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MISS LUCY IN TOWN. A SEQUEL TO The Virgin Unmasqued. A FARCE; With SONGS.
And he did not give you a single Shilling?
Taw.
No, upon my Honour.
Hay.
Very well. They spend so much Money in Shew and Equipage, that
they can no more pay their Ladies
than their Tradesmen. If it was not for Mr. Zorobabel, and
some more of his Persuasion, I must shut up my Doors.
Taw.
Besides, Ma'am, virtuous Women and Gentlemen's Wives come so
cheap, that no Man will go to the Price of a Lady of the Town.
Hay.
I thought Westminster-Hall would have given them a Surfeit
of their virtuous Women: But I see nothing will do; tho' a Jury of
Cuckolds were to give never such swinging Damages, it will not deter
Men from qualifying more Jurymen. In short, nothing can do us any
service but an Act of Parliament to put us down.
Taw.
Have you put a Bill on your Door, Ma'am, as you said you would?
Hay.
It is up, it is up. Oh Tawdry! that a Woman who hath been
bred, and always lived like a Gentlewoman, and followed a polite way
of Business, should be reduced to let Lodgings.
Taw.
It is a melancholy Consideration truly.
[Knocking.
But hark! I hear a Coach stop.
Hay.
Some Rake or other, who is too poor to have any Reputation. This
is not a Time of Day for good Customers to walk abroad. The Citizens,
good Men! can't leave their Shops so soon.
Servant enters.
Madam, a Gentleman and Lady to enquire for Lodgings; they seem to be just come out of the Country, for the Coach and Horses are in a terrible dirty Pickle.
Hay.
Why don't you shew them in? Tawdry, who knows what Fortune
hath sent us?
Taw.
If she had meant me any Good, she'd have sent a Gentleman without
a Lady.
Servant returning with John.
This is my Mistress, Friend.
John.
Do you take Volks in to live here? Because if you do, Madam and
the Squire will come and live with you.
Hay.
Then your Master is a Squire, Friend, is he?
John.
Ay, he is as good a Squire as any within five Miles o' en: Tho'f
he was but a Footman before, what is that to the purpose? Madam has
enough for both o' 'em.
Hay.
Well, you may desire your Master and his Lady to walk in. I
believe I can furnish them with what they want. What think you,
Tawdry, of the Squire and his Lady, by this Specimen of them?
Taw.
Why I think if I can turn the Squire to as good Account as you
will his Lady, (I mean if she be handsome,) we shall have no reason
to repent our Acquaintance. You will soon teach her more Grace, than
to be pleased
with a Footman, especially as he is her Husband.
Hay.
Truly, I must say, I love to see Ladies prefer themselves. Mercy
on those who betray Women to sacrifice their own Interest: I would
not have such a Sin lie on my Conscience for the World.
Enter Mr. Thomas, Wife, and Servants.
Tho.
Madam, your humble Servant. My Fellow here tells me you have
Lodgings to lett, pray what are they, Madam?
Hay.
Sir, my Bill hath informed you.
Tho.
Pox! I am afraid she suspects I can't read.
Hay.
What Conveniencies, Madam, would your Ladyship want?
Wife.
Why, good Woman, I shall want every thing which other fine
Ladyships want. Indeed, I don't know what I shall want yet; for I
never was in Town before: But I shall want every thing I see.
Tho.
I hope your Apartments here are handsome, and that People of
Fashion use to lodge with you.
Hay.
If you please, Sir, I'll wait on your Honour, and shew you the
Rooms.
Wife.
Ay pray, John, take care of the great Cake and the cold
Turkey, and the Ham and the Chickens, and the Bottle of Sack and the
two Bottles of Strong Beer, and the Bottle of Cyder.
John.
I'll take the best care I can: but a Man would think he was got
into a Fair. The Folks stare at one as if they had never seen a Man
before.
Wife.
I tired! not I, I an't tired at all; I could walk twenty Miles
further.
Taw.
Oh, I am surprized at that; most fine Ladies are horribly
fatigued after a Journey.
Wife.
Are they?—Hum! I don't know whether I an't so too; yes I am, I
am, horribly fatigued. (Well, I shall never find out all that a fine
Lady ought to be.)
Wife.
No, Madam, never before that I know of.
Taw.
I shall be glad to wait on you, Madam, and shew you the Town.
Wife.
I am very much obliged to you, Madam: and I am resolved to see
every thing
that is to be seen: The Tower, and the Crowns, and the Lions, and
Bedlam, and the Parliament-House, and the Abbey—
Taw.
O fie, Madam! these are only Sights for the Vulgar; no fine
Ladies go to these.
