SIR HARRY WILDAIR; BEING THE SEQUEL OF THE TRIP TO THE JUBILEE. BY FARQUHAR. PROLOGUE. OUR authors have, in most their late essays, From the front-boxes he has pick'd his style, A waggish action- -but a modest air. The modern forms of action, time, and place; SCENE I-The Park. ACT I. STANDARD and FIREBALL enter, meeting. Stand. HA, brother Fireball! Welcome ashore. -What, heart whole? Limbs firm, and frigate safe? Fire. All, all, as my fortune and friends could wish. Stand. And what news from the Baltic ? Fire. Why, yonder are three or four young boys i' th' north, that have got globes and sceptres to play with-They fell to loggerheads about their play-things; the English came in like Robin Good-fellow, cry'd boh! and made them quiet. Stand. In the next place, then, you're to congratulate my success-You have heard, I suppose, that I've married a fine lady with a great fortune. Fire. Ay, ay, 'twas my first news upon my landing, that colonel Standard had married the fine lady Lurewell- A fine lady indeed! a very fine lady! But, faith, brother, I had rather turn skipper to an Indian canoe, than manage the vessel you're master of. Stand. Why so, sir? Fire. Because she'll run adrift with every wind that blows: she's all sail and no ballast-Shall I tell you the character I have heard of a fine lady? A fine lady can laugh at the death of her husband, and cry for the loss of her lap-dog. A fine lady is angry without a cause, and pleased without a reason, A fine lady has the vapours all the morning, and the colic all the afternoon. The pride of a fine lady is above the merit of an understanding head; yet her vanity will stoop to the adoration of a peruke. And, in fine, a fine lady goes to church for fashion's sake, and to the basset-table with devotion; and her passion for gaming exceeds her vanity of being thought virtuous, or the desire of acting the contraryWe seamen speak plain, brother. Stand. You seamen are like your element, always tempestuous, too ruffling to handle a fine lady. Fire. Say you so? Why then give me thy hand, honest Frank, and let the world talk on and be damn'd. Stand. The world talk, say you? What does the world talk? Fire. Nothing, nothing at all: they only say what's usual upon such occasions―That your wife's the greatest coquet about the court, and your worship the greatest cuckold about the city; that's all. Stand. How, how, sir? Fire. That she's a coquet, and you a cuckold. Stand. She's an angel in herself, and a para dise to me! Fire. She's an Eve in herself, and a devil to you. Stand. She's all truth, and the world a liar. Fire. Why, then-'Egad, brother, it shall be so I'll back again to White's, and whoever dares mutter scandal of my brother and sister, I'll dash his ratafia in his face, and call him a liar. [Going. Stand. Hold, hold, sir; the world is too strong for us. Were scandal and detraction to be thoroughly revenged, we must murder all the beaus, and poison half the ladies. Those that have no thing else to say, must tell stories; fools over Burgundy, and ladies over tea, must have something that's sharp to relish their liquor; malice is the piquant sauce of such conversation, and without it their entertainment would prove mighty insipid. Now, brother, why should we pretend to quarrel with all mankind? Fire. Because all mankind quarrel with us. Stand. The worst reason in the world. Would you pretend to devour a lion, because a lion would devour you? Fire. Yes, if I could. Stand. Ay, that's right; if you could! But since you have neither teeth nor paws for such an encounter, lie quietly down, and perhaps the furious beast may run over you. Fire. 'Sdeath, sir! but I say, that whoever abuses my brother's wife, though at the back of the king's chair, he's a villain. Stand. No, no, brother, that's a contradiction; there's no such thing as villainy at court.—Indeed, if the practice of courts were found in a single person, he might be styled villain with a vengeance; but number and power authorise every thing, and turn the villain upon their ac cusers. In short, sir, every nian's morals, like his religion now-a-days, pleads liberty of conscience; every man's conscience is his convenience, and we know no convenience but preferment-As, for instance, who would be so complaisant as to thank an officer for his courage, when that's the condition of his pay? And who can be so ill natured as to blame a courtier for es pousing that which is the very tenure of his livelihood? Fire. Avery good argument in a very damnable cause. But, sir, my business is not with the court, but with you: I desire you, sir, to open your eyes; at least, be pleased to lend an ear to what I heard just now at the chocolate-house. Stand. Brother! Fire. Well, sir! Stand. Did the scandal please you when you heard it? Fire. No. Stand. Then why should you think it should please me? Be not more uncharitable to your friends than