The Old Debauchees. A Comedy

PROLOGUE

Dramatis Personæ

Old Laroon. Mr. Shepard.

Young Laroon. Mr. Mills, Junior.

Father Martin. Mr. Cibber, Junior.

Old Jourdain. Mr. Roberts.

Isabel. Miss Raftor.

Beatrice. Miss Williams.

ACT I

A Nunnery! Ha, ha, ha! And is it possible, my dear Beatrice, you can intend to sacrifice your Youth and Beauty, to go out of the World as soon as you come into it!

Bea. No one, my dear Isabel, can sacrifice too much or too soon to Heaven.

Isa. Pshaw! Heaven regards Hearts and not Faces, and an old Woman will be as acceptable a Sacrifice as a young one.

Bea. It is possible you may come to a better Understanding, and value the World as little as I do.

Isa. As you say, it is possible when I can enjoy it no longer, I may; nay, I do not care if I promise you when I grow old and ugly, I'll come and keep you Company: But this I am positive, till the World is weary of me, I never shall be weary of the World.

Bea. What can a Woman of Sense see in it worth her valuing?

Isa. Oh! ten thousand pretty things! Equipage, Cards, Musick, Plays, Balls, Flattery, Visits, and that prettiest thing of all pretty things, a pretty Fellow – I rather wonder what Charms a Woman of any Spirit can fancy in a Nunnery, in watching, working, praying, and sometimes, I am afraid, wishing for other Company than that of an old fusty Friar – Oh! 'tis a delightful State, when every Man one sees, instead of tempting us to Sin, is to rebuke us for them.

Bea. Such Sentiments as these would indeed make you very uneasy – but believe me, Child, you would soon bring yourself to hate Mankind; fasting and praying are the best Cures in the World for these violent Passions.

Isa. On my Conscience I should want neither; if the continual Sight of a Set of dirty Priests would not bring me to abhor Mankind, I dare swear nothing could.

Old Lar. Good-morrow, my little Wag-tail – my Grashopper, my Butterfly. Odso! you little Baggage, you look as full of – as full of Love and Sport and Wantonness – I wish I was a young Fellow again – Oh! that I was but five and twenty for thy sake. Where's my Boy? What, has not he been with you, has not he serenaded you? – Odsheart – I never let his Mother sleep for a Month before I married her.

Isa. Indeed!

Old Lar. No Madam, nor for a Month afterwards neither. The young Fellows of this Age are nothing, mere Butterflies, to those of ours – Odsheart I remember the Time, when I could have taken a Hop, Step, and Jump over the Steeple of Notre Dame.

Bea. I fancy the Sparks of your Age had Wings, Sir.

Old Lar. Wings, you little Baggage, no – but they had – they had Limbs, like Elephants, and as strong they were as Sampson, and as swift as – Why, I have my self run down a Stag in a fair Chace, and eat him afterwards for my Dinner. But come, where is my old Neighbour, my old Friend, my old Jourdain?

Isa. At his Devotions, I suppose, this is the Hour he generally employs in them.

Old Lar. This Hour! ay, all Hours. I dare swear he spends more Time in them, than all the Priests in Toulon. Well, give him his due, he was wicked as long as he could be so, and when he could sin no longer, why he began to repent that he had sinned at all. Oh! there is nothing so devout as an old Whoremaster.

Bea. I fancy then it will be shortly Time for you to think of it, Sir!

Old Lar. Ay, Madam, about some thirty or forty Years hence it may – Odsheart! I am but in the prime of my Years yet: And if it was not for a saucy young Rascal who looks me in the Face and calls me Father, might make a very good Figure among the Beaus. But tho' I am not so young in Years, I am in Constitution as any of them; and I don't question but to live to see a Son and a great Grandson both born on the same Day.

Isa. You will excuse this Lady, Mr. Laroon, who is going to retire so much earlier —

Old Lar. Retire! – Then it is with a young Fellow, I hope.

Isa. Into a Cloister, I assure you.

