Read Ebook: A Day Well Spent: A Farce in One Act by Oxenford John

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Ebook has 437 lines and 14489 words, and 9 pages

BOLT. Ah, I have heard so--I have read so--but never met any.

COT. Right! Very correct, indeed. Robert Mizzle, if you always associate with such as Charles Bolt, you will doubtless at length reach an elevated post.

MIZ. Elevated post! I wonder if he means the gallows?

COT. Is a heavy charge;--I am aware of it. But I must go. Farewell, Bolt! Good by, Mizzle! Excellent steady creatures! Oh, were all like them, the tragedy of George Barnwell would never have been written.

BOLT. Ha, ha, ha! why don't you laugh, Mizzle?

MIZ. Because I don't see any joke.

BOLT. Then look at me--I'm a perpetual joke!--I'm all point, like a porcupine--all fire, like a poet's heart, and light as his breeches pocket. Old Cotton has gone out all day--ha, ha! don't you take? don't you twig? A'n't you fly? A'n't you awake?

MIZ. Yes, I'm awake, but I don't see.

BOLT. We are to mind the shop, are we? I say never mind it--let's go out.

MIZ. Nonsense! you know master and we are like a man and woman in a weather-house--when one goes out the other stays at home.

BOLT. And so, when the old man's back is turned, we are to shew our heads are turned, by stopping in the shop all day--selling check'd neck-handkerchiefs and baby's red stockings? Not we!--we'll go out and have some fun, Bobby.

MIZ. No, no! it wont do; we must take care of the shop.

BOLT. Now look ye,--how does master take care of his money?

BOLT. Then that's the way we'll take care of the shop--I'll lock the door, and you shall shut the shutters.

MIZ. Oh, come, come! I sha'n't go, nor you sha'n't, either. It wont do, Charley; better be boxed here, than get in the wrong box.

BOLT. Well, I've made up my mind; the next job is to make up my body: I must dress.

MIZ. Well, you may enjoy your own holiday. Pleasant day, and fine weather to you, and a prosperous return;--I sha'n't go.

BOLT. You have no grandeur of soul--you don't love fun.

MIZ. Come, don't say that; damn it, I live upon fun--he, he!--you know I do. Give us your hand, Charley. I'll go! Oh dear, a day's pleasure!

BOLT. You'll go, will you?

MIZ. Give us your hand.

BOLT. Here's off for fun, then!

CUT. This way, this way, charming Harriet; your aunt has not missed you yet; but she soon will; she is now so taken up with her ribbons and beautiful purchases, that she is thinking but little of her beautiful niece.

HAR. But this step--

CUT. Stands before your prison door--your only step is flight.

HAR. A flight of steps, each one more imprudent than the last. And what awaits me on my descent?

CUT. Love, who will be your guide?

HAR. A pretty guide--he is blind himself.

HAR. Father? I haven't seen him.

BOLT. Well, here we are--out!

MIZ. Yes, out in our reckoning, may be.

MIZ. No, we have sunk the shop, with a vengeance! Hatchment, the undertaker, will be calling to know if master's dead.

BOLT. Well, but where shall we go?

MIZ. I'm afraid we've gone too far already.

BOLT. Zounds! man, don't keep watering my spirits in that way; and don't pull down the corners of your mouth, and make it look like a horseshoe on its legs. Laugh at our setting out, at least.

MIZ. Ha! ha! ha! I will, for I'm thinking there will be devilish little chance of laughing when we return. Eh--what's that?

BOLT. What are you staring at now?

MIZ. Don't you see something like an old man?

BOLT. Lord bless you, Bobby! it's the young women I always look at, not the old men.

MIZ. That old man may look at you, notwithstanding. Oh! he draws nearer.--Oh, the devil! it's the old gentleman--master, I mean.

BOLT. Eh, that's the hat;--his castor's an unlucky star;--those are his unmentionables. We'll turn down the next street.

MIZ. But this damned street has no turning for the next quarter of a mile! Confound it! you must be so fond of enjoying yourself.

BOLT. We'll run.

MIZ. And attract his attention: a tallish man and a short one.

BOLT. Then we'll call on Mrs. Stitchley. Yes, that's the name on the plate.

MIZ. We don't know her; who the deuce knows Mrs. Stitchley?

BOLT. No matter; he mustn't pass us. Egad, he's just here!

BOLT. Well, here is a new feature.

MIZ. Yes, like a broken nose--a very irregular feature. What are we to say?

BOLT. Our wits will inspire us.

MIZ. Wits! I've no wits, nor you either, or you wouldn't have advised this blessed expedition.

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