_A Room in Bonifaces Inn_.
_Enter Aimwell and Archer laughing_.
_Arch_. And the awkward kindness of the good motherly
old gentlewoman--
_Aim_. And the coming easiness of the young one--
'Sdeath, 'tis pity to deceive her!
_Arch_. Nay, if you adhere to these principles, stop where
you are.
_Aim_. I can't stop; for I love her to distraction.
_Arch_. 'Sdeath, if you love her a hair's-breadth beyond
discretion, you must go no further. 9
_Aim_. Well, well, anything to deliver us from sauntering
away our idle evenings at White's, Tom's, or Will's
and be stinted to bare looking at our old acquaintance,
the cards; because our impotent pockets can't
afford us a guinea for the mercenary drabs.
_Arch_. Or be obliged to some purse-proud coxcomb for a
scandalous bottle, where we must not pretend to
our share of the discourse, because we can't pay
our club o' th' reckoning.--Damn it, I had rather
sponge upon Morris, and sup upon a dish of bones
scored behind the door!
_Aim_. And there expose our want of sense by talking
criticisms, as we should our want of money by
railing at the government.
_Arch_. Or be obliged to sneak into the side-box, and
between both houses steal two acts of a play, and
because we han't money to see the other three, we
come away discontented, and damn the whole five.
_Aim_. And ten thousand such rascally tricks--had we
outlived our fortunes among our acquaintance.--
But now-- {30}
_Arch_. Ay, now is the time to prevent all this:--strike
while the iron is hot.--This priest is the luckiest
part of our adventure; he shall marry you, and
pimp for me.
_Aim_. But I should not like a woman that can be so
fond of a Frenchman.
_Arch_. Alas, sir! Necessity has no law. The lady may
be in distress; perhaps she has a confounded
husband, and her revenge may carry her farther
than her love. Egad, I have so good an opinion of
her, and of myself, that I begin to fancy strange
things: and we must say this for the honour of our
women, and indeed of ourselves, that they do stick
to their men as they do to their _Magna Charta_, If
the plot lies as I suspect, I must put on the
gentleman.--But here comes the doctor--I shall be
ready. [_Exit_.
[_Enter Foigard_.]
_Foi_. Sauve you, noble friend.
_Aim_. O sir, your servant! Pray, doctor, may I crave
your name? {50}
Foi, Fat naam is upon me? My naam is Foigard,
joy.
_Aim_. Foigard! a very good name for a clergyman.
Pray, Doctor Foigard, were you ever in Ireland?
Foi, Ireland! no, joy. Fat sort of plaace is dat saam
Ireland? Dey say de people are catched dere when
dey qre young.
_Aim_. And some of 'em when they are old:--as for
example.--[_Takes Foigard by the shoulder_.] Sir, I
arrest you as a traitor against the government;
you're a subject of England, and this morning
showed me a commission, by which you served
as chaplain in the French army. This is death by
our law, and your reverence must hang for it.
_Foi_. Upon my shoul, noble friend, dis is strange news
you tell me! Fader Foigard a subject of England!
de son of a burgomaster of Brussels, a subject of
England! ubooboo---- {68}
_Aim_. The son of a bog-trotter in Ireland! Sir, your
tongue will condemn you before any bench in the
kingdom.
_Foi_. And is my tongue all your evidensh, joy?
_Aim_. That's enough.
_Foi_. No, no, joy, for I vill never spake English no more.
_Aim_. Sir, I have other evidence.--Here, Martin!
_Re-enter Archer_.
You know this fellow?
_Arch_. [_In a brogue_.] Saave you, my dear cussen, how
does your health? {78}
_Foi_. [Aside.] Ah! upon my shoul dere is my countryman,
and his brogue will hang mine.--[_To Archer_.]
_Mynheer, Ick wet neat watt hey xacht, Ick universton
ewe neaty sacramant!_
_Aim_. Altering your language won't do, sir; this fellow
knows your person, and will swear to your face.
_Foi_. Faash! fey, is dere a brogue upon my faash too?
_Arch_. Upon my soulvation dere ish, joy!--But cussen
Mackshane, vil you not put a remembrance upon me?
_Foi_. Mackshane! by St. Paatrick, dat ish my naam
shure enough! [_Aside_.
_Aim_. I fancy, Archer, you have it. [_Aside to Archer_.
