Flou.We care not, 'tis our business to spoil matches.
Mons.You need not, for I believe married men are your best customers, for greedy bachelors take up with their wives.
Don.Come, pray ladies, if you have no business here, be pleased to retire; for few of us are in humour to be so civil to you as you may deserve.
Mons.Ay, prithee, dear jades, get you gone.
Flirt.We will not stir.
Don.Who are they, I say, fool? and why don't they go?
Flou.We are, sir—
Mons.Hold! hold!—They are persons of honour and quality, and—
Flirt.We are no persons of honour and quality, sir, we are—
Mons.They are modest ladies, and being in a kind of disguise, will not own their quality.
Flou.We modest ladies!
Mons.Why, sometimes you are in the humour to passfor women of honour and quality; prithee, dear jades, let your modesty and greatness come upon you now. [Aside to them.
Flirt.Come, sir, not to delude you, as he would have us, we are—
Mons.Hold! hold!—
Flirt.The other night at the French-house—
Mons.Hold, I say!—'Tis even true as Gerrard says, the women will tell, I see.
Flou.If you would have her silent, stop her mouth with that ring.
Mons.Will that do't? here, here—'Tis worth one hundred and fifty pounds.—[Takes off his ring and gives it her.] But I must not lose my match, I must not lose a trout for a fly.—That men should live to hire women to silence!
Re-enterGerrard, Hippolita, Parson,andPrue.
Don.Oh, are you come again. [Draws his sword and runs at them, Monsieurholds him.
Mons.Oh! hold! hold! uncle!—What, are you mad, Gerrard, to expose yourself to a new danger? why would you come out yet?
Ger.Because our danger now is over, I thank the parson there. And now we must beg—[GerrardandHippolitakneel.
Mons.Nay, faith, uncle, forgive him now, since he asks you forgiveness upon his knees, and my poor cousin too.
Hip.You are mistaken, cousin; we ask him blessing, and you forgiveness.
Mons.How, how, how! what do you talk of blessing? what, do you ask your father blessing and he ask me forgiveness? but why should he ask me forgiveness?
Hip.Because he asks my father's blessing.
Mons.Pish! pish! I don't understand you, I vow and swear.
Hip.The parson will expound it to you, cousin.
Mons.Hey! what say you to it, parson?
Par.They are married, sir.
Mons.Married!
Mrs. Caut.Married! so, I told you what 'twould come to.
Don.You told us!—
Mons.Nay, she is setting up for the reputation of a witch.
Don.Married!—Juan, Sanchez, Pedro, arm! arm! arm!
Mrs. Caut.A witch! a witch!
Hip.Nay, indeed, father, now we are married, you had better call the fiddlers.—Call 'em, Prue, quickly. [ExitPrue.
Mons.Who do you say, married, man?
Par.Was I not sent for on purpose to marry 'em? why should you wonder at it?
Mons.No, no, you were to marry me, man, to her; I knew there was a mistake in't somehow; you were merely mistaken, therefore you must do your business over again for me now.—The parson was mistaken, uncle, it seems, ha! ha! ha!
Mrs. Caut.I suppose five or six guineas made him make the mistake, which will not be rectified now, nephew. They'll marry all that come near 'em, and, for a guinea or two, care not what mischief they do, nephew.
Don.Married!—Pedro! Sanchez!
Mons.How! and must she be his wife then for ever and ever? have I held the door then for this, like a fool as I was?
Mrs. Caut.Yes, indeed!
Mons.Have I worngolillahere for this? little breeches for this?
Mrs. Caut.Yes, truly.
Mons.And put on the Spanish honour with the habit, in defending my rival? nay then, I'll have another turnof honour in revenge. Come, uncle, I'm of your side now, sa! sa! sa! but let's stay for our force; Sanchez, Juan, Pedro, arm! arm! arm!
Enter twoBlacksand aSpaniard,followed byPrue, Martin,and five other gentlemen-likeFiddlers.
Don.Murder the villain! kill him! [Running all uponGerrard.
Mar.Hold! hold! sir!
Don.How now! who sent for you, friends?
Mar.We fiddlers, sir, often come unsent for.
Don.And you are often kicked down stairs for't too.
Mar.No, sir, our company was never kicked, I think.
Don.Fiddlers, and not kicked! then to preserve your virgin honour, get you down stairs quickly; for we are not at present disposed much for mirth,voto!
Mons.[Peeping.] A pox! is it you, is it you, Martin?—Nay, uncle, then 'tis in vain; for they won't be kicked down stairs, to my knowledge. They are gentlemen fiddlers, forsooth! A pox on all gentlemen fiddlers and gentlemen dancing-masters! say I.
Don.How! ha! [Pausing.
Mons.Well, Flirt, now I am a match for thee: now I may keep you.—And there's little difference betwixt keeping a wench and marriage; only marriage is a little the cheaper; but the other is the more honourable now,vertandbleu!Nay, now I may swear a French oath too. Come, come, I am thine; let us strike up the bargain: thine, according to the honourable institution of keeping.—Come.
Flirt.Nay, hold, sir; two words to the bargain; first, I have ne'er a lawyer here to draw articles and settlements.
Mons.How! is the world come to that? A man cannot keep a wench without articles and settlements! Nay, then 'tis e'en as bad as marriage, indeed, and there's no difference betwixt a wife and a wench.
Flirt.Only in cohabitation; for the first article shall be against cohabitation:—we mistresses suffer no cohabitation.
Mons.Nor wives neither now.
Flirt.Then separate maintenance, in case you should take a wife, or I a new friend.
Mons.How! that too! then you are every whit as bad as a wife.
Flirt.Then my house in town and yours in the country, if you will.
Mons.A mere wife!
Flirt.Then my coach apart, as well as my bed apart.
Mons.As bad as a wife still!
Flirt.But take notice, I will have no little, dirty, second-hand chariot new furbished, but a large, sociable, well-painted coach; nor will I keep it till it be as well known as myself, and it come to be called Flirt-coach; nor will I have such pitiful horses as cannot carry me every night to the Park; for I will not miss a night in the Park, I'd have you to know.
