EnterMajorOldfoxandWidowBlackacre.
Wid.What, nobody here! did not the fellow say he was within?
Old.Yes, lady; and he may be perhaps a little busy at present; but if you think the time long till he comes, [Unfolding papers] I'll read you here some of the fruits of my leisure, the overflowings of my fancy and pen.—[Aside.] To value me right, she must know my parts.—[Aloud.] Come—
Wid.No, no; I have reading work enough of my own in my bag, I thank you.
Old.Ay, law, madam; but here's a poem, in blank verse, which I think a handsome declaration of one's passion.
Wid.O, if you talk of declarations, I'll show you one of the prettiest penned things, which I mended too myself, you must know.
Old.Nay, lady, if you have used yourself so much to the reading harsh law, that you hate smooth poetry, here is a character for you, of—
Wid.A character! nay, then I'll show you my bill in chancery here, that gives you such a character of my adversary, makes him as black—
Old.Pshaw! away, away, lady! But if you think the character too long, here is an epigram, not above twentylines, upon a cruel lady, who decreed her servant should hang himself, to demonstrate his passion.
Wid.Decreed! if you talk of decreeing, I have such a decree here, drawn by the finest clerk—
Old.O lady, lady, all interruption, and no sense between us, as if we were lawyers at the bar! but I had forgot, Apollo and Littleton never lodge in a head together. If you hate verses, I'll give you a cast of my politics in prose. 'Tis "a Letter to a Friend in the Country;" which is now the way of all such sober solid persons as myself, when they have a mind to publish their disgust to the times; though perhaps, between you and I, they have no friend in the country. And sure a politic, serious person may as well have a feigned friend in the country to write to, as an idle poet a feigned mistress to write to. And so here's my letter to a friend, or no friend, in the country, concerning the late conjuncture of affairs, in relation to coffee-houses; or, "The Coffee-man's Case."
Wid.Nay, if your letter have a case in't, 'tis something; but first I'll read you a letter of mine to a friend in the country, called a letter of attorney.
Re-enterFreeman,withJerry Blackacrein an old gaudy suit and red breeches ofFreeman's.
Old.What, interruption still! O the plague of interruption! worse to an author than the plague of critics. [Aside.
Wid.What's this I see? Jerry Blackacre, my minor, in red breeches! What, hast thou left the modest seemly garb of gown and cap for this? and have I lost all my good inns-of-chancery breeding upon thee then? and thou wilt go a-breeding thyself from our inn of chancery and Westminster Hall, at coffee-houses, and ordinaries, play-houses, tennis-courts, and bawdy-houses?
Jer.Ay, ay, what then? perhaps I will; but what'sthat to you? Here's my guardian and tutor now, forsooth, that I am out of your huckster's hands.
Wid.How! thou hast not chosen him for thy guardian yet?
Jer.No, but he has chosen me for his charge, and that's all one; and I'll do anything he'll have me, and go all the world over with him; to ordinaries, and bawdy-houses, or anywhere else.
Wid.To ordinaries and bawdy-houses! have a care, minor, thou wilt enfeeble there thy estate and body: do not go to ordinaries and bawdy-houses, good Jerry.
Jer.Why, how come you to know any ill by bawdy-houses? you never had any hurt by 'em, had you, forsooth? Pray hold yourself contented; if I do go where money and wenches are to be had, you may thank yourself; for you used me so unnaturally, you would never let me have a penny to go abroad with; nor so much as come near the garret where your maidens lay; nay, you would not so much as let me play at hotcockles with 'em, nor have any recreation with 'em though one should have kissed you behind, you were so unnatural a mother, so you were.
Free.Ay, a very unnatural mother, faith, squire.
Wid.But, Jerry, consider thou art yet but a minor; however, if thou wilt go home with me again, and be a good child, thou shalt see—
Free.Madam, I must have a better care of my heir under age, than so; I would sooner trust him alone with a stale waiting-woman and a parson, than with his widow-mother and her lover or lawyer.
Wid.Why, thou villain, part mother and minor! rob me of my child and my writings! but thou shalt find there's law; and as in the case of ravishment of guard—Westminster the Second.
Old.Young gentleman squire, pray be ruled by your mother and your friends.
Jer.Yes, I'll be ruled by my friends, therefore not bymy mother, so I won't: I'll choose him for my guardian till I am of age; nay, maybe, for as long as I live.
Wid.Wilt thou so, thou wretch? and when thou'rt of age, thou wilt sign, seal and deliver too, wilt thou?
Jer.Yes, marry will I, if you go there too.
Wid.O do not squeeze wax, son; rather go to ordinaries and bawdy-houses, than squeeze wax. If thou dost that, farewell the goodly manor of Blackacre, with all its woods, underwoods, and appurtenances whatever! Oh, oh! [Weeps.
Free.Come, madam, in short, you see I am resolved to have a share in the estate, yours or your son's; if I cannot get you, I'll keep him, who is less coy, you find; but if you would have your son again, you must take me too. Peace or war? love or law? You see my hostage is in my hand: I'm in possession.
Wid.Nay, if one of us must be ruined, e'en let it be him. By my body, a good one! Did you ever know yet a widow marry or not marry for the sake of her child? I'd have you to know, sir, I shall be hard enough for you both yet, without marrying you, if Jerry won't be ruled by me. What say you, booby, will you be ruled? speak.
Jer.Let one alone, can't you?
Wid.Wilt thou choose him for guardian, whom I refuse for husband?
Jer.Ay, to choose, I thank you.
Wid.And are all my hopes frustrated? Shall I never hear thee put cases again to John the butler, or our vicar? never see thee amble the circuit with the judges; and hear thee, in our town-hall, louder than the crier?
Jer.No, for I have taken my leave of lawyering and pettifogging.
Wid.Pettifogging! thou profane villain, hast thou so? Pettifogging!—then you shall take your leave of me, and your estate too; thou shalt be an alien to me and it forever. Pettifogging!
