Single Life. Buckstone John Baldwin
Buckstone
Single Life / A Comedy, in Three Acts
ACT I
SCENE I. —An apartment at MR. NIGGLE’S. A sideboard, with cupboard, on the U.E.R. Window, with curtains, on the F.E.L. A round table, L., chairs, &c.
Miss Sna. (Reading.) “The Young Man’s best Companion” – a very excellent book for youth; but at Mr. Niggle’s age, he ought to possess his best companion in a devoted and amiable wife; heigho! What a treasure I should be to any man that could properly understand me. (Takes up another book.) “The Epistles of Abelard and Heloise.” I am pleased to see this book on his table, it proves that he possesses a taste for sentiment of the highest order, and can admire devotedness and passion under the most trying circumstances. “The Newgate Calender.” Bless the man, what can induce him to have such a book as this in his house; surely he can have no sympathy with housebreakers and assassins? I must look to this: should I ever be the mistress here, some of these volumes must be removed – this furniture too – very well for a bachelor; but when he is married, a change must be made. And those curtains, how slovenly they are put up. Ah, any one can discover the want of a presiding female hand in a bachelor’s house – where is the neatness, the order, and the good taste that prevails in all the arrangements, where the master of the house is a married man. If ever I am Mrs. Niggle, down shall come those curtains, away shall go that sideboard, off shall go those chairs, and as for this table – let me look at its legs —(Lifts up the cover and examines the legs of it.)
Dam. Hollo! hollo!
Miss Sna. Oh! how you frightened me.
Dam. It’s a very suspicious thing when an old maid examines a bachelor’s furniture.
Miss Sna. Good morning, Mr. Damper, I was merely observing Mr. Niggle’s table legs.
Dam. (L.) Ah! when an old maid finds herself on her own last legs, ’tis time she should observe those of other people.
Miss Sna. (L.) What a censorious man you are, Mr. Damper, you rail at our sex as if you considered it man’s natural enemy, instead of his best friend. Is it possible that you have never loved a woman in all your life?
Dam. I love a woman! Ugh! I look upon you all as the first great cause of every evil.
Miss Sna. For, like most first great causes, you don’t understand us.
Dam. If I don’t, I have no wish to acquire any such useless knowledge. May I ask what you want at my friend Niggle’s, so early in the morning: some conspiracy, I’ll be bound. I wont allow it, Miss Snare; if you think to inveigle him into matrimony, you’ll find yourself mistaken; he shall never marry, if I can prevent him making such a ninny of himself.
Miss Sna. It is entirely through your interference, I have been told, that he is in a state of celibacy; and, though the poor gentleman is now fifty-five, yet ever since he arrived at years of discretion, he has been sighing and pining for a wife.
Dam. He would have been a ruined man long ago, but for me; five times have I saved him from the matrimonial precipice.
Miss Sna. How did you save him?
Dam. How? I have discovered his intention to marry, and knowing how nervous he is upon the subject, I have always interfered in time, told him in strong language the evils he was bringing upon his head, brought instances of married misery so plainly before his eyes, that I have frightened him out of his wits; and one morning, eight years ago, he was actually dressed and on his way to church to unite himself to some designing woman, when I luckily met him, and dragged him back again by the collar.
Miss Sna. And he had to pay five hundred pounds damages, in an action for breach of promise.
Dam. But he purchased independence and happiness with the money. I have been his best friend through life; didn’t I go out with him when he was challenged by a young lady’s brother, twenty years ago, because I made him relinquish his attentions to her? And though he has been shot at and caned, and has paid damages in two actions for breach of promise, yet by meeting those small evils, he has escaped that far greater one —a wife; and every morning when he rises a free man, I know he invokes a blessing on my head. (Sits at table, L.)
Miss Sna. (Aside.) Oh, you monster, you ought to be poisoned. (Sits R.)
Nig. Why the deuce don’t they go away? What do they want here? Confound them!
Dam. Where is Niggle? I wish most particularly to see him. Has he shown himself yet?
Miss Sna. I have been waiting for him this half hour, to solicit his vote for a beadle.
Dam. A beadle! To persuade him to call on the parish clerk, more likely. It wont do, Miss Snare, you don’t catch him in your net. (Aside.) Surely it can’t be this dangerous woman that he is going to make a fool of himself with. She sha’n’t have him – nobody shall have him.
Nig. I wish they’d go.
Dam. (Seeing him.) Hollo! there you are; come here, sir, and let me examine you.
Nig. (Advancing, C.) David, I will no longer allow this continued intrusion on my privacy; and, Miss Snare, I do not wish to offend, but really your continued calls upon me, at all hours, are somewhat indecorous. The neighbours begin to talk, and I must check them. What may you want this morning?
Miss Sna. I am sure, sir, I was not aware that my friendly visits could cause anybody to talk, or at least be annoying to you; however, I shall not intrude again – you know why I called yesterday.
Nig. To give me a pincushion, made by yourself, in the form of a heart.
Dam. A dead set at you, John, clear as daylight – a dead set at you. Oh! miss, I’m ashamed of you.
Miss Sna. For what, sir? He complained, a few days since, that he was without a pincushion, and could never recollect to purchase one; and where was the harm, sir, in my supplying such a trifling want: I shall not be so attentive again, be assured. As for my call this morning, it was on parish business – a motive of charity; but since my little acts of friendship are so sternly checked, of course those of charity must suffer at the same time. And I did hope to have your company to tea, to-morrow.
Nig. Well, well, I know and appreciate your motives; but you always contrive to call when I’m occupied, when I don’t want to be disturbed – and this morning, I particularly wish to be quite alone. (Double knock without.) Another call! Dear, dear, that is the worst of being a bachelor; everybody walks into his house whenever they please – no announcement, no ceremony, in they bounce with – “How are you? how do? only me.” And sit themselves down, and take up this, and throw down that. Oh, I wish I had the courage to take a wife. (Looking at his watch.) How the time is getting on – quarter past nine – we were to have been at church at ten, the latest. (MISS KITTY SKYLARK heard without, running a cadence.) Oh, dear! it’s that abominable singing lady; what the deuce brings her here? Her conversation is so interspersed with singing, that she’s a complete human burletta – I shall never get rid of her. How shall I escape out of the house.
Miss Sky. Oh, good morning, good people – didn’t expect to find any one here so early. I’ve got it for you, Mr. Niggle.
Nig. Got what?
Miss Sky. The song that you were trying to sing the other evening, “The Bay of Biscay,” you know you first got out of tune, then you broke down altogether. I have bought the correct copy for you, and, if you’ll allow me, I’ll teach it you. (Sings.) “As we lay,