LÆTITIA _and_ FONDLEWIFE _haling out_ BELLMOUR.
FOND. Come out here, thou Ananias incarnate. Who, how now! Who have we
here?
LÆT. Ha! [_Shrieks as surprised_.]
FOND. Oh thou salacious woman! Am I then brutified? Ay, I feel it
here; I sprout, I bud, I blossom, I am ripe-horn-mad. But who in the
devil’s name are you? Mercy on me for swearing. But—
LÆT. Oh! goodness keep us! Who are you? What are you?
BELL. Soh!
LÆT. In the name of the—O! Good, my dear, don’t come near it; I’m
afraid ’tis the devil; indeed, it has hoofs, dear.
FOND. Indeed, and I have horns, dear. The devil, no, I am afraid ’tis
the flesh, thou harlot. Dear, with the pox. Come Syren, speak, confess,
who is this reverend, brawny pastor.
LÆT. Indeed, and indeed now, my dear Nykin, I never saw this wicked man
before.
FOND. Oh, it is a man then, it seems.
LÆT. Rather, sure it is a wolf in the clothing of a sheep.
FOND. Thou art a devil in his proper clothing—woman’s flesh. What, you
know nothing of him, but his fleece here! You don’t love mutton? you
Magdalen unconverted.
BELL. Well, now, I know my cue.—That is, very honourably to excuse her,
and very impudently accuse myself. [_Aside_.]
LÆT. Why then, I wish I may never enter into the heaven of your embraces
again, my dear, if ever I saw his face before.
FOND. O Lord! O strange! I am in admiration of your impudence. Look
at him a little better; he is more modest, I warrant you, than to deny
it. Come, were you two never face to face before? Speak.
BELL. Since all artifice is vain. And I think myself obliged to speak
the truth in justice to your wife.—No.
FOND. Humph.
LÆT. No, indeed, dear.
FOND. Nay, I find you are both in a story; that I must confess. But,
what—not to be cured of the colic? Don’t you know your patient, Mrs.
Quack? Oh, ‘lie upon your stomach; lying upon your stomach will cure you
of the colic.’ Ah! answer me, Jezebel?
LÆT. Let the wicked man answer for himself: does he think I have nothing
to do but excuse him? ’tis enough if I can clear my own innocence to my
own dear.
BELL. By my troth, and so ’tis. I have been a little too backward;
that’s the truth on’t.
FOND. Come, sir, who are you, in the first place? And what are you?
BELL. A whore-master.
FOND. Very concise.
LÆT. O beastly, impudent creature.
FOND. Well, sir, and what came you hither for?
BELL. To lie with your wife.
FOND. Good again. A very civil person this, and I believe speaks truth.
LÆT. Oh, insupportable impudence.
FOND. Well, sir; pray be covered—and you have—Heh! You have finished
the matter, heh? And I am, as I should be, a sort of civil perquisite to
a whore-master, called a cuckold, heh? Is it not so? Come, I’m
inclining to believe every word you say.
BELL. Why, faith, I must confess, so I designed you; but you were a
little unlucky in coming so soon, and hindered the making of your own
fortune.
FOND. Humph. Nay, if you mince the matter once and go back of your word
you are not the person I took you for. Come, come, go on boldly.—What,
don’t be ashamed of your profession.—Confess, confess; I shall love thee
the better for’t. I shall, i’feck. What, dost think I don’t know how to
behave myself in the employment of a cuckold, and have been three years
apprentice to matrimony? Come, come; plain dealing is a jewel.
BELL. Well, since I see thou art a good, honest fellow, I’ll confess the
whole matter to thee.
FOND. Oh, I am a very honest fellow. You never lay with an honester
man’s wife in your life.
LÆT. How my heart aches! All my comfort lies in his impudence, and
heaven be praised, he has a considerable portion. [_Aside_.]
BELL. In short, then, I was informed of the opportunity of your absence
by my spy (for faith, honest Isaac, I have a long time designed thee this
favour). I knew Spintext was to come by your direction. But I laid a
trap for him, and procured his habit, in which I passed upon your
servants, and was conducted hither. I pretended a fit of the colic, to
excuse my lying down upon your bed; hoping that when she heard of it, her
good nature would bring her to administer remedies for my distemper. You
know what might have followed. But, like an uncivil person, you knocked
at the door before your wife was come to me.
FOND. Ha! This is apocryphal; I may choose whether I will believe it or
no.
