Prue.Not guess yet! why then, methought you came to bed to me.—Now am I as red as my petticoat again.
Mons.Ha! ha! ha!—well, and what then? ha! ha! ha!
Prue.Nay, now I know by your worship's laughing you guess what you did. I'm sure I cried out, and waked all in tears, with these words in my mouth—"You have undone me! you have undone me! your worship has undone me!"
Mons.Ha! ha! ha!—but you waked, and found it was but a dream.
Prue.Indeed it was so lively, I know not whether 'twas a dream, or no.—But if you were not there, I'll undertake you may come when you will, and do anything to me you will, I sleep so fast.
Mons.No, no; I don't believe that.
Prue.Indeed you may, your worship—
Mons.It cannot be.
Prue.Insensible beast! he will not understand me yet; and one would think I speak plain enough. [Aside.
Mons.Well, but, Prue, what art thou thinking of?
Prue.Of the dream, whether it were a dream or no.
Mons.'Twas a dream, I warrant thee.
Prue.Was it? I am hugeous glad it was a dream.
Mons.Ay, ay, it was a dream: and I am hugeous glad it was a dream too.
Prue.But now I have told your worship my door has neither lock nor latch to it, if you should be so naughty as to come one night, and prove the dream true—I am so afraid on't.
Mons.Ne'er fear it:—dreams go by the contraries.
Prue.Then, by that I should come into your worship's chamber, and come to bed to your worship.—Now am I as red as my petticoat again, I warrant.
Mons.No, thou art no redder than a brick unburnt, Prue.
Prue.But if I should do such a trick in my sleep,your worship would not censure a poor harmless maid, I hope?—for I am apt to walk in my sleep.
Mons.Well, then, Prue, because thou shalt not shame thyself, poor wench, I'll be sure to lock my door every night fast.
Prue.[Aside.] So! so! this way I find will not do:—I must come roundly and downright to the business, like other women, or—
EnterGerrard.
Mons.O, the dancing-master!
Prue.Dear sir, I have something to say to you in your ear, which I am ashamed to speak aloud.
Mons.Another time, another time, Prue. But now go call your mistress to her dancing-master. Go, go.
Prue.Nay, pray hear me, sir, first.
Mons.Another time, another time, Prue; prithee begone.
Prue.Nay, I beseech your worship hear me.
Mons.No; prithee begone.
Prue.[Aside.] Nay, I am e'en well enough served for not speaking my mind when I had an opportunity.—Well, I must be playing the modest woman, forsooth! a woman's hypocrisy in this case does only deceive herself. [Exit.
Mons.O, the brave dancing master! the fine dancing-master! Your servant, your servant.
Ger.Your servant sir: I protest I did not know you at first—[Aside.] I am afraid this fool should spoil all, notwithstanding Hippolita's care and management; yet I ought to trust her:—but a secret is more safe with a treacherous knave than a talkative fool.
Mons.Come, sir, you must know a little brother dancing-master of yours—walking master I should have said; for he teaches me to walk and make legs, by-the-bye. Pray, know him, sir; salute him, sir.—You Christian dancing-masters are so proud.
Ger.But, monsieur, what strange metamorphosis is this? You look like a Spaniard, and talk like an Englishman again, which I thought had been impossible.
Mons.Nothing impossible to love: I must do't, or lose my mistress, your pretty scholar; for 'tis I am to have her. You may remember I told you she was to be married to a great man, a man of honour and quality.
Ger.But does she enjoin you to this severe penance?—such I am sure it is to you.
Mons.No, no: 'tis by the compulsion of the starched fop her father, who is so arrant a Spaniard, he would kill you and his daughter, if he knew who you were: therefore have a special care to dissemble well. [Draws him aside.
Ger.I warrant you.
Mons.Dear Gerrard—Go, little master, and call my cousin: tell her her dancing-master is here. [Exit theBlack]—I say, dear Gerrard, faith, I'm obliged to you for the trouble you have had. When I sent you, I intended a jest indeed; but did not think it would have been so dangerous a jest: therefore pray forgive me.
Ger.I do, do heartily forgive you.
Mons.But can you forgive me for sending you at first, like a fool as I was? 'Twas ill done of me: can you forgive me?
Ger.Yes, yes, I do forgive you.
Mons.Well, thou art a generous man, I vow and swear, to come and take upon you all this trouble, danger, and shame, to be thought a paltry dancing-master; and all this to preserve a lady's honour and life, who intended to abuse you. But I take the obligation upon me.
Ger.Pish! pish! you are not obliged to me at all.
Mons.Faith, but I am strangely obliged to you.
Ger.Faith, but you are not.
Mons.I vow and swear but I am.
Ger.I swear you are not.
Mons.Nay, thou art so generous a dancing-master, ha! ha! ha!
Re-enterDonDiego, Hippolita, Mrs.Caution,andPrue.
Don.You shall not come in, sister.
Mrs. Caut.I will come in.
Don.You will not be civil.
Mrs. Caut.I'm sure they will not be civil, if I do not come in:—I must, I will.
Don.Well, honest friend, you are very punctual, which is a rare virtue in a dancing-master; I take notice of it, and will remember it; I will, look you.
Mons.So, silly, damned, politic Spanish uncle!—ha! ha! ha! [Aside.
Ger.My fine scholar, sir, there, shall never have reason, as I have told you, sir, to say I am not a punctual man; for I am more her servant than to any scholar I ever had.
Mons.Well said, i'faith!—[Aside.] Thou dost make a pretty fool of him, I vow and swear. But I wonder people can be made such fools of:—ha! ha! ha!
Hip.Well, master, I thank you; and I hope I shall be a grateful, kind scholar to you.
Mons.Ha! ha! ha! cunning little jilt, what a fool she makes of him too! I wonder people can be made such fools of, I vow and swear:—ha! ha! ha! [Aside.
Hip.Indeed, it shall go hard but I'll be a grateful, kind scholar to you.
Mrs. Caut.As kind as ever your mother was to your father, I warrant.
