The Pantheonites. A dramatic entertainment. As performed at the Theatre-Royal in the Hay-Market

Table of contents

- [halftitle]

- [titlepage]

- TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE COUNTESS of HERTFORD.

- ADVERTISEMENT.

- DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

- ACT THE FIRST.

- SCENE I.

- SCENE II.

- SCENE III.

- ACT THE SECOND.

THE PANTHEONITES.

FINIS.

THE PANTHEONITES. A DRAMATIC ENTERTAINMENT

[Price One Shilling.]

THE PANTHEONITES. A DRAMATIC ENTERTAINMENT. AS PERFORMED AT THE THEATRE-ROYAL IN THE HAY-MARKET.

LONDON: Printed for J. BELL, near Exeter-Change, in the Strand; and C. ETHERINGTON, at York. MDCCLXXIII.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE COUNTESS of HERTFORD.

MADAM,

AS I flatter myself the public will agree in my opinion, that a burlesque of affected gentility, can be no where better addressed than to a Lady, whose elegant and liberal ideas of life, ornament even Nobility, I have ventured this intrusion; which as it proceeds from a profound respect for your Ladyship's very distinguished character, will, I hope, be considered in a favourable light.

I am, with all possible deference, MADAM,
Your Ladyship's Most obedient and very Devoted servant, THE AUTHOR.

ADVERTISEMENT.

THE Author of this Dramatic scrap, having from a fatal, and irreparable event in his family, laboured under a gloom of mind exceedingly disadvantageous to Comic ideas, has reason to fear it wants much of that spirit, which a happier state of imagination would have produced; but having promised a piece of this kind to Mr. [*] WESTON, as a performer of singular merit, he encountred a task rather irksome, and to get the subject out of his way, pursued it with uncommon rapidity; however, from the favourable opinion of some judicious friends, hopes it will not be deemed unworthy existence on the stage or in the closet.

Notes

*
As Mr. FOOTE kindly conferred an unexpected favour on Mr. WESTON, which rendered a new piece unnecessary, the author is happy in transferring it to Mr. JEWELL, as a very valuable member of society.
↵

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

Sir FRANCIS FAIRLOVE,

DAN. DRUGGER,

Mr. WESTON.

FARMER TILWELL,

Mr. BANNISTER,

TIM. TILWELL,

Mr. FEARON.

SKINFLINT,

Mr. GENTLEMAN,

FRIZEAU,

Mr. JACOBS.

DICKEY DRUGGER,

Miss FRANCIS.

SERVANT,

Mr. FRANCIS.

Mrs. DEBORAH DRUGGER,

Mrs. WILLIAMS,

ANNA,

Miss PLATT.

LISINI,

Miss CRAVEN.

SCENE, LONDON.

ACT THE FIRST.

SCENE I.

Enter TILWELL and SKINFLINT meeting.

SKINFLINT.

HA! honest farmer, well met.

TILWELL.

Honest farmer! Hey day! what are all you London folks flatterers? Tho' by the bye, I believe I am as honest as most of my neighbours: Tom Tilwell can lay his hand upon his heart, and say he never belied providence, nor wished a rise of provisions in his life.

SKINFLINT.

Hoity toity! if many farmers were of this way of thinking, we cornfactors and salesmen should be soon as thin as Pharoah's lean kine—a parcel of poor devils indeed: the finest scheme in the world, except clipping and coining, would be totally ruined. No, no, Heaven send the landlords to raise their rents, and the farmers to keep pace with them.—Ah, you don't know the pleasure and profit we enjoy.

TILWELL.

Pleasure! what, in starving your fellow creatures?

SKINFLINT.

Starving—no, no, mercy forbid! not so bad as that, only lock their jaws a little.

TILWELL.

You don't, by appearance, master Skinflint, seem as if your jaws were much locked.

SKINFLINT.

Me! why, you would not put me on a footing with ragged weavers in Spittle-fields, or slip-shod taylors in Clement Danes.—You don't see into the bottom of things.—We are friends to government as well as ourselves. The English, master Tilwell, Londoners particularly, are, with full bellies, insolent, grumbling politicians; they pretend to think for themselves.—Now weaken the beer when you raise the price; clip short their beef and pudding; keep provisions high, and wages low—you have 'em as tame as so many pet pigeons.

TILWELL.

At this rate your business is of great use.

SKINFLINT.

The greatest importance, I assure you.—We are on the Change-alley plan exactly; as they have at all times letters ready from Dantzig, Hamburgh, the Hague, or an express from India over land, to influence stock, so we have accounts from every shire in England, to keep up the markets.

TILWELL.

What then you have correspondents in all parts of the kingdom.

SKINFLINT.

Not one on that account.—We don't care how things really are; we can make them as we please.—Why I have burned the uplands with sun-shine, and drowned the low-lands with rain a thousand times. I was the means of lifting up the peck loaf two-pence last week; and have another petition from the bakers to the court of aldermen in my pocket; it's penned in such a lamentable stile, that I don't doubt, with one or two more, working up to a shilling.

TILWELL.

What when there's a fine crop, fine weather for harvest, and new corn coming in?

SKINFLINT.

No matter for that.—Did not you see a paragraph of mine in the papers last week, that all the old was gone. Yet, would you think it now, for all I take so much pains, and make it so fine a time for gentlemen of the crust, I was obliged to arrest one of the fraternity yesterday for a hundred and fifty.

TILWELL.

He must be a bad manager indeed.

SKINFLINT.

Apes quality—as most of our trades-people do now-a-days—keeps a country-house, a phaeton, and, for ought I know, a mistress. But I don't so much blame him for this, if he had any brains: why the blockhead, in five years trade for himself, never had sense enough to make a loaf two or three ounces short; and is so plaguy conscientious, as not to use any allum, because its unwholesome.—Time for me to look sharp, master Tilwell.

TILWELL.

But after all, friend Skinflint, though I am a farmer, and may gain by it, I think it hard that there should be plenty and scarcity at the same time.

SKINFLINT.