Jer.O, but if you go there too, mother, we have the deeds and settlements, I thank you. Would you cheat me of my estate, i'fac?
Wid.No, no, I will not cheat your little brother Bob; for thou wert not born in wedlock.
Free.How's that?
Jer.How? what quirk has she got in her head now?
Wid.I say, thou canst not, shalt not inherit the Blackacres' estate.
Jer.Why? why, forsooth? What d'ye mean, if you go there too?
Wid.Thou art but my base child; and according to the law, canst not inherit it. Nay, thou art not so much as bastard eigne.[123]
Jer.What, what, am I then the son of a whore, mother?
Wid.The law says—
Free.Madam, we know what the law says; but have a care what you say. Do not let your passion, to ruin your son, ruin your reputation.
Wid.Hang reputation, sir! am not I a widow? have no husband, nor intend to have any? Nor would you, I suppose, now have me for a wife. So I think now I'm revenged on my son and you, without marrying, as I told you.
Free.But consider, madam.
Jer.What, have you no shame left in you, mother?
Wid.Wonder not at it, major. 'Tis often the poor pressed widow's case, to give up her honour to save her jointure; and seem to be a light woman, rather than marry: as some young men, they say, pretend to have the filthy disease, and lose their credit with most women, to avoid the importunities of some. [Aside toOldfox.
Free.But one word with you, madam.
Wid.No, no, sir. Come, major, let us make haste now to the Prerogative-court.
Old.But, lady, if what you say be true, will you stigmatiseyour reputation on record? and if it be not true, how will you prove it?
Wid.Pshaw! I can prove anything: and for my reputation, know, major, a wise woman will no more value her reputation, in disinheriting a rebellious son of a good estate, than she would in getting him, to inherit an estate. [ExeuntWidowBlackacreandMajorOldfox.
Free.Madam.—We must not let her go so, squire.
Jer.Nay, the devil can't stop her though, if she has a mind to't. But come, bully-guardian, we'll go and advise with three attorneys, two proctors, two solicitors, and a shrewd man of Whitefriars, neither attorney, proctor, nor solicitor, but as pure a pimp to the law as any of 'em: and sure all they will be hard enough for her, for I fear, bully-guardian, you are too good a joker to have any law in your head.
Free.Thou'rt in the right on't, squire, I understand no law; especially that against bastards, since I'm sure the custom is against that law, and more people get estates by being so, than lose 'em. [Exeunt.
EnterLordPlausibleandBoywith a candle.
L. Plau.Little gentleman, your most obedient, faithful, humble servant. Where, I beseech you, is that divine person, your noble lady?
Boy.Gone out, my lord; but commanded me to give you this letter. [Gives him a letter.
EnterNovel.
L. Plau.Which he must not observe. [Aside. Puts letter up.
Nov.Hey, boy, where is thy lady?
Boy.Gone out, sir; but I must beg a word with you. [Gives him a letter, and exit.
Nov.For me? So.—[Puts up the letter.] Servant, servant, my lord; you see the lady knew of your coming, for she is gone out.
L. Plau.Sir, I humbly beseech you not to censure the lady's good breeding: she has reason to use more liberty with me than with any other man.
Nov.How, viscount, how?
L. Plau.Nay, I humbly beseech you, be not in choler; where there is most love, there may be most freedom.
Nov.Nay, then 'tis time to come to an eclaircissement with you, and to tell you, you must think no more of this lady's love.
L. Plau.Why, under correction, dear sir?
Nov.There are reasons, reasons, viscount.
L. Plau.What, I beseech you, noble sir?
Nov.Prithee, prithee, be not impertinent, my lord; some of you lords are such conceited, well-assured, impertinent rogues.
L. Plau.And you noble wits are so full of shamming and drolling, one knows not where to have you seriously.
Nov.Well, you shall find me in bed with this lady one of these days.
L. Plau.Nay, I beseech you, spare the lady's honour; for hers and mine will be all one shortly.
Nov.Prithee, my lord, be not an ass. Dost thou think to get her from me? I have had such encouragements—
L. Plau.I have not been thought unworthy of 'em.
Nov.What, not like mine! Come to an eclaircissement, as I said.
L. Plau.Why, seriously then, she has told me viscountess sounded prettily.
Nov.And me, that Novel was a name she would sooner change hers for than for any title in England.
L. Plau.She has commended the softness and respectfulness of my behaviour.
Nov.She has praised the briskness of my raillery, of all things, man.
L. Plau.The sleepiness of my eyes she liked.
Nov.Sleepiness! dulness, dulness. But the fierceness of mine she adored.
L. Plau.The brightness of my hair she liked.
Nov.The brightness! no, the greasiness, I warrant. But the blackness and lustre of mine she admires.
L. Plau.The gentleness of my smile.
Nov.The subtilty of my leer.
L. Plau.The clearness of my complexion.
Nov.The redness of my lips.
L. Plau.The whiteness of my teeth.
Nov.My jaunty way of picking them.
L. Plau.The sweetness of my breath.
Nov.Ha! ha! nay, then she abused you, 'tis plain; for you know what Manly said:—the sweetness of your pulvillio she might mean; but for your breath! ha! ha! ha! Your breath is such, man, that nothing but tobacco can perfume; and your complexion nothing could mend but the small-pox.
L. Plau.Well, sir, you may please to be merry; but, to put you out of all doubt, sir, she has received some jewels from me of value.
Nov.And presents from me; besides what I presented her jauntily, by way of ombre, of three or four hundred pounds value, which I'm sure are the earnest-pence for our love-bargain.
L. Plau.Nay, then, sir, with your favour, and to make an end of all your hopes, look you there, sir, she has writ to me—
Nov.How! how! well, well, and so she has to me; look you there—[They deliver to each other their letters.
