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[A Chamber in Sir John Woodall's House.]
Emily enters, Rose following her.
Em.
Must I be persecuted by every one in the family? Has your
mistress ordered you to be rude to me too?
Rose.
I don't know what you mean by rude, not I; so you always call me,
when I would advise you for your good.
Em.
I desire you will not concern yourself about me, Mrs. Rose.
Rose.
I only tell you as a friend, Miss, that if you provoke my
mistress, it will be the worse for yourself.
Em.
This is most astonishing insolence! I wish your master were come
home.
Rose.
I wish he were, and we'll see whose story will be believed. I
only speak for peace-sake. This house will be too hot for some of us
before a week's over, that's for certain.
Em.
If you mean for me, I am above your malice; and so my uncle be
disabused, I care not what is my lot.
Rose.
Mighty well! If young ladies will be so froptious, let them
suffer; but remember I tell you—
Em.
I'll hear no more of your impertinence. Begone—
Enter Mrs. Friendly.
[Em.]—Dear Mrs. Friendly; I thought you had quite deserted me; I am very glad to see you.
Mrs. Fr.Em.
Never at home! Bless me, Madam! Why I never—
Em.
Oh! Madam, you are quite mistaken—
Em.
But that's not the case, Madam—If you'll hear me—
Em.
There's no stopping her. [aside] But, dear Madam, hear
what I have to say. I have never stirred out since I saw you last, nor
never knew you call'd on me.
Em.
I'll tell you, if you'll allow me—
Em.
Why not to trouble you with particulars, I have discovered such
irregularities in Mrs. Etherdown's conduct—
Em.
Indeed, Madam, his errors as much deserve pity as his faults do
blame.
Em.
Dear Mrs. Friendly,—spare me on that topic. I cannot bear to
think of it.—
Em.
Dear Madam!—how could you keep this from me so long?—and now
to surprise me so.—You are very good, but indeed you have put me all
in a flurry.
Em.
Oh! 'tis easy to guess:—I am interested in too few to be
suspended.—Captain Wellford is returned.
Em.
When did he arrive?
Em.
Do tell me; how does he look?
Em.
Well, I'll not detain you;—only tell me, if he can devise any
means to see me:—You know I dare not admit him here.
Em.
Not now, my dear good creature; only answer my question, and
leave out the rest of your narrative till another time.—
Em.
That's hard.
Em. [So she talks 'tis no matter on what subject. Aside. ]
Mrs. Fr.
Two-and-twenty—ay, two-and-twenty years; —but no matter for
that. What were we saying before?
Em.
We were speaking of Capt. Wellford.—I am surprised he has not
writ to me.
Em.
Nay, I can't tell.
Em.
Are you going to count over the thousand articles on your
fingers? For goodness sake, don't lose so much of your time.
Em.
I wonder you were admitted.
Em.
Ay, but the difficulty is to get thither; for it will be
impossible to go out without leave, and I cannot bring myself to ask
it of such a wretch.—I wish you could contrive some means.—
Em.
I own it goes against me to condescend so far as to ask
permission of such a creature; but on this occasion I will get the
better of my pride, and desire leave to go to your house. If she
refuses me, I must be patient till my uncle comes to town, and then I
am determined to quit this house at all events.
Em.
When he sent me to town, he went on a visit to an old
acquaintance of his, where it seems he was seized with a fit of the
gout, which has detain'd him so long; but he is now well, and we
expect him every day.
Em.
True; and therefore I will keep you no longer.
Em. [I shall never get her away. Aside.]
You'll excuse me, my dear Madam, but I have letters to write into the country, by a person who waits for them.
Mrs. Fr.Em.
Oh! undoubtedly.
Em.
I must wait on you down.
Changes to Mrs. Etherdown's Chamber, she drinking Chocolate, Rose attending.
Mrs. Eth.Rose.
As I said to her this morning, what signifies telling Sir John
such a silly thing, only to make mischief in the family? You know my
mistress is a great deal younger than him, and it is a common thing
for ladies that live with elderly gentlemen to go astray a little now
and then, and think no harm.
