BWP1800 - The Sword of Peace

"Dear!" cries Mrs. Languish, "do you know, Colonel Prattle, who this authoress of the Sword of Peace is, that keeps herself thus incog.?"

"Oh! yes, Madam; I am credibly informed she is a grocer's daughter in Thames Street, that has returned an unsuccessful candidate from India for gold mores, and lacks of rupees; a mere adventuress, Madam."

"By no means a necessary consequence she should not be so, Madam, upon that account;" replies Counselor Seafar.

"Pooh!" interrupts Mrs. Gabble, "no such thing, I assure you; for a particular friend of mine, who is extremely intimate with the friend of a particular acquaintance of a friend of Mr. Jackson's, whose son is continually among those literary geniuses, who know every author in the kingdom, confidently assured me, from the most undoubted authority, Sir, that her father was a parson, and she had run away with a strolling player; and as she has a romantic turn, and a great deal of assurance, after having hawked this Sword about from theatre to theatre, prevailed on the manager in the Hay Market to bring it out, as the only means to prevent herself, her husband, and six children, from absolute starving."

You must excuse my passing you by with the contempt such insignificant individuals deserve, whilst I address a

A woman, however possessed of genius, wit, vivacity, or knowledge of the world, unless she continues to veil them under the modest, delicate reserve, which should ever characterise her sex, destroys their effects, and renders herself a being pitied by men of sense, envied, yet ridiculed, by every woman of her acquaintance.

When once a woman is known to write, if in company she converses with vivacity, she is immediately condemned as thinking "no one can speak but herself." If she is silent, "ih! she's employed taking off the company!"—Thus, can she neither speak, laugh, nor be serious, with impunity; every action is miscontrued, and her features, dress, person, &c. the constant topic with those who have not abilities to judge, nor candour sufficient to praise her.

For these reasons, and these alone, I own I have not confidence to stand the public gaze, nor vanity enough not to feel embarassed as an avowed authoress. Having too often witnessed the fate of such (however worthy, however amiable!) I wish to conceal myself from the censure of individuals, the flattery of sycophants, and the partiality of weak friends. And while I innocently divert myself with the absurd assertions I continually meet with, I have also the satisfaction of hearing those opinions which may serve to regulate and inform a mind, not only open to conviction, but wishing to attain truth, (generally the only way it is to be attained) without asking for it; yet, seeking it with that avidity whichh its worth, when found, repays.

Few, indeed, are capable of speaking truth amiably! It requires a delicate politeness, a friendly interesting manner of address, and inexpressible liberality of soul; whic, though rarely met with, is not impossible. I have had that singular honour and happiness to meet with in one whom I do not meanly flatter, when I avow with pleasing, heart-felt gratitude, the unnumbered obligations of this kind I have received from Mr. Colman, whose attention and studied arrangements of every thing that could conduce to the success of this piece as manager, is beyond any expressions, even a heart impressed like mine, can dictate. Without whose kind patronage and encouragement I had never presumed to have become a candidate for public favor; with it—I could scarcely doubt success.

To the press I now commit the Sword of Peace; where, though divested of the brilliancy of acting, I humbly trust it will not be found to disgrace that judgement which so kindly brought it forward. Yet, however I may have failed in other parts of the drama, the character of David Northcote is a real one.—To Indians this is needless: the sketch, however, is not too faint, I hope, for others: it was dictated by a heart glowing with gratitude and admiration of his noble and unbounded goodness!

To the performers of the last, and present season, I feel myself truly indebted. It would be ungenerous to make any particular distinctions; I beg them therefore to accept my most grateful thanks and acknowledgements for the very powerful support they have uniformly given to the piece.