Old Lar. A Cloister! – Why, Madam, if you have a mind to hang your self at the Year's End; would it not be better to spend your Time in Matrimony than in a Nunnery? Don't let a Set of rascally Priests put strange Notions in your Head. Take my Word for it, and I am a very honest Fellow, there are no Raptures worth a Louse, but those in the Arms of a brisk young Cavalier. Of all the Actions of my Youth, there are none I reflect on with so much Pleasure as having burnt half a Dozen Nunneries, and delivered several hundred Virgins out of Captivity.

Bea. Oh! Villany! unheard of Villany!

Isa. Unheard of till this Moment I dare swear.

Old Lar. Out of which Number there are at present nine Countesses, three Dutchesses, and a Queen, who owe their Liberty and their Promotion to this Arm.

Old Lar. You are a fine Spark truly to let your Father visit your Mistress before you – 'Sdeath! I believe you are no Son of mine. Where have you been, Sir? What have you been doing, Sir, hey?

Y. Lar. Sir, I have been at my Devotions.

Old Lar. At your Devotions! nay, then you are no Son of mine, that's certain. Is not this the Shrine you are to offer up at, Sirrah! Is not here the Altar you are to officiate at? – Sirrah! you have no Blood of mine in you. I believe you are the Bastard of some travelling English Alderman, and must have come into the World with a Custard in your Mouth.

Y. Lar. I hope, Madam, you will allow my Excuse, tho' the old Gentleman here will not.

Old Lar. Old Gentleman! very fine! Sirrah! I'll convince you I am a young Gentleman; I'll marry to-night, and make you a Brother before you are a Father; I'll teach you to thrust him out of the World that thrust you into it – Madam, have no more to say to the ungracious Dog.

Y. Lar. That will be a sure way to quit all Obligations between us; for the Happiness I propose in this Lady, is the chief Reason why I should thank you for bringing me into the World.

Old Lar. What's that you say, Sir; say that again, Sir.

Y. Lar. I was only thanking you, Sir, for desiring this Lady to take from me all I esteem on Earth.

Old Lar. Well enough that! I begin to think him my own again. I have made that very Speech to half the Women in Paris.

Mart. Peace be with you all, Good People.

Old Lar. Peace cannot stay long in any Place where a Priest comes.

Mart. Daughter, I am ready to receive your Confession —

Old Lar. Ay, ay, she has a fine Parcel of sinful Thoughts to answer for, I warrant her.

Mart. Mr. Laroon, you are too much inclined to Slander, I must reprove you for it. My Daughter's Thoughts are as pure as a Saint's.

Old Lar. As any Saint's in Christendom within a Day of Matrimony.

Mart. Within a Day of Matrimony; it is too quick; I have not yet had sufficient Time to prepare her Mind for that solemn Sacrament.

Old Lar. Prepare her Mind for a young Fellow; prepare your Mind for a Bishoprick.

Mart. Sir, there are Ceremonies requisite, I shall be as expeditious as possible, but the Church has Rules.

Old Lar. Sir, you may be as expeditious or as slow as you please, but I will not have my Boy disappointed of his Happiness one Day, for all the Rules in Europe.

Mart. I shall bring this Haughtiness to a Penance, you may not like. Well, my dear Daughter, I hope your Account is not long. You have not many Articles since our last Reckoning.

Isa. I wish you do not think it so, Father. First, telling nine Lyes at the Opera the other Night to Mr. Laroon; yesterday talk'd during the whole Mass to a young Cavalier, [he groans.] Nay, if you groan already, I shall make you groan more before I have done; last Night cheated at Cards, scandalized three of my Acquaintance, went to Bed without saying my Prayers, and dreamt of Mr. Laroon.

Mart. Oh! – Tell me the Particulars of that Dream.

Isa. Nay, Father, that I must be excus'd.

Mart. Modesty at Confession is as unseasonable as in Bed, and your Mind should appear as naked to your Confessor, as your Person to your Husband.

Isa. I thought he embraced me with the utmost Tenderness.

Mart. But were you pleased therewith?