Rose.
Why so I did at last.
Rose.
Say! why she said she did not care, not she;—that she would not
have her uncle deceiv'd, and so she could but see you and your brat
(as she called the poor innocent babe) fairly out of the house, she
did not care what became of her.
Rose.
Ay, if it would induce Sir John to marry you, Ma'am, as you think
it will.
Rose.
I wish it were come to that, for then you could leave him with
credit: Lady Woodall, and a separate maintenance. Oh that I could see
that day!
Rose.
'If you have done so then, what need you trouble your head about
consequences, but march off and leave him to shake his ears?'
Rose.
Why, I have found out something that may turn to account, I
think, with good management.
Rose.
No—its a secret.
Rose.
'Tis a secret worth gold.
Rose.
See here,—this letter I intercepted a little while ago.
Mrs. Eth. [Snatches it from her and reads.]
Which way good girl?
Rose.
A footman in a smart livery brought it to the door, and enquired
for Miss Emily; I suspecting something, was resolved to find her out,
and said I was her own maid, and he might give it to me: he still
pressed to see her; I told him she could not be seen; but says I,
looking very slily, don't you think now, I know who you came
from?—Oh, Oh, cries he winking, then I suppose you expect a fee for
delivering this? I laughed and twitch'd it from him, and away he
went, mightily pleas'd with his own archness
"My impatience to hear from my ever dear Emily, will not suffer me to wait Mrs. Friendly's return. I am permitted to hope for the happiness of seeing you to-day at her house. If nothing should prevent your coming, the chariot will attend you at five o'clock.—I will not, till I see you, utter one of the thousand tender things of of which my heart is full.—Adieu—your ever faithful,"
"R. W."
Here are only the two initial letters of his name.—Who can he be?
Rose.
Nay I can't tell—You know I could not ask his man any
questions, as that would be shewing him I was not in the secret.
Rose.
Ay, that she has, and slipp'd in unknown to any body, and Miss
and she had a long confab.—Don't you think you can strike something
out of this?
[Enter a Maid and gives a Card to Mrs. Etherdown.]
Ha! ha! ha! A pretty air truly! "Miss Emily sends her compliments to me, and begs I will permit her to pay a visit to Mrs. Friendly this evening."—Tell Miss I will consider of it.—Rose.
And do you intend to let her go?
Rose.
Mr. Sharply! What assistance do you want from him? I am certain
Mr. Sharply will give himself no trouble about her.—He must be
brought into every scrape.
Rose.
Well,—if he be, I have as free liberty to have my gallants as
other people, I suppose?
Oh! to be sure, Rose, I am far from finding fault with the thing itself, only I thought you wiser than to throw away your favours on such a beggarly fellow.
Rose.
There's nothing in that, if I like him.
Rose.
What signifies his name,—he is a pretty man, I am sure of that.
Rose alone.
So! you want to get me out of the way, do you? What new piece of roguery can she be contriving, that I am not to be let into?—Some wicked trick I am sure; and Mr. Sharply is to be her tool, her cat's paw.—Now would I give one of my fore-teeth to know what she has to say to him.—Ay and I will know too.—I have followed your example many a time to keep you in countenance:—but I'll make bold to practise the last you have set me, to please myself.—I think I can listen with you for your ears.—
Enter Sharply laughing, Mrs. Etherdown following.
Mrs. Eth.Sharp.
Upon my soul I can't help laughing at your folly, as much as that
little rustic's impertinence, in rejecting my honourable
addresses.—How she did rant, and pout, and swell, when I proposed
marriage! I thought I should have split my sides.—
Sharp.
And you have really taken me for a puppet all this while, that
was to be moved by your pretty finger and thumb!—A reasonable
expectation to be sure! and because I have hitherto been your
instrument to cheat that fool Sir John, you modestly suppose I am to
have no will of my own.
Sharp.
A damn'd shabby one.—What then?
Sharp.
I was rather bare of linen at one time of my life,
—that's certain: these premises granted, what would you infer from
thence?
Sharp.
