Plays, written by Sir John Vanbrugh, volume the first
by John Vanbrugh · English · Gutenberg #51113 · 665,208 chars · public domain (US)
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Plays, written by Sir John Vanbrugh, volume the first
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: Plays, written by Sir John Vanbrugh, volume the first
Author: John Vanbrugh
Release date: February 2, 2016 [eBook #51113]
Most recently updated: October 22, 2024
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51113
Credits: Produced by Richard Tonsing, Mark C. Orton and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PLAYS, WRITTEN BY SIR JOHN VANBRUGH, VOLUME THE FIRST ***
[Illustration]
PLAYS,
WRITTEN BY
Sir =John Vanbrugh=.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
=Volume= the =First=.
CONTAINING,
The =Relapse=; Or, =Virtue= in =Danger=.
The =Provok'd Wife=, with a new Scene.
=Æsop=, in two =Parts=.
The =False Friend=.
* * * * *
LONDON:
Printed for =J. Rivington=, =T. Longman=,
=T. Lowndes=, =S. Caslon=, =C. Corbett=,
=S. Bladon=, =W. Nicoll=, =T. Evans=,
and =M. Waller=.
MDCCLXXVI.
AN
ACCOUNT
OF THE
LIFE and WRITINGS
OF THE
AUTHOR.
Sir _John Vanbrugh_, an eminent dramatic Writer, Son of Mr. _Giles
Vanbrugh_, of _London_, Merchant, was born in the Parish of _St.
Stephen_'s, _Wallbrook_, in 1666. The Family of _Vanbrugh_ were for
many Years Merchants of great Credit and Reputation, at _Antwerp_, and
came into _England_ in the reign of Queen _Elizabeth_, on account of
the Persecution for Religion.
Sir _John_ received a very liberal Education, and at the Age of
nineteen, was sent by his Father to _France_, where he continued some
Years: He became very eminent for his Poetry, to which he discovered an
early propension. And, pity it is, that this agreeable Writer had not
discovered his Wit, without any Mixture of that Licentiousness, which,
tho' it pleased, tended to corrupt the Audience.
_The Relapse_ was the first Play our Author produced, but not the first
he had written; for he had at that Time by him, all the Scenes of _The
Provok'd Wife_; but being then doubtful whether he should ever trust it
to the Stage, he flung it by, and thought no more of it: Why the last
written Play was first acted, and for what Reason they were given to
different Stages, what follows will explain.
Upon our Author's first Step into public Life, when he was but an
Ensign in the Army, and had a Heart greatly above his Income, he
happened somewhere at his Winter Quarters, upon a slender Acquaintance
with Sir _Thomas Skipwith_, to receive a particular Obligation from
him; and many Years afterwards, when Sir _Thomas_'s Interest in a
Theatrical Patent (which he had a large Share in, though he little
concerned himself in the Conduct of it) was rising but very slowly,
Sir _John_ thought that to give it a lift by a new Comedy, might be
the handsomest Return he could make to those his former Favours;
accordingly he soon after finished _The Relapse, or, Virtue in Danger_,
which was acted at the Theatre in _Drury-Lane_, in 1696, with universal
Applause.
Upon the Success of _The Relapse_, the late Lord _Hallifax_, who was a
favourer of _Betterton_'s Company, having formerly heard some Scenes
of _The Provok'd Wife_ read to him, engaged Sir _John Vanbrugh_ to
revise it, and give it to that Company. This was a Request not to be
refused to so eminent a Patron of the Muses as Lord _Hallifax_, who was
equally a Friend and Admirer of Sir _John_ himself; nor was Sir _Thomas
Skipwith_ in the least disobliged by so reasonable a Compliance. _The
Provok'd Wife_ was accordingly acted at the Theatre in _Lincoln's
Inn-Fields_ in 1697, with great Success.
Tho' this Play met with so favourable a Reception, yet it was not
without its Enemies: People of the graver Sort blamed the looseness
of the Scenes, and the unguarded freedom of the Dialect; and indeed
Sir _John_ himself appears to have been sensible of the immorality
of his Scenes; for in the Year 1725, when this Play was revived, he
thought proper to substitute a new Scene in the fourth Act, in place of
another, in which, in the wantonness of his Wit, he had made a Rake
talk like a Rake, in the Habit of a Clergyman; to avoid which Offence,
he put the same Debauchee into the Undress of a Woman of Quality; by
which means the Follies he exposed in the Petticoat, appeared to the
Audience innocent and entertaining; which new Scene is now for the
first Time printed at the End of the Play.
Soon after the Success of _The Provok'd Wife_, Sir _John_ produced the
Comedy of _Esop_, in two Parts, which was acted at the Theatre-Royal in
_Drury Lane_, in 1697. This was originally written in _French_ by Mr.
_Boursaut_, about six Years before; but the Scenes of Sir _Polydorus
Hogstye_, the Players, and the Beau, were added by our Author. This
Play contains a great deal of general Satire, and useful Morality;
notwithstanding which, it met with but a cold Reception from the
Audience, and its run ended in about nine Days. This seemed the more
surprizing, as the _French_ Comedy was played to crowded Audiences
for a Month together. The little Success this Piece met with on the
_English_ Stage, cannot be better accounted for than in the Words
of Mr. _Cibber_, who, speaking of this Play, makes the following
Observation: "The Character that delivers Precepts of Wisdom, is in
some sort severe upon the Auditor, for shewing him one wiser than
himself; but when Folly is his Object, he applauds himself for being
wiser than the Coxcomb he laughs at; and who is not more pleased with
an Occasion to commend, than to accuse himself?"
The next Play our Author wrote, was _The False Friend_, a Comedy, which
was acted at the Theatre-Royal in _Drury Lane_, in 1702.
In 1703, Sir _John_ formed a Project of building a stately Theatre
in the _Haymarket_, for which he had interest enough to get a
Subscription of thirty Persons of Quality, at one hundred Pounds each,
in consideration whereof, every Subscriber was for his own Life to be
admitted to whatever Entertainments should be publicly performed there,
without any farther Payment for Entrance.
In 1706, when this House was finished, Mr. _Betterton_ and his
Co-partners, who then acted at the Theatre in _Lincoln's Inn-Fields_,
dissolved their Agreement, and put themselves under the direction
of Sir _John Vanbrugh_ and Mr. _Congreve_, imagining, perhaps, that
the Conduct of two such eminent Authors might give a more prosperous
turn to their Affairs; that the Plays it would now be their interest
to write for them, would soon recover the Town to a true Taste, and
be an Advantage that no other Company could hope for; and that till
such Plays could be written, the Grandeur of their House, as it was a
new spectacle, might allure the Crowd to support them: But, if these
were their Views, they soon found their Dependance upon them was too
sanguine; for though Sir _John_ was a very expeditious Writer, yet Mr.
_Congreve_ was too judicious to let any Thing come unfinished from
his Pen. Besides, every proper Convenience of a good Theatre had been
sacrificed to shew the Audience a vast triumphal Piece of Architecture,
in which, by Means of the spaciousness of the Dome, plays could not be
successfully represented, because the Actors could not be distinctly
heard.
Not long before this Time, the _Italian_ Opera began to steal into
_England_, but in as rude a Disguise as possible: notwithstanding
which, the new Monster pleased, though it had neither Grace, Melody,
nor Action, to recommend it. To strike in therefore with the prevailing
Fashion, Sir _John_ and Mr. _Congreve_ opened their New Theatre with a
translated Opera, set to _Italian_ Music, called _The Triumph of Love_;
but it met with a very cool Reception, being performed only three
Times--to thin Houses.
Immediately upon the Failure of this Opera, Sir _John Vanbrugh_ brought
on his Comedy, called _The Confederacy_, taken, but very greatly
improved, from _Les Bourgeoises à la Mode_, of Monsieur _D'Ancourt_.
The Success of this Play was not equal to its Merit; for it is written
with an uncommon Vein of Wit and Humour; which plainly shews that the
difficulty of hearing, distinctly, in that large Theatre, was no small
Impediment to the Applause that might have followed the same Actors on
any other Stage; and indeed every Play acted there before the House
was altered, seemed to suffer greatly from the same Inconvenience; for
what few could plainly hear, it was not likely many could applaud. In
a Word, the Prospect of Profits from this Theatre was so very barren,
that Mr. _Congreve_, in a few Months, gave up his Share in it wholly to
Sir _John Vanbrugh_; who, as he had a happier Talent of throwing the
_English_ Spirit into his Translations, than any other Author who had
borrowed from them, he in the same Season produced _The Mistake_, a
Comedy, taken from _Le D'epit Amoureux_, of _Moliere_; and _The Country
House_, a Farce, translated from _The French_, which has been acted at
all the Theatres with general Applause.
Sir _John_ soon afterwards, thoroughly tired of Theatrical Affairs,
determined to get rid of his Patent on the best Terms he could; he
accordingly made an Offer to Mr. _Owen Swiney_ of his House, Clothes,
and Scenes, with the Queen's Licence to employ them, upon Payment of
the Rent of five Pounds upon every acting Day, and not to exceed 700
_l._ in the Year; with which Proposal Mr. _Swiney_ soon complied, and
managed that Stage for some Time after.
Sir _John_ is not a little to be admired for his Spirit, and
readiness in producing Plays so fast upon the Neck of one another;
for, notwithstanding his quick Dispatch, there is a clear and lively
Simplicity in his Wit, that neither wants the Ornaments of Learning,
nor has the least Smell of the Lamp, as the Face of a fine Woman, with
her Locks loose about her, may then be in its greatest Beauty; such
were his Productions, only adorned by Nature. And there is, besides,
something so catching to the Ear, and so easy to the Memory, in all he
writ, that it has been observed by all the Actors of those Times, the
Stile of no Author whatsoever gave their Memory less Trouble, than that
of Sir _John Vanbrugh_. And indeed his Wit and Humour was so little
laboured, that his most entertaining Scenes seem to be no more than
his common Conversation committed to Paper. As his Conceptions were so
full of Life and Humour, it is not much to be wondered at, if his Muse
should be sometimes too warm to wait the slow Pace of Judgment, or to
endure the Drudgery of forming a regular Fable to them.
Besides the Plays already mentioned, Sir _John_ left behind him Part
of a Comedy, called _A Journey to London_, which has since been made
an entire Play of by Mr. _Cibber_, and called _The Provoked Husband_,
and was acted at the Theatre-Royal, in _Drury Lane_, in 1727, for
twenty-eight Nights successively, with universal Applause.
In 1703, he was appointed Clarencieux King of Arms, and in 1706 was
commissioned by Queen _Anne_ to carry the Habit and Ensigns of the
Order of the Garter to King _George_ the First, then at _Hanover_; he
was likewise Comptroller-General of the Board of Works, and Surveyor
of the Gardens and Waters. In the Year 1714, he received the Order
of Knighthood; and in 1719 he married _Henrietta Maria_, Daughter
of Colonel _Yarborough_, of _Haslington_, near _York_, by whom he
had three Children; _Charles_ the eldest was killed at the Battle of
_Fontenoy_, the other two died young.
Sir _John_ died at his House in _Scotland-Yard_, the 26th of _March_,
1726, and is interred in the Family Vault, under the Church of _St.
Stephen_'s, _Wallbrook_.
[Illustration]
THE
RELAPSE:
OR,
VIRTUE in DANGER:
A
COMEDY.
Being the Sequel of _The Fool in Fashion_.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE
PREFACE.
To go about to excuse half the Defects this abortive Brat is come
into the World with, would be to provoke the Town with a long useless
Preface, when it is, I doubt, sufficiently soured already by a tedious
Play.
I do therefore (with all the Humility of a repenting Sinner) confess,
it wants every thing----but length; and in that, I hope, the severest
Critick will be pleas'd to acknowledge I have not been wanting. But
my Modesty will sure atone for every thing, when the World shall
know it is so great, I am even to this Day insensible of those two
shining Graces in the Play (which some part of the Town is pleas'd to
compliment me with) Blasphemy and Bawdy.
For my part, I cannot find them out: If there were any obscene
Expressions upon the Stage, here they are in the Print; for I have
dealt fairly, I have not sunk a Syllable, that cou'd (though by racking
of Mysteries) be rang'd under that Head; and yet I believe with a
steady Faith, there is not one Woman of a real Reputation in Town,
but when she has read it impartially over in her Closet, will find
it so innocent, she will think it no Affront to her Prayer-Book, to
lay it upon the same Shelf. So to them (with all manner of Deference)
I entirely refer my cause; and I am confident they will justify me
against those Pretenders to Good-manners, who at the same time have so
little Respect for the Ladies, they wou'd extract a bawdy Jest from an
Ejaculation, to put them out of countenance. But I expect to have these
well-bred Persons always my Enemies, since I am sure I shall never
write any thing lewd enough to make them my Friends.
As for the Saints (your thorough-pac'd ones, I mean, with skrew'd Faces
and wry Mouths) I despair of them; for they are Friends to nobody:
They love nothing but their Altars and themselves; they have too much
Zeal to have any Charity; they make Debauches in Piety, as Sinners do
in Wine; and are as quarrelsome in their Religion, as other People are
in their Drink: so I hope nobody will mind what they say. But if any
Man (with flat plod Shoes, a little Band, greasy Hair, and a dirty
Face, who is wiser than I, at the Expence of being forty Years older),
happens to be offended at a Story of a Cock and a Bull, and a Priest
and a Bull-dog, I beg his pardon with all my Heart; which, I hope, I
shall obtain, by eating my Words, and making this publick Recantation.
I do therefore, for his Satisfaction, acknowledge I lyed, when I said,
they never quit their hold; for in that little time I have liv'd in the
World, I thank God I have seen them forc'd to it more than once; but
next time I will speak with more Caution and Truth, and only say, they
have very good Teeth.
If I have offended any honest Gentleman of the Town, whose Friendship
or good Word is worth the having, I am very sorry for it; I hope they
will correct me as gently as they can, when they consider I have had
no other Design, in running a very great Risk, than to divert (if
possible) some part of their Spleen, in spite of their Wives and their
Taxes.
One Word more about the Bawdy, and I have done. I own the first Night
this thing was acted, some Indecencies had like to have happened; but
it was not my Fault.
The fine Gentleman of the Play, drinking his Mistress's Health in
_Nants_ Brandy, from six in the Morning to the time he waddled on
upon the Stage in the Evening, had toasted himself up to such a pitch
of Vigour, I confess I once gave _Amanda_ for gone, and am since
(with all due respect to Mrs. _Rogers_) very sorry she escaped; for
I am confident a certain Lady (let no one take it to herself that
is handsome) who highly blames the Play, for the Barrenness of the
Conclusion, would then have allowed it a very natural Close.
[Illustration]
PROLOGUE.
Spoken by _Miss_ =Cross=.
_Ladies, this Play in too much haste was writ,
To be o'ercharg'd with either Plot or Wit;
'Twas got, conceiv'd, and born in six Weeks Space,
And Wit, you know, 's as slow in Growth----as Grace.
Sure it can ne'er be ripen'd to your Taste;
I doubt 'twill prove our Author bred too fast:
For mark 'em well, who with the Muses marry,
They rarely do conceive, but they miscarry.
'Tis the hard Fate of those who are big with Rhyme,
Still to be brought-to-bed before their Time.
Of our late Poets, Nature few has made;
The greatest part----are only so by Trade.
Still want of something brings the scribbling Fit;
For want of Money some of 'em have writ,
And others do't, you see--for want of Wit.
Honour, they fancy, summons 'em to write,
So out they lug in resty Nature's spight,
As some of you spruce Beaux do--when you fight.
Yet let the Ebb of Wit be ne'er so low,
Some Glimpse of it a Man may hope to show,
Upon a Theme so ample----as a ~Beau~.
So, howsoe'er true Courage may decay,
Perhaps there's not one Smock-Face here to-day,
But's bold as ~Cæsar~--to attack a Play.
Nay, what's yet more, with an undaunted Face, }
To do the Thing with more heroick Grace, }
'Tis six to four y' attack the strongest Place. }
You are such Hotspurs in this kind of Venture,
Where there's no Breach, just there you needs must enter.
But be advis'd----
E'en give the Hero and the Critique o'er, }
For Nature sent you on another score; }
She formed her ~Beau~, for nothing but her Whore._ }
[Illustration]
Dramatis Personæ.
MEN.
Sir _Novelty Fashion_, newly created }
Lord _Foppington_, } Mr. _Cibber_.
Young _Fashion_, his Brother, Mr. _Kent_.
_Loveless_, Husband to _Amanda_, Mr. _Verbruggen_.
_Worthy_, a Gentleman of the Town, Mr. _Powel_.
Sir _Tunbelly Clumsey_, a Country Gentleman, Mr. _Bullock_.
Sir _John Friendly_, his Neighbour, Mr. _Mills_.
_Coupler_, a Matchmaker, Mr. _Johnson_.
_Bull_, Chaplain to Sir _Tunbelly_, Mr. _Simpson_.
_Syringe_, a Surgeon, Mr. _Haynes_.
_Lory_, Servant to Young _Fashion_, Mr. _Dogget_.
Shoemaker, Taylor, Perriwig-maker, &c.
WOMEN.
_Amanda_, Wife to _Loveless_, Mrs. _Rogers_.
_Berinthia_, her Cousin, a young Widow, Mrs. _Verbruggen_.
Miss _Hoyden_, a great Fortune, Daughter }
to Sir _Tunbelly_, } Mrs. _Cross_.
Nurse, her Governant, Mrs. _Powel_.
[Illustration]
THE
RELAPSE;
OR,
VIRTUE in DANGER.
[Illustration]
+ACT+ I. +SCENE+ I.
_Enter ~Loveless~, reading._
How true is that Philosophy which says
Our Heaven is seated in our Minds!
Through all the roving Pleasures of my Youth,
(Where Nights and Days seem all consum'd in Joy,
Where the false Face of Luxury
Display'd such Charms,
As might have shaken the most holy Hermit,
And made him totter at his Altar)
I never knew one Moment's Peace like this.
Here--in this little soft Retreat,
My thoughts unbent from all the Cares of Life,
Content with Fortune,
Eas'd from the grating Duties of Dependence,
From Envy free, Ambition under foot,
The raging Flame of wild destructive Lust
Reduc'd to a warm pleasing Fire of lawful Love,
My Life glides on, and all is well within.
_Enter ~Amanda~._
Lov. _meeting her kindly._
How does the happy Cause of my Content, my dear _Amanda_?
You find me musing on my happy State,
And full of grateful Thoughts to Heaven, and you.
_Aman._ Those grateful Offerings Heaven can't receive
With more Delight than I do:
Would I cou'd share with it as well
The Dispensations of its Bliss,
That I might search its choicest Favours out,
And shower 'em on your Head for ever.
_Lov._ The largest Boons that Heaven thinks fit to grant
To Things it has decreed shall crawl on Earth,
Are in the Gift of Woman form'd like you.
Perhaps when Time shall be no more,
When the aspiring Soul shall take its Flight,
And drop this pond'rous Lump of Clay behind it,
It may have Appetites we know not of,
And Pleasures as refin'd as its Desires--
But till that Day of Knowledge shall instruct me,
The utmost Blessing that my Thought can reach,
[_Taking her in his Arms._] Is folded in my Arms, and rooted in my
Heart.
_Aman._ There let it grow for ever.
_Lov._ Well said, _Amanda_--let it be for ever.--
Wou'd Heaven grant that--
_Aman._ 'Twere all the Heaven I'd ask.
But we are clad in black Mortality,
And the dark Curtain of eternal Night
At last must drop between us.
_Lov._ It must: that mournful Separation we must see.
A bitter Pill it is to all; but doubles its ungrateful Taste,
When Lovers are to swallow it;
_Aman._ Perhaps that Pain may only be my Lot,
You possibly may be exempted from it;
Men find out softer ways to quench their Fires.
_Lov._ Can you then doubt my Constancy, _Amanda_?
You'll find 'tis built upon a steady Basis----
The Rock of Reason now supports my Love,
On which it stands so fix'd,
The rudest Hurricane of wild Desire
Wou'd, like the Breath of a soft slumbering Babe,
Pass by, and never shake it.
_Aman._ Yet still 'tis safer to avoid the Storm;
The strongest Vessels, if they put to Sea,
May possibly be lost.
Wou'd I cou'd keep you here in this calm Port for ever!
Forgive the Weakness of a Woman,
I am uneasy at your going to stay so long in Town;
I know its false insinuating Pleasures;
I know the Force of its Delusions;
I know the Strength of its Attacks;
I know the weak Defence of Nature;
I know you are a Man--and I--a Wife.
_Lov._ You know then all that needs to give you Rest,
For Wife's the strongest Claim that you can urge.
When you would plead your Title to my Heart,
On this you may depend; therefore be calm,
Banish your Fears, for they are Traitors to your Peace:
Beware of them, they are insinuating busy Things
That gossip to and fro, and do a World of Mischief
Where they come: But you shall soon be Mistress of 'em all,
I'll aid you with such Arms for their Destruction,
They never shall erect their Heads again.
You know the Business is indispensible, that obliges
Me to go to _London_, and you have no Reason, that I
Know of, to believe that I'm glad of the Occasion:
For my honest Conscience is my Witness,
I have found a due Succession of such Charms
In my Retirement here with you,
I have never thrown one roving Thought that way;
But since, against my Will, I'm dragg'd once more
To that uneasy Theatre of Noise,
I am resolv'd to make such use on't,
As shall convince you 'tis an old cast Mistress,
Who has been so lavish of her Favours,
She's now grown Bankrupt of her Charms,
And has not one Allurement left to move me.
_Aman._ Her Bow, I do believe, is grown so weak,
Her Arrows (at this distance) cannot hurt you,
But in approaching 'em you give 'em Strength:
The Dart that has not far to fly,
Will put the best of Armour to a dangerous Trial.
_Lov._ That Trial past, and y'are at ease for ever;
When you have seen the Helmet prov'd,
You'll apprehend no more for him that wears it:
Therefore to put a lasting Period to your Fears,
I am resolv'd, this once, to launch into Temptation.
I'll give you an Essay of all my Virtues;
My former boon Companions of the Bottle
Shall fairly try what Charms are left in Wine:
I'll take my Place amongst them,
They shall hem me in,
Sing Praises to their God, and drink his Glory;
Turn wild Enthusiasts for his sake,
And Beasts to do him Honour:
Whilst I, a stubborn Atheist,
Sullenly look on,
Without one reverend Glass to his Divinity.
That for my Temperance,
Then for my Constancy----
_Aman._ Ay, there take heed.
_Lov._ Indeed the Danger's small.
_Aman._ And yet my Fears are great.
_Lov._ Why are you so timorous?
_Aman._ Because you are so bold.
_Lov._ My Courage should disperse your Apprehensions.
_Aman._ My Apprehensions should alarm your Courage.
_Lov._ Fy, fy, _Amanda_, it is not kind thus to distrust me.
_Aman._ And yet my Fears are founded on my Love.
_Lov._ For if you can believe 'tis possible
I shou'd again relapse to my past Follies,
I must appear to you a thing
Of such an undigested Composition,
That but to think of me with Inclination,
Wou'd be a Weakness in your Taste,
Your Virtue scarce cou'd answer.
_Aman._ 'Twou'd be a Weakness in my Tongue,
My Prudence cou'd not answer,
If I shou'd press you farther with my Fears;
I'll therefore trouble you no longer with 'em.
_Lov._ Nor shall they trouble you much longer,
A little time shall shew you they were groundless;
This Winter shall be the fiery Trial of my Virtue;
Which, when it once has past,
You'll be convinc'd 'twas of no false Allay,
There all your Cares will end--
_Aman._ Pray Heaven they may!
[_Exeunt Hand in Hand._
+SCENE+, _Whitehall._
_Enter ~Young Fashion~, ~Lory~, and ~Waterman~._
_Young Fash._ Come, pay the Waterman, and take the Pormanteau.
_Lory._ Faith, Sir, I think the Waterman had as good take the
Portmanteau, and pay himself.
_Young Fash._ Why sure there's something left in't.
_Lory._ But a solitary old Waistcoat, upon my Honour, Sir.
_Young Fash._ Why, what's become of the blue Coat, Sirrah?
_Lory._ Sir, 'twas eaten at _Gravesend_; the Reckoning came to thirty
Shillings, and your Privy-Purse was worth but two Half-Crowns.
_Young Fash._ 'Tis very well.
_Wat._ Pray, Master, will you please to dispatch me?
_Young Fash._ Ay, here a----Canst thou change me a Guinea?
_Lory._ [_Aside._] Good.
_Wat._ Change a Guinea, Master! Ha, ha, your Honour's pleas'd to
compliment.