L. Plau.What's here?
Nov.How's this? [Reads out.]—"My dear lord,—You'll excuse me for breaking my word with you, since 'twas to oblige, not offend you; for I am only gone abroad but to disappoint Novel, and meet you in the drawing-room; where I expect you with as much impatience as when I used to suffer Novel's visits—the most impertinent fop that ever affected the name of a wit, therefore not capable, I hope, to give you jealousy; for, for your sake alone, you saw I renounced an old lover, and will do all the world. Burn the letter, but lay up the kindness of it in your heart, with your—Olivia." Very fine! but pray let's see mine.
L. Plau.I understand it not; but sure she cannot think so of me.
Nov.[Reads the other letter.] Hum! ha!—"meet—for your sake"—hum—"quitted an old lover—world—burn—in your heart—with your—Olivia." Just the same, the names only altered.
L. Plau.Surely there must be some mistake, or somebody has abused her and us.
Nov.Yes, you are abused, no doubt on't, my lord; but I'll to Whitehall, and see.
L. Plau.And I, where I shall find you are abused.
Nov.Where, if it be so, for our comfort, we cannot fail of meeting with fellow-sufferers enough; for, as Freeman said of another, she stands in the drawing room, like the glass, ready for all comers, to set their gallantry by her: and, like the glass too, lets no man go from her unsatisfied with himself. [Exeunt.
EnterOliviaandBoy.
Oliv.Both here, and just gone?
Boy.Yes, madam.
Oliv.But are you sure neither saw you deliver the other a letter?
Boy.Yes, yes, madam, I am very sure.
Oliv.Go then to the Old Exchange, to Westminster, Holborn, and all the other places I told you of; I shall not need you these two hours: begone, and take the candle with you, and be sure you leave word again below, I am gone out, to all that ask.
Boy.Yes, madam. [Exit.
Oliv.And my new lover will not ask, I'm sure; he has his lesson, and cannot miss me here, though in the dark: which I have purposely designed, as a remedy against my blushing gallant's modesty; for young lovers, like game-cocks, are made bolder by being kept without light.
EnterVernish,as from a journey.
Ver.Where is she? Darkness everywhere? [Softly.
Oliv.What! come before your time? My soul! my life! your haste has augmented your kindness; and let me thank you for it thus, and thus—[Embracing and kissing him.] And though, my soul, the little time since you left me has seemed an age to my impatience, sure it is yet but seven—
Ver.How! who's that you expected after seven?
Oliv.Ha! my husband returned! and have I been throwing away so many kind kisses on my husband, and wronged my lover already? [Aside.
Ver.Speak, I say, who was't you expected after seven?
Oliv.[Aside.] What shall I say?—oh—[Aloud.] Why 'tis but seven days, is it, dearest, since you went out of town? and I expected you not so soon.
Ver.No, sure, 'tis but five days since I left you.
Oliv.Pardon my impatience, dearest, I thought 'em seven at least.
Ver.Nay, then—
Oliv.But, my life, you shall never stay half so long from me again; you shan't indeed, by this kiss you shan't.
Ver.No, no; but why alone in the dark?
Oliv.Blame not my melancholy in your absence.—But, my soul, since you went, I have strange news to tell you: Manly is returned.
Ver.Manly returned! Fortune forbid!
Oliv.Met with the Dutch in the channel, fought, sunk his ship, and all he carried with him. He was here with me yesterday.
Ver.And did you own our marriage to him?
Oliv.I told him I was married to put an end to his love and my trouble; but to whom, is yet a secret kept from him and all the world. And I have used him so scurvily, his great spirit will ne'er return to reason it farther with me: I have sent him to sea again, I warrant.
Ver.'Twas bravely done. And sure he will now hate the shore more than ever, after so great a disappointment. Be you sure only to keep a while our great secret, till he be gone. In the mean time, I'll lead the easy, honest fool by the nose, as I used to do; and whilst he stays, rail with him at thee; and when he's gone, laugh with thee at him. But have you his cabinet of jewels safe? part not with a seed-pearl to him, to keep him from starving.
Oliv.Nor from hanging.
Ver.He cannot recover 'em; and, I think, will scorn to beg 'em again.
Oliv.But, my life, have you taken the thousand guineas he left in my name out of the goldsmith's hands?
Ver.Ay, ay; they are removed to another goldsmith's.
Oliv.Ay, but, my soul, you had best have a care he find not where the money is; for his present wants, as I'm informed, are such as will make him inquisitive enough.
Ver.You say true, and he knows the man too; but I'll remove it to-morrow.
Oliv.To-morrow! O do not stay till to-morrow; go to-night, immediately.
Ver.Now I think on't, you advise well, and I will go presently.
Oliv.Presently! instantly! I will not let you stay a jot.
Ver.I will then, though I return not home till twelve.
Oliv.Nay, though not till morning, with all my heart. Go, dearest; I am impatient till you are gone.—[Thrusts him out.] So, I have at once now brought about those two grateful businesses, which all prudent women do together, secured money and pleasure; and now all interruptions of the last are removed. Go, husband, and come up, friend; just the buckets in the well; the absence of one brings the other. But I hope, like them too, they will not meet in the way, jostle, and clash together.
EnterFidelia,andManlytreading softly and staying behind at some distance.
So, are you come? (but not the husband-bucket, I hope, again.)—Who's there? my dearest? [Softly.
Fid.My life—
Oliv.Right, right.—Where are thy lips? Here, take the dumb and best welcomes, kisses and embraces; 'tis not a time for idle words. In a duel of love, as in others, parleying shows basely. Come, we are alone; and now the word is only satisfaction, and defend not thyself.
Man.How's this? Why, she makes love like a devil in a play; and in this darkness, which conceals her angel's face, if I were apt to be afraid, I should think her a devil. [Aside.
Oliv.What, you traverse ground, young gentleman! [Fideliaavoiding her.
Fid.I take breath only.
Man.Good Heavens! how was I deceived! [Aside.
Oliv.Nay, you are a coward; what, are you afraid of the fierceness of my love?