Mons.'Tis very well: you must have your great, gilt, fine painted coaches. I'm sure they are grown so common already amongst you, that ladies of quality begin to take up with hackneys again,jarni!—But what else?
Flirt.Then, that you do not think I will be served by a little dirty boy in a bonnet, but a couple of handsome, lusty, cleanly footmen, fit to serve ladies of quality, and do their business as they should do.
Mons.What then?
Flirt.Then, that you never grow jealous of them.
Mons.Why, will you make so much of them?
Flirt.I delight to be kind to my servants.
Mons.Well, is this all?
Flirt.No.—Then, that when you come to my house, you never presume to touch a key, lift up a latch, or thrust a door, without knocking beforehand: and thatyou ask no questions, if you see a stray piece of plate, cabinet, or looking-glass, in my house.
Mons.Just a wife in everything.—But what else?
Flirt.Then, that you take no acquaintance with me abroad, nor bring me home any when you are drunk, whom you will not be willing to see there when you are sober.
Mons.But what allowance? let's come to the main business; the money.
Flirt.Stay, let me think: first for advance-money, five hundred pounds for pins.
Mons.A very wife!
Flirt.Then you must take the lease of my house, and furnish it as becomes one of my quality; for don't you think we'll take up with your old Queen Elizabeth furniture, as your wives do.
Mons.Indeed there she is least like a wife, as she says.
Flirt.Then for house-keeping, servants' wages, clothes, and the rest, I'll be contented with a thousand pounds a year present maintenance, and but three hundred pounds a year separate maintenance for my life, when your love grows cold. But I am contented with a thousand pounds a year, because for pendants, neck-laces, and all sorts of jewels, and such trifles, nay, and some plate, I will shift myself as I can; make shifts, which you shall not take any notice of.
Mons.A thousand pounds a year! what will wenching come to? Time was a man might have fared as well at a much cheaper rate, and a lady of one's affections, instead of a house, would have been contented with a little chamber, three pair of stairs backward, with a little closet or ladder to't; and instead of variety of new gowns and rich petticoats, with herdeshabillé, or flame-colour gown called Indian, and slippers of the same, would have been contented for a twelvemonth; and instead of visits and gadding to plays, would have entertained herself at homewith "St. George for England," "The Knight of the Sun," or "The Practice of Piety;" and instead of sending her wine and meat from the French-houses, would have been contented, if you had given her, poor wretch, but credit at the next chandler's and chequered cellar;[67]and then, instead of a coach, would have been well satisfied to have gone out and taken the air for three or four hours in the evening in the balcony, poor soul. Well, Flirt, however, we'll agree:—'tis but three hundred pounds a year separate maintenance, you say, when I am weary of thee and the charge.
Don.[Aside.]—Robbed of my honour, my daughter, and my revenge too! O my dear honour! Nothing vexes me, but that the world should say I had not Spanish policy enough to keep my daughter from being debauched from me. But methinks my Spanish policy might help me yet. I have it—so—I will cheat 'em all; for I will declare I understood the whole plot and contrivance, and connived at it, finding my cousin a fool, and not answering my expectation. Well, but then if I approve of the match, I must give this mock-dancing-master my estate, especially since half he would have in right of my daughter, and in spite of me. Well, I am resolved to turn the cheat upon themselves, and give them my consent and estate.
Mons.Come, come, ne'er be troubled, uncle: 'twas a combination, you see, of all these heads and your daughter's, you know what I mean, uncle, not to be thwarted or governed by all the Spanish policy in Christendom. I'm sure my French policy would not have governed her; so since I have 'scaped her, I am glad I have 'scaped her,jarni!
Mrs. Caut.Come, brother, you are wiser than I, you see: ay, ay.
Don.No, you think you are wiser than I now, inearnest: but know, while I was thought a gull, I gulled you all, and made them and you think I knew nothing of the contrivance. Confess, did not you think verily that I knew nothing of it, and that I was a gull?
Mrs. Caut.Yes indeed, brother, I did think verily you were a gull.
Hip.How's this? [Listening.
Don.Alas, alas! all the sputter I made was but to make this young man, my cousin, believe, when the thing should be effected, that it was not with my connivance or consent; but since he is so well satisfied, I own it. For do you think I would ever have suffered her to marry a monsieur, a monsieur?guarda!—besides, it had been but a beastly incestuous kind of a match,voto!—
Mrs. Caut.Nay, then I see, brother, you are wiser than I indeed.
Ger.So, so.
Mrs. Caut.Nay, young man, you have danced a fair dance for yourself, royally; and now you may go jig it together till you are both weary. And though you were so eager to have him, Mrs. Minx, you'll soon have your bellyful of him, let me tell you, mistress.
Prue.Ha! ha!
Mons.How, uncle! what was't you said? Nay, if I had your Spanish policy against me, it was no wonder I missed of my aim,ma foi!
Don.I was resolved too my daughter should not marry a coward, therefore made the more the more ado to try you, sir. But I find you are a brisk man of honour, firm stiff Spanish honour; and that you may see I deceived you all along, and you not me, ay, and am able to deceive you still, for I know now you think that I will give you little or nothing with my daughter, like other fathers, since you have married her without my consent—but, I say, I'll deceive you now; for you shall have the most part of my estate in present, and the rest at my death.—There's for you: I think I have deceived you now, look you.
Ger.No, indeed, sir, you have not deceived me; for I never suspected your love to your daughter, nor your generosity.
Don.How, sir! have a care of saying I have not deceived you, lest I deceive you another way,guarda!—Pray, gentlemen, do not think any man could deceive me, look you; that any man could steal my daughter, look you, without my connivance:—
The less we speak, the more we think;And he sees most, that seems to wink.
Hip.So, so, now I could give you my blessing, father; now you are a good complaisant father, indeed:—
When children marry, parents should obey,Since love claims more obedience far than they.
[Exeunt.
