_The Gallery in Lady Bountiful's House,
Mrs. Sullen discovered alone_.
_Mrs. Sul_. Were I born an humble Turk, where women
have no soul nor property, there I must sit
contented. But in England, a country whose women
are its glory, must women be abused? where women
rule, must women be enslaved? Nay, cheated into
slavery, mocked by a promise of comfortable society
into a wilderness of solitude! I dare not keep the
thought about me. Oh, here comes something to
divert me.
_Enter a Countrywoman_.
_Worn_. I come, an't please your ladyship--you're my
Lady Bountiful, an't ye? {11}
_Mrs. Sul_. Well, good woman, go on.
_Worn_. I have come seventeen long mail to have a cure
for my husband's sore leg.
_Mrs. Sul_. Your husband! what, woman, cure your
husband!
_Worn_. Ay, poor man, for his sore leg won't let him stir
from home.
_Mrs. Sul_. There, I confess, you have given me a reason.
Well, good woman, I 'll tell you what you must do.
You must lay your husband's leg upon a table, and
with a chopping-knife you must lay it open as broad
as you can, then you must takeout the bone, and
beat the flesh soundly with a rolling-pin, then take
salt, pepper, cloves, mace, and ginger, some sweet-herbs,
and season it very well, then roll it up like
brawn, and put it into the oven for two hours.
_Worn_. Heavens reward your ladyship!--I have two
little babies too that are piteous bad with the graips,
an't please ye. {30}
_Mrs. Sul_. Put a little pepper and salt in their bellies,
good woman.
_Enter Lady Bountiful_.
I beg your ladyship's pardon for taking your business
out of your hands; I have been a-tampering
here a little with one of your patients.
_Lady Boun_. Come, good woman, don't mind this mad
creature; I am the person that you want, I suppose.
What would you have, woman?
_Mrs. Sul_. She wants something for her husband's sore
leg. {40}
_Lady Boun_. What's the matter with his leg, goody?
_Worn_. It come first, as one might say, with a sort of
dizziness in his foot, then he had a kind of laziness
in his joints, and then his leg broke out, and then it
swelled, and then it closed again, and then it broke
out again, and then it festered, and then it grew
better, and then it grew worse again.
_Mrs. Sul_. Ha! ha! ha!
_Lady Boun_. How can you be merry with the misfortunes
of other people? {50}
Mrs. Sul, Because my own make me sad, madam.
_Lady Boun_. The worst reason in the world, daughter;
your own misfortunes should teach you to pity
others.
_Mrs. Sul_. But the woman's misfortunes and mine are
nothing alike; her husband is sick, and mine, alas!
is in health.
_Lady Boun_. What! would you wish your husband sick?
_Mrs. Sul_. Not of a sore leg, of all things. {59}
_Lady Boun_. Well, good woman, go to the pantry, get
your bellyful of victuals, then I 'll give you a receipt
of diet-drink for your husband. But d'ye hear,
goody, you must not let your husband move too
much?
_Worn_. No, no, madam, the poor man's inclinable enough
to lie still. [_Exit_.
_Lady Boun_. Well, daughter Sullen, though you laugh, I
have done miracles about the country here with my
receipts. {69}
_Mrs. Sul_. Miracles indeed, if they have cured anybody;
but I believe, madam, the patient's faith goes.
farther toward the miracle than your prescription.
_Lady Boun_. Fancy helps in some cases; but there's
your husband, who has as little fancy as anybody, I
brought him from death's door.
_Mrs. Sul_. I suppose, madam, you made him drink
plentifully of ass's milk.
_Enter Dorinda, who runs to Mrs. Sullen_.
_Dor_. News, dear sister! news! news!
_Enter Archer, running_.
_Arch_. Where, where is my Lady Bountiful?--Pray,
which is the old lady of you three? {80}
_Lady Boun_. I am.
_Arch_. O madam, the fame of your ladyship's charity,
goodness, benevolence, skill and ability, have drawn
me hither to implore your ladyship's help in behalf
of my unfortunate master, who is this moment
breathing his last.
_Lady Boun_. Your master! where is he?
_Arch_. At your gate, madam. Drawn by the appearance
of your handsome house to view it nearer, and
walking up the avenue within five paces of the
courtyard, he was taken ill of a sudden with a sort of
I know not what, but down he fell, and there he lies.
