_Free._ The Widow Blackacre, is it not? that litigious she
petty-fogger, who is at law and difference with all the world; but I
wish I could make her agree with me in the church. They say she has
fifteen hundred pounds a year jointure, and the care of her son, that
is, the destruction of his estate.
_Man._ Her lawyers, attorneys, and solicitors, have fifteen hundred
pounds a year, whilst she is contented to be poor, to make other people
so. For she is as vexatious as her father was, the great attorney, nay,
as a dozen Norfolk attorneys, and as implacable an adversary as a wife
suing for alimony, or a parson for his tithes; and she loves an Easter
term, or any term, not as other country ladies do, to come up to be
fine, cuckold their husbands, and take their pleasure; for she has no
pleasure but in vexing others, and is usually clothed and daggled[97]
like a bawd in disguise, pursued through alleys by sergeants. When she
is in town, she lodges in one of the inns of Chancery, where she breeds
her son, and is herself his tutoress in law-French; and for her country
abode, though she has no estate there, she chooses Norfolk.--But, bid
her come in, with a pox to her! she is Olivia's kinswoman, and may make
me amends for her visit, by some discourse of that dear woman. [_Exit_
Sailor.
_Enter_ Widow BLACKACRE, _with a mantle and a green bag, and
several papers in the other hand;_ JERRY BLACKACRE _in a gown,
laden with green bags, following her._
_Wid._ I never had so much to do with a judge's door-keeper, as with
yours; but--
_Man._ But the incomparable Olivia, how does she since I went?
_Wid._ Since you went, my suit--
_Man._ Olivia, I say, is she well?
_Wid._ My suit, if you had not returned--
_Man._ Damn your suit! how does your cousin Olivia?
_Wid._ My suit, I say, had been quite lost; but now--
_Man._ But now, where is Olivia? in town? for--
_Wid._ For to-morrow we are to have a hearing.
_Man._ Would you would let me have a hearing to-day!
_Wid._ But why won't you hear me?
_Man._ I am no judge, and you talk of nothing but suits; but, pray tell
me, when did you see Olivia?
_Wid._ I am no visitor, but a woman of business; or if I ever visit,
'tis only the Chancery-lane ladies, ladies towards the law; and not
any of your lazy, good-for-nothing flirts, who cannot read law-French,
though a gallant writ it. But as I was telling you, my suit--
_Man._ Damn these impertinent vexatious people of business, of all
sexes! they are still troubling the world with the tedious recitals
of their lawsuits: and one can no more stop their mouths than a wit's
when he talks of himself, or an intelligencer's when he talks of other
people.
_Wid._ And a pox of all vexatious, impertinent lovers! they are still
perplexing the world with the tedious narrations of their love-suits,
and discourses of their mistresses! You are as troublesome to a poor
widow of business, as a young coxcombly rhyming lover.
_Man._ And thou art as troublesome to me, as a rook to a losing
gamester, or a young putter of cases to his mistress or sempstress, who
has love in her head for another.
_Wid._ Nay, since you talk of putting of cases, and will not hear me
speak, hear our Jerry a little; let him put our case to you, for the
trial's to-morrow: and since you are my chief witness, I would have
your memory refreshed and your judgment informed, that you may not give
your evidence improperly.--Speak out, child.
_Jer._ Yes, forsooth. Hem! hem! John-a-Stiles--
_Man._ You may talk, young lawyer, but I shall no more mind you, than a
hungry judge does a cause after the clock has struck one.
_Free._ Nay, you'll find him as peevish too.
_Wid._ No matter. Jerry, go on.--Do you observe it then, sir; for I
think I have seen you in a gown once. Lord, I could hear our Jerry put
cases all day long.--Mark him, sir.
_Jer._ John-a-Stiles--no--there are first, Fitz, Pere, and Ayle,--no,
no, Ayle, Pere, and Fitz; Ayle is seised in fee of Blackacre;
John-a-Stiles disseises Ayle; Ayle makes claim, and the disseisor dies;
then the Ayle--no, the Fitz--
_Wid._ No, the Pere, sirrah.
_Jer._ Oh, the Pere! ay, the Pere, sir, and the Fitz--no, the
Ayle,--no, the Pere and the Fitz, sir, and--
_Man._ Damn Pere, Mere, and Fitz, sir!
_Wid._ No, you are out, child.--Hear me, captain, then. There are
Ayle, Pere, and Fitz; Ayle is seised in fee of Blackacre; and, being
so seised, John-a-Stiles disseises the Ayle, Ayle makes claim, and the
disseisor dies; and then the Pere re-enters, the Pere, sirrah, the
Pere--[_to_ JERRY.] and the Fitz enters upon the Pere, and the Ayle
brings his writ of disseisin in the post; and the Pere brings his writ
of disseisin in the Pere, and--
_Man._ Canst thou hear this stuff, Freeman? I could as soon suffer a
whole noise of flatterers at a great man's levee in a morning; but thou
hast servile complacency enough to listen to a quibbling statesman in
disgrace, nay, and be beforehand with him, in laughing at his dull
no-jest; but I--[_Offering to go out._
_Wid._ Nay, sir, hold! Where's the subpœna, Jerry? I must serve you,
sir. You are required by this, to give your testimony--
_Man._ I'll be forsworn to be revenged on thee. [_Exit, throwing away
the subpœna._
_Wid._ Get you gone, for a lawless companion!--Come, Jerry, I had
almost forgot, we were to meet at the master's at three: let us mind
our business still, child.
_Jer._ Ay, forsooth, e'en so let's.
_Free._ Nay, madam, now I would beg you to hear me a little, a little
of my business.
_Wid._ I have business of my own calls me away, sir.
_Free._ My business would prove yours too, dear madam.
_Wid._ Yours would be some sweet business, I warrant. What, 'tis no
Westminster Hall business? would you have my advice?
_Free._ No, faith, 'tis a little Westminster Abbey business; I would
have your consent.
_Wid._ O fy, fy, sir! to me such discourse, before my dear minor there!
_Jer._ Ay, ay, mother, he would be taking livery and seisin of your
jointure by digging the turf, but I'll watch your waters,[98] bully,
i'fac.--Come away, mother. [_Exit, haling away his_ Mother.
_Re-enter_ FIDELIA.
_Fid._ Dear sir, you have pity; beget but some in our captain for me.
_Free._ Where is he?
_Fid._ Within; swearing as much as he did in the great storm, and
cursing you, and sometimes sinks into calms and sighs, and talks of his
Olivia.
_Free._ He would never trust me to see her.--Is she handsome?
_Fid._ No, if you'll take my word: but I am not a proper judge.
_Free._ What is she?
_Fid._ A gentlewoman, I suppose, but of as mean a fortune as beauty;
but her relations would not suffer her to go with him to the Indies:
and his aversion to this side of the world, together with the late
opportunity of commanding the convoy, would not let him stay here
longer, though to enjoy her.
_Free._ He loves her mightily then?
_Fid._ Yes, so well, that the remainder of his fortune (I hear about
five or six thousand pounds) he has left her, in case he had died by
the way, or before she could prevail with her friends to follow him;
which he expected she should do, and has left behind him his great
bosom friend to be her convoy to him.
_Free._ What charms has she for him, if she be not handsome?
_Fid._ He fancies her, I suppose, the only woman of truth and sincerity
in the world.
_Free._ No common beauty, I confess.
_Fid._ Or else sure he would not have trusted her with so great a share
of his fortune, in his absence, I suppose (since his late loss) all he
has.
_Free._ Why, has he left it in her own custody?
_Fid._ I am told so.
_Free._ Then he has showed love to her indeed, in leaving her, like
an old husband that dies as soon as he has made his wife a good
jointure.--But I'll go in to him, and speak for you, and know more from
him of his Olivia. [_Exit._
_Fid._
His Olivia, indeed, his happy Olivia!
Yet she was left behind, when I was with him:
But she was ne'er out of his mind or heart.
She has told him she loved him; I have show'd it,
And durst not tell him so, till I had done,
Under this habit, such convincing acts
Of loving friendship for him, that through it
He first might find out both my sex and love;
And, when I'd had him from his fair Olivia,
And this bright world of artful beauties here,
Might then have hoped, he would have look'd on me,
Amongst the sooty Indians; and I could,
To choose, there live his wife, where wives are forced
To live no longer, when their husbands die;
Nay, what's yet worse, to share 'em whilst they live
With many rival wives. But here he comes,
And I must yet keep out of his sight, not
To lose it for ever. [_Exit._
_Re-enter_ MANLY _and_ FREEMAN.
_Free._ But pray what strange charms has she that could make you love?
_Man._ Strange charms indeed! she has beauty enough to call in question
her wit or virtue, and her form would make a starved hermit a ravisher;
yet her virtue and conduct would preserve her from the subtle lust of a
pampered prelate. She is so perfect a beauty, that art could not better
it, nor affectation deform it. Yet all this is nothing. Her tongue
as well as face ne'er knew artifice; nor ever did her words or looks
contradict her heart. She is all truth, and hates the lying, masking,
daubing world, as I do: for which I love her, and for which I think
she dislikes not me. For she has often shut out of her conversation
for mine, the gaudy fluttering parrots of the town, apes and echoes
of men only, and refused their common-place pert chat, flattery and
submissions, to be entertained with my sullen bluntness, and honest
love: and, last of all, swore to me, since her parents would not suffer
her to go with me, she would stay behind for no other man; but follow
me without their leave, if not to be obtained. Which oath--
_Free._ Did you think she would keep?
_Man._ Yes; for she is not (I tell you) like other women, but can keep
her promise, though she has sworn to keep it. But, that she might the
better keep it, I left her the value of five or six thousand pounds:
for women's wants are generally the most importunate solicitors to love
or marriage.
_Free._ And money summons lovers more than beauty, and augments but
their importunity, and their number; so makes it the harder for a woman
to deny 'em. For my part, I am for the French maxim;--"If you would
have your female subjects loyal, keep 'em poor."--But in short, that
your mistress may not marry, you have given her a portion.
_Man._ She had given me her heart first, and I am satisfied with the
security; I can never doubt her truth and constancy.
_Free._ It seems you do, since you are fain to bribe it with money. But
how come you to be so diffident of the man that says he loves you, and
not doubt the woman that says it?
_Man._ I should, I confess, doubt the love of any other woman but her,
as I do the friendship of any other man but him I have trusted; but I
have such proofs of their faith as cannot deceive me.
_Free._ Cannot!
_Man._ Not but I know that generally no man can be a great enemy but
under the name of friend; and if you are a cuckold, it is your friend
only that makes you so, for your enemy is not admitted to your house:
if you are cheated in your fortune, 'tis your friend that does it, for
your enemy is not made your trustee: if your honour or good name be
injured, 'tis your friend that does it still, because your enemy is not
believed against you. Therefore, I rather choose to go where honest,
downright barbarity is professed, where men devour one another like
generous hungry lions and tigers, not like crocodiles; where they think
the devil white, of our complexion; and I am already so far an Indian.
But if your weak faith doubts this miracle of a woman, come along with
me, and believe; and thou wilt find her so handsome, that thou, who art
so much my friend, wilt have a mind to lie with her, and so wilt not
fail to discover what her faith and thine is to me.
When we're in love, the great adversity,
Our friends and mistresses at once we try.
[_Exeunt._
ACT THE SECOND.
SCENE I.--OLIVIA'S _Lodging._
_Enter_ OLIVIA, ELIZA, _and_ LETTICE.
_Oliv._ Ah, cousin, what a world 'tis we live in! I am so weary of it.
_Eliza._ Truly, cousin, I can find no fault with it, but that we cannot
always live in't, for I can never be weary of it.
_Oliv._ O hideous! you cannot be in earnest sure, when you say you like
the filthy world.
_Eliza._ You cannot be in earnest sure, when you say you dislike it.
_Oliv._ You are a very censorious creature, I find.
_Eliza._ I must confess, I think we women as often discover where we
love by railing, as men when they lie by their swearing; and the world
is but a constant keeping gallant, whom we fail not to quarrel with
when anything crosses us, yet cannot part with't for our hearts.
_Let._ A gallant indeed, madam, whom ladies first make jealous, and
then quarrel with it for being so; for if, by her indiscretion, a lady
be talked of for a man, she cries presently, "'Tis a censorious world!"
if by her vanity the intrigue be found out, "'Tis a prying malicious
world!" if by her over-fondness the gallant proves unconstant, "'Tis a
false world!" and if by her niggardliness the chambermaid tells, "'Tis
a perfidious world!" But that, I'm sure, your ladyship cannot say of
the world yet, as bad as 'tis.
_Oliv._ But I may say, "'Tis a very impertinent world!"--Hold your
peace.--And, cousin, if the world be a gallant, 'tis such a one as is
my aversion. Pray name it no more.
_Eliza._ But is it possible the world, which has such variety of charms
for other women, can have none for you? Let's see--first, what d'ye
think of dressing and fine clothes?
_Oliv._ Dressing! Fy, fy, 'tis my aversion.--[_To_ LETTICE.] But come
hither, you dowdy; methinks you might have opened this toure better; O
hideous! I cannot suffer it! D'ye see how't sits?
_Eliza._ Well enough, cousin, if dressing be your aversion.
_Oliv._ 'Tis so: and for variety of rich clothes, they are more my
aversion.
_Let._ Ay, 'tis because your ladyship wears 'em too long; for indeed a
gown, like a gallant, grows one's aversion by having too much of it.
_Oliv._ Insatiable creature! I'll be sworn I have had this not above
three days, cousin, and within this month have made some six more.
_Eliza._ Then your aversion to 'em is not altogether so great.
_Oliv._ Alas! 'tis for my woman only I wear 'em, cousin.
_Let._ If it be for me only, madam, pray do not wear 'em.
_Eliza._ But what d'ye think of visits--balls?
_Oliv._ O, I detest 'em!
_Eliza._ Of plays?
_Oliv._ I abominate 'em; filthy, obscene, hideous things.
_Eliza._ What say you to masquerading in the winter, and Hyde Park in
the summer?
_Oliv._ Insipid pleasures I taste not.
_Eliza._ Nay, if you are are for more solid pleasures, what think you
of a rich young husband?
_Oliv._ O horrid! marriage! what a pleasure you have found out! I
nauseate it of all things.
_Let._ But what does your ladyship think then of a liberal handsome
young lover?
_Oliv._ A handsome young fellow, you impudent! begone out of my sight.
Name a handsome young fellow to me! foh, a hideous handsome young
fellow I abominate! [_Spits._
_Eliza._ Indeed! But let's see--will nothing please you? what d'ye
think of the court?
_Oliv._ How, the court! the court, cousin! my aversion, my aversion, my
aversion of all aversions!
_Eliza._ How, the court! where--
_Oliv._ Where sincerity is a quality as much out of fashion and as
unprosperous as bashfulness: I could not laugh at a quibble, though it
were a fat privy-counsellor's; nor praise a lord's ill verses, though I
were myself the subject; nor an old lady's young looks, though I were
her woman; nor sit to a vain young smile-maker, though he flattered
me. In short, I could not glout[99] upon a man when he comes into a
room, and laugh at him when he goes out; I cannot rail at the absent to
flatter the standers-by; I--
_Eliza._ Well, but railing now is so common, that 'tis no more malice,
but the fashion; and the absent think they are no more the worse for
being railed at, than the present think they're the better for being
flattered. And for the court--
_Oliv._ Nay, do not defend the court; for you'll make me rail at it
like a trusting citizen's widow.
_Eliza._ Or like a Holborn lady, who could not get in to the last ball,
or was out of countenance in the drawing-room the last Sunday of her
appearance there. For none rail at the court but those who cannot get
into it, or else who are ridiculous when they are there; and I shall
suspect you were laughed at when you were last there, or would be a
maid of honour.
_Oliv._ I a maid of honour! To be a maid of honour, were yet of all
things my aversion.
_Eliza._ In what sense am I to understand you? But in fine, by the
word aversion, I'm sure you dissemble; for I never knew woman yet
used it who did not. Come, our tongues belie our hearts more than
our pocket-glasses do our faces. But methinks we ought to leave off
dissembling, since 'tis grown of no use to us; for all wise observers
understand us now-a-days, as they do dreams, almanacs, and Dutch
gazettes, by the contrary: and a man no more believes a woman, when she
says she has an aversion for him, than when she says she'll cry out.
_Oliv._ O filthy! hideous! Peace, cousin, or your discourse will be my
aversion: and you may believe me.
_Eliza._ Yes; for if anything be a woman's aversion, 'tis plain dealing
from another woman: and perhaps that's your quarrel to the world; for
that will talk, as your woman says.
_Oliv._ Talk? not of me sure; for what men do I converse with? what
visits do I admit?
_Enter_ Boy.
_Boy._ Here's the gentleman to wait upon you, madam.
_Oliv._ On me! you little unthinking fop; d'ye know what you say?
_Boy._ Yes, madam, 'tis the gentleman that comes every day to you, who--
_Oliv._ Hold your peace, you heedless little animal, and get you
gone.--[_Exit_ Boy.] This country boy, cousin, takes my dancing-master,
tailor, or the spruce milliner, for visitors.
_Let._ No, madam; 'tis Mr. Novel, I'm sure, by his talking so loud: I
know his voice too, madam.
_Oliv._ You know nothing, you buffle-headed stupid creature you: you
would make my cousin believe I receive visits. But if it be Mr.--what
did you call him?
_Let._ Mr. Novel, madam; he that--
_Oliv._ Hold your peace; I'll hear no more of him. But if it be your
Mr.--(I cannot think of his name again) I suppose he has followed my
cousin hither.
_Eliza._ No, cousin, I will not rob you of the honour of the visit:
'tis to you, cousin; for I know him not.
_Oliv._ Nor did I ever hear of him before, upon my honour, cousin;
besides, han't I told you, that visits, and the business of visits,
flattery and detraction, are my aversion? D'ye think then I would admit
such a coxcomb as he is? who rather than not rail, will rail at the
dead, whom none speak ill of; rather than not flatter, will flatter the
poets of the age, whom none will flatter; who affects novelty as much
as the fashion, and is as fantastical as changeable, and as well known
as the fashion; who likes nothing but what is new, nay, would choose to
have his friend or his title a new one. In fine, he is my aversion.
_Eliza._ I find you do know him, cousin; at least, have heard of him.
_Oliv._ Yes, now I remember. I have heard of him.
_Eliza._ Well; but since he is such a coxcomb, for Heaven's sake, let
him not come up. Tell him, Mrs. Lettice, your lady is not within.
_Oliv._ No, Lettice, tell him my cousin is here, and that he may come
up. For notwithstanding I detest the sight of him, you may like his
conversation; and though I would use him scurvily, I will not be rude
to you in my own lodging: since he has followed you hither, let him
come up, I say.
_Eliza._ Very fine! pray let him go to the devil, I say, for me: I
know him not, nor desire it. Send him away, Mrs. Lettice.
_Oliv._ Upon my word, she shan't: I must disobey your commands, to
comply with your desires. Call him up, Lettice.
_Eliza._ Nay, I'll swear she shall not stir on that errand. [_Holds_
LETTICE.
_Oliv._ Well then, I'll call him myself for you, since you will have it
so.--[_Calls out at the door._] Mr. Novel, sir, sir!
_Enter_ NOVEL.
_Nov._ Madam, I beg your pardon; perhaps you were busy: I did not think
you had company with you.
_Eliza._ Yet he comes to me, cousin! [_Aside to_ OLIVIA.
_Oliv._ Chairs there. [_They sit._
_Nov._ Well; but, madam, d'ye know whence I come now?
_Oliv._ From some melancholy place, I warrant, sir, since they have
lost your good company.
_Eliza._ So!
_Nov._ From a place where they have treated me at dinner with so much
civility and kindness, a pox on them! that I could hardly get away to
you, dear madam.
_Oliv._ You have a way with you so new and obliging, sir!
_Eliza._ You hate flattery, cousin! [_Apart to_ OLIVIA.
_Nov._ Nay, faith, madam, d'ye think my way new? Then you are obliging,
madam. I must confess, I hate imitation, to do anything like other
people. All that know me do me the honour to say, I am an original,
faith. But, as I was saying, madam, I have been treated to-day with
all the ceremony and kindness imaginable at my Lady Autumn's. But, the
nauseous old woman at the upper end of her table--
_Oliv._ Revives the old Grecian custom, of serving in a death's head
with their banquets.
_Nov._ Ha! ha! fine, just, i'faith, nay, and new. 'Tis like eating with
the ghost in "The Libertine:"[100] she would frighten a man from her
dinner with her hollow invitations, and spoil one's stomach--
_Oliv._ To meat or women. I detest her hollow cherry cheeks: she looks
like an old coach new painted; affecting an unseemly smugness, whilst
she is ready to drop in pieces.
_Eliza._ You hate detraction, I see, cousin. [_Apart to_ OLIVIA.
_Nov._ But the silly old fury, whilst she affects to look like a woman
of this age, talks--
_Oliv._ Like one of the last; and as passionately as an old courtier
who has outlived his office.
_Nov._ Yes, madam; but pray let me give you her character. Then she
never counts her age by the years, but--
_Oliv._ By the masques she has lived to see.
_Nov._ Nay then, madam, I see you think a little harmless railing too
great a pleasure for any but yourself; and therefore I've done.
_Oliv._ Nay, faith, you shall tell me who you had there at dinner.
_Nov._ If you would hear me, madam.
_Oliv._ Most patiently; speak, sir.
_Nov._ Then, we had her daughter--
_Oliv._ Ay, her daughter; the very disgrace to good clothes, which she
always wears but to heighten her deformity, not mend it: for she is
still most splendidly, gallantly ugly, and looks like an ill piece of
daubing in a rich frame.
_Nov._ So! But have you done with her, madam? and can you spare her to
me a little now?
_Oliv._ Ay, ay, sir.
_Nov._ Then, she is like--
_Oliv._ She is, you'd say, like a city bride; the greater fortune, but
not the greater beauty, for her dress.
_Nov._ Well: yet have you done, madam? Then she--
_Oliv._ Then she bestows as unfortunately on her face all the graces
in fashion, as the languishing eye, the hanging or pouting lip. But
as the fool is never more provoking than when he aims at wit, the
ill-favoured of our sex are never more nauseous than when they would be
beauties, adding to their natural deformity the artificial ugliness of
affectation.
_Eliza._ So, cousin, I find one may have a collection of all one's
acquaintance's pictures as well at your house as at Mr. Lely's.[101]
Only the difference is, there we find 'em much handsomer than they are,
and like; here much uglier, and like: and you are the first of the
profession of picture-drawing I ever knew without flattery.
_Oliv._ I draw after the life; do nobody wrong, cousin.
_Eliza._ No, you hate flattery and detraction.
_Oliv._ But, Mr. Novel, who had you besides at dinner?
_Nov._ Nay, the devil take me if I tell you, unless you will allow me
the privilege of railing in my turn.--But, now I think on't, the women
ought to be your province, as the men are mine: and you must know we
had him whom--
_Oliv._ Him, whom--
_Nov._ What, invading me already? and giving the character before you
know the man?
_Eliza._ No, that is not fair, though it be usual.
_Oliv._ I beg your pardon, Mr. Novel; pray go on.
_Nov._ Then, I say, we had that familiar coxcomb who is at home
wheresoe'er he comes.
_Oliv._ Ay, that fool--
_Nov._ Nay then, madam, your servant; I'm gone. Taking the fool out of
one's mouth is worse than taking the bread out of one's mouth.
_Oliv._ I've done; your pardon, Mr. Novel: pray proceed.
_Nov._ I say, the rogue, that he may be the only wit in company, will
let nobody else talk, and--
_Oliv._ Ay, those fops who love to talk all themselves are of all
things my aversion.
_Nov._ Then you'll let me speak, madam, sure. The rogue, I say, will
force his jest upon you; and I hate a jest that's forced upon a man, as
much as a glass.
_Eliza._ Why, I hope, sir, he does not expect a man of your temperance
in jesting should do him reason?
_Nov._ What! interruption from this side too? I must then--[_Offers to
rise._ OLIVIA _holds him._
_Oliv._ No, sir.--You must know, cousin, that fop he means, though he
talks only to be commended, will not give you leave to do't.
_Nov._ But, madam--
_Oliv._ He a wit! Hang him; he's only an adopter of straggling jests
and fatherless lampoons; by the credit of which he eats at good tables,
and so, like the barren beggar-woman, lives by borrowed children.
_Nov._ Madam--
_Oliv._ And never was author of anything but his news; but that is
still all his own.
_Nov._ Madam, pray--
_Oliv._ An eternal babbler; and makes no more use of his ears, than a
man that sits at a play by his mistress, or in Fop-corner. He's, in
fine, a base detracting fellow, and is my aversion.--But who else,
prithee Mr. Novel, was there with you? Nay, you shan't stir.
_Nov._ I beg your pardon, madam; I cannot stay in any place where I'm
not allowed a little Christian liberty of railing.
_Oliv._ Nay, prithee Mr. Novel, stay: and though you should rail at me,
I would hear you with patience. Prithee, who else was there with you?
_Nov._ Your servant, madam.
_Oliv._ Nay, prithee tell us, Mr. Novel, prithee do.
_Nov._ We had nobody else.
_Oliv._ Nay, faith, I know you had. Come, my Lord Plausible was there
too; who is, cousin, a--
_Eliza._ You need not tell me what he is, cousin; for I know him to be
a civil, good-natured, harmless gentleman, that speaks well of all the
world, and is always in good-humour; and--
_Oliv._ Hold, cousin, hold; I hate detraction. But I must tell you,
cousin, his civility is cowardice, his good-nature want of wit; and
he has neither courage nor sense to rail: and for his being always in
humour, 'tis because he is never dissatisfied with himself. In fine, he
is my aversion; and I never admit his visits beyond my hall.
_Nov._ No, he visit you! Damn him, cringing grinning rogue! if I should
see him coming up to you, I would make bold to kick him down again.--Ha!
_Enter_ Lord PLAUSIBLE.
My dear lord, your most humble servant. [_Rises and salutes_ Lord PLAUSIBLE,
_and kisses him._
_Eliza._ So, I find kissing and railing succeed each other with the
angry men as well as with the angry women; and their quarrels are like
love-quarrels, since absence is the only cause of them; for as soon as
the man appears again, they are over. [_Aside._
_L. Plau._ Your most faithful humble servant, generous Mr. Novel. And,
madam, I am your eternal slave, and kiss your fair hands; which I had
done sooner, according to your commands, but--
_Oliv._ No excuses, my lord.
_Eliza._ What, you sent for him then, cousin? [_Apart to_ OLIVIA.
_Nov._ Ha! invited! [_Aside._
_Oliv._ I know you must divide yourself; for your good company is too
general a good to be engrossed by any particular friend.
_L. Plau._ O Lord, madam, my company! your most obliged, faithful,
humble servant. But I could have brought you good company indeed; for I
parted at your door with two of the worthiest, bravest men--
_Oliv._ Who were they, my lord?
_Nov._ Who do you call the worthiest, bravest men, pray?
_L. Plau._ O, the wisest, bravest gentlemen! men of such honour and
virtue! of such good qualities! ah--
_Eliza._ This is a coxcomb that speaks ill of all people a different
way, and libels everybody with dull praise, and commonly in the wrong
place; so makes his panegyrics abusive lampoons. [_Aside._
_Oliv._ But pray let me know who they were?
_L. Plau._ Ah! such patterns of heroic virtue! such--
_Nov._ Well: but who the devil were they?
_L. Plau._ The honour of our nation! the glory of our age! Ah, I could
dwell a twelvemonth on their praise; which indeed I might spare by
telling their names; Sir John Current and Sir Richard Court-Title.
_Nov._ Court-Title! ha! ha!
_Oliv._ And Sir John Current! Why will you keep such a wretch company,
my lord?
_L. Plau._ O madam, seriously you are a little too severe; for he is a
man of unquestioned reputation in everything.
_Oliv._ Yes, because he endeavours only with the women to pass for a
man of courage, and with the bullies for a wit; with the wits for a man
of business, and with the men of business for a favourite at court; and
at court for city security.
_Nov._ And for Sir Richard, he--
_L. Plau._ He loves your choice picked company, persons that--
_Oliv._ He loves a lord indeed; but--
_Nov._ Pray, dear madam, let me have but a bold stroke or two at his
picture. He loves a lord, as you say, though--
_Oliv._ Though he borrowed his money, and ne'er paid him again.
_Nov._ And would bespeak a place three days before at the back-end of a
lord's coach to Hyde Park.
_L. Plau._ Nay, i'faith, i'faith, you are both too severe.
_Oliv._ Then to show yet more his passion for quality, he makes love to
that fulsome coach-load of honour, my Lady Goodly, for he's always at
her lodging.
_L. Plau._ Because it is the conventicle-gallant, the meeting-house of
all the fair ladies, and glorious superfine beauties of the town.
_Nov._ Very fine ladies! there's first--
_Oliv._ Her honour, as fat as an hostess.
_L. Plau._ She is something plump indeed, a goodly, comely, graceful
person.
_Nov._ Then there's my Lady Frances--what d'ye call her? as ugly--
_Oliv._ As a citizen's lawfully begotten daughter.
_L. Plau._ She has wit in abundance, and the handsomest heel, elbow,
and tip of an ear, you ever saw.
_Nov._ Heel and elbow! ha! ha! And there's my Lady Betty, you know--
_Oliv._ As sluttish and slatternly as an Irish woman bred in France.
_L. Plau._ Ah! all she has hangs with a loose air, indeed, and becoming
negligence.
_Eliza._ You see all faults with lovers' eyes, I find, my lord.
_L. Plau._ Ah, madam, your most obliged, faithful, humble servant to
command! But you can say nothing sure against the superfine mistress--
_Oliv._ I know who you mean. She is as censorious and detracting a jade
as a superannuated sinner.
_L. Plau._ She has a smart way of raillery, 'tis confessed.
_Nov._ And then for Mrs. Grideline--
_L. Plau._ She, I'm sure is--
_Oliv._ One that never spoke ill of anybody, 'tis confessed. For she
is as silent in conversation as a country lover, and no better company
than a clock, or a weather-glass: for if she sounds, 'tis but once an
hour to put you in mind of the time of day, or to tell you 'twill be
cold or hot, rain or snow.
_L. Plau._ Ah, poor creature! she's extremely good and modest.
_Nov._ And for Mrs. Bridlechin, she's--
_Oliv._ As proud as a churchman's wife.
_L. Plau._ She's a woman of great spirit and honour, and will not make
herself cheap, 'tis true.
_Nov._ Then Mrs. Hoyden, that calls all people by their surnames, and
is--
_Oliv._ As familiar a duck--
_Nov._ As an actress in the tiring room. There I was once beforehand
with you, madam.
_L. Plau._ Mrs. Hoyden! a poor, affable, good-natured soul. But the
divine Mrs. Trifle comes thither too. Sure her beauty, virtue, and
conduct, you can say nothing to.
_Oliv._ No!
_Nov._ No!--Pray let me speak, madam.
_Oliv._ First, can any one be called beautiful that squints?
_L. Plau._ Her eyes languish a little, I own.
_Nov._ Languish! ha! ha!
_Oliv._ Languish!--Then, for her conduct, she was seen at the "Country
Wife" after the first day. There's for you, my lord.
_L. Plau._ But, madam, she was not seen to use her fan all the play
long, turn aside her head, or by a conscious blush discover more guilt
than modesty.
_Oliv._ Very fine! Then you think a woman modest that sees the hideous
"Country Wife" without blushing or publishing her detestation of it?
D'ye hear him, cousin?
_Eliza._ Yes, and am, I must confess, something of his opinion; and
think, that as an over-conscious fool at a play, by endeavouring to
show the author's want of wit, exposes his own to more censure, so may
a lady call her own modesty in question, by publicly cavilling with
the poet's. For all those grimaces of honour and artificial modesty
disparage a woman's real virtue, as much as the use of white and red
does the natural complexion: and you must use very, very little, if you
would have it thought your own.
_Oliv._ Then you would have a woman of honour with passive looks, ears,
and tongue, undergo all the hideous obscenity she hears at nasty plays.
_Eliza._ Truly, I think a woman betrays her want of modesty, by showing
it publicly in a playhouse, as much as a man does his want of courage
by a quarrel there; for the truly modest and stout say least, and are
least exceptious, especially in public.
_Oliv._ O hideous, cousin! this cannot be your opinion. But you are one
of those who have the confidence to pardon the filthy play.
_Eliza._ Why, what is there of ill in't, say you?
_Oliv._ O fy! fy! fy! would you put me to the blush anew? call all
the blood into my face again? But to satisfy you then; first, the
clandestine obscenity in the very name of Horner.
_Eliza._ Truly, 'tis so hidden, I cannot find it out, I confess.
_Oliv._ O horrid! Does it not give you the rank conception or image of
a goat, or town-bull, or a satyr? nay, what is yet a filthier image
than all the rest, that of an eunuch?
_Eliza._ What then? I can think of a goat, a bull, or a satyr, without
any hurt.
_Oliv._ Ay: but cousin, one cannot stop there.
_Eliza._ I can, cousin.
_Oliv._ O no; for when you have those filthy creatures in your head
once, the next thing you think, is what they do; as their defiling of
honest men's beds and couches, rapes upon sleeping and waking country
virgins under hedges, and on haycocks. Nay, farther--
_Eliza._ Nay, no farther, cousin. We have enough of your comment on the
play, which will make me more ashamed than the play itself.
_Oliv._ O, believe me, 'tis a filthy play! and you may take my word for
a filthy play as soon as another's. But the filthiest thing in that
play, or any other play, is--
_Eliza._ Pray keep it to yourself, if it be so.
_Oliv._ No, faith, you shall know it; I'm resolved to make you out of
love with the play. I say, the lewdest, filthiest thing is his china;
nay, I will never forgive the beastly author his china. He has quite
taken away the reputation of poor china itself, and sullied the most
innocent and pretty furniture of a lady's chamber; insomuch that I was
fain to break all my defiled vessels. You see I have none left; nor
you, I hope.
_Eliza._ You'll pardon me, I cannot think the worse of my china for
that of the playhouse.
_Oliv._ Why, you will not keep any now, sure! 'Tis now as unfit an
ornament for a lady's chamber as the pictures that come from Italy
and other hot countries; as appears by their nudities, which I always
cover, or scratch out, whereso'er I find 'em. But china! out upon't,
filthy china! nasty debauched china!
_Eliza._ All this will not put me out of conceit with china, nor the
play, which is acted to-day, or another of the same beastly author's,
as you call him, which I'll go see.
_Oliv._ You will not, sure! nay, you sha' not venture your reputation
by going, and mine by leaving me alone with two men here: nay, you'll
disoblige me for ever, if--[_Pulls her back._
_Eliza._ I stay!--your servant. [_Exit._
_Oliv._ Well--but, my lord, though you justify everybody, you cannot in
earnest uphold so beastly a writer, whose ink is so smutty as one may
say.
_L. Plau._ Faith, I dare swear the poor man did not think to disoblige
the ladies, by any amorous, soft, passionate, luscious saying in his
play.
_Oliv._ Fy, my lord! But what think you, Mr. Novel, of the play? though
I know you are a friend to all that are new.
_Nov._ Faith, madam, I must confess, the new plays would not be the
worse for my advice, but I could never get the silly rogues, the poets,
to mind what I say; but I'll tell you what counsel I gave the surly
fool you spake of.
_Oliv._ What was't?
_Nov._ Faith, to put his play into rhyme; for rhyme, you know,
often makes mystical nonsense pass with the critics for wit, and
a double-meaning saying with the ladies, for soft, tender, and
moving passion. But now I talk of passion, I saw your old lover this
morning--Captain--[_Whispers._
_Enter_ MANLY, FREEMAN, _and_ FIDELIA _standing behind._
_Oliv._ Whom?--nay, you need not whisper.
_Man._ We are luckily got hither unobserved!--How! in a close
conversation with these supple rascals, the outcasts of sempstresses'
shops!
_Free._ Faith, pardon her, captain, that, since she could no longer be
entertained with your manly bluntness and honest love, she takes up
with the pert chat and commonplace flattery of these fluttering parrots
of the town, apes and echoes of men only.
_Man._ Do not you, sir, play the echo too, mock me, dally with my own
words, and show yourself as impertinent as they are.
_Free._ Nay, captain--
_Fid._ Nay, lieutenant, do not excuse her; methinks she looks very
kindly upon 'em both, and seems to be pleased with what that fool there
says to her.
_Man._ You lie, sir! and hold your peace, that I may not be provoked to
give you a worse reply.
_Oliv._ Manly returned, d'ye say! and is he safe?
_Nov._ My lord saw him too.--Hark you, my lord. [_Whispers to_ Lord
PLAUSIBLE.
_Man._ She yet seems concerned for my safety, and perhaps they are
admitted now here but for their news of me: for intelligence indeed is
the common passport of nauseous fools, when they go their round of good
tables and houses. [_Aside._
_Oliv._ I heard of his fighting only, without particulars, and confess
I always loved his brutal courage, because it made me hope it might rid
me of his more brutal love.
_Man._ What's that? [_Aside._
_Oliv._ But is he at last returned, d'ye say, unhurt?
_Nov._ Ay, faith, without doing his business; for the rogue has been
these two years pretending to a wooden leg, which he would take from
fortune as kindly as the staff of a marshal of France, and rather read
his name in a gazette--
_Oliv._ Than in the entail of a good estate.
_Man._ So! [_Aside._
_Nov._ I have an ambition, I must confess, of losing my heart before
such a fair enemy us yourself, madam; but that silly rogues should be
ambitious of losing their arms, and--
_Oliv._ Looking like a pair of compasses.
_Nov._ But he has no use of his arms but to set 'em on kimbow, for he
never pulls off his hat, at least not to me, I'm sure; for you must
know, madam, he has a fanatical hatred to good company: he can't abide
me.
_L. Plau._ O, be not so severe to him, as to say he hates good company:
for I assure you he has a great respect, esteem and kindness for me.
_Man._ That kind, civil rogue has spoken yet ten thousand times worse
of me than t'other. [_Aside._
_Oliv._ Well, if he be returned, Mr. Novel, then shall I be pestered
again with his boisterous sea-love; have my alcove smell like a cabin,
my chamber perfumed with his tarpaulin Brandenburgh; and hear volleys
of brandy-sighs, enough to make a fog in one's room. Foh! I hate a
lover that smells like Thames Street!
_Man._ [_Aside._] I can bear no longer, and need hear no more.--[_To_
OLIVIA.] But since you have these two pulvillio[102] boxes, these
essence-bottles, this pair of musk-cats here, I hope I may venture to
come yet nearer you.
_Oliv._ Overheard us then!
_Nov._ I hope he heard me not. [_Aside._
_L. Plau._ Most noble and heroic captain, your most obliged, faithful,
humble servant.
_Nov._ Dear tar, thy humble servant.
_Man._ Away!--[_Thrusts_ NOVEL _and_ Lord PLAUSIBLE _on each side._]
Madam--
_Oliv._ Nay, I think I have fitted[103] you for listening.
_Man._ You have fitted me for believing you could not be fickle, though
you were young; could not dissemble love, though 'twas your interest;
nor be vain, though you were handsome; nor break your promise, though
to a parting lover; nor abuse your best friend, though you had wit: but
I take not your contempt of me worse than your esteem, or civility for
these things here, though you know 'em.
_Nov._ Things!
_L. Plau._ Let the captain rally a little.
_Man._ Yes, things! Canst thou be angry, thou thing? [_Coming up to_
NOVEL.
_Nov._ No, since my lord says you speak in raillery; for though your
sea-raillery be something rough, yet, I confess, we use one another
too as bad every day at Locket's,[104] and never quarrel for the matter.
_L. Plau._ Nay, noble captain, be not angry with him.--A word with you,
I beseech you--[_Whispers to_ MANLY.
_Oliv._ Well, we women, like the rest of the cheats of the world, when
our cullies or creditors have found us out, and will or can trust no
longer, pay debts and satisfy obligations with a quarrel, the kindest
present a man can make to his mistress, when he can make no more
presents. For oftentimes in love, as at cards, we are forced to play
foul, only to give over the game; and use our lovers like the cards,
when we can get no more by them, throw 'em up in a pet upon the first
dispute. [_Aside._
_Man._ My lord, all that you have made me know by your whispering,
which I knew not before, is, that you have a stinking breath; there's a
secret for your secret.
_L. Plau._ Pshaw! pshaw!
_Man._ But, madam, tell me, pray, what was't about this spark could
take you? Was it the merit of his fashionable impudence; the briskness
of his noise, the wit of his laugh, his judgment, or fancy in his
garniture? or was it a well-trimmed glove, or the scent of it, that
charmed you?
_Nov._ Very well, sir: 'gad these sea captains make nothing of
dressing. But let me tell you, sir, a man by his dress, as much as by
anything, shows his wit and judgment; nay, and his courage too.
_Free._ How, his courage, Mr. Novel?
_Nov._ Why, for example, by red breeches, tucked-up hair or peruke, a
greasy broad belt, and now-a-days a short sword.
_Man._ Thy courage will appear more by thy belt than thy sword, I
dare swear.--Then, madam, for this gentle piece of courtesy, this man
of tame honour, what could you find in him? Was it his languishing
affected tone? his mannerly look? his second-hand flattery? the refuse
of the playhouse tiring-rooms? or his slavish obsequiousness in
watching at the door of your box at the playhouse, for your hand to
your chair? or his jaunty way of playing with your fan? or was it the
gunpowder spot on his hand, or the jewel in his ear, that purchased
your heart?
_Oliv._ Good jealous captain, no more of your--
_L. Plau._ No, let him go on, madam, for perhaps he may make you laugh:
and I would contribute to your pleasure any way.
_Man._ Gentle rogue!
_Oliv._ No, noble captain, you cannot sure think anything could take me
more than that heroic title of yours, captain; for you know we women
love honour inordinately.
_Nov._ Ha! ha! faith, she is with thee, bully, for thy raillery.
_Man._ Faith, so shall I be with you, no bully, for your grinning.
[_Aside to_ NOVEL.
_Oliv._ Then that noble lion-like mien of yours, that soldier-like,
weather-beaten complexion, and that manly roughness of your voice; how
can they otherwise than charm us women, who hate effeminacy!
_Nov._ Ha! ha! faith I can't hold from laughing.
_Man._ Nor shall I from kicking anon. [_Aside to_ NOVEL.
_Oliv._ And then, that captain-like carelessness in your dress, but
especially your scarf; 'twas just such another, only a little higher
tied, made me in love with my tailor as he passed by my window the last
training-day; for we women adore a martial man, and you have nothing
wanting to make you more one, or more agreeable, but a wooden leg.
_L. Plau._ Nay, i'faith, there your ladyship was a wag, and it was
fine, just, and well rallied.
_Nov._ Ay, ay, madam, with you ladies too, martial men must needs be
very killing.
_Man._ Peace, you Bartholomew-fair buffoons! And be not you vain that
these laugh on your side, for they will laugh at their own dull jests;
but no more of 'em, for I will only suffer now this lady to be witty
and merry.
_Oliv._ You would not have your panegyric interrupted. I go on then
to your humour. Is there anything more agreeable than the pretty
sullenness of that? than the greatness of your courage, which most
of all appears in your spirit of contradiction? for you dare give
all mankind the lie; and your opinion is your only mistress, for you
renounce that too, when it becomes another man's.[105]
_Nov._ Ha! ha! I cannot hold, I must laugh at thee, tar, faith!
_L. Plau._ And i'faith, dear captain, I beg your pardon, and leave
to laugh at you too, though I protest I mean you no hurt; but when a
lady rallies, a stander-by must be complaisant, and do her reason in
laughing: ha! ha!
_Man._ Why, you impudent, pitiful wretches, you presume sure upon your
effeminacy to urge me; for you are in all things so like women, that
you may think it in me a kind of cowardice to beat you.
_Oliv._ No hectoring, good captain.
_Man._ Or, perhaps, you think this lady's presence secures you; but
have a care, she has talked herself out of all the respect I had for
her; and by using me ill before you, has given me a privilege of using
you so before her; but if you would preserve your respect to her, and
not be beaten before her, go, begone immediately.
_Nov._ Begone! what?
_L. Plau._ Nay, worthy, noble, generous, captain--
_Man._ Begone, I say!
_Nov._ Begone again! to us begone!
_Man._ No chattering, baboons, instantly begone, or--[_Puts them out of
the room:_ NOVEL _struts,_ Lord PLAUSIBLE _cringes._
_Nov._ Well, madam, we'll go make the cards ready in your bedchamber:
sure you will not stay long with him. [_Exeunt_ Lord PLAUSIBLE _and_
NOVEL.
_Oliv._ Turn hither your rage, good captain Swaggerhuff, and be saucy
with your mistress, like a true captain; but be civil to your rivals
and betters, and do not threaten anything but me here; no, not so much
as my windows; nor do not think yourself in the lodgings of one of your
suburb mistresses beyond the Tower.
_Man._ Do not give me cause to think so; for those less infamous women
part with their lovers, just as you did from me, with unforced vows of
constancy and floods of willing tears; but the same winds bear away
their lovers and their vows: and for their grief, if the credulous
unexpected fools return, they find new comforters, fresh cullies,
such as I found here. The mercenary love of those women too suffers
shipwreck with their gallants' fortunes; now you have heard chance
has used me scurvily, therefore you do too. Well, persevere in your
ingratitude, falsehood, and disdain; have constancy in something, and I
promise you to be as just to your real scorn as I was to your feigned
love; and henceforward will despise, contemn, hate, loathe, and detest
you most faithfully.
_Enter_ LETTICE.
_Oliv._ Get the ombre-cards ready in the next room, Lettice,
and--[_Whispers to_ LETTICE, _who goes out._
_Free._ Bravely resolved, captain!
_Fid._ And you'll be sure to keep your word, I hope, sir?
_Man._ I hope so too.
_Fid._ Do you but hope it, sir? If you are not as good as your word,
'twill be the first time you ever bragged, sure.
_Man._ She has restored my reason with my heart.
_Free._ But now you talk of restoring, captain, there are other things,
which next to one's heart one would not part with; I mean your jewels
and money, which it seems she has, sir.
_Man._ What's that to you, sir?
_Free._ Pardon me, whatsoever is yours I have a share in't I'm sure,
which I will not lose for asking, though you may be too generous or too
angry now to do't yourself.
_Fid._ Nay, then I'll make bold to make my claim too. [_Both going
towards_ OLIVIA.
_Man._ Hold, you impertinent, officious fops--[_Aside._] How have I
been deceived!
_Free._ Madam, there are certain appurtenances to a lover's heart,
called jewels, which always go along with it.
_Fid._ And which, with lovers, have no value in themselves, but from
the heart they come with. Our captain's, madam, it seems you scorn
to keep, and much more will those worthless things without it, I am
confident.
_Oliv._ A gentleman so well made as you are, may be confident--us
easy women could not deny you anything you ask, if 'twere for
yourself, but, since 'tis for another, I beg your leave to give him my
answer.--[_Aside._] An agreeable young fellow this--and would not be
my aversion.--[_Aloud._] Captain, your young friend here has a very
persuading face, I confess; yet you might have asked me yourself for
those trifles you left with me, which (hark you a little, for I dare
trust you with the secret; you are a man of so much honour, I'm sure) I
say then, not expecting your return, or hoping ever to see you again, I
have delivered your jewels to--
_Man._ Whom?
_Oliv._ My husband.
_Man._ Your husband!
_Oliv._ Ay, my husband. For since you could leave me, I am lately
and privately married to one, who is a man of so much honour and
experience in the world, that I dare not ask him for your jewels again
to restore 'em to you; lest he should conclude you never would have
parted with 'em to me on any other score but the exchange of my honour:
which rather than you'd let me lose, you'd lose I'm sure yourself,
those trifles of yours.
_Man._ Triumphant impudence! but married too!
_Oliv._ O, speak not so loud, my servants know it not: I am married,
there's no resisting one's destiny or love, you know.
_Man._ Why, did you love him too?
_Oliv._ Most passionately; nay, love him now, though I have married
him, and he me: which mutual love I hope you are too good, too generous
a man to disturb, by any future claim, or visits to me. 'Tis true, he
is now absent in the country, but returns shortly; therefore I beg of
you, for your own ease and quiet, and my honour, you will never see me
more.
_Man._ I wish I never had seen you.
_Oliv._ But if you should ever have anything to say to me hereafter,
let that young gentleman there be your messenger.
_Man._ You would be kinder to him; I find he should be welcome.
_Oliv._ Alas! his youth would keep my husband from suspicions, and his
visits from scandal; for we women may have pity for such as he, but no
love: and I already think you do not well to spirit him away to sea;
and the sea is already but too rich with the spoils of the shore.
_Man._ True perfect woman! If I could say anything more injurious to
her now, I would; for I could outrail a bilked whore, or a kicked
coward; but now I think on't, that were rather to discover my love than
hatred; and I must not talk, for something I must do. [_Aside._
_Oliv._ I think I have given him enough of me now, never to be troubled
with him again. [_Aside._
_Re-enter_ LETTICE.
Well, Lettice, are the cards and all ready within? I come
then.--Captain, I beg your pardon: you will not make one at ombre?
_Man._ No, madam, but I'll wish you a little good luck before you go.
_Oliv._ No, if you would have me thrive, curse me: for that you'll do
heartily, I suppose.
_Man._ Then if you will have it so, may all the curses light upon
you, women ought to fear, and you deserve!--First, may the curse of
loving play attend your sordid covetousness, and fortune cheat you, by
trusting to her, as you have cheated me; the curse of pride, or a good
reputation, fall on your lust; the curse of affectation on your beauty;
the curse of your husband's company on your pleasures; and the curse of
your gallant's disappointments in his absence; and the curse of scorn,
jealousy, or despair on your love; and then the curse of loving on!
_Oliv._ And to requite all your curses, I will only return you your
last; may the curse of loving me still fall upon your proud hard heart,
that could be so cruel to me in these horrid curses! but heaven forgive
you! [_Exit._
_Man._ Hell and the devil reward thee!
_Free._ Well, you see now, mistresses, like friends, are lost by
letting 'em handle your money; and most women are such kind of witches,
who can have no power over a man, unless you give 'em money: but when
once they have got any from you, they never leave you till they have
all. Therefore I never give a woman a farthing.
_Man._ Well, there is yet this comfort by losing one's money with
one's mistress, a man is out of danger of getting another; of being
made prize again by love, who, like a pirate, takes you by spreading
false colours: but when once you have run your ship a-ground, the
treacherous picaroon[106] loofs; so by your ruin you save yourself from
slavery at least.
_Enter_ Boy.
_Boy._ Mrs. Lettice, here's Madam Blackacre come to wait upon her
honour. [_Exeunt_ LETTICE _and_ Boy.
_Man._ D'ye hear that? Let us be gone before she comes: for henceforth
I'll avoid the whole damned sex for ever, and woman as a sinking ship.
[_Exeunt_ MANLY _and_ FIDELIA.
_Free._ And I'll stay, to revenge on her your quarrel to the sex: for
out of love to her jointure, and hatred to business, I would marry her,
to make an end of her thousand suits, and my thousand engagements, to
the comfort of two unfortunate sort of people, my plaintiffs and her
defendants, my creditors and her adversaries.
_Enter_ Widow BLACKACRE, _led in by_ Major OLDFOX, _and_
JERRY BLACKACRE _following, laden with green bags._
_Wid._ 'Tis an arrant sea-ruffian; but I am glad I met with him at
last, to serve him again, major; for the last service was not good
in law. Boy, duck, Jerry, where is my paper of memorandums? Give me,
child: so. Where is my cousin Olivia now, my kind relation?
_Free._ Here is one that would be your kind relation, madam.
_Wid._ What mean you, sir?
_Free._ Why, faith, (to be short) to marry you, widow.
_Wid._ Is not this the wild rude person we saw at Captain Manly's?
_Jer._ Ay, forsooth, an't please.
_Wid._ What would you? what are you? Marry me!
_Free._ Ay, faith; for I am a younger brother, and you are a widow.
_Wid._ You are an impertinent person; and go about your business.
_Free._ I have none, but to marry thee, widow.
_Wid._ But I have other business, I'd have you to know.
_Free._ But you have no business a-nights, widow; and I'll make you
pleasanter business than any you have. For a-nights, I assure you, I am
a man of great business; for the business--
_Wid._ Go, I'm sure you're an idle fellow.
_Free._ Try me but, widow, and employ me as you find my abilities and
industry.
_Old._ Pray be civil to the lady, Mr.----she is a person of quality, a
person that is no person--
_Free._ Yes, but she's a person that is a widow. Be you mannerly to
her, because you are to pretend only to be her squire, to arm her to
her lawyer's chambers; but I will be impudent and bawdy; for she must
love and marry me.
_Wid._ Marry come up, you saucy familiar Jack! You think, with us
widows, 'tis no more than up, and ride. Gad forgive me! now-a-days,
every idle, young, hectoring, roaring companion, with a pair of turned
red breeches, and a broad back, thinks to carry away any widow of the
best degree. But I'd have you to know, sir, all widows are not got,
like places at court, by impudence and importunity only.
_Old._ No, no, soft, soft, you are a young man, and not fit--
_Free._ For a widow? yes sure, old man, the fitter.
_Old._ Go to, go to; if others had not laid in their claims before you--
_Free._ Not you, I hope.
_Old._ Why not I, sir? sure I am a much more proportionable match
for her than you, sir; I, who am an elder brother, of a comfortable
fortune, and of equal years with her.
_Wid._ How's that, you unmannerly person? I'd have you to know, I was
born but in _Ann' undec' Caroli prim'_.
_Old._ Your pardon, lady, your pardon: be not offended with your very
humble servant--But, I say, sir, you are a beggarly younger brother,
twenty years younger than her, without any land or stock, but your
great stock of impudence: therefore what pretension can you have to her?
_Free._ You have made it for me: first, because I am a younger brother.
_Wid._ Why, is that a sufficient plea to a relict? how appears it, sir?
by what foolish custom?
_Free._ By custom time out of mind only. Then, sir, because I have
nothing to keep me after her death, I am the likelier to take care of
her life. And for my being twenty years younger than her, and having a
sufficient stock of impudence, I leave it to her whether they will be
valid exceptions to me in her widow's law or equity.
_Old._ Well, she has been so long in chancery, that I'll stand to
her equity and decree between us. Come, lady, pray snap up this
young snap[107] at first, or we shall be troubled with him. Give
him a city-widow's answer, that is, with all the ill-breeding
imaginable.--[_Aside to_ Widow BLACKACRE.] Come, madam.
_Wid._ Well then, to make an end of this foolish wooing, for nothing
interrupts business more: first for you, major--
_Old._ You declare in my favour, then?
_Free._ What, direct the court! come, young lawyer, thou shalt be a
counsel for me. [_To_ JERRY.
_Jer._ Gad, I shall betray your cause then, as well as an older lawyer;
never stir.
_Wid._ First, I say, for you, major, my walking hospital of an ancient
foundation; thou bag of mummy, that wouldst fall asunder, if 'twere not
for thy cerecloths--
_Old._ How, lady!
_Free._ Ha! ha!--
_Jer._ Hey, brave mother! use all suitors thus, for my sake.
_Wid._ Thou withered, hobbling, distorted cripple; nay, thou art a
cripple all over: wouldst thou make me the staff of thy age, the crutch
of thy decrepidness? me--
_Free._ Well said, widow! Faith, thou wouldst make a man love thee now,
without dissembling.
_Wid._ Thou senseless, impertinent, quibbling, drivelling, feeble,
paralytic, impotent, fumbling, frigid nincompoop!
_Jer._ Hey, brave mother, for calling of names, i'fac!
_Wid._ Wouldst thou make a caudle-maker, a nurse of me? can't you be
bedrid without a bed-fellow? won't your swan-skins, furs, flannels,
and the scorched trencher, keep you warm there? would you have me your
Scotch warming-pan,[108] with a pox to you! me--
_Old._ O Heavens!
_Free._ I told you I should be thought the fitter man, major.
_Jer._ Ay, you old fobus, and you would have been my guardian, would
you, to have taken care of my estate, that half of't should never come
to me, by letting long leases at pepper-corn rents?
_Wid._ If I would have married an old man, 'tis well known I might have
married an earl, nay, what's more, a judge, and been covered the winter
nights with the lambskins, which I prefer to the ermines of nobles. And
dost thou think I would wrong my poor minor there for you?
_Free._ Your minor is a chopping minor, God bless him! [_Strokes_ JERRY
_on the head._
_Old._ Your minor may be a major of horse or foot, for his bigness; and
it seems you will have the cheating of your minor to yourself.
_Wid._ Pray, sir, bear witness:--cheat my minor! I'll bring my action
of the case for the slander.
_Free._ Nay, I would bear false witness for thee now, widow, since you
have done me justice, and have thought me the fitter man for you.
_Wid._ Fair and softly, sir, 'tis my minor's case, more than my own;
and I must do him justice now on you.
_Free._ How!
_Old._ So then.
_Wid._ You are, first, (I warrant,) some renegado from the inns of
court and the law; and thou'lt come to suffer for't by the law, that
is, be hanged.
_Jer._ Not about your neck, forsooth, I hope.
_Free._ But, madam--
_Old._ Hear the court.
_Wid._ Thou art some debauched, drunken, lewd, hectoring, gaming
companion, and wantest some widow's old gold to nick[109] upon; but I
thank you, sir, that's for my lawyers.
_Free._ Faith, we should ne'er quarrel about that; for guineas would
serve my turn.[110] But, widow--
_Wid._ Thou art a foul-mouthed boaster of thy lust, a mere bragadochio
of thy strength for wine and women, and wilt belie thyself more than
thou dost women, and art every way a base deceiver of women; and would
deceive me too, would you?
_Free._ Nay, faith, widow, this is judging without seeing the evidence.
_Wid._ I say, you are a worn-out whoremaster at five-and-twenty, both
in body and fortune, and cannot be trusted by the common wenches of the
town, lest you should not pay 'em; nor by the wives of the town lest
you should pay 'em: so you want women, and would have me your bawd to
procure 'em for you.
_Free._ Faith, if you had any good acquaintance, widow, 'twould be
civilly done of thee; for I am just come from sea.
_Wid._ I mean, you would have me keep you, that you might turn keeper;
for poor widows are only used like bawds by you; you go to church with
us, but to get other women to lie with. In fine, you are a cheating,
cozening spendthrift; and having sold your own annuity, would waste my
jointure.
_Jer._ And make havoc of our estate personal, and all our gilt plate; I
should soon be piling up all our mortgaged apostle-spoons, bowls, and
beakers, out of most of the ale-houses betwixt Hercules-pillars[111]
and the Boatswain in Wapping; nay, and you'd be scouring amongst
my trees, and make 'em knock down one another, like routed reeling
watchmen at midnight; would you so, bully?
_Free._ Nay, prithee, widow, hear me.
_Wid._ No, sir; I'd have you to know, thou pitiful, paltry, lath-backed
fellow, if I would have married a young man, 'tis well known I could
have had any young heir in Norfolk, nay, the hopefullest young man
this day at the King's-bench bar; I that am a relict and executrix
of known plentiful assets and parts, who understand myself and the
law. And would you have me under covert-baron[112] again? No, sir, no
covert-baron for me.
_Free._ But, dear widow, hear me. I value you only, not your jointure.
_Wid._ Nay, sir, hold there; I know your love to a widow is
covetousness of her jointure: and a widow, a little stricken in years,
with a good jointure, is like an old mansion-house in a good purchase,
never valued, but take one, take t'other: and perhaps, when you are in
possession, you'd neglect it, let it drop to the ground, for want of
necessary repairs or expenses upon't.
_Free._ No, widow, one would be sure to keep all tight, when one is to
forfeit one's lease by dilapidation.
_Wid._ Fy! fy! I neglect my business with this foolish discourse of
love. Jerry, child, let me see the list of the jury: I'm sure my cousin
Olivia has some relations amongst them. But where is she?
_Free._ Nay, widow, but hear me one word only.
_Wid._ Nay, sir, no more, pray. I will no more hearken to your foolish
love-motions, than to offers of arbitration. [_Exeunt_ Widow BLACKACRE
_and_ JERRY.
_Free._ Well, I'll follow thee yet; for he that has a pretension at
court, or to a widow, must never give over for a little ill-usage.
_Old._ Therefore, I'll get her by assiduity, patience, and long
sufferings, which you will not undergo; for you idle young fellows
leave off love when it comes to be business; and industry gets more
women than love.
_Free._ Ay, industry, the fool's and old man's merit.--But I'll
be industrious too, and make a business on't, and get her by law,
wrangling, and contests, and not by sufferings: and, because you are no
dangerous rival, I'll give thee counsel, major:--
If you litigious widow e'er would gain,
Sigh not to her, but by the law complain;
To her, as to a bawd, defendant sue
With statutes, and make justice pimp for you.
[_Exeunt._
ACT THE THIRD.
SCENE I.--_Westminster Hall._
_Enter_ MANLY _and_ FREEMAN, _two_ Sailors _behind._
_Man._ I hate this place worse than a man that has inherited a chancery
suit: I wish I were well out on't again.
_Free._ Why, you need not be afraid of this place: for a man without
money needs no more fear a crowd of lawyers than a crowd of pickpockets.
_Man._ This, the reverend of the law would have thought the palace or
residence of Justice; but, if it be, she lives here with the state of a
Turkish emperor, rarely seen; and besieged rather than defended by her
numerous black-guard here.
_Free._ Methinks 'tis like one of their own halls in Christmas time,
whither from all parts fools bring their money, to try by the dice (not
the worst judges) whether it shall be their own or no: but after a
tedious fretting and wrangling, they drop away all their money on both
sides; and, finding neither the better, at last go emptily and lovingly
away together to the tavern, joining their curses against the young
lawyer's box, that sweeps all, like the old ones.
_Man._ Spoken like a revelling Christmas lawyer.
_Free._ Yes, I was one, I confess, but was fain to leave the law, out
of conscience, and fall to making false musters: rather choose to cheat
the king than his subjects; plunder rather than take fees.
_Man._ Well, a plague and a purse-famine light on the law; and that
female limb of it who dragged me hither to-day! But prithee go see if,
in that crowd of daggled gowns there, [_Pointing to a crowd of_ Lawyers
_at the end of the stage_,] thou canst find her. [_Exit_ FREEMAN.
How hard it is to be a hypocrite!
At least to me, who am but newly so.
I thought it once a kind of knavery,
Nay, cowardice, to hide one's fault; but now
The common frailty, love, becomes my shame.
He must not know I love the ungrateful still,
Lest he contemn me more than she; for I,
It seems, can undergo a woman's scorn,
But not a man's--
_Enter_ FIDELIA.
_Fid._ Sir, good sir, generous captain.
_Man._ Prithee, kind impertinence, leave me. Why should'st thou follow
me, flatter my generosity now, since thou knowest I have no money left?
if I had it, I'd give it thee, to buy my quiet.
_Fid._ I never followed yet, sir, reward or fame, but you alone; nor
do I now beg anything but leave to share your miseries. You should not
be a niggard of 'em, since, methinks, you have enough to spare. Let me
follow you now, because you hate me, as you have often said.
_Man._ I ever hated a coward's company, I must confess.
_Fid._ Let me follow you till I am none, then; for you, I'm sure, will
go through such worlds of dangers, that, I shall be inured to 'em; nay,
I shall be afraid of your anger more than danger, and so turn valiant
out of fear. Dear captain, do not cast me off till you have tried me
once more: do not, do not go to sea again without me.
_Man._ Thou to sea! to court, thou fool; remember the advice I gave
thee: thou art a handsome spaniel, and canst fawn naturally: go, busk
about and run thyself into the next great man's lobby; first fawn upon
the slaves without, and then run into the lady's bedchamber; thou mayst
be admitted at last to tumble her bed. Go seek, I say, and lose me; for
I am not able to keep thee; I have not bread for myself.
_Fid._ Therefore I will not go, because then I may help and serve you.
_Man._ Thou!
_Fid._ I warrant you, sir; for, at worst, I could beg or steal for you.
_Man._ Nay, more bragging! Dost thou not know there's venturing your
life in stealing? Go, prithee, away: thou art as hard to shake off as
that flattering, effeminating mischief, love.
_Fid._ Love did you name? Why, you are not so miserable as to be yet in
love, sure?
_Man._ No, no, prithee away, begone, or--[_Aside._] I had almost
discovered my love and shame; well, if I had, that thing could not
think the worse of me--or if he did--no--yes, he shall know it--he
shall--but then I must never leave him, for they are such secrets, that
make parasites and pimps lords of their masters: for any slavery or
tyranny is easier than love's.--[_Aloud._] Come hither, since thou art
so forward to serve me: hast thou but resolution enough to endure the
torture of a secret? for such to some is insupportable.
_Fid._ I would keep it as safe as if your dear, precious life depended
on't.
_Man._ Damn your dearness! It concerns more than my life,--my honour.
_Fid._ Doubt it not, sir.
_Man._ And do not discover it, by too much fear of discovering it; but
have a great care you let not Freeman find it out.
_Fid._ I warrant you, sir, I am already all joy with the hopes of
your commands; and shall be all wings in the execution of 'em: speak
quickly, sir.
_Man._ You said you'd beg for me.
_Fid._ I did, sir.
_Man._ Then you shall beg for me.
_Fid._ With all my heart, sir.
_Man._ That is, pimp for me.
_Fid._ How, sir?
_Man._ D'ye start! Thinkest thou, thou couldst do me any other service?
Come, no dissembling honour: I know you can do it handsomely, thou wert
made for't. You have lost your time with me at sea, you must recover it.
_Fid._ Do not, sir, beget yourself more reasons for your aversion to
me, and make my obedience to you a fault; I am the unfittest in the
world to do you such a service.
_Man._ Your cunning arguing against it shows but how fit you are for
it. No more dissembling; here, I say, you must go use it for me to
Olivia.
_Fid._ To her, sir?
_Man._ Go flatter, lie, kneel, promise, anything to get her for me:
I cannot live unless I have her. Didst thou not say thou wouldst do
anything to save my life? and she said you had a persuading face.
_Fid._ But did you not say, sir, your honour was dearer to you than
your life? and would you have me contribute to the loss of that, and
carry love from you to the most infamous, most false, and--
_Man._ And most beautiful!--[_Sighs aside._
_Fid._ Most ungrateful woman that ever lived; for sure she must be so,
that could desert you so soon, use you so basely, and so lately too: do
not, do not forget it, sir, and think--
_Man._ No, I will not forget it, but think of revenge; I will lie with
her out of revenge. Go, begone, and prevail for me, or never see me
more.
_Fid._ You scorned her last night.
_Man._ I know not what I did last night; I dissembled last night.
_Fid._ Heavens!
_Man._ Begone, I say, and bring me love or compliance back, or hopes at
least, or I'll never see thy face again, by--
_Fid._ O, do not swear, sir! first hear me.
_Man._ I'm impatient, away! you'll find me here till twelve. [_Turns
away._
_Fid._ Sir--
_Man._ Not one word; no insinuating argument more, or soothing
persuasion; you'll have need of all your rhetoric with her; go strive
to alter her, not me; begone. [_Retires to the end of the stage, and
exit._
_Fid._
Should I discover to him now my sex,
And lay before him his strange cruelty,
'Twould but incense it more.--No, 'tis not time.
For his love must I then betray my own?
Were ever love or chance till now severe?
Or shifting woman posed with such a task?
Forced to beg that which kills her, if obtained,
And give away her lover not to lose him! [_Exit._
_Enter_ Widow BLACKACRE, _in the middle of half-a-dozen_ Lawyers,
_whispered to by a fellow in black_, JERRY BLACKACRE _following the
crowd._
_Wid._ Offer me a reference, you saucy companion you! d'ye know who you
speak to? Art thou a solicitor in chancery, and offer a reference? A
pretty fellow! Mr. Serjeant Ploddon, here's a fellow has the impudence
to offer me a reference!
_Serj. Plod._ Who's that has the impudence to offer a reference within
these walls?
_Wid._ Nay, for a splitter of causes to do't!
_Serj. Plod._ No, madam; to a lady learned in the law, as you are, the
offer of a reference were to impose upon you.
_Wid._ No, no, never fear me for a reference, Mr. Serjeant. But
come, have you not forgot your brief? Are you sure you shan't make
the mistake of--hark you--[_Whispers._] Go then, go to your court of
Common-pleas, and say one thing over and over again: you do it so
naturally, you'll never be suspected for protracting time.
_Serj. Plod._ Come, I know the course of the court, and your business.
[_Exit._
_Wid._ Let's see, Jerry, where are my minutes? Come, Mr. Quaint, pray
go talk a great deal for me in chancery, let your words be easy, and
your sense hard; my cause requires it: branch it bravely, and deck my
cause with flowers, that the snake may lie hidden. Go, go, and be sure
you remember the decree of my Lord Chancellor, _Tricesimo quart'_ of
the queen.
_Quaint._ I will, as I see cause, extenuate or examplify matter of
fact; baffle truth with impudence; answer exceptions with questions,
though never so impertinent; for reasons give 'em words; for law and
equity, tropes and figures; and so relax and enervate the sinews of
their argument with the oil of my eloquence. But when my lungs can
reason no longer, and not being able to say anything more for our
cause, say everything of our adversary; whose reputation, though
never so clear and evident in the eye of the world, yet with sharp
invectives--
_Wid._ Alias, Billingsgate.
_Quaint._ With poignant and sour invectives, I say, I will deface, wipe
out, and obliterate his fair reputation, even as a record with the
juice of lemons; and tell such a story, (for the truth on't is, all
that we can do for our client in chancery, is telling a story,) a fine
story, a long story, such a story--
_Wid._ Go, save thy breath for the cause; talk at the bar, Mr. Quaint:
you are so copiously fluent, you can weary any one's ears sooner than
your own tongue. Go, weary our adversaries' counsel, and the court; go,
thou art a fine-spoken person: adad, I shall make thy wife jealous of
me, if you can but court the court into a decree for us. Go, get you
gone, and remember--[Whispers.]--[Exit QUAINT.]--Come, Mr. Blunder,
pray bawl soundly for me, at the King's-bench, bluster, sputter,
question, cavil; but be sure your argument be intricate enough to
confound the court; and then you do my business. Talk what you will,
but be sure your tongue never stand still; for your own noise will
secure your sense from censure: 'tis like coughing or hemming when
one has got the belly-ache, which stifles the unmannerly noise. Go,
dear rogue, and succeed; and I'll invite thee, ere it be long, to more
soused venison.
_Blund._ I'll warrant you, after your verdict, your judgment shall not
be arrested upon if's and and's. [_Exit._
_Wid._ Come, Mr. Petulant, let me give you some new instructions for
our cause in the Exchequer. Are the barons sat?
_Pet._ Yes, no; may be they are, may be they are not: what know I? what
care I?
_Wid._ Heyday! I wish you would but snap up the counsel on t'other side
anon at the bar as much; and have a little more patience with me, that
I might instruct you a little better.
_Pet._ You instruct me! what is my brief for, mistress?
_Wid._ Ay, but you seldom read your brief but at the bar, if you do it
then.
_Pet._ Perhaps I do, perhaps I don't, and perhaps 'tis time enough:
pray hold yourself contented, mistress.
_Wid._ Nay, if you go there too, I will not be contented, sir; though
you, I see, will lose my cause for want of speaking, I wo' not: you
shall hear me, and shall be instructed. Let's see your brief.
_Pet._ Send your solicitor to me. Instructed by a woman! I'd have you
to know, I do not wear a bar-gown--
_Wid._ By a woman! and I'd have you to know, I am no common woman; but
a woman conversant in the laws of the land, as well as yourself, though
I have no bar-gown.
_Pet._ Go to, go to, mistress, you are impertinent, and there's your
brief for you: instruct me! [_Flings her breviate at her._
_Wid._ Impertinent to me, you saucy Jack, you! you return my breviate,
but where's my fee? you'll be sure to keep that, and scan that so well,
that if there chance to be but a brass half-crown in't, one's sure to
hear on't again: would you would but look on your breviate half so
narrowly! But pray give me my fee too, as well as my brief.
_Pet._ Mistress, that's without precedent. When did a counsel ever
return his fee, pray? and you are impertinent and ignorant to demand it.
_Wid._ Impertinent again, and ignorant, to me! Gads-bodikins, you
puny upstart in the law, to use me so! you green-bag carrier, you
murderer of unfortunate causes, the clerk's ink is scarce off of your
fingers,--you that newly come from lamp-blacking the judges' shoes, and
are not fit to wipe mine; you call me impertinent and ignorant! I would
give thee a cuff on the ear, sitting the courts, if I were ignorant.
Marry-gep, if it had not been for me, thou hadst been yet but a hearing
counsel at the bar. [_Exit_ PETULANT.
_Enter_ Mr. BUTTONGOWN, _crossing the stage in haste._
Mr. Buttongown, Mr. Buttongown, whither so fast? what, won't you stay
till we are heard?
_But._ I cannot, Mrs. Blackacre, I must be at the council, my lord's
cause stays there for me.
_Wid._ And mine suffers here.
_But._ I cannot help it.
_Wid._ I'm undone.
_But._ What's that to me?
_Wid._ Consider the five-pound fee, if not my cause: that was something
to you.
_But._ Away, away! pray be not so troublesome, mistress: I must be gone.
_Wid._ Nay, but consider a little: I am your old client, my lord but a
new one; or let him be what he will, he will hardly be a better client
to you than myself: I hope you believe I shall be in law as long as I
live; therefore am no despicable client. Well, but go to your lord;
I know you expect he should make you a judge one day; but I hope his
promise to you will prove a true lord's promise. But that he might be
sure to fail you, I wish you had his bond for't.
_But._ But what, will you yet be thus impertinent, mistress?
_Wid._ Nay, I beseech you, sir, stay; if it be but to tell me my lord's
case; come, in short--
_But._ Nay, then--[_Exit._
_Wid._ Well, Jerry, observe child, and lay it up for hereafter. These
are those lawyers who, by being in all causes, are in none: therefore
if you would have 'em for you, let your adversary fee 'em; for he may
chance to depend upon 'em; and so, in being against thee, they'll be
for thee.
_Jer._ Ay, mother; they put me in mind of the unconscionable wooers
of widows, who undertake briskly their matrimonial business for their
money; but when they have got it once, let who will drudge for them.
Therefore have a care of 'em, forsooth. There's advice for your advice.
_Wid._ Well said, boy.--Come, Mr. Splitcause, pray go see when my
cause in Chancery comes on; and go speak with Mr. Quillit in the
King's-bench, and Mr. Quirk in the Common-pleas, and see how matters go
there.
_Enter_ Major OLDFOX.
_Old._ Lady, a good and propitious morning to you; and may all your
causes go as well as if I myself were judge of 'em!
_Wid._ Sir, excuse me; I am busy, and cannot answer compliments in
Westminster Hall.--Go, Mr. Splitcause, and come to me again to that
bookseller's; there I'll stay for you, that you may be sure to find me.
_Old._ No, sir, come to the other bookseller's. I'll attend your
ladyship thither. [_Exit_ SPLITCAUSE.
_Wid._ Why to the other?
_Old._ Because he is my bookseller, lady.
_Wid._ What, to sell you lozenges for your catarrh? or medicines for
your corns? What else can a major deal with a bookseller for?
_Old._ Lady, he prints for me.
_Wid._ Why, are you an author?
_Old._ Of some few essays; deign you, lady, to peruse 'em.--[_Aside._]
She is a woman of parts; and I must win her by showing mine.
_Bookseller's Boy._ Will you see Culpepper, mistress? "Aristotle's
Problems?" "The Complete Midwife?"
_Wid._ No; let's see Dalton, Hughs, Shepherd, Wingate.
_B. Boy._ We have no law books.
_Wid._ No! you are a pretty bookseller then.
_Old._ Come, have you e'er a one of my essays left?
_B. Boy._ Yes, sir, we have enough, and shall always have 'em.
_Old._ How so?
_B. Boy._ Why, they are good, steady, lasting ware.
_Old._ Nay, I hope they will live; let's see.--Be pleased, madam, to
peruse the poor endeavours of my pen: for I have a pen, though I say
it, that--[_Gives her a book._
_Jer._ Pray let me see "St. George for Christendom," or, "The Seven
Champions of England."
_Wid._ No, no; give him "The Young Clerk's Guide."--What, we shall have
you read yourself into a humour of rambling and fighting, and studying
military discipline, and wearing red breeches.
_Old._ Nay, if you talk of military discipline, show him my "Treatise
of the Art Military."
_Wid._ Hold; I would as willingly he should read a play.
_Jer._ O, pray forsooth, mother, let me have a play.
_Wid._ No, sirrah; there are young students of the law enough spoiled
already by plays. They would make you in love with your laundress, or,
what's worse, some queen of the stage that was a laundress; and so turn
keeper before you are of age. [_Several cross the stage._] But stay,
Jerry, is not that Mr. What d'ye-call-him, that goes there, he that
offered to sell me a suit in chancery for five hundred pounds, for a
hundred down, and only paying the clerk's fees?
_Jer._ Ay, forsooth, 'tis he.
_Wid._ Then stay here, and have a care of the bags, whilst I follow
him.--Have a care of the bags, I say.
_Jer._ And do you have a care, forsooth, of the statute against
champarty,[113] I say. [_Exit_ Widow BLACKACRE.
_Re-enter_ FREEMAN.
_Free._ [_Aside._] So, there's a limb of my widow, which was wont to be
inseparable from her: she can't be far.--[_Aloud._] How now, my pretty
son-in-law that shall be, where's my widow?
_Jer._ My mother, but not your widow, will be forthcoming presently.
_Free._ Your servant, major. What, are you buying furniture for a
little sleeping closet, which you miscall a study? For you do only by
your books, as by your wenches, bind 'em up neatly and make 'em fine,
for other people to use 'em. And your bookseller is properly your
upholsterer, for he furnishes your room, rather than your head.
_Old._ Well, well, good sea-lieutenant, study you your compass; that's
more than your head can deal with.--[_Aside._] I will go find out the
widow, to keep her out of his sight, or he'll board her, whilst I am
treating a peace. [_Exit._
_Jer._ Nay, prithee, friend, now let me have but "The Seven Champions."
You shall trust me no longer than till my mother's Mr. Splitcause
comes; for I hope he'll lend me wherewithal to pay for't.
_Free._ Lend thee! here, I'll pay him. Do you want money, squire? I'm
sorry a man of your estate should want money.
_Jer._ Nay, my mother will ne'er let me be at age: and till then, she
says--
_Free._ At age! why you are at age already to have spent an estate,
man. There are younger than you have kept their women these three
years, have had half a dozen claps, and lost as many thousand pounds at
play.
_Jer._ Ay, they are happy sparks! Nay, I know some of my schoolfellows,
who, when we were at school, were two years younger than me; but now, I
know not how, are grown men before me, and go where they will, and look
to themselves. But my curmudgeonly mother won't allow me wherewithal to
be a man of myself with.
_Free._ Why, there 'tis; I knew your mother was in fault. Ask but your
schoolfellows what they did to be men of themselves.
_Jer._ Why, I know they went to law with their mothers: for they say,
there's no good to be done upon a widow mother, till one goes to law
with her; but mine is as plaguy a lawyer as any's of our inn. Then
would she marry too, and cut down my trees. Now, I should hate, man, to
have my father's wife kissed and slapped, and t'other thing too, (you
know what I mean,) by another man: and our trees are the purest, tall,
even, shady twigs, by my fa--
_Free._ Come, squire, let your mother and your trees fall as she
pleases, rather than wear this gown and carry green bags all thy life,
and be pointed at for a Tony.[114] But you shall be able to deal with
her yet the common way. Thou shalt make false love to some lawyer's
daughter, whose father, upon the hopes of thy marrying her, shall lend
thee money and law to preserve thy estate and trees: and thy mother is
so ugly nobody will have her, if she cannot cut down thy trees.
_Jer._ Nay, if I had but anybody to stand by me, I am as stomachful as
another.
_Free._ That will I: I'll not see any hopeful young gentleman abused.
_B. Boy._ By any but yourself. [_Aside._
_Jer._ The truth on't is, mine's as arrant a widow-mother to her poor
child as any's in England. She won't so much as let one have sixpence
in one's pocket to see a motion,[115] or the dancing of the ropes, or--
_Free._ Come, you shan't want money; there's gold for you.
_Jer._ O lord, sir, two guineas! D'ye lend me this? Is there no trick
in't? Well, sir, I'll give you my bond for security.
_Free._ No, no; thou hast given me thy face for security: anybody would
swear thou dost not look like a cheat. You shall have what you will of
me; and if your mother will not be kinder to you, come to me, who will.
_Jer._ [_Aside._] By my fa--he's a curious fine gentleman!--[_Aloud._]
But will you stand by one?
_Free._ If you can be resolute.
_Jer._ Can be resolved! Gad, if she gives me but a cross word, I'll
leave her to-night, and come to you. But now I have got money, I'll go
to Jack-of-all-Trades, at t'other end of the Hall, and buy the neatest
purest things--
_Free._ [_Aside._] And I'll follow the great boy, and my blow at his
mother. Steal away the calf, and the cow will follow you. [_Exit_
JERRY, _followed by_ FREEMAN.
_Re-enter, on the other side_, MANLY, Widow BLACKACRE,
_and_ Major OLDFOX.
_Man._ Damn your cause, can't you lose it without me? which you are
like enough to do, if it be, as you say, an honest one: I will suffer
no longer for't.
_Wid._ Nay, captain, I tell you, you are my prime witness; and the
cause is just now coming on, Mr. Splitcause tells me. Lord, methinks
you should take a pleasure in walking here, as half you see now do; for
they have no business here, I assure you.
_Man._ Yes; but I'll assure you then, their business is to persecute
me. But d'ye think I'll stay any longer, to have a rogue, because he
knows my name, pluck me aside and whisper a news-book secret to me
with a stinking breath? a second come piping angry from the court,
and sputter in my face his tedious complaints against it? a third
law-coxcomb, because he saw me once at a reader's dinner, come and put
me a long law case, to make a discovery of his indefatigable dulness
and my wearied patience? a fourth, a most barbarous civil rogue, who
will keep a man half an hour in the crowd with a bowed body, and a hat
off, acting the reformed sign of the Salutation tavern, to hear his
bountiful professions of service and friendship, whilst he cares not if
I were damned, and I am wishing him hanged out of my way?--I'd as soon
run the gauntlet, as walk t'other turn.
_Re-enter_ JERRY BLACKACRE, _without his bags, but laden
with trinkets, which he endeavours to hide from his_ Mother,
_and followed at a distance by_ FREEMAN.
_Wid._ O, are you come, sir? but where have you been, you ass? and how
came you thus laden?
_Jer._ Look here, forsooth, mother; now here's a duck, here's a
boar-cat, and here's an owl. [_Making a noise with catcalls and other
such like instruments._
_Wid._ Yes, there is an owl, sir.
_Old._ He's an ungracious bird indeed.
_Wid._ But go, thou trangame,[116] and carry back those trangames,
which thou hast stolen or purloined; for nobody would trust a minor in
Westminster Hall, sure.
_Jer._ Hold yourself contented, forsooth: I have these commodities by a
fair bargain and sale; and there stands my witness and creditor.
_Wid._ How's that? What sir, d'ye think to get the mother by giving the
child a rattle?--But where are my bags, my writings, you rascal?
_Jer._ O, la! where are they, indeed! [_Aside._
_Wid._ How, sirrah? speak, come--
_Man._ You can tell her, Freeman, I suppose. [_Apart to him._
_Free._ 'Tis true, I made one of your salt-water sharks steal 'em
whilst he was eagerly choosing his commodities, as he calls 'em, in
order to my design upon his mother. [_Apart to him._
_Wid._ Won't you speak? Where were you, I say, you son of a--an
unfortunate woman?--O, major, I'm undone! They are all that concern my
estate, my jointure, my husband's deed of gift, my evidences for all my
suits now depending! What will become of them?
_Free._ [_Aside._] I'm glad to hear this.--[_Aloud._] They'll be all
safe, I warrant you, madam.
_Wid._ O where? where? Come, you villain, along with me, and show me
where. [_Exeunt_ Widow BLACKACRE, JERRY, _and_ OLDFOX.
_Man._ Thou hast taken the right way to get a widow, by making her
great boy rebel; for when nothing will make a widow marry, she'll do it
to cross her children. But canst thou in earnest marry this harpy, this
volume of shrivelled blurred parchments and law, this attorney's desk?
_Free._ Ay, ay; I'll marry and live honestly, that is, give my
creditors, not her, due benevolence,--pay my debts.
_Man._ Thy creditors, you see, are not so barbarous as to put thee in
prison; and wilt thou commit thyself to a noisome dungeon for thy life?
which is the only satisfaction thou canst give thy creditors by this
match.
_Free._ Why, is not she rich?
_Man._ Ay; but he that marries a widow for her money, will find himself
as much mistaken as the widow that marries a young fellow for due
benevolence, as you call it.
_Free._ Why, d'ye think I shan't deserve wages? I'll drudge faithfully.
_Man._ I tell thee again, he that is the slave in the mine has the
least propriety in the ore. You may dig, and dig; but if thou wouldst
have her money, rather get to be her trustee than her husband; for a
true widow will make over her estate to anybody, and cheat herself
rather than be cheated by her children or a second husband.
_Re-enter_ JERRY, _running in a fright._
_Jer._ O la, I'm undone! I'm undone! my mother will kill me:--you said
you'd stand by one.
_Free._ So I will, my brave squire, I warrant thee.
_Jer._ Ay, but I dare not stay till she comes; for she's as furious,
now she has lost her writings, as a bitch when she has lost her puppies.
_Man._ The comparison's handsome!
_Jer._ O, she's here!
_Free._ [_To the_ Sailor.] Take him, Jack, and make haste with him
to your master's lodging; and be sure you keep him up till I come.
[_Exeunt_ JERRY _and_ Sailor.
_Re-enter_ Widow BLACKACRE _and_ Major OLDFOX.
_Wid._ O my dear writings! Where's this heathen rogue, my minor?
_Free._ Gone to drown or hang himself.
_Wid._ No, I know him too well; he'll ne'er be _felo de se_ that way:
but he may go and choose a guardian of his own head, and so be _felo
de ses biens_; for he has not yet chosen one.
_Free._ Say you so? And he shan't want one. [_Aside._
_Wid._ But, now I think on't, 'tis you, sir, have put this cheat upon
me; for there is a saying, "Take hold of a maid by her smock, and a
widow by her writings, and they cannot get from you." But I'll play
fast and loose with you yet, if there be law, and my minor and writings
are not forthcoming; I'll bring my action of detinue or trover. But
first, I'll try to find out this guardianless, graceless villain.--Will
you jog, major?
_Man._ If you have lost your evidence, I hope your causes cannot go on,
and I may be gone?
_Wid._ O no; stay but a making-water while (as one may say) and I'll be
with you again. [_Exeunt_ Widow BLACKACRE _and_ Major OLDFOX.
_Free._ Well; sure I am the first man that ever began a love-intrigue
in Westminster Hall.
_Man._ No, sure; for the love to a widow generally begins here:
and as the widow's cause goes against the heir or executors, the
jointure-rivals commence their suit to the widow.
_Free._ Well; but how, pray, have you passed your time here, since I
was forced to leave you alone? You have had a great deal of patience.
_Man._ Is this a place to be alone, or have patience in? But I have had
patience, indeed; for I have drawn upon me, since I came, but three
quarrels and two lawsuits.
_Free._ Nay, faith, you are too curst to be let loose in the world:
you should be tied up again in your sea-kennel, called a ship. But how
could you quarrel here?
_Man._ How could I refrain? A lawyer talked peremptorily and saucily to
me, and as good as gave me the lie.
_Free._ They do it so often to one another at the bar, that they make
no bones on't elsewhere.
_Man._ However, I gave him a cuff on the ear; whereupon he jogs
two men, whose backs were turned to us, (for they were reading
at a bookseller's,) to witness I struck him, sitting the courts;
which office they so readily promised, that I called 'em rascals
and knights of the post.[117] One of 'em presently calls two other
absent witnesses, who were coming towards us at a distance; whilst
the other, with a whisper, desires to know my name, that he might
have satisfaction by way of challenge, as t'other by way of writ;
but if it were not rather to direct his brother's writ, than his own
challenge.--There, you see, is one of my quarrels, and two of my
lawsuits.
_Free._ So!--and the other two?
_Man._ For advising a poet to leave off writing, and turn lawyer,
because he is dull and impudent, and says or writes nothing now but by
precedent.
_Free._ And the third quarrel?
_Man._ For giving more sincere advice to a handsome, well-dressed young
fellow, (who asked it too,) not to marry a wench that he loved, and I
had lain with.
_Free._ Nay, if you will be giving your sincere advice to lovers and
poets, you will not fail of quarrels.
_Man._ Or if I stay in this place; for I see more quarrels crowding
upon me. Let's be gone, and avoid 'em.
_Enter_ NOVEL _at a distance, coming towards them._
A plague on him, that sneer is ominous to us; he is coming upon us, and
we shall not be rid of him.
_Nov._ Dear bully, don't look so grum upon me; you told me just now,
you had forgiven me a little harmless raillery upon wooden legs last
night.
_Man._ Yes, yes, pray begone, I am talking of business.
_Nov._ Can't I hear it? I love thee, and will be faithful, and always--
_Man._ Impertinent. 'Tis business that concerns Freeman only.
_Nov._ Well, I love Freeman too, and would not divulge his
secret.--Prithee speak, prithee, I must--
_Man._ Prithee let me be rid of thee, I must be rid of thee.
_Nov._ Faith, thou canst hardly, I love thee so. Come, I must know the
business.
_Man._ [_Aside._] So, I have it now.--[_Aloud._] Why, if you needs will
know it, he has a quarrel, and his adversary bids him bring two friends
with him: now, I am one, and we are thinking who we shall have for a
third. [_Several cross the stage._
_Nov._ A pox, there goes a fellow owes me a hundred pounds, and goes
out of town to-morrow: I'll speak with him, and come to you presently.
[_Exit._
_Man._ No, but you won't.
_Free._ You are dexterously rid of him.
_Re-enter_ Major OLDFOX.
_Man._ To what purpose, since here comes another as impertinent? I know
by his grin he is bound hither.
_Old._ Your servant, worthy, noble captain. Well, I have left the
widow, because she carried me from your company: for, faith, captain, I
must needs tell thee thou art the only officer in England, who was not
an Edgehill officer, that I care for.
_Man._ I'm sorry for't.
_Old._ Why, wouldst thou have me love them?
_Man._ Anybody rather than me.
_Old._ What! you are modest, I see; therefore, too, I love thee.
_Man._ No, I am not modest; but love to brag myself, and can't
patiently hear you fight over the last civil war. Therefore, go look
out the fellow I saw just now here, that walks with his sword and
stockings out at heels, and let him tell you the history of that scar
on his cheek, to give you occasion to show yours got in the field
at Bloomsbury, not that of Edgehill. Go to him, poor fellow; he is
fasting, and has not yet the happiness this morning to stink of brandy
and tobacco: go, give him some to hear you; I am busy.
_Old._ Well, egad, I love thee now, boy, for thy surliness. Thou art no
tame captain, I see, that will suffer--
_Man._ An old fox.
_Old._ All that shan't make me angry: I consider that thou art peevish,
and fretting at some ill success at law. Prithee, tell me what ill luck
you have met with here.
_Man._ You.
_Old._ Do I look like the picture of ill luck? gadsnouns, I love thee
more and more. And shall I tell thee what made me love thee first?
_Man._ Do; that I may be rid of that damned quality and thee.
_Old._ 'Twas thy wearing that broad sword there.
_Man._ Here, Freeman, let's change: I'll never wear it more.
_Old._ How! you won't, sure. Prithee, don't look like one of our
holiday captains now-a-days, with a bodkin by your side, your martinet
rogues.
_Man._ [_Aside._] O, then, there's hopes.--[_Aloud._] What, d'ye find
fault with martinet? Let me tell you, sir, 'tis the best exercise in
the world; the most ready, most easy, most graceful exercise that ever
was used, and the most--
_Old._ Nay, nay, sir, no more; sir, your servant: if you praise
martinet once, I have done with you, sir.--Martinet! martinet!--[_Exit._
_Free._ Nay, you have made him leave you as willingly as ever he did an
enemy; for he was truly for the king and parliament: for the parliament
in their list; and for the king in cheating 'em of their pay, and never
hurting the king's party in the field.
_Enter a_ Lawyer _towards them._
_Man._ A pox! this way:--here's a lawyer I know threatening us with
another greeting.
_Law._ Sir, sir, your very servant; I was afraid you had forgotten me.
_Man._ I was not afraid you had forgotten me.
_Law._ No, sir; we lawyers have pretty good memories.
_Man._ You ought to have by your wits.
_Law._ O, you are a merry gentleman, sir: I remember you were merry
when I was last in your company.
_Man._ I was never merry in thy company, Mr. Lawyer, sure.
_Law._ Why, I'm sure you joked upon me, and shammed me all night long.
_Man._ Shammed! prithee what barbarous law-term is that?
_Law._ Shamming! why, don't you know that? 'tis all our way of wit, sir.
_Man._ I am glad I do not know it then. Shamming! what does he mean
by't, Freeman!
_Free._ Shamming is telling you an insipid dull lie with a dull face,
which the sly wag the author only laughs at himself; and making himself
believe 'tis a good jest, puts the sham only upon himself.
_Man._ So, your lawyer's jest, I find, like his practice, has more
knavery than wit in't. I should make the worst shammer in England:
I must always deal ingenuously, as I will with you, Mr. Lawyer, and
advise you to be seen rather with attorneys and solicitors, than such
fellows as I am: they will credit your practice more.
_Law._ No, sir, your company's an honour to me.
_Man._ No, faith; go this way, there goes an attorney; leave me for
him; let it never be said a lawyer's civility did him hurt.
_Law._ No, worthy, honoured sir; I'll not leave you for any attorney,
sure.
_Man._ Unless he had a fee in his hand.
_Law._ Have you any business here, sir? Try me: I'd serve you sooner
than any attorney breathing.
_Man._ Business--[_Aside._] So, I have thought of a sure
way.--[_Aloud._] Yes, faith, I have a little business.
_Law._ Have you so, sir? in what court, sir? what is't, sir? Tell me
but how I may serve you, and I'll do't, sir, and take it for as great
an honour--
_Man._ Faith, 'tis for a poor orphan of a sea officer of mine, that
has no money. But if it could be followed in _forma pauperis_, and when
the legacy's recovered--
_Law. Forma pauperis_, sir!
_Man._ Ay, sir. [_Several crossing the stage._
_Law._ Mr. Bumblecase, Mr. Bumblecase! a word with you.--Sir, I beg
your pardon at present; I have a little business--
_Man._ Which is not in _forma pauperis_. [_Exit_ Lawyer.
_Free._ So, you have now found a way to be rid of people without
quarrelling?
_Enter_ Alderman.
_Man._ But here's a city-rogue will stick as hard upon us, as if I owed
him money.
_Ald._ Captain, noble sir, I am yours heartily, d'ye see; why should
you avoid your old friends?
_Man._ And why should you follow me? I owe you nothing.
_Ald._ Out of my hearty respects to you: for there is not a man in
England--
_Man._ Thou wouldst save from hanging with the expense of a shilling
only.
_Ald._ Nay, nay, but, captain, you are like enough to tell me--
_Man._ Truth, which you won't care to hear; therefore you had better go
talk with somebody else.
_Ald._ No, I know nobody can inform me better of some young wit, or
spendthrift, that has a good dipped[118] seat and estate in Middlesex,
Hertfordshire, Essex, or Kent; any of these would serve my turn: now,
if you knew of such a one, and would but help--
_Man._ You to finish his ruin.
_Ald._ I'faith, you should have a snip--
_Man._ Of your nose, you thirty-in-the-hundred rascal; would you make
me your squire setter, your bawd for manors? [_Takes him by the nose._
_Ald._ Oh!
_Free._ Hold, or here will be your third law-suit.
_Ald._ Gads-precious, you hectoring person you, are you wild? I meant
you no hurt, sir: I begin to think, as things go, land-security best,
and have for a convenient mortgage, some ten, fifteen or twenty
thousand pound by me.
_Man._ Then go lay it out upon an hospital, and take a mortgage of
Heaven, according to your city custom; for you think by laying out a
little money to hook in that too hereafter. Do, I say, and keep the
poor you've made by taking forfeitures, that Heaven may not take yours.
_Ald._ No, to keep the cripples you make this war. This war spoils our
trade.
_Man._ Damn your trade! 'tis the better for't.
_Ald._ What, will you speak against our trade?
_Man._ And dare you speak against the war, our trade?
_Ald._ [_Aside._] Well, he may be a convoy of ships I am concerned
in.--[_Aloud._] Come, captain, I will have a fair correspondence with
you, say what you will.
_Man._ Then prithee be gone.
_Ald._ No, faith; prithee, captain, let's go drink a dish of laced
coffee,[119] and talk of the times. Come, I'll treat you: nay, you
shall go, for I have no business here.
_Man._ But I have.
_Ald._ To pick up a man to give thee a dinner. Come, I'll do thy
business for thee.
_Man._ Faith, now I think on't, so you may, as well as any man: for
'tis to pick up a man to be bound with me, to one who expects city
security for--
_Ald._ Nay, then your servant, captain; business must be done.
_Man._ Ay, if it can. But hark you, alderman, without you--
_Ald._ Business, sir, I say, must be done; and there's an officer
of the treasury [_Several cross the stage._] I have an affair
with--[_Exit._
_Man._ You see now what the mighty friendship of the world is; what all
ceremony, embraces, and plentiful professions come to! You are no more
to believe a professing friend than a threatening enemy; and as no man
hurts you, that tells you he'll do you a mischief, no man, you see, is
your servant who says he is so. Why the devil, then, should a man be
troubled with the flattery of knaves if he be not a fool or cully; or
with the fondness of fools, if he be not a knave or cheat?
_Free._ Only for his pleasure: for there is some in laughing at fools,
and disappointing knaves.
_Man._ That's a pleasure, I think, would cost you too dear, as well
as marrying your widow to disappoint her. But, for my part, I have no
pleasure by 'em but in despising 'em, wheresoe'er I meet 'em; and then
the pleasure of hoping so to be rid of 'em. But now my comfort is, I am
not worth a shilling in the world, which all the world shall know; and
then I'm sure I shall have none of 'em come near me.
_Free._ A very pretty comfort, which I think you pay too dear for.--But
is the twenty pound gone since the morning?
_Man._ To my boat's crew.--Would you have the poor, honest, brave
fellows want?
_Free._ Rather than you or I.
_Man._ Why, art thou without money? thou who art a friend to everybody?
_Free._ I ventured my last stake upon the squire to nick him of his
mother; and cannot help you to a dinner, unless you will go dine with
my lord--
_Man._ No, no; the ordinary is too dear for me, where flattery must pay
for my dinner: I am no herald or poet.
_Free._ We'll go then to the bishop's--
_Man._ There you must flatter the old philosophy: I cannot renounce my
reason for a dinner.
_Free._ Why, then let's go to your alderman's.
_Man._ Hang him, rogue! that were not to dine; for he makes you drunk
with lees of sack before dinner, to take away your stomach: and there
you must call usury and extortion God's blessings, or the honest
turning of the penny; hear him brag of the leather breeches in which he
trotted first to town, and make a greater noise with his money in his
parlour, than his cashiers do in his counting-house, without hopes of
borrowing a shilling.
_Free._ Ay, a pox on't! 'tis like dining with the great gamesters; and
when they fall to their common dessert, to see the heaps of gold drawn
on all hands, without going to twelve. Let us go to my Lady Goodly's.
_Man._ There to flatter her looks. You must mistake her grandchildren
for her own; praise her cook, that she may rail at him; and feed her
dogs, not yourself.
_Free._ What d'ye think of eating with your lawyer, then?
_Man._ Eat with him! damn him! To hear him employ his barbarous
eloquence in a reading upon the two-and-thirty good bits in a shoulder
of veal, and be forced yourself to praise the cold bribe-pie that
stinks, and drink law-French wine as rough and harsh as his law-French.
A pox on him! I'd rather dine in the Temple-rounds or walks, with the
knights without noses, or the knights of the post, who are honester
fellows and better company. But let us home and try our fortune; for
I'll stay no longer here for your damned widow.
_Free._ Well, let us go home then; for I must go for my damned widow,
and look after my new damned charge. Three or four hundred years ago a
man might have dined in this Hall.[120]
_Man._
But now the lawyer only here is fed;
And, bully-like, by quarrels gets his bread.
[_Exeunt._
ACT THE FOURTH.
SCENE I.--MANLY'S _Lodging._
_Enter_ MANLY _and_ FIDELIA.
_Man._ Well, there's success in thy face. Hast thou prevailed? say.
_Fid._ As I could wish, sir.
_Man._ So; I told thee what thou wert fit for, and thou wouldst not
believe me. Come, thank me for bringing thee acquainted with thy
genius. Well, thou hast mollified her heart for me?
_Fid._ No, sir, not so; but what's better.
_Man._ How, what's better?
_Fid._ I shall harden your heart against her.
_Man._ Have a care, sir; my heart is too much in earnest to be fooled
with, and my desire at height, and needs no delay to incite it. What,
you are too good a pimp already, and know how to endear pleasure by
withholding it? But leave off your page's bawdy-house tricks, sir, and
tell me, will she be kind?
_Fid._ Kinder than you could wish, sir.
_Man._ So, then: well, prithee, what said she?
_Fid._ She said--
_Man._ What? thou'rt so tedious: speak comfort to me; what?
_Fid._ That of all things you are her aversion.
_Man._ How!
_Fid._ That she would sooner take a bedfellow out of an hospital, and
diseases into her arms, than you.
_Man._ What?
_Fid._ That she would rather trust her honour with a dissolute
debauched hector, nay worse, with a finical baffled coward, all over
loathsome with affectation of the fine gentleman.
_Man._ What's all this you say?
_Fid._ Nay, that my offers of your love to her were more offensive,
than when parents woo their virgin-daughters to the enjoyment of riches
only; and that you were in all circumstances as nauseous to her as a
husband on compulsion.
_Man._ Hold! I understand you not.
_Fid._ So, 'twill work, I see. [_Aside._
_Man._ Did you not tell me--
_Fid._ She called you ten thousand ruffians.
_Man._ Hold, I say.
_Fid._ Brutes--
_Man._ Hold.
_Fid._ Sea-monsters--
_Man._ Damn your intelligence! Hear me a little now.
_Fid._ Nay, surly coward she called you too.
_Man._ Won't you hold yet? Hold, or--
_Fid._ Nay, sir, pardon me; I could not but tell you she had the
baseness, the injustice, to call you coward, sir; coward, coward, sir.
_Man._ Not yet--
_Fid._ I've done:--coward, sir.
_Man._ Did not you say, she was kinder than I could wish her?
_Fid._ Yes, sir.
_Man._ How then?--O--I understand you now. At first she appeared in
rage and disdain; the truest sign of a coming woman: but at last you
prevailed, it seems; did you not?
_Fid._ Yes, sir.
_Man._ So then; let's know that only: come, prithee, without delays.
I'll kiss thee for that news beforehand.
_Fid._ So; the kiss I'm sure is welcome to me, whatsoe'er the news will
be to you. [_Aside._
_Man._ Come, speak, my dear volunteer.
_Fid._ How welcome were that kind word too, if it were not for another
woman's sake! [_Aside._
_Man._ What, won't you speak? You prevailed for me at last, you say?
_Fid._ No, sir.
_Man._ No more of your fooling, sir: it will not agree with my
impatience or temper.
_Fid._ Then not to fool you, sir, I spoke to her for you, but prevailed
for myself; she would not hear me when I spoke in your behalf, but bid
me say what I would in my own, though she gave me no occasion, she was
so coming, and so was kinder, sir, than you could wish; which I was
only afraid to let you know, without some warning.
_Man._ How's this? Young man, you are of a lying age; but I must hear
you out, and if--
_Fid._ I would not abuse you, and cannot wrong her by any report of
her, she is so wicked.
_Man._ How, wicked! had she the impudence, at the second sight of you
only--
_Fid._ Impudence, sir! oh, she has impudence enough to put a court out
of countenance, and debauch a stews.
_Man._ Why, what said she?
_Fid._ Her tongue, I confess, was silent; but her speaking eyes gloated
such things, more immodest and lascivious than ravishers can act, or
women under a confinement think.
_Man._ I know there are those whose eyes reflect more obscenity than
the glasses in alcoves; but there are others too who use a little art
with their looks, to make 'em seem more beautiful, not more loving;
which vain young fellows like you are apt to interpret in their own
favour, and to the lady's wrong.