Bon. Yes, sir, he's a man of pleasure: he in life, or revolutions in government: we have plays at whist, and smokes his pipe eight-and-heads to get money, and hearts to spend it. 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 notBut, 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're 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 'em: they're 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 'em lodges in my house. Arch. No. Bon. Going to London, may-hap. Bon. An odd fellow this! [Bar bell rings.] I beg your worship's pardon; I'll wait on you in [Exit. half a minute. -Now, my Aim. The course is clear, I seedear 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 dress. your Arch. Don't mistake me, Aimwell; for 'tis still my maxim, that there's no scandal like rags, nor any crime so shameful as poverty. Men must not be poor: idleness is the root of all evil: the world's wide enough; let 'em 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 intrinsie value, who can strike our fortunes out of ourselves; whose worth is independent of accidents 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 weare now masters of, is a better estate than the ten thousand we have spent. Our friends, indeed, be gan to suspect that our pockets were low, but we came off with flying colours, shewed 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 case it should fail, we'll reserve the other to carry us to some counterscarp, where we may die as we liv'd,—in a blaze. Aim. With all my heart; and we have liv'd justly, Archer; we cann't say that we have spent our fortunes, but that we have enjoy'd 'em. 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 as 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! 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!have a delicate couple of rabbits. Aim. Get me the rabbits fricasseed. -we Cher. Father, would you have me give my secret for his? Bon. Consider, child, there's two hundred pounds to boot. [Ringing without.] Coming, coming- Child, mind your business. [Exit BON. Cher. What a rogue is my father!-My father! I deny it-My mother was a good, generous, freehearted woman, and I cann't tell how far her good Bon. Fricasseed! Lard, sir, they'll eat much nature might have extended for the good of her better smother'd with onions. Arch. Pshaw! Rot your onions. Aim. Again, sirrah!-Well, landlord, what you please: but hold, I have a small charge of mo ney, 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 them 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 will 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. Cher. He don't belong to our gang, 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. Look'e, 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. 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 foot man too! Enter ARCHER. Arch. What footman, pray, mistress, is so hap py 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! Cher. Child! Manners!-if you keep a little more distance, friend, it would become you much better. Arch. Distance! Good night, sauce-box. [Going, Cher. A pretty fellow! I like his pride-Sir; pray, sir; you see, sir, [ARCH. returns] I have the credit to be trusted with your master's fortune here, which sets me a degree above his footman. -I hope, sir, you a'n'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 'em. 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 always been confined to persons within my own sphere; I never aspir'd so high before. [ARCHER sings. But you look so bright, That a man would swear you're right, SCENE I-4 Gallery in Lady BOUNTIFUL'S with my husband; or of spreading of plasters, 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. brewing of diet-drinks, and 'stilling rosemary-water, with the good old gentlewoman my motherin-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 shew 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 gives fresh alarm to love: Besides, you'll find that their couples were never married. Dor. But there's a form of law at Doctor's 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-But yonder I see my Corydon; and a sweet swain Je. Dor. He never sleeps from you. 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 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 rural accomplishments, of drinking fat ale, playing at whist, and smoking tobacco 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, wakened 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 had 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 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. O' 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 cann'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 Mrs Sul. Will you please to dress, and go to 'em alert in their duty: women are, like pictures, church with me? the air may help you. Sul. Scrub! 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 any 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 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 cann'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's but half a 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. -The count is to dine here to-day. Dor. 'Tis a strange thing, sister, that I cann'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. SCENE II.-The Inn. [Exeunt. 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 sçai 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.-Look ye, 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 dress'd, 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, tips me 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 shew 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 am dying for her, the tables are turned, and she, in good earnest, falls in love with me. I Arch. There's nothing in this, Tom, without a precedent: but instead of rivetting 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, his 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's 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 'em by with the rest; and here-three wedding-or mourning rings; 'tis much the same, you know.--Here, two silver-hilted swords; I took these from fellows that never shew any part of their swords but the hilts. Here is a diamond necklace, which the lady bid in the privatest place 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 :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? -from 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'm 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 'em. [Exit. Bon. I fancy that I have two that lodge in the house just now. Gib. The devil! how d'ye smoke 'em? 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, combing a periwig, and singing. Gib. The roads are consumed deep: I'm as dirty as Old Brentford at Christmas. -A good, pretty fellow, that.-Whose servant are you, f ,friend? Arch. My master's. |