Politic, politic.—If all the fish that's caught was brought to market, and all the meat that's killed sold, both would soon be a drug. There is one instance among many—Mat. Marrow-bone, of Honey-lane market, as pretty a fellow as ever whetted a knife, will frequently, rather than take a halfpenny a pound under the fixed price on Saturday night, tip ten guineas worth into the Thames on Sunday morning. He has show'd me his Thames register, and a sweet pretty collection of drowned joints there is. However, I advised him for the future, to bury all; because, you know, in the water it may feed and increase the stock of fish, which might hurt the flesh trade. Mat. took the hint—ah, he's a sensible spirited fellow as ever sold thirteen ounces for a pound; and can afford to live genteelly.

TILWELL.

Well, notwithstanding what you say, I am for peace and plenty. You shall hear my thoughts on that subject, in a song taught me by our vicar, as hearty an old blade as ever wore black, or used a tobacco-stopper.

SONG.

Let me ne'er know the man,

With pipe and full can,

Whose prayers and study will cease,

That all the good things

Which providence brings

May crown us with plenty and peace.

Of this let our songs never cease,

Of peace and of plenty, of plenty and peace.

Let a cup of strong beer

Each free Briton cheer,

With plenty of pudding and beef;

To France we'll resign

Soup meagre and wine,

And at home find out perfect relief.

Of this let our songs never cease,

Of peace and of plenty, of plenty and peace.

When a kind season sends,

For the best of all ends,

To mankind a plentiful store;

May they who for gain

Would render it vain,

Ne'er taste its indulgences more.

Of this let our songs never cease,

Of peace and of plenty, of plenty and peace.

SKINFLINT.

I like the tune and your singing, master Tilwell, but the words are horribly against trade; I would not have them sung in one of our committees for ten quarters of wheat.

TILWELL.

Committees!

SKINFLINT.

Yes, we have seven every week; the fore-stalling one meets Sunday afternoon, at Islington, to tax Monday's market at Smithfield; on Monday the staff-of-life committee meet in Mark Lane, to settle how much a quarter; on Tuesday the coal committee, to pray for strong easterly winds three months together the beginning of winter; Wednesday the provender committee, to settle hay, straw, and oats; Thursday the Billingsgate committee, to price fish; Friday the monopolizing committee, to engross hops; and on Saturday the brewing committee, to make, as soon as possible, beer four pence a pot.

TILWELL.

Well, some of us are bad enough in the country; but here, I find, you famish one another by rule.

SKINFLINT.

Fair game, master Tilwell, the public is very fair game. But you don't like the subject, I see; till you think better of it, we'll change it—I had almost forgot to wish you joy.

TILWELL.

Joy! of what?

SKINFLINT.

Your son-in-law, Dan, Drugger's good fortune.

TILWELL.

What has he got a good bargain of tobacco?

SKINFLINT.

So I find their hurry and joy have made them forget you.—The lottery ticket you gave your youngest daughter Anna, is come up a blank—that to Deborah, your eldest, twenty thousand pounds.

TILWELL.

Twenty thousand pounds!

SKINFLINT.

Certainly; the tobacco trade was given up in three days, a house was taken near Grosvenor-Square in three more, a French valet, a French cook, an Italian waiting woman, and a long &c. have been engaged within the last week.

TILWELL.

You astonish me! I must go immediately to this new shop of politeness.—Fortune seldom grants her favours right, else poor Anna, who deserves ten times as much as Deb. would have had the prize.

SKINFLINT.

Well, I promised to call at the Exchequer to day about it—for it must be sold immediately—and I'll meet you at Dan's in less than two hours.

Exit.

TILWELL.

A French cook! a French valet! and an Italian waiting woman!—Why good luck has turned the brains of the ideots, if they ever had any, upside down—But this methodical minister of famine; what must I think of him? that no monster in human shape can exceed that man who labours to increase the misery, and to prey on the vitals of the poor. Going.

Enter TIM TILWELL.

TIM.

Hollo: Uncle!

TILWELL.

What have you ventured without a guide?

Did not I bid you take the ostler with you?

TIM.

What signifies that; you think I can do nothing by myself—I maunt be in leading-strings all my life—I found the way well enough, and called at our butter merchant's, who gave me two large glasses of such rare stuff—

TILWELL.

As seem to have rais'd your spirits: well, I am glad you made no blunder.

TIM.

Blunder! No no. I cannot help laughing to think of the good fortune I have had; but you'll tell nobody?

TILWELL.

I can't till I know.

TIM.

Coming by the great church with the huge round top—

TILWELL.

St. Paul's?

TIM.

Ay, ay; I met with a very fine lady, all silks and sattins, who fell downright in love with me.

TILWELL.

How d'ye know?

TIM.

Because she look'd as if she did; and besides more, she told me she did.

TILWELL.

Very free at first sight!

TIM.

Free! Oh la, as free as any thing: she asked me to take a glass of wine; I could not for shame refuse her; so she told me she was a knight and baronet's daughter, that she would take me to her papa's house in something square, but was afraid till she knew how the land lay. Why she told me such things as would make one's hair stand an end; about one man flying ten feet high on a rope; another jumping with a ladder like any thing; and another, O la! riding full speed with his head on a pint pot; and other most wonderful conjurations.

TILWELL.

So you are quite sure of her?

TIM.

Sure as if we had been at church together. Sure indeed! Why she gave me her hand, and two hearty smacks upon it.

SONG. [*]

When I this fine lady shall wed,

Like a squire then I'll hold up my head;

With a sword at my side,

I'll strut by my bride;

I'll frisk it and frolic and rant it about,

'Till thro' this great town I have made a great rout.

TILWELL.

So, so; the butter merchant's good stuff, with the lady's kindness and wine, have made you as merry as a country feast at Christmas.—Pray how did you part at last?

TIM.

Why she could not stay, but appointed me to meet her to-morrow, precisely twelve o'clock, at the cap and bells in Knaves-acre.

TILWELL.

A most excellent direction; pray, nephew, what's a clock now?

TIM.

A clock? why—oh la! I've lost my fine eight guinea watch!

TILWELL.

Have you so? Oh, the lady has only borrow'd it: there are a great many such knight's daughters about this town: perhaps she has made love to your purse too.

TIM.

Adswooks, and so she has!

TILWELL.

So you had a hearty smack for one, and a shake by the hand for the other.

TIM.

Four golden guineas, and a queen Ann's crown piece given me by aunt Tibby. I shall never be able to face home again.

TILWELL.

Never fear; I'll make all up if you behave well while we are in town, but be sure to mind.

TIM.

Mind! I warrant me—four guineas—but now I think on't, three of them were light ones—that's some comfort however.

