Eliz. Faith, then let not that trouble you; for, to be plain, cousin, the world cannot talk worse of you than it did before. Oliv. How, cousin? I'd have you to know, before this faux pas, this trip of mine, the world could not talk of me. Eliz. Only that you mind other people's actions so much, that you take no care of your own, but to hide 'em; that, like a thief, because you know yourself most guilty, you impeach your fellow-criminals first, to clear yourself. Oliv. O wicked world! Oliv. O, sir, forgive me. Ver. Yes, yes, I can forgive you, being alone in the dark with a woman in man's cloaths; but have a care of man in women's cloaths. Oliv. What does he mean? he dissembles, only to get me into his power; or has my dear friend made him believe he was a woman? My husband may be deceived by him, but I'm sure I was not. [Aside. Ver. Come, come, you need not have lain out of your house for this; but perhaps you were afraid, when I was warm with suspicions, you must have discovered who she was: And pr'ythee, may I not know it? not renounce. Olio. She was!-I hope he has been deceived: and, since my lover has played the card, I must [Aside. Ver. Come, what's the matter with thee? It I must not know who she is, I'm satisfied without. Come hither. Oliv. Sure you do know her; she has told you herself, I suppose. Ver. No, I might have known her better, but that I was interrupted by the goldsmith, you know, and was forced to lock her into your chamber, to keep her from his sight; but, when I returned, I found she was got away, by tying the window-curtains to the balcony, by which she slid down into the street: for, you must know, I jested with her, and made her believe I'd ravish her; which she apprehended, it seems, in ear nest. Oliv. Then she got from you? Oliv. And is quite gone? Oliv. I'm glad on't-otherwise you had ravished her, sir. But how darest thou go so far, as to make her believe you would ravish her? Let me understand that, sir. What! there's guilt in your face; you blush too: nay, then you did ravish her, you did, you base fellow. What, ravish a woman in the first month of her marriage! 'Tis a double injury to me, thou base ungrateful man; wrong my bed already, villain! I could tear out those false eyes, barbarous, unworthy wretch! Eli. So, so ! Ver. Pr'ythee hear, my dear. Oliv. I will never hear you, my plague, my torment. man? Besides, were you not afraid to see your husband just now? I warrant, only for having been found with a woman? nay, did you not just now too own your false step, or trip, as you call'd ait? which was with a woman too! Fie, this fooling is so insipid, 'tis offensive. Ver. I swear-pr'ythee hear me. Oliv. I have heard already too many of your false oaths and vows, especially your last in the church. O wicked man! And wretched woman that I was! I wish I had then sunk down into grave, rather than to have given you my hand, to be led to your loathsome bed. Oh-oh[Seems to weep. Ver. So; very fine! just a marriage-quarrel! which, though it generally begins by the wife's fault, yet, in the conclusion, it becomes the husband's; and whosoever offends at first, he only is sure to ask pardon at last. My dear Oliv. My devil Ver. Come, pr'ythee be appeased, and go home; I have bespoken our supper betimes; for I could not eat till I found you. Go, I'll give you all kind of satisfactions; and one which uses to be a reconciling one, two hundred of those guineas I received last night, to do what you will with. Oliv. What, would you pay me for being your bawd? Ver. Nay, pr'ythee no more; go and I'll thoroughly satisfy you when I come home; and then, too, we will have a fit of laughter at Manly, whom I am going to find at the Cock in Bow-street, where I hear he dined. Go, dearest, go home. Eliz. A very pretty turn, indeed, this! [Aside. Ver. Now, cousin, since by my wife I have that honour and privilege of calling you so, I have something to beg of you too; which is, not to take notice of our marriage to any whatever, yet a while, for some reasons very important to me: and next, that you will do my wife the honour to go home with her, and me the favour, to use that power you have with her in our reconcile ment: Eliz. That I dare promise, sir, will be no hard matter. Your servant. [Exit VERNISH.] Well, cousin, this I confess was seasonable hypocrisy; you were the better for't. Oliv. What hypocrisy ? Eliz. Why, this last deceit of your husband was lawful, since in your own defence, Oliv. What deceit? I'd have you to know, I never deceived my husband. Eliz. You do not understand me, sure; I say, this was an honest come-off, and a good one: but 'twas a sign your gallant had had enough of your conversation, since he could so dexterously cheat your husband in passing for a woman. Olio. What d'ye mean? once more with my gallant, and passing for a woman! Oliv. And fooling with my honour will be more offensive. Did you not hear my husband say, he found me with a woman in man's clothes? And d'ye think he does not know a man from a wo man? Eliz. Not so well, I'm sure, as you do ; there fore I'd rather take your word. Oliv. What, you grow scurrilous, and are, I find, more censorious than the world! I must have a care of you, I