MY LORD,
'Tis long that I have with great impatience waited some opportunity to declare my infinite Respect to your Lordship, coming, I may say, into the World with a Veneration for your Illustrious Family, and being brought up with continual Praises of the Renowned Actions of your glorious Ancestors, both in War and Peace, so famous over the Christian World for their Vertue, Piety, and Learning, their elevated Birth, and greatness of Courage, and of whom all our English History are full of the Wonders of the Lives: A Family of so Ancient Nobility, and from whom so many Heroes have proceeded to bless and serve their King and Country, that all Ages and all Nations mention 'em even with Adoration: My self have been in this our Age an Eye and Ear-witness, with what Transports of Joy, with what unusual Respect and Ceremony, above what we pay to Mankind, the very Name of the Great Howards of Norfolk and Arundel, have been celebrated on Foreign Shores! And when any one of your Illustrious Family have pass'd the Streets, the People throng'd to praise and bless him as soon as his Name has been made known to the glad Croud. This I have seen with a Joy that became a true English heart, (who truly venerate its brave Country-men) and joyn'd my dutiful Respects and Praises with the most devout; but never had the happiness yet of any opportunity to express particularly that Admiration I have and ever had for your Lordship and your Great Family. Still, I say, I did admire you, still I wish'd and pray'd for you; 'twas all I cou'd or durst: But, as my Esteem for your Lordship daily increased with my Judgment, so nothing cou'd bring it to a more absolute height and perfection, than to observe in these troublesome times, this Age of Lying, Peaching, and Swearing with what noble Prudence, what steadiness of Mind, what Loyalty and Conduct you have evaded the Snare, that 'twas to be fear'd was laid for all the Good, the Brave, and Loyal, for all that truly lov'd our best of Kings and this distracted Country. A thousand times I have wept for fear that Impudence and Malice wou'd extend so far as to stain your Noble and ever-Loyal Family with its unavoidable Imputatious; and as often for joy, to see how undauntedly both the Illustrions Duke your Father, and your Self, stem'd the raging Torrent that threatned, with yours, the ruin of the King and Kingdom; all which had not power to shake your Constancy or Loyalty: for which, may Heaven and Earth reward and bless you; the noble Examples to thousands of failing hearts, who from so great a President of Loyalty, became confirm'd. May Heaven and Earth bless you for your pious and resolute bravery of Mind, and Heroick honesty, when you cry'd, Not Guilty; that you durst, like your great self, speak Conscientious Truths in a Juncto so vitious, when Truth and Innocence was criminal: and I doubt not but the Soul of that great Sufferer bows down from Heaven in gratitude for that noble service done it. All these and a thousand marks you give of daily growing Greatness; every day produces to those like me, curious to learn the story of your Life and Actions, something that even adds a Lustre to your great Name, which one wou'd think cou'd be made no more splendid: some new Goodness, some new act of Loyalty or Courage, comes out to cheer the World and those that admire you. Nor wou'd I be the last of those that dayly congratulate and celebrate your rising Glory; nor durst I any other way approach you with it, but this humble one, which carries some Excuse along with it.
Proud of the opportunity then, I most humbly beg your Lordships' patronage of a Comedy, which has nothing to defend it, but the Honour it begs, and nothing to deserve that Honour, but its being in every part true Tory! Loyal all-over! except one Knave, which I hope no body will take to himself; or if he do, I must e'en say with Hamlet, --Then let the strucken Deer go weep--
It has the luck to be well received in the Town; which (not for my Vanity) pleases me, but that thereby I find Honesty begins to come in fashion again, when Loyalty is approv'd, and Whigism becomes a Jest where'er 'tis met with. And, no doubt on't, so long as the Royal Cause has such Patrons as your Lordship, such vigorous and noble Supporters, his Majesty will be great, secure and quiet, the Nation flourishing and happy, and seditious Fools and Knaves that have so long disturb'd the Peace and Tranquility of the World, will become the business and sport of Comedy, and at last the scorn of that Rabble that fondly and blindly worshipt 'em; and whom nothing can so well convince as plain Demonstration, which is ever more powerful and prevailent than Precept, or even Preaching it self. If this have edifi'd effectual, 'tis all I wish; and that your Lordship will be pleas'd to accept the humble Offering, is all I beg, and the greatest Glory I care shou'd be done, MY LORD,
Your Lordship's most Humble
and most Obedient Servant,
A. BEHN.
Sir Timothy Treat-all, an old seditious Knight, ) that keeps open House for Commonwealths- ) Mr. Nokes. men and true blue Protestants, Uncle to T. ) Wilding, ) Tom Wilding, a Tory, his discarded Nephew, Mr. Betterton. Sir Anthony Meriwill, an old Tory Knight of ) Devonshire, ) Mr. Lee. Sir Charles Meriwill, his Nephew, a Tory also, ) in love with L. Galliard, and Friend to ) Mr. Williams. Wilding, ) Dresswell, a young Gentleman, Friend to ) Wilding, ) Mr. Bowman. Foppington, a Hanger-on on Wilding, Mr. Jevon. Jervice, Man to Sir Timothy. Laboir, Man to Tom Wilding. Boy, Page to Lady Galliard. Boy, Page to Diana. Guests, Footmen, Musick, &c.
Lady Galliard, a rich City-Widow, in love with ) Wilding, ) Mrs. Barry. Charlot, The City-Heiress, in love with Wilding, Mrs. Butler. Diana, Mistress to Wilding, and kept by him, Mrs. Corror. Mrs. Clacket, a City Baud and Puritan, Mrs. Norice. Mrs. Closet, Woman to Lady Galliard, Mrs. Lee. Mrs. Sensure, Sir Timothy's Housekeeper. Betty, Maid to Diana. Maid at Charlot's lodging.
SCENE, Within the Walls of London.
Trouble me no more: for I am resolv'd, deaf and obdurate, d'ye see, and so forth.
I beseech ye, Uncle, hear me.
No.
Dear Uncle --
No.
You will be mortify'd --
No.
At least hear me out, Sir.
No, I have heard you out too often, Sir, till you have talkt me out of many a fair Thousand; have had ye out of all the Bayliffs, Serjeants, and Constables Clutches about Town, Sir; have brought you out of all the Surgeons, Apothecaries, and pocky Doctors Hands, that ever pretended to cure incurable Diseases; and have crost ye out of the Books of all the Mercers, Silk-men, Exchange-men, Taylors, Shoemakers, and Sempstresses; with all the rest of the unconscionable City-tribe of the long Bill, that had but Faith enough to trust, and thought me Fool enough to pay.
But, Sir, consider, he's your own Flesh and Blood.
That's more than I'll swear.
Your only Heir.
That's more than you or any of his wise Associates can tell, Sir.
Why his wise Associates? Have you any Exception to the Company he keeps? This reflects on me and young Dresswell, Sir, Men both of Birth and Fortune.
Why, good Sir Charles Meriwill, let me tell you, since you'll have it out, That you and young Dresswell are able to debauch, destroy, and confound all the young imitating Fops in Town.
How, Sir!
Nay, never huff, Sir; for I have six thousand Pound a Year, and value no Man: Neither do I speak so much for your particular, as for the Company you keep, such Tarmagant Tories as these,
who are the very Vermin of a young Heir, and for one tickling give him a thousand bites.
Death! meaning me, Sir?
Yes, you, Sir. Nay, never stare, Sir; I fear you not; No Man's hectoring signifies this -- in the City, but the Constables: no body dares be saucy here, except it be in the King's name.
Sir, I confess he was to blame.
Sir Charles, thanks to Heaven, you may be leud, you have a plentiful Estate, may whore, drink, game, and play the Devil: your Uncle, Sir Anthony Meriwill, intends to give you all his Estate too. But for such Sparks as this, and my Fop in Fashion here, why, with what Face, Conscience, or Religion, can they be leud and vitious, keep their Wenches, Coaches, rich Liveries, and so forth, who live upon Charity, and the Sins of the Nation?
If he hath youthful Vices, he has Virtues too.
Yes, he had, but I know not, you have bewitch'd him amongst ye.
Before he fell to Toryism, he was a sober, civil Youth, and had some Religion in him, wou'd read ye Prayers Night and Morning with a laudable Voice, and cry Amen to 'em; 'twou'd have done one's Heart good to have heard him -- wore decent Clothes, was drunk but on Sundays and Holidays; and then I had Hopes of him.
Ay, Heaven forgive me.
But, Sir, he's now become a new Man, is casting off all his Women, is drunk not above five or six times a week, swears not above once in a quarter of an Hour, nor has not gam'd this two Days --
'Twas because the Devil was in's Pocket then.
-- Begins to take up at Coffee-houses, talks gravely in the City, speaks scandalously of the Government, and rails most abominably against the Pope and the French King.
Ay, ay, this shall not wheedle me out of one English Guinea; and so I told him yesterday.
You did so, Sir.
Yes; by a good Token you were witty upon me, and swore I lov'd and honoured the King no where but on his Coin.
Is it possible, Sir.
God forgive me, Sir; I confess I was a little overtaken.
Ay, so it shou'd seem: for he mistook his own Chamber, and went to bed to my Maid's.
How! to bed to your Maid's! Sure, Sir, 'tis scandal on him.
No, no, he makes his brags on't, Sir. Oh, that crying Sin of Boasting! Well fare, I say, the Days of old Oliver; he by a wholesom Act made it death to boast; so that then a Man might whore his Heart out, and no body the wiser.
Right, Sir, and then the Men pass'd for sober religious Persons, and the Women for as demure Saints --
Ay, then there was no scandal; but now they do not only boast what they do, but what they do not.
I'll take care that fault shall be mended, Sir.
Ay, so will I, if Poverty has any Feats of Mortification; and so farewel to you, Sir.
Stay, Sir, are you resolv'd to be so cruel then, and ruin all my Fortunes now depending?
Most religiously --
You are?
I am.
Death, I'll rob.
Do and be hang'd.
Nay, I'll turn Papist.
Do and be damn'd.
Bless me, Sir, what a Scandal would that be to the Family of the Treat-alls!
Hum! I had rather indeed he turn'd Turk or Jew, for his own sake; but as for scandalizing me, I defy it: My Integrity has been known ever since Forty one; I bought three Thousand a year in Bishops Lands, as 'tis well known, and lost it at the King's return; for which I'm honour'd by the City. But for his farther Satisfaction, Consolation, and Destruction, know, That I Sir Timothy Treat-all, Knight and Alderman, do think my self young enough to marry, d'ye see, and will wipe your Nose with a Son and Heir of my own begetting, and so forth.
Death! marry!
Patience, dear Tom, or thou't spoil all.
Damn him, I've lost all Patience, and can dissemble no longer, though I lose all -- Very good, Sir; harkye, I hope she's young and handsome; or if she be not, amongst the numerous lusty-stomacht Whigs that daily nose your publick Dinners, some may be found, that either for Money, Charity, or Gratitude, may requite your Treats. You keep open House to all the Party, not for Mirth, Generosity or good Nature, but for Roguery. You cram the Brethren, the pious City-Gluttons, with good Cheer, good Wine, and Rebellion in abundance, gormandizing all Comers and Goers, of all Sexes, Sorts, Opinions and Religions, young half-witted Fops, hot-headed Fools, and Malecontents: You guttle and fawn on all, and all in hopes of debauching the King's Liege-people into Commonwealthsmen; and rather than lose a Convert, you'll pimp for him. These are your nightly Debauches -- Nay, rather than you shall want it, I'll cuckold you my self in pure Revenge.
How! Cuckold his own natural Uncle!
Oh, he cannot be so profane.
Profane! why he deny'd but now the having any share in me; and therefore 'tis lawful. I am to live by my Wits, you say, and your old rich good-natur'd Cuckold is as sure a Revenue to a handsome young Cadet, as a thousand Pound a Year. Your tolerable Face and Shape is an Estate in the City, and a better Bank than your Six per Cent. at any time.
Well, Sir, since Nature has funisht you so well, you need but up and ride, show and be rich; and so your Servant, witty Mr. Wilding.
Whilst I am labouring another's good, I quite neglect my own. This cursed, proud, disdainful Lady Galliard, is ever in my Head; she's now at Church, I'm sure, not for Devotion, but to shew her Charms, and throw her Darts amongst the gazing Croud; and grows more vain by Conquest. I'm near the Church, and must step in, though it cost me a new Wound.
I am resolv'd -- Well, dear Charles, let's sup together to night, and contrive some way to be reveng'd of this wicked Uncle of mine. I must leave thee now, for I have an Assignation here at Church.
Hah! at Church!
Ay, Charles, with the dearest She-Saint, and I hope Sinner.
What, at Church? Pox, I shall be discover'd now in my Amours. That's an odd place for Love-Intrigues.
Oh, I am to pass for a sober, discreet Person to the Relations; but for my Mistress, she's made of no such sanctify'd Materials; she is a Widow, Charles, young, rich, and beautiful.
Hah! if this shou'd prove my Widow, now.
And though at her own dispose, yet is much govern'd by Honour, and a rigid Mother, who is ever preaching to her against the Vices of Youth, and t'other end of the Town Sparks; dreads nothing so much as her Daughter's marrying a villanous Tory. So the young one is forc'd to dissemble Religion, the best Mask to hide a kind Mistress in.
This must be my Lady Galliard.
There is at present some ill understanding between us; some damn'd Honourable Fop lays siege to her, which has made me ill received; and I having a new Intrigue elsewhere, return her cold Disdain, but now and then she crosses my Heart too violently to resist her. In one of these hot Fits I now am, and must find some occasion to speak to her.
By Heaven, it must be she -- I am studying now, amongst all our She-Acquaintance, who this shou'd be.
Oh, this is of Quality to be conceal'd; but the dearest loveliest Hypocrite, white as Lillies, smooth as Rushes, and plump as Grapes after a Shower, haughty her Mein, her Eyes full of Disdain, and yet bewitching sweet; but when she loves soft, witty, wanton, all that charms a Soul, and but for now and then a fit of Honour, Oh, damn the Nonsense! wou'd be all my own.
'Tis she, by Heaven!
Methinks this Widow shou'd prove a good Income to you, as things now stand between you and your Uncle.
Ah, Charles, but I am otherways dispos'd of. There is the most charming pretty thing in nature fallen in love with this Person of mine, a rich City-Heiress, Charles, and I have her in possession.
How can you love two at once? I've been as wild and as extravagant, as Youth and Wealth cou'd render me; but ne'er arrived to that degree of Leudness, to deal my Heart about: my Hours I might, but Love shou'd be intire.
