The Works of Henry Fielding Part 3

_Wit_. Alterations, sir?

_Mar. jun_. Yes, sir, alterations--I will maintain it. Let a play be never so good, without alteration it will do nothing.

_Wit_. Very odd indeed!

_Mar. jun_. Did you ever write, sir?

_Wit_. No, sir, I thank Heaven.

_Mar. jun_. Oh! your humble servant--your very humble servant, sir. When you write yourself, you will find the necessity of alterations. Why, sir, would you guess that I had altered Shakspeare?

_Wit_. Yes, faith, sir, no one sooner.

_Mar. jun_. Alack-a-day! Was you to see the plays when they are brought to us--a parcel of crude undigested stuff. We are the persons, sir, who lick them into form--that mould them into shape. The poet make the play indeed! the colourman might be as well said to make the picture, or the weaver the coat. My father and I, sir, are a couple of poetical tailors. When a play is brought us, we consider it as a tailor does his coat: we cut it, sir--we cut it; and let me tell you we have the exact measure of the town; we know how to fit their taste. The poets, between you and me, are a pack of ignorant----

_Wit_. Hold, hold, sir. This is not quite so civil to Mr Luckless; besides, as I take it, you have done the town the honour of writing yourself.

_Mar. jun_. Sir, you are a man of sense, and express yourself well. I did, as you say, once make a small sally into Parna.s.sus--took a sort of flying leap over Helicon; but if ever they catch me there again--sir, the town have a prejudice to my family; for, if any play could have made them ashamed to d.a.m.n it, mine must. It was all over plot. It would have made half a dozen novels: nor was it crammed with a pack of wit-traps, like Congreve and Wycherly, where every one knows when the joke was coming. I defy the sharpest critick of them all to have known when any jokes of mine were coming. The dialogue was plain, easy, and natural, and not one single joke in it from the beginning to the end: besides, sir, there was one scene of tender melancholy conversation--enough to have melted a heart of stone; and yet they d.a.m.ned it--and they d.a.m.ned themselves; for they shall have no more of mine.

_Wit_. Take pity on the town, sir.

_Mar. jun_. I! No, sir, no. I'll write no more. No more; unless I am forced to it.

_Luck_. That's no easy thing, Marplay.

_Mar. jun_. Yes, sir. Odes, odes, a man may be obliged to write those, you know.

_Luck_, and _Wit_. Ha, ha, ha! that's true indeed.

_Luck_. But about my tragedy, Mr Marplay.

_Mar. jun_. I believe my father is at the playhouse: if you please, we will read it now; but I must call on a young lady first--Hey, who's there? Is my footman there? Order my chair to the door. Your servant, gentlemen.--_Caro vien_. [_Exit, singing_.

_Wit_. This is the most finished gentleman I ever saw; and hath not, I dare swear, his equal.

_Luck_. If he has, here he comes.

SCENE VII.--LUCKLESS, WITMORE, BOOKWEIGHT.

_Luck_. Mr Bookweight, your very humble servant.

_Book_. I was told, sir, that you had particular business with me.

_Luck_. Yes, Mr Bookweight; I have something to put into your hands. I have a play for you, Mr Bookweight.

_Book_. Is it accepted, sir?

_Luck_. Not yet.

_Book_. Oh, sir! when it is, it will be then time enough to talk about it. A play, like a bill, is of no value till it is accepted; nor indeed when it is, very often. Besides, sir, our playhouses are grown so plenty, and our actors so scarce, that really plays are become very bad commodities. But pray, sir, do you offer it to the players or the patentees?

_Luck_. Oh! to the players, certainly.

_Book_. You are in the right of that. But a play which will do on the stage will not always do for us; there are your acting plays and your reading plays.

_Wit_. I do not understand that distinction.

_Book_. Why, sir, your acting play is entirely supported by the merit of the actor; in which case, it signifies very little whether there be any sense in it or no. Now, your reading play is of a different stamp, and must have wit and meaning in it. These latter I call your substantive, as being able to support themselves. The former are your adjective, as what require the buffoonery and gestures of an actor to be joined with them to shew their signification.

_Wit_. Very learnedly defined, truly.

_Luck_. Well, but, Mr Bookweight, will you advance fifty guineas on my play?

_Book_. Fifty guineas! Yes, sir. You shall have them with all my heart, if you will give me security for them. Fifty guineas for a play! Sir, I would not give fifty shillings.

_Luck_. 'Sdeath, sir! do you beat me down at this rate?

_Book_. No, nor fifty farthings. Fifty guineas! Indeed your name is well worth that.

_Luck_. Jack, take this worthy gentleman and kick him down stairs.

_Book_. Sir, I shall make you repent this.

_Jack_. Come, sir, will you please to brush?

_Book_. Help! murder! I'll have the law of you, sir.

_Luck_. Ha, ha, ha!

SCENE VIII.--LUCKLESS, WITMORE, MRS MONEYWOOD.

_Money_. What noise is this? It is a very fine thing, truly, Mr Luckless, that you will make these uproars in my house.

_Luck_. If you dislike it, it is in your power to drown a much greater. Do you but speak, madam, and I am sure no one will be heard but yourself.

_Money_. Very well, indeed! fine reflexions on my character! Sir, sir, all the neighbours know that I have been as quiet a woman as ever lived in the parish. I had no noises in my house till you came. We were the family of love. But you have been a nusance to the whole neighbourhood. While you had money, my doors were thundered at every morning at four and five, by coachmen and chairmen; and since you have had none, my house has been besieged all day by creditors and bailiffs. Then there's the rascal your man; but I will pay the dog, I will scour him. Sir, I am glad you are a witness of his abuses of me.

_Wit_. I am indeed, madam, a witness how unjustly he has abused you. [JACK _whispers_ LUCKLESS.

_Luck_. Witmore, excuse me a moment.