Ick quam Van Neder Landt te sprekenEnd helpen Van Pocken end ander gebreken.That’s a top of my Bill, sweet Sir.Exeunt Doctors.Fan.Lord, Sir Father, why do you give ’em Money?Lean.For talking Nonsense this Hour or two upon his Distemper.Fan.Oh lemini, Sir, they did not talk one word of you, but of Dogs and Horses, and of killing Folks, and of their Wives and Daughters; and when the Wine was all out, they said they wou’d say something for their Fees.Sir Pat.Say you so!—Knaves, Rogues, Cheats, Murderers! I’ll be reveng’d on ’em all,—I’ll ne’er be sick again,—or if I be, I’ll die honestly of my self without the assistance of such Rascals,—go, get you gone.—ToFan.who goes out.Lean.A happy resolution! wou’d you wou’d be so kind to your self as to make a trial of your Lady too; and if she prove true, ’twill make some kind of amends for your so long being cozen’d this way.Sir Pat.I’ll about it, this very minute about it,—give me a Chair.—He sits.Lean.So, settle your self well, disorder your Hair,—throw away your Cane, Hat and Gloves,—stare, and rowl your Eyes, squeeze your Face into Convulsions,—clutch your Hands, make your Stomach heave, so, very well,—now let me alone for the rest—Oh, help, help, my Lady, my Aunt, for Heavens sake, help,—come all and see him die.Weeps.EnterWittmore, LadyFancy,Isabella,Lucretia, LadyKnowell,Roger,andNurse.Wit.Leander, what’s the matter?Lean.See, Madam, see my Uncle in the Agonies of Death.L. Fan.My dearest Husband dying, Oh!Weeps.Lean.How hard he struggles with departing Life!Isab.Father, dear Father, must I in one day receive a Blessing with so great a Curse? Oh,—he’s just going, Madam.—Weeps.L. Fan.Let me o’ertake him in the Shades below, why do you hold me, can I live without him? do I dissemble well?—Aside toWit.Sir Pat.Not live without me!—do you hear that, Sirrah?Aside toLean.Lean.Pray mark the end on’t, Sir,—feign,—feign.—L. Kno.We left him well, how came he thus o’th’ sudden?Lean.I fear ’tis an Apoplexy, Madam.L. Fan.Run, run for his Physician; but do not stir a foot.Aside toRoger.Look up, and speak but one kind word to me.Sir Pat.What crys are these that stop me on my way?L. Fan.They’re mine,—your Lady’s—oh, surely he’ll recover.Aside.Your most obedient Wife’s.Sir Pat.My Wife’s, my Heir, my sole Executrix.L. Fan.Hah, is he in’s Senses?Aside toWit.Oh my dear Love, my Life, my Joy, my All,Crys.Oh, let me go; I will not live without him.Seems to faint inWittmore’sArms. All run about her.Sir Pat.Do ye hear that, Sirrah?Lean.Have yet a little Patience, die away,—very well—Oh, he’s gone,—quite gone.L.Fan.swoons.L. Kno.Look to my Lady there,Swoons again.—Sure she can but counterfeit.Aside.They all go about her.Sir Pat.Hah, my Lady dying!Lean.Sir, I beseech you wait the event. Death! the cunning Devil will dissemble too long and spoil all,—here—carry the dead Corps of my dearest Uncle to his Chamber. Nurse, to your Care I commit him now.Exeunt with SirPat.in a Chair.All follow butWittmore; who going the other way, meets SirCredulousandLodwick, as before.Wit.Lodwick!the strangest unexpected News, SirPatient’sdead!Sir Cred.How, dead! we have play’d the Physicians to good purpose, i’faith, and kill’d the Man before we administer’d our Physick.Wit.Egad, I fear so indeed.Lod.Dead!Wit.As a Herring, and ’twill be dangerous to keep these habits longer.Sir Cred.Dangerous! Zoz, Man, we shall all be hang’d, why, our very Bill dispatch’d him, and our Hands are to’t,—Oh, I’ll confess all.—Offers to go.Lod.Death, Sir, I’ll cut your Throat if you stir.Sir Cred.Wou’d you have me hang’d for Company, Gentlemen? Oh, where shall I hide my self, or how come at my Clothes?Lod.We have no time for that; go get you into your Basket again, and lie snug, till I have convey’d you safe away,—or I’ll abandon you.