CHARACTERS. LORD WARYFORD. LADY WARYFORD. SIR THOMAS SYLVAN. MISS NEGATIVE, Sister to Sir Thomas. COUNT LA COUR, a French Emigrant. MISS KITTY, Niece to Sir Thomas and Miss Negative. Mr. ARGENT, Nephew to Sir Thomas and Miss Negative. SPARKER, Valet to Lord Waryford. THE MASQUERADE; A Comedy. ACT I. SCENE I. A Library. Lord and Lady Waryford sitting at a Table; his Lordship reading a Newspaper. LORD W. Fashion, like the wheel of a spendthrift's curricle, though ever in constant motion, is still only doing the same thing. The very theatres are as dull as if Apollo and the Muses had never been. They seem to rival each other only in trying which shall produce the silliest show at the greatest expense. We have had nothing good from them since they burnt themselves; but even in that, the sterility of modern talent was demonstrated. While CoventGarden was yet sitting in ashes, Drury-Lane got up the Conflagration still more magnificently, and there was a rumor that the Opera-House had the same spectacle in preparation. The Pantheon also made an attempt, but it was very injudicious, and did not succeed. However, I see that there is yet some principle of variety not extinct. To what particular action of it, Angelica, do I owe the rare honor of your company in this apartment? Lady W. I am to be at home to-night. Lord IV. What! were you not at home last night? O fye! Lady W. Pshaw! Waryford. It is my masquerade. Lord W. True! the papers have just been telling me of the preparations; preparations, they say, of the most magnificent description. What a happy age we live in! Routs, balls, and lighted rooms, candelabras, cut glass, and throats cut, interspersed with a few anecdotes of kingdoms desolated, make up the matter of our daily knowledge. And so I am indebted, for the pleasure of your Ladyship's company, to the lamp-lighters and other artists, as they are called, at work in the drawing-rooms. Well; masquerades, and all sorts and kinds of public amusements in private houses, are surely very conjugal contrivances, since thus they bring man and wife together. Lady W. But will you assume any character? Lord W. Have you not designed a very particular one for me already? Lady W. Come, come, don't be petulant, Augustus. What character will you take? Do exert yourself, and try something. Lord W. Perhaps I may enact Cato. Lady W. An excellent idea. Lord W. But not the Roman fool; no; the other Cato, who sometimes lent his wife to his friends. Lady W. Is it possible? Can you be jealous? Lord W. Jealous? No, Angelica; Jealousy is the offspring of Love, and the dead do not procreate. Poor Cupid was crushed to death beneath a lawyer's seal; his winding-sheet is made of written vellum, and his coffin is a chartulary wherein he lies forgotten. [Enter LA COUR and SYLVAN.] How are ye, Sylvan? Count, I'm glad to see you. [Lord W. takes the Count apart.] A word, La Cour. Have you seen the papers this morning? Did this morning? Did you notice a paragraph about my wife? La Cour. It is an intolerable libel, my Lord-false and malignant-I know it is. Lord W. You were the author, then? La Cour. What 1, my Lord? Lord W. Poh, I did but jest, seeing you so emphatic. I do not like any thing said with an emphasis; it is like Italics in print, or underlineation in writing, and always means more than meets the ear. La Cour. The papers are the pests of civilized society. You English boast of your freedom, but a man can do nothing in London without the risk of seeing it published. Lord W. The newspapers in this respect may be called the Gods of Police; but, Count, you may do as much good as you please without being afraid of them. Pray how have you happened to bring Sylvan with you? It is to him that the paragraph alludes. La Cour. I do not think it points at him. Lord W. No? La Cour. He has come to invite her Ladyship to visit his sister. Lord W. When do you go, Angelica? Lady W. Go where? Lord W. To visit Miss Sylvan. Lady W. What do you mean? Lord W. Not to-day? Lady W. [To Sylvan.] Is your sister in town? Sylv. The family came last night. Lord W. Take an advice, Count-never assign motives to the actions of your friends. But, Angelica, show us those mighty preparations of which the journals give such note. Sylv. Your Lordship likes a masquerade. Lord W. Of all things; particularly when the unmasquing is near. [Exeunt. SCENE II. A drawing room in Sir Thomas Sylvan's house. MISS KITTY and ARGENT. Kitty dressed as a girl, with a doll. Arg. You are early dressed for the masquerade. Miss Kit. Have you not heard that our philosophical aunt has taken it into her head that there is a great risk of the world being over-peopled. By way of counteracting the danger, she is endeavouring to make me relapse into childhood, until I shall become as little likely as herself of adding to the mass of suffering mankind. Arg. And can you submit to so ridiculous a metamorphosis? Miss Kit. It cannot last beyond the day, and I am diverted by the whim; for, in attempting to consider me as a child, she affords me an opportunity of amply indemnifying myself, by treating her with the petulance of one. Arg. I wish you would rather think of going with me to Scotland. We may easily escape unobserved, this evening, from Lady Waryford's masquerade. |