Hip.What then, you think I would have gone with you?
Ger.Yes; and you will go with me yet, I hope.—Courage, miss! we have yet an opportunity; and the gallery-window is yet open.
Hip.No, no; if I went, I would go for good and all: but now my father will soon come in again, and may quickly overtake us. Besides, now I think on't, you are a stranger to me; I know not where you live, nor whither you might carry me. For aught I know, you might be a spirit, and carry me to Barbadoes.
Ger.No, dear miss, I would carry you to court, the playhouses, and Hyde-park—
Hip.Nay, I know 'tis the trick of all you that spirit women away, to speak 'em mighty fair at first: but when you have got 'em in your clutches, you carry 'em into Yorkshire, Wales, or Cornwall, which is as bad as to Barbadoes; and rather than be served so, I would be a prisoner in London still as I am.
Ger.I see the air of this town, without the pleasures of it, is enough to infect women with an aversion for the country. Well, miss, since it seems you have some diffidence in me, give me leave to visit you as your dancing-master, now you have honoured me with the character; and under that I may have your father's permission to see you, till you may better know meand my heart, and have a better opportunity to reward it.
Hip.I am afraid to know your heart would require a great deal of time; and my father intends to marry me very suddenly to my cousin, who sent you hither.
Get.Pray, sweet miss, let us make the better use of our time if it be short. But how shall we do with that cousin of yours in the mean time? we must needs charm him.
Hip.Leave that to me.
Ger.But (what's worse) how shall I be able to act a dancing-master, who ever wanted inclination and patience to learn myself?
Hip.A dancing-school in half an hour will furnish you with terms of the art. Besides, Love (as I have heard say) supplies his scholars with all sorts of capacities they have need of, in spite of nature:—but what has love to do with you?
Ger.Love, indeed, has made a grave gouty statesmen fight duels, the soldier fly from his colours, a pedant a fine gentlemen, nay, and the very lawyer a poet; and, therefore, may make me a dancing-master.
Hip.If he were your master.
Ger.I'm sure, dearest miss, there is nothing else which I cannot do for you already; and, therefore, may hope to succeed in that.
Re-enterDonDiego.
Don.Come, have you done?
Hip.O, my father again!
Don.Come, now let us see you dance.
Hip.Indeed I am not perfect yet: pray excuse me till the next time my master comes. But when must he come again, father?
Don.Let me see—friend, you must needs come after dinner again, and then at night again, and so three times to-morrow too. If she be not married to-morrow, (whichI am to consider of,) she will dance a corant in twice or thrice teaching more; will she not? for 'tis but a twelvemonth since she came from Hackney-school.
Ger.We will lose no time, I warrant you, sir, if she be to be married to-morrow.
Don.True, I think she may be married to-morrow; therefore, I would not have you lose any time, look you.
Ger.You need not caution me, I warrant you, sir.—Sweet scholar, your humble servant: I will not fail you immediately after dinner.
Don.No, no, pray do not; and I will not fail to satisfy you very well, look you.
Hip.He does not doubt his reward, father, for his pains. If you should not, I would make that good to him.
Don.Come, let us go in to your aunt: I must talk with you both together, child.
Hip.I follow you, sir. [ExeuntGerrardandDonDiego.
Prue.Here's the gentlewoman o' th' next house come to see you, mistress.
Hip.[Aside.] She's come, as if she came expressly to sing the new song she sung last night. I must hear it; for 'tis to my purpose now.—
EnterLady.
Madam, your servant: I dreamt all night of the song you sung last; the new song against delays in love, Pray, let's hear it again.
Lady.[Sings.]
Since we poor slavish women knowOur men we cannot pick and choose,To him we like why say we no,And both our time and lover lose?With feigned repulses and delaysA lover's appetite we pall;And if too long the gallant stays,His stomach's gone for good and all,Or our impatient amorous guestUnknown to us away may steal,And rather than stay for a feast,Take up with some coarse ready mealWhen opportunity is kind,Let prudent women be so too;And if the man be to your mind,Till needs you must, ne'er let him go.The match soon made is happy still,For only love has there to do.Let no one marry 'gainst her will,But stand off when her parents woo,And only to their suits be coy:For she whom jointure can obtain,To let a fop her bed enjoy,Is but a lawful wench for gain.
Prue.Your father calls for you, miss. [Steps to the door.
Hip.I come, I come; I must be obedient as long as I am with him. [Pausing.
Our parents who restrain our liberty,But take the course to make us sooner free,Though all we gain be but new slavery;We leave our fathers, and to husbands flee.
[Exeunt.
EnterMonsieur deParis, Hippolita,andPrue.
Mons. Serviteur, serviteur, la cousine.Your maid told me she watched at the stair-foot for my coming; because you had a mind to speak wit me before I saw your fader, it seem.
Hip.I would so, indeed, cousin.
Mons. Or-ça! or-ça!I know your affair. It is to tell me wat recreation you ade with Monsieur Gerrard. But did he come? I was afrait he would not come.
Hip.Yes, yes, he did come.
Mons.Ha! ha! ha!—and were you not infiniment divertisee and please? Confess.
Hip.I was indeed, cousin, I was very well pleased.
Mons.I do tinke so. I did tinke to come and be divertisee myself this morning with the sight of his reception: but I did rancounter last night wit dam company dat keep me up so late, I could not rise in de morning,malepeste de putains!—
Hip.Indeed, we wanted you here mightily, cousin.
Mons.To elpe you to laugh: for if I adde been here, I had made such recreation wit dat coxcomb Gerrard!
Hip.Indeed, cousin, you need not have any subject property to make one laugh, you are so pleasant yourself;and when you are but alone, you would make one burst.
Mons.Am I so happy, cousin, then, in thebonquality of making people laugh?
Hip.Mighty happy, cousin.
Mons. De grace?
Hip.Indeed.
Mons.Nay,sans vanité, I observe, wheresoe'er I come, I make everybody merry;sans vanité—da—
Hip.I do believe you do.
Mons.Nay, as I marche in de street, I can make de dull apprenty laugh and sneer.