TILWELL.

Ha! ha! ha! You won't let care hang long on your mind: Come, we'll step on to your cousin Drugger's; I am told strange things of them.

TIM.

If they are as strange as the knight's daughter, I shan't much like to stay amongst them.—Oh, my poor watch and queen Ann's crown.

Exeunt.

SCENE II.

DRUGGER, FRIZEAU dressing him.

DRUGGER.

Puff, puff, puff,—poo—poo: I shall be choak'd—ugh!—ugh!—at this rate of becoming a fine gentleman, I shall be obliged to swallow as much flower every day, as would make a tolerable pudding.

FRIZEAU.

Dat is true; but I cannot help it, Sir; Madam Drugger say she vil ave your head as vite as von twelve cake.

DRUGGER.

I know that; but its very hard a man can't catch gentility without having his eyes blinded and his breath stopp'd; scrape and rub away that I may at least get my sight again; so so—there—now pray Mr. Fr—Fr—Fr—what a mischief is your name.

FRIZEAU.

Name!—A ha!—I am call Jean, Jaque, Pierre, Louis, Frederique Frizeau.

DRUGGER.

Frizeau! why there is enough for a whole family!

FRIZEAU.

All person in France derive from de noblesse have a great many name.

DRUGGER.

Noblesse! What's that?

FRIZEAU.

Vat you call the nobilite! de count, de duke, de baron: My great grandfather was marquis de Soup Maigre.

DRUGGER.

But a thin sort of a title that, Mounsieur, a—a—what the plague is it?

FRIZEAU.

Jean, Jaque, Louis, Pierre, Frederique Frizeau.

DRUGGER.

Jean, Jaque—if I had half so long a name, I should never get through the first question of the catechism—how shall I remember it?

FRIZEAU.

You call a me Frizeau, dat shall be enough.

DRUGGER.

Is that the quality way?

FRIZEAU.

Yes, Sir.

DRUGGER.

Why then, Mounsieur Frizeau, if your great grandfather was a marquis, how come you to be a valet de chamber?

FRIZEAU.

Fortune de la guerre.

DRUGGER.

So, by the shrug of your shoulders, and the length of your face, that's French for ill luck—ay, I thought so—I'm better off than you, for I'm a gentleman, and a fine one too, though my great grandfather only kept a snuff-shop.—Did you never hear of little Abel Drugger the tobacconist?

FRIZEAU.

Not in my life!

DRUGGER.

Oh la! They have got him in one of their plays; you would burst your sides to see him: when the little great man that makes every body laugh, and every body cry, does him, you shall go.

FRIZEAU.

Me tank you, Sir.—Now, Sir, rince your hand in this perfume vater, and I will sprinkle your handkerchief.

DRUGGER.

So so; this will make me a kind of a walking nosegay.

FRIZEAU.

He! he! he! Your honneur is in de right.

DRUGGER.

Why I was something of that there sort when I lived in Bucklersbury; the tobacco dust sticking to my cloaths made every one that came near me sneeze heartily; so at the Goose and grid-iron they gave me a nick-name; little Dan. the moving snuff-shop.

FRIZEAU.

Prenez garde, Monsieur—have a care, you must not talk of Bucklerbury nor tobac, it will spoil your qualité.

DRUGGER.

Quality!—where should it come from? tho' if I had taken Deborah's advice—

FRIZEAU.

Your lady's advice.

DRUGGER.

Right, my lady's advice—I had forgot—one can't learn every thing together.—Rome was not built in a day, nor London-bridge neither, and considering I have only taken up this here trade a month, I do pretty well—eh?

FRIZEAU.

Admirable!

DRUGGER.

Almost as well as if I had served an apprenticeship—but as I was going to say, neighbour Cathartic the apothecary, made two tickling speeches for me to speak at Guildhall; and if I had but mounted under one of the giants, for I'm not free of the hustings, I should have been knighted as round as a robin.

FRIZEAU.

Sans doubte dat is true.

DRUGGER.

But I never minded holding my head high till now I'm oblig'd to it, for fear of having a steel collar put on, and my feet into the dancing-school stocks.

FRIZEAU.

You please, Sir, put on a your coat?

DRUGGER.

Ay, ay, let's see—oons, the French son of a cabbage has made sleeves as if I had no more giblets than a goose.

FRIZEAU.

Dere, it is on: ma foy it is very neat: No Englise tayleur could ave fit a you so vell; it sit close as your skin.

DRUGGER.

Close! why it pinions my shoulders further back than the people that go up Holborn hill.

FRIZEAU.

My lady order that to throw out your shest, she say you stoop widout.

DRUGGER.

So then I must have my shoulders in a vice to throw out my chest, and disjoint my ancles to turn out my toes.—I can tell you Friz. this here trade of fashion is not so easy as some people imagine—I would rather spin tobacco four—

FRIZEAU.

Tobac again!

DRUGGER.

I am dumb.

FRIZEAU.

You please, Sir, put on your cutteau de chasse.

DRUGGER.

You may put it on yourself—I have no more use of my arms than an Egyptian mummy—besides I forget which side it should be.

FRIZEAU.

Alway de left—dere, Sir, it hang admirably!

Enter a Servant.

SERVANT.

Sir, there is one Mr. Tilwell wants to see you?

FRIZEAU.

Tilvel! Vat is dat? does he come in the coach or the sedan?

SERVANT.

He came on foot, Mr. Frizeau.

FRIZEAU.

On foot!—is he dress like a gentilhome?

SERVANT.

No, Mr. Frizeau; he's like a farmer, and has boots on.

FRIZEAU.

Boot! What business has such rustique figure do here?

DRUGGER.

I believe, little Friz. it is my Debor—I mean my lady's father, mayn't I see him?

FRIZEAU.

Fader—a ha—dat is another ting; he may come up; [Exit Serv.] but mind a your consequence, your distance, your character.

DRUGGER.

I must be stiff with him whether I will or no.

Drugger goes to the glass.

Enter TILWELL.

TILWELL.

So friend, where's Dan. Drugger?

FRIZEAU.

Dan!—Mr. Drugger is dere.

TILWELL.

What, that him! Why he's kickshaw'd out like a quack doctor: I should as soon have known him in lawn sleeves as this gingerbread trumpery. Drugger turns about.

DRUGGER.

Muster Tilwell, I am glad to see you.