BELL. That you may, faith, and I hope you won’t believe a word on’t—but
I can’t help telling the truth, for my life.
FOND. How! would not you have me believe you, say you?
BELL. No; for then you must of consequence part with your wife, and
there will be some hopes of having her upon the public; then the
encouragement of a separate maintenance—
FOND. No, no; for that matter, when she and I part, she’ll carry her
separate maintenance about her.
LÆT. Ah, cruel dear, how can you be so barbarous? You’ll break my
heart, if you talk of parting. [_Cries_.]
FOND. Ah, dissembling vermin!
BELL. How can’st thou be so cruel, Isaac? Thou hast the heart of a
mountain-tiger. By the faith of a sincere sinner, she’s innocent for me.
Go to him, madam, fling your snowy arms about his stubborn neck; bathe
his relentless face in your salt trickling tears. [_She goes and hangs
upon his neck_, _and kisses him_. BELLMOUR _kisses her hand behind_
FONDLEWIFE’S _back_.] So, a few soft words, and a kiss, and the good man
melts. See how kind nature works, and boils over in him.
LÆT. Indeed, my dear, I was but just come down stairs, when you knocked
at the door; and the maid told me Mr. Spintext was ill of the colic upon
our bed. And won’t you speak to me, cruel Nykin? Indeed, I’ll die, if
you don’t.
FOND. Ah! No, no, I cannot speak, my heart’s so full—I have been a
tender husband, a tender yoke-fellow; you know I have.—But thou hast been
a faithless Delilah, and the Philistines—Heh! Art thou not vile and
unclean, heh? Speak. [_Weeping_.]
LÆT. No-h. [_Sighing_.]
FOND. Oh that I could believe thee!
LÆT. Oh, my heart will break. [_Seeming to faint_.]
FOND. Heh, how! No, stay, stay, I will believe thee, I will. Pray bend
her forward, sir.
LÆT. Oh! oh! Where is my dear?
FOND. Here, here; I do believe thee. I won’t believe my own eyes.
BELL. For my part, I am so charmed with the love of your turtle to you,
that I’ll go and solicit matrimony with all my might and main.
FOND. Well, well, sir; as long as I believe it, ’tis well enough. No
thanks to you, sir, for her virtue.—But, I’ll show you the way out of my
house, if you please. Come, my dear. Nay, I will believe thee, I do,
i’feck.
BELL. See the great blessing of an easy faith; opinion cannot err.
No husband, by his wife, can be deceived;
She still is virtuous, if she’s so believed.
ACT V.
SCENE I.
SCENE: _The Street_.
BELLMOUR _in fanatic habit_, SETTER, HEARTWELL, LUCY.
BELL. Setter! Well encountered.
SET. Joy of your return, sir. Have you made a good voyage? or have you
brought your own lading back?
BELL. No, I have brought nothing but ballast back—made a delicious
voyage, Setter; and might have rode at anchor in the port till this time,
but the enemy surprised us—I would unrig.
SET. I attend you, sir.
BELL. Ha! Is it not that Heartwell at Sylvia’s door? Be gone quickly,
I’ll follow you—I would not be known. Pox take ’em, they stand just in
my way.
SCENE II.
BELLMOUR, HEARTWELL, LUCY.
HEART. I’m impatient till it be done.
LUCY. That may be, without troubling yourself to go again for your
brother’s chaplain. Don’t you see that stalking form of godliness?
HEART. O ay; he’s a fanatic.
LUCY. An executioner qualified to do your business. He has been
lawfully ordained.
HEART. I’ll pay him well, if you’ll break the matter to him.
LUCY. I warrant you.—Do you go and prepare your bride.
SCENE III.
BELLMOUR, LUCY.
BELL. Humph, sits the wind there? What a lucky rogue am I! Oh, what
sport will be here, if I can persuade this wench to secrecy!
LUCY. Sir: reverend sir.
BELL. Madam. [_Discovers himself_.]
LUCY. Now, goodness have mercy upon me! Mr. Bellmour! is it you?
BELL. Even I. What dost think?
LUCY. Think! That I should not believe my eyes, and that you are not
what you seem to be.
BELL. True. But to convince thee who I am, thou knowest my old token.
[_Kisses her_.]
LUCY. Nay, Mr. Bellmour: O Lard! I believe you are a parson in good
earnest, you kiss so devoutly.
BELL. Well, your business with me, Lucy?
LUCY. I had none, but through mistake.
