before; _Lodwick_ as just risen in Disorder from the Bed, buttoning
himself, and setting himself in order; and Noise at the Door of
unlatching it._
Enter _Isabella_ groping, Sir _Patient_ without.
L. _Fan._ It is this Door that open’d, and which I thought I had
secur’d.
Sir _Pat._ [Within.] Oh, insupportable, abominable, and not to be
indur’d!
_Isab._ Hah, my Father! I’m discover’d and pursu’d,--grant me to find
the Bed.
L. _Fan._ Heavens! ‘twas my Husband’s Voice, sure we’re betray’d. It
must be so, for what Devil but that of Jealousy cou’d raise him at this
late hour?
_Isab._ Hah, where am I, and who is’t that speaks-- [To her self.
_Lod._ So, he must know that I have made a Cuckold of him. [Aside.
Sir _Pat._ [Within.] Call up my Men, the Coachman, Groom, and Butler,
the Footmen, Cook, and Gardiner; bid ‘em all rise and arm, with long
Staff, Spade and Pitchfork, and sally out upon the Wicked.
_Lod._ S’heart! what a Death shall I die:--is there no place of safety
hereabouts--for there is no resisting these unmerciful Weapons.
_Isab._ A Man’s Voice!
L. _Fan._ I know of none, nor how to prevent your Discovery.
Sir _Pat._ [Within.] Oh, oh, lead me forward, I’ll lie here on the
Garden-side, out of the hearing of this Hellish Noise.
L. _Fan._ Hah, Noise!--what means he?
_Lod._ Nay, I know not, is there no escaping?--
_Isab._ Who can they be that talk thus? sure I have mistook my Chamber.
L. _Fan._ Oh, he’s coming in--I’m ruin’d; what shall we do? here--get
into the Bed--and cover your self with the Clothes--quickly--oh, my
Confusion will betray me.
[_Lodwick_ gets into the Bed, _Isabella_ hides behind the Curtain
very near to him.
Enter Sir _Patient_, led by _Nurse_ and _Maundy_, with Lights.
_Maun._ Pray go back, Sir, my poor Lady will be frighted out of her Wits
at this danger you put your self into, the Noise shall be still’d.
L. _Fan._ Oh, what’s the matter with my Love? what, do you mean to
murder him? oh, lead him instantly back to his Bed.
Sir _Pat._ Oh, oh, no, I’ll lie here,--put me to bed, oh, I faint,--my
Chamber’s possest with twenty thousand Evil Spirits.
L. _Fan._ Possest! what sickly Fancy’s this?
Sir _Pat._ Ah, the House is beset, surrounded and confounded with
profane tinkling, with Popish Horn-Pipes, and Jesuitical Cymbals, more
Antichristian and Abominable than Organs, or Anthems.
_Nurse._ Yea verily, and surely it is the spawn of Cathedral Instruments
plaid on by Babylonish Minstrels, only to disturb the Brethren.
Sir _Pat._ Ay, ‘tis so, call up my Servants, and let them be first
chastiz’d and then hang’d; accuse ‘em for _French_ Papishes, that had a
design to fire the City, or any thing:--oh, I shall die--lead me gently
to this Bed.
L. _Fan._ To hinder him will discover all:--stay, Sir.--
Sir _Pat._ Hah, my Lady turn’d rebellious!--put me to Bed I say;--
[Throws himself forward to the Bed.] --hah--what’s here?--what are
thou,--a Man,--hah, a Man, Treason! betray’d! my Bed’s defil’d, my Lady
polluted, and I am cornuted; oh thou vile Serpent of my Bosom!
[She stands with her Face towards the Stage in signs of fear.
_Isab._ A Man, and in my virtuous Lady Mother’s Chamber! how fortunate
was I to light on this discovery!
L. _Fan._ Well, Sir, since you have seen him, I beseech you for my sake,
Dear, pardon him this one time.
[Coakesing him.
Sir _Pat._ Thou beg his Pardon! Oh, was ever heard such Impudence!
L. _Fan._ Indeed, my Love, he is to blame; but we that are judicious
should bear with the Frailities of Youth.
Sir _Pat._ Oh insupportable Audacity!--what canst thou say, false Woman?
L. _Fan._ Truly not much in his Defence, my Dear.
_Isab._ Oh cunning Devil!--
L. _Fan._ But, Sir, to hide the weakness of your Daughter, I have a
little strain’d my Modesty.--
_Isab._ Heavens! what says she?--
L. _Fan._ ‘Tis _Isabella’s_ Lover, Sir, whom I’ve conceal’d.
_Lod._ A good hint to save both our Credits.