Don.How! again with your senseless suspicions.
Mons.Pish! pish! aunt—[Aside.] Ha! ha! ha! she's a fool another way: she thinks she loves him, ha! ha! ha! Lord! that people should be such fools!
Mrs. Caut.Come, come, I cannot but speak: I tell you,beware in time; for he is no dancing-master, but some debauched person who will mump you of your daughter.
Don.Will you be wiser than I still? Mump me of my daughter! I would I could see any one mump me of my daughter.
Mrs. Caut.And mump you of your mistress too, young Spaniard.
Mons.Ha! ha! ha! will you be wiser than I too,voto? Mump me of my mistress! I would I could see any one mump me of my mistress.—[Aside toGerrardandHippolita.] I am afraid this damned old aunt should discover us, I vow and swear: be careful therefore and resolute.
Mrs. Caut.He! he does not go about his business like a dancing-master. He'll ne'er teach her to dance; but he'll teach her no goodness soon enough, I warrant.—He a dancing-master!
Mons.Ay, the devil eat me if he be not the best dancing-master in England now!—[Aside toGerrardandHippolita.] Was not that well said, cousin? was it not? for he's a gentleman dancing-master, you know.
Don.You know him, cousin, very well? cousin, you sent him to my daughter?
Mons.Yes, yes, uncle:—know him!—[Aside.] We'll ne'er be discovered, I warrant, ha! ha! ha!
Mrs. Caut.But will you be made a fool of too?
Mons.Ay, ay, aunt, ne'er trouble yourself.
Don.Come, friend, about your business; about with my daughter.
Hip.Nay, pray, father, be pleased to go out a little, and let us practise awhile, and then you shall see me dance the whole dance to the violin.
Don.Tittle tattle! more fooling still!—Did not you say, when your master was here last, I should see you dance to the violin when he came again?
Hip.So I did, father: but let me practise a little first before, that I may be perfect. Besides, my aunt is here,and she will put me out; you know I cannot dance before her.
Don.Fiddle faddle!
Mons.[Aside.] They're afraid to be discovered by Gerrard's bungling, I see.—[Aloud.] Come, come, uncle turn out! let 'em practise.
Don.I won't,voto á St. Jago!what a fooling's here.
Mons.Come, come, let 'em practise: turn out, turn out, uncle.
Don.Why can't she practise it before me?
Mons.Come, dancers and singers are sometimes humoursome; besides, 'twill be more grateful to you to see it danced all at once to the violin. Come, turn out, turn out, I say.
Don.What a fooling's here still among you,voto!
Mons.So, there he is with you,voto!—Turn out, turn out; I vow and swear you shall turn out. [Takes him by the shoulder.
Don.Well, shall I see her dance it to the violin at last?
Ger.Yes, yes, sir; what do you think I teach her for?
Mons.Go, go, turn out.—[ExitDonDiego.] And you too, aunt.
Mrs. Caut.Seriously, nephew, I shall not budge; royally, I shall not.
Mons.Royally, you must, aunt: come.
Mrs. Caut.Pray hear me, nephew.
Mons.I will not hear you.
Mrs. Caut.'Tis for your sake I stay: I must not suffer you to be wronged.
Mons.Come, no wheedling, aunt: come away.
Mrs. Caut.That slippery fellow will do't.
Mons.Let him do't.
Mrs. Caut.Indeed he will do't; royally he will.
Mons.Well, let him do't, royally.
Mrs. Caut.He will wrong you.
Mons.Well, let him, I say; I have a mind to bewronged: what's that to you? I will be wronged, if you go there too, I vow and swear.
Mrs. Caut.You shall not be wronged.
Mons.I will.
Mrs. Caut.You shall not.
Re-enterDonDiego.
Don.What's the matter? won't she be ruled?—Come, come away; you shall not disturb 'em. [DonDiegoandMonsieurtry to thrustMrs.Cautionout.
Mrs. Caut.D'ye see how they laugh at you both?—Well, go to; the troth-telling Trojan gentlewoman of old was ne'er believed till the town was taken, rummaged, and ransacked. Even, even so—
Mons.Ha! ha! ha! turn out—[ExeuntMrs.CautionandDonDiego.]—Lord, that people should be such arrant cuddens![65]ha! ha! ha! But I may stay, may I not?
Hip.No, no; I'd have you go out and hold the door, cousin; or else my father will come in again before his time.
Mons.I will, I will then, sweet cousin.—'Tis well thought on; that was well thought on, indeed, for me to hold the door.
Hip.But be sure you keep him out, cousin, till we knock.
Mons.I warrant you, cousin.—Lord, that people should be made such fools of! Ha! ha! ha! [Exit.
Ger.So, so:—to make him hold the door, while I steal his mistress, is not unpleasant.
Hip.Ay, but would you do so ill a thing, so treacherous a thing? Faith 'tis not well.
Ger.Faith, I can't help it, since 'tis for your sake.—Come, sweetest, is not this our way into the gallery?
Hip.Yes; but it goes against my conscience to be accessory to so ill a thing.—You say you do it for my sake?
Ger.Alas, poor miss! 'tis not against your conscience, but against your modesty, you think, to do it frankly.
Hip.Nay, if it be against my modesty, too, I can't do it indeed.
Ger.Come, come, miss, let us make haste:—all's ready.
Hip.Nay, faith, I can't satisfy my scruple.
Ger.Come, dearest, this is not a time for scruples nor modesty.—Modesty between lovers is as impertinent as ceremony between friends; and modesty is now as unseasonable as on the wedding night.—Come away, my dearest.
Hip.Whither?
Ger.Nay, sure we have lost too much time already. Is that a proper question now? If you would know, come along; for I have all ready.
Hip.But I am not ready.
Ger.Truly, miss, we shall have your father come in upon us, and prevent us again, as he did in the morning.
Hip.'Twas well for me he did:—for, on my conscience, if he had not come in, I had gone clear away with you when I was in the humour.
