly deplore his exit.—But come, we have still, some favourites among our Hundred, who are ambitious to please; and whose continued exertions, we doubt not, will be honoured with the continued patronage of our benefactors.—Is there any thing more?

CARPENTER.

Yes:—New ropes for all the drop scenes.— There's great difficulty, at present, in drawing up the curtain.

PROMPTER.

That's true enough;—for it ought to have been drawn up a month ago. Well, obviate the difficulty as soon as you can, and send in that item of your bill to the Winter Managers.

CARPENTER.

Besides this, there's a —

PROMPTER.

Why, zounds! you'll never have done! don't I tell you we must have no extravagance—nothing needless. What is it?

CARPENTER.

Why, it's a new chair for the Prompter.

PROMPTER.

Oh! that alters the case. Well, let it be handsome; do you mind? Stud it with brass nails, and cover it with the best Morocco—and tell the Property-woman to put a good soft velvet cushion in it, dye hear?

CARPENTER.

I've a nice bit of old hard cherry-tree, that would come cheaper—and suit you to a T. master Waldron.

PROMPTER.

Cherry-tree! Why, you villain, have you no mercy on my bones?—I'll cherry tree you, with a plague!—

Enter APEWELL.

APEWELL, speaking as entering.

Pooh, nonsense! If the Manager isn't here, I'll speak to the Prompter.—Oh! your servant, Mr. Waldron. Can I see the Manager?

Exit Carpenter.

PROMPTER.

He is not, yet, come to the Theatre, Sir. But, if you have any business to communicate, perhaps I may answer the purpose.

APEWELL.

Well, then, we'll do the matter by deputy. My name's Apewell. I want to appear on the stage.

PROMPTER.

Your application is too late, Sir; our Company is full.

APEWELL.

That's unlucky:—but, in case of illness, I may probably be of use as a substitute.

PROMPTER.

A substitute!—for whom, pray, Sir?

APEWELL.

Why, for any body.—Tragedy, Comedy, any thing. Nay, upon emergency, I may even supply the place of a Prompter.

PROMPTER.

Ha! Ha!—You don't know what you undertake; young gentleman. The place of a Prompter requires some experience.

APEWELL.

"True, gallant Raleigh!"

"I cannot but surmise,"

"Your State some danger apprehends."

PROMPTER.

I begin to apprehend you are a wag, Mr. Apewell.

APEWELL.

Faith, if I am, Sir; however my waggery may be taken, I mean it to be perfectly harmless. There is no man without his peculiar manner— and, in studying the tones of others, I hope to improve my own, without giving offence to much better Actors than myself.

PROMPTER.

That's handsomely said, however. Give me your hand:—you seem to have some fun and spirit about you; and we may be better acquainted.

APEWELL.

I hope we shall. Who knows, if I become one of the Company, but we may have a bowl of punch together, at the Blue Posts:—or take a whet in a walk over the fields to Bagnigge.— "Fetch a walk this fine evening, Miss Dolly?— Eh, Miss Dolly?"

PROMPTER.

You seem pretty conversant in the drama. Have you studied much?

APEWELL.

A good deal. I'll give you a touch of blank verse, to begin with:

"Let me speak, Sir,

"(For Heaven now bids me) and the words I utter

"Let none think flattery, for they'll find 'em "truth.

"This Royal infant (Heaven still move about "her)

"Though in her cradle, yet now promises

"Upon this land a thousand, thousand blessings,

"Which time shall bring to ripeness," &c.

PROMPTER.

Upon my word that was very well. Respectably delivered, and much in the manner of the original.

APEWELL.

Oh, Sir, if it was like the original, it could not fail of being respectable.—But if you think from the specimen, I may be of service, Mrs. Apewell and myself, will be willing to join you.

PROMPTER.

Does Mrs. Apewell perform principal characters, Sir?

APEWELL.

Why I can't say much for her acting; but she's a devilish good wife."

"Go thy ways, Kate!"

"The man i'th' world who shall report he has

"A better wife, let him in naught be trusted,

"For speaking false in that. Thou art alone

"(If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness,

"Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government,

"Obeying in commanding, and thy parts

"Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee "out)

"The Queen of earthly Queens. She's noble "born,

"And, like her true nobility, she has

"Carried herself towards me."

PROMPTER.

You have Shakespeare at your fingers ends, Mr. Apewell.

APEWELL.

Why yes—‘But I am talking here by words of mouth, when I could say it all in reading, as I have it by heart in my describing book. Now I desire you'll hold your tongue, for if you talk you'll put me out —These gardens which are now the admiration of the larned and curish, &c. &c.’

PROMPTER.

Bravo, young Gentleman. Well play'd indeed.

APEWELL.

‘Well play'd, Clifford! Good air and emphasis; and well suited to the trick of the scene.’— Shall I go on?

PROMPTER.

Oh, by all means.

APEWELL.

‘He would do, now, if the practical part of deceit were as easy at his age, as the discernment of it is at mine.’ &c. &c.—Upon my soul, though, this is very fatiguing!

PROMPTER.

I wish I had any refreshment to offer you. But we are unprovided here, you know.

APEWELL.

‘Come, you know there's a cake in the house. Odsflesh, Robin, I'm heartily glad to see you. Bring us the lamb.’

PROMPTER.

