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Authors: Hallie Rubenhold
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There arises upon this evidence a serious question for your consideration. –The nature of the action is such, that the Defendant cannot confess the Verdict, because this is between the Husband and the Wife and the Adulterer; and further proceedings may be had: therefore the Verdict you give must be out of the truth and justice of the case, and the Justice of the Evidence.
Now the single question is. Whether Sir Richard has not been privy to the prostitution of his Wife? Assenting to, encouraging and exciting even this Defendant? And, if he is so, upon your opinion of the Evidence, he ought not to recover this Action.–If he is not, why then the only question remains, is upon the subject of Damages; upon which I will not say a word to you. You are the best judges of that.
The judge then turned his attention to the evidence he felt to be most compelling in this trial;
This woman, for three or four years, has been prostituted with a variety of people; that is extremely clear, and extremely plain. A stronger instance than the Doctor’s appearance this day, and what he has said, need not have been brought.–In the year 1779 Lord Deerhurst knew Lady Worsley; she was very profligate, and no step was taken by Sir Richard to prevent her: he continued in the Isle of Wight ten days, and he has mentioned a conversation that passed between him and Sir Richard, which ought to be laid out of the case, because it seems to be ironical: ‘That many young men have tried her, without success; and that he might take his chance with her’. But he says, once the Plaintiff found him in Lady Worsley’s dressing-room at four o’clock in the morning; and he only says to him, ‘Deerhurst, how came you here?’ And there is no further explanation or examination between them. Is it not extraordinary to find a Gentleman in his Lady’s dressing-room at four o’clock in the morning, and nothing further said? All is well; they are all good company the next morning and some few days afterwards Lady Worsley is going to Southampton; he stays there twenty-four hours, and she stays three or four days:–yet there is no appearance of jealousy in the Husband!! This evidence deserves your consideration.
Another piece of evidence, is the evidence of the Woman at the Bath at Maidstone; and the Woman at the Bath swears, she believes it was impossible for Mr Bisset to have got up the height of the balcony, to look into the
Bath, unless he had stood upon Sir Richard’s shoulders: but this is a matter of belief; and they have called the Attorney, and you have heard his evidence: he went down there to take the affidavits: he says he got up with a great deal of ease, and without assistance; that he got up first on an arm chair which stood on the outside of the Bath, and then it was only four feet above him; so that, if he had not stood upon Sir Richard’s shoulders, he might easily have pulled him down if he pleased; instead of which he only taps at the door, and says, ‘Seymour! Seymour! Bisset is looking at you.’ And when she is dressed and comes out, she joins them, and they are all jolly and merry, and laughing, and go away together.
Bath, unless he had stood upon Sir Richard’s shoulders: but this is a matter of belief; and they have called the Attorney, and you have heard his evidence: he went down there to take the affidavits: he says he got up with a great deal of ease, and without assistance; that he got up first on an arm chair which stood on the outside of the Bath, and then it was only four feet above him; so that, if he had not stood upon Sir Richard’s shoulders, he might easily have pulled him down if he pleased; instead of which he only taps at the door, and says, ‘Seymour! Seymour! Bisset is looking at you.’ And when she is dressed and comes out, she joins them, and they are all jolly and merry, and laughing, and go away together.
Mansfield then took the opportunity to reiterate a matter of law which had been mentioned several times in the course of the trial. The scales of justice had to be calibrated on one essential point: if the jury believed that Worsley had in any way encouraged the act of criminal conversation, then he was as guilty as the defendant and they, as a jury, could not rule in his favour.
This is the evidence which they have given; and if upon that evidence you think the Husband was privy to, consenting, and encouraging this debauchery, he ought not to have your Verdict; but if you think he is intitled to your Verdict, then the only point for your consideration is. What Damages you will give.–You will consider your Verdict, and give what damages you think proper.
Lord Mansfield turned to the jury. Not unreasonably he might have expected their decision within a matter of moments. If the circumstances of the case had been presented plainly enough, many jurors saw no need to so much as leave their box before alighting upon a verdict. However,
Worsley
v.