_Lady Boun_. Here, Scrub! Gipsy! all run, get my easy
chair down stairs, put the gentleman in it, and bring
him in quickly! quickly! {95}
_Arch_. Heaven will reward your ladyship for this charitable
act.
_Lady Boun_. Is your master used to these fits?
_Arch_. O yes, madam, frequently: I have known him
have five or six of a night. {100}
_Lady Boun_. What's his name?
_Arch_. Lord, madam, he 's a-dying! a minute's care or
neglect may save or destroy his life.
_Lady Boun_. Ah, poor gentleman!--Come, friend, show
me the way; I 'll see him brought in myself.
[_Exit with Archer_.
_Dor_. O sister, my heart flutters about strangely! I can
hardly forbear running to his assistance. {107}
_Mrs. Sul_. And I 'll lay my life he deserves your
assistance more than he wants it. Did not I tell you that
my lord would find a way to come at you? Love's
his distemper, and you must be the physician; put
on all your charms, summon all your fire into your
eyes, plant the whole artillery of your looks against
his breast, and down with him.
_Dor_. O sister! I 'm but a young gunner; I shall be afraid
to shoot, for fear the piece should recoil, and hurt
myself.
_Mrs. Sul_. Never fear, you shall see me shoot before you,
if you will. {119}
_Dor_. No, no, dear sister; you have missed your mark so
unfortunately, that I shan't care for being instructed
by you.
_Enter Aimwell in a chair carried by Archer and Scrubs
and counterfeiting a swoon; Lady Bountiful and
Gipsy following_.
_Lady Boun_. Here, here, let's see the hartshorn drops.--
Gipsy, a glass of fair water! His fit's very strong.
--Bless me, how his hands are clinched!
_Arch_. For shame, ladies, what d' ye do? why don't you
help us?--[_To Dorinda_.] Pray, madam, take his
hand, and open it, if you can, whilst I hold his head.
[_Dorinda takes his hand_.
_Dor_. Poor gentleman!--Oh!--he has got my hand
within his, and squeezes it unmercifully-- {130}
_Lady Boun_. 'Tis the violence of his convulsion, child.
_Arch_. Oh, madam, he's perfectly possessed in these
cases--he'll bite if you don't have a care.
_Dor_. Oh, my hand! my hand!
_Lady Boun_. What's the matter with the foolish girl? I
have got his hand open, you see, with a great deal of
ease.
_Arch_. Ay, but, madam, your daughter's hand is somewhat
warmer than your ladyship's, and the heat of
it draws the force of the spirits that way. {140}
_Mrs. Sul_. I find, friend, you're very learned in these
sorts of fits.
_Arch_. Tis no wonder, madam, for I 'm often troubled
with them myself; I find myself extremely ill at this
minute. [_Looking hard at Mrs. Sullen_.
_Mrs. Sul_. I fancy I could find a way to cure you.
[_Aside_.
_Lady Boun_. His fit holds him very long.
_Arch_. Longer than usual, madam.--Pray, young lady,
open his breast and give him air.
_Lady Boun_. Where did his illness take him first, pray?
_Arch_. To-day at church, madam. {151}
_Lady Boun_. In what manner was he taken?
_Arch_. Very strangely, my lady. He was of a sudden
touched with something in his eyes, which, at the
first, he only felt, but could not tell whether 'twas
pain or pleasure.
_Lady Boun_. Wind, nothing but wind!
_Arch_. By soft degrees it grew and mounted to his brain,
there his fancy caught it; there formed it so beautiful,
and dressed it up in such gay, pleasing colours,
that his transported appetite seized the fair idea, and
straight conveyed it to his heart That hospitable
seat of life sent all its sanguine spirits forth to meet,
and opened all its sluicy gates to take the stranger in.
_Lady Boun_. Your master should never go without a
bottle to smell to.--Oh--he recovers! The
lavender-water--some feathers to burn under his nose--
Hungary water to rub his temples.--Oh, he comes
to himself!--Hem a little, sir, hem.--Gipsy! bring
the cordial-water. {171}
[_Aimwell seems to awake in amaze_.
_Dor_. How d' ye, sir?
_Aim_. Where am I? [_Rising_.