_Young Fash._ I'gad I don't know how I shall pay thee then, for I have
nothing but Gold about me.
_Lory._ [_Aside._]--Hum, hum.
_Young Fash._ What dost thou expect, Friend?
_Wat._ Why, Master, so far against Wind and Tide, is richly worth half
a Piece.
_Young Fash._ Why, faith, I think thou art a good conscionable Fellow.
I'gad, I begin to have so good an Opinion of thy Honesty, I care not if
I leave my Portmanteau with thee, till I send thee thy Money.
_Wat._ Ha! God bless your Honour; I should be as willing to trust you,
Master, but that you are, as a Man may say, a Stranger to me, and these
are nimble Times; there are a great many Sharpers stirring. [_Taking
up the Portmanteau._] Well, Master, when your Worship sends the Money,
your Portmanteau shall be forthcoming. My Name's _Tugg_, my Wife keeps
a Brandy-Shop in _Drab-Ally_ at _Wapping_.
_Young Fash._ Very well; I'll send for't to-morrow.
[_Exit Wat._
_Lory._ So--Now, Sir, I hope you'll own yourself a happy Man, you have
outliv'd all your Cares.
_Young Fash._ How so, Sir?
_Lory._ Why you have nothing left to take care of.
_Young Fash._ Yes, Sirrah, I have myself and you to take care of still.
_Lory._ Sir, if you cou'd but prevail with somebody else to do that for
you, I fancy we might both fare the better for't.
_Young Fash._ Why, if thou canst tell me where to apply myself, I have
at present so little Money, and so much Humility about me, I don't know
but I may follow a Fool's Advice.
_Lory._ Why then, Sir, your Fool advises you to lay aside all
Animosity, and apply to Sir _Novelty_, your elder Brother.
_Young Fash._ Damn my elder Brother.
_Lory._ With all my heart; but get him to redeem your Annuity, however.
_Young Fash._ My Annuity! 'Sdeath, he's such a Dog, he would not give
his Powder-Puff to redeem my Soul.
_Lory._ Look you, Sir, you must wheedle him, or you must starve.
_Young Fash._ Look you, Sir, I will neither wheedle him, nor starve.
_Lory._ Why? what will you do then?
_Young Fash._ I'll go into the Army.
_Lory._ You can't take the Oaths; you are a Jacobite.
_Young Fash._ Thou may'st as well say I can't take Orders because I'm
an Atheist.
_Lory._ Sir, I ask your Pardon; I find I did not know the Strength of
your Conscience, so well as I did the Weakness of your Purse.
_Young Fash._ Methinks, Sir, a Person of your Experience should have
known, that the Strength of the Conscience proceeds from the Weakness
of the Purse.
_Lory._ Sir, I am very glad to find you have a Conscience able to
take care of us, let it proceed from what it will; but I desire
you'll please to consider, that the Army alone will be but a scanty
Maintenance for a Person of your Generosity (at least as Rents now are
paid); I shall see you stand in damnable need of some auxiliary Guineas
for your _menu Plaisirs_; I will therefore turn Fool once more for your
Service, and advise you to go directly to your Brother.
_Young Fash._ Art thou then so impregnable a Blockhead, to believe
he'll help me with a Farthing?
_Lory._ Not if you treat him, _de haut en bas_, as you use to do.
_Young Fash._ Why, how would'st have me treat him?
_Lory._ Like a Trout, tickle him.
_Young Fash._ I can't flatter----
_Lory._ Can you starve?
_Young Fash._ Yes----
_Lory._ I can't; Good-by t'ye, Sir--
[_Going._
_Young Fash._ Stay, thou wilt distract me. What would'st thou have me
to say to him?
_Lory._ Say nothing to him, apply yourself to his Favourites; speak to
his Perriwig, his Cravat, his Feather, his Snuff-box, and when you are
well with them----desire him to lend you a Thousand Pounds. I'll engage
you prosper.
_Young Fash._ 'Sdeath and Furies! Why was that Coxcomb thrust into the
World before me? O Fortune--Fortune--thou art a Bitch, by Gad----
[_Exeunt._
+SCENE+, _A Dressing-Room_.
_Enter Lord ~Foppington~ in his Night-Gown._
_Lord Fop._ Page----
[_Enter Page._
_Page._ Sir.
_Lord Fop._ Sir! Pray, Sir, do me the Favour to teach your Tongue the
Title the King has thought fit to honour me with.
_Page._ I ask your Lordship's Pardon, my Lord.
_Lord Fop._ O, you can pronounce the Word then----I thought it would
have choak'd you----D'ye hear?
_Page._ My Lord.
_Lord Fop._ Call La Varole, I wou'd dress--
[_Exit Page._
_Solus._
Well, 'tis an unspeakable Pleasure to be a Man of Quality----Strike me
dumb----My Lord----Your Lordship----My Lord _Foppington_--_Ah! c'est
quelque chose de beau, que le Diable m'emporte_----
Why the Ladies were ready to puke at me, whilst I had nothing but Sir
_Novelty_ to recommend me to 'em----Sure whilst I was but a Knight,
I was a very nauseous Fellow----Well, 'tis Ten Thousand Pawnd well
given----stap my Vitals----
_Enter ~La Varole~._
Me Lord, de Shoemaker, de Taylor, de Hosier, de Sempstress, de Peru, be
all ready, if your Lordship please to dress.
_Lord Fop._ 'Tis well, admit 'em.
_La Var._ Hey, Messieurs, entrez.
_Enter ~Taylor~, ~&c.~_
_Lord Fop._ So, Gentlemen, I hope you have all taken pains to shew
yourselves Masters in your Professions.
_Tayl._ I think I may presume to say, Sir----
_La Var._ My Lord----you Clawn you.
_Tayl._ Why, is he made a Lord?----My Lord, I ask your Lordship's
Pardon; my Lord, I hope, my Lord, your Lordship will please to own,
I have brought your Lordship as accomplish'd a Suit of Clothes, as
ever Peer of _England_ trode the Stage in, my Lord: Will your Lordship
please to try 'em now?
_Lord Fop._ Ay, but let my People dispose the Glasses so, that I may
see myself before and behind; for I love to see myself all raund----
[_Whilst he puts on his Clothes, enter ~Young Fashion~
and ~Lory~._
_Young Fash._ Hey-dey, what the Devil have we here? Sure my Gentleman's
grown a Favourite at Court, he has got so many People at his Levee.
_Lo._ Sir, these People come in order to make him a Favourite at Court,
they are to establish him with the Ladies.
_Young Fash._ Good God! to what an Ebb of Taste are Women fallen, that
it shou'd be in the power of a lac'd Coat to recommend a Gallant to
'em----
_Lo._ Sir, Taylors and Perriwig-makers are now become the Bawds of the
Nation, 'tis they debauch all the Women.
_Young Fash._ Thou sayest true; for there's that Fop now, has not by
Nature wherewithal to move a Cook-maid, and by that time these Fellows
have done with him, I'gad he shall melt down a Countess----But now for
my Reception, I engage it shall be as cold a one, as a Courtier's to
his Friend, who comes to put him in mind of his Promise.
_Lord Fop._ _to his Taylor._] Death and eternal Tartures! Sir, I say
the Packet's too high by a Foot.
_Tayl._ My Lord, if it had been an Inch lower, it would not have held
your Lordship's Pocket-Handkerchief.
_Lord Fop._ Rat my Packet-Handkerchief! Have not I a Page to carry it?
You may make him a Packet up to his Chin a purpose for it; but I will
not have mine come so near my Face.
_Tayl._ 'Tis not for me to dispute your Lordship's Fancy.
_Young Fash. to Lory._] His Lordship! _Lory_, did you observe that?
_Lo._ Yes, Sir; I always thought 'twould end there. Now, I hope, you'll
have a little more Respect for him.
_Young Fash._ Respect! Damn him for a Coxcomb; now has he ruin'd his
Estate to buy a Title, that he may be a Fool of the first Rate: But
let's accost him----
_To Lord Fop._] Brother, I'm your Humble Servant.
_Lord Fop._ O Lard, _Tam_; I did not expect you in _England_: Brother,
I am glad to see you----
_Turning to his Taylor._] Look you, Sir. I shall never be reconcil'd
to this nauseous Packet; therefore pray get me another Suit with all
manner of Expedition, for this is my eternal Aversion. Mrs. _Callicoe_,
are not you of my Mind?
_Semp._ O, directly, my Lord, it can never be too low--
_Lord Fop._ You are passitively in the right on't, for the Packet
becomes no part of the Body but the Knee.
_Semp._ I hope your Lordship is pleas'd with your Steenkirk.
_Lord Fop._ In love with it, stap my Vitals. Bring your Bill, you shall
be paid to-marrow--
_Semp._ I humbly thank your Honour--
[_Exit Semp._
_Lord Fop._ Hark thee, Shoemaker, these Shoes a'n't ugly, but they
don't fit me.
_Shoe._ My Lord, my thinks they fit you very well.
_Lord Fop._ They hurt me just below the Instep.
_Shoe._ [_Feeling his Foot._] My Lord, they don't hurt you there.
_Lord Fop._ I tell thee, they pinch me execrably.
_Shoe._ My Lord, if they pinch you, I'll be bound to be hang'd, that's
all.
_Lord Fop._ Why, wilt thou undertake to persuade me I cannot feel?
_Shoe._ Your Lordship may please to feel what you think fit; but that
Shoe does not hurt you--I think I understand my Trade----
_Lord Fop._ Now by all that's great and powerful, thou art an
incomprehensible Coxcomb; but thou makest good Shoes, and so I'll bear
with thee.
_Shoe._ My Lord, I have work'd for half the People of Quality in Town
these Twenty Years; and 'tis very hard I should not know when a Shoe
hurts, and when it don't.
_Lord Fop._ Well, pr'ythee, begone about thy Business.
[_Exit Shoe._
[_To the Hosier._] Mr. _Mend Legs_, a Word with you; the Calves of the
Stockings are thicken'd a little too much. They make my Legs look like
a Chairman's----
_Mend._ My Lord, my thinks they look mighty well.
_Lord Fop._ Ay, but you are not so good a Judge of those things as I
am, I have study'd them all my Life; therefore pray let the next be the
thickness of a Crawn-piece less----[_Aside._] If the Town takes notice
my Legs are fallen away, 'twill be attributed to the Violence of some
new Intrigue.
_To the Perriwig-maker._] Come, Mr. _Foretop_, let me see what you have
done, and then the Fatigue of the Morning will be over.
_Foretop._ My Lord, I have done what I defy any Prince in _Europe_ to
out-do; I have made you a Perriwig so long, and so full of Hair, it
will serve you for a Hat and Cloak in all Weathers.
_Lord Fop._ Then thou hast made me thy Friend to Eternity: Come, comb
it out.
_Young Fash._ Well, _Lory_, What do'st think on't? A very friendly
Reception from a Brother after Three Years Absence!
_Lory._ Why, Sir, 'tis your own Fault; we seldom care for those that
don't love what we love: if you wou'd creep into his Heart, you must
enter into his Pleasures--Here you have stood ever since you came in,
and have not commended any one thing that belongs to him.
_Young Fash._ Nor never shall, while they belong to a Coxcomb.
_Lory._ Then, Sir, you must be content to pick a hungry Bone.
_Young Fash._ No, Sir, I'll crack it, and get to the Marrow before I
have done.
_Lord Fop._ Gad's Curse! Mr. _Foretop_, you don't intend to put this
upon me for a full Perriwig?
_Fore._ Not a full one, my Lord! I don't know what your Lordship may
please to call a full one, but I have cramm'd twenty Ounces of Hair
into it.
_Lord Fop._ What it may be by Weight, Sir, I shall not dispute; but by
Tale, there are not nine Hairs on a side.
_Fore._ O Lord! O Lord! O Lord! Why, as God shall judge me, your
Honor's Side-Face is reduc'd to the Tip of your Nose.
_Lord Fop._ My Side-Face may be in an Eclipse for aught I know; but I'm
sure my Full-Face is like the Full-moon.
_Fore._ Heaven bless my Eye-sight----[_Rubbing his Eyes._] Sure I look
thro' the wrong end of the Perspective; for by my Faith, an't please
your Honour, the broadest place I see in your Face does not seem to me
to be two Inches diameter.
_Lord Fop._ If it did, it would just be two Inches too broad; for a
Perriwig to a Man, should be like a Mask to a Woman, nothing should be
seen but his Eyes--
_Fore._ My Lord, I have done; if you please to have more Hair in your
Wig, I'll put it in.
_Lord Fop._ Passitively, yes.
_Fore._ Shall I take it back now, my Lord?
_Lord Fop._ No: I'll wear it to-day, tho' it shew such a manstrous pair
of Cheeks, stap my Vitals, I shall be taken for a Trumpeter.
[_Exit ~Fore~._
_Young Fash._ Now your People of Business are gone, Brother, I hope I
may obtain a quarter of an Hour's Audience of you.
_Lord Fop._ Faith, _Tam_, I must beg you'll excuse me at this time, for
I must away to the House of Lards immediately; my Lady _Teaser_'s Case
is to come on to-day, and I would not be absent for the Salvation of
Mankind. Hey, _Page_! Is the Coach at the Door?
_Page._ Yes, my Lord.
_Lord Fop._ You'll excuse me, Brother.
[_Going._
_Young Fash._ Shall you be back at Dinner?
_Lord Fop._ As Gad shall jedge me, I can't tell; for 'tis passible I
may dine with some of aur Hause at _Lacket_'s.
_Young Fash._ Shall I meet you there? for I must needs talk with you.
_Lord Fop._ That, I'm afraid, mayn't be so praper; far the Lards I
commonly eat with, are a People of a nice Conversation; and you know,
_Tam_, your Education has been a little at large: but if you'll stay
here, you'll find a Family Dinner. Hey, Fellow! What is there for
Dinner? There's Beef: I suppose my Brother will eat Beef. Dear _Tam_,
I'm glad to see thee in _England_, stap my Vitals.
[_Exit, with his Equipage._
_Young Fash._ Hell and Furies, is this to be borne?
_Lory._ Faith, Sir, I cou'd almost have given him a knock o' th' Pate
myself.
_Young Fash._ 'Tis enough, I will now shew you the excess of my Passion
by being very calm: Come, _Lory_, lay your Loggerhead to mine, and in
cool Blood let us contrive his Destruction.
_Lory._ Here comes a Head, Sir, would contrive it better than us both,
if he wou'd but join in the Confederacy.
_Enter ~Coupler~._
_Young Fash._ By this Light, old _Coupler_ alive still! Why, how now,
Matchmaker, art thou here still to plague the World with Matrimony? You
old Bawd, how have you the Impudence to be hobbling out of your Grave
twenty Years after you are rotten!
_Coup._ When you begin to rot, Sirrah, you'll go off like a Pippin, one
Winter will send you to the Devil. What Mischief brings you home again?
Ha! You young lascivious Rogue, you: Let me put my Hand into your
Bosom, Sirrah.
_Young Fash._ Stand off, old _Sodom_.
_Coup._ Nay, pr'ythee now don't be so coy.
_Young Fash._ Keep your Hands to yourself, you old Dog you, or I'll
wring your Nose off.
_Coup._ Hast thou then been a Year in _Italy_, and brought home a Fool
at last? By my Conscience, the young Fellows of this Age profit no more
by their going abroad, than they do by their going to Church. Sirrah,
Sirrah, if you are not hang'd before you come to my Years, you'll know
a Cock from a Hen. But come, I'm still a Friend to thy Person, tho' I
have a Contempt of thy Understanding; and therefore I would willingly
know thy Condition, that I may see whether thou standest in need of my
Assistance; for Widows swarm, my Boy, the Town's infested with 'em.
_Young Fash._ I stand in need of any body's Assistance, that will help
me to cut my elder Brother's Throat, without the Risque of being hang'd
for him.
_Coup._ I'gad, Sirrah, I cou'd help thee to do him almost as good a
turn, without the danger of being burnt in the Hand for't.
_Young Fash._ Say'st thou so, old Satan? Shew me but that, and my Soul
is thine.
_Coup._ Pox o'thy Soul! give me thy warm Body, Sirrah; I shall have a
substantial Title to't when I tell thee my Project.
_Young Fash._ Out with it then, dear Dad, and take possession as soon
as thou wilt.
_Coup._ Sayest thou so, my _Hephestion_? Why, then, thus lies the
Scene: but hold; who's that? If we are heard we are undone.
_Young Fash._ What have you forgot _Lory_?
_Coup._ Who, trusty _Lory_, is it thee?
_Lory._ At your Service, Sir.
_Coup._ Give me thy Hand, old Boy; I'gad I did not know thee again; but
I remember thy Honesty, tho' I did not thy Face; I think thou hadst
like to have been hang'd once or twice for thy Master.
_Lory._ Sir, I was very near once having that Honour.
_Coup._ Well, live and hope; don't be discourag'd; eat with him, and
drink with him, and do what he bids thee, and it may be thy Reward at
last, as well as another's.
_To Young Fash._] Well, Sir, you must know I have done you the Kindness
to make up a Match for your Brother.
_Young Fash._ I am very much beholden to you, truly.
_Coup._ You may be, Sirrah, before the Wedding-day yet; the Lady is a
great Heiress; fifteen hundred Pound a year, and a great Bag of Money;
the Match is concluded, the Writings are drawn, and the Pipkin's to be
crack'd in a Fortnight--Now you must know, Stripling (with Respect to
your Mother), your Brother's the Son of a Whore.
_Young Fash._ Good.
_Coup._ He has given me a Bond of a Thousand Pounds for helping him to
this Fortune, and has promis'd me as much more in ready Money upon the
Day of Marriage; which, I understand by a Friend, he ne'er designs to
pay me; if therefore you will be a generous young Dog, and secure me
five thousand Pounds, I'll be a covetous old Rogue, and help you to the
Lady.
_Young Fash._ I'gad, if thou can'st bring this about, I'll have thy
Statue cast in Brass. But don't you doat, you old Pandar you, when you
talk at this rate?
_Coup._ That your youthful Parts shall judge of: This plump Partridge,
that I tell you of, lives in the Country, fifty Miles off, with her
honoured Parents, in a lonely old House which nobody comes near;
she never goes abroad, nor sees Company at home: To prevent all
Misfortunes, she has her Breeding within Doors, the Parson of the
Parish teaches her to play on the Bass-Viol, the Clerk to sing, her
Nurse to dress, and her Father to dance: In short, nobody can give you
admittance there but I; nor can I do it any other way, than by making
you pass for your Brother.
_Young Fash._ And how the Devil wilt thou do that?
_Coup._ Without the Devil's Aid, I warrant thee. Thy Brother's Face not
one of the Family ever saw; the whole Business has been manag'd by me,
and all the Letters go thro' my Hands: The last that was writ to Sir
_Tunbelly Clumsey_ (for that's the old Gentleman's Name) was to tell
him, his Lordship would be down in a Fortnight to consummate. Now you
shall go away immediately; pretend you writ that letter only to have
the romantick Pleasure of surprizing your Mistress; fall desperately
in Love, as soon as you see her; make that your Plea for marrying her
immediately; and when the fatigue of the Wedding-night's over, you
shall send me a swinging Purse of Gold, you Dog you.
_Young Fash._ I'gad, old Dad, I'll put my Hand in thy Bosom now----
_Coup._ Ah, you young hot lusty Thief, let me muzzle you----
[_Kissing._
Sirrah, let me muzzle you.
_Young Fash._ 'Psha, the old Letcher----
[Aside.
_Coup._ Well; I'll warrant thou hast not a Farthing of Money in thy
Pocket now; no, one may see it in thy Face----
_Young Fash._ Not a Sous, by _Jupiter_.
_Coup._ Must I advance then?--Well, Sirrah, be at my Lodgings in half
an Hour, and I'll see what may be done; we'll sign and seal, and eat
a Pullet, and when I have given thee some farther Instructions, thou
shalt hoist Sail and be gone----[_Kissing._]----T'other Buss, and so
adieu.
_Young Fash._ Um, 'psha.
_Coup._ Ah; you young warm Dog, you; what a delicious Night will the
Bride have on't!
[_Exit Coupler._
_Young Fash._ So, _Lory_; Providence, thou seest, at last takes care of
Men of Merit: We are in a fair way to be great People.
_Lo._ Ay, Sir, if the Devil don't step between the Cup and the Lip, as
he uses to do.
_Young Fash._ Why, faith, he has play'd me many a damn'd Trick to spoil
my Fortune, and, I'gad, I'm almost afraid he's at work about it again
now; but if I should tell thee how, thou'dst wonder at me.
_Lo._ Indeed, Sir, I shou'd not.
_Young Fash._ How dost know?
_Lo._ Because, Sir, I have wonder'd at you so often, I can wonder at
you no more.
_Young Fash._ No! what wouldst thou say if a Qualm of Conscience should
spoil my Design?
_Lo._ I wou'd eat my Words, and wonder more than ever.
_Young Fash._ Why, faith, _Lory_, tho' I am a young Rake-hell, and
have play'd many a Roguish Trick; this is so full grown a Cheat, I find
I must take pains to come up to't; I have Scruples----
_Lo._ They are strong Symptoms of Death; if you find they increase,
pray, Sir, make your Will.
_Young Fash._ No, my Conscience shan't starve me, neither. But thus far
I'll hearken to it; before I execute this Project, I'll try my Brother
to the bottom, I'll speak to him with the Temper of a Philosopher;
my Reasons (tho' they press him home) shall yet be cloth'd with so
much Modesty, not one of all the Truths they urge, shall be so naked
to offend his Sight: if he has yet so much Humanity about him, as to
assist me (tho' with a moderate Aid) I'll drop my Project at his Feet,
and shew him how I can do for him, much more than what I ask he'd do
for me. This one conclusive Trial of him I resolve to make--
_Succeed or no, still Victory's my Lot;_ }
_If I subdue his Heart, 'tis well; if not,_ }
_I shall subdue my Conscience to my Plot._ }
[~Exeunt.~
[Illustration]
+ACT+ II. +SCENE+ I.
_Enter ~Loveless~ and ~Amanda~._
_Lov._ How do you like these Lodgings, my Dear? For my part, I am so
well pleased with them, I shall hardly remove whilst we stay in Town,
if you are satisfy'd.
_Aman._ I am satisfy'd with every thing that pleases you; else I had
not come to Town at all.
_Lov._ O! a little of the Noise and Bustle of the World sweetens the
Pleasures of Retreat: We shall find the Charms of our Retirement
doubled, when we return to it.
_Aman._ That pleasing Prospect will be my chiefest Entertainment,
whilst, much against my Will, I am obliged to stand surrounded with
these empty Pleasures, which 'tis so much the Fashion to be fond of.
_Lov._ I own most of them are indeed but empty; nay, so empty, that one
would wonder by what Magick Power they act, when they induce us to be
vicious for their sakes. Yet some there are we may speak kindlier of:
There are Delights, of which a private Life is destitute, which may
divert an honest Man, and be a harmless Entertainment to a virtuous
Woman. The Conversation of the Town is one; and truly (with some small
Allowances) the Plays, I think, may be esteem'd another.
_Aman._ The Plays, I must confess, have some small Charms; and wou'd
have more, wou'd they restrain that loose obscene Encouragement to
Vice, which shocks, if not the Virtue of some Women, at least the
Modesty of all.
_Lov._ But till that Reformation can be made, I would not leave the
wholesome Corn for some intruding Tares that grow among it. Doubtless
the Moral of a well-wrought Scene is of prevailing Force----Last Night
there happen'd one that mov'd me strangely.
_Aman._ Pray, what was that?
_Lov._ Why 'twas about--but 'tis not worth repeating.
_Aman._ Yes, pray let me know it.
_Lov._ No, I think 'tis as well let alone.
_Aman._ Nay, now you make me have a mind to know.
_Lov._ 'Twas a foolish thing: You'd perhaps grow jealous shou'd I tell
it you, tho' without a Cause, Heaven knows.
_Aman._ I shall begin to think I have cause, if you persist in making
it a Secret.
_Lov._ I'll then convince you you have none, by making it no longer
so. Know then, I happen'd in the Play to find my very Character, only
with the Addition of a Relapse; which struck me so, I put a sudden Stop
to a most harmless Entertainment, which till then diverted me between
the Acts. 'Twas to admire the Workmanship of Nature, in the Face of
a young Lady that sat some distance from me, she was so exquisitely
handsome----
_Aman._ So exquisitely handsome!
_Lov._ Why do you repeat my Words, my Dear?
_Aman._ Because you seem'd to speak them with such Pleasure, I thought
I might oblige you with their Echo.
_Lov._ Then you are alarmed, _Amanda_?
_Aman._ It is my Duty to be so, when you are in danger.