Ha! ha! ha! Credit quotha.—Ho! ho! ho! that kills me quite!
Sharp.
Oh yes! and bred too.—We all know that.
Sharp.
You were an inimitable clear-starcher, that's certain; and
iron'd like a cherubim.
Sharp.
Dear Ma'am, you flatter.
Sharp.
Dear Mrs. Etherdown, you quite overwhelm me!
Sharp.
Nay, prithee now, don't make one blush!—such extravagant
praise!—and to a friend too, fy—
Sharp.
And with reason too.—'Twas the former of those good qualities
first procured me the honour of your ladyship's acquaintance—the
other recommended me to Sir John: since which it has been my business
to flatter him, lie to him, applaud his nonsense, act the ninny to his
face, and laugh at him behind his back:—so much for my
roguery.—And for my impudence, besides the use aforesaid, 'tis by
that I keep you in awe in spite of your insolence, and by that I
expected to get Emily for a wife in spite of her pride. But it was not
worth while to squander such a precious talent on an intrigue; an
heiress was my object, not an amour.
Sharp.
'I am rather tolerable, you are of opinion?'
Sharp.
And I too, by my soul! for all must out together; so e'en shift
for yourself.
Sharp.
Toss her into the Thames.
Sharp.
Or suppose I were to run away with her now, and be hang'd, to do
you a pleasure.
Sharp.
Courage, you know, is not amongst the accomplishments I value
myself chiefly upon.
Sharp.
Explain, explain.—Barbara Etherdown none of thy tricks will
pass upon me.
Sharp.
Really!
Sharp.
If it be for my interest to keep it I am mute as a fish—if not,
out it comes, by my soul!
Sharp. [Walks about and whistles.]
Well—where's the secret?
Sharp.
Well!
Sharp.
This to me now, Barbara, to me, that knows you!
Sharp.
Yes.—Yet I am slow, wonderfully slow of faith in this article.
Sharp.
And he took you at your word?
Sharp.
If this be so,—pray what difference is there between your being
his wife or his mistress,—Conscience out of the question?
Sharp.
Humph.—Well and you have brought him one?
Sharp.
But if he should; by my soul! he'd rather bastardize his whole
generation, than bear to be laughed at for a cuckold; especially by
Friendly, with whom he would fain pass for a man of great sagacity.
Sharp.
Get her out of the way then as fast as you can.
Sharp. sings.]
Tol, lol, lol.—
Sharp.
A lover! some country booby I suppose, that has scampered after
her from Hertfordshire.
Sharp.
The thing is not absolutely impracticable:—But what am I to get
for undertaking this business?
Sharp.
I'll not stir an inch under two hundred pound, one of which I
will be paid before-hand.
Sharp.
Mrs. Private, our old acquaintance, has generally a spare room,
where I sometimes meditate.
Sharp.
Faith, I begin to relish the scheme; for besides the profit, it
will gratify my revenge on that little coy puss, for refusing me.
Sharp.
No farther instructions, dear Madam: I fancy I may be able to
proceed without your help.
Sharp.
Ah! thou harpy!
Sharp.
Oh! curse him; no, an obstinate mule.—My way is to persuade him
against the thing I want to insure the execution of.
Sharp.
Then does he thunder out ten thousand execrations at me, for a
stupid loggerhead; and then I drop my arms, and dangle them this way,
and stare at him, and look mightily frightened, and bless myself at
hearing such oaths, and stretch out my neck, and call him a sad
wicked gentleman.— That always pleases him.—I am an honest
ignoramus, he says, and wonders how the devil such a fool could even
be taught arithmetic.—Then I give a sheepish grin, and tell him he's
so pleasant, and so comical, and so witty, there's no being angry with
him.—He breaks into a horse-laugh, I join in the chorus, and so we
get lovingly drunk together.
Sharp.
Rose's jealousy!
Sharp.
I don't intend to deny it.
Sharp.
Poh!—Any thing to pass away an idle hour.
Sharp.
Ah, poor devil! she haunted me perpetually, till I shew'd her a
little pity.