BELL. Which mistake you must go through with, Lucy. Come, I know the
intrigue between Heartwell and your mistress; and you mistook me for
Tribulation Spintext, to marry ’em—Ha? are not matters in this posture?
Confess: come, I’ll be faithful; I will, i’faith. What! diffide in me,
Lucy?
LUCY. Alas-a-day! You and Mr. Vainlove, between you, have ruined my
poor mistress: you have made a gap in her reputation; and can you blame
her if she make it up with a husband?
BELL. Well, is it as I say?
LUCY. Well, it is then: but you’ll be secret?
BELL. Phuh, secret, ay. And to be out of thy debt, I’ll trust thee with
another secret. Your mistress must not marry Heartwell, Lucy.
LUCY. How! O Lord!
BELL. Nay, don’t be in passion, Lucy:—I’ll provide a fitter husband for
her. Come, here’s earnest of my good intentions for thee too; let this
mollify. [_Gives her money_.] Look you, Heartwell is my friend; and
though he be blind, I must not see him fall into the snare, and
unwittingly marry a whore.
LUCY. Whore! I’d have you to know my mistress scorns—
BELL. Nay, nay: look you, Lucy; there are whores of as good quality.
But to the purpose, if you will give me leave to acquaint you with it.
Do you carry on the mistake of me: I’ll marry ’em. Nay, don’t pause; if
you do, I’ll spoil all. I have some private reasons for what I do, which
I’ll tell you within. In the meantime, I promise—and rely upon me—to
help your mistress to a husband: nay, and thee too, Lucy. Here’s my
hand, I will; with a fresh assurance. [_Gives her more money_.]
LUCY. Ah, the devil is not so cunning. You know my easy nature. Well,
for once I’ll venture to serve you; but if you do deceive me, the curse
of all kind, tender-hearted women light upon you!
BELL. That’s as much as to say, the pox take me. Well, lead on.
SCENE IV.
VAINLOVE, SHARPER, _and_ SETTER.
SHARP. Just now, say you; gone in with Lucy?
SET. I saw him, sir, and stood at the corner where you found me, and
overheard all they said: Mr. Bellmour is to marry ’em.
SHARP. Ha, ha; it will be a pleasant cheat. I’ll plague Heartwell when
I see him. Prithee, Frank, let’s tease him; make him fret till he foam
at the mouth, and disgorge his matrimonial oath with interest. Come,
thou’rt musty—
SET. [_To_ SHARPER.] Sir, a word with you. [_Whispers him_.]
VAIN. Sharper swears she has forsworn the letter—I’m sure he tells me
truth;—but I’m not sure she told him truth: yet she was unaffectedly
concerned, he says, and often blushed with anger and surprise: and so I
remember in the park. She had reason, if I wrong her. I begin to doubt.
SHARP. Say’st thou so?
SET. This afternoon, sir, about an hour before my master received the
letter.
SHARP. In my conscience, like enough.
SET. Ay, I know her, sir; at least, I’m sure I can fish it out of her:
she’s the very sluice to her lady’s secrets: ’tis but setting her mill
agoing, and I can drain her of ’em all.
SHARP. Here, Frank, your bloodhound has made out the fault: this letter,
that so sticks in thy maw, is counterfeit; only a trick of Sylvia in
revenge, contrived by Lucy.
VAIN. Ha! It has a colour; but how do you know it, sirrah?
SET. I do suspect as much; because why, sir, she was pumping me about
how your worship’s affairs stood towards Madam Araminta; as, when you had
seen her last? when you were to see her next? and, where you were to be
found at that time? and such like.
VAIN. And where did you tell her?
SET. In the Piazza.
VAIN. There I received the letter—it must be so—and why did you not find
me out, to tell me this before, sot?
SET. Sir, I was pimping for Mr. Bellmour.
SHARP. You were well employed: I think there is no objection to the
excuse.
VAIN. Pox of my saucy credulity—if I have lost her, I deserve it. But
if confession and repentance be of force, I’ll win her, or weary her into
a forgiveness.
SHARP. Methinks I long to see Bellmour come forth.
SCENE V.
SHARPER, BELLMOUR, SETTER.
SET. Talk of the devil: see where he comes.
SHARP. Hugging himself in his prosperous mischief—no real fanatic can
look better pleased after a successful sermon of sedition.
BELL. Sharper! Fortify thy spleen: such a jest! Speak when thou art
ready.