Ger.Come, dearest, you would frighten me, as if you were not yet in the same humour.—Come, come away; the coach and six is ready.
Hip.'Tis too late to take the air, and I am not ready.
Ger.You were ready in the morning.
Hip.Ay, so I was.
Ger.Come, come, miss:—indeed the jest begins to be none.
Hip.What! I warrant you think me in jest then?
Ger.In jest, certainly; but it begins to be troublesome.
Hip.But, sir, you could believe I was in earnest in the morning, when I but seemed to be ready to go with you; and why won't you believe me now when I declare to the contrary?—I take it unkindly, that the longer I am acquainted with you, you should have the less confidence in me.
Ger.For Heaven's sake, miss, lose no more time thus; your father will come in upon us, as he did—
Hip.Let him if he will.
Ger.He'll hinder our design.
Hip.No, he will not; for mine is to stay here now.
Ger.Are you in earnest?
Hip.You'll find it so.
Ger.How! why, you confessed but now you would have gone with me in the morning.
Hip.I was in the humour then.
Ger.And I hope you are in the same still; you cannot change so soon.
Hip.Why, is it not a whole day ago?
Ger.What! are you not a day in the same humour?
Hip.Lord! that you who know the town, they say, should think any woman could be a whole day together in a humour!—ha! ha! ha!
Ger.Hey! this begins to be pleasant.—What! won't you go with me then after all?
Hip.No indeed, sir, I desire to be excused.
Ger.Then you have abused me all this while?
Hip.It may be so.
Ger.Could all that so natural innocency be dissembled?—faith, it could not, dearest miss.
Hip.Faith, it was, dear master.
Ger.Was it, faith?
Hip.Methinks you might believe me without an oath. You saw I could dissemble with my father, why should you think I could not with you?
Ger.So young a wheedle!
Hip.Ay, a mere damned jade I am.
Ger.And I have been abused, you say?
Hip.'Tis well you can believe it at last.
Ger.And I must never hope for you?
Hip.Would you have me abuse you again?
Ger.Then you will not go with me?
Hip.No: but, for your comfort, your loss will not begreat; and that you may not resent it, for once I'll be ingenuous, and disabuse you.—I am no heiress, as I told you, to twelve hundred pounds a-year; I was only a lying jade then.—Now will you part with me willingly, I doubt not.
Ger.I wish I could. [Sighs.
Hip.Come, now I find 'tis your turn to dissemble:—but men use to dissemble for money; will you dissemble for nothing?
Ger.'Tis too late for me to dissemble.
Hip.Don't you dissemble, faith?
Ger.Nay, this is too cruel.
Hip.What! would you take me without the twelve hundred pounds a-year? would you be such a fool as to steal a woman with nothing?
Ger.I'll convince you; for you shall go with me:—and since you are twelve hundred pounds a-year the lighter, you'll be the easier carried away. [He takes her in his arms, she struggles.
Prue.What! he takes her way against her will:—I find I must knock for my master then. [She knocks.
Re-enterDonDiegoandMrs.Caution.
Hip.My father! my father is here!
Ger.Prevented again! [Gerrardsets her down again.
Don.What, you have done I hope now, friend, for good and all?
Ger.Yes, yes; we have done for good and all indeed.
Don.How now!—you seem to be out of humour, friend.
Ger.Yes, so I am; I can't help it.
Mrs. Caut.He's a dissembler in his very throat, brother.
Hip.Pray do not carry things so as to discover yourself, if it be but for my sake, good master. [Aside toGerrard.
Ger.She is grown impudent. [Aside.
Mrs. Caut.See, see, they whisper, brother!—to steal a kiss under a whisper!—O the harlotry!
Don.What's the matter, friend?
Hip.I say, for my sake be in humour, and do not discover yourself, but be as patient as a dancing-master still. [Aside toGerrard.
Don.What, she is whispering to him indeed! What's the matter? I will know it, friend, look you.
Ger.Will you know it?
Don.Yes, I will know it.
Ger.Why, if you will know it then, she would not do as I would have her; and whispered me to desire me not to discover it to you.
Don.What, hussy, would you not do as he'd have you? I'll make you do as he'd have you.
Ger.I wish you would.
Mrs. Caut.'Tis a lie; she'll do all he'll have her do, and more too, to my knowledge.
Don.Come, tell me what 'twas then she would not do—come, do it, hussy, or—Come, take her by the hand, friend. Come, begin:—let's see if she will not do anything now I'm here!
Hip.Come, pray be in humour, master.
Ger.I cannot dissemble like you.
Don.What, she can't dissemble already, can she?
Mrs. Caut.Yes, but she can: but 'tis with you she dissembles: for they are not fallen out, as we think. For I'll be sworn I saw her just now give him the languishing eye, as they call it, that is, the whiting's eye, of old called the sheep's eye:—I'll be sworn I saw it with these two eyes; that I did.
Hip.You'll betray us; have a care, good master. [Aside toGerrard.
Don.Hold your peace, I say, silly woman!—but does she dissemble already?—how do you mean?
Ger.She pretends she can't do what she should do;and that she is not in humour.—The common excuse of women for not doing what they should do.
Don.Come, I'll put her in humour.—Dance, I say.—Come, about with her, master.
Ger.[Aside.] I am in a pretty humour to dance.—[ToHippolita.] I cannot fool any longer, since you have fooled me.
Hip.You would not be so ungenerous as to betray the woman that hated you! I do not do that yet. For Heaven's sake! for this once be more obedient to my desires than your passion. [Aside toGerrard.
Don.What! is she humoursome still?—but methinks you look yourself as if you were in an ill-humour:—but about with her.
Ger.I am in no good dancing humour, indeed.
Re-enterMonsieur.
Mons.Well, how goes the dancing forward?—What, my aunt here to disturb 'em again?
Don.Come! come! [Gerrardleads her about.
Mrs. Caut.I say, stand off;—thou shall not come near. Avoid, Satan! as they say.
Don.Nay, then we shall have it:—nephew, hold her a little, that she may not disturb 'em.—Come, now away with her.