Sure I have pass'd the gulf of silent death,
And now I land on the Elysian shore!--
Behold the goddess of those happy plains,
Fair Proserpine--let me adore thy bright divinity.
[_Kneels to Dorinda, and kisses her hand_.
_Mrs. Sul_. So, so, so! I knew where the fit would end!
_Aim_. Eurydice perhaps--
How could thy Orpheus keep his word, {180}
And not look back upon thee?
No treasure but thyself could sure have bribed him
To look one minute off thee.
_Lady Boun_. Delirious, poor gentleman!
_Arch_. Very delirious, madam, very delirious.
_Aim_. Martin's voice, I think.
_Arch_. Yes, my Lord.--How does your lordship?
_Lady Boun_. Lord! did you mind that, girls?
[_A side to Mrs. Sullen and Dorinda_.
_Aim_. Where am I? {189}
_Arch_. In very good hands, sir. You were taken just
now with one of your old fits, under the trees, just
by this good lady's house; her ladyship had you
taken in, and has miraculously brought you to
yourself, as you see.
_Aim_. I am so confounded with shame, madam, that I
can now only beg pardon; and refer my acknowledgments
for your ladyship's care till an opportunity
offers of making some amends. I dare be no
longer troublesome.--Martin! give two guineas to
the servants. [_Going_.
_Dor_. Sir, you may catch cold by going so soon into the
air; you don't look, sir, as if you were perfectly
recovered. {203}
[_Here Archer talks to Lady Bountiful in dumb show_.
_Aim_. That I shall never be, madam; my present illness
is so rooted that I must expect to carry it to my
grave.
_Mrs. Sul_. Don't despair, sir; I have known several in
your distemper shake it off with a fortnight's
physic. {209}
_Lady Boun_. Come, sir, your servant has been telling me
that you're apt to relapse if you go into the air:
your good manners shan't get the better of ours--
you shall sit down again, sir. Come, sir, we don't
mind ceremonies in the country--here, sir, my
service t'ye.--You shall taste my water; 'tis a
cordial I can assure you, and of my own making--
drink it off, sir.--[_Aimwell drinks_.] And how d'ye
find yourself now, sir?
_Aim_. Somewhat better--though very faint still. {219}
_Lady Boun_. Ay, ay, people are always faint after these
fits.--Come, girls, you shall show the gentleman the
house.--'Tis but an old family building, sir; but
you had better walk about, and cool by degrees,
than venture immediately into the air. You 'll find
some tolerable pictures.--Dorinda, show the gentleman
the way. I must go to the poor woman below. [_Exit_.
_Dor_. This way, sir.
_Aim_. Ladies, shall I beg leave for my servant to wait on
you, for he understands pictures very well? {231}
_Mrs. Sul_. Sir, we understand originals as well as he
does pictures, so he may come along.
[_Exeunt all but Scrub, Aimwell leading Dorinda.
Enter Foigard_.
_Foi_. Save you, Master Scrub!
_Scrub_. Sir, I won't be saved your way--I hate a priest,
I abhor the French, and I defy the devil. Sir, I 'm
a bold Briton, and will spill the last drop of my
blood to keep out popery and slavery.
_Foi_. Master Scrub, you would put me down in politics,
and so I would be speaking with Mrs. Shipsy. {240}
_Scrub_. Good Mr. Priest, you can't speak with her; she's
sick, sir, she's gone abroad, sir, she's--dead two
months ago, sir.
_Re-enter Gipsy_.
_Gip_. How now, impudence! how dare you talk so
saucily to the doctor?--Pray, sir, don't take it ill;
for the common people of England are not so civil
to strangers, as--
_Scrub_. You lie! you lie! 'tis the common people that
are civilest to strangers.
_Gip_. Sirrah, I have a good mind to--get you out I say.
_Scrub_. I won't. . {251}
_Gip_. You won't, sauce-box!--Pray, doctor, what, is the
captain's name that came to your inn last night?
_Scrub_. [Aside.] The captain! ah, the devil, there she
hampers me again; the captain has me on one side,
and the priest on t' other: so between the gown and
the sword, I have a fine time on't.--But, _Cedunt
arma toga_. [_Going_.
_Gip_. What, sirrah, won't you march?
_Scrub_. No, my dear, I won't march--but I'll walk.--
[_Aside_.] And I 'll make bold to listen a little too.