SHARP. Now, were I ill-natured would I utterly disappoint thy mirth:
hear thee tell thy mighty jest with as much gravity as a bishop hears
venereal causes in the spiritual court. Not so much as wrinkle my face
with one smile; but let thee look simply, and laugh by thyself.
BELL. Pshaw, no; I have a better opinion of thy wit. Gad, I defy thee.
SHARP. Were it not loss of time you should make the experiment. But
honest Setter, here, overheard you with Lucy, and has told me all.
BELL. Nay, then, I thank thee for not putting me out of countenance.
But, to tell you something you don’t know. I got an opportunity after I
had married ’em, of discovering the cheat to Sylvia. She took it at
first, as another woman would the like disappointment; but my promise to
make her amends quickly with another husband somewhat pacified her.
SHARP. But how the devil do you think to acquit yourself of your
promise? Will you marry her yourself?
BELL. I have no such intentions at present. Prithee, wilt thou think a
little for me? I am sure the ingenious Mr. Setter will assist.
SET. O Lord, sir!
BELL. I’ll leave him with you, and go shift my habit.
SCENE VI.
SHARPER, SETTER, SIR JOSEPH, and BLUFFE.
SHARP. Heh! Sure fortune has sent this fool hither on purpose. Setter,
stand close; seem not to observe ’em; and, hark ye. [_Whispers_.]
BLUFF. Fear him not. I am prepared for him now, and he shall find he
might have safer roused a sleeping lion.
SIR JO. Hush, hush! don’t you see him?
BLUFF. Show him to me. Where is he?
SIR JO. Nay, don’t speak so loud. I don’t jest as I did a little while
ago. Look yonder! Agad, if he should hear the lion roar, he’d cudgel
him into an ass, and his primitive braying. Don’t you remember the story
in Æsop’s Fables, bully? Agad, there are good morals to be picked out of
Æsop’s Fables, let me tell you that, and Reynard the Fox too.
BLUFF. Damn your morals.
SIR JO. Prithee, don’t speak so loud.
BLUFF. Damn your morals; I must revenge the affront done to my honour.
[_In a low voice_.]
SIR JO. Ay; do, do, captain, if you think fitting. You may dispose of
your own flesh as you think fitting, d’ye see, but, by the Lord Harry,
I’ll leave you. [_Stealing away upon his tip-toes_.]
BLUFF. Prodigious! What, will you forsake your friend in extremity?
You can’t in honour refuse to carry him a challenge. [_Almost
whispering_, _and treading softly after him_.]
SIR JO. Prithee, what do you see in my face that looks as if I would
carry a challenge? Honour is your province, captain; take it. All the
world know me to be a knight, and a man of worship.
SET. I warrant you, sir, I’m instructed.
SHARP. Impossible! Araminta take a liking to a fool? [_Aloud_.]
SET. Her head runs on nothing else, nor she can talk of nothing else.
SHARP. I know she commanded him all the while we were in the Park; but I
thought it had been only to make Vainlove jealous.
SIR JO. How’s this! Good bully, hold your breath and let’s hearken.
Agad, this must be I.
SHARP. Death, it can’t be. An oaf, an idiot, a wittal.
SIR JO. Ay, now it’s out; ’tis I, my own individual person.
SHARP. A wretch that has flown for shelter to the lowest shrub of
mankind, and seeks protection from a blasted coward.
SIR JO. That’s you, bully back. [BLUFFE _frowns upon_ SIR JOSEPH.]
SHARP. She has given Vainlove her promise to marry him before to-morrow
morning. Has she not? [_To_ SETTER.]
SET. She has, sir; and I have it in charge to attend her all this
evening, in order to conduct her to the place appointed.
SHARP. Well, I’ll go and inform your master; and do you press her to
make all the haste imaginable.
SCENE VII.
SETTER, SIR JOSEPH, BLUFFE.
SET. Were I a rogue now, what a noble prize could I dispose of! A
goodly pinnace, richly laden, and to launch forth under my auspicious
convoy. Twelve thousand pounds and all her rigging, besides what lies
concealed under hatches. Ha! all this committed to my care! Avaunt,
temptation! Setter, show thyself a person of worth; be true to thy
trust, and be reputed honest. Reputed honest! Hum: is that all? Ay;
for to be honest is nothing; the reputation of it is all. Reputation!
what have such poor rogues as I to do with reputation? ’tis above us; and
for men of quality, they are above it; so that reputation is even as
foolish a thing as honesty. And, for my part, if I meet Sir Joseph with
a purse of gold in his hand, I’ll dispose of mine to the best advantage.