The ladies first I am to compliment,Whom (if he could) the poet would content,But to their pleasure then they must consent;Most spoil their sport still by their modesty,And when they should be pleased, cry out, "O fy!"And the least smutty jest will ne'er pass by.But city damsel ne'er had confidenceAt smutty play to take the least offence,But mercy shows, to show her innocence,Yet lest the merchants' daughters should to-dayBe scandalised, not at our harmless play,But our Hippolita, since she's like oneOf us bold flirts of t'other end o' th' town;Our poet sending to you (though unknown)His best respects by me, does frankly ownThe character to be unnatural;Hippolita is not like you at all:You, while your lovers court you, still look grum,And far from wooing, when they woo, cry mum;And if some of you e'er were stol'n away,Your portion's fault 'twas only, I dare say.Thus much for him the poet bid me speak;Now to the men I my own mind will break.You good men o' th' Exchange, on whom aloneWe must depend, when sparks to sea are gone;Into the pit already you are come,'Tis but a step more to our tiring-room;Where none of us but will be wondrous sweetUpon an able love of Lombard-street.You we had rather see between our scenes,Than spendthrift fops with better clothes and miens;Instead of laced coats, belts, and pantaloons,Your velvet jumps,[68]gold chains, and grave fur gowns,Instead of periwigs, and broad cocked hats,Your satin caps, small cuffs, and vast cravats.For you are fair and square in all your dealings,You never cheat your doxies with gilt shillings;You ne'er will break our windows; then you areFit to make love, while our huzzas make war;And since all gentlemen must pack to sea,Our gallants and our judges you must be!We, therefore, and our poet, do submit,To all the camlet cloaks now i' the pit.
Indignor quidquam reprehendi, non quia crasseCompositum illepideve putetur, sed quia nuper:Nec veniam antiquis, sed honorem et præmia posci.[69]Horat.
The Country Wifewas written, according to its author's own statement, about the year 1671 or 1672. Its production upon the stage was subsequent to that ofThe Gentleman Dancing-Master, to which allusion is made in the prologue, and antecedent to that of the earlier-writtenPlain Dealer, in the second act of which the author inserted some critical observations uponThe Country Wife. The first performance ofThe Plain Dealer, as will afterwards appear, admits not of a later date than that of March, or the very beginning of April, 1674; it follows then thatThe Country Wifewas brought forward some time between the early spring of 1672 and that of 1674. It was acted by the King's Company, established during these two years at the theatre in Portugal Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields, and was published in the year 1675.
If we can overlook the immorality which, in this play, is more offensive and pronounced than in any of Wycherley's other dramas, we shall find inThe Country Wifea brilliantly written and skilfully constructed comedy, superior to either of the preceding dramas from the same pen, and surpassed, among comedies of the Restoration, only by its author's own masterpiece,The Plain Dealer. The plot ofThe Country Wifeis partly based upon two comedies by Molière—L'Ecole des FemmesandL'Ecole des Maris. From the former ofthese Wycherley derived his conception of the jealous man who keeps under close restraint a young and ignorant woman, with the vain hope of thereby securing her fidelity to him. Agnes's innocent confessions to Arnolphe of her lover's stratagems and her own esteem for him find a counterpart in the Country Wife's frankness on a similar occasion, but beyond these points of coincidence there is little resemblance between the two plays. FromL'Ecole des Maris, again, Wycherley has borrowed one or two incidents: the imprisoned girl's device of making her would-be husband (in the English play, her actual husband) the bearer of a letter to her gallant, and the trick by which Isabella causes her tyrant, under the impression that she is another woman, to consign her with his own hands to his rival.
Steele has published, in theTatlerof April 16, 1709, a very just criticism upon this play, which, as it cannot fail to interest the reader, I venture to subjoin.
"Will's Coffee-house, April 14."This evening the Comedy, calledThe Country Wife, was acted in Drury Lane, for the benefit of Mrs. Bignell. The part which gives name to the Play was performed by herself. Through the whole action she made a very pretty figure, and exactly entered into the nature of the part. Her husband, in the Drama, is represented to be one of those debauchees who run through the vices of the town, and believe, when they think fit, they can marry and settle at their ease. His own knowledge of the iniquity of the age makes him choose a wife wholly ignorant of it, and place his security in her want of skill to abuse him. The Poet, on many occasions, where the propriety of the character will admit of it, insinuates that there is no defence against vice but the contempt of it: and has, in the natural ideas of an untainted innocent, shown the gradual steps to ruin and destruction which persons of condition run into, without the help of a good education to form their conduct. The torment of a jealous coxcomb, which arises from his own false maxims, and the aggravation of his pain by the very words in which he sees her innocence, makes a very pleasant and instructive satire. The character of Horner, and the design of it, is a good representation of the age in which that Comedy was written:at which time love and wenching were the business of life, and the gallant manner of pursuing women was the best recommendation at Court. To this only it is to be imputed that a Gentleman of Mr. Wycherley's character and sense condescends to represent the insults done to the honour of the bed without just reproof; but to have drawn a man of probity with regard to such considerations had been a monster, and a Poet had at that time discovered his want of knowing the manners of the Court he lived in, by a virtuous character in his fine gentleman, as he would show his ignorance by drawing a vicious one to please the present audience."
"Will's Coffee-house, April 14.
"This evening the Comedy, calledThe Country Wife, was acted in Drury Lane, for the benefit of Mrs. Bignell. The part which gives name to the Play was performed by herself. Through the whole action she made a very pretty figure, and exactly entered into the nature of the part. Her husband, in the Drama, is represented to be one of those debauchees who run through the vices of the town, and believe, when they think fit, they can marry and settle at their ease. His own knowledge of the iniquity of the age makes him choose a wife wholly ignorant of it, and place his security in her want of skill to abuse him. The Poet, on many occasions, where the propriety of the character will admit of it, insinuates that there is no defence against vice but the contempt of it: and has, in the natural ideas of an untainted innocent, shown the gradual steps to ruin and destruction which persons of condition run into, without the help of a good education to form their conduct. The torment of a jealous coxcomb, which arises from his own false maxims, and the aggravation of his pain by the very words in which he sees her innocence, makes a very pleasant and instructive satire. The character of Horner, and the design of it, is a good representation of the age in which that Comedy was written:at which time love and wenching were the business of life, and the gallant manner of pursuing women was the best recommendation at Court. To this only it is to be imputed that a Gentleman of Mr. Wycherley's character and sense condescends to represent the insults done to the honour of the bed without just reproof; but to have drawn a man of probity with regard to such considerations had been a monster, and a Poet had at that time discovered his want of knowing the manners of the Court he lived in, by a virtuous character in his fine gentleman, as he would show his ignorance by drawing a vicious one to please the present audience."