Wife.
No! why then I won't neither. Oh odious Tower, and filthy
Lions.—But pray, Madam, are there no Sights for a fine Lady to see?
Taw.
O yes, Madam; there are Ridottos, Masquerades, Court, Plays, and
a thousand others, so many, that a fine Lady has never time to be at
home, but when she is asleep.
Wife.
I am glad to hear that; for I hate to be at home: But, dear
Madam, do tell me— for I suppose you are a fine Lady.
Taw.
At your Service, Madam.
Wife.
What do your fine Ladies do at these Places? what do they do at
Masquerades now? for I have heard of them in the Country.
Taw.
Why they dress themselves in a strange Dress, and they walk up
and down the Room, and they cry, Do you know me? and then they
burst out a laughing, and then they sit down, and then they get up,
and then they walk about again, and then they go home.
Wife.
Oh, this is charming, and easy too; I shall be able to do a
Masquerade in a Minute: Well, but do tell me a little of the rest.
What do they do at your what d'ye call 'ems, your Plays?
Wife.
O delightful. By Gole, I find there is nothing in a fine Lady;
any body may be a fine Lady if this be all.
AIR I.
If Flaunting, and Ranting,
If Noise and Gallanting
Be all in fine Ladies requir'd;
I'll warrant I'll be
As fine a Lady
As ever in Town was admir'd.
At Plays I will rattle,
Tittle-tattle,
Tittle-tattle,
Prittle-prattle,
Prittle-prattle,
As gay and as loud as the best:
And at t'other Place,
With a Mask on my Face,
I'll ask all I see
Do you know me?
Do you know me?
And te he, he,
And te, he, he!
At nothing as loud as a Jest.
Thomas and Haycock return.
Tho.
My Dear, I have seen the Rooms, and they are very handsome, and
fit for us People of Fashion.
Wife.
O my Dear, I am extremely glad on't. Do you know me? Ha, ha, ha,
my Dear, (stretching out her Fan before her) ha, ha, ha!
Tho.
Heyday! What's the matter now?
Wife.
I am only doing over a fine Lady at a Masquerade or Play, that's
all.
Hay.
I am glad to hear it; for she's really pretty, and I shall scarce
want a Customer for a Tit-bit.
Wife.
Well, my Dear, you won't stay long, for you know I can hardly
bear you out of my Sight; I shall be quite miserable till you come
back, my dear, dear Tommy.
Tho.
My dear Lucy, I will but go find out a Taylor, and be back
with you in an Instant.
Wife.
Pray do, my Dear.—Nay, t'other Kiss; one more,—oh! thou art
the sweetest Creature.
Taw.
Your Husband! dear Madam, and was it your Husband that you kiss'd
so?
Wife.
Why, don't fine Ladies kiss their Husbands?
Taw.
No, never.
Wife.
O-la! but I do not like that tho'; by Gole, I believe I shall
never be a fine Lady, if I must not be kiss'd. I like being a fine
Lady in other Things, but not in that; I thank you. If your fine
Ladies are never kiss'd, by Gole, I think we have not so much Reason
to envy them as I imagin'd.
SONG.
How happy are the Nymphs and Swains,
Who skip it, and trip it, all over the Plains;
How sweet are the Kisses,
How soft are the Blisses,
Transporting the Lads, and all melting their Misses? If Ladies here
so nice are grown,
Who jaunt it, and flaunt it, all over the Town,
To fly as from Ruin,
From Billing and Cooing,
A Fig for their Airs, give me plain Country Wooing.
Taw.
O you mistake me, Madam; a fine Lady may kiss any Man but her
Husband— You will have all the Beaus in Town at your Service.
Wife.
Beaus! O Gemini, those are the Things Miss Jenny used to
talk of.—And pray, Madam, do Beaus kiss so much sweeter and better
than other Folks?
Taw.
Hum! I can't say much of that.
Wife.
And pray then, why must I like them better than my own Husband?
Hay.
Because it's the Fashion, Madam. Fine Ladies do every Thing
because it's the Fashion. They spoil their Shapes, to appear big with
Child, because it's the Fashion. They lose their Money at Whisk,
without understanding the Game; they go to Auctions, without intending
to buy; they go to Operas, without any Ear; and slight their Husbands
without disliking them; and all—because it is the Fashion.
Wife.
Well, I'll try to be as much in Fashion as I can: But pray when
must I go to these Beaus; for I really long to see them? For Miss
Jenny says, she's sure I shall like them; and if I do, i'facks! I
believe I shall tell them so, notwithstanding what our Parson says.
Hay.
Bravely said; I will shew you some fine Gentlemen, which I
warrant you will like.