SIR JO. Heh, heh, heh: Here ’tis for you, i’faith, Mr. Setter. Nay,
I’ll take you at your word. [_Chinking a purse_.]
SET. Sir Joseph and the captain, too! undone! undone! I’m undone, my
master’s undone, my lady’s undone, and all the business is undone.
SIR JO. No, no; never fear, man; the lady’s business shall be done.
What, come, Mr. Setter, I have overheard all, and to speak is but loss of
time; but if there be occasion, let these worthy gentlemen intercede for
me. [_Gives him gold_.]
SET. O lord, sir, what d’ye mean? Corrupt my honesty? They have indeed
very persuading faces. But—
SIR JO. ’Tis too little, there’s more, man. There, take all. Now—
SET. Well, Sir Joseph, you have such a winning way with you—
SIR JO. And how, and how, good Setter, did the little rogue look when
she talked of Sir Joseph? Did not her eyes twinkle and her mouth water?
Did not she pull up her little bubbies? And—agad, I’m so overjoyed—And
stroke down her belly? and then step aside to tie her garter when she was
thinking of her love? Heh, Setter!
SET. Oh, yes, sir.
SIR JO. How now, bully? What, melancholy because I’m in the lady’s
favour? No matter, I’ll make your peace: I know they were a little smart
upon you. But I warrant I’ll bring you into the lady’s good graces.
BLUFF. Pshaw, I have petitions to show from other-guess toys than she.
Look here; these were sent me this morning. There, read. [_Shows
letters_]. That—that’s a scrawl of quality. Here, here’s from a
countess too. Hum—No, hold—that’s from a knight’s wife—she sent it me by
her husband. But here, both these are from persons of great quality.
SIR JO. They are either from persons of great quality, or no quality at
all, ’tis such a damned ugly hand. [_While_ SIR JOSEPH _reads_, BLUFFE
_whispers_ SETTER.]
SET. Captain, I would do anything to serve you; but this is so
difficult.
BLUFF. Not at all. Don’t I know him?
SET. You’ll remember the conditions?
BLUFF. I’ll give it you under my hand. In the meantime, here’s earnest.
[_Gives him money_.] Come, knight, I’m capitulating with Mr. Setter for
you.
SIR JO. Ah, honest Setter; sirrah, I’ll give thee anything but a night’s
lodging.
SCENE VIII.
SHARPER _tugging in_ HEARTWELL.
SHARP. Nay, prithee leave railing, and come along with me. May be she
mayn’t be within. ’Tis but to yond corner-house.
HEART. Whither? Whither? Which corner-house.
SHARP. Why, there: the two white posts.
HEART. And who would you visit there, say you? (O’ons, how my heart
aches.)
SHARP. Pshaw, thou’rt so troublesome and inquisitive. My, I’ll tell
you; ’tis a young creature that Vainlove debauched and has forsaken. Did
you never hear Bellmour chide him about Sylvia?
HEART. Death, and hell, and marriage! My wife! [_Aside_.]
SHARP. Why, thou art as musty as a new-married man that had found his
wife knowing the first night.
HEART. Hell, and the Devil! Does he know it? But, hold; if he should
not, I were a fool to discover it. I’ll dissemble, and try him.
[_Aside_.] Ha, ha, ha. Why, Tom, is that such an occasion of
melancholy? Is it such an uncommon mischief?
SHARP. No, faith; I believe not. Few women but have their year of
probation before they are cloistered in the narrow joys of wedlock. But,
prithee, come along with me or I’ll go and have the lady to myself.
B’w’y George. [_Going_.]
HEART. O torture! How he racks and tears me! Death! Shall I own my
shame or wittingly let him go and whore my wife? No, that’s
insupportable. O Sharper!
SHARP. How now?
HEART. Oh, I am married.
SHARP. (Now hold, spleen.) Married!
HEART. Certainly, irrecoverably married.
SHARP. Heaven forbid, man! How long?
HEART. Oh, an age, an age! I have been married these two hours.
SHARP. My old bachelor married! That were a jest. Ha, ha, ha.
HEART. Death! D’ye mock me? Hark ye, if either you esteem my
friendship, or your own safety—come not near that house—that
corner-house—that hot brothel. Ask no questions.
SHARP. Mad, by this light.
Thus grief still treads upon the heels of pleasure:
Married in haste, we may repent at leisure.
SCENE IX.
SHARPER, SETTER.
