very soft.--[_Aloud._] Come, wrap it up now whilst I go fetch wax and a
candle; and write on the backside, "For Mr. Horner." [_Exit._
_Mrs. Pinch._ "For Mr. Horner."--So, I am glad he has told me his name.
Dear Mr. Horner! but why should I send thee such a letter that will vex
thee, and make thee angry with me?--Well, I will not send it.--Ay, but
then my husband will kill me--for I see plainly he won't let me love
Mr. Horner--but what care I for my husband?--I won't, so I won't, send
poor Mr. Horner such a letter--But then my husband--but oh, what if I
writ at bottom my husband made me write it?--Ay, but then my husband
would see't--Can one have no shift? ah, a London woman would have had
a hundred presently. Stay--what if I should write a letter, and wrap
it up like this, and write upon't too? Ay, but then my husband would
see't--I don't know what to do.--But yet evads I'll try, so I will--for
I will not send this letter to poor Mr. Horner, come what will on't.
"Dear, sweet Mr. Horner"--[_Writes and repeats what she
writes._]--so--"my husband would have me send you a base, rude,
unmannerly letter; but I won't"--so--"and would have me forbid you
loving me; but I won't"--so--"and would have me say to you, I hate you,
poor Mr. Horner; but I won't tell a lie for him"--there--"for I'm
sure if you and I were in the country at cards together"--so--"I could
not help treading on your toe under the table"--so--"or rubbing knees
with you, and staring in your face, till you saw me"--very well--"and
then looking down, and blushing for an hour together"--so--"but I must
make haste before my husband comes: and now he has taught me to write
letters, you shall have longer ones from me, who am, dear, dear, poor,
dear Mr. Horner, your most humble friend, and servant to command till
death,--Margery Pinchwife."
Stay, I must give him a hint at bottom--so--now wrap it up just like
t'other--so--now write "For Mr. Horner"--But oh now, what shall I do
with it? for here comes my husband.
_Re-enter_ PINCHWIFE.
_Pinch._ [_Aside._] I have been detained by a sparkish coxcomb, who
pretended a visit to me; but I fear 'twas to my wife--[_Aloud._] What,
have you done?
_Mrs. Pinch._ Ay, ay, bud, just now.
_Pinch._ Let's see't: what d'ye tremble for? what, you would not have
it go?
_Mrs. Pinch._ Here--[_Aside._] No, I must not give him that: so I had
been served if I had given him this. [_He opens and reads the first
letter._
_Pinch._ Come, where's the wax and seal?
_Mrs. Pinch._ [_Aside._] Lord, what shall I do now? Nay, then I have
it--[_Aloud._] Pray let me see't. Lord, you think me so arrant a fool,
I cannot seal a letter; I will do't, so I will. [_Snatches the letter
from him, changes it for the other, seals it, and delivers it to him._
_Pinch._ Nay, I believe you will learn that, and other things too,
which I would not have you.
_Mrs. Pinch._ So, han't I done it curiously[77]?--[_Aside._] I think I
have; there's my letter going to Mr. Horner, since he'll needs have me
send letters to folks.
_Pinch._ 'Tis very well; but I warrant, you would not have it go now?
_Mrs. Pinch._ Yes, indeed, but I would, bud, now.
_Pinch._ Well, you are a good girl then. Come, let me lock you up
in your chamber, till I come back; and be sure you come not within
three strides of the window when I am gone, for I have a spy in the
street.--[_Exit_ Mrs. PINCHWIFE, PINCHWIFE _locks the door._] At least,
'tis fit she think so. If we do not cheat women, they'll cheat us, and
fraud may be justly used with secret enemies, of which a wife is the
most dangerous; and he that has a handsome one to keep, and a frontier
town, must provide against treachery, rather than open force. Now I
have secured all within, I'll deal with the foe without, with false
intelligence. [_Holds up the letter. Exit._
SCENE III.--HORNER'S _Lodging_
_Enter_ HORNER _and_ Quack.
_Quack._ Well, sir, how fadges[78] the new design? have you not the
luck of all your brother projectors, to deceive only yourself at last?
_Horn._ No, good domine doctor, I deceive you, it seems, and others
too; for the grave matrons, and old, rigid husbands think me as unfit
for love, as they are; but their wives, sisters, and daughters know,
some of 'em, better things already.
_Quack._ Already!
_Horn._ Already, I say. Last night I was drunk with half-a-dozen of
your civil persons, as you call 'em, and people of honour, and so
was made free of their society and dressing-rooms for ever hereafter;
and am already come to the privileges of sleeping upon their pallets,
warming smocks, tying shoes and garters, and the like, doctor, already,
already, doctor.
_Quack._ You have made good use of your time, sir.
_Horn._ I tell thee, I am now no more interruption to 'em, when they
sing, or talk bawdy, than a little squab French page who speaks no
English.
_Quack._ But do civil persons and women of honour drink, and sing bawdy
songs?
_Horn._ O, amongst friends, amongst friends. For your bigots in honour
are just like those in religion; they fear the eye of the world more
than the eye of Heaven; and think there is no virtue, but railing at
vice, and no sin, but giving scandal. They rail at a poor, little, kept
player, and keep themselves some young, modest pulpit comedian to be
privy to their sins in their closets, not to tell 'em of them in their
chapels.
_Quack._ Nay, the truth on't is, priests, amongst the women now, have
quite got the better of us lay-confessors, physicians.
_Horn._ And they are rather their patients; but--
_Enter_ Lady FIDGET, _looking about her._
Now we talk of women of honour, here comes one. Step behind the screen
there, and but observe, if I have not particular privileges with the
women of reputation already, doctor, already. [Quack _retires._
_Lady Fid._ Well, Horner, am not I a woman of honour? you see, I'm as
good as my word.
_Horn._ And you shall see, madam, I'll not be behindhand with you
in honour; and I'll be as good as my word too, if you please but to
withdraw into the next room.
_Lady Fid._ But first, my dear sir, you must promise to have a care of
my dear honour.
_Horn._ If you talk a word more of your honour, you'll make me
incapable to wrong it. To talk of honour in the mysteries of love, is
like talking of Heaven or the Deity, in an operation of witchcraft,
just when you are employing the devil: it makes the charm impotent.
_Lady Fid._ Nay, fy! let us not be smutty. But you talk of mysteries
and bewitching to me; I don't understand you.
_Horn._ I tell you, madam, the word money in a mistress's mouth, at
such a nick of time, is not a more disheartening sound to a younger
brother, than that of honour to an eager lover like myself.
_Lady Fid._ But you can't blame a lady of my reputation to be chary.
_Horn._ Chary! I have been chary of it already, by the report I have
caused of myself.
_Lady Fid._ Ay, but if you should ever let other women know that
dear secret, it would come out. Nay, you must have a great care of
your conduct; for my acquaintance are so censorious, (oh, 'tis a
wicked, censorious world, Mr. Horner!) I say, are so censorious, and
detracting, that perhaps they'll talk to the prejudice of my honour,
though you should not let them know the dear secret.
_Horn._ Nay, madam, rather than they shall prejudice your honour, I'll
prejudice theirs; and, to serve you, I'll lie with 'em all, make the
secret their own, and then they'll keep it. I am a Machiavel in love,
madam.
_Lady Fid._ O, no sir, not that way.
_Horn._ Nay, the devil take me, if censorious women are to be silenced
any other way.
_Lady Fid._ A secret is better kept, I hope, by a single person than
a multitude; therefore pray do not trust any body else with it, dear,
dear Mr. Horner. [_Embracing him._
_Enter_ Sir JASPER FIDGET.
_Sir Jasp._ How now!
_Lady Fid._ [_Aside._] O my husband!--prevented--and what's almost
as bad, found with my arms about another man--that will appear too
much--what shall I say?--[_Aloud._] Sir Jasper, come hither: I am
trying if Mr. Horner were ticklish, and he's as ticklish as can be. I
love to torment the confounded toad; let you and I tickle him.
_Sir Jasp._ No, your ladyship will tickle him better without me, I
suppose. But is this your buying china? I thought you had been at the
china-house.
_Horn._ [_Aside._] China-house! that's my cue, I must take
it.--[_Aloud._] A pox! can't you keep your impertinent wives at home?
Some men are troubled with the husbands, but I with the wives; but I'd
have you to know, since I cannot be your journeyman by night, I will
not be your drudge by day, to squire your wife about, and be your man
of straw, or scarecrow only to pies and jays, that would be nibbling at
your forbidden fruit; I shall be shortly the hackney gentleman-usher of
the town.
_Sir Jasp._ [_Aside._] He! he! he! poor fellow, he's in the right
on't, faith. To squire women about for other folks is as ungrateful an
employment, as to tell money for other folks.--[_Aloud._] He! he! he!
be'n't angry, Horner.
_Lady Fid._ No, 'tis I have more reason to be angry, who am left by
you, to go abroad indecently alone; or, what is more indecent, to pin
myself upon such ill-bred people of your acquaintance as this is.
_Sir Jasp._ Nay, prithee, what has he done?
_Lady Fid._ Nay, he has done nothing.
_Sir Jasp._ But what d'ye take ill, if he has done nothing?
_Lady Fid._ Ha! ha! ha! faith, I can't but laugh however; why, d'ye
think the unmannerly toad would come down to me to the coach? I was
fain to come up to fetch him, or go without him, which I was resolved
not to do; for he knows china very well, and has himself very good, but
will not let me see it, lest I should beg some; but I will find it out,
and have what I came for yet.
_Horn._ [_Apart to_ Lady FIDGET, _as he follows her to the door._]
Lock the door, madam.--[_Exit_ Lady FIDGET, _and locks the
door._]--[_Aloud._] So, she has got into my chamber and locked me out.
Oh the impertinency of woman-kind! Well, Sir Jasper, plain-dealing is a
jewel; if ever you suffer your wife to trouble me again here, she shall
carry you home a pair of horns; by my lord mayor she shall; though I
cannot furnish you myself, you are sure, yet I'll find a way.
_Sir Jasp._ Ha! ha! he!--[_Aside._] At my first coming in, and finding
her arms about him, tickling him it seems, I was half jealous, but now
I see my folly.--[_Aloud._] He! he! he! poor Horner.
_Horn._ Nay, though you laugh now, 'twill be my turn ere long. Oh
women, more impertinent, more cunning, and more mischievous than their
monkeys, and to me almost as ugly!--Now is she throwing my things about
and rifling all I have; but I'll get into her the back way, and so
rifle her for it.
_Sir Jasp._ Ha! ha! ha! poor angry Horner.
_Horn._ Stay here a little, I'll ferret her out to you presently, I
warrant. _Exit at the other door._ [Sir JASPER _talks through the door
to his_ Wife, _she answers from within._
_Sir Jasp._ Wife! my Lady Fidget! wife! he is coming in to you the back
way.
_Lady Fid._ Let him come, and welcome, which way he will.
_Sir Jasp._ He'll catch you, and use you roughly, and be too strong for
you.
_L. Fid._ Don't you trouble yourself, let him if he can.
_Quack._ [_Aside._] This indeed I could not have believed from him, nor
any but my own eyes.
_Enter_ Mrs. SQUEAMISH.
_Mrs. Squeam._ Where's this woman-hater, this toad, this ugly, greasy,
dirty sloven?
_Sir Jasp._ [_Aside._] So, the women all will have him ugly; methinks
he is a comely person, but his wants make his form contemptible to 'em;
and 'tis e'en as my wife said yesterday, talking of him, that a proper
handsome eunuch was as ridiculous a thing as a gigantic coward.
_Mrs. Squeam._ Sir Jasper, your servant: where is the odious beast?
_Sir Jasp._ He's within in his chamber, with my wife; she's playing the
wag with him.
_Mrs. Squeam._ Is she so? and he's a clownish beast, he'll give her
no quarter, he'll play the wag with her again, let me tell you: come,
let's go help her--What, the door's locked?
_Sir Jasp._ Ay, my wife locked it.
_Mrs. Squeam._ Did she so? let's break it open then.
_Sir Jasp._ No, no, he'll do her no hurt.
_Mrs. Squeam._ [_Aside._] But is there no other way to get in to 'em?
whither goes this? I will disturb 'em. [_Exit at another door._
_Enter_ Old Lady SQUEAMISH.
_L. Squeam._ Where is this harlotry, this impudent baggage, this
rambling tomrigg?[79] O Sir Jasper, I'm glad to see you here; did you
not see my vile grandchild come in hither just now?
_Sir Jasp._ Yes.
_L. Squeam._ Ay, but where is she then? where is she? Lord, Sir Jasper,
I have e'en rattled myself to pieces in pursuit of her: but can you
tell what she makes here? they say below, no woman lodges here.
_Sir Jasp._ No.
_L. Squeam._ No! what does she here then? say, if it be not a woman's
lodging, what makes she here? But are you sure no woman lodges here?
_Sir Jasp._ No, nor no man neither, this is Mr. Horner's lodging.
_L. Squeam._ Is it so, are you sure?
_Sir Jasp._ Yes, yes.
_L. Squeam._ So; then there's no hurt in't, I hope. But where is he?
_Sir Jasp._ He's in the next room with my wife.
_L. Squeam._ Nay, if you trust him with your wife, I may with my Biddy.
They say, he's a merry harmless man now, e'en as harmless a man as ever
came out of Italy with a good voice, and as pretty, harmless company
for a lady, as a snake without his teeth.
_Sir Jasp._ Ay, ay, poor man.
_Re-enter_ Mrs. SQUEAMISH.
_Mrs. Squeam._ I can't find 'em.--Oh, are you here, grandmother? I
followed, you must know, my Lady Fidget hither; 'tis the prettiest
lodging, and I have been staring on the prettiest pictures--
_Re-enter_ Lady FIDGET _with a piece of china in her hand,
and_ HORNER _following._
_L. Fid._ And I have been toiling and moiling for the prettiest piece
of china, my dear.
