THE WHAT D'YE CALL IT,

A TRAGI-COMI-PASTORAL.

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Mrs. Bicknell.

Mrs. W.-Wells..

Dorcas, Peafcod's fifter,

Mrs. Willis, fen.

Mrs. J. Bland.

Aunt,

Grandmother,

Mrs. Charteris.

Kitty,theSteward'sdaughter, alias Kitty Carrot,

Joyce, Peafcod's Daugh- Mifs Younger.

ter, left upon the parish,

Mrs. Baker.

SCENE, A country Juftice's Hall, adorn'd with Scutheons

and Stags Horns.

Enter Steward, Squire, Kitty, Dock, and others, in

country habits.
STEWARD.

So you are ready in your parts, and in your drefs too, I fee; your own beit clothes do the bufinefs. Sure never was play and actors fo fuited. Come, range yourfelves

B.6

yourfelves before me; women on the right, and men on the left. Squire Thomas, you make a good figure.

[The actors range themselves. Sq. Tho. Ay, thanks to Barnaby's Sunday's clothes; but call me Thomas Filbert, as I am in the play..

Stew. Cheer up, daughter, and make Kitty Carrot the fhining part: Squire Thomas is to be in love with you to-night, girl.

Kit. Ay, I have felt Squire Thomas's love to my cost. I have little ftomach to play, in the condition he hath put me into. (Afide. Stew. Jonas Dock, doft thou remember thy name? Dock. My name? Jo-Jo-Jonas. No-that was the name my godfathers gave me. My play name is Timothy Pea- Pea Peafcod: ay, Peafcod-and am to be thot for a deferter.

Stew. And you, Dolly?

Dol. An't please ye, I am Dorcas, Peafcod's fifterand am to be with child, as it were.

Ift Country-m. And I am to take her up, as it werebam the constable.

2d Country-m. And I am to fee Tim fhot, as it were -I am the corporal.

Stew. But what is become of our fergeant?

Dor. Why Peter Nettle, Peter, Peter!

Enter Nettle.

Net. Thefe ftockings of Sufan's coft a woundy deal of pains the pulling on: But what's a ferjeant without red ftockings?

Dock. I'll drefs thee, Peter, I'll drefs thee. Here, stand still, I must twist thy neckcloth; I would make thee hold up thy head, and have a ruddy complexion : But prithee don't look black in the face, man, (twisting his neckcloth.) thou must look fierce and dreadful, (making whiskers with a burnt cork.) But what fhall we do for a grenadier's cap?

Stew. Fetch the leathern bucket that hangs in the belfry; that is curiously painted. before, and will make a figure.

Net. No, no, I have what's worth twenty on't; the Pope's mitre, that my mafter Sir Roger feiz'd, when they would have burn't him at our market-town.

Stew.

Stew. So, now let every body withdraw, and prepare to begin the play. (Exeunt Actors. My daughter debauched! and by that booby Squire! Well, perhaps the conduct of this play may retrieve her folly, and preferve her reputation. Poor girl! I cannotforget thy tears.

Enter Sir Roger.

Sir Rog. Lookye, Steward, don't tell me you can't bring them in. I will have a ghoft; nay, I will have a competence of ghofts. What, fhall our neighbours think we are not able to make a ghost? A play without a ghoft is like, is like-i'gad it is like nothing.

Stew. Sir, be fatisfied; you' fhall have ghofts.

Sir Rog. And is the play as I ordered it, both a tragedy and a comedy? I would have it a paftoral too :and if you could make it a farce, fo much the betterAnd what if you crown'd all with a spice of your opera? You know my neighbours never faw a play before; and d'ye fee, I would fhew them all forts of plays under

one.

Stew. Sir Roger, it is contriv'd for that very purpose. Enter two Juftices.

Sir Rog.. Neighbours, you are welcome. Is not this Steward of mine a pure ingenious fellow now, to make fuch a play for us thefe Chriftmas holidays?

[Exit Steward bowing.

-A rare headpiece! He has it here i'faith. (pointing to his own head.) But indeed I gave him the hint-To fee now what contrivance fome folks have! We have fo fitted the parts to my tenants, that ev'ry man talks in his own way! -And then we have made just three Juftices in the play, to be play'd by us three juftices of the

quorum.