Bisset
, from the moment the damages were set until the last witness had climbed from the stand, had been an exceptional legal action. Recognising this, the twelve gentlemen entrusted with producing the verdict chose to retire outside the courtroom in order to closely consider their pronouncement.
Worsley
v.
Bisset
, from the moment the damages were set until the last witness had climbed from the stand, had been an exceptional legal action. Recognising this, the twelve gentlemen entrusted with producing the verdict chose to retire outside the courtroom in order to closely consider their pronouncement.
Richard Gildart, the sugar magnate, Henry Kitchin the alderman, Marmaduke Langdale the investor, Barrington Buggin the owner of a fleet of ships, George Wheatley the banker at Drummond’s, and seven others
of similar status sat in seclusion, pondering the morality and responsibility of both parties. This was not a straightforward decision. An act of criminal conversation had been committed; the staff at the Royal Hotel had witnessed Lady Worsley and Captain Bisset sharing a bed. This was not a point for dispute, but the degree to which Sir Richard had played a role in precipitating the situation formed the mainstay of their debate. The baronet’s behaviour had been far from exemplary; he had ignored his wife on some occasions and on others, virtually thrust her into the embrace of friends and strangers alike. He had proffered her like a pimp. His behaviour had been untenable and immoral. But the wife, some of the jury may have argued, had taken to debauchery with zeal, had loved her way through a number of rakes and infected herself in the process. Worsley may have been remiss as a husband, but he had not plotted his wife’s elopement with his friend and military subordinate. The questions would have flown back and forth.
of similar status sat in seclusion, pondering the morality and responsibility of both parties. This was not a straightforward decision. An act of criminal conversation had been committed; the staff at the Royal Hotel had witnessed Lady Worsley and Captain Bisset sharing a bed. This was not a point for dispute, but the degree to which Sir Richard had played a role in precipitating the situation formed the mainstay of their debate. The baronet’s behaviour had been far from exemplary; he had ignored his wife on some occasions and on others, virtually thrust her into the embrace of friends and strangers alike. He had proffered her like a pimp. His behaviour had been untenable and immoral. But the wife, some of the jury may have argued, had taken to debauchery with zeal, had loved her way through a number of rakes and infected herself in the process. Worsley may have been remiss as a husband, but he had not plotted his wife’s elopement with his friend and military subordinate. The questions would have flown back and forth.
For the better part of an hour the jury remained confined in their quarters, rapt in deliberation. The unusually slow progress of proceedings must have caused both Worsley and his opponent excruciating anxiety. As Lawrence Stone writes, even in ‘the most complicated and bitterly contested of cases, the jury rarely took more than “a short time” or “a few minutes” to make up its mind on a figure, and in all but a handful of cases, the longest time taken was a half hour’. By the time the jury filed solemnly back into their box, the impatience and tension in the courtroom would have simmered to boiling point. They had taken longer to consider their verdict than a jury in any other criminal conversation trial in history.
Such was Sir Richard Worsley’s arrogance at the outset of his suit that he had deemed Bisset’s insult to him worth £20,000 in reparations. In setting these damages so steeply he had publicly registered his moral outrage. He had wanted to assert the integrity of his character over that of the unprincipled man who had committed an abominable crime. But in the end, the jury did not view it this way. After reviewing the details of the case, £20,000 far exceeded that which they felt was due to him. Worsley was not the paragon he presented himself to be. In fact, the baronet’s behaviour had been appalling throughout. The jury would acknowledge that a breach of legality had occurred when Maurice George Bisset had escaped to London with Sir Richard’s wife, but they would do so in the most condescending and humiliating way possible. In criminal conversation cases it was common for juries
to award half of the damages requested. The panel of twelve in this trial might even have granted Worsley a cursory thousand or so in acknowledgement of his loss. However, in their concerted opinion, his claims were not even worthy of this. Instead, bearing in mind the circumstances of this dishonour, they awarded him what they felt he deserved: a total sum of one shilling.
to award half of the damages requested. The panel of twelve in this trial might even have granted Worsley a cursory thousand or so in acknowledgement of his loss. However, in their concerted opinion, his claims were not even worthy of this. Instead, bearing in mind the circumstances of this dishonour, they awarded him what they felt he deserved: a total sum of one shilling.