TASTE, at all seasons, sets the world a madding,
Taste now commands, and all the world's a gadding.
Courtier and Cit, alike their sorrows drown,
"London itself seems going out of town."
Abroad in search of happiness they roam,
Still dull perhaps—but duller still at home.
Shou'd health the noblest to her fountains draw,
All, sick or well, surround the genial spa!
Flock to the pump, and, in the highest style,
Sweeten the humors, and correct the bile!
With taste, Dame Pumpkin racks her husband's brain,
An honest fruiterer of Botolph lane.—
Town in the dog days! faugh! 'tis my aversion—
Let's take a trip, my dear; some sweet excursion!—
"Smother'd in smoke, how very hard our cases;
"Nothing in summer like the wat'ring Places!"
Next day the Pumpkins load the gig with joy,
Between them, closely cram'd, a chubby boy;
While humbler pairs seek Margate in the hoy.
To day, two vent'rous females spread the sail,
Love points their course, and speeds the prosp'rous gale;
India they seek, but not with those enroll'd
Who barter English charms for Eastern gold;
Freighted with beauty, crossing dang'rous seas,
To trade in love, and marry for rupees.
To India, then, our Author wafts you now,
But not a breath of politics, I vow!
Grave politics wou'd here appear a crime,—
You've had enough, Heaven knows! all winter time.
The laughing summer now your care beguiles,
And we, your servants, live upon your smiles.
"Smiles and a sword! some snarling critic cries,
"A bowl and dagger wou'd no less surprise—
"Perhaps 'tis but the cunning of the scene,
"Some wooden sword, like Harlequin's, you mean!"
Truce with shrewd wit! a while let cavil cease—
That sword our drama styles—The Sword of Peace.
Edgeless it proves not; yet the wound it makes,
Tho' on the heart, to life more sweet awakes.
Such from Achilles Telephus endur'd,
Which, by one spear, was given and was cur'd.
Our heroines, tho' seeking regions new,
To English honor both hold firm and true;
Love-struck, indeed, but yet a charming pair,
Virtuous and mild, like all our British fair!
Such, gentle Sirs, we trust, success shall crown,
Syrens so harmless cannot move your frown:
To such advent'rers lend a gracious hand,
And bring them safely to their native land!

Resident		Mr. Baddeley
Mr. David Northcote		Mr. Kemble
Mr. Edwards		Mr. Williamson
Lieutenant Dormer		Mr. Palmer
Supple		Mr. R. Palmer
Jeffreys (Servant to the Miss Moretons)		Mr. Bannister, Jun.
Caesar		Mr. Burton
Mazinghi Dowza		Mr. Chapman
Gentlemen, by Messrs. Johnson, Lyons, Abbot, Painter

Miss Eliza Moreton		Miss Farren
Miss Louisa Moreton		Mrs. Kemble
Mrs. Tartar		Mrs. Whitfield
Mrs. Garnish		Mrs. Poussin
Mrs. Gobble		Mrs. Edwin
Miss Bronze		Miss Brangin
Ladies, Miss Francis, Miss Palmer, and Mrs. Gaudry

Eliza
Whither away so fast, good coz! nay, nay—but let us receive our fortunes first—and truly, for my part, terra firma, though even such a sandy, dry soil as this is, suits my feelings better than the wat'ry elements.

Louisa
I don't know what state your feelings are in, but I'm sure mine have been tortured from the first moment I set foot on land.

Eliza
Why, I grant you, as fine ladies of delicate sentiments, and heroic modesty, ours have been pretty well tried! or rather, we have been struggling hard against the stream of prejudice, and custom, to preserve ourselves from their effects.

Louisa
And which is a point I still doubt; for our hostess—good, now, what think you of her?

Eliza
Why, for our well-beloved lady hostess, dear Madam Tartar, I think we shall find her blue-cast, or half-cast complexion, the fairest part of her composition.—But notwithstanding her hauteur, I shall teach her the difference between women who come here to make their fortunes, and those who only come to receive them.

Louisa
If I cou'd have foreseen we should have been placed in the house of such a being as this Mrs. Tartar, I would have forfeited my fortune (according to the strange clause in your father's will) rather than have come after it.

Eliza
No, no—a truce with your delicacies to such an extream! Money, girl, is the universal good—and we cannot expect to attain it any more than others without difficulties.—My fate has already too severely prov'd what we are to expect without it! The man of my tenderest approbation torn from me by his mercenary rigid parents, and banish'd from his native home, because they then thought me friendless—"pennyless.

