The rehearsal: or, bays in petticoats: A comedy in two acts. As it is performed at the Theatre Royal in Drury-Lane. Written by Mrs. Clive. The music composed by Dr. Boyce.

ACT II.

SCENE,

The Play-house.

Enter Mrs. HAZARD, Mr. WITLING, and Mr. CROSS.

Mrs. HAZARD.

MR. Cross, your Servant. Has any body been to ask for me this Morning?

Mr. CROSS.

Not any body, Madam.

Mrs. HAZARD.

Well, that's very surprizing! I expected Half the Town wou'd have been trying to get in: but 'tis bet|ter as 'tis; for they wou'd only have interrupted the Rehearsal. So, Mr. Cross, I'll be denied to every body. Well, Witling, how do you like the Play|house in a Morning?

WITLING.

Why, I think 'tis like a fine Lady; it looks best by Candle-Light.

Mrs. HAZARD.

But pray, Mr. Cross, get every body ready; is the Music come?

Mr. CROSS.

Yes, Madam, the Music has been here this half Hour, and every body but Mrs. Clive; and, I dare

say, she'll not be long, for she's very punctual; Mr. Beard and Miss Thomas are gone to dress.

Mrs. HAZARD.

Mr. Cross, you have had a great deal of Trouble with this Thing; I don't know how I must make you amends; but pray, when your Benefit is,—you have a Benefit, I suppose?—set me down all your Side-Boxes, and every first Row in the Front; I may want more; but I shall certainly fill those.

Mr. CROSS.

Thank'ye, Madam.

Enter a SERVANT.

SERVANT.

Mr. Cross, there's a Person wants to speak to you.

(Exit Mr. Cross.

Mrs. HAZARD.

Well, I'll swear these poor Players have a very slavish Life; I wonder how they are able to go through it!

Enter Mr. CROSS.

Mr. CROSS.

Madam, Mrs. Clive has sent Word, that she can't possibly wait on you this Morning, as she's oblig'd to go to some Ladies about her Benefit. But you may depend on her being very perfect, and ready to per|form it whenever you please.

Mrs. HAZARD.

Mr. Cross, what did you say? I can't believe what I have heard! Mrs. Clive send me Word she can't come to my Rehearsal, and is gone to Ladies about her Benefit! Sir, she shall have no Benefit. Mr. Wit|ling,

did you ever hear of a Parallel to this Insolence? Give me my Copy, Sir; give me my Copy. I'll make Mrs. Clive repent treating me in this manner. Very fine indeed! to have the Assurance to prefer her Be|nefit to my Rehearsal! Mr. Cross, you need not give yourself the Trouble to set down any Places for me at your Benefit, for I'll never come into the Play-house any more.

WITLING.

Nay; but, my dear Hazard, don't put yourself in|to such a Passion, can't you rehearse her Part your|self? I dare say you'll do it better than she can?

Mr. CROSS.

Why, Madam, if you wou'd be so good, as the Music are here, and the other Characters dress'd, it would be very obliging: And if you please to put on Mrs. Clive's, her Dresser is here to attend, as she expected her, and I believe it will fit you exactly, as you're much of her Size.

Mrs. HAZARD.

O yes; to be sure it will fit me exactly, because I happen to be a Head taller, and, I hope, something better made.

WITLING.

Oh, my dear Hazard! put it on; put it on. Oh Lord! let me see you in a Play-house Dress.

Mrs. HAZARD.

Well, let me die, but I have a great Mind;—for I had set my Heart upon seeing the poor Thing re|hears'd in its proper Dresses.—Well, Witling, shall I?—I think I will. Do you go into the Green Room and drink some Chocolate, I'll slip on the Things in a Minute. No; hang it, I won't take the Trouble; I'll rehearse as I am.

Enter PERFORMERS dress'd.

Miss Thomas, your Servant. Upon my Word, I am extremely happy to have you in my Performance; you'll do amazing well. Only I must beg you▪d throw in as much Spirit as you can, without over|doing it; for that same Thing the Players call Spirit, they sometimes turn into Rant and Noise. Oh, Mr. Beard! your most Obedient. Sir, I shall be vastly oblig'd to you, I am sure; do you know that you sing better than any of 'em? But I hope you'd con|sider the Part you are to act with Marcella, is to be done with great Scorn: Therefore, as you have such a smiling, good-humour'd Face, I beg you'll endea|vour to smother as many of your Dimples as you can in that Scene with her. Come, come, let us begin We may omit the Overture.