For the price of a pound of soap, a muslin neckcloth or a roast beef dinner, Worsley had sold his wife and his honour to George Bisset.
‘The Value of a Privy Counsellor’s Matrimonial Honour’
William Clarke, one of the two brothers who managed Sir Richard’s affairs on the Isle of Wight, had been sitting in the gallery of the courtroom on the 21st of February. He had come especially from Newport to offer both practical and moral support to someone he considered a friend as much as an employer. Just before two o’clock, he found his seat on the benches and there remained, stewing in embarrassment and ‘truly real concern’ for the next three hours. By the time the decision was read, ‘a doubt’ had been ‘long sustained that the jury would not find a verdict … for the Plaintiff ’. ‘However,’ Clarke wrote with anguish, ‘a verdict
was
found with a
shilling
damages.’ ‘Think what I felt!’ he exclaimed. ‘Judge what
all
his friends felt!’
was
found with a
shilling
damages.’ ‘Think what I felt!’ he exclaimed. ‘Judge what
all
his friends felt!’
Compelled by both astonishment and sympathy, Clarke pushed his way through the commotion of black robes, hats and strangers towards where he could view Worsley surrounded by his counsel. As he approached him, Sir Richard appeared blanched and visibly unwell. Shock had rendered him ‘too agitated to speak’. ‘What effect this will have on him, I know not,’ the steward wrote to his brother; ‘he will be miserable at his friend’s triumph.’
After this fraught encounter, a rattled William Clarke left Westminster Hall with the intention of later calling upon Sir Richard at Stratford Place. But the baronet did not return to his town house that evening. After several hours of enquiries, Clarke sat down with pen and paper to report the trial’s nightmarish events to his brother. At 11 p.m. Sir Richard Worsley was still
missing. ‘I know not where he is to be found,’ the steward wrote anxiously, ‘but I shall find him and see him.’
missing. ‘I know not where he is to be found,’ the steward wrote anxiously, ‘but I shall find him and see him.’
Sir Richard did not want to be found. He had vanished without explanation and remained lost until the following week. In all probability he had returned to Hesse’s doorstep in Paddington, imposing himself once more on his beleaguered friend.
It is unknown how Worsley solaced himself in the bleak hours between his disappearance on the evening of the 21st and his re-emergence on Wednesday the 27th. The promise of an easy legal victory which had sustained him through the miserable months since November had proven empty. Having suffered a humiliating public disgrace he was now, at least in his own mind, a completely ruined man. What he had endured as a result of his wife’s elopement was a light penance when compared to the burden of ridicule he would be forced to carry. As the author of the
Cuckold’s Chronicle
surmised, Worsley not only faced ‘the contemptuous pity of his friends’ but ‘the indignation of the Public and the sentiments of his own mind’. ‘The impartial Public would not hesitate in giving their judgement,’ he warned, while echoing Sir Richard’s darkest concerns that ‘all posterity’ would ‘hear of the curious discussion’ and ‘find no difficulty in delivering an adequate decision’.
Cuckold’s Chronicle
surmised, Worsley not only faced ‘the contemptuous pity of his friends’ but ‘the indignation of the Public and the sentiments of his own mind’. ‘The impartial Public would not hesitate in giving their judgement,’ he warned, while echoing Sir Richard’s darkest concerns that ‘all posterity’ would ‘hear of the curious discussion’ and ‘find no difficulty in delivering an adequate decision’.