"Louisa
True; but you have the exalted enthusiasm of love, (I may call it) to support you in the ideas of now seeking the amiable youth among these climes, and to reward him for his generous passion."

"Eliza
Generous indeed! No severity cou'd make his heart abandon me, though hurried away he knew not whither. He cou'd only inform me 'twas to India, where, suffer what he might, his heart was ever mine."

Louisa
Therefore you have only to receive your fortune, and then begin your pursuit of your true knight, like any princess of ancient heroism, and I, your female Sancho, shall doubtless accompany you.

Eliza
In the true spirit of romance, let me say then, hail! hail! though land of mercenary interest, where love of gold destroys its thousands; where woman, lovely woman, for wealth and grandeur comes from far to sacrifice beauty, health, happiness! receive one votary to all-powerful love!

Louisa
Ah, never fear but we shall find him, Eliza; we have but to wait for their trade wind "here, that blows all one way"—and then—

Eliza
A trade wind to waft one towards a lover!—But you need be jeering me thus, coz, when you have a fifty times more romantic piece of business on your hands.—Are not you seeking after a sword and its master—and are point blank determin'd upon disarming the poor man wherever you meet him?

"Louisa
True; and where a trade wind may be truly serviceable; for as the whole affair points directly towards his interest, there is little doubt of my disarming my gentleman without much resistance."

"Eliza
Why, I grant you, there is little fear of any man's standing in the way of his interest; and yet, you know, the generous Clairville, deserted by a father, through Sir Thomas Clairville's generous assistance, sought a fortune here, denied him by a parent. Death put a stop to the noble youth's career, and has occasioned your commission of the sword, for which I honor Sir Thomas with enthusiasm."

"Louisa
And he deserves it.—His nobly offering the legacy Clairville's gratitude has left him, to purchase the sword of the deceas'd youth, that he may preserve it as a trophy of honor to his memory"—

"Eliza
An exertion of delicate, generous sensibility towards deceased merit, that characterizes Sir Thomas in that glorious singularity of an Englishman, who repays with munificent gratitude everlasting remembrance to the noble actions of their deceas'd heroes.—Who wou'd not sacrifice life to be thus gloriously remembered?"

Louisa
Well, if this Dormer, that possesses the sword at present, has but half as much generous sensibility, I doubt not presenting Sir Thomas Clairville with this Sword of Peace, at my return to England.—So—here comes our goodly hostess.

Eliza
Then a truce with sentiment, and we must hide our feelings, "under a disguise impenetrable to her sharp eyes."

"Louisa
It often surprises me, knowing what your heart thus suffers, you can command such ease, such life and spirits."

"Eliza
Why those very sensations support me.—the charming hope of what I seek supports my spirits, and actuates every thought.—If we would be successful in every event of life, we must be active, help ourselves, and not depend on others:" not be like this listless, helpless thing approaching; enervated more by indulgence and luxury, than the most baleful or pernicious heats of climate.

Mrs. Tar.
Your servant, ladies.—Lord—how—can you stand?—I declare I am so—heighho!

Mrs. Tar.
Augh! unwell.—Oh, the heat to day is so intense—I am quite exhausted.

Eliza
Upon my word, from your example, Mrs. Tartar, I think we may be praying for our departure, if the climate is likely to affect us thus.

Louisa
Indeed it quite terrifies me! Lord bless me! she takes no notice—I believe she has fainted..—Mrs. Tartar!—Madam!

[Goes to Mrs. Tartar and fans her; so does Louisa, with two female slaves;—at last she opens her eyes.]

Eliza and Louisa
How are you, Madam?—Give her more air! open that door—are you better?

Eliza.
[Aside, coming forward.] With no small share of in-so-lence.—I must humble this Indian Princess, I see plainly.

Mrs. Tar.
[coming forward, speaking slow and affected with much pride.] Well, Ladies—I have spoke to the Resident—about your ridicu—lous refusal of seeing company in form, and he is perfectly of my opinion—that it must be over-ruled.

Eliza
Yes, Madam, I grant you, if we came to seek husbands; but that don't happen to be our errand.