_Foi_. The devil hang you, joy! by fat acquaintance are
you my cussen? {92}
_Arch_. Oh, de devil hang yourshelf, joy! you know we
were little boys togeder upon de school, and your
foster-moder's son was married upon my nurse's
chister, joy, and so we are Irish cussens.
_Foi_. De devil taake de relation! vel, joy, and fat school
was it?
_Arch_. I tinks it vas--aay--'twas Tipperary.
_Foi_. No, no, joy; it vas Kilkenny. {100}
_Aim_. That 's enough for us--self-confession,---come, sir,
we must deliver you into the hands of the next
magistrate.
_Arch_. He sends you to jail, you 're tried next assizes, and
away you go swing into purgatory.
_Foi_. And is it so wid you, cussen?
_Arch_. It vil be sho wid you, cussen, if you don't
immediately confess the secret between you and Mrs.
Gipsy. Look 'ee, sir, the gallows or the secret, take
your choice. {110}
_Foi_. The gallows! upon my shoul I hate that saam
gallow, for it is a diseash dat is fatal to our family.
Vel, den, dere is nothing, shentlemens, but Mrs.
Shullen would spaak wid the Count in her chamber
at midnight, and dere is no haarm, joy, for I am to
conduct the Count to the plash, myshelf.
_Arch_. As I guessed.--Have you communicated the
matter to the Count?
_Foi_. I have not sheen him since. {120}
_Arch_. Right again! Why then, doctor--you shall conduct
me to the lady instead of the Count.
_Foi_. Fat, my cussen to the lady! upon my shoul, gra,
dat is too much upon the brogue.
_Arch_. Come, come, doctor; consider we have got a
rope about your neck, and if you offer to squeak,
we 'll stop your windpipe, most certainly: we shall
have another job for you in a day or two, I hope.
_Aim_. Here 's company coming this way; let's into my
chamber, and there concert our affairs farther. {130}
_Arch_. Come, my dear cussen, come along. [_Exeunt_.
_Enter Boniface, Hounslow, and Bagshot at one
door, Gibbet at the opposite_.
_Gib_. Well, gentlemen, 'tis a fine night for our enterprise.
_Houn_. Dark as hell.
_Bag_. And blows like the devil; our landlord here has
showed us the window where we must break in, and
tells us the plate stands in the wainscot cupboard in
the parlour.
_Bon_. Ay, ay, Mr. Bagshot, as the saying is, knives and
forks, and cups and cans, and tumblers and tankards.
There's one tankard, as the saying is, that's near
upon as big as me; it was a present to the squire
from his godmother, and smells of nutmeg and toast
like an East-India ship. {143}
_Houn_. Then you say we must divide at the stairhead?
_Bon_. Yes, Mr Hounslow, as the saying is. At one end
of that gallery lies my Lady Bountiful and her
daughter, and at the other Mrs. Sullen. As for the
squire--
_Gib_. He's safe enough, I have fairly entered him, and
he's more than half seas over already. But such a
parcel of scoundrels are got about him now, that,
egad, I was ashamed to be seen in their company.
_Bon_. Tis now twelve, as the saying is--gentlemen, you
must set out at one.
_Gib_. Hounslow, do you and Bagshot see our arms fixed,
and I 'll come to you presently.
_Houn.,Bag_. We will. [_Exeunt_.
_Gib_. Well, my dear Bonny, you assure me that Scrub is
a coward?
_Bon_. A chicken, as the saying is. You 'll have no
creature to deal with but the ladies. {161}
_Gib_. And I can assure you, friend, there's a great deal
of address and good manners in robbing a lady; I
am the most a gentleman that way that ever travelled
the road.--But, my dear Bonny, this prize will
be a galleon, a Vigo business.--I warrant you we
shall bring off three of four thousand pounds.
_Bon_. In plate, jewels, and money, as the saying is, you
may. {169}
_Gib_. Why then, Tyburn, I defy thee! I'll get up to
town, sell off my horse and arms, buy myself some
pretty employment in the household, and be as
snug and as honest as any courtier of 'em all.
_Bon_. And what think you then of my daughter Cherry
for a wife?
_Gib_. Look 'ee, my'dear Bonny--Cherry _is the Goddess I
adore_, as the song goes; but it is a maxim, that
man and wife should never have it in their power
to hang one another; for if they should, the Lord
have mercy on 'em both! [_Exeunt_.