_Lov._ You are too quick in apprehending for me; all will be well when
you have heard me out. I do confess I gaz'd upon her, nay, eagerly I
gaz'd upon her.
_Aman._ Eagerly! That's with Desire.
_Lov._ No, I desir'd her not: I view'd her with a World of Admiration,
but not one Glance of Love.
_Aman._ Take heed of trusting to such nice Distinctions.
_Lov._ I did take heed; for observing in the Play, that he who seem'd
to represent me there, was, by an Accident like this, unwarily
surpriz'd into a Net, in which he lay a poor intangled Slave, and
brought a Train of Mischiefs on his Head, I snatch'd my Eyes away; they
pleaded hard for leave to look again, but I grew absolute, and they
obey'd.
_Aman._ Were they the only things that were inquisitive? Had I been in
your place, my Tongue, I fancy, had been curious too: I shou'd have
ask'd her Name, and where she liv'd (yet still without Design:)--Who
was she, pray?
_Lov._ Indeed I cannot tell.
_Aman._ You will not tell.
_Lov._ By all that's sacred, then, I did not ask.
_Aman._ Nor do you know what Company was with her?
_Lov._ I do not.
_Aman._ Then I am calm again.
_Lov._ Why, were you disturb'd?
_Aman._ Had I then no cause?
_Lov._ None certainly.
_Aman._ I thought I had.
_Lov._ But you thought wrong, _Amanda_; For turn the Case, and let
it be your Story; Should you come home, and tell me you had seen a
handsome Man, shou'd I grow jealous because you had Eyes?
_Aman._ But shou'd I tell you he were exquisitely so; that I had gaz'd
on him with Admiration; that I had look'd with eager Eyes upon him;
shou'd you not think 'twere possible I might go one Step further, and
enquire his Name?
_Lov._ [_Aside._] She has Reason on her side, I have talk'd too much;
but I must turn it off another way. [_To Aman._] Will you then make no
difference, _Amanda_, between the Language of our Sex and yours? There
is a Modesty restrains your Tongues, which makes you speak by halves
when you commend; but roving Flattery gives a loose to ours, which
makes us still speak double what we think: You shou'd not therefore, in
so strict a Sense, take what I said to her Advantage.
_Aman._ Those Flights of Flattery, Sir, are to our Faces only: When
Women once are out of hearing, you are as modest in your Commendations
as we are. But I shan't put you to the trouble of farther Excuses; if
you please, this Business shall rest here. Only give me leave to wish,
both for your Peace and mine, that you may never meet this Miracle of
Beauty more.
_Lov._ I am content.
_Enter Servant._
_Serv._ Madam, there's a young Lady at the door in a Chair, desires
to know whether your Ladyship sees Company. I think her Name is
_Berinthia_.
_Aman._ O dear! 'tis a Relation I have not seen this five Years. Pray
her to walk in.
[_Exit Servant._
_To Lov._] Here's another Beauty for you. She was young when I saw her
last; but I hear she's grown extremely handsome.
_Lov._ Don't you be jealous now, for I shall gaze upon her too.
_Enter ~Berinthia~._
_Lov._ [_Aside._] Ha! By Heavens, the very Woman!
_Ber._ [_Saluting Aman._] Dear _Amanda_, I did not expect to meet with
you in Town.
_Aman._ Sweet Cousin, I'm overjoy'd to see you. [_To Lov._] Mr.
_Loveless_, here's a Relation and a Friend of mine, I desire you'll be
better acquainted with.
_Lov._ [_Saluting Ber._] If my Wife never desires a harder thing,
Madam, her Request will be easily granted.
_Ber._ [_To Aman._] I think, Madam, I ought to wish you Joy.
_Aman._ Joy! Upon what?
_Ber._ Upon your Marriage: You were a Widow when I saw you last.
_Lov._ You ought rather, Madam, to wish me Joy upon that, since I am
the only Gainer.
_Ber._ If she has got so good a Husband as the World reports, she has
gain'd enough to expect the Compliment of her Friends upon it.
_Lov._ If the World is so favourable to me, to allow I deserve that
Title, I hope 'tis so just to my Wife, to own I derive it from her.
_Ber._ Sir, it is so just to you both, to own you are, and deserve to
be, the happiest Pair that live in it.
_Lov._ I'm afraid we shall lose that Character, Madam, whenever you
happen to change your Condition.
_Enter Servant._
_Ser._ Sir, my Lord _Foppington_ presents his humble Service to you,
and desires to know how you do. He but just now heard you were in Town.
He's at the next Door; and if it be not inconvenient, he'll come and
wait upon you.
_Lov._ Lord _Foppington_!--I know him not.
_Ber._ Not his Dignity, perhaps, but you do his Person. 'Tis Sir
_Novelty_; he has bought a Barony, in order to marry a great Fortune:
His Patent has not been pass'd above eight-and-forty-Hours, and he has
already sent How do-ye's to all the Town, to make 'em acquainted with
his Title.
_Lov._ Give my Service to his Lordship, and let him know, I am proud of
the Honour he intends me.
[_Ex._.
_Ser._ Sure this Addition of Quality must have so improv'd this
Coxcomb, he can't but be very good Company for a quarter of an Hour.
_Aman._ Now it moves my Pity more than my Mirth, to see a Man whom
Nature has made no Fool, be so very industrious to pass for an Ass.
_Lov._ No, there you are wrong, _Amanda_; you shou'd never bestow your
Pity upon those who take pains for your Contempt; Pity those whom
Nature abuses, but never those who abuse Nature.
_Ber._ Besides, the Town wou'd be robb'd of one of its chiefest
Diversions, if it shou'd become a Crime to laugh at a Fool.
_Aman._ I could never yet perceive the Town inclin'd to part with any
of its Diversions, for the sake of their being Crimes; but I have seen
it very fond of some, I think, had little else to recommend 'em.
_Ber._ I doubt, _Amanda_, you are grown its Enemy, you speak with so
much warmth against it.
_Aman._ I must confess I am not much its Friend.
_Ber._ Then give me leave to make you mine, by not engaging in its
Quarrel.
_Aman._ You have many stronger Claims than that, _Berinthia_, whenever
you think fit to plead your Title.
_Lov._ You have done well to engage a Second, my Dear; for here comes
one will be apt to call you to an Account for your Country Principles.
_Enter Lord_ Foppington.
_Lord Fop._ [_To Lov._] Sir, I am your most humble Servant.
_Lav._ I wish you Joy, my Lord.
_Lord Fop._ O Laird, Sir----Madam, your Ladyship's welcome to Tawn.
_Aman._ I wish your Lordship Joy.
_Lord Fop._ O Heavens, Madam----
_Lov._ My Lord, this young Lady is a Relation of my Wife's.
_Lord Fop._ [_Saluting her._] The beautifullest Race of People upon
Earth, Rat me. Dear _Loveless_, I am overjoy'd to see you have brought
your Family to Tawn again: I am, stap my Vitals--[_Aside._] For I
design to lie with your Wife. [_To Aman._] Far Gad's sake, Madam, haw
has your Ladyship been able to subsist thus long, under the Fatigue of
a Country Life?
_Aman._ My life has been very far from that, my Lord, it has been a
very quiet one.
_Lord Fop._ Why that's the Fatigue I speak of, Madam: For 'tis
impossible to be quiet, without thinking: Now thinking is to me the
greatest Fatigue in the World.
_Aman._ Does not your Lordship love reading then?
_Lord Fop._ Oh, passionately, Madam----But I never think of what I read.
_Ber._ Why, can your Lordship read without thinking?
_Lord Fop._ O Lard----Can your Ladyship pray without Devotion----Madam?
_Aman._ Well, I must own I think Books the best Entertainment in the
World.
_Lord Fop._ I am so much of your Ladyship's Mind, Madam, that I have a
private Gallery, where I walk sometimes, is furnished with nothing but
Books and Looking-glasses. Madam, I have gilded them, and rang'd 'em,
so prettily, before Gad, it is the most entertaining thing in the World
to walk and look upon 'em.
_Aman._ Nay, I love a neat Library too; but 'tis, I think, the inside
of a Book shou'd recommend it most to us.
_Lord Fop._ That, I must confess, I am not altogether so fand of. Far
to my mind the Inside of a Book, is to entertain one's self with the
forc'd Product of another Man's Brain. Naw I think a Man of Quality
and Breeding may be much diverted with the natural Sprauts of his own.
But to say the truth, Madam, let a Man love reading never so well,
when once he comes to know this Tawn, he finds so many better ways of
passing away the Four-and-twenty Hours, that 'twere ten thousand Pities
he shou'd consume his time in that. Far example, Madam, my Life; my
Life, Madam, is a perpetual Stream of Pleasure, that glides thro' such
a Variety of Entertainments, I believe the wisest of our Ancestors
never had the least Conception of any of 'em.
I rise, Madam, about ten o'clock. I don't rise sooner, because 'tis the
worst thing in the World for the Complection; nat that I pretend to be
a Beau; but a Man must endeavour to look wholesome, lest he make to
nauseous a Figure in the Side-bax, the Ladies shou'd be compell'd to
turn their eyes upon the Play. So at Ten o'clock, I say, I rise. Naw,
if I find it a good Day, I resalve to take a Turn in the Park, and see
the fine Women; so huddle on my Clothes, and get dress'd by One. If it
be nasty Weather, I take a Turn in the Chocolate-house; where, as you
walk, Madam, you have the prettiest Prospect in the World; you have
Looking-glasses all round you----But I'm afraid I tire the Company.
_Ber._ Not at all. Pray go on.
_Lord Fop._ Why then, Ladies, from thence I go to Dinner at _Lacket_'s,
and there you are so nicely and delicately serv'd, that, stap my
Vitals, they can compose you a Dish, no bigger than a Saucer, shall
come to fifty Shillings; between eating my Dinner, and washing my
Mouth, Ladies, I spend my time, till I go to the Play; where, till Nine
o'clock, I entertain myself with looking upon the Company; and usually
dispose of one Hour more in leading them aut. So there's Twelve of the
Four-and-Twenty pretty well over. The other Twelve, Madam, are disposed
of in two Articles: In the first Four I toast myself drunk, and in
t'other Eight I sleep myself sober again. Thus, Ladies, you see my Life
is an eternal raund O of Delights.
_Lov._ 'Tis a heavenly one, indeed!
_Aman._ But, my Lord, you _Beaux_ spend a great deal of your Time in
Intrigues: You have given us no Account of them yet.
_Lord Fop._ [_Aside._] Soh, she wou'd enquire into my Amours----That's
Jealousy----She begins to be in love with me. [_To Aman._] Why,
Madam----as to time for my Intrigues, I usually make Detachments of it
from my other Pleasures, according to the Exigency. Far your Ladyship
may please to take notice, that those who intrigue with Women of
Quality, have rarely occasion for above half an Hour at a time: People
of that Rank being under those Decorums, they can seldom give you a
larger View, than will justly serve to shoot 'em flying. So that the
Course of my other Pleasures is not very much interrupted by my Amours.
_Lov._ But your Lordship now is become a Pillar of the State; you must
attend the weighty Affairs of the Nation.
_Lord Fop._ Sir----as to weighty Affairs----I leave them to weighty
Heads. I never intend mine shall be a Burden to my Body.
_Lov._ O, but you'll find the House will expect your Attendance.
_Lord Fop._ Sir, you'll find the House will compound for my Appearance.
_Lov._ But your Friends will take it ill if you don't attend their
particular Causes.
_Lord Fop._ Not, Sir, if I come time enough to give 'em my particular
Vote.
_Ber._ But pray, my Lord, how do you dispose of yourself on _Sundays_?
for that, methinks, shou'd hang wretchedly on your hands.
_Lord Fop._ Why, faith, Madam----_Sunday_----is a vile day, I must
confess; I intend to move for leave to bring in a Bill, That Players
may work upon it, as well as the Hackney Coaches. Tho' this I must say
for the Government, it leaves us the Churches to entertain us----But
then again, they begin so abominable early, a Man must rise by
Candle-light to get dress'd by the Psalm.
_Ber._ Pray which Church does your Lordship most oblige with your
Presence?
_Lord Fop._ Oh, St. _James_'s, Madam----There's much the best Company.
_Aman._ Is there good Preaching too?
_Lord Fop._ Why, faith, Madam----I can't tell. A Man must have very
little to do there, that can give an Account of the Sermon.
_Ber._ You can give us an Account of the Ladies, at least.
_Lord Fop._ Or I deserve to be excommunicated--There is my Lady
_Tattle_, my Lady _Prate_, my Lady _Titter_, my Lady _Lear_, my Lady
_Giggle_, and my Lady _Grin_. These fit in the Front of the Boxes, and
all Church-time are the prettiest Company in the World, stap my Vitals.
[_To Aman._] Mayn't we hope for the Honour to see your Ladyship added
to our Society, Madam?
_Aman._ Alas, my Lord, I am the worst Company in the World at Church:
I'm apt to mind the Prayers, or the Sermon, or----
_Lord Fop._ One is indeed strangely apt at Church to mind what one
should not do. But I hope, Madam, at one time or other, I shall have
the Honour to lead your Ladyship to your Coach there. [_Aside._]
Methinks she seems strangely pleas'd with every thing I say to
her--'Tis a vast pleasure to receive Encouragement from a Woman before
her Husband's Face----I have a good mind to pursue my Conquest, and
speak the thing plainly to her at once--I'gad, I'll do't, and that in
so Cavalier a manner, she shall be surpriz'd at it--Ladies, I'll take
my Leave: I'am afraid I begin to grow troublesome with the length of my
Visit.
_Aman._ Your Lordship is too entertaining to grow troublesome any where.
_Lord Fop._ [_Aside._] That now was as much as if she had said----Pray
lie with me. I'll let her see I'm quick of Apprehension. [_To Aman._] O
Lard, Madam, I had like to have forgot a Secret, I must needs tell your
Ladyship. [_To Lov._] Ned, you must not be so jealous now as to listen.
_Lov._ Not I, my Lord; I'm too fashionable a Husband to pry into the
Secrets of my Wife.
_Lord Fop._ [_To Aman. squeezing her Hand._] I am in love with you to
Desperation, strike me speechless.
_Aman._ [_Giving him a Box o' th' Ear._] Then thus I return your
Passion----An impudent Fool!
_Lord Fop._ Gad's Curse, Madam, I'm a Peer of the Realm.
_Lov._ Hey; what the Devil, do you affront my Wife, Sir? Nay then--
[_They draw and fight. The Women run shrieking for Help._
_Aman._ Ah! What has my Folly done? Help! Murder, help! Part 'em, for
Heaven's sake.
_Lord Fop._ [_Falling back, and leaning upon his Sword._] Ah----quite
thro' the Body----Stap my Vitals.
_Enter Servants._
_Lov._ [_Running to him._] I hope I han't kill'd the Fool,
however----Bear him up! Where's your Wound?
_Lord Fop._ Just thro' the Guts.
_Lov._ Call a Surgeon there: Unbutton him quickly.
_Lord Fop._ Ay, pray make haste.
_Lov._ This Mischief you may thank yourself for.
_Lord Fop._ I may so--Love's the Devil indeed, _Ned_.
_Enter ~Syringe~ and Servant._
_Serv._ Here's Mr. _Syringe_, Sir, was just going by the Door.
_Lord Fop._ He's the welcomest Man alive.
_Syr._ Stand by, stand by, stand by. Pray, Gentlemen, stand by. Lord
have mercy upon us! Did you never see a Man run thro' the Body before?
Pray stand by.
_Lord Fop._ Ah, Mr. _Syringe_.----I'm a dead Man.
_Syr._ A dead Man, and I by----I shou'd laugh to see that, I'gad.
_Lov._ Pr'ythee don't stand prating, but look upon his Wound.
_Syr._ Why, what if I won't look upon his Wound this Hour, Sir?
_Lov._ Why then he'll bleed to Death, Sir.
_Syr._ Why, then I'll fetch him to life again, Sir.
_Lov._ 'Slife, he's run thro' the Guts, I tell thee.
_Syr._ Wou'd he were run thro' the Heart, I shou'd get the more Credit
by his Cure. Now I hope you are satisfy'd?----Come, now let me come at
him; now let me come at him. [_Viewing his Wound._] Oons, what a Gash
is here!--Why, Sir, a Man may drive a Coach and Six Horses into your
Body.
_Lord Fop._ Ho----
_Syr._ Why, what the Devil, have you run the Gentleman thro' with a
Scythe?----[_Aside._] A little Prick between the Skin and the Ribs,
that's all.
_Lov._ Let me see his Wound.
_Syr._ Then you shall dress it, Sir; for if any body looks upon it, I
won't.
_Lov._ Why, thou art the veriest Coxcomb I ever saw.
_Syr._ Sir, I am not Matter of my Trade for nothing.
_Lord Fop._ Surgeon!
_Syr._ Well, Sir.
_Lord Fop._ Is there any Hopes?
_Syr._ Hopes!----I can't tell----What are you willing to give for your
Cure?
_Lord Fop._ Five hundred Paunds with Pleasure.
_Syr._ Why then perhaps there may be Hopes. But we must avoid further
Delay. Here, help the Gentleman into a Chair, and carry him to my House
presently, that's the properest place [_Aside._] to bubble him out of
his Money. Come, a Chair, a Chair quickly--There, in with him.
[_They put him into a Chair._
_Lord Fop._ Dear _Loveless_----Adieu. If I die----I forgive thee; and
if I live----I hope thou wilt do as much by me. I am very sorry you
and I shou'd quarrel; but I hope here's an end on't, for if you are
satisfy'd----I am.
_Lov._ I shall hardly think it worth my prosecuting any farther, so you
may be at rest, Sir.
_Lord Fop._ Thou art a generous Fellow, strike me dumb. [_Aside._] But
thou hast an impertinent Wife, stap my Vitals.
_Syr._ So, carry him off, carry him off, we shall have him prate
himself into a Fever by and by; carry him off.
[_Ex. ~Serv.~ with ~L. Fop~._
_Aman._ Now on my Knees, my Dear, let me ask your pardon for my
Indiscretion, my own I never shall obtain.
_Lov._ Oh, there's no harm done: You serv'd him well.
_Aman._ He did indeed deserve it. But I tremble to think how dear my
indiscreet Resentment might have cost you.
_Lov._ O, no matter; never trouble yourself about that.
_Ber._ For Heaven's sake, what was't he did to you?
_Aman._ O nothing; he only squeez'd me kindly by the Hand, and frankly
offer'd me a Coxcomb's Heart. I know I was to blame to resent it as I
did, since nothing but a Quarrel could ensue. But the Fool so surpriz'd
me with his Insolence, I was not Mistress of my Fingers.
_Ber._ Now I dare swear, he thinks you had 'em at great Command, they
obey'd you so readily.
_Enter ~Worthy~._
_Wor._ Save you, save you, good People; I'm glad to find you all alive;
I met a wounded Peer carrying off. For Heav'ns sake, what was the
matter?
_Lov._ O, a Trifle: He would have lain with my Wife before my Face, so
she oblig'd him with a Box o'the Ear, and I run him thro' the Body:
That was all.
_Wor._ _Bagatelle_ on all sides. But, pray, Madam, how long has this
noble Lord been an humble Servant of yours?
_Aman._ This is the first I have heard on't. So I suppose 'tis his
Quality, more than his Love, has brought him into this Adventure. He
thinks his Title an authentick Passport to every Woman's Heart, below
the Degree of a Peeress.
_Wor._ He's Coxcomb enough to think any thing. But I wou'd not have you
brought into Trouble for him: I hope there's no Danger of his Life?
_Lov._ None at all: He's fallen into the Hands of a roguish Surgeon,
who I perceive designs to frighten a little Money out of him. But I saw
his Wound, 'tis nothing; he may go to the Play to-night, if he pleases.
_Wor._ I'm glad you have corrected him without farther Mischief. And
now, Sir, if these Ladies have no farther Service for you, you'll
oblige me if you can go to the Place I spoke to you of t'other Day.
_Lov._ With all my Heart. [_Aside._] Tho' I cou'd wish, methinks, to
stay and gaze a little longer on that Creature. Good God! How beautiful
she is!--But what have I to do with Beauty? I have already had my
Portion, and must not covet more. Come, Sir, when you please.
[_To_ Wor.
_Wor._ Ladies, your Servant. _Aman._ Mr. _Loveless_, pray one Word
with you before you go.
_Lov. ~to~ Wor._] I'll overtake you, Sir: What wou'd my Dear?
_Aman._ Only a Woman's foolish Question, How do you like my Cousin here?
_Lov._ Jealous already, _Amanda_?
_Aman._ Not at all; I ask you for another Reason.
_Lov._ _Aside._] Whate'er her Reason be, I must not tell her true. [_To
Aman._] Why, I confess she's handsome. But you must not think I slight
your Kinswoman, if I own to you, of all the Women who may claim that
Character, she is the last wou'd triumph in my Heart.
_Aman._ I'm satisfy'd.
_Lov._ Now tell me why you ask'd?
_Aman._ At Night I will. Adieu.
_Lov._ I'm yours. [_Kissing her._]
[_Exit Lov._
_Aman._ [_Aside._] I'm glad to find he does not like her; for I have a
great mind to persuade her to come and live with me. [_To Ber._] Now,
dear _Berinthia_, let me enquire a little into your Affairs: for I do
assure you, I am enough your Friend, to interest myself in every thing
that concerns you.
_Ber._ You formerly have given me such Proofs on't, I shou'd be very
much to blame to doubt it; I am sorry I have no Secrets to trust you
with, that I might convince you how entire a Confidence I durst repose
in you.
_Aman._ Why is it possible, that one so young and beautiful as you,
shou'd live and have no Secrets?
_Ber._ What Secrets do you mean?
_Aman._ Lovers.
_Ber._ O Twenty; but not one secret one amongst 'em. Lovers in this
Age have too much Honour to do any thing under-hand; they do all
above-board.
_Aman._ That now, methinks, wou'd make me hate a Man.
_Ber._ But the Women of the Town are of another mind: For by this means
a Lady may, with the Expence of a few Coquet Glances, lead twenty Fools
about in a String, for two or three Years together. Whereas, if she
shou'd allow 'em greater Favours, and oblige 'em to Secrecy, she wou'd
not keep one of 'em a Fortnight.
_Aman._ There's something indeed in That to satisfy the Vanity of a
Woman, but I can't comprehend how the Men find their Account in it.
_Ber._ Their Entertainment, I must confess, is a Riddle to me. For
there's very few of them ever get farther than a Bow and an Ogle. I
have half a Score for my share, who follow me all over the Town; and
at the Play, the Park, and the Church, do, with their Eyes, say the
violent'st things to me----But I never hear any more of 'em.
_Aman._ What can be the Reason of that?
_Ber._ One Reason is, They don't know how to go farther. They have
had so little Practice, they don't understand the Trade. But besides
their Ignorance, you must know there is not one of my half-score Lovers
but what follows half a score Mistresses. Now their Affections being
divided amongst so many, are not strong enough for any one, to make 'em
pursue her to the Purpose. Like a young Puppy in a Warren, they have a
Flirt at all, and catch none.
_Aman._ Yet they seem to have a Torrent of Love to dispose of.
_Ber._ They have so: But 'tis like the River of a Modern Philosopher,
whose Works, tho' a Woman, I have read: it sets out with a violent
Stream, splits in a thousand Branches, and is all lost in the Sands.
_Aman._ But do you think this River of Love runs all its Course without
doing any Mischief? Do you think it overflows nothing?
_Ber._ O yes; 'tis true, it never breaks into any body's Ground that
has the least Fence about it; but it overflows all the Commons that
lie in its way. And this is the utmost Achievement of those dreadful
Champions in the Field of Love--the Beaux.
_Aman._ But pr'ythee, _Berinthia_, instruct me a little farther; for I
am so great a Novice, I'm almost asham'd on't. My Husband's leaving me
whilst I was young and fond, threw me into that Depth of Discontent,
that ever since I have led so private and recluse a Life, my Ignorance
is scarce conceivable. I therefore fain would be instructed: Not,
Heaven knows, that what you call Intrigues have any Charms for me:
my Love and Principles are too well fix'd. The practick Part of all
unlawful Love is----
_Ber._ O 'tis abominable: But for the Speculative--that we must all
confess is entertaining. The Conversation of all the virtuous Women in
the Town turns upon that and new Clothes.
_Aman._ Pray be so just then to me, to believe, 'tis with a World of
Innocency I wou'd enquire, Whether you think those Women we call Women
of Reputation, do really 'scape all other Men, as they do those Shadows
of 'em, the Beaux.
_Ber._ O no, _Amanda_; there are a sort of Men make dreadful Work
amongst 'em: Men that may be call'd The Beaux Antipathy; for they agree
in nothing but walking upon two Legs.