Mrs. Tar.
It wou'd be better, Miss Moreton, if you treated that subject with more respect in this place, and look'd upon it in its proper light.

Eliza
I think I do, Madam, when I look upon it with the most sovereign contempt; "and I sincerely hope the traffic will be abolished, as still more disgraceful to our sex than that of the poor slaves to a nation."

Mrs. Tar.
[speaking faster by degrees, and throwing herself into agitation.] Madam, I'd have you to know—Miss Morton, I must insist, while you are in my house—that you will please to act with propriety—and not give such freedom to your tongue.—[Eliza looks at her smilingly, and throws herself carelessly, as if she did not attend to her, into a chair.—Mrs. Tartar, forgetting all her fine indolence, bridling and looking at Eliza, speaking quick]—Truly, I don't understand such behaviour, and it must be alter'd—it is sufficient that I condescend to the trouble of such visitors.

Louisa
Trouble! as to that, Madam, we shall be very happy to take the trouble off your hands. Our fortunes place us above mean obligations; nor shall we submit to any thing that has such an appearance.

Mrs. Tar.
In that, Madam, you must be guided by the Resident.—His will is law here, and so you shall both find, if I have any power with him.

Louisa
Oh dear, Madam, I beg pardon; I did not know the Residant was under petticoat government. [Curtsies.]

Mrs. Tar.
It would be as well, Miss, if you kept your flippant remarks to yourself; as I may soon convince you, what is the respect I have a right to expect in this settlement.—You, truly, with your volubility of tongue, and your cousin there with her still more insolent silence—I suppose, Madam, you disdain to answer me. [to Eliza.]

Eliza
[still sitting and imitating Mrs. Tartar's manner.] My silence proceeds, Madam,—from nothing but—mere—in—do—lence.

Mrs. Tar.
Insufferable impertinence!—But here comes the Resident, ladies; I suppose you will treat him with more respect.

Eliza.
[rising.] Oh yes, I shall prepare myself to make a curtsey to his Worship's honorable congee cap directly.

Resident
Well, my little beauties of our hemisphere, how d'ye do?——Efaith you both look divinely!

Eliza
Why we shou'd do very well, Sir, if Mrs. Tartar did not frighten us out of our wits. [looks piteously.]

Res.
Hey! hey! why——why——what the devil, Tartar, have you been doing to the sweet girls?

Mrs. Tar.
[in a disdainful contemptuous manner.] Why I have been attempting to teach the sweet girls, not to give themselves such sweet airs, and to treat other people with more respect, particularly Miss Eliza there.

Res.
What have you been at, you little bewitching gipsey you, to put Madam Tartar into such an agitation?

Eliza
[looking at him with an enchanting simplicity of manners.] Why, dear Sir—nothing—only—only Mrs. Tartar's very angry with me, because I don't like to be—to be kiss'd by all the five hundred gentlemen belonging to your presidency here; and—and she says, you will make me.

Res.
Ha, ha, ha! Why to be sure it's the usual form to receive the visits of the factory at Ladies first arrival; and who would not wish to salute a pretty Lady, if he cou'd contrive it, you know? adod, it makes me long for a kiss myself.

Eliza
Very likely; but as it is your sex's privilege to ask, so it is ours to refuse; and to be oblig'd to be dress'd up in grand gala, stuck on a Sopha, at the upper end of a room, for three nights running, to be view'd at will—as who should say—what d'ye please to buy, gentlemen? Monstrous! and then submitting to the salute of every man that approaches one, is such an indelicate custom.———

Res.
Well, but my little delicate one, you'll be look'd upon here in a very odd light, if you do not: adod, they may say breaths are sweetest at a distance! and I don't like my lovely girls shou'd be disparag'd.

Eliza
Had we arriv'd here, Sir (I am sorry to say) upon the general errand of our sex, it might be dangerous—but—

Eliza
Nay, now, good Mrs. Tartar, don't hurry yourself—you and I shall never agree on this subject: "for though I despise prudery, I cannot bear any thing which degrades my sex."—No one has a greater flow of spirits, or more laughing chearfulness than myself, by some ill-naturedly term'd coquetry; but call it caprice, affectation, (what you please, Ma'am,) while it tends to modest decorum and reserve, let no one of my sex be so wanting to herself as to condemn me.