Ger.One, two, and a coupee.—[Aside.] Fooled and abused—
Mrs. Caut.Wilt thou lay violent hands upon thy own natural aunt, wretch? [ToMonsieur.
Don.Come, about with her.
Ger.One, two, three, four, and turn round—[Aside.] by such a piece of innocency!
Mrs. Caut.Dost thou see, fool, how he squeezes her hand? [ToMonsieur.
Mons.That won't do, aunt.
Hip.Pray, master, have patience, and let's mind our business.
Don.Why did you anger him then, hussy, look you?
Mrs. Caut.Do you see how she smiles in his face, and squeezes his hand now? [ToMonsieur.
Mons.Your servant, aunt.—That won't do, I say.
Hip.Have patience, master.
Ger.[Aside.] I am become her sport!—[Aloud.] One, two, three—Death! hell! and the devil!
Don.Ay, they are three indeed!—But pray have patience.
Mrs. Caut.Do you see how she leers upon him, and clings to him? Can you suffer it? [ToMonsieur.
Mons.Ay, ay.
Ger.One, two, three, and a slur.—Can you be so unconcerned after all?
Don.What! is she unconcerned?—Hussy, mind your business.
Ger.One, two, three, and turn round;—one, two, fall back—hell and damnation!
Don.Ay, people fall back indeed into hell and damnation, Heaven knows!
Ger.One, two, three, and your honour.—I can fool no longer!
Mrs. Caut.Nor will I be withheld any longer, like a poor hen in her pen, while the kite is carrying away her chicken before her face.
Don.What, have you done?—Well then, let's see her dance it now to the violin.
Mons.Ay, ay, let's see her dance it to the violin.
Ger.Another time, another time.
Don.Don't you believe that, friend:—these dancing-masters make no bones of breaking their words. Did not you promise just now, I should see her dance it to the violin? and that I will too, before I stir.
Ger.Let monsieur play then while I dance with her—she can't dance alone.
Mons.I can't play at all; I'm but a learner:—but if you'll play, I'll dance with her.
Ger.I can't play neither.
Don.What! a dancing-master, and not play!
Mrs. Caut.Ay, you see what a dancing-master he is. 'Tis as I told you, I warrant.—A dancing-master, and not play upon the fiddle!
Don.How!
Hip.O you have betrayed us all! If you confess that, you undo us for ever. [Apart toGerrard.
Ger.I cannot play;—what would you have me say? [Apart toHippolita.
Mons.I vow and swear we are all undone if you cannot play. [Apart toGerrard.
Don.What! are you a dancing-master, and cannot play? Umph—
Hip.He is only out of humour, sir.—Here, master, I know you will play for me yet;—for he has an excellent hand. [She offersGerrardthe violin.
Mons.Ay, that he has.—[Aside.] At giving a box on the ear.
Don.Why does he not play, then?
Hip.Here, master, pray play for my sake. [GivesGerrardthe violin.
Ger.What would you have me do with it?—I cannot play a stroke. [Apart toHippolita.
Hip.No! stay—then seem to tune it, and break the strings. [Apart toGerrard.
Ger.Come then.—[Aside.] Next to the devil's, the invention of women! They'll no more want an excuse to cheat a father with, than an opportunity to abuse a husband.—[Aloud.] But what do you give me such a damned fiddle with rotten strings, for? [Winds up the strings till they break, and throws the violin on the ground.
Don.Hey-day! the dancing-master is frantic.
Mons.Ha! ha! ha! That people should be made such fools of! [Aside.
Mrs. Caut.He broke the strings on purpose, because he could not play.—You are blind, brother.
Don.What! will you see further than I, look you?
Hip.But pray, master, why in such haste? [Gerrardoffers to go.
Ger.Because you have done with me.
Don.But don't you intend to come to-morrow, again?
Ger.Your daughter does not desire it.
Don.No matter; I do; I must be your paymaster, I'm sure. I would have you come betimes too; not only to make her perfect, but since you have so good a hand upon the violin, to play your part with half-a-dozen of musicians more, whom I would have you bring with you: for we will have a very merry wedding, though a very private one.—You'll be sure to come?
Ger.Your daughter does not desire it.
Don.Come, come, baggage, you shall desire it of him; he is your master.
Hip.My father will have me desire it of you, it seems.
Ger.But you'll make a fool of me again if I should come; would you not?
Hip.If I should tell you so, you'd be sure not to come.
Don.Come, come, she shall not make a fool of you, upon my word. I'll secure you, she shall do what you will have her.
Mons.Ha! ha! ha! So, so, silly Don. [Aside.
Ger.But, madam, will you have me come?
Hip.I'd have you to know, for my part, I care not whether you come or no:—there are other dancing-masters to be had:—it is my father's request to you. All that I have to say to you is a little good advice, which, because I will not shame you, I'll give you in private. [WhispersGerrard.
Mrs. Caut.What! will you let her whisper with him too?
Don.Nay, if you find fault with it, they shall whisper, though I did not like it before:—I'll ha' nobody wiser than myself. But do you think, if 'twere any hurt, she would whisper it to him before us?
Mrs. Caut.If it be no hurt, why does she not speak aloud?
Don.Because she says she will not put the man out of countenance.
Mrs. Caut.Hey-day! put a dancing-master out of countenance!
Don.You say he is no dancing-master.
Mrs. Caut.Yes, for his impudence he may be a dancing-master.
Don.Well, well, let her whisper before me as much as she will to-night, since she is to be married to-morrow;—especially since her husband (that shall be) stands by consenting too.
Mons.Ay, ay, let 'em whisper, as you say, as much as they will before we marry.—[Aside.] She's making more sport with him, I warrant.—But I wonder how people can be fooled so.—Ha! ha! ha!
Don.Well, a penny for the secret, daughter.
Hip.Indeed, father, you shall have it for nothing to-morrow.
Don.Well, friend, you will not fail to come?
Ger.No, no, sir.—[Aside.] Yet I am a fool if I do.
