Samuel Foote - The Lame Lover

Mighty well.

And tho' the loss of a leg can't be imputed to Sir Luke Limp as a fault —

How!

I hope, Sir, at least you will allow it a misfortune.

Indeed!

A pretty thing truly, for a girl, at my time of life, to be ty'd to a man with one foot in the grave.

One foot in the grave! the rest of his body is not a whit the nearer for that. – There has been only an execution issued against part of his personals, his real estate is unencumbered and free – besides, you see he does not mind it a whit, but is as alert, and as merry, as a defendant after non-suiting a plaintiff for omitting an S.

O! Sir! I know how proud Sir Luke is of his leg, and have often heard him declare, that he would not change his bit of timber for the best flesh and bone in the kingdom.

There's a hero for you!

To be sure, sustaining unavoidable evils with constancy is a certain sign of greatness of mind.

Doubtless.

But then to derive a vanity from a misfortune, will not I'm afraid be admitted as a vast instance of wisdom, and indeed looks as if the man had nothing better to distinguish himself by.

How does that follow?

By inunendo.

Negatur.

Besides, Sir, I have other proofs of your hero's vanity, not inferior to that I have mention'd.

Cite them.

The paltry ambition of levying and following titles.

Titles! I don't understand you?

I mean the poverty of fastening in public upon men of distinction, for no other reason but because of their rank; adhering to Sir John till the Baronet is superceded by my Lord; quitting the puny Peer for an Earl; and sacrificing all three to a Duke.

Keeping good company! a laudable ambition!

True, Sir, if the virtues that procur'd the father a peerage, could with that be entail'd on the son.

Have a care, hussy – there are severe laws against speaking evil of dignities. —

Sir!

Scandalum magnatum is a statute must not be trifled with: why you are not one of those vulgar sluts that think a man the worse for being a Lord?

No, Sir; I am contented with only, not thinking him the better.

For all this, I believe, hussy, a right honourable proposal would soon make you alter your mind.

Not unless the proposer had other qualities than what he possesses by patent. Besides, Sir, you know Sir Luke is a devotee to the bottle.

Not a whit the less honest for that.

It occasions one evil at least; that when under its influence, he generally reveals all, sometimes more than he knows.

Proofs of an open temper, you baggage: but, come, come, all these are but trifling objections.

You mean, Sir, they prove the object a trifle.

Why you pert jade; do you play on my words? I say Sir Luke is —

Nobody.

Nobody! how the deuce do you make that out? – He is neither person attained or outlaw'd, may in any of his majesty's courts sue or be sued, appear by attorney, or in propria persona, can acquire, buy, procure, purchase, possess, and inherit, not only personalities, such as goods, and chattels, but even realities, as all lands, tenements, and hereditaments, whatsoever, and wheresoever.

But, Sir —

Nay, further child, he may sell, give, bestow, bequeath, devise, demise, lease, or to farm lett, ditto lands, to any person whomsoever – and —

Without doubt, Sir; but there are notwithstanding in this town a great number of nobodies, not described by lord Coke.

Hey!

There is your next-door neighbour, Sir Harry Hen, an absolute blank.

How so, Mrs. Pert?

What, Sir! a man who is not suffer'd to hear, see, smell, or in short to enjoy the free use of any one of his senses; who, instead of having a positive will of his own, is deny'd even a paltry negative; who can neither resolve or reply, consent or deny, without first obtaining the leave of his lady: an absolute monarch to sink into the sneaking state of being a slave to one of his subjects – Oh fye!

Why, to be sure, Sir Harry Hen, is as I may say —

Nobody Sir, in the fullest sense of the word – Then your client Lord Solo.

Heyday! – Why you would not annihilate a peer of the realm, with a prodigious estate and an allow'd judge too of the elegant arts.

O yes, Sir, I am no stranger to that nobleman's attributes; but then, Sir, please to consider, his power as a peer he gives up to a proxy; the direction of his estate, to a rapacious, artful attorney: and as to his skill in the elegant arts, I presume you confine them to painting and music, he is directed in the first by Mynheer Van Eisel, a Dutch dauber; and in the last is but the echo of Signora Florenza, his lordship's mistress and an opera singer.

Mercy upon us! at what a rate the jade runs!

In short, Sir, I define every individual who, ceasing to act for himself, becomes the tool, the mere engine of another man's will, to be nothing more than a cypher.

At this rate the jade will half unpeople the world: but what is all this to Sir Luke? to him, not one of your cases apply.

Every one – Sir Luke has not a first principle in his whole composition; not only his pleasures, but even his passions are prompted by others; and he is as much directed to the objects of his love and his hatred, as in his eating, drinking, and dressing. Nay, though he is active, and eternally busy, yet his own private affairs are neglected; and he would not scruple to break an appointment that was to determine a considerable part of his property, in order to exchange a couple of hounds for a lord, or to buy a pad-nag for a lady. In a word – but he's at hand, and will explain himself best; I hear his stump on the stairs.

I hope you will preserve a little decency before your lover at least.

Lover! ha, ha, ha!

Mr. Serjeant, your slave – Ah! are you there my little – O Lord! Miss, let me tell you something for fear of forgetting – Do you know that you are new christen'd, and have had me for a gossip?

Christen'd! I don't understand you.

Then lend me your ear – Why last night, as Colonel Kill'em, Sir William Weezy, Lord Frederick Foretop, and I were carelessly sliding the Ranelagh round, picking our teeth, after a damn'd muzzy dinner at Boodle's, who should trip by but an abbess, well known about town, with a smart little nun in her suite. Says Weezy (who, between ourselves, is as husky as hell) Who is that? odds flesh, she's a delicate wench! Zounds! cried Lord Frederick, where can Weezy have been, not to have seen the Harietta before? for you must know Frederick is a bit of Macaroni, and adores the soft Italian termination in a .