to yourself, sweet sir. If it made you uneasy, there's no question but it will torment me, who am so much nearer concerned. Fire. But would you not be glad to know your enemies? Stand. Pshaw! if they abuse me, they are my friends, my intimate friends, my table company, and bottle companions. Fire. Why, then, brother, the devil take all your acquaintance. You were so rally'd, so torn! -there was a hundred ranks of sneering white teeth drawn upon your misfortunes at once, which so mangled your wife's reputation, that she can never patch up her honour while she lives. Stand. And their teeth were very white, you say? Fire. Very white! Blood, sir, I say they mangled your wife's reputation! Stand. And I say, that if they touch my wife's reputation with nothing but their teeth, her honour will be safe enough. Fire. Then you won't hear it? Stand. Not a syllable. Listening after slander is laying nets for serpents, which, when you have caught, will sting you to death. Let them spit their venom among themselves, and it hurts nobody. Fire. Lord, Lord, how cuckoldom and contentment go together! Fie, fie, sir! consider you have been a soldier, dignified by a noble post, distinguished by brave actions, an honour to your nation, and a terror to your enemies-Hell! that a man who has stormed Namur should become the jest of a coffee-table. The whole house was clearly taken up with the two important questions, whether the colonel was a cuckold, or a kid pirate? Stand. This I can't bear. [Aside. Fire. Ay (says a sneering coxcomb) the colonel has made his fortune with a witness; he has secured himself a good estate in this life, and a reversion in the world to come. Then (replies another) I presume he's obliged to your lordship's bounty for the latter part of the settlement. There are others (says a third) that have played with my Lady Lurewell at piquet, besides my lord; I have capotted her myself two or three times in an evening. Stand. Oh, matrimonial patience, assist me! Fire. Matrimonial patience! matrimonial pestilence! Shake off these drowsy chains, that fetter your resentments. If your wife has wronged ye, pack her off, and let her person be as public as her character: if she be honest, revenge her quarrel-I can stay no longer-This is my hour of attendance at the Navy-Office: I'll come and dine with you. In the mean time, revenge! think [Exit. Stand. How easy is it to give advice, and how difficult to observe it!-If your wife has wronged ye, pack her off-Ay, but how? The gospel drives the matrimonial nail, and the law clinches it so very hard, that to draw it again would tear the work to pieces-That her intentions have wronged me, here's a young bawd can witness. on't. PARLY enters, running across the Stage. Here, here, Mrs Parly! Whither so fast? Par. Oh, Lord! my master!-Sir, I was running to Mademoiselle Furbelo, the French milliner, for a new Burgundy for my lady's head. Stand. No, child; you're employed about an old-fashioned garniture for your master's head, if I mistake not your errand. Par. Oh, sir, there's the prettiest fashion lately come over! so airy, so French, and all that! The pinners are double ruffled, with twelve plaits of a side, and open all from the face; the hair is frizzled all up round the head, and stands as stiff as a bodkin. Then the favourites hang loose upon the temples, with a languishing lock in the middle. Then the caul is extremely wide; and over all is a coronet raised very high; and all the lappets behind- I must fetch it presently. Stund. Hold a little, child; I must talk with you. Par. Another time, sir; my lady stays for me. Stand. One question, first. What wages does my wife give you? Par. Ten pounds a year, sir, which, God knows, is little enough, considering how I slave from place to place upon her occasions. But then, sir, my perquisites are considerable; I make above two hundred pounds a year by her old clothes, Stand. Two hundred pounds a year of her old clothes! What then must her new ones cost? -But what do you get by visiting gallants, and Pur. My parents were anabaptists; they died before I was dipp'd; I then forsook their religion, and have got ne'er a new one since. Stand. I'm very sorry, madam, that I had not the honour to know the worth of your extraction sooner, that I might have paid you the respect due to your quality. Par. Sir, your humble servant. Stand. Have you lost your maidenhead?-[She puts on her mask, and nods.]- -Do you love money? Par. Yaw, Mynheer. Stand. Well, Mrs Parly, now you have been so free with me, I'll tell you what you must trust to in return: never to come near my house again. . Be gone, monster! fly-Hell and furies! never christened! her father a mountebank! Par. Lord, sir, you need not be so furious!