The Man of Mode is an Aristocratic Restoration Comedy. This comedy features vernacular that is historically accurate to 1676 when it was written. The witty, intelligent, well mannered, and sexually driven characters entangle in various “love triangles” and intertwining relationships. I designed and constructed the costumes for Old Bellair, a creepy father who hits on his son's fiance. I also designed and consructed the costume for Sir Fopling Flutter, the ladies man, fool, and elitist.
LADY TOWNLEY: "Here’s the freshest fool in town, and one who has not cloyed you yet. Page!"
(Sir Fopling is the left-most character and Old Bellair is wearing the purple jacket)
SIR FOPLING: Fill the glasses round, and draw up in a body. Hey! music! [all singing]
The pleasures of love and the joys of good wine To perfect our happiness wisely we join.
We to beauty all day
Give the sovereign sway,
We to beauty all day
Give the sovereign sway,
And her favourite nymphs devoutly obey.
At the plays we are constantly making our court, And when they are ended we follow the sport,
To the Mall and the Park,
Where we love till ’tis dark;
Then sparkling champagne
Puts an end to their reign;
It quickly recovers
Poor languishing lovers,
Makes us frolic and gay, and drowns all our sorrow; But, alas! we relapse again on the morrow.
Let ev’ry man stand
With his glass in his hand,
And briskly discharge at the word of command. Here’s a health
to all those
Whom to-night we depose:
Wine and beauty by turns great souls should inspire. Present altogether, and now, boys, give fire!
At the plays we are constantly making our court, And when they are ended we follow the sport,
To the Mall and the Park,
Where we love till ’tis dark;
Then sparkling champagne
Puts an end to their reign;
It quickly recovers
Poor languishing lovers,
Makes us frolic and gay, and drowns all our sorrow; But, alas! we relapse again on the morrow.
Let ev’ry man stand
With his glass in his hand,
And briskly discharge at the word of command. Here’s a health
to all those
Whom to-night we depose:
Wine and beauty by turns great souls should inspire. Present altogether, and now, boys, give fire!
OLD BELLAIR: Adod, a pretty business, and very merry.
OLD BELLAIR: [to EMILIA] Adod, sweetheart, be advised, and do not throw thyself away on a young idle fellow.
EMILIA: I have no such intention, sir.
OLD BELLAIR: Have a little patience, thou shalt have the man I spake of. Adod, he loves thee, and will make a good husband; but no words.
EMILIA: But, sir.—
OLD BELLAIR: No answer—out a pise! peace! and think on’t.
OLD BELLAIR: Have a little patience, thou shalt have the man I spake of. Adod, he loves thee, and will make a good husband; but no words.
EMILIA: But, sir.—
OLD BELLAIR: No answer—out a pise! peace! and think on’t.
SIR FOPLING: How can you breathe in a room where there’s grease frying? Dorimant, thou art intimate with my lady, advise her for her own sake, and the good company that comes hither, to burn wax lights.
HARRIET: What are these masquerades who stand so obsequiously at a distance?
SIR FOPLING: A set of balladins whom I picked out of the best in France, and brought over with a flutes douces or two, my servants; they shall entertain you.
HARRIET: I had rather see you dance yourself, Sir Fopling.
SIR FOPLING: And I had rather do it—all the company knows it —but, madam—
MEDLEY: Come, come, no excuses, Sir Fopling.
SIR FOPLING: By heavens, Medley!
MEDLEY: Like a woman, I find you must be struggled with before one brings you to what you desire.
HARRIET: What are these masquerades who stand so obsequiously at a distance?
SIR FOPLING: A set of balladins whom I picked out of the best in France, and brought over with a flutes douces or two, my servants; they shall entertain you.
HARRIET: I had rather see you dance yourself, Sir Fopling.
SIR FOPLING: And I had rather do it—all the company knows it —but, madam—
MEDLEY: Come, come, no excuses, Sir Fopling.
SIR FOPLING: By heavens, Medley!
MEDLEY: Like a woman, I find you must be struggled with before one brings you to what you desire.
...
SIR FOPLING: By heavens! and so it is. I have sat up so damned late and drunk so cursed hard since I came to this lewd town, that I am fit for nothing but low dancing now, a corant, bourée, or a menuet; but St. André tells me, if I will but be regular, in one month I shall rise again. Pox on this debauchery! [endeavours at a caper]
LADY TOWNLEY: He’s very fine.
EMILIA: Extreme proper.
SIR FOPLING: A slight suit I made to appear in at my first arrival, not worthy your consideration, ladies.
DORIMANT: The pantaloon is very well mounted.
SIR FOPLING: The tassels are new and pretty.
MEDLEY: I never saw a coat better cut.
SIR FOPLING: It makes me show long-waisted, and, I think, slender.
DORIMANT: That’s the shape our ladies dote on.
MEDLEY: Your breech, though, is a handful too high in my eye, Sir Fopling.
SIR FOPLING: Peace, Medley; I have wished it lower a thousand times, but a pox on’t, ’twill not be. LADY TOWNLEY: His gloves are well fringed, large and graceful.
SIR FOPLING: I was always eminent for being bien-gante.
EMILIA: He wears nothing but what are originals of the most famous hands in Paris.
SIR FOPLING: You are in the right, madam.
LADY TOWNLEY: The suit?
SIR FOPLING: Barroy.