see. Eliz. No, you need not fear yet-I'll keep your secret. Oliv. My secret! I'd have you to know, I have no need of confidantes, though you value yourself upon being a good one. Eliz. O admirable confidence! you show more in denying your wickedness than other people in glorying in't. Oliv. Confidence to me! to me such language! nay, then I'll never see your face again. I'll quarrel with her, that people may never believe I was in her power; but take for malice all the truth she may speak against me. [Aside.] Lettice, where are you? let us be gone from this censorious ill woman. Eliz. Nay, thou shalt stay a little, to damn thyself quite. [Aside.] One word first: Pray, madam, can you swear that person whom your husband found with you Oliv. Swear! ay, that whosoever 'twas that stole up, unknown, into my room, when 'twas dark, I know not whether man or woman, by heavens, by all that's good; or, may I never more have joys here, or in the other world: nay, may I eternally Eliz. Be damn'd. So, so, you are damn'd enough already by your oaths: and I enough confirm'd; and now you may please to be gone. Yet take this advice with you, in this plain-dealing age, to leave off forswearing yourself; for, when people hardly think the better of a woman for her real modesty, why should you put that great constraint upon yourself to feign it? Oliv. O hideous! hideous advice! Let us go out of the hearing of it. She will spoil us, Lettice. [Exeunt OLIV. and LET. at one door, and ELIZ. at the other. Eliz. What do you mean! you see your hus- The Scene changes to the Cock in Bow-Street. A band took him for a woman. Oliv. Whom? Eliz. Hey-day! why, the man he found you with, for whom last night you were so much afraid, and who, you told me Ofic. Lord, you rave sure! Eliz. Why, did not you tell me last nightOliv. I know not what I might tell you last night, in a fright. Eliz. Ay, what was that fright for? for a wo table and bottles. MANLY and FIDELIA. Man. How! saved her honour, by making her husband believe you were a woman! 'Twas well, but hard enough to do, sure. Fid. We were interrupted before he could contradict me. Mun. But cann't you tell me, d'ye say, what kind of man he was? Fid. I was so frightened, I confess, I can give no other account of him, but that he was pretty tall, round-faced, and one I'm sure I ne'er had seen before. Man. But she, you say, made you swear to return to-night? Fid. But I have since sworn, never to go near her again; for the husband would murder me, or worse, if he caught me again. Man. No, I will go with you, and defend you to-night, and then I'll swear too, never to go near her again. Fid. Nay, indeed, sir, I will not go, to be accessary to your death too: besides, what should you go again, sir, for? Man. No disputing, or advice, sir, you have reason to know I am unalterable. Go, therefore, presently, and write her a note to inquire if her assignation with you holds; and if not to be at her own house, where else? and be importunate to gain admittance to her to-night: let your messenger, ere he deliver your letter, inquire first, if her husband be gone out. Go, 'tis now almost six of the clock; I expect you back here before seven, with leave to see her then. Go, do this dexterously, and expect the performance of my last night's promise, never to part with you. Fid. Ay, sir: but will you be sure to remember that? Man. Did I ever break my word? Go; no more replies, or doubts. Free. Pshaw! but most of 'em are your relations; men of great fortune and honour. Man. Yes; but relations have so much honour, as to think poverty taints the blood; and disown their wanting kindred: believing, I suppose, that, as riches at first make a gentleman, the want of 'em degrades him. But, damn 'em, now I am poor, I'll anticipate their contempt, and disown them. Free. But you have many a female acquaintance, whom you have been liberal to, who may have a heart to refund to you a little, if you would ask it: they are not all Ólivias. Man. Damn thee! how couldst thou think of such a thing? I would as soon rob my footman of his wages: besides, 'twere in vain too: for a wench is like a box in an ordinary, receives all people's money easily; but there's no getting, nay shaking any out again; and he that fills it, is surest never to keep the key. Free. Well, but, noble captain, would you make me believe that you, who know half the town, have so many friends, and have obliged so many, cann't borrow fifty or an hundred pounds? Man. Why, noble lieutenant, you, who know all the town, and call all you know friends, methinks should not wonder at it; since you find ingratitude too; for how many lords' families (though descended from blacksmiths or tinkers) hast thou call'd great and illustrious? how many [Exit FIDELIA.ill tables call'd good eating? how many noisy coxcombs, wits? how many pert, cocking cowards, stout? how many tawdry, affected rogues, well dress'd? how many perukes admired? and how many ill verses applauded? and yet canst not borrow a shilling; dost thou expect I, who always spoke truth, should? Enter FREEMAN to MANLY. Where hast thou been? Free. In the next room, with my Lord Plausible and Novel. Man. Ay, we came hither, because 'twas a private