[_Goes behind the side-scene and listens_.
_Gip_. Indeed, doctor, the Count has been barbarously
treated, that's the truth on't. {263}
_Foi_. Ah, Mrs. Gipsy, upon my shoul, now, gra, his
complainings would mollify the marrow in your
bones, and move the bowels of your commiseration!
He veeps, and he dances, and he fistles,
and he swears, and he laughs, and he stamps, and
he sings; in conclusion, joy, he's afflicted
_à-la-Française_, and a stranger would not know whider
to cry or to laugh with him. {271}
_Gip_. What would you have me do, doctor?
_Foi_. Noting, joy, but only hide the Count in Mrs.
Sullen's closet when it is dark.
_Gip_. Nothing! is that nothing? it would be both a sin
and a shame, doctor.
_Foi_. Here is twenty louis-d'ors, joy, for your shame
and I will give you an absolution for the shin.
_Gip_. Sut won't that money look like a bribe? {279}
_Foi_. Dat is according as you shall tauk it. If you
receive the money beforehand, 'twill be _logicè_, a
bribe; but if you stay till afterwards, 'twill be only
a gratification.
_Gip_. Well, doctor, I 'll take it _logicè_ But what must I
do with my conscience, sir?
_Foi_. Leave dat wid me, joy; I am your priest, gra; and
your conscience is under my hands.
_Gip_. But should I put the Count into the closet--
_Foi_. Vel, is dere any shin for a man's being in a closhet?
one may go to prayers in a closhet. {290}
_Gip_. But if the lady should come into her chamber, and
go to bed?
_Foi_. Vel, and is dere any shin in going to bed, joy?
_Gip_. Ay, but if the parties should meet, doctor?
_Foi_. Vel den--the parties must be responsible. Do
you be gone after putting the Count into the
closhet; and leave the shins wid themselves. I
will come with the Count to instruct you in your
chamber. {299}
_Gip_. Well, doctor, your religion is so pure! Methinks
I'm so easy after an absolution, and can sin afresh
with so much security, that I 'm resolved to die a
martyr to't Here's the key of the garden door,
come in the back way when 'tis late, I 'll be ready to
receive you; but don't so much as whisper, only
take hold of my hand; I 'll lead you, and do you
lead the Count, and follow me. [_Exeunt_.
_Scrub_. [_Coming forward_.] What witchcraft now have
these two imps of the devil been a-hatching here?
'There 's twenty louis-d'ors'; I heard that, and saw
the purse.--But I must give room to my betters.
[_Exit_.
_Re-enter Aimwell, leading Dorinda, and making love in
dumb show; Mrs. Sullen and Archer following_.
_Mrs. Sul_. [_To Archer_.] Pray, sir, how d'ye like that
piece? {313}
_Arch_. Oh, 'tis Leda! You find, madam, how Jupiter
comes disguised to make love--
_Mrs. Sul_. But what think you there of Alexander's
battles?
_Arch_. We only want a Le Brun, madam, to draw greater
battles, and a greater general of our own. The
Danube, madam, would make a greater figure in
a picture than the Granicus; and we have our
Ramillies to match their Arbela. {322}
_Mrs. Sul_. Pray, sir, what head is that in the corner
there?
_Arch_. O madam, 'tis poor Ovid in his exile.
_Mrs. Sul_. What was he banished for?
_Arch_. His ambitious love, madam.--[_Bowing_.] His
misfortune touches me.
_Mrs. Sul_. Was he successful in his amours?
_Arch_. There he has left us in, the dark. He was too
much a gentleman to tell. {331}
_Mrs. Sul_. If he were secret, I pity him.
_Arch_. And if he were successful, I envy him.
_Mrs. Sul_. How d 'ye like that Venus over the chimney?
_Arch_. Venus! I protest, madam, I took it for your
picture; but now I look again, 'tis not handsome
enough.
_Mrs. Sul_. Oh, what a charm is flattery! If you would
see my picture, there it is over that cabinet. How
d' ye like it? {340}
_Arch_. I must admire anything, madam, that has the
least resemblance of you. But, methinks, madam
--[_He looks at the picture and Mrs. Sullen three
or four times, by turns_.] Pray, madam, who drew it?
