the Morning we'll send for our Gentlemen to set this Matter even.
_Bel._ With all my Heart.
_Lady Brute._ Good Night, my Dear.
[_Making a low Curtsy to Sir ~John~._
[_Both._] Ha, ha, ha!
[_Exeunt._
_Enter ~Rasor~._
_Rasor._ My Lady there's a Wag--My Master there's a Cuckold. Marriage
is a slippery thing--Women have depraved Appetites.--My Lady's a Wag; I
have heard all; I have seen all; I understand all; and I'll tell all;
for my little _French-woman_ loves News dearly. This Story'll gain her
Heart, or nothing will. [_To his Master._] Come, Sir, your Head's too
full of Fumes at present, to make room for your Jealousy; but I reckon
we shall have rare work with you, when your Pate's empty. Come to your
Kennel, you cuckoldly, drunken Sot, you!
[_Carries him out upon his Back._
+SCENE+, _Lady_ Fancyfull's _House_.
_Enter Lady ~Fancyfull~ and ~Madamoiselle~._
_Lady Fan._ But, why did not you tell me before, _Madamoiselle_, that
_Rasor_ and you were fond?
_Madam._ De Modesty hinder me, Matam.
_Lady Fan._ Why, truly, Modesty does often hinder us from doing things
we have an extravagant mind to. But does he love you well enough yet,
to do any thing you bid him? Do you think, to oblige you, he wou'd
speak Scandal?
_Madam._ Matam, to oblige your Ladyship, he shall speak Blasphemy.
_Lady Fan._ Why, then, _Madamoiselle_, I'll tell you what you shall
do. You shall engage him to tell his Master all that past at _Spring
Garden_: I have a mind he shou'd know what a Wife and a Niece he has
got.
Madam. _Il le fera, Madame._
_Enter a Footman, who speaks to ~Madamoiselle~ apart._
_Foot._ _Madamoiselle_, yonder's Mr. _Rasor_ desires to speak with you.
_Madam._ Tell him, I come presently. [_Exit Footman._] _Rasor_ be dare,
Matam.
_Lady Fan._ That's fortunate. Well, I'll leave you together. And if you
find him stubborn, _Madamoiselle_--hark you--don't refuse him a few
little reasonable Liberties to put him into Humour.
Madam. _Laissez moy faire._
[_Exit ~Lady~ Fancyfull._
[_~Rasor~ peeps in; and seeing Lady ~Fancyfull~ gone, runs
to ~Madamoiselle~, takes her about the Neck, and kisses her._
_Madam._ How now, Confidence?
_Rasor._ How now, Modesty!
_Madam._ Who make you so familiar, Sirrah?
_Rasor._ My Impudence, Hussy.
_Madam._ Stand off, Rogue-Face.
_Rasor._ Ah----_Madamoiselle_----great News at our House.
_Madam._ Why, vat be de matter?
_Rasor._ The Matter?--Why, Uptails All's the Matter.
Madam. _Tu te mocque de moy._
_Rasor._ Now do you long to know the Particulars: The Time when--The
Place where--The Manner how. But I don't tell you a Word more.
_Madam._ Nay, den dou kill me, _Rasor_.
_Rasor._ Come, kiss me, then.
[_Clapping his Hands behind him._
_Madam._ Nay, pridee tell me.
_Rasor._ Good by t' ye.
[_Going._
_Madam._ Hold, hold: I will kiss dee.
[_Kissing him._
_Rasor._ So, that's civil: Why, now, my pretty Poll, my Goldfinch, my
little Waterwagtail----you must know, that----Come, kiss me again.
_Madam._ I won't kiss de no more.
_Rasor._ Good by t' ye.
[_Going._
Madam. _Doucement! ~Derre~: es tu content?_
[_Kissing him._
_Rasor._ So: Now I'll tell thee all. Why, the News is, That Cuckoldom
in Folio is newly printed; and Matrimony in Quarto is just going into
the Press. Will you buy any Books, _Madamoiselle_?
