The Lame Lover

ACT II

Jack, let Will bring the chaise to the door.

Mr. Fairplay, Sir, the attorney, begs to speak a few words.

How often have I told you, that I will see none of these sort of folks but at chambers; you know how angry your mother is at their rapping, and littering the house.

He says, Sir, he will not detain you five minutes.

Well, bid him walk in.

Well, Mr. Fairplay, what's your will?

I just call'd, Mr. Serjeant, to know your opinion upon the case of young Woodford, and if you like the proposal of being concern'd.

If it turns out as you state it, and that the father of the lad was really a minor, the Essex estate may without doubt be recover'd; and so may the lands in the North.

We have full proofs to that fact.

May be so; but really Mr. Fairplay, you know the length of time that these kind of suits —

True Sir, but then your experience will shorten I appreh —

That's more than I know: and then not only my fees lying dormant, but, perhaps, an expectation of money advanc'd.

The property, Sir, is of very great value, and, upon the recovery, any acknowledgment shall be readily made.

There again, any! do you know that in law, that word any has no meaning at all? besides, when people are in distress, they are lavish enough of their offers; but when their business is done, then we have nothing but grumbling and grudging.

You have only to dictate your terms.

Does the lad live in town?

He has been under my care since the death of his father; I have given him as good an education as my narrow fortune would let me; he is now studying the law in the Temple, in hopes that should he fail of other assistance, he may be able one day to do himself justice.

In the Temple?

Yes, Sir, in those little chambers just over your head – I fancy the young gentleman knows him.

Who? Mr. Woodford! Lord as well as myself, he is a sweet sober youth, and will one day make a vast figure, I am sure.

Indeed!

I am positive, Sir, if you were to hear him speak at the Robinhood in the Butcher-row, you would say so yourself: why he is now reckon'd the third; except the breeches-maker from Barbican, and Sawny Sinclair the snuffman, there is not a mortal can touch him.

Peace, puppy; well Mr. Fairplay, leave the papers a little longer with me and – pray who is employ'd against you?

A city attorney, one Sheepskin.

A cunning fellow, I know him; well, Sir, if you will call at Pump-court in a week.

I shall attend you.

Jack, open the door for Mr. – [Exeunt Fairplay and Jack.] Something may be made of this matter: I'll see this Sheepskin myself. So much in future for carrying on the suit, or so much in hand to make it miscarry: a wise man should well weigh which party to take for.

So, Jack, any body at chambers to day?

Fieri Facias from Fetter lane, about the bill to be filed by Kit Crape against Will Vizard, this term.

Praying for an equal partition of plunder?

Yes, Sir.

Strange world we live in, that even highwaymen can't be true to each other! [half aside to himself.] but we shall make master Vizard refund, we'll shew him what long hands the law has.

Facias says, that in all the books he can't hit on a precedent.

Then I'll make one myself; aut inveniam, aut faciam, has been always my motto. The charge must be made for partnership-profit, by bartering lead and gunpowder, against money, watches, and rings, on Epping-forest, Hounslow-heath, and other parts of the kingdom.

He says, if the court should get scent of the scheme, the parties would all stand committed.

Cowardly rascal! but however, the caution mayn't prove amiss. [Aside.] I'll not put my own name to the bill.

The declaration too is deliver'd in the cause of Roger Rapp'em against Sir Solomon Simple.

What, the affair of the note?

Yes.

Why he is clear that his client never gave such a note.

Defendant never saw plaintiff since the hour he was born; but, notwithstanding, they have three witnesses to prove a consideration, and signing the note.

They have?

He is puzzled what plea to put in.

Three witnesses ready, you say?

Yes.

Tell him Simple must acknowledge the note, [Jack starts] and bid him, against the trial comes on, to procure four persons at least to prove the payment, at the Crown and Anchor, the 10th of December.

But then how comes the note to remain in plaintiff's possession?