—Aside to him.’Tis not necessary he shou’d be seen yet, he may spoilLeander’sPlot.Aside.Sir Cred.Oh, thank ye, dearLodwick,—let me escape this bout, and if ever the Fool turn Physician again, may he be choak’d with his ownTetrachymagogon.Wit.Go, haste and undress you, whilst I’ll toLucia.ExeuntLod.and SirCred.AsWittmoreis going out at one Door, enter SirPatientandLeanderat the other Door.Lean.Hah,Wittmorethere! he must not see my Uncle yet.Puts SirPat.back.ExitWit.Sir Pat.Nay, Sir, never detain me, I’ll to my Lady, is this your Demonstration?—Was ever so virtuous a Lady—Well, I’ll to her, and console her poor Heart; ah, the Joy ’twill bring her to see my Resurrection!—I long to surprize her.Going off cross the Stage.Lean.Hold, Sir, I think she’s coming,—blest sight, and with herWittmore!Puts SirPat.back to the Door.Enter LadyFancyandWittmore.Sir Pat.Hah, what’s this?L. Fan.Now, my dearWittmore, claim thy Rites of Love without controul, without the contradiction of wretched Poverty or Jealousy: Now undisguised thou mayst approach my Bed, and reign o’er all my Pleasures and my Fortunes, of which this Minute I create thee Lord, And thus begin my Homage.—Kisses him.Sir Pat.Sure ’tis some Fiend! this cannot be my Lady.Lean.’Tis something uncivil before your face, Sir, to do this.Wit.Thou wondrous kind, and wondrous beautiful; that Power that made thee with so many Charms, gave me a Soul fit only to adore ’em; nor wert thou destin’d to another’s Arms, but to be render’d still more fit for mine.Sir Pat.Hah, is not thatFainlove,Isabella’sHusband? Oh Villain! Villain! I will renounce my Sense and my Religion.Aside.L. Fan.Another’s Arms! Oh, call not those hatedThoughts to my remembrance,Lest it destroy that kindly Heat within me,Which thou canst only raise and still maintain.Sir Pat.Oh Woman! Woman! damn’d dissembling Woman.Aside.L. Fan.Come, let me lead thee to that Mass of Gold he gave me to be despis’d;And which I render thee, my lovely Conqueror,As the first Tribute of my glorious Servitude.Draw in the Basket which I told you of, and is amongst the Rubbish in the Hall.ExitWittmore.That which the Slave so many Years was toiling for, I in one moment barter for a Kiss, as Earnest of our future Joys.Sir Pat.Was ever so prodigal a Harlot? was this the Saint? was this the most tenderConsortthat ever Man had?Lean.No, in good faith, Sir.EnterWittmorepulling in the Basket.L. Fan.This is it, with a direction on’t to thee, whither I design’d to send it.Wit.Good morrowto the Day, and next the Gold;Open the Shrine, that I may see my Saint—Hail the World’s Soul,—Opens the Basket, SirCred.starts up.L. Fan.O Heavens! what thing art thou?Sir Cred.O, Pardon, Pardon, sweet Lady, I confess I had a hand in’t.L. Fan.In what, thou Slave?—Sir Cred.Killing the good believing Alderman;—but ’twas against my Will.L. Fan.Then I’m not so much oblig’d to thee,—but where’s the Money, the 8000l.the Plate and Jewels, Sirrah?Wit.Death, the Dog has eat it.Sir Cred.Eat it! Oh Lord, eat 8000l.Wou’d I might never come out of this Basket alive, if ever I made such a Meal in my Life.Wit.Ye Dog, you have eat it; and I’ll make ye swallow all the Doses you writ in your Bill, but I’ll have it upward or downward.Aside.Sir Pat.Hah, one of the Rogues my Doctors.Sir Cred.Oh, dear Sir, hang me out of the way rather.EnterMaundy.Maun.Madam, I have sent away the Basket to Mr.Wittmore’sLodgings.L. Fan.You might have sav’d your self that Labour, I now having no more to do, but to bury the stinking Corps of my quandom Cuckold, dismiss his Daughters, and give thee quiet possession of all.ToWit.Sir Pat.Fair Lady, you’ll take me along with you?Snaps, pulls off his Hat, and comes up to her.L. Fan.My Husband!