The spoil'd child: in two acts. As performed at the Theatre-Royal, Smoke-Alley.

ACT II.

SCENE.—A Parlour.

Enter MISS PICKLE and MARGERY,

Margery.

AND so as I was telling your ladyship, poor little master does so take it to heart—and so weep and wail, it almost makes me cry to hear him.

Miss P.

Well, well, since he begins already to repent his punishment shall be but short— but have you brought your boy with you?

Marg.

Aye, have I—poor Tommy—he came from aboard of ship but now—and is so grown and alter'd—sure enough he believes every word I have told him as your honour order'd me—and I warrant is so sheep|ish and shamefaced—O here comes my master —he has heard it all already—

Enter PICKLE.

but my lady, shall I fetch my poor Tommy to you?— he's waiting without.

Pick.

What that ill looking young rascal in the hall? he with the jacket and trowsers?

Marg.

Aye, your honour, then you have seen him?

Pick.

Seen him!—aye and felt him too— the booby met me bolt at the corner—run his curst carrotty poll in my face and has loosen'd every tooth in my head I believe.

Marg.

Poor lad—he's a sailor and but awkward as yet and so shy I warrant—but will you your honour be kind to him—

Pick.

Kind to him—why I'm to pass for his father, a'n't I?

Marg.

Aye, I wish your honour had been poor Tommy's father—but no such luck for me, as I say to my husband.

Pick.

Indeed?—your husband must be very much oblige to you, and so am I—

Marg.

But do, your honour, once let me see my Tommy drest in his fine smart Cloaths.

Pick.

Damme! I don't half like that Tommy.

Miss P.

Yes, yes, you shall—but now go and fetch him here to us—I shou'd like much to see him.

Marg.

Do you now madam, speak kindly to him, for poor boy he's quite dash'd.

Pick.

Dash'd!—yes and he has dash'd some of my teeth out, plague on him.

Miss P.

Now Mr. Pickle I insist upon your observing a proper behaviour and decorum towards this poor lad—observe the condescen|tion of my deportment—methinks I feel a strange inclination already in his favour— perhaps I may advance him by and by to be my page, shall I brother?—here he comes— and I declare as prepossessing a countenance as I ever beheld.

Enter MARGERY and LITTLE PICKLE, as a Sailor—red hair.

Miss P.

Come hither, child, was there ever such an engaging air.

Marg.

Go, Tommy, do as you're bid, that's a good boy, thank his honour for his goodness to you.

Little P.

Be you the old fellow that's just come to be my father?

Pick.

(aside.)

Old fellow?—he's devilish dash'd to be sure—yes I am the old fellow as you call it—will you be a good child?

Little P.

Aye, but what will you gi' me? —must I be good for nothing?

Pick.

Good for nothing! nay, that I'll swear you are already, well, and how long have you been come from Sea, eh? how do you like a sailor's life? eh?

SONG.—Melton Oysters.

LITTLE PICKLE.

I am a brisk and sprightly lad, Just come home from sea, Sir, Of all the lives I ever led, A sailor's life for me, Sir. Yeo, yeo, yeo! yeo, yeo, yeo! While the boatswain pipes all hands With a yeo, yeo, yeo, Sir.

What girl but loves the merry tar That o'er the Ocean roam, Sir, In every clime we find a Port In every Port a home, Sir, Yeo, yeo, &c.

But when our, country's foes are nigh Each hastens to his gun, Sir, We make the boasting Frenchman fly, And bang the haughty don, Sir, Yeo, yeo, &c.

Our foes subdued, once more on shore, We spend our cash with glee, Sir, And when all's gone we drown our care, And out again to sea, Sir. Yeo, yeo, yeo! yeo, yeo, yeo! And when all's gone again to Sea, With a yeo, yeo, yeo, Sir.

Pick.

So, this is the way I'm to be enter|tain'd in future with forecastle jokes and tarpaulin songs—

Miss P.

Brother, don't speak so harshly to the poor lad—come to me, my pretty boy, I'll be your friend.

Little P.

Friend! Oh what your my Grand|mother—

(to Miss P.)

father mustn't I call her Granne?

Pick.

What, he wants encouragement, Sister, he's found out one relation however— this boy's assurance diverts me, I like him—

(aside.)

Little P.

Granne's mortal cross and frumpish—la, father! what makes your mo|ther there so plaguy foul weather'd.

Miss P.

Mother, indeed!

Pick.