Well put, Jack; but we have a salvo for that; plaintiff happen'd not to have the note in his pocket, but promis'd to deliver it up, when call'd thereunto by defendant.

That will do rarely.

Let the defence be a secret, for I see we have able people to deal with. But come, child, not to lose time, have you carefully conn'd those instructions I gave you?

Yes, Sir.

Well, that we shall see. How many points are the great object of practice?

Two.

Which are they?

The first is to put a man into possession of what is his right.

The second?

Either to deprive a man of what is really his right, or to keep him as long as possible out of possession.

Good boy! To gain the last end, what are the best means to be us'd?

Various and many are the legal modes of delay.

Name them.

Injunctions, demurrers, sham-pleas, writs of error, rejoinders, sur-rejoinders, rebutters, sur-rebutters, replications, exceptions, essoigns, and imparlance.

[To himself.] Fine instruments in the hands of a man, who knows how to use them. – But now, Jack, we come to the point: if an able advocate has his choice in a cause, (which if he is in reputation he may readily have,) which side should he choose, the right, or the wrong?

A great lawyer's business, is always to make choice of the wrong.

And prythee why so?

Because a good cause can speak for itself, whilst a bad one demands an able counsellor to give it a colour.

Very well. But in what respects will this answer to the lawyer himself?

In a two-fold way; firstly, his fees will be large in proportion to the dirty work he is to do.

Secondly? —

His reputation will rise, by obtaining the victory in a desperate cause.

Right, boy. – Are you ready in the case of the cow?

Pretty well, I believe.

Give it then.

First of April, anno seventeen hundred and blank, John a Nokes was indicted by blank, before blank, in the county of blank, for stealing a cow, contra pacem etcet. – and against the statute in that case provided and made, to prevent stealing of cattle.

Go on.

Said Nokes was convicted upon the said statute.

What follow'd upon? —

Motion in arrest of judgment, made by counsellor Puzzle. First, Because the field from whence the cow was convey'd is laid in the indictment as round, but turn'd out upon proof to be square.

That's well: a valid objection.

Secondly, Because in said indictment the colour of the cow is called red, there being no such things in rerum natura as red cows, no more than black lions, spread eagles, flying griffins, or blue boars.

Well put.

Thirdly, said Nokes has not offended against form of the statute; because stealing of cattle is there provided against: whereas we are only convicted of stealing a cow. Now, though cattle may be cows, yet it does by no means follow that cows must be cattle.

Bravo, bravo! buss me, you rogue, you are your father's own son! go on, and prosper. – I am sorry, dear Jack, I must leave thee. If Providence but sends thee life and health, I prophesy, thou wilt wrest as much land from the owners, and save as many thieves from the gallows, as any practitioner since the days of king Alfred.

I'll do my endeavour. [Exit Serjeant.] So! – father is set off. Now if I can but lay eyes on our Charlot, just to deliver this letter, before madam comes home. There she is. – Hist, sister Charlot!

What have you got there, Jack?

Something for you, sister.

For me! Prythee what is it?

A thing.

What thing?

A thing that will please you I'm sure.

Come, don't be a boy, let me have it. [Jack gives the letter.] How's this! a letter! from whom?

Can't you guess?

Not I; I don't know the hand.

May be not; but you know the inditer.

Then tell me his name.

Break open the seal, and you'll find it.

[Opening the letter] "Charles Woodford!" – I am sure I know nothing of him.

Ay, but sister you do.

How! when, and where?

Don't you remember about three weeks ago, when you drank tea at our chambers, there was a young gentleman in a blue sattin waist-coat, who wore his own head of hair?

Well?

That letter's from he.

What can be his business with me?

Read that, and you'll know.

CHARLOT reads.

"Want words to apologize – hum, hum – very first moment I saw you – hum, hum – smother'd long in my breast – hum, hum – happiest, or else the most wretched of men." – So, Sir, you have undertaken a pretty commission! and what do you think my father will —

Why, I hope you won't go for to tell him.