_Horn._ Nay, she has been too hard for me, do what I could.
_Mrs. Squeam._ Oh, lord, I'll have some china too. Good Mr. Horner,
don't think to give other people china, and me none; come in with me
too.
_Horn._ Upon my honour, I have none left now.
_Mrs. Squeam._ Nay, nay, I have known you deny your china before now,
but you shan't put me off so. Come.
_Horn._ This lady had the last there.
_L. Fid._ Yes indeed, madam, to my certain knowledge, he has no more
left.
_Mrs. Squeam._ O, but it may be he may have some you could not find.
_L. Fid._ What, d'ye think if he had had any left, I would not have had
it too? for we women of quality never think we have china enough.
_Horn._ Do not take it ill, I cannot make china for you all, but I will
have a roll-waggon for you too, another time.
_Mrs. Squeam._ Thank you, dear toad.
_L. Fid._ What do you mean by that promise? [_Aside to_ HORNER.
_Horn._ Alas, she has an innocent, literal understanding. [_Aside to_
Lady FIDGET.
_L. Squeam._ Poor Mr. Horner! he has enough to do to please you all, I
see.
_Horn._ Ay, madam, you see how they use me.
_L. Squeam._ Poor gentleman, I pity you.
_Horn._ I thank you, madam: I could never find pity, but from such
reverend ladies as you are; the young ones will never spare a man.
_Mrs. Squeam._ Come, come, beast, and go dine with us; for we shall
want a man at ombre after dinner.
_Horn._ That's all their use of me, madam, you see.
_Mrs. Squeam._ Come, sloven, I'll lead you, to be sure of you. [_Pulls
him by the cravat._
_L. Squeam._ Alas, poor man, how she tugs him! Kiss, kiss her; that's
the way to make such nice women quiet.
_Horn._ No, madam, that remedy is worse than the torment; they know I
dare suffer anything rather than do it.
_L. Squeam._ Prithee kiss her, and I'll give you her picture in little,
that you admired so last night; prithee do.
_Horn._ Well, nothing but that could bribe me: I love a woman only in
effigy, and good painting as much as I hate them.--I'll do't, for I
could adore the devil well painted. [_Kisses_ Mrs. SQUEAMISH.
_Mrs. Squeam._ Foh, you filthy toad! nay, now I've done jesting.
_L. Squeam._ Ha! ha I ha! I told you so.
_Mrs. Squeam._ Foh! a kiss of his--
_Sir Jasp._ Has no more hurt in't than one of my spaniel's.
_Mrs. Squeam._ Nor no more good neither.
_Quack._ I will now believe anything he tells me. [_Aside._
_Enter_ PINCHWIFE.
_L. Fid._ O lord, here's a man! Sir Jasper, my mask, my mask! I would
not be seen here for the world.
_Sir Jasp._ What, not when I am with you?
_L. Fid._ No, no, my honour--let's be gone.
_Mrs. Squeam._ Oh grandmother, let's be gone; make haste, make haste, I
know not how he may censure us.
_L. Fid._ Be found in the lodging of anything like a man!--Away.
[_Exeunt_ Sir JASPER FIDGET, Lady FIDGET, Old Lady SQUEAMISH, _and_
Mrs. SQUEAMISH.
_Quack._ What's here? another cuckold? he looks like one, and none else
sure have any business with him. [_Aside._
_Horn._ Well, what brings my dear friend hither?
_Pinch._ Your impertinency.
_Horn._ My impertinency!--why, you gentlemen that have got handsome
wives, think you have a privilege of saying anything to your friends,
and are as brutish as if you were our creditors.
_Pinch._ No, sir, I'll ne'er trust you any way.
_Horn._ But why not, dear Jack? why diffide in me thou know'st so well?
_Pinch._ Because I do know you so well.
_Horn._ Han't I been always thy friend, honest Jack, always ready to
serve thee, in love or battle, before thou wert married, and am so
still?
_Pinch._ I believe so, you would be my second now, indeed.
_Horn._ Well then, dear Jack, why so unkind, so grum, so strange to
me? Come, prithee kiss me, dear rogue: gad I was always, I say, and am
still as much thy servant as--
_Pinch._ As I am yours, sir. What, you would send a kiss to my wife, is
that it?
_Horn._ So, there 'tis--a man can't show his friendship to a married
man, but presently he talks of his wife to you. Prithee, let thy wife
alone, and let thee and I be all one, as we were wont. What, thou art
as shy of my kindness, as a Lombard-street alderman of a courtier's
civility at Locket's![80]
_Pinch._ But you are over-kind to me, as kind as if I were your cuckold
already; yet I must confess you ought to be kind and civil to me, since
I am so kind, so civil to you, as to bring you this: look you there,
sir. [_Delivers him a letter._
_Horn._ What is't?
_Pinch._ Only a love-letter, sir.
_Horn._ From whom?--how! this is from your wife--hum--and hum--[_Reads._
_Pinch._ Even from my wife, sir: am I not wondrous kind and civil to
you now too?--[_Aside._] But you'll not think her so.
_Horn._ Ha! is this a trick of his or hers? [_Aside._
_Pinch._ The gentleman's surprised I find.--What, you expected a kinder
letter?
_Horn._ No faith, not I, how could I?
_Pinch._ Yes, yes, I'm sure you did. A man so well made as you are,
must needs be disappointed, if the women declare not their passion at
first sight or opportunity.
_Horn._ [_Aside._] But what should this mean? Stay, the
postscript.--[_Reads aside._] "Be sure you love me, whatsoever my
husband says to the contrary, and let him not see this, lest he should
come home and pinch me, or kill my squirrel."--It seems he knows not
what the letter contains.
_Pinch._ Come, ne'er wonder at it so much.
_Horn._ Faith, I can't help it.
_Pinch._ Now, I think I have deserved your infinite friendship and
kindness, and have showed myself sufficiently an obliging kind friend
and husband; am I not so, to bring a letter from my wife to her gallant?
_Horn._ Ay, the devil take me, art thou, the most obliging, kind friend
and husband in the world, ha! ha!
_Pinch._ Well, you may be merry, sir; but in short I must tell you,
sir, my honour will suffer no jesting.
_Horn._ What dost thou mean?
_Pinch._ Does the letter want a comment? Then, know, sir, though I have
been so civil a husband, as to bring you a letter from my wife, to let
you kiss and court her to my face, I will not be a cuckold, sir, I will
not.
_Horn._ Thou art mad with jealousy. I never saw thy wife in my life but
at the play yesterday, and I know not if it were she or no. I court
her, kiss her!
_Pinch._ I will not be a cuckold, I say; there will be danger in making
me a cuckold.
_Horn._ Why, wert thou not well cured of thy last clap?
_Pinch._ I wear a sword.
_Horn._ It should be taken from thee, lest thou shouldst do thyself a
mischief with it; thou art mad, man.
_Pinch._ As mad as I am, and as merry as you are, I must have more
reason from you ere we part. I say again, though you kissed and courted
last night my wife in man's clothes, as she confesses in her letter--
_Horn._ Ha! [_Aside._
_Pinch._ Both she and I say, you must not design it again, for you have
mistaken your woman, as you have done your man.
_Horn._ [_Aside._] O--I understand something now--[_Aloud._] Was that
thy wife! Why wouldst thou not tell me 'twas she? Faith, my freedom
with her was your fault, not mine.
_Pinch._ Faith, so 'twas. [_Aside._
_Horn._ Fy! I'd never do't to a woman before her husband's face, sure.
_Pinch._ But I had rather you should do't to my wife before my face,
than behind my back; and that you shall never do.
_Horn._ No--you will hinder me.
_Pinch._ If I would not hinder you, you see by her letter she would.
_Horn._ Well, I must e'en acquiesce then, and be contented with what
she writes.
_Pinch._ I'll assure you 'twas voluntarily writ; I had no hand in't you
may believe me.
_Horn._ I do believe thee, faith.
_Pinch._ And believe her too, for she's an innocent creature, has no
dissembling in her: and so fare you well, sir.
_Horn._ Pray, however, present my humble service to her, and tell her,
I will obey her letter to a tittle, and fulfil her desires, be what
they will, or with what difficulty soever I do't; and you shall be no
more jealous of me, I warrant her, and you.
_Pinch._ Well then, fare you well; and play with any man's honour but
mine, kiss any man's wife but mine, and welcome. [_Exit._
_Horn._ Ha! ha! ha! doctor.
_Quack._ It seems, he has not heard the report of you, or does not
believe it.
_Horn._ Ha! ha!--now, doctor, what think you?
_Quack._ Pray let's see the letter--hum--"for--dear--love you--"
[_Reads the letter._
_Horn._ I wonder how she could contrive it! What say'st thou to't? 'tis
an original.
_Quack._ So are your cuckolds too originals: for they are like no other
common cuckolds, and I will henceforth believe it not impossible for
you to cuckold the Grand Signior amidst his guards of eunuchs, that I
say.
_Horn._ And I say for the letter, 'tis the first love-letter that ever
was without flames, darts, fates, destinies, lying and dissembling in't.
_Enter_ SPARKISH _pulling in_ PINCHWIFE.
_Spark._ Come back, you are a pretty brother-in-law, neither go to
church nor to dinner with your sister bride!
_Pinch._ My sister denies her marriage, and you see is gone away from
you dissatisfied.
_Spark._ Pshaw! upon a foolish scruple, that our parson was not in
lawful orders, and did not say all the common-prayer; but 'tis her
modesty only I believe. But let all women be never so modest the first
day, they'll be sure to come to themselves by night, and I shall have
enough of her then. In the mean time, Harry Horner, you must dine with
me: I keep my wedding at my aunt's in the Piazza.[81]
_Horn._ Thy wedding! what stale maid has lived to despair of a husband,
or what young one of a gallant?
_Spark._ O, your servant, sir--this gentleman's sister then,--no stale
maid.
_Horn._ I'm sorry for't.
_Pinch._ How comes he so concerned for her? [_Aside._
_Spark._ You sorry for't? why, do you know any ill by her?
_Horn._ No, I know none but by thee; 'tis for her sake, not yours, and
another man's sake that might have hoped, I thought.
_Spark._ Another man! another man! what is his name?
_Horn._ Nay, since 'tis past, he shall be nameless.--[_Aside._] Poor
Harcourt! I am sorry thou hast missed her.
_Pinch._ He seems to be much troubled at the match. [_Aside._
_Spark._ Prithee, tell me--Nay, you shan't go, brother.
_Pinch._ I must of necessity, but I'll come to you to dinner. [_Exit._
_Spark._ But, Harry, what, have I a rival in my wife already? But with
all my heart, for he may be of use to me hereafter; for though my
hunger is now my sauce, and I can fall on heartily without, the time
will come, when a rival will be as good sauce for a married man to a
wife, as an orange to veal.
_Horn._ O thou damned rogue! thou hast set my teeth on edge with thy
orange.
_Spark._ Then let's to dinner--there I was with you again. Come.
_Horn._ But who dines with thee?
_Spark._ My friends and relations, my brother Pinchwife, you see, of
your acquaintance.
_Horn._ And his wife?
_Spark._ No, 'gad, he'll ne'er let her come amongst us good fellows;
your stingy country coxcomb keeps his wife from his friends, as he does
his little firkin of ale, for his own drinking, and a gentleman can't
get a smack on't; but his servants, when his back is turned, broach it
at their pleasures, and dust it away, ha! ha! ha!--'Gad, I am witty, I
think, considering I was married to-day, by the world; but come--
_Horn._ No, I will not dine with you, unless you can fetch her too.
_Spark._ Pshaw! what pleasure canst thou have with women now, Harry?
_Horn._ My eyes are not gone; I love a good prospect yet, and will not
dine with you unless she does too; go fetch her, therefore, but do not
tell her husband 'tis for my sake.
_Spark._ Well, I'll go try what I can do; in the meantime, come away to
my aunt's lodging, 'tis in the way to Pinchwife's.
_Horn._ The poor woman has called for aid, and stretched forth her
hand, doctor; I cannot but help her over the pale out of the briars.
[_Exeunt._
SCENE IV.--_A Room in_ PINCHWIFE'S _House._
Mrs. PINCHWIFE _alone, leaning on her elbow.--A table, pen,
ink and paper._
_Mrs. Pinch._ Well, 'tis e'en so, I have got the London disease they
call love; I am sick of my husband, and for my gallant. I have heard
this distemper called a fever, but methinks 'tis like an ague; for when
I think of my husband, I tremble, and am in a cold sweat, and have
inclinations to vomit; but when I think of my gallant, dear Mr. Horner,
my hot fit comes, and I am all in a fever indeed; and, as in other
fevers, my own chamber is tedious to me, and I would fain be removed to
his, and then methinks I should be well. Ah, poor Mr. Horner! Well, I
cannot, will not stay here; therefore I'll make an end of my letter to
him, which shall be a finer letter than my last, because I have studied
it like anything. Oh sick, sick! [_Takes the pen and writes._
_Enter_ PINCHWIFE, _who seeing her writing, steals softly behind
her and looking over her shoulder, snatches the paper from her._
_Pinch._ What, writing more letters?
_Mrs. Pinch._ O Lord, bud, why d'ye fright me so? [_She offers to run
out; he stops her, and reads._
_Pinch._ How's this? nay, you shall not stir, madam:--"Dear, dear,
dear Mr. Horner"--very well--I have taught you to write letters to
good purpose--but let us see't. "First, I am to beg your pardon for my
boldness in writing to you, which I'd have you to know I would not have
done, had not you said first you loved me so extremely, which if you
do, you will never suffer me to lie in the arms of another man whom I
loathe, nauseate, and detest."--Now you can write these filthy words.