—I’m betray’d—Sir Pat.Husband! I do defy thee, Satan, thou greaterWhore than she ofBabylon; thou Shame, thou Abomination to thy Sex.L. Fan.Rail on, whilst I dispose my self to laugh at thee.Sir Pat.Leander, call all the House in to be a Witness of our Divorce.ExitLean.L. Fan.Do, and all the World, and let ’em know the Reason.Sir Pat.Methinks I find an Inclination to swear,—to curse my self and thee, that I cou’d no better discern thee; nay, I’m so chang’d from what I was, that I think I cou’d even approve of Monarchy and Church-Discipline, I’m so truly convinc’d I have been a Beast and an Ass all my Life.Enter LadyKnowell,Isabella,Lucretia,Leander,Lodwick,Fanny, &c.L. Kno.Hah, SirPatientnot dead?Sir Pat.Ladies and Gentlemen, take notice that I am a Cuckold, a crop-ear’d snivelling Cuckold.Sir Cred.A Cuckold! sweet Sir, shaw, that’s a small matter in a Man of your Quality.Sir Pat.And I beg your pardon, Madam, for being angry that you call’d me so.To L.Kno.And yours, dearIsabella, for desiring you to marry my good Friend therePoints toWit.whose name I perceive I was mistaken in:—and yours,Leander, that I wou’d not take your Advice long since: and yours, fair Lady, for believing you honest,—’twas done like a credulous Coxcomb:—and yours, Sir, for taking any of your Tribe for wise, learned or honest.To SirCredulous.Wit.Faith, Sir, I deceiv’d ye only to serve my Friend; and, Sir, your Daughter is married to MrKnowell: your Wife had all my stock of Love before, Sir.Lod.andIsab.kneel.Sir Pat.Why, God-a-mercy—some comfort that,—God bless ye.—I shall love Disobedience while I live for’t.Lod.I am glad on’t, Sir, for then I hope you will forgiveLeander, who has married my Sister, and not my Mother.Sir Pat.How! has he served me so?—I’ll make him my Heir for’t, thou hast made a Man of me, my Boy, and, faith, we will be merry,—Fair Lady, you may depart in peace, fair Lady, restoring my Money, my Plate, my Jewels and my Writings, fair Lady.—L. Fan.You gave me no Money, Sir, prove it if you can; and for your Land, ’twas not settled with this Proviso, if she be honest?Sir Pat.’Tis well thou dost confess I am a Cuckold, for I wou’d have it known, fair Lady.L. Fan.’Twas to that end I married you, good Alderman.Sir Pat.I’faith, I think thou didst, Sweet-heart, i’faith, I think thou didst.Wit.Right, Sir, we have long been Lovers, but want of Fortune made us contrive how to marry her to your good Worship. Many a wealthy Citizen, Sir, has contributed to the maintenance of a younger Brother’s Mistress; and you are not the first Man in Office that has been a Cuckold, Sir.Sir Pat.Some comfort that too, the Brethren of the Chain cannot laugh at me.Sir Cred.A very pleasant old Fellow this: faith, I cou’d be very merry with him now, but that I am damnable sad.—Madam, I shall desire to lay the Saddle on the right Horse.To L.Kno.L. Kno.What mean you, Sir?Sir Cred.Only, Madam, if I were as some Men are, I should not be as I am.L. Kno.It may be so, Sir.Sir Cred.I say no more, but matters are not carried so swimmingly, but I can dive into the meaning on’t.SirPatienttalks this while toLodwick.L. Kno.I hate this hypothetical way of arguing, answer me categorically.Sir Cred.Hypothetical and Categorical! what does she mean now?Aside.