Hip.This fool, I see, is as apt as an ill poet to mistake the contempt and scorn of people for applause and admiration. [Aside.
Mons.Ah, cousin, you see what it is to have been in France! Before I went into France, I could get nobody to laugh at me,ma foi!
Hip.No? truly, cousin, I think you deserved it before; but you are improved, indeed, by going into France.
Mons.Ay, ay, the French education make uspropre à tout. Beside, cousin, you must know, to play the fool is the science in France, and I didde go to the Italian academy at Paris thrice a-week to learn to play de fool of Signior Scaramouche,[60]who is the most excellent personage in the world for dat noble science. Angel is a dam English fool to him.
Hip.Methinks, now, Angel is a very good fool.
Mons.Naugh, naugh, Nokes is a better fool; but indeed the Englis are not fit to be fools: here are verfew good fools. 'Tis true, you have many a young cavalier who go over into France to learn to be de buffoon; but for all dat, dey return butmauvaisbuffoon,jarni!
Hip.I'm sure, cousin, you have lost no time there.
Mons.Auh,le braveScaramouche!
Hip.But is it a science in France, cousin? and is there an academy for fooling? sure none go to it but players.
Mons.Dey are comedians dat are demaîtres; but all thebeau mondego to learn, as they do here of Angel and Nokes. For if you did go abroad into company, you would find the best almost of de nation conning in all places the lessons which dey have learned of the fools deremaîtres, Nokes and Angel.
Hip.Indeed!
Mons.Yes, yes, dey are degens de qualitéthat practise dat science most, and the mostambitieux; for fools and buffoons have been always most welcome to courts, and desired in all companies. Auh, to be de fool, de buffoon, is to be de great personage.
Hip.Fools have fortune, they say, indeed.
Mons.So say old Senèque.
Hip.Well, cousin, not to make you proud, you are the greatest fool in England, I am sure.
Mons. Non, non, de grace; non:Nokes de comedian is a pretty man, a pretty man for a comedian, da—
Hip.You are modest, cousin.—But lest my father should come in presently, which he will do as soon as he knows you are here, I must give you a caution, which 'tis fit you should have before you see him.
Mons.Vell, vell, cousin, vat is dat?
Hip.You must know, then (as commonly the conclusion of all mirth is sad), after I had a good while pleased myself in jesting, and leading the poor gentleman you sent into a fool's paradise, and almost made him believe I would go away with him, my father, cominghome this morning, came in upon us, and caught him with me.
Mons. Malepeste!
Hip.And drew his sword upon him, and would have killed him; for you know my father's Spanish fierceness and jealousy.
Mons.But how did he come off then,tête non?
Hip.In short, I was fain to bring him off by saying he was my dancing-master.
Mons.Ha! ha! ha! ver good jeste.
Hip.I was unwilling to have the poor man killed, you know, for our foolish frolic with him: but then, upon my aunt's and father's inquiry, how he came in, and who sent him, I was forced to say you did, desiring I should be able to dance a corant before our wedding.
Mons.A ver good jest—da—still better as better.
Hip.Now, all that I am to desire of you is, to own you sent him, that I may not be caught in a lie.
MonsYes, yes, a ver good jest: Gerrard amaître de danse!ha! ha! ha!
Hip.Nay, the jest is like to be better yet; for my father himself has obliged him now to come and teach me: so that now he must take the dancing-master upon him, and come three or four times to me before our wedding, lest my father, if he should come no more, should be suspicious I had told him a lie. And, for aught I know, if he should know, or but guess he were not a dancing-master, in his Spanish strictness and punctilios of honour, he might kill me as the shame and stain of his honour and family, which he talks of so much. Now, you know the jealous cruel fathers in Spain serve their poor innocent daughters often so; and he is more than a Spaniard.
Mons. Non, non,fear noting; I warrant you, he shall come as often as you will to de house; and your father shall never know who he is till we are married. But then I'll tell him all for the jest's sake.
Hip.But will you keep my counsel, dear cousin, till we are married?
Mons.Poor dear fool! I warrant thee,ma foi!
Hip.Nay, what a fool am I indeed! for you would not have me killed. You love me too well, sure, to be an instrument of my death.
EnterDonDiego,walking gravely, aBlack boybehind him; andMrs.Caution.
But here comes my father, remember.
Mons.I would no more tell him of it than I would tell you if I had been with a wench,jarni![Aside.]—She's afraid to be killed, poor wretch, and he's a capricious, jealous fop enough to do't:—but here he comes.—[ToHippolita.] I'll keep thy counsel, I warrant thee, my dear soul,mon petit cœur.
Hip.Peace! peace! my father's coming this way.
Mons.Ay, but by his march he won't be near enough to hear us this half hour, ha! ha! ha! [DonDiegowalks leisurely roundMonsieur,surveying him, and shrugging up his shoulders, whilstMonsieurmakes legs and faces aside.
Don.Is that thing my cousin, sister?
Mrs. Caut.'Tis he, sir.
Don.Cousin, I am sorry to see you—
Mons.Is that a Spanish compliment?
Don.So much disguised, cousin.
Mons.[Aside.] Oh! is it out at last,ventre?—[ToDonDiego.]—Serviteur, serviteur, à monsieur mon oncle;and I am glad to see you here within doors, most Spanishoncle, ha! ha! ha! but I should be sorry to see you in the streets,tête non!
Don.Why so?—would you be ashamed of me, hah—voto á St. Jago!would you? hauh—
Mons.Ay; it may be you would be ashamed yourself,monsieur mon oncle, of the great train you would get to wait upon your Spanish hose, puh—the boys wouldfollow you, and hoot at you—vertandbleu!pardon my Franchfranchise, monsieur mon oncle.
Hip.We shall have sport anon, betwixt these two contraries. [Apart toPrue.
Don.Dost thou call me "monsieur?"voto á St. Jago!
Mons.No, I did not call you Monsieur Voto á St. Jago! Sir, I know you are my uncle, Mr. James Formal—da—
Don.But I can hardly know you are my cousin, Mr. Nathaniel Paris.—But call me, sir, Don Diego henceforward, look you, and no monsieur. Call me monsieur!guarda!