Madam. _Tu parle comme un Libraire_; de Devil no understand dee.
_Rasor._ Why, then, that I may make myself intelligible to a
Waiting-Woman, I'll speak like a Valet de Chambre. My Lady has
cuckolded my Master.
Madam. _Bon._
_Rasor._ Which we take very ill from her Hands, I can tell her that. We
can't yet prove Matter of Fact upon her.
Madam. _N'importe._
_Rasor._ But we can prove, that Matter of Fact had like to have been
upon her.
Madam. _Ouy da._
_Rasor._ For we have such bloody Circumstances--
Madam. Sans doute.
_Rasor._ That any Man of Parts may draw tickling Conclusions from 'em.
Madam. _Fort bien._
_Rasor._ We found a couple of tight, well-built Gentlemen stufft into
her Ladyship's Closet.
Madam. _Le Diable!_
_Rasor._ And I, in my particular Person, have discovered a most
damnable Plot, how to persuade my poor Master, that all this Hide and
Seek, this _Will_ in the _Whisp_, has no other meaning than a Christian
Marriage for sweet Mrs. _Belinda_.
Madam. _Une Mariage?----Ah les Droles!_
_Rasor._ Don't you interrupt me, Hussy; 'tis agreed, I say. And my
innocent Lady, to wriggle herself out at the Back-door of the Business,
turns Marriage-Bawd to her Niece, and resolves to deliver up her fair
Body to be tumbled and mumbled by that young liquorish Whipster,
_Heartfree_. Now are you satisfy'd?
_Madam._ No.
_Rasor._ Right Woman; always gaping for more.
_Madam._ Dis be all, den, dat dou know?
_Rasor._ All? Aye, and a great deal, too, I think.
_Madam._ Dou be Fool, dou know noting. _Ecoute, mon pauvre_ Rasor. Dou
sees des two Eyes?--Des two Eyes have see de Devil.
_Rasor._ The Woman's mad.
_Madam._ In _Spring-Garden_, dat Rogue _Constant_ meet dy Lady.
Rasor. _Bon._
_Madam._----I'll tell dee no more.
_Rasor._ Nay, pr'ythee, my Swan.
_Madam._ Come, kiss me den.
[_Clapping her Hands behind her as he did before._
_Rasor._ I won't kiss you, not I.
_Madam._ Adieu.
[_Going._
_Rasor._ Hold----Now proceed.
[_Gives her a hearty Kiss._
Madam. _A ça_----I hide myself in one cunning Place, where I hear all,
and see all. First, dy drunken Master come _mal a propos_; but de Sot
no know his own dear Wife, so he leave her to her Sport--Den de Game
begin. De Lover say soft ting: De Lady look upon de Ground. [_As she
speaks, ~Rasor~ still acts the Man, and she the Woman._] He take her by
de Hand: She turn her Head on oder Way. Den he squeeze very hard: Den
she pull----very softly. Den he take her in his Arm: Den she give him
leetel pat. Den he kiss her Tettons. Den she say--Pish, nay see. Den he
tremble: Den she--sigh. Den he pull her into de Arbour: Den she pinch
him.
_Rasor._ Aye, but not so hard, you Baggage, you.
_Madam._ Den he grow bold: She grow weak, he tro her down, _il tombe
dessu, le Diable assiste, il emport tout_. [_~Rasor~ struggles with
her, as if he would throw her down._] Stand off, Sirrah!
_Rasor._ You have set me a-fire, you Jade, you.
_Madam._ Den go to de River, and quench dy self.
_Rasor._ What an unnatural Harlot 'tis!
_Madam._ _Rasor._
[_Looking languishingly on him._
_Rasor._ _Madamoiselle._
_Madam._ Dou no love me.
_Rasor._ Not love thee?--More than a _Frenchman_ does Soup.
