MRS. FRAIL, BEN.
BEN. All mad, I think. Flesh, I believe all the calentures of the sea
are come ashore, for my part.
MRS. FRAIL. Mr. Benjamin in choler!
BEN. No, I’m pleased well enough, now I have found you. Mess, I have
had such a hurricane upon your account yonder.
MRS. FRAIL. My account; pray what’s the matter?
BEN. Why, father came and found me squabbling with yon chitty-faced
thing as he would have me marry, so he asked what was the matter. He
asked in a surly sort of a way—it seems brother Val is gone mad, and so
that put’n into a passion; but what did I know that? what’s that to
me?—so he asked in a surly sort of manner, and gad I answered ’n as
surlily. What thof he be my father, I an’t bound prentice to ’n; so
faith I told ’n in plain terms, if I were minded to marry, I’d marry to
please myself, not him. And for the young woman that he provided for me,
I thought it more fitting for her to learn her sampler and make dirt-pies
than to look after a husband; for my part I was none of her man. I had
another voyage to make, let him take it as he will.
MRS. FRAIL. So, then, you intend to go to sea again?
BEN. Nay, nay, my mind run upon you, but I would not tell him so much.
So he said he’d make my heart ache; and if so be that he could get a
woman to his mind, he’d marry himself. Gad, says I, an you play the fool
and marry at these years, there’s more danger of your head’s aching than
my heart. He was woundy angry when I gave’n that wipe. He hadn’t a word
to say, and so I left’n, and the green girl together; mayhap the bee may
bite, and he’ll marry her himself, with all my heart.
MRS. FRAIL. And were you this undutiful and graceless wretch to your
father?
BEN. Then why was he graceless first? If I am undutiful and graceless,
why did he beget me so? I did not get myself.
MRS. FRAIL. O impiety! How have I been mistaken! What an inhuman,
merciless creature have I set my heart upon? Oh, I am happy to have
discovered the shelves and quicksands that lurk beneath that faithless,
smiling face.
BEN. Hey toss! What’s the matter now? Why, you ben’t angry, be you?
MRS. FRAIL. Oh, see me no more,—for thou wert born amongst rocks,
suckled by whales, cradled in a tempest, and whistled to by winds; and
thou art come forth with fins and scales, and three rows of teeth, a most
outrageous fish of prey.
BEN. O Lord, O Lord, she’s mad, poor young woman: love has turned her
senses, her brain is quite overset. Well-a-day, how shall I do to set
her to rights?
MRS. FRAIL. No, no, I am not mad, monster; I am wise enough to find you
out. Hadst thou the impudence to aspire at being a husband with that
stubborn and disobedient temper? You that know not how to submit to a
father, presume to have a sufficient stock of duty to undergo a wife? I
should have been finely fobbed indeed, very finely fobbed.
BEN. Harkee, forsooth; if so be that you are in your right senses, d’ye
see, for ought as I perceive I’m like to be finely fobbed,—if I have got
anger here upon your account, and you are tacked about already. What
d’ye mean, after all your fair speeches, and stroking my cheeks, and
kissing and hugging, what would you sheer off so? Would you, and leave
me aground?
MRS. FRAIL. No, I’ll leave you adrift, and go which way you will.
BEN. What, are you false-hearted, then?
MRS. FRAIL. Only the wind’s changed.
BEN. More shame for you,—the wind’s changed? It’s an ill wind blows
nobody good,—mayhap I have a good riddance on you, if these be your
tricks. What, did you mean all this while to make a fool of me?
MRS. FRAIL. Any fool but a husband.
BEN. Husband! Gad, I would not be your husband if you would have me,
now I know your mind: thof you had your weight in gold and jewels, and
thof I loved you never so well.
MRS. FRAIL. Why, can’st thou love, Porpuss?
BEN. No matter what I can do; don’t call names. I don’t love you so
well as to bear that, whatever I did. I’m glad you show yourself,
mistress. Let them marry you as don’t know you. Gad, I know you too
well, by sad experience; I believe he that marries you will go to sea in
a hen-pecked frigate—I believe that, young woman—and mayhap may come to
an anchor at Cuckolds-Point; so there’s a dash for you, take it as you
will: mayhap you may holla after me when I won’t come to.
MRS. FRAIL. Ha, ha, ha, no doubt on’t.—_My true love is gone to sea_.
[_Sings_]