Res.
Adod, though I don't understand one of these fine sentiments, yet I love to hear her talk' em.

Eliza
And as to respect, Madam, please to remember that my rank and fortune in this place gives me a right to think myself the first woman in it.

Mrs. Tar
I fancy in that point, Sir, you forget yourself, and other people, strangely.

Res.
Don't forget myself at all, Madam—never do.—I know I am the first man in the settlement; and if I please to make Eliza Moreton here, the first woman in it, there are no other people can or shall hinder it.

Mrs. Tar
No, Sir!—Sir—I—I—however this is not a time I shall chuse for discussing that point; but we shall see hereafter who has most right to that, Eliza Moreton, truly, or myself. [Exit.]

Eliza
I am afraid, Sir, I am misunderstood here; I wish not to infringe upon Mrs. Tartar's rights, or any one's, but merely to assert my own.

Res.
Oh! oh! oh! my little queen, don't mind her—every body here knows Tartar's a vixen; but she shan't manage me, I can tell her.

Louisa
But yet, Sir, by her hints, she seems to have more right over you than you chuse to avow.

Res.
Oh, oh! no such thing—to be sure I—I don't deny but I have gallanted her a bit—and—and—and—been a little particular, and so forth—Tartar has a large fortune—and—and women have been rather scarce here of late—and so——and so—but if I meet with another pleases me better—nay, you know—why (leering at Eliza) an't I Resident? and sure hard, if so, I mayn't please myself, ha! ha! ha!—Well—but—but do you intend to shut yourselves up here and see nobody? or how—

Res.
Well, well, I know nothing about that; but you must take heed of our young men here—all, poor devils! will be running after you both for your fortunes—there is not a man, except a friend or two of my own, worthy of either of you—Now there's Supple, for example, my secretary, a lad of discernment, and the most rising man in the settlement.

Eliza
Supple truly! [with contempt.] "He may make a very convenient secretary, Sir, perhaps; but——"

"Res.
But what? Indeed, Eliza, he's the greatest favorite I have in the place—you must not judge of him so hastily—you don't know Supple; you don't know him."

Eliza
"Nor do I ever desire it, I assure you, Sir." He may do mighty well to get our baggage on shore, see that the piano is carefully unpack'd, the chariot not scratch'd, or the high varnish injur'd, or such kind of services; which is all the consequence I should ever think of giving Mr. Supple.

Louisa
[innocently.] Dear me! I thought that was his situation by all his officious attentions on our first landing; "a kind of maitre d'hotel to you, Sir, as Resident here:" I didn't know the man rank'd here as a gentleman.

Res.
A gentleman, child! why Supple's of a very ancient family; and all the Supples have ever been, and still are, in all the best situations of life—no, no, he's not like the extravagant puppies here, spending more than they get every one of them; and I should be sorry, as the friend of your father, and uncle, girls, you shou'd be sacrific'd to such fellows.

Louisa
No, Sir; we have not vow'd against marrying in India; but I believe it's very unlikely.

Res.
And why so, why so? what says my Eliza, hey? your own fault, you gipsey, if you don't get the first match in the place—And as for you, my little heart, am not I Resident? who'll dare refuse my recommendation?

Louisa
O, Sir, cry you mercy—and yet there is one gentleman I wish you to get me to the acquaintance of; and that is a Lieutenant Dormer, as I am entrusted with a very particular commission to him.

Eliza
Oh yes, by all means; nor shall we feel satisfied till we have executed it.

Res.
Dead! no, no; though he might as well be, for the good of him. A proud, self-sufficient puppy, and as poor as the devil! Why, what can you have to do with him?

Louisa
Why, Sir, he was very intimate with a young officer here, of the name of Clairville, who died, and left him his sword as a legacy; my commission is to procure that sword of him if possible.

Eliza
That it may be laid up as a lasting trophy in his family, "a monument of their attachment to his noble worth."—And Sir Thomas Clairville has commission'd Louisa to expend the whole five thousand pounds that his nephew's grateful heart left him as a legacy, rather than not procure it.

