You do admire her; by the world, you do-don't you? Har. Yes, above the world, or the most glorious part of it, her whole sex; and, till now, I never thought I should have envied you or any man about to marry: but you have the best excuse to marry I ever knew. Ali. Nay, now, sir, I am satisfied you are of the society of the wits and railers, since you cannot spare your friend, even when he is most civil to you; but the surest sign is, you are an enemy to marriage, the common butt of every railer. Har. Truly, madam, I was never an enemy to marriage till now, because marriage was never an enemy to me before. Ali. But why, sir, is marriage an enemy to you now?-because it robs you of your friend here? for you look upon a friend married as one gone into a monastery, that is dead to the world. Har. 'Tis, indeed, because you marry him: I see, madam, you can guess my meaning: I do confess, heartily and openly, I wish it were in my power to break the match; by Heavens, I would. Spark. Poor Frank! Ali. Would you be so unkind to me? Har. No, no, 'tis not because I would be kind to you. you done with Belville? [Struggles with MOODY, Ali. I would not be unjust to him. Ali. I have no obligations to you. Ali. I had his before. Har. You never had it: he wants, you see, jealousy, the only infallible sign of it. Ali. Love proceeds from esteem:-he cannot distrust my virtue: besides, he loves me, or he would not marry me. Har. Marrying you is no more a sign of his love, than bribing your woman, that he may marry you, is a sign of his generosity. But if you take marriage for a sign of love, take it from me immediately. Ali. No, now you have put a scruple in my un-head: but, in short, sir, to end our dispute, I must marry him! my reputation would suffer in the world else. Spark. Poor Frank!-no, 'egad, 'tis only his kindness to me. Har. No; if you do marry him, with your par Ali. Great kindness to you indeed!-Insen-don, madam, your reputation suffers in the world. sible! Let a man make love to his mistress to Ali. Nay, now you are rude, sir.-Mr Sparkish, his face. [Aside. pray come hither; your friend here is very trouble Spark. Come, dear Frank, for all my wife there, some, and very loving. that shall be, thou shalt enjoy me sometimes, dear rogue.-By my honour, we men of wit condole for our deceased brother in marriage as much as for one dead in earnest.-I think that was prettily said of me; ha, Harcourt?come, Frank, be not melancholy for me. -But Har. No, I assure you, I am not melancholy for you. Spark. Pr'ythee, Frank, dost think my wife, that shall be, there, a fine person? Har. I could gaze upon her till I became as blind as you are. Spark. How, as I am? how? Har. Because you are a lover; and true lovers are blind. Spark. True, true; but, by the world, she has wit too, as well as beauty: go, go with her into a corner, and try if she has wit; talk to her any thing; she's bashful before me. [HARCOURT Courts ALITHEA aside. Enter MOODY. Moody. How, sir, if you are not concerned for the honour of a wife, I am for that of a sister.Be a pander to your own wife; bring men to her; let 'em make love before your face; thrust them into a corner together, then leave 'em in private! is this your town wit and conduct? Spark. Ha, ha, ha! a silly wise rogue would make one laugh more than a stark fool: ha, ha, ha!-I shall burst. Nay, you shall not disturb 'em:-I'll vex thee, by the world, What have 12 Har. Hold, hold. [Aside to ALITHEA. Moody. D'ye hear that, senseless puppy? Spark. Why, d'ye think I'll seem jealous, like a country bumpkin? Moody. No, rather be dishonour'd, like a credulous driveller. Har. Madam, you would not have been so little generous as to have told him? Ali. Yes, since you could be so little generous as to wrong him. Har. Wrong him! no man can do't; he's beneath an injury; a bubble, a coward, a senseless idiot, a wretch so contemptible to all the world but you, that Ali. Hold, do not rail at him; for since he is like to be my husband, I am resolved to like him; nay, I think I am obliged to tell him you are not his friend-Mr Sparkish, Mr Sparkish! Spark. What, what.