Indeed, Sir, but I shall.

No, sister, I'm sure you won't be so cross. Besides, what could I do? The poor young lad begg'd so hard; and there for this fortnight he has gone about sighing, and musing, and moping: I am satisfied it would melt you to see him. Do, sister, let me bring him this evening, now father is out.

Upon my word! – The young man has made no bad choice of an agent; you are for pushing matters at once. – But harkee, Sir, who is this spark you are so anxious about? And how long have you known him?

Oh! a prodigious long while: above a month I am certain. Don't you think him mighty genteel? I assure you he is vastly lik'd by the ladies.

He is.

Yes, indeed. Mrs. Congo, at the Grecian coffee-house, says, he's the soberest youth that comes to the house; and all Mrs. Mittens's 'prentices throw down their work, and run to the window every time he goes by.

Upon my word!

And moreover, besides that, he has several great estates in the country; but only for the present, he is kept out of 'em all by the owners.

Ah, Jack! that's the worst part of the story.

Pshaw! that's nothing at all. His guardian, Mr. Fairplay, has been with father to-day, and says, he is certain that he can set all to rights in a trice.

Well, Jack, when that point is determin'd, it will be time enough to —

Then! Lord of mercy! why, sister Charlot, it is my private opinion that if you don't give him some crumbs of comfort, he won't live till Midsummer term.

I warrant you. Either Cupid's darts were always but poetical engines, or they have been lately depriv'd of their points. Love holds no place in the modern bills of mortality. However, Jack, you may tell your friend, that I have observ'd his frequent walks in our street.

Walks! Why one should think he was appointed to relieve the old watchman; for no sooner one is off, but the other comes on.

And that from his eyes being constantly fixed on my window (for the information of which, I presume he is indebted to you.) —

He! he! he!

I had a pretty shrewd guess at his business; but tell him that unless my fa – Hush! our tyrant is return'd. Don't leave the house till I see you.

So, Sir, what makes you loitering from chambers? I thought I told you, you should never be here but at meals? [Exit Jack.] One spy is enough in a family. – Miss, you may go to your room; and d'ye hear – I shall have company, so you need not come down. [Exit Charlot.] – Betty, no message or letter?

None, Madam.

That is amazing! – You know I expect Colonel Secret and Mrs. Simper every instant.

Yes, Madam.

Put the fruit and the wine on the table in the next room.

Very well, Madam.

And, Betty, order the fellow to let nobody in but Sir Luke.

Madam, I shall take care.

The ballot must be over by this time. Sure there is nothing so dreadful as a state of suspence: but should they black ball me! – No, there's no danger of that; miss Mattadore has insur'd me success. – Well, this is certainly one of the most useful institutions; it positively supplies the only point of time one does not know how to employ. From twelve, the hour of one's rising, to dinner, is a most horrible chasm; for though teizing the mercers and milliners by tumbling their wares, is now and then an entertaining amusement, yet upon repetition it palls. – But every morning to be sure of a party, and then again at night after a rout, to have a place to retire to; to be quite freed from all pain of providing; not to be pester'd at table with the odious company of clients, and country cousins; for I am determin'd to dine, and sup at the club, every day. I can tell 'em, they'll have but very few forfeits from me.

By a chairman, Madam, from the Thatch'd House.

Give it me, Betty, this instant; – ay – this is Mattadore's hand. [opens and reads the letter.] "My dear Circuit – it is with the utmost concern, and confusion, I find myself oblig'd to acquaint you, that notwithstanding all the pains I have taken, the club have thought fit to reject." – Oh! [She faints.]

Bless my soul! my lady is gone! – John! Will! Kitty! run hither this instant. —

What, what's the matter?

Quick! quick! some hartshorn and water [pats her hand.] Madam! madam —

Here! here! here! [bringing water.]