Poets, like cudgelled bullies, never doAt first or second blow submit to you;But will provoke you still, and ne'er have done,Till you are weary first with laying on.The late so baffled scribbler of this day,Though he stands trembling, bids me boldly say,What we before most plays are used to do,For poets out of fear first draw on you;In a fierce prologue the still pit defy,And, ere you speak, like Castril[71]give the lie.But though our Bayes's battles oft I've fought,And with bruised knuckles their dear conquests bought;Nay, never yet feared odds upon the stage,In prologue dare not hector with the age;But would take quarter from your saving hands,Though Bayes within all yielding countermands,Says, you confederate wits no quarter give,Therefore his play shan't ask your leave to live.Well, let the vain rash fop, by huffing so,Think to obtain the better terms of you;But we, the actors, humbly will submit,Now, and at any time, to a full pit;Nay, often we anticipate your rage,And murder poets for you on our stage:We set no guards upon our tiring-room,But when with dying colours there you come,We patiently, you see, give up to youOur poets, virgins, nay, our matrons too.
Mr.Horner.Mr.Harcourt.Mr.Dorilant.Mr.Pinchwife.Mr.Sparkish.SirJasper Fidget.A Boy.A Quack.Waiters, Servants, and Attendants.Mrs.Margery Pinchwife.Alithea, Sister ofPinchwife.LadyFidget.Mrs.Dainty Fidget, Sister of SirJasper.Mrs.Squeamish.Old LadySqueamish.Lucy,Alithea'sMaid.SCENE—London.
EnterHorner,andQuackfollowing him at a distance.
Horn.[Aside.] A quack is as fit for a pimp, as a midwife for a bawd; they are still but in their way, both helpers of nature.—[Aloud.] Well, my dear doctor, hast thou done what I desired?
Quack.I have undone you for ever with the women, and reported you throughout the whole town as bad as an eunuch, with as much trouble as if I had made you one in earnest.
Horn.But have you told all the midwives you know, the orange wenches at the playhouses, the city husbands, and old fumbling keepers of this end of the town? for they'll be the readiest to report it.
Quack.I have told all the chambermaids, waiting-women, tire-women, and old women of my acquaintance; nay, and whispered it as a secret to 'em, and to the whisperers of Whitehall; so that you need not doubt 'twill spread, and you will be as odious to the handsome young women, as—
Horn.As the small-pox. Well—
Quack.And to the married women of this end of the town, as—
Horn.As the great one; nay, as their own husbands.
Quack.And to the city dames, as aniseed Robin, of filthy and contemptible memory; and they will frighten their children with your name, especially their females.
Horn.And cry, Horner's coming to carry you away. I am only afraid 'twill not be believed. You told 'em it was by an English-French disaster, and an English-French chirurgeon, who has given me at once not only a cure, but an antidote for the future against that damned malady, and that worse distemper, love, and all other women's evils?
Quack.Your late journey into France has made it the more credible, and your being here a fortnight before you appeared in public, looks as if you apprehended the shame, which I wonder you do not. Well, I have been hired by young gallants to belie 'em t'other way; but you are the first would be thought a man unfit for women.
Horn.Dear Mr. Doctor, let vain rogues be contented only to be thought abler men than they are, generally 'tis all the pleasure they have; but mine lies another way.
Quack.You take, methinks, a very preposterous way to it, and as ridiculous as if we operators in physic should put forth bills to disparage our medicaments, with hopes to gain customers.
Horn.Doctor, there are quacks in love as well as physic, who get but the fewer and worse patients for their boasting; a good name is seldom got by giving it one's self; and women, no more than honour, are compassed by bragging. Come, come, Doctor, the wisest lawyer never discovers the merits of his cause till the trial; the wealthiest man conceals his riches, and the cunning gamester his play. Shy husbands and keepers, like old rooks, are not to be cheated but by a new unpractised trick: false friendship will pass now no more than false dice upon 'em; no, not in the city.
EnterBoy.
Boy.There are two ladies and a gentleman coming up. [Exit.
Horn.A pox! some unbelieving sisters of my former acquaintance, who, I am afraid, expect their sense should be satisfied of the falsity of the report. No—this formal fool and women!
EnterSirJasper Fidget, LadyFidget,andMrs.Dainty Fidget.
Quack.His wife and sister.
Sir Jasp.My coach breaking just now before your door, sir, I look upon as an occasional reprimand to me, sir, for not kissing your hands, sir, since your coming out of France, sir; and so my disaster, sir, has been my good fortune, sir; and this is my wife and sister, sir.
Horn.What then, sir?
Sir Jasp.My lady, and sister, sir.—Wife, this is Master Horner.
Lady Fid.Master Horner, husband!
Sir Jasp.My lady, my Lady Fidget, sir.
Horn.So, sir.
Sir Jasp.Won't you be acquainted with her, sir?—[Aside.] So, the report is true, I find, by his coldness or aversion to the sex; but I'll play the wag with him.—[Aloud.] Pray salute my wife, my lady, sir.
Horn.I will kiss no man's wife, sir, for him, sir; I have taken my eternal leave, sir, of the sex already, sir.
Sir Jasp.[Aside.] Ha! ha! ha! I'll plague him yet.—[Aloud.] Not know my wife, sir?
Horn.I do know your wife, sir; she's a woman, sir, and consequently a monster, sir, a greater monster than a husband, sir.
Sir Jasp.A husband! how, sir?