MIRANDA, Sola.

RECITATIVE.

It must be so—my Shepherd ne'er shall prove A Renegado from the Faith of Love. Nor shall Marcella tear him from my Arms, Even tho' her Wealth be boundless as her Charms.

Mrs. HAZARD.

That's pretty well, Madam, but I think you sing it too much; you should consider Recitative should be spoken as plain as possible; or else you'll lose the Ex|pression—I'll shew you what I mean.—No, no, go on now with the Symphony for the Song.

AIR.

If Cupid once the Mind possess, All low Affections cease; No Troubles then can give Distress, No Tumult break the Peace.

Oh had I thousand Gifts in Store, Were I of Worlds the Queen, For him I'd covet thousands more, And call Profusion mean.

2.

Then let my Swain my Love return, And equal Raptures feel; Nor let his Passions cool, or burn, As Fortune winds her Wheel. If his fond Heart I may believe Immutably secure, No Sorrow then can make me grieve, No Loss can make me poor.

RECITATIVE.

But see he comes—I'll wear a short Disguise; Be false my Tongue!—be Hypocrites my Eyes! Nor to the Youth too wantonly impart The secret History of a faithful Heart.

Enter CORYDON.

What! from Marcella come!—Insulting Swain, Come ye to wake, and triumph in my Pain, Warm from those Lips whose cruel Sentence gave Thy Friend Philander an untimely Grave?

RECITATIVE.

CORYDON.

Marcella! name not the capricious Fair, One Smile from thee is worth Possession there.

MIRANDA.

Did not I hear her, in yon Hawthorn Bower, With Transport boast o'er Corydon her Power?

AIR.

CORYDON.

In vain, my Fair One, you complain, And charge the guiltless Boy in vain, Who ne'er was found untrue; The sweetest Image Thought can find, Thou best Idea of my Mind, My Soul is fill'd with you.

2.

Let but those Eyes, benignly bright, That look the Language of Delight, This spacious Globe review; If they can find an equal Fair, Be jealous then—and I'll take Care You shall have Reason too.

MIRANDA.

Well—wou'd you ease my Breast, and Peace restore, Oh never see the vain Marcella more.

DUET.

MIRANDA.

AIR.

At length return, luxuriant Thought, Return and settle where you ought, Fiz'd by Experience dearly bought For sweet and useful Ends. Oft did I dread her subtle Care, And oft was jealous, tho' secure, What Agonies did I endure? But Love has made amends.

CORYDON.

Joy were no Joy, and Pleasure vain, Were there not Intervals of Pain; The Captive who has felt a Chain Is doubly blest when free. I view with Transports the Abyss, Which Powers propitious made me miss, And rush with aching Thoughts of Bliss To Safety, and to thee.

BOTH.

Joy were no Joy, and Pleasure vain, Were there not Intervals of Pain; The Captive who has felt a Chain Is doubly blest when free. 'Tis Clouds that make the Sun more bright, 'Tis Darkness that sets off the Light, 'Tis Sorrow gives to Joy its Height, By Heaven's most kind Decree.

CORYDON.

(Witling falls asleep.

Soft! she approaches—seek you poplar Glade, And wait beneath the thick embowering Shade. Yourself shall be a Witness to my Truth.

(Miranda retires.

Enter MARCELLA.

Oh Corydon, ah cruel charming Youth, Look not so stern, I have no Hopes to blast; My Love is come in Sighs to breathe its last.

AIR.

The silver Rain, the pearly Dew, The Gales that sweep along the Mead, The soften'd Rocks have Sorrow knew, And Marbles have found Tears to shed;

The sighing Trees, in every Grove, Have Pity, if they have not Love.

2.

Shall Things inanimate be kind, And every soft Sensation know; The weeping Rain, and sighing Wind, All, all, but thee, some Mercy show. Ah pity—if you scorn t'approve; Have Pity, if thou hast not Love.

(A Noise without.

Enter Miss GIGGLE, Sir ALBANY ODELOVE, Miss SIDLE, and Miss DAWDLE.

Miss GIGGLE.