Wife.
And will they like me?
Taw.
Like you! they'll adore you, they'll worship you. Madam, Says my
Lord, You are
the most charming, beautiful, fine Creature that ever my Eyes
beheld.
Wife.
What's that? Do, say that over again.
Taw. (repeats)
Madam, you are, &c.
Wife.
And will they think all this of me?
Taw.
No doubt of it. They'll swear it.
Wife.
Then to be sure they will, think it. Yes, yes, to be sure they
will think so. I wish I could see these charming Men.
Hay.
O you will see them every where. Here in the House I have several
to visit me, who have said the same thing to me and this young Lady.
Wife.
What did they call you charming and beautiful?—By Gole, I think
they may very well say so to me [aside.] But when will these
charming Men come?
Hay.
They'll be here immediately: But your Ladyship will dress
yourself. I see your Man has brought your Things. I suppose your
Ladyship has your Clothes with you.
Wife.
Oh yes, I have Clothes enough; I have a fine Thread Satin Suit of
Clothes of all the Colours in the Rainbow; then I have a fine red
Gown flower'd with Yellow, all my own Work; and a fine lac'd Suit of
Pinners, that was my Great Grandmother's! that has been worn but
twice these forty Years, and my Mother told me, cost almost four
Pounds when it was new, and reaches down hither. And then I have a
great Gold Watch that hath continued
in our Family, I can't tell how long, and is almost as broad as a
moderate Punch Bowl; and then I have two great Gold Ear-Rings, and
six or seven Rings for my Finger, worth above twenty Pound all
together; and a thousand fine Things that you shall see.
Hay.
Ay, Madam, these Things would have drest your Ladyship very well
an hundred Years ago: But the Fashions are altered. Laced Pinners,
indeed! You must cut off your Hair, and get a little Perriwig, and a
French Cap; and instead of a great Watch, you must have one so
small, that it is impossible it should go; and—But come, this young
Lady will instruct You. Pray, Miss, wait on the Lady to her
Apartment, and send for proper Tradesmen to dress her; such as the
fine Ladies use. Madam, you shall be drest as you ought to be.
Wife.
Thank you, Madam; and then I shall be as fine a Lady as the best
of them. By Gole, this London is a charming Place. If ever my
Husband gets me out of it again, I am mistaken. Come, dear Miss, I am
impatient. Do you know me? ha, he, ha!
Enter Lord Bawble.
Ld. B.Hay.
O fie! my Lord; I protest, if Sir Thomas and you don't
leave off your Midnight Riots, you will ruin the Reputation of my
House for ever. I wonder too, you have no more Regard to your own
Characters.
Hay.
We ought all to be ashamed of our Sins. O my Lord, my Lord, had
you but heard that excellent Sermon, on Kennington Common, it
would have made you ashamed: I am sure it had so good an Effect upon
me, that I shall be ashamed of my Sins as long as I live.
Hay.
Alas, I can't, I can't; I was bred up in the Way: But I repent
heartily; I repent every Hour of my Life; and that I hope will make
Amends.
Hay.
Ah, poor Jenny! Poor Jenny is gone. I shall never
see her more; she was the best of Girls; it almost breaks my tender
Heart to think on't: Nay, I shall never out-live her Loss,
(crying.) My Lord, Sir Thomas and you forgot to pay for
that Bowl of Punch last Night.
Hay.
Worse if possible.—She is— she is turn'd Methodist, and
married to one of the Brethren.
Hay.
Alas! I fear not; for they are powerful Men, and put such good
Things into Women. —But pray, my Lord, how go the Finances, for I
have such a Piece of Goods, such a Girl just arrived out of the
Country!—upon my Soul as pure a Virgin—for I have known her whole
bringing up: She is a Relation of mine; her Father left me her
Guardian. I have just brought her from a Boarding-School to have her
under my own Eye, and complete her Education.
Hay.
Not a Step without the Ready. I told you I was her
Guardian, and I shall not betray my Trust.
Hay.
I'll give you leave. He'll be tir'd of her in a Week, and then I
may dispose of her again. I am afraid I did wrong in putting her off
for a Virgin, for she'll certainly discover she is married. However, I
can forswear the knowing it.
[Zorobabel brought in, in a Chair, with the
Curtains drawn.
O here's one of my sober Customers.— Mr. Zorobabel, is
it you? I am your Worship's most obedient Servant.
Zor.
How do you do, Mrs. Haycock? I hope no body sees or
over-hears. This is an early Hour for me to visit at. I have but just
been at home to dress me, since I came from the Alley.
Zor.