These have Brains: The Beau has none.
These are in Love with their Mistress: The Beau with himself.
They take care of her Reputation: He's industrious to destroy it.
They are decent: He's a Fop.
They are sound: He's rotten.
They are Men: He's an Ass.
_Aman._ If this be their Character, I fancy we had here e'en now a
Pattern of 'em both.
_Ber._ His Lordship and Mr. _Worthy_?
_Aman._ The same.
_Ber._ As for the Lord, he's eminently so; And for the other, I can
assure you, there's not a Man in Town who has a better Interest with
the Women, that are worth having an Interest with. But 'tis all
private: He's like a Back-stair Minister at Court, who, whilst the
reputed Favourites are sauntering in the Bed-chamber, is ruling the
Roast in the Closet.
_Aman._ He answers then the Opinion I had ever of him. Heavens! What
a difference there is between a Man like him, and that vain nauseous
Fop, Sir _Novelty_! [_Taking her Hand._] I must acquaint you with a
Secret, Cousin. 'Tis not that Fool alone has talked to me of Love,
_Worthy_ has been tampering too: 'Tis true, he has done it in vain: Not
all his Charms or Art have power to shake me. My Love, my Duty, and
my Virtue, are such faithful Guards, I need not fear my Heart shou'd
e'er betray me. But what I wonder at is this: I find I did not start at
his Proposal, as when it came from one whom I contemn'd. I therefore
mention this Attempt, that I may learn from you whence it proceeds,
that Vice, which cannot change its Nature, shou'd so far change at
least its Shape, as that the self-same Crime propos'd from one shall
seem a Monster gaping at your Ruin, when from another it shall look so
kind, as tho' it were your Friend, and never meant to harm you. Whence
think you, can this Difference proceed? For 'tis not Love, Heaven knows.
_Ber._ O no; I wou'd not for the World believe it were. But possibly,
shou'd there a dreadful Sentence pass upon you, to undergo the Rage
of both their Passions; the Pain you apprehend from one might seem so
trivial to the other, the Danger wou'd not quite so much alarm you.
_Aman._ Fy, fy, _Berinthia_! you wou'd indeed alarm me, cou'd you
incline me to a Thought, that all the Merit of Mankind combin'd, cou'd
shake that tender Love I bear my Husband: No, he sits triumphant in my
Heart, and nothing can dethrone him.
_Ber._ But shou'd he abdicate again, do you think you shou'd preserve
the vacant Throne ten tedious Winters more, in hopes of his return?
_Aman._ Indeed I think I shou'd. Tho' I confess, after those
Obligations he has to me, shou'd he abandon me once more, my Heart
wou'd grow extremely urgent with me to root him thence, and cast him
out for ever.
_Ber._ Were I that thing they call a slighted Wife, some Body shou'd
run the risque of being that thing they call--a Husband.
_Aman._ O fy, _Berinthia_! No Revenge shou'd ever be taken against a
Husband: But to wrong his Bed is a Vengeance, which of all Vengeance----
_Ber._ Is the sweetest--ha, ha, ha! Don't I talk madly?
_Aman._ Madly indeed.
_Ber._ Yet I'm very innocent.
_Aman._ That I dare swear you are. I know how to make Allowances for
your Humour: You were always very entertaining Company; but I find
since Marriage and Widowhood have shewn you the World a little, you are
very much improv'd.
_Ber._ [_Aside._] Alack a-day, there has gone more than that to improve
me, if she knew all.
_Aman._ For Heaven's sake, _Berinthia_, tell me what way I shall take
to persuade you to come and live with me?
_Ber._ Why, one way in the World there is----and but one.
_Aman._ Pray which is that?
_Ber._ It is to assure me--I shall be very welcome.
_Aman._ If that be all, you shall e'en lie here to-night.
_Ber._ To-night?
_Aman._ Yes, to-night.
_Ber._ Why, the People where I lodge will think me mad.
_Aman._ Let 'em think what they please.
_Ber._ Say you so, _Amanda_? Why then they shall think what they
please: For I'm a young Widow, and I care not what any body thinks. Ah,
_Amanda_, it's a delicious thing to be a young Widow.
_Aman._ You'll hardly make me think so.
_Ber._ Phu, because you are in love with your Husband: but that is not
every Woman's Case.
_Aman._ I hope 'twas yours, at least.
_Ber._ Mine, say ye? Now I have a great mind to tell you a Lye, but I
shou'd do it so aukwardly, you'd find me out.
_Aman._ Then e'en speak the Truth.
_Ber._ Shall I?----Then after all, I did love him, _Amanda_----as a Nun
does Penance. _Aman._ Why did not you refuse to marry him, then?
_Ber._ Because my Mother wou'd have whipt me.
_Aman._ How did you live together?
_Ber._ Like Man and Wife--asunder;
He lov'd the Country, I the Town.
He Hawks and Hounds, I Coaches and Equipage.
He Eating and Drinking, I Carding and Playing.
He the Sound of a Horn, I the Squeak of a Fiddle.
We were dull Company at Table, worse a-bed.
Whenever we met, we gave one another the Spleen.
And never agreed but once, which was about lying alone.
_Aman._ But tell me one thing truly and sincerely.
_Ber._ What's that?
_Aman._ Notwithstanding all these Jars, did not his Death at last
extremely trouble you?
_Ber._ O yes: Not that my present Pangs were so very violent, but the
After-pains were intolerable. I was forc'd to wear a beastly Widow's
Band a Twelvemonth for't.
_Aman._ Women, I find, have different Inclinations.
_Ber._ Women, I find, keep different Company. When your Husband ran
away from you, if you had fallen into some of my Acquaintance, 'twou'd
have sav'd you many a Tear. But you go and live with a Grandmother, a
Bishop, and an old Nurse, which was enough to make any Woman break her
Heart for her Husband. Pray, _Amanda_, if ever you are a Widow again,
keep yourself so as I do.
_Aman._ Why, do you then resolve you'll never marry?
_Ber._ O, no; I resolve I will.
_Aman._ How so?
_Ber._ That I never may.
_Aman._ You banter me.
_Ber._ Indeed I don't. But I consider I'm a Woman, and form my
Resolutions accordingly.
_Aman._ Well, my Opinion is, form what Resolution you will, Matrimony
will be the end on't.
_Ber._ Faith it won't.
_Aman._ How do you know?
_Ber._ I'm sure on't.
_Aman._ Why, do you think 'tis impossible for you to fall in love?
_Ber._ No.
_Aman._ Nay, but to grow so passionately fond, that nothing but the Man
you love can give you rest?
_Ber._ Well, what then?
_Aman._ Why, then you'll marry him.
_Ber._ How do you know that?
_Aman._ Why, what can you do else?
_Ber._ Nothing--but sit and cry.
_Aman._ Psha.
_Ber._ Ah, poor _Amanda_, you have led a Country Life: But if you'll
consult the Widows of this Town, they'll tell you, you shou'd never
take a Lease of a House you can hire for a Quarter's Warning.
[_Exeunt._
[Illustration]
+ACT+ III.
_Enter Lord ~Foppington~ and Servant._
_Lord Fop._ Hey, Fellow, let the Coach come to the Door.
_Serv._ Will your Lordship venture so soon to expose yourself to the
Weather?
_Lord Fop._ Sir, I will venture as soon as I can, to expose myself
to the Ladies: tho' give me my Cloke, however; for in that Side-bax,
what between the Air that comes in at the Door on one side, and the
intolerable Warmth of the Masks on t'other, a Man gets so many Heats
and Colds, 'twou'd destroy the Canstitution of a Harse.
_Ser._ [_Putting on his Cloke._] I wish your Lordship wou'd please
to keep House a little longer, I'm afraid your Honour does not well
consider your Wound.
_Lord Fop._ My Wound!----I wou'd not be in Eclipse another Day, tho' I
had as many Wounds in my Guts as I have had in my Heart.
_Enter ~Young Fashion~._
_Young Fash._ Brother, your Servant. How do you find yourself to-day?
_Lord Fop._ So well, that I have arder'd my Coach to the Door: So
there's no great Danger of Death this baut, _Tam_.
_Young Fash._ I'm very glad of it.
_Lord Fop._ _aside._] That I believe's a Lye. Pr'ythee, _Tam_, tell me
one thing: Did not your Heart cut a Caper up to your Mauth, when you
heard I was run thro' the Bady?
_Young Fash._ Why do you think it shou'd?
_Lord Fop._ Because I remember mine did so, when I heard my Father was
shat thro' the Head?
_Young Fash._ It then did very ill.
_Lord Fop._ Pr'ythee, why so?
_Young Fash._ Because he us'd you very well.
_Lord Fop._ Well?--naw strike me dumb, he starv'd me. He has let me
want a Thausand Women for want of a Thausand Paund.
_Young Fash._ Then he hindered you from making a great many ill
Bargains; for I think no Woman is worth Money, that will take Money.
_Lord Fop._ If I were a younger Brother, I shou'd think so too.
_Young Fash._ Why, is it possible you can value a Woman that's to be
bought?
_Lord Fop._ Pr'ythee, why not as well as a Pad-Nag?
_Young Fash._ Because a Woman has a Heart to dispose of; a Horse has
none.
_Lord Fop._ Look you, _Tam_, of all things that belang to a Woman, I
have an Aversion to her Heart; far when once a Woman has given you her
Heart----you can never get rid of the rest of her Bady.
_Young Fash._ This is strange Doctrine: But pray in your Amours how is
it with your own Heart?
_Lord Fop._ Why, my Heart in my Amours----is like----my Heart aut of
my Amours; _a la glace_. My Bady, _Tam_, is a Watch; and my Heart is
the Pendulum to it; whilst the Finger runs raund to every Hour in the
Circle, that still beats the same time.
_Young Fash._ Then you are seldom much in love?
_Lord Fop._ Never, Stap my Vitals.
_Young Fash._ Why then did you make all this Bustle about _Amanda_?
_Lord Fop._ Because she was a Woman of an insolent Virtue, and I
thought myself piqu'd in Honour to debauch her.
_Young Fash._ Very well. [_Aside._] Here's a rare Fellow for you,
to have the spending of Five Thousand Pounds a-year. But now for my
Business with him. [_To Lord Fop._] Brother, tho' I know to talk of
Business (especially of Money) is a Theme not quite so entertaining to
you as that of the Ladies, my Necessities are such, I hope you'll have
patience to hear me.
_Lord Fop._ The greatness of your Necessities, _Tam_, is the worst
Argument in the Warld far your being patiently heard. I do believe you
are going to make a very good Speech, but, strike me dumb, it has the
worst beginning of any Speech I have heard this Twelvemonth.
_Young Fash._ I'm very sorry you think so.
_Lord Fop._ I do believe thou art. But come, let's know thy Affair
quickly; for 'tis a new Play, and I shall be so rumpled and squeezed
with pressing thro' the Crawd, to get to my Servant, the Women will
think I have lain all Night in my Clothes.
_Young Fash._ Why then (that I may not be the Author of so great a
Misfortune) my Case in a Word is this: The necessary Expences of my
Travels have so much exceeded the wretched Income of my Annuity, that
I have been forced to mortgage it for Five Hundred Pounds, which is
spent; so that unless you are so kind to assist me in redeeming it, I
know no Remedy but to take a Purse.
_Lord Fop._ Why, Faith, _Tam_----to give you my Sense of the thing,
I do think taking a Purse the best Remedy in the Warld; for if you
succeed, you are reliev'd that way; if you are taken----you are
reliev'd t'other.
_Young Fash._ I'm glad to see you are in so pleasant a Humour, I hope I
shall find the Effects on't.
_Lord Fop._ Why, do you then really think it a reasonable thing I
should give you Five Hundred Paunds?
_Young Fash._ I do not ask it as a Due, Brother, I am willing to
receive it as a Favour.
_Lord Fop._ Thau art willing to receive it any haw, strike me
speechless. But these are damn'd times to give Money in: Taxes are so
great, Repairs so exorbitant, Tenants such Rogues, and Perriwigs so
dear, that the Devil take me, I'm reduc'd to that extremity in my Cash,
I have been farc'd to retrench in that one Article of sweet Pawder,
till I have braught it dawn to Five Guineas a Manth. Naw judge, _Tam_,
whether I can spare you Five hundred Paunds?
_Young Fash._ If you can't, I must starve, that's all, [_Aside._] Damn
him.
_Lord Fop._ All I can say is, you should have been a better Husband.
_Young Fash._ 'Oons, if you can't live upon five thousand a-year, how
do you think I should do't upon two hundred?
_Lord Fop._ Don't be in a Passion, _Tam_; far Passion is the most
unbecoming thing in the Warld----to the Face. Look you, I don't love to
say any thing to you to make you melancholy; but upon this occasion I
must take leave to put you in mind, that a Running Horse does require
more Attendance, than a Coach-Horse. Nature has made some difference
'twixt you and I.
_Young Fash._ Yes, she has made you older. [_Aside._] Pox take her.
_Lord Fop._ That is nat all. _Tam_.
_Young Fash._ Why, what is there else?
_Lord Fop._ [_Looking first upon himself, then upon his
Brother._]----Ask the Ladies.
_Young Fash._ Why, thou Essence Bottle, thou Musk-Cat, dost thou then
think thou hast any Advantage over me, but what Fortune has given thee?
_Lord Fop._ I do----stap my Vitals.
_Young Fash._ Now, by all that's great and powerful, thou art the
Prince of Coxcombs.
_Lord Fop._ Sir----I am praud of being at the Head of so prevailing a
Party.
_Young Fash._ Will nothing then provoke thee?--Draw, Coward.
_Lord Fop._ Look you, _Tam_, you know I have always taken you for a
mighty dull Fellow, and here is one of the foolishest Plats broke
out, that I have seen a long time. Your Paverty makes your Life so
burdensome to you, you would provoke me to a Quarrel, in hopes either
to slip thro' my Lungs into my Estate, or to get yourself run thro' the
Guts, to put an end to your Pain. But I will disappoint you in both
your Designs; far with the Temper of a Philasapher, and the Discretion
of a Statesman--I will go to the Play with my Sword in my Scabbard.
[_Exit ~Lord Fop~._
_Young Fash._ So! Farewel, Snuff-Box. And now, Conscience, I defy thee.
_Lory!_
_Enter ~Lory~._
_Lo._ Sir.
_Young Fash._ Here's rare News, _Lory_; his Lordship has given me a
Pill has purg'd off all my Scruples.
_Lo._ Then my Heart's at ease again: For I have been in a lamentable
Fright, Sir, ever since your Conscience had the Impudence to intrude
into your Company.
_Young Fash._ Be at peace, it will come there no more: My Brother has
given it a wring by the Nose, and I have kick'd it down Stairs. So run
away to the Inn; get the Horses ready quickly, and bring them to old
_Coupler_'s, without a Moment's Delay.
_Lo._ Then, Sir, you are going straight about the Fortune.
_Young Fash._ I am: away; fly, _Lory_.
_Lo._ The happiest Day I ever saw. I'm upon the Wing already.
[_Exeunt several ways._
+SCENE+, _A Garden_.
_Enter ~Loveless~ and Servant_.
_Lov._ Is my Wife within?
_Ser._ No, Sir, she has been gone out this Half-hour.
_Lov._ 'Tis well; leave me.
_Solus._
Sure Fate has yet some Business to be done,
Before _Amanda_'s Heart and mine must rest;
Else, why amongst those Legions of her Sex,
Which throng the World,
Shou'd she pick out for her Companion
The only one on Earth
Whom Nature has endow'd for her undoing?
Undoing was't, I said----Who shall undo her?
Is not her Empire fix'd? Am I not hers?
Did she not rescue me, a groveling Slave,
When, chain'd and bound by that black Tyrant Vice,
I labour'd in his vilest Drudgery?
Did she not ransom me, and set me free?
Nay, more:
When by my Follies sunk
To a poor tatter'd, despicable Beggar,
Did she not lift me up to envy'd Fortune?
Give me herself, and all that she possest?
Without a Thought of more Return,
Than what a poor repenting Heart might make her,
Han't she done this? And if she has,
Am I not strongly bound to love her for it?
To love her--Why, do I not love her then?
By Earth and Heaven, I do!
Nay, I have Demonstration that I do:
For I would sacrifice my Life to serve her.
Yet hold----If laying down my Life
Be Demonstration of my Love,
What is't I feel in favour of _Berinthia_?
For shou'd she be in danger, methinks, I cou'd incline
To risk it for her Service too; and yet I do not love her.
How then subsists my Proof?--
--O, I have found it out.
What I would do for one, is Demonstration of my Love;
And if I'd do as much for t'other: it there is Demonstration
of my Friendship----Ay----it must be so. I find
I'm very much her Friend.--Yet let me ask myself one
puzzling Question more:
Whence springs this mighty Friendship all at once?
For our Acquaintance is of a later Date. Now Friendship's
said to be a Plant of tedious Growth, its Root
compos'd of tender Fibres, nice in their Taste, cautious
in spreading, check'd with the least Corruption in the
Soil, long ere it take, and longer still ere it appear to
do so; whilst mine is in a Moment shot so high, and fix'd
so fast, it seems beyond the Power of Storms to shake it.
I doubt it thrives too fast.
[_Musing._
_Enter ~Berinthia~._
--Ah, she here!--Nay, then take heed, my Heart, for
there are Dangers towards.
_Ber._ What makes you look so thoughtful, Sir? I hope you are not ill.
_Lov._ I was debating, Madam, whether I was so or not; and that was it
which made me look so thoughtful.
_Ber._ Is it then so hard a matter to decide? I thought all People had
been acquainted with their own Bodies, tho' few People know their own
Minds.
_Lov._ What if the Distemper, I suspect, be in the Mind?
_Ber._ Why then I'll undertake to prescribe you a Cure.
_Lov._ Alas, you undertake you know not what.
_Ber._ So far at least then allow me to be a Physician.
_Lov._ Nay, I'll allow you so yet farther: For I have reason to
believe, shou'd I put myself into your Hands, you wou'd increase my
Distemper.
_Ber._ Perhaps I might have Reasons from the College not to be too
quick in your Cure; but 'tis possible, I might find ways to give you
often Ease, Sir.
_Lov._ Were I but sure of that, I'd quickly lay my Case before you.
_Ber._ Whether you are sure of it or no, what Risk do you run in trying?
_Lov._ O, a very great one.
_Ber._ How?
_Lov._ You might betray my Distemper to my Wife.
_Ber._ And so lose all my Practice.
_Lov._ Will you then keep my Secret?
_Ber._ I will, if it don't burst me.
_Lov._ Swear.
_Ber._ I do.
_Lov._ By what?
_Ber._ By Woman.
_Lov._ That's swearing by my Deity. Do it by your own, or I shan't
believe you.
_Ber._ By Man then.
_Lov._ I'm satisfy'd. Now hear my Symptoms, and give me your Advice.
The first were these:
When 'twas my Chance to see you at the Play,
A random Glance you threw, at first alarm'd me,
I cou'd not turn my Eyes from whence the Danger came:
I gaz'd upon you, till you shot again,
And then my Fears came on me.
My Heart began to pant, my Limbs to tremble,
My Blood grew thin, my Pulse beat quick,
My Eyes grew hot and dim, and all the Frame of Nature
Shook with Apprehension.
'Tis true, some small Recruits of Resolution
My Manhood brought to my Assistance,
And by their Help I made a Stand a while,
But found at last your Arrows flew so thick,
They cou'd not fail to pierce me;
So left the Field,
And fled for shelter to _Amanda_'s Arms.
What think you of these Symptoms, pray?
_Ber._ Feverish every one of 'em. But what Relief pray did your Wife
afford you?
_Lov._ Why, instantly she let me Blood, which for the present much
assuag'd my Flame. But when I saw you, out it burst again, and rag'd
with greater Fury than before. Nay, since you now appear, 'tis so
increas'd, that in a Moment, if you do not help me, I shall, whilst you
look on, consume to Ashes.
[_Taking hold of her Hand._
_Ber._ [_Breaking from him._] O Lard, let me go: 'Tis the Plague, and
we shall all be infected.
_Lov._ [_Catching her in his Arms, and kissing her._] Then we'll die
together, my charming Angel.
_Ber._ O Ged----the Devil's in you. Lard, let me go, here's somebody
coming.
_Enter Servant._
_Serv._ Sir, my Lady's come home, and desires to speak with you: She's
in her Chamber.
_Lov._ Tell her I'm coming.
[_Exit Serv._
_To Ber._ But before I go, one Glass of Nectar more to drink her Health.
_Ber._ Stand off, or I shall hate you, by Heavens!
_Lov._ [_Kissing her._] In Matters of Love, a Woman's Oath is no more
to be minded than a Man's.
_Ber._ Um----
_Enter ~Worthy~._
_Wor._ Ha! What's here? my old Mistress, and so close, I'faith! I wou'd
not spoil her Sport for the Universe.
[_He retires._
_Ber._ O Ged----Now do I pray to Heaven, [_Exit ~Loveless~ running._]
with all my Heart and Soul, that the Devil in Hell may take me, if
ever----I was better pleas'd in my Life--This Man has bewitch'd
me, that's certain. [_Sighing._] Well, I am condemn'd, but, Thanks
to Heaven, I feel myself each Moment more and more prepar'd for my
Execution--Nay, to that degree, I don't perceive I have the least fear
of Dying. No, I find, let the Executioner be but a Man, and there's
nothing will suffer with more Resolution than a Woman. Well, I never
had but one Intrigue yet: But I confess I long to have another. Pray
Heaven it end as the first did tho', that we may both grow weary at a
time; for 'tis a melancholy thing for Lovers to outlive one another.
_Enter ~Worthy~._
_Wor._ [_Aside._] This Discovery's a lucky one, I hope to make a happy
use on't. That Gentlewoman there is no Fool; so I shall be able to make
her understand her Interest. [_To_ Ber.] Your Servant, Madam; I need
not ask you how you do, you have got so good a Colour.
_Ber._ No better than I us'd to have, I suppose.
_Wor._ A little more Blood in your Cheeks.
_Ber._ The Weather's hot.
_Wor._ If it were not, a Woman may have a Colour.
_Ber._ What do you mean by that?
_Wor._ Nothing.
_Ber._ Why do you smile then?
_Wor._ Because the Weather's hot.
_Ber._ You'll never leave roguing, I see that.
_Wor._ [_Putting his Finger to his Nose._] You'll never leave----I see
that.
_Ber._ Well, I can't imagine what you drive at. Pray tell me what you
mean?
_Wor._ Do you tell me, it's the same thing.
_Ber._ I can't.
_Wor._ Guess!
_Ber._ I shall guess wrong.
_Wor._ Indeed you won't.
_Ber._ Psha! either tell, or let it alone.
_Wor._ Nay, rather than let it alone, I will tell. But first I must put
you in mind that, after what has past 'twixt you and I, very few things
ought to be Secrets between us.
_Ber._ Why what Secrets do we hide? I know of none.
_Wor._ Yes, there are two; one I have hid from you, and t'other
you wou'd hide from me. You are fond of _Loveless_, which I have
discover'd; and I am fond of his Wife----
_Ber._ Which I have discover'd.
_Wor._ Very well; now I confess your Discovery to be true, what do you
say to mine?
_Ber._ Why, I confess----I wou'd swear 'twere false, if I thought you
were Fool enough to believe me.
_Wor._ Now am I almost in Love with you again. Nay, I don't know but
I might be quite so, had I made one short Campaign with _Amanda_.
Therefore, if you find 'twould tickle your Vanity, to bring me down
once more to your Lure, e'en help me quickly to dispatch her Business,
that I may have nothing else to do, but to apply myself to yours.
_Ber._ Do you then think, Sir, I am old enough to be a Bawd?
_Wor._ No, but I think you are wise enough to----
_Ber._ To do what?
_Wor._ To hoodwink _Amanda_ with a Gallant, that she mayn't see who is
her Husband's Mistress.
_Ber._ [_Aside._] He has reason: The Hint's a good one.
_Wor._ Well, Madam, what think you on't?
_Ber._ I think you are so much a deeper Politician in these Affairs
than I am, that I ought to have a very great regard to your Advice.
_Wor._ Then give me leave to put you in mind, that the most easy, safe,
and pleasant Situation for your own Amour, is the House in which you
now are; provided you keep _Amanda_ from any sort of Suspicion. That
the way to do that, is to engage her in an Intrigue of her own, making
yourself her Confidante. And the way to bring her to intrigue, is to
make her jealous of her Husband in a wrong place; which the more you
foment, the less you'll be suspected. This is my Scheme, in short;
which if you follow as you shou'd do, (my dear _Berinthia_) we may all
four pass the Winter very pleasantly.