Mons.I confess my error, sir; for none but a blind man would call you monsieur, ha! ha!—But, pray, do not call me neder Paris, but de Paris, de Paris, (s'il vous plait,) Monsieur de Paris. Call me monsieur, and welcome, da—
Don.Monsieur de Pantaloons then,voto—
Mons.Monsieur de Pantaloons! a pretty name, a pretty name,ma foi!da—bien trouvéde Pantaloons! how much better den your de la Fountaines, de la Rivieres, de la Roches, and all thede'sin France—da—well; but have you not the admiration for my pantaloon, Don Diego,mon oncle?
Don.I am astonished at them,verdaderamente, they are wonderfully ridiculous.
Mons.Redicule! redicule! ah—'tis well you are my uncle, da—redicule! ha—is dere any ting in the universe sogentilas de pantaloons? any ting soravissantas de pantaloons? Auh—I could kneel down and varship a pair ofgentilpantaloons. Vat, vat, you would have me have de admiration for dis outward skin of your thigh, which you call Spanish hose, fi! fi! fi!—ha! ha! ha!
Don.Dost thou deride my Spanish hose, young man, hauh?
Mons.In comparison of pantaloon, I do undervalue 'em indeed, Don Diego,mon oncle, ha! ha! ha!
Don.Thou art then agabacho[61]de mal gusto, look you.
Mons.You may call me vat you vill,oncleDon Diego; but I must needs say, your Spanish hose are scurvy hose, ugly hose, lousy hose, and stinking hose.
Don.Do not provoke me,borracho![Puts his hand to his sword.
Mons.Indeet, as for lousy, I recant dat epithete, for dere is scarce room in 'em for dat little animal, ha! ha! ha! but for stinking hose, dat epithete may stand; for how can they choose but stink, since they are sofurieusementclose to your Spanish tail, da?
Hip.Ha! ha! ridiculous! [Aside.
Don.Do not provoke me, I say,en hora mala![Seems to draw.
Mons.Nay,oncle, I am sorry you are in de pation; but I must live and die for de pantaloon against de Spanish hose, da.
Don.You are a rash young man; and while you wear pantaloons, you are beneath my passion,voto—auh—they make thee look and waddle (with all those gewgaw ribbons) like a great, old, fat, slovenly water dog.
Mons.And your Spanish hose, and your nose in the air, make you look like a great, grizzled, long Irish greyhound reaching a crust off from a high shelf, ha! ha! ha!
Don. Bueno! bueno!
Mrs. Caut.What, have you a mind to ruin yourself and break off the match?
Mons.Pshaw—wat do you tell me of the matche! d'ye tinke I will not vindicate pantaloons,morbleu!
Don.[Aside.] Well, he is a lost young man, I see, and desperately far gone in the epidemic malady of our nation, the affectation of the worst of French vanities: but I must be wiser than him, as I am a Spaniard. Look you, Don Diego, and endeavour to reclaim him byart and fair means, look you, Don Diego; if not, he shall never marry my daughter, look you, Don Diego, though he be my own sister's son, and has two thousand five hundred seventy-three pounds sterling, twelve shillings and twopence a year pennyrent,seguramente!—[ToMonsieur.] Come, young man, since you are so obstinate, we will refer our difference to arbitration; your mistress, my daughter, shall be umpire betwixt us, concerning Spanish hose and pantaloons.
Mons.Pantaloons and Spanish hose,s'il vous plait.
Don.Your mistress is the fittest judge of your dress, sure.
Mons.I know ver vel dat most of thejeunesseof England will not change de ribband upon de crevat without de consultation of deremaîtresse; but I am noAnglais, da—nor shall I make de reference of my dress to any in the universe, da—I judge by any in England!tête non!I would not be judge by any English looking-glass,jarni!
Don.Be notpositivo, young man.
Mrs. Caut.Nay, pray refer it, cousin, pray do.
Mons.Non, non, your servant, your servant, aunt.
Don.But, pray, be not so positive. Come hither, daughter, tell me which is best.
Hip.Indeed, father, you have kept me in universal ignorance, I know nothing.
Mons.And do you tink I shall refer an affair of that consequence to a poor young ting who have not seen the vorld, da? I am wiser than so,voto!
Don.Well, in short, if you will not be wiser, and leave off your French dress, stammering, and tricks, look you, you shall be a fool, and go without my daughter,voto!
Mons.How! must I leave off my jantee French accoutrements, and speak base Englis too, or not marry my cousin,mon oncleDon Diego? Do not break off the match, do not; for know, I will not leave off my pantaloon and French pronuntiation for ne'er a cousin in England't, da.
Don.I tell you again, he that marries my daughter shall at least look like a wise man, for he shall wear the Spanish habit; I am a Spanishpositivo.
Mons.Ver vel! ver vel! and I am a Frenchpositivo.
Don.Then I amdefinitivo; and if you do not go immediately into your chamber, and put on a Spanish habit, I have brought over on purpose for your wedding-clothes, and put off all these French fopperies andvanidades, with all your grimaces, agreeables, adorables,ma fois, andjarnis; I swear you shall never marry my daughter (and by an oath by Spaniard never broken) by my whiskers and snuff-box!
Mons.O hold! do not swear, uncle, for I love your daughterfurieusement.
Don.If you love her, you'll obey me.
Mons.Auh, wat will become of me! but have the consideration. Must I leave off all the Franchbeautés, graces, and embellisments, bote of my person, and language? [ExeuntHippolita, Mrs.Caution,andPrue,laughing.
Don.I will have it so.
Mons.I am ruinne den, undonne. Have some consideration for me, for dere is not de least ribbon of mygarniturebut is as dear to me as your daughter,jarni!
Don.Then, you do not deserve her; and for that reason I will be satisfied you love her better, or you shall not have her, for I ampositivo.
Mons.Vill you break mine arte? Pray have de consideration for me.