The shame of the trial’s outcome literally sickened Worsley. The following day, he could not even bring himself to face his parliamentary duties, despite the Prime Minister’s urgent need for support. Since the announcement of the defeat at Yorktown, Lord North’s administration had hung from a thread. The King would not permit North to resign and so his government limped on until the Whig opposition could take it down, and in doing so end the war with America. In this time of crisis, His Majesty required as much support as could be mustered from his regulars: Tories like Worsley who would cast their votes obediently. The absence of even one loyal party-man had the potential to topple North and foil the King’s plans.
No one in the government could have predicted that the peculiarities of Sir Richard’s private life would play a role in the defeat of North’s ministry. As the Prime Minster scanned the chamber for his supporters on the 22nd of February, the unexpected absence of Sir Richard Worsley alarmed him. In his years as a politician the baronet had never missed a parliamentary vote. When enquiring after Worsley’s whereabouts, North was reminded of his colleague’s recent misfortune, ‘Oh,’ he is said to have replied with a nervous smile. ‘If all my Cuckolds desert, I shall be beaten indeed!’
Worsley’s absence had not gone unnoticed by the Whigs either. North was one man down and the opposition took this as a signal to strike. Before the session came to an end a motion was tabled asking for ‘ … An humble address be presented to his Majesty, that … the war on the continent of North America may no longer be pursued for the impractical purpose of reducing the Inhabitants of that country to obedience by force …’ The Whigs, joined by the ranks of the disenchanted from across the floor, wanted this to be a vote of no confidence, a clear message to the King that the war must be ended.
The motion failed by only one vote. The administration remained on its feet, but only for another five days. It was a narrow escape for Lord North as well as for Worsley. Had the Prime Minister been unseated that day as a result of his absence, Sir Richard’s folly at the Maidstone bathhouse would have been committed to history as the sex scandal that granted America its freedom.
When North’s ministry finally fell, the last of the baronet’s potency was stripped away from him. Every aspect of the public image Worsley had so meticulously constructed for himself was collapsing. By the end of March he was no longer a Privy Counsellor and had resigned his position as Governor of the Isle of Wight. Emasculated by the judiciary and denuded of his influential status, he and his ordeal became ripe targets.
As he emerged reluctantly from his second period of retreat, Worsley had to steady himself for a pelting by the press. Already the hacks had spilled the contents of their notebooks on to the pages of the London newspapers. For days after the trial, the
London Chronicle
and the
Morning Herald
ran extracts from the proceedings. A lengthy summary of the case was even printed in Sir Richard’s local gazette, the
Hampshire Chronicle
. His neighbours would all be informed of his dishonour. However, the worst was yet to come.
London Chronicle
and the
Morning Herald
ran extracts from the proceedings. A lengthy summary of the case was even printed in Sir Richard’s local gazette, the
Hampshire Chronicle
. His neighbours would all be informed of his dishonour. However, the worst was yet to come.
The court reporter who had been sitting among the hacks on the 21st of February was a man known as Robert Pye Donkin, a self-professed ‘expert brachygrapher’. In spite of mishearing several of the witnesses’ names, Pye Donkin had studiously recorded in shorthand the detailed transactions of the trial. Immediately after he took his last note, the witness testimony, the arguments of both parties, as well as the comments of Justice Mansfield, were handed over to a publisher and set in type. Within forty-eight hours,
The Trial with the Whole of the Evidence between the Right Hon. Sir Richard Worsley,
Bart. and George Maurice Bissett, Esq., Defendant, for Criminal Conversation with the Plaintiff’s Wife
, ironically priced at one shilling, appeared at the booksellers’ stalls. When word of the spectacular verdict reached the drawing rooms and tap rooms of London, demand for the pamphlet became insatiable. On the morning of the 23rd, the Fleet Street bookseller George Kearsley was virtually under siege. The
Morning Herald
reported that an ‘unprecedented demand’ for the work ‘occasioned its being out of print a few hours after it was published’. Not wanting to miss an opportunity to line his pockets, Kearsley was pleased to bring to general notice that ‘two presses are now employed in working off a sufficient quantity to gratify the curiosity of the public’. He was not the only bookseller to spot a potential profit. The transcript was published in both London and Dublin, and in 1782 alone ran to at least eight editions. By 1783 copies could even be purchased in the newly formed United States of America. In addition to ‘a pair of handsome and Fashionable spurrs’ and ‘10 pounds of the best hair powder’ General George Washington listed among his requested supplies for the week of May 15th an edition of ‘
The Trial between Sir Richard Worsley and Maurice Bissett
’.