SET. Some by experience find these words misplaced:
At leisure married, they repent in haste.
As I suppose my master Heartwell.
SHARP. Here again, my Mercury!
SET. Sublimate, if you please, sir: I think my achievements do deserve
the epithet—Mercury was a pimp too, but, though I blush to own it, at
this time, I must confess I am somewhat fallen from the dignity of my
function, and do condescend to be scandalously employed in the promotion
of vulgar matrimony.
SHARP. As how, dear, dexterous pimp?
SET. Why, to be brief, for I have weighty affairs depending—our
stratagem succeeded as you intended—Bluffe turns errant traitor; bribes
me to make a private conveyance of the lady to him, and put a
shame-settlement upon Sir Joseph.
SHARP. O rogue! Well, but I hope—
SET. No, no; never fear me, sir. I privately informed the knight of the
treachery, who has agreed seemingly to be cheated, that the captain may
be so in reality.
SHARP. Where’s the bride?
SET. Shifting clothes for the purpose, at a friend’s house of mine.
Here’s company coming; if you’ll walk this way, sir, I’ll tell you.
SCENE X.
BELLMOUR, BELINDA, ARAMINTA, _and_ VAINLOVE.
VAIN. Oh, ’twas frenzy all: cannot you forgive it? Men in madness have
a title to your pity. [_To_ ARAMINTA.]
ARAM. Which they forfeit, when they are restored to their senses.
VAIN. I am not presuming beyond a pardon.
ARAM. You who could reproach me with one counterfeit, how insolent would
a real pardon make you! But there’s no need to forgive what is not worth
my anger.
BELIN. O’ my conscience, I could find in my heart to marry thee, purely
to be rid of thee—at least thou art so troublesome a lover, there’s hopes
thou’lt make a more than ordinary quiet husband. [_To_ BELLMOUR.]
BELL. Say you so? Is that a maxim among ye?
BELIN. Yes: you fluttering men of the _mode_ have made marriage a mere
French dish.
BELL. I hope there’s no French sauce. [_Aside_.]
BELIN. You are so curious in the preparation, that is, your courtship,
one would think you meant a noble entertainment—but when we come to feed,
’tis all froth, and poor, but in show. Nay, often, only remains, which
have been I know not how many times warmed for other company, and at last
served up cold to the wife.
BELL. That were a miserable wretch indeed, who could not afford one warm
dish for the wife of his bosom. But you timorous virgins form a dreadful
chimæra of a husband, as of a creature contrary to that soft, humble,
pliant, easy thing, a lover; so guess at plagues in matrimony, in
opposition to the pleasures of courtship. Alas! courtship to marriage,
is but as the music in the play-house, until the curtain’s drawn; but
that once up, then opens the scene of pleasure.
BELIN. Oh, foh,—no: rather courtship to marriage, as a very witty
prologue to a very dull play.
SCENE XI.
[_To them_] SHARPER.
SHARP. Hist! Bellmour. If you’ll bring the ladies, make haste to
Sylvia’s lodgings, before Heartwell has fretted himself out of breath.
BELL. You have an opportunity now, madam, to revenge yourself upon
Heartwell, for affronting your squirrel. [_To_ BELINDA.]
BELIN. Oh, the filthy rude beast.
ARAM. ’Tis a lasting quarrel; I think he has never been at our house
since.
BELL. But give yourselves the trouble to walk to that corner-house, and
I’ll tell you by the way what may divert and surprise you.
SCENE XII.
SCENE: _Sylvia’s Lodgings_.
HEARTWELL _and_ BOY.
HEART. Gone forth, say you, with her maid?
BOY. There was a man too, that fetched them out—Setter, I think they
called him.
HEART. So-h—that precious pimp too—damned, damned strumpet! could she
not contain herself on her wedding-day? not hold out till night? Oh,
cursed state! how wide we err, when apprehensive of the load of life.
We hope to find
That help which Nature meant in womankind,
To man that supplemental self-designed;
But proves a burning caustic when applied,
And Adam, sure, could with more ease abide
The bone when broken, than when made a bride.
SCENE XIII.
[_To him_] BELLMOUR, BELINDA, VAINLOVE, ARAMINTA.
BELL. Now George, what, rhyming! I thought the chimes of verse were
past, when once the doleful marriage-knell was rung.
HEART. Shame and confusion, I am exposed. [VAINLOVE _and_ ARAMINTA
_talk apart_.]
BELIN. Joy, joy, Mr. Bridegroom; I give you joy, sir.