Don.I say again, you shall be dressed before night from top to toe in the Spanish habit, or you shall never marry my daughter, look you.
Mons.If you will not have de consideration for me, have de consideration for your daughter; for she have de passionateamourfor me, and like me in dis habite bettre den in yours, da.
Don.What I have said I have said, and I amun positivo.
Mons.Will you not so mush as allow me one little French oate?
Don.No, you shall look like a Spaniard, but speak and swear like an Englishman, look you.
Mons. Hélas! hélas!den I shall take my leave,mort! tête! ventre! jarni! tête bleu! ventre bleu! ma foi!certes!
Don.[Calls at the door.] Pedro, Sanchez, wait upon thiscavalierointo his chamber with those things I ordered you to take out of the trunks.—I would have you a little accustomed to your clothes before your wedding; for, if you comply with me, you shall marry my daughter to-morrow, look you.
Mons.Adieu then, dear pantaloon! dear belte! dear sword! dear peruke! and dearchapeau retroussé, and dear shoe,jarni!adieu! adieu! adieu!Hélas! hélas! hélas!will you have yet no pity?
Don.I am a Spanishpositivo, look you.
Mons.And more cruel than de Spanish inquisitiono, to compel a man to a habit against his conscience;hélas! hélas! hélas![Exit.
Re-enterPruewithGerrard.
Prue.Here's the dancing-master, shall I call my mistress, sir?
Don.Yes.—[ExitPrue.] O, you are as punctual as a Spaniard: I love your punctual men; nay, I think 'tis before your time something.
Ger.Nay, I am resolved your daughter, sir, shall lose no time by my fault.
Don.So, so, 'tis well.
Ger.I were a very unworthy man, if I should not be punctual with her, sir.
Don.You speak honestly, very honestly, friend; and I believe a very honest man, though a dancing-master.
Ger.I am very glad you think me so, sir.
Don.What, you are but a young man, are you married yet?
Ger.No, sir; but I hope I shall, sir, very suddenly, if things hit right.
Don.What, the old folks her friends are wary, and cannot agree with you so soon as the daughter can?
Ger.Yes, sir, the father hinders it a little at present; but the daughter, I hope, is resolved, and then we shall do well enough.
Don.What! you do not steal her, according to the laudable custom of some of your brother dancing-masters?
Ger.No, no, sir; steal her, sir! steal her! you are pleased to be merry, sir, ha! ha! ha!—[Aside.] I cannot but laugh at that question.
Don.No, sir, methinks you are pleased to be merry, but you say the father does not consent?
Ger.Not yet, sir; but 'twill be no matter whether he does or no.
Don.Was she one of your scholars? if she were, 'tis a hundred to ten but you steal her.
Ger.[Aside.] I shall not be able to hold laughing. [Laughs.
Don.Nay, nay, I find by your laughing you steal her: she was your scholar; was she not?
Ger.Yes, sir, she was the first I ever had, and may be the last too; for she has a fortune (if I can get her) will keep me from teaching to dance any more.
Don.So, so, then she is your scholar still it seems, and she has a good portion; I'm glad on't; nay, I knew you stole her.
Ger.[Aside.] My laughing may give him suspicions, yet I cannot hold. [Laughs.
Don.What! you laugh, I warrant, to think how the young baggage and you will mump the poor old father! but if all her dependence for a fortune be upon the father, he may chance to mump you both and spoil the jest.
Ger.I hope it will not be in his power, sir, ha! ha! ha!—[Aside.] I shall laugh too much anon.—[ToDonDiego.] Pray, sir, be pleased to call for your daughter, I am impatient till she comes, for time was never more precious with me, and with her too; it ought to be so, sure, since you say she is to be married to-morrow.
Don.She ought to bestir her, as you say, indeed. Wuh, daughter! daughter! Prue! Hippolita! come away, child, why do you stay so long? [Calls at the door.
Re-enterHippolita, Prue,andMrs.Caution.
Hip.Your servant, master; indeed I am ashamed you have stayed for me.
Ger.O, good madam, 'tis my duty; I know you came as soon as you could.
Hip.I knew my father was with you, therefore I did not make altogether so much haste as I might; but if you had been alone, nothing should have kept me from you. I would not have been so rude as to have made you stay a minute for me, I warrant you.
Don.Come, fiddle faddle, what a deal of ceremony there is betwixt your dancing-master and you,cuerno!—
Hip.Lord, sir! I hope you'll allow me to show my respect to my master, for I have a great respect for my master.
Ger.And I am very proud of my scholar, and am a very great honourer of my scholar.
Don.Come, come, friend, about your business, and honour the king.—[ToMrs.Caution.] Your dancing-masters and barbers are such finical, smooth-tongued, tattling fellows; and if you set 'em once a-talking, they'll ne'er a-done, no more than when you set 'em a-fiddling: indeed, all that deal with fiddles are given to impertinency.
Mrs. Caut.Well, well, this is an impertinent fellow, without being a dancing-master. He is no more a dancing-master than I am a maid.
Don.What! will you still be wiser than I?voto!—Come, come, about with my daughter, man.
Prue.So he would, I warrant you, if your worship would let him alone.
Don.How now, Mrs. Nimblechaps!
Ger.Well, though I have got a little canting at the dancing-school since I was here, yet I do all so bunglingly, he'll discover me. [Aside toHippolita.
Hip.[Aside.] Try.—[Aloud.] Come take my hand, master.
Mrs. Caut.Look you, brother, the impudent harlotry gives him her hand.
Don.Can he dance with her without holding her by the hand?
Hip.Here, take my hand, master.
Ger.I wish it were for good and all. [Aside to her.
Hip.You dancing-masters are always so hasty, so nimble.
Don. Voto á St. Jago!not that I see; about with her, man.
Ger.Indeed, sir, I cannot about with her as I would do, unless you will please to go out a little, sir; for I see she is bashful still before you, sir.
Don.Hey, hey, more fooling yet! come, come, about, about with her.
Hip.Nay, indeed, father, I am ashamed, and cannot help it.