Ah, Charles, two such bewitching Faces wou'd give thy Heart the lye: -- But Love divides us, and I must into Church. Adieu till Night.
And I must follow, to resolve my Heart in what it dreads to learn. Here, my Cloke.
Hah, Church is done! See, they are coming forth!
Hah, my Uncle! He must not see me here.
What my old Friend and Acquaintance, Sir Anthony Meriwill!
Sir Timothy Treat-all!
Why, how long have you been in Town, Sir?
About three days, Sir.
Three days, and never came to dine with me! 'tis unpardonable! What, you keep close to the Church, I see: You are for the Surplice still, old Orthodox you; the Times cannot mend you, I see.
No, nor shall they mar me, Sir.
They are discoursing; I'll pass by.
As I take it, you came from Church too.
Ay, needs must when the Devil drives. I go to save my Bacon, as they say, once a Month, and that too after the Porridge is serv'd up.
Those that made it, Sir, are wiser than we. For my part, I love good wholesom Doctrine, that teaches Obedience to the King and Superiors, without railing at the Government, and quoting Scripture for Sedition, Mutiny and Rebellion. Why here was a jolly Fellow this Morning made a notable Sermon. By George, our Country-Vicars are mere Scholars to your Gentlemen Town-Parsons! Hah, how he handled the Text, and run Divisions upon't! 'twould make a Man sin with moderation, to hear how he claw'd away the Vices of the Town, Whoring, Drinking, and Conventicling, with the rest of the deadly number.
Good lack! an he were so good at Whoring and Drinking, you'd best carry your Nephew, Sir Charles Meriwill, to Church; he wants a little documentizing that way.
Hum! you keep your old wont still; a Man can begin no Discourse to you, be it of Prester John, but you still conclude with my Nephew.
Good Lord! Sir Anthony, you need not be so purty; what I say, is the Discourse of the whole City, how lavishly you let him live, and give ill Examples to all young Heirs.
The City! The City's a grumbling, lying, dissatisfy'd City, and no wise or honest Man regards what it says. Do you, or any of the City, stand bound to his Scrivener or Taylor? He spends what I allow him, Sir, his own; and you're a Fool, or Knave, chuse ye whether, to concern your self.
Good lack! I speak but what wiser Men discourse.
Wiser Men! wiser Coxcombs. What, they wou'd have me train my Nephew up, a hopeful Youth, to keep a Merchant's Book, or send him to chop Logick in an University, and have him returned an arrant learned Ass, to simper, and look demure, and start at Oaths and Wenches, whilst I fell his Woods, and grant Leases: And lastly, to make good what I have cozen'd him of, force him to marry Mrs. Crump, the ill-favour'd Daughter of some Right Worshipful. -- A Pox of all of such Guardians!
Do, countenance Sin and Expences, do.
What Sin, what Expences? He wears good Clothes, why, Trades-men get the more by him; he keeps his Coach, 'tis for his Ease; a Mistress, 'tis for his Pleasure; he games, 'tis for his Diversion: And where's the harm of this? is there ought else you can accuse him with?
Yes, -- a Pox upon him, he's my Rival too.
Why then I'll tell you, Sir, he loves a Lady.
If that be a Sin, Heaven help the Wicked!
But I mean honourably --
Honourably! why do you know any Infirmity in him, why he shou'd not marry?
Not I, Sir.
Not you, Sir? why then you're an Ass, Sir -- But is this Lady young and handsom?
Ay, and rich too, Sir.
No matter for Money, so she love the Boy.
Love him! No, Sir, she neither does, nor shall love him.
How, Sir, nor shall love him! By George, but she shall, and lie with him too, if I please, Sir.
How, Sir! lie with a rich City-Widow, and a Lady, and to be married to a fine Reverend old Gentleman within a day or two?
His Name, Sir, his Name; I'll dispatch him presently.
How, Sir, dispatch him! -- Your Servant, Sir.
Hold, Sir! by this abrupt departure, I fancy you the Boy's Rival: Come, draw.
How, draw, Sir!
Ay, draw, Sir; not my Nephew have the Widow!
With all my Soul, Sir; I love and honour your Nephew. I his Rival! alas, Sir, I'm not so fond of Cuckoldom. Pray, Sir, let me see you and Sir Charles at my House, I may serve him in this business; and so I take my leave, Sir -- Draw quoth-a! Pox upon him for an old Tory-rory.
Enter as from Church, L. Galliard, Closet, and Footman: Wilding passes carelessly by her, Sir Charles Meriwill following, wrapt up in his Cloke.
Who's here? Charles muffled in a Cloke peering after a Woman? My own Boy to a Hair! She's handsom too. I'll step aside; for I must see the meaning on't.
Bless me! how unconcern'd he pass'd!
He bow'd low, Madam.
But 'twas in such a fashion, as exprest Indifferency, much worse than Hate from Wilding.
Your Ladyship has us'd him ill of late; yet i your Ladyship please, I'll call him back.
I'll die first -- Hah, he's going! Yet now I think on't I have a Toy of his, which to express my scorn, I'll give him back now -- this Ring.
Shall I carry it, Madam?
You'll not express Disdain enough in the Delivery; and you may call him back.
By Heaven, she's fond of him.
Oh, Mrs. Closet! is it you? -- Madam, your Servant: By this Disdain, I fear your Woman, Madam, has mistaken her Man. Wou'd your Ladyship speak with me?
Yes. -- But what? the God of Love instruct me.
Command me quickly, Madam; for I have business.
Nay, then I cannot be discreet in Love.
Not I, by Heaven; 'tis you are only chang'd.
By George, he's i'th' right.
Death! can she hear this Language?
How dare you name this to me any more?
No, by Heaven, all these increase my Flame.
Perhaps they might, but yet I wonder where
Faith, Madam, from your own encouragement.
From mine! Heavens, what Contempt is this?
When first I paid my Vows, (good Heaven forgive me)
Gad, a fine Fellow this!
To save my Life, I wou'd not marry thee.
That's kindly said.
What, yield my Honour up!
Gad, she's i'th' right too! a noble Girl I'll warrant her.
But you disdain to satisfy these fears;
By Heaven, she yields apace.
Pox on't, wou'd I had ne'er seen her; now I have Legions of small Cupids at Hot-cockles in my Heart.
Now I am pausing on that word Conditions.
Gad
, he's i'th' right again too! a rare Fellow!For, Widow, know, hadst thou more Beauty,
Hum! how will he make that out now?
The stealths of Love, the midnight kind Admittance,
H'as don't! -- A Divine Fellow that; just of my Religion. I am studying now whether I was never acquainted with his Mother.
Tempt me no more! what dull unwary Flame
Heavens! can I yet endure!
By all that's good, I'll marry instantly;
Marry! thou canst not do a better thing;
That will be manag'd by a Man of Wit.
Right.
I have an eye upon a Friend of yours.
A Friend of mine! then he must be my Cuckold.
Very fine! can I endure yet more?
Perhaps it is your Uncle.
Hah, my Uncle!
Hah, my Charles! why, well said, Charles, he bore up briskly to her.
Ah, Madam, may I presume to tell you --
Ah, Pox, that was stark naught! he begins like a Fore-man o'th' Shop, to his Master's Daughter.
How, Charles Meriwill acquainted with my Widow!
Why do you wear that scorn upon your Face?
Hah, Wilding boast my Love!
The Devil take him, my Nephew's quite spoil'd! Why, what a Pox has he to do with Honour now?
Pray leave me, Sir. --
Damn it, since he knows all, I'll boldly own my flame.
How, this from thee! nay, then I must take more.
Gad, well done, Charles! here must be sport anon.
I will not answer every idle Question.
Death, you dare not.
How, dare not!
No, dare not; for if you did --
What durst you, if I did?
Death, cut your Throat, Sir.
Hold, hold, let him have fair play, and then curse him that parts ye.
Hold, I command ye, hold!
There rest my Sword to all Eternity.
Now I conjure ye both, by all your Honour,
A Heavenly Girl! -- Well, now she's gone, by George, I am for disputing your Title to her by dint of Sword.
I wo'not fight.
Another time will decide it, Sir.
After your whining Prologue, Sir, who the Devil would have expected such a Farce? -- Come, Charles, take up thy sword, Charles; and d'ye hear forget me this Woman. --
Forget her, Sir! there never was a thing so excellent!
You lye, Sirrah, you lye, there's a thousand
Oh, Sir, I cannot relish the coarse Fare.
Passion, Sir! you shall have no Passion, Sir.
No Passion, Sir! shall I have Life and Breath?
It may be not, Sirrah, if it be my will and pleasure.
Sir, I am all Obedience.
Obedience! Was ever such a Blockhead! why then, if I command it, you will not love this Woman?
No, Sir.
No, Sir! But I say, Yes, Sir, love her me; and love her me like a Man too, or I'll renounce ye, Sir.
I've try'd all ways to win upon her Heart, Presented, writ, watcht, fought, pray'd, kneel'd, and wept.
Why, there's it now; I thought so: kneel'd and wept! a Pox upon thee -- I took thee for a prettier Fellow --
You shou'd have huft and bluster'd at her door,I cannot, Sir,
Strike such a Fiddle-stick. -- Sirrah, I say, do't; what, you can towse a Wench as handsomely -- You can be leud enough upon occasion. I know not the Lady, nor her Fortune; but I'm resolv'd thou shalt have her, with practising a little Courtship of my Mode. -- Come --
Come, my Boy Charles, since thou must needs be doing,Enough, I've heard enough of Wilding's Vices, to know I am undone.
-- Galliard his Mistress too? I never saw her, but I have heard her fam'd for Beauty, Wit, and Fortune: That Rival may be dangerous.
Yes, Madam, the fair, the young, the witty Lady Galliard, even in the height of his Love to you; nay, even whilst his Uncle courts her for a Wife, he designs himself for a Gallant.
Wondrous Inconstancy and Impudence!
Nay, Madam, you may rely upon Mr. Foppington's Information; therefore if you respect your Reputation, retreat in time.
Reputation! that I forfeited when I ran away with your Friend, Mr. Wilding.
Ah, that ever I shou'd live to see
the sole Daughter and Heir of Sir Nicholas Gett-all, ran away with one of the leudest Heathens about Town!
How, your Friend, Mr. Wilding, a Heathen; and with you too, Mrs. Clacket! that Friend, Mr. Wilding, who thought none so worthy as Mrs. Clacket, to trust with so great a Secret as his flight with me; he a Heathen!
Ay, and a poor Heathen too, Madam. 'Slife, if you must marry a Man to buy him Breeches, marry an honest Man, a Religious Man, a Man that bears a Conscience, and will do a Woman some Reason -- Why, here's Mr. Foppington, Madam; here's a Shape, here's a Face, a Back as strait as an Arrow, I'll warrant.
How! buy him Breeches! Has Wilding then no Fortune?
Yes, Faith, Madam, pretty well; so, so, as the Dice run; and now and then he lights upon a Squire, or so, and between fair and foul Play, he makes a shift to pick a pretty Livelihood up.
How! does his Uncle allow him no present Maintenance?
No, nor future Hopes neither: Therefore, Madam, I hope you will see the Difference between him and a Man of Parts, that adores you.
If I find all this true you tell me, I shall know how to value my self and those that love me. -- This may be yet a Rascal.
Mistress, Mr. Wilding's below.
Below! Oh, Heaven, Madam, do not expose me to his Fury, for being too zealous in your Service.
I will not let him know you told any thing, Sir.
Death! to be seen here, would expose my Life.
Here, here, step out upon the Stair-case, and slip into my Chamber.
Owns, he's here; lock the Door fast; let him not enter.
Oh, Heavens, I have not the Key! hold it, hold it fast, sweet, sweet Mr. Foppington. Oh, should there be Murder done, what a Scandal wou'd that be to the House of a true Protestant!
Heavens! what will he say or think, to see me shut in with a Man?
Oh, I'll say you're sick, asleep, or out of Humour.
I'd give the World to see him.
Charlot, Charlot! am I deny'd an entrance? By Heaven, I'll break the Door.
Oh, I'm a dead Man, dear Clacket!
Oh, hold, Sir, Mrs. Charlot is very sick.
How, sick, and I kept from her!
She begs you'll come again an Hour hence.
Delay'd! by Heaven, I will have entrance.
Ruin'd! undone! for if he do not kill me, he may starve me.
Oh, he will not break in upon us! Hold, Sir, hold a little; Mrs. Charlot is just -- just -- shifting her self, Sir; you will not be so uncivil as to press in, I hope, at such a Time.
I have a fine time on't, between ye, to have him think I am stripping my self before Mr. Foppington -- Let go, or I'll call out and tell him all.
How now, Charlot, what means this new Unkindness? what, not a Word?
There is so little Musick in my Voice, you do not care to hear it: you have been better entertain'd, I find, mightily employ'd, no doubt.
Yes, faith, and so I have, Charlot: damn'd Business, that Enemy to Love, has made me rude.
Or that other Enemy to Love, damn'd Wenching.
Wenching! how ill hast thou tim'd thy Jealousy! What Banker, that to morrow is to pay a mighty Sum, wou'd venture out his Stock to day in little Parcels, and lose his Credit by it?
You wou'd, perfidious as you are, though all your Fortune, all your future Health, depended on that Credit.
So, hark ye, Mrs. Clacket, you have been prating I find in my Absence, giving me a handsom Character to Charlot -- You hate any good thing shou'd go by your own Nose.
By my Nose, Mr. Wilding! I defy you: I'd have you to know, I scorn any good thing shou'd go by my Nose in an uncivil way.
I believe so.
Have I been the Confident to all your Secrets this three years, in Sickness and in Health, for richer, for poorer; conceal'd the Nature of your wicked Diseases, under the honest Name of Surfeits; call'd your filthy Surgeons, Mr. Doctor, to keep up your Reputation; civilly receiv'd your t'other end of the Town young Relations at all Hours --
High!
Been up with you, and down with you early and late, by Night and by Day; let you in at all Hours, drunk and sober, single and double; and civilly withdrawn, and modestly shut the Door after me?
What! The Storm's up, and the Devil cannot lay it.
And I am thus rewarded for my Pains!
So Tempests are allay'd by Showers of Rain.
That I shou'd be charg'd with speaking ill of you, so honest, so civil a Gentleman --
No, I have better Witness of your Falshood.
Hah, 'Sdeath, she'll name me!
What mean you, my Charlot? Do you not think I love you?
Go ask my Lady Galliard, she keeps the best Account of all your Sighs and Vows, And robs me of my dearest softer Hours.
You cannot hold from being kind to him.
Galliard! How came she by that Secret of my Life?