The Trial with the Whole of the Evidence between the Right Hon. Sir Richard Worsley,
Bart. and George Maurice Bissett, Esq., Defendant, for Criminal Conversation with the Plaintiff’s Wife
, ironically priced at one shilling, appeared at the booksellers’ stalls. When word of the spectacular verdict reached the drawing rooms and tap rooms of London, demand for the pamphlet became insatiable. On the morning of the 23rd, the Fleet Street bookseller George Kearsley was virtually under siege. The
Morning Herald
reported that an ‘unprecedented demand’ for the work ‘occasioned its being out of print a few hours after it was published’. Not wanting to miss an opportunity to line his pockets, Kearsley was pleased to bring to general notice that ‘two presses are now employed in working off a sufficient quantity to gratify the curiosity of the public’. He was not the only bookseller to spot a potential profit. The transcript was published in both London and Dublin, and in 1782 alone ran to at least eight editions. By 1783 copies could even be purchased in the newly formed United States of America. In addition to ‘a pair of handsome and Fashionable spurrs’ and ‘10 pounds of the best hair powder’ General George Washington listed among his requested supplies for the week of May 15th an edition of ‘
The Trial between Sir Richard Worsley and Maurice Bissett
’.
Pye Donkin’s trial transcripts and the accounts in assorted newspapers were the beginning of a sustained campaign of destructive lampooning in both written and pictorial form. Sir Richard and his wife received equal treatment at the hands of illustrators and pamphleteers, though in the immediate wake of the verdict, Worsley, due to his more conspicuous profile, suffered more acutely than Seymour. Ridicule was a potent form of popular entertainment in the eighteenth century, and as the poet Mark Akenside expressed it, ‘fools who are ignorant of what they ought to know’ were considered among the most worthy objects of satire.
Before pictures accompanied newspaper stories, the images which appeared in print sellers’ shops allowed the population to feel a part of current events. Almost as soon as reports of the latest political crises, scandals, and sartorial fads were set in type cartoonists had transformed them into lively and often subversive parodies. Animal-shaped politicians roared and clawed at each other while the bug-eyed King ate boiled eggs. Mountainous hair-styles caught alight, respectable ladies’ skirts flew over their heads, and fat bottoms filled chamber pots. No person’s misfortune was too tragic to portray, and not even the Royal Family was granted immunity from the satirist’s stylus. This sideshow was updated on a daily basis and drew a constant audience to print sellers’s windows. Those who jostled for a view were ‘of high and low birth
alike’. Oliver Goldsmith commented that among such crowds, ‘the brick-dust man took up as much room as the truncheoned hero, and the judge was elbowed by the thief-taker; quacks, pimps and buffoons increased the group, and noted stallions only made room for more noted strumpets’. Sir Richard Worsley had everything to fear from this army of illustrators and print pedlars who would soon pepper the windows of London with his disgrace.
alike’. Oliver Goldsmith commented that among such crowds, ‘the brick-dust man took up as much room as the truncheoned hero, and the judge was elbowed by the thief-taker; quacks, pimps and buffoons increased the group, and noted stallions only made room for more noted strumpets’. Sir Richard Worsley had everything to fear from this army of illustrators and print pedlars who would soon pepper the windows of London with his disgrace.