-Now, dear rogue, has not she wit? Har. Not so much as I thought, and hoped she had. [Surlily. Ali. Mr Sparkish, do you bring people to rail at you? Har. Madam! Spark. How! no; but if he does rail at me, 'tis but in jest, I warrant,-what we wits do for one another, and never take any notice of it. Ali. He spoke so scurrilously of you, I had no patience to hear him. Moody. And he was in the right on't. Moody. If Harcourt would but kill Sparkish, and run away with my sister, I should be rid of three plagues at once. Ali. Indeed, to tell the truth, the gentleman said, after all, that what he spoke was but out of friendship to you. Spark. How! say I am a fool: that is not wit, out of friendship to me. Ali. Yes, to try whether I was concerned enough for you; and made love to me, only to be satisfied of my virtue, for your sake. Har. Kind, however! [Aside. Spark. Nay, if it were so, my dear rogue, I ask thee pardon; but why would you not tell me so, faith? Har. Because I did not think on't, faith! Spark. Come, Belville is gone away; Harcourt, let's be gone to the new play-come, madam. Ali. I will not go, if you intend to leave me alone in the box, and run all about the house, as you use to do. Spark. Pshaw! I'll leave Harcourt with you in the box, to entertain you, and that's as good: if I sat in the box, I should be thought no criticI must run about, my dear, and abuse the author -Come away, Harcourt, lead her down.-B'yc, brother. [Exeunt HARCOURT, SPARKISH, and ALI THEA. Moody. B'ye, driveller. Well, go thy ways, for the flower of the true town fops, such as spend their estates before they come to 'em, and are cuckolds before they're married.—But let me go look to my freehold. Enter a Countryman. Countr. Master, your worship's servant-here is the lawyer, counsellor gentleman, with a green bag full of papers, come again, and would be glad to speak to you. Moody. Now here's some other damn'd impediment, which the law has thrown in our way-I SCENE II.-Changes to another Chamber. Enter Miss PEGGY and LUCY. Lucy. What ails you, Miss Peggy? You are grown quite melancholy. Peg. Would it not make any one melancholy to see your mistress Alithea go every day fluttering about abroad, to plays and assemblies, and I know not what, whilst I must stay at home, like a poor, lonely, sullen bird in a cage? Lucy. Dear Miss Peggy, I thought you chose to be confined: I imagined that you had been bred so young to the cage, that you had no pleasure in flying about, and hopping in the open air, as other young ladies, who go a little wild about this town. Peg. Nay, I confess I was quiet enough till somebody told me what pure lives the London ladies lead, with their dancing meetings, and junketings, and dress'd every day in their best gowns; and, I warrant you, play at nine-pins every day in the week, so they do. Lucy. To be sure, miss, you will lead a better life when join'd in holy wedlock with your sweettemper'd guardian, the cheerful Mr Moody. Peg. I cann't lead a worse, that's one good thing but I must make the best of a bad market; for I cann't marry nobody else. Lucy. How so! miss? that's very strange. Peg. Why, we have a contraction to one another-so we are as good as married, you know. Lucy. I know it! Heaven forbid, miss. Peg. Heigho! Lucy. Don't sigh, Miss Peggy-if that young gentleman, who was here just now, would take pity on me, I'd throw such a contract as yours behind the fire. Peg Lord bless us, how you talk! Lucy. Young Mr Belville would make you talk otherwise, if you knew him. Peg. Mr Belville !-where is he?-when did you see him?-You have undone me, Lucy— Where was he?-Did he say any thing? Lucy. Say any thing! very little, indeed-he's quite distracted, poor young creature! he was talking with your guardian just now. Peg. The deuce he was!-but where was it, and when was it? Lucy. In this house, five minutes ago, when your guardian turn'd you into your chamber, for fear of your being seen. Peg. I knew something was the matter, I was in such a flutter.—But what did he say to my Bud? Lucy. What do you call him Bud for?