Isa. You know, Father, a Lye now would be the greatest of Sins. I was not displeased I assure you. But I have often heard you say, there is no Sin in Love.

Mart. No, in Love it self there is not: Love is not Malum in se. Nor in the Excess is there sometimes any: but then it must be rightly placed, must be directed to a proper Object. The Love a Daughter bears her Confessor is no doubt not only innocent, but extremely laudable.

Isa. Yes, but that – that is another sort of Love, you know.

Mart. You are deceived, there is but one sort of Love which is justifiable, or, indeed, desirable.

Isa. I hope my Love for Laroon is that.

Mart. That I know not, I wish it may; however, I have some Dispute as yet remaining with me concerning it; 'till that be satisfied, it will be improper for you to proceed any farther in the Affair. All the Penance, therefore, I shall enjoin you on this Confession, is to defer your Marriage one Week; by which time I shall have resolved within my self whether you shall marry him at all.

Isa. Not marry him at all? Sure, Father, you are not in earnest.

Mart. I never jest on these Occasions.

Isa. What Reason can you have?

Mart. My Reasons may not be so ripe for your Ears at present. But, perhaps, better things are designed for you.

Isa. A Fidlestick! I tell you, Father, better things cannot be designed for me. I suppose, you have found out some old Fellow with twenty Livres a Year more in his Power; but I can assure you, if I marry not Laroon, I'll not marry any.

Mart. Perhaps you are not designed to marry any. Let me feel your Pulse – Extremely feverish.

Isa. You are enough to put any one in a Fever. I was to have been married to-morrow to a pretty Fellow, and now I must defer my Marriage, 'till you have consider'd whether I shall marry at all or no.

Mart. Have you any more Sins to confess!

Isa. Sins! – You have put all my Sins out of my Head, I think.

Mart. Benedicite – [crossing himself.] Daughter, you shall see me soon again, for great things are in Agitation; At present, I leave you to your Prayers.

Isa. Sure never poor Maid had more need of Prayers: but you have left me no great Stomach to them. Great things are in Agitation! What can he mean? It must be so – Some old liquorish Rogue with a Title, or a larger Estate hath a mind to supplant my dear Laroon.

Yo. Lar. My Isabel, my Sweet! – how painfully do I count each tedious Hour, till I can call you mine?

Isa. Indeed, you are like to count many more tedious Hours than you imagine.

Yo. Lar. Ha! What means my Love?

Isa. I would not have your Wishes too impatient, that's all; but if you will wait a Week, you shall know whether I intend to marry you or not.

Yo. Lar. And is this possible? Can Words like these fall from Isabel's sweet Lips; can she be false, inconstant, perjured?

Isa. Oh! do not discharge such a Volley of terrible Names upon me before you are certain I deserve them; doubt only whether I can be obedient to my Confessor, and guess the rest.

Yo. Lar. Can he have enjoined you to be perjured, by Heaven it would be sinful to obey him.

Isa. Be satisfied, if I prevail with my self to obey him in this Week's Delay, I will carry my Obedience no farther.

Yo. Lar. Oh! to what Happiness have those dear Words restor'd me. I am again my self: for while the Possession of thee is sure, tho' distant, there is in that dear Hope, more Transport than any other actual Enjoyment can afford.

Isa. Well adieu, and to cram you quite full with Hope (since you like the Food) I here promise you, that the Commands of all the Priests in France shall not force me to marry another. That is, Sir, I will either marry you or die a Maid, and I have no violent Inclination to the latter, on the Word of a Virgin.

Whether a violent Hatred to my Father, or an inordinate Love for Mischief, hath set the Priest on this Affair, I know not. Perhaps it is the former – for the old Gentleman hath the Happiness of being universally hated by every Priest in Toulon– Let a Man abuse a Physician, he makes another Physician his Friend, let him rail at a Lawyer, another will plead his Cause gratis; if he libel this Courtier, that Courtier receives him into his Bosom: but let him once attack a Hornet or a Priest, the whole Nest of Hornets, and the whole Regiment of Black-guards are sure to be upon him.