John, go for the potter-carrier this instant – I believes to my soul she is dead – Kitty, fetch some feathers to burn under her nose; – there, stand further off, and give her some air —

Hey day! what the deuce is the matter? what's the meaning of all this, Mrs. Betty?

Oh! Sir, is it you – my poor lady! [cries] clap the bottle hard to her nose.

But how came it about?

Some of the continents of that curs'd letter, she has there in her hand.

Here, here, take some of my eau de luce. [offering a bottle.]

There! she recovers a little – some water – I believe it is nothing but a satirical fit, I have had them myself – now she opens her eyes – so, so – bend her forward a little.

My sweet Mrs. Circuit.

Who is that?

Nobody at all madam, but only Sir Luke.

Oh! Sir Luke, such a stroke, so fatal, so sudden, it is not in nature I should ever survive it.

Marry heaven forbid! but what cause – what could —

Leave the room. [To the servants, who go out.] Only, look over that letter.

Hum, hum, – [reads] "fit to reject you – this – "

There! there! there!

I own this is the utmost malice of fortune – but let me finish the letter. – "This calamity, dear Circuit, is of such a nature as baffles all advice, or interposition of friends, I shall therefore leave you to time, and your own good understanding." [pretty and sensible.] – "yours," &c. – But let us see, what says the postscript – [reads.] "Perhaps it may give you some comfort to know that you had sixteen almonds, and but two raisins against you."

But two!

No more.

This must be Kitty Cribbage's doing, she has been tattling about the paltry trifle I owe her.

Not unlikely: but come, bear up, my dear madam, and consider that two—

Is as bad as two thousand.

Granted; but perhaps it mayn't be too late to repair. – Gadso! I have thought of a scheme – I'll be elected myself, and then I warrant we manage —

You, Sir Luke? that never can be.

No, Madam, and why not? – why you don't suppose that they wou'd venture to —

It would not only be against the spirit, but the very letter of their constitution to chuse you a member.

Ay, Madam, how so?

Their statutes are selected from all the codes that ever existed from the days of Lycurgus to the present Czarina.

Well.

The law that relates to your case they have borrow'd from the Roman religion.

As how?

As no man can be admitted a monk, who has the least corporal spot, or defect; so, no candidate can be receiv'd as a member who is depriv'd of the use of any one of his limbs.

Nay, then indeed I am clearly cut out; that incapacity can never be got over.

Indeed, the Serjeant says, if the club could be induc'd to resolve in your favour, then the original law would signify nothing.

Well, well, we'll see what can be done. [A loud knocking.] But hush! the company's come; collect yourself, sweet Mrs. Circuit; don't give your enemies the malicious pleasure of seeing how this disappointment affects you.

Never fear; I know a little too much of the world not to turn this defeat to my credit.

Your servant, Sir Luke; my dear Circuit, I am frighten'd to death – your people tell me, you are but just recover'd from a —

Oh! nothing at all! a faintness, a kind of swimming – but those people are ever swelling that mole hills to mountains.

I protest I was afraid that you had suffer'd your late disappointment to lay hold of your spirits.

What disappointment, my dear?

Mrs. Simper hints at the little mistake made this morning at the Thatch'd House.

That! ridiculous! I could have told you that a fortnight ago, child – all my own doing.

How!

Entirely.

Oh! I always detested the thoughts of the thing; – they would put me up, let me say what I would, so I was reduc'd to the necessity of prevailing upon two of my friends to black ball me.

That, indeed, alters the case.

I am vastly happy to hear it: your old acquaintance were afraid they should lose you.

It is a sign they know but little of me – but come, my good folks, I have prepared a small collation in the next room, will you —

I'll watch sister, to see that nobody comes; now Woodford make good use of your time. [Exit Woodford.] There, I have left 'em together; if I had staid, I don't believe they would have open'd their mouths for a month: I never saw such an alteration in a lad since the day I was born. – Why, if I had not known him before, I should not have thought he had a word to throw to a dog; but I remember the old proverb: