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THE
BEAUX STRATAGEM;
A COMEDY,
IN FIVE ACTS;
BY GEORGE FARQUHAR, ESQ.
AS PERFORMED AT THE THEATRES ROYAL,
DRURY LANE AND COVENT GARDEN.
PRINTED UNDER THE AUTHORITY OF THE MANAGERS
FROM THE PROMPT BOOK.
WITH REMARKS
BY MRS. INCHBALD.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, AND ORME,
PATERNOSTER ROW.
SAVAGE AND EASINGWOOD,
PRINTERS, LONDON.
REMARKS.
It is an honour to the morality of the present age, that this most
entertaining comedy is but seldom performed; and never, except some new
pantomime, or other gaudy spectacle, be added, as an afterpiece, for the
attraction of an audience.
The well drawn characters, happy incidents, and excellent dialogue, in
"The Beaux Stratagem," are but poor atonement for that unrestrained
contempt of principle which pervades every scene. Plays of this kind
are far more mischievous than those, which preserve less appearance of
delicacy. Every auditor and reader shrinks from those crimes, which
are recommended in unseemly language, and from libertinism united with
coarse manners; but in adorning vice with wit, and audacious rakes with
the vivacity and elegance of men of fashion, youth, at least, will be
decoyed into the snare of admiration.
Charmed with the spirit of Archer and Aimwell, the reader may not,
perhaps, immediately perceive, that those two fine gentlemen are but
arrant impostors; and that the lively, though pitiable Mrs. Sullen,
is no other than a deliberate violator of her marriage vow. Highly
delighted with every character, he will not, perhaps, at first observe,
that all the wise and witty persons of this comedy are knaves, and all
the honest people fools.
It is said, that this play was written in six weeks--it is more
surprising still, that it was written by a dying man!
Farquhar was a gentleman of elegant person and bewitching address, who,
having experienced the vicissitudes of life, as a man of fashion, an
actor, a captain in the army, an author, a lover, and a husband; and
having encountered bitter disappointment in some of his adventures--though
amply gratified by others--He, at the age of twenty-nine, sunk into a
dejection of spirits and decline of health; and in this state, he wrote
the present drama.--It had only been acted a night or two, when the
author, in the midst of those honours, which he derived from its
brilliant reception--died.
As a proof that Farquhar was perfectly sensible of his dangerous state,
and that he regained cheerfulness as his end approached, the following
anecdote is told:--
The famed actress, Mrs. Oldfield, performed the part of Mrs. Sullen,
when the comedy was first produced; and being highly interested in
its success, from the esteem she bore the author; when it drew near
the last rehearsal, she desired Wilkes, the actor, to go to him,
and represent--that she advised him to make some alteration in the
catastrophe of the piece; for that she was apprehensive, the free manner
in which he had bestowed the hand of Mrs. Sullen upon Archer, without
first procuring a divorce from her husband, would offend great part
of the audience. "Oh," replied Farquhar, gaily, when this message was
delivered to him, "tell her, I wish she was married to me instead of
Sullen; for then, without the trouble of a divorce, I would give her
my bond, that she should be a widow within a few days."
In this allusion he was prophetic;--and the apparent joy, with which he
expected his dissolution, may be accounted for on the supposition--that
the profligate characters, which he has pourtrayed in "The Beaux
Stratagem," were such as he had uniformly met with in the world;--and
he was rejoiced to leave them all behind.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
DRURY LANE. COVENT GARDEN.
AIMWELL _Mr. Holland._ _Mr. Brunton._
SIR CHARLES FREEMAN _Mr. Bartley._ _Mr. Claremont._
ARCHER _Mr. Elliston._ _Mr. Lewis._
SULLEN _Mr. Powell._ _Mr. Murray._
FOIGARD _Mr. Johnstone._ _Mr. Rock._
BONIFACE _Mr. Palmer._ _Mr. Davenport._
GIBBET _Mr. Wewitzer._ _Mr. Emery._
HOUNSLOW _Mr. Maddocks._ _Mr. Atkins._
BAGSHOT _Mr. Webb._ _Mr. Abbot._
SCRUB _Mr. Bannister._ _Mr. Munden._
LADY BOUNTIFUL _Mrs. Sparks._ _Mrs. Emery._
MRS. SULLEN _Mrs. Jordan._ _Mrs. Glover._
DORINDA _Miss Mellon._ _Miss Brunton._
CHERRY _Miss De Camp._ _Mrs. Martyr._
GIPSEY _Mrs. Scott._ _Mrs. Beverly._
_SCENE,--Litchfield._
THE
BEAUX STRATAGEM.
ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE I.
_An Inn._
_Enter_ BONIFACE, _running.--Bar Bell rings._
_Bon._ Chamberlain! Maid! Cherry! Daughter Cherry! All asleep? all dead?
_Enter_ CHERRY, _running_.
_Cher._ Here! here! Why d'ye bawl so, father? d'ye think we have no
ears?
_Bon._ You deserve to have none, you young minx:--The company of the
Warrington coach has stood in the hall this hour, and nobody to show
them to their chambers.
_Cher._ And let them wait, father;--there's neither red coat in the
coach, nor footman behind it.
_Bon._ But they threaten to go to another inn to-night.
_Cher._ That they dare not, for fear the coachman should overturn
them to-morrow--[_Ringing._] Coming! coming!--Here's the London coach
arrived.
_Enter several_ PEOPLE _with Trunks, Bandboxes, and other
Luggage, and cross the Stage_.
_Bon._ Welcome ladies.
_Cher._ Very welcome, gentlemen----Chamberlain, show the lion and the
rose. [_Exit with the_ COMPANY.
_Enter_ AIMWELL, _in a Riding Habit_, ARCHER _as Footman,
carrying a Portmanteau_.
_Bon._ This way, this way, gentlemen.
_Aim._ Set down the things; go to the stable, and see my horses well
rubbed.
_Arch._ I shall, sir. [_Exit._
_Aim._ You're my landlord, I suppose?
_Bon._ Yes, sir, I'm old Will Boniface, pretty well known upon this
road, as the saying is.
_Aim._ O, Mr. Boniface, your servant.
_Bon._ O, sir,----what will your honour please to drink, as the saying
is?
_Aim._ I have heard your town of Litchfield much famed for ale, I think:
I'll taste that.
_Bon._ Sir, I have now in my cellar ten tun of the best ale in
Staffordshire; 'tis smooth as oil, sweet as milk, clear as amber, and
strong as brandy, and will be just fourteen years old the fifth day of
next March.
_Aim._ You are very exact, I find, in the age of your ale.
_Bon._ As punctual, sir, as I am in the age of my children: I'll show
you such ale----Here, tapster, broach number 1792, as the saying
is:----Sir, you shall taste my Anno Domini----I have lived in
Litchfield, man and boy, above eight and fifty years, and I believe
have not consumed eight and fifty ounces of meat.
_Aim._ At a meal, you mean, if one may guess your sense by your bulk.
_Bon._ Not in my life, sir; I have fed purely upon ale: I have eat my
ale, drank my ale, and I always sleep upon ale.
_Enter_ TAPSTER, _with a Tankard_.
Now, sir, you shall see: your worship's health: ha! delicious,
delicious----fancy it Burgundy, only fancy it, and 'tis worth ten
shillings a quart.
_Aim._ [_Drinks._] 'Tis confounded strong.
_Bon._ Strong! it must be so; or how would we be strong that drink it?
_Aim._ And have you lived so long upon this ale, landlord?
_Bon._ Eight and fifty years, upon my credit, sir; but it killed my
wife, poor woman, as the saying is.
_Aim._ How came that to pass?
_Bon._ I don't know how, sir; she would not let the ale take its natural
course, sir: she was for qualifying it every now and then with a dram,
as the saying is, and an honest gentleman, that came this way from
Ireland, made her a present of a dozen bottles of Usquebaugh----but the
poor woman was never well after; but, however, I was obliged to the
gentleman, you know.
_Aim._ Why, was it the Usquebaugh that killed her?
_Bon._ My Lady Bountiful said so--she, good lady, did what could be
done; she cured her of three tympanies, but the fourth carried her off;
but she's happy, and I'm contented, as the saying is.
_Aim._ Who's that Lady Bountiful, you mentioned?
_Bon._ 'Ods my life, sir, we'll drink her health. [_Drinks._] My Lady
Bountiful is one of the best of women: her last husband, Sir Charles
Bountiful, left her worth a thousand pounds a year; and I believe
she lays out one half on't in charitable uses, for the good of her
neighbours: she cures all disorders incidental to men, women and
children; in short, she has cured more people in and about Litchfield
within ten years, than the doctors have killed in twenty, and that's a
bold word.
_Aim._ Has the lady been any other way useful in her generation?
_Bon._ Yes, sir, she has a daughter by Sir Charles, the finest woman
in all our country, and the greatest fortune: she has a son too by her
first husband, 'Squire Sullen, who married a fine lady from London
t'other day; if you please, sir, we'll drink his health.
_Aim._ What sort of a man is he?
_Bon._ Why, sir, the man's well enough; says little, thinks less, and
does--nothing at all, 'faith: but he's a man of great estate, and values
nobody.
_Aim._ A sportsman, I suppose?
_Bon._ Yes, sir, he's a man of pleasure; he plays at whist, and smokes
his pipe eight-and-forty hours together sometimes.
_Aim._ A fine sportsman truly! and married, you say?
_Bon._ Ay, and to a curious woman, sir--but he's a---- He wants it here,
sir. [_Pointing to his Forehead._
_Aim._ He has it there, you mean.
_Bon._ That's none of my business; he's my landlord, and so a man, you
know, would not----but I'cod he's no better than--sir, my humble service
to you. [_Drinks._] Though I value not a farthing what he can do to me;
I pay him his rent at quarter day; I have a good running trade; I have
but one daughter, and I can give her--but no matter for that.
_Aim._ You are very happy, Mr. Boniface; pray what other company have
you in town?
_Bon._ A power of fine ladies; and then we have the French Officers.
_Aim._ O that's right, you have a good many of those gentlemen: pray how
do you like their company?
_Bon._ So well, as the saying is, that I could wish we had as many more
of them; they are full of money, and pay double for every thing they
have; they know, sir, that we paid good round taxes for the taking of
them, and so they are willing to reimburse us a little; one of them
lodges in my house.
_Enter_ ARCHER.
_Arch._ Landlord, there are some French Gentlemen below, that ask for
you.
_Bon._ I'll wait on them----Does your master stay long in town, as the
saying is? [_To_ ARCHER.
_Arch._ I can't tell, as the saying is.
_Bon._ Come from London?
_Arch._ No!
_Bon._ Going to London, mayhap?
_Arch._ No!
_Bon._ An odd fellow this; [_Bar Bell rings._] I beg your worship's
pardon, I'll wait on you in half a minute. [_Exit._
_Aim._ The coast's clear, I see--Now, my dear Archer, welcome to
Litchfield!
_Arch._ I thank thee, my dear brother in iniquity.
_Aim._ Iniquity! pr'ythee, leave canting; you need not change your style
with your dress.
_Arch._ Don't mistake me, Aimwell, for 'tis still my maxim, that there's
no scandal like rags, nor any crimes so shameful as poverty. Men must
not be poor; idleness is the root of all evil; the world's wide enough,
let them bustle; fortune has taken the weak under her protection, but
men of sense are left to their industry.
_Aim._ Upon which topic we proceed, and, I think, luckily hitherto:
would not any man swear now, that I am a man of quality, and you my
servant, when, if our intrinsic value were known----
_Arch._ Come, come, we are the men of intrinsic value, who can strike
our fortunes out of ourselves, whose worth is independent of accidents
in life, or revolutions in government: we have heads to get money, and
hearts to spend it.
_Aim._ As to our hearts, I grant ye, they are as willing tits as any
within twenty degrees; but I can have no great opinion of our heads,
from the service they have done us hitherto, unless it be that they
brought us from London hither to Litchfield, made me a lord, and you my
servant.
_Arch._ That's more than you could expect already, but what money have
we left?
_Aim._ But two hundred pounds.
_Arch._ And our horses, clothes, rings, &c. Why we have very good
fortunes now for moderate people; and let me tell you, that this two
hundred pounds, with the experience that we are now masters of, is a
better estate than the ten thousand we have spent----Our friends indeed
began to suspect that our pockets were low, but we came off with flying
colours, showed no signs of want either in word or deed.
_Aim._ Ay, and our going to Brussels was a good pretence enough for our
sudden disappearing; and, I warrant you, our friends imagine, that we
are gone a volunteering.
_Arch._ Why 'faith if this project fails, it must e'en come to that.
I am for venturing one of the hundreds, if you will, upon this knight
errantry; but in the case it should fail, we'll reserve the other to
carry us to some counterscarp, where we may die as we lived, in a blaze.
_Aim._ With all my heart, and we have lived justly, Archer; we can't say
that we have spent our fortunes, but that we have enjoyed them.
_Arch._ Right; so much pleasure for so much money; we have had our
pennyworths; and had I millions, I would go to the same market again.
O London, London! well, we have had our share, and let us be thankful:
past pleasures, for aught I know, are best; such we are sure of; those
to come may disappoint us, but you command for the day, and so I
submit:--At Nottingham, you know, I am to be master.
_Aim._ And at Lincoln, I again.
_Arch._ Then, at Norwich, I mount, which, I think, shall be our last
stage; for, if we fail there, we'll embark for Holland, bid adieu to
Venus, and welcome Mars.
_Aim._ A match--
_Enter_ BONIFACE.
Mum.
_Bon._ What will your worship please to have for supper?
_Aim._ What have you got?
_Bon._ Sir, we have a delicate piece of beef in the pot, and a pig at
the fire.
_Aim._ Good supper meat, I must confess----I can't eat beef, landlord.
_Arch._ And I hate pig.
_Aim._ Hold your prating, sirrah! do you know who you are? [_Aside._
_Bon._ Please to bespeak something else; I have every thing in the
house.
_Aim._ Have you any veal?
_Bon._ Veal, sir! we had a delicate loin of veal on Wednesday last.
_Aim._ Have you got any fish, or wild fowl?
_Bon._ As for fish, truly, sir, we are an inland town, and indifferently
provided with fish, that's the truth on't; but then for wild fowl!--We
have a delicate couple of rabbits.
_Aim._ Get me the rabbits fricasseed.
_Bon._ Fricasseed! Lard, sir, they'll eat much better smothered with
onions.
_Arch._ Pshaw! Rot your onions.
_Aim._ Again, sirrah;----Well, landlord, what you please; but hold, I
have a small charge of money, and your house is so full of strangers,
that I believe it may be safer in your custody than mine; for when this
fellow of mine gets drunk, he minds nothing--Here, sirrah, reach me the
strong box.
_Arch._ Yes, sir,----this will give us reputation. [_Aside.--Brings the
Box._
_Aim._ Here, landlord, the locks are sealed down, both for your security
and mine; it holds somewhat above two hundred pounds; if you doubt it,
I'll count it to you after supper: But be sure you lay it where I may
have it at a minute's warning: for my affairs are a little dubious at
present; perhaps I may be gone in half an hour, perhaps I may be your
guest till the best part of that be spent; and pray order your ostler to
keep my horses ready saddled: But one thing above the rest I must beg,
that you would let this fellow have none of your Anno Domini, as you
call it;--for he's the most insufferable sot----Here, sirrah, light me
to my chamber.
_Arch._ Yes, sir! [_Exit, lighted by_ ARCHER.
_Bon._ Cherry, daughter Cherry.
_Enter_ CHERRY.
_Cher._ D'ye call, father?
_Bon._ Ay, child, you must lay by this box for the gentleman, 'tis full
of money.
_Cher._ Money! all that money! why sure, father, the gentleman comes to
be chosen parliament man. Who is he?
_Bon._ I don't know what to make of him; he talks of keeping his horses
ready saddled, and of going, perhaps, at a minute's warning; or of
staying, perhaps, till the best part of this be spent.
_Cher._ Ay! ten to one, father, he's a highwayman.
_Bon._ A highwayman! upon my life, girl, you have hit it, and this box
is some new purchased booty.--Now, could we find him out, the money were
ours.
_Cher._ He don't belong to our gang.
_Bon._ What horses have they?
_Cher._ The master rides upon a black.
_Bon._ A black! ten to one the man upon the black mare: and since
he don't belong to our fraternity, we may betray him with a safe
conscience: I don't think it lawful to harbour any rogues but my own.
Lookye, child, as the saying is, we must go cunningly to work; proofs we
must have; the gentleman's servant loves drink; I'll ply him that way,
and ten to one he loves a wench; you must work him t'other way.
_Cher._ Father, would you have me give my secret for his?
_Bon._ Consider, child, there's two hundred pound, to boot. [_Ringing
without._] Coming, coming--child, mind your business. [_Exit_ BONIFACE.
_Cher._ What a rogue is my father! My father! I deny it----My mother
was a good, generous, free-hearted woman, and I can't tell how far
her goodnature might have extended for the good of her children. This
landlord of mine, for I think I can call him no more, would betray his
guest, and debauch his daughter into the bargain,----by a footman too!
_Enter_ ARCHER.
_Arch._ What footman, pray, mistress, is so happy as to be the subject
of your contemplation?
_Cher._ Whoever he is, friend, he'll be but little the better for't.
_Arch._ I hope so, for, I'm sure, you did not think of me.
_Cher._ Suppose I had?
_Arch._ Why then you're but even with me; for the minute I came in, I
was considering in what manner I should make love to you.
_Cher._ Love to me, friend!
_Arch._ Yes, child.
_Cher._ Child! manners; if you kept a little more distance, friend, it
would become you much better.
_Arch._ Distance! good night, saucebox. [_Going._
_Cher._ A pretty fellow; I like his pride.--Sir--pray, sir--you see,
sir. [ARCHER _returns_.] I have the credit to be entrusted with your
master's fortune here, which sets me a degree above his footman; I hope,
sir, you an't affronted.
_Arch._ Let me look you full in the face, and I'll tell you whether you
can affront me or no.----'Sdeath, child, you have a pair of delicate
eyes, and you don't know what to do with them.
_Cher._ Why, sir, don't I see every body!
_Arch._ Ay, but if some women had them, they would kill every
body.----Pr'ythee instruct me; I would fain make love to you, but I
don't know what to say.
_Cher._ Why, did you never make love to any body before?
_Arch._ Never to a person of your figure, I can assure you, madam; my
addresses have been always confined to people within my own sphere, I
never aspired so high before. [ARCHER _sings_.
_But you look so bright,
And are dress'd so tight,
That a man would swear you're right,
As arm was e'er laid over._
_Cher._ Will you give me that song, sir?
_Arch._ Ay, my dear, take it while it is warm. [_Kisses her._] Death and
fire! her lips are honeycombs.
_Cher._ And I wish there had been a swarm of bees too, to have stung you
for your impudence.
_Arch._ There's a swarm of Cupids, my little Venus, that has done the
business much better.
_Cher._ This fellow is misbegotten, as well as I. [_Aside._] What's your
name, sir?
_Arch._ Name! egad, I have forgot it. [_Aside._] Oh, Martin.
_Cher._ Where were you born?
_Arch._ In St. Martin's parish.
_Cher._ What was your father?
_Arch._ Of--of--St. Martin's parish.
_Cher._ Then, friend, goodnight.
_Arch._ I hope not.
_Cher._ You may depend upon't.
_Arch._ Upon what?
_Cher._ That you're very impudent.
_Arch._ That you're very handsome.
_Cher._ That you're a footman.
_Arch._ That you're an angel.
_Cher._ I shall be rude.
_Arch._ So shall I.
_Cher._ Let go my hand.
_Arch._ Give me a kiss. [_Kisses her._
_Boniface._ [_Calls without._] Cherry, Cherry!
_Cher._ I'm----My father calls; you plaguy devil, how durst you stop my
breath so?--Offer to follow me one step, if you dare. [_Exit._
_Arch._ A fair challenge, by this light; this is a pretty fair opening
of an adventure; but we are knight-errants, and so fortune be our guide!
[_Exit._
ACT THE SECOND.
SCENE I.
_A Gallery in_ LADY BOUNTIFUL'S _House_.
MRS. SULLEN _and_ DORINDA _meeting_.
_Dor._ 'Morrow, my dear sister; are you for church this morning?
_Mrs. Sul._ Any where to pray; for Heaven alone can help me: but I
think, Dorinda, there's no form of prayer in the Liturgy against bad
husbands.
_Dor._ But there's a form of law at Doctors' Commons; and I swear,
sister Sullen, rather than see you thus continually discontented, I
would advise you to apply to that: for besides the part that I bear in
your vexatious broils, as being sister to the husband, and friend to the
wife, your examples give me such an impression of matrimony, that I
shall be apt to condemn my person to a long vacation all its life--But
supposing, madam, that you brought it to a case of separation, what can
you urge against your husband? my brother is, first, the most constant
man alive.
_Mrs. Sul._ The most constant husband, I grant ye.
_Dor._ He never sleeps from you.
_Mrs. Sul._ No, he always sleeps with me.
_Dor._ He allows you a maintenance suitable to your quality.
_Mrs. Sul._ A maintenance! do you take me, madam, for an hospital child,
that I must sit down and bless my benefactors, for meat, drink, and
clothes? As I take it, madam, I brought your brother ten thousand
pounds, out of which I might expect some pretty things, called
pleasures.
_Dor._ You share in all the pleasures that the country affords.
_Mrs. Sul._ Country pleasures! racks and torments! dost think, child,
that my limbs were made for leaping of ditches, and clambering over
stiles; or that my parents, wisely foreseeing my future happiness in
country pleasures, had early instructed me in the rural accomplishments
of drinking fat ale, playing at whist, and smoaking tobacco with my
husband; and stilling rosemary water, with the good old gentlewoman my
mother-in-law?
_Dor._ I'm sorry, madam, that it is not more in our power to divert you;
I could wish, indeed, that our entertainments were a little more polite,
or your taste a little less refined; but pray, madam, how came the poets
and philosophers, that laboured so much in hunting after pleasure, to
place it at last in a country life?
_Mrs. Sul._ Because they wanted money, child, to find out the pleasures
of the town: Did you ever hear of a poet or philosopher worth ten
thousand pounds? if you can show me such a man, I'll lay you fifty
pounds you'll find him somewhere within the weekly bills. Not that I
disapprove rural pleasures, as the poets have painted them in their
landscapes; every Phyllis has her Corydon, every murmuring stream, and
every flowery mead give fresh alarms to love----Besides, you'll find,
their couples were never married:----But yonder, I see my Corydon, and a
sweet swain it is, Heaven knows--Come, Dorinda, don't be angry, he's my
husband, and your brother, and between both, is he not a sad brute?
_Dor._ I have nothing to say to your part of him; you're the best judge.
_Mrs. Sul._ O sister, sister! if ever you marry, beware of a sullen,
silent sot, one that's always musing, but never thinks--There's some
diversion in a talking blockhead; and since a woman must wear chains, I
would have the pleasure of hearing 'em rattle a little.--Now you shall
see; but take this by the way; he came home this morning, at his usual
hour of four, waked me out of a sweet dream of something else, by tumbling
over the tea-table, which he broke all to pieces; after his man and he
has rolled about the room like sick passengers in a storm, he comes
flounce into bed, dead as a salmon into a fishmonger's basket; his feet
cold as ice, his breath hot as a furnace, and his hands and his face as
greasy as his flannel night-cap----Oh matrimony! matrimony!----He tosses
up the clothes with a barbarous swing over his shoulders, disorders the
whole economy of my bed, and my whole night's comfort is the tuneable
serenade of that wakeful nightingale, his nose.----O the pleasure of
counting the melancholy clock by a snoring husband!----But now, sister,
you shall see how handsomely, being a well-bred man, he will beg my
pardon.
_Enter_ SULLEN.
_Sul._ My head aches consumedly.
_Mrs. Sul._ Will you be pleased, my dear, to drink tea with us this
morning? it may do your head good.
_Sul._ No.
_Dor._ Coffee, brother?
_Sul._ Pshaw?
_Mrs. Sul._ Will you please to dress, and go to church with me? the air
may help you.
_Sul._ Scrub!
_Enter_ SCRUB.
_Scrub._ Sir!
_Sul._ What day o'the week is this?
_Scrub._ Sunday, an't please your worship.
_Sul._ Sunday! bring me a dram; and, d'ye hear, set out the venison
pasty, and a tankard of strong beer upon the hall table, I'll go to
breakfast. [_Going._
_Dor._ Stay, stay, brother, you shan't get off so; you were very naught
last night, and must make your wife reparation: come, come, brother,
won't you ask pardon?
_Sul._ For what?
_Dor._ For being drunk last night.
_Sul._ I can afford it, can't I?
_Mrs. Sul._ But I can't, sir.
_Sul._ Then you may let it alone.
_Mrs. Sul._ But I must tell you, sir, that this is not to be borne.
_Sul._ I'm glad on't.
_Mrs. Sul._ What is the reason, sir, that you use me thus inhumanly?
_Sul._ Scrub!
_Scrub._ Sir!
_Sul._ Get things ready to shave my head. [_Exit._
_Mrs. Sul._ Have a care of coming near his temples, Scrub, for fear you
meet something there that may turn the edge of your razor. [_Exit_
SCRUB.] Inveterate stupidity! did you ever know so hard, so obstinate a
spleen as his? O sister, sister! I shall never have good of the beast
till I get him to town; London, dear London, is the place for managing
and breaking a husband.
_Dor._ And has not a husband the same opportunities there for humbling a
wife?
_Mrs. Sul._ No, no, child; 'tis a standing maxim in conjugal discipline,
that when a man would enslave his wife, he hurries her into the country;
and when a lady would be arbitrary with her husband, she wheedles her
booby up to town----A man dare not play the tyrant in London, because
there are so many examples to encourage the subject to rebel, O Dorinda,
Dorinda! a fine woman may do any thing in London: On my conscience, she
may raise an army of forty thousand men.
_Dor._ I fancy, sister, you have a mind to be trying your power that
way here in Litchfield; you have drawn the French Count to your colours
already.
_Mrs. Sul._ The French are a people that can't live without their
gallantries.
_Dor._ And some English that I know, sister, are not averse to such
amusements.
_Mrs. Sul._ Well, sister, since the truth must out, it may do as well
now as hereafter; I think, one way to rouse my lethargic, sottish,
husband, is to give him a rival; security begets negligence in all
people, and men must be alarmed to make them alert in their duty; women
are like pictures, of no value in the hands of a fool, till he hears men
of sense bid high for the purchase.
_Dor._ This might do, sister, if my brother's understanding were to be
convinced into a passion for you; but, I believe, there's a natural
aversion on his side; and I fancy, sister, that you don't come much
behind him, if you dealt fairly.
_Mrs. Sul._ I own it; we are united contradictions, fire and water.
But I could be contented, with a great many other wives, to humour the
censorious vulgar, and give the world an appearance of living well with
my husband, could I bring him but to dissemble a little kindness, to
keep me in countenance.
_Dor._ But how do you know, sister, but that instead of rousing your
husband by this artifice to a counterfeit kindness, he should awake in
a real fury?
_Mrs. Sul._ Let him:--If I can't entice him to the one, I would provoke
him to the other.
_Dor._ But how must I behave myself between ye?
_Mrs. Sul._ You must assist me.
_Dor._ What, against my own brother!
_Mrs. Sul._ He is but your half brother, and I'm your entire friend: If
I go a step beyond the bounds of honour, leave me; till then, I expect
you should go along with me in every thing; while I trust my honour in
your hands, you may trust your brother's in mine--The Count is to dine
here to-day.
_Dor._ 'Tis a strange thing, sister, that I can't like that man.
_Mrs. Sul._ You like nothing; your time is not come; love and death have
their fatalities, and strike home one time or other:--You'll pay for all
one day, I warrant ye--But come, my lady's tea is ready, and 'tis almost
church time. [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_The Inn._
_Enter_ AIMWELL, _dressed, and_ ARCHER.
_Aim._ And was she the daughter of the house?
_Arch._ The Landlord is so blind as to think so; but, I dare swear, she
has better blood in her veins.
_Aim._ Why dost think so?
_Arch._ Because the baggage has a pert _je-ne-scai-quoi_; she reads
plays, keeps a monkey, and is troubled with vapours.
_Aim._ By which discoveries, I guess that you know more of her.
_Arch._ Not yet, 'faith: the lady gives herself airs, forsooth; nothing
under a gentleman.
_Aim._ Let me take her in hand.
_Arch._ Say one word more o'that, and I'll declare myself, spoil your
sport there, and every where else: lookye, Aimwell, every man in his own
sphere.
_Aim._ Right; and therefore you must pimp for your master.
_Arch._ In the usual forms, good sir, after I have served myself.--But
to our business--You are so well dressed, Tom, and make so handsome a
figure, that I fancy you may do execution in a country church; the
exterior part strikes first, and you're in the right to make that
impression favourable.
_Aim._ There's something in that which may turn to advantage: the
appearance of a stranger in a country church draws as many gazers as a
blazing star; no sooner he comes into the cathedral, but a train of
whispers runs buzzing round the congregation in a moment:--Who is he?
whence comes he? do you know him?--Then I, sir, tip the verger half a
crown; he pockets the simony, and inducts me into the best pew in the
church; I pull out my snuff-box, turn myself round, bow to the Bishop or
the Dean, if he be the commanding officer; single out a beauty, rivet
both my eyes to hers, set my nose a-bleeding by the strength of
imagination, and show the whole church my concern, by my endeavouring to
hide it: after the sermon, the whole town gives me to her for a lover;
and, by persuading the lady that I am dying for her, the tables are
turned, and she, in good earnest, falls in love with me.
_Arch._ There's nothing in this, Tom, without a precedent; but, instead
of riveting your eyes to a beauty, try to fix them upon a fortune;
that's our business at present.
_Aim._ Pshaw! no woman can be a beauty without a fortune.--Let me alone
for a marksman.
_Arch._ Tom!
_Aim._ Ay!
_Arch._ When were you at church before, pray?
_Aim._ Um--I was there at the coronation.
_Arch._ And how can you expect a blessing by going to church now?
_Aim._ Blessing? nay, Frank, I ask but for a wife! [_Exit._
_Arch._ Truly, the man is not very unreasonable in his demands.
[_Exit, at the opposite Door._
_Enter_ BONIFACE _and_ CHERRY.
_Bon._ Well, daughter, as the saying is, have you brought Martin to
confess?
_Cher._ Pray, father, don't put me upon getting any thing out of a man;
I'm but young, you know, father, and don't understand wheedling.
_Bon._ Young! why, you jade, as the saying is, can any woman wheedle
that is not young? Your mother was useless at five and twenty! Would you
make your mother a whore, and me a cuckold, as the saying is? I tell
you, silence confesses it, and his master spends his money so freely,
and is so much a gentleman every manner of way, that he must be a
highwayman.
_Enter_ GIBBET, _in a Cloak_.
_Gib._ Landlord! Landlord! is the coast clear?
_Bon._ O, Mr. Gibbet, what's the news?
_Gib._ No matter; ask no questions; all fair and honourable. Here,
my dear Cherry. [_Gives her a Bag._] Two hundred sterling pounds,
as good as ever hanged or saved a rogue; lay them by with the rest.
And here--three wedding, or mourning rings--'tis much the same, you
know----Here, two silver hilted swords; I took those from fellows that
never show any part of their swords but the hilts: here is a diamond
necklace, which the lady hid in the privatest part in the coach, but I
found it out: this gold watch I took from a pawnbroker's wife; it was
left in her hands by a person of quality; there's the arms upon the
case.
_Cher._ But who had you the money from?
_Gib._ Ah! poor woman! I pitied her--from a poor lady, just eloped from
her husband; she had made up her cargo, and was bound for Ireland, as
hard as she could drive: she told me of her husband's barbarous usage,
and so, faith, I left her half a crown. But I had almost forgot, my dear
Cherry; I have a present for you.
_Cher._ What is't?
_Gib._ A pot of ceruse, my child, that I took out of a lady's under
petticoat pocket.
_Cher._ What, Mr. Gibbet, do you think, that I paint?
_Gib._ Why, you jade, your betters do; I am sure, the lady that I took
it from had a coronet upon her handkerchief.----Here, take my cloak, and
go, secure the premises.
_Cher._ I will secure them. [_Exit._
_Bon._ But, harkye, where's Hounslow and Bagshot?
_Gib._ They'll be here to-night.
_Bon._ D'ye know of any other gentlemen o' the pad on this road?
_Gib._ No.
_Bon._ I fancy, that I have two that lodge in the house just now.
_Gib._ The devil! how d'ye smoak them?
_Bon._ Why, the one is gone to church.
_Gib._ To church! that's suspicious, I must confess.
_Bon._ And the other is now in his master's chamber: he pretends to be a
servant to the other; we'll call him out, and pump him a little.
_Gib._ With all my heart.
_Bon._ Mr. Martin! Mr. Martin!
_Enter_ ARCHER, _brushing a Hat, and singing_.
_Gib._ The roads are consumed deep; I'm as dirty as Old Brentford at
Christmas.----A good pretty fellow--Who's servant are you, friend?
_Arch._ My master's.
_Gib._ Really!
_Arch._ Really.
_Gib._ That's much--The fellow has been at the bar, by his
evasions:--But pray, sir, what is your master's name?
Arch. _Tall, all, dall._ [Sings, and brushes the Hat.] This is the
most obstinate spot----
_Gib._ I ask you his name?
_Arch._ Name, sir,--_Tall, all, dall_--I never asked him his name in my
life. _Tall, all, dall._
_Bon._ What think you now?
_Gib._ Plain, plain; he talks now as if he were before a judge: but
pray, friend, which way does your master travel?
_Arch._ On horseback.
_Gib._ Very well again; an old offender--Right; but, I mean, does he go
upwards or downwards?
_Arch._ Downwards, I fear, sir! _Tall, all._
_Gib._ I'm afraid thy fate will be a contrary way.
_Bon._ Ha! ha! ha! Mr. Martin, you're very arch--This gentleman is only
travelling towards Chester, and would be glad of your company, that's
all--Come, Captain, you'll stay to-night, I suppose; I'll show you a
chamber----Come, Captain.
_Gib._ Farewell, friend----[_Exeunt_ GIBBET _and_ BONIFACE.
_Arch._ Captain, your servant----Captain! a pretty fellow! 'Sdeath,
I wonder that the officers of the army don't conspire to beat all
scoundrels in red but their own.
_Enter_ CHERRY.
_Cher._ Gone, and Martin here! I hope he did not listen: I would have
the merit of the discovery all my own, because I would oblige him to
love me. [_Aside._]--Mr. Martin, who was that man with my father?
_Arch._ Some recruiting sergeant, or whipped out trooper, I suppose.
_Cher._ All's safe, I find. [_Aside._
_Arch._ Come, my dear, have you conned over the catechism I taught you
last night?
_Cher._ Come, question me.
_Arch._ What is love?
_Cher._ Love is I know not what, it comes I know not how, and goes I
know not when.
_Arch._ Very well, an apt scholar. [_Chucks her under the Chin._] Where
does love enter?
_Cher._ Into the eyes.
_Arch._ And where go out?
_Cher._ I won't tell you.
_Arch._ What are the objects of that passion?
_Cher._ Youth, beauty, and clean linen.
_Arch._ The reason?
_Cher._ The two first are fashionable in nature, and the third at court.
_Arch._ That's my dear--What are the signs and tokens of that passion?
_Cher._ A stealing look, a stammering tongue, words improbable, designs
impossible, and actions impracticable.
_Arch._ That's my good child, kiss me.----What must a lover do to obtain
his mistress?
_Cher._ He must adore the person that disdains him, he must bribe the
chambermaid that betrays him, and court the footman that laughs at
him!----He must, he must----
_Arch._ Nay, child, I must whip you if you don't mind your lesson; he
must treat his----
_Cher._ O! ay, he must treat his enemies with respect, his friends with
indifference, and all the world with contempt; he must suffer much, and
fear more; he must desire much, and hope little; in short, he must
embrace his ruin, and throw himself away.
_Arch._ Had ever man so hopeful a pupil as mine? Come, my dear, why is
love called a riddle?
_Cher._ Because, being blind, he leads those that see; and, though a
child, he governs a man.
_Arch._ Mighty well--And why is love pictured blind?
_Cher._ Because the painters, out of their weakness, or privilege of
their art, chose to hide those eyes they could not draw.
_Arch._ That's my dear little scholar, kiss me again.--And why should
love, that's a child, govern a man?
_Cher._ Because that a child is the end of love.
_Arch._ And so ends love's catechism----And now, my dear, we'll go in,
and make my master's bed.
_Cher._ Hold, hold, Mr. Martin----You have taken a great deal of pains
to instruct me, and what d'ye think I have learned by it?
_Arch._ What?
_Cher._ That your discourse and your habit are contradictions, and it
would be nonsense in me to believe you a footman any longer.
_Arch._ 'Oons, what a witch it is!
_Cher._ Depend upon this, sir, nothing in that garb shall ever tempt me;
for, though I was born to servitude, I hate it:--Own your condition,
swear you love me, and then----
_Arch._ And then we shall go make my master's bed?
_Cher._ Yes.
_Arch._ You must know, then, that I am born a gentleman, my education
was liberal; but I went to London a younger brother, fell into the hands
of sharpers, who stripped me of my money; my friends disowned me, and
now my necessity brings me to what you see.
_Cher._ Then take my hand--promise to marry me before you sleep, and
I'll make you master of two thousand pounds.
_Arch._ How!
_Cher._ Two thousand pounds, that I have this minute in my own custody;
so throw off your livery this instant, and I'll go find a parson.
_Arch._ What said you? A parson!
_Cher._ What! do you scruple?
_Arch._ Scruple! No, no, but--two thousand pounds, you say?
_Cher._ And better.
_Arch._ 'Sdeath, what shall I do?--But harkye, child, what need you make
me master of yourself and money, when you may have the same pleasure out
of me, and still keep your fortune in your own hands?
_Cher._ Then you won't marry me?
_Arch._ I would marry you, but----
_Cher._ O, sweet sir, I'm your humble servant; you're fairly caught:
Would you persuade me that any gentleman, who could bear the scandal of
wearing a livery, would refuse two thousand pounds, let the condition be
what it would?--No, no, sir; but I hope you'll pardon the freedom I have
taken, since it was only to inform myself of the respect that I ought to
pay you. [_Going._
_Arch._ Fairly bit, by Jupiter!--Hold, hold! And have you actually two
thousand pounds?