_Ber._ Well, I could be glad to have nobody's Sins to answer for but my
own. But where there is a Necessity--
_Wor._ Right! as you say, where there is a Necessity, a Christian is
bound to help his Neighbour. So, good _Berinthia_, lose no time, but
let us begin the Dance as fast as we can.
_Ber._ Not till the Fiddles are in tune, pray, Sir. Your Lady's Strings
will be very apt to fly, I can tell you that, if they are wound up
too hastily. But if you'll have patience to skrew them to a pitch by
degrees, I don't doubt but she may endure to be play'd upon.
_Wor._ Ay, and will make admirable Musick too, or I'm mistaken; but
have you had no private Closet Discourse with her yet about Males and
Females, and so forth, which may give you hopes in her Constitution;
for I know her Morals are the Devil against us.
_Ber._ I have had so much Discourse with her, that I believe were she
once cur'd of her fondness to her Husband, the Fortress of her Virtue
wou'd not be so impregnable as she fancies.
_Wor._ What! she runs, I'll warrant you, into that common Mistake of
fond Wives, who conclude themselves virtuous, because they can refuse a
Man they don't like, when they have got one they do.
_Ber._ True, and there I think 'tis a presumptuous thing in a Woman
to assume the Name of Virtuous, till she has heartily hated her
Husband, and been soundly in love with somebody else. Whom if she has
withstood--then--much good may it do her!
_Wor._ Well, so much for her Virtue. Now, one word of her Inclinations,
and every one to their Post. What Opinion do you find she has of me?
_Ber._ What you cou'd wish; she thinks you handsome and discreet.
_Wor._ Good, that's thinking half Seas over. One Tide more brings us
into Port.
_Ber._ Perhaps it may, tho' still remember, there's a difficult Bar to
pass.
_Wor._ I know there is, but I don't question I shall get well over it,
by the help of such a Pilot.
_Ber._ You may depend upon your Pilot, she'll do the best she can; so
weigh Anchor, and be gone as soon as you please.
_Wor._ I'm under Sail already. Adieu.
[_Exit ~Wor~._
_Ber._ _Bon Voyage._
_Sola._
So, here's fine Work. What a Business have I undertaken! I'm a
very pretty Gentlewoman, truly; but there was no avoiding it: He'd
have ruin'd me, if I had refus'd him. Besides, faith, I begin to
fancy there may be as much pleasure in carrying on another body's
Intrigue, as one's own. This at least is certain, it exercises
almost all the entertaining Faculties of a Woman: For there's
employment for Hypocrisy, Invention, Deceit, Flattery, Mischief,
and Lying.
_Enter ~Amanda~, her Woman following her._
_Wom._ If you please, Madam, only to say, whether you'll have me to buy
'em or not.
_Aman._ Yes, no, go fiddle; I care not what you do. Pr'ythee leave me.
_Wom._ I have done.
[_Exit Wom._
_Ber._ What in the Name of _Jove_'s the matter with you?
_Aman._ The matter, _Berinthia_! I'm almost mad, I'm plagu'd to death.
_Ber._ Who is it that plagues you?
_Aman._ Who do you think shou'd plague a Wife, but her Husband?
_Ber._ O ho, is it come to that? We shall have you wish yourself a
Widow by and by.
_Aman._ Wou'd I were any thing but what I am! A base ungrateful Man,
after what I have done for him, to use me thus!
_Ber._ What, he has been ogling now, I'll warrant you?
_Aman._ Yes, he has been ogling.
_Ber._ And so you are jealous? Is that all?
_Aman._ That all! Is jealousy then nothing?
_Ber._ It shou'd be nothing, if I were in your Case.
_Aman._ Why, what wou'd you do?
_Ber._ I'd cure myself.
_Aman._ How?
_Ber._ Let Blood in the fond Vein: Care as little for my Husband as he
did for me.
_Aman._ That would not stop his Course.
_Ber._ Nor nothing else, when the Wind's in the warm Corner. Look you,
_Amanda_, you may build Castles in the Air, and fume, and fret, and
grow thin and lean, and pale and ugly, if you please. But I tell you,
no Man worth having is true to his Wife, or can be true to his Wife, or
ever was, or ever will be so.
_Aman._ Do you then really think he's false to me? for I did but
suspect him.
_Ber._ Think so? I know he's so.
_Aman._ Is it possible? Pray tell me what you know.
_Ber._ Don't press me then to name Names; for that I have sworn I won't
do.
_Aman._ Well, I won't; but let me know all you can without Perjury.
_Ber._ I'll let you know enough to prevent any wise Woman's dying
of the Pip; and I hope you'll pluck up your Spirits, and shew, upon
occasion, you can be as good a Wife as the best of 'em.
_Aman._ Well, what a Woman, can do I'll endeavour.
_Ber._ O, a Woman can do a great deal, if once she sets her mind to it.
Therefore pray don't stand trifling any longer, and teasing yourself
with this and that, and your Love and your Virtue, and I know not what.
But resolve to hold up your Head, get a tiptoe, and look over them all;
for to my certain knowledge your husband is a pickering elsewhere.
_Aman._ You are sure on't?
_Ber._ Positively, he fell in love at the Play.
_Aman._ Right, the very same; do you know the ugly thing?
_Ber._ Yes, I know her well enough; but she's no such ugly thing,
neither.
_Aman._ Is she very handsome?
_Ber._ Truly I think so.
_Aman._ Hey-ho!
_Ber._ What do you sigh for now?
_Aman._ Oh my Heart!
_Ber._ [_Aside._] Only the Pangs of Nature! she's in Labour of her
Love; Heaven send her a quick Delivery! I'm sure she has a good Midwife.
_Aman._ I'm very ill, I must go to my Chamber; Dear _Berinthia_, don't
leave me a Moment.
_Ber._ No, don't fear. [_Aside._] I'll see you safe brought-to-bed,
I'll warrant you.
[_Exeunt, ~Amanda~ leaning upon ~Berinthia~._
+SCENE+, _A Country-House_.
_Enter ~Young~ Fashion and ~Lory~._
_Young Fash._ So, here's our Inheritance, _Lory_, if we can but get
into Possession. But, methinks, the Seat of our Family looks like
_Noah_'s Ark, as if the chief part on't were design'd for the Fowls of
the Air, and the Beasts of the Field.
_Lo._ Pray, Sir, don't let your Head run upon the Orders of Building
here; get but the Heiress, let the Devil take the House.
_Young Fash._ Get but the House, let the Devil take the Heiress, I say;
at least if she be as old _Coupler_ describes her. But come, we have
no time to squander. Knock at the Door. [Lory _knocks two or three
times._] What the Devil, have they got no Ears in this House? Knock
harder.
_Lo._ I'gad, Sir, this will prove some inchanted Castle; we shall have
the Giant come out by and by with his Club, and beat our Brains out.
[_Knocks again._
_Young Fash._ Hush! they come.
_From within._] Who is there?
_Lo._ Open the Door and see: Is that your Country Breeding?
_Within._ Ay, but two Words to a Bargain: _Tummus_, is the Blunderbuss
prim'd?
_Young Fash._ Oons, give 'em good Words, _Lory_; we shall be shot here
a Fortune-catching.
_Lo._ I'gad, Sir, I think y'are in the right on't. Ho, Mr. What
d'ye-call-um.--[_Servant appears at the Window with a Blunderbuss._]
Weal naw, what's yar Business?
_Young Fash._ Nothing, Sir, but to wait upon Sir _Tunbelly_, with your
leave.
_Ser._ To weat upon Sir _Tunbelly_? Why, you'll find that's just as Sir
_Tunbelly_ pleases.
_Young Fash._ But will you do me the Favour, Sir, to know whether Sir
_Tunbelly_ pleases or not?
_Ser._ Why, look you, do you see, with good Words, much may be done.
_Ralph_, go thy weas, and ask Sir _Tunbelly_ if he pleases to be
waited upon. And, do'st hear? call to Nurse, that she may lock up Miss
_Hoyden_ before the Gates open.
_Young Fash._ D'ye hear that, _Lory_?
_Lo._ Ay, Sir, I'm afraid we shall find a difficult Jobb on't. Pray
Heaven that old Rogue _Coupler_ han't sent us to fetch Milk out of the
Gunroom!
_Young Fash._ I'll warrant thee all will go well: See; the Door opens.
_Enter Sir ~Tunbelly~, with his Servants arm'd with
Guns, Clubs, Pitchforks, Scythes, ~&c.~_
_Lo._ [_Running behind his Master._] O Lord, O Lord, O Lord, we are
both dead Men!
_Young Fash._ Take heed, Fool, thy Fear will ruin us.
_Lo._ My Fear, Sir--'Sdeath, Sir, I fear nothing. [_Aside._] Wou'd I
were well up to the Chin in a Horse-Pond!
Sir _Tun._ Who is it here has any Business with me?
_Young Fash._ Sir, 'tis I, if your Name be Sir _Tunbelly Clumsey_.
Sir _Tun._ Sir, my Name is Sir _Tunbelly Clumsey_, whether you have any
Business with me or not. So you see I am not asham'd of my Name--nor my
Face--neither.
_Young Fash._ Sir, you have no cause, that I know of.
Sir _Tun._ Sir, if you have no cause neither, I desire to know who
you are; for till I know your Name, I shall not ask you to come into
my House; and when I know your Name--'tis six to four I don't ask you
neither.
_Young Fash._ [_Giving him a Letter._] Sir, I hope you'll find this
Letter an Authentick Passport.
Sir _Tun._ God's my life, I ask your Lordship's Pardon ten thousand
times. [_To his Servant._] Here, run in a-doors quickly: Get a
Scotch-Coal Fire in the great Parlour; set all the Turkey-work-Chairs
in their places; get the great Brass Candlesticks out; and be sure
stick the Sockets full of Laurel; run. [_Turning to ~Young Fash~._] My
Lord, I ask your Lordship's pardon. [_To other Servants._] And do you
hear, run away to Nurse, bid her let Miss _Hoyden_ loose again, and if
it was not shifting Day, let her put on a clean Tucker--quick!
[_Exeunt Servants confusedly._
_To_ Young Fash.] I hope your Honour will excuse the disorder of my
Family; we are not us'd to receive Men of your Lordship's great Quality
every day; pray where are your Coaches and Servants, my Lord?
_Young Fash._ Sir, that I might give you and your fair Daughter a proof
how impatient I am to be nearer akin to you, I left my Equipage to
follow me, and came away Post with only one servant.
Sir _Tun._ Your Lordship does me too much Honour. It was exposing
your Person to too much Fatigue and Danger, I protest it was; but my
Daughter shall endeavour to make you what amends she can; and tho' I
say it, that shou'd not say it--_Hoyden_ has Charms.
_Young Fash._ Sir, I am not a Stranger to them, tho' I am to her.
Common Fame has done her Justice.
Sir _Tun._ My Lord, I am common Fame's very grateful humble Servant. My
Lord----my Girl's young: _Hoyden_ is young, my Lord; but this I must
say for her, what she wants in Art, she has by Nature; what she wants
in Experience, she has in Breeding; and what's wanting in her Age, is
made good in her Constitution. So pray, my Lord, walk in; pray, my
Lord, walk in.
_Young Fash._ Sir, I wait upon you.
[_Exeunt._
_Miss ~Hoyden~ sola._
Sure never no body was us'd as I am. I know well enough what other
Girls do, for all they think to make a Fool of me: It's well I have a
Husband a coming, or I'cod, I'd marry the Baker, I wou'd so. No body
can knock at the Gate, but presently I must be lockt up; and here's the
young Greyhound Bitch can run loose about the House all the day long,
she can; 'tis very well.
_Nurse ~without~, opening the Door._
Miss _Hoyden_! Miss, Miss, Miss! Miss _Hoyden_!
_Enter ~Nurse~._
_Miss._ Well, what do you make such a Noise for, ha! What do you din a
body's Ears for? Can't one be at quiet for you?
_Nurse._ What do I din your Ears for? Here's one come will din your
Ears for you.
_Miss._ What care I who's come? I care not a Fig who comes, nor who
goes, as long as I shall be lockt up like the Ale-Cellar.
_Nurse._ That, Miss, is for fear you shou'd be drank before you are
ripe.
_Miss._ O, don't you trouble your Head about that; I'm as ripe as you,
tho' not so mellow.
_Nurse._ Very well; now I have a good mind to lock you up again, and
not let you see my Lord to-night.
_Miss._ My Lord! Why, is my Husband come?
_Nurse._ Yes, marry is he, and a goodly Person too.
_Miss._ [_Hugging Nurse._] O my dear _Nurse_, forgive, me this once,
and I'll never misuse you again; no, if I do, you shall give me three
thumps on the Back, and a great pinch by the Cheek.
_Nurse._ Ah the poor Thing, see how it melts; it's as full of
Good-Nature as an Egg's full of Meat.
_Miss._ But, my dear Nurse, don't lie now; is he come, by your troth?
_Nurse._ Yes, by my truly, is he.
_Miss._ O Lord! I'll go and put on my lac'd Smock, tho' I am whipt till
the Blood run down my Heels for't.
[_Exit running._
_Nurse._ Eh----the Lord succour thee, how thou art delighted!
[_Exit after her._
_Enter Sir ~Tunbelly~ and ~Young Fashion~. A Servant
with Wine._
Sir _Tun._ My Lord, I'm proud of the Honour to see your Lordship within
my Doors: and I humbly crave leave to bid you welcome in a Cup of Sack
Wine.
_Young Fash._ Sir, to your Daughter's Health.
[_Drinks._
Sir _Tun._ Ah poor Girl, she'll be fear'd out of her Wits on her
Wedding Night; for, honestly speaking, she does not know a Man from a
Woman, but by his Beard, and his Breeches.
_Young Fash._ Sir, I don't doubt she has had a virtuous Education,
which, with the rest of her Merit, makes me long to see her mine. I
wish you wou'd dispense with the Canonical Hour, and let it be this
very Night.
Sir _Tun._ O not so soon, neither; that's shooting my Girl before you
bid her stand. No, give her fair warning, we'll sign and seal to-night
if you please; and this Day seven-night--let the Jade look to her
Quarters.
_Young Fash._ This Day seven-night----Why, what do you take me for a
Ghost, Sir? 'Slife, Sir, I'm made of Flesh and Blood, and Bones and
Sinews, and can no more live a Week without your Daughter--than I can
live a Month with her.
[_Aside._
Sir _Tun._ Oh, I'll warrant you, my Hero; young Men are hot, I know,
but they don't boil over at that rate, neither; besides, my Wench's
Wedding Gown is not come home yet.
_Young Fash._ O, no matter, Sir; I'll take her in her Shift. [_Aside._]
A Pox of this old Fellow, he'll delay the Business till my damn'd Star
finds me out, and discovers me. [_To Sir ~Tun.~_] Pray, Sir, let it be
done without Ceremony; 'twill save Money.
Sir _Tun._ Money----Save Money when _Hoyden_'s to be marry'd? Udswoons,
I'll give my Wench a Wedding-Dinner, tho' I go to Grass with the King
of _Assyria_ for't; and such a Dinner it shall be, as is not to be
cook'd in the poaching of an Egg. Therefore, my Noble Lord, have a
little Patience, we'll go and look over our Deeds and Settlements
immediately; and as for your Bride, tho' you may be sharp-set before
she's quite ready, I'll engage for my Girl, she stays your Stomach at
last.
[_Exeunt._
[Illustration]
+ACT+ IV. +SCENE+ I.
_Enter Miss ~Hoyden~ and ~Nurse~._
_Nurse._ Well, Miss, how do you like your Husband that is to be?
_Miss._ O Lord, Nurse, I'm so overjoy'd, I can scarce contain myself.
_Nurse._ O, but you must have a care of being too fond; for Men now
a-days hate a Woman that loves 'em.
_Miss._ Love him! Why do you think I love him, Nurse? I'cod, I
would not care if he were hang'd, so I were but once married to
him----No----that which pleases me, is to think what Work I'll make
when I get to _London_; for when I am a Wife and a Lady both, Nurse,
I'cod, I'll flant it with the best of 'em.
_Nurse._ Look, look, if his Honour be not a coming to you; now if I
were sure you wou'd behave yourself handsomely, and not disgrace me
that have brought you up, I'd leave you alone together.
_Miss._ That's my best Nurse, do as you wou'd be done by; trust us
together this once; and if I don't shew my Breeding from the Head to
the Foot of me, may I be twice married, and die a Maid!
_Nurse._ Well, this once I'll venture you; but if you disparage me----
_Miss._ Never fear, I'll shew him my Parts, I'll warrant him.
[_Exit ~Nurse~._
_Sola._
These old Women are so wise when they get a poor Girl into their
Clutches; but ere it be long, I shall know what's what, as well as the
best of 'em.
_Enter ~Young Fashion~._
_Young Fash._ Your Servant, Madam, I'm glad to find you alone; for I
have something of Importance to speak to you about.
_Miss._ Sir, (my Lord, I meant) you may speak to me about what you
please, I shall give you a civil Answer.
_Young Fash._ You give me so obliging a one, it encourages me to tell
you in few Words, what I think both for your Interest and mine. Your
Father, I suppose you know, has resolv'd to make me happy in being your
Husband, and I hope I may depend upon your Consent, to perform what he
desires.
_Miss._ Sir, I never disobey my Father in any thing but eating of green
Gooseberries.
_Young Fash._ So good a Daughter must needs be an admirable Wife; I
am therefore impatient till you are mine, and hope you will so far
consider the Violence of my Love, that you won't have the Cruelty to
defer my Happiness so long as your Father designs it.
_Miss._ Pray, my Lord, how long is it?
_Young Fash._ Madam, a thousand Year----a whole Week.
_Miss._ A Week!----why, I shall be an old Woman by that time.
_Young Fash._ And I an old Man, which you'll find a greater Misfortune
than t'other.
_Miss._ Why I thought it was to be to-morrow Morning, as soon as I was
up; I'm sure Nurse told me so.
_Young Fash._ And it shall be to-morrow Morning still, if you'll
consent.
_Miss._ If I'll consent! Why I thought I was to obey you as my Husband.
_Young Fash._ That's when we are married; till then, I am to obey you.
_Miss._ Why then if we are to take it by turns, it's the same thing:
I'll obey you now, and when we are married, you shall obey me.
_Young Fash._ With all my heart; but I doubt we must get Nurse on our
side, or we shall hardly prevail with the Chaplain.
_Miss._ No more we shan't indeed, for he loves her better than he loves
his Pulpit, and wou'd always be a preaching to her, by his good Will.
_Young Fash._ Why then, my dear little Bedfellow, if you'll call her
hither, we'll try to persuade her presently.
_Miss._ O Lord, I can tell you a way how to persuade her to any thing.
_Young Fash._ How's that?
_Miss._ Why tell her she's a wholesome, comely Woman----and give her
Half a Crown.
_Young Fash._ Nay, if that will do, she shall have half a score of 'em.
_Miss._ O Gemini, for half that she'd marry you herself: I'll run and
call her.
[_Exit ~Miss~._
_~Young Fashion~ solus._
So, Matters go swimmingly; this is a rare Girl, i'faith; I shall have
a fine time of it with her at _London_. I'm much mistaken if she don't
prove a _March_ Hare all the Year round. What a scampering Chace will
she make on't, when me finds the whole Kennel of Beaux at her Tail! Hey
to the _Park_ and the Play, and the Church, and the Devil; she'll shew
them sport, I'll warrant 'em. But no matter, she brings an Estate will
afford me a separate Maintenance.
_Enter ~Miss~ and ~Nurse~._
_Young Fash._ How do you do, good Mistress Nurse? I desir'd your young
Lady would give me leave to see you, that I might thank you for your
extraordinary Care and Conduct in her Education; pray accept of this
small Acknowledgement for it at present, and depend upon my farther
Kindness, when I shall be that happy thing her Husband.
_Nurse._ [_Aside._] Gold by mackins! Your Honour's Goodness is too
great: alas! all I can boast of is, I gave her poor good Milk, and so
your Honour wou'd have said, an you had seen how the poor thing suck't
it----Eh, God's blessing on the sweet Face on't! how it us'd to hang
at this poor Teat, and suck and squeeze, and kick and sprawl it wou'd,
till the Belly on't was so full, it wou'd drop off like a Leech.
[_~Miss~ to ~Nurse~, taking her angrily aside._
Pray one word with you; pr'ythee, Nurse, don't stand ripping up old
Stories, to make one asham'd before one's Love: do you think such
a fine proper Gentleman as he is, cares for a fiddlecome Tale of a
draggle-tail'd Girl;, if you have a mind to make him have a good
Opinion of a Woman, don't tell him what one did then, tell him what
one can do now. [_To_ Young Fash.] I hope your Honour will excuse my
Mismanners to whisper before you, it was only to give some orders about
the Family.
_Young Fash._ O every thing, Madam, is to give way to Business;
besides, good Housewifery is a very commendable Quality in a young Lady.
_Miss._ Pray, Sir, are the young Ladies good Housewives at London Town?
Do they darn their own Linen?
_Young Fash._ O no, they study how to spend Money, not to save it.
_Miss._ I'cod, I don't know but that may be better Sport than t'other,
ha, Nurse!
_Young Fash._ Well, you shall have your Choice when you come there.
_Miss._ Shall I----then by my troth I'll get there as fast as I can.
_To Nurse._] His Honour desires you'll be so kind, as to let us be
marry'd to-morrow.
_Nurse._ To-morrow, my dear Madam?
_Young Fash._ Yes, to-morrow, sweet Nurse, privately; young Folks, you
know, are impatient, and Sir _Tunbelly_ wou'd make us stay a Week for
a Wedding-Dinner. Now all things being sign'd and seal'd, and agreed,
I fancy there cou'd be no great harm in practising a Scene or two of
Matrimony in private, if it were only to give us the better Assurance
when we come to play it in publick.
_Nurse._ Nay, I must confess stolen Pleasures are sweet; but if you
shou'd be married now, what will you do when Sir _Tunbelly_ calls for
you to be wedded?
_Miss._ Why then we will be married again.
_Nurse._ What, twice, my Child?
_Miss._ I'cod, I don't care how often I'm married, not I.
_Young Fash._ Pray, Nurse, don't you be against your young Lady's good;
for by this means she'll have the pleasure of two Wedding-Days.
_Miss to Nurse softly._] And of two Wedding-Nights too, Nurse.
_Nurse._ Well, I'm such a tender-hearted Fool, I find I can refuse you
nothing; so you shall e'en follow your own Inventions.
_Miss._ Shall I? [_Aside._] O Lord, I could leap over the Moon.
_Young Fash._ Dear Nurse, this Goodness of yours shan't go unrewarded;
but now you must employ your Power with Mr. _Bull_ the Chaplain, that
he may do his friendly Office too, and then we shall be all happy; do
you think you can prevail with him?
_Nurse._ Prevail with him----or he shall never prevail with me, I can
tell him that.
_Miss._ My Lord, she has had him upon the hip this seven Year.
_Young Fash._ I'm glad to hear it; however, to strengthen your Interest
with him, you may let him know I have several fat Livings in my Gift,
and that the first that falls shall be in your Disposal.
_Nurse._ Nay, then I'll make him marry more Folks, than one, I'll
promise him.
_Miss._ Faith, do, Nurse, make him marry you too; I'm sure he'll do't
for a fat Living; for he loves Eating more than he loves his _Bible_;
and I have often heard, him say, a fat Living was the best Meat in the
World.
_Nurse._ Ay, and I'll make him commend the Sauce too, or I'll bring his
Gown to a Cassock, I will so.
_Young Fash._ Well, Nurse, whilst you go and settle Matters with him,
your Lady and I will go and take a walk in the Garden.
_Nurse._ I'll do your Honour's Business in the catching up of a Garter.
[_Exit ~Nurse~._
_Young Fash._ [_Giving her his Hand._] Come, Madam, dare you venture
yourself alone with me?
_Miss._ O dear, yes, Sir; I don't think you'll do any thing to me I
need be afraid on.
_Enter ~Amanda~ and ~Berinthia~._
A SONG.
I.
_I Smile at Love, and all its Arts,
The Charming_ Cynthia _cry'd;
Take heed, for Love has piercing Darts,
A wounded Swain reply'd.
Once free and blest as you are now,
I trifled with his Charms;
I pointed at his little Bow,
And sported with his Arms;
Till urg'd too far, Revenge he cries,
A fated Shaft he drew;
It took its passage thro your Eyes,
And to my Heart it flew._
II.
_To tear it thence I try'd in vain;
To strive I quickly found
Was only to increase the Pain,
And to enlarge the Wound.
Ah! much too well, I fear, you know
What pain I'm to endure,
Since what your Eyes alone cou'd do,
Your Heart alone can cure.