O nothing at all, my dear, she's the best humour'd person in the world—go, throw yourself at her feet and ask her blessing —perhaps she may "gi' ye something."

(mimics.)

Little P.

A blessing!—I shan't be much richer for that, neither, perhaps she may give me half a crown—I'll throw myself at her feet and ask for a guinea—

(knetls)

dear granne, gi' me that pretty picture

(catches at it.)

Miss P.

Stand off, wretch—am I to be robb'd as well as insulted.

Marg.

Fie! child! learn to behave yourself better.

Little P.

Behave myself—learn you to behave yourself—I shou'dn't ha' thought of you indeed—get you gone—I'm a young gemman now, and mustn't remember old acquaintances—get out, I say.

drives her off and follows.

Pick.

Well, Sister—this plan of yours I hope succeeds to your satisfaction—he'll make a mighty pretty Page, sister, what an en|gaging air he has, Sister,—this is some revenge for her treatment of my poor boy.

Aside.

Miss P.

I perceive this to be all a contrivance —and this boy is taught to insult me thus— but ere long, you may repent this unparallell'd treatment of unprotected innocence.

Exit.

Pick.

What she means to go off with her lover the player man, I suppose—but I'll watch her and her consols too—and if I catch him in my house, it shall be his last appear|ance this Season—

Exit.

Re-enter LITTLE PICKLE.

Little P.

There they go—ha, ha, ha! my scheme has gone on rarely—rather better than their's I think—blessings on the old nurse for consenting to it.—I'll teach 'em to turn people out of doors—let me see—what

trick shall I play em now—suppose I set the house on fire—no, no, its too soon for that—that will do very well by and by—let me see—I wish I cou'd see my sister—I'll discover myself to her, and then we might contrive something together nicely—that staircase leads to her room—I'll try and call her—

(goes and listens)

there's nobody in the way—hist, hist! Maria, Maria!—she hears me—she's coming this way—

(runs and hides himself.)

Enter MARIA.

Mar.

Sure somebody call'd me—no, theres nobody here, heigho! I've almost cried myself blind about my poor brother—for so I shall always call him—aye, and love him too—

(going)

Little P.

Maria!—Sister!—stop an instant,

Mar.

My Brother! Charles! impossible!

Little P.

'Tis e'en so, faith—'twas all a trick about the nurse and child—I coax'd the old woman to confess the whole to me— so borrowing this dress as you see—return'd to plague 'em a little more, that's all—now you and I must consult together how to re|venge ourselves—let me see—how shall we vex 'em—I'll let 'em see who's best at plot|ting—what

shall it be—you can't contrive to kill yourself for the loss of me, can you—that wou'd have a fine effect—is there nothing I can think of—suppose you pretend to fall in love with me and we may run away together!

Mar.

That will do admirably, and you may depend on my playing my part with a good will, for I owe them some revenge for their treatment of you—besides you know I can refuse you nothing.

Enter PICKLE behind.

Little P.

Thank you a thousand times, my dear Maria—thus we'll contrive it

(Seeing Pickle they pretend to whisper.)

Pick.

What!—how's this!—"Dear Maria," and "I'll refuse you nothing." Death and the devil! my daughter has fallen in love with that young rascal and his yeo, yeo, yeo—see too, they embrace

(comes forward)

mighty well, young madam, mighty well, but come, you shall be lock'd up immediately, and you, young rascal, be whipt out of the house—

Little P.

You won't be so heard-hearted sure—we will not part—here is my anchor fix'd—here am I moor'd for ever—

(Pickle endeavours to take Maria from him—She resists—And Little P. detains her by the hand.)

Mar.

(romantically)

No—we'll never, never part—O cruel, cruel fate!

Pick.

He has infected her with his assu|rance already—what you young minx, do you own you love him?

Mar.

Love him! Sir, I adore him, and spite of your utmost opposition ever, ever shall.

Pick.

O ruin'd! undone! what a wretched old man am I—but Maria! child!

Mar.

Think not to dissuade me, Sir, vain attempt! no, Sir, my affections are fix'd, never to be recall'd.

Pick.

O dear, what shall I do! what will become of me—Oh! a plague on my plot, I have lost my daughter, and for ought I know, my son too—Why child, he's a beg|gar—he's not worth a sixpence.

Mar.

My soul abhors so low a thought—I despise wealth—know, Sir, I cherish nobler sentiments—

"The generous youth shall own, "I love him for himself alone."

Pick.

What, poetry too! nay then 'tis time to prevent further mischief—

(pulls her)

Go to your room—a good key shall ensure your safety, and that young rascal may go back to sea, with his yeo, yeo, yeo, if he will.