Don.But you shall help it, for I will not stir. Move her, I say.—Begin, hussy, move when he'll have you.
Prue.I cannot but laugh at that, ha! ha! ha! [Aside.
Ger.[Apart toHippolita.] Come, then, madam, since it must be so, let us try; but I shall discover all.—One, two, and coupee.
Mrs. Caut.Nay, d'ye see how he squeezes her hand, brother! O the lewd villain!
Don.Come, move, I say, and mind her not.
Ger.One, two, three, four, and turn round.
Mrs. Caut.D'ye see again? he took her by the bare arm.
Don.Come, move on, she's mad.
Ger.One, two, and a coupee.
Don.Come, one, two, and turn out your toes.
Mrs. Caut.There, there, he pinched her by the thigh: will you suffer it?
Ger.One, two, three, and fall back.
Don.Fall back, fall back, back; some of you are forward enough to back.
Ger.Back, madam.
Don.Fall back, when he bids you, hussy.
Mrs. Caut.How! how! fall back, fall back! marry, but she shall not fall back when he bids her.
Don.I say she shall.—Huswife, come.
Ger.She will, she will, I warrant you, sir, if you won't be angry with her.
Mrs. Caut.Do you know what he means by that now? You a Spaniard!
Don.How's that? I not a Spaniard! say such a word again—
Ger.Come forward, madam, three steps again.
Mrs. Caut.See, see, she squeezes his hand now: O the debauched harlotry!
Don.So, so, mind her not; she moves forward pretty well; but you must move as well backward as forward, or you'll never do anything to purpose.
Mrs. Caut.Do you know what you say, brother, yourself, now? are you at your beastliness before your young daughter?
Prue.Ha! ha! ha!
Don.How now, mistress, are you so merry?—Is this your staid maid as you call her, sister Impertinent?
Ger.I have not much to say to you, miss; but I shall not have an opportunity to do it, unless we can get your father out. [Aside toHippolita.
Don.Come, about again with her.
Mrs. Caut.Look you there, she squeezes his hand hard again.
Hip.Indeed, and indeed, father, my aunt puts me quite out: I cannot dance while she looks on for my heart, she makes me ashamed and afraid together.
Ger.Indeed, if you would please to take her out, sir, I am sure I should make my scholar do better, than when you are present, sir. Pray, sir, be pleased for this time to take her away; for the next time, I hope I shall order it so, we shall trouble neither of you.
Mrs. Caut.No, no, brother, stir not, they have a mind to be left alone. Come, there's a beastly trick in't; he's no dancing-master, I tell you.
Ger.Damned jade! she'll discover us. [Aside toHippolita.
Don.What, will you teach me? nay, then I will go out, and you shall go out too, look you.
Mrs. Caut.I will not go out, look you.
Don.Come, come, thou art a censorious wicked woman, and you shall disturb them no longer.
Mrs. Caut.What! will you bawd for your daughter?
Don.Ay, ay; come go out, out, out.
Mrs. Caut.I will not go out, I will not go out; my conscience will not suffer me, for I know by experience what will follow.
Ger.I warrant you, sir, we'll make good use of our time when you are gone.
Mrs. Caut.Do you hear him again? don't you know what he means? [ExitDonDiegothrustingMrs.Cautionout.
Hip.'Tis very well!—you are a fine gentleman to abuse my poor father so.
Ger.'Tis but by your example, miss.
Hip.Well, I am his daughter, and may make the bolder with him, I hope.
Ger.And I am his son-in-law, that shall be; andtherefore may claim my privilege too of making bold with him, I hope.
Hip.Methinks you should be contented in making bold with his daughter (for you have made very bold with her) sure.
Ger.I hope I shall make bolder with her yet.
Hip.I do not doubt your confidence, for you are a dancing-master.
Ger.Why, miss, I hope you would not have me a fine, senseless, whining, modest lover; for modesty in a man is as ill as the want of it in a woman.
Hip.I thank you for that, sir, now you have made bold with me indeed; but if I am such a confident piece, I am sure you made me so: if you had not had the confidence to come in at the window, I had not had the confidence to look upon a man: I am sure I could not look upon a man before.
Ger.But that I humbly conceive, sweet miss, was your father's fault, because you had not a man to look upon. But, dearest miss, I do not think you confident, you are only innocent; for that which would be called confidence, nay impudence, in a woman of years, is called innocency in one of your age; and the more impudent you appear, the more innocent you are thought.
Hip.Say you so? has youth such privileges? I do not wonder then, most women seem impudent, since it is to be thought younger than they are, it seems. But indeed, master, you are as great an encourager of impudence, I see, as if you were a dancing-master in good earnest.
Ger.Yes, yes, a young thing may do anything; may leap out of the window and go away with her dancing master, if she please.
Hip.So, so, the use follows the doctrine very suddenly.
Ger.Well, dearest, pray let us make the use we should of it; lest your father should make too bold with us, and come in before we would have him.
Hip.Indeed, old relations are apt to take that ill-bredfreedom of pressing into young company at unseasonable hours.
Ger.Come, dear miss, let me tell you how I have designed matters; for in talking of anything else we lose time and opportunity. People abroad indeed say, the English women are the worst in the world in using an opportunity, they love tittle-tattle and ceremony.
Hip.'Tis because, I warrant, opportunities are not so scarce here as abroad, they have more here than they can use; but let people abroad say what they will of English women, because they do not know 'em, but what say people at home?
Ger.Pretty innocent! ha! ha! ha!—Well, I say you will not make use of your opportunity.
Hip.I say, you have no reason to say so yet.
Ger.Well then, anon at nine of the clock at night I'll try you: for I have already bespoke a parson, and have taken up the three back-rooms of the tavern, which front upon the gallery-window, that nobody may see us escape; and I have appointed (precisely betwixt eight and nine of the clock when it is dark) a coach and six to wait at the tavern-door for us.
Hip.A coach and six! a coach and six, do you say? nay, then I see you are resolved to carry me away; for a coach and six, though there were not a man but the coachman with it, would carry away any young girl of my age in England:—a coach and six!