Egad, if you were at my lodgings, you should have that, and a bottle of wine too.

APEWELL.

"Come I like that."—But can you give me an engagement?

PROMPTER.

I can't—but I shall mention your talents this morning to the Manager, and I make no doubt he will be ready to employ you.

APEWELL.

Come, you had better close with me yourself, at once, while we are about it.

PROMPTER.

No; Sir I daren't venture that.

APEWELL.

‘Lord, Sir, you are as queer as a quartern of soap, after a week's wash. Your poor dear father wouldn't have used me in this way. He used to like to hear me talk. Dicky Gossip, says he—he always call'd me Dicky. Dicky Gossip says he, you are my Barbatick—Barbatick!—Wasn't that droll, Sir?—He used to call me his Barbatick!’

Well I shall call in the evening to know the Manager's answer. You may tell him what I am fit for.

PROMPTER.

Faith you seem fit for any thing. But pray do you sing.

APEWELL.

I'll give you a specimen and then leave you to think on't.

"Twas on Christmas day

"Father he did wed." &c. &c.

Exit.

PROMPTER.

Faith a young fellow, of talent.

Enter BANNISTER, Jun.

Ah, Bannister!

BANNISTER.

Waldron, how goes it? well here we are in the old little shop again! Gad I feel like a giant, here, in Lilliput, after the huge Brobdignag boards of old Drury. Where's our little Manager?

PROMPTER.

Not come yet.

BANNISTER.

He must stir his stumps, I can tell him that, now he has set up for himself. He gives a good round sum for the Property, they tell me. I hope he may be reimbursed.

PROMPTER.

There he trusts to the town.

BANNISTER.

He can't trust to any thing better. The publick never fail to encourage Industry, or to give ample reward to those who embark with zeal in their service, and rely with confidence on their liberality. I shall be finely work'd for it, though, through the summer, I take it, Master Waldron.

PROMPTER.

Well then, as you say, the publick will encourage your industry,

BANNISTER.

Oh, faith, you need not tell me that:—I trust I have always been found to work willingly—and at present I have a double motive to activity, in serving the town, and assisting an old friend, who ventures largely for its amusement. So here's defiance to heat, and a fig for the Dog-days, old Waldron!

Enter CALL-BOY.

CALL-BOY.

The Ladies and Gentlemen are all ready in the Green-Room, Sir.

PROMPTER.

Then we'll attend them. Oh, Bannister, here's a song I am to give you. It's intended for our opening.

BANNISTER.

Let me see it, um—why zouns! there must be some mistake, it seems meant for the winter—for it begins with an eulogy upon grand spectacles, spacious buildings, and large Theatres.

PROMPTER.

Well, well—hum it over, before we go into the Green-Room.

BANNISTER.

Eh!—and here come some of our Chorus who may bear a burden. Enter Chorus Here goes then.

SONG.

Since the preference, we know,

Is for pageantry and shew,

'Twere a pity the publick to balk—

And when people appear

Quite unable to hear,

'Tis undoubtedly needless to talk.

Let your Shakespeares and Jonsons go hang, go hang!

Let your Otways and Drydens go drown!

Give us but Elephants, and white Bulls enough,

And we'll take in all the town.

Brave boys!

II.

Or if, tardily, the sound

Travels all the house around,

'Twixt the action and words there's a breach:

And it seems as if Macbeth,

Half a minute after death,

On his back, made his last dying speech.

Let your Shakespeares, &c.

III.

When, on matters of State,

Stage Heroes debate,

Intelligence so slowly is got,

'Twere better they began

On the new-invented plan,

And with Telegraphs transmitted you the plot.

Let your Shakespeares, &c.

IV.

But our House here's so small

That there's no need to bawl,

And the summer will rapidly pass;

So we hope you'll think fit

To hear the Actors a bit,

'Till the Elephants and Bulls come from grass.

Then let Shakespeare and Jonson go hang, go hang!

Let your Otways and Drydens go drown!

Give 'em but Elephants and white Bulls enough,

And they'll take in all the town—

Brave Boys!

Information about this book

Title statement

New hay at the old market: an occassional drama, in one act: written by George Colman, (the younger, ) on opening the Hay-Market Theatre. On the 9th of June, 1795.

Colman, George, 1762-1836.

Publication

Distributor

University of Oxford Text Archive
Oxford University Computing Services
13 Banbury Road
Oxford
OX2 6NN
ota@oucs.ox.ac.uk

ID [ota]

http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/3644

ID [isbn10]

1106006437

ID [isbn13]

9781106006431

ID [TCP]

K022555.000

ID [BIBNO]

CW3317024877

ID [ECLL]

1205801400

Availability

Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License

Source

— New hay at the old market: an occassional drama, in one act: written by George Colman, (the younger, ) on opening the Hay-Market Theatre. On the 9th of June, 1795., Colman, George, 1762-1836.. 32p. ; 8⁰. London :: printed by W. Woodfall. For T. Cadell, and W. Davies,. 1795.. [Reproduction of original from the British Library.] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT4686.] [Electronic data. Farmington Hills, Mich. : Thomson Gale, 2003. Page image (PNG). Digitized image of the microfilm version produced in Woodbridge, CT by Research Publications, 1982-2002 (later known as Primary Source Microfilm, an imprint of the Gale Group).]

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