— Never christened! What then? I may be a very good Christian for all that, I suppose. Turn me off! sir, you sha'n't. Meddle with your fellows; 'tis my lady's business to order her women. Stand. Here's a young whore for you now! A sweet companion for my wife! Where there's such a hellish confidante, there must be damnable secrets- -Be gone, I say-My wife shall turn you away. Par. Sir, she won't turn me away; she sha'n't turn me away; nor she cann't turn me away. Sir, I say she dare not turn me away. Stand. Why, you jade, why? Par. Because I'm the mistress, not she. Par. Yes, I know all her secrets; and let her offer to turn me off if she dares. Stand. What secrets do you know? Par. Humph-Tell a wife's secrets to her husband!-Very pretty, faith!-Sure, sir, you don't think me such a Jew; though I was never christened, I have more religion than that comes to. Stand. Are you faithful to your lady for affection or interest? Par. Shall I tell you a Christian lie, or a Pagan truth? Stand. Come, truth for once. Par. Why, then, interest, interest! I have a great soul, which nothing can gain, but a great bribe. Stand. Well, though thou art a devil, thou art a very honest one-Give me thy hand, wench. Should not interest make you faithful to me, as much as to others? Par. Your old friend, Sir Harry Wildair, Par. Yes, faith, and as gay as ever. Stand. And has he forgot his wife so soon? Par. Why, she has been dead now above a year.-He appeared in the ring last night with such splendour and equipage, that he eclipsed the beaus, dazzled the ladies, and made your wife dream all night of six Flanders mares, seven French liveries, a wig like a cloak, and a hat like a shuttlecock. Stand. What are a woman's promises and oaths? Par. Wind, wind, sir. Stand. When I married her, how heartily did she condemn her light preceding conduct, and for the future vowed herself a perfect pattern of conjugal fidelity! Pur. She might as safely swear, sir, that this day se'nnight, at four o'clock, the wind will blow fair for Flanders. 'Tis presuming for any of us all to promise for our inclinations a whole week, Besides, sir, my lady has got the knack of coquetting it; and when once a woman has got that in her head, she will have a touch on't every where else. Stand. An oracle, child. But now I must make the best of a bad bargain; and since I have got you on my side, I have some hopes, that by constant disappointment and crosses in her dePar. Honest to you! Marry, for what? You signs, I may at last tire her into good behaviour. gave me indeed two pitiful pieces the day you Par, Well, sir, the condition of the articles were married, but not a stiver since. One gal-being duly performed, I stand to the obligation, lant gives me ten guineas, another a watch, another a pair of pendants, a fourth a diamond ring, and my noble master gives me--his linen to mend.--Faugh!--I'll tell you a secret, sir: stinginess to servants makes more cuckolds than ill-nature to wives. Stand. And am I a cuckold, Parly? Par. No, faith, not yet; though in a very fair way of having the dignity conferred upon you very suddenly. Stand. Come, girl, you shall be my pensioner; you shall have a glorious revenue: for every guinea that you get for keeping a secret, I'll give you two for revealing it; you shall find a husband once in your life out-do all your gallants in generosity. Take their money, child; take all their bribes; give them hopes; make them assignations; serve your lady faithfully, but tell all to me by which means, she will be kept chaste, you will grow rich, and I shall preserve my honour. Par. But what security shall I have for per formance of articles? Stand. Ready payment, child, and will tell you farther, that by and by Sir Harry Wildair is to come to our house to cards, and that there is a design laid to cheat him of his money. Stand. What company will there be besides? Par. Why, the old set at the basset-table; my Lady Lovecards, and the usual company. They have made up a bank of fifteen hundred louis d'ors among them; the whole design lies upon Sir Harry's purse; and the French marquis, you know, constantly taillees. Stand. Ay, the French marquis; that's one of your benefactors, Parly; the persecution of basset in Paris furnished us with that refugée, but the character of such a fellow ought not to reflect on those who have been real sufferers for their religion.