_Madam._ Den dou will refuse nothing dat I bid dee?
_Rasor._ Don't bid me be damn'd, then.
_Madam._ No, only tell dy Master all I have tell dee of dy Laty.
_Rasor._ Why, you little, malicious Strumpet, you, shou'd you like to
be serv'd so?
_Madam._ Dou dispute den?--Adieu.
_Rasor._ Hold--But why wilt thou make me such a Rogue, my Dear?
Madam. _Voila un vrai Anglois! Il est amoureux, et cependant il veut
raisonner. Va t'en au Diable._
_Rasor._ Hold once more: In hopes thou'lt give me up thy Body, I resign
thee my Soul.
Madam. _Bon, ecoute donc_;----If dou fail me----I never see de
more----If dou obey me----_Je m'abandonne a toy._ [_She takes him about
the Neck, and gives him a smacking Kiss._]
[_Exit ~Madamoiselle~._
_Rasor._ [_Licking his Lips._] Not be a Rogue?----_Amor vincit Omnia._
[_Exit ~Rasor~._
_Enter Lady ~Fancyfull~ and ~Madamoiselle~._
_Lady Fan._ Marry, say ye? Will the two Things marry?
Madam. _On le va faire, Madame._
_Lady Fan._ Look you, _Madamoiselle_--In short, I can't bear it----No;
I find I can't--If once I see 'em a-bed together, I shall have ten
thousand Thoughts in my Head will make me run distracted. Therefore
run and call _Rasor_ back immediately; for something must be done to
stop this impertinent Wedding. If I can but defer it four-and-twenty
Hours, I'll make such Work about Town, with that little pert Slut's
Reputation, he shall as soon marry a Witch.
Madam. [_Aside._] _La voilà bien intentionnée._
[Exeunt.
+SCENE+, _~Constant~'s Lodgings_.
_Enter ~Constant~ and ~Heartfree~._
_Const._ But what dost think will become of this Business?
_Heart._ 'Tis easier to think what will not come on't.
_Const._ What's that?
_Heart._ A Challenge. I know the Knight too well for that; his dear
Body will always prevail upon his noble Soul to be quiet.
_Const._ But tho' he dare not challenge me, perhaps he may venture to
challenge his Wife.
_Heart._ Not if you whisper him in the Ear, you won't have him do't;
and there's no other way left, that I see. For as drunk as he was,
he'll remember you and I were where we shou'd not be; and I don't think
him quite Blockhead enough yet to be persuaded we were got into his
Wife's Closet only to peep into her Prayer-Book.
_Enter a Servant with a Letter._
_Serv._ Sir, here's a Letter; a Porter brought it.
_Const._ O ho, here's Instructions for us.
_Reads:_
_The Accident that has happen'd has touch'd our Invention to the
quick. We wou'd fain come off, without your help; but find that's
impossible. In a Word, the whole Business must be thrown upon a
Matrimonial Intrigue between your Friend and mine. But if the
Parties are not fond enough to go quite through with the matter,
'tis sufficient for our Turn, they own the Design. We'll find
Pretences enough to break the Match._
Adieu.
----Well, Woman for Invention! How long wou'd my Block-Head have been
producing this!----Hey, _Heartfree_? What, musing, Man? Pr'ythee be
chearful. What say'st thou, Friend, to this matrimonial Remedy?
_Heart._ Why, I say, 'tis worse than the Disease.
_Const._ Here's a Fellow for you! There's Beauty and Money on her Side,
and Love up to the Ears on his: and yet----
_Heart._ And yet, I think, I may reasonably be allow'd to boggle at
marrying the Niece, in the very Moment that you are debauching the Aunt.
_Const._ Why, truly, there may be something in that. But have not you a
good Opinion enough of your own Parts, to believe you cou'd keep a Wife
to yourself?
_Heart._ I shou'd have, if I had a good Opinion enough of her's, to
believe she cou'd do as much by me. For to do 'em right, after all, the
Wife seldom rambles, till the Husband shews her the way.