Res.
Five thousand pounds to Dormer! give him five thousand devils! I desire, Louisa, you will be very cautious in this affair; the fellow's poor, I know, and much distress'd, (for all his pride attempts to conceal it,) and with proper management you may get this sword for five hundred rupees. Let me contrive it, and I don't doubt getting it for a mere nothing.

Louisa
Pardon me, Sir; "I will never disgrace Sir Thomas's generous meaning, by such œconomy." I will do it handsomely, or not at all.

Res.
Pooh! nonsense, child; why do you consider you are making the fellow's fortune at once?

Res.
Better, truly!—make him as proud as the devil, and he will think himself as great as me in a fortnight. "no, no, it must not be done, I tell you; and as for that Clairville—all this is mighty fine, but I never lik'd him in my life, and so I always took care to convince him, when I had it in my power."

Louisa
I am sorry, Sir, your opinion and mine are so different; but I must beg you not to interfere in the affair, as I have promis'd Sir Thomas to follow his instructions, and his only.

Res.
Well, well, if Sir Thomas is so ridiculous, I can't help it—I didn't know your great folks were so rich in England—but I know you may get it for a mere trifle if you go properly to work; for, I tell you this, Dormer is damn'd poor.

Louisa
Then, Sir, you have bound me to offer him nothing less than all; for perish that prudence that can take advantage of another's distress.

Res.
Hey day! why at this rate, child, you wou'd ruin yourself in a month—what say you, my little beauty, isn't it downright madness?

Eliza
Indeed, Sir, I am perfectly of the opinion of my honorable friend that spoke last, and vote the five thousand pounds with the utmost alacrity.

Res.
It's to be hoped you'll be more cautious of your own fortunes; this, to be sure, is Sir Thomas's, and so it don't much signify.

Louisa
There is also, Sir, a Mr. David Northcote, executor to Clairville's will; what kind of a man is he?

Res.
Oh, he'll just suit your ideas, I can tell you, for one can do no business but in he pops his nose to counteract every thing that don't tally with his ridiculous notions about honor, generosity, benevolence, and stuff: "as if that had any thing to do with trade."

Louisa
My commission, Sir, is founded upon generosity, and shall be conducted by honor and delicacy—"however unfit therefore this" Mr. Northcote "may be calculated for trade, he" will be highly necessary in the commission thus assign'd to him of benevolence.

Res.
Nay, for that matter, he is one of the richest free merchants we have in India.

Eliza
"I am glad to find by that, Sir, his strange out-of-the-way notions (as you term them) has not injur'd his own concerns in trade, though it gives him spirit enough to counteract the petty finesses practis'd by others:" for my part, I am already anxious to be "acquainted with him; your account of him charms me."

Res.
"My account! why, why, hey day! I never spoke well of him in my life, nor never shall, that's more; and my account truly charms you! nor will you ever get acquainted with him through me, I can tell you." You may perhaps see him at the ball, indeed, that is, if you accept the one I intend giving this evening on your account, as is always customary on ladies arrival: but as you object so to—

Eliza
Pardon me, Sir; don't imagine because we protest against absurd customs, we wish to refuse those attentions our situations and our sex are entitled to; and we trust, Sir, our appearance and behaviour will not disgrace the protection you afford us.

Res.
Ay, ay, by all means; do a foolish action as soon as you can, that you may have the more time left for repentance. [Exit.]

Eliza
I fancy, Louisa, by Mr. Resident's abrupt departure, he looks upon us as a couple of extravagant, romantic creatures! I hope it will cure the ridiculous passion I dreadfully fear he is rather inclin'd to declare for poor me—didn't you mind Mrs. Tartar and him?

Louisa
Oh, yes; and I doubt not her spite and malice are sufficiently stirr'd up against us both—yonder she appears—for Heaven's sake let us avoid the termagent by returning to our own apartments.

Eliza
Aye, let us make our escape! for, in truth, it's too hot at present to endure scolding, or being scolded, or school'd; all which we shall most certainly encounter if we don't escape—therefore allons, ma chere amie! [Exeunt.]