Excerpt
JOHN BULL. ACT THE FIRST. SCENE I.
A Public House on a Heath: over the Door the Sign of the Red Cow;——and the Name of "Dennis Brulgruddery."
Enter Dennis Brulgruddery and Dan, from the House. Dan opening the outward Shutters of the House.
Dennis. A pretty blustratious night we have had! and the sun peeps through the fog this morning, like the copper pot in my kitchen.—Devil a traveller do I see coming to the Red Cow.
Dan. Na, measter!—nowt do pass by here, I do think, but the carrion crows.
Dennis. Dan;—think you, will I be ruin'd?
Dan. Ees; past all condemption. We be the undonestest family in all Cornwall. Your ale be as dead as my grandmother; mistress do set by the fire, and sputter like an apple a-roasting; the pigs ha' gotten the measles; I be grown thinner nor an old sixpence; and thee hast drank up all the spirity liquors.
Dennis. By my soul, I believe my setting up the Red Cow, a week ago, was a bit of a Bull!—but that's no odds. Haven't I been married these three months?—and who did I marry?
Dan. Why, a waddling woman, wi' a mulberry feace.
Dennis. Have done with your blarney, Mr. Dan. Think of the high blood in her veins, you bog trotter.
Dan. Ees; I always do, when I do look at her nose.
Dennis. Never you mind Mrs. Brulgruddery's nose. Was'nt she fat widow to Mr. Skinnygauge, the lean exciseman of Lestweithel? and did'nt her uncle, who is fifteenth cousin to a Cornish Baronet, say he'd leave her no money, if he ever happen'd to have any, because she had disgraced her parentage, by marrying herself to a taxman? Bathershan, man, and don't you think he'll help us out of the mud, now her second husband is an Irish jontleman, bred and born?
Dan. He, he! Thee be'st a rum gentleman.
Dennis. Troth, and myself, Mr. Dennis Brulgruddery, was brought up to the church.
Dan. Why, zure!
Dennis. You may say that, I open'd the pew doors, in Belfast.
Dan. And what made 'em to turn thee out o'the treade?
Dennis. I snored in sermon time. Dr. Snufflebags, the preacher, said I woke the rest of the congregation. Arrah, Dan, don't I see a tall customer stretching out his arms in the fog?
Dan. Na; that be the road-post.
Dennis. 'Faith, and so it is. Och! when I was turn'd out of my snug birth at Belfast, the tears ran down my eighteen year old cheeks, like buttermilk.
Dan. Pshaw, man! nonsense! Thee'dst never get another livelihood by crying.
Dennis. Yes, I did; I cried oysters. Then I pluck'd up——what's that? a customer!
Dan. [Looking out.] Na, a donkey.
Dennis. Well, then I pluck'd up a parcel of my courage, and I carried arms.
Dan. Waunds! what, a musket?
Dennis. No; a reaping hook. I cut my way half through England: till a German learn'd me physic, at a fair in Devonshire.
Dan. What, poticary's stuff?
Dennis. I studied it in Doctor Von Quolchigronck's booth, at Plympton. He cured the yellow glanders, and restored prolification to families who wanted an heir. I was of mighty use to him as an assistant.
Dan. Were you indeed!
Dennis. But, somehow, the doctor and I had a quarrel; so I gave him something, and parted....