_Cher._ Sir, I have my secrets as well as you--when you please to
be more open, I shall be more free; and, be assured, that I have
discoveries that will match yours, be they what they will.--In the mean
while, be satisfied that no discovery I make shall ever hurt you; but
beware of my father----[_Exit._
_Arch._ So--we're like to have as many adventures in our inn, as Don
Quixotte had in his--Let me see--two thousand pounds! if the wench would
promise to die when the money were spent, egad, one would marry her;
but the fortune may go off in a year or two, and the wife may live--Lord
knows how long! then an innkeeper's daughter; ay, that's the devil--there
my pride brings me off.
For whatsoe'er the sages charge on pride,
The angels' fall, and twenty faults beside,
On earth, I'm sure, 'mong us of mortal calling,
Pride saves man oft, and woman too, from falling.
[_Exit._
ACT THE THIRD.
SCENE I.
LADY BOUNTIFUL'S _House_.
_Enter_ MRS. SULLEN _and_ DORINDA.
_Mrs. Sul._ Ha! ha! ha! my dear sister, let me embrace thee: now we are
friends indeed; for I shall have a secret of yours, as a pledge for
mine.
_Dor._ But do you think that I am so weak as to fall in love with a
fellow at first sight?
_Mrs. Sul._ Pshaw! now you spoil all; why should not we be as free in
our friendships as the men? I warrant you, the gentleman has got to his
confidant already, has avowed his passion, toasted your health, and
called you ten thousand angels.
_Dor._ Your hand, sister, I an't well.
_Mrs. Sul._ So--come, child, up with it--hem a little--so--now, tell me,
don't you like the gentleman that we saw at church just now?
_Dor._ The man's well enough.
_Mrs. Sul._ Well enough! Is he not a demigod, a Narcissus, a star, the
man i'the moon?
_Dor._ O, sister, I'm extremely ill.
_Mrs. Sul._ Come, unbosom yourself--the man is perfectly a pretty
fellow; I saw him when he first came into church.
_Dor._ I saw him too, sister, and with an air that shone, methought,
like rays about his person.
_Mrs. Sul._ Well said, up with it.
_Dor._ No forward coquette behaviour, no airs to set himself off, no
studied looks nor artful posture,--but nature did it all.
_Mrs. Sul._ Better and better----One touch more; come--
_Dor._ But, then his looks--Did you observe his eyes?
_Mrs. Sul._ Yes, yes, I did--his eyes; well, what of his eyes?
_Dor._ Sprightly, but not wandering; they seemed to view, but never
gazed on any thing but me--and then his looks so humble were, and yet so
noble, that they aimed to tell me, that he could with pride die at my
feet, though he scorned slavery any where else.
_Mrs. Sul._ The physic works purely--How d'ye find yourself now, my
dear?
_Dor._ Hem! much better, my dear.--O, here comes our Mercury.--
_Enter_ SCRUB.
Well, Scrub, what news of the gentleman?
_Scrub._ Madam, I have brought you a whole packet of news.
_Dor._ Open it quickly; come.
_Scrub._ In the first place, I inquired who the gentleman was? They told
me he was a stranger. Secondly, I asked, what the gentleman was? They
answered and said, that they never saw him before. Thirdly, I inquired,
what countryman he was? They replied, 'twas more than they knew.
Fourthly, I demanded, whence he came? Their answer was, they could not
tell. And, fifthly, I asked, whither he went? And they replied, they
knew nothing of the matter.--And this is all I could learn.
_Mrs. Sul._ But what do the people say? can't they guess!
_Scrub._ Why, some think he's a spy; some guess he's a mountebank; some
say one thing, some another;--but, for my own part, I believe he's a
jesuit.
_Dor._ A jesuit! Why a jesuit?
_Scrub._ Because he keeps his horses always ready saddled, and his
footman talks French!
_Mrs. Sul._ His footman!
_Scrub._ Ay; he and the Count's footman were jabbering French, like two
intriguing ducks in a mill-pond: and, I believe, they talked of me, for
they laughed consumedly.
_Dor._ What sort of livery has the footman?
_Scrub._ Livery! lord, madam, I took him for a captain, he's so
bedizened with lace: and then he has a silver-headed cane dangling
at his knuckles--he carries his hands in his pockets, and walks just
so--[_Walks in a French Air._] and has fine long hair, tied up in a
bag.----Lord, madam, he's clear another sort of man than I.
_Mrs. Sul._ That may easily be--But what shall we do now, sister?
_Dor._ I have it----This fellow has a world of simplicity, and some
cunning, the first hides the latter by abundance----Scrub.
_Scrub._ Madam.
_Dor._ We have a great mind to know who this gentleman is, only for our
satisfaction.
_Scrub._ Yes, madam, it would be a satisfaction, no doubt.
_Dor._ You must go and get acquainted with his footman, and invite him
hither to drink a bottle of your ale, because you are butler to-day.
_Scrub._ Yes, madam, I am butler every Sunday.
_Mrs. Sul._ O brave sister! o'my conscience, you understand the
mathematics already--'Tis the best plot in the world;--your mother, you
know, will be gone to church, my spouse will be got to the alehouse,
with his scoundrels, and the house will be our own--so we drop in by
accident, and ask the fellow some questions ourselves. In the country,
you know, any stranger is company, and we are glad to take up with the
butler in a country dance, and happy if he'll do us the favour.
_Scrub._ Oh, madam! you wrong me: I never refused your ladyship the
favour in my life.
_Enter_ GIPSEY.
_Gip._ Ladies, dinner's upon table.
_Dor._ Scrub, we'll excuse your waiting--Go where we ordered you.
_Scrub._ I shall. [_Exeunt._