—Madam, in plainEnglish, I am made aJohn-a-Nokesof,Jack-hold-my-staff, aMerry AndrewDoctor, to giveLeandertime to marry your Daughter; and ’twas therefore I was hoisted up in the Basket;—but as the play says, ’tis well ’tis no worse: I’d rather lose my Mistress than my Life.Sir Pat.But how came this RascalTurboonto admit you?Lod.For the Lucre of our Fees, Sir, which was his recompence.Sir Pat.I forgive it you, and will turn Spark, they live the merriest Lives—keep some City Mistress, go to Court, and hate all Conventicles.You see what a fine City-Wife can doOf the true-breed; instruct her Husband too:I wish all civil Cuckolds in the NationWould take example by my Reformation.EPILOGUE,Spoken by Mrs.Gwin.I here and there o’erheard a Coxcomb cry,Looking about.Ah, Rot it—’tis a Woman’s Comedy,One, who because she lately chanc’d to please us,With her damn’d Stuff, will never cease to teeze us.What has poor Woman done, that she must beDebar’d from Sense, and sacred Poetry?Why in this Age has Heaven allow’d you more,And Women less of Wit than heretofore?We once were fam’d in story, and could writeEqual to Men; cou’d govern, nay, cou’d fight.We still have passive Valour, and can show,Wou’d Custom give us leave, the active too,Since we no Provocations want from you.For who but we cou’d your dull Fopperies bear,Your saucy Love, and your brisk Nonsense hear;Indure your worse than womanish Affectation,Which renders you the Nusance of the Nation;Scorn’d even by all the Misses of the Town,A Jest toVizard Mask, thePit-Buffoon;A Glass by which the admiring Country FoolMay learn to dress himselfen Ridicule:Both striving who shall most ingenious growIn Leudness, Foppery, Nonsense, Noise and Show.And yet to these fine things we must submitOur Reason, Arms, our Laurels, and our Wit.Because we do not laugh at you, when leud,And scorn and cudgel ye when you are rude.That we have nobler Souls than you, we prove,By how much more we’re sensible of Love;Quickest in finding all the subtlest waysTo make your Joys, why not to make you Plays?We best can find your Foibles, know our own,And Jilts and Cuckolds now best please the Town;Your way of Writing’s out of fashion grown.Method, and Rule—you only understand;Pursue that way of Fooling, and be damn’d.Your learned Cant of Action, Time and Place,Must all give way to the unlabour’d Farce.To all the Men of Wit we will subscribe:But for your half Wits, you unthinking Tribe,We’ll let you see, whate’er besides we do,How artfully we copy some of you:And if you’re drawn to th’ Life, pray tell me then,Why Women should not write as well as Men.
Ick quam Van Neder Landt te sprekenEnd helpen Van Pocken end ander gebreken.
Ick quam Van Neder Landt te spreken
End helpen Van Pocken end ander gebreken.
That’s a top of my Bill, sweet Sir.Exeunt Doctors.
Fan.Lord, Sir Father, why do you give ’em Money?
Lean.For talking Nonsense this Hour or two upon his Distemper.
Fan.Oh lemini, Sir, they did not talk one word of you, but of Dogs and Horses, and of killing Folks, and of their Wives and Daughters; and when the Wine was all out, they said they wou’d say something for their Fees.
Sir Pat.Say you so!—Knaves, Rogues, Cheats, Murderers! I’ll be reveng’d on ’em all,—I’ll ne’er be sick again,—or if I be, I’ll die honestly of my self without the assistance of such Rascals,—go, get you gone.—ToFan.who goes out.
Lean.A happy resolution! wou’d you wou’d be so kind to your self as to make a trial of your Lady too; and if she prove true, ’twill make some kind of amends for your so long being cozen’d this way.
Sir Pat.I’ll about it, this very minute about it,—give me a Chair.—He sits.
Lean.So, settle your self well, disorder your Hair,—throw away your Cane, Hat and Gloves,—stare, and rowl your Eyes, squeeze your Face into Convulsions,—clutch your Hands, make your Stomach heave, so, very well,—now let me alone for the rest—Oh, help, help, my Lady, my Aunt, for Heavens sake, help,—come all and see him die.Weeps.
EnterWittmore, LadyFancy,Isabella,Lucretia, LadyKnowell,Roger,andNurse.
Wit.Leander, what’s the matter?
Lean.See, Madam, see my Uncle in the Agonies of Death.
L. Fan.My dearest Husband dying, Oh!Weeps.
Lean.How hard he struggles with departing Life!
Isab.Father, dear Father, must I in one day receive a Blessing with so great a Curse? Oh,—he’s just going, Madam.—Weeps.
L. Fan.Let me o’ertake him in the Shades below, why do you hold me, can I live without him? do I dissemble well?—Aside toWit.
Sir Pat.Not live without me!—do you hear that, Sirrah?Aside toLean.
Lean.Pray mark the end on’t, Sir,—feign,—feign.—
L. Kno.We left him well, how came he thus o’th’ sudden?
Lean.I fear ’tis an Apoplexy, Madam.
L. Fan.Run, run for his Physician; but do not stir a foot.Aside toRoger.
Look up, and speak but one kind word to me.
Sir Pat.What crys are these that stop me on my way?
L. Fan.They’re mine,—your Lady’s—oh, surely he’ll recover.Aside.
Your most obedient Wife’s.
Sir Pat.My Wife’s, my Heir, my sole Executrix.
L. Fan.Hah, is he in’s Senses?Aside toWit.
Oh my dear Love, my Life, my Joy, my All,Crys.
Oh, let me go; I will not live without him.Seems to faint inWittmore’sArms. All run about her.
Sir Pat.Do ye hear that, Sirrah?
Lean.Have yet a little Patience, die away,—very well—Oh, he’s gone,—quite gone.L.Fan.swoons.
L. Kno.Look to my Lady there,Swoons again.
—Sure she can but counterfeit.Aside.
They all go about her.
Sir Pat.Hah, my Lady dying!
Lean.Sir, I beseech you wait the event. Death! the cunning Devil will dissemble too long and spoil all,—here—carry the dead Corps of my dearest Uncle to his Chamber. Nurse, to your Care I commit him now.
Exeunt with SirPat.in a Chair.
All follow butWittmore; who going the other way, meets SirCredulousandLodwick, as before.
Wit.Lodwick!the strangest unexpected News, SirPatient’sdead!
Sir Cred.How, dead! we have play’d the Physicians to good purpose, i’faith, and kill’d the Man before we administer’d our Physick.
Wit.Egad, I fear so indeed.
Lod.Dead!
Wit.As a Herring, and ’twill be dangerous to keep these habits longer.
Sir Cred.Dangerous! Zoz, Man, we shall all be hang’d, why, our very Bill dispatch’d him, and our Hands are to’t,—Oh, I’ll confess all.—Offers to go.
Lod.Death, Sir, I’ll cut your Throat if you stir.
Sir Cred.Wou’d you have me hang’d for Company, Gentlemen? Oh, where shall I hide my self, or how come at my Clothes?
Lod.We have no time for that; go get you into your Basket again, and lie snug, till I have convey’d you safe away,—or I’ll abandon you.—Aside to him.
’Tis not necessary he shou’d be seen yet, he may spoilLeander’sPlot.Aside.
Sir Cred.Oh, thank ye, dearLodwick,—let me escape this bout, and if ever the Fool turn Physician again, may he be choak’d with his ownTetrachymagogon.
Wit.Go, haste and undress you, whilst I’ll toLucia.ExeuntLod.and SirCred.
AsWittmoreis going out at one Door, enter SirPatientandLeanderat the other Door.
Lean.Hah,Wittmorethere! he must not see my Uncle yet.Puts SirPat.back.
ExitWit.
Sir Pat.Nay, Sir, never detain me, I’ll to my Lady, is this your Demonstration?—Was ever so virtuous a Lady—Well, I’ll to her, and console her poor Heart; ah, the Joy ’twill bring her to see my Resurrection!—I long to surprize her.Going off cross the Stage.
Lean.Hold, Sir, I think she’s coming,—blest sight, and with herWittmore!Puts SirPat.back to the Door.