TILWELL.

Mister! Why not father? I have more reason to be asham'd of thee than thou hast of me; give us thy hand, tho'—not stir!—why man thy arms are fixed like the wings of a skewer'd rabbit.

DRUGGER.

I have got twenty thousand pounds.

TILWELL.

What does the money pinion you?

DRUGGER.

No, the fashion.

TILWELL.

Fashion!

DRUGGER.

I'm the tip of the mode.

During these short speeches Drugger traverses the stage affectedly.

TILWELL.

You're a buckram doll.

DRUGGER.

From top to toe.

TILWELL.

Top to toe!

DRUGGER.

Before, behind, and all round.

TILWELL.

Well, if this be fashion, I would not be in it for the best stack of wheat in my haggard.

DRUGGER.

That's because you don't know what it is to be a gentleman.

TILWELL.

May-hap not—pray what do you call that bauble that hangs at your side?

DRUGGER.

Why a—Friz—

FRIZEAU.

A cutteau to chasse.

DRUGGER.

Right, a chasse.

TILWELL.

I thought it had been a new-fashioned carving-knife.

DRUGGER.

True, that's the English of the French name.

TILWELL.

I was afraid you was arming to fight.

DRUGGER.

Fight! Damme if I do.

TILWELL.

What, you swear too?

DRUGGER.

The pink of gentility.

TILWELL.

I see you are wonderfully improved; but where's Deborah?

DRUGGER.

Oh, my lady's as busy as a bee, getting dresses for the masquerade at the Pantheon to night.

TILWELL.

So, here's fine work going on I find. Aside.

DRUGGER.

But she'll be home by five o'clock to dinner.

TILWELL.

Five! this is my time, and I could pick a bit if I had it.

DRUGGER.

Friz. do you think there is any vulgar meat left?

FRIZEAU.

Me cannot tell, Sir; there was left at supper last night some charman fricasse of de frog.

TILWELL.

Rot your frogs.

FRIZEAU.

And nice ragoo of snail.

TILWELL.

Confound your snails; if this be the case, I'll go to an eating-house, and get something substantial to close the orifice of the stomach; in the afternoon I'll call and ask my girls how they do, and if they should be as much frenchified as you are, I shan't care how soon I jog home to farm.

DRUGGER.

I'm going to the Herald's-office, to get a coat of arms.

TILWELL.

Coat of arms! what need you go there? a hogshead of tobacco supported by two bunches of leaves, and a snuff-mill for a crest, will serve you well enough.

Enter TIM. TILWELL, roaring out.

TIM.

Murder! fire! fire! murder.

TILWELL.

What's the matter, Tim?

TIM.

Nothing but tricks in this plaguy London. When you came up stairs, I went down into the kitchen, for I'm as hungry as a hawk, where the lanthern-jawed picture of starvation of a cook, gave me some pee-pash, or pash-pee, I think he called it.

FRIZEAU.

Aha! the callapash and callapee; dat is turtle.

TIM.

Plague on his P's, Q's and turtle too; I had not swallowed above two mouthfuls, before my throat was burnt to a cinder.

FRIZEAU.

Dat was de Chian.

TIM.

Chian! I wish you and all your countrymen were soused over head and ears in it; I shan't get the skin on my mouth this month.

DRUGGER.

Yes, if you learn to be a gentleman; it scorched me at first, but now I can swallow spoonfuls without winking.

TILWELL.

Come, come, Tim. we'll go to some good British beef and beer, the one to rub, and the other to wash off this outlandish trash. Good bye, Dan.

DRUGGER.

Allons, Don.

TILWELL.

I don't understand French.

DRUGGER.

No, nor I neither; but a word or two gives a man a polite air.

TIM.

Good bye, Dan. and you, monsieur Cockatoo.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE III.

SIR FRANCIS FAIRLOVE and ANNA.

SIR FRANCIS.

So delightful a temperature of the weather, Madam, may induce us to say, with the tender Otway, "This fair day seems as 'twere sent to invite the world abroad."

ANNA.

The elements do, indeed, seem particularly harmonious, Sir

SIR FRANCIS.

An emblem of your happy disposition, Madam, which never admits a cloud to hang on it.

ANNA.

I am tolerably at ease, Sir Francis, and strive to keep myself so; there is no occasion to pursue care, it too often falls in our way unsought.

SIR FRANCIS.

Perfectly right—but you are philosophical on every occasion; the calmness, or rather pleasure, with which you heard your sister's good fortune, is a peculiar instance.

ANNA.

As I had formed •o expectations, the disappointment of my chance was easily borne.

SIR FRANCIS.

Not so easily, Madam: though you have given me but very distant expectation of being made happy by your fair hand, yet I should be much more unsatisfied if hope was turned up a positive blank.

ANNA.

Sir Francis, the world calls you a man of honour, and I believe you one, believe your professions are sincere, however beyond what I can merit; but, Sir, that father who brought me up with the utmost tenderness, claims a share in the disposal; especially as I'm sure he'll never do it against my inclinations.

SIR FRANCIS.

Far be it from me to infringe upon his just and natural authority; had I your leave, his opinion should be soon consulted.

ANNA.

I have often told you, Sir, the difference of birth and fortune.

SIR FRANCIS.

Virtue and good sense are far above them.

ANNA.

I am not, like my sister, fond of the splendor of life.

SIR FRANCIS.

Therefore the more wor••y to enjoy it. Splendor is but a rattle to weak minds; its dignity rises from due application.

ANNA.

A rattle I think indeed, for the very notion of it seems to have rattled our family out of their senses: but as my father is every day expected in town, I hope his prudence will set them to rights a little.

SIR FRANCIS.

Your father, Madam, so soon expected! May I be indulged with liberty to ask his opinion of the proposals I have made for you to share my fortune and my heart.

ANNA.

What seems, so far, proper to you, Sir, I can have no objection to.

SIR FRANCIS.

You make me happy.—Remember you are to be a shepherdess at the Pantheon masquerade tonight, and I am to be your Arcadian swain. Pray what dress has Mrs. Drugger fixed on?

ANNA.

Fifty at least; all the habits of Europe, Asia, Africa, and America, yet not one positively: my brother-in-law she has turned over too almost as often; from a Punch to Tom Fool, from a chimney-sweeper to a baker, and so on.—But I must bid you good morning, Sir; by the time I shall reach home, she'll be returned, and in a sad bustle.