And That (grant Heaven I may mistake)
I doubt is doom'd to bear
A Burden for another's sake,
Who ill rewards its Care._
_Aman._ Well, now, _Berinthia_, I'm at leisure to hear what 'twas you
had to say to me.
_Ber._ What I had to say, was only to echo the Sighs and Groans of a
dying Lover.
_Aman._ Phu, will you never learn to talk in earnest of any thing?
_Ber._ Why this shall be in earnest, if you please; for my part, I only
tell you Matter of Fact--you may take it which way you like best; but
if you'll follow the Women of the Town, you'll take it both ways; for
when a Man offers himself to one of them, first she takes him in jest,
and then she takes him in earnest.
_Aman._ I'm sure there's so much jest and earnest in what you say to
me, I scarce know how to take it; but I think you have bewitched me,
for I don't find it possible to be angry with you, say what you will.
_Ber._ I'm very glad to hear it, for I have no mind to quarrel with
you, for some Reasons that I'll not brag of; but quarrel or not, smile
or frown, I must tell you what I have suffer'd upon your account.
_Aman._ Upon my account!
_Ber._ Yes, upon yours; I have been forc'd to sit still and hear you
commended for two Hours together, without one Compliment to myself; now
don't you think a Woman has a blessed time of that?
_Aman._ Alas! I shou'd have been unconcern'd at it; I never knew where
the Pleasure lay of being prais'd by the Men: but pray who was this
that commended me so?
_Ber._ One you have a mortal Aversion to--Mr. _Worthy_: he us'd you
like a Text, he took you all to pieces, but spoke so learnedly upon
every Point, one might see the Spirit of the Church was in him: if you
are a Woman, you'd have been in an Extasy to have heard how feelingly
he handled your Hair, your Eyes, your Nose, your Mouth, your Teeth,
your Tongue, your Chin, your Neck, and so forth. Thus he preach'd for
an Hour; but when he came to use an Application, he observ'd that all
these, without a Gallant, were nothing--Now consider of what has been
said, and Heaven give you Grace to put it in practice!
_Aman._ Alas! _Berinthia_, did I incline to a Gallant, (which you
know I do not) do you think a Man so nice as he, cou'd have the least
concern for such a plain unpolish'd thing as I am? It is impossible!
_Ber._ Now have you a great mind to put me upon commending you.
_Aman._ Indeed that was not my Design.
_Ber._ Nay, if it were, it's all one, for I won't do't, I'll leave that
to your Looking-glass. But to shew you I have some Good-nature left,
I'll commend him, and may be that may do as well.
_Aman._ You have a great mind to persuade me I am in love with him.
_Ber._ I have a great mind to persuade you, you don't know what you are
in love with.
_Aman._ I am sure I am not in love with him, nor never shall be; so let
that pass: but you were saying something you wou'd commend him for.
_Ber._ O, you'd be glad to hear a good Character of him, however.
_Aman._ Psha.
_Ber._ Psha----Well, 'tis a foolish Undertaking for Women in these kind
of Matters, to pretend to deceive one another----Have not I been bred a
Woman as well as you?
_Aman._ What then?
_Ber._ Why then I understand my Trade so well, that whenever I am told
of a Man I like, I cry, Psha! But that I may spare you the pains of
putting me a second time in mind to commend him, I'll proceed, and give
you this account of him: That tho' 'tis possible he may have had Women
with as good Faces as your Ladyship's, (no Discredit to it neither)
yet you must know your cautious Behaviour, with that Reserve in your
Humour, has given him his Death's Wound; he mortally hates a Coquette;
he says 'tis impossible to love where he cannot esteem; and that no
Woman can be esteemed by a Man who has Sense, if she makes herself
cheap in the Eye of a Fool. That Pride to a Woman, is as necessary as
Humility to a Divine; and that far-fetch'd, and dear bought, is Meat
for Gentlemen, as well as for Ladies----In short, that every Woman who
has Beauty may set a price upon herself, and that by under-selling the
Market they ruin the Trade. This is his Doctrine, how do you like it?
_Aman._ So well that, since I never intend to have a Gallant for
myself, if I were to recommend one to a Friend, he shou'd be the Man.
_Enter ~Worthy~._
Bless me, he's here! pray Heaven he did not hear me!
_Ber._ If he did, it won't hurt your Reputation; your Thoughts are as
safe in his Heart as in your own.
_Wor._ I venture in at an unseasonable time of Night, Ladies; I hope if
I am troublesome, you'll use the same freedom in turning me out again.
_Aman._ I believe it can't be late, for Mr. _Loveless_ is not come home
yet, and he usually keeps good Hours.
_Wor._ Madam, I'm afraid he'll transgress a little to-night; for he
told me about half an Hour ago, he was going to sup with some Company,
he doubted would keep him out till three or four o'clock in the
Morning, and desir'd I would let my Servant acquaint you with it, that
you might not expect him: But my Fellow's a Blunder-head; so, lest he
should make some mistake, I thought it my Duty to deliver the Message
myself.
_Aman._ I'm very sorry he shou'd give you that trouble, Sir: But----
_Ber._ But since he has, will you give me leave, Madam, to keep him to
play at Ombre with us?
_Aman._ Cousin, you know you command my House.
_Wor. to Ber._] And, Madam, you know you command me, tho' I'm a very
wretched Gamester.
_Ber._ O you play well enough to lose your Money, and that's all the
Ladies require; so without any more Ceremony, let us go into the next
Room and call for the Cards.
_Aman._ With all my heart.
[_Exit ~Wor~. leading ~Aman~._
_Ber. sola._ Well, how this Business will end, Heaven knows; but she
seems to me to be in as fair a way----as a Boy is to be a Rogue, when
he's put Clerk to an Attorney.
[_Exit ~Berinthia~._
+SCENE+, Berinthia's _Chamber_.
_Enter ~Loveless~ cautiously in the dark._
_Lov._ So, thus for all's well. I'm got into her Bed-Chamber, and I
think nobody has perceiv'd me steal into the House; my Wife don't
expect me home till four o'Clock; so if _Berinthia_ comes to Bed by
eleven, I shall have a Chace of five Hours. Let me see, where shall I
hide myself? Under her Bed? No; we shall have her Maid searching there
for something or other; her Closet's a better place, and I have a
Master-Key will open it: I'll e'en in there, and attack her just when
she comes to her Prayers, that's the most like to prove her critical
Minute; for then the Devil will be there to assist me.
[_He opens the Closet, goes in, and shuts the door after him._
_Enter ~Berinthia~ with a Candle in her hand._
_Ber._ Well, sure I am the best-natur'd Woman in the World. I that love
Cards so well (there is but one thing upon the Earth I love better)
have pretended Letters to write, to give my Friends a _Tête-à-Tête_;
however, I'm innocent, for Picquet is the Game I set 'em to: at her
own peril be it, if she ventures to play with him at any other. But
now what shall I do with myself? I don't know how in the World to pass
my time; wou'd _Loveless_ were here to _badiner_ a little! Well, he's
a charming Fellow, I don't wonder his Wife's so fond of him. What if
I shou'd set down and think of him till I fall asleep, and dream of
the Lord knows what? O, but then if I shou'd dream we were married, I
shou'd be frighted out of my Wits. [_Seeing a Book._] What's this Book?
I think I had best go read. _O Splenetique!_ 'tis a Sermon. Well, I'll
go into my Closet, and read the _Plotting Sisters_. [_She opens the
Closet, sees ~Loveless~, and shrieks out._] O Lord, a Ghost, a Ghost, a
Ghost, a Ghost!
_Enter ~Loveless~ running to her._
_Lov._ Peace, my Dear; it's no Ghost, take it in your Arms, you'll find
'tis worth a hundred of 'em.
_Ber._ Run in again; here's somebody coming.
_Enter Maid._
_Maid._ O Lord, Madam, what's the matter?
_Ber._ O Heav'ns! I'm almost frighted out of my Wits. I thought verily
I had seen a Ghost, and 'twas nothing but the white Curtain, with
a black Hood pinn'd up against it; you may be gone again, I am the
fearfullest Fool.--
[_Exit Maid._
_Re-enter ~Loveless~._
_Lov._ Is the Coast clear?
_Ber._ The Coast clear! I suppose you are clear, you'd never play such
a Trick as this else.
_Lov._ I am very well pleas'd with my Trick thus far, and shall be so
till I have play'd it out, if it ben't your Fault: where's my Wife?
_Ber._ At Cards.
_Lov._ With whom?
_Ber._ With _Worthy_.
_Lov._ Then we are safe enough.
_Ber._ You are so! Some Husbands wou'd be of another mind, if he were
at Cards with their Wives.
_Lov._ And they'd be in the right on't too. But I dare trust
mine:----Besides, I know he's in love in another place, and he's not
one of those who court half a dozen at a time.
_Ber._ Nay, the truth on't is, you'd pity him if you saw how uneasy he
is at being engag'd with us; but 'twas my Malice. I fancy'd he was to
meet his Mistress some where else, so did it to have the pleasure of
seeing him fret.
_Lov._ What says _Amanda_ to my staying abroad so late?
_Ber._ Why she's as much out of Humour as he, I believe they wish one
another at the Devil.
_Lov._ Then I'm afraid they'll quarrel at Play, and soon throw up the
Cards: [_Offering in pull her into her Closet._] Therefore, my dear
charming Angel, let us make good use of our time.
_Ber._ Heavens! what do you mean?
_Lov._ Pray what do you think I mean?
_Ber._ I don't know.
_Lov._ I'll shew you.
_Ber._ You may as well tell me.
_Lov._ No, that wou'd make you blush worse than t'other.
_Ber._ Why, do you intend to make me blush?
_Lov._ Faith, I can't tell that; but if I do, it shall be in the dark.
[_Pulling her._
_Ber._ O Heavens! I wou'd not be in the dark with you for all the World.
_Lov._ I'll try that.
[_Puts out the Candles._
_Ber._ O Lord! are you mad! What shall I do for Light?
_Lov._ You'll do as well without it.
_Ber._ Why, one can't find a Chair to sit down?
_Lov._ Come into the Closet, Madam, there's Moonshine upon the Couch.
_Ber._ Nay, never pull, for I will not go.
_Lov._ Then you must be carried.
[_Carrying her._
_Ber._ Help, help, I'm ravish'd, ruin'd, undone. O Lord, I shall never
be able to bear it.
[_Very softly._
+SCENE+, _Sir ~Tunbelly~'s House_.
_Enter Miss ~Hoyden~, Nurse, ~Young Fashion~, and ~Bull~._
_Young Fash._ This quick dispatch of yours, Mr. _Bull_, I take so
kindly, it shall give you a claim to my Favour as long as I live, I do
assure you.
_Miss._ And to mine too, I promise you.
_Bull._ I most humbly thank your Honours; and I hope, since it has
been my Lot to join you in the holy Bands of Wedlock, you will so
well cultivate the Soil which I have crav'd a Blessing on, that your
Children may swarm about you like Bees about a Honey-Comb.
_Miss._ I'cod with all my Heart, the more the merrier, I say; ha, Nurse.
_Enter ~Lory~, taking his Master hastily aside._
_Lo._ One Word with you, for Heaven's sake.
_Young Fash._ What the Devil's the matter?
_Lo._ Sir, your Fortune's ruin'd, and I don't think your Life's worth
a quarter of an Hour's Purchase: Yonder's your Brother arriv'd with
two Coaches and six Horses, twenty Footmen and Pages, a Coat worth
fourscore Pound, and a Perriwig down to his Knees: So judge what will
become of your Lady's Heart.
_Young Fash._ Death and Furies! 'tis impossible.
_Lo._ Fiends and Spectres! Sir, 'tis true.
_Young Fash._ Is he in the House yet?
_Lo._ No, they are capitulating with him at the Gate; the Porter tells
him, he's come to run away with _Miss Hoyden_, and has cock'd the
Blunderbuss at him; your Brother swears Gad Damme, they are a parcel
of Clawns, and he had a good mind to break off the Match; but they
have given the Word for Sir _Tunbelly_, so I doubt all will come out
presently. Pray, Sir, resolve what you'll do this Moment, for I'gad
they'll maul you.
_Young Fash._ Stay a little. [_To Miss._] My Dear, here's a troublesome
Business my Man tells me of; but don't be frighten'd, we shall be too
hard for the Rogue. Here's an impudent Fellow at the Gate (not knowing
I was come hither _incognito_) has taken my Name upon him, in hopes to
run away with you.
_Miss._ O the Brazen-fac'd Varlet, it's well we are married, or may be
we might never have been so.
_Young Fash._ [_Aside._] I'gad, like enough: Pr'ythee, dear Doctor, run
to Sir _Tunbelly_, and stop him from going to the Gate, before I speak
with him.
_Bull._ I fly, my good Lord----
[_Exit ~Bull~._
_Nurse._ An't please your Honour, my Lady and I had best lock ourselves
up till the Danger be over.
_Young Fash._ Ay, by all means.
_Miss._ Not so fast, I won't be lock'd up any more. I'm marry'd.
_Young Fash._ Yes, pray my Dear do, till we have seiz'd this Rascal.
_Miss._ Nay, if you pray me, I'll do any thing.
[_Exeunt ~Miss~ and ~Nurse~._
_Young Fash._ O! here's Sir _Tunbelly_ coming. [_To_ Lo.] Hark you,
Sirrah, things are better than you imagine; the Wedding's over.
_Lo._ The Devil it is, Sir.
_Young Fash._ Not a Word, all's safe: But Sir _Tunbelly_ don't know it,
nor must not yet; so I am resolv'd to brazen the Business out, and have
the Pleasure of turning the Impostor upon his Lordship, which I believe
may easily be done.
_Enter Sir ~Tunbelly~, ~Chap.~ and ~Servants~ arm'd._
_Young Fash._ Did you ever hear, Sir, of so impudent an Undertaking?
Sir _Tun._ Never, by the Mass, but we'll tickle him, I'll warrant him.
_Young Fash._ They tell me, Sir, he has a great many People with him
disguis'd like Servants.
Sir _Tun._ Ay, ay, Rogues enow; but I'll soon raise the Posse upon 'em.
_Young Fash._ Sir, if you'll take my Advice, we'll go a shorter way
to work; I find, whoever this Spark is, he knows nothing of my being
privately here; so if you pretend to receive him civilly, he'll enter
without Suspicion; and as soon as he is within the Gate, we'll whip up
the Drawbridge upon his Back, let fly the Blunderbuss to disperse the
Crew, and so commit him to Gaol.
Sir _Tun._ I'gad, your Lordship is an ingenious Person, and a very
great General; but shall we kill any of 'em, or not?
_Young Fash._ No, no, fire over their Heads only to fright them; I'll
warrant the Regiment scours when the Colonel's a Prisoner.
Sir _Tun._ Then come along, my Boys, and let your Courage be
great----for your Danger is but small.
[_Exeunt._
+SCENE+, _The Gate._
_Enter Lord ~Foppington~ and ~Followers~._
_Lord Fop._ A Pax of these Bumkinly People, will they open the Gate, or
do they desire I shou'd grow at their Moat-side like a Willow? [_To the
Porter._] Hey, Fellow--Pr'ythee do me the Favour, in as few words as
thou canst find to express thyself, to tell me whether thy Master will
admit me or not, that I may turn about my Coach, and be gone.
_Por._ Here's my Master himself now at hand, he's of Age, he'll give
you his Answer.
_Enter Sir ~Tunbelly~, and his Servants._
Sir _Tun._ My most noble Lord, I crave your pardon for making your
Honour wait so long; but my Orders to my servants have been to admit no
body without my Knowledge, for fear of some Attempts upon my Daughter,
the Times being full of Plots and Roguery.
_Lord Fop._ Much Caution, I must confess, is a Sign of great Wisdom:
But, stap my Vitals, I have got a Cold enough to destroy a Porter--He,
hem--
Sir _Tun._ I am very sorry for't, indeed, my Lord; but if your Lordship
please to walk in, we'll help you to some brown Sugar-Candy. My Lord,
I'll shew you the way.
_Lord Fop._ Sir, I follow you with pleasure.
[_Exeunt._
[_As Lord ~Foppington~'s Servants go to follow him
in, they clap the Door against ~La Varole~._
_Servants within._ Nay, hold you me there, Sir.
_La Var._ _Jernie, qu'est ce que veut dire ça?_
Sir _Tun._ [_Within._]----Fire, Porter.
_Porter fires._----Have among you, my Masters.
_La Var._ _Ah je suis mort_--
[_The servants all run off._
_Port._ Not one Soldier left, by the Mass.
+SCENE+ _changes into a Hall._
_Enter Sir ~Tunbelly~, the ~Chaplain~ and ~Servants~, with
Lord ~Foppington~ disarm'd._
Sir _Tun._ Come, bring him along, bring him along.
_Lord Fop._ What the Pax do you mean, Gentlemen, is it Fair time, that
you are all drunk before Dinner?
Sir _Tun._ Drunk, Sirrah! Here's an impudent Rogue for you! Drunk or
Sober, Bully, I'm a Justice of the Peace, and know how to deal with
Strolers.
_Lord Fop._ Strolers!
Sir _Tun._ Ay, Strolers; come, give an account of yourself; what's
your Name? where do you live? Do you pay Scot and Lot? Are you a
_Williamite_, or a _Jacobite_? Come.
_Lord Fop._ And why dost thou ask me so many impertinent Questions?
Sir _Tun._ Because I'll make you answer 'em before I have done with
you, you Rascal you.
_Lord Fop._ Before Gad, all the Answer I can make thee to 'em, is, that
thou art a very extraordinary old Fellow; stap my Vitals--
Sir _Tun._ Nay, if you are for joaking with Deputy-Lieutenants, we know
how to deal with you: Here, draw a Warrant for him immediately.
_Lord Fop._ A Warrant----what the Devil is't thou wou'dst be at, old
Gentleman?
Sir _Tun._ I wou'd be at you, Sirrah, (if my Hands were not ty'd as a
Magistrate) and with these two double Fists beat your Teeth down your
Throat, you Dog you.
_Lord Fop._ And why would'st thou spoil my Face at that rate?
Sir _Tun._ For your Design to rob me of my Daughter, Villain.
_Lord Fop._ Rab thee of thy Daughter----Now I do begin to believe I am
a-bed and a-sleep, and that all this is but a Dream--If it be, 'twill
be an agreeable Surprize enough, to waken by and by; and instead of the
impertinent Company of a nasty Country Justice, find my self perhaps in
the Arms of a Woman of Quality--[_To Sir ~Tun.~_] Pr'ythee, old Father,
wilt thou give me leave to ask thee one Question?
Sir _Tun._ I can't tell whether I will or not, till I know what it is.
_Lord Fop._ Why, then, it is, whether thou didst not write to my Lord
_Foppington_ to come down and marry thy Daughter?
Sir _Tun._ Yes, marry did I, and my Lord _Foppington_ is come down, and
shall marry my Daughter before she's a Day older.
_Lord Fop._ Now give me thy Hand, dear Dad, I thought we should
understand one another at last.
Sir _Tun._ This Fellow's mad----here bind him Hand and Foot.
[_They bind him down._
_Lord Fop._ Nay, pr'ythee, Knight, leave fooling, thy Jest begins to
grow dull.
Sir _Tun._ Bind him, I say, he's mad----Bread and Water, a dark Room,
and a Whip, may bring him to his Senses again.
_Lord Fop._ [_Aside._] I'gad, if I don't waken quickly, by all that I
can see, this is like to prove one of the most impertinent Dreams that
ever I dreamt in my Life.
_Enter ~Miss~ and ~Nurse~._ [_~Miss~ going up to him._]
_Miss._ Is this he that wou'd have run away with me? Fough, how
he stinks of sweets! Pray, Father, let him be dragg'd through the
Horse-Pond.
_Lord Fop._ [_Aside._] This must be my Wife by her natural Inclination
to her Husband.
_Miss._ Pray, Father, what do you intend to do with him? hang him?
Sir _Tun._ That at least, Child.
_Nurse._ Ay, and it's e'en too good for him too.
_Lord Fop._ [_Aside._] _Madame la Governante_, I presume, hitherto this
appears to me to be one of the most extraordinary Families that ever
Man of Quality match'd into.
Sir _Tun._ What's become of my Lord, Daughter?
_Miss._ He's just coming, Sir.
_Lord Fop._ [_Aside._] My Lord----What does he mean by that now?
_Enter ~Young Fashion~ and ~Lory~._
_Seeing him._] Stap my Vitals, _Tam_, now the Dream's out.
_Young Fash._ Is this the Fellow, Sir, that design'd to trick me of
your Daughter?
Sir _Tun._ This is he, my Lord, how do you like him? Is not he a pretty
Fellow to get a Fortune?
_Young Fash._ I find by his Dress, he thought your Daughter might be
taken with a Beau.
_Miss._ O Gemini! Is this a Beau? let me see him again----ha! I find a
Beau is no such ugly thing neither.
_Young Fash._ I'gad, she'll be in love with him presently; I'll e'en
have him sent away to Gaol. [_To_ Lord Fop.] Sir, tho' your Undertaking
shews you are a Person of no extraordinary Modesty, I suppose you han't
Confidence enough to expect much Favour from me.
_Lord Fop._ Strike me dumb, _Tam_, thou art a very impudent Fellow.
_Nurse._ Look if the Varlet has not the Frontery to call his Lordship
plain _Thomas_.
_Bull._ The business is, he wou'd feign himself mad, to avoid going to
Gaol.
_Lord Fop._ [_Aside._] That must be the Chaplain, by his unfolding of
Mysteries.
Sir _Tun._ Come, is the Warrant writ?
_Cler._ Yes, Sir.
Sir _Tun._ Give me the Pen, I'll sign it----So now, Constable, away
with him.
_Lord Fop._ Hold one Moment----Pray, Gentlemen; my Lord _Foppington_,
shall I beg one Word with your Lordship?
_Nurse._ O ho, it's my Lord with him now; see how Afflictions will
humble Folks.
_Miss._ Pray, my Lord, don't let him whisper too close, lest he bite
your Ear off.
_Lord Fop._. I am not altogether so hungry, as your Ladyship is pleased
to imagine. [_To_ Young Fash.] Look you, _Tam_, I am sensible I have
not been so kind to you as I ought, but I hope you'll forget what's
past, and accept of the five thousand Pounds I offer; thou may'st live
in extreme Splendor with it; stap my Vitals.
_Young Fash._ It's a much easier matter to prevent a Disease than to
cure it; a quarter of that Sum would have secur'd your Mistress; twice
as much won't redeem her.
[_Leaving him._
Sir _Tun._ Well, what says he?
_Young Fash._ Only the Rascal offer'd me a Bribe to let him go.
Sir _Tun._ Ay, he shall go, with a Pox to him: Lead on, Constable.
_Lord Fop._. One word more, and I've done.
Sir _Tun._ Before Gad, thou art an impudent Fellow, to trouble the
Court at this rate, after thou art condemned; but speak once for all.
_Lord Fop._ Why then once for all; I have at last luckily call'd to
mind, that there is a Gentleman of this Country, who I believe cannot
live far from this place, if he were here, would satisfy you, I am
_Novelty_, Baron of _Foppington_, with five thousand Pounds a year,
and that Fellow there a Rascal, not worth a Groat.
Sir _Tun._ Very well; now who is this honest Gentleman you are so well
acquainted with. [_To_ Young Fash.] Come, Sir, we shall hamper him.
_Lord Fop._ 'Tis Sir _John Friendly_.
Sir _Tun._ So, he lives within half a Mile, and came down into the
Country but last Night; this bold-fac'd Fellow thought he had been at
_London_ still, and so quoted him; now we shall display him in his
Colours: I'll send for Sir _John_ immediately. Here, Fellow, away
presently; and desire my Neighbour he'll do me the favour to step over,
upon an extraordinary Occasion; and in the mean while you had best
secure this Sharper in the _Gate-House_.
_Const._ An't please your Worship, he may chance to give us the Slip
thence: If I were worthy to advise, I think the Dog-kennel's a surer
Place.
Sir _Tun._ With all my heart, anywhere.
_Lord Fop._ Nay, for Heaven's sake, Sir, do me the favour to put me in
a clean Room, that I mayn't daub my Clothes.
Sir _Tun._ O when you have married my Daughter, her Estate will afford
you new ones: Away with him.
_Lord Fop._ A dirty Country Justice is a barbarous Magistrate, stap my
Vitals----
[_Exit Constable with Lord ~Foppington~._
_Young Fash._ [_Aside._] I gad I must prevent this Knight's coming, or
the House will grow soon too hot to hold me.