In addition to his other misfortunes, the baronet’s life had been plagued by bad timing. On the 27th of February, the day he chose to re-emerge into the public arena and resume his seat on the parliamentary benches, William Humphrey, a New Bond Street print seller decided to hang the first of many Worsley caricatures in his shop window. With a ruthless flourish
The Shilling; or the Value of a P——Y C——R’s Matrimonial Honor
portrays Sir Richard’s moment of degradation. From across a table where the plaintiff sits, a bewigged James Wallace, holding a copy of the charges, tosses his client a shilling while ruefully commenting, ‘They would not believe you possess any of your contrivance for his peeping has ruined your cause.’ Worsley, looking over-fed and florid grasps his chest, his eyes rolling heaven-ward, his mouth gaping as if in the throes of a coronary. ‘O Lord O Lord no more than one shilling for my lost honour,’ he exclaims while dropping his sword (a symbol of masculine virility). From his head, a full rack of cuckold’s horns, the traditional emblem of the deceived husband, has sprouted, with each point bearing the name of a witness. Above this scene floats Lady Justice with her scales. As she points her sword at the damned baronet she utters a curse-like proclamation: ‘Take away that badge of distinction, Shame may transfer the colour to his face.’ As a representation of the judicial ruling, this first stab at Worsley’s character was a deep one. It played mercilessly to the gallery, that laughing mass who collected under the eaves of Humphrey’s shop, pointing and guffawing at Worsley’s freshly printed image while its subject, himself on view that day in Westminster, struggled to retain his dignity.
The Shilling; or the Value of a P——Y C——R’s Matrimonial Honor
portrays Sir Richard’s moment of degradation. From across a table where the plaintiff sits, a bewigged James Wallace, holding a copy of the charges, tosses his client a shilling while ruefully commenting, ‘They would not believe you possess any of your contrivance for his peeping has ruined your cause.’ Worsley, looking over-fed and florid grasps his chest, his eyes rolling heaven-ward, his mouth gaping as if in the throes of a coronary. ‘O Lord O Lord no more than one shilling for my lost honour,’ he exclaims while dropping his sword (a symbol of masculine virility). From his head, a full rack of cuckold’s horns, the traditional emblem of the deceived husband, has sprouted, with each point bearing the name of a witness. Above this scene floats Lady Justice with her scales. As she points her sword at the damned baronet she utters a curse-like proclamation: ‘Take away that badge of distinction, Shame may transfer the colour to his face.’ As a representation of the judicial ruling, this first stab at Worsley’s character was a deep one. It played mercilessly to the gallery, that laughing mass who collected under the eaves of Humphrey’s shop, pointing and guffawing at Worsley’s freshly printed image while its subject, himself on view that day in Westminster, struggled to retain his dignity.
Like a battery, the invectives followed in rapid succession:
A Bath of the Moderns
on the 4th of March,
The Maidstone Whim
four days later,
The Maidstone Bath, or The Modern Susanna
on the 12th and the
coup de grâce
of this collection, James Gillray’s
Sir Richard Worse-than-Sly, Exposing his Wife’s Bottom; O fye!
which arrived at the print sellers on the 14th. Unlike
The Shilling
, these works chose to focus on what became the defining incident of the scandal: the moment of Sir Richard Worsley’s self-ruin at the bathhouse. Nothing had captured the public imagination more than the events
at Maidstone. The very act of a husband lifting his rival to the window had come to summarise all that was thrilling about this case; the folly, the titillation, the scandal, the corruption. It represented the instant that the Worsleys’ lives had tilted off their axes. The satirists immediately recognised the Maidstone bath as the crucial turning point of the Worsleys’ narrative. It was the breath-sucking moment of impact, when the fates of three individuals collided; the excitingly erotic first glimpse of an unclothed woman and the point of no return for one who had just committed a vital error. Each of the cartoons that appeared between the 4th and the 14th of March depicted this scene, and of the three individuals whose lives were irrevocably altered on this occasion, Worsley universally fared the worst.