SIR FRANCIS.

I am walking within twenty yards of Mr. Drugger's, and shall be happy to attend you.

ANNA.

Sir, you are extremely obliging. [Exeunt.]

Notes

*
This song omitted in representation.
↵

ACT THE SECOND.

Mrs. DRUGGER and LISINI.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

LISINI, reach me a chair—now my smelling-bottle—I shan't recover myself this half hour.

LISINI.

Vat be de matter, my Lady?

Mrs. DRUGGER.

Matter! why as I was coming from the mascarade shop, as fast as the horses could go—for you know it's quality, fashion to drive neck or nothing—a nasty cart, with wheels as high as a may-pole, came plump against my phiz-a-phiz, and threw poor Whipcord off the box.—I don't think he'll turn a corner with spirit for a month to come.

LISINI.

Dat was bad inteet.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

I would not have him spoiled for any thing; he has drove me a whole fortnight, and done no mischief, except running over an old fellow with a wooden leg, and that you know is nothing at all.

LISINI.

Noting in the varld—but me hope your Ladyship gat no hurt—you might have broke a de bone.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

So I might, but I should not have minded that, only it would have kept me from the Pantheon to night, and that must have been worse than breaking of a neck.

LISINI.

Your Ladyship say very true; sure dat same Pantheon must be de fine place.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

A perfect candle-light Paradise.—Did you never see it?

LISINI.

No, Matam.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

Oh dear, that's a pity—you shall go some day or other—though it's hardly worth seeing now; it is but half-a-crown by day-light; when it was five-and-three-pence, the thing was well enough; now I suppose tag rag and bobtail go there.

LISINI.

It be most like—it is too cheap.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

How do I look to day?

LISINI.

Charman as de morn in May.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

Have I enough of the roogee on my cheeks?

LISINI.

Me give a your Ladyship von leetel touch—now you bloom as de rose.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

Has the man been here about the two teeth I want putting in?

LISINI.

Yes, Madam, and he say, he will be here in de von hour, and the leetel chimney-sweep wit him.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

Chimney-sweeper! what does he bring him for?

LISINI.

He could not do without. Your Ladyship must know, dat de chimney-sweep, tho' he be black, has very white a toots; so de man take dem out of his mout, and put dem piping hot into your mout.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

Is that the quality way?

LISINI.

Quite, me assure you—and de two toots will only cost ten guinea.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

Cheap as dirt; if I like them I'll buy every tooth in his head, and give him mine into the bargain—they'll serve to gnaw a crust well enough.—Has my dancing-master called?

LISINI.

Not yet, Matam.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

I wish duke William's four corner march, the cushion dance, and bobbing-joan were in fashion, I could foot it away with the best of them; but I'm afraid I shan't come round your luffers, your allimandies, and your pasty-pies a great while.

LISINI.

All in goot time.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

I am pretty well in the minuet swim tho'; did I tell you the agreement Mr. Drugger and I have made?

LISINI.

No, Matam.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

Why you know it would be foolish to live in the old dogtrot way like Darby and Joan, so he gives me leave to have as many gallants as I please, and I am to let him have a trate a trate with any lady he chuses.

LISINI.

Dat be de very pink of qualité.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

Has the man brought the Turkish carpet?

LISINI.

He say he have not vone large enough, but some ver fine Inglis.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

I'll have nothing English about me dead or alive.

LISINI.

Your latyship be quite in de right.

Enter FRIZEAU.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

Now, Mr. Mounseer?

FRIZEAU.

Matam, dere be de man about de Northumberland pye-ball horses.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

What! has he got a set of those dear creaters?

FRIZEAU.

He say he ave, and that they vill be no more as five hundred guinea the six.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

Cheap as two eggs a penny—have they long tails?

FRIZEAU.

So long they sweep a de ground.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

Delightful!—What a dash I shall cut with these in my phiz a phiz—I love long tails vastly—what do you think, Lisi?

LISINI.

And me too; dey are much better as the short.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

Tell the man he may bring them home tomorrow; I am too busy to think of any thing but the masquerade to day.

FRIZEAU.

I shall, Matam—Your latyship sister. Exit.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

Hum!

Enter ANNA.

ANNA.

Well, sister, have you fixed the important point of your dress yet?

Mrs. DRUGGER.

I don't know whether I have or not; I have ordered six different ones for fear of the worst.

ANNA.

Well, I am amazed you can take so sudden and violent a delight in such a confused senseless assembly, where wit hobbles upon stilts, and common sense dare not peep in.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

So that's your idear of things—you would have me as countrified as yourself—it may do for a farmer's daughter, but not for me.

ANNA.

Strange distinction! had not you and I one father?

Mrs. DRUGGER.

I don't know—mayhap not—for I have heard as how my lord Shineaway, that lived in our neighbourhood, liked mother hugely before I was born—and how—

ANNA.

Hold—the child who would taint a parent's virtue to catch at the ridiculous idea of false nobility, falls below the lowest of the vulgar.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

Lack-a-day, good Mrs. Tinder—what a fuss the thing is in—I suppose you have got that wise speech out of some of your books that you are so fond of.

ANNA.

There is no occasion to consult books for what nature alone can tell us.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

Well, well, if you don't like things here, you know your way into the country again.

ANNA.

I do: and therefore intended to return with my father—without so genteel a dismission.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

Genteel!—ha! ha! ha! a fine thing indeed for a country girl to talk of gentility—no, no, you must leave that to us who are better bred.

ANNA.

Who have a better opinion of themselves, you mean; indeed, sister, real good breeding, and the aukward affectation of it, are so different, that it is impossible to know one by the other.

Enter DICKEY DRUGGER.

DICKEY.

Oh, mama! mama! mama!—I have got two of the finest butterflies in this here box—I had a rare chace after them before I could knock them down with my hat—you would have laughed like any thing.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

Lard, this boy is so troublesome—I have other-guess'd fish to fry than butterflies to day, child. Speaks aside to Lisini.

DICKEY.

Yan, yan, yan, ya,—if you won't laugh you may let it alone.

ANNA.

What do you intend to do with the butterflies, Dickey? keep them, I suppose, to admire their beautiful colours.

DICKEY.

No, no; hang colours—I shall have the rarest sport with them—you shall see it if you will—

ANNA.