Fid.Yes, madam, lest its violence might presage its change; and I must needs be afraid you would leave me quickly, who could desert so brave a gentleman as Manly.
Oliv.O, name not his name! for in a time of stolen joys, as this is, the filthy name of husband were not a more allaying sound.
Man.There's some comfort yet. [Aside.
Fid.But did you not love him?
Oliv.Never. How could you think it?
Fid.Because he thought it; who is a man of that sense, nice discerning, and diffidency, that I should think it hard to deceive him.
Oliv.No; he that distrusts most the world, trusts most to himself, and is but the more easily deceived, because he thinks he can't be deceived. His cunning is like the coward's sword, by which he is oftener worsted than defended.
Fid.Yet, sure, you used no common art to deceive him.
Oliv.I knew he loved his own singular moroseness so well, as to dote upon any copy of it; wherefore I feigned a hatred to the world too that he might love me in earnest: but, if it had been hard to deceive him, I'm sure 'twere much harder to love him. A dogged, ill-mannered—
Fid.D'ye hear, sir? pray, hear her. [Aside toManly.
Oliv.Surly, untractable, snarling brute! He! a mastiff dog were as fit a thing to make a gallant of.
Man.Ay, a goat, or monkey, were fitter for thee. [Aside.
Fid.I must confess, for my part, though my rival, I cannot but say he has a manly handsomeness in's face and mien.
Oliv.So has a Saracen in the sign.
Fid.Is proper, and well made.
Oliv.As a drayman.
Fid.Has wit.
Oliv.He rails at all mankind.
Fid.And undoubted courage.
Oliv.Like the hangman's; can murder a man when his hands are tied. He has cruelty indeed; which is no more courage, than his railing is wit.
Man.Thus women, and men like women, are too hard for us, when they think we do not hear 'em: and reputation, like other mistresses, is never true to a man in his absence. [Aside.
Fid.He is—
Oliv.Prithee, no more of him: I thought I had satisfied you enough before, that he could never be a rival for you to apprehend. And you need not be more assured of my aversion to him, than by the last testimony of my love to you; which I am ready to give you. Come, my soul, this way. [PullsFidelia.
Fid.But, madam, what could make you dissemble love to him, when 'twas so hard a thing for you; and flatter his love to you?
Oliv.That which makes all the world flatter and dissemble, 'twas his money: I had a real passion for that. Yet I loved not that so well, as for it to take him; for as soon as I had his money I hastened his departure like a wife, who when she has made the most of a dying husband's breath, pulls away his pillow.
Man.Damned money! its master's potent rival still; and like a saucy pimp, corrupts itself the mistress it procures for us. [Aside.
Oliv.But I did not think with you, my life, to pass my time in talking. Come hither, come; yet stay, till I have locked a door in the other room, that may chance to let us in some interruption; which reciting poets or losing gamesters fear not more than I at this time do. [Exit.
Fid.Well, I hope you are now satisfied, sir, and will be gone to think of your revenge?
Man.No, I am not satisfied, and must stay to be revenged.
Fid.How, sir? You'll use no violence to her, I hope, and forfeit your own life, to take away hers? that were no revenge.
Man.No, no, you need not fear: my revenge shall only be upon her honour, not her life.
Fid.How, sir? her honour? O Heavens! consider, sir, she has no honour. D'ye call that revenge? can you think of such a thing? But reflect, sir, how she hates and loathes you.
Man.Yes, so much she hates me, that it would be a revenge sufficient to make her accessory to my pleasure, and then let her know it.
Fid.No, sir, no; to be revenged on her now, were to disappoint her. Pray, sir, let us begone. [PullsManly.
Man.Hold off! What, you are my rival then! and therefore you shall stay, and keep the door for me, whilst I go in for you; but when I'm gone, if you dare to stir off from this very board, or breathe the least murmuring accent, I'll cut her throat first; and if you love her, you will not venture her life.—Nay, then I'll cut your throat too; and I know you love your own life at least.
Fid.But, sir; good sir.
Man.Not a word more, lest I begin my revenge on her by killing you.
Fid.But are you sure 'tis revenge that makes you do this? how can it be?
Man.Whist!
Fid.'Tis a strange revenge, indeed.
Man.If you make me stay, I shall keep my word, and begin with you. No more. [Exit at the same doorOliviawent out by.
Fid.
O Heavens! is there not punishment enoughIn loving well, if you will have't a crime,But you must add fresh torments daily to't,And punish us like peevish rivals still,Because we fain would find a heaven here?But did there never any love like me,That untried tortures you must find me out?Others at worst, you force to kill themselves;But I must be self-murdress of my love,Yet will not grant me power to end my life,My cruel life; for when a lover's hopesAre dead and gone, life is unmerciful.
[Sits down and weeps.
Re-enterManly.
Man.I have thought better on't: I must not discover myself now I am without witnesses; for if I barely should publish it, she would deny it with as much impudence, as she would act it again with this young fellow here.—Where are you?
Fid.Here—oh—now I suppose we may be gone.
Man.I will; but not you. You must stay and act the second part of a lover, that is, talk kindness to her.
Fid.Not I, sir.
Man.No disputing, sir, you must; 'tis necessary to my design of coming again to-morrow night.
Fid.What, can you come again then hither?
Man.Yes; and you must make the appointment, and an apology for your leaving her so soon; for I have said not a word to her; but have kept your counsel, as I expect you should do mine. Do this faithfully, and I promise you here, you shall run my fortune still, and we will never part as long as we live; but if you do not do it, expect not to live.
Fid.'Tis hard, sir; but such a consideration will make it easier. You won't forget your promise, sir?
Man.No, by Heavens! But I hear her coming. [Exit.
Re-enterOlivia.
Oliv.Where is my life? Run from me already! You do not love me, dearest; nay, you are angry with me, for you would not so much as speak a kind word to me within: what was the reason?
Fid.I was transported too much.
Oliv.That's kind.—But come, my soul, what make you here? Let us go in again; we may be surprised in this room, 'tis so near the stairs.