Sharp.
There's a small point to be adjusted first between you and me.
Sharp. makes signs of counting money on his hand.]
I budge not a foot without it.
Sharp.
Your memory is prodigiously like a sieve;
Your interest it preserves, like weighty grains,
But promises are chaff, it ne'er retains.
[Exit.
[Rose comes from behind a skreen, where she had been concealed.]
Rose.
Now a mischief light on you both, for a couple of false
treacherous serpents as you are!—Rose's jealousy will blow us
up!—Yes, yes; I'll blow you up with a witness!— That rogue
Sharply! Any thing to pass away an idle hour! —And that other
ungrateful upstart; a dowdy! a vulgar creature! I'll fit you for your
fine contrivance!—If I don't make you both smart for this!
[Sir John's House. Mrs. Etherdown's Dressing-room.]
Enter Mrs. Etherdown, a Maid following.
Mrs. Eth.Maid.
No, Madam.
Sir John without.
What the plague's the meaning of this? The house is like an inn I think; all the doors open!
Mrs. Eth.Enter Sir John.
Sir John.So, so, so; What, keeping your room still, Bab! Well; and how dost do, girl? [She runs and falls on his neck.] I thought you had been gone abroad, for the house seems to be flung out at the windows! Nobody in the way!
Mrs. Eth. [Speaking faintly.]
Me! heaven help me! I abroad! I have not been able to go down
stairs yet; and I'm s—o weak, and s—o faint, and so overpower'd
with joy, that I ca—n't ca—n't speak—my dear Sir John!
Well, well, well, here; I'm for you again, you poor fond toad you:—and how hast done all this while?— whimpering, blubbering, like a fool, I suppose, for me.
That damn'd gout catch'd me by the toe just as I was coming home. If a man will play the devil, why he must pay for it; so there is no more to be said.—How does your bantling do?
Mrs. Eth.Not the better for that, you know.—How does Sharply and Emily?
Mrs. Eth.I wish he may make a better man, or Lord ha' mercy on your foolish sex, some twenty years hence!
Mrs. Eth.Poh! nonsense!—mere stuff!—prithee talk a little sensibly, and give me some account of the family; every thing at sixes and sevens I suppose, since I have been gone.—You snivling and moping up in your room; Sharply driv'ling and blund'ring on as usual; and Emily giggling and flaunting about the town.
Mrs. Eth.I don't want her.—I'm monstrously tir'd with my journey.—How do Friendly's family?
Mrs Eth.Oh! Mrs. Friendly is one of your virtuous women; but I'd have her know, I can make you as virtuous as herself when I please.—'Tis but owning you for Lady Woodall, and let me see who'll dispute your virtue.
Mrs. Eth.Burn character!—What good does character do any body? give me a good estate and a good constitution, and let character go to—
Mrs. Eth.Well, well, the thing shall be own'd some time or other; but I
can't bear the thoughts of that dogmatical fellow Friendly's grinning
at me; and then the curs'd impertinence of his wife too, who is always
meddling in other
people's affairs. When her tongue is set a going, you may as soon
stop a whirlwind. 'S-death I'd as lieve be married to a wild cat as to
such a woman.
What, with Friendly?—Well—
Mrs. Eth.Nay, I should not wonder; his wife is such a chattering devil, he must be sick of her. But who is it with then?
Mrs. Eth.What, she's a bawd too! I am glad of that; well—
Mrs. Eth.What the d—l should put it into their heads that I'd marry at all?
Mrs. Eth.Curse his notions:—What does he take me for? Does n't he know that I abominate the very thoughts of matrimony?
Mrs. Eth.Did Friendly say so?
Mrs. Eth.Did he? Did Friendly say so?
Mrs. Eth.Ah, poor Friendly, poor Friendly! there the shoe pinches; he thought of his own wife there.
Mrs. Eth.Friendly said so!
Ha, ha, ha! Oh! he knows me, he knows me well.
Mrs. Eth.Ha, ha, ha! he's no fool; Friendly's no fool; and he knows me well.