Don.And be sure you bring the fiddlers with you, as I bid you.
Hip.Yes, be sure you bring the fiddlers with you, as I bid you.
Mrs. Caut.So, so: he'll fiddle your daughter out of the house.—Must you have fiddles, with a fiddle faddle?
Mons.Lord! that people should be made such fools of! Ha! ha! [Aside.
[ExeuntDonDiego, Hippolita, Monsieur, Mrs.Caution,andPrue.
Ger.
Fortune we sooner may than woman trust:To her confiding gallant she is just;But falser woman only him deceives,Who to her tongue and eyes most credit gives.
[Exit.
EnterMonsieur deParisand theBlack,stalking over the stage; to themGerrard.
Mons.Good morrow to thee, noble dancing-master:—ha! ha! ha! your little black brother here, my master, I see, is the more diligent man of the two. But why do you come so late?—What! you begin to neglect your scholar, do you?—Little black master,con licencia, pray get you out of the room.—[ExitBlack.] What! out of humour, man! a dancing-master should be like his fiddle, always in tune. Come, my cousin has made an ass of thee; what then? I know it.
Ger.Does he know it! [Aside.
Mons.But prithee don't be angry: 'twas agreed upon betwixt us, before I sent you, to make a fool of thee;—ha! ha! ha! ha!
Ger.Was it so?
Mons.I knew you would be apt to entertain vain hopes from the summons of a lady: but, faith, the design was but to make a fool of thee, as you find.
Ger.'Tis very well.
Mons.But indeed I did not think the jest would have lasted so long, and that my cousin would have made a dancing-master of you, ha! ha! ha!
Ger.The fool has reason, I find, and I am the coxcomb while I thought him so. [Aside.
Mons.Come, I see you are uneasy, and the jest of being a dancing-master grows tedious to you:—but have a little patience; the parson is sent for, and when once my cousin and I are married, my uncle may know who you are.
Ger.I am certainly abused. [Aside.
Mons.[Listening.] What do you say?
Ger.Merely fooled! [Aside.
Mons.Why do you doubt it? ha! ha! ha!
Ger.Can it be? [Aside.
Mons.Pish! pish! she told me yesterday as soon as you were gone, that she had led you into a fool's paradise, and made you believe she would go away with you—ha! ha! ha!
Ger.Did she so?—I am no longer to doubt it then. [Aside.
Mons.Ay, ay, she makes a mere fool of thee, I vow and swear; but don't be concerned, there's hardly a man of a thousand but has been made a fool of by some woman or other.—I have been made a fool of myself, man, by the women; I have, I vow and swear I have.
Ger.Well, you have, I believe it, for you are a coxcomb.
Mons.Lord! you need not be so touchy with one; I tell you but the truth, for your good; for though she does, I would not fool you any longer; but prithee don't be troubled at what can't be helped. Women are made on purpose to fool men: when they are children, they fool their fathers; and when they have taken their leaves of their hanging sleeves, they fool their gallants or dancing masters,—ha! ha! ha!
Ger.Hark you, sir! to be fooled by a woman, you say, is not to be helped; but I will not be fooled by a fool.
Mons.You show your English breeding now; an English rival is so dull and brutish as not to understandraillery; but what is spoken in your passion I'll take no notice of, for I am your friend, and would not have you my rival to make yourself ridiculous.—Come, prithee, prithee, don't be so concerned; for, as I was saying, women first fool their fathers, then their gallants, and then their husbands; so that it will be my turn to be fooled too (for your comfort); and when they come to be widows, they would fool the devil, I vow and swear.—Come, come, dear Gerrard, prithee don't be out of humour, and look so sillily.
Ger.Prithee do not talk so sillily.
Mons.Nay, faith, I am resolved to beat you out of this ill-humour.
Ger.Faith, I am afraid I shall first beat you into an ill-humour.
Mons.Ha! ha! ha! that thou shouldst be gulled so by a little gipsy, who left off her bib but yesterday!—faith I can't but laugh at thee.
Ger.Faith, then I shall make your mirth (as being too violent) conclude in some little misfortune to you. The fool begins to be tyrannical.
Mons.Ha! ha! ha! poor angry dancing-master! prithee match my Spanish pumps and legs with one of your best and newest sarabands; ha! ha! ha! come—
Ger.I will match your Spanish ear, thus, sir, and make you dance thus. [Strikes and kicks him.
Mons.How! sa! sa! sa! then I'll make you dance thus. [Monsieurdraws his sword and runs at him, butGerrarddrawing, he retires.
Hold! hold a little!—[Aside.] A desperate disappointed lover will cut his own throat, then sure he will make nothing of cutting his rival's throat.
Ger.Consideration is an enemy to fighting; if you have a mind to revenge yourself, your sword's in your hand.
Mons.Pray, sir, hold your peace; I'll ne'er take myrival's counsel, be't what 'twill. I know what you would be at; you are disappointed of your mistress, and could hang yourself, and therefore will not fear hanging. But I am a successful lover, and need neither hang for you nor my mistress: nay, if I should kill you, I know I should do you a kindness; therefore e'en live, to die daily with envy of my happiness. But if you will needs die, kill yourself, and be damned for me, I vow and swear.
Ger.But won't you fight for your mistress?
Mons.I tell you, you shall not have the honour to be killed for her: besides I will not be hit in the teeth by her as long as I live, with the great love you had for her. Women speak well of their dead husbands; what will they do of their dead gallants?
Ger.But if you will not fight for her, you shall dance for her, since you desired me to teach you to dance too;—I'll teach you to dance thus—[Strikes his sword at his legs,Monsieurleaps.
Mons.Nay, if it be for the sake of my mistress, there's nothing I will refuse to do.
Ger.Nay, you must dance on.
Mons.Ay, ay, for my mistress, and sing too, la, la, la, ra, la.
EnterHippolitaandPrue.
Hip.What! swords drawn betwixt you two! what's the matter?