Yo. Lar. You are merry, Sir.

Old. Lar. Merry, Sir! Ay, Sir! I am merry, Sir. Would you have your Father sad, you Rascal? Have you a mind to bury him in his Youth?

Yo. Lar. Pardon me, Sir, I rather wished to know the happy Occasion of your Mirth.

Old Lar. The Occasion of my Mirth, Sir, is the saddest Sight that ever Mortal beheld.

Yo. Lar. A very odd Occasion indeed.

Old Lar. Very odd truly. It is the Sight of an old honest Whoremaster in a Fit of Despair, and a damned Rogue of a Priest riding him to the Devil.

Yo. Lar. Ay, Sir, but I have seen a more melancholy Sight.

Old Lar. Ha! what can that be?

Yo. Lar. A fine young Lady in a Fit of Love, and a Priest keeping her from her Lover.

Old Lar. How?

Yo. Lar. The Explanation of which is, that Father Martin hath put off our Match for a Week.

Old. Lar. Put off your Match with Isabel!

Yo. Lar. Even so, Sir.

Old Lar. Well I never have made a Hole in a Gown yet, I never have tapped a Priest: but if I don't let out some reverend Blood before the Sun sets, may I never See him rise again. I'll carbonade the Villain, I'll make a Ragout for the Devil's Supper of him.

Yo. Lar. Let me intreat you, Sir, to do nothing rashly, as long as I am safe in the Faith of my Isabel.

Old Lar. I tell you, Sirrah, no Man is safe in the Faith of a Mistress, no one is secure of a Woman till he is in Bed with her. Had there been any Security in the Faith of a Mistress, I had been at present married to half the Dutchesses in France. I no more rely on what a Woman says out of a Church, than on what a Priest says in it.

Yo. Lar. Pardon me, Sir: but I should have very little Appetite to marry the Woman whom I had such an Opinion of.

Old Lar. You had an Opinion of! What Business have you to have any Opinion. Is it not enough that I have an Opinion of her, that is of her Fortune – But I suppose you are one of those romantick, whining Coxcombs, that are in Love with a Woman behind her Back: Sirrah, I have had two Women lawfully, and two thousand unlawfully, and never was in Love in my Life.

Yo. Lar. Well, Sir, then I am happy, that we both agree in the same Person; I like the Woman, and you her Fortune.

Old. Lar. Yes, you Dog, and I'd have you secure her as soon as you can: for if a greater Fortune should be found out in Toulon, I'd make you marry her – So go find out your Mistress, and stick close to her, and I'll go seek the Priest, whom, if I can find, I will stick close to with a Vengeance.

Another Apartment.

Jourd. Alas! Father, there is one Sin sticks by me more than any I have confessed to you. It is so enormous a one my Shame hath prevented me discovering it – I have often concealed my Crimes from my Confessor.

Mart. That is a damnable Sin indeed. It seemeth to argue a Distrust of the Church, the greatest of all Crimes; a Sin I fear the Church cannot forgive.

Jourd. Oh! say not so, Father!

Mart. I should have said will not, or not without difficulty: for the Church can do all things.

Jourd. That is some Comfort again.

Mart. I hope, however, tho' you have not confessed them, you have not forgotten them; for they must be confessed before they can be forgiven.

Jourd. I hope I shall recollect them, they are a black Roll – I remember I once was the Occasion of ruining a Woman's Reputation by shewing a Letter from her.

Mart. If you had shewn it to the Priest it had been no Fault.

Jourd. Alas! Sir, I wrote the Letter to my self, and thus traduced the Innocent. I afterwards commanded a Company of Granadiers, at the taking of a Town, where I knocked a poor old Gentleman in the Head for the sake of his Money, and ravished his Daughter.

Mart. These are crying Sins indeed.

Jourd. At the same time I robbed a Jesuit of two Pistoles.

Mart. Oh! damnable! Oh! execrable!

Jourd. Good Father, have Patience: I once borrowed five hundred Livres of an honest Citizen in Paris, and repay'd him by lying with his Wife: And what sits nearest my Heart, was forced to pay a young Cavalier the same Sum, by suffering him to lie with mine.