Enter Maid.
Maid.
Madam, Miss Emily is gone out.
Maid.
I have been enquiring for her, Madam; and one of the men says,
she went out in a chariot, a little while ago.
By my soul she can't be a better thing; for if I find her out, I'll so claw her.—
Mrs. Eth.Sir John. [Reads.]
Mr. Friendly's chariot will call for you—One of the
thousand tender things.—ha, ha, ha! by the mass, the girl takes
after me; she has spirit, and loves intrigue; I wish she don't come
upon the town tho'.
Laugh! 's-death, let me catch any one daring to laugh at me: laugh! how durst you say such a thing? how durst you think of such a thing?
Mrs. Eth.Curse them and their plots too; I'll shew them
I can out-plot them, with a vengeance—if the thing be as you
suspect.—
Then I'll convince Friendly at once that he is a blockhead; for I'll tell him I am married, and have a son to inherit my estate; and then, pray, what becomes of his plot?
Mrs. Eth.I wanted something to provoke me to it; and if it had not been for this scurvy dog's trick of Friendly's—I don't think I shou'd have own'd you;—not while I liv'd, by my soul.
Mrs. Eth.Yes, I am a likely fellow to be imposed on! I have liv'd till this time of day, to be gull'd to be sure!
Mrs. Eth.I have thought of a way to mortify Friendly horribly. I'll go to him to-morrow; and as if I did not suspect him to have any hand in this affair, I'll pretend to consult him about marrying.
Mrs. Eth.And he'll come with his advice, and his objections, and his arguments against it; and when I get him to that point, I'll come slap upon him with owning my marriage; ha, ha, ha!
Mrs. Eth.Then I'll laugh in his face, and leave him to consider who plots best, he or I—ha, ha, ha!
Mrs. Eth.Ha, ha, ha! how I enjoy the thoughts of plaguing the surly cur! he'll be ready to hang himself.— Come, I don't care if I do take a peep at this same brat of ours.
Mrs. Eth.I am delighted to think of Friendly.
Mrs. Eth.[Changes to a Room in Friendly's House.]
Enter Friendly and Wellford.
Well.
There never was any thing so vexatious! when my
impatience, my wishes, and my hopes were all at the utmost
stretch, to be disappointed thus! That unseasonable coxcomb to come
home at such a juncture!
Fr.
Well, I'll allow you it is a little mal-a-propos. I am glad,
however, that he is come; and if we can but obtain his consent
to your marrying Emily—
Well.
Emily has not answered my letter neither! Not to afford me a
line! nothing but a cold excuse by word of mouth; it's very strange.
Fr.
Poh! there's nothing strange in it; but you lovers are such
restless beings!
Well.
I have loved her almost from my childhood, Friendly! I had her
good mother's approbation: I think she loves me too—yet—
Fr.
Yet—what now? You have a suspicion in your temper, Wellford,
that will never suffer you to be happy.
Well.
Why, to tell you the truth, Mrs. Friendly has alarmed me
exceedingly with something she has told me.
Fr.
Oh! my poor wife! that tongue of her's can never lie still. 'Tis
her only fault; but I never expect to cure her of it, as she fancies
herself the most silent woman in England.— She has told you, I
suppose, of Sharply's addresses.
Well.
The scoundrel—I'll cut his throat!
Fr.
Bounce—there it goes off.—For shame man, don't be so
impetuous. You can't suspect Emily of favouring such a fellow; a mean
hanger-on in Sir John's family.
Well.
But your wife says, he's a handsome rascal, and of so plausible a
tongue—
Fr.
Oh! that's so like her! fy, fy, don't think of him.
Well.
I am ashamed of it, I own, yet passionately as I love Emily, 'tis
impossible my heart shou'd be at ease, while she continues in that
vile house.
Fr.
Well, well, have patience.
Well.
Patience!—Friendly, I believe you never knew what it was to
love.
Enter Mrs. Friendly, talking as she comes in.
Mrs. Fr.Fr.
Ha! ha! I wish Mrs. Friendly were to hear you say so.
Well.