Why, ay, 'tis true, I am there sometimes about an Arbitration, about a Suit in Law, about my Uncle.
Ay, that Uncle too -- You swore to me you were your Uncle's Heir; But you perhaps may chance to get him one, If the Lady prove not cruel.
Death and the Devil, what Rascal has been prating to her!
Whilst I am reserv'd for a dead Lift, if Fortune prove unkind, or wicked Uncles refractory: Yet I cou'd love you though you were a Slave,
And I were Queen of all the Universe.
Ay, there you spoil'd all again -- you forgot your self.
And all the World when he looks kindly on me. But I'll take Courage and be very angry.
Nor do your Perjuries rest here; you're equally as false to Galliard, as to me; false for a little Mistress of the Town, whom you've set up in spite to Quality.
So, that was home and handsom.
What damn'd Informer does she keep in pension?
And can you think my Fortune and my Youth Merits no better Treatment?
How cou'd you have the Heart to use me so?
I fall insensibly to Love and Fondness.
Ah, my dear Charlot! you who know my Heart, can you believe me false?
In every Syllable, in every Look;
Hum! to night!
To night, or I will think you love me for my Fortune;
There you've dasht all again.
I'm resolv'd to keep my Credit with her --
Hah! that Hand without the Ring! Nay, never study for a handsom Lye.
Ring? Oh, ay, I left it in my Dressing-room this Morning.
See how thou hast inur'd thy Tongue to falshood!
By Heaven, 'tis Witchcraft all;
Here, Lord! Lord!
Where they have spy'd a Rascal.
Conceal'd! What dost thou mean, dear Tom? Why, I stood as plain as the Nose on thy Face, mun.
But 'tis the ungrateful Quality of all your sort to make such base returns.
How got this Rogue Admittance, and when in,Admittance! why thou art stark mad: Did not I come in with you, that is, follow'd you?
Whither?
Why, into the House, up stairs, stood behind you when you swore you wou'd come in, and follow'd you in!
All this, and I not see!
Oh, Love's blind; but this Lady saw me, Mrs. Clacket saw me -- Admittance quotha!
Why did you not speak?
Speak! I was so amaz'd at what I heard, the villanous Scandals laid on you by some pick-thank Rogue or other, I had no Power.
Ay, thou know'st how I am wrong'd.
Oh, most damnably, Sir!
Abuse me to my Mistress too!
Oh, Villains! Dogs!
Do you think thy have wrong'd him, Sir? for I'll believe you.
Do I think, Madam? Ay, I think him a Son of a Whore that said it; and I'll cut his Throat.
Well, this Impudence is a heavenly Virtue.
You see now, Madam, how Innocence may suffer.
In spite of all thy villanous dissembling, I must believe, and love thee for my quiet.
That's kind; and if before to morrow I do not shew you I deserve your Heart, kill me at once by quitting me -- Farewel -- I know where both my Uncle's Will and other Writings lie, by which he made me Heir to his whole Estate.
My Craft will be in catching; which if past,What if he should not chance to keep his Word now?
How, if he shou'd not! by all that's good, if he shou'd not, I am resolv'd to marry him however. We two may make a pretty Shift with three thousand Pound a year; yet I wou'd fain be resolv'd how Affairs stand between the old Gentleman and him. I wou'd give the World to see that Widow too, that Lady Galliard.
If you're bent upon 't, I'll tell you what we'll do, Madam; There's every Day mighty Feasting here at his Uncle's hard by, and you shall disguise your self as well as you can, and so go for a Niece of mine I have coming out of Scotland; there you will not fail of seeing my Lady Galliard, though, I doubt, not Mr. Wilding, who is of late discarded.
Enough; I am resolv'd upon this Design; let's in and practise the northern Dialect.
But then Diana took the Ring at last?
Greedily, but rail'd, and swore, and ranted at your late Unkindness, and wou'd not be appeas'd.
Dresswell, I was just going to see for thee.
I'm glad, dear Tom, I'm here to serve thee.
And now I've found thee, thou must along with me.
Whither? but I'll not ask, but obey.
To a kind Sinner, Frank.
Pox on 'em all; prithee turn out those petty Tyrants of thy Heart, and fit it for a Monarch, Love, dear Wilding, of which thou never knew'st the Pleasure yet, or not above a day.
Not knew the Pleasure! Death, the very Essence, the first Draughts of Love. Ah, how pleasant 'tis to drink when a Man's a dry!
The rest is all but dully sipping on.And yet this Diana, for thither thou art going, thou hast been constant to this three or four Years.
A constant Keeper thou mean'st; which is indeed enough to get the Scandal of a Coxcomb: But I know not, those sort of Baggages have a kind of Fascination so inticing -- and faith, after the Fatigues of formal Visits to a Man's dull Relations, or what's as bad, to Women of Quality; after the busy Afflictions of the Day, and the Debauches of the tedious Night, I tell thee, Frank, a Man's best Retirement is with a soft kind Wench. But to say Truth, I have a farther Design in my Visit now. Thou know'st how I stand past hope of Grace, excommunicated the Kindness of my Uncle.
True.
My leud Debauches, and being o'th' wrong Party, as he calls it, is now become an irreconcilable Quarrel, so that I having many and hopeful Intrigues now depending, especially those of my charming Widow, and my City-Heiress, which can by no means be carried on without that damn'd necessary call'd ready Mony; I have stretcht my Credit, as all young Heirs do, till 'tis quite broke. New Liveries, Coaches, and Clothes must be had, they must, my Friend.
Why do'st thou not in this Extremity clap up a Match with my Lady Galliard? or this young Heiress you speak of?
But Marriage, Frank, is such a Bugbear! And this old Uncle of mine may one day be gathered together, and sleep with his Fathers, and then I shall have six thousand Pound a Year, and the wide World before me; and who the Devil cou'd relish these Blessings with the clog of a Wife behind him? -- But till then, Money must be had, I say.
Ay, but how, Sir?
Why, from the old Fountain, Jack, my Uncle; he has himself decreed it: He tells me I must live upon my Wits, and will, Frank.
Gad
, I'm impatient to know how.I believe thee, for thou art out at Elbows; and when I thrive, you show it i'th' Pit, behind the Scenes, and at Coffee-houses. Thy Breeches give a better account of my Fortune, than Lilly with all his Schemes and Stars.
I own I thrive by your influence, Sir.
Well, but to your Project, Friend, to which I'll set a helping Hand, a Heart, a Sword, and Fortune.
You make good what my Soul conceives of you. Let's to Diana then, and there I'll tell thee all.
-- Diana, I was just going to thy Lodgings!
Oh, las, you are too much taken up with your rich City-Heiress.
That's no cause of quarrel between you and I, Diana: you were wont to be as impatient for my marrying, as I for the Death of my Uncle; for your rich Wife ever obliges her Husband's Mistress; and Women of your sort, Diana, ever thrive better by Adultery than Fornication.
Do, try to appease the easy Fool with these fine Expectations -- No, I have been too often flatter'd with the hopes of your marrying a rich Wife, and then I was to have a Settlement; but instead of that, things go backward with me, my Coach is vanish'd, my Servants dwindled into one necessary Woman and a Boy, which to save Charges, is too small for any Service; my twenty Guineas a Week, into forty Shillings; a hopeful Reformation!
Patience, Diana, things will mend in time.
When, I wonder? Summer's come, yet I am still in my embroider'd Manteau, when I'm drest, lin'd with Velvet; 'twould give one a Fever but to look at me: yet still I am flamm'd off with hopes of a rich Wife, whose Fortune I am to lavish. -- But I see you have neither Conscience nor Religion in you; I wonder what a Devil will become of your Soul for thus deluding me!
By Heaven, I love thee!
Love me! what if you do? how far will that go at the Exchange for Point? Will the Mercer take it for current Coin? -- But 'tis no matter, I must love a Wit with a Pox, when I might have had so many Fools of Fortune: but the Devil take me, if you deceive me any longer.
You'll keep your word, no doubt, now you have sworn.
So I will. I never go abroad, but I gain new Conquests. Happy's the Man that can approach nearest the Side-box where I sit at a Play, to look at me; but if I deign to smile on him, Lord, how the overjoy'd Creature returns it with a Bow low as the very Benches; Then rising, shakes his Ears, looks round with Pride, to see who took notice how much he was in favour with charming Mrs. Dy.
No more, come, let's be Friends, Diana; for you and I must manage an Uncle of mine.
Damn your Projects, I'll have none of 'em.
Here, here's the best softner of a Woman's Heart; 'tis Gold, two hundred Pieces: Go, lay it out, till you shame Quality into plain Silk and Fringe.
Lord, you have the strangest power of persuasion! Nay, if you buy my Peace, I can afford a Pennyworth.
So thou canst of anything about thee.
Well, your Project, my dear Tommy?
Thus then -- Thou, dear Frank, shalt to my Uncle, tell him, that Sir Nicholas Gett-all, as he knows, being dead, and having left, as he knows too, one only Daughter his whole Executrix, Mrs. Charlot, I have by my civil and modest Behaviour, so won upon her Heart, that two Nights since she left her Father's Country-house at Lusum in Kent, in spite of all her strict Guards, and run away with me.
How, wilt thou tell him of it, then?
Hear me -- That I have hitherto secur'd her at a Friend's House here in the City; but diligent search being now made, dare trust her there no longer: and make it my humble Request by you, my Friend, (who are only privy to this Secret) that he wou'd give me leave to bring her home to his House, whose very Authority will defend her from being sought for there.
Ay, Sir, but what will come of this, I say?
Why, a Settlement; you know he has already made me Heir to all he has, after his decease: but for being a wicked Tory, as he calls me, he has after the Writings were made, sign'd, and seal'd, refus'd to give 'em in trust. Now when he sees I have made my self Master of so vast a Fortune, he will immediately surrender; that reconciles all again.
Very likely; but wo't thou trust him with the Woman, Thomas.
No, here's Diana, who, as I shall bedizen, shall pass for as substantial an Alderman's Heiress as ever fell into wicked Hands. He never knew the right Charlot, nor indeed has any body ever seen her but an old Aunt and Nurse, she was so kept up -- And there, Diana, thou shalt have a good opportunity to lye, dissemble, and jilt in abundance, to keep thy hand in ure. Prithee, dear Dresswell, haste with the News to him.
Faith, I like this well enough; this Project may take, and I'll about it.
Go, get ye home, and trick and betauder your self up like a right City-Lady, rich, but ill-fashion'd; on with all your Jewels, but not a Patch, ye Gypsy, nor no Spanish Paint d'ye hear.
I'll warrant you for my part.
Then before the old Gentleman, you must behave your self very soberly, simple, and demure, and look as prew as at a Conventicle; and take heed you drink not off your Glass at Table, nor rant, nor swear: one Oath confounds our Plot, and betrays thee to be an arrant Drab.
Doubt not my Art of Dissimulation.
Go, haste and dress --
Hah, who's yonder? the Widow! a Pox upon't, now have I not power to stir; she has a damn'd hank upon my Heart, and nothing but right down lying with her will dissolve the Charm. She has forbid me seeing her, and therefore I am sure will the sooner take notice of me.
What will you put on to night, Madam? you know you are to sup at Sir Timothy Treat-all's.
Time enough for that; prithee let's take a turn in this Balcony, this City-Garden, where we walk to take the fresh Air of the Sea-coal Smoak. Did the Footman go back, as I ordered him, to see how Wilding and Sir Charles parted?
He did, Madam, and nothing cou'd provoke Sir Charles to fight after your Ladyship's strict Commands. Well, I'll swear he's the sweetest natur'd Gentleman -- has all the advantages of Nature and Fortune: I wonder what Exception your Ladyship has to him.
Some small Exception to his whining Humour; but I think my chiefest dislike is, because my Relations wish it a Match between us. It is not hate to him, but natural contradiction. Hah, is not that Wilding yonder? he's reading of a Letter sure.
So, she sees me. Now for an Art to make her lure me up: for though I have a greater mind than she, it shall be all her own; the Match she told me of this Morning with my Uncle, sticks plaguily upon my Stomach; I must break the Neck on't, or break the Widow's Heart, that's certain. If I advance towards the Door now, she frowningly retires; if I pass on, 'tis likely she may call me.
I think he's passing on,
He's glad of the excuse of being forbidden.
But, Closet, know'st thou not he has abus'd my Fame,
And does he think to pass thus unupbraided?So, I shall not answer to that Call.
He's going! Ah, Closet, my Fan! --
Cry mercy, Sir, I am sorry I must trouble you to bring it.
Faith, so am I; and you may spare my Pains, and send your Woman for't, I'm in haste.
Then the quickest way will be to bring it.
I knew I should be drawn in one way or other.
Stay, I hear you're wondrous free of your Tongue, when 'tis let loose on me.
Who, I, Widow? I think of no such trifles.
Such Railers never think when they're abusive; but something you have said, a Lye so infamous!
A Lye, and infamous of you! impossible! What was it that I call'd you, Wise or Honest?
How can you accuse me with the want of either?
Yes, of both: Had you a grain of Honesty, or intended ever to be thought so, wou'd you have the impudence to marry an old Coxcomb, a Fellow that will not so much as serve you for a Cloke, he is so visibly and undeniably impotent?
Your Uncle you mean.
I do, who has not known the Joy of Fornication this thirty Year, and now the Devil and you have put it into his Head to marry, forsooth. Oh, the Felicity of the Wedding-Night!
Which you, with all your railing Rhetorick, shall not have power to hinder.
Not if you can help it; for I perceive you are resolved to be a leud incorrigible Sinner, and marry'st this seditious doting Fool my Uncle, only to hang him out for the sign of the Cuckold, to give notice where Beauty is to be purchas'd, for fear otherwise we should mistake, and think thee honest.
So much for my want of Honesty; my Wit is the part of the Text you are to handle next.
Let the World judge of that by this one Action: This Marriage undisputably robs you both of your Reputation and Pleasure. Marry an old Fool, because he's rich! when so many handsome proper younger Brothers wou'd be glad of you.
Of which hopeful number your self are one.
Who, I! Bear witness, Closet; take notice I'm upon my Marriage, Widow, and such a Scandal on my Reputation might ruin me; therefore have a care what you say.
Ha, ha, ha, Marriage! Yes, I hear you give it out, you are to be married to me: for which Defamation, if I be not reveng'd, hang me.