Mons.[Aside.] Is she here?—[Aloud.] Come, put up your sword; you see this is no place for us; but the devil eat me if you shall not eat my sword, but—
Hip.What's the matter, cousin?
Mons.Nothing, nothing, cousin, but your presence is a sanctuary for my greatest enemy, or else,tête non!—
Hip.What, you have not hurt my cousin, sir, I hope? [ToGerrard.
Ger.How! she's concerned for him! nay, then I need not doubt, my fears are true. [Aside.
Mons.What was that you said, cousin? hurt me!—ha! ha! ha! hurt me!—if any man hurt me, he must do it basely; he shall ne'er do it when my sword's drawn, sa! sa! sa!
Hip.Because you will ne'er draw your sword, perhaps.
Mons.[Aside.] Scurvily guessed.—[Aloud.] You ladies may say anything; but, cousin, pray do not you talk of swords and fighting; meddle with your guitar, and talk of dancing with your dancing-master there, ha! ha! ha!
Hip.But I am afraid you have hurt my master, cousin:—he says nothing; can he draw his breath?
Mons.No, 'tis you have hurt your master, cousin, in the very heart, cousin, and therefore he would hurt me; for love is a disease makes people as malicious as the plague does.
Hip.Indeed, poor master, something does ail you.
Mons.Nay, nay, cousin, faith don't abuse him any longer; he's an honest gentleman, and has been long of my acquaintance, and a man of tolerable sense, to take him out of his love; but prithee, cousin, don't drive the jest too far for my sake.
Ger.He counsels you well, pleasant, cunning, jilting miss, for his sake; for if I am your divertisement, it shall be at his cost, since he's your gallant in favour.
Hip.I don't understand you.
Mons.But I do, a pox take him! and the custom that so orders it, forsooth! that if a lady abuse or affront a man, presently the gallant must be beaten; nay, what's more unreasonable, if a woman abuse her husband, the poor cuckold must bear the shame as well as the injury. [Aside.
Hip.But what's the matter, master? what was it you said?
Ger.I say, pleasant, cunning, jilting lady, though you make him a cuckold, it will not be revenge enough for me upon him for marrying you.
Hip.How! my surly, huffing, jealous, senseless, saucy master?
Mons.Nay, nay, faith, give losers leave to speak, losers of mistresses especially, ha! ha! ha! Besides, your anger is too great a favour for him; I scorn to honour him with mine you see.
Hip.I tell you, my saucy master, my cousin shall never be made that monstrous thing you mention, by me.
Mons.Thank you, I vow and swear, cousin; no, no, I never thought I should.
Ger.Sure you marry him by the sage maxim of your sex, which is, wittols make the best husbands, that is, cuckolds.
Hip.Indeed, master, whatsoever you think, I would sooner choose you for that purpose than him.
Mons.Ha! ha! ha! there she was with him, i'faith;—I thank you for that, cousin, I vow and swear.
Hip.Nay, he shall thank me for that too:—but how came you two to quarrel? I thought, cousin, you had had more wit than to quarrel, or more kindness for me than to quarrel here. What if my father, hearing the bustle, should have come in? he would have soon discovered our false dancing-master (for passion unmasks every man), and then the result of your quarrel had been my ruin.
Mons.Nay, you had both felt his desperate deadly daunting dagger:—there are your d's for you!
Hip.Go, go presently, therefore, and hinder my father from coming in, whilst I put my master into a better humour, that we may not be discovered, to the prevention of our wedding, or worse when he comes; go, go.
Mons.Well, well, I will, cousin.
Hip.Be sure you let him not come in this good while.
Mons.No, no, I warrant you.—[Goes out and returns.]—But if he should come before I would have him, I'llcome before him, and cough and hawk soundly, that you may not be surprised. Won't that do well, cousin?
Hip.Very well, pray begone.—[ExitMonsieur.] Well, master, since I find you are quarrelsome and melancholy, and would have taken me away without a portion, three infallible signs of a true lover, faith here's my hand now in earnest, to lead me a dance as long as I live.
Ger.How's this! you surprise me as much, as when first I found so much beauty and wit in company with so much innocency. But, dearest, I would be assured of what you say, and yet dare not ask the question. You h——do not abuse me again? You h——will fool me no more sure?
Hip.Yes, but I will sure.
Ger.How? nay, I was afraid on't.
Hip.For, I say, you are to be my husband, and you say husbands must be wittols, and some strange things to boot.
Ger.Well, I will take my fortune.
Hip.But have a care, rash man.
Ger.I will venture.
Hip.At your peril; remember I wished you to have a care: forewarned, fore-armed.
Prue.Indeed now, that's fair; for most men are fore-armed before they are warned.
Hip.Plain dealing is some kind of honesty however, and few women would have said so much.
Ger.None but those who would delight in a husband's jealousy, as the proof of his love and her honour.
Hip.Hold, sir, let us have a good understanding betwixt one another at first, that we may be long friends. I differ from you in the point; for a husband's jealousy, which cunning men would pass upon their wives for a compliment, is the worst can be made 'em; for indeed it is a compliment to their beauty, but an affront to their honour.
Ger.But madam—
Hip.So that upon the whole matter I conclude, jealousy in a gallant is humble true love, and the height of respect, and only an undervaluing of himself to overvalue her; but in a husband 'tis arrant sauciness, cowardice, and ill-breeding, and not to be suffered.
Ger.I stand corrected, gracious miss.
Hip.Well, but have you brought the gentlemen fiddlers with you, as I desired?
Ger.They are below.
Hip.Are they armed well?
Ger.Yes, they have instruments too that are not of wood; but what will you do with them?
Hip.What did you think I intended to do with them? when I whispered you to bring gentlemen of your acquaintance instead of fiddlers, as my father desired you to bring, pray what did you think I intended?
Ger.Faith, e'en to make fools of the gentlemen fiddlers, as you had done of your gentleman dancing-master.
Hip.I intended 'em for our guard and defence against my father's Spanish and Guinea force, when we were to make our retreat from hence; and to help us to take the keys from my aunt, who has been the watchful porter of this house this twelve-month; and this design (if your heart do not fail you) we will put in execution as soon as you have given your friends below instructions.
