Page images
PDF
EPUB

LUREWELL comes down with CLINCHER Senior.

The Scene changes to a Dining-Room. Lure. Oh, Lord, sir, it is my husband! What will become of you?

Clin. sen. Ah, your husband! Oh, I shall be murdered! What shall I do? Where shall I run? I'll creep into an oven; I'll climb up the chimney; I'll fly; I'll swim;-I wish to the Lord I were at the jubilee now.

Lure. Cann't you think of any thing, sir? Clin. sen. Think! not I; I never could think to any purpose in my life. Lure. What do you want, sir?

Enter TOM ERRAND.

Er. Madam, I am looking for Sir Harry Wildair; I saw him come in here this morning, and did imagine he might be here still, if he is not gone.

Lure. A lucky hit! Here, friend, change clothes with this gentleman, quickly; strip. Clin. sen. Ay, ay, quickly, strip: I'll give you half a crown to boot. Come here; so.

[blocks in formation]

Lure. The balcony! Ha, ha, ha! the balcony ! I'll be hanged but he has mistaken Sir Harry Wildair's footman, with a new French livery, for a beau.

Stand. 'Sdeath, madam, what is there in me that looks like a cully! Did not I see him?

Lure. No, no, you could not see him; you're dreaming, colonel. Will you believe your eyes, now that I have rubbed them open?-Here, you friend.

Enter ERRAND, in CLINCHER Senior's Clothes. Stand. This is illusion all; my eyes conspire against themselves. 'Tis leger-de-main.

Lure. Leger-de-main! Is that all your acknowledgment for your rude behaviour?-Oh, what a [They change clothes. curse is it to love as I do!-But don't preLure. Now slip you [to CLIN. sen.] down stairs, sume too far, sir, on my affection: for such unand wait at the door till my husband be gone; generous usage will soon return my tired heart. and get you in there [to the Porter] till I call-Be gone, sir, [to the Porter] to your imperti[Puts ERRAND in the next room.

you.

Enter STANDARD.

nent master, and tell him I shall never be at leisure to receive any of his troublesome visits.Send to me to know when I should be at home!

Oh, sir, are you come? I wonder, sir, how you-Be gone, sir.-I am sure he has made me an have the confidence to approach me after so base a trick?

Stand. Oh, madam, all your artifices won't avail.

Lure. Nay, sir, your artifices won't avail. I thought, sir, that I gave you caution enough against troubling me with Sir Harry Wildair's company when I sent his letters back by you? yet, you, forsooth, must tell him where I lodged, and expose me again to his impertinent courtship!

Stand. I expose you to his courtship!

Lure. I'll lay my life you'll deny it now. Come, come, sir; a pitiful lie is as scandalous to a red coat as an oath to a black. Did not Sir Harry himself tell me, that he found out by you where I lodged?

Stand. You're all lies: first, your heart is false; your eyes are double; one look belies another; and then your tongue does contradict them allMadam, I see a little devil just now hammering out a lie in your pericranium.

Lure. As I hope for mercy, he's in the right on't.-[Aside.] Hold, sir, you have got the play-house cant upon your tongue; and think that wit may privilege your railing: but I must tell you, sir, that what is satire upon the stage, is ill manners here.

unfortunate woman,

[W'eeps. Stand. Nay, then there is no certainty in nature, and truth is only falsehood well disguised.

Lure. Sir, had not I owned my fond, foolish passion, I should not have been subject to such unjust suspicions: but it is an ungrateful return.

[Weeping.

Stand. Now, where are all my firm resolves? I will believe her just. My passion raised my jealousy; then, why mayn't love be as blind in finding faults, as in excusing them!-I hope, madam, you'll pardon me, since jealousy, that magnified my suspicion, is as much the effect of love, as my easiness in being satisfied.

Lure. Easiness in being satisfied! You men have got an insolent way of extorting pardon, by persisting in your faults. No, no, sir; che

rish
your suspicions, and feed upon your jeal
ousy: 'tis fit meat for your squeamish stomach.
With me all women should this rule pursue:
Who think us false, should never find us true.

[Exit in a rage.

Enter CLINCHER Senior in the Porter's Clothes.

Clin. sen. Well, intriguing is the prettiest, pleasantest thing for a man of my parts.-How shall we laugh at the husband when he is gone! Stand. What is feigned upon the stage, is-How sillily he looks! He's in labour of horns here in reality-real falsehood. Yes, yes, madam. already.—To make a colonel a cuckold! 'Twill -I exposed you to the courtship of your fool be rare news for the alderman. Clincher, too; I hope your female wiles will imthat upon me also.pose

Stand. All this Sir Harry has occasioned; but he's brave, and will afford me a just revenge.—

Oh, this is the porter I sent the challenge byWell, sir, have you found him?

Clin. sen. What the devil does he mean now? Stand. Have you given Sir Harry the note, fellow?

Clin. sen. The note! what note?

Stand. The letter, blockhead, which I sent by you to Sir Harry Wildair; have you seen him? Clin. sen. Oh, Lord, what shall I say now? Seen him? Yes, sir-No, sir.—I have, sir-I have not, sir.

Stand. The fellow's mad. Answer me directly, sirrah, or I'll break your head.

Clin. sen. I know Sir Harry very well, sir; but as to the note, sir, I can't remember a word on't: truth is, I have a very bad memory.

Stand. Oh, sir, I'll quicken your memory. [Strikes him. Clin. sen. Zauns, sir, hold !-I did give him

[blocks in formation]

Enter CLINCHER Senior.

Clin. sen. Ah! the devil take all intriguing, say I, and him who first invented canes.That cursed colonel has got such a knack of beating his men, that he has left the mark of a collar of bandileers about my shoulders.

Lure. Oh, my poor gentleman! and was it beaten?

Clin. sen. Yes, I have been beaten. But where's my clothes? my clothes?

Lure. What, you won't leave me so soon, my dear, wil! ye?

Clin. sen. Will ye !-If ever I peep into a colonel's tent again, may I be forced to run the gauntlet. But my clothes, madam.

Lure. I sent the porter down stairs with them; did not you meet him?

Clin. sen. Meet him? No, not I,

Par. No! He went out at the back-door, and is run clear away, I'm afraid.

[blocks in formation]

To have his coat well thrash'd, and lose his coat also! [Exit.

Lure. Thus the noble poet spoke truth: Nothing suits worse with vice than want of sense: Fools are still wicked at their own expence.

Par. Methinks, madam, the injuries you have suffered by men must be very great, to raise such heavy resentments against the whole sex.

Lure. The greatest injury that woman could sustain: they robbed me of that jewel, which preserved, exalts our sex almost to angels; but destroyed, debases us below the worst of brutes, mankind.

Par. But I think, madam, your anger should be only confined to the author of your wrongs. Lure. The author! Alas, I know him not, which makes my wrongs the greater.

Par. Not know him? 'Tis odd, madam, that a man should rob you of that same jewel you mentioned, and you not know him.

Lure. Leave trifling: 'tis a subject that always sours my temper: but since, by thy faithful service, I have some reason to confide in your secrecy, hear the strange relation.-Some twelve years ago, I lived at my father's house in Oxfordshire, blest with innocence, the ornamental, but weak guard of blooming beauty: I was then just fifteen, an age fatal to the female sex. Our youth is tempting, our innocence credulous, romances moving, love powerful, and men are-villains. Then it happened, that three young gentlemen from the university coming into the country, and being benighted, and strangers, called at my father's: he was very glad of their company, and offered them the entertainment of his house.

Par. Which they accepted, no doubt. Oh, these strolling collegians are never abroad but upon some mischief.

Lure. They had some private frolic or design in their heads, as appeared by their not naming one another, which my father perceiving, out of civility, made no enquiry into their affairs; two of them had a heavy, pedantic, university air; a sort of disagreeable scholastic boorishness in their behaviour; but the third

Par. Ah, the third, madam,—the third of all things, they say, is very critical.

Lure. He was-but, in short, nature cut him out for my undoing; he seemed to be about eighteen.

Par. A fit match for your fifteen as could be,

Lure. He had a genteel sweetness in his face, agraceful comeliness in his person, and his tongue was fit to sooth soft innocence into ruin. His very looks were witty, and his expressive eyes spoke softer, prettier things than words could frame.

Par. There will be mischief by and by; I never heard a woman talk so much of eyes, but there were tears presently after.

Lure. His discourse was directed to my father, but his looks to me. After supper I went to my chamber, and read Cassandra; then went to bed, and dreamed of him all night; rose in the morning, and made verses; so fell desperately in love.

-My father was so well pleased with his conversation, that he begged their company next day; they consented, and next night, ParlyPar. Ah, next night, madam(I'm afraid) was a night indeed.

-next night

Lure. He bribed my maid, with his gold, out of her honesty, and me, with his rhetoric, out of my honour-She admitted him into my chamber, and there he vowed, and swore, and wept, and sighed and conquered. [Weeps. Par. A-lack-a-day, poor fifteen. [Weeps. Lure. He swore that he would come down from Oxford in a fortnight, and marry me.

Par. The old bait, the old bait-I was cheated just so myself. [Aside.]-But had not you the wit to know his name all this while?

Lure. Alas, what wit had innocence like mine? He told me, that he was under an obligation to his companions of concealing himself then, but that he would write to me in two days, and let me know his name and quality. After all the binding oaths of constancy, joining hands, exchanging hearts, I gave him a ring with this motto: Love and honour :-then we parted, and I never saw the dear deceiver more.

Par. No, nor never will, I warrant you. Lure. I need not tell my griefs, which my father's death made a fair pretence for; he left me sole heiress and executrix to three thousand pounds a year; at last, my love for this single dissembler turned to a hatred of the whole sex; and, resolving to divert my melancholy, and make my large fortune subservient to my pleasure and revenge, I went to travel, where, in most courts of Europe, I have done some execution. Here I will play my last scene; then retire to my country-house, live solitary, and die a penitent.

Par. But don't you still love this dear dissem bler?

Lure. Most certainly. "Tis love of him that keeps my anger warm, representing the baseness of mankind full in view; and makes my resentments work-We shall have that old impotent letcher, Smuggler, here to-night; I have a plot to swinge him, and his precise nephew, Vizard.

Par. I think, madam, you manage every body that comes in your way.

Lure. No, Parly; those men, whose pretensions I found just and honourable, I fairly dismissed, by letting them know my firm resolutions never to marry. But those villains that would attempt my honour, I've seldom failed to manage.

Par. What d'ye think of the colonel, madam? I suppose his designs are honourable.

Lure. That man's a riddle; there's something of honour in his temper that pleases; I'm sure he loves me too, because he's soon jealous, and soon satisfied. But he's a man still. When I once tried his pulse about marriage, his blood ran as low as a coward's.-He swore, indeed, that he loved me, but could not marry me, forsooth, because he was engaged elsewhere. So poor a pre tence made me disdain his passion, which otherwise might have been uneasy to me. But hang him, I have teased him enough-Besides, Parly, I begin to be tired of my revenge: but this buss and guinea I must maul once more. I'll hansel his woman's clothes for him. Go get me pen and ink; I must write to Vizard too. Fortune, this once assist me as before: Two such machines can never work in vain, As thy propitious wheel, and my projecting brain. [Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.-Covent-Garden. WILDAIR and STANDARD meeting. Stand. I thought, Sir Harry, to have met you ere this in a more convenient place; but since my wrongs were without ceremony, my revenge shall be so too. Draw, sir.

Wild. Draw, sir! What shall I draw? Stand. Come, come, sir, I like your facetious humour well enough; it shews courage and unconcern. I know you brave; and therefore use you thus.-Draw your sword.

Wild. Nay, to oblige you, I will draw; but the devil take me if I fight.-Perhaps, colonel, this is the prettiest blade you have seen.

Stand. I doubt not but the arm is good; and therefore think both worth my resentment. Come, sir.

Wild. But pr'ythee, colonel, dost think that I am such a madman as to send my soul to the de

vil, and body to the worms-upon every fool's errand?

[Aside.

Stand. I hope you're no coward, sir. Wild. Coward, sir! I have eight thousand pounds a year, sir.

Stand. You fought in Flanders, to my knowledge.

Wild. Ay, for the same reason that I wore a red coat; because 'twas fashionable.

Stand. Sir, you fought a French count in Paris.

Wild. True, sir; but there was no danger of lands nor tenements: besides, he was a beau, like myself. Now you're a soldier, colonel, and fighting's your trade; and I think it downright madness to contend with any man in his profession.

Stand. Come, sir, no more dallying; I shall take very unseemly methods, if you don't shew yourself a gentleman.

Wild. A gentleman! Why, there again now. A

gentleman! I tell you once more, colonel, that I am a baronet, and have eight thousand pounds a year. I can dance, sing, ride, fence, understand the languages--Now I cann't conceive how running you through the body should contribute one jot more to my gentility. But pray, colonel, I had forgot to ask you, what's the quarrel? Stand. A woman, sir.