Horn.So, sir; but I make no more cuckolds, sir. [Makes horns.
Sir Jasp.Ha! ha! ha! Mercury! Mercury!
Lady Fid.Pray, Sir Jasper, let us be gone from this rude fellow.
Mrs. Dain.Who, by his breeding, would think he had ever been in France?
Lady Fid.Foh! he's but too much a French fellow, such as hate women of quality and virtue for their love to their husbands. Sir Jasper, a woman is hated by 'em as much for loving her husband as for loving their money. But pray let's be gone.
Horn.You do well, madam; for I have nothing that you came for. I have brought over not so much as a bawdy picture, no new postures, nor the second part of theEcole des Filles; nor—
Quack.Hold, for shame, sir! what d'ye mean? you'll ruin yourself for ever with the sex—[Apart toHorner.
Sir Jasp.Ha! ha! ha! he hates women perfectly, I find.
Mrs. Dain.What pity 'tis he should!
Lady Fid.Ay, he's a base fellow for't. But affectation makes not a woman more odious to them than virtue.
Horn.Because your virtue is your greatest affectation, madam.
Lady Fid.How, you saucy fellow! would you wrong my honour?
Horn.If I could.
Lady Fid.How d'ye mean, sir?
Sir Jasp.Ha! ha! ha! no, he can't wrong your ladyship's honour, upon my honour. He, poor man—hark you in your ear—a mere eunuch. [Whispers.
Lady Fid.O filthy French beast! foh! foh! why do we stay? let's be gone: I can't endure the sight of him.
Sir Jasp.Stay but till the chairs come; they'll be here presently.
Lady Fid.No, no.
Sir Jasp.Nor can I stay longer. 'Tis, let me see, a quarter and half quarter of a minute past eleven. Thecouncil will be sat; I must away. Business must be preferred always before love and ceremony with the wise, Mr. Horner.
Horn.And the impotent, Sir Jasper.
Sir Jasp.Ay, ay, the impotent, Master Horner; hah! hah! hah!
Lady Fid.What, leave us with a filthy man alone in his lodgings?
Sir Jasp.He's an innocent man now, you know. Pray stay, I'll hasten the chairs to you.—Mr. Horner, your servant; I should be glad to see you at my house. Pray come and dine with me, and play at cards with my wife after dinner; you are fit for women at that game yet, ha! ha!—[Aside.] 'Tis as much a husband's prudence to provide innocent diversion for a wife as to hinder her unlawful pleasures; and he had better employ her than let her employ herself.—[Aloud.] Farewell.
Horn.Your servant, Sir Jasper. [ExitSirJasper.
Lady Fid.I will not stay with him, foh!—
Horn.Nay, madam, I beseech you stay, if it be but to see I can be as civil to ladies yet as they would desire.
Lady Fid.No, no, foh! you cannot be civil to ladies.
Mrs. Dain.You as civil as ladies would desire?
Lady Fid.No, no, no, foh! foh! foh! [ExeuntLadyFidgetandMrs.Dainty Fidget.
Quack.Now, I think, I, or you yourself, rather, have done your business with the women.
Horn.Thou art an ass. Don't you see already, upon the report, and my carriage, this grave man of business leaves his wife in my lodgings, invites me to his house and wife, who before would not be acquainted with me out of jealousy?
Quack.Nay, by this means you may be the more acquainted with the husbands, but the less with the wives.
Horn.Let me alone; if I can but abuse the husbands, I'll soon disabuse the wives. Stay—I'll reckon you upthe advantages I am like to have by my stratagem. First, I shall be rid of all my old acquaintances, the most insatiable sort of duns, that invade our lodgings in a morning; and next to the pleasure of making a new mistress is that of being rid of an old one, and of all old debts. Love, when it comes to be so, is paid the most unwillingly.
Quack.Well, you may be so rid of your old acquaintances; but how will you get any new ones?
Horn.Doctor, thou wilt never make a good chemist, thou art so incredulous and impatient. Ask but all the young fellows of the town if they do not lose more time, like huntsmen, in starting the game, than in running it down. One knows not where to find 'em; who will or will not. Women of quality are so civil, you can hardly distinguish love from good breeding, and a man is often mistaken: but now I can be sure she that shows an aversion to me loves the sport, as those women that are gone, whom I warrant to be right. And then the next thing is, your women of honour, as you call 'em, are only chary of their reputations, not their persons; and 'tis scandal they would avoid, not men. Now may I have, by the reputation of an eunuch, the privileges of one, and be seen in a lady's chamber in a morning as early as her husband; kiss virgins before their parents or lovers; and may be, in short, thepasse-partoutof the town. Now, doctor.
Quack.Nay, now you shall be the doctor; and your process is so new that we do not know but it may succeed.
Horn.Not so new neither;probatum est, doctor.
Quack.Well, I wish you luck, and many patients, whilst I go to mine. [Exit.
EnterHarcourtandDorilant.
Har.Come, your appearance at the play yesterday, has, I hope, hardened you for the future against the women'scontempt, and the men's raillery; and now you'll abroad as you were wont.
Horn.Did I not bear it bravely?
Dor.With a most theatrical impudence, nay, more than the orange-wenches show there, or a drunken vizard-mask, or a great-bellied actress; nay, or the most impudent of creatures, an ill poet; or what is yet more impudent, a second-hand critic.
Horn.But what say the ladies? have they no pity?
Har.What ladies? The vizard-masks, you know, never pity a man when all's gone, though in their service.
Dor.And for the women in the boxes, you'd never pity them when 'twas in your power.
Har.They say 'tis pity but all that deal with common women should be served so.
Dor.Nay, I dare swear they won't admit you to play at cards with them, go to plays with 'em, or do the little duties which other shadows of men are wont to do for 'em.
Horn.What do you call shadows of men?
Dor.Half-men.
Horn.What, boys?
Dor.Ay, your old boys, oldbeaux garçons, who, like superannuated stallions, are suffered to run, feed, and whinny with the mares as long as they live, though they can do nothing else.