Ger.Then you will be sure to be ready to go with me?
Hip.What young woman of the town could ever say no to a coach and six, unless it were going into the country?—A coach and six! 'tis not in the power of fourteen years old to resist it.
Ger.You will be sure to be ready?
Hip.You are sure 'tis a coach and six?
Ger.I warrant you, miss.
Hip.I warrant you then they'll carry us merrily away:—a coach and six!
Ger.But have you charmed your cousin the monsieur (as you said you would) that he in the mean time say nothing to prevent us?
Hip.I warrant you.
Re-enterDonDiego; Mrs.Cautionpressing in after him.
Mrs. Caut.I will come in.
Don.Well, I hope by this time you have given her full instructions; you have told her what and how to do, you have done all.
Ger.We have just done indeed, sir.
Hip.Ay, sir, we have just done, sir.
Mrs. Caut.And I fear just undone, sir.
Ger.D'ye hear that damned witch? [Aside toHippolita.
Don.Come, leave your censorious prating; thou hast been a false, right woman thyself in thy youth, I warrant you.
Mrs. Caut.I right! I right! I scorn your words, I'd have you to know, and 'tis well known. I right! no, 'tis your dainty minx, that Jillflirt, your daughter here, that is right; do you see how her handkerchief is ruffled, and what a heat she's in?
Don.She has been dancing.
Mrs. Caut.Ay, ay, Adam and Eve's dance, or the beginning of the world; d'ye see how she pants?
Don.She has not been used to motion.
Mrs. Caut.Motion! motion! motion d'ye call it? no indeed, I kept her from motion till now: motion with a vengeance!
Don.You put the poor bashful girl to the blush, you see, hold your peace.
Mrs. Caut.'Tis her guilt, not her modesty, marry!
Don.Come, come, mind her not, child.—Come, master, let me see her dance now the whole dance roundly together; come, sing to her.
Ger.Faith; we shall be discovered after all; you know I cannot sing a note, miss. [Aside toHippolita.
Don.Come, come, man.
Hip.Indeed, father, my master's in haste now; pray let it alone till anon at night, when, you say, he is to come again, and then you shall see me dance it to the violin; pray stay till then, father.
Don.I will not be put off so; come, begin.
Hip.Pray, father.
Don.Come, sing to her; come, begin.
Ger.Pray, sir, excuse me till anon, I am in some haste.
Don.I say, begin, I will not excuse you: come, take her by the hand, and about with her.
Mrs. Caut.I say, he shall not take her by the hand, he shall touch her no more; while I am here, there shall be no more squeezing and tickling her palm. Good Mr. Dancing-master, stand off. [ThrustsGerrardaway.
Don.Get you out, Mrs. Impertinence.—[ToGerrard.] Take her by the hand, I say.
Mrs. Caut.Stand off, I say. He shall not touch her, he has touched her too much already.
Don.If patience were not a Spanish virtue, I would lay it aside now: I say, let 'em dance.
Mrs. Caut.I say, they shall not dance.
Hip.Pray, father, since you see my aunt's obstinacy, let us alone till anon, when you may keep her out.
Don.Well then, friend, do not fail to come.
Hip.Nay, if he fail me at last—
Don.Be sure you come, for she's to be married to-morrow:—do you know it?
Ger.Yes, yes, sir.—Sweet scholar, your humble servant, till night; and think in the mean time of the instructions I have given you, that you may be the readier when I come.
Don.Ay, girl, be sure you do,—and do you be sure to come.
Mrs. Caut.You need not be so concerned, he'll be sure to come I warrant you; but if I could help it, he should never set foot again in the house.
Don.You would frighten the poor dancing-master from the house,—but be sure you come for all her.
Ger.Yes, sir.—[Aside.] But this jade will pay me when I am gone.
Mrs. Caut.Hold, hold, sir, I must let you out, and I wish I could keep you out. He a dancing-master! he's a chouse, a cheat, a mere cheat, and that you'll find.
Don.I find any man a cheat! I cheated by any man! I scorn your words.—I that have so much Spanish care, circumspection, and prudence, cheated by a man! Do you think I, who have been in Spain, look you, and have kept up my daughter a twelve month, for fear of being cheated of her, look you? I cheated of her!
Mrs. Caut.Well, say no more. [ExeuntDonDiego, Hippolita, Mrs.Caution,andPrue.
Ger.Well, old Formality, if you had not kept up your daughter, I am sure I had never cheated you of her.
The wary fool is by his care betrayed,As cuckolds by their jealousy are made.
[Exit.
EnterMonsieur dePariswithout a peruke, with a Spanish hat, a Spanish doublet, stockings, and shoes, but in pantaloons, a waist-belt, and a Spanish dagger in it, and a cravat about his neck.—HippolitaandPruebehind laughing.
Mons.To see wat a fool love do make of one,jarni!It do metamorphose de brave man in de beast, de sot, de animal.
Hip.Ha! ha! ha!
Mons.Nay, you may laugh, 'tis ver vell, I am become as ridicule for you as can be,morbleu!I have deform myself into a ugly Spaniard.
Hip.Why, do you call this disguising yourself like a Spaniard, while you wear pantaloons still, and the cravat?
Mons.But is here not the double doublet, and the Spanish daggeraussi?
Hip.But 'tis as long as the French sword, and worn like it. But where's your Spanish beard, the thing of most consequence?
Mons. Jarni!do you tink beards are as easy to be had as in the playhouses? non; but if here be no the ugly long Spanish beard, here are, I am certain, the ugly long Spanish ear.
Hip.That's very true, ha! ha! ha!
Mons.Auh de ingrate, dat de woman is! wen wepoor men are your gallants, you laugh at us yourselves, and wen we are your husband, you make all the world laugh at us,jarni!—Love, dam love, it makes the man more ridicule, than poverty, poetry, or a new title of honour,jarni!
EnterDonDiegoandMrs.Caution.
Don.What! at yourjarnisstill?voto!
Mons.Why,oncle, you are at yourvotosstill.