Yes, you are reveng'd; I had the fame of vanquishing where'er I laid my Seige, till I knew thee, hard-hearted thee; had the honest Reputation of lying with the Magistrates Wives, when their Reverend Husbands were employ'd in the necessary Affairs of the Nation, seditiously petitioning: and then I was esteemed; but now they look on me as a monstrous thing, that makes honourable Love to you. Oh, hideous, a Husband Lover! so that now I may protest, and swear, and lye my Heart out, I find neither Credit nor Kindness; but when I beg for either, my Lady Galliard's thrown in my Dish: Then they laugh aloud, and cry, who wou'd think it of gay, of fine Mr. Wilding? Thus the City She-wits are let loose upon me, and all for you, sweet Widow: but I am resolv'd I will redeem my Reputation again, if never seeing you, nor writing to you more, will do it. And so farewel, faithless and scandalous honest Woman.
Stay, Tyrant.
I am engag'd.
You are not.
I am, and am resolv'd to lose no more time on a peevish Woman, who values her Honour above her Lover.
Go, this is the noblest way of losing thee.
Must I not call him back?
No, if any honest Lover come, admit him; I will forget this Devil. Fetch me some Jewels; the Company to night at Sir Timothy's may divert me.
Madam, one, Sir Anthony Meriwill, wou'd speak with your Ladyship.
Admit him; sure 'tis Sir Charles his Uncle; if he come to treat a Match with me for his Nephew, he takes me in a critical Minute. Wou'd hebut leave his whining, I might love him, if 'twere but in Revenge.
So, I have tutor'd the young Rogue, I hope he'll learn in time. Good Day to your Ladyship; Charles
my Nephew here, Madam -- Sirrah -- notwithstanding your Ladyship's Commands -- Look how he stands now, being a mad young Rascal! -- Gad, he wou'd wait on your Ladyship -- A Devil on him, see if he'll budge now -- For he's a brisk Lover, Madam, when he once begins. A Pox on him, he'll spoil all yet.
Please you sit, Sir.
Madam, I beg your Pardon for my Rudeness.
Still whining? --
D'ye hear that, Sirrah? oh, damn it, beg Pardon! the Rogue's quite out of's part.
Madam, I fear my Visit is unseasonable.
Unseasonable! damn'd Rogue, unseasonable to a Widow? -- Quite out.
There are indeed some Ladies that wou'd be angry at an untimely Visit, before they've put on their best Faces, but I am none of those that wou'd be fair in spite of Nature, Sir -- Put on this Jewel here.
That Beauty needs no Ornament, Heaven has been too bountiful.
Heaven! Oh Lord, Heaven! a puritanical Rogue, he courts her like her Chaplain.
You are still so full of University Complements --
D'ye hear that, Sirrah? -- Ay, so he is, indeed, Madam -- To her like a Man, ye Knave.
Ah, Madam, I am come --
To shew your self a Coxcomb.
To tire me with Discourses of your Passion -- Fie, how this Curl fits!
No, you shall hear no more of that ungrateful Subject.
Son of a Whore, hear no more of Love, damn'd Rogue! Madam, by George, he lyes; he does come to speak of Love, and make Love, and to do Love, and all for Love -- Not come to speak of Love, with a Pox! Owns, Sir, behave your self like a Man; be impudent, be saucy, forward, bold, touzing, and leud, d'ye hear, or I'll beat thee before her: why, what a Pox!
Finding my Hopes quite lost in your unequal Favours to young Wilding, I'm quitting of the Town.
You will do well to do so -- lay by that Necklace, I'll wear Pearl to day.
Confounded Blockhead! -- by George, he lyes again, Madam. A Dog, I'll disinherit him.
He quit the Town, Madam! no, not whilst your Ladyship is in it, to my Knowledge. He'll live in the Town, nay, in the Street where you live; nay, in the House; nay, in the very Bed, by George; I've heard him a thousand times swear it. Swear it now, Sirrah: look, look, how he stands now! Why, dear Charles, good Boy, swear a little, ruffle her, and swear, damn it, she shall have none but thee.
Why, you little think, Madam, that this Nephew of mine is one of the maddest Fellows in all Devonshire.
Wou'd I cou'd see't, Sir.
See't! look ye there, ye Rogue -- Why, 'tis all his Fault, Madam. He's seldom sober; then he has a dozen Wenches in pay, that he may with the more Authority break their Windows. There's never a Maid within forty Miles of Meriwill-Hall to work a Miracle on, but all are Mothers. He's a hopeful Youth, I'll say that for him.
How I have lov'd you, my Despairs shall witness: for I will die to purchase your Content.
Die, a damn'd Rogue! Ay, ay, I'll disinherit him: A Dog, die, with a Pox! No, he'll be hang'd first, Madam.
And sure you'll pity me when I'm dead.
A curse on him; pity, with a Pox. I'll give him ne'er a Souse.
Give me that Essence-bottle.
But for a Recompence of all my Sufferings --
Sprinkle my Handkerchief with Tuberose.
I beg a Favour you'd afford a Stranger.
Sooner, perhaps. What Jewel's that?
One Sir Charles Meriwill --
Sent, and you receiv'd without my Order! No wonder that he looks so scurvily. Give him the Trifle back to mend his Humour.
I thank you, Madam, for that Reprimand. Look in that Glass, Sir, and admire that sneaking Coxcomb's Countenance of yours: a pox on him, he's past Grace, lost, gone: not a Souse, not a Groat; good b'ye to you, Sir. Madam, I beg your Pardon; the next time I come a wooing, it shall be for my self, Madam, and I have something that will justify it too; but as for this Fellow, if your Ladyship have e'er a small Page at leisure, I desire he may have Order to kick him down Stairs. A damn'd Rogue, to be civil now, when he shou'd have behav'd himself handsomely! Not an Acre, not a Shilling -- buy Sir Softhead.
Hah, who have we here, hum, the fine mad Fellow? so, so, he'll swinge him, I hope; I'll stay to have the pleasure of seeing it done.
I was sure 'twas Meriwill's Coach at Door.
Hah, Wilding!
Ay, now, Sir, here's one will waken ye, Sir.
How now, Widow, you are always giving Audience to Lovers, I see.
You're very free, Sir.
I am always so in the Widow's Lodgings, Sir.
A rare Fellow!
You will not do't elsewhere?
Not with so much Authority.
An admirable Fellow! I must be acquainted with him.
Is this the Respect you pay Women of her Quality?
The Widow knows I stand not much upon Ceremonies.
Gad, he shall be my Heir.
Pardon him, Sir, this is his Cambridge Breeding.
Ay, so 'tis, so 'tis, that two Years there quite spoil'd him.
Sir, if you've any further Business with me, speak it; if not, I'm going forth.
Madam, in short --
In short to a Widow, in short! quite lost.
I find you treat me ill for my Respect; And when I court you next, I will forget how very much I love you.
Sir, I shall be proud of your farther Acquaintance; for I like, love, and honour you.
I'll study to deserve it, Sir.
Madam, your Servant. A damn'd sneaking Dog, to be civil and modest with a Pox!
See if my Coach be ready.
Whether are you janting now?
Where you dare not wait on me, to your Uncle's to Supper.
That Uncle of mine pimps for all the Sparks of his Party;
There they all meet and bargain without Scandal:Madam, here's Sir Timothy Treat-all come to wait on your Ladyship to Supper.
My Uncle! Oh, damn him, he was born to be my Plague: not-Disinheriting me had not been so great a Disappointment; and if he sees me here, I ruin all the Plots I've laid for him. Ha, he's here.
How, my Nephew Thomas here!
Madam, I find you can be cruel too, Knowing my Uncle has abandon'd me.
How now, Sir, what's your Business here?
I came to beg a Favour of my Lady Galliard, Sir, knowing her Power and Quality here in the City.
How a Favour of my Lady Galliard! The Rogue said indeed he would cuckold me.
Why, Sir, I thought you had been taken up with your rich Heiress?
That was my Business now, Sir: Having in my possession the Daughter and Heir of Sir Nicholas Gett-all, I would have made use of the Authority of my Lady Galliard's House to have secur'd her, till I got things in order for our Marriage; but my Lady, to put me off, cries I have an Uncle.
A well contrived Lye.
Well, I have heard of your good Fortune; and however a Reprobate thou hast been, I'll not shew my self so undutiful an Uncle, as not to give the Gentlewoman a little House-room: I heard indeed she was gone a week ago, And, Sir, my House is at your Service.
I humbly thank you, Sir. Madam, your Servant. A pox upon him and his Association.
Come, Madam, my Coach waits below.
Here, take my Sword, Jervice. What have you inquir'd, as I directed you, concerning the rich Heiress, Sir Nicholas Get-all's Daughter?
Alas, Sir, inquir'd! why, 'tis all the City-News that she's run away with one of the maddest Tories about Town.
Good Lord! Ay, ay, 'tis so; the plaguy Rogue my Nephew has got her. That Heaven shou'd drop such Blessings in the Mouths of the wicked! Well, Jervice, what Company have we in the House, Jervice?
Why truly, Sir, a fine deal, considering there's no Parliament.
What Lords have we, Jervice?
Lords, Sir, truly none.
None! what, ne'er a Lord! some mishap will befall me, some dire mischance! Ne'er a Lord! ominous, ominous! our Party dwindles daily. What, nor Earl, nor Marquess, nor Duke, nor ne'er a Lord! Hum, my Wine will lie most villanously upon my Hands to Night. Jervice, what, have we store of Knights and Gentlemen?
I know not what Gentlemen there be, Sir; but there are Knights, Citizens, their Wives and Daughters.
Make us thankful for that; our Meat will not lie upon our Hands then, Jervice: I'll say that for our little Londoners, they are as tall Fellows at a well-charg'd Board as any in Christendom.
Then, Sir, there's Nonconformist-Parsons.
Nay, then we shall have a clear Board; for your true Protestant Appetite in a Lay-Elder, does a Man's Table Credit.
Then, Sir, there's Country Justices and Grand-Jury-Men.
Well enough, well enough, Jervice.
An't like your Worship, Mr. Wilding is come in with a Lady richly drest in Jewels, mask'd, in his Hand, and will not be deny'd speaking with your Worship.
Hah, rich in Jewels! this must be she. My Sword again, Jervice. -- Bring 'em up, Sensure. -- Prithee how do I look to Night, Jervice?
Oh, most methodically, Sir.
Sir, I have brought into your kind protection the richest Jewel all London can afford, fair Mrs. Charlot Gett-all.
Bless us, she's ravishing fair! Lady, I had the honour of being intimate with your worthy Father. I think he has been dead --
If he catechize me much on that point, I shall spoil all.
Alas, Sir, name him not; for if you do,
I'm sure I cannot answer you one Question.
For Heaven sake, Sir, name not her Father to her; the bare remembrance of him kills her.
Alas, poor Soul! Lady, I beg your Pardon. How soft-hearted she is! I am in love; I find already a kind of tickling of I know not what, run frisking through my Veins.
Ay, Sir, the good Alderman has been dead this twelve-month just, and has left his Daughter here, my Mistress, three thousand Pound a Year.
Three thousand Pound a Year! Yes, yes, I am in love.
Besides Money, Plate, and Jewels.
I'll marry her out of hand,
Alas, I cou'd even weep too; but 'tis in vain. Well, Nephew, you may be gone now; for 'tis not necessary you shou'd be seen here, d'ye see.
You see, Sir, now, what Heaven has done for me; and you have often told me, Sir, when that was kind you wou'd be so. Those Writings, Sir, by which you were so good to make me Heir to all your Estate, you said you wou'd put into my possession, whene'er I made it appear to you I could live without 'em, or bring you a Wife of Fortune home.
And I will keep my word; 'tis time enough.
I have, 'tis true, been wicked; but I shall now turn from my evil ways, establish my self in the religious City, and enter into the Association. There want but these same Writings, Sir, and your good Character of me.
Thou shalt have both, all in good time, Man: Go, go thy ways, and I'll warrant thee for a good Character, go.
Ay, Sir, but the Writings, because I told her, Sir, I was your Heir; nay, forc'd to swear too, before she wou'd believe me.
Alas, alas! how shreudly thou wert put to't!
I told her too, you'd buy a Patent for me; for nothing woos a City-Fortune like the hopes of a Ladyship.
I'm glad of that; that I can settle on her presently.
You may please to hint something to her of my godly Life and Conversation; that I frequent Conventicles, and am drunk no where but at your true Protestant Consults and Clubs, and the like.
Nay, if these will please her, I have her for certain.
Go, go, fear not my good word.
But the Writings, Sir --
Am I a Jew, a Turk? Thou shalt have any thing, now I find thee a Lad of Parts, and one that can provide so well for thy Uncle.
Wou'd they were hang'd that trust you, that have but the art of Legerdemain, and can open the Japan-Cabinet in your Bed-chamber, where I know those Writings are kept. Death, what a disappointment's here! I wou'd ha' sworn this Sham had past upon him.
But, Sir, shall I not have the Writings now?
What, not gone yet! for shame, away; canst thou distrust thy own natural Uncle? Fie, away, Tom, away.
A Plague upon your damn'd Dissimulation, that never failing Badge of all your Party, there's always mischief at the bottom on't; I know ye all; and Fortune be the Word. When next I see you, Uncle, it shall cost you dearer.
An't please your Worship, Supper's almost over, and you are askt for.
They know I never sup; I shall come time enough to bid 'em welcome.
I keep you, Sir, from Supper, and better Company.
Lady, Were I a Glutton, I cou'd be satisfy'd With feeding on those two bright starry Eyes.
You are a Courtier, Sir; we City-Maids do seldom hear such Language; in which you shew your kindness to your Nephew, more than your thoughts of what my Beauty merits.
Lord, Lord, how innocent she is!
My nephew, Madam? yes, yes, I cannot chuse but be wondrous kind upon his score.
Nay, he has often told me, you were the best of Uncles, and he deserves your goodness, so hopeful a young Gentleman.
Wou'd I cou'd see't.
So modest.
Yes, ask my Maids.
So civil.
Yes, to my Neighbours Wives.
But so, Madam, I find by this high Commendation of my Nephew, your Ladyship has a very slender opinion of your devoted Servant the while: or else, Madam, with this not disagreeable Face and Shape of mine, six thousand Pound a year, and other Virtues and Commodities that shall be nameless, I see no reason why I shou'd not beget an Heir of my own Body, had I the helping hand of a certain victorious Person in the World, that shall be nameless.
Meaning me, I am sure; if I shou'd marry him now, and disappoint my dear Inconstant with an Heir of his own begetting, 'twou'd be a most wicked Revenge for past Kindnesses.
I know your Ladyship is studying now who this victorious Person shou'd be, whom I dare not name: but let it suffice, she is, Madam, within a Mile of an Oak.