Horn.Well, a pox on love and wenching! Women serve but to keep a man from better company. Though I can't enjoy them, I shall you the more. Good fellowship and friendship are lasting, rational, and manly pleasures.
Har.For all that, give me some of those pleasures you call effeminate too; they help to relish one another.
Horn.They disturb one another.
Har.No, mistresses are like books. If you pore upon them too much, they doze you, and make you unfit for company; but if used discreetly, you are the fitter for conversation by 'em.
Dor.A mistress should be like a little country retreat near the town; not to dwell in constantly, but only for a night and away, to taste the town the better when a man returns.
Horn.I tell you, 'tis as hard to be a good fellow, a good friend, and a lover of women, as 'tis to be a good fellow, a good friend, and a lover of money. You cannot follow both, then choose your side. Wine gives you liberty, love takes it away.
Dor.Gad, he's in the right on't.
Horn.Wine gives you joy; love, grief and tortures, besides surgeons. Wine makes us witty; love, only sots. Wine makes us sleep; love breaks it.
Dor.By the world he has reason, Harcourt.
Horn.Wine makes—
Dor.Ay, wine makes us—makes us princes; love makes us beggars, poor rogues, egad—and wine—
Horn.So, there's one converted.—No, no, love and wine, oil and vinegar.
Har.I grant it; love will still be uppermost.
Horn.Come, for my part, I will have only those glorious manly pleasures of being very drunk and very slovenly.
EnterBoy.
Boy.Mr. Sparkish is below, sir. [Exit.
Har.What, my dear friend! a rogue that is fond of me only, I think, for abusing him.
Dor.No, he can no more think the men laugh at him than that women jilt him; his opinion of himself is so good.
Horn.Well, there's another pleasure by drinking I thought not of,—I shall lose his acquaintance, because he cannot drink: and you know 'tis a very hard thing to be rid of him; for he's one of those nauseous offerers at wit, who, like the worst fiddlers, run themselves into all companies.
Har.One that, by being in the company of men of sense, would pass for one.
Horn.And may so to the short-sighted world; as a false jewel amongst true ones is not discerned at a distance. His company is as troublesome to us as a cuckold's when you have a mind to his wife's.
Har.No, the rogue will not let us enjoy one another, but ravishes our conversation; though he signifies no more to't than Sir Martin Mar-all's[72]gaping, and awkward thrumming upon the lute, does to his man's voice and music.
Dor.And to pass for a wit in town shows himself a fool every night to us, that are guilty of the plot.
Horn.Such wits as he are, to a company of reasonable men, like rooks to the gamesters; who only fill a room at the table, but are so far from contributing to the play, that they only serve to spoil the fancy of those that do.
Dor.Nay, they are used like rooks too, snubbed, checked, and abused; yet the rogues will hang on.
Horn.A pox on 'em, and all that force nature, and would be still what she forbids 'em! Affectation is her greatest monster.
Har.Most men are the contraries to that they would seem. Your bully, you see, is a coward with a long sword; the little humbly-fawning physician, with his ebony cane, is he that destroys men.
Dor.The usurer, a poor rogue, possessed of mouldy bonds and mortgages; and we they call spendthrifts, are only wealthy, who lay out his money upon daily new purchases of pleasure.
Horn.Ay, your arrantest cheat is your trustee or executor; your jealous man, the greatest cuckold; yourchurchman the greatest atheist; and your noisy pert rogue of a wit, the greatest fop, dullest ass, and worst company, as you shall see; for here he comes.
EnterSparkish.
Spark.How is't, sparks? how is't? Well, faith, Harry, I must rally thee a little, ha! ha! ha! upon the report in town of thee, ha! ha! ha! I can't hold i'faith; shall I speak?
Horn.Yes; but you'll be so bitter then.
Spark.Honest Dick and Frank here shall answer for me; I will not be extreme bitter, by the universe.
Har.We will be bound in a ten thousand pound bond, he shall not be bitter at all.
Dor.Nor sharp, nor sweet.
Horn.What, not downright insipid?
Spark.Nay then, since you are so brisk, and provoke me, take what follows. You must know, I was discoursing and rallying with some ladies yesterday, and they happened to talk of the fine new signs in town—
Horn.Very fine ladies, I believe.
Spark.Said I, I know where the best new sign is.—Where? says one of the ladies.—In Covent-Garden, I replied.—Said another, In what street?—In Russel-street, answered I.—Lord, says another, I'm sure there was never a fine new sign there yesterday.—Yes, but there was, said I again; and it came out of France, and has been there a fortnight.
Dor.A pox! I can hear no more, prithee.
Horn.No, hear him out; let him tune his crowd a while.
Har.The worst music, the greatest preparation.
Spark.Nay, faith, I'll make you laugh.—It cannot be, says a third lady.—Yes, yes, quoth I again.—Says a fourth lady—
Horn.Look to't, we'll have no more ladies.
Spark.No—then mark, mark, now. Said I to thefourth, Did you never see Mr. Horner? he lodges in Russel-street, and he's a sign of a man, you know, since he came out of France; ha! ha! ha!
Horn.But the devil take me if thine be the sign of a jest.
Spark.With that they all fell a-laughing, till they bepissed themselves. What, but it does not move you, methinks? Well, I see one had as good go to law without a witness, as break a jest without a laugher on one's side.—Come, come, sparks, but where do we dine? I have left at Whitehall an earl, to dine with you.
Dor.Why, I thought thou hadst loved a man with a title, better than a suit with a French trimming to't.
Har.Go to him again.
Spark.No, sir, a wit to me is the greatest title in the world.
Horn.But go dine with your earl, sir; he may be exception. We are your friends, and will not take it ill to be left, I do assure you.
Har.Nay, faith, he shall go to him.
Spark.Nay, pray, gentlemen.
Dor.We'll thrust you out, if you won't; what, disappoint anybody for us?
Spark.Nay, dear gentlemen, hear me.
Horn.No, no, sir, by no means; pray go, sir.
Spark.Why, dear rogues—
Dor.No, no. [They all thrust him out of the room.