HEART. ’Tis not in thy nature to give me joy. A woman can as soon give
immortality.
BELIN. Ha, ha, ha! oh Gad, men grow such clowns when they are married.
BELL. That they are fit for no company but their wives.
BELIN. Nor for them neither, in a little time. I swear, at the month’s
end, you shall hardly find a married man that will do a civil thing to
his wife, or say a civil thing to anybody else. How he looks already,
ha, ha, ha.
BELL. Ha, ha, ha!
HEART. Death, am I made your laughing-stock? For you, sir, I shall find
a time; but take off your wasp here, or the clown may grow boisterous; I
have a fly-flap.
BELIN. You have occasion for’t, your wife has been blown upon.
BELL. That’s home.
HEART. Not fiends or furies could have added to my vexation, or
anything, but another woman. You’ve racked my patience; begone, or by—
BELL. Hold, hold. What the devil—thou wilt not draw upon a woman?
VAIN. What’s the matter?
ARAM. Bless me! what have you done to him?
BELIN. Only touched a galled beast until he winced.
VAIN. Bellmour, give it over; you vex him too much. ’Tis all serious to
him.
BELIN. Nay, I swear, I begin to pity him myself.
HEART. Damn your pity!—but let me be calm a little. How have I deserved
this of you? any of ye? Sir, have I impaired the honour of your house,
promised your sister marriage, and whored her? Wherein have I injured
you? Did I bring a physician to your father when he lay expiring, and
endeavour to prolong his life, and you one and twenty? Madam, have I had
an opportunity with you and baulked it? Did you ever offer me the favour
that I refused it? Or—
BELIN. Oh foh! what does the filthy fellow mean? Lord, let me be gone.
ARAM. Hang me, if I pity you; you are right enough served.
BELL. This is a little scurrilous though.
VAIN. Nay, ’tis a sore of your own scratching—well, George?
HEART. You are the principal cause of all my present ills. If Sylvia
had not been your mistress, my wife might have been honest.
VAIN. And if Sylvia had not been your wife, my mistress might have been
just. There, we are even. But have a good heart, I heard of your
misfortune, and come to your relief.
HEART. When execution’s over, you offer a reprieve.
VAIN. What would you give?
HEART. Oh! Anything, everything, a leg or two, or an arm; nay, I would
be divorced from my virility to be divorced from my wife.
SCENE XIV.
[_To them_] SHARPER.
VAIN. Faith, that’s a sure way: but here’s one can sell you freedom
better cheap.
SHARP. Vainlove, I have been a kind of a godfather to you yonder. I
have promised and vowed some things in your name which I think you are
bound to perform.
VAIN. No signing to a blank, friend.
SHARP. No, I’ll deal fairly with you. ’Tis a full and free discharge to
Sir Joseph Wittal and Captain Bluffe; for all injuries whatsoever, done
unto you by them, until the present date hereof. How say you?
VAIN. Agreed.
SHARP. Then, let me beg these ladies to wear their masks, a moment.
Come in, gentlemen and ladies.
HEART. What the devil’s all this to me?
VAIN. Patience.
SCENE the Last
[_To them_] SIR JOSEPH, BLUFFE, SYLVIA, LUCY, SETTER.
BLUFF. All injuries whatsoever, Mr. Sharper.
SIR JO. Ay, ay, whatsoever, Captain, stick to that; whatsoever.
SHARP. ’Tis done, these gentlemen are witnesses to the general release.
VAIN. Ay, ay, to this instant moment. I have passed an act of oblivion.
BLUFF. ’Tis very generous, sir, since I needs must own—
SIR JO. No, no, Captain, you need not own, heh, heh, heh. ’Tis I must
own—
BLUFF.—That you are over-reached too, ha, ha, ha, only a little art
military used—only undermined, or so, as shall appear by the fair
Araminta, my wife’s permission. Oh, the devil, cheated at last! [LUCY
_unmasks_.]
SIR JO. Only a little art-military trick, captain, only countermined, or
so. Mr. Vainlove, I suppose you know whom I have got—now, but all’s
forgiven.
VAIN. I know whom you have not got; pray ladies convince him. [ARAM.
_and_ BELIN. _unmask_.]
SIR JO. Ah! oh Lord, my heart aches. Ah! Setter, a rogue of all sides.
SHARP. Sir Joseph, you had better have pre-engaged this gentleman’s
pardon: for though Vainlove be so generous to forgive the loss of his
mistress, I know not how Heartwell may take the loss of his wife.