Oh, madam, I was only bantering Mr. Friendly. —For heaven's
sake, what of Emily?
Fr.
That I am sure is impossible, my dear wife.
Fr.
What! has Emily done this?
Well.
Dear madam, don't keep us in suspence; I beseech you, tell us
what you mean.
Fr.
That's her way of holding her tongue.—Why, I tell you there was
nothing in what he said; if you'll not believe me, I can't help it.
[Aside to Wellford.] Let her alone, we shall have it all out
presently; she would sooner talk to herself than keep it in.—Make
yourself easy, man; you may be sure you will see Emily to-morrow.
Mrs. Fr. [Walking about.]
Yes, yes; a likely story!— Heaven knows what is become of
Emily!
Well. [Turns hastily to her.]
Madam!
Fr.
Don't mind her. [Aside.]
Well.
Dear Madam, explain yourself.
Well.
For goodness sake, madam, speak out.
Well.
This was all, upon my word, Madam.
Well.
No—not in the least, good Madam: tell me now—
Well.
I know it.—
Well.
I know I am disappointed:—go on, Madam.
Fr.
What's all this to the purpose? Pray proceed.
Fr.
Well, well, my dear, go on.
Fr.
Prithee don't tell us your thoughts, my dear, but say what has
happened.
Well.
Heavens! Madam! how cou'd you delay telling this so long?—Oh!
Friendly, what do you say to my suspicions now?
Fr.
Where is the woman? is she in the house?
Fr.
Yes, and you have made wonderful haste to tell it, with your
confounded round-abouts. I'll bring the maid up, and let her speak for
herself.
Well.
Good madam, you need not aggravate matters; my own apprehensions
have already made me but too miserable.
Enter Friendly and Rose.
Fr.
Come, repeat what you have said to me, before this Gentleman; he
is most concern'd to know it.
Rose.
Sir, I am sure Mr. Sharply has carried Miss Emily away; I
overheard my mistress and him talking about it. I wou'd have warn'd
Miss Emily herself, but she is so proud and so scornful, she won't
suffer me even to speak to her.
Fr.
Why did not you come to me directly?
Rose.
My mistress kept me so employed, Sir, I could not for my life get
out sooner.
Fr.
Do you know where they are gone?
Rose.
Yes, Sir, I can bring you to the house.
Fr.
Come, Wellford, we have no time to lose.
Well.
No, Friendly, I'll not stir:—let her enjoy her infamy.—I have
done with her for ever.
Fr.
Are you out of your senses man? don't you hear it's a plot, a
wicked contrivance of Sharply's?
Well.
Friendly, I hardly know what I say.—Come with me, and if I find
that villain has dared to—
Well.
Lead me directly to the house, or—
Rose.
I'll go down on my knees to you, Sir, not to hurt him.
Fr.
What! then jealousy, it seems, has urged you to tell this?
Well.
Tell me where they are, or by all that's gracious—
Fr.
Come, come, I'll answer for it there shall be no harm done; bring
us to the house.
Rose.
Well, Sir, I'll depend upon you.
Well.
Begone then, and lead the way.
Fr.
Certainly.
Changes to a room in Mrs. Private's house. Emily walks about, Sharply following her.
Sharp.
But, my dear Emily, now—prithee hear me, child.
Em.
Hear you! What can you say in defence of so much treachery?
Sharp.
I'll tell you:—If I were guilty of treason, perjury, robbery,
and so forth, all these things wou'd I justify, to e'er a woman in
England, by those three Monosyllables, I love you.
Em.
And do you think that this act of violence won't make me hate you
more than ever I did?
Sharp.
No.
Em.
No!
Sharp.
No, I tell you n—o; I never knew a man hated for an act of
violence of this kind in my life.—Besides, as I take it, I am not
altogether an object of aversion.
Em.
You are too modest, Sir.
Sharp.
Middling as to that; tho' faith it is a fault too, as you
observe, but then it's easily mended, my dear; for example now—
[Offers to throw his arms round her; she pushes him away.]
Em.
Intolerable impudence!