-But take no notice. Be sure only to inform me of all that passes. There's more earnest for you: be rich and faithful. [Exit STANDARD. Par. [Sola.] I am now not only woman to the Lady Lurewell, but steward to her husband, in my double capacity of knowing her secrets, and commanding his purse. A very pretty office in a family: for every guinea that I get for keeping a secret, he'll give me two for revealing it.My comings in, at this rate, will be worth a master in chancery's place, and many a poor templar will be glad to marry me with half my for tune. DICKY enters, meeting her. Dick. Here's a man much fitter for your purposes. Par. Bless me! Mr Dicky? Dick. The very same in longitude and latitude! not a bit diminished, nor a hair's-breadth increased. Dear Mrs Parly, give me a buss, for I'm almost starved. Par. Why so hungry, Mr Dicky? Dick. Why, I ha'n't tasted a bit this year and half, woman. I have been wandering about all over the world, following my master, and come home to dear London but two days ago. Now, the devil take me, if I had not rather kiss an English pair of pattens, than the finest lady in France. Par. Then you're overjoyed to see London again? Dick. Oh! I was just dead of a consumption, till the sweet smoke of Cheapside, and the dear perfume of Fleet-ditch, made me a man again. Par. But how came you to live with Sir Harry Wildair? Dick, Why, seeing me a handsome personable fellow, and well qualified for a livery, he took a fancy to my figure, that was all. Par. And what's become of your old master? Dick. Oh, hang him, he was a blockhead, and I turned him off, I turned him away. Par. And were you not very sorry for the loss of your mistress, Sir Harry's lady? They say, she was a very good woman. Dick. Oh! the sweetest woman that ever the sun shined upon. I could almost weep when I think of her. [Wiping his eyes. Par. How did she die, pray? I could never hear how 'twas. Dick. Give me a buss then, and I'll tell ye. Par. You shall have your wages when your work's done. Dick. Well then-Courage!-Now for a doleful tale-You know that my master took a freak to go see that foolish jubilee that made such a noise among us here; and no sooner said than done; away he went; he took his fine French servants to wait on him, and left me, the poor English puppy, to wait upon his lady at home here. Well, so far so good-But scarce was my master's back turned, when my lady fell to sighing, and pouting, and whining, and crying; and, in short, fell sick upon't, Par. Well, well, I know all this already; and that she plucked up her spirits at last, and went to follow him. Dick. Very well. Follow him we did, far and far, and farther than I can tell, till we came to a place called Montpelier, in France; a goodly place truly. But Sir Harry was gone to Rome; there was our labour lost.--But, to be short, my poor lady, with the tiresomeness of travelling, fell sick-and died. Par. Poor woman! Dick. Ay, but that was not all. Here comes the worst of the story.-Those cursed barbarous devils, the French, would not let us bury her. Pur. Not bury her! Dick. No, she was a heretic woman, and they would not let her corpse be put in their holy ground.-Oh! damn their holy ground for me. Par. Now, had not I better be an honest Pagan, as I am, than such a Christian as one of these?- -But how did you dispose the body? Dick. Why, there was one charitable gentle woman that used to visit my lady in her sickness; she contrived the matter so, that she had her buried in her own private chapel. This lady and myself carried her out upon our own shoulders, through a back-door, at the hour of midnight, and laid her in a grave that I dug for her with my own bands; and if we had been catched by the priests, we had gone to the gallows, without the benefit of clergy. Par. Oh, the devil take them. But what did they mean by a heretic woman? Dick. I don't know; some sort of cannibal, I believe. I know there are some cannibal women here in England, that come to the play-houses in masks; but let them have a care how they go to France; (for they are all heretics, I believe). But I'm sure my good lady was none of these. Par. But how did Sir Harry bear the news? Dick. Why, you must know, that my lady, after she was buried, sent me Par. How! after she was buried? Dick. Pshaw! Why, Lord, mistress, you know what I mean; I went to Sir Harry all the way to Rome; and where d'ye think I found him? Par. Where? Dick. Why, in the middle of a monastery, among a hundred and fifty nuns, playing at hotcockles. He was surprised to see honest Dicky, you may be sure. But when I told him the sad story, he roared out a whole volley of English oaths upon the spot, and swore that he would set fire to the pope's palace for the injury done to his wife, He then flew away to his chamber, locked himself up for three days: we thought to have found him dead; but instead of that, he called for his best linen, fine wig, gilt coach, and, laughing very heartily, swore again he would be revenged, and bid them drive to the nunnery; and he was revenged to some purpose. Par. How, how, dear Mr Dicky? Dick. Why, in a matter of five days, he got six nuns with child, and left them to provide for their heretic bastards- -Ah, plague on them, they hate a dead heretic, but they love a pipinghot warm heretic with all their hearts.--So away we came; and thus did he jog on, revenging himself at this rate through all the catholic countrics that we passed, till we came home; and now, Mrs Parly, I fancy he has some designs of revenge too upon your lady. |