But what follows?--"Therefore, I hope you will speedily find some way
to free me from this unfortunate match, which was never, I assure you,
of my choice, but I'm afraid 'tis already too far gone; however, if
you love me, as I do you, you will try what you can do; but you must
help me away before to-morrow, or else, alas! I shall be for ever out
of your reach, for I can defer no longer our--our--" what is to follow
"our"?--speak, what--our journey into the country I suppose--Oh woman,
damned woman! and Love, damned Love, their old tempter! for this is one
of his miracles; in a moment he can make those blind that could see,
and those see that were blind, those dumb that could speak, and those
prattle who were dumb before; nay, what is more than all, make these
dough-baked, senseless, indocile animals, women, too hard for us their
politic lords and rulers, in a moment. But make an end of your letter,
and then I'll make an end of you thus, and all my plagues together.
[_Draws his sword._
_Mrs. Pinch._ O Lord, O Lord, you are such a passionate man, bud!
_Enter_ SPARKISH.
_Spark._ How now, what's here to do?
_Pinch._ This fool here now!
_Spark._ What! drawn upon your wife? You should never do that, but at
night in the dark, when you can't hurt her. This is my sister-in-law,
is it not? ay, faith, e'en our country Margery; [_Pulls aside her
handkerchief_] one may know her. Come, she and you must go dine with
me; dinner's ready, come. But where's my wife? is she not come home
yet? where is she?
_Pinch._ Making you a cuckold; 'tis that they all do, as soon as they
can.
_Spark._ What, the wedding-day? no, a wife that designs to make a cully
of her husband will be sure to let him win the first stake of love, by
the world. But come, they stay dinner for us: come, I'll lead down our
Margery.
_Pinch._ No--sir, go, we'll follow you.
_Spark._ I will not wag without you.
_Pinch._ This coxcomb is a sensible torment to me amidst the greatest
in the world. [_Aside._
_Spark._ Come, come, Madam Margery.
_Pinch._ No; I'll lead her my way: what, would you treat your friends
with mine, for want of your own wife?--[_Leads her to the other door,
and locks her in and returns._] I am contented my rage should take
breath--[_Aside._
_Spark._ I told Horner this.
_Pinch._ Come now.
_Spark._ Lord, how shy you are of your wife! but let me tell you,
brother, we men of wit have amongst us a saying, that cuckolding, like
the small-pox, comes with a fear; and you may keep your wife as much as
you will out of danger of infection, but if her constitution incline
her to't, she'll have it sooner or later, by the world, say they.
_Pinch._ [_Aside._] What a thing is a cuckold, that every fool can
make him ridiculous!--[_Aloud._] Well, sir--but let me advise you, now
you are come to be concerned, because you suspect the danger, not to
neglect the means to prevent it, especially when the greatest share of
the malady will light upon your own head, for
Hows'e'er the kind wife's belly comes to swell,
The husband breeds for her, and first is ill.
[_Exeunt._
ACT THE FIFTH.
SCENE I.--PINCHWIFE'S _House._
_Enter_ PINCHWIFE _and_ Mrs. PINCHWIFE. _A table and candle._
_Pinch._ Come, take the pen and make an end of the letter, just as you
intended; if you are false in a tittle, I shall soon perceive it, and
punish you as you deserve.--[_Lays his hand on his sword._] Write what
was to follow--let's see--"You must make haste, and help me away before
to-morrow, or else I shall be for ever out of your reach, for I can
defer no longer our"--What follows "our"?
_Mrs. Pinch._ Must all out, then, bud?--Look you there, then. [Mrs.
PINCHWIFE _takes the pen and writes._
_Pinch._ Let's see--"For I can defer no longer our--wedding--Your
slighted Alithea."--What's the meaning of this? my sister's name to't?
speak, unriddle.
_Mrs. Pinch._ Yes, indeed, bud.
_Pinch._ But why her name to't? speak--speak, I say.
_Mrs. Pinch._ Ay, but you'll tell her then again. If you would not tell
her again--
_Pinch._ I will not:--I am stunned, my head turns round.--Speak.
_Mrs. Pinch._ Won't you tell her, indeed, and indeed?
_Pinch._ No; speak, I say.
_Mrs. Pinch._ She'll be angry with me; but I had rather she should be
angry with me than you, bud; and, to tell you the truth, 'twas she
made me write the letter, and taught me what I should write.
_Pinch._ [_Aside._] Ha!--I thought the style was somewhat better than
her own.--[_Aloud._] Could she come to you to teach you, since I had
locked you up alone?
_Mrs. Pinch._ O, through the key-hole, bud.
_Pinch._ But why should she make you write a letter for her to him,
since she can write herself?
_Mrs. Pinch._ Why, she said because--for I was unwilling to do it--
_Pinch._ Because what--because?
_Mrs. Pinch._ Because, lest Mr. Horner should be cruel, and refuse her;
or be vain afterwards, and show the letter, she might disown it, the
hand not being hers.
_Pinch._ [_Aside._] How's this? Ha!--then I think I shall come to
myself again.--This changeling could not invent this lie: but if
she could, why should she? she might think I should soon discover
it.--Stay--now I think on't too, Horner said he was sorry she had
married Sparkish; and her disowning her marriage to me makes me think
she has evaded it for Horner's sake: yet why should she take this
course? But men in love are fools; women may well be so--[_Aloud._] But
hark you, madam, your sister went out in the morning, and I have not
seen her within since.
_Mrs. Pinch._ Alack-a-day, she has been crying all day above, it seems,
in a corner.
_Pinch._ Where is she? let me speak with her.
_Mrs. Pinch._ [_Aside._] O Lord, then she'll discover all!--[_Aloud._]
Pray hold, bud; what, d'ye mean to discover me? she'll know I have told
you then. Pray, bud, let me talk with her first.
_Pinch._ I must speak with her, to know whether Horner ever made her
any promise, and whether she be married to Sparkish or no.
_Mrs. Pinch._ Pray, dear bud, don't, till I have spoken with her, and
told her that I have told you all; for she'll kill me else.
_Pinch._ Go then, and bid her come out to me.
_Mrs. Pinch._ Yes, yes, bud.
_Pinch._ Let me see--[_Pausing._
_Mrs. Pinch._ [_Aside._] I'll go, but she is not within to come to
him: I have just got time to know of Lucy her maid, who first set me
on work, what lie I shall tell next; for I am e'en at my wit's end.
[_Exit._
_Pinch._ Well, I resolve it, Horner shall have her: I'd rather give him
my sister than lend him my wife; and such an alliance will prevent his
pretensions to my wife, sure. I'll make him of kin to her, and then he
won't care for her.
_Re-enter_ Mrs. PINCHWIFE.
_Mrs. Pinch._ O Lord, bud! I told you what anger you would make me with
my sister.
_Pinch._ Won't she come hither?
_Mrs. Pinch._ No, no. Lack-a-day, she's ashamed to look you in the
face: and she says, if you go in to her, she'll run away down stairs,
and shamefully go herself to Mr. Horner, who has promised her marriage,
she says; and she will have no other, so she won't.
_Pinch._ Did he so?--promise her marriage!--then she shall have no
other. Go tell her so; and if she will come and discourse with me a
little concerning the means, I will about it immediately. Go.--[_Exit_
Mrs. PINCHWIFE.] His estate is equal to Sparkish's, and his extraction
as much better than his, as his parts are; but my chief reason is,
I'd rather be akin to him by the name of brother-in-law than that of
cuckold.
_Re-enter_ Mrs. PINCHWIFE.
Well, what says she now?
_Mrs. Pinch._ Why, she says, she would only have you lead her to
Horner's lodging; with whom she first will discourse the matter before
she talks with you, which yet she cannot do; for alack, poor creature,
she says she can't so much as look you in the face, therefore she'll
come to you in a mask. And you must excuse her, if she make you no
answer to any question of yours, till you have brought her to Mr.
Horner; and if you will not chide her, nor question her, she'll come
out to you immediately.
_Pinch._ Let her come: I will not speak a word to her, nor require a
word from her.
_Mrs. Pinch._ Oh, I forgot: besides she says, she cannot look you in
the face, though through a mask; therefore would desire you to put out
the candle.
_Pinch._ I agree to all. Let her make haste.--There, 'tis out--[_Puts
out the candle. Exit_ Mrs. PINCHWIFE.] My case is something better: I'd
rather fight with Horner for not lying with my sister, than for lying
with my wife; and of the two, I had rather find my sister too forward
than my wife. I expected no other from her free education, as she calls
it, and her passion for the town. Well, wife and sister are names which
make us expect love and duty, pleasure and comfort; but we find 'em
plagues and torments, and are equally, though differently, troublesome
to their keeper; for we have as much ado to get people to lie with our
sisters as to keep 'em from lying with our wives.
_Re-enter_ Mrs. PINCHWIFE _masked, and in hoods and scarfs, and a
night-gown and petticoat of_ ALITHEA'S.
What, are you come, sister? let us go then.--But first, let me lock up
my wife. Mrs. Margery, where are you?
_Mrs. Pinch._ Here, bud.
_Pinch._ Come hither, that I may lock you up: get you in.--[_Locks the
door._] Come, sister, where are you now? [Mrs. PINCHWIFE _gives him her
hand; but when he lets her go, she steals softly on to the other side
of him, and is led away by him for his_ Sister, ALITHEA.
SCENE II.--HORNER'S _Lodging._
HORNER _and_ Quack.
_Quack._ What, all alone? not so much as one of your cuckolds here, nor
one of their wives! They use to take their turns with you, as if they
were to watch you.
_Horn._ Yes, it often happens that a cuckold is but his wife's spy, and
is more upon family duty when he is with her gallant abroad, hindering
his pleasure, than when he is at home with her playing the gallant. But
the hardest duty a married woman imposes upon a lover is keeping her
husband company always.
_Quack._ And his fondness wearies you almost as soon as hers.
_Horn._ A pox! keeping a cuckold company, after you have had his wife,
is as tiresome as the company of a country squire to a witty fellow of
the town, when he has got all his money.
_Quack._ And as at first a man makes a friend of the husband to get the
wife, so at last you are fain to fall out with the wife to be rid of
the husband.
_Horn._ Ay, most cuckold-makers are true courtiers; when once a poor
man has cracked his credit for 'em, they can't abide to come near him.
_Quack._ But at first, to draw him in, are so sweet, so kind, so dear!
just as you are to Pinchwife. But what becomes of that intrigue with
his wife?
_Horn._ A pox! he's as surly as an alderman that has been bit; and
since he's so coy, his wife's kindness is in vain, for she's a silly
innocent.
_Quack._ Did she not send you a letter by him?
_Horn._ Yes; but that's a riddle I have not yet solved. Allow the poor
creature to be willing, she is silly too, and he keeps her up so close--
_Quack._ Yes, so close, that he makes her but the more willing, and
adds but revenge to her love; which two, when met, seldom fail of
satisfying each other one way or other.
_Horn._ What! here's the man we are talking of, I think.
_Enter_ PINCHWIFE, _leading in his_ Wife _masked, muffled,
and in her_ Sister's _gown._
Pshaw!
_Quack._ Bringing his wife to you is the next thing to bringing a
love-letter from her.
_Horn._ What means this?
_Pinch._ The last time, you know, sir, I brought you a love-letter;
now, you see, a mistress; I think you'll say I am a civil man to you.
_Horn._ Ay, the devil take me, will I say thou art the civilest man I
ever met with; and I have known some. I fancy I understand thee now
better than I did the letter. But, hark thee, in thy ear--
_Pinch._ What?
_Horn._ Nothing but the usual question, man: is she sound, on thy word?
_Pinch._ What, you take her for a wench, and me for a pimp?
_Horn._ Pshaw! wench and pimp, paw[82] words; I know thou art an honest
fellow, and hast a great acquaintance among the ladies, and perhaps
hast made love for me, rather than let me make love to thy wife.
_Pinch._ Come, sir, in short, I am for no fooling.
_Horn._ Nor I neither: therefore prithee, let's see her face presently.
Make her show, man: art thou sure I don't know her?
_Pinch._ I am sure you do know her.
_Horn._ A pox! why dost thou bring her to me then?
_Pinch._ Because she's a relation of mine--
_Horn._ Is she, faith, man? then thou art still more civil and
obliging, dear rogue.
_Pinch._ Who desired me to bring her to you.
_Horn._ Then she is obliging, dear rogue.
_Pinch._ You'll make her welcome for my sake, I hope.
_Horn._ I hope she is handsome enough to make herself welcome. Prithee
let her unmask.
_Pinch._ Do you speak to her; she would never be ruled by me.
_Horn._ Madam--[Mrs. PINCHWIFE _whispers to_ HORNER.] She says she must
speak with me in private. Withdraw, prithee.
_Pinch._ [_Aside._] She's unwilling, it seems, I should know all her
indecent conduct in this business--[_Aloud._] Well then, I'll leave
you together, and hope when I am gone, you'll agree; if not, you and I
shan't agree, sir.
_Horn._ What means the fool? if she and I agree 'tis no matter what you
and I do. [_Whispers to_ Mrs. PINCHWIFE, _who makes signs with her hand
for him to be gone._
_Pinch._ In the mean time I'll fetch a parson, and find out Sparkish,
and disabuse him. You would have me fetch a parson, would you not? Well
then--now I think I am rid of her, and shall have no more trouble with
her--our sisters and daughters, like usurers' money, are safest when
put out; but our wives, like their writings, never safe, but in our
closets under lock and key. [_Exit._
_Enter_ Boy.