_Const._ 'Tis true, a Man of real Worth scarce ever is a Cuckold, but
by his own Fault. Women are not naturally lewd; there must be something
to urge 'em to it. They'll cuckold a Churl, out of Revenge; a Fool,
because they despise him; a Beast, because they loath him. But when
they make bold with a Man they once had a well-grounded Value for, 'tis
because they first see themselves neglected by him.
_Heart._ Nay, were I well assured that I should never grow Sir _John_,
I ne'er shou'd fear _Belinda_, wou'd play my Lady. But our Weakness,
thou knowest, my Friend, consists in that very Change we so impudently
throw upon (indeed) a steadier and more generous Sex.
_Const._ Why, 'faith, we are a little impudent in that matter, that's
the truth on't. But this is wonderful, to see you grown so warm an
Advocate for those whom (but t'other Day) you took so much Pains to
abuse.
_Heart._ All Revolutions run into Extremes; the Bigot makes the boldest
Atheist; and the coyest Saint, the most extravagant Strumpet. But,
pr'ythee, advise me in this Good and Evil, this Life and Death, this
Blessing and Cursing, that's set before me. Shall I marry, or die a
Maid?
_Const._ Why, 'faith, _Heartfree_, Matrimony is like an Army going
to engage. Love's the forlorn Hope, which is soon cut off; the
Marriage-Knot is the main Body, which may stand buff a long, long time;
and Repentance is the Rear-Guard, which rarely gives ground as long as
the main Body has a Being.
_Heart._ Conclusion, then; you advise me to whore on, as you do.
_Const._ That's not concluded yet. For tho' Marriage be a Lottery, in
which there are a wondrous many Blanks; yet there is one inestimable
Lot, in which the only Heaven on Earth is written. Wou'd your kind
Fate but guide your Hand to that, tho' I were wrapt in all that Luxury
itself could clothe me with, I still shou'd envy you.
_Heart._ And justly, too; for to be capable of loving one, doubtless,
is better than to possess a thousand. But how far that Capacity's in
me, alas! I know not.
_Const._ But you wou'd know.
_Heart._ I wou'd so.
_Const._ Matrimony will inform you. Come, one Flight of Resolution
carries you to the Land of Experience; where, in a very moderate time,
you'll know the Capacity of your Soul and your Body both, or I'm
mistaken.
[_Exeunt._
+SCENE+, _Sir ~John Brute~'s House_.
_Enter Lady ~Brute~ and ~Belinda~._
_Bel._ Well, Madam, what Answer have you from 'em?
_Lady Brute._ That they'll be here this Moment. I fancy 'twill end in
a Wedding: I'm sure he's a Fool if it don't. Ten thousand Pounds, and
such a Lass as you are, is no contemptible Offer to a younger Brother.
But are not you under strange Agitations? Pr'ythee, how does your Pulse
beat?
_Bel._ High and low, I have much ado to be valiant: sure it must feel
very strange to go to Bed to a Man?
_Lady Brute._ Um----it does feel a little odd at first; but it will
soon grow easy to you.
_Enter ~Constant~ and ~Heartfree~._
_Lady Brute._ Good-morrow, Gentlemen: How have you slept after your
Adventure?
_Heart._ Some careful Thoughts, Ladies, on your accounts, have kept us
waking.
_Bel._ And some careful Thoughts on your own, I believe, have hindered
you from sleeping. Pray how does this matrimonial Project relish with
you?
_Heart._ Why, 'faith, e'en as storming Towns does with Soldiers, where
the Hope of delicious Plunder banishes the Fear of being knock'd on the
Head.
_Bel._ Is it then possible, after all, that you dare think of downright
lawful Wedlock?
_Heart._ Madam, you have made me so fool-hardy, I dare do any thing.
_Bel._ Then, Sir, I challenge you; and Matrimony's the Spot where I
expect you.