_Mrs. Sul_. A famous hand, sir.
[_Here Aimwell and Dorinda go off_.
_Arch_. A famous hand, madam!--Your eyes, indeed, are
featured there; but where's the sparking moisture,
shining fluid, in which they swim? The picture,
indeed, has your dimples; but where's the swarm
of killing Cupids that should ambush there? The
lips too are figured out; but where's the carnation
dew, the pouting ripeness that tempts the taste in
the original? {353}
_Mrs. Sul_. Had it been my lot to have matched with
such a man! [_Aside_.
_Arch_. Your breasts too--presumptuous man! what,
paint Heaven!--Apropos, madam, in the very next
picture is Salmoneus, that was struck dead with
lightning, for offering to imitate Jove's thunder; I
hope you served the painter so, madam? {360}
_Mrs. Sul_. Had my eyes the power of thunder, they
should employ their lightning better.
_Arch_. There's the finest bed in that room, madam! I
suppose 'tis your ladyship's bedchamber.
_Mrs. Sul_. And what then, sir?
_Arch_. I think the quilt is the richest that ever I saw.
I can't at this distance, madam, distinguish the
figures of the embroidery; will you give me leave,
madam? {369}
_Mrs. Sul_. [_Aside_.] The devil take his impudence!--
Sure, if I gave him an opportunity, he durst not
offer it?--I have a great mind to try.--[_Going:
Returns_.] 'Sdeath, what am I doing?--And alone,
too!--Sister! sister! [_Runs out_.
_Arch_. I 'll follow her close--
For where a Frenchman durst attempt to storm,
A Briton sure may well the work perform. [_Going_.
_Re-enter Scrub_.
_Scrub_. Martin! brother Martin! {378}
_Arch_. O brother Scrub, I beg your pardon, I was not
a-going: here's a guinea my master ordered you.
_Scrub_. A guinea! hi! hi! hi! a guinea! eh--by
this light it is a guinea! But I suppose you expect
one-and-twenty shillings in change?
_Arch_. Not at all; I have another for Gipsy.
_Scrub_. A guinea for her! faggot and fire for the witch!
Sir, give me that guinea, and I 'll discover a plot.
_Arch_. A plot!
_Scrub_. Ay, sir, a plot, and a horrid plot! First, it must
be a plot, because there's a woman in't: secondly,
it must be a plot, because there's a priest in't:
thirdly, it must be a plot, because there 's French
gold in't: and fourthly, it must be a plot, because
I don't know what to make on't. {393}
_Arch_. Nor anybody else, I 'm afraid, brother Scrub.
_Scrub_. Truly, I 'm afraid so too; for where there's a
priest and a woman, there's always a mystery and
a riddle. This I know, that here has been the
doctor with a temptation in one hand and an
absolution in the other, and Gipsy has sold herself
to the devil; I saw the price paid down, my eyes
shall take their oath on't. {401}
_Arch_. And is all this bustle about Gipsy?
_Scrub_. That's not all; I could hear but a word here and
there; but I remember they mentioned a Count, a
closet, a back-door, and a key.
_Arch_. The Count!--Did you hear nothing of Mrs. Sullen?
_Scrub_. I did hear some word that sounded that way;
but whether it was Sullen or Dorinda, I could not
distinguish. {409}
_Arch_. You have told this matter to nobody, brother?
_Scrub_. Told! no, sir, I thank you for that; I 'm resolved
never to speak one word _pro_ nor _con_, till we have a
peace.
_Arch_. You're i' the right, brother Scrub. Here's a
treaty afoot between the Count and the lady: the
priest and the chambermaid are the plenipotentiaries.
It shall go hard but I find a way to be included in
the treaty.--Where 's the doctor now?
_Scrub_. He and Gipsy are this moment devouring my
lady's marmalade in the closet. {420}
_Aim_. [_From without_.] Martin! Martin!
_Arch_. I come, sir, I come.
_Scrub_. But you forget the other guinea, brother Martin.
_Arch_. Here, I give it with all my heart.
_Scrub_. And I take it with all my soul.--[_Exit Archer_.]
Ecod, I 'll spoil your plotting, Mrs. Gipsy! and if
you should set the captain upon me, these two
guineas will buy me off. [_Exit_.
_Re-enter Mrs. Sullen and Dorinda, meeting_.