house; but with thee indeed no house can be private, for thou hast that pretty quality of the familiar fops of the town, who, in an eating-house, always keep company with all people in't, but those they came with. Free. I went into their room, but to keep them, and my own fool the 'squire, out of your room; but you shall be peevish now, because you have no money. But why the devil won't you write to those we were speaking of? Since your modesty, or your spirit, will not suffer you to speak to 'em, to lend you money, why won't you try 'em at least that way? Man. Because I know 'em already, and can bear want better than denials; nay, than obligations. Free. Deny you they cannot : all of 'em have been your intimate friends. Man. No, they have been people only I have obliged particularly. Free. Very well; therefore you ought to go to 'em the rather, sure. Man. No, no; those you have obliged most, most certainly avoid you, when you can oblige 'em no longer and they take your visits like so many duns; friends, like mistresses, are avoided, for obligations past. Free. Nay, now you think you have paid me: But, hark you, captain, I have heard of a thing call'd grinning honour, but never of starving ho nour. Man. Well, but it has been the fate of some brave men-and if they won't give me a ship again, I can go starve any where, with a musket on my shoulder. Free. Give you a ship! why, you will not solicit it? Man. If I have not solicited it by my services, I know no other way. Free. Your servant, sir: nay, then, I'm satisfied I must solicit my widow the closer, and run the desperate fortune of matrimony on shore. [Exit. Enter to MANLY, VERNISH. Man. How!-Nay, here is a friend indeed; and he that has him in his arms can know no wants. [Embraces VERNISI. Ver. Dear sir! and he that is in your arms is secure from all fears whatever; nay, our nation is secure, by your defeat at sea; and the Dutch, that fought against you, have proved enemies to themselves only, in bringing you back to us. Man. Fie, fie! this from a friend! and yet from any other 'twere insufferable: I thought I should never have taken any thing ill from you. Ver. A friend's privilege is to speak his mind, though it be taken ill. Man. But your tongue need not tell me you think too well of me: I have found it from your heart, which spoke in actions, your unalterable heart.-But Olivia is false, my friend; which I suppose is no news to you. Ver. He's in the right on't. [Aside. Man. But couldst thou not keep her true to me? Ver. Not for my heart, sir. Man. But could you not perceive it at all, before I went? Could she so deceive us both? Ver. I must confess, the first time I knew it was three days after your departure, when she received the money you had left in Lombardstreet, in her name: and her tears did not hinder her, it seems, from counting that.-You would trust her with all, like a true, generous lover? Man. And she, like a mean, jilting Ver. Traitorous Man. Base Ver. Damn'd Man. Covetous Ver. Mercenary whore.—I can hardly hold from laughing. [dside. Man. Ay, a mercenary whore indeed; for she made me pay her before I lay with her. Ver. How! Why, have you lain with her? Man. Ay, ay. Ver. Nay, she deserves you should report it at least, though you have not. Man. Report it! By Heaven, 'tis true. Man. I do not use to lie, nor you to doubt me. Man. Last night, about seven or eight o'clock. Ver. Ha!-Now I remember, I thought she spoke as if she expected some other, rather than me.-A confounded whore indeed! [Aside. Man. But what, thou wonderest at it! nay, you seem to be angry too. Ver. I cannot but be enraged against her, for her usage of you-damn'd, infamous, commonjade. Man. Nay, her cuckold, who first cuckolded me in my money, shall not laugh all himself; we will do him reason, sha'n't we? Enter FREEMAN backwards, endeavouring to keep out NOVEL, Lord PLAUSIBLE, JERRY, and OLDFOX, who all press in upon him. Free. I tell you, he has a wench with him, and would be private. Man. Damn'em! a man cann't open a bottle in these eating-houses, but presently you have these impudent, intruding, buzzing flies and insects in your glass.-Well, I'll tell thee all anon. In the mean time, pr'ythee go to her, but not from me, and try if you can get her to lend me but an hundred pounds of my money, to supply my present wants; for I suppose there is no recovering any of it by law. Ver. Not any: think not of it: nor by this way neither. Man. Nay, thou art a dangerous rogue, I've heard, behind a man's back. L. Plaus. You wrong him sure, noble captain; he would do a man no more harm behind his back than to his face. Free. I am of my lord's mind. Man. Yes; a fool, like a coward, is the more to be fear'd behind a man's back; more than a witty man; for, as a coward is more bloody than a brave man, a fool is more malicious than a man of wit. Nov. A fool, tar-a fool!-Nay, thou art a brave sea-judge of wit-A fool!