_Heart._ 'Tis enough; I'll not fail. [_Aside._] So, now, I am in for
_Hobbes_'s Voyage; a great Leap in the Dark.
_Lady Brute._ Well, Gentlemen, this Matter being concluded then, have
you got your Lessons ready? for Sir _John_ is grown such an Atheist of
late, he'll believe nothing upon easy Terms.
_Const._ We'll find ways to extend his Faith, Madam. But pray how do
you find him this Morning?
_Lady Brute._ Most lamentably morose, chewing the Cud after last
Night's Discovery, of which, however, he had but a confus'd Notion e'en
now. But I'm afraid the Valet de Chambre has told him all; for they
are very busy together at this Moment. When I told him of _Belinda_'s
Marriage, I had no other Answer but a Grunt: From which, you may draw
what Conclusions you think fit. But to your Notes, Gentlemen, he's here.
_Enter Sir ~John~ and ~Rasor~._
_Const._ Good-morrow, Sir.
_Heart._ Good-morrow, Sir _John_; I'm very sorry my Indiscretion shou'd
cause so much Disorder in your Family.
_Sir John._ Disorders generally come from Indiscretion, Sir; 'tis no
strange thing at all.
_Lady Brute._ I hope, my Dear, you are satisfied there was no wrong
intended you.
_Sir John._ None, my Dove.
_Bel._ If not, I hope my Consent to marry Mr. _Heartfree_ will convince
you. For as little as I know of Amours, Sir, I can assure you, one
Intrigue is enough to bring four People together, without further
Mischief.
_Sir John._ And I know too, that Intrigues tend to Procreation of more
kinds than one. One Intrigue will beget another, as soon as beget a Son
or a Daughter.
_Const._ I am very sorry, Sir, to see you still seem unsatisfy'd with a
Lady, whose more than common Virtue, I am sure were she my Wife, shou'd
meet a better Usage.
_Sir John._ Sir, if her Conduct has put a Trick upon her Virtue, her
Virtue's the Bubble, but her Husband's the Loser.
_Const._ Sir, you have receiv'd a sufficient Answer already, to justify
both her Conduct and mine. You'll pardon me for meddling in your
Family-affairs; but I perceive I am the Man you are jealous of, and
therefore it concerns me.
_Sir John._ Wou'd it did not concern me, and then I shou'd not care who
it concern'd.
_Const._ Well, Sir, if Truth and Reason won't content you, I know but
one way more, which, if you think fit, you may take.
_Sir John._ Lord, Sir, you are very hasty! If I had been found at
Prayers in your Wife's Closet, I should have allow'd you twice as much
time to come to yourself in.
_Const._ Nay, Sir, if Time be all you want, we have no Quarrel.
_Heart._ I told you how the Sword wou'd work upon him.
[_Sir ~John~ muses._
_Const._ Let him muse; however, I'll lay fifty Pound our Foreman brings
us in, Not Guilty.
_Sir John._ [_Aside._] 'Tis well----'tis very well----In spite of
that young Jade's matrimonial Intrigue, I am a downright stinking
Cuckold----Here they are----Boo----[_Putting his hand to his
Forehead._] Methinks, I could butt with a Bull. What the Plague did I
marry her for? I knew she did not like me; if she had, she wou'd have
lain with me; for I wou'd have done so, because I lik'd her; but that's
past, and I have her. And now, what shall I do with her?----If I put
my Horns into my Pocket, she'll grow insolent----if I don't, that Goat
there, that Stallion, is ready to whip me thro' the Guts.--The Debate
then is reduced to this: Shall I die a Hero, or live a Rascal?----Why,
wiser Men than I have long since concluded, that a living Dog is better
than a dead Lion.----[_To ~Const.~ and ~Heart.~_] Gentlemen, now my
Wine and my Passion are governable, I must own, I have never observ'd
any Thing in my Wife's Course of Life, to back me in my Jealousy of
her: But Jealousy's a Mark of Love; so she need not trouble her Head
about it, as long as I make no more Words on't.