A fuft. Zooks!-fo it is ;-main ingenious And can we fit and smoke at the fame time we act? Sir Rog. Ay, ay-we have but three or four words to fay,and may drink and be good company in peace and filence all the while after.

2d Just. But how shall we know when we are to fay thefe fame words?

Sir Rog. This fhall be the fignal-When I set down the tankard, then fpeak you Sir Humphry,

and

and, when Sir Humphry fets down the tankard, speak you 'Squire Statute.

ift Juft. Ah, Sir Roger, you are an old dog at these things.

2d Juft. To be fure.

Sir Rog. Why, neighbours, you know, experience, experience- I remember your Harts and your Bettertons- -But to fee your Othello, neighbours,-how he would rave and roar about a foolish flower'd handkerchief!—and then he would growl fo manfully, and he would put out the light, and put the light out fo cleverly! But hufh-the prologue, the prologue. They feat themselves with much ceremony at the table, on which are pipes and tobacco, and a large filver tankard.]

THE PROLOGUE

Spoken by Mr. PINKETHAM.

THE entertainment of this night

- or day,

This fomething, or this nothing, of a play;

Which ftrives to pleafe all palates at a time,

With ghofts and men, fongs, dances, profe and rhime.

This comic story, or this tragic jest,

May make you laugh, or cry, as you like beft;
May exercife your good or your ill-nature,

Move with diftrefs, or tickle you with fatyr.

All must be pleas'd, too, with their parts we think;
Our maids have fweethearts, and their worships drink.
Critics, we know, by ancient rules may maul it;
But, fure, gallants must like The What d'ye Call it.

ACT I. SCENE I.

Sir Roger, Sir Humphry, Juftice Statute, Conftable, Fil-
bert, Serjeant, Kitty, Dorcas, Grandmother, Aunt.
Sir Rog. HIRE, Thomas Filbert, answer to your name,
Dorcas hath fworn to you fhe owes her fhame:

Or wed her ftrait, or elfe you're fent afar,
To ferve his gracious majefty in war.

Filb. 'Tis falfe, 'tis falfe-I fcorn thy odious touch. (Pufbing Dorcas from him. Dor. When their turn's ferv'd, all men will do as much. Kit. Oh, good your worships, ease a wretched maid; To the right father let the child be laid.

Art thou not perjur'd ?

-mark his harmless look: How canst thou, Dorcas, kiss the bible book?

Haft thou no conscience, doft not fear Old Nick?
Sure, fure the ground will ope, and take thee quick,
Ser. Zooks! never wed, 'tis fafer much to roam;
For what is war abroad to war at home?

Who would not fooner bravely risk his life;
For what's a cannon to a scolding wife ?

Filb. Well, if I must, I must—I hate the wench;
I'll bear a musket then against the French.
From door to door I'd sooner whine and beg,
Both arms fhot off, and on a wooden leg,
Than mairy fuch a trapes—no, no, I'll not :
-Thou wilt too late repent when I am shot.
But Kitty, why doft cry?

Grandm. Stay, Juftice, ftay:

Ah, little did I think to see this day!
Muft grandfon Filbert to the wars be preft?
Alack! I knew him when he fuck'd the breaft;
Taught him his catechifm, the fefcue held,
And join'd his letters when the bantling spell'd.
His loving mother left him to my care;
Fine child, as like his dad as he could ftare!
Come Candlemas, nine years ago fhe dy'd;
And now lies buried by the yew-tree's fide.
Aunt. O tyrant Juftices! have you forgot
How my poor brother was in Flanders fhot?
You prefs'd my brother-he fhall walk in white,
He fhalland fhake your curtains ev'ry night.
What though the paltry hare he rafhly kill'd,
That crofs'd the furrows while he plough'd the field?
You fent him o'er the hills and far away;
Left his old mother to the parish pay,

With whom he thar'd his tenpence ev'ry day.
Wat kill'd a bird, was from his farm turn'd out,
You took the law of Thomas for a trout.

You