What sport, my dear?

DICKEY.

Why I'll put a pin thro' one to see if it spins as well as a bumble bee; and I'll pull a wing off the other to see if it can fly then—won't that be comical?

ANNA.

Fie, my dear, you should not be so cruel.

Mrs. DRUGGER. Comes forward.

What's that, Dickey?

DICKEY.

Why aunt says as how that I must not spit the butterfly on a pin.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

But you shall, if you like it.

DICKEY.

Look ye there now—do you know, mama, that she gave me a slap the other day for only biting a piece of the kitten's ear off?

Mrs. DRUGGER.

Did she so!—Marry come up, indeed—for the future I'll let her know she's not your mistress.

DICKEY.

No, no,—tho' you're my aunt you're not my mistress—mama says so—and so take that.

ANNA.

For shame, sister, how can you think of encouraging cruelty in a young mind—it is laying the shameful foundation of an unfeeling heart—such kind of sport, as you call it, encouraged among boys, often makes them, when grown to riper years, very inhuman members of society.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

I don't want you to teach me.

DICKEY.

No nor me neither.

ANNA.

I shan't attempt it, for it is in vain to think that you can act prudently for your child, when you are taking all imaginable pains to spoil your husband, yourself, and the whole family: I shall when distant wish you well, but from appearances have very little to hope; for where folly and fashion hold the reins, errors spring up with every hour, and ruin cannot be far off. Exit.

DICKEY.

La, mama, this aunt of mine is as four as a crab-apple, and as cross as a pussy-cat.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

Ah, we shan't be troubled long with her—she shall soon troop into the country.

DICKEY.

Adslidikins, I'm glad of it—then I'll do whatever I have a mind—I won't be afraid to snitch off Mounseer's macaroni tail if I can get at it—nor to squirt aqua fortis into any body's eyes I meet.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

What a witty creater it is—he knows but every thing; he has a deal more of me than of Mr. Drugger in him.

LISINI.

Ver much so inteet, Matam.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

If it would not plague him too much to give him learning, who knows but he might come to be a bishop, or a judge, or an alderman, or a deputy, or some such great man.

LISINI.

He vil ave fortune enough widout dat—School spoil a de spirit.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

So I say—great scholars are always dull.

DICKEY.

Mama, do you know how I served our butter-woman just now?

Mrs. DRUGGER.

How?

DICKEY.

Why Sammy Shuttlecock and I, seeing her at the door with a basket of eggs under her arm—

LISINI.

You stole some—he! he! he!

DICKEY.

No, no,—better than that—ha! ha! ha! we pulled a jack cord across the hall, tripped up her heels, and souce she went head foremost into the basket; such a smash, and such a face! ha! ha! ha!

Mrs. DRUGGER.

Ha! ha! ha! ha!

LISINA.

He! he! he! he! it is so pleasant.

DICKEY.

By jingo, I'll go and have t'other peep at her, for she won't get it rubbed and scrubbed off her face this half hour. Exit DICKEY.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

This boy is so diverting, that I had almost forgot my jewels—I'll go and lay them out. If Mr. Drugger should come, bid him wait. I'll come back in five minutes.

[Exit Mrs. DRUGGER.]

LISINI.

This clipping of words is very tiresome to an English tongue; but if fools of fashion like foreign jargon and foreign servility, who can blame Frizeau and I for assuming both; if we can feather our nests among these new made gentry, let them have the pleasure of what they don't understand, while we laugh in our sleeves, and snack the gain. Here comes my beau of a master—he puts me in mind of Bellameer in the puppet-show—he's as stiff as a stake, and as dull as a log.

Enter DRUGGER.

DRUGGER.

Lis. where's my Lady?

LISINI.

Sir, she will be here in de four or five minute.

DRUGGER.

Lis. how do you like me?

LISINI.

Admirable!—If you was in Italè, all the ladies fall in love wit you—your honour is so handsome.

DRUGGER.

D'ye think so? have you fallen in love with me?

LISINI.

You make a me blush, Sir.

DRUGGER.

I used to blush myself, before I learned gentility; but its all over now.—Come near, little Lis.—But it's no matter if my Lady should hear, she has given me leave.

LISINI.

Vat, Sir?

DRUGGER.

I could find in my heart to give you a good smacking buss to begin with, but that I can't stoop to take one.

LISINI.

You are merry, Sir.

DRUGGER.

Will you be my mistress?

LISINI.

Your mistress!

DRUGGER.

I would not give a farthing for an English one.—I'll keep you a chair; I can't mount a coach.

LISINI.

Me cannot tell vat you mean.

DRUGGER.

A handsome lodging near Soho; three meals a-day regularly, and a black boy with a white turbot upon his head.

LISINI.

I must keep this fool in suspence, to have a little diversion with him (Aside.) —Your honour must give me time to tink. Exit.

DRUGGER.

I thought the black boy would do the business.—Think! ay, ay, you may think as long as you like; I'm in no hurry: its more for the name of the thing than any thing else.

Enter Mrs. DRUGGER.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

Well, Mr. Drugger, have you been at the Harild's office? Lisi. go, and bring me word when the mascarade man comes.

DRUGGER.

Yes, my dear, and—

Mrs. DRUGGER.

Dear!—Monstrous!—Such words might do well enough while we were behind the counter; but with twenty thousand pounds in our pocket, for shame!

DRUGGER.

I had forgot; my memory's short; it's a family disorder; it came from my great-grandfather, Abel.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

Have you bought the coats of arms?

DRUGGER.

Yes; I have bought six cuckoos, with an owl in the crest, for myself; seven golden lions, and a green crocodile for you.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

A crocodile! why did not you get me an oliphant?

DRUGGER.

Because there was not one to be sold—the nabobs have bespoke them all.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

But have you chosen pretty colours to put them on?

DRUGGER.

I did not stint for that; I've bought all the colours in the rainbow.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

So far so good.—Mind that you go to-morrow and get a hundred mooseum tickets, for I'm quite detarmin'd to have the empress of Russy's head and both the ear-rings.

Enter LISINI.

LISINI.

Matam, de masc man be come wit the dress.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

Come, Mr. Drugger, I'll chuse one for you.

DRUGGER.

I thank you—but I have thought of one myself.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

What is it?

DRUGGER.

A rare comical one; I once at Christmas time frightened three old women almost out of their senses with it.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

Frightened!