All.Ha! ha! ha!
Re-enterSparkish.
Spark.But, sparks, pray hear me. What, d'ye think I'll eat then with gay shallow fops and silent coxcombs? I think wit as necessary at dinner, as a glass of good wine; and that's the reason I never have any stomach when I eat alone.—Come, but where do we dine?
Horn.Even where you will.
Spark.At Chateline's?
Dor.Yes, if you will.
Spark.Or at the Cock?[73]
Dor.Yes, if you please.
Spark.Or at the Dog and Partridge?
Horn.Ay, if you have a mind to't; for we shall dine at neither.
Spark.Pshaw! with your fooling we shall lose the new play; and I would no more miss seeing a new play the first day, than I would miss sitting in the wit's row. Therefore I'll go fetch my mistress, and away. [Exit.
EnterPinchwife.
Horn.Who have we here? Pinchwife?
Pinch.Gentlemen, your humble servant.
Horn.Well, Jack, by thy long absence from the town, the grumness of thy countenance, and the slovenliness of thy habit, I should give thee joy, should I not, of marriage?
Pinch.[Aside.] Death! does he know I'm married too? I thought to have concealed it from him at least.—[Aloud.] My long stay in the country will excuse my dress; and I have a suit of law that brings me up to town, that puts me out of humour. Besides, I must give Sparkish to-morrow five thousand pounds to lie with my sister.
Horn.Nay, you country gentlemen, rather than not purchase, will buy anything; and he is a cracked title, if we may quibble. Well, but am I to give thee joy? I heard thou wert married.
Pinch.What then?
Horn.Why, the next thing that is to be heard, is, thou'rt a cuckold.
Pinch.Insupportable name! [Aside.
Horn.But I did not expect marriage from such a whoremaster as you; one that knew the town so much, and women so well.
Pinch.Why, I have married no London wife.
Horn.Pshaw! that's all one. That grave circumspection in marrying a country wife, is like refusing a deceitful pampered Smithfield jade, to go and be cheated by a friend in the country.
Pinch.[Aside.] A pox on him and his simile!—[Aloud.] At least we are a little surer of the breed there, know what her keeping has been, whether foiled or unsound.
Horn.Come, come, I have known a clap gotten in Wales; and there are cousins, justices' clerks, and chaplains in the country, I won't say coachmen. But she's handsome and young?
Pinch.[Aside.] I'll answer as I should do.—[Aloud.] No, no; she has no beauty but her youth, no attraction but her modesty: wholesome, homely, and huswifely; that's all.
Dor.He talks as like a grazier as he looks.
Pinch.She's too awkward, ill-favoured, and silly to bring to town.
Har.Then methinks you should bring her to be taught breeding.
Pinch.To be taught! no, sir, I thank you. Good wives and private soldiers should be ignorant—I'll keep her from your instructions, I warrant you.
Har.The rogue is as jealous as if his wife were not ignorant. [Aside.
Horn.Why, if she be ill-favoured, there will be less danger here for you than by leaving her in the country. We have such variety of dainties that we are seldom hungry.
Dor.But they have always coarse, constant, swingeing stomachs in the country.
Har.Foul feeders indeed!
Dor.And your hospitality is great there.
Har.Open house; every man's welcome.
Pinch.So, so, gentlemen.
Horn.But prithee, why shouldst thou marry her? If she be ugly, ill-bred, and silly, she must be rich then.
Pinch.As rich as if she brought me twenty thousand pound out of this town; for she'll be as sure not to spend her moderate portion, as a London baggage would be to spend hers, let it be what it would: so 'tis all one. Then, because she's ugly, she's the likelier to be my own; and being ill-bred, she'll hate conversation; and since silly and innocent, will not know the difference betwixt a man of one-and-twenty and one of forty.
Horn.Nine—to my knowledge. But if she be silly, she'll expect as much from a man of forty-nine, as from him of one-and-twenty. But methinks wit is more necessary than beauty; and I think no young woman ugly that has it, and no handsome woman agreeable without it.
Pinch.'Tis my maxim, he's a fool that marries; but he's a greater that does not marry a fool. What is wit in a wife good for, but to make a man a cuckold?
Horn.Yes, to keep it from his knowledge.
Pinch.A fool cannot contrive to make her husband a cuckold.
Horn.No; but she'll club with a man that can: and what is worse, if she cannot make her husband a cuckold, she'll make him jealous, and pass for one: and then 'tis all one.
Pinch.Well, well, I'll take care for one. My wife shall make me no cuckold, though she had your help, Mr. Horner. I understand the town, sir.
Dor.His help! [Aside.
Har.He's come newly to town, it seems, and has not heard how things are with him. [Aside.
Horn.But tell me, has marriage cured thee of whoring, which it seldom does?
Har.'Tis more than age can do.
Horn.No, the word is, I'll marry and live honest: but a marriage vow is like a penitent gamester's oath, and entering into bonds and penalties to stint himself to such a particular small sum at play for the future, which makes him but the more eager; and not being able to hold out, loses his money again, and his forfeit to boot.
Dor.Ay, ay, a gamester will be a gamester whilst his money lasts, and a whoremaster whilst his vigour.
Har.Nay, I have known 'em, when they are broke, and can lose no more, keep a fumbling with the box in their hands to fool with only, and hinder other gamesters.
Dor.That had wherewithal to make lusty stakes.
Pinch.Well, gentlemen, you may laugh at me; but you shall never lie with my wife: I know the town.
Horn.But prithee, was not the way you were in better? is not keeping better than marriage?
Pinch.A pox on't! the jades would jilt me, I could never keep a whore to myself.
Horn.So, then you only married to keep a whore to yourself. Well, but let me tell you, women, as you say, are like soldiers, made constant and loyal by good pay, rather than by oaths and covenants. Therefore I'd advise my friends to keep rather than marry, since too I find, by your example, it does not serve one's turn; for I saw you yesterday in the eighteenpenny place with a pretty country-wench.
Pinch.How the devil! did he see my wife then? I sat there that she might not be seen. But she shall never go to a play again. [Aside.