_Boy._ Sir Jasper Fidget, sir, is coming up. [_Exit._
_Horn._ Here's the trouble of a cuckold now we are talking of. A pox on
him! has he not enough to do to hinder his wife's sport, but he must
other women's too?--Step in here, madam. [_Exit_ Mrs. PINCHWIFE.
_Enter_ Sir JASPER FIDGET.
_Sir Jasp._ My best and dearest friend.
_Horn._ [_Aside to_ Quack.] The old style, doctor.--[_Aloud._] Well,
be short, for I am busy. What would your impertinent wife have now?
_Sir Jasp._ Well guessed, i'faith; for I do come from her.
_Horn._ To invite me to supper! Tell her, I can't come; go.
_Sir Jasp._ Nay, now you are out, faith; for my lady, and the whole
knot of the virtuous gang, as they call themselves, are resolved upon
a frolic of coming to you to-night in masquerade, and are all dressed
already.
_Horn._ I shan't be at home.
_Sir Jasp._ [_Aside._] Lord, how churlish he is to women!--[_Aloud._]
Nay, prithee don't disappoint 'em; they'll think 'tis my fault: prithee
don't. I'll send in the banquet and the fiddles. But make no noise
on't; for the poor virtuous rogues would not have it known, for the
world, that they go a-masquerading; and they would come to no man's
ball but yours.
_Horn._ Well, well--get you gone; and tell 'em, if they come, 'twill be
at the peril of their honour and yours.
_Sir Jasp._ He! he! he!--we'll trust you for that: farewell. [_Exit._
_Horn._
Doctor, anon you too shall be my guest,
But now I'm going to a private feast.
[_Exeunt._
SCENE III.--_The Piazza of Covent Garden._
_Enter_ SPARKISH _with a letter in his hand,_
PINCHWIFE _following._
_Spark._ But who would have thought a woman could have been false to
me? By the world, I could not have thought it.
_Pinch._ You were for giving and taking liberty: she has taken it only,
sir, now you find in that letter. You are a frank person, and so is
she, you see there.
_Spark._ Nay, if this be her hand--for I never saw it.
_Pinch._ 'Tis no matter whether that be her hand or no; I am sure this
hand, at her desire, led her to Mr. Horner, with whom I left her just
now, to go fetch a parson to 'em at their desire too, to deprive you of
her for ever; for it seems yours was but a mock marriage.
_Spark._ Indeed, she would needs have it that 'twas Harcourt himself,
in a parson's habit, that married us; but I'm sure he told me 'twas his
brother Ned.
_Pinch._ O, there 'tis out; and you were deceived, not she: for you
are such a frank person. But I must be gone.--You'll find her at Mr.
Horner's. Go, and believe your eyes. [_Exit._
_Spark._ Nay, I'll to her, and call her as many crocodiles, sirens,
harpies, and other heathenish names, as a poet would do a mistress who
had refused to hear his suit, nay more, his verses on her.--But stay,
is not that she following a torch at t'other end of the Piazza? and
from Horner's certainly--'tis so.
_Enter_ ALITHEA _following a torch, and_ LUCY _behind._
You are well met, madam, though you don't think so. What, you have
made a short visit to Mr. Horner? but I suppose you'll return to him
presently, by that time the parson can be with him.
_Alith._ Mr. Horner and the parson, sir!
_Spark._ Come, madam, no more dissembling, no more jilting; for I am no
more a frank person.
_Alith._ How's this?
_Lucy._ So, 'twill work, I see. [_Aside._
_Spark._ Could you find out no easy country fool to abuse? none but me,
a gentleman of wit and pleasure about the town? But it was your pride
to be too hard for a man of parts, unworthy false woman! false as a
friend that lends a man money to lose; false as dice, who undo those
that trust all they have to 'em.
_Lucy._ He has been a great bubble, by his similes, as they say.
[_Aside._
_Alith._ You have been too merry, sir, at your wedding-dinner, sure.
_Spark._ What, d'ye mock me too?
_Alith._ Or you have been deluded.
_Spark._ By you.
_Alith._ Let me understand you.
_Spark._ Have you the confidence, (I should call it something else,
since you know your guilt,) to stand my just reproaches? you did not
write an impudent letter to Mr. Horner? who I find now has clubbed
with you in deluding me with his aversion for women, that I might not,
forsooth, suspect him for my rival.
_Lucy._ D'ye think the gentleman can be jealous now, madam? [_Aside._
_Alith._ I write a letter to Mr. Horner!
_Spark._ Nay, madam, do not deny it. Your brother showed it me just
now; and told me likewise, he left you at Horner's lodging to fetch a
parson to marry you to him; and I wish you joy, madam, joy, joy; and to
him too, much joy; and to myself more joy, for not marrying you.
_Alith._ [_Aside._] So, I find my brother would break off the match;
and I can consent to't, since I see this gentleman can be made
jealous.--[_Aloud._] O Lucy, by his rude usage and jealousy, he makes
me almost afraid I am married to him. Art thou sure 'twas Harcourt
himself, and no parson, that married us?
_Spark._ No, madam, I thank you. I suppose, that was a contrivance too
of Mr. Horner's and yours, to make Harcourt play the parson; but I
would as little as you have him one now, no, not for the world. For,
shall I tell you another truth? I never had any passion for you till
now, for now I hate you. 'Tis true, I might have married your portion,
as other men of parts of the town do sometimes; and so, your servant.
And to show my unconcernedness, I'll come to your wedding, and resign
you with as much joy, as I would a stale wench to a new cully; nay,
with as much joy as I would after the first night, if I had been
married to you. There's for you; and so your servant, servant. [_Exit._
_Alith._ How was I deceived in a man!
_Lucy._ You'll believe then a fool may be made jealous now? for that
easiness in him that suffers him to be led by a wife, will likewise
permit him to be persuaded against her by others.
_Alith._ But marry Mr. Horner! my brother does not intend it, sure:
if I thought he did, I would take thy advice, and Mr. Harcourt for my
husband. And now I wish, that if there be any over-wise woman of the
town, who, like me, would marry a fool for fortune, liberty, or title,
first, that her husband may love play, and be a cully to all the town
but her, and suffer none but Fortune to be mistress of his purse;
then, if for liberty, that he may send her into the country, under the
conduct of some huswifely mother-in-law; and if for title, may the
world give 'em none but that of cuckold.
_Lucy._ And for her greater curse, madam, may he not deserve it.
_Alith._ Away, impertinent! Is not this my old Lady Lanterlu's?[83]
_Lucy._ Yes, madam.--[_Aside._] And here I hope we shall find Mr.
Harcourt. [_Exeunt._
SCENE IV.--HORNER'S _Lodging. A table, banquet, and bottles._
_Enter_ HORNER, Lady FIDGET, Mrs. DAINTY FIDGET,
_and_ Mrs. SQUEAMISH.
_Horn._ A pox! they are come too soon--before I have sent back my new
mistress. All that I have now to do is to lock her in, that they may
not see her. [_Aside._
_L. Fid._ That we may be sure of our welcome, we have brought our
entertainment with us, and are resolved to treat thee, dear toad.
_Mrs. Dain._ And that we may be merry to purpose, have left Sir Jasper
and my old Lady Squeamish, quarrelling at home at backgammon.
_Mrs. Squeam._ Therefore let us make use of our time, lest they should
chance to interrupt us.
_L. Fid._ Let us sit then.
_Horn._ First, that you may be private, let me lock this door and that,
and I'll wait upon you presently.
_L. Fid._ No, sir, shut 'em only, and your lips for ever; for we must
trust you as much as our women.
_Horn._ You know all vanity's killed in me; I have no occasion for
talking.
_L. Fid._ Now, ladies, supposing we had drank each of us our two
bottles, let us speak the truth of our hearts.
_Mrs. Dain. and Mrs. Squeam._ Agreed.
_L. Fid._ By this brimmer, for truth is nowhere else to be
found--[_Aside to_ HORNER.] not in thy heart, false man!
_Horn._ You have found me a true man, I'm sure. [_Aside to_ Lady FIDGET.
_L. Fid._ [_Aside to_ HORNER.] Not every way.--But let us sit and be
merry. [_Sings._
Why should our damned tyrants oblige us to live
On the pittance of pleasure which they only give?
We must not rejoice
With wine and with noise:
In vain we must wake in a dull bed alone,
Whilst to our warm rival the bottle they're gone.
Then lay aside charms,
And take up these arms.[84]
'Tis wine only gives 'em their courage and wit;
Because we live sober, to men we submit.
If for beauties you'd pass,
Take a lick of the glass,
'Twill mend your complexions, and when they are gone,
The best red we have is the red of the grape:
Then, sisters, lay't on,
And damn a good shape.
_Mrs. Fain._ Dear brimmer! Well, in token of our openness and
plain-dealing, let us throw our masks over our heads.
_Horn._ So, 'twill come to the glasses anon. [_Aside._
_Mrs. Squeam._ Lovely brimmer! let me enjoy him first.
_L. Fid._ No, I never part with a gallant till I've tried him. Dear
brimmer! that makest our husbands short-sighted.
_Mrs. Dain._ And our bashful gallants bold.
_Mrs. Squeam._ And, for want of a gallant, the butler lovely in our
eyes.--Drink, eunuch.
_L. Fid._ Drink, thou representative of a husband.--Damn a husband!
_Mrs. Dain._ And, as it were a husband, an old keeper.
_Mrs. Squeam._ And an old grandmother.
_Horn._ And an English bawd, and a French surgeon.
_L. Fid._ Ay, we have all reason to curse 'em.
_Horn._ For my sake, ladies?
_L. Fid._ No, for our own; for the first spoils all young gallants'
industry.
_Mrs. Dain._ And the other's art makes 'em bold only with common women.
_Mrs. Squeam._ And rather run the hazard of the vile distemper amongst
them, than of a denial amongst us.
_Mrs. Dain._ The filthy toads choose mistresses now as they do stuffs,
for having been fancied and worn by others.
_Mrs. Squeam._ For being common and cheap.
_L. Fid._ Whilst women of quality, like the richest stuffs, lie
untumbled, and unasked for.
_Horn._ Ay, neat, and cheap, and new, often they think best.
_Mrs. Dain._ No, sir, the beasts will be known by a mistress longer
than by a suit.
_Mrs. Squeam._ And 'tis not for cheapness neither.
_L. Fid._ No; for the vain fops will take up druggets, and embroider
'em. But I wonder at the depraved appetites of witty men; they use to
be out of the common road, and hate imitation. Pray tell me, beast,
when you were a man, why you rather chose to club with a multitude in a
common house for an entertainment, than to be the only guest at a good
table.
_Horn._ Why, faith, ceremony and expectation are unsufferable to those
that are sharp bent. People always eat with the best stomach at an
ordinary, where every man is snatching for the best bit.
_L. Fid._ Though he get a cut over the fingers.--But I have heard, that
people eat most heartily of another man's meat, that is, what they do
not pay for.
_Horn._ When they are sure of their welcome and freedom; for ceremony
in love and eating is as ridiculous as in fighting: falling on briskly
is all should be done on those occasions.
_L. Fid._ Well then, let me tell you, sir, there is nowhere more
freedom than in our houses; and we take freedom from a young person as
a sign of good breeding; and a person may be as free as he pleases with
us, as frolic, as gamesome, as wild as he will.
_Horn._ Han't I heard you all declaim against wild men?
_L. Fid._ Yes; but for all that, we think wildness in a man as
desirable a quality as in a duck or rabbit: a tame man! foh!
_Horn._ I know not, but your reputations frightened me as much as your
faces invited me.
_L. Fid._ Our reputation! Lord, why should you not think that we women
make use of our reputation, as you men of yours, only to deceive the
world with less suspicion? Our virtue is like the statesman's religion,
the quaker's word, the gamester's oath, and the great man's honour;
but to cheat those that trust us.
_Mrs. Squeam._ And that demureness, coyness, and modesty, that you see
in our faces in the boxes at plays, is as much a sign of a kind woman,
as a vizard-mask in the pit.
_Mrs. Dain._ For, I assure you, women are least masked when they have
the velvet vizard on.
_L. Fid._ You would have found us modest women in our denials only.
_Mrs. Squeam._ Our bashfulness is only the reflection of the men's.
_Mrs. Dain._ We blush when they are shamefaced.
_Horn._ I beg your pardon, ladies, I was deceived in you devilishly.
But why that mighty pretence to honour?
_L. Fid._ We have told you; but sometimes 'twas for the same reason you
men pretend business often, to avoid ill company, to enjoy the better
and more privately those you love.
_Horn._ But why would you ne'er give a friend a wink then?
_L. Fid._ Faith, your reputation frightened us, as much as ours did
you, you were so notoriously lewd.
_Horn._ And you so seemingly honest.
_L. Fid._ Was that all that deterred you?
_Horn._ And so expensive--you allow freedom, you say.
_L. Fid._ Ay, ay.
_Horn._ That I was afraid of losing my little money, as well as my
little time, both which my other pleasures required.
_L. Fid._ Money! foh! you talk like a little fellow now: do such as we
expect money?
_Horn._ I beg your pardon, madam, I must confess, I have heard that
great ladies, like great merchants, set but the higher prices upon what
they have, because they are not in necessity of taking the first offer.
_Mrs. Dain._ Such as we make sale of our hearts?
_Mrs. Squeam._ We bribed for our love? foh!
_Horn._ With your pardon ladies, I know, like great men in offices, you
seem to exact flattery and attendance only from your followers; but
you have receivers about you, and such fees to pay, a man is afraid to
pass your grants. Besides, we must let you win at cards, or we lose
your hearts; and if you make an assignation, 'tis at a goldsmith's,
jeweller's, or china-house; where for your honour you deposit to him,
he must pawn his to the punctual cit, and so paying for what you take
up, pays for what he takes up.
_Mrs. Dain._ Would you not have us assured of our gallants' love?
_Mrs. Squeam._ For love is better known by liberality than by jealousy.
_L. Fid._ For one may be dissembled, the other not.--[_Aside._]
But my jealousy can be no longer dissembled, and they are telling
ripe.--[_Aloud._]--Come, here's to our gallants in waiting, whom we
must name, and I'll begin. This is my false rogue. [_Claps him on the
back._
_Mrs. Squeam._ How!
_Horn._ So, all will out now. [_Aside._
_Mrs. Squeam._ Did you not tell me, 'twas for my sake only you reported
yourself no man? [_Aside to_ HORNER.
_Mrs. Dain._ Oh, wretch! did you not swear to me, 'twas for my love and
honour you passed for that thing you do? [_Aside to_ HORNER.
_Horn._ So, so.
_L. Fid._ Come, speak, ladies: this is my false villain.
_Mrs. Squeam._ And mine too.
_Mrs. Dain._ And mine.
_Horn._ Well then, you are all three my false rogues too, and there's
an end on't.
_L. Fid._ Well then, there's no remedy; sister sharers, let us not
fall out, but have a care of our honour. Though we get no presents,
no jewels of him, we are savers of our honour, the jewel of most
value and use, which shines yet to the world unsuspected, though it be
counterfeit.
_Horn._ Nay, and is e'en as good as if it were true, provided the world
think so; for honour, like beauty now, only depends on the opinion of
others.
_L. Fid._ Well, Harry Common, I hope you can be true to three. Swear;
but 'tis to no purpose to require your oath, for you are as often
forsworn as you swear to new women.
_Horn._ Come, faith, madam, let us e'en pardon one another; for all the
difference I find betwixt we men and you women, we forswear ourselves
at the beginning of an amour, you as long as it lasts.
_Enter_ Sir JASPER FIDGET, _and_ Old Lady SQUEAMISH.
_Sir Jasp._ Oh, my Lady Fidget, was this your cunning, to come to Mr.
Horner without me? but you have been nowhere else, I hope.
_L. Fid._ No, Sir Jasper.
_L. Squeam._ And you came straight hither, Biddy?
_Mrs. Squeam._ Yes, indeed, lady grandmother.
_Sir Jasp._ 'Tis well, 'tis well; I knew when once they were thoroughly
acquainted with poor Horner, they'd ne'er be from him: you may let her
masquerade it with my wife and Horner, and I warrant her reputation
safe.
_Enter_ Boy.
_Boy._ O, sir, here's the gentleman come, whom you bid me not suffer
to come up, without giving you notice, with a lady too, and other
gentlemen.
_Horn._ Do you all go in there, whilst I send 'em away; and, boy, do
you desire 'em to stay below till I come, which shall be immediately.
[_Exeunt_ Sir JASPER FIDGET, Lady FIDGET, Lady SQUEAMISH, Mrs.
SQUEAMISH, _and_ Mrs. DAINTY FIDGET.
_Boy._ Yes, sir. [_Exit._
[_Exit_ HORNER _at the other door, and returns with_
Mrs. PINCHWIFE.
_Horn._ You would not take my advice, to be gone home before your
husband came back, he'll now discover all; yet pray, my dearest, be
persuaded to go home, and leave the rest to my management; I'll let you
down the back way.
_Mrs. Pinch._ I don't know the way home, so I don't.
_Horn._ My man shall wait upon you.
_Mrs. Pinch._ No, don't you believe that I'll go at all; what, are you
weary of me already?
_Horn._ No, my life, 'tis that I may love you long, 'tis to secure my
love, and your reputation with your husband; he'll never receive you
again else.
_Mrs. Pinch._ What care I? d'ye think to frighten me with that? I don't
intend to go to him again; you shall be my husband now.
_Horn._ I cannot be your husband, dearest, since you are married to him.
_Mrs. Pinch._ O, would you make me believe that? Don't I see every day
at London here, women leave their first husbands, and go and live with
other men as their wives? pish, pshaw! you'd make me angry, but that I
love you so mainly.
_Horn._ So, they are coming up--In again, in, I hear 'em.--[_Exit_
Mrs. PINCHWIFE.] Well, a silly mistress is like a weak place, soon got,
soon lost, a man has scarce time for plunder; she betrays her husband
first to her gallant, and then her gallant to her husband.
_Enter_ PINCHWIFE, ALITHEA, HARCOURT, SPARKISH, LUCY,
_and a_ Parson.
_Pinch._ Come, madam, 'tis not the sudden change of your dress, the
confidence of your asseverations, and your false witness there, shall
persuade me I did not bring you hither just now; here's my witness, who
cannot deny it, since you must be confronted.--Mr. Horner, did not I
bring this lady to you just now?
_Horn._ Now must I wrong one woman for another's sake,--but that's no
new thing with me, for in these cases I am still on the criminal's side
against the innocent. [_Aside._
_Alith._ Pray speak, sir.
_Horn._ It must be so. I must be impudent, and try my luck; impudence
uses to be too hard for truth. [_Aside._
_Pinch._ What, you are studying an evasion or excuse for her! Speak,
sir.
_Horn._ No, faith, I am something backward only to speak in women's
affairs or disputes.
_Pinch._ She bids you speak.
_Alith._ Ay, pray, sir, do, pray satisfy him.
_Horn._ Then truly, you did bring that lady to me just now.
_Pinch._ O ho!
_Alith._ How, sir?
_Har._ How, Horner?
_Alith._ What mean you, sir? I always took you for a man of honour.
_Horn._ Ay, so much a man of honour, that I must save my mistress, I
thank you, come what will on't. [_Aside._
_Spark._ So, if I had had her, she'd have made me believe the moon had
been made of a Christmas pie.
_Lucy._ Now could I speak, if I durst, and solve the riddle, who am the
author of it. [_Aside._
_Alith._ O unfortunate woman! A combination against my honour! which
most concerns me now, because you share in my disgrace, sir, and it is
your censure, which I must now suffer, that troubles me, not theirs.
_Har._ Madam, then have no trouble, you shall now see 'tis possible for
me to love too, without being jealous; I will not only believe your
innocence myself, but make all the world believe it.--[_Aside to_
HORNER.] Horner, I must now be concerned for this lady's honour.
_Horn._ And I must be concerned for a lady's honour too.
_Har._ This lady has her honour, and I will protect it.
_Horn._ My lady has not her honour, but has given it me to keep, and I
will preserve it.
_Har._ I understand you not.
_Horn._ I would not have you.
_Mrs. Pinch._ What's the matter with 'em all? [_Peeping in behind._
_Pinch._ Come, come, Mr. Horner, no more disputing; here's the parson,
I brought him not in vain.
_Har._ No, sir, I'll employ him, if this lady please.
_Pinch._ How! what d'ye mean?
_Spark._ Ay, what does he mean?
_Horn._ Why, I have resigned your sister to him, he has my consent.
_Pinch._ But he has not mine, sir; a woman's injured honour, no more
than a man's, can be repaired or satisfied by any but him that first
wronged it; and you shall marry her presently, or--[_Lays his hand on
his sword._
_Re-enter_ Mrs. PINCHWIFE.
_Mrs. Pinch._ O Lord, they'll kill poor Mr. Horner! besides, he shan't
marry her whilst I stand by, and look on; I'll not lose my second
husband so.
_Pinch._ What do I see?
_Alith._ My sister in my clothes!
_Spark._ Ha!
_Mrs. Pinch._ Nay, pray now don't quarrel about finding work for the
parson, he shall marry me to Mr. Horner; or now, I believe, you have
enough of me. [_To_ PINCHWIFE.
_Horn._ Damned, damned loving changeling! [_Aside._
_Mrs. Pinch._ Pray, sister, pardon me for telling so many lies of you.
_Horn._ I suppose the riddle is plain now.
_Lucy._ No, that must be my work.--Good sir, hear me. [_Kneels to_
PINCHWIFE, _who stands doggedly with his hat over his eyes._
_Pinch._ I will never hear woman again, but make 'em all silent
thus--[_Offers to draw upon his_ Wife.
_Horn._ No, that must not be.
_Pinch._ You then shall go first, 'tis all one to me. [_Offers to draw
on_ HORNER, _but is stopped by_ HARCOURT.
_Har._ Hold!
_Re-enter_ Sir JASPER FIDGET, Lady FIDGET, Lady SQUEAMISH,
Mrs. DAINTY FIDGET, _and_ Mrs. SQUEAMISH.
_Sir Jasp._ What's the matter? what's the matter? pray, what's the
matter, sir? I beseech you communicate, sir.
_Pinch._ Why, my wife has communicated, sir, as your wife may have done
too, sir, if she knows him, sir.
_Sir Jasp._ Pshaw, with him! ha! ha! he!
_Pinch._ D'ye mock me, sir? a cuckold is a kind of a wild beast; have a
care, sir.
_Sir Jasp._ No, sure, you mock me, sir. He cuckold you! it can't be,
ha! ha! he! why, I'll tell you, sir--[_Offers to whisper._
_Pinch._ I tell you again, he has whored my wife, and yours too, if he
knows her, and all the women he comes near; 'tis not his dissembling,
his hypocrisy, can wheedle me.
_Sir Jasp._ How! does he dissemble? is he a hypocrite? Nay,
then--how--wife--sister, is he a hypocrite?
_L. Squeam._ A hypocrite! a dissembler! Speak, young harlotry, speak,
how?
_Sir Jasp._ Nay, then--O my head too!--O thou libidinous lady!
_L. Squeam._ O thou harloting harlotry! hast thou done't then?
_Sir Jasp._ Speak, good Horner, art thou a dissembler, a rogue? hast
thou--
_Horn._ So!
_Lucy._ I'll fetch you off, and her too, if she will but hold her
tongue. [_Apart to_ HORNER.
_Horn._ Canst thou? I'll give thee--[_Apart to_ LUCY.
_Lucy. [To_ PINCHWIFE.] Pray have but patience to hear me, sir, who am
the unfortunate cause of all this confusion. Your wife is innocent, I
only culpable; for I put her upon telling you all these lies concerning
my mistress, in order to the breaking off the match between Mr.
Sparkish and her, to make way for Mr. Harcourt.
_Spark._ Did you so, eternal rotten tooth? Then, it seems, my mistress
was not false to me, I was only deceived by you. Brother, that should
have been, now man of conduct, who is a frank person now, to bring your
wife to her lover, ha?
_Lucy._ I assure you, sir, she came not to Mr. Horner out of love, for
she loves him no more--
_Mrs. Pinch._ Hold, I told lies for you, but you shall tell none for
me, for I do love Mr. Horner with all my soul, and nobody shall say
me nay; pray, don't you go to make poor Mr. Horner believe to the
contrary; 'tis spitefully done of you, I'm sure.
_Horn._ Peace, dear idiot. [_Aside to_ Mrs. PINCHWIFE.
_Mrs. Pinch._ Nay, I will not peace.
_Pinch._ Not till I make you.
_Enter_ DORILANT _and_ Quack.
_Dor._ Horner, your servant; I am the doctor's guest, he must excuse
our intrusion.
_Quack._ But what's the matter, gentlemen? for Heaven's sake, what's
the matter?
_Horn._ Oh, 'tis well you are come. 'Tis a censorious world we live
in; you may have brought me a reprieve, or else I had died for a
crime I never committed, and these innocent ladies had suffered
with me; therefore, pray satisfy these worthy, honourable, jealous
gentlemen--that--[_Whispers._
_Quack._ O, I understand you, is that all?--Sir Jasper, by Heavens, and
upon the word of a physician, sir--[_Whispers to_ Sir JASPER.
_Sir Jasp._ Nay, I do believe you truly.--Pardon me, my virtuous lady,
and dear of honour.
_L. Squeam._ What, then all's right again?
_Sir Jasp._ Ay, ay, and now let us satisfy him too. [_They whisper
with_ PINCHWIFE.
_Pinch._ An eunuch! Pray, no fooling with me.
_Quack._ I'll bring half the chirurgeons in town to swear it.
_Pinch._ They!--they'll swear a man that bled to death through his
wounds, died of an apoplexy.
_Quack._ Pray, hear me, sir--why, all the town has heard the report of
him.
_Pinch._ But does all the town believe it?
_Quack._ Pray, inquire a little, and first of all these.
_Pinch._ I'm sure when I left the town, he was the lewdest fellow in't.
_Quack._ I tell you, sir, he has been in France since; pray, ask but
these ladies and gentlemen, your friend Mr. Dorilant. Gentlemen and
ladies, han't you all heard the late sad report of poor Mr. Horner?
_All the Ladies._ Ay, ay, ay.
_Dor._ Why, thou jealous fool, dost thou doubt it? he's an arrant
French capon.
_Mrs. Pinch._ 'Tis false, sir, you shall not disparage poor Mr. Horner,
for to my certain knowledge--
_Lucy._ O, hold!
_Mrs. Squeam._ Stop her mouth! [_Aside to_ LUCY.
_L. Fid._ Upon my honour, sir, 'tis as true--[_To_ PINCHWIFE.
_Mrs. Dain._ D'ye think we would have been seen in his company?
_Mrs. Squeam._ Trust our unspotted reputations with him?
_L. Fid._ This you get, and we too, by trusting your secret to a fool.
[_Aside to_ HORNER.
_Horn._ Peace, madam.--[_Aside to_ Quack.] Well, doctor, is not this a
good design, that carries a man on unsuspected, and brings him off safe?
_Pinch._ Well, if this were true--but my wife--[_Aside._
[DORILANT _whispers with_ Mrs. PINCHWIFE.
_Alith._ Come, brother, your wife is yet innocent, you see; but have
a care of too strong an imagination, lest, like an over-concerned
timorous gamester, by fancying an unlucky cast, it should come. Women
and fortune are truest still to those that trust 'em.
_Lucy._ And any wild thing grows but the more fierce and hungry for
being kept up, and more dangerous to the keeper.
_Alith._ There's doctrine for all husbands, Mr. Harcourt.
_Har._ I edify, madam, so much, that I am impatient till I am one.
_Dor._ And I edify so much by example, I will never be one.
_Spark._ And because I will not disparage my parts, I'll ne'er be one.
_Horn._ And I, alas! can't be one.
_Pinch._ But I must be one--against my will to a country wife, with a
country murrain to me!
_Mrs. Pinch._ And I must be a country wife still too, I find; for I
can't, like a city one, be rid of my musty husband, and do what I list.
[_Aside._
_Horn._ Now, sir, I must pronounce your wife innocent, though I blush
whilst I do it; and I am the only man by her now exposed to shame,
which I will straight drown in wine, as you shall your suspicion; and
the ladies' troubles we'll divert with a ballad.--Doctor, where are
your maskers?
_Lucy._ Indeed, she's innocent, sir, I am her witness, and her end of
coming out was but to see her sister's wedding; and what she has said
to your face of her love to Mr. Horner, was but the usual innocent
revenge on a husband's jealousy;--was it not, madam, speak?
_Mrs. Pinch._ [_Aside to_ LUCY _and_ HORNER.] Since you'll have me tell
more lies--[_Aloud._] Yes, indeed, bud.
_Pinch._
For my own sake fain I would all believe;
Cuckolds, like lovers, should themselves deceive.
But--[_Sighs_
His honour is least safe (too late I find)
Who trusts it with a foolish wife or friend.
_A Dance of Cuckolds._
_Horn._
Vain fops but court and dress, and keep a pother,
To pass for women's men with one another;
But he who aims by women to be prized,
First by the men, you see, must be despised.
[_Exeunt._
EPILOGUE.
SPOKEN BY MRS. KNEP.[85]
Now you the vigorous, who daily here
O'er vizard-mask in public domineer,
And what you'd do to her, if in place where;
Nay, have the confidence to cry, "Come out!"
Yet when she says, "Lead on!" you are not stout;
But to your well-dressed brother straight turn round,
And cry "Pox on her, Ned, she can't be sound!"
Then slink away, a fresh one to engage,
With so much seeming heat and loving rage,
You'd frighten listening actress on the stage;
Till she at last has seen you huffing come,
And talk of keeping in the tiring-room,
Yet cannot be provoked to lead her home.
Next, you Falstaffs of fifty, who beset
Your buckram maidenheads, which your friends get;
And whilst to them you of achievements boast,
They share the booty, and laugh at your cost.
In fine, you essenced boys, both old and young,
Who would be thought so eager, brisk, and strong,
Yet do the ladies, not their husbands wrong;
Whose purses for your manhood make excuse,
And keep your Flanders mares for show not use;
Encouraged by our woman's man to-day,
A Horner's part may vainly think to play;
And may intrigues so bashfully disown,
That they may doubted be by few or none;
May kiss the cards at picquet, ombre, loo,
And so be taught to kiss the lady too;
But, gallants, have a care, faith, what you do.
The world, which to no man his due will give,
You by experience know you can deceive,
And men may still believe you vigorous,
But then we women--there's no cozening us.
_THE PLAIN DEALER._
Ridiculum acri
Fortius et melius magnas plerumque secat res.[86]--HORAT.
According to Wycherley's own statement _The Plain Dealer_ was written
when the author was twenty-five years of age--_i.e._, in the year
1665-6.[87] Its first performance on the stage cannot have taken place
later than the spring of 1674, as there is an interesting allusion
to it in the preface to Dryden's _State of Innocence_, which was
registered at Stationers' Hall, April 17, 1674. Dryden writes in terms
of noble eulogy: "The author of _The Plain Dealer_, whom I am proud
to call my friend, has obliged all honest and virtuous men by one
of the most bold, most general, and most useful satires, which has
ever been presented on the English theatre." _The Plain Dealer_ was
brought forward by the King's Company, probably, like _The Country
Wife_, at the house in Lincoln's Inn Fields, as the new theatre,
in Drury Lane, was not opened until March 26 of that year. It was
published three years later, in 1677, the title-page bearing the
_imprimatur_--"Licensed Jan. 9, 1676, Roger L'Estrange." The license,
of course, was for printing, not for acting; the date, in new style,
would be 1677.
We shall have, I think, little difficulty in accepting Wycherley's
statement as to the year in which this play was written, if we suppose,
as would almost certainly be the case, that it was revised and altered
before its production on the stage. The critique on _The Country Wife_,
in particular, cannot have been written earlier than 1672 or 1673, in
one of which years that comedy was first acted.
Of our author's four comedies _The Plain Dealer_ is, questionless, the
most powerful. From the mock dedication to the epilogue "the satire,
wit, and strength, of manly Wycherley"[88] are everywhere conspicuous
and triumphant. The main purport of the plot, as well as the particular
design of certain scenes, is borrowed from _Le Misanthrope_ of
Molière, but it is almost a truism that the most original writers
are frequently the most extensive plagiarists, and Wycherley has so
overlaid his appropriations with the colouring of his own brilliant
individuality, that his play appears almost equally a masterpiece
of originality as of ingenuity. It is scarcely too much to say that
in _The Plain Dealer_ we are conscious of a fertility of invention,
a richness of wit and satire, which make even _Le Misanthrope_ seem
tame in comparison. Voltaire has justly contrasted the two plays. "All
Wycherley's strokes," he writes, "are stronger and bolder than those of
our _Misanthrope_, but then they are less delicate, and the Rules of
Decorum are not so well observed in this Play."[89]
The scene in the second act, between Olivia, her cousin, and the
two "pretty fellows," Novel and Plausible, was suggested by a
dialogue between Célimène and her admirers, in the second act of _Le
Misanthrope_, but the detail is almost entirely Wycherley's own, and is
enlivened with such diverting antitheses and such brilliant fancy that,
perhaps, few scenes more masterly are to be found in the entire range
of English comedy from the time of the Restoration downwards. In this
scene occurs the critique upon _The Country Wife_, of which the hint
was taken from Molière's _Critique de l'Ecole des Femmes_. It is here
introduced with great felicity, and the contrast between the affected
prudery of the vicious Olivia and the simple candour of the truly
modest Eliza is both just and edifying. Again, the discovery by Novel
and Plausible of the duplicity of Olivia, by means of an exchange of
letters, is borrowed from the _dénouement_ of _Le Misanthrope_; but the
scene in which it occurs owes little to Molière beyond the incident;
and the humorous device of making each letter, _mutato nomine_, the
exact counterpart of the other, belongs to Wycherley alone. One or
two more particular coincidences between _The Plain Dealer_ and _Le
Misanthrope_ will be pointed out in the notes.
The admirably conceived character of the Widow Blackacre has been
described as a copy of that of the Countess in Racine's comedy, _Les
Plaideurs_, surely, in the first instance, by one of those critics with
whom "most authors steal their works, or buy." There is a litigious old
woman in _Les Plaideurs_, there is a litigious old woman in _The Plain
Dealer_; and here the likeness begins and ends.[90] Voltaire calls the
Widow Blackacre "the most comical character that was ever brought upon
the stage." Lastly, although Fidelia is imitated from Shakespeare's
Viola, and although the imitation is immeasurably and at all points
inferior to the original, it must be admitted, nevertheless, that she
fills her place in the play with perfect propriety, and is even drawn
with some not inconsiderable degree of sweetness and pathos.
TO MY LADY B----.[91]
Madam,--
Though I never had the honour to receive a favour from you, nay,
or be known to you, I take the confidence of an author to write to
you a _billet-doux_ dedicatory;--which is no new thing. For by most
dedications it appears that authors, though they praise their patrons
from top to toe, and seem to turn 'em inside out, know 'em as little
as sometimes their patrons their books, though they read them out; and
if the poetical daubers did not write the name of the man or woman
on top of the picture, 'twere impossible to guess whose it were. But
you, madam, without the help of a poet, have made yourself known and
famous in the world; and because you do not want it, are therefore
most worthy of an epistle dedicatory. And this play claims naturally
your protection, since it has lost its reputation with the ladies of
stricter lives in the playhouse; and, you know, when men's endeavours
are discountenanced and refused by the nice coy women of honour, they
come to you:--to you, the great and noble patroness of rejected and
bashful men (of which number I profess myself to be one, though a poet,
a dedicating poet), to you, I say, madam, who have as discerning a
judgment, in what's obscene or not, as any quick-sighted civil person
of 'em all, and can make as much of a double-meaning saying as the best
of 'em; yet would not, as some do, make nonsense of a poet's jest,
rather than not make it bawdy; by which they show, they as little value
wit in a play as in a lover, provided they can bring t'other thing
about. Their sense, indeed, lies all one way, and therefore are only
for that in a poet, which is moving, as they say. But what do they
mean by that word "moving?" Well, I must not put 'em to the blush,
since I find I can do't. In short, madam, you would not be one of those
who ravish a poet's innocent words, and make 'em guilty of their own
naughtiness (as 'tis termed) in spite of his teeth. Nay, nothing is
secure from the power of their imaginations, no, not their husbands,
whom they cuckold with themselves, by thinking of other men; and so
make the lawful matrimonial embraces adultery, wrong husbands and poets
in thought and word, to keep their own reputations. But your ladyship's
justice, I know, would think a woman's arraigning and damning a poet
for her own obscenity like her crying out a rape, and hanging a man
for giving her pleasure, only that she might be thought not to consent
to't; and so to vindicate her honour, forfeits her modesty. But you,
madam, have too much modesty to pretend to't, though you have as much
to say for your modesty as many a nicer she: for you never were seen
at this play, no, not the first day; and 'tis no matter what people's
lives have been, they are unquestionably modest who frequent not this
play. For, as Mr. Bayes says of his, "That it is the only touchstone of
men's wit and understanding;" mine is, it seems, the only touchstone
of women's virtue and modesty. But hold, that touchstone is equivocal,
and, by the strength of a lady's imagination, may become something
that is not civil: but your ladyship, I know, scorns to misapply a
touchstone.
And, madam, though you have not seen this play, I hope (like other
nice ladies) you will the rather read it. Yet, lest the chambermaid or
page should not be trusted, and their indulgence could gain no further
admittance for it than to their ladies' lobbies or outward rooms,
take it into your care and protection; for by your recommendation and
procurement, it may have the honour to get into their closets; for what
they renounce in public, often entertains 'em there, with your help
especially. In fine, madam, for these and many other reasons, you are
the fittest patroness or judge of this play; for you show no partiality
to this or that author. For from some many ladies will take a broad
jest as cheerfully as from the watermen, and sit at some downright
filthy plays (as they call 'em) as well satisfied, and as still, as
a poet could wish 'em elsewhere. Therefore it must be the doubtful
obscenity of my play alone they take exceptions at, because it is
too bashful for 'em: and, indeed, most women hate men for attempting
by halves on their chastity; and bawdy, I find, like satire, should
be home, not to have it taken notice of. But, now I mention satire,
some there are who say, "'Tis the plain-dealing of the play, not the
obscenity; 'tis taking off the ladies' masks, not offering at their
petticoats, which offends 'em:"--and generally they are not the
handsomest, or most innocent, who are the most angry at their being
discovered:--
"Nihil est audacius illis
Deprensis; iram atque animos a crimine sumunt."[92]
Pardon, madam, the quotation; for a dedication can no more be without
ends of Latin, than flattery: and 'tis no matter whom it is writ to;
for an author can as easily, I hope, suppose people to have more
understanding and languages than they have, as well as more virtues.
But why, the devil, should any of the few modest and handsome be
alarmed?--for some there are, who, as well as any, deserve those
attributes, yet refrain not from seeing this play, nor think it any
addition to their virtue to set up for it in a playhouse, lest there
it should look too much like acting--but why, I say, should any at
all of the truly virtuous be concerned, if those who are not so are
distinguished from 'em? for by that mask of modesty which women wear
promiscuously in public, they are all alike; and you can no more know
a kept wench from a woman of honour by her looks than by her dress.
For those who are of quality without honour (if any such there are)
they have their quality to set off their false modesty, as well as
their false jewels; and you must no more suspect their countenances
for counterfeit than their pendants, though as the plain dealer
Montaigne says, "_Els envoy leur conscience au bordel, et tiennent
leur continence en règle_." But those who act as they look, ought not
to be scandalised at the reprehension of others' faults, lest they tax
themselves with 'em, and by too delicate and quick an apprehension not
only make that obscene which I meant innocent, but that satire on all,
which was intended only on those who deserved it.
But, madam, I beg your pardon for this digression to civil women and
ladies of honour, since you and I shall never be the better for 'em:
for a comic poet and a lady of your profession make most of the
other sort; and the stage and your houses, like our plantations, are
propagated by the least nice women; and, as with the ministers of
justice, the vices of the age are our best business. But now I mention
public persons, I can no longer defer doing you the justice of a
dedication, and telling you your own, who are, of all public-spirited
people, the most necessary, most communicative, most generous and
hospitable. Your house has been the house of the people; your sleep
still disturbed for the public; and when you arose, 'twas that others
might lie down; and you waked that others might rest; the good you have
done is unspeakable. How many young inexperienced heirs have you kept
from rash foolish marriages, and from being jilted for their lives by
the worst sort of jilts, wives! How many unbewitched widowers' children
have you preserved from the tyranny of stepmothers! How many old doters
from cuckoldage, and keeping other men's wenches and children! How many
adulteries and unnatural sins have you prevented! In fine, you have
been a constant scourge to the old lecher, and often a terror to the
young: you have made concupiscence its own punishment, and extinguished
lust with lust, like blowing up of houses to stop the fire.