Mar.

I obey your harsh command Sir, and am gone—but alas I leave my heart behind.

Exit, Pickle locks her in.

Pick.

Now Sir, for you—don't look so audacious you young villain, don't fancy you belong to me—I utterly disclaim you.

Little P.

(laughing)

But that's rather too late now, old one, you have publicly said I was your son, and damme I'll make you stand to it.

Pick.

The devil! here's an affair—here John! Thomas! William!

Enter JOHN, THOMAS and SUSAN.

Take that fellow, and turn him out of doors immediately.

Tho.

Fellow! who, Sir?

Pick.

Who! why zounds! him there, don't you see him.

John.

What! my new young master! no, Sir, I've turn'd out one already—I'll turn out no more—

Pick.

He's not your young master—he's no son of mine—away with him I say.

Su.

No, Sir—we know our young master too well for all that—why he's as like your honour as one pea is like another.

John.

Aye, heaven bless him!—and may he shortly succeed your honour in your estate and fortune.—

Pick.

Rogues! villians! I'm abused, rob|bed—

(drives Servants off)

there's a conspiracy

form'd against me—and this little Pirate is at the head of the gang—

Enter Thomas, gives Pickle a letter and Exit.

Odso! here's a letter from my poor boy— this is a comfort indeed—well, I'll send for him home without further delay—

(reads)

Honoured Sir—I heartily repent of having so far abused your goodness while bless'd with your protection—but as I fear no penitence will restore me to your favour have resolved to put it out of my power again to offend you—by bidding adieu to my country for ever

—here John! go, run directly to Margery's fetch home my Son, and—

Little P.

You may save yourself the trouble —'tis too late—you'll never bring him too, now—make as many signals, and fire as many guns as you please.

Pick.

What d'ye mean—

Little P.

Mean—why he and I have changed births that's all.

Pick.

Chang'd births!

Little P.

Aye, I'm got into his hammock and he's got into mine, that's all, he's some leagues off at sea by this time—the tide serves, the wind's fair, and Botany Bay's the word my old boy.

Pick.

Botany Bay—then my misery is com|plete—unhappy Pickle—but I'll instantly see about this myself—and if its true—I'll come

back just to blow out your brains—and so be either hang'd, or sent to Botany Bay after him.

Exeunt.

SCENE.—A Garden.

Enter MISS PICKLE.

Miss P.

This is the hour of my appoint|ment with Mr Tagg—and my brother's ab|sence is favourable indeed—well after such treatment, can he be surprised if I throw my|self into the arms of so passionate an admirer —my fluttering little heart tells me this is an important crisis in my happiness—how much these vile men have to answer for in thus bewitching us silly girls—

Tagg.

(behind)

"The heavy hours are almost past "That part my love and me."

Enters.

"My longing eyes may hope at last, "Their only joy to see."

Thus most charming of your sex, let me prostrate myself at the shrine of beauty.

(kneels)

Miss P.

Mr Tagg, I fear I never can be yours.

Tagg.

Adorable, lovely, the most beautified Ophelia "beautified is a vile phrase"—

Miss P.

Indeed, Mr Tagg, you make me blush with your compliments.

Tagg.

Compliments!—

O call not by that hacknied name the voice of truth

—

lovely nymph O deign to hear me—I'll teach you what it is to love.

Miss P.

Love! Mr Tagg!—O moderate your transports be advised—think no more of this fatal passion.

Tagg.

Think no more of it!—

can love be controul'd by advice?

—

will Cupid our mother obey?

—O then consent my angel to join our hands in one—or give me my death in a frown.

Miss P.

Can I refuse any thing to such a lover—but my dear friend—were I to consent to our tender union—how cou'd we contrive our escape—my brother's vigilence wou'd overtake us—and you might have some cause to repent of his anger.

LITTLE PICKLE Enters, sees them and runs off unperceived.

Tagg.

O he's a Goth, a meer Vandyke, my love!—

but fear makes the danger seem double—say Hymen what mischief and trouble, say what men will, wedlock's a Pill —bitter to swallow and hard of digestion

— I've contrived the plot and every scene of the elopement—here in this shady blest retreat will I unfold it all—

reaches chairs)

lets sit down like Jessica and the fair Lorenzo here—

(they sit.)

"Wou'd you taste the moon tied hair, "To yon flagrant bower repair, "Where mixing with the poplar bough, "The bantling fine shall shelter you. "Since music is the food of love "We'll to the nightingale's complacent notes "Tune our distresses and record our Woes."