Fuller than I desire, Mrs. Haycock, I assure you. We hoped
to have brought them to seven Pounds before this; that would have been
a pretty comfortable Interest for our Money.— But, have you any
worth seeing in your House?
Hay.
O Mr. Zorobabel! such a Piece! such an Angel!
Zor.
Ay, ay, where? where?
Hay.
Here in the House.
Zor.
Let me see her this instant.
Hay.
Sure nothing was ever so unfortunate!
Zor.
Hey! what?
Hay.
O Sir! not thinking to see your Worship this busy Time, I have
promised her to Lord Bawble.
Zor.
How, Mrs. Haycock, promise her to a Lord without offering
her to me first? Let me tell you, 'tis an Affront not only to me, but
to all my Friends: And you deserve never to have any but Christians
in your House again.
Hay.
Marry forbid! Don't utter such Curses against me.
Zor.
Who is it supports you? Who is it can support you? Who have any
Money besides us?
Hay.
Pray your Worship forgive me.
Zor.
No, I will deal higher for the future, with those who are better
acquainted with
Lords; they will know whom to prefer. I must tell you, you are a
very ungrateful Woman. I know a Woman of Fashion at St. James
's end of the Town, where I might deal cheaper than with yourself;
tho' I own indeed, yours is rather the more reputable House of the
two.
Hay.
But my Lord hath never seen her yet.
Zor.
Hath he not? Why then he never shall, 'till I have done with her:
She'll be good enough for a Lord half a year hence. Come, fetch her
down, fetch her down. How long hath she been in Town?
Hay.
Not two Hours. Pure Country innocent Flesh and Blood.—But what
shall I say to my Lord?
Zor.
Say any thing: Put off some body else upon him; a stale Woman of
Quality, or somebody who hath been in Westminster-Hall and the
News-Papers.
Hay.
Well, I'll do the best I can; tho', upon my Honour, I was to have
had 200 Guineas from my Lord.
Zor.
Two hundred Promises you mean; but had it been ready Cash, I'll
make you amends if I like her; we'll never differ about the Price; so
fetch her, fetch her.
Hay.
I will, an't please your Worship.
Enter Haycock.
Zor.
You are a sensible Woman, and I commend your Care; for Reputation
is the very Soul of a Jew.
Hay.
Go in here, I will quickly clear the Coast for you again.
[Exit Zor.
Now for my Gentlemen; and if I mistake not their Voices, one is
an Opera-Singer, and the other a Singer in one of our Playhouses.
Enter Signior Cantileno and Mr. Ballad.
Hay.
What is the matter, Gentlemen? what is the matter?
Cant.
Begar I vil ave de Woman; begar I vil ave her.
Bal.
You must win her first, Signor; and if you can gain her
Affections, I am too much
an Englishman to think of restraining her from pursuing
her own Will.
Cant.
Never fear, me vin her. No English Woman can withstand the
Charms of my Voice.
Hay.
If he begins to sing, there will be no end on't. I must go look
after my young Lady.
SONG.
Cant.
Music sure hath Charms to move,
With my Song, with my Song I'll charm my Love.
This good Land, where Money grows,
Well the Price of Singing knows:
Hither all the Warblers throng;
Taking Money,
Milk and Honey,
Taking Money for a Song. Bal.
Ha, ha, ha! What the devil should an Italian Singer do
with a Mistress?
Cant.
Ask your Women, who are in love with the Italian Singers.
SONG.
See, while I strike the vocal Lyre,
Beauty languish, languish and expire:
Like Turtle-Doves, in wooing Fit,
See the blooming Charmers sit;
Softly sighing,
Gently dying,
While sweet Sounds to Raptures move:
Trembling, thrilling,
Sweetly killing,
Airs that fan the Wings of Love.
SONG.
Bal.
[1.]
Be gone thou Shame of Human Race,
The noble Roman Soil's Disgrace;
Nor vainly with a Briton dare
Attempt to win a British Fair.
2.
For manly Charms the British Dame
Shall feel a fiercer nobler Flame;
To manly Numbers lend her Ear,
And scorn thy soft enervate Air.
Enter a Porter.
Por. to Cant.
Sir, the Lady's in the next Room.
Cant.
Ver vel. Begar I vil ave her.
Bal.
I'll follow you, and see how far the Charms of your Voice will
prevail.
Enter Zorobabel, Haycock, and Wife.
Hay. (to her entering.)
I am going to introduce your Ladyship to one of our fine
Gentlemen whom I told you of.
Wife. (surveying him aukwardly.)
Is this a Beau, and a fine Gentleman?—By Goles Mr. Thomas
is a finer Gentleman, in my Opinion, a thousand times.
Zor.