Enter LadyFancyandWittmore.
Sir Pat.Hah, what’s this?
L. Fan.Now, my dearWittmore, claim thy Rites of Love without controul, without the contradiction of wretched Poverty or Jealousy: Now undisguised thou mayst approach my Bed, and reign o’er all my Pleasures and my Fortunes, of which this Minute I create thee Lord, And thus begin my Homage.—Kisses him.
Sir Pat.Sure ’tis some Fiend! this cannot be my Lady.
Lean.’Tis something uncivil before your face, Sir, to do this.
Wit.Thou wondrous kind, and wondrous beautiful; that Power that made thee with so many Charms, gave me a Soul fit only to adore ’em; nor wert thou destin’d to another’s Arms, but to be render’d still more fit for mine.
Sir Pat.Hah, is not thatFainlove,Isabella’sHusband? Oh Villain! Villain! I will renounce my Sense and my Religion.Aside.
L. Fan.Another’s Arms! Oh, call not those hatedThoughts to my remembrance,Lest it destroy that kindly Heat within me,Which thou canst only raise and still maintain.
L. Fan.Another’s Arms! Oh, call not those hated
Thoughts to my remembrance,
Lest it destroy that kindly Heat within me,
Which thou canst only raise and still maintain.
Sir Pat.Oh Woman! Woman! damn’d dissembling Woman.Aside.
L. Fan.Come, let me lead thee to that Mass of Gold he gave me to be despis’d;
And which I render thee, my lovely Conqueror,As the first Tribute of my glorious Servitude.
And which I render thee, my lovely Conqueror,
As the first Tribute of my glorious Servitude.
Draw in the Basket which I told you of, and is amongst the Rubbish in the Hall.ExitWittmore.That which the Slave so many Years was toiling for, I in one moment barter for a Kiss, as Earnest of our future Joys.
Sir Pat.Was ever so prodigal a Harlot? was this the Saint? was this the most tenderConsortthat ever Man had?
Lean.No, in good faith, Sir.
EnterWittmorepulling in the Basket.
L. Fan.This is it, with a direction on’t to thee, whither I design’d to send it.
Wit.Good morrowto the Day, and next the Gold;Open the Shrine, that I may see my Saint—Hail the World’s Soul,—Opens the Basket, SirCred.starts up.
Wit.Good morrowto the Day, and next the Gold;
Open the Shrine, that I may see my Saint—
Hail the World’s Soul,—Opens the Basket, SirCred.starts up.
L. Fan.O Heavens! what thing art thou?
Sir Cred.O, Pardon, Pardon, sweet Lady, I confess I had a hand in’t.
L. Fan.In what, thou Slave?—
Sir Cred.Killing the good believing Alderman;—but ’twas against my Will.
L. Fan.Then I’m not so much oblig’d to thee,—but where’s the Money, the 8000l.the Plate and Jewels, Sirrah?
Wit.Death, the Dog has eat it.
Sir Cred.Eat it! Oh Lord, eat 8000l.Wou’d I might never come out of this Basket alive, if ever I made such a Meal in my Life.
Wit.Ye Dog, you have eat it; and I’ll make ye swallow all the Doses you writ in your Bill, but I’ll have it upward or downward.Aside.
Sir Pat.Hah, one of the Rogues my Doctors.
Sir Cred.Oh, dear Sir, hang me out of the way rather.
EnterMaundy.
Maun.Madam, I have sent away the Basket to Mr.Wittmore’sLodgings.
L. Fan.You might have sav’d your self that Labour, I now having no more to do, but to bury the stinking Corps of my quandom Cuckold, dismiss his Daughters, and give thee quiet possession of all.ToWit.
Sir Pat.Fair Lady, you’ll take me along with you?Snaps, pulls off his Hat, and comes up to her.
L. Fan.My Husband!—I’m betray’d—
Sir Pat.Husband! I do defy thee, Satan, thou greaterWhore than she ofBabylon; thou Shame, thou Abomination to thy Sex.
L. Fan.Rail on, whilst I dispose my self to laugh at thee.
Sir Pat.Leander, call all the House in to be a Witness of our Divorce.ExitLean.