_Lady ~Fancyfull~ enters disguis'd, and addresses to ~Belinda~
apart._
_Const._ I'm glad to see your Reason rule at last. Give me your Hand: I
hope you'll look upon me as you are wont.
_Sir John._ Your humble Servant. [_Aside._] A wheedling Son of a Whore!
_Heart._ And that I may be sure you are Friends with me, too, pray give
me your Consent to wed your Niece.
_Sir John._ Sir, you have it with all my Heart: Damn me if you han't.
[_Aside._] 'Tis time to get rid of her: A young, pert Pimp; she'll make
an incomparable Bawd in a little time.
_Enter a Servant, who gives ~Heartfree~ a Letter._
_Bel._ _Heartfree_ your Husband, say you? 'Tis impossible.
_Lady Fan._ Wou'd to kind Heaven it were! But 'tis too true; and in
the World there lives not such a Wretch. I'm young; and either I have
been flatter'd by my Friends, as well as Glass, or Nature has been
kind and generous to me. I had a Fortune, too, was greater far than he
could ever hope for; but with my Heart I am robb'd of all the rest.
I am slighted and I'm beggar'd both at once: I have scarce a bare
Subsistence from the Villain, yet dare complain to none; for he has
sworn if e'er 'tis known I'm his Wife, he'll murder me.
[_Weeping._
_Bel._ The Traitor!
_Lady Fan._ I accidentally was told he courted you: Charity soon
prevail'd upon me to prevent your Misery: And, as you see, I'm still so
generous even to him, as not to suffer he should do a thing for which
the Law might take away his Life.
[_Weeping._
_Bel._ Poor Creature! how I pity her!
[_They continue talking aside._
_Heart._ [_Aside._] Death and Damnation!----Let me read it again.
[Reads.] _Tho' I have a particular reason not to let you know who I am
till I see you; yet you'll easily believe 'tis a faithful Friend that
gives you this Advice. I have lain with ~Belinda (Good!)~--I have a
Child by her ~(Better and better!)~ which is now at Nurse; ~(Heaven
be prais'd)~ and I think the Foundation laid for another: ~(Ha!--Old
Truepenny!)~--No Rack cou'd have tortur'd this Story from me; but
Friendship has done it. I heard of your Design to marry her, and cou'd
not see you abus'd. Make use of my Advice, but keep my Secret till I
ask you for't again. Adieu._
[_Exit Lady ~Fancyfull~._
_Const._ [_To ~Bel~._] Come, Madam, shall we send for the Parson? I
doubt here's no Business for the Lawyer: Younger Brothers have nothing
to settle but their Hearts, and that I believe my Friend here has
already done very faithfully.
_Bel._ [_Scornfully._] Are you sure, Sir, there are no old Mortgages
upon it?
_Heart._ [_Coldly._] If you think there are, Madam, it mayn't be amiss
to defer the Marriage till you are sure they are paid off.
_Bel._ [_Aside._] How the gall'd Horse kicks!
[_To_ Heart.] We'll defer it as long as you please, Sir.
_Heart._ The more time we take to consider on't, Madam, the less apt we
shall be to commit Oversights; therefore, if you please, we will put it
off for just nine Months.
_Bel._ Guilty Consciences make Men Cowards; I don't wonder you want
time to resolve.
_Heart._ And they make Women desperate; I don't wonder you are so
quickly determin'd.
_Bel._ What does the Fellow mean?
_Heart._ What does the Lady mean?
_Sir John._ Zoons, what do you both mean?
[_~Heart.~ and ~Bel.~ walk chasing about._
_Rasor._ [_Aside._] Here is so much Sport going to be spoil'd, it makes
me ready to weep again. A Pox o' this impertinent Lady _Fancyfull_, and
her Plots, and her _French-woman_ too; she's a whimsical, ill-natur'd
Bitch, and when I have got my Bones broke in her Service, 'tis ten to
one but my Recompence is a Clap; I hear them tittering without still.