Ger.Are you sure your heart will stand right still? You flinched last night, when I little expected it, I am sure.
Hip.The time last night was not so proper for us as now, for reasons I will give you. But besides that, I confess I had a mind to try whether your interest did not sway you more than your love; whether the twelve hundred pounds a-year I told you of had not made a greater impression in your heart than Hippolita: but finding it otherwise—yet hold, perhaps upon considerationyou are grown wiser; can you yet, as I said, be so desperate, so out of fashion, as to steal a woman with nothing?
Ger.With you I can want nothing, nor can be made by anything more rich or happy.
Hip.Think well again; can you take me without the twelve hundred pounds a-year,—the twelve hundred pounds a-year?
Ger.Indeed, miss, now you begin to be unkind again, and use me worse than e'er you did.
Hip.Well, though you are so modest a gentleman as to suffer a wife to be put upon you with nothing, I have more conscience than to do it. I have the twelve hundred pounds a-year out of my father's power, which is yours, and I am sorry it is not the Indies to mend your bargain.
Ger.Dear miss, you but increase my fears, and not my wealth. Pray let us make haste away; I desire but to be secure of you:—come, what are you thinking of?
Hip.I am thinking if some little, filching, inquisitive poet should get my story, and represent it to the stage, what those ladies who are never precise but at a play would say of me now;—that I were a confident, coming piece, I warrant, and they would damn the poor poet for libelling the sex. But sure, though I give myself and fortune away frankly, without the consent of my friends, my confidence is less than theirs who stand off only for separate maintenance.
Ger.They would be widows before their time, have a husband and no husband:—but let us begone, lest fortune should recant my happiness, now you are fixed, my dearest miss. [He kisses her hand.
Re-enterMonsieur,coughing, followed byDonDiego.
Hip.Oh, here's my father!
Don.How now, sir!—What, kissing her hand! whatmeans that, friend, ha?—Daughter, ha! do you permit this insolence, ha?voto á mi honra!
Ger.We are prevented again. [Aside toHippolita.
Hip.Ha! ha! ha! you are so full of your Spanish jealousy, father; why, you must know he is a city dancing-master, and they, forsooth, think it fine to kiss the hand at the honour before the corant.
Mons.Ay, ay, ay, uncle, don't you know that?
Don.Go to, go to, you are an easy French fool; there's more in it than so, look you.
Mons.I vow and swear there's nothing more in't, if you'll believe one.—[Aside toHippolitaandGerrard.] Did not I cough and hawk? a jealous, prudent husband could not cough and hawk louder at the approach of his wife's chamber in visiting time, and yet you would not hear me. He'll make now ado about nothing, and you'll be discovered both.
Don.Umph, umph,—no, no, I see it plain, he is no dancing-master: now I have found it out, and I think I can see as far into matters as another: I have found it now, look you.
Ger.My fear was prophetical. [Aside toHippolita.
Hip.What shall we do?—nay, pray, sir, do not stir yet. [Gerrardoffers to go out with her.
EnterMrs.Caution.
Mrs. Caut.What's the matter, brother? what's the matter?
Don.I have found it out, sister, I have found it out, sister; this villain here is no dancing-master—but a dishonourer of my house and daughter; I caught him kissing her hand.
Mons.Pish! pish! you are a strange Spanish kind of an uncle, that you are.—A dishonourer of your daughter, because he kissed her hand! pray how could he honour her more? he kissed her hand, you see, while he was making his honour to her.
Don.You are an unthinking, shallow French fop,voto!—But I tell you, sister, I have thought of it, and have found it out; he is no dancing-master, sister. Do you remember the whispering last night? I have found out the meaning of that too; and I tell you, sister, he's no dancing-master, I have found it out.
Mrs. Caut.You found it out! marry come up, did not I tell you always he was no dancing-master?
Don.You tell me! you silly woman, what then? what of that?—You tell me! d'ye think I heeded what you told me? but I tell you now I have found it out.
Mrs. Caut.I say I found it out.
Don.I say 'tis false, gossip, I found him out.
Mrs. Caut.I say I found him out first, say you what you will.
Don.Sister, mum, not such a word again,guarda!—You found him out!
Mrs. Caut.I must submit, or dissemble like other prudent women, or—[Aside.
Don.Come, come, sister, take it from me, he is no dancing-master.
Mrs. Caut.O yes, he is a dancing-master.
Don.What! will you be wiser than I every way?—remember the whispering, I say.
Mrs. Caut.[Aside.] So, he thinks I speak in earnest, then I'll fit him still.—[ToDonDiego.] But what do you talk of their whispering! they would not whisper any ill before us, sure.
Don.Will you still be an idiot, a dolt, and see nothing?
Mons.Lord! you'll be wiser than all the world, will you? are we not all against you? pshaw! pshaw! I ne'er saw such adonissimoas you are, I vow and swear.
Don.No, sister, he's no dancing-master; for now I think on't too, he could not play upon the fiddle.
Mrs. Caut.Pish! pish! what dancing-master can play upon a fiddle without strings?
Don.Again, I tell you he broke them on purpose, because he could not play; I have found it out now, sister.
Mrs. Caut.Nay, you see farther than I, brother. [Gerrardoffers to lead her out.
Hip.For Heaven's sake stir not yet. [Aside toGerrard.
Don.Besides, if you remember, they were perpetually putting me out of the room; that was, sister, because they had a mind to be alone, I have found that out too:—now, sister, look you, he is no dancing-master.
Mrs. Caut.But has he not given her a lesson often before you?
Don.Ay, but sister, he did not go about his business like a dancing-master; but go, go down to the door, somebody rings. [ExitMrs.Caution.
Mons.I vow and swear, uncle, he is a dancing-master; pray be appeased.—Lord! d'ye think I'd tell you a lie?