L. Fan.Do, and all the World, and let ’em know the Reason.
Sir Pat.Methinks I find an Inclination to swear,—to curse my self and thee, that I cou’d no better discern thee; nay, I’m so chang’d from what I was, that I think I cou’d even approve of Monarchy and Church-Discipline, I’m so truly convinc’d I have been a Beast and an Ass all my Life.
Enter LadyKnowell,Isabella,Lucretia,Leander,Lodwick,Fanny, &c.
L. Kno.Hah, SirPatientnot dead?
Sir Pat.Ladies and Gentlemen, take notice that I am a Cuckold, a crop-ear’d snivelling Cuckold.
Sir Cred.A Cuckold! sweet Sir, shaw, that’s a small matter in a Man of your Quality.
Sir Pat.And I beg your pardon, Madam, for being angry that you call’d me so.To L.Kno.And yours, dearIsabella, for desiring you to marry my good Friend therePoints toWit.whose name I perceive I was mistaken in:—and yours,Leander, that I wou’d not take your Advice long since: and yours, fair Lady, for believing you honest,—’twas done like a credulous Coxcomb:—and yours, Sir, for taking any of your Tribe for wise, learned or honest.To SirCredulous.
Wit.Faith, Sir, I deceiv’d ye only to serve my Friend; and, Sir, your Daughter is married to MrKnowell: your Wife had all my stock of Love before, Sir.Lod.andIsab.kneel.
Sir Pat.Why, God-a-mercy—some comfort that,—God bless ye.—I shall love Disobedience while I live for’t.
Lod.I am glad on’t, Sir, for then I hope you will forgiveLeander, who has married my Sister, and not my Mother.
Sir Pat.How! has he served me so?—I’ll make him my Heir for’t, thou hast made a Man of me, my Boy, and, faith, we will be merry,—Fair Lady, you may depart in peace, fair Lady, restoring my Money, my Plate, my Jewels and my Writings, fair Lady.—
L. Fan.You gave me no Money, Sir, prove it if you can; and for your Land, ’twas not settled with this Proviso, if she be honest?
Sir Pat.’Tis well thou dost confess I am a Cuckold, for I wou’d have it known, fair Lady.
L. Fan.’Twas to that end I married you, good Alderman.
Sir Pat.I’faith, I think thou didst, Sweet-heart, i’faith, I think thou didst.
Wit.Right, Sir, we have long been Lovers, but want of Fortune made us contrive how to marry her to your good Worship. Many a wealthy Citizen, Sir, has contributed to the maintenance of a younger Brother’s Mistress; and you are not the first Man in Office that has been a Cuckold, Sir.
Sir Pat.Some comfort that too, the Brethren of the Chain cannot laugh at me.
Sir Cred.A very pleasant old Fellow this: faith, I cou’d be very merry with him now, but that I am damnable sad.—Madam, I shall desire to lay the Saddle on the right Horse.To L.Kno.
L. Kno.What mean you, Sir?
Sir Cred.Only, Madam, if I were as some Men are, I should not be as I am.
L. Kno.It may be so, Sir.
Sir Cred.I say no more, but matters are not carried so swimmingly, but I can dive into the meaning on’t.SirPatienttalks this while toLodwick.
L. Kno.I hate this hypothetical way of arguing, answer me categorically.
Sir Cred.Hypothetical and Categorical! what does she mean now?Aside.—Madam, in plainEnglish, I am made aJohn-a-Nokesof,Jack-hold-my-staff, aMerry AndrewDoctor, to giveLeandertime to marry your Daughter; and ’twas therefore I was hoisted up in the Basket;—but as the play says, ’tis well ’tis no worse: I’d rather lose my Mistress than my Life.
Sir Pat.But how came this RascalTurboonto admit you?
Lod.For the Lucre of our Fees, Sir, which was his recompence.
Sir Pat.I forgive it you, and will turn Spark, they live the merriest Lives—keep some City Mistress, go to Court, and hate all Conventicles.
You see what a fine City-Wife can doOf the true-breed; instruct her Husband too:I wish all civil Cuckolds in the NationWould take example by my Reformation.