Fid.No, we shall hear the better here, if anybody should come up.
Oliv.Nay, I assure you, we shall be secure enough within: come, come—
Fid.I am sick, and troubled with a sudden dizziness; and cannot stir yet.
Oliv.Come, I have spirits within.
Fid.O! don't you hear a noise, madam?
Oliv.No, no; there is none: come, come. [Pulls her.
Fid.Indeed there is; and I love you so much, I must have a care of your honour, if you won't, and go; but to come to you to-morrow night, if you please.
Oliv.With all my soul. But you must not go yet; come, prithee.
Fid.Oh!—I'm now sicker, and am afraid of one of my fits.
Oliv.What fits?
Fid.Of the falling sickness; and I lie generally an hour in a trance: therefore pray consider your honour for the sake of my love, and let me go, that I may return to you often.
Oliv.But will you be sure then to come to-morrow night?
Fid.Yes.
Oliv.Swear.
Fid.By our past kindness!
Oliv.Well, go your ways then, if you will, you naughtycreature you.—[ExitFidelia.] These young lovers, with their fears and modesty, make themselves as bad as old ones to us; and I apprehend their bashfulness more than their tattling.
Re-enterFidelia.
Fid.O madam, we're undone! There was a gentleman upon the stairs, coming up with a candle, which made me retire. Look you, here he comes!
Re-enterVernish,and hisServantwith a light.
Oliv.How, my husband! Oh, undone indeed! This way. [Exit.
Ver.Ha! You shall not escape me so, sir. [StopsFidelia.
Fid.O Heavens! more fears, plagues, and torments yet in store! [Aside.
Ver.Come, sir, I guess what your business was here, but this must be your business now. Draw. [Draws.
Fid.Sir—
Ver.No expostulations; I shall not care to hear of't. Draw.
Fid.Good sir!
Ver.How, you rascal! not courage to draw; yet durst do me the greatest injury in the world? Thy cowardice shall not save thy life. [Offers to run atFidelia.
Fid.O hold, sir, and send but your servant down, and I'll satisfy you, sir, I could not injure you as you imagine.
Ver.Leave the light and begone.—[ExitServant.] Now, quickly, sir, what have you to say, or—
Fid.I am a woman, sir, a very unfortunate woman.
Ver.How! a very handsome woman, I'm sure then: here are witnesses of't too, I confess—[Pulls off her peruke and feels her breasts; then aside,] Well, I'm glad to find the tables turned; my wife is in more danger of cuckolding than I was.
Fid.Now, sir, I hope you are so much a man of honour, as to let me go, now I have satisfied you, sir.
Ver.When you have satisfied me, madam, I will.
Fid.I hope, sir, you are too much a gentleman to urge those secrets from a woman which concern her honour. You may guess my misfortune to be love by my disguise: but a pair of breeches could not wrong you, sir.
Ver.I may believe love has changed your outside, which could not wrong me; but why did my wife run away?
Fid.I know not, sir; perhaps because she would not be forced to discover me to you, or to guide me from your suspicions, that you might not discover me yourself; which ungentlemanlike curiosity I hope you will cease to have, and let me go.
Ver.Well, madam, if I must not know who you are, 'twill suffice for me only to know certainly what you are; which you must not deny me. Come, there is a bed within, the proper rack for lovers; and if you are a woman, there you can keep no secrets; you'll tell me there all unasked. Come. [Pulls her.
Fid.Oh! what d'ye mean? Help! oh!
Ver.I'll show you: but 'tis in vain to cry out: no one dares help you; for I am lord here.
Fid.Tyrant here!—But if you are master of this house, which I have taken for a sanctuary, do not violate it yourself.
Ver.No, I'll preserve you here, and nothing shall hurt you, and will be as true to you as your disguise; but you must trust me then. Come, come. [Pulls her.
Fid.Oh! oh! rather than you should drag me to a deed so horrid and so shameful, I'll die here a thousand deaths.—But you do not look like a ravisher, sir.
Ver.Nor you like one would put me to't; but if you will—
Fid.Oh! oh! help! help!
Re-enterServant.
Ver.You saucy rascal, how durst you come in? When you heard a woman squeak, that should have been your cue to shut the door.
Serv.I come, sir, to let you know, the alderman coming home immediately after you were at his house, has sent his cashier with the money, according to your note.
Ver.Damn his money! Money never came to any, sure, unseasonably till now. Bid him stay.
Serv.He says, he cannot a moment.
Ver.Receive it you then.
Serv.He says he must have your receipt for it:—he is in haste, for I hear him coming up, sir.
Ver.Damn him! Help me in here then with this dishonourer of my family.
Fid.Oh! oh!
Serv.You say she is a woman, sir.
Ver.No matter, sir: must you prate?
Fid.Oh Heavens! is there—[They thrust her in, and lock the door.
Ver.Stay there, my prisoner; you have a short reprieve.
I'll fetch the gold, and that she can't resist,For with a full hand 'tis we ravish best.
[Exeunt.
EnterOliviaandEliza.
Oliv.Ah, cousin! nothing troubles me but that I have given the malicious world its revenge, and reason now to talk as freely of me as I used to do of it.
Eliza.Faith, then, let not that trouble you; for, to be plain, cousin, the world cannot talk worse of you than it did before.
Oliv.How, cousin! I'd have you to know, before thisfaux pas, this trip of mine, the world could not talk of me.
Eliza.Only that you mind other people's actions so much that you take no care of your own, but to hide 'em; that, like a thief, because you know yourself most guilty, you impeach your fellow-criminals first, to clear yourself.
Oliv.O wicked world!
Eliza.That you pretend an aversion to all mankind in public, only that their wives and mistresses may not be jealous, and hinder you of their conversation in private.
Oliv.Base world!
Eliza.That abroad you fasten quarrels upon innocent men for talking of you, only to bring 'em to ask yourpardon at home, and to become dear friends with them, who were hardly your acquaintance before.