Madam, your humble Servant; I shall always think myself obliged
to Mrs. Haycock for introducing me to a young Lady of your
perfect Beauty. Pray, Madam, how long have you been in Town?
Wife.
Why, I have been in Town about three Hours: I am but a Stranger
here, Sir; but I was very lucky to meet with this civil Gentlewoman
and this fine Lady, to teach me how to dress and behave myself. Sir, I
would not but be a fine Lady for all the World.
Zor.
Madam, you are in the right on't: And this soft Hand, this white
Neck, and these sweet Lips were formed for no other purpose.
Wife.
Let me alone mun, will you; I won't be pull'd and hall'd about by
you, I won't.—For I am very sure you don't kiss half so sweet as
Mr. Thomas.
Hay.
Madam, if you will but like this Gentleman, he'll make you a fine
Lady: 'Tis he, and some more of his acquaintance, that make half the
fine Ladies in Town.
Wife.
Ay! Why then I will like him.—I will say I do, which I suppose
is the same thing. [aside.] But when shall I have all these
fine Things? for I long to begin.
Zor.
And so do I, my Angel.
Hay. to Zor.
Fetch her some Bawbles; any Toys will do.
Wife.
But if you will fetch me all the Things you promised me, you
shall kiss me as long as you please.
Zor.
But when I have done all these things, you must never see any
other Man but me.
Wife.
Must not I?—But I don't like that.—And will you stay with me
always then?
Wife.
(O then it will be well enough,— for I will see whom I please
all the Day, and you shall know nothing of the matter.)
[Aside.
Indeed I won't see any body else but you; indeed I won't. But do
go and fetch me these fine Things.
Zor.
I go, my Dear. Mrs. Haycock, pray take care of her. I
never saw any one so pretty nor so silly.
Wife.
I heard you, Sir; but you shall find I have sense enough to
out-wit you. Well, Miss Jenny may stay in the Country if she
will; and see nothing but the great jolly Parson, who never gives any
thing but a Nosegay, or an handful of Nuts for a Kiss. But where's the
young Lady that was here just now? for to my mind I am in a new
World, and my Head is quite turn'd giddy.
Hay.
It is a common Effect, Madam, which the Town-Air hath on young
Ladies, when first they come into it.
Enter Cantileno.
Cant.
Begar dat dam English Ballad-singing Dog hath got away de
Woman.—ah, pardie —voila une autre—
Cant.
Begar I like none but de Woman of Quality.—And you no know the
Price of my Pocket.—See here—begar here are fifty Guineas—dey
are not above the Value of two Song.
SONG.
To Beauty compar'd, pale Gold I despise;
No Jewels can sparkle like Cælia's bright Eyes:
Let Misers with pleasure survey their bright Mass;
With far greater Raptures I view my fine Lass:
Gold lock'd in my Coffers for me has no Charms;
Then its Value I own,
Then I prize it alone,
When it tempts blooming Beauty to fly to my Arms. Wife.
This is certainly one of those Operish Singers Miss Jenny
used to talk of, and to mimic: She taught me to mimic them too.
Recitative.
Cant.
Brightest Nymph turn here thy Eyes,
Behold thy Swain despairs and dies.
Wife.
A Voice so sweet cannot despair,
Unless from Deafness, of the Fair;
Such Sounds must move the dullest Ear:
Less sweet the warbling Nightingale;
Less sweet the Breeze sweeps thro' the Vale.
SONG.
Cant.
Sweetest Cause of all my Pain,
Pride and Glory of the Plain,
See my Anguish,
See me languish:
Pity thy expiring Swain. Wife.
Gentle Youth, of my Disdain,
Ah, too cruel you complain;
My tender Heart
Feels greater smart;
Pity me expiring Swain. Cant.
Will you then all my Pangs despise?
Will Nothing your Disdain remove? Wife.
Can you not read my wishing Eyes?
Ah, must I tell you that I love? Cant.
I faint, I die. Wife.
And so do I.
Ballad enters, and sings.
SONG.
Turn hither your Eyes, bright Maid,
Turn hither with all your Charms;
Behold a jolly young Blade,
Who longs to be clasp'd in your Arms:
To sighing and whining,
To sobbing and pining,
Then merrily bid adieu. Cant.
See how I expire. Bal.
See how I'm on fire,
And burn, my dear Nymph, for you. Wife.
Thus strongly pursu'd,
By two Lovers woo'd,
What shall a poor Woman do?
But a Lover in Flames,
Sure most Pity claims,
So, jolly Lad, I'm for you.
Enter Haycock.
Hay.
Gentlemen, I must beg you would go into another Room; for my Lord
Bawble is just coming, and he hath bespoke this.