Wild. Then I put up my sword. Take her. Stand. Sir, my honour's concerned. Wild. Nay, if your honour be concerned with a woman, get it out of her hands as soon as you can-An honourable lover is the greatest slave in nature; some will say, the greatest fool. Come, come, colonel, this is something about the Lady Lurewell, I warrant; I can give you satisfaction in that affair.

Stand. Do so then immediately.

Wild. Put up your sword first; you know I dare fight but I had much rather make you a friend than an enemy. I can assure you, this lady will prove too hard for one of your temper. You have too much honour, too much, in conscience, to be a favourite with the ladies.

Stand. I'm assured, sir, she never gave you any encouragement.

Wild. A man can never hear reason with a sword in his hand. Sheath your weapon; and then if I don't satisfy you, sheath it in my body. Stand. Give me but demonstration of her granting you any favour, and it is enough. Wild. Will you take my word? Stand. Pardon me, sir; I cannot. Wild. Will you believe your own eyes Stand. 'Tis ten to one whether I shall or no; they have deceived me already.

?

Wild. That's hard-but some means I shall devise for your satisfaction-We must fly this place, else that cluster of mob will overwhelm us. [Exeunt.

Enter Mob: TOM ERRAND'S Wife hurrying in CLINCHER Senior in ERRAND'S Clothes. Wife. Oh! the villain, the rogue, he has murdered my husband. Ah, my poor Timothy! [Crying. Clin. sen. Dem your Timothy !-your husband has murdered me, woman; for he has carried away my fine jubilee clothes.

Wife. Ay, you cut-throat, have you not got his clothes upon your back there? Neighbours, don't you know poor Timothy's coat and apron Mob. Ay, ay, it is the same.

1st Mob. What shall we do with him, neighbours?

2d Mob. We'll pull him in pieces. 1st Mob. No, no; then we may be hang'd for murder: but we'll drown him.

Clin. sen. Ah, good people, pray don't drown me; for I never learned to swim in all my life. Ah, this plaguy intriguing!

Mob. Away with him,-away with him to the Thames.

Clin. sen. Oh, if I had but my swimming-girdle now!

Enter Constable.

Const. Hold, neighbours, I command the peace. Wife. Oh, Mr Constable, here's a rogue that has murdered my husband, and robbed him of his clothes.

Const. Murder and robbery!-Then he must be a gentleman.-Hands off there; he must not be abused.Give an account of yourself. Are you a gentleman ?

Clin. sen. No, sir, I'm a beau.

Const. A beau? Then you have killed nobody, I'm persuaded. How came you by these clothes, sir?

Clin. sen. You must know, sir, that walking along, sir, I don't know how, sir, cann't tell where, sir, and so the porter and I changed clothes, sir.

Const. Very well. The man speaks reason, and like a gentleman.

Wife. But pray, Mr Constable, ask him how he changed clothes with him.

Const. Silence, woman, and don't disturb the court. Well, sir, how did you change clothes?

Clin. sen. Why, sir, he pulled off my coat, and I drew off his so I put on his coat, and he put on mine.

Const. Why, neighbours, I don't find that he's guilty: search him; and if he carries no arms about him, we'll let him go.

[They search his pockets, and pull out his pistols. Clin. sen. Oh, gemini! My jubilee pistols ! Const. What, a case of pistols! Then the case is plain. Speak, what are you, sir? Whence came you, and whither go you

Clin. sen. Sir, I came from Russel-street, and am going to the jubilee.

Wife. You shall go to the gallows, you rogue. Const. Away with him,away with him to Newgate, straight.

Clin. sen. I shall go to the jubilee now, indeed. [Exeunt.

Re-enter WILDAIR and STANDARD. Wild. In short, colonel, 'tis all nonsense: fight for a woman! Hard by is the lady's house; if you please we'll wait on her together: you shall draw your sword; I'll draw my snuff-box: you shall produce your wounds received in war; I'll relate mine by Cupid's dart: "you shall look big; I'll ogle: you shall swear; I'll sigh: you shall sa su, and I'll coupée; and if she flies not to my arms, like a hawk to its perch, my dancing-master deserves to be damned.

Stand. With the generality of women, I grant you, these arts may prevail.

Wild. Generality of women! Why, there again you're out. They're all alike, sir: I never heard of any one that was particular, but one.

Stand. Who was she, pray?

Wild. Penelope, I think she's called; and that's a poetical story too. When will you find a poet in our age make a woman so chaste?