My dear Creature, I immensely rejoice to find you; do you know we have been at your House, and could not meet with a Creature that could give the least Account of you? Your Servants are all abroad, ha, ha, ha; they are certainly the worst Servants in the World, ha, ha, ha. Well, but my Dear, have you done? for we must have you with us. We are going to one of the breakfasting Places, but we don't know which yet, for they are all so immensely superb, that I can't touch my Breakfast at Home, ha, ha, ha! Lord, dear Creature, what makes you look so miser|able? your new Thing is'nt a Tragedy, is it?

Mrs. HAZARD.

Giggle, I'm astonish'd at you: Pray who are all these People you have brought upon me?—

Miss GIGGLE.

Who are they, my Dear? I'll introduce you to them; they're immensely agreeable, all of them, ha, ha, ha.

Mrs. HAZARD.

Lookee, Miss Giggle, if they are ever so immense, they must not stay here, for I'm going to be im|mensely busy, and will not be interrupted.

Miss GIGGLE.

My dear Creature, as to leaving you, 'tis not in the Nature of Things; I would not go without you for the World; Sir Albany Odelove, Mrs. Hazard, desires to be introduced to you. Madam, this Gen|tleman is immensely fond of the Muses, and there|fore must be agreeable to you. Miss Sidle, Miss Dawdle.

(introduces 'em.

Mrs. HAZARD.

Mr. Cross,—I want to speak to you; I shall run mad.—

(Aside.

Miss GIGGLE.

Lord Witling, what's the matter with Mrs. Ha|zard? She looks as if she could kill me.

WITLING.

The matter with her? ha, ha, ha! why, you have interrupted her Rehearsal. Ah, I could indulge such a Laugh! if you'll join with me, we shall have the finest Scene in the World.—She has made me sick to Death with her Stuff, and I will be revenged. You must know one of the Actresses has disappointed her, and she is going to sing her Part herself; so the Moment she begins, do you burst into a violent Laugh; we shall all join with you, you may be sure; and then you'll see the Consequence.—

Miss GIGGLE.

See! nay, I believe I shall feel the Consequence, for she'll certainly beat us immensely. Oh, I'll tell

you what; let's set Odelove upon her, to enquire into the Plot of her Play—He'll plague her to Death, for he's immensely foolish.

WITLING.

Well—that's an admirable Thought.—Mum.—

Miss GIGGLE.

Well, but my dear Mrs. Hazard, don't let us in|terrupt you, for we are all immensely fond of a Re|hearsal.

Miss DAWDLE.

Yes, so we are indeed, Madam, immensely.

WITLING.

So we are, immensely.

(Catches her Hand.

Miss DAWDLE.

Lord! don't paw one so, Mr. Witling.—

Miss GIGGLE.

And so this is the Playhouse; I'll swear 'tis im|mensely pretty, and all the Music; well, if there was but a Scene of green Trees, we might fancy ourselves at Ranelagh, ha, ha, ha.

Mrs. HAZARD.

Why really by the Noise you make, and the Non|sense you talk, I think you might. Lookee, Miss Giggle, I shall be very plain with you; if you think it is possible for you to be quiet for Half an Hour, I shall be glad of your Company; if not, I must beg you'd depart.

Sir ALBANY.

Why really what the Lady says, is very pathetic and consequental to the foregoing Part of Miss Gig|gle's Behaviour; for when a Person of Parts, (as we are to suppose this Lady to be) is assassinated with In|coherences, it is such an Aggravation to our Intel|lects, as does in Fact require supernatural Patience to acquiesce thereto.

ALL.

Ha! ha! ha!

Miss GIGGLE.

Very well, Sir Albany, I'll remember you for this—No, upon Honour, now I will be very good, I won't interrupt you indeed, won't speak another Word.—O la, Witling, do you know Miss Lucy Loveshuffle had such an immense ill Run last Night, she bragg'd every thing that came into her Hand, and lost every thing she bragg'd—'till she really looked as ugly as a Fiend.

WITLING.

I fancy you won then, Giggle: For I never saw you look so well.

Mrs. HAZARD.

Nay, as to that Matter, let Giggle win or lose, it will be pretty much the same thing with her Beauty; but come, Mr. Cross, pray let us go on. Let me see, I begin my Recit.

ALBANY.

Corydon.—

WITLING.

Giggle, I can tell you who's going to be married.

Miss SIDLE and Miss DAWDLE.

Oh Lord! who?—pray tell us?

WITLING.

The celebrated Miss Shrimp to Lord Lovelittle, a Man of very great Fortune.

Miss DAWDLE.