Wife.
Is my Lord come? How eagerly I long to see him!
Cant.
Allons, Madam.
Wife.
No, I will stay with my Lord.
Hay.
He is just coming in.—Upon my Soul I will bring her to you
presently.
Cant.
Well, you are de Woman of Honour.
Bal.
This new Face will not come to my Turn yet; so I will to my dear
Tawdry.
Enter Ld. Bawble.
Ld. B.Hay.
What shall I do? [aside.] Yes, yes, my Lord, this is the
same: But pray come away; for I can't bring her to any thing yet; she
is so young, if you speak to her, you will frighten her out of her
Wits; have but a little Patience, and I shall bring her to my Mind.
Hay.
Consider, she is just fresh and raw out of the Country.
Hay.
What will become of me! I'll get out of the way, and swear to Mr.
Zorobabel, I know nothing of my Lord's seeing her.
Wife.
Sir, I am sure, I shall be very glad, if any thing in my power
can make the Beaus and fine Gentlemen of this fine Town happy.—He
talks just like Mr Thomas, before I was married to him, when
he first came out of his Town-Service.
Wife.
I'll never frown again; for if all the fine Gentlemen in Town
were in love with me,—icod, with all my Heart, the more the
merrier.
Wife.
A Lord!—Gemini, and are you a Lord?
Wife.
Well, my Lord Bawble is the prettiest Name I ever heard;
the very Name is enough to charm one.—My Ld. Bawble!
Wife.
Heigh, ho!
Wife.
At what, perhaps, will make you sigh too, when you know it.
Wife.
I am married to an odious Footman, and can never be my Lady
Bawble.—I am afraid you won't like me, now I have told
you.—But I assure you, if I had not been married already, I should
have married
you of all the Beaus and fine Gentlemen in the World: But tho' I
am married to him, I like you the best; and I hope that will do.
Wife.
Yes, I am; I see you don't like me, now you know I am another
Man's Wife.
Wife.
O-la: What are you married then?
Wife.
No! by Goles, you may marry somebody else for me. And now I think
on't; if I should be seen speaking to him, I shall lose all the fine
things I was promised.
Wife.
I must not stay with you any longer, for I expect an old
Gentleman every Minute, who promised me a thousand fine Things, if I
would not speak to any body but him: He promised to keep two tall
lusty Fellows for no other Business but to carry me up and down in a
Chair.
Wife.
O la! what are there finer Houses than this in Town? Why, my
Father hath five Hundred a Year in the Country, and his House is not
half so fine.
Wife.
Nay, the finer the better, by Goles, if you will pay for it.
Wife.
Lordship! it is pretty. Lordship!— But then you won't see me
above once in a Twelvemonth.
Wife.
O Gemini! I forgot it was the Fashion.
Wife.
I am out of my Wits. My Lord, I am ready to wait on Lordship,
wherever Lordship pleases.—Lordship! Quality! I shall be a fine
Lady immediately now.
Enter Haycock.
Hay.
What shall I do? I am ruin'd for ever! My Lord hath carried away
the Girl. Mr. Zorobabel will never forgive me; I shall lose
him and all his Friends, and they are the only Support of my House.
Foolish Slut, to prefer a rakish Lord to a sober Jew: But Women
never know how to make their Market 'till they are so old, no one
will give any thing for them.
Enter Thomas.
Tho.
Your humble Servant, Madam. Pray, Madam, how do you like my
Clothes?
Hay.
Your Taylor hath been very expeditious, indeed, Sir.
Tho.
Yes, Madam, I should not have had them so soon, but that I met
with an old Acquaintance, Tom Shabby, the Taylor in
Monmouth-Street, who fitted me with a Suit in a moment.—But
where's my Wife?
Hay.
(What shall I say to him?) I believe she is gone out to see the
Town.
Tho.
Gone out! hey! what, without me! Who's gone with her?
Hay.
Really, Sir, I can't tell. Here was a Gentleman all over Lace: I
suppose, some Acquaintance of hers. I fancy she went with him.
Tho.
A Gentleman in Lace! I am undone, ruin'd, dishonour'd! Some
Rascal hath betray'd away my Wife.—Zounds, why did you let her go
out of the House 'till my Return?
Hay.
The Lady was only a Lodger with me. I had no Power over her.
Hay.
May the Devil fetch me, if ever I saw him before; nor do I know
how he got in.— But there are Birds of Prey lurking in every Corner
of this wicked Town: It makes me shed Tears to think what Villains
there are in the World, to betray poor innocent young Ladies.
Hay.