_Mrs. Sul_. Well, sister!
_Dor_. And well, sister! {430}
_Mrs. Sul_. What's become of my lord?
_Dor_. What's become of his servant?
_Mrs. Sul_. Servant! he's a prettier fellow, and a finer
gentleman by fifty degrees, than his master.
_Dor_. O' my conscience, I fancy you could beg that
fellow at the gallows-foot!
_Mrs. Sul_. O' my conscience I could, provided I could
put a friend of yours in his room.
_Dor_. You desired me, sister, to leave you, when you
transgressed the bounds of honour. {440}
_Mrs. Sul_. Thou dear censorious country girl! what
dost mean? You can't think of the man without
the bedfellow, I find.
_Dor_. I don't find anything unnatural in that thought:
while the mind is conversant with flesh and blood,
it must conform to the humours of the company.
_Mrs. Sul_. How a little love and good company
improves a woman! Why, child, you begin to live--
you never spoke before. {449}
_Dor_. Because I was never spoke to.--My lord has told
me that I have more wit and beauty than any
of my sex; and truly I begin to think the man is
sincere.
_Mrs. Sul_. You're in the right, Dorinda; pride is the
life of a woman, and flattery is our daily bread; and
she's a fool that won't believe a man there, as much
as she that believes him in anything else. But I 'll
lay you a guinea that I had finer things said to me
than you had.
_Dor_. Done! What did your fellow say to ye? {460}
_Mrs. Sul_. My fellow took the picture of Venus for mine.
_Dor_. But my lover took me for Venus herself.
_Mrs. Sul_. Common cant! Had my spark called me a
Venus directly, I should have believed him a footman
in good earnest.
_Dor_. But my lover was upon his knees to me.
_Mrs. Sul_. And mine was upon his tiptoes to me.
_Dor_. Mine vowed to die for me. {468}
_Mrs. Sul_. Mine swore to die with me.
_Dor_. Mine spoke the softest moving things.
_Mrs. Sul_. Mine had his moving things too.
_Dor_. Mine kissed my hand ten thousand times,
_Mrs. Sul_. Mine has all that pleasure to come.
_Dor_. Mine offered marriage.
_Mrs. Sul_. O Lard! d' ye call that a moving thing? {475}
_Dor_. The sharpest arrow in his quiver, my dear sister!
Why, my ten thousand pounds may lie brooding
here this seven years, and hatch nothing at last
but some ill-natured clown like yours. Whereas if
I marry my Lord Aimwell, there will be titled, place,
and precedence, the Park, the play, and the
drawing-room, splendour, equipage, noise, and
flambeaux.--_Hey, my Lady Aimwell's servants
there!--Lights, lights to the stairs!--My Lady
Aimwell's coach put forward!--Stand by make
room for her ladyship!_--Are not these things
moving?--What! melancholy of a sudden? {487}
_Mrs. Sul_. Happy, happy sister! your angel has been
watchful for your happiness, whilst mine has
slept regardless of his charge. Long smiling years
of circling joys for you, but not one hour for
me! [_Weeps_.
_Dor_. Come, my dear, we 'll talk of something else.
_Mrs. Sul_. O Dorinda! I own myself a woman, full of
my sex, a gentle, generous soul, easy and yielding
to soft desires; a spacious heart, where love and all
his train might lodge. And must the fair apartment
of my breast be made a stable for a brute to lie in?
_Dor_. Meaning your husband, I suppose? {499}
_Mrs. Sul_. Husband! no; even husband is too soft a
name for him.--But, come, I expect my brother
here to-night or to-morrow; he was abroad when
my father married me; perhaps he 'll find a way to
make me easy.
_Dor_. Will you promise not to make yourself easy in the
meantime with my lord's friend?
_Mrs. Sul_. You mistake me, sister. It happens with
us as among the men, the greatest talkers are
the greatest cowards? and there's a reason for
it; those spirits evaporate in prattle, which might
do more mischief if they took another course.--
Though, to confess the truth, I do love that fellow;
--and if I met him dressed as he should be, and I
undressed as I should be--look 'ee, sister, I have no
supernatural gifts--I can't swear I could resist the
temptation; though I can safely promise to avoid
it; and that's as much as the best of us can do.
[_Exeunt_.