A Bath of the Moderns
on the 4th of March,
The Maidstone Whim
four days later,
The Maidstone Bath, or The Modern Susanna
on the 12th and the
coup de grâce
of this collection, James Gillray’s
Sir Richard Worse-than-Sly, Exposing his Wife’s Bottom; O fye!
which arrived at the print sellers on the 14th. Unlike
The Shilling
, these works chose to focus on what became the defining incident of the scandal: the moment of Sir Richard Worsley’s self-ruin at the bathhouse. Nothing had captured the public imagination more than the events
at Maidstone. The very act of a husband lifting his rival to the window had come to summarise all that was thrilling about this case; the folly, the titillation, the scandal, the corruption. It represented the instant that the Worsleys’ lives had tilted off their axes. The satirists immediately recognised the Maidstone bath as the crucial turning point of the Worsleys’ narrative. It was the breath-sucking moment of impact, when the fates of three individuals collided; the excitingly erotic first glimpse of an unclothed woman and the point of no return for one who had just committed a vital error. Each of the cartoons that appeared between the 4th and the 14th of March depicted this scene, and of the three individuals whose lives were irrevocably altered on this occasion, Worsley universally fared the worst.
There was no mistaking the identity of the fat, compliant and foolish figure in the lampoons. Sir Richard is dressed as he appears in his dignified portrait by Joshua Reynolds, in the distinctive uniform of the South Hampshire Militia. But these images are not the glorified depictions of a soldier-philosopher, and he wears the emblems of his office with disgraceful irony. In
The Maidstone Whim
, he simpers stupidly as Bisset climbs on to his shoulders before planting a foot on the rack of horns springing from his head. As in
The Shilling
, this additional headgear bears the names of his wife’s various lovers. As Bisset hangs on to the balcony below the window, Sir Richard shouts out, ‘Seymour, Bisset’s looking at you’, echoing the words that Mary Marriott reportedly heard.
A Bath of the Moderns
offers a similar scenario but with a dollop of coarse bawdiness. The viewer is presented with a cut-away of what resembles more closely a country cottage than a bathhouse. Inside Lady Worsley dresses and her breast carelessly tumbles out of her bodice as she pulls her stockings over her exposed thighs. On the outside of the structure is Sir Richard with Bisset astride his shoulders. The dialogue is steeped in slapstick ribaldry: ‘Captain, do you see the whole Garrison?’ Worsley asks. ‘Only the Breast work and the cover’d way,’ his friend answers. Lady Worsley, meanwhile confides in Mary Marriott, ‘Blis.it, he goes to all lengths to please me,’ while the bathing-woman, sighting the lover at the window shrieks, ‘Lord, my Lady, I believe the Captain wants to be in the watering place!’
The Maidstone Whim
, he simpers stupidly as Bisset climbs on to his shoulders before planting a foot on the rack of horns springing from his head. As in
The Shilling
, this additional headgear bears the names of his wife’s various lovers. As Bisset hangs on to the balcony below the window, Sir Richard shouts out, ‘Seymour, Bisset’s looking at you’, echoing the words that Mary Marriott reportedly heard.
A Bath of the Moderns
offers a similar scenario but with a dollop of coarse bawdiness. The viewer is presented with a cut-away of what resembles more closely a country cottage than a bathhouse. Inside Lady Worsley dresses and her breast carelessly tumbles out of her bodice as she pulls her stockings over her exposed thighs. On the outside of the structure is Sir Richard with Bisset astride his shoulders. The dialogue is steeped in slapstick ribaldry: ‘Captain, do you see the whole Garrison?’ Worsley asks. ‘Only the Breast work and the cover’d way,’ his friend answers. Lady Worsley, meanwhile confides in Mary Marriott, ‘Blis.it, he goes to all lengths to please me,’ while the bathing-woman, sighting the lover at the window shrieks, ‘Lord, my Lady, I believe the Captain wants to be in the watering place!’
BOOK: The Lady In Red: An Eighteenth-Century Tale Of Sex, Scandal, And Divorce
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