"Nimirum propter continentiam, incontinentia
Necessaria est, incendium ignibus exstinguitur."[93]
There's Latin for you again, madam: I protest to you, as I am an
author, I cannot help it: nay, I can hardly keep myself from quoting
Aristotle and Horace, and talking to you of the rules of writing (like
the French authors), to show you and my reader I understand 'em, in
my epistle, lest neither of you should find it out by the play. And
according to the rules of dedications, 'tis no matter whether you
understand or no what I quote or say to you of writing; for an author
can as easily make any one a judge or critic in an epistle, as a hero
in his play. But, madam, that this may prove to the end a true epistle
dedicatory, I'd have you to know 'tis not without a design upon you,
which is in the behalf of the fraternity of Parnassus; that songs and
sonnets may go at your houses, and in your liberties, for guineas and
half-guineas; and that wit, at least with you, as of old, may be the
price of beauty, and so you will prove a true encourager of poetry; for
love is a better help to it than wine; and poets, like painters, draw
better after the life than by fancy. Nay, in justice, madam, I think a
poet ought to be as free of your houses, as of the play-houses; since
he contributes to the support of both, and is as necessary to such as
you, as a ballad-singer to a pick-purse, in convening the cullies at
the theatres, to be picked up and carried to supper and bed at your
houses. And, madam, the reason of this motion of mine is, because poor
poets can get no favour in the tiring-rooms, for they are no keepers,
you know; and folly and money, the old enemies of wit, are even too
hard for it on its own dunghill: and for other ladies, a poet can least
go to the price of them. Besides, his wit, which ought to recommend
him to 'em, is as much an obstruction to his love, as to his wealth or
preferment; for most women now-a-days apprehend wit in a lover, as much
as in a husband; they hate a man that knows 'em, they must have a blind
easy fool, whom they can lead by the nose; and, as the Scythian women
of old, must baffle a man, and put out his eyes, ere they will lie with
him; and then too like thieves, when they have plundered and stripped a
man, leave him. But if there should be one of a hundred of those ladies
generous enough to give herself to a man that has more wit than money,
(all things considered,) he would think it cheaper coming to you for
a mistress, though you made him pay his guinea; as a man in a journey
(out of good husbandry), had better pay for what he has at an inn, than
lie on free-cost at a gentleman's house.
In fine, madam, like a faithful dedicator, I hope I have done myself
right in the first place: then you, and your profession, which in
the wisest and most religious government in the world is honoured
with the public allowance; and in those that are thought the most
uncivilised and barbarous is protected and supported by the ministers
of justice. And of you, madam, I ought to say no more here, for your
virtues deserve a poem rather than an epistle, or a volume entire to
give the world your memoirs, or life at large; and which (upon the
word of an author that has a mind to make an end of his dedication)
I promise to do, when I write the annals of our British love, which
shall be dedicated to the ladies concerned, if they will not think them
something too obscene too; when your life, compared with many that are
thought innocent, I doubt not, may vindicate you, and me, to the world,
for the confidence I have taken in this address to you; which then
may be thought neither impertinent nor immodest; and whatsoever your
amorous misfortunes have been, none can charge you with that heinous,
and worst of women's crimes, hypocrisy; nay, in spite of misfortunes
or age, you are the same woman still; though most of your sex grow
Magdalens at fifty, and as a solid French author has it--
"Après le plaisir, vient la peine;
Après la peine, la vertu."
But sure an old sinner's continency is much like a gamester's
forswearing play, when he had lost all his money; and modesty is a kind
of a youthful dress, which, as it makes a young woman more amiable,
makes an old one more nauseous: a bashful old woman is like a hopeful
old man; and the affected chastity of antiquated beauties is rather a
reproach than an honour to 'em; for it shows the men's virtue only, not
theirs. But you, in fine, madam, are no more a hypocrite than I am when
I praise you; therefore I doubt not will be thought (even by yours and
the play's enemies, the nicest ladies) to be the fittest patroness for,
Madam,
Your ladyship's most obedient, faithful, humble servant, and
THE PLAIN DEALER.
PROLOGUE.
SPOKEN BY THE PLAIN DEALER.
I the Plain Dealer am to act to-day,
And my rough part begins before the play.
First, you who scribble, yet hate all that write,
And keep each other company in spite,
As rivals in your common mistress, fame,
And with faint praises one another damn;
'Tis a good play, we know, you can't forgive,
But grudge yourselves the pleasure you receive:
Our scribbler therefore bluntly bid me say,
He would not have the wits pleased here to-day
Next, you, the fine, loud gentlemen o' th' pit,
Who damn all plays, yet, if y'ave any wit,
'Tis but what here you spunge and daily get;
Poets, like friends to whom you are in debt,
You hate; and so rooks laugh, to see undone
Those pushing gamesters whom they live upon.
Well, you are sparks, and still will be i' th' fashion;
Rail then at plays, to hide your obligation.
Now, you shrewd judges, who the boxes sway,
Leading the ladies' hearts and sense astray,
And, for their sakes, see all, and hear no play;
Correct your cravats, foretops, lock behind:
The dress and breeding of the play ne'er mind;
Plain dealing is, you'll say, quite out of fashion;
You'll hate it here, as in a dedication:
And your fair neighbours, in a limning poet
No more than in a painter will allow it.
Pictures too like the ladies will not please;
They must be drawn too here like goddesses.
You, as at Lely's too, would truncheon wield,
And look like heroes in a painted field.
But the coarse dauber of the coming scenes
To follow life and nature only means,
Displays you as you are, makes his fine woman
A mercenary jilt, and true to no man:
His men of wit and pleasure of the age
Are as dull rogues as ever cumber'd stage:
He draws a friend only to custom just,
And makes him naturally break his trust.
I, only, act a part like none of you,
And yet you'll say, it is a fool's part too:
An honest man who, like you, never winks
At faults; but, unlike you, speaks what he thinks:
The only fool who ne'er found patron yet,
For truth is now a fault as well as wit.
And where else, but on stages, do we see
Truth pleasing, or rewarded honesty?
Which our bold poet does this day in me.
If not to th' honest, be to th' prosperous kind,
Some friends at court let the Plain Dealer find.
_DRAMATIS PERSONÆ._
MANLY, of an honest, surly, nice humour, supposed first, in
the time of the Dutch war, to have procured the command
of a ship, out of honour, not interest; and choosing
a sea-life only to avoid the world.
FREEMAN, MANLY'S Lieutenant, a gentleman well educated,
but of a broken fortune, a complier with the age.
VERNISH, MANLY'S bosom and only friend.
NOVEL, a pert railing Coxcomb, and an admirer of novelties,
makes love to OLIVIA.
Major OLDFOX, an old impertinent Fop, given to scribbling,
makes love to the Widow BLACKACRE.
Lord PLAUSIBLE, a ceremonious, supple, commending Coxcomb,
in love with OLIVIA.
JERRY BLACKACRE, a true raw Squire, under age, and his
mother's government, bred to the law.
Lawyers, Knights of the Post, Bailiffs and Aldermen, a Bookseller's
Apprentice, a Foot-boy, Sailors, Waiters, and
Attendants.
OLIVIA, MANLY'S Mistress.
FIDELIA, in love with MANLY, and follows him to sea in
man's clothes.
ELIZA, Cousin of OLIVIA.
LETTICE, OLIVIA'S Woman.
Widow BLACKACRE, a petulant, litigious Widow, always in
law, and Mother of Squire JERRY.
SCENE--LONDON.
_THE PLAIN DEALER._
ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE I.--MANLY'S _Lodging._
_Enter_ MANLY, _surlily_, Lord PLAUSIBLE, _following him;
and two_ Sailors _behind._
_Man._ Tell not me, my good Lord Plausible, of your decorums,
supercilious forms, and slavish ceremonies! your little tricks, which
you, the spaniels of the world, do daily over and over, for and to one
another; not out of love or duty, but your servile fear.
_L. Plau._ Nay, i' faith, i' faith, you are too passionate; and I must
humbly beg your pardon and leave to tell you, they are the arts and
rules the prudent of the world walk by.
_Man._ Let 'em. But I'll have no leading-strings; I can walk alone: I
hate a harness, and will not tug on in a faction, kissing my leader
behind, that another slave may do the like to me.
_L. Plau._ What, will you be singular then, like nobody? follow, love,
and esteem nobody?
_Man._ Rather than be general, like you, follow everybody; court and
kiss everybody; though perhaps at the same time you hate everybody.
_L. Plau._ Why, seriously, with your pardon, my dear friend--
_Man._ With your pardon, my no friend, I will not, as you do, whisper
my hatred or my scorn; call a man fool or knave by signs or mouths over
his shoulder, whilst you have him in your arms.--For such as you, like
common whores and pickpockets, are only dangerous to those you embrace.
_L. Plau._ Such as I! Heavens defend me!--upon my honour--
_Man._ Upon your title, my lord, if you'd have me believe you.
_L. Plau._ Well, then, as I am a person of honour, I never attempted to
abuse or lessen any person in my life.
_Man._ What, you were afraid?
_L. Plau._ No; but seriously, I hate to do a rude thing: no, faith, I
speak well of all mankind.
_Man._ I thought so: but know, that speaking well of all mankind is the
worst kind of detraction; for it takes away the reputation of the few
good men in the world, by making all alike. Now, I speak ill of most
men, because they deserve it; I that can do a rude thing, rather than
an unjust thing.
_L. Plau._ Well, tell not me, my dear friend, what people deserve; I
ne'er mind that. I, like an author in a dedication, never speak well
of a man for his sake, but my own; I will not disparage any man, to
disparage myself: for to speak ill of people behind their backs, is
not like a person of honour; and, truly, to speak ill of 'em to their
faces, is not like a complaisant person. But if I did say or do an ill
thing to anybody, it should be sure to be behind their backs, out of
pure good manners.
_Man._ Very well; but I, that am an unmannerly sea-fellow, if I ever
speak well of people, (which is very seldom indeed,) it should be
sure to be behind their backs; and if I would say or do ill to any,
it should be to their faces. I would jostle a proud, strutting,
overlooking coxcomb, at the head of his sycophants, rather than put out
my tongue at him when he were past me; would frown in the arrogant,
big, dull face of an overgrown knave of business, rather than vent
my spleen against him when his back were turned; would give fawning
slaves the lie whilst they embrace or commend me; cowards whilst they
brag; call a rascal by no other title, though his father had left him a
duke's; laugh at fools aloud before their mistresses; and must desire
people to leave me, when their visits grow at last as troublesome as
they were at first impertinent.
_L. Plau._ I would not have my visits troublesome.
_Man._ The only way to be sure not to have 'em troublesome, is to make
'em when people are not at home; for your visits, like other good
turns, are most obliging when made or done to a man in his absence. A
pox! why should any one, because he has nothing to do, go and disturb
another man's business?
_L. Plau._ I beg your pardon, my dear friend.--What, you have business?
_Man._ If you have any, I would not detain your lordship.
_L. Plau._ Detain me, dear sir!--I can never have enough of your
company.
_Man._ I'm afraid I should be tiresome: I know not what you think.
_L. Plau._ Well, dear sir, I see you'd have me gone. [_Aside._
_Man._ But I see you won't.
_L. Plau._ Your most faithful--
_Man._ God be w'ye, my lord.
_L. Plau._ Your most humble--
_Man._ Farewell.
_L. Plau._ And eternally--
_Man._ And eternally ceremony--[_Aside._] Then the devil take thee
eternally.
_L. Plau._ You shall use no ceremony, by my life.
_Man._ I do not intend it.
_L. Plau._ Why do you stir then?
_Man._ Only to see you out of doors, that I may shut 'em against more
welcomes.
_L. Plau._ Nay, faith, that shall not pass upon your most faithful
humble servant.
_Man._ Nor this any more upon me. [_Aside._
_L. Plau._ Well, you are too strong for me.
_Man._ [_Aside._] I'd sooner be visited by the plague; for that only
would keep a man from visits, and his doors shut. [_Exit thrusting
out_ Lord PLAUSIBLE.
_1st Sail._ Here's a finical fellow, Jack! What a brave fair-weather
captain of a ship he would make!
_2nd Sail._ He a captain of a ship! it must be when she's in the dock
then; for he looks like one of those that get the king's commissions
for hulls to sell a king's ship, when a brave fellow has fought her
almost to a longboat.
_1st Sail._ On my conscience then, Jack, that's the reason our bully
tar sunk our ship; not only that the Dutch might not have her; but that
the courtiers, who laugh at wooden legs, might not make her prize.
_2nd Sail._ A pox of his sinking, Tom! we have made a base, broken,
short voyage of it.
_1st Sail._ Ay, your brisk dealers in honour always make quick returns
with their ships to the dock, and their men to the hospitals. 'Tis, let
me see, just a month since we set out of the river, and the wind was
almost as cross to us as the Dutch.
_2nd Sail._ Well, I forgive him sinking my own poor truck, if he would
but have given me time and leave to have saved black Kate of Wapping's
small venture.
_1st Sail._ Faith, I forgive him, since, as the purser told me, he sunk
the value of five or six thousand pound of his own, with which he was
to settle himself somewhere in the Indies; for our merry lieutenant was
to succeed him in his commission for the ship back; for he was resolved
never to return again for England.
_2nd Sail._ So it seemed, by his fighting.
_1st Sail._ No; but he was a-weary of this side of the world here, they
say.
_2nd Sail._ Ay, or else he would not have bid so fair for a passage
into t'other.
_1st Sail._ Jack, thou thinkest thyself in the forecastle, thou'rt
so waggish. But I tell you, then, he had a mind to go live and bask
himself on the sunny side of the globe.
_2nd Sail._ What, out of any discontent? for he's always as dogged
as an old tarpaulin, when hindered of a voyage by a young pantaloon
captain.