Oliv.Abominable world!
Eliza.That you condemn the obscenity of modern plays, only that you may not be censured for never missing the most obscene of the old ones.
Oliv.Damned world!
Eliza.That you deface the nudities of pictures, and little statues, only because they are not real.[124]
Oliv.O, fy! fy! fy! hideous, hideous! Cousin, the obscenity of their censures makes me blush!
Eliza.The truth of 'em, the naughty world would say now.
EnterLetticehastily.
Let.O, madam! here is that gentleman coming up who now you say is my master.
Oliv.O, cousin! whither shall I run? protect me, or—[Oliviaruns away, and stands at a distance.
EnterVernish.
Ver.Nay, nay, come—
Oliv.O, sir, forgive me!
Ver.Yes, yes, I can forgive you being alone in the dark with a woman in man's clothes: but have a care of a man in woman's clothes.
Oliv.What does he mean? he dissembles only to get me into his power: or has my dear friend made him believe he was a woman? My husband may be deceived by him, but I'm sure I was not. [Aside.
Ver.Come, come, you need not have lain out of your house for this; but perhaps you were afraid, when I was warm with suspicions, you must have discovered who she was.—And, prithee, may I not know it?
Oliv.She was!—[Aside.] I hope he has been deceived:and since my lover has played the card, I must not renounce.
Ver.Come, what's the matter with thee? If I must not know who she is, I'm satisfied without. Come hither.
Oliv.Sure you do know her; she has told you herself, I suppose.
Ver.No, I might have known her better but that I was interrupted by the goldsmith, you know, and was forced to lock her into your chamber, to keep her from his sight; but, when I returned, I found she was got away by tying the window-curtains to the balcony, by which she slid down into the street. For, you must know, I jested with her, and made her believe I'd ravish her; which she apprehended, it seems, in earnest.
Oliv.And she got from you?
Ver.Yes.
Oliv.And is quite gone?
Ver.Yes.
Oliv.I'm glad on't—otherwise you had ravished her, sir? But how durst you go so far, as to make her believe you would ravish her? let me understand that, sir. What! there's guilt in your face, you blush too: nay, then you did ravish her, you did, you base fellow! What, ravish a woman in the first month of our marriage! 'tis a double injury to me, thou base, ungrateful man! wrong my bed already, villain! I could tear out those false eyes, barbarous, unworthy wretch!
Eliza.So, so!—
Ver.Prithee hear, my dear.
Oliv.I will never hear you, my plague, my torment!
Ver.I swear—prithee, hear me.
Oliv.I have heard already too many of your false oaths and vows, especially your last in the church. O wicked man! and wretched woman that I was! I wish I had then sunk down into a grave, rather than to have given you my hand, to be led to your loathsome bed. Oh—Oh—[Pretends to weep.
Ver.So, very fine! just a marriage-quarrel! which though it generally begins by the wife's fault, yet, in the conclusion, it becomes the husband's; and whosoever offends at first, he only is sure to ask pardon at last. My dear—
Oliv.My devil!—
Ver.Come, prithee be appeased, and go home; I have bespoken our supper betimes: for I could not eat till I found you. Go, I'll give you all kind of satisfactions; and one, which uses to be a reconciling one, two hundred of those guineas I received last night, to do what you will with.
Oliv.What, would you pay me for being your bawd?
Ver.Nay, prithee no more; go, and I'll thoroughly satisfy you when I come home; and then, too, we will have a fit of laughter at Manly, whom I am going to find at the Cock in Bow-street, where I hear he dined. Go, dearest, go home.
Eliza.A very pretty turn, indeed, this! [Aside.
Ver.Now, cousin, since by my wife I have that honour and privilege of calling you so, I have something to beg of you too; which is not to take notice of our marriage to any whatever yet a while, for some reasons very important to me. And, next, that you will do my wife the honour to go home with her; and me the favour, to use that power you have with her, in our reconcilement.
Eliza.That I dare promise, sir, will be no hard matter. Your servant.—[ExitVernish.]—Well, cousin, this, I confess, was reasonable hypocrisy; you were the better for't.
Oliv.What hypocrisy?
Eliza.Why, this last deceit of your husband was lawful, since in your own defence.
Oliv.What deceit? I'd have you to know I never deceived my husband.
Eliza.You do not understand me, sure: I say, this was an honest come-off, and a good one. But 'twas asign your gallant had had enough of your conversation, since he could so dexterously cheat your husband in passing for a woman.
Oliv.What d'ye mean, once more, with my gallant and passing for a woman?
Eliza.What do you mean? you see your husband took him for a woman.
Oliv.Whom?
Eliza.Heyday! why, the man he found you with, for whom last night you were so much afraid; and who you told me—
Oliv.Lord, you rave sure!
Eliza.Why, did you not tell me last night—
Oliv.I know not what I might tell you last night, in a fright.
Eliza.Ay, what was that fright for? for a woman? besides, were you not afraid to see your husband just now? I warrant only for having been found with a woman! Nay, did you not just now, too, own your false step, or trip, as you called it? which was with a woman too! fy, this fooling is so insipid, 'tis offensive!
Oliv.And fooling with my honour will be more offensive. Did you not hear my husband say he found me with a woman in man's clothes? and d'ye think he does not know a man from a woman?
Eliza.Not so well, I'm sure, as you do; therefore I'd rather take your word.
Oliv.What, you grow scurrilous, and are, I find, more censorious than the world! I must have a care of you, I see.
Eliza.No, you need not fear yet, I'll keep your secret.
Oliv.My secret! I'd have you to know, I have no need of confidants, though you value yourself upon being a good one.
Eliza.O admirable confidence! you show more in denying your wickedness, than other people in glorying in't.
Oliv.Confidence, to me! to me such language! nay, then I'll never see your face again.—[Aside.] I'll quarrel with her, that people may never believe I was in her power; but take for malice all the truth she may speak against me.—[Aloud.] Lettice, where are you! Let us be gone from this censorious ill woman.