That is a pity indeed,—if you have been marry'd no longer: Had
you been together half a Year, it had been some Comfort. But be
advised, have a little patience; in all probability whoever the
Gentleman is, he'll return her again soon.
Tho.
Return her! ha! stain'd, spotted, sullied! Who shall return me my
Honour?— S'Death! I'll search her thro' the Town, the World.—Ha!
my Father here!
Goodwill. (entering.)
Son, I met your Man John at the Inn, and he shew'd me the
way hither.—Where is my Daughter, your Wife?
Tho.
Stolen! lost! every thing is lost, and I am undone.
Good.
Hey-day! What's the matter?
Tho.
The matter! O curse this vile Town; I did but go to furnish
myself with a Suit of
Clothes, that I might appear like a Gentleman, and in the mean
time your Daughter hath taken care that I shall appear like a
Gentleman all the Days of my Life; for I am sure I shall be ashamed
to shew my Head among Footmen.
Good.
How! My Daughter run away?—
Hay.
I am afraid it is too true.
Good.
And do you stand meditating?
Tho.
What shall I do?
Good.
Go advertise her this Minute in the News-Paper;—get my Lord
Chief Justice's Warrant.
Hay.
As for the latter, it may be advisable; but the former will be
only throwing away your Money; for the Papers have been of late so
crammed with Advertisements of Wives running from their Husbands, that
no body now reads them.
Tho.
That I should be such a Blockhead to bring my Wife to Town!
Good.
That I should be such a Sot as to suffer you!
Tho.
If I was unmarried again, I would not venture my Honour in a
Woman's keeping, for all the Fortune she could bring me.
Good.
And if I was a young Fellow again, I would not get a Daughter,
for all the Pleasure any Woman could give me.
Enter Zorababel.
Zor.
Here, where's my Mistress? I have equipp'd her; here are Trinkets
enough to supply an Alderman's Wife.
Hay.
(I must be discover'd.) Hush, hush, consider your Reputation;
here are Company. —Your Mistress is run away with my Lord Bawble
.
Zor.
My Mistress run away! Damn my Reputation: Where's the Girl? I
will have the Girl.
Good.
This Gentleman may have lost a Daughter too.
Tho.
Or a Wife, perhaps—You have lost your Wife, Sir, by the
Violence of your Rage?
Zor.
O worse, worse, Sir; I have lost a Mistress. While I went to buy
her Trinkets, this damn'd Jade of a Bawd (where is she?) lets in a
young Rake, and he is run away with her: The sweetest bit of Country
Innocence, just come to Town. S'Blood, I would have given an hundred
Lottery-Tickets for her.
Good.
How, Hell-hound!
Tho.
How, Hell-hound!
Hay.
I am an innocent Woman, and shall fall a Sacrifice to an unjust
Suspicion.
Good.
Oh! my poor Daughter!
Zor.
My Mistress, that I propos'd such Pleasure in.
Hay.
O the Credit of my House, gone for ever!
Zor.
Ha! here she is again.—
Enter Wife.
Wife.
Such Joy! such Rapture! Well, I'll never go into the Country
again. Faugh! how I hate the Name.—Oh! Father, I am sure you don't
know me; nor you, Mr. Thomas, neither;—nor I won't know
you.— Ah, you old fusty Fellow,—I don't want any thing you can
give; nor you shan't come near me,—so you shan't.—Madam, I am very
much oblig'd to you, for letting me see the World. I hate to talk to
any one I can't call Lordship.
Good.
And is this be-powder'd, be-curl'd, be-hoop'd Madwoman my
Daughter?—
[She coquets affectedly.
Why, Hussy, don't you know your own Father?
Tho.
Nor your Husband?
Wife.
No, I don't know you at all;—I never saw you before. I have got
a Lord, and I don't know any one but my Lord.
Tho.
And pray what hath my Lord done to you, that hath put you in such
Raptures?
Zor.
A Footman!
Hay.
I thought he was a Servant, by his talking so much of his Honour.
Tho.
You call me Footman! I own I was a Footman, and had rather be a
Footman still, than a tame Cuckold to a Lord. I wish every Man, who
is not a Footman, thought in the same manner.
Good.
Thou art a pretty Fellow, and worthy a better Wife.
Tho.
Sir, I am sorry that from henceforth I cannot, without being a
Rascal, look on your Daughter as my Wife; I am sorry I can't forgive
her.
Wife.
Forgive me,—ha, ha, ha; ha, ha, ha! comical! why I won't
forgive you, mun.
Good.
What hath he done, which you will not forgive?
Wife.
Done! why I have found out somebody I like better; and he's my
Husband, and
I hate him, because it is the Fashion: That he hath done.