-Bud means husband, and he is not your husband yet --and I hope never will be; and if he was my husband, I'd bud him :-a surly, unreasonable beast. Peg. I'd call him any names, to keep him in good humour: if he'd let me marry any body else, (which I cann't do) I'd call him husband as long as he lived. But what said Mr Belville to him? Lucy. I don't know what he said to him, but I'll tell you what he said to me, with a sigh, and his hand upon his breast, as he went out of the door-If you ever were in love, young gentlewoman, (meaning me,) and can pity a most faithful lover, tell the dear object of my affectionsPeg. Meaning me, Lucy? Lucy. Yes, you, to be sure. Tell the dear object of my affections, I live but upon the hopes that she is not married; and when those hopes leave me she knows the rest-then he cast up his eyes, thus gnash'd his teeth-struck his forehead-would have spoke again, but could notfetch'd a deep sigh, and vanish'd. Peg. That is really very fine-I'm sure it makes my heart sink within me, and brings tears into my eyes-Oh! he's a charming, sweetbut hush, hush, I hear my husband! Lucy. Don't call him husband. Park this evening, if you can. Peg. Mum, mum. Enter MOODY. Go into the Moody, Come, what's here to do? you are putting the town pleasures in her head, and setting her a longing. Lucy. Yes, after nine-pins: you suffer none to give her those longings you mean but your self. Moody. Come, Mrs Flippant, good precepts are lost when bad examples are still before us: the liberty your mistress takes abroad makes her hanker after it, and out of humour at home:-poor wretch! she desired not to come to London; I would bring her. Lucy. O yes, you surfeit her with pleasures. Moody. She has been this fortnight in town, and never desired, till this afternoon, to go abroad. Lucy. Was she not at the play yesterday? Moody. Yes; but she never ask'd me: I was myself the cause of her going. Lucy. Then, if she ask you again, you are the cause of her asking, and not my mistress. Moody. Well, next week I shall be rid of you all, rid of this town, and my dreadful apprehensions.-Come, be not melancholy, for thou shalt go into the country very soon, dearest. Peg. Pish! what d'ye tell me of the country for? Moody. How's this! What! flout at the country? Peg. Let me alone; I am not well. Moody. O, if that be all-What ails my dearest? Peg. Truly, I don't know; but I have not been well since you told me there was a gallant at the play in love with me. Moody. Ha! Lucy. That's my mistress too. Moody. Nay, you are not well, but are so con cern'd because a raking fellow chanced to lie, and say he liked you :-You'll make me sick too. Peg. Of what sickness? Moody. O, of that which is worse than the plague,-jealousy. Peg. Pish! you jeer: I'm sure there's no such disease in your receipt-book at home. Moody. No, thou never met'st with it, poor in nocent. Peg. Well, but pray, Bud, let's go to a play tonight. Moody. No, no ;-no more plays. But why are you so eager to see a play? Peg. Faith, dear, not that I care one pin for their talk there; but I like to look upon the player-men, and would see, if I could, the gallant you say loves me: that's all, dear Bud. Moody. Is that all, dear Bud? Lucy. This proceeds from my mistress's example. Peg. Let's go abroad, however, dear Bud, if we don't go to the play. Moody. Come, have a little patience, and thou shalt go into the country next week. Peg. Therefore I would see first some sights, to tell my neighbours of:-nay, I will go abroad; that's once. Moody. What! you have put this into her head? Lucy. Heaven defend me! what suspicions! somebody has put more things into your head than you ought to have. Moody. Your tongue runs too glibly, madam, and you have lived too long with a London lady, to be a proper companion for innocence.—I am not over-fond of you, mistress. Lucy. There's no love lost between us. Moody. You admitted those gentlemen into the house when I said I would not be at home; and there was the young fellow, too, who behaved so indecently to my wife at the tavern window. Lucy. Because you would not let him see your handsome wife out of your lodgings. Peg. Why, O Lord! did the gentleman come hither to see me indeed? Moody. No, no; you are not the cause of that damn'd question too. Peg. Come, pray, Bud, let's go abroad before 'tis late; for I will go, that's flat and plain-only into the Park. Moody. So! the obstinacy already of the townwife; and I must, whilst she's here, humour her like one. [Aside.] How shall we do, that she may not be seen or known? Lucy. Muffle her up with a bonnet and handkerchief, and I'll go with her, to avoid suspicion. Moody. No, no; I am obliged to you for your kindness, but she sha'n't stir without me. Lucy. What will you do then? Peg. What! shall we go? I am sick with staying at home: If I don't walk in the Park, I'll do nothing that I'm bid for a week-I won't be mop'd. Lucy. O, she has a charming spirit! I could stand your friend now, and would, if you had ever a civil word to give me. Moody. I'll give thee a better thing; I'll give thee a guinea for thy good advice, if I like it; and I can have the best of the college for the same money. Lucy. I despise a bribe-when I am your friend, it shall be without fee or reward. Peg. Don't be long then, for I will go out. Lucy. The tailor brought home, last night, the clothes you intend for a present to your godson in the country. Peg. You must not tell that, Lucy. Lucy. But I will, madam-When you were with your lawyers last night, Miss Peggy, to divert me and herself, put 'em on, and they fitted her to a hair. Moody. Thank you, thank you, Lucy; 'tis the luckiest thought! Go, this moment, Peggy, into SCENE I. ACT III. Enter BELVILLE and HARCOURT. Belv. AND the moment Moody left me, I took an opportunity of conveying some tender sentiments, thro' Lucy, to Miss Peggy, and here I am in expectation of seeing my country goddess. Har. And so, to blind Moody, and take him off the scent of your passion for this girl, and, at the same time, to give me an opportunity with Sparkish's mistress, (and of which I have made the most,) you hinted to him, with a grave, melancholy face, that you were dying for his sisterGad-a-mercy, nephew! I will back thy modesty against any other in the three kingdoms-It will do, Dick. Belv. What could I do, uncle?—It was my last stake, and I played for a great deal. -I don't Har. You mistake me, Dicksay you could do better- -I only cann't account for your modesty's doing so much: you have done such wonders, that I, who am rather bold than sheepish, have not yet ceased wondering at you. But do you think that you imposed upon him? Belo. Faith, I cann'ts tsay- -I am rather doubtful!-he said very little, grumbled much, shook his head, and shewed me the door.-But what success have you had with Alithea ? Har. Just enough to have a glimmering of hope, without having light enough to see an inch before my nose.- -This day will produce something: Alithea is a woman of great honour, and will sacrifice her happiness to it, unless Sparkish's absurdity stands my friend, and does every thing that the fates ought to do for me. Belo. Yonder comes the prince of coxcombs; and if your mistress and mine should, by chance, be tripping this way, this fellow will spoil sport —let us avoid him-you cann't cheat him before his face. Har. But I can tho', thanks to my wit, and his want of it. Belo. But you cannot come near his mistress but in his company. Har. Still the better for me, nephew; for fools are most easily cheated when they themselves are accessaries; and he is to be bubbled of his mistress, or of his money, (the common mistress,) by keeping him company. Enter SPARKISH. Spark. Who's that that is to be bubbled? faith, let me snack: I ha'n't met with a bubble since Christmas. 'Gad! I think bubbles are like their brother woodcocks,-go out with the cold weather. Har. O, pox! he did not hear all, I hope. [Aside to BELVILLE. Spark. Come, you bubbling rogues you, where do we sup?-O, Harcourt ! my mistress tells me you have made love, fierce love to her last night, all the play long; ha, ha, ha!—but I Har. I make love to her! Spark. Nay, I forgive thee, and I know her; but I am sure I know myself. Belv. Do you, sir? Then you are the wisest man in the world, and I honour you as such. [Bowing. Spark. O! your servant, sir; you are at your railiery, are you? You cann't oblige me more-I'm your man-He'll meet with his match-Ha! Harcourt !-Did not you hear me laugh prodigiously at the play last night? Har. Yes, and was very much disturbed at it. -You put the actors and audience into confusion-and all your friends out of countenance. Spark. So much the better-I love confusion and to see folks out of countenance-I was in tip-top spirits, faith, and said a thousand good things. Belo. But I thought you had gone to plays to laugh at the poet's good things, and not at your own. Spark. Your servant, sir!-No, I thank you. 'Gad! I go to a play as to a country treat: I carry my own wine to one, and my own wit to t'other, or else I'm sure I should not be merry at either: and the reason why we are so often louder than the players is, because we hate authors damnably. Belv. But why should you hate the poor rogues? You have too much wit, and despise writing, I'm sure. Spark. O yes, I despise writing. But women, women, that make men do all foolish things, make 'em write songs too. Every body does it: 'tis e'en as common with lovers as playing with fans; and you can no more help rhyming to your Phyllis, than drinking to your Phyllis. Har. But the poets damn'd your songs, did they? Spark. O yes:-Damn the poets; they turn'd them into burlesque, as they call it: that burlesque is a hocus-pocus trick they have got, which, by the virtue of hictius doctius, topsy-turvy, they make a clever, witty thing absolute nonsense! Do you know, Harcourt, that they ridiculed my last song, twang, twang, the best I ever wrote? Har. That may be, and be very easy ridiculed, for all that. Belv. Favour me with it, sir; I never heard it. Spark. What! and have all the Park about us? Har. Which you'll not dislike; and so, pr'ythee, begin. Spark. I never am ask'd twice; and so, have at you SONG. Tell not me of the roses and lilies Which tinge the fair cheek of your Phyllis ; Let all whining lovers go hang- Tip your arrow with wit, And it comes to my heart with a twang, twang, I am rock to the handsome and pretty, Have two strings to our bow, To return them their darts with a twang, twang, And return them their darts with a twang. Spark. The devil she is!-O! hide, hide me from her. [Hides behind HARCOURT. Har. She sees you. Spark. But I will not see her; for I'm engaged, and at this instant. [Looking at his watch. Har. Pray, first take me, and reconcile me to her. Spark. Another time: faith, it is to a lady, and one cannot make excuses to a woman. Belv. You have need of 'em, I believe. Spark. Pshaw! pr'ythee hide me. Enter MOODY, PEGGY, in boy's clothes, and Har. Your servant, Mr Moody. this is! turn Re-enter BELVILLE. Belo. By all my hopes, uncle-Peggy, in boy's clothes-I am all over agitation. [Aside to HAR. Har. Be quiet, or you'll spoil all. They re-Alithea has seen you, Sparkish, and will be angry if you don't go to her: besides, I would fain be reconciled to her, which none but you can do, my dear friend. Spark. Well, that's better reason, dear friend. I would not go near her now for hers or my own sake; but I can deny you nothing; for tho' I have known thee a great while, never go, if I do not love thee as well as a new acquaintance. Har. I am obliged to you, indeed, my dear friend: I would be well with her, only to be well with thee still; for these ties to wives usually dissolve all ties to friends. Spark. But they sha'n't, tho'. Come along. [They retire. Re-enter MOODY, PEGGY, and ALITHEA. Moody. Sister, if you will not go, we must leave you. [To ALITHEA.]—The fool her gallant and she will muster up all the young saunterers of this place. What a swarm of cuckolds and cuckold-makers are here! begin to be uneasy. [Aside.] Come, let's be gone, Peggy. Peg. Don't you believe that: I ha'n't half my bellyful of the sights yet. Moody. Then walk this way. Peg. Lord! what a power of fine folks are here; and Mr Belville, as I hope to be married! [Aside. |