You see what a fine City-Wife can do
Of the true-breed; instruct her Husband too:
I wish all civil Cuckolds in the Nation
Would take example by my Reformation.
I here and there o’erheard a Coxcomb cry,Looking about.Ah, Rot it—’tis a Woman’s Comedy,One, who because she lately chanc’d to please us,With her damn’d Stuff, will never cease to teeze us.What has poor Woman done, that she must beDebar’d from Sense, and sacred Poetry?Why in this Age has Heaven allow’d you more,And Women less of Wit than heretofore?We once were fam’d in story, and could writeEqual to Men; cou’d govern, nay, cou’d fight.We still have passive Valour, and can show,Wou’d Custom give us leave, the active too,Since we no Provocations want from you.For who but we cou’d your dull Fopperies bear,Your saucy Love, and your brisk Nonsense hear;Indure your worse than womanish Affectation,Which renders you the Nusance of the Nation;Scorn’d even by all the Misses of the Town,A Jest toVizard Mask, thePit-Buffoon;A Glass by which the admiring Country FoolMay learn to dress himselfen Ridicule:Both striving who shall most ingenious growIn Leudness, Foppery, Nonsense, Noise and Show.And yet to these fine things we must submitOur Reason, Arms, our Laurels, and our Wit.Because we do not laugh at you, when leud,And scorn and cudgel ye when you are rude.That we have nobler Souls than you, we prove,By how much more we’re sensible of Love;Quickest in finding all the subtlest waysTo make your Joys, why not to make you Plays?We best can find your Foibles, know our own,And Jilts and Cuckolds now best please the Town;Your way of Writing’s out of fashion grown.Method, and Rule—you only understand;Pursue that way of Fooling, and be damn’d.Your learned Cant of Action, Time and Place,Must all give way to the unlabour’d Farce.To all the Men of Wit we will subscribe:But for your half Wits, you unthinking Tribe,We’ll let you see, whate’er besides we do,How artfully we copy some of you:And if you’re drawn to th’ Life, pray tell me then,Why Women should not write as well as Men.
I here and there o’erheard a Coxcomb cry,Looking about.
Ah, Rot it—’tis a Woman’s Comedy,
One, who because she lately chanc’d to please us,
With her damn’d Stuff, will never cease to teeze us.
What has poor Woman done, that she must be
Debar’d from Sense, and sacred Poetry?
Why in this Age has Heaven allow’d you more,
And Women less of Wit than heretofore?
We once were fam’d in story, and could write
Equal to Men; cou’d govern, nay, cou’d fight.
We still have passive Valour, and can show,
Wou’d Custom give us leave, the active too,
Since we no Provocations want from you.
For who but we cou’d your dull Fopperies bear,
Your saucy Love, and your brisk Nonsense hear;
Indure your worse than womanish Affectation,
Which renders you the Nusance of the Nation;
Scorn’d even by all the Misses of the Town,
A Jest toVizard Mask, thePit-Buffoon;
A Glass by which the admiring Country Fool
May learn to dress himselfen Ridicule:
Both striving who shall most ingenious grow
In Leudness, Foppery, Nonsense, Noise and Show.
And yet to these fine things we must submit
Our Reason, Arms, our Laurels, and our Wit.
Because we do not laugh at you, when leud,
And scorn and cudgel ye when you are rude.
That we have nobler Souls than you, we prove,
By how much more we’re sensible of Love;
Quickest in finding all the subtlest ways
To make your Joys, why not to make you Plays?
We best can find your Foibles, know our own,
And Jilts and Cuckolds now best please the Town;
Your way of Writing’s out of fashion grown.
Method, and Rule—you only understand;
Pursue that way of Fooling, and be damn’d.
Your learned Cant of Action, Time and Place,
Must all give way to the unlabour’d Farce.
To all the Men of Wit we will subscribe:
But for your half Wits, you unthinking Tribe,
We’ll let you see, whate’er besides we do,
How artfully we copy some of you:
And if you’re drawn to th’ Life, pray tell me then,
Why Women should not write as well as Men.