During the above speech, Little Pickle steals on behind them, sews their clothos together and runs off unseen.

Miss P.

O I cou'd listen thus for ever to the charms of love and harmony—but how are we to plan our escape?

Tagg.

In a low and mean attire muffled up in a great cloak will I await you in this happy

spot—but why, my soul, why not this instant fly—thus let me seize my tender bit of lamb —there I think I had her as dead as mutton

(aside.)

Miss P.

No, I'm not yet equipp'd for an elopement, and what is of more consequence still, I hav'n't got with me a casket of jewels I have prepared, rather too valuable to be left behind.

Tagg

(aside.)

That is of some consequence indeed to me—"my diamond, my pearl," then be a good girl until I come to thee again—

Miss P.

Come back again in the disguise immediately—and if fortune favours faithful lovers vows I will contrive to slip out to you—

Tagg.

Dispose of me, lovely creature as you please—but don't forget the casket.

Enter LITTLE PICKLE, running.

Little P.

Granne! granne!

Miss P.

What rude interuption's this?

Little P.

O nothing at all—only father's coming—that's all—

Tagg.

The devil! what a catastrophe!

(both rise)

Miss P.

One last adieu!

(they embrace)

think you we shall ever meet again—

they find themselves fasten'd together and struggle.

Tagg.

Damme if I think we shall ever part—

Miss P.

Don't detain me—wont you let me go—

Tagg.

Go! zounds! I wish you was gone.

Miss Pickle runs off with the lap of Tagg's coat, which tears off—Tagg Exit—Little Pickle runs off laughing.

Enter PICKLE.

Pick.

Well, all's not so bad as I fear'd— he's not yet gone to sea, and Margery assures me I shall see him again soon, quite another thing from what he was—but now let me look after my Sister—tho' she let me play the fool, I'll take care to prevent her—I mustn't give up the consols too—but odso I haven't yet seen my daughter,—I'll to her first, lest young yeo, yeo, shou'd really get her shipt off —and when I've secured fifteen, I'll look after fifty—but who's coming here? I'll con|ceal myself and watch—

(goes into the arbour.)

Enter MISS PICKLE, with a casket.

Miss P.

Mr Tagg—Mr Tagg—I hope he's return'd—how I tremble—kind Cupid aid your vot'ry's feeble steps—

Enter LITTLE PICKLE, disguised in a long cloak.

Miss P.

(mistaking him for Tagg)

O my dear Mr Tagg—take the casket, and let us make haste that we may escape before my brother comes back—

Little P.

(Kissing her hand)

This way—this way—

as they are going Old Pickle comes from the arbour and stops 'em.

Pick.

Your most obedient, humble servant, madam—well said fifty egad!—your most obsequious, Mr Alexander

(collars Little Pickle)

what John! William! Thomas! you sha'n't want attendants, mighty Prince—

(Enter Servants)

or may hap you had rather sleep in a castle, great Hero, we have a con|venient jail close by, where you'll be very safe, most illustrious chief—

Miss P.

A jail! O heav'ns! poor dear Mr Tagg—a victim to his love for me—O let's

implore his forgiveness and intreat him to release you.

Little Pick. kneels—throws off his disguise and appears in his own hair, tho' still in the Sailor's dress.

Little P.

Thus then let me implore for pardon, and believe that a repentance so sin|cere as mine will never suffer my heart again to wander from its duty towards him.

Pick.

What's this, my son,

(embraces him)

odds my heart I'm glad to see him once more —O you dear little fellow—but you wicked scoundrel, how dare you play me such tricks?

Little P.

Tricks! O Sir, recollect you have kindly pardoned them already, and now you must intercede for me with my aunt, that I may have her forgiveness too, for preventing her from eloping with her tender swain, Mr Tagg.

Pick.

Mr Tagg! odso! there the consols were sinking apace, but you have rais'd them once more.

(embraces)

Little P.

And do you then indeed, Sir, sincerely forgive me and forget all my past follies.

Pick.

Forget them—ah, had you vex'd me as much again I shou'd have been more than repaid by the happiness of this moment.

Little P.

Kind Sir, my joy is then com|plete, and I will never more offend.

(Comes forward.)

And yet wou'd these our fair and gracious spectators condescend to own they have been amused by my tricks, (and if I can judge of looks, or am skill'd in the language of eyes, they deign to smile assent) I shall be tempted again to transgress.