JEREMIAH SNAFFLE (ex-Horsedealer at ... ... ... ... ... MR. MATHEWS. MR. YATES. MR.BUCKSTONE. MR. WILKINSON. MRS. DALY. MRS. FITZWILLIAM. [The scene throughout is in the School-room.] SCENE. A School-room. TIMOTHY discovered sitting on a form playing at French and English on a large slate. After awhile he throws down the slate. TIM. It's no use. I can't cipher by myself. I stick at units (comes forward). When old Snaffle set up school, my father lent me to him to begin with. I wish he'd pay me back agin. I never see sich a school!-There's only one class, and only one boy in it. I'm top and bottom too! I can't bear it. I've no playfellows. There's no fun in Prisoner's Base by one's self! I've got a new kite but I can't fly it-there's no one to hold its tail up! I can't play at horses-there's nobody to drive me! I can't play at marlows, except right hand agin left-and right always wins! I'm sick o' hoop! I've got a cricket-bat, but I'm always in-for there's no one to bowl me out. My racquet's of no use, one can't play at fives! Leap-frog's unpossible! So's Hare and Hounds. I tried yesterday to run a race with myself, and it was a dead heat. It's very disagreeable, but I can't fight! I'm cock over nobody! I wish I was took away. I'd run away, only I should be so soon missed! Enter WILSON as MULTIPLY, R. H. WIL. (Timothy here-I must get rid of him.) Well, Master Timothy, have you done the sum I set you? TIM. No. How can I all alone? multiply. I'm by myself and can't WIL. No matter. School's up. You may go and play. TIM. That's a good 'un. I want to play at sogers. But I can't be a captain, for I've got no company. A'nt I a single boy? WIL. You're a simple fool! What would you have? A'nt you the best cipherer, the best reader, and the best everything in the school? And won't you get all the prizes at Christmas? TIM. No. I shall mope to death afore Michaelmas. I wish I was at my old school at Clapham. That was a school like a school! Song-TIMOTHY. Air-"The Ram of Darby." When I was first a schollard I went to Doctor Monk, And elephant-like I had, Sir, A cake put in my trunk (chorus by the music). The Reverend Doctor Monk, Sir, Was very grave and prim, And a matter of six foot high, Sir, We all look'd up to him (turning up his eyes). He didn't pinch and starve us As here they do at York, To bring "a knife and fork." And then I had a chum, too, We had half-a-dozen ushers For Latin, French, and Greek, For goodness we had prizes, And birch for doing ill; It was none o' the Birch that visits And if I were at Clapham, At my old school again, And sugar in the cane! WIL. It must have been a happy school indeed, Tim; why did you leave it ? TIM. 'Twas all mother's fault; she thought I got hard-featured from having a tin mug! I wish I was back again; I'm very unhappy! WIL. Pooh!-nonsense, Tim! TIM. Ah! you've got a playfellow. WIL. Me, Sir? TIM. Yes. Master's daughter. WIL. (The young rascal). Be off, Sir! you deserve to be well flogged. TIM. What for, now? WIL. What for? why for the most unscholar-like of offences, for being in school in playtime! TIM. I never knew that was a fault before! WIL. Take care you don't know it behind. Be off, I say (slaps him.) TIM. Oh! oh dear! oh dear (holds his face for awhile, then slyly taps Wilson and runs off, calling out " Touch yer last!”) WIL. What a melancholy attempt at play! Poor Timothy! The first boy seems as uncomfortable a character as the Last Man! I pity him sincerely, and his master still more. Poor Snaffle, to give up a horse repository for a boy-bazaar; there's his misery! The tits have gone, but have left their tracés in his memory; his head teems with 'em; the nags are always coming across him, and he can't retaliate; but here comes his sweet daughter. My dearest Maria. Enter MARIA, R. H. MAR. Hush! where's Timothy ? WIL. Gone abroad, and by this time up in his old tree a picking lady-birds. Do you know that young imp has noticed us together, but never mind; the pure love that is witnessed by angels may be seen by the little son of a little pin-maker. MAR. Alas! I have sad misgivings that the masquerade will not last. WIL. Never fear, I am a better actor than you take me for. MAR. Nay, that you cannot be; I am sure when you played Romeo at York, I thought you were the finest actor in the world. WIL. Ah, that happy night! my best of benefits, for it introduced me to your notice, thanks be to my dear determined old dad for compelling me to that character, by wishing to force me into a marriage with Miss Acres. MAR. By-the-way, Wilson, pray describe me that lady; I long to know what sort of being you have resigned for me. Was she anything particular? WIL. O quite unrivall'd in her way! The youngest of her family, but looked like the oldest. She had but one natural eye, and one of glass. They put you in mind of Bartley's Orrery-one, fixed like a star, the other rolling about like a planet! Her nose, as if she had taken the first that turned up. The feature was on one side too, and if she had followed it, would have led her a mile astray. Hair-bright carrots, dyed black; but the dye had died off, and left it a pale purple. She beat Venus in her cheeks, for they were all over dimples. And then she had a mouth, like herself, always open to an offer. MAR. And her figure-was she short or tall? WIL. As a hare is—inclined to squat on her form. Then she was brown, as if made of the family raspings. She had a mane down her nape, and a hump on each shoulder, like a double dromedary! MAR. What an object! but to use one's own eyes in such matters is a sort of eye treason. Parents are very unreasonable! WIL. Oh, very! Talk of beauty and they chime in with duty. That's rhyme, not reason. And then to sacrifice the principle of love to the interest of money; as if, when hearts are broken three per cent Consols would be at all consolatory! Song-MARIA. Air-"There's nae luck." Is love a trade, and woman made To go for bidder's gold? Wed I will not; my single lot Shall be a lot unsold. |