Really! well then, I think we none of us need to despair.

WITLING.

Come, don't you be envious now; for she's a charm|ing Girl, and deserves her good Fortune.

Miss GIGGLE.

Charming!—nay then I shall never have done, I'm sure she's immensely little.

Sir ALBANY.

Oh fy Miss, that's Nonsense; horrid Nonsense! immensely little! Oh Lord!

WITLING.

Why, to be sure she is rather small, that must be allowed; she is certainly the least Woman that ever was seen for nothing.

Sir ALBANY.

Madam, as I was not so auspicious as to be here at the Beginning of this Affair, will you give me leave to ask you a few Questions?—

Mrs. CROSS.

Madam, if you won't go on, the Music and Per|formers can't possibly stay any longer.

Mrs. HAZARD.

Why what can I do, Mr. Cross? you see how I'm terrified with 'em.

WITLING.

She begins to be in a Fury.—Look at her, Giggle.

Sir ALBANY.

I say, Madam, will you give me Leave, as you're going to entertain the Town, (that is, I mean, to endea|vour, or to attempt to entertain them) for let me tell you, fair Lady, 'tis not an easy thing to bring about. If Men, who are properly graduated in Learning, who have swallow'd the Tincture of a polite Educa|tion, who, as I may say, are Hand and Glove with the Classics, if such Genius's as I'm describing, fail of Success in Dramatical Occurrences, or Performances, ('tis the same Sense in the Latin) what must a poor Lady expect, who is ignorant as the Dirt?

Mrs. HAZARD.

Pray, Sir, how long have they let you out?

Sir ALBANY.

Therefore, I hope you have had the Advice of your Male Acquaintance, who will take some Care of your Diction, and see that you have observed that great Beauty, neglected by most Dramatic Authors, of Time and Place.

WITLING.

Oh Sir Albany, I'll answer she has taken Care of Time and Place; for it will begin about half an Hour after eight; and be acted at Drury-lane Theatre.—Ha, ha, ha, there's Time and Place for you.

Mrs. HAZARD.

And so, you're Hand and Glove with the Classics, are you? Why thou elaborate Idiot, how durst you venture to talk to any thing that's Rational?—Con|sult my Male Acquaintance! I thank my Stars, thou art not one of 'em. Where did you pick up this Creature?—what's his Name?—Can you spell your own Name, you ugly Brute?

Miss GIGGLE.

Oh Lord! it will never come to her Singing.

Miss SIDLE.

Pray, Madam, will there be any Dancing this Morning?

Mrs. HAZARD.

No—Mr. Cross, who let these People in? I do assure you I shall complain to the Managers;—I have been so plagu'd there's no bearing it—I could tear these—I'm unfit for any thing now.—So the Re|hearsal must be put off, 'till another Morning.

WITLING.

Ay do;—and let us go—

Mrs. HAZARD.

Go to—

WITLING.

To Ranelagh—I knew you wou'd not name an ungenteel Place.

Sir ALBANY.

The Lady has been somewhat underbred in her Behaviour to me; but as I have a Regard to the Fair

Sex, I would have some of you advise her to cry; it will give Relief to her Passion.

Mrs. HAZARD.

Sir, will you go out of this Place?

Sir ALBANY.

I protest, Madam, I will, directly.

(Exit.

ALL.

Ha, ha, ha!

WITLING.

Well, but my dear Creature, you are not angry with me?—

Mrs. HAZARD.

Indeed I am, Witling, and very angry too; I don't believe I shall ever speak to you again. As for those Things, that run about littering the Town, and force themselves into all public Places only to shew their Insignificance, they are beneath my Re|sentment.—Mr. Cross, I'll settle with you, when I wou'd have another Rehearsal; tho' I am not sure I ever will have another.—I believe I shall tear it to Pieces.—Pray let somebody see if my Chairmen are there.

WITLING.

Shall I wait on you?

Mrs. HAZARD.

No.

(Exit.

WITLING.

Well, as Sir Paul says Odsbud, she's a passionate Woman; but her tearing it will only save the Au|dience

the Trouble of doing it for her. Come, La|dies, will you go? I'll see you to your Coach.

Mr. CROSS.

As the Ladies have been disappointed of Mrs. Ha|zard's Rehearsal, if they please to stay, we are go|ing to practise a new Dance.

ALL.

Oh, by all Means.

A DANCE.

FINIS.