Stand. Well, Sir Harry, your facetious humour can disguise falsehood, and make calumny pass

for satire; but you have promised me ocular demonstration that she favours you: make that good, and I shall then maintain faith and female to be as inconsistent as truth and falsehood.

Wild. Nay, by what you told me, I am satisfied that she imposes on us all: and Vizard too seems what I still suspected him: but his honesty once mistrusted spoils his knavery.- But will you be convinced, if our plot succeeds? Stand. I rely on your word and honour, Sir Harry; which if I doubted, my distrust would cancel the obligation of their security.

Wild. Then meet me half an hour hence at the Rummer: you must oblige me by taking a hearty glass with me toward the fitting me out for a certain project, which this night I undertake.

Stand. I guess, by the preparation, that woman's the design.

Wild. Yes, 'faith.-I am taken dangerous ill with two foolish maladies, modesty and love: the first I'll cure with Burgundy, and my love by a night's lodging with the danisel. A sure remedy. Probatum est.

Stand. I'll certainly meet you, sir. [Exeunt severally. Enter CLINCHER Junior and DICKY. Clin. Ah, Dicky, this London is a sad place, a sad vicious place: I wish that I were in the country again. And this brother of mine-I'm sorry he's so great a rake: I had rather see him dead than see him thus.

Dick. Ay, sir, he'll spend his whole estate at this same jubilee. Who d'ye think lives at this same jubilee?

Clin. Who, pray Dick. The pope.

?

Clin. The devil he does! My brother go to the place where the pope dwells! He's bewitched, sure!

Enter TOM ERRAND, in CLINCHER Senior's

Cloaths.

Dick. Indeed, I believe he is, for he's strangely altered.

Clin. Altered! Why he looks like a jesuit already.

Err. This lace will sell. What a blockhead was the fellow to trust me with his coat! If I can get cross the garden, down to the water-side, I am pretty secure. [Aside. Clin. Brother!-Alaw! Oh, gemini! Are you my brother?

Dick. I seize you in the king's name, sir.
Err. Oh, Lord! should this prove some par-
Hament man, now!

Clin. Speak, you rogue; what are you?
Err. A poor porter, sir, and going of an er-

rand.

[blocks in formation]

Clin. Murdered my brother! Oh, crimini! Oh, my poor jubilee brother! Stay, by Jupiter Ammon, I'm heir though. Speak, sir; have you kill'd him! confess that you have killed him, and I'll give you half a crown.

Err. Who, I, sir? Alack-a-day, sir, I never killed any man, but a carrier's horse once.

Clin. Then you shall certainly be hanged; but confess that you killed him, and we'll let you

go.

Err. Telling the truth hangs a man, but confessing a lie can do no harm: besides, if the worst come to the worst, I can but deny is again. -Well, sir, since I must tell you, I did kill him.

Clin. Here's your money, sir.-But are you sure you killed him dead?

Err. Sir, I'll swear it before any judge in Eng. land.

Dick. But are you sure that he's dead in law? Err. Dead in law! I can't tell whether he be dead in law. But he's as dead as a door-nail; for I gave him seven knocks on the head with a hammer.

Dick. Then you have the estate by statute.Any man that's knocked o' th' head is dead in law.

Clin. But are you sure he was compos mentis when he was killed?

Err. I suppose he was, sir; for he told me nothing to the contrary afterwards.

Clin. Hey! Then I go to the jubilee.-Strip, sir, strip. By Jupiter Ammon, strip. Dick. Ah! don't swear, sir.

[Puts on his brother's clothes. Clin. Swear, sir! Zoons, ha'n't I got the estate, sir? Come, sir, now I'm in mourning for my brother.

Err. I hope you'll let me go now, sir?

Clin. Yes, yes, sir; but you must do me the favour to swear positively before a magistrate, that you killed him dead, that I may enter upon the estate without any trouble. By Jupiter Am mon, all my religion's gone since I put on these fine clothes.- -Hey, call me a coach somebody.

Err. Ay, master, let me go, and I'll call one immediately.

Clin. No, no; Dicky, carry this spark before a justice, and when he has made oath you may discharge him. And I'll go see Angelica. [Ereunt DICK. and ERRAND.] Now that I'm an elder brother, I'll court, and swear, and rant, and rake, and go to the jubilee with the best of them.

[Exit.

[blocks in formation]
« PreviousContinue »