Don.Nay, I'll allow you to be at yourvotostoo, but not to make the incongruous match of Spanish doublet, and French pantaloons. [Holding his hat before his pantaloons.
Mons.Nay, pray, dearoncle, let me unite France and Spain; 'tis the mode of France now,jarni, voto!
Don.Well, I see I must pronounce: I told you, if you were not dressed in the Spanish habit to-night, you should not marry my daughter to-morrow, look you.
Mons.Well! am I nothabilléin de Spanish habit? my doublet, ear and hat, leg and feet, are Spanish, that dey are.
Don.I told you I was a Spanishpositivo, voto!
Mons.Will you not spare my pantaloon! begar, I will give you one little finger to excuse my pantaloon, da—
Don.I have said, look you.
Mons.Auh,cherpantaloons! Speak for my pantaloons, cousin. My poor pantaloons are as dear to me as de scarf to de countree capitane, or de new-made officer: therefore have de compassion for my pantaloons, Don Diego,mon oncle. Hélas! hélas! hélas![Kneels.
Don.I have said, look you, your dress must be Spanish, and your language English: I amun positivo.
Mons.And must speak base good English too! Ah!la pitié! hélas!
Don.It must be done; and I will see this great change ere it be dark,voto!—Your time is not long; look to't, look you.
Mons. Hélas! hélas! hélas!datEspagneshould conquerla Francein England!Hélas! hélas! hélas![Exit.
Don.You see what pains I take to make him the more agreeable to you, daughter.
Hip.But indeed, and indeed, father, you wash the blackamoor white, in endeavouring to make a Spaniard of a monsieur, nay, an English monsieur too; consider that, father: for when once they have taken the Frenchplie(as they call it) they are never to be made so much as Englishmen again, I have heard say.
Don.What! I warrant you are like the rest of the young silly baggages of England, that like nothing but what is French? You would not have him reformed, you would have a monsieur to your husband, would you,cuerno?
Hip.No, indeed, father, I would not have a monsieur to my husband; not I indeed: and I am sure you'll never make my cousin otherwise.
Don.I warrant you.
Hip.You can't, you can't indeed, father: and you have sworn, you know, he shall never have me, if he does not leave off his monsieurship. Now, as I told you, 'tis as hard for him to cease being a monsieur, as 'tis for you to break a Spanish oath; so that I am not in any great danger of having a monsieur to my husband.
Don.Well, but you shall have him for your husband, look you.
Hip.Then you will break your Spanish oath.
Don.No, I will break him of his French tricks; and you shall have him for your husband,cuerno!
Hip.Indeed and indeed, father, I shall not have him.
Don.Indeed you shall, daughter.
Hip.Well, you shall see, father.
Mrs. Caut.No, I warrant you, she will not have him, she'll have her dancing-master rather: I know her meaning, I understand her.
Don.Thou malicious foolish woman! you understandher!—But I do understand her; she says, I will not break my oath, nor he his French customs; so, through our difference, she thinks she shall not have him: but she shall.
Hip.But I shan't.
Mrs. Caut.I know she will not have him, because she hates him.
Don.I tell you, if she does hate him, 'tis a sign she will have him for her husband; for 'tis not one of a thousand that marries the man she loves, look you. Besides, 'tis all one whether she loves him now or not; for as soon as she's married, she'd be sure to hate him. That's the reason we wise Spaniards are jealous, and only expect, nay, will be sure our wives shall fear us, look you.
Hip.Pray, good father and aunt, do not dispute about nothing; for I am sure he will never be my husband to hate.
Mrs. Caut.I am of your opinion, indeed; I understand you. I can see as far as another.
Don.You! you cannot see so much as through your spectacles!—But I understand her: 'tis her mere desire to marriage makes her say she shall not have him; for your poor young things, when they are once in the teens, think they shall never be married.
Hip.Well, father, think you what you will; but I know what I think.
Re-enterMonsieur deParisin the Spanish habit entire, only with a cravat, and followed by the littleBlackamoorwith a golilla[62]in his hand.
Don.Come, did not I tell you, you should have him? look you there, he has complied with me, and is a perfect Spaniard.
Mons.Ay! ay! I am ugly rogue enough now, sure, for my cousin. But 'tis your father's fault, cousin, thatyou han't the handsomest, best-dressed man in the nation; a manbien mis.
Don.Yet again at your French! and a cravat on still!voto á St. Jago!off, off, with it!
Mons.Nay, I will ever hereafter speak clownish good English, do but spare me my cravat.
Don.I amun positivo, look you.
Mons.Let me not put on that Spanish yoke, but spare me my cravat; for I love cravatfurieusement.
Don.Again at yourfurieusements!
Mons.Indeed I have forgot myself: but have some mercy. [Kneels.
Don.Off, off, off with it, I say! Come, refuse theornamentoprincipal of the Spanish habit! [Takes him by the cravat, pulls it off, and theBlackputs on the golilla.
Mons.Will you have no mercy, no pity? alas! alas! alas! Oh! I had rather put on the English pillory, than that Spanishgolilla, for 'twill be all a case I'm sure: for when I go abroad, I shall soon have a crowd of boys about me, peppering me with rotten eggs and turnips.Hélas! hélas![DonDiegoputs on the golilla.
Don. Hélas, again!
Mons.Alas! alas! alas!
Hip.I shall die! }} Ha! ha! ha!Prue.I shall burst! }
Mons.Ay! ay! you see what I am come to for your sake, cousin: and, uncle, pray take notice how ridiculous I am grown to my cousin, that loves me above all the world: she can no more forbear laughing at me, I vow and swear, than if I were as arrant a Spaniard as yourself.
Don.Be a Spaniard like me, and ne'er think people laugh at you: there was never a Spaniard that thought any one laughed at him. But what! do you laugh at agolilla, baggage? Come, sirrah black, now do you teach him to walk with theverdadero gesto, gracia,andgravidadof a true Castilian.
Mons.Must I have my dancing-master too?—Come, little master, then, lead on. [TheBlackstruts about the stage,Monsieurfollows him, imitating awkwardly all he does.