-Pr'ythee, when did you ever find me want something to say, as you do often? Man. Nay, I confess, thou art always talking, roaring, or making a noise; that I'll say for thee. Nov. Well; and is talking a sign of a fool? Man. Yes; always talking, especially too if it be loud and fast, is the sign of a fool. Nov. Psha! talking is like fencing, the quicker the better: run 'em down, run 'em down; no matter for parrying: push on still, sa, sa, sa; no matter whether you argue in form, push in guard, or no. Man. Or hit or no : I think thou always talk'st without thinking, Novel. Nov. Ay, ay; studied play's the worse, to follow the allegory, as the old pedant says. Old. A young fop! Man. I ever thought the man of most wit had been like him of most money, who has no vanity in shewing it every where; whilst the beggarly pusher of his fortune has all he has about him still, only to shew. Nov. Well, sir, and makes a very pretty show in the world, let me tell you; nay, a better than your close hunks.-A pox! give me ready money in play; what care I for a man's reputation? What are we the better for your substantial thrifty curmudgeon in wit, sir? Old. Thou art a profuse young rogue indeed. Nov. So much for talking, which I think I have proved a mark of wit: and so is railing, roaring, and making a noise; for railing is satire, you know, and roaring and making a noise, humour. Nov. You rail, and nobody hangs himself; and thou hast nothing of the satyr but in thy face. Old. And you have no jest but your face, sir. Nov. Thou art a fool, with a bad memory. Man. Come, a pox on you both! you have done like wits now; for you wits, when you quarrel, never give over till ye prove one another fools. Nov. And you fools have never any occasion of laughing at us wits, but when we quarrel: therefore let us be friends, Oldfox. Man. They are such wits as thou art, who make the name of a wit as scandalous as that of bully; and signify a loud laughing, talking, incorrigible coxcomb; as bully, a roaring, harden'd coward. Free. And one would have his noise and laughter pass for wit, as t'other his huffing and bluster Enter to them FIDELIA, taking MANLY aside, ing for courage. and shewing him a Paper. Fid. The hour is betwixt seven and eight exactly: 'tis now half an hour after six. Man. Well, go then to the piazza, and wait for me: as soon as it is quite dark, I'll be with you: I must stay here yet a while for my friend. -But is railing satire, Novel? [Erit FIDELIA. Free. And roaring and making a noise, humour? Nov. What, won't you confess there's humour in roaring and making a noise? Free. No. Nov. Nor in cutting napkins and hangings? Nov. Dull fops! Old. O rogue, rogue, insipid rogue !-Nay, gentlemen, allow him those things for wit; for his parts lie only that way. Enter VERNISH. Man. Gentlemen, with your leave, here is one I would speak with; and I have nothing to say to you. [Puts them out of the room. Manent MANLY, VERNISH. ting money out of her: She says, if a shilling Ver. I told you 'twas in vain to think of getwould do it, she would not save you from starving or hanging, or, what you'd think worse, begging or flattering; and rails so at you, one would not think you had lain with her. Man. O, friend, never trust for that matter, in her hatred than her love; and as her fondness a woman's railing; for she is no less a dissembler of her husband is a sign he's a cuckold, her rail Nov. Peace, old fool, I wonder not at thee;ing at another man is a sign she lies with him. Ver. He's in the right on't: I know not what but that young fellows should be so dull as to to trust to. [Aside. say, there's no humour in making a noise, and Man. But you did not take any notice of it breaking windows,-I tell you, there's wit and to her, I hope? humour too in both; and a wit is as well known by his frolic as by his simile. Old. Poor rogue! there's your modern wit for you! wit and humour in breaking of windows! There's mischief, if you will, but no wit or hu mour. Nov. Pr'ythee, pr'ythee, peace, old fool. I tell you, where there is mischief, there's wit. Don't we esteem the monkey a wit amongst beasts, only because he's mischievous? And, let me tell you, as good nature is the sign of a fool, being mischievous is the sign of a wit. Old. O rogue, rogue! pretend to be a wit, by doing mischief and railing! Nov. Why, thou, old fool, hast no other pretence to the name of a wit, but by railing at new plays. Old. Thou, by railing at that facetious, noble way of wit, quibbling. Ver. So! Sure he is afraid I should have dis proved him, by an enquiry of her.—All may be well yet. [Aside. Man. What hast thou in thy head, that makes thee seem so unquiet? my Ver. Only this base, impudent woman's falseness: I cannot put her out of head. Man. O, my dear friend! be not you too sensible of my wrongs; for then I shall feel 'em too, with more pain, and think 'em insufferable.Damn her, her money, and that ill-natured whore too, Fortune herself!-But if thou wouldst ease a little my present trouble, pr'ythee go to borrow me, somewhere else, some money: I can trouble thee. Ver. You trouble me indeed, most sensibly, when you command me any thing I cannot do: I have lately lost a great deal of money at play, more than I can yet pay; so that not only my Nov. Thou call'st thy dulness gravity, and thy money, but my credit too is gone, and know not dozing thinking. Old. You, sir, your dulness spleen; and talk much, and say nothing. you where to borrow, but could rob a church for you [Embraces VERNISH. |