Eliza.[Aside.] Nay, thou shalt stay a little, to damn thyself quite.—[Aloud.] One word first, pray, madam; can you swear that whom your husband found you with—
Oliv.Swear! ay, that whosoever 'twas that stole up, unknown, into my room, when 'twas dark, I know not, whether man or woman, by Heavens! by all that's good; or, may I never more have joys here, or in the other world! Nay, may I eternally—
Eliza.Be damned. So, so, you are damned enough already by your oaths; and I enough confirmed, and now you may please to be gone. Yet take this advice with you, in this plain-dealing age, to leave off forswearing yourself; for when people hardly think the better of a woman for her real modesty, why should you put that great constraint upon yourself to feign it?
Oliv.O hideous, hideous advice! let us go out of the hearing of it. She will spoil us, Lettice.
[ExeuntOliviaandLetticeat one door,Elizaat the other.
EnterManlyandFidelia.
Man.How! saved her honour by making her husband believe you were a woman! 'Twas well, but hard enough to do, sure.
Fid.We were interrupted before he could contradict me.
Man.But can't you tell me, d'ye say, what kind of man he was?
Fid.I was so frightened, I confess, I can give no other account of him, but that he was pretty tall, round-faced, and one, I'm sure, I ne'er had seen before.
Man.But she, you say, made you swear to return to-night?
Fid.But I have since sworn, never to go near her again; for the husband would murder me, or worse, if he caught me again.
Man.No, I will go with you, and defend you to-night, and then I'll swear, too, never to go near her again.
Fid.Nay, indeed, sir, I will not go, to be accessory to your death too. Besides, what should you go again, sir, for?
Man.No disputing, or advice, sir, you have reason to know I am unalterable. Go therefore presently, and write her a note, to inquire if her assignation with you holds; and if not to be at her own house, where else; and be importunate to gain admittance to her to-night. Let your messenger, ere he deliver your letter, inquire first if her husband be gone out. Go, 'tis now almost six of the clock; I expect you back here before seven, with leave to see her then. Go, do this dextrously, and expect the performance of my last night's promise, never to part with you.
Fid.Ay, sir; but will you be sure to remember that?
Man.Did I ever break my word? Go, no more replies, or doubts. [ExitFidelia.
EnterFreeman.
Where hast thou been?
Free.In the next room with my Lord Plausible and Novel.
Man.Ay, we came hither, because 'twas a private house; but with thee indeed no house can be private, for thou hast that pretty quality of the familiar fops ofthe town, who, in an eating-house, always keep company with all people in't but those they came with.
Free.I went into their room, but to keep them, and my own fool the squire, out of your room; but you shall be peevish now, because you have no money. But why the devil won't you write to those we were speaking of? Since your modesty, or your spirit, will not suffer you to speak to 'em, to lend you money, why won't you try 'em at last that way?
Man.Because I know 'em already, and can bear want better than denials, nay, than obligations.
Free.Deny you! they cannot. All of 'em have been your intimate friends.
Man.No, they have been people only I have obliged particularly.
Free.Very well; therefore you ought to go to 'em the rather, sure.
Man.No, no. Those you have obliged most, most certainly avoid you, when you can oblige 'em no longer; and they take your visits like so many duns. Friends, like mistresses, are avoided for obligations past.
Free.Pshaw! but most of 'em are your relations; men of great fortune and honour.
Man.Yes; but relations have so much honour as to think poverty taints the blood, and disown their wanting kindred; believing, I suppose, that as riches at first make a gentleman, the want of 'em degrades him. But damn 'em! now I am poor, I'll anticipate their contempt, and disown them.
Free.But you have many a female acquaintance whom you have been liberal to, who may have a heart to refund to you a little, if you would ask it: they are not all Olivias.
Man.Damn thee! how couldst thou think of such a thing? I would as soon rob my footman of his wages. Besides, 'twere in vain too: for a wench is like a box in an ordinary, receives all people's money easily, but thereis no getting, nay, shaking any out again; and he that fills it is sure never to keep the key.
Free.Well, but noble captain, would you make me believe that you, who know half the town, have so many friends, and have obliged so many, can't borrow fifty or a hundred pounds?
Man.Why, noble lieutenant, you who know all the town, and call all you know friends, methinks should not wonder at it; since you find ingratitude too. For how many lords' families (though descended from blacksmiths or tinkers) hast thou called great and illustrious? how many ill tables called good eating? how many noisy coxcombs wits? how many pert cocking[125]cowards stout? how many tawdry affected rogues well-dressed? how many perukes admired? and how many ill verses applauded? and yet canst not borrow a shilling. Dost thou expect I, who always spoke truth, should?
Free.Nay, now you think you have paid me; but hark you, captain, I have heard of a thing called grinning honour, but never of starving honour.
Man.Well, but it has been the fate of some brave men; and if they won't give me a ship again, I can go starve anywhere with a musket on my shoulder.
Free.Give you a ship! why, you will not solicit it.
Man.If I have not solicited it by my services, I know no other way.
Free.Your servant, sir; nay, then I'm satisfied, I must solicit my widow the closer, and run the desperate fortune of matrimony on shore. [Exit.
EnterVernish.
Man.How!—Nay, here is a friend indeed; and he that has him in his arms can know no wants. [EmbracesVernish.
Ver.Dear sir! and he that is in your arms is secure from all fears whatever: nay, our nation is secure byyour defeat at sea, and the Dutch that fought against you have proved enemies to themselves only in bringing you back to us.
Man.Fy! fy! this from a friend? and yet from any other 'twere insufferable: I thought I should never have taken anything ill from you.
Ver.A friend's privilege is to speak his mind, though it be taken ill.
Man.But your tongue need not tell me you think too well of me; I have found it from your heart, which spoke in actions, your unalterable heart. But Olivia is false, my friend, which I suppose is no news to you.