No, Sir, I was considering, if what you say be true,
My Heir, Madam! am I so visibly old to be so desperate?
No, I'm in my years of desires and discretion,I took him for the hopefullest Gentleman --
Let him hope on, so will I; and yet, Madam, in consideration of your Love to him, and because he is my Nephew, young, handsome, witty, and so forth, I am content to be so much a Parent to him, as if Heaven please, -- to see him fairly hang'd.
How, Sir!
He has deserv'd it, Madam: First, for lampooning the Reverend City with its noble Government, with the Right Honourable Gown-men; libelling some for Feasting, and some for Fasting, some for Cuckolds, and some for Cuckold-makers; charging us with all the seven deadly Sins, the Sins of our Fore-fathers, adding seven score more to the number; the Sins of Forty-One reviv'd again in Eighty-One, with Additions and Amendments; for which, though the Writings were drawn, by which I made him my whole Executor, I will disinherit him. Secondly, Madam, he deserves hanging for seducing, and most feloniously bearing away a young City-Heiress.
Undone, undone! Oh, with what Face can I return again!
What Man of Wealth or Reputation, nowYes, yes, Madam, there are honest, discreet, religious, and true Protestant Knights in the City, that wou'd be proud to dignify and distinguish so worthy a Gentlewoman.
Look to your hits, and take fortune by the forelock, Madam.
-- Alas, Madam, no Knight, and poor too!
As a Tory Poet.
Well, Madam, take Comfort; if the worst come to the worst, you have Estate enough for both.
Ay, Betty, were he but honest, Betty.
Honest! I think he will not steal; but for his Body, the Lord have mercy upon't, for he has none.
'Tis evident, I am betray'd, abus'd;
A small fault with him; he has flatter'd and sworn me out of many a fair Thousand: why, he has no more Conscience than a Politician, nor no more Truth than a Narrative (under the Rose).
Is there no Truth nor Honesty i'th' World?
Troth, very little, and that lies all i'th' City amongst us sober Magistrates.
Were I a Man, how wou'd I be reveng'd!
Your Ladyship might do it better as you are were I worthy to advise you.
Name it.
Why, by marrying your Ladyship's most assur'd Friend, and most humble Servant, Timothy Treat-all of London, Alderman.
Ay, this is something, Mistress; here's Reason.
But I have given my Faith and Troth to Wilding, Betty.
Faith and Troth! We stand upon neither Faith nor Troth in the City, Lady. I have known an Heiress married and bedded, and yet with the Advice of the wiser Magistrates, has been unmarried and consummated anew with another, so it stands with our Interest: 'tis Law by Magna Charta. Nay, had you married my ungracious Nephew, we might by this our Magna Charta have hang'd him for a Rape.
What, though he had my Consent?
That's nothing, he had not ours.
Then shou'd I marry you by stealth, the Danger wou'd be the same.
No, no, Madam, we never accuse one another; 'tis the poor Rogues, the Tory Rascals we always hang. Let 'em accuse me if they please; alas, I come off hand-smooth with Ignoramus.
Sir, there's such a calling for your Worship! They are all very merry, the Glasses go briskly about.
Go, go, I'll come when all the Healths are past; I love no Healths.
They are all over, Sir, and the Ladies are for dancing; so they are all adjourning from the Dining-room hither, as more commodious for that Exercise. I think they're coming, Sir.
Hah, coming! Call Sensure to wait on the Lady to her Apartment. --
And, Madam, I do most heartily recommend my most humble Address to your most judicious Consideration, hoping you will most vigorously, and with all your might, maintain the Rights and Privileges of the Honourable City; and not suffer the Force or Persuasion of any Arbitrary Lover whatsoever, to subvert their antient and Fundamental Laws, by seducing and forcibly bearing away so rich and so illustrious a Lady: and, Madam, we will unaminously stand by you with our Lives and Fortunes. -- This I learnt from a Speech at the Election of a Burgess.
And if I keep it not, say I'm a Coward, Uncle.
More Wine there, Boys, I'll keep the Humour up.
How! young Meriwill so close to the Widow -- Madam --
Sir Timothy, why, what a Pox dost thou bring that damn'd Puritanical, Schismatical, Fanatical, Small-beer-Face of thine into good Company? Give him a full Glass to the Widow's Health.
O lack, Sir Charles, no Healths for me, I pray.
Hark ye, leave that cozening, canting, sanctify'd Sneer of yours, and drink ye me like a sober loyal Magistrate, all those Healths you are behind, from his sacred Majesty, whom God long preserve, with the rest of the Royal Family, even down to this wicked Widow, whom Heaven soon convert from her leud designs upon my Body.
A rare Boy! he shall have all my Estate.
How, the Widow a leud design upon his Body! Nay, then I am jealous.
I a leud design upon your Body; for what, I wonder?
Why, for villanous Matrimony.
Who, I?
Who, you! yes, you.
Why are those Eyes drest in inviting Love?How's that, how's that! Charles at his Adorables and Charms! He must have t'other Health, he'll fall to his old Dog-trot again else. Come, come, every man his Glass; Sir Timothy, you are six behind: Come, come, Charles, name 'em all.
-- Not bate ye an Ace, Sir. Come, his Majesty's Health, and Confusion to his Enemies.
Hold, Sir, hold, if I must drink, I must; but this is very arbitrary, methinks.
And now, Sir, to the Royal Duke of Albany. Musick, play a Scotch Jig.
This is mere Tyranny.
Sir, there is alighted at the Gate a Person of Quality, as appears by his Train, who give him the Title of a Lord.
How, a strange Lord! Conduct him up with Ceremony, Jervice -- 'Ods so, he's here!
Sir, by your Reverend Aspect, you shou'd be the renown'd Mester de Hotel.
Mater de Otell! I have not the Honour to know any of that Name, I am call'd Sir Timothy Treat-all.
The same, Sir; I have been bred abroad, and thought all Persons of Quality had spoke French.
Not City Persons of Quality, my Lord.
I'm glad on't, Sir; for 'tis a Nation I hate, as indeed I do all Monarchies.
Hum! hate Monarchy! Your Lordship is most welcome.
Unless Elective Monarchies, which so resemble a Commonwealth.
Right, my Lord; where every Man may hope to take his turn -- Your Lordship is most singularly welcome.
And though I am a Stranger to your Person, I am not to your Fame, amongst the sober Party of the Amsterdamians, all the French Hugonots throughout Geneva; even to Hungary and Poland, Fame's Trumpet sounds your Praise, making the Pope to fear, the rest admire you.
I'm much oblig'd to the renowned Mobile.
So you will say, when you shall hear my Embassy. The Polanders by me salute you, Sir, and have in this next new Election prick'd ye down for their succeeding King.
How, my Lord, prick'd me down for a King! Why, this is wonderful! Prick'd me, unworthy me down for a King! How cou'd I merit this amazing Glory!
They know, he that can be so great a Patriot to his Native Country, where but a private Person, what must he be when Power is on his side?
Ay, my Lord, my Country, my bleeding Country! there's the stop to all my rising Greatness. Shall I be so ungrateful to disappoint this big expecting Nation? defeat the sober Party, and my Neighbours, for any Polish Crown? But yet, my Lord, I will consider on't: Mean time my House is yours.
I've brought you, Sir, the Measure of the Crown: Ha, it fits you to a Hair.
You were by Heav'n and Nature fram'd that Monarch.
Hah, at it again!
Come, we grow dull, Charles; where stands the Glass? What, balk my Lady Galliard's Health!
Hah, Galliard -- and so sweet on Meriwill!
If it be your business, Sir, to drink, I'll withdraw.
Gad, and I'll withdraw with you, Widow. Hark ye, Lady Galliard, I am damnably afraid you cannot bear Liquor well, you are so forward to leave good Company and a Bottle.
Well, Gentlemen, since I have done what I never do, to oblige you, I hope you will not refuse a Health of my Denomination.
We scorn to be so uncivil.
Why then here's a conceal'd Health that shall be nameless, to his Grace the King of Poland.
King of Poland! Lord, Lord, how your Thoughts ramble!
Not so far as you imagine; I know what I say, Sir.
Away with it.
I see, Sir, you still keep up that English Hospitality that so renowned our Ancestors in History.
Ay, my Lord, my noble Guests are my Wife and Children.
Are you not married, then? Death, she smiles on him.
I had a Wife, but rest her Soul, she's dead; and I have no Plague left now but an ungracious Nephew, perverted with ill Customs, Tantivy Opinions, and Court-Notions.
Cannot your pious Examples convert him? By Heaven, she's fond of him!
Alas, I have try'd all ways, fair and foul; nay, had settled t'other Day my whole Estate upon him, and just as I had sign'd the Writings, out comes me a damn'd Libel, call'd, A Warning to all good Christians against the City-Magistrates; and I doubt he had a Hand in Absalom and Achitophel, a Rogue. But some of our sober Party have claw'd him home, i' faith, and given him Rhyme for his Reason.
Most visibly in Love! Oh, Sir, Nature, Laws, and Religion plead for so near a Kinsman.
Laws and Religion! Alas, my Lord, he deserves not the Name of a Patriot, who does not for the publick Good, defy all Laws and Religion.
Death, I must interrupt 'em -- Sir, pray what Lady's that.
I beseech your Lordship know her, 'tis my Lady Galliard; the rest are all my Friends and Neighbours, true Protestants all -- Well, my Lord, how do you like my Method of doing the business of the Nation, and carrying on the Cause with Wine, Women, and so forth?
High Feeding and smart Drinking, gains more to the Party, than your smart Preaching.
Your Lordship has hit it right: a rare Man this!
But come, Sir, leave serious Affairs, and oblige these fair ones.
Heavens, Clacket, yonder's my False one, and that my lovely Rival.
Dear Mrs. Sensure, this Favour has oblig'd me.
I hope you'll not discover it to his Worship, Madam.
By her Mien, this shou'd be handsome --
Madam, I hope you have not made a Resolution to deny me the Honour of your Hand.
Ha, Wilding! Love can discover thee through all Disguise.
Hah, Diana! wou'd 'twere Felony to wear a Vizard. Gad, I'd rather meet it on the King's Highway, with Stand and Deliver, than thus encounter it on the Face of an old Mistress; and the Cheat were more excusable -- But how --
Nay, never frown nor chide: For thus do I intend to shew my Authority, till I have made thee only fit for me.
Is't so, my precious Uncle? Are you so great a Devil in Hypocrisy? Thus had I been serv'd, had I brought him the right Woman.
But do not think, dear Tommy, I wou'd have serv'd thee so; married thy Uncle, and have cozen'd thee of thy Birth-right -- But see, we're observ'd.
By all that's good 'tis he! that Voice is his!
Hah, what pretty Creature's this, that has so much of Charlot in her Face? But sure she durst not venture; 'tis not her Dress nor Mien. Dear pretty Stranger, I must dance with you.
Gued deed, and see ye shall, Sir, gen you please. Though I's not dance, Sir, I's tell ya that noo.
Nor I, so we're well matcht. By Heaven, she's wondrous like her.
By th' Mass not so kind, Sir: 'Twere gued that ene of us shou'd dance to guid the other weel.
How young, how innocent and free she is! And wou'd you, fair one, be guided by me?
In any thing that gued is.
I love you extremely, and wou'd teach you to love.
Ah, wele aday!
A thing I know you do not understand.
Gued faith, and ya're i'th' right, Sir; yet 'tis a thing I's often hear ya gay men talk of.
Yes, and no doubt have been told those pretty Eyes inspired it.
Gued deed, and so I have! Ya men make sa mickle ado about ens Eyes, ways me, I's ene tir'd with sick-like Complements.
Ah, if you give us wounds, we must complain.
Ye may ene keep out a harms way then.
Oh, we cannot; or if we cou'd, we wou'd not.
Marry, and I's have ene a Song tol that tune, Sir.
Dear Creature, let me beg it.
Gued faith, ya shall not, Sir, I's sing without entreaty.
This very Swain am I, so true and so forlorn, unless ye pity me. -- This is an excellency Charlot wants, at least I never heard her sing.
Why, Charles, where stands the Woman, Charles?
I must speak to Galliard, though all my Fortunes depend on the Discovery of my self.
Come, come, a cooling Glass about.
Dear Dresswell, entertain Charles Meriwill a little, whilst I speak to Galliard.
Sir, we are none of those of so nice and delicate a Virtue, as Conversation can corrupt; we live in a cold Climate.
And think you're not so apt to be in Love,
Hah, do I not know that railing Tongue of yours?
'Tis from your Guilt, not Judgment then.
I take him for a sober Person, Sir.
Have I been the Companion of his Riots
Your Virtues I perceive are pretty equal;
Honester! that is, he wou'd owe his good Fortune to the Parson of the Parish;
And I would be oblig'd to you alone.Oh, why were all the Charms of speaking given
You must.
I will not.
Indeed you must.
By all the Powers above --
By all the Powers of Love you'll break your Oath,
This Night.
This very Night.
I'd die first -- At what Hour?
Oh, name it; and if I fail --
I wou'd not for the World --
That I shou'd fail!
Not name the guilty Hour.
Then I through eager haste shall come too soon,
My Honour! Oh, that Word!
Which the Devil was in me for naming.
My Women and my Servants then are up.
At One, or Two.
So late! 'twill be so quickly Day!
Ay, so it will;
Hah, what do you mean? what Business?
A thousand tender things I have to say;
Be extremely honest.
As you can wish.
Rather as I command: for should he know my wish, I were undone.
The Sign --
Oh, press me not -- yet you may come at Midnight under my Chamber-Window.
Hold, Sir, hold! Whilst I am listning to the Relation of your French Fortifications, Outworks, and Counterscarps, I perceive the Enemy in my Quarters -- My Lord, by your leave.
Persuade me not; I burst with Jealousy.
Death and the Devil, Clacket! then 'tis Charlot, and I'm discover'd to her.
Say, are you not a false dissembling thing?
What, my little Northern Lass translated into English!
This 'tis to practise Art in spite of Nature.Hah, did you know me then?
At the first glance, and found you knew me too,
And is that all, on Honour? Is it, Dear?
What, no Belief, no Faith in villanous Women?
Yes, when I see the Writings.
Clacket, you and I must have an old Reckoning about this Night's Jant of yours.
Well, my Lord, how do you like our English Beauties?
Extremely, Sir; and was pressing this young Lady to give us a Song.
I never saw this Lady before: pray who may she be, Neighbour?
A Niece of mine, newly come out of Scotland, Sir.
Nay, then she dances by nature. Gentlemen and Ladies, please you to sit, here's a young Neighbour of mine will honour us with a Dance.
So, so; very well, very well. Gentlemen and Ladies, I am for Liberty of Conscience, and Moderation. There's a Banquet waits the Ladies, and my Cellars are open to the Men; but for my self, I must retire; first waiting on your Lordship to shew you your Apartment, then leave you to cher entire: and to morrow, my Lord, you and I will settle the Nation, and will resolve on what return we will make to the noble Polanders.
Well said, Charles, thou leav'st her not till she's thy own, Boy -- And Philander was a jolly Swain, &c.
Laboir, are all things ready for our purpose?
Dark Lanthorns, Pistols, Habits and Vizards, Sir.
I have provided Portmantles to carry off the Treasure.
I perceive you are resolv'd to make a thorowstitch Robbery on't.
Faith, if it lie in our way, Sir, we had as good venture a Caper under the Triple-Tree for one as well as t'other.
We must consider on't. 'Tis now just struck eleven; within this Hour is the dear Assignation with Galliard.
What, whether our Affairs be finish'd or not?
'Tis but at next Door; I shall return time enough for that trivial Business.
A trivial Business of some six thousand pound a year?
Trivial to a Woman, Frank: no more; do you make as if you went to bed. -- Laboir, do you feign to be drunk, and lie on the Hall-table: and when I give the sign, let me softly in.
Death, Sir, will you venture at such a time?
My Life and future Hope -- I am resolv'd.
Come, leave your everlasting Chamber-maid's Chat, your dull Road of Slandering by rote, and lay that Paint aside. Thou art fuller of false News, than an unlicens'd Mercury.
I have good Proof, Madam, of what I say.
Proof of a thing impossible! -- Away.
Is it a thing so impossible, Madam, that a Man of Mr. Wilding's Parts and Person should get a City-Heiress? Such a bonne Mien, and such a pleasant Wit!
Hold thy fluent Tattle, thou hast Tongue
Your Honour may say your Pleasure; but I hope
Eternal Rattle, peace --
I beg your Ladyship's Pardon, if my Discourse offend you; but all the World knows Mrs. Clacket to be a person --
Who is a most devout Baud, a precise Procurer;
I have heard him often swear she was a Gentlewoman, and liv'd with her Friends.
Like enough, there are many of these Gentlewomen who live with their Friends, as rank Prostitutes, as errant Jilts, as those who make open profession of the Trade -- almost as mercenary -- But come, the Song.
Twelve was the lucky Minute when we met:
You may spare your Thanks, Sir, for those that will deserve 'em; I shall give you no occasion for 'em.
Nay, no scruples now, dearest of Dears, no more, 'Tis most unseasonable --
I bring a Heart full fraight with eager Hopes,You're wondrous full of Love and Rapture, Sir; but certainly you mistake the Person you address 'em to.
Why, are you not my Lady Galliard, that very Lady Galliard, who, if one may take her Word for't, loves Wilding? Am I not come hither by your own Appointment; and can I have any other Business here at this time of night, but Love, and Rapture, and --
Scandalous and vain! by my Appointment, and for so leud a purpose; guard me, ye good Angels.
If after an Affront so gross as this,What can this mean?
Oh, now I understand the Mystery.
Her Woman's here, that troublesome piece of Train. -- I must remove her. Hark ye, Mrs. Closet, I had forgot to tell you, as I came up I heard a Kinsman of yours very earnest with the Servants below, and in great haste to speak with you.
A Kinsman! that's very likely indeed, and at this time of night.
Yes, a very near Kinsman, he said he was your Father's own Mother's Uncle's Sister's Son; what d'ye call him?
Ay, what d'ye call him indeed? I shou'd be glad to hear his Name. Alas, Sir, I have no near Relation living that I know of, the more's my Misfortune, poor helpless Orphan that I am.
Nay, but Mrs. Closet, pray take me right, This Country-man of yours, as I was saying --
Chang'd already from a Kinsman to a Country-man! a plain Contrivance to get my Woman out of the Room. Closet, as you value my Service, stir not from hence.
This Countryman of yours, I say, being left Executor by your Father's last Will and Testament, is come -- Dull Waiting-woman, I wou'd be alone with your Lady; know your Cue and retire.
How, Sir!
Learn, I say, to understand Reason when you hear it. Leave us awhile; Love is not a Game for three to play at.
I must own to all the World, you have convinc'd me; I ask a thousand Pardons for my Dulness. Well, I'll be gone, I'll run; you're a most powerful Person, the very Spirit of Persuasion -- I'll steal out -- You have such a taking way with you -- But I forgot my self. Well, your most obedient Servant; whenever you've occasion, Sir, be pleas'd to use me freely.
Nay, dear Impertinence, no more Complements, you see I'm busy now; prithee be gone, you see I am busy.
I'm all Obedience to you, Sir -- Your most obedient --
Whither are you fisking and giggiting now?
Madam, I am going down, and will return immediately, immediately.
So, she's gone; Heaven and broad Gold be prais'd for the Deliverance. And now, dear Widow, let's lose no more precious time; we have fool'd away too much already.
This to me!
To you, yes, to whom else should it be? unless being sensible you have not Discretion enough to manage your own Affairs your self, you resolve like other Widows, with all you're Worth to buy a Governour, commonly call'd a Husband. I took ye to be wiser; but if that be your Design I shall do my best to serve you -- though to deal freely with you --
Trouble not your self, Sir, to make Excuses; I'm not so fond of the Offer to take you at your Word. Marry you! a Rakeshame, who have not Esteem enough for the Sex to believe your Mother honest -- without Money or Credit, without Land either in present or prospect; and half a dozen hungry Vices, like so many bauling Brats at your Back, perpetually craving, and more chargeable to keep than twice the number of Children. Besides, I think you are provided for; are you not married to Mrs. Charlot Gett-all?
Married to her! Do I know her, you shou'd rather ask. What Fool has forg'd this unlikely Lye? but suppose 'twere true, cou'd you be jealous of a Woman I marry? Do you take me for such an Ass, to suspect I shall love my own Wife? On the other side, I have a great Charge of Vices, as you well observe, and I must not be so barbarous to let 'em starve. Every body in this Age takes care to provide for their Vices, though they send their Children a begging; I shou'd be worse than an Infidel to neglect them. No, I must marry some stiff aukward thing or other with an ugly Face, and a handsom Estate, that's certain: but whoever is ordain'd to make my Fortune, 'tis you only can make me happy -- Come, do it then.
I never will.
Unkindly said, you must.
Unreasonable Man! because you see
You reason false,
I understand not these new Morals.
Have Patience I say, 'tis clear:
Heaven will know 't; and I -- that, that's enough:
Think not that time will ever come.
Oh, it must, it will.
Or if it should, could I be such a Villain --
You do me wrong, I love you more than e'er
Hell and the Devil! I'll hear no more
I bring you hither! how can you say it?
Cozen'd, abus'd, she loves some other Man!
It does.
I'm glad on't. Good Night; and when I visit you again,
Stay but a Moment.
For what? to praise your Night-dress, or make
Hear me a little: You know I both despise, and hate those civil Coxcombs, as much as I esteem and love you. But why will you be gone so soon? and why are ye so cruel to urge me thus to part either with your good Opinion or your Kindness? I wou'd fain keep 'em both.
Then keep your Word, Madam.
My Word! and have I promis'd then to be
Come, come, you love me not, I see it plain;
Believe it if you will. Yes, let me be false, unjust, ungrateful, any thing but a -- Whore --
Oh, Sex on purpose form'd to plague Mankind!
False rather are the Joys you are so fond of.
No, them I can never quit, but you most easily:
Said you most easily? Oh, inhuman!
Nor wou'd I think you so; give me not Cause.
What Heart can bear distrust from what it loves?
How can I, while you still remain unkind?
How shall I speak my guilty Thoughts?
Oh heavenly Sound! Oh charming Creature!
But did you not indeed? and will you never, never love Mrs. Charlot, never?
Never, never.
Turn your Face away, and give me leave
All Heaven is mine, I have it in my Arms,
A Dog, a Rogue, to leave her!
Why, look ye, Uncle, what wou'd you have a Man do? I brought her to her Coach --
To her Coach! to her Coach! Did not I put her into your Hand, follow'd you out, wink'd, smil'd and nodded; cry'd 'bye Charles, 'bye Rogue; which was as much as to say, Go home with her, Charles, home to her Chamber, Charles; nay, as much as to say, Home to her Bed, Charles; nay, as much as to say -- Hum, hum, a Rogue, a Dog, and yet to be modest too! That I shou'd bring thee up with no more Fear of God before thy Eyes!
Nay, dear Uncle, don't break my Heart now! Why, I did proffer, and press, and swear, and ly'd, and -- but a pox on her, she has the damn'dst wheedling way with her, as dear Charles, nay prithee, fie, 'tis late, to morrow, my Honour, which if you lov'd you wou'd preserve; and such obliging Reasons.
Reasons! Reason! a Lover, and talk of Reason! You lye, Sirrah, you lye. Leave a Woman for Reason, when you were so finely drunk too, a Rascal!
Why look ye, d'ye see, Uncle, I durst not trust my self alone with her in this pickle, lest I shou'd ha' fallen foul on her.
Why, there's it; 'tis that you shou'd have done; I am mistaken if she be not one of those Ladies that love to be ravisht of a Kindness. Why, your willing Rape is all the Fashion, Charles.
But hark ye, Uncle.
Why, how now, Jack-sauce, what, capitulate?
Why, do but hear me, Uncle; Lord, you're so hasty! Why, look ye, I am as ready, d'ye see, as any Man on these Occasions.
Are you so, Sir? and I'll make you willing, or try Toledo with you, Sir -- Why, what, I shall have you whining when you are sober again, traversing your Chamber with Arms across, railing on Love and Women, and at last defeated, turn whipping Tom, to revenge your self on the whole Sex.
My dear Uncle, come kiss me and be friends; I will be rul'd.
-- A most admirable good-natur'd Boy this!
Well then, dear Charles, know, I have brought thee now hither to the Widow's House, with a Resolution to have thee order matters so, as before thou quitst her, she shall be thy own, Boy.
Gad, Uncle, thou'rt a Cherubin! Introduce me, d'ye see, and if I do not so woo the Widow, and so do the Widow, that e'er morning she shall be content to take me for better for worse -- Renounce me! Egad, I'll make her know the Lord God from Tom Bell, before I have done with her. Nay, backt by my noble Uncle, I'll venture on her, had she all Cupid's Arrows, Venus's Beauty, and Messalina's Fire, d'ye see.
A sweet Boy, a very sweet Boy! Hum, thou art damnable handsome to Night, Charles -- Ay, thou wilt do't; I see a kind of resistless Leudness about thee, a most triumphant Impudence, loose and wanton.
Heavens, Gentlemen, what makes you here at this time of Night?
Where's your Lady?
Softly, dear Sir.
Why, is she asleep? Come, come, I'll wake her.
Hold, hold, Sir; No, no, she's a little busy, Sir.
I'll have no Business done to Night, Sweetheart.
Hold, hold, I beseech you, Sir, her Mother's with her; For Heaven's sake, Sir, be gone.
I'll not budge.
No, not a Foot.
The City you know, Sir, is so censorious --
Damn the City.
All the Whigs, Charles, all the Whigs.
In short, I am resolv'd, d'ye see, to go to the Widow's Chamber.
Harkye, Mrs. Closet, I thought I had entirely engag'd you this Evening.
I am perfectly yours, Sir; but how it happens so, her Mother being there -- Yet if you wou'd withdraw for half an hour, into my Chamber, till she were gone --
This is the Reason, Charles. Here, here's two Pieces to buy thee a Gorget.
And here's my two, because thou art industrious.
What have I done? Ah, whither shall I fly?
Why all these Tears? Ah, why this cruel Passion?
Undone, undone! Unhand me, false, forsworn;
Why, where's the harm of what we two have done?
Ah, leave me --
Cease, lovely Charmer, cease to wound me more.
Shall I survive this Shame? No, if I do,
It was no Devil, but a Deity;
Ah, what malicious God,
Ah, my Galliard, am I grown ugly then?
Peace, Tempter, Peace, who artfully betrayest me,
Say, -- what one Grace is faded?
By Heaven, not all thy Art
Oh, I must, or die.
By all the Powers, by --
Oh, do not swear, lest Love shou'd take it ill
Hah!
Or say a tedious Hour.
Death, never --
Or if you -- promise me then to morrow.
No, hear my Vows.
Hold, see me die; if you resolve 'em fatal to my
Ah, what --
Revoke that fatal Never then.
I dare not.
Oh, say you will.
Alas, I dare not utter it.
Let's in, and thou shalt whisper it into my Bosom;
Ah, Wilding --
It toucht my Soul! Repeat that Sigh again.
Ah, I confess I am but feeble Woman.
Good Mistress Keep-door, stand by: for I must enter.
Hah, young Meriwill's Voice!
Pray, Sir Charles, let me go and give my Lady notice.
-- For Heaven's sake, Sir, withdraw, or my Lady's Honour's lost.
What will you have me do?
Be gone, or you will ruin me for ever.
Nay, then I will obey.
Here, down the back-stairs -- As you have Honour, go and cherish mine.
-- He's gone, and now nethinks the shivering Fit of Honour is return'd.
Deny'd an entrance! nay, then there is a
Ha, Wilding return'd! Shield me, ye Shades of Night.
The Back-Stairs Door is lockt.
Oh, I am lost! curse on this fatal Night! Art thou resolv'd on my undoing every way.
Nay, now we're by dark, let me alone to guide you, Sir.
What, what, all in darkness? Do you make Love like Cats, by Star-light?
Ah, he knows he's here! -- Oh, what a pain is Guilt!
I wou'd not be surpriz'd.
Hah, Gad, 'twas a Spark! -- What, vanisht! hah --
Nay, nay, Sir, I am for ye.
Are you so, Sir? and I am for the Widow, Sir, and --
Hah, why, what have we here? -- my nown Flesh and Blood?
Cry mercy, Sir! Pray, how fell we out?
Out, Sir! Prithee where's my Rival? where's the Spark, the -- Gad, I took thee for an errant Rival: Where is he?
Whom seek ye, Sir, a Man, and in my Lodgings?
A Man! Merciful, what will this scandalous lying World come to? Here's no Man.
Away, I say, thou damn'd Domestick Intelligence, that comest out every half hour with some fresh Sham -- No Man! -- What, 'twas an Appointment only, hum, -- which I shall now make bold to unappoint, render null, void, and of none effect. And if I find him here,
I shall very civilly and accidentally, as it were, being in perfect friendship with him -- pray, mark that -- run him through the Lungs.
Oh, what a Coward's Guilt! what mean you, Sir?
Mean? why I am obstinately bent to ravish thee, thou hypocritical Widow, make thee mine by force, that so I have no obligation to thee, and consequently use thee scurvily with a good Conscience.
A most delicate Boy! I'll warrant him as leud as the best of 'em, God grant him Life and Health.
'Tis late, and I entreat your absence, Sir: These are my Hours of Prayer, which this unseasonable Visit has disturb'd.
Prayer! No more of that, Sweetheart; for let me tell you, your Prayers are heard. A Widow of your Youth and Complexion can be praying for nothing so late, but a good Husband; and see, Heaven has sent him just in the crit - - - critical minute, to supply your Occasions.
A Wag, an arch Wag; he'll learn to make Lampoons presently. I'll not give Sixpence from him, though to the poor of the Parish.
Come, Widow, let's to Bed.
Hold, Sir, you drive the Jest too far; And I am in no humour now for Mirth.
Jest: Gad, ye lye, I was never in more earnest in all my Life.
He's in a heavenly humour, thanks to good Wine, good Counsel, and good Company.
What mean you, Sir? what can my Woman think to see me treated thus?
Well thought on! Nay, we'll do things decently, d'ye see -- Therefore, thou sometimes necessary Utensil, withdraw.
Ay, ay, let me alone to teach her her Duty.
Stay, Closet, I command ye. -- What have you seen in me shou'd move you to this rudeness?
No frowning; for by this dear Night, 'tis Charity, care of your Reputation, Widow; and therefore I am resolv'd no body shall lie with you but my self. You have dangerous Wasps buzzing about your Hive, Widow -- mark that --
Nay, no parting but upon terms, which, in short, d'ye see, are these: Down on your Knees, and swear me heartily, as Gad shall judge your Soul, d'ye see, to marry me to morrow.
To morrow! Oh, I have urgent business then.
So have I. Nay, Gad, an you be for the nearest way to the Wood, the sober discreet way of loving, I am sorry for ye, look ye.
Hold, Sir, what mean you?
Only to go to Bed, that's all.
Hold, hold, or I'll call out.
Ay, do, call up a Jury of your Female Neighbours, they'll be for me, d'ye see, bring in the Bill Ignoramus, though I am no very true blue Protestant neither; therefore dispatch, or --
Hold, are you mad? I cannot promise you to night.
Well, well, I'll be content with Performance then to night, and trust you for your Promise till to morrow.
Ah, Rogue! by George, he out-does my Expectations of him.
What Imposition's this! I'll call for help.
You need not, you'll do my business better alone.
What shall I do? how shall I send him hence?
He shall ne'er drink small Beer more, that's positive; I'll burn all's Books too, they have help'd to spoil him; and sick or well, sound or unsound, Drinking shall be his Diet, and Whoring his Study.
Come, come, no pausing; your Promise, or I'll to Bed.
What shall I do? here is no Witness near: And to be rid of him I'll promise him; he'll have forgot it in his sober Passion.
Hold, I do swear I will --
What?
Marry you.
When?
Nay, that's too much -- Hold, hold, I will to morrow -- Now you are satisfy'd, you will withdraw?
Charles, Joy, Charles, give you Joy, here's two substantial Witnesses.
I deny it, Sir; I heard no such thing.
What, what, Mrs. Closet, a Waiting-woman of Honour, and flinch from her Evidence! Gad, I'll damn thy Soul if thou dar'st swear what thou say'st.
How, upon the Catch, Sir! am I betray'd?
Nay, Gad, you're caught, struggle and flounder as you please, Sweetheart, you'll but intangle more; let me alone to tickle your Gills, i'faith.
-- Uncle, get ye home about your Business; I hope you'll give me the good morrow, as becomes me -- I say no more, a Word to the Wise --
By George, thou'rt a brave Fellow; why, I did not think it had been in thee, Man. Well, adieu; I'll give thee such a good morrow, Charles -- the Devil's in him! -- 'Bye, Charles -- a plaguy Rogue! -- 'night, Boy -- a divine Youth!
Gad, I'll not leave her now, till she is mine;
Not yet! a plague of this damn'd Widow: The Devil ow'd him an unlucky Cast, and has thrown it him to night.
-- Hah, dear Tom, art thou come?
I saw how at her length she lay! I saw her rising Bosom bare!
A Pox of her rising Bosom! My dear, let's dress and about our Business.
Her loose thin Robes, through which appear A Shape design'd for Love and Play!
Sheart, Sir, is this a time for Rapture? 'tis almost day.
Ah, Frank, such a dear Night! Dress. A Pox of Nights, Sir, think of this and the Day to come: which I perceive you were too well employ'd to remember.
The Day to come!
Death, who cou'd be so dull in such dear Joys,All's still and hush, as if Nature meant to favour our Design.
'Tis well: and hark ye, my Friends, I'll prescribe ye no Bounds, nor Moderation; for I have consider'd, if we modestly take nothing but the Writings, 'twill be easy to suspect the Thief.
Right; and since 'tis for the securing our Necks, 'tis lawful Prize -- Sirrah, leave the Portmantle here.
Murder, Murder! Thieves, Murder!
A plague upon his Throat; set a Gag in's Mouth and bind him, though he be my Uncle's chief Pimp -- so --
Well, we have bound all within hearing in their Beds, e'er they cou'd alarm their Fellows by crying out.
'Tis well; come, follow me, like a kind Midnight-Ghost, I will conduct ye to the rich buried Heaps -- this Door leads to my Uncle's Apartment; I know each secret Nook conscious of Treasure.
Help, help! Murder! Murder!
What have we here, a Female bolted from Mr. Alderman's Bed?
Ah, mercy, Sir, alas, I am a Virgin.
A Virgin! Gad and that may be, for any great Miracles the old Gentleman can do.
Do! alas, Sir, I am none of the Wicked.
That's well -- The sanctify'd Jilt professes Innocence, yet has the Badge of her Occupation about her Neck.
Ah, Misfortune, I have mistook his Worship's Coat for my Gown.
What have we here? A Sermon preacht by Richard Baxter, Divine. Gad a mercy, Sweetheart, thou art a hopeful Member of the true Protestant Cause.
Alack, how the Saints may be scandaliz'd! I went but to tuck his Worship up.
And comment upon the Text a little, which I suppose may be, increase and multiply -- Here, gag, and bind her.
Hold, hold, I am with Child!
Then you'll go near to miscarry of a Babe of Grace.
Gentlemen, why, Gentlemen, I beseech you use a Conscience in what you do, and have a feeling in what you go about -- Pity my Age.
Damn'd beggarly Conscience, and needless Pity --
Oh, fearful -- But, Gentlemen, what is't you design? is it a general Massacre, pray? or am I the only Person aim'd at as a Sacrifice for the Nation? I know, and all the World knows, how many Plots have been laid against my self, both by Men, Women, and Children, the diabolical Emissaries of the Pope.
How, Sirrah!
Nay, Gentlemen, not but I love and honour his Holiness with all my Soul; and if his Grace did but know what I've done for him, d'ye see --
You done for the Pope, Sirrah! Why, what have you done for the Pope?
Why, Sir, an't like ye, I have done you very great Service, very great Service; for I have been, d'ye see, in a small Tryal I had, the cause and occasion of invalidating the Evidence to that degree, that I suppose no Jury in Christendom will ever have the Impudence to believe 'em hereafter, shou'd they swear against his Holiness and all the Conclave of Cardinals.
And yet you plot on still, cabal, treat, and keep open Debauch, for all the Renegado-Tories and old Commonwealthsmen to carry on the good Cause.
Alas, what signifies that! You know, Gentlemen, that I have such a strange and natural Agility in turning -- I shall whip about yet, and leave 'em all in the Lurch.
'Tis very likely; but at this time we shall not take your Word for that.
Bloody-minded Men, are you resolv'd to assassinate me then?
You trifle, Sir, and know our Business better, than to think we come to take your Life, which wou'd not advantage a Dog, much less any Party or Person -- Come, come, your Keys, your Keys.
Ay, ay, discover, discover your Money, Sir, your ready --
Money, Sir, good lack, is that all?
Why, what a Beast was I, not knowing of your coming, to put out all my Money last Week to Alderman Draw-tooth? Alack, alack, what shift shall I make now to accommodate you? -- But if you please to come again to morrow --
A shamming Rogue; the right Sneer and Grin of a dissembling Whig. Come, come, deliver, Sir; we are for no Rhetorick but ready Money.
Hold, I beseech you, Gentlemen, not so loud; for there is a Lord, a most considerable Person, and a Stranger, honours my House to night; I wou'd not for the world his Lordship shou'd be disturb'd.
Take no care for him, he's fast bound and all his Retinue.
How, bound! my Lord bound, and all his People! Undone, undone, disgrac'd! What will the Polanders say, that I shou'd expose their Embassador to this Disrespect and Affront?
Bind him, and take away his Keys.
Ay, ay, what you please, Gentlemen, since my Lord's bound -- Oh, what Recompence can I make for so unhospitable Use? I am a most unfortunate Magistrate: hah, who's there, Jervice? Alas, art thou here too? What, canst not speak? but 'tis no matter and I were dumb too; for what Speech or Harangue will serve to beg my Pardon of my Lord? -- And then my Heiress, Jervice, ay, my rich Heiress, why, she'll be ravisht: Oh Heavens, ravisht! The young Rogues will have no Mercy, Jervice; nay, perhaps as thou say'st, they'll carry her away. -- Oh, that thought! Gad, I rather the City-Charter were lost.
-- Why, Gentlemen, rob like Christians, Gentlemen.
What, do you mutter, Dog?
Not in the least, Sir, not in the least; only a Conscience, Sir, in all things does well -- Barbarous Rogues.
Here's your arbitrary Power, Jervice; here's the Rule of the Sword now for you: These are your Tory Rogues, your tantivy Roysters; but we shall cry quits with you, Rascals, ere long; and if we do come to our old Trade of Plunder and Sequestration, we shall so handle ye -- we'll spare neither Prince, Peer, nor Prelate. Oh, I long to have a slice at your fat Church-men, your Crape-Gownorums.
A Prize, a Prize, my Lads, in ready Guineas; Contribution, my beloved.
Nay, then 'tis lawful Prize, in spite of Ignoramus and all his Tribe -- What hast thou here?
A whole Bag of Knavery, damn'd Sedition, Libels, Treason, Successions, Rights and Privileges, with a new-fashion'd Oath of Abjuration, call'd the Association. -- Ah, Rogue, what will you say when these shall be made publick?
Say, Sir? why, I'll deny it, Sir; for what Jury will believe so wise a Magistrate as I cou'd communicate such Secrets to such as you? I'll say you forg'd 'em, and put 'em in -- or print every one of 'em, and own 'em, as long as they were writ and publisht in London, Sir. Come, come, the World is not so bad yet, but a Man may speak Treason within the Walls of London, thanks be to God, and honest conscientious Jury-Men. And as for the Money, Gentlemen, take notice you rob the Party.
Come, come, carry off the Booty, and prithee remove that Rubbish of the Nation out of the way -- Your servant, Sir. -- So, away with it to Dresswell's Lodgings, his Coach is at the Door ready to receive it.
Well, you are sure you have all you came for?
All's safe, my Lads, the Writings all --
Come, let's away then.
Away? what meanest thou? is there not a Lord to be found bound in his Bed, and all his People? Come, come, dispatch, and each Man bind his Fellow.
We had better follow the Baggage, Captain.
No, we have not done so ill, but we dare shew our Faces. Come, come, to binding.
And who shall bind the last Man?
Honest Laboir, d'ye hear, Sirrah? you get drunk and lay in your Clothes under the Hall-Table; d'ye hear me? Look to't, ye Rascal, and carry things discreetly, or you'll be hang'd, that's certain.
So, now will I i'th' Morning to Charlot, and give her such a Character of her Love, as if she have Resentment, makes her mine.
Ho, Jenkins, Roger, Simon! where are these Rogues? none left alive to come to my Assistance? So ho, ho, ho, ho! Rascals, Sluggards, Drones! so ho, ho, ho!
So, now's my Cue -- and stay, I am not yet sober.
Dogs, Rogues, none hear me? Fire, fire, fire!
Water, water, I say; for I am damnable dry.
Hah, who's there?
What doleful Voice is that?
What art thou, Friend or Foe?
Very direful -- why, what the Devil art thou?
If thou'rt a Friend, approach, approach the wretched.
Wretched! What art thou, Ghost, Hobgoblin, or walking Spirit?
Oh, neither, neither, but mere Mortal, Sir Timothy Treat-all, robb'd and bound.
How, our generous Host!
How, one of my Lord's Servants! Alas, alas, how cam'st thou to escape?
E'en by miracle, Sir; by being drunk, and falling asleep under the Hall-Table with your Worship's Dog Tory, till just now a Dream of Small-beer wak'd me: and crawling from my Kennel to secure the black Jack, I stumbled upon this Lanthorn, which I took for one, till I found a Candle in't, which helps me to serve your Worhsip.
Hold, hold, I say; for I scorn to be so uncivil to be unbound before his Lordship: therefore run, Friend, to his Honour's Chamber, for he, alas, is confined too.
What, and leave his worthy Friend in distress? by no means, Sir.
Well then, come, let's to my Lord, whom if I be not asham'd to look in the Face, I am an errant Sarazen.
Peace, Sirrah, for sure I hear some coming -- Villains, Rogues! I care not for my self, but for the good pious Alderman.
Wonderful Goodness, for me! Alas, my Lord, this sight will break my Heart.
Sir Timothy safe! nay, then I do forgive 'em.
Alas, my Lord, I've heard of your rigid Fate.
It is my Custom, Sir, to pray an Hour or two in my Chamber, before I go to Bed; and having pray'd that drousy Slave asleep, the Thieves broke in upon us unawares, I having laid my Sword aside.
Oh, Heavens, at his Prayers! damn'd Ruffians, and wou'd they not stay till you had said your Prayers?
By no Persuasion -- Can you not guess who they shou'd be, Sir?
Oh, some damn'd Tory-rory Rogues, you may be sure, to rob a Man at his Prayers! why, what will this World come to?
Let us not talk, Sir, but pursue 'em.
Pursue 'em! alas, they're past our reach by this time.
Oh, Sir, they are nearer than you imagine: some that know each Corner of your House, I'll warrant.
Think ye so, my Lord? ay, this comes of keeping open House; which makes so many shut up their Doors at Dinner-time.
Good Morrow, Gentlemen! what, was the Devil broke loose to night?
Only some of his Imps, Sir, saucy Varlets, insupportable Rascals -- But well, my Lord, now I have seen your Lordship at liberty, I'll leave you to your rest, and go see what Harm this night's Work has done.
I have a little Business, Sir, and will take this time to dispatch it in; my Servants shall to Bed, though 'tis already day -- I'll wait on you at Dinner.
Your time; my House and all I have is yours; and so I take my Leave of your Lordship.
Now for my angry Maid, the young Charlot;
Methinks I'm up as early as if I had a mind to what I'm going to do, marry this rich old Coxcomb.
And you do well to lose no time.
Ah, Betty, and cou'd thy Prudence prefer an old Husband, because rich, before so young, so handsom, and so soft a Lover as Wilding?
I know not that, Madam; but I verily believe the way to keep your young Lover, is to marry this old one: for what Youth and Beauty cannot purchase, Money and Quality may.
Ay, but to be oblig'd to lie with such a Beast; ay, there's the Devil, Betty. Ah, when I find the difference of their Embraces,
The soft dear Arms of Wilding round my Neck.What? why six thousand Pounds a Year, Mistress. He'll quickly die, and leave you rich, and then do what you please.
Die! no, he's too temperate -- Sure these Whigs, Betty, believe there's no Heaven, they take such care to live so long in this World -- No, he'll out-live me.
In Grace a God he may be hang'd first, Mistress -- Ha, one knocks, and I believe 'tis he.
I cannot bring my Heart to like this Business;
Who's there?
'Tis I, impatient I, who with the Sun have welcom'd in the Day;
This happy Day to be inroll'd-- Hum, I am profoundly eloquent this Morning.
-- Fair Excellence, I approach --
Like Physick in a Morning next one's Heart;
What, do you turn away, bright Sun of Beauty?
It will not down.
Alas, ye Gods, am I despis'd and scorn'd?
If I must marry him, give him Patience to endure the Cuckolding, good Heaven.
Heaven! did she name Heaven, Betty?
I think she did, Sir.
I do not like that: What need has she to think of Heaven upon her Wedding-day?
Marriage is a sort of Hanging, Sir; and I was only making a short Prayer before Execution.
Oh, is that all? Come, come, we'll let that alone till we're abed, that we have nothing else to do.
Not much, I dare swear.
And let us, Fair one, haste; the Parson stays; besides, that heap of Scandal may prevent us -- I mean, my Nephew.
A Pox upon him now for naming Wilding.
How, weep at naming my ungracious Nephew? Nay, then I am provok'd -- Look on this Head, this wise and Reverend Head; I'd have ye know, it has been taken measure on to fit it to a Crown, d'ye see.
A Halter rather.
Ay, and it fits it too: and am I slighted, I that shall receive Billet-Doux from Infanta's? 'tis most uncivil and impolitick.
I hope he's mad, and then I reign alone.
Pardon me, Sir, that parting Tear I shed indeed at naming Wilding,
Stay, my Heart misgives me, I shall be undone. -- Ah, whither was I going?
Do, stay till the News arrives that he is married to her that had his Company to night, my Lady Galliard.
Oh! Take heed lest you sin doubly, Sir.
By Heaven, 'tis true, he past the Night with her.
All night! what cou'd they find to do?
A very proper Question; I'll warrant you they were not idle, Madam.
Oh, no; they lookt and lov'd and vow'd and lov'd, and swore eternal Friendship -- Haste, haste, and lead me to the Church, the Altar; I'll put it past my Power to love him more.
Oh, how you charm me!
Yet what art thou? a Stranger to my Heart. Wherefore, ah why, on what occasion shou'd I?
Acquaintance, 'tis enough, I know him, Madam, and I hope my Word will be taken for a greater matter in the City: In troth you're beholden to the Gentleman for marrying you, your Reputation's gone.
How, am I not honest then?
Marry, Heaven forbid! But who that knows you have been a single Hour in Wilding's Hands, wou'd not swear you have lost your Maidenhead? And back again I'm sure you dare not go unmarried; that wou'd be a fine History to be sung to your eternal Fame in a Ballad.
Right; and you see Wilding has left you for the Widow, to whom perhaps you'll shortly hear he's married.
Oh, you trifle, Sir; lead on.
Come, come, Gentlemen, this is the House, and this the Window belonging to my Lady's Bed-chamber: Come, come, let's have some neat, soft, brisk, languishing, sprightly Air now.
Old Meriwill -- how shall I pass by him!
So, here's Company too; 'tis very well -- Not have the Boy? I'll warrant this does the Business -- Come, come, screw up your Chitterling.
-- Hold, hold a little -- Good morrow, my Lady Galliard. -- Give your Ladyship Joy.
What do I hear, my Lady Galliard joy'd?
How, married her already?
Oh, yes, he has. Lovely and false, hast thou deceiv'd my Faith?
Oh, Heavens, Mr. Foppington, she faints. -- ah me!
Ah, Musick at Galliard's Door!
Good morrow, Sir Charles Meriwill: give your Worship and your fair Lady Joy.
Hah, Meriwill married the Widow!
No matter; prithee advance, and mind thy own Affairs.
Advance, and not inquire the meaning on't!
Good morrow, Uncle. Gentlemen, I thank ye: Here, drink the King's Health, with my Royal Master's the Duke.
Heaven bless your Honour, and your virtuous Bride.
Wilding! undone.
Death and the Devil, Meriwill above!
Ah, the Boy's Rival here! By George, here may be breathing this Morning -- No matter, here's two to two; come, Gentlemen, you must in.
Is't not what you expected? nay, what you wisht?
What then? it comes too suddenly upon me --
Be wise, and do not ruin where you love.
Nay, if thou com'st to reasoning, thou hast lost me.
I say 'twas Wilding's Voice, and I will follow it.
How, Madam, wou'd you after him?
Nay, force me not; by Heaven, I'll cry a Rape,
How, Madam, have you then design'd my Ruin?
Oh, trust me, Sir, I am a Maid of Honour.
So; a Murrain of your Projects, we're all undone now: For my part I'll e'en after her, and deny to have any hand in the Business.
Damn all ill Luck, was ever Man thus Fortune-bit, that he shou'd cross my Hopes just in the nick? But shall I lose her thus? No, Gad, I'll after her; and come the worst, I have an Impudence shall out-face a Middlesex Jury, and out-swear a Discoverer.
Sirrah, run to my Lord Mayor's, and require some of his Officers to assist me instantly; and d'ye hear, Rascal, bar up my Doors, and let none of his mad Crew enter.
William, you may stay, William.
I say, obey me, Sirrah.
Sirrah, I say -- know your Lord and Master.
I shall, Sir.
Was ever Woman teaz'd thus? pursue me not.
You are mistaken, I'm disobedient grown,
Malicious thing, I wo'not, I am resolv'd I'll tire thee out merely in spite, to have the better of thee.
I'm as resolv'd as you, and do your worst,
But, Malice, there are Officers i'th' City, that will not see me us'd thus, and will be here anon.
Magistrates! why, they shall be welcome, if they be honest and loyal; if not, they may be hang'd in Heaven's good time.
Are you resolv'd to be thus obstinate?
Most certainly, I'll keep you honest to your Word, my Dear -- I've Witness --
You will?
You'll find it so.
Then know, if thou darest marry me, I will so plague thee, be so reveng'd for all those Tricks thou hast play'd me -- -- Dost thou not dread the Vengeance Wives can take?
Not at all: I'll trust thy Stock of Beauty with thy Wit.
Death, I will cuckold thee.
Why, then I shall be free o'th' Reverend City.
Then I will game without cessation, till I've undone thee.
Do, that all the Fops of empty Heads and Pockets may know where to be sure of a Cully; and may they rook ye till ye lose, and fret, and chafe, and rail those youthful Eyes to sinking; watch your fair Face to pale and withered Leanness.
Then I will never let thee bed with me, but when I please.
For that, see who'll petition first, and then I'll change for new ones every Night.
Madam, here's Mr. Wilding at the Door, and will not be deny'd seeing you.
Hah, Wilding! Oh, my eternal Shame! now thou hast done thy worst.
Now for a Struggle 'twixt your Love and Honour!
-- Yes, here's the Bar to all my Happiness,Oh, he has toucht my Heart too sensibly.
To find him here, will make him mad with
Prithee, dear Wilding, moderate thy Passion.
By Heaven, I will; she shall not have the Pleasure to see I am concern'd -- Morrow, Widow; you are early up, you mean to thrive, I see, you're like a Mill that grinds with every Wind.
Hah, Wilding, this that past last Night at Sir Timothy's for a Man of Quality? Oh, give him way, Wilding's my Friend, my Dear, and now I'm sure I have the Advantage of him in my Love. I can forgive a hasty Word or two.
I thank thee, Charles -- what, you are married then?
I hope you've no Exception to my Choice.
False Woman, dost thou glory in thy Perfidy?
Death, he will tell him all!
Oh, you are merry, Sir.
No, but thou art wondrous false,
Oh, Sir, be tender of those treacherous Minutes.
Faith, Madam, you have us'd me scurvily,
Perjur'd -- was't not by your Advice I married?
So soon did I advise?
Ay, where indeed, when you so quickly vanquisht?
No, 'twas with thee to make my last Effort against your scorn.
Morrow, Charles; Morrow to your Ladyship: Charles, bid Sir Timothy welcome; I met him luckily at the Door, and am resolv'd none of my Friends shall pass this joyful Day without giving thee Joy, Charles, and drinking my Lady's Health.
Hah, my Uncle here so early?
What, has your Ladyship serv'd me so? How finely I had been mump'd now, if I had not took Heart of Grace, and shew'd your Ladyship Trick for Trick? for I have been this Morning about some such Business of Life too, Gentlemen: I am married to this fair Lady, the Daughter and Heiress of Sir Nicholas Gett-all, Knight and Alderman.
Ha, married to Diana! How fickle is the Faith of common Women!
Hum, who's here, my Lord? What, I see your Lordship has found the way already to the fair Ladies; but I hope your Lordship will do my Wedding-dinner the Honour to grace it with your Presence.
I shall not fail, Sir. A Pox upon him, he'll discover all.
I must own, Sir Timothy, you have made the better Choice.
I cou'd not help my Destiny; Marriages are made in Heaven, you know.
Stand off, and let me loose as are my Griefs,
Fair Creature, who is't that you seek with so much Sorrow?
Thou, thou fatally fair Inchantress.
Wild. Charlot! Nay, then I am discover'd.
Alas, what wou'dst thou?
That which I cannot have, thy faithless Husband.
How, my Nephew claim'd! Why, how now, Sirrah, have you been dabling here?
By Heaven, I know her not. -- Hark ye, Widow, this is some Trick of yours, and 'twas well laid: and Gad, she's so pretty, I cou'd find in my Heart to take her at her word.
Vile Man, this will not pass your Falshood off.
Death, I'll have the Forgery out; -- Tell me, thou pretty weeping Hypocrite, who was it set thee on to lay a Claim to me?
To you! Alas, who are you? for till this moment I never saw your Face.
Mad as the Seas when all the Winds are raging.
Ay, ay, Madam, stark mad! Poor Soul -- Neighbour, pray let her lie i'th' dark, d'ye hear.
How came you, pretty one, to lose your Wits thus?
With loving, Sir, strongly, with too much loving. -- Will you not let me see the lovely false one?
For I am told you have his Heart in keeping.
Who is he? pray describe him.
A thing just like a Man, or rather Angel!
Who is she? some one who knows her and is wiser, speak -- you, Mistress.
Since I must speak, there comes the Man of Mischief:
So.
What, my Lord?
I never knew your Nephew was a Lord:
I have thee, and I'll die thus grasping thee;
Never; thou truest of thy Sex, and dearest,
May I believe thou art not married then?
How can I, when I'm yours?
Why, what, are you indeed my Nephew Thomas?
I am Tom Wilding, Sir, that once bore some such Title, till you discarded me, and left me to live upon my Wits.
What, and are you no Polish Embassador then incognito?
No, Sir, nor you no King Elect, but must e'en remain as you were ever, Sir, a most seditious pestilent old Knave; one that deludes the Rabble with your Politicks, then leaves 'em to be hang'd, as they deserve, for silly mutinous Rebels.
I'll peach the Rogue, and then he'll be hang'd in course, because he's a Tory. One comfort is, I have cozen'd him of his rich Heiress; for I'm married, Sir, to Mrs. Charlot.
Rather Diana, Sir; I wish you Joy: See here's Charlot. I was not such a Fool to trust such Blessings with the Wicked.
How, Mrs. Dy Ladyfi'd! This is an excellent way of disposing an old cast-off Mistress.
How, have I married a Strumpet then?
You give your Nephew's Mistress, Sir, too coarse a Name. 'Tis true, I lov'd him, only him, and was true to him.
Undone, undone! I shall ne'er make Guildhall-Speech more: but he shall hang for't, if there be e'er a Witness to be had between this and Salamanca for Money.
Do your worst, Sir; Witnesses are out of fashion now, Sir, thanks to your Ignoramus Juries.
Then I'm resolv'd to disinherit him.
See, Sir, that's past your Skill too, thanks to my last Night's Ingenuity; they're
sign'd, seal'd, and deliver'd in the presence of, &c.
Bear Witness, 'twas he that rob'd me last night.
We bear witness, Sir, we know of no such matter we. I thank you for that, Sir; wou'd you make Witnesses of Gentlemen?
No matter for that, I'll have him hang'd, nay, drawn and quarter'd.
What, for obeying your Commands, and living on my Wits?
Nay, then 'tis a clear Case, you can neither hang him or blame him.
I'll propose fairly now; if you'll be generous and pardon all, I'll render your Estate back during Life, and put the Writings in Sir Anthony Meriwill's and Sir Charles his Hands --
I have a Fortune here that will maintain me,This is but Reason.
With this Proviso, that he makes not use on't to promote any Mischief to the King and Government. All. Good and Just.
Hum, I'd as good quietly agree to't, as lose my Credit by making a Noise. -- Well, Tom, I pardon all, and will be Friends.
See, my dear Creature, even this hard old Man is mollify'd at last into good Nature; yet you'll still be cruel.
No, your unwearied Love at last has vanquisht me. Here, be as happy as a Wife can make ye -- One last look more, and then -- be gone, fond Love.
Come, Sir, you must receive Diana too; she is a cheerful witty Girl, and handsome, one that will be a Comfort to your Age, and bring no Scandal home. Live peaceably, and do not trouble your decrepid Age with Business of State.
Let all things in their own due Order move,