EMILIA: The garniture?
SIR FOPLING: Le Gras.
MEDLEY: The shoes?
SIR FOPLING: Piccat.
DORIMANT: The periwig?
SIR FOPLING: Chedreux.
LADY TOWNLEY and EMILIA: The gloves?
SIR FOPLING: Orangerie: you know the smell, ladies. Dorimant, I could find in my heart for an amusement to have a gallantry with some of our English ladies.
DORIMANT: ’Tis a thing no less necessary to confirm the reputation of your wit than a duel will be to satisfy the town of your courage.
EMILIA: Extreme proper.
SIR FOPLING: A slight suit I made to appear in at my first arrival, not worthy your consideration, ladies.
DORIMANT: The pantaloon is very well mounted.
SIR FOPLING: The tassels are new and pretty.
MEDLEY: I never saw a coat better cut.
SIR FOPLING: It makes me show long-waisted, and, I think, slender.
DORIMANT: That’s the shape our ladies dote on.
MEDLEY: Your breech, though, is a handful too high in my eye, Sir Fopling.
SIR FOPLING: Peace, Medley; I have wished it lower a thousand times, but a pox on’t, ’twill not be. LADY TOWNLEY: His gloves are well fringed, large and graceful.
SIR FOPLING: I was always eminent for being bien-gante.
EMILIA: He wears nothing but what are originals of the most famous hands in Paris.
SIR FOPLING: You are in the right, madam.
LADY TOWNLEY: The suit?
SIR FOPLING: Barroy.
EMILIA: The garniture?
SIR FOPLING: Le Gras.
MEDLEY: The shoes?
SIR FOPLING: Piccat.
DORIMANT: The periwig?
SIR FOPLING: Chedreux.
LADY TOWNLEY and EMILIA: The gloves?
SIR FOPLING: Orangerie: you know the smell, ladies. Dorimant, I could find in my heart for an amusement to have a gallantry with some of our English ladies.
DORIMANT: ’Tis a thing no less necessary to confirm the reputation of your wit than a duel will be to satisfy the town of your courage.
HARRIET: I am mightily taken with this fool; let us sit. Here’s a seat, Sir Fopling.
SIR FOPLING: At your feet, madam; I can be nowhere so much at ease: by your leave, gown. HARRIET: and EMILIA: Ah! you’ll spoil it.
SIR FOPLING: No matter, my clothes are my creatures; I make ’em to make my court to you ladies, hey— [dance] Qu’on commence— [to an English dancer] English motions! I was forced to entertain this fellow, one of my set miscarrying— Oh, horrid! leave your damned manner of dancing, and put on the French air; have you not a pattern before you— [dances] pretty well! Imitation in time may bring him to something.
SIR FOPLING: At your feet, madam; I can be nowhere so much at ease: by your leave, gown. HARRIET: and EMILIA: Ah! you’ll spoil it.
SIR FOPLING: No matter, my clothes are my creatures; I make ’em to make my court to you ladies, hey— [dance] Qu’on commence— [to an English dancer] English motions! I was forced to entertain this fellow, one of my set miscarrying— Oh, horrid! leave your damned manner of dancing, and put on the French air; have you not a pattern before you— [dances] pretty well! Imitation in time may bring him to something.
DORIMANT: You’ve a very fine brandenburgh on, Sir Fopling.
SIR FOPLING: It serves to wrap me up after the fatigue of a ball.
MEDLEY: I see you often in it, with your periwig tied up.
SIR FOPLING: We should not always be in a set dress; ’tis more en cavalier to appear now and then in a déshabillé.
MEDLEY: Pray how goes your business with Loveit?
SIR FOPLING: You might have answered yourself in the Mall last night. Dorimant! did you not see the advances she made me? I have been endeavouring at a song.
DORIMANT: Already!
SIR FOPLING: ’Tis my coup d’essai in English; I would fain have thy opinion of it.
DORIMANT: Let’s see it.
SIR FOPLING: Hey, Page! give me my song—Bellair, here, thou hast a pretty voice, sing it.
YOUNG BELLAIR: Sing it yourself, Sir Fopling.
SIR FOPLING: Excuse me.
SIR FOPLING: It serves to wrap me up after the fatigue of a ball.
MEDLEY: I see you often in it, with your periwig tied up.
SIR FOPLING: We should not always be in a set dress; ’tis more en cavalier to appear now and then in a déshabillé.
MEDLEY: Pray how goes your business with Loveit?
SIR FOPLING: You might have answered yourself in the Mall last night. Dorimant! did you not see the advances she made me? I have been endeavouring at a song.
DORIMANT: Already!
SIR FOPLING: ’Tis my coup d’essai in English; I would fain have thy opinion of it.
DORIMANT: Let’s see it.
SIR FOPLING: Hey, Page! give me my song—Bellair, here, thou hast a pretty voice, sing it.
YOUNG BELLAIR: Sing it yourself, Sir Fopling.
SIR FOPLING: Excuse me.
(sung)
How charming Phyllis is! how fair! Ah, that she were as willing
To ease my wounded heart of care, And make her eyes less killing!
To ease my wounded heart of care, And make her eyes less killing!
I sigh! I sigh! I languish now, And love will not let me rest;
I drive about the Park, and bow Still as I meet my dearest.
I drive about the Park, and bow Still as I meet my dearest.