I'cod, I'll e'en go lug them both in by the Ears, and discover the
Plot, to secure my Pardon.
[_Exit ~Rasor~._
_Const._ Pr'ythee, explain, _Heartfree_.
_Heart._ A fair Deliverance; thank my Stars and my Friend.
_Bel._ 'Tis well it went no farther; a base Fellow!
_Lady Brute._ What can be the meaning of all this?
_Bel._ What's his Meaning, I don't know; but mine is, that if I had
married him----I had had no Husband.
_Heart._ And what's her Meaning I don't know; but mine is, that if I
had married her--I had had Wife enough.
_Sir John._ Your People of Wit have got such cramp ways of expressing
themselves, they seldom comprehend one another. Pox take you both, will
you speak that you may be understood!
_Enter ~Rasor~ in Sackcloth, pulling in ~Lady Fancyfull~
and ~Madamoiselle~._
_Rasor._ If they won't, here comes an Interpreter.
_Lady Brute._ Heavens! what have we here?
_Rasor._ A Villain----but a repenting Villain. Stuff which Saints in
all Ages have been made of.
_All._ Rasor!
_Lady Brute._ What means this sudden Metamorphose?
_Rasor._ Nothing, without my Pardon.
_Lady Brute._ What Pardon do you want?
_Rasor._ _Imprimis_, Your Ladyship's; for a damnable Lie made upon
your spotless Virtue, and set to the Tune of _Spring-Garden_. [_To Sir
~John~._] Next, at my generous Master's Feet I bend, for interrupting
his more noble Thoughts with Phantoms of disgraceful Cuckoldom. [_To
~Const~._] Thirdly, I to this Gentleman apply, for making him the Hero
of my Romance. [_To ~Heart~._] Fourthly, your Pardon, noble Sir, I
ask, for clandestinely marrying you, without either bidding of Banns,
Bishop's Licence, Friends Consent----or your own Knowledge. [_To
~Bel~._] And, lastly, to my good young Lady's Clemency I come, for
pretending the Corn was sow'd in the Ground, before ever the Plough had
been in the Field.
_Sir John._ [_Aside._] So that, after all, 'tis a moot point, whether I
am a Cuckold or not.
_Bel._ Well, Sir, upon Condition you confess all, I'll pardon you
myself, and try to obtain as much from the rest of the Company. But I
must know, then, who 'tis has put you upon all this Mischief?
_Rasor._ Satan, and his Equipage; Woman tempted me, Lust weakened
me----and so the Devil over-came me; as fell _Adam_, so fell I.
_Bel._ Then pray, Mr. _Adam_, will you make us acquainted with your
_Eve_?
_Rasor._ [_To ~Madam~._] Unmask, for the Honour of _France_.
_All._ Madamoiselle!
_Madam._ Me ask ten tousand Pardon of all de good Company.
_Sir John._ Why, this Mystery thickens, instead of clearing up. [_To
~Rasor~._] You Son of a Whore, you, put us out of our Pain.
_Rasor._ One Moment brings Sunshine. [_Shewing ~Madam~._] 'Tis true,
this is the Woman that tempted me, but this is the Serpent that
tempted the Woman; and if my Prayers might be heard, her Punishment
for so doing shou'd be like the Serpent's of old--[_Pulls off Lady
~Fancyfull~'s Mask._] She should lie upon her Face all the Days of her
Life.
_All._ Lady _Fancyfull_!
_Bel._ Impertinent!
_Lady Brute._ Ridiculous!
_All._ Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!
_Bel._ I hope your Ladyship will give me leave to wish you Joy, since
you have own'd your Marriage yourself--[_To ~Heart~._] I vow 'twas
strangely wicked in you to think of another Wife, when you had one
already so charming as her Ladyship.