Sir _Pat._ How, Mr. _Fainlove_ mean you?
[_Lodwick_ rises and comes a little more forward, _Isabella_ does
the like, till both meet at the feet of the Bed, and start,
_Lodwick_ looking simply.
L. _Fan._ Ay, my dear, Mr. _Fainlove_.
_Lod._ _Isabella_ here! must she know too what a fine inconstant Dog I
am?--
_Isab._ _Lodwick!_ and in my Mother’s Chamber! may I believe my Eyes!
Sir _Pat._ But how got he hither?--tell me that: oh Youth, Youth, to
what degree of Wickedness art thou arriv’d?
L. _Fan._ She appointed him to come this Night, Sir, and he going to her
Chamber, by mistake came into mine, it being the next to her’s.
_Maun._ But, Lord, Sir, had you heard how my Lady school’d him, whilst I
ran down to fetch a Light!
_Lod._ Now does my Conscience tell me, I am a damn’d Villain.--
[Aside, looking pitifully on _Isabella_.
L. _Fan._ But the poor Man presently perceiv’d his mistake, and beg’d my
pardon in such feeling Terms--that I vow I had not the heart to deny it
him.
_Isab._ Oh Traytor! wou’d thou hadst been that Ravisher I took thee for,
rather than such a Villain--false! and with my Mother too!
L. _Fan._ And just then, Sir, you came to the Door, and lest you shou’d
see him, intreated me to hide him from your Anger,--the Offence is not
so heinous, Sir, considering he is so soon to marry her.
Sir _Pat._ Well, Sir, and what have you to say in your Defence?--hah,
how, Mr. _Knowell_,--worse and worse,--why, how came you hither, Sir?
hah.--
L. _Fan._ Not _Wittmore_! oh, I am ruin’d and betray’d.
[Falls almost in a swoon.
Sir _Pat._ Hah, _Isabella_ here too!
_Isab._ Yes, Sir, to justify her Innocence.
Sir _Pat._ Hah! Innocence! and justify! take her away; go out of my
sight, thou Limb of Satan,--take her away, I say, I’ll talk with you to
morrow, Lady Finetricks--I will.--
_Isab._ --And I’ll know before I sleep, the mystery of all this, and who
’.was this faithless Man sent in his room to deceive me in the Garden.
[Goes out.
_Lod._ A plague of all ill-luck--how the Devil came she hither? I must
follow and reconcile her.
[Going out, Sir _Patient_ stays him.
Sir _Pat._ Nay, Sir, we must not part so till I have known the truth of
this Business, I take it.
_Lod._ Truth, Sir! oh, all that your fair Lady has said, Sir; I must
confess her Eyes have wounded me enough with Anger, you need not add
more to my Shame.--
L. _Fan._ Some little comfort yet, that he prov’d indeed to be
_Isabella’s_ Lover: Oh, that I should mistake so unluckily!
[Aside.
Sir _Pat._ Why, I thought it had been Mr. _Fainlove_.
L. _Fan._ By all that’s good, and so did I.
_Lod._ I know you did, Madam, or you had not been so kind to me: Your
Servant, dear Madam.--
[Going, Sir _Patient_ stays him.
L. _Fan._ Pray, Sir, let him go; oh, how I abominate the sight of a Man
that cou’d be so wicked as he has been!
Sir _Pat._ Ha,--good Lady, excellent Woman: well, Sir, for my Lady’s
sake I’ll let you pass with this, but if I catch you here again, I shall
spoil your Intrigues, Sir, marry, shall I, and so rest ye satisfied,
Sir.--
_Lod._ At this time, I am, Sir--Madam, a thousand Blessings on you for
this Goodness.
L. _Fan._ Ten thousand Curses upon thee,--go, boast the Ruin you have
made.
[Aside to _Lod._
Sir _Pat._ Come, no more Anger now, my Lady; the Gentleman’s sorry you
see, I’ll marry my pert Huswife to morrow for this.--_Maundy_, see the
Gentleman safe out:--ah, put me to Bed; ah, this Night’s Work will kill
me, ah, ah.
[Exeunt _Lodwick_ and _Maundy_.
_The Scene draws over Sir _Patient_ and Lady: draws again and discovers_