_1st Sail._ 'Tis true I never saw him pleased but in the fight; and
then he looked like one of us coming from the pay-table, with a new
lining to our hats under our arms.
_2nd Sail._ A pox! he's like the Bay of Biscay, rough and angry, let
the wind blow where 'twill.
_1st Sail._ Nay, there's no more dealing with him, than with the land
in a storm, no near--
_2nd Sail._ 'Tis a hurry-durry blade. Dost thou remember after we had
tugged hard the old leaky longboat to save his life, when I welcomed
him ashore, he gave me a box on the ear, and called me fawning
water-dog?
_Re-enter_ MANLY _with_ FREEMAN.
_1st Sail._ Hold thy peace, Jack, and stand by; the foul weather's
coming.
_Man._ You rascals! dogs! how could this tame thing get through you?
_1st Sail._ Faith, to tell your honour the truth, we were at hob in the
hall,[94] and whilst my brother and I were quarrelling about a cast, he
slunk by us.
_2nd Sail._ He's a sneaking fellow I warrant for't.
_Man._ Have more care for the future, you slaves. Go, and with drawn
cutlasses stand at the stair-foot, and keep all that ask for me from
coming up; suppose you were guarding the scuttle to the powder-room.
Let none enter here, at your and their peril.
_1st Sail._ No, for the danger would be the same: you would blow them
and us up, if we should.
_2nd Sail._ Must no one come to you, sir?
_Man._ No man, sir.
_1st Sail._ No man, sir; but a woman then, an't like your honour--
_Man._ No woman neither, you impertinent dog! Would you be pimping?
sea-pimp is the strangest monster she has.
_2nd Sail._ Indeed, an't like your honour, 'twill be hard for us to
deny a woman anything, since we are so newly come on shore.
_1st Sail._ We'll let no old woman come up, though it were our trusting
landlady at Wapping.
_Man._ Would you be witty, you brandy casks you? you become a jest as
ill as you do a horse. Begone, you dogs! I hear a noise on the stairs.
[_Exeunt_ Sailors.
_Free._ Faith, I am sorry you would let the fop go, I intended to have
had some sport with him.
_Man._ Sport with him! A pox! then, why did you not stay? You should
have enjoyed your coxcomb, and had him to yourself for me.
_Free._ No, I should not have cared for him without you neither; for
the pleasure which fops afford is like that of drinking, only good when
'tis shared; and a fool, like a bottle, which would make you merry in
company, will make you dull alone. But how the devil could you turn
a man of his quality down stairs? You use a lord with very little
ceremony, it seems.
_Man._ A lord! What, thou art one of those who esteem men only by the
marks and value fortune has set upon 'em, and never consider intrinsic
worth! but counterfeit honour will not be current with me: I weigh the
man, not his title; 'tis not the king's stamp can make the metal better
or heavier. Your lord is a leaden shilling, which you bend every way,
and debases the stamp he bears, instead of being raised by it.--Here
again, you slaves!
_Re-enter_ Sailors.
_1st Sail._ Only to receive farther instructions, an't like your
honour.--What if a man should bring you money, should we turn him back?
_Man._ All men, I say: must I be pestered with you too?--You dogs, away!
_2nd Sail._ Nay, I know one man your honour would not have us hinder
coming to you, I'm sure.
_Man._ Who's that? speak quickly, slaves.
_2nd Sail._ Why, a man that should bring you a challenge. For though
you refuse money, I'm sure you love fighting too well to refuse that.
_Man._ Rogue! rascal! dog! [_Kicks the_ Sailors _out._
_Free._ Nay, let the poor rogues have their forecastle jests: they
cannot help 'em in a fight, scarce when a ship's sinking.
_Man._ Damn their untimely jests! a servant's jest is more sauciness
than his counsel.
_Free._ But what, will you see nobody? not your friends?
_Man._ Friends!--I have but one, and he, I hear, is not in town; nay,
can have but one friend, for a true heart admits but of one friendship,
as of one love. But in having that friend, I have a thousand; for he
has the courage of men in despair, yet the diffidency and caution of
cowards; the secrecy of the revengeful, and the constancy of martyrs;
one fit to advise, to keep a secret, to fight and die for his friend.
Such I think him; for I have trusted him with my mistress in my
absence: and the trust of beauty is sure the greatest we can show.
_Free._ Well, but all your good thoughts are not for him alone, I hope?
Pray, what d'ye think of me for a friend?
_Man._ Of thee! Why, thou art a latitudinarian in friendship, that
is, no friend; thou dost side with all mankind, but wilt suffer for
none. Thou art indeed like your Lord Plausible, the pink of courtesy,
therefore hast no friendship: for ceremony and great professing renders
friendship as much suspected as it does religion.
_Free._ And no professing, no ceremony at all in friendship, were as
unnatural and as undecent as in religion: and there is hardly such a
thing as an honest hypocrite, who professes himself to be worse than he
is, unless it be yourself; for though I could never get you to say you
were my friend, I know you'll prove so.
_Man._ I must confess, I am so much your friend, I would not deceive
you; therefore must tell you, not only because my heart is taken up,
but according to your rules of friendship, I cannot be your friend.[95]
_Free._ Pray, why?
_Man._ Because he that is, you'll say, a true friend to a man, is a
friend to all his friends. But you must pardon me, I cannot wish well
to pimps, flatterers, detractors, and cowards, stiff nodding knaves,
and supple, pliant, kissing fools. Now, all these I have seen you use
like the dearest friends in the world.
_Free._ Ha! ha! ha!--What, you observed me, I warrant, in the
galleries at Whitehall, doing the business of the place? Pshaw!
Court-professions, like court promises, go for nothing, man. But,
faith, could you think I was a friend to all those I hugged, kissed,
flattered, bowed to? Ha! ha!--
_Man._ You told 'em so, and swore it too; I heard you.
_Free._ Ay, but when their backs were turned, did not I tell you they
were rogues, villains, rascals, whom I despised and hated?
_Man._ Very fine! But what reason had I to believe you spoke your heart
to me, since you professed deceiving so many?
_Free._ Why, don't you know, good captain, that telling truth is a
quality as prejudicial to a man that would thrive in the world, as
square play to a cheat, or true love to a whore? Would you have a man
speak truth to his ruin? You are severer than the law, which requires
no man to swear against himself. You would have me speak truth against
myself I warrant, and tell my promising friend the courtier, he has a
bad memory.
_Man._ Yes.
_Free._ And so make him remember to forget my business? And I should
tell the great lawyer too, that he takes oftener fees to hold his
tongue, than to speak?
_Man._ No doubt on't.
_Free._ Ay, and have him hang or ruin me, when he should come to be a
judge, and I before him? And you would have me tell the new officer,
who bought his employment lately, that he is a coward?
_Man._ Ay.
_Free._ And so get myself cashiered, not him, he having the better
friends, though I the better sword? And I should tell the scribbler of
honour, that heraldry were a prettier and fitter study for so fine a
gentleman than poetry?
_Man._ Certainly.
_Free._ And so find myself mauled in his next hired lampoon? And you
would have me tell the holy lady, too, she lies with her chaplain?
_Man._ No doubt on't.
_Free._ And so draw the clergy upon my back, and want a good table to
dine at sometimes? And by the same reason too, I should tell you that
the world thinks you a mad man, a brutal, and have you cut my throat,
or worse, hate me. What other good success of all my plain-dealing
could I have, than what I've mentioned?
_Man._ Why, first, your promising courtier would keep his word out of
fear of more reproaches, or at least would give you no more vain hopes:
your lawyer would serve you more faithfully; for he, having no honour
but his interest, is truest still to him he knows suspects him: the new
officer would provoke thee to make him a coward, and so be cashiered,
that thou, or some other honest fellow, who had more courage than
money, might get his place: the noble sonnetteer would trouble thee no
more with his madrigals: the praying lady would leave off railing at
wenching before thee, and not turn away her chambermaid for her own
known frailty with thee: and I, instead of hating thee, should love
thee for thy plain dealing; and in lieu of being mortified, am proud
that the world and I think not well of one another.
_Free._ Well, doctors differ. You are for plain dealing, I find: but
against your particular notions, I have the practice of the whole
world. Observe but any morning what people do when they get together on
the Exchange, in Westminster-hall, or the galleries in Whitehall.
_Man._ I must confess, there they seem to rehearse Bayes's grand
dance. Here you see a bishop bowing low to a gaudy atheist; a judge
to a door-keeper; a great lord to a fishmonger, or scrivener with a
jack-chain about his neck; a lawyer to a sergeant-at-arms; a velvet
physician to a threadbare chemist; and a supple gentleman-usher to
a surly beefeater: and so tread round in a preposterous huddle of
ceremony to each other, whilst they can hardly hold their solemn false
countenances.
_Free._ Well, they understand the world.
_Man._ Which I do not, I confess.
_Free._ But, sir, pray believe the friendship I promise you real,
whatsoever I have professed to others: try me, at least.
_Man._ Why, what would you do for me?
_Free._ I would fight for you.
_Man._ That you would do for your own honour. But what else?
_Free._ I would lend you money, if I had it.
_Man._ To borrow more of me another time. That were putting your money
to interest; a usurer would be as good a friend.--But what other piece
of friendship?
_Free._ I would speak well of you to your enemies.
_Man._ To encourage others to be your friends, by a show of
gratitude.--But what else?
_Free._ Nay, I would not hear you ill spoken of behind your back by my
friend.
_Man._ Nay, then, thou'rt a friend, indeed.--But it were unreasonable
to expect it from thee, as the world goes now, when new friends, like
new mistresses, are got by disparaging old ones.
_Enter_ FIDELIA.
But here comes another, will say as much at least.--Dost thou not love
me devilishly too, my little volunteer, as well as he or any man can?
_Fid._ Better than any man can love you, my dear captain.
_Man._ Look you there, I told you so.
_Fid._ As well as you do truth or honour, sir; as well.
_Man._ Nay, good young gentleman, enough, for shame! Thou hast been a
page, by thy flattering and lying, to one of those praying ladies who
love flattery so well they are jealous of it; and wert turned away for
saying the same things to the old housekeeper for sweetmeats, as you
did to your lady; for thou flatterest everything and everybody alike.
_Fid._ You, dear sir, should not suspect the truth of what I say
of you, though to you. Fame, the old liar, is believed when she
speaks wonders of you: you cannot be flattered, sir, your merit is
unspeakable.
_Man._ Hold, hold, sir, or I shall suspect worse of you, that you have
been a cushion-bearer to some state-hypocrite, and turned away by the
chaplains, for out-flattering their probation-sermons for a benefice.
_Fid._ Suspect me for anything, sir, but the want of love, faith, and
duty to you, the bravest, worthiest of mankind; believe me, I could die
for you, sir.
_Man._ Nay, there you lie, sir; did not I see thee more afraid in the
fight than the chaplain of the ship, or the purser that bought his
place?
_Fid._ Can he be said to be afraid, that ventures to sea with you?
_Man._ Fy! fy! no more; I shall hate thy flattery worse than thy
cowardice, nay, than thy bragging.
_Fid._ Well, I own then I was afraid, mightily afraid; yet for you I
would be afraid again, a hundred times afraid. Dying is ceasing to be
afraid, and that I could do sure for you, and you'll believe me one
day. [_Weeps._
_Free._ Poor youth! believe his eyes, if not his tongue: he seems to
speak truth with them.
_Man._ What, does he cry? A pox on't! a maudlin flatterer is as
nauseously troublesome as a maudlin drunkard.--No more, you little
milksop, do not cry, I'll never make thee afraid again; for of all men,
if I had occasion, thou shouldst not be my second; and when I go to sea
again, thou shalt venture thy life no more with me.
_Fid._ Why, will you leave me behind then?--[_Aside._] If you would
preserve my life, I'm sure you should not.
_Man._ Leave thee behind! ay, ay, thou art a hopeful youth for the
shore only. Here thou wilt live to be cherished by fortune and the
great ones; for thou mayst easily come to outflatter a dull poet,
outlie a coffee-house or gazette-writer, outswear a knight of the
post,[96] outwatch a pimp, outfawn a rook, outpromise a lover, outrail
a wit, and outbrag a sea-captain:--all this thou canst do, because
thou'rt a coward, a thing I hate; therefore thou'lt do better with the
world than with me, and these are the good courses you must take in
the world. There's good advice, at least, at parting; go, and be happy
with't.
_Fid._ Parting, sir! O let me not hear that dismal word.
_Man._ If my words frighten thee, begone the sooner; for to be plain
with thee, cowardice and I cannot dwell together.
_Fid._ And cruelty and courage never dwelt together sure, sir. Do not
turn me off to shame and misery, for I am helpless and friendless.
_Man._ Friendless! there are half a score friends for thee
then.--[_Offers her gold._] I leave myself no more: they'll help thee a
little. Begone, go, I must be cruel to thee (if thou callest it so) out
of pity.
_Fid._ If you would be cruelly pitiful, sir, let it be with your sword,
not gold. [_Exit._
_Re-enter_ 1st Sailor.
_1st Sail._ We have, with much ado, turned away two gentlemen, who told
us, forty times over, their names were Mr. Novel and Major Oldfox.
_Man._ Well, to your post again.--[_Exit_ Sailor.] But how come those
puppies coupled always together?
_Free._ O, the coxcombs keep each other company, to show each other,
as Novel calls it; or, as Oldfox says, like two knives, to whet one
another.
_Man._ And set other people's teeth on edge.
_Re-enter_ 2nd Sailor.
_2nd Sail._ Here is a woman, an't like your honour, scolds and bustles
with us, to come in, as much as a seaman's widow at the Navy office:
her name is Mrs. Blackacre.