Horn.What! dost thou blush, at nine-and-forty, for having been seen with a wench?
Dor.No, faith, I warrant 'twas his wife, which he seated there out of sight; for he's a cunning rogue, and understands the town.
Har.He blushes. Then 'twas his wife; for men are now more ashamed to be seen with them in public than with a wench.
Pinch.Hell and damnation! I'm undone, since Horner has seen her, and they know 'twas she. [Aside.
Horn.But prithee, was it thy wife? She was exceeding pretty: I was in love with her at that distance.
Pinch.You are like never to be nearer to her. Your servant, gentlemen. [Offers to go.
Horn.Nay, prithee stay.
Pinch.I cannot; I will not.
Horn.Come, you shall dine with us.
Pinch.I have dined already.
Horn.Come, I know thou hast not: I'll treat thee, dear rogue; thou sha't spend none of thy Hampshire money to-day.
Pinch.Treat me! So, he uses me already like his cuckold. [Aside.
Horn.Nay, you shall not go.
Pinch.I must; I have business at home. [Exit.
Har.To beat his wife. He's as jealous of her, as a Cheapside husband of a Covent-garden wife.
Horn.Why, 'tis as hard to find an old whoremaster without jealousy and the gout, as a young one without fear, or the pox:—
As gout in age from pox in youth proceeds,So wenching past, then jealousy succeeds;The worst disease that love and wenching breeds.
[Exeunt.
Mrs.Margery PinchwifeandAlithea. Pinchwifepeeping behind at the door.
Mrs. Pinch.Pray, sister, where are the best fields and woods to walk in, in London?
Alith.[Aside.] A pretty question!—[Aloud.] Why, sister, Mulberry-garden and St. James's park; and, for close walks, the New Exchange.[74]
Mrs. Pinch.Pray, sister, tell me why my husband looks so grum here in town, and keeps me up so close, and will not let me go a-walking, nor let me wear my best gown yesterday.
Alith.O, he's jealous, sister.
Mrs. Pinch.Jealous! what's that?
Alith.He's afraid you should love another man.
Mrs. Pinch.How should he be afraid of my loving another man, when he will not let me see any but himself?
Alith.Did he not carry you yesterday to a play?
Mrs. Pinch.Ay; but we sat amongst ugly people. He would not let me come near the gentry, who sat under us, so that I could not see 'em. He told me, none but naughty women sat there, whom they toused and moused. But I would have ventured, for all that.
Alith.But how did you like the play?
Mrs. Pinch.Indeed I was weary of the play; but I liked hugeously the actors. They are the goodliest, properest men, sister!
Alith.O, but you must not like the actors, sister.
Mrs. Pinch.Ay, how should I help it, sister? Pray, sister, when my husband comes in, will you ask leave for me to go a-walking?
Alith.A-walking! ha! ha! Lord, a country-gentlewoman's pleasure is the drudgery of a footpost; and she requires as much airing as her husband's horses.—[Aside.] But here comes your husband: I'll ask, though I'm sure he'll not grant it.
Mrs. Pinch.He says he won't let me go abroad for fear of catching the pox.
Alith.Fy! the small-pox you should say.
EnterPinchwife.
Mrs. Pinch.O my dear, dear bud, welcome home! Why dost thou look so fropish? who has nangered thee?
Pinch.You're a fool. [Mrs.Pinchwifegoes aside, and cries.
Alith.Faith, so she is, for crying for no fault, poor tender creature!
Pinch.What, you would have her as impudent as yourself, as arrant a jilflirt, a gadder, a magpie; and to say all, a mere notorious town-woman?
Alith.Brother, you are my only censurer; and the honour of your family will sooner suffer in your wife there than in me, though I take the innocent liberty of the town.
Pinch.Hark you, mistress, do not talk so before my wife.—The innocent liberty of the town!
Alith.Why, pray, who boasts of any intrigue with me? what lampoon has made my name notorious? what ill women frequent my lodgings? I keep no company with any women of scandalous reputations.
Pinch.No, you keep the men of scandalous reputations company.
Alith.Where? would you not have me civil? answer 'em in a box at the plays, in the drawing-room at Whitehall, in St James'-park, Mulberry-garden, or—
Pinch.Hold, hold! Do not teach my wife where the men are to be found: I believe she's the worse for your town-documents already. I bid you keep her in ignorance, as I do.
Mrs. Pinch.Indeed, be not angry with her, bud, she will tell me nothing of the town, though I ask her a thousand times a day.
Pinch.Then you are very inquisitive to know, I find?
Mrs. Pinch.Not I indeed, dear; I hate London. Our place-house in the country is worth a thousand of't: would I were there again!
Pinch.So you shall, I warrant. But were you not talking of plays and players when I came in?—[ToAlithea.] You are her encourager in such discourses.
Mrs. Pinch.No, indeed, dear; she chid me just now for liking the playermen.
Pinch.[Aside.] Nay, if she be so innocent as to own to me her liking them, there is no hurt in't.—[Aloud.] Come, my poor rogue, but thou likest none better than me?
Mrs. Pinch.Yes, indeed, but I do. The playermen are finer folks.
Pinch.But you love none better than me?
Mrs. Pinch.You are my own dear bud, and I know you. I hate a stranger.
Pinch.Ay, my dear, you must love me only; and not be like the naughty town-women, who only hate their husbands, and love every man else; love plays, visits, fine coaches, fine clothes, fiddles, balls, treats, and so lead a wicked town-life.
Mrs. Pinch.Nay, if to enjoy all these things be a town-life, London is not so bad a place, dear.
Pinch.How! if you love me, you must hate London.
Alith.The fool has forbid me discovering to her the pleasures of the town, and he is now setting her agog upon them himself. [Aside.
Mrs. Pinch.But, husband, do the town-women love the playermen too?
Pinch.Yes, I warrant you.
Mrs. Pinch.Ay, I warrant you.
Pinch.Why, you do not, I hope?
Mrs. Pinch.No, no, bud. But why have we no playermen in the country?