_To_ Sir _Tun._] Sir, I fancy 'tis not worth while to trouble Sir
_John_ upon this impertinent Fellow's Desire: I'll send and call the
Messenger back----
Sir _Tun._ Nay, with all my heart; for to be sure he thought he was far
enough off, or the Rogue wou'd never have nam'd him.
_Enter Servant._
_Serv._ Sir, I met Sir _John_ just lighting at the Gate; he's come to
wait upon you.
Sir _Tun._ Nay, then it happens as one cou'd wish.
_Young Fash._ [_Aside._] The Devil it does! _Lory_, you see how things
are, here will be a Discovery presently, and we shall have our Brains
beat out: For my Brother will be sure to swear he don't know me:
Therefore run into the Stable, take the two first Horses you can light
on, I'll slip out at the Back-Door, and we'll away immediately.
_Lo._ What, and leave your Lady, Sir?
_Young Fash._ There's no Danger in that, as long as I have taken
possession; I shall know how to treat with them well enough, if once I
am out of their reach. Away, I'll steal after thee.
[_Exit ~Lory~, his Master follows
him out at one Door, as Sir ~John~ enters at t'other._
_Enter Sir ~John~._
Sir _Tun._ Sir _John_, you are the welcom'st Man alive; I had just
sent a Messenger to desire you'd step over, upon a very extraordinary
Occasion--we are all in Arms here.
Sir _John._ How so?
Sir _Tun._ Why, you must know----a sinical sort of a tawdry Fellow
here (I don't know who the Devil he is, not I) hearing, I suppose,
that the Match was concluded between my Lord _Foppington_ and my Girl
_Hoyden_, comes impudently to the Gate, and with a whole Pack of Rogues
in Liveries, wou'd have pass'd upon me for his Lordship: But what does
I? I comes up to him boldly at the Head of his Guards, takes him by the
Throat, strikes up his Heels, binds him Hand and Foot, dispatches a
Warrant, and commits him Prisoner to the Dog-kennel.
Sir _John._ So, but how do you know but this was my Lord? for I was
told he set out from _London_ the Day before me, with a very fine
Retinue, and intended to come directly hither.
Sir _Tun._ Why now to shew you how many Lies People raise in that
damn'd Town, he came two Nights ago Post, with only one Servant, and is
now in the House with me: But you don't know the Cream of the Jest yet;
this same Rogue, (that lies yonder Neck and Heels among the Hounds)
thinking you were out of the Country, quotes you for his Acquaintance,
and said, if you were here, you'd justify him to be Lord _Foppington_,
and I know not what.
Sir _John._ Pray will you let me see him?
Sir _Tun._ Ay, that you shall presently----here, fetch the Prisoner.
[_Exit Servant._
Sir _John._ I wish there ben't some Mistake in the Business, where's my
Lord? I know him very well.
Sir _Tun._ He was here just now; see for him, Doctor, tell him Sir
_John_ is here to wait upon him.
[_Ex. Chaplain._
Sir _John._ I hope, Sir _Tunbelly_, the young Lady is not married yet.
Sir _Tun._ No, things won't be ready this Week; but why do you say, you
hope she is not married?
Sir _John._ Some foolish Fancies only, perhaps I'm mistaken.
_Re-enter Chaplain._
_Bull._ Sir, his Lordship is just rid out to take the Air.
Sir _Tun._ To take the Air! Is that his _London_ Breeding, to go to
take the Air, when Gentlemen come to visit him?
Sir _John._ 'Tis possible he might want it, he might not be well, some
sudden Qualm perhaps.
_Enter Constable, ~&c.~ with Lord ~Foppington~._
_Lord Fop._ Stap my Vitals, I'll have Satisfaction.
Sir _John._ [_Running to him._] My dear Lord _Foppington_!
_Lord Fop._ Dear _Friendly_, thou art come in the critical Minute,
strike me dumb.
Sir _John._ Why, I little thought to have found you in Fetters.
_Lord Fop._ Why truly the World must do me the justice to confess, I
do use to appear, a little more _degagé_: But this old Gentleman, not
liking the Freedom of my Air, has been pleased to skewer down my Arms
like a Rabbit.
Sir _Tun._ Is it then possible that this shou'd be the true Lord
_Foppington_ at last?
_Lord Fop._ Why what do you see in his Face to make you doubt of it?
Sir, without presuming to have any extraordinary Opinion of my Figure,
give me leave to tell you, if you had seen as many Lords as I have
done, you would not think it impossible a Person of a worse _Taille_
than mine, might be a modern Man of Quality.
Sir _Tun._ Unbind him, Slaves: my Lord, I'm struck dumb, I can only
beg Pardon by Signs; but if a Sacrifice will appease you, you shall
have it. Here, pursue this _Tartar_, bring him back----Away, I say, a
Dog, Oons----I'll cut off his Ears and his Tail, I'll draw out all his
Teeth, pull his skin over his Head----and----what shall I do more?
Sir _John._ He does indeed deserve to be made an Example of.
_Lord Fop._ He does deserve to be _chartrè_, stap my Vitals.
Sir _Tun._ May I then hope I have your Honour's Pardon?
_Lord Fop._ Sir, we Courtiers do nothing without a Bribe; that fair
young Lady might do Miracles.
Sir _Tun._ _Hoyden_, come hither, _Hoyden_.
_Lord Fop._ _Hoyden_ is her Name, Sir?
Sir _Tun._ Yes, my Lord.
_Lord Fop._ The prettiest Name for a Song I ever heard.
Sir _Tun._ My Lord----here's my Girl, she's yours, she has a wholesome
Body, and virtuous Mind; she's a Woman complete, both in Flesh and in
Spirit; she has a Bag of mill'd Crowns, as scarce as they are, and
fifteen hundred a-year flitch'd fast to her Tail: so go thy ways,
_Hoyden_.
_Lord Fop._ Sir, I do receive her like a Gentleman.
Sir _Tun._ Then I'm a happy Man, I bless Heaven, and if your Lordship
will give me leave, I will, like a good Christian at _Christmas_, be
very drunk by way of Thanksgiving. Come, my noble Peer, I believe
Dinner's ready; if your Honour pleases to follow me, I'll lead you on
to the Attack of a Venison Pasty.
[_Exit Sir ~Tun.~_
_Lord Fop._ Sir, I wait upon you: Will your Ladyship do me the favour
of your little Finger, Madam?
_Miss._ My Lord, I'll follow you presently. I have a little Business
with my Nurse.
_Lord Fop._ Your Ladyship's most humble Servant; come, Sir _John_, the
Ladies have _des Affaires_.
[_Exeunt ~Lord Fop~. and Sir ~John~._
_Miss._ So, Nurse, we are finely brought to bed! What shall we do now?
_Nurse._ Ah, dear Miss, we are all undone! Mr. _Bull_, you were us'd to
help a Woman to a Remedy.
[_Crying._
_Bull._ A lack a-day, but it's past my Skill now, I can do nothing.
_Nurse._ Who wou'd have thought that ever your Invention shou'd have
been drain'd so dry?
_Miss._ Well, I have often thought old Folks Fools, and now I'm sure
they are so; I have found a way myself to secure us all.
_Nurse._ Dear Lady, what's that?
_Miss._ Why, if you two will be sure to hold your Tongues, and not say
a word of what's past, I'll e'en marry this Lord too.
_Nurse._ What! two Husbands, my Dear?
_Miss._ Why you had three, good Nurse, you may hold your Tongue.
_Nurse._ Ay, but not all together, sweet Child.
_Miss._ Psha, if you had, you'd ne'er thought much on't.
_Nurse._ O but 'tis a Sin--Sweeting.
_Bull._ Nay, that's my business to speak to, Nurse. I do confess, to
take two Husbands for the Satisfaction of the Flesh, is to commit the
Sin of Exorbitancy; but to do it for the Peace of the Spirit, is no
more than to be drunk by way of Physick: Besides, to prevent a Parent's
Wrath, is to avoid the Sin of Disobedience; for when the Parent's angry
the Child is froward. So that upon the whole Matter, I do think, tho'
Miss shou'd marry again, she may be sav'd.
_Miss._ I'cod, and I will marry again then, and so there is an end of
the Story.
[_Exeunt._
[Illustration]
+ACT+ V. +SCENE+ _London_.
_Enter ~Coupler~, ~Young Fashion~, and ~Lory~._
_Coup._ Well, and so Sir _John_ coming in--
_Young Fash._ And so Sir _John_ coming in, I thought it might be
Manners in me to go out, which I did, and getting on Horseback as fast
as I cou'd, rid away as if the Devil had been at the Rear of me; what
has happen'd since, Heav'n knows.
_Coup._ I'gad, Sirrah, I know as well as Heaven.
_Young Fash._ What do you know?
_Coup._ That you are a Cuckold.
_Young Fash._ The Devil I am! By who?
_Coup._ By your Brother.
_Young Fash._ My Brother! which way?
_Coup._ The old way, he has lain with your Wife.
_Young Fash._ Hell and Furies, what dost thou mean?
_Coup._ I mean plainly, I speak no Parable.
_Young Fash._ Plainly! Thou dost not speak common Sense, I cannot
understand one Word thou sayst.
_Coup._ You will do soon, Youngster. In short, you left your Wife a
Widow, and she married again.
_Young Fash._ It's a Lye.
_Coup._----I'cod, if I were a young Fellow, I'd break your Head, Sirrah.
_Young Fash._ Dear Dad, don't be angry, for I'm as mad as _Tom ~of~
Bedlam_.
_Coup._ When I had fitted you with a Wife, you shou'd have kept her.
_Young Fash._ But is it possible the young Strumpet cou'd play such a
Trick?
_Coup._ A young Strumpet, Sir----can play twenty Tricks.
_Young Fash._ But pr'ythee instruct me a little farther; whence comes
thy Intelligence!
_Coup._ From your Brother, in this Letter; there, you may read it.
[_~Young Fashion~ reads._
Dear _Coupler_,
[Pulling off his Hat,] _I Have only time to tell thee in three Lines,
or thereabouts, that here has been the Devil! That Rascal ~Tam~,
having stole the Letter thou hadst formerly writ for me to bring to
Sir ~Tunbelly~, form'd a damnable Design upon my Mistress, and was in
a fair way of Success when I arriv'd. But after having suffer'd some
Indignities (in which I have all daub'd my embroider'd Coat) I put him
to flight. I sent out a Party of Horse after him, in hopes to have made
him my Prisoner, which if I had done, I would have qualified him for
the Seraglio, stap my Vitals. The Danger I have thus narrowly 'scap'd,
has made me fortify myself against further Attempts, by entering
immediately into an Association with the young Lady, by which we engage
to stand by one another, as long as we both shall live. In short, the
Papers are seal'd, and the Contract is sign'd, so the Business of the
Lawyer is ~achevé~; but I defer the divine part of the thing till I
arrive at ~London~, not being willing to consummate in any other Bed
but my own._
Postscript,
_'Tis possible I may be in the Tawn as soon as this Letter; for I find
the Lady is so violently in love with me, I have determin'd to make her
happy with all the Dispatch that is practicable, without disardering my
Coach Harses._
So, here's rare Work, I'faith!
_Lo._ I'gad, Miss _Hoyden_ has laid about her bravely.
_Coup._ I think my Country-Girl has play'd her part, as well as if she
had been born and bred in St. _James_'s Parish.
_Young Fash._----That Rogue the Chaplain.
_Lo._ And then that Jade the Nurse, Sir.
_Young Fash._ And then that drunken Sot, _Lory_, Sir; that cou'd not
keep himself sober to be a Witness to the Marriage.
_Lo._ Sir----with respect----I know very few drunken Sots that do keep
themselves sober.
_Young Fash._ Hold your prating, Sirrah, or I'll break your Head; dear
_Coupler_, what's to be done?
_Coup._ Nothing's to be done till the Bride and Bridegroom come to Town.
_Young Fash._ Bride and Bridegroom! Death and Furies! I can't bear that
thou shouldst call them so.
_Coup._ Why, what shall I call them, Dog and Cat?
_Young Fash._ Not for the World, that sounds more like Man and Wife
than t'other.
_Coup._ Well, if you'll hear of them in no Language, we'll leave them
for the Nurse and the Chaplain.
_Young Fash._ The Devil and the Witch.
_Coup._ When they come to Town----
_Lo._ We shall have stormy Weather.
_Coup._ Will you hold your tongues, Gentlemen, or not?
_Lo._ Mum.
_Coup._ I say when they, come, we must find what Stuff they are made
of, whether the Churchman be chiefly compos'd of the Flesh, or the
Spirit; I presume the former----For as Chaplains now go, 'tis probable
he eats three Pound of Beef to the reading one Chapter----This gives
him carnal Desires, he wants Money, Preferment, Wine, a Whore;
therefore we must invite him to Supper, give him fat Capons, Sack and
Sugar, a Purse of Gold, and a Plump Sister. Let this be done, and I'll
warrant thee, my Boy, he speaks Truth like an Oracle.
_Young Fash._ Thou art a profound Statesman, I allow it; but how shall
we gain the Nurse?
_Coup._ O never fear the Nurse, if once you have got the Priest, for
the Devil always rides the Hag. Well, there's nothing more to be said
of the Matter at this time, that I know of; so let us go and enquire,
if there's any News of our People yet, perhaps they may be come. But
let me tell you one thing by the way, Sirrah, I doubt you have been an
idle Fellow; if thou hadst behav'd thyself as thou shoud'st have done,
the Girl wou'd never have left thee.
[_Exeunt._
+SCENE+, _~Berinthia~'s Apartment._
_Enter her ~Maid~, passing the Stage, follow'd by ~Worthy~._
_Wor._ Hem, Mrs. _Abigail_, is your Mistress to be spoken with?
_Ab._ By you, Sir, I believe she may.
_Wor._ Why 'tis by me I wou'd have her spoken with.
_Ab._ I'll acquaint her, Sir.
[_Exit ~Ab~._
_~Worthy~ solus._
One Lift more I must persuade her to give me, and then I'm mounted.
Well, a young Bawd, and a handsome one for my Money, 'tis they do the
Execution; I'll never go to an old one, but when I have occasion for a
Witch. Lewdness looks heavenly to a Woman, when an Angel appears in its
Cause; but when a Hag is Advocate, she thinks it comes from the Devil.
An old Woman has something so terrible in her Looks, that whilst she is
persuading your Mistress to forget she has a Soul, she stares Hell and
Damnation full in her Face.
_Enter ~Berinthia~._
_Ber._ Well, Sir, what News bring you?
_Wor._ No News, Madam, there's a Woman going to cuckold her Husband.
_Ber._ _Amanda_?
_Wor._ I hope so.
_Ber._ Speed her well.
_Wor._ Ay, but there must be a more than a God-speed, or your Charity
won't be worth a Farthing.
_Ber._ Why, han't I done enough already?
_Wor._ Not quite.
_Ber._ What's the matter?
_Wor._ The Lady has a Scruple still which you must remove.
_Ber._ What's that?
_Wor._ Her Virtue----she says.
_Ber._ And do you believe her?
_Wor._ No, but I believe it's what she takes for her Virtue; it's some
Relicks of lawful Love: she is not yet fully satisfy'd her Husband has
got another Mistress, which unless I can convince her of, I have opened
the Trenches in vain; for the Breach must be wider, before I dare storm
the Town.
_Ber._ And so I'm to be your Engineer!
_Wor._ I'm sure you know best how to manage the Battery.
_Ber._ What think you of springing a Mine? I have a Thought just now
come into my Head, how to blow her up at once.
_Wor._ That would be a Thought, indeed!
_Ber._----Faith, I'll do't, and thus the Execution of it shall be. We
are all invited to my Lord _Foppington_'s to-night to Supper, he's
come to Town with his Bride, and maketh a Ball, with an Entertainment
of Musick. Now you must know, my Undoer here, _Loveless_, says he
must needs meet me about some private Business (I don't know what
'tis) before we go to the Company. To which end he has told his Wife
one Lye, and I have told her another. But to make her amends, I'll go
immediately, and tell her a solemn Truth.
_Wor._ What's that?
_Ber._ Why, I'll tell her, that to my certain Knowledge her Husband
has a Rendezvous with his Mistress this Afternoon; and that if she'll
give me her Word, she will be satisfy'd with the Discovery, without
making any violent Inquiry after the Woman, I'll direct her to a Place,
where she shall see them meet.--Now, Friend, this I fancy may help you
to a critical Minute. For home she must go again to dress. You, with
your good-breeding, come to wait upon us to the Ball, find her all
alone, her Spirit enflam'd against her Husband for his Treason, and her
Flesh in a Heat from some Contemplations upon the Treachery, her Blood
on a Fire, her Conscience in ice; a Lover to draw, and the Devil to
drive----Ah, poor _Amanda_!
_Wor._ [_Kneeling._] Thou Angel of Light, let me fall down and adore
thee!
_Ber._ Thou Minister of Darkness, get up again, for I hate to see the
Devil at his Devotions.
_Wor._ Well, my incomparable _Berinthia_----How shall I requite you----
_Ber._ O ne'er trouble yourself about that: Virtue is its own Reward:
There's a Pleasure in doing good, which sufficiently pays itself. Adieu.
_Wor._ Farewel, thou best of Women.
[_Exeunt several ways._
_Enter ~Amanda~, meeting ~Berinthia~._
_Aman._ Who was that went from you?
_Ber._ A Friend of yours.
_Aman._ What does he want?
_Ber._ Something you might spare him, and be ne'er the poorer.
_Aman._ I can spare him nothing but my Friendship; my Love already's
all dispos'd of: Tho', I confess, to one ungrateful to my Bounty.
_Ber._ Why there's the Mystery! You have been so bountiful, you have
cloy'd him. Fond Wives do by their Husbands, as barren Wives do by
their Lap-Dogs; cram them with Sweetmeats till they spoil their
Stomachs.
_Aman._ Alas! Had you but seen how passionately fond he has been since
our last Reconciliation, you wou'd have thought it were impossible he
ever should have breath'd an Hour without me.
_Ber._ Ay but there you thought wrong again, _Amanda_; you shou'd
consider, that in Matters of Love Men's Eyes are always bigger than
their Bellies. They have violent Appetites, 'tis true, but they have
soon din'd.
_Aman._ Well; there's nothing upon Earth astonishes me more than Men's
Inconstancy.
_Ber._ Now there's nothing upon Earth astonishes me less, when I
consider what they and we are compos'd of. For Nature has made them
Children, and us Babies. Now, _Amanda_, how we us'd our Babies, you may
remember. We were mad to have them, as soon as we saw them; kiss'd them
to pieces, as soon as we got them; then pull'd off their Clothes, saw
them naked, and so threw them away.
_Aman._ But do you think all Men are of this Temper?
_Ber._ All but one.
_Aman._ Who's that?
_Ber._ _Worthy_.
_Aman._ Why, he's weary of his Wife too, you see.
_Ber._ Ay, that's no Proof.
_Aman._ What can be a greater?
_Ber._ Being weary of his Mistress.
_Aman._ Don't you think 'twere possible he might give you that too?
_Ber._ Perhaps he might, if he were my Gallant; not if he were your's.
_Aman._ Why do you think he shou'd be more constant to me, than he
wou'd to you? I'm sure I'm not so handsome.
_Ber._ Kissing goes by Favour; he likes you best.
_Aman._ Suppose he does; That's no Demonstration he wou'd be constant
to me.
_Ber._ No, that I'll grant you: But there are other Reasons to expect
it; for you must know after all, _Amanda_, the Inconstancy we commonly
see in Men of Brains, does not so much proceed from the Uncertainty
of their Temper, as from the Misfortunes of their Love. A Man sees,
perhaps, an hundred Women he likes well enough for an Intrigue, and
away; but possibly, thro' the whole Course of his Life, does not find
above one, who is exactly what he could wish her: now her, 'tis a
thousand to one, he never gets. Either she is not to be had at all
(tho' that seldom happens, you'll say) or he wants those Opportunities
that are necessary to gain her; either she likes somebody else much
better than him, or uses him like a Dog, because he likes no body so
well as her. Still something or other Fate claps in the way between
them and the Woman they are capable of being fond of. And this makes
them wander about from Mistress to Mistress, like a Pilgrim from Town
to Town, who every Night must have a fresh lodging, and 's in haste to
be gone in the Morning.
_Aman._ Tis possible there may be something in what you say; but what
do you infer from it, as to the Man we were talking of?
_Ber._ Why, I infer, that you being the Woman in the World the most to
his Humour, 'tis not likely he would quit you for one that is less.
_Aman._ That is not to be depended upon, for you see Mr. _Loveless_
does so.
_Ber._ What does Mr. _Loveless_ do?
_Aman._ Why, he runs after something for Variety, I'm sure he does not
like so well as he does me.
_Ber._ That's more than you know, Madam.
_Aman._ No, I'm sure on't: I am not very vain, _Berinthia_; and yet
I'll lay my Life, if I could look into his Heart, he thinks I deserve
to be prefer'd to a thousand of her.
_Ber._ Don't be too positive in that neither: A Million to one, but she
has the same Opinion of you. What wou'd you give to see her?
_Aman._ Hang her, dirty Trull; tho' I really believe she's so ugly,
she'd cure me of my Jealousy.
_Ber._ All the Men of Sense about Town say she's handsome.
_Aman._ They are as often out in those things as any People.
_Ber._ Then I'll give you further Proof----all the Women about Town
say, she's a Fool: Now I hope you are convinc'd?
_Aman._ Whate'er she be, I'm satisfy'd he does not like her well enough
to bestow any thing more than a little outward Gallantry upon her.
_Ber._ Outward Gallantry!----[_Aside._] I can't bear this. [_To
Aman._] Don't you think she's a Woman to be fobb'd off so. Come, I'm
too much your Friend, to suffer you should be thus grossly impos'd
upon, by a Man who does not deserve the least part about you, unless
he knew how to set a greater Value upon it. Therefore in one word, to
my certain knowledge, he is to meet her now, within a quarter of an
Hour, somewhere about that _Babylon_ of Wickedness, _Whitehall_. And if
you'll give me your Word that you'll be content with seeing her mask'd
in his Hand, without pulling her Headclothes off, I'll step immediately
to the Person, from whom I have my Intelligence, and send you word
whereabouts you may stand to see 'em meet. My Friend and I'll watch 'em
from another place, and dodge 'em to their private Lodging: But don't
you offer to follow 'em, lest you do it awkwardly, and spoil all. I'll
come home to you again, as soon as I have earth'd 'em, and give you an
account in what corner of the House the Scene of their Lewdness lies.
_Aman._ If you can do this, _Berinthia_, he's a Villain.
_Ber._ I can't help that, Men will be so.
_Aman._ Well! I'll follow your Directions; for I shall never rest till
I know the worst of this matter.
_Ber._ Pray, go immediately, and get yourself ready then. Put on some
of your Woman's Clothes, a great Scarf and a Mask, and you shall
presently receive Orders. [_Calls within._] Here, who's there? get me a
Chair quickly.
_Serv._ There are Chairs at the Door, Madam.
_Ber._ 'Tis well, I'm coming.
_Aman._ But pray, _Berinthia_, before you go, tell me how I may know
this filthy Thing, if she would be so forward (as I suppose she will)
to come to the Rendezvous first; for, methinks, I would fain view her a
little.
_Ber._ Why, she's about my heighth; and very well shap'd.
_Aman._ I thought she had been a little crooked?
_Ber._ O no, she's as straight as I am. But we lose time, come away.
[_Exeunt._
_Enter ~Young Fashion~, meeting ~Lory~._
_Young Fash._ Well, will the Doctor come?
_Lo._ Sir, I sent a Porter to him as you order'd me. He found him with
a Pipe of Tobacco and a great Tankard of Ale, which he said he wou'd
dispatch while I cou'd tell three, and be here.
_Young Fash._ He does not suspect 'twas I that sent for him?
_Lo._ Not a Jot, Sir, he divines as little for himself, as he does for
other Folks.
_Young Fash._ Will he bring Nurse with him?
_Lo._ Yes.
_Young Fash._ That's well; where's _Coupler_?
_Lo._ He's half way up the Stairs taking Breath; he must play his
Bellows a little, before he can get to the top.
_Enter ~Coupler~._
_Young Fash._ O here he is. Well, old Phthisick, the Doctor's coming.
_Coup._ Wou'd the Pox had the Doctor----I'm quite out of Wind [_To
Lo._] Set me a Chair, Sirrah. Ah----[_Sits down._] [_To Young Fash._]
Why the Plague can'st not thou lodge upon the Ground-Floor?
_Young Fash._ Because I love to lie as near Heaven as I can.
_Coup._ Pr'ythee let Heaven alone; ne'er affect tending that way: Thy
Center's downwards.
_Young Fash_. That's impossible. I have too much ill Luck in this
World, to be damn'd in the next.