[SYLVIA _unmasks_.]
HEART. My wife! By this light ’tis she, the very cockatrice. O
Sharper! Let me embrace thee. But art thou sure she is really married
to him?
SET. Really and lawfully married, I am witness.
SHARP. Bellmour will unriddle to you. [HEARTWELL _goes to_ BELLMOUR.]
SIR JO. Pray, madam, who are you? For I find you and I are like to be
better acquainted.
SYLV. The worst of me is, that I am your wife—
SHARP. Come, Sir Joseph, your fortune is not so bad as you fear. A fine
lady, and a lady of very good quality.
SIR JO. Thanks to my knighthood, she’s a lady—
VAIN. That deserves a fool with a better title. Pray use her as my
relation, or you shall hear on’t.
BLUFF. What, are you a woman of quality too, spouse?
SET. And my relation; pray let her be respected accordingly. Well,
honest Lucy, fare thee well. I think, you and I have been play-fellows
off and on, any time this seven years.
LUCY. Hold your prating. I’m thinking what vocation I shall follow
while my spouse is planting laurels in the wars.
BLUFF. No more wars, spouse, no more wars. While I plant laurels for my
head abroad, I may find the branches sprout at home.
HEART. Bellmour, I approve thy mirth, and thank thee. And I cannot in
gratitude (for I see which way thou art going) see thee fall into the
same snare out of which thou hast delivered me.
BELL. I thank thee, George, for thy good intention; but there is a
fatality in marriage, for I find I’m resolute.
HEART. Then good counsel will be thrown away upon you. For my part, I
have once escaped; and when I wed again, may she be—ugly, as an old bawd.
VAIN. Ill-natured, as an old maid—
BELL. Wanton, as a young widow—
SHARP. And jealous, as a barren wife.
HEART. Agreed.
BELL. Well; ’midst of these dreadful denunciations, and notwithstanding
the warning and example before me, I commit myself to lasting durance.
BELIN. Prisoner, make much of your fetters. [_Giving her hand_.]
BELL. Frank, will you keep us in countenance?
VAIN. May I presume to hope so great a blessing?
ARAM. We had better take the advantage of a little of our friend’s
experience first.
BELL. O’ my conscience she dares not consent, for fear he should recant.
[_Aside_.] Well, we shall have your company to church in the morning.
May be it may get you an appetite to see us fall to before you. Setter,
did not you tell me?—
SET. They’re at the door: I’ll call ’em in.
A DANCE.
BELL. Now set we forward on a journey for life. Come take your
fellow-travellers. Old George, I’m sorry to see thee still plod on
alone.
HEART. With gaudy plumes and jingling bells made proud,
The youthful beast sets forth, and neighs aloud.
A morning-sun his tinselled harness gilds,
And the first stage a down-hill greensward yields.
But, oh—
What rugged ways attend the noon of life!
Our sun declines, and with what anxious strife,
What pain we tug that galling load, a wife.
All coursers the first heat with vigour run;
But ’tis with whip and spur the race is won.
[_Exeunt Omnes_.]
EPILOGUE.
Spoken by MRS. BARRY.
As a rash girl, who will all hazards run,
And be enjoyed, though sure to be undone,
Soon as her curiosity is over,
Would give the world she could her toy recover,
So fares it with our poet; and I’m sent
To tell you he already does repent:
Would you were all as forward to keep Lent.
Now the deed’s done, the giddy thing has leisure
To think o’ th’ sting, that’s in the tail of pleasure.
Methinks I hear him in consideration:
What will the world say? Where’s my reputation?
Now that’s at stake. No, fool, ’tis out o’ fashion.
If loss of that should follow want of wit,
How many undone men were in the pit!
Why that’s some comfort to an author’s fears,
If he’s an ass, he will be tryed by’s peers.
But hold, I am exceeding my commission:
My business here was humbly to petition;
But we’re so used to rail on these occasions,
I could not help one trial of your patience:
For ’tis our way, you know, for fear o’ th’ worst,
To be beforehand still, and cry Fool first.
How say you, sparks? How do you stand affected?
I swear, young Bays within is so dejected,
’Twould grieve your hearts to see him; shall I call him?
But then you cruel critics would so maul him!
Yet may be you’ll encourage a beginner;
But how? Just as the devil does a sinner.
Women and wits are used e’en much at one,
You gain your end, and damn ’em when you’ve done.