Zor.
Sir Skip, a word with you: If you intend to part with your Wife,
I will give you as much for her as any Man.
Tho.
Sir!
Zor.
Sir, I say, I will give you as much, or more for your Wife, than
any Man.
Tho.
Those Words, which suppose me a Villain, call me so, and thus
should be return'd.
Tho.
Know you, yes, you Rascal, and you ought to know me. I have
indeed the greatest reason to remember you, having purchas'd a Ticket
of you in the last Lottery for as much again as it was worth.—
However, you shall have reason to remember me for the future; a
Footman shall teach such a low, pitiful, stock-jobbing Pickpocket to
dare to think to cuckold his Betters.
Good.
Your humble Servant.
Good.
A Rascal, a Villain.
Enter Lord Bawble.
Wife.
O my dear Lord, are you come?
Wife.
O my Lord, I only stept into a Chair, as you call it, to make a
Visit to a fine Lady here. It is pure Sport to ride in a Chair.
Tho.
I give your Lordship Joy of this fine Girl—
Tho.
No, my Lord! Then I am afraid your Lordship never will have any
thing more, for this Lady is mine.
Tho.
The Property of an English Husband, my Lord.
Wife.
I married to him! I never saw the Fellow before.
Good.
Mercy on me! what a Sink of Iniquity is this Town? She hath been
here but five Hours, and learnt Assurance already to deny her
Husband.
Tho.
How, my Lord, resign my Wife! Fortune, which made me poor, made
me a Servant; but Nature, which made me an Englishman,
preserv'd me from being a Slave. I have as good a Right to the Little
I claim, as the proudest Peer hath to his great Possessions; and
whilst I am able, I will defend it.
Wife.
Whether I am his Wife or no, is nothing to the purpose; for I
will go with my Lord. I hate my Husband, and I love my Lord. He's a
fine Gentleman, and I am a fine Lady, and we are fit for one
another.—Now, my Lord, here are all the fine Things you gave me; he
will take them away, but you will keep them for me.
Tho.
Yes, Madam, and you shall go, as soon as I can get Horses put
into a Coach.
Wife.
Ay, but I won't go with you.
Tho.
No, but you shall go without me: Your good Father here will take
care of you into the Country; where, if I hear of your Amendment,
perhaps, half a year hence I may visit you; for since my Honour is not
wrong'd, I can forgive your Folly.
Wife.
I shall shew you, Sir, that I am a Woman of Spirit, and not to be
govern'd by my Husband.—I shall have Vapours and Fits, (these they
say are infallible) and if these won't do, let me see who dares carry
me into the Country against my Will: I will swear the Peace against
them.
Good.
Oh! oh! that ever I should beget a Daughter!
Tho.
Here, John!
John (enters.)
An't please your Worship.
Tho.
Let all my Things be pack'd up again in the Coach they came
in;—and send Betty here this Instant with your Mistress's
Riding-Dress.—Come, Madam, you must strip yourself of your
Puppet-Shew Dress, as I will of mine; they will make you ridiculous in
the Country, where there is still something of Old
England remaining. Come, no Words, no delay; by Heavens!
if you but affect to loiter, I will send Orders with you to lock you
up, and allow you only the bare Necessaries of Life. You shall know
I'm your Husband, and will be obey'd.
Wife. (crying.)
And must I go into the Country by myself? Shall I not have a
Husband, or a Lord, or any body?—If I must go, won't you go with
me?
Tho.
Can you expect it? Can you ask me, after what hath happened?
Wife.
What I did, was only to be a fine Lady, and what they told me
other fine Ladies do, and I should never have thought of in the
Country; but if you will forgive me, I will never attempt to be more
than a plain Gentlewoman again.
Tho.
Well, and as a plain Gentlewoman you shall have Pleasures some
fine Ladies may envy. Come, dry your Eyes; my own Folly, not yours,
is to blame; and that I am only angry with.
Wife.
And will you go with me then, Tommy?
Tho.
Ay, my Dear, and stay with thee too: I desire no more to be in
this Town, than to have thee here.
Good.
Henceforth, I will know no Degree, no Difference between Men, but
what the Standards of Honour and Virtue create: The
noblest Birth without these is but splendid Infamy; and a Footman
with these Qualities, is a Man of Honour.
SONG.
Wife.
Welcome again, ye rural Plains;
Innocent Nymphs, and virtuous Swains:
Farewell Town, and all its Sights;
Beaus and Lords, and gay Delights:
All is idle Pomp and Noise;
Virtuous Love gives greater Joys.
Chorus.
All is idle Pomp and Noise;
Virtuous Love gives greater Joys.