_Coup._ Thou art out in thy Logick. Thy Major is true, but thy Minor is
false; for thou art the luckiest Fellow in the Universe.
_Young Fash_. Make out that.
_Coup._ I'll do't: Last Night the Devil ran away with the Parson of
_Fat-goose_ Living.
_Young Fash._ If he had run away with the Parish too, what's that to me?
_Coup._ I'll tell thee what it's to thee. This Living is worth five
hundred Pound a-year, and the Presentation of it is thine, if thou
can'st prove thyself a lawful Husband to Miss _Hoyden_.
_Young Fash._ Say'st thou so, my Protector! then I'gad I shall have a
Brace of Evidences here presently.
_Coup._ The Nurse and the Doctor?
_Young Fash._ The same: The Devil himself won't have Interest enough to
make them withstand it.
_Coup._ That we shall see presently: Here they come.
_Enter ~Nurse~ and ~Chaplain~; they start back, seeing ~Young
Fashion~._
_Nurse._ Ah Goodness, _Roger_, we are betray'd.
_Young Fash._ [_Laying hold on them._] Nay, nay, ne'er flinch for the
matter; for I have you safe. Come to your Trials immediately; I have no
time to give you Copies of your Indictment. There sits your Judge.--
_Both kneeling._ Pray, Sir, have Compassion on us.
_Nurse._ I hope, Sir, my Years will move your Pity; I am an aged Woman.
_Coup._ That is a moving Argument, indeed!
_Coup._ [_To Bull._] Are not you a rogue of Sanctity?
_Bull._ Sir, with respect to my Function, I do wear a Gown. I hope,
Sir, my Character will be consider'd; I am Heaven's Ambassador.
_Coup._ Did not you marry this vigorous young Fellow to a plump young
buxom Wench?
_Nurse._ [_To Bull._] Don't confess, _Roger_, unless you are hard put
to it, indeed?
_Coup._ Come, out with't--Now is he chewing the Cud of his Roguery, and
grinding a Lye between his Teeth.
_Bull._ Sir,----I cannot positively say----I say, Sir----positively I
cannot say----
_Coup._ Come, no Equivocation, no Roman Turns upon us. Consider thou
stand'st upon Protestant Ground, which will slip from under thee like
a _Tyburn_ Car; for in this Country we have always ten Hangmen for one
Jesuit.
_Bull._ [_To Young Fash._] Pray, Sir, then will you but permit me to
speak one word in private with Nurse?
_Young Fash._ Thou art always for doing something in private with Nurse.
_Coup._ But pray let his Betters be serv'd before him for once. I would
do something in private with her myself; _Lory_, take care of this
Reverend Gownman in the next Room a little. Retire, Priest. [_Exit
~Lo~. with ~Bull~._]--Now, Virgin, I must put the matter home to you a
little: Do you think it might not be possible to make you speak Truth?
_Nurse._ Alas! Sir, I don't know what you mean by Truth.
_Coup._ Nay,'tis possible thou may'st be a Stranger to it.
_Young Fash._ Come, Nurse, you and I were better Friends when we saw
one another last; and I still believe you are a very good Woman in
the bottom. I did deceive you and your young Lady, 'tis true, but I
always design'd to make a very good Husband to her, and to be a very
good Friend to you. And 'tis possible in the end, she might have found
herself happier and you richer, than ever my Brother will make you.
_Nurse._ Brother! Why is your Worship then his Lordship's Brother!
_Young Fash._ I am; which you should have known, if I durst have staid
to have told you; but I was forc'd to take Horse a little in haste, you
know.
_Nurse._ You were, indeed, Sir: poor young Man, how he was bound to
scaure for't. Now won't your Worship be angry, if I confess the Truth
to you; when I found you were a Cheat (with respect be it spoken) I
verily believ'd Miss had got some pitiful Skip-Jack Varlet or other to
her Husband, or I had ne'er let her think of marrying again.
_Coup._ But where was your Conscience all this while, Woman? Did not
that stare you in the Face with huge Saucer-eyes, and a great Horn upon
the Forehead? Did not you think you should be damn'd for such a Sin? Ha!
_Young Fash._ Well said, Divinity, press that home upon her.
_Nurse._ Why, in good truly, Sir, I had some fearful Thoughts on't,
and cou'd never be brought to consent, till Mr. _Bull_ said it was a
_Peckadilla_, and he'd secure my Soul for a Tythe-Pig.
_Young Fash._ There was a Rogue for you.
_Coup._ And he shall thrive accordingly: He shall have a good Living.
Come, honest _Nurse_, I see you have Butter in your Compound; you can
melt. Some Compassion you can have of this handsome young Fellow.
_Nurse._ I have, indeed, Sir.
_Young Fash._ Why, then, I'll tell you what you shall do for me. You
know what a warm Living here is fallen; and that it must be in the
Disposal of him who has the Disposal of Miss. Now if you and the Doctor
will agree to prove my Marriage, I'll present him to it, upon condition
he makes you his Bride.
_Nurse._ Naw the Blessing of the Lord follow your good Worship both by
Night and by Day! Let him be fetch'd in by the Ears; I'll soon bring
his Nose to the Grindstone.
_Coup._ [_Aside._] Well said, old Whit-Leather. Hey; bring in the
Prisoner there.
_Enter ~Lory~ with ~Bull~._
_Coup._ Come, advance, holy Man! Here's your Duck does not think fit to
retire with you into the Chancel at this time; but she has a Proposal
to make to you in the Face of the Congregation. Come, _Nurse_, speak
for yourself; you are of Age.
_Nurse._ _Roger_, are not you a wicked Man, _Roger_, to set your
Strength against a weak Woman, and persuade her it was no Sin to
conceal Miss's Nuptials? My Conscience flies in my Face for it, thou
Priest of _Baal_; and I find by woful Experience, thy Absolution is not
worth an old Cassock: therefore I am resolved to confess the Truth to
the whole World, tho' I die a Beggar for it. But his Worship overflows
with his Mercy, and his Bounty: He is not only pleas'd to forgive us
our Sins, but designs thou sha't squat thee down in _Fat-goose_ Living;
and, which is more than all, has prevail'd with me to become the Wife
of thy Bosom.
_Young Fash._ All this I intend for you, Doctor. What you are to do for
me, I need not tell you.
_Bull._ Your Worship's Goodness is unspeakable: Yet there is one thing
seems a Point of Conscience; and Conscience is a tender Babe. If I
shou'd bind myself, for the sake of this Living, to marry _Nurse_, and
maintain her afterwards, I doubt it might be look'd on as a kind of
Simony.
_Coup._ [_Rising up._] If it were Sacrilege, the Living's worth it:
Therefore no more Words, good Doctor: but with the [_Giving ~Nurse~ to
him._] Parish----here----take the Parsonage-house. 'Tis true, 'tis a
little out of Repair; some Dilapidations there are to be made good; the
Windows are broke, the Wainscot is warp'd, the Ceilings are peel'd, and
the Walls are crack'd; but a little Glasing, Painting, White-wash, and
Plaster, will make it last thy time.
_Bull._ Well, Sir, if it must be so, I shan't contend: What Providence
orders, I submit to.
_Nurse._ And so do I, with all Humility.
_Coup._ Why, that now was spoke like good People. Come, my
Turtle-Doves, let us go help this poor Pigeon to his wandering Mate
again: and after Institution and Induction, you shall all go a-cooing
together.
[_Exeunt._
_Enter ~Amanda~, in a Scarf, &c. as just returned, her
Woman following her._
_Aman._ Pr'ythee, what care I who has been here?
_Wom._ Madam, 'twas my Lady _Bridle_, and my Lady _Tiptoe_.
_Aman._ My Lady _Fiddle_, and my Lady _Faddle_. What dost stand
troubling me with the Visits of a parcel of impertinent Women? When
they are well seam'd with the Small Pox, they won't be so fond of
shewing their Faces----There are more Coquettes about this Town--
_Wom._ Madam, I suppose, they only came to return your Ladyship's
Visit, according to the Custom of the World.
_Aman._ Wou'd the World were on Fire, and you in the middle on't! Be
gone: leave me.
[_Exit Wom._
_~Amanda~ sola._
At last I am convinc'd. My Eyes are Testimonies of his Falshood.
The base, ungrateful, perjur'd Villain----
Good Gods--What slippery Stuff are Men compos'd of!
Sure the Account of their Creation's false,
And 'twas the Woman's Rib that they were form'd of.
But why am I thus angry?
This poor Relapse shou'd only move my Scorn.
'Tis true, the roving Flights of his unfinish'd Youth
Had strong Excuses from the Plea of Nature:
Reason had thrown the Reins loose on his Neck,
And slipt him to unlimited Desire.
If therefore he went wrong, he had a Claim
To my Forgiveness, and I did him right.
But since the Years of Manhood rein him in,
And Reason, well digested into Thought,
Has pointed out the Course he ought to run;
If now he strays,
'Twou'd be as weak and mean in me to pardon,
As it has been in him t' offend. But hold:
'Tis an ill Cause indeed, where nothing's to be said for't.
My Beauty possibly is in the Wain:
Perhaps Sixteen has greater Charms for him:
Yes, there's the Secret. But let him know,
My Quiver's not entirely empty'd yet,
I still have Darts, and I can shoot 'em too;
They're not so blunt, but they can enter still;
The Want's not in my Power, but in my Will.
Virtue's his Friend; or, thro' another's Heart,
I yet cou'd find the way to make his smart.
[_Going off, she meets ~Worthy~._
Ha! He here? Protect me, Heaven, for this looks ominous.
_Wor._ You seem disorder'd, Madam; I hope there's no Misfortune
happen'd to you?
_Aman._ None that will long disorder me, I hope.
_Wor._ Whate'er it be disturbs you, I wou'd to Heaven 'twere in my
Power to bear the Pain, till I were able to remove the Cause.
_Aman._ I hope ere long it will remove itself. At least, I have given
it warning to be gone.
_Wor._ Wou'd I durst ask, Where 'tis the Thorn torments you?
Forgive me, if I grow inquisitive;
'Tis only with desire to give you Ease.
_Aman._ Alas! 'tis in a tender Part. It can't be drawn without a World
of Pain: Yet out it must; for it begins to fester in my Heart.
_Wor._ If 'tis the Sting of unrequited Love, remove it instantly: I
have a Balm will quickly heal the Wound.
_Aman._ You'll find the Undertaking difficult: The Surgeon who already
has attempted it, has much tormented me.
_Wor._ I'll aid him with a gentler Hand--if you will give me leave.
_Aman._ How soft soe'er the Hand may be, there still is Terror in the
Operation.
_Wor._ Some few Preparatives would make it easy, could I persuade you
to apply 'em. Make Home Reflections, Madam, on your slighted Love:
Weigh well the Strength and Beauty of your Charms: Rouse up that Spirit
Women ought to bear, and slight your God, if he neglects his Angel.
With Arms of Ice receive his cold Embraces, and keep your Fire for
those who come in Flames. Behold a burning Lover at your Feet, his
Fever raging in his Veins. See how he trembles, how he pants! See how
he glows, how he consumes! Extend the Arms of Mercy to his Aid: his
Zeal may give him Title to your Pity, altho' his Merit cannot claim
your Love.
_Aman._ Of all my feeble Sex, sure I must be the weakest, shou'd I
again presume to think on Love. [_Sighing._]--Alas! my Heart has been
too roughly treated.
_Wor._ 'Twill find the greater Bliss in softer Usage.
_Aman._ But where's that Usage to be found?
_Wor._ 'Tis here, within this faithful Breast; which if you doubt, I'll
rip it up before your Eyes; lay all its Secrets open to your View; and
then you'll see 'twas sound.
_Aman._ With just such honest Words as these, the worst of Men deceiv'd
me.
_Wor._ He therefore merits all Revenge can do: his Fault is such, the
Extent and Stretch of Vengeance cannot reach it. O make me but your
Instrument of Justice; you'll find me execute it with such Zeal, as
shall convince you I abhor the Crime.
_Aman._ The Rigour of an Executioner has more the Face of Cruelty than
Justice: And he who puts the Cord about the Wretch's Neck, is seldom
known to exceed him in his Morals.
_Wor._ What Proof then can I give you of my Truth?
_Aman._ There is on Earth but one.
_Wor._ And is that in my Power?
_Aman._ It is: And one that would so thoroughly convince me, I should
be apt to rate your Heart so high, I possibly might purchase't with a
part of mine.
_Wor._ Then, Heav'n, thou art my Friend, and I am blest; for if 'tis
in my Power, my Will I'm sure will reach it. No matter what the Terms
may be, when such a Recompence is offer'd. O tell me quickly what this
Proof must be! What is it will convince you of my Love?
_Aman._ I shall believe you love me as you ought, if from this Moment,
you forbear to ask whatever is unfit for me to grant.----You pause upon
it, Sir----I doubt on such hard Terms, a Woman's Heart is scarcely
worth the having.
_Wor._ A Heart like yours, on any Terms is worth it; 'twas not on that
I paus'd: But I was thinking [_Drawing nearer to her._] whether some
things there may not be, which Women cannot grant without a Blush, and
yet which Men may take without Offence. [_Taking her Hand._] Your Hand
I fancy may be of the Number: O pardon me, if I commit a Rape upon it,
[_Kissing it eagerly._] and thus devour it with my Kisses!
_Aman._ O Heavens! let me go.
_Wor._ Never, whilst I have Strength to hold you here. [_Forcing her to
sit down on a Couch._] My Life, my Soul, my Goddess----O forgive me!
_Aman._ O whither am I going? Help, Heaven, or I am lost.
_Wor._ Stand neuter, Gods, this once I do invoke you.
_Aman._ Then, save me, Virtue, and the Glory's thine.
_Wor._ Nay, never strive.
_Aman._ I will; and conquer too. My Forces rally bravely to my Aid,
[_Breaking from him._] and thus I gain the Day.
_Wor._ Then mine as bravely double their Attack. [_Seizing her again._]
And thus I wrest it from you. Nay, struggle not; for all's in vain: On
Death or victory; I am determin'd.
_Aman._ And so am I. [_Rushing from him._] Now keep your distance, or
we part for ever.
_Wor._ [_Offering again._] For Heaven's sake----
_Aman._ [_Going._] Nay then, farewel.
_Wor._ [_Kneeling and holding by her Clothes._] O stay, and see the
Magick Force of Love: Behold this raging Lion at your Feet, struck
dead with Fear, and tame as Charms can make him. What must I do to be
forgiven by you?
_Aman._ Repent, and never more offend.
_Wor._ Repentance for past Crimes is just and easy; but sin no more's a
Task too hard for Mortals.
_Aman._ Yet those who hope for Heaven, must use their best Endeavours
to perform it.
_Wor._ Endeavours we may use, but Flesh and Blood are got in t'other
Scale; and they are pond'rous things.
_Aman._ Whate'er they are, there is a Weight in Resolution sufficient
for their Balance. The Soul, I do confess, is usually so careless of
its Charge, so soft, and so indulgent to Desire, it leaves the Reins
in the wild Hand of Nature, who, like a _Phaeton_, drives the fiery
Chariot, and sets the World on Flame. Yet still the Sovereignty is in
the Mind, whene'er it pleases to exert its Force. Perhaps you may not
think it worth your while to take such mighty pains for my Esteem; but
that I leave to you.
You see the Price I set upon my Heart; }
Perhaps 'tis dear: But spite of all your Art, }
You'll find on cheaper Terms we ne'er shall part. }
[_Exit ~Amanda~._
_~Worthy~ solus_.
Sure there's Divinity about her; and she'as dispens'd some portion on't
to me. For what but now was the wild Flame of Love, or (to dissect that
specious Term) the vile, the gross Desires of Flesh and Blood, is in a
Moment turn'd to Adoration. The coarser Appetite of Nature's gone, and
'tis, methinks, the Food of Angels I require: how long this Influence
may last, Heaven knows. But in this Moment of my Purity, I cou'd on her
own Terms accept her Heart. Yes, lovely Woman, I can accept it. For now
'tis doubly worth my Care. Your Charms are much increas'd, since thus
adorn'd. When Truth's extorted from us, then we own the Robe of Virtue
is a graceful Habit.
Cou'd Women but our secret Counsels scan,
Cou'd they but reach the deep Reserves of Man,
They'd wear it on, that That of Love might last;
For when they throw off one, we soon the other cast.
Their Sympathy is such----
The Fate of one, the other scarce can fly--
They live together, and together die.
[_Exit._
_Enter ~Miss~ and ~Nurse~._
_Miss._ But is it sure and certain, say you, he's my Lord's own Brother?
_Nurse._ As sure, as he's your lawful Husband.
_Miss._ I'cod, if I had known that in time, I don't know but I might
have kept him; For, between you and I, Nurse, he'd have made a Husband
worth two of this I have. But which do you think you shou'd fancy most,
Nurse?
_Nurse._ Why, truly, in my poor fancy, Madam, your first Husband is the
prettier Gentleman.
_Miss._ I don't like my Lord's Shapes, Nurse.
_Nurse._ Why in good truly, as a body may say, he is but a Slam.
_Miss._ What do you think now he puts me in mind of? Don't you remember
a long, loose, shambling sort of a Horse my Father call'd _Washy_?
_Nurse._ As like as two Twin-Brothers.
_Miss._ I'cod, I have thought so a hundred times: 'Faith, I'm tired of
him.
_Nurse._ Indeed, Madam, I think you had e'en as good stand to your
first Bargain.
_Miss._ O but, Nurse, we han't considered the main thing yet.
If I leave my Lord, I must leave my Lady too: and when I rattle
about the Streets in my Coach, they'll only say, there goes
Mistress----Mistress----Mistress what? What's this Man's Name, I have
married, Nurse?
_Nurse._ 'Squire _Fashion_.
_Miss._ 'Squire _Fashion_ is it?----Well, 'Squire, that's better than
nothing: Do you think one cou'd not get him made a Knight, Nurse?
_Nurse._ I don't know but one might, Madam, when the King's in a good
Humour.
_Miss._ I'cod, that wou'd do rarely. For then he'd be as good a Man as
my Father, you know.
_Nurse._ By'r Lady, and that's as good as the best of 'em.
_Miss._ So 'tis, faith; for then I shall be my Lady, and your Ladyship
at every Word, that's all I have to care for. Ha, Nurse! But hark you
me, one thing more, and then I have done. I'm afraid, if I change my
Husband again, I shan't have so much Money to throw about, Nurse.
_Nurse._ O, enough's as good as a Feast: Besides, Madam, one don't
know, but as much may fall to your share with the younger Brother, as
with the elder. For tho' these Lords have a power of Wealth, indeed;
yet as I have heard say, they give it all to their Sluts and their
Trulls, who joggle it about in their Coaches, with a Murrain to 'em,
whilst poor Madam sits sighing and wishing, and knotting and crying,
and has not a spare Half-Crown to buy her a _Practice of Piety_.
_Miss._ O, but for that, don't deceive yourself, Nurse. For this I must
[_Snapping her Fingers._] say for my Lord, and a----for him: He's as
free as an open House at _Christmas_. For this very Morning he told me,
I shou'd have two hundred a-year to buy Pins. Now, Nurse, if he gives
me two hundred a-year to buy Pins, what do you think he'll give me to
buy fine Petticoats?
_Nurse._ Ah, my Dearest, he deceives these faully, and he's no better
than a Rogue for his pains. These _Londoners_ have got a Gibberidge
with them, would confound a Gipsey. That which they call Pin-money, is
to buy their Wives every thing in the varsal World, down to their very
Shoe-tyes? Nay, I have heard Folks say, That some Ladies, if they will
have Gallants, as they call 'em, are forc'd to find them out of their
Pin-money too.
_Miss._ Has he serv'd me so, say ye?----Then I'll be his Wife no
longer, that's fixt. Look, here he comes, with all the fine Folks at
's heels. I'cod, Nurse, these _London_ Ladies will laugh till they
crack again, to see me slip my Collar, and run away from my Husband.
But, d'ye hear? Pray take care of one thing: When the Business comes to
break out, be sure you get between me and my Father, for you know his
Tricks; he'll knock me down.
_Nurse._ I'll mind him, ne'er fear, Madam.
_Enter Lord ~Foppington~, ~Loveless~, ~Worthy~, ~Amanda~,
and ~Berinthia~._
_Lord Fop._ Ladies and Gentlemen, you are all welcome. [_To_ Lov.]
_Loveless_----That's my Wife; pr'ythee do me the favour to salute
her: And do'st hear, [_Aside to him._] if thau hast a mind to try thy
Fartune, to be reveng'd of me, I won't take it ill, stap my Vitals.
_Lov._ You need not fear, Sir, I'm too fond of my own Wife, to have the
least Inclination for yours.
[_All salute Miss._
_Lord Fop._ [_Aside._] I'd give a thausand Paund he wou'd make Love to
her, that he may see she has sense enough to prefer me to him, tho' his
own Wife has not: [_Viewing him._]--He's a very beastly Fellow, in my
Opinion.
_Miss._ [_Aside._] What a Power of fine Men there are in this _London_!
He that kist me first, is a goodly Gentleman, I promise you: Sure those
Wives have a rare time on't, that live here always.
_Enter Sir ~Tunbelly~, with Musicians, Dancers, ~&c.~_
Sir _Tun._ Come, come in, good People, come in; come, tune your
Fiddles, tune your Fiddles.
_To the Hautboys._] Bag-pipes, make ready there. Come, strike up.
[_Sings._
_For this is ~Hoyden~'s Wedding-day;
And therefore we keep Holy-day,
And come to be merry._
Ha! there's my Wench, I'faith: Touch and take, I'll warrant her; she'll
breed like a tame Rabbit.
_Miss._ [_Aside._] I'cod, I think my Father's gotten drunk before
Supper.
Sir _Tun._ [_To ~Lov~. and ~Wor~._] Gentlemen, you are welcome.
[_Saluting ~Aman~. and ~Ber~._] Ladies, by your leave. Ha----They bill
like Turtles. Udsookers, they set my old Blood a-fire; I shall cuckold
some body before Morning.
_Lord Fop._ [_To Sir ~Tun~._] Sir, you being Master of the
Entertainment, will you desire the Company to sit?
Sir _Tun._ Oons, Sir,----I'm the happiest Man on this side the _Ganges_.
_Lord Fop._ [_Aside._] This is a mighty unaccountable old Fellow. [_To
Sir ~Tun~._] I said, Sir, it wou'd be convenient to ask the Company to
sit.
Sir _Tun._ Sit----with all my heart: Come, take your places, Ladies;
take your places, Gentlemen: Come, sit down, sit down; a Pox of
Ceremony, take your places.
[_They sit, and the Mask begins._
Dialogue between _Cupid_ and _Hymen_.
Cupid. 1.
_Thou Bane to my Empire, thou Spring of Contest,
Thou Source of all Discord, thou Period to Rest;
Instruct me what Wretches in Bondage can see,
That the Aim of their Life is still pointed to thee._
Hymen. 2.
_Instruct me, thou little impertinent God,
From whence all thy Subjects have taken the Mode
To grow fond of a Change, to whatever it be,
And I'll tell thee why those wou'd be bound, who are free._
Chorus.
_For Change, we're for Change, to whatever it be,
We are neither contented with Freedom nor Thee.
Constancy's an empty Sound,
Heaven, and Earth, and all go round,
All the Works of Nature move,
And the Joys of Life and Love
Are in Variety._
Cupid. 3.
_Were Love the Reward of a pains-taking Life,
Had a Husband the Art to be fond of his Wife;
Were Virtue so plenty, a Wife cou'd afford,
These very hard Times, to be true to her Lord;
Some specious Account might be given of those
Who are ty'd by the Tail, to be led by the Nose._
4.
_But since 'tis the Fate of a Man and his Wife,
To consume all their Days in Contention and Strife:
Since whatever the Bounty of Heaven may create her,
He's morally sure he shall heartily hate her;
I think 'twere much wiser to ramble at large,
And the Volleys of Love on the Herd to discharge._
Hymen. 5.
_Some colour of Reason thy Counsel might bear,
Cou'd a Man have no more than his Wife to his share;
Or were I a Monarch so cruelly just,
To oblige a poor Wife to be true to her Trust;
But I have not pretended, for many Years past,
By marrying of People, to make 'em grow chaste._
6.
_I therefore advise thee to let me go on,
Thou'd find I'm the Strength and Support of thy Throne;
For hadst thou but Eyes, thou wouldst quickly perceive it,
How smoothly the Dart
Slips into the Heart
Of a Woman that's Wed;
Whilst the shivering Maid
Stands trembling, and wishing, but dare not receive it._
Chorus.
_For Change,_ &c.
Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/51113