Don. Malo! malo!with your hat on your poll, as it it hung upon a pin!—the French and English wear their hats as if their horns would not suffer 'em to come over their foreheads,voto!
Mons.'Tis true, there are some well-bred gentlemen have so much reverence for their peruke, that they would refuse to be grandees of your Spain for fear of putting on their hats, I vow and swear!
Don.Come, black, teach him now to make a Spanish leg.[63]
Mons.Ha! ha! ha! your Spanish leg is an English courtesy, I vow and swear, hah! hah! hah!
Don.Well, the hood does not make the monk; the ass was an ass still, though he had the lion's skin on. This will be a light French fool, in spite of the grave Spanish habit, look you.—But, black, do what you can; make the most of him; walk him about.
Prue.Here are the people, sir, you sent to speak about provisions for the wedding; and here are clothes brought home too, mistress. [Goes to the door and returns.
Don.Well, I come.—Black, do what you can with him; walk him about.
Mons.Indeed, uncle, if I were as you, I would not have the grave Spanish habit so travestied: I shall disgrace it, and my little black master too, I vow and swear.
Don.Learn, learn of him; improve yourself by him—and do you walk him, walk him about soundly.—Come, sister, and daughter, I must have your judgments, though I shall not need 'em, look you.—Walk him, see you walk him. [ExeuntDonDiego, Hippolita,andMrs.Caution.
Mons. Jarni!he does not only make a Spaniard of me, but a Spanish jennet, in giving me to his lackey to walk.—But come along, little master. [TheBlackinstructsMonsieuron one side of the stage,Pruestanding on the other.
Prue.O the unfortunate condition of us poor chambermaids! who have all the carking and caring, the watching and sitting up, the trouble and danger of our mistresses' intrigues, whilst they go away with all the pleasure! And if they can get their man in a corner, 'tis well enough; they ne'er think of the poor watchful chambermaid, who sits knocking her heels in the cold, for want of better exercise, in some melancholy lobby or entry, when she could employ her time every whit as well as her mistress, for all her quality, if she were but put to't. [Aside.
Black.Hold up your head, hold up your head sir:—a stooping Spaniard,malo!
Mons.True, a Spaniard scorns to look upon the ground.
Prue.We can shift for our mistresses, and not for ourselves. Mine has got a handsome proper young man, and is just going to make the most of him; whilst I must be left in the lurch here with a couple of ugly little blackamoor boys in bonnets, and an old withered Spanish eunuch; not a servant else in the house, nor have I hopes of any comfortable society at all. [Aside.
Black.Now let me see you make your visit-leg, thus.
Mons.Auh,tête non!—ha! ha! ha!
Black.What! a Spaniard, and laugh aloud! No, if you laugh, thus only—so—Now your salutation in the street, as you pass by your acquaintance; look you, thus—if to a woman, thus—putting your hat upon your heart; if to a man, thus, with a nod—so—but frown a little more, frown:—but if to a woman you would be very ceremonious to, thus—so—your neck nearer your shoulder—so—Now, if you would speak contemptibly of any man,or thing, do thus with your hand—so—and shrug up your shoulders till they hide your ears.—[Monsieurimitating theBlack.] Now walk again. [TheBlackandMonsieurwalk off the stage.
Prue.All my hopes are in that coxcomb there: I must take up with my mistress's leavings, though we chambermaids are wont to be beforehand with them. But he is the dullest, modestest fool, for a frenchified fool, as ever I saw; for nobody could be more coming to him than I have been, though I say it, and yet I am ne'er the nearer. I have stolen away his handkerchief, and told him of it; and yet he would never so much as struggle with me to get it again: I have pulled off his peruke, untied his ribbons, and have been very bold with him: yet he would never be so with me: nay, I have pinched him, punched him and tickled him; and yet he would never do the like for me.
Re-enter theBlackandMonsieur.
Black.Nay, thus, thus, sir.
Prue.And to make my person more acceptable to him, I have used art, as they say; for every night since he came, I have worn the forehead-piece of bees-wax and hog's-grease, and every morning washed with butter-milk and wild tansy; and have put on every day for his only sake my Sunday's bowdy[64]stockings, and have new-chalked my shoes, as constantly as the morning came: nay, I have taken occasion to garter my stockings before him, as if unawares of him; for a good leg and foot, with good shoes and stockings, are very provoking, as they say; but the devil a bit would he be provoked.—But I must think of a way. [Aside.
Black.Thus, thus.
Mons.What, so! Well, well, I have lessons enough for this time, little master; I will have no more, lest the multiplicity of them make me forget them, da.—Prue, art thou there and so pensive? what art thou thinking of?
Prue.Indeed, I am ashamed to tell your worship.
Mons.What, ashamed! wert thou thinking then of my beastliness? ha! ha! ha!
Prue.Nay, then I am forced to tell your worship in my own vindication.
Mons.Come then.
Prue.But indeed, your worship—I'm ashamed, that I am, though it was nothing but a dream I had of your sweet worship last night.
Mons.Of my sweet worship! I warrant it was a sweet dream then:—what was it? ha! ha! ha!
Prue.Nay, indeed, I have told your worship enough already; you may guess the rest.
Mons.I cannot guess; ha! ha! ha! What should it be? prithee let's know the rest.
Prue.Would you have me so impudent?
Mons.Impudent! ha! ha! ha! Nay, prithee tell me; for I can't guess, da—
Prue.Nay, 'tis always so, for want of the men's guessing the poor women are forced to be impudent:—but I am still ashamed.
Mons.I will know it; speak.
Prue.Why then, methought last night you came up into my chamber in your shirt when I was in bed; and that you might easily do, for I have ne'er a lock to my door.—Now I warrant I am as red as my petticoat.
Mons.No, thou'rt as yellow as e'er thou wert.
Prue.Yellow, sir!
Mons.Ay, ay: but let's hear the dream out.
Prue.Why, can't you guess the rest now?
Mons.No, not I, I vow and swear: come, let's hear.
Prue.But can't you guess, in earnest?
Mons.Not I, the devil eat me!