DRUGGER.

I'll wrap myself in a long white sheet, flower my face, and clap tobacco-stoppers in my mouth to make huge teeth.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

But how are you to talk then?

DRUGGER.

Talk!—I believe most of them that go, might wear tobacco-stoppers as well as me, for all the good things they say.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

Pah, pah, you shall have no such feely farely nonsense.—Come along, I'll make a Turk, a Jew, a Punch, or something or other of you.

DRUGGER.

A Turk—why I would not give a roll of pigtail—

Mrs. DRUGGER.

Pigtail!—foh—Will you never forget Bucklersbury? Exeunt.

Enter SIR FRANCIS, TILWELL, and ANNA.

TILWELL.

Why this son-in-law and daughter of mine, are as hard to be seen as if he was a Lord and she a Lady.—Well, Sir Francis, I am a plain man, and thank you heartily, though not in fine words, for the honourable proposal you have made my girl, Anna; though, to be sure, she could never have expected such a match, yet, I say it that should not say it, she's as much above her sister Deborah, as good wheat is above tares.

ANNA.

Fye, father!

SIR FRANCIS.

It was for that superiority beyond comparison, I first conceived, and have since cherished a passion for your daughter. Nature has been very kind to her person, yet more so to her mind.

TILWELL.

I think so too—and, Sir Francis, if she has no objections, I can't have any. But this by the bye—I would not have her married to an Emperor against her liking.

SIR FRANCIS.

Nor would I form a wish upon any other principle.

TILWELL.

Well then, now what says the girl herself?—Nay, blush not, honest hearts have no occasion for it.

ANNA.

I am sensible of Sir Francis's condescension, and proud to have obtained it; yet still there is a disparity of station which alarms me, therefore I request some days to think, before I come to a resolution.

TILWELL.

Well said—none but fools take a leap in the dark. Ah, she has always been a comfort to me; when ramping Deb. used to be at swing-swong, thread-needle, or riding jack-asses, this Anna always had a book or pen in her hand; and do you know, tho' I don't like French much, she would be taught it.

Enter FRIZEAU.

FRIZEAU.

Sir, I ave tell a de squire and my lady; dey expect you in the drawing room. Exit.

TILWELL.

Squire and lady! Mercy on us! I suppose we shall have these mad lottery folks lord and lady Bucklersbury soon. Exeunt.

Enter Mr. DRUGGER and Mrs. DRUGGER.

DRUGGER.

What, rob a chimney-sweeper's mouth to furnish my own! no, no, I suffer enough already.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

Well, take your own way; what's bred in the bone will never out of the flesh—its a pity my good luck brought you from behind a counter.

DRUGGER.

If it had not, what then?—I could have had my pipe and pot at the Cheshire-cheese, and talked about politics and liberty by wholesale.

Enter TILWELL.

TILWELL.

So Deborah;—hey day!—why thou art grown a grenadier since I saw thee last.

DRUGGER.

No wonder at that, she has six inches of wood under her heels, and eighteen of hair a top of her head—she's two feet shorter by night than she is by day.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

Well said, Mr. Wit.

TILWELL.

What won't you vouchsafe your father a word, Deb.?

Mrs. DRUGGER.

It is not the fashion, Sir, to call people by their names.

TILWELL.

No!—What have they names for then—fashion, quotha; if fashion makes all its followers as foolish as you, my service to it—but, Madam, then, for that's what you want I suppose.

DRUGGER.

Yes; that 'll go down like a sugar-plum—you see how it makes her cock up her chin.

TILWELL.

What do you think all this foolery I hear of, and see about your house, will come to?—Mischief on't, can't fortune put good luck into your purses without building windmills in your heads?

DRUGGER.

Windmills! Pray now, father—

Mrs. DRUGGER.

Father!—Bucklersbury.

DRUGGER.

Sir, I meant; pray now, Sir, how does a windmill feel—I would fain know, because as how, ever since I turn'd gentleman, there has been a whirligig in my brain, and I have been as giddy as a goose.

TILWELL.

Yes, and if you are guided by Madam here, you'll be served up, Mr. Goose, to a parcel of hungry knaves, who will pick you to the bone.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

I have changed my mind, Mr. Drugger; I'll be a Wenus to night, and master Dickey shall be a Coopid—I'll go and dress this minute, to see how I look. As she is going, enter Tim. Tilwell in Caliban's dress. Ah! She screams and runs to her father.

TIM.

Do you know me? to Drugger, in a very rough voice.

DRUGGER.

Not I: Nor don't desire it. Aside.

TIM.

I am a gentleman.

DRUGGER.

From what country?

TIM.

The moon.

DRUGGER.

I thought you was outlandish.

TIM.

Ha! ha! ha! snap my buttons, if this is not the rarest rig. (Unmasks.)

TILWELL.

Tim! what April-day gambol is this?

Mrs. DRUGGER.

He has put my heart in such a flustration, that it goes thump, thump, thump, like a bucking-bat.

TIM.

Uncle, you must lend me money to buy this case.

TILWELL.

What to do?

TIM.

To do! to make my fortune. I'll show myself at the fairs in our country—Walk in, Ladies, walk in, Gemmen—the curosity of curosities is to be seen here—the man in the moon—at two pence a-piece—no more than two pence a-piece—now's your time. Swooks, I'll go and ask the man what it's to be, and then you'll lend me the money, uncle. [Exit.]

Enter FRIZEAU.

FRIZEAU.

Matam, Monsieur Metamorphose wish to speak von word to you.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

I'll go to him. [Exit.]

TILWELL.

Among other strange matters, son Daniel, what, in the name of wonder, made you chuse a French servant?

DRUGGER.

Two very good reasons; first, because it's fashionable; and second, because I may beat him for my diversion.

TILWELL.

Beat!

DRUGGER.

Oh! a Frenchman will bear it like stock-fish, You shall see.—Frizeau!

FRIZEAU.

Your Honeur.

DRUGGER.

There. (Kicks him.)

FRIZEAU.

Vat vor is dat?

DRUGGER.

To please myself.—There. (Slaps him over the face.)

FRIZEAU.

Damn it, that's too much for English flesh and blood to bear:—Off Frenchman, and now, as we are pretty well matched, if you have a mind for a set-to, master of mine?

DRUGGER.

What, are not you French?