Ver.He's in the right on't. [Aside.
Man.But couldst thou not keep her true to me?
Ver.Not for my heart, sir.
Man.But could you not perceive it at all before I went? Could she so deceive us both?
Ver.I must confess, the first time I knew it was three days after your departure, when she received the money you had left in Lombard-street in her name; and her tears did not hinder her, it seems, from counting that. You would trust her with all, like a true generous lover.
Man.And she like a mean jilting—
Ver.Traitorous—
Man.Base—
Ver.Damned—
Man.Covetous—
Ver.Mercenary whore.—[Aside.] I can hardly hold from laughing.
Man.Ay, a mercenary whore indeed; for she made me pay her before I lay with her.
Ver.How!—Why, have you lain with her?
Man.Ay, ay.
Ver.Nay, she deserves you should report it at least, though you have not.
Man.Report it! by Heaven, 'tis true!
Ver.How! sure not.
Man.I do not use to lie, nor you to doubt me.
Ver.When?
Man.Last night, about seven or eight of the clock.
Ver.Ha!—[Aside.] Now I remember, I thought she spake as if she expected some other rather than me. A confounded whore, indeed!
Man.But what, thou wonderest at it! nay, you seem to be angry too.
Ver.I cannot but be enraged against her, for her usage of you: damned infamous, common jade!
Man.Nay, her cuckold, who first cuckolded me in my money, shall not laugh all himself: we will do him reason, shan't we?
Ver.Ay, ay.
Man.But thou dost not, for so great a friend, take pleasure enough in your friend's revenge, methinks.
Ver.Yes, yes; I'm glad to know it, since you have lain with her.
Man.Thou canst not tell who that rascal, her cuckold, is?
Ver.No.
Man.She would keep it from you, I suppose.
Ver.Yes, yes.
Man.Thou wouldst laugh, if thou knewest but all the circumstances of my having her. Come, I'll tell thee.
Ver.Damn her! I care not to hear any more of her.
Man.Faith, thou shalt. You must know—
Re-enterFreemanbackwards, endeavouring to keep outNovel, LordPlausible, Jerry Blackacre,andMajorOldfox,who all press upon him.
Free.I tell you he has a wench with him, and would be private.
Man.Damn 'em! a man can't open a bottle in these eating-houses, but presently you have these impudent, intruding, buzzing flies and insects in your glass.—Well,I'll tell thee all anon. In the mean time prithee go to her, but not from me, and try if you can get her to lend me but a hundred pounds of my money, to supply my present wants; for I suppose there is no recovering any of it by law.
Ver.Not any: think not of it. Nor by this way neither.
Man.Go try, at least.
Ver.I'll go; but I can satisfy you beforehand it will be to no purpose. You'll no more find a refunding wench—
Man.Than a refunding lawyer; indeed their fees alike scarce ever return. However, try her; put it to her.
Ver.Ay, ay, I'll try her; put it to her home with a vengeance. [Exit.
Nov.Nay, you shall be our judge, Manly—Come, major, I'll speak it to your teeth; if people provoke me to say bitter things to their faces, they must take what follows; though, like my lord Plausible, I'd rather do't civilly behind their backs.
Man.Nay, thou art a dangerous rogue, I've heard, behind a man's back.
L. Plau.You wrong him sure, noble captain; he would do a man no more harm behind his back than to his face.
Free.I am of my lord's mind.
Man.Yes, a fool, like a coward, is the more to be, feared behind a man's back, more than a witty man; for as a coward is more bloody than a brave man, a fool is more malicious than a man of wit.
Nov.A fool, tar,—a fool! nay, thou art a brave sea-judge of wit! a fool! Prithee when did you ever find me want something to say, as you do often?
Man.Nay, I confess thou art always talking, roaring, or making a noise; that I'll say for thee.
Nov.Well, and is talking a sign of a fool?
Man.Yes, always talking, especially too if it be loud and fast, is the sign of a fool.
Nov.Pshaw! talking is like fencing, the quicker the better; run 'em down, run 'em down, no matter for parrying; push on still, sa, sa, sa! No matter whether you argue in form, push in guard or no.
Man.Or hit or no; I think thou always talkest without thinking, Novel.
Nov.Ay, ay; studied play's the worse, to follow the allegory, as the old pedant says.
Old.A young fop!
Man.I ever thought the man of most wit had been like him of most money, who has no vanity in showing it everywhere, whilst the beggarly pusher of his fortune has all he has about him still only to show.
Nov.Well, sir, and make a pretty show in the world, let me tell you; nay, a better than your close hunks. A pox, give me ready money in play! what care I for a man's reputation? what are we the better for your substantial thrifty curmudgeon in wit, sir?
Old.Thou art a profuse young rogue indeed.
Nov.So much for talking, which, I think, I have proved a mark of wit; and so is railing, roaring, and making a noise; for railing is satire, you know; and roaring and making a noise, humour.
Re-enterFidelia;she takesManlyaside, and shows him a paper.
Fid.The hour is betwixt seven and eight exactly: 'tis now half an hour to six.
Man.Well, go then to the Piazza, and wait for me: as soon as it is quite dark, I'll be with you. I must stay here yet a while for my friend.—[ExitFidelia.] But is railing satire, Novel?
Free.And roaring and making a noise, humour?
Nov.What, won't you confess there's humour in roaring and making a noise?
Free.No.
Nov.Nor in cutting napkins and hangings?
Man.No, sure.
Nov.Dull fops!
Old.O rogue, rogue, insipid rogue!—Nay, gentlemen, allow him those things for wit; for his parts lie only that way.
Nov.Peace, old fool! I wonder not at thee; but that young fellows should be so dull, as to say there's no humour in making a noise, and breaking windows! I tell you there's wit and humour too in both; and a wit is as well known by his frolic as by his smile.
Old.Pure rogue! there's your modern wit for you! Wit and humour in breaking of windows: there's mischief, if you will, but no wit or humour.