Don.If it prove to be a lie, and you do not confess it, though you are my next heir after my daughter, I will disown thee as much as I do her, for thy folly and treachery to thyself, as well as me.—You may have her, but never my estate, look you.
Mons.How! I must look to my hits then. [Aside.
Don.Look to't.
Mons.[Aside.] Then I had best confess all, before he discover all, which he will soon do.—
EnterParson.
O here's the parson too! he won't be in choler, nor brandish toledo before the parson sure?—[ToDonDiego.] Well, uncle, I must confess, rather than lose your favour, he is no dancing-master.
Don.No!
Ger.What! has the fool betrayed us then at last, nay, then 'tis time to be gone; come away, miss. [Going out.
Don.Nay, sir, if you pass this way, my toledo will pass that way, look you. [Thrusts at him with his sword.
Hip.O hold, Mr. Gerrard!—Hold father!
Mons.I tell you, uncle, he's an honest gentleman, means no hurt, and came hither but upon a frolic of mine and your daughter's. [StopsDonDiego.
Don. Ladron! traidor!
Mons.I tell you all's but a jest, a mere jest, I vow and swear.
Don.A jest!—jest with my honour,voto!ha! no family to dishonour but the grave, wise, noble, honourable, illustrious, puissant, and right worshipful family of the Formals!—Nay, I am contented to reprieve you, till you know who you have dishonoured, and convict you of the greatness of your crime before you die. We are descended, look you—
Mons.Nay, pray, uncle, hear me.
Don.I say, we are descended—
Mons.'Tis no matter for that.
Don.And my great, great, great-grandfather was—
Mons.Well, well, I have something to say more to the purpose.
Don.My great, great, great-grandfather, I say, was—
Mons.Well, a pinmaker in—
Don.But he was a gentleman for all that, fop, for he was a sergeant to a company of the trainbands; and my great-great-grandfather was—
Mons.Was his son, what then? won't you let me clear this gentleman?
Don.He was, he was—
Mons.He was a felt-maker, his son a wine-cooper, your father a vintner, and so you came to be a Canary merchant.
Don.But we were still gentlemen, for our coat was, as the heralds say—was—
Mons.Was! your sign was the Three Tuns, and the field Canary; now let me tell you, this honest gentleman—
Don.Now, that you should dare to dishonour thisfamily!—by the graves of my ancestors in Great St. Helen's church—
Mons.Yard.
Don.Thou shalt die for't,ladron![Runs atGerrard.
Mons.Hold, hold, uncle, are you mad?
Hip.Oh! oh!—
Mons.Nay then, by your own Spanish rules of honour (though he be my rival), I must help him; [Draws his sword.] since I brought him into danger.—[Aside.] Sure he will not show his valour upon his nephew and son-in-law, otherwise I should be afraid of showing mine.—Here, Mr. Gerrard, go in here, nay, you shall go in, Mr. Gerrard, I'll secure you all; and, parson, do you go in too with 'em, for I see you are afraid of a sword and the other world, though you talk of it so familiarly, and make it so fine a place. [Opens a door, and thrustsGerrard, Hippolita, Parson,andPruein, then shuts it, and guards it with his sword.
Don. Tu quoque, Brute!
Mons.Nay, now, uncle, you must understand reason.—What, you are not only a Don, but you are a Don Quixote too, I vow and swear!
Don.Thou spot, sploach[66]of my family and blood! I will have his blood, look you.
Mons.Pray, good Spanish uncle, have but patience to hear me. Suppose—I say, suppose he had done, done, done the feat to your daughter.
Don.How! done the feat! done the feat: done the feat!en hora mala!
Mons.I say, suppose, suppose—
Don.Suppose!
Mons.I say, suppose he had, for I do but suppose it; well, I am ready to marry her, however. Now marriage is as good a solder for cracked female honour as blood; and can't you suffer the shame but for a quarter of an hour,till the parson has married us? and then if there be any shame, it becomes mine; for here in England, the father has nothing to do with the daughter's business, honour, what d'ye call't, when once she's married, d'ye see.
Don.England! what d'ye tell me of England? I'll be a Spaniard still,voto á mi honra!and I will be revenged.—Pedro! Juan! Sanchez! [Calls at the door.
Re-enterMrs.Caution,followed byFlirtandFlounce,in vizard masks.
Mrs. Caut.What's the matter, brother?
Don.Pedro! Sanchez! Juan!—but who are these, sister? are they not men in women's clothes? what make they here?
Mrs. Caut.They are relations, they say, of my cousin's, who pressed in when I let in the parson; they say my cousin invited 'em to his wedding.
Mons.Two of my relations!—[Aside.] Ha! they are my cousins indeed of the other night; a pox take 'em!—but that's no curse for 'em; a plague take 'em then!—but how came they here?
Don.[Aside.] Now must I have witnesses too of the dishonour of my family; it were Spanish prudence to despatch 'em away out of the house, before I begin my revenge. [ToFlirtandFlounce.] What are you? what make you here? who would you speak with?
Flirt.With monsieur.
Don.Here he is.
Mons.Now will these jades discredit me, and spoil my match just in the coupling minute. [Aside.
Don.Do you know 'em?
Mons.Yes, sir, sure, I know 'em.242 —[Aside to them.] Pray, ladies, say as I say, or you will spoil my wedding, for I am just going to be married; and if my uncle or mistress should know who you are, it might break off the match.
Flou.We come on purpose to break the match.
Mons.How!
Flirt.Why, d'ye think to marry, and leave us so in the lurch?
Mons.What do the jades mean? [Aside.
Don.Come, who are they? what would they have? If they come to the wedding, ladies, I assure you there will be none to-day here.
Mons.They won't trouble you, sir; they are going again.—Ladies, you hear what my uncle says; I know you won't trouble him.—[Aside.] I wish I were well rid of 'em.
Flou.You shall not think to put us off so. [Aside.
Don.Who are they? what are their names?
Flirt.We are, sir—
Mons.Nay, for Heaven's sake don't tell who you are, for you will undo me, and spoil my match infallibly. [Aside to them.