John Buckstone - Single Life

Miss Sna. Very indeed!

Dam. He certainly is about to marry that woman.

Boss. I should regret it exceedingly if he were.

Miss Sna. We ought really to tell him what we have heard, and break off the match.

Miss Sky. Let us first be assured that one is about to be made. Search the room, perhaps we may discover something that may confirm our suspicions. Miss Snare, you examine his books, and the drawers of his table; Boss peep about in the corners; Damper, go up stairs and cross-examine him; I’ll rummage the sideboard. (Opens sideboard cupboard.) Oh! what’s here?

All. What?

Miss Sky. Oho! a wedding-cake and cards. (Takes out cake and cards.)

Dam. A wedding-cake!

Miss Sna. And cards too!

Miss Sky. (Holding them out and singing.)

Dam. (Taking them from her.) Connubial cards linked together by little bits of silver cord. (Reading.) “Mr. John Niggle, Mrs. John Niggle.”

Miss Sky. (Placing cake on sideboard and taking a packet of cards from the cupboard.) Here they are, dozens upon dozens of them; the lady’s card the largest, as a broad hint that she means to be paramount.

Miss Sna. Can it be? Is it a fact? (Taking a pair of cards.) It is, indeed, true; and if he is not already married, he will be so very soon. I couldn’t have thought it, after – after — (Bursts into tears.)

Miss Sky. Miss Snare, what’s the matter?

Boss. It seems as if she had set her heart upon the gentleman herself.

Dam. Hum! I am very happy to know that you, at least, are not the woman to whom he intends sacrificing himself; but I’ll discover the party, and if it should be Miss Coy, I’ll shoot him out of hand, rather than see him so duped. He sha’n’t marry I’m resolved. (Going out at the back and calling.) Niggle, Niggle, you fool, where are you?

Miss Sky. Miss Snare, Miss Snare, pray don’t take the matter so much to heart.

Miss Sna. Well, I hope he’ll be happy – I’m sure he will – such an excellent temper – such taste in all matters.

Boss. Except in dress. His coats seem to have been cut out with a knife and fork.

Miss Sna. In elegance of costume, Mr. Boss, you completely bear away the palm.

Boss. My taste in the matter, is, I flatter myself, perfect – indeed with me it is a furor.

Miss Sky. Oh, sir, I am afraid you admire yourself too much, to bestow a thought of regard on one of us poor women.

Boss. I shall never marry till I discover perfection.

Miss Sky. You will find grey hairs hanging over your temples, before you obtain that object of your search.

Boss. (C.) Then I’ll die a bachelor!

Miss Sky. (C.) And, like the swan, sing your own elegy.

Miss Sna. (L.) A young man of Mr. Boss’s figure, must in time strike those who would think it little trouble to conquer the faults of habit and nature, and make herself as near, what he may consider to be perfection, as possible.

Boss. Why, yes, my figure I think is perfect – breadth of shoulders, smallness of waist, curve of back, flow of hip, and tolerable height, are the materiel that go towards forming a good figure, and which materiel , I flatter myself, I possess. (Crosses to L .)

Miss Sna. (Ogling him.) In an eminent degree.

Miss Sky. Oho! The old maid having been defeated in one matrimonial attack, is about to commence another.

Boss. (Aside.) I’ll be hanged, but Miss Snare is a woman of taste.

Nig. I will not allow such a liberty: let me go, sir, let me go.

Dam. Not without me.

Dam. It’s all true, he is going to be married; the lady is now waiting for him in a bye lane, in a post-chaise. One comfort, ’tis now ten minutes past his appointed time.

Nig. I shall lose my temper. I will not be interfered with any longer – lies and slander I defy. I have lived fifty-five years in the world, longing since boyhood for the delights of matrimony; never before has my resolution been so fixed as it is now, and married I will be, in spite of the world. I will not be shut out from the cordialities of life.

Dam. You shall not make a fool of yourself.

Nig. I will. I will not trifle any longer with happiness now it is within my grasp. Let me go, sir, or I’ll knock you down. Let me go.

Dam. He sha’n’t escape, I’ll follow him if it’s to Africa.

Miss Sky. Ha! ha! ha! the hunt is up – there they run – there (Looks from window.) they run. Now Niggle, now Damper. Look at the heart stirring-chase, (Singing.)

Miss Sna. What a strange turn in affairs, and what a singular lady is that Miss Skylark.

Boss. How does she get on with her bashful beau, Pinkey?

Miss Sna. Nothing decided yet, she tells me. He still continues writing the most glowing letters that ever were penned. I am to see a few of them shortly; but when the poor fellow is in her presence, he can scarcely utter a word, and though he has written nearly fifty most passionate billets, he has never once verbally alluded to the state of his feelings.

Boss. (L.) And whenever they meet, of course the lady looks for a declaration.

Miss Sna. And of course he can’t find courage to utter a word.

Boss. How distressing! I am passing your door, Miss Snare, will you take my arm?

Miss Sna. You are very kind!

Boss. (L.) Beautiful color this cloth, is it not? (Shewing the sleeve of his coat.)

Miss Sna. Beautiful!

Boss. And the pattern of my waistcoat.

Miss Sna. Exquisite!

Boss. May I ask you if you admire me collectively.

Miss Sna. Oh, that I do, from the extreme point of your boot, to the loftiest summit of your hair.

Boss. ’Pon my life she’s a desirable woman!

Miss Sky. Stop, stop; as I was going out at the door, who should I meet but Mr. Pinkey; on seeing me he stammered, blushed, and said that he was going to call on you, Miss Snare. I informed him that you were here, and now he is stumbling up stairs to speak to you. Come in, Mr. Pinkey, the lady that you wish to see is here.

Miss Sna. Good morning, Mr. Pinkey.

Pin. Good morning, ma’am.

Miss Sna. You wish to see me?

Pin. I have merely called to say that I have received your note, and I shall do myself the pleasure of taking tea with you to-morrow, at eight o’clock precisely.

Miss Sky. Alone, with Miss Skylark.