FRIZEAU.

No more than you; I'm a Cockney every inch; Bow-bell for ever—I transmogrified myself to make a fool of you.

DRUGGER.

I believe that was done to your hands.

TILWELL.

Ha! ha! ha!

FRIZEAU.

I thought to have picked up some splinters about you; but if they can't be got without kicking and thumping, let them that like to earn money that way, take them; Barny Blunt won't, damme if he will.

TILWELL.

Well said, beef and pudding.

Enter Mrs. DRUGGER and LISINI.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

Yes, yes, Lisini, I am quite detarmined now, Wenus is the thing.

Enter SKINFLINT.

DRUGGER.

Oh master Skinflint, have you settled about our ticket?

SKINFLINT.

Yes, it is settled—your favourite number forty-five has deceived you.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

Deceived!

SKINFLINT.

Yes truly; for the twenty thousand happens to be your sister's, not yours.

(Mr. and Mrs. DRUGGER drop countenances, and look simply at each other.)

TILWELL.

If this be true, I shan't think Fortune so blind as I took her to be.

SKINFLINT.

Here it is certified at the Exchequer; 45, blank; 46, 20,000l.

Enter TIM.

TIM.

It will only cost a guinea, uncle.—Hey-day! what's matter that coosins wear such Good-Friday faces?

DRUGGER.

I believe I must turn man in the moon too.

TIM.

You shall go partners with me if you will; we'll act and hold the blanket at the door, day about.

DRUGGER.

Well, I shall get out of the stocks, however.

Enter SIR FRANCIS and ANNA.

SKINFLINT.

Miss Anna, though I have been rather a disagreeable messenger to your sister, yet I may wish you joy of good fortune.

ANNA.

What, Sir!

SKINFLINT.

The lottery-office keeper ignorantly gave the prize of your number to your sister, and her blank to you.

ANNA.

My sister's disappointment lessens the pleasure of my advantage, though it relieves me from a material difficulty.—Sir Francis, I asked some days to contemplate your generous offer—this event has solved my doubts—Now I have something more than an honest heart to bestow, I yield my hand with pleasure: the man who acts disinterestedly in marriage, well deserves all a woman can bestow.

SIR FRANCIS.

Madam, this delicate generosity is worthy the most, elevated mind; and to deserve it, shall be the study of my life.

TILWELL.

I never shed a tear since my boyhood, except when thy poor mother died; now, my good girl, thou hast filled my eyes with the water of joy.

LISINI.

I believe, Sir, you'll have no occasion for a Signora.—Shall I have the Soho lodging—three meals a day—a sedan—a black boy with a white turbot upon his head? ha! ha! ha! (To DRUGGER.)

TILWELL.

What's the meaning of all this?

LISINI.

The Gentleman wanted an Italian mistress, so made proposals to me, while I spoke broken English.

TILWELL.

A mistress! why he could not have gone further if he had been really a Lord. Well, Dan. what do you expect to do now?—I suppose all the tobacco is gone in trumpery.

DRUGGER.

Every quid. (Sighs.)

SKINFLINT.

Look you, friend Drugger, don't be quite cast down; if your relations here will help you to a couple of hundred, I can pop you into a snug public house at Wapping; and I think you'll make a pretty little smart skinker.

DRUGGER.

Yes, I can run up and down stairs as tightly as any one of my inches.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

I could cry for madness—Grosvenor-square changed for Wapping. Our nobles are come to nine-pence with a witness.

SKINFLINT.

Not so bad as you think; some Wapping landladies are very fine.

DRUGGER.

True; I have seen 'em myself with a ring upon every singer.

ANNA.

Sister, tho' on the supposed advance of your fortune you have treated me rather ungenteelly, yet I pity your situation, and shall recommend it to Sir Francis's notice.

SIR FRANCIS.

Madam, it has already struck me: Mr. Drugger, that you may not be obliged to enter again into trade, which you so imprudently left, I'll settle upon you the interest of ten thousand pounds, and the principal at your decease on your son, provided he is put under the guardianship of his aunt here.

DRUGGER.

Must I be a gentleman still?

SIR FRANCIS.

Not in the stile you have been.

DRUGGER.

I'm glad of it, I shall have my arms at liberty.

TILWELL.

Down on your knees, and thank such noble and generous friendship.

DRUGGER.

She may—if I do I can't get up again, my French coat won't let me.

Mrs. DRUGGER.

Must not I have one peep more at the dear sweet Pantheon?

SIR FRANCIS.

Yes, yes, we'll enjoy the entertainment of this evening, as already proposed.

TIM.

Cousin Drugger, come down to our neighbourhood, and I'll lead you such a fox-chace—if you don't break your neck, you shall stand a fair chance of doing it.

DRUGGER.

Pretty sport that.

TILWELL.

Adod, my heart's so full that I can't say, so I'll try if I can sing what I think.

SONG.

Turn'd round with Fortune's fickle wheel,

Thro' ups and downs in life,

Thro' reason only we can feel

The real sweets of life.

The prudent make a blank a prize,

The foolish prizes blanks;

If mankind then were truly wise,

They'd keep their several ranks.

Our station is a lottery quite,

Where you decide the cause;

The twenty thousand's ours to night,

If crown'd with your applause.

Information about this book

Title statement

The Pantheonites. A dramatic entertainment. As performed at the Theatre-Royal in the Hay-Market

Gentleman, Francis, 1728-1784.

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/4889

ID [isbn10]

1106018885

ID [isbn13]

9781106018885

ID [TCP]

K085919.000

ID [BIBNO]

CW3314919423

ID [ECLL]

0681500800

Availability

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

Source

— The Pantheonites. A dramatic entertainment. As performed at the Theatre-Royal in the Hay-Market, Gentleman, Francis, 1728-1784.. [8],56p. ; 8⁰. London :: printed for J. Bell; and C. Etherington, at York,. 1773.. [Anonymous. By Francis Gentleman.] [With a half-title.] [Reproduction of original from the British Library.] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT107011.] [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).]

Creation

Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2p5.xsl, TEI @ Oxford.

Editorial practices

This electronic text file was keyed from page images and partially proofread for accuracy. Character capture and encoding have been done following the guidelines of the ECCO Text Creation Partnership, which correspond roughly to the recommendations found in Level 4 of the TEI in Libraries Guidelines. Digital page images are linked to the text file.