Mart. Oh!

Jourd. And yet what are these to what I have done since I commenced Merchant. What have I not done to get a Penny. I insured a Ship for a great Value, and then cast it away; I broke when I was worth a hundred thousand Livres, and went over to London. I settled there, renounced my Religion, and was made a Justice of Peace.

Mart. Oh! that Seat of Heresy and Damnation! that Whore of Babylon!

Jourd. With the Whores of Babylon did I unite: I protected them from Justice: Gaming-houses and Baudy-houses did I license, nay, and frequent too; I never punished any Vice but Poverty: for Oh! I dread to name it: I once committed a Priest to Newgate for picking Pockets.

Mart. Oh! monstrous! horrible! dreadful! I'll hear no more. Thou art damn'd without Reprieve.

Jourd. Take Pity, Father, take Pity on a Penitent.

Mart. Pity! the Church abhors it. 'Twere Mercy to such a Wretch to pray him into Purgatory.

Jourd. I'll give all my Estate to the Church, I'll found Monasteries, I'll build Abbies.

Mart. All will not do, ten thousand Masses will not deliver you.

Jourd. Was ever such a miserable Wretch!

Mart. Thou hast Sins enough to damn thy whole Family. Monstrous Impiety! to lift up the Hand of Justice against the Church.

Jourd. Oh speak some Comfort to me: will no Penance expiate my Crime?

Mart. It is too grievous for a single Penance, go settle your Estate on the Church, and send your Daughter to a Nunnery, her Prayers will avail more than yours: Heaven hears the young and innocent with Pleasure. I will, my self, say four Masses a-day for you; and all these, I hope, will purchase your Forgiveness, at least your Stay in Purgatory will be short.

Jourd. My Daughter! She is to be married to-morrow, and I shall never prevail on her.

Mart. You must force her; your all depends on it.

Jourd. But I have already sworn I will not force her.

Mart. The Church absolves you from that Oath, and it were now Impiety to keep it. Go, lose not a Moment, see her entered with the utmost Expedition; she may put it out of your Power.

Jourd. What a poor miserable Wretch am I?

Thou art a miserable Wretch indeed! And it is on such miserable Wretches depends our Power: that Superstition which tears thy Bowels, feeds ours. This Nunnery is a Master-piece, let me but once shut up my dear Isabel from every other Man, and the Warmth of her Constitution may be my very powerful Friend. How far am I got already from the very Brink of Despair, by the Despair of this old Fool. Superstition, I adore thee,

ACT II

Have you no Compassion for your Father, for him that gave you being? Could you bear to hear me howl in Purgatory?

Isa. Lud! Pappa! Do you think your putting me into Purgatory in this World, will save you from Purgatory in the next? If you have any Sins you must repent of them your self; for I give you my Word, I have enough to do to repent of my own.

Jourd. You will soon wipe off that Score, and will be then in a Place where you cannot contract a new one.

Isa. Indeed, Sir, to shut a Woman out from Sin is not so easy. But, dear Sir, how can it enter into your Head, that my Penance can be acceptable for your Sin? Take my Word, one Week's fasting will be of more Service to you than this long Fast you would enjoin me.

Jourd. Alas! Child, if fasting would do, I am sure I have not been wanting to my Duty: I have fasted till I am almost worn away to nothing; I have almost fasted my self into Purgatory, while I was fasting my self out of it.

Isa. But whence comes all this Apprehension of your Danger?

Jourd. Whence should it come, but from the Church.

Isa. Oh! Sir, I have thought of the most lucky thing. You know, my Cousin Beatrice is just going into a Nunnery, and she will pray for you as much as you would have her.

Jourd. Trifle not with so serious a Concern. No Prayers but yours will ever do me good.

Isa. Then you shall have them any where but in a Nunnery.

Jourd. They must be there too.

Isa. That will be impossible: for if I was there, instead of praying you out of Purgatory, my Prayers would be all bent to pray my self out of the Nunnery again.