Em.
Audacious man!
Sharp.
Come, come, I know you don't dislike me at the bottom of your
heart: you think me saucy, but agreeable, a devilish agreeable fellow.
Ah, you little rogue! there is an arch smile of assent under that
angry brow, that makes you look so enchantingly!
Em.
My contempt for you is so great, that it has banish'd even my
fears of you.
Sharp.
Fears! Lord, my precious, you have nothing to fear! I'll be as
constant as a dove, and never tell a word of the matter to mortal; I
scorn to blab.
Em.
Thou most abandoned!
Sharp.
Come, don't be peevish:—you can't imagine how much prettier you
are when you smile.—Besides, child, you should consider, that I am
at present lord and master of thy destiny; and if you provoke me, who
knows what may follow?
Em.
You wretch,—how dare you talk thus! Alone and helpless as I am,
I feel myself so superior to you, that I as much despise your threats,
as if I were this minute arm'd with the power to crush you for them.
Sharp.
Why, to say the truth, I had rather owe my happiness to your own
voluntary kindness; for mutual love you must know Miss, is the
prettiest thing in the universe, and when uncompell'd by duty, the
source of ten thousand pleasures that lovers only know, and wives and
husbands never dream of:—(By my soul I believe you were in the right
not to marry me) Think of the delightful billet-doux, the
transports of meeting, and even in absence, the millions of little,
sweet, charming anxieties! then when we happen to meet in publick, I,
unexpectedly perhaps, strike your eyes; you with a beautiful
consciousness withdraw them, and throw them round the company; your
face in a fine glow all the while—probably you see the women
coquettishly trying to engage my attention; Ay, ay, say you, you may
ogle as much as you please, but he's all my own.
Em.
Detestible monster!
Em.
Do you then know whom I was to have met?
Em.
Know then, that it is one, who will make you dearly repent of
this outrage; tho' you fled to the remotest part of the earth.
Sharp.
Oh lud! oh lud! prithee who is this mighty giant?
Em.
Do you know captain Wellford?
Sharp.
Wellford! S'death! [Aside.] Is he the man?
Em.
Yes, wretch; and assure yourself, he will call you to a severe
account for this.
Sharp.
Ha, ha, ha!—now do you fancy I have been serious all this
while? why Lord, Madam, Wellford and I are as intimate as two
Brothers.—I had only a mind to startle you a little; but to convince
you I had not the least design to injure you, I will immediately
restore you to your lover.
Em.
Is this possible! can I believe you speak seriously?
Sharp.
As seriously as if I never were to speak more. Captain Wellford
is the man in the world I shou'd wish to oblige, and shall be proud to
deliver you up safe to him. I'll conduct you directly to Mr.
Friendly's.
Em.
Let me go then instantly.—Bless me, what noise is that? I wish
I were out of this house. If you deceive me again—
Em.
You may depend on all the grateful returns I can make.
Em.
Injurious man!
Well.
What! is it you, Randel? thou despicable wretch! how I blush for
the woman who cou'd thus debase herself.
Sharp.
Captain—One word with you in private,
Well.
Impudent ruffian, stand off. Look at this sword, it once
preserved your coward life; it came now prepared to revenge my own,
and that lady's wrongs; but the cause is beneath it, so I leave you to
your fortune.
Sharp.
You are a reasonable man, Sir, and I'll talk with you, if you'll
give me the opportunity.
Fr.
Hold your tongue, rascal—you shall give an account of yourself
in another place.
Sharp. [To Rose.]
Thou unlucky devil! Miss Emily, pray speak for me: was not I
going to carry you to Mr. Friendly's house?
Em.
He said he wou'd Sir, I must do him that justice.
Fr.
A mere pretence, in order to decoy you, perhaps, to a more
convenient place.
Sharp.
Let me perish, if I did not mean to bring her safe to you; I was
compelled to take the steps I have done, but I no sooner heard of
Captain Wellford, than gratitude, as well as honour—
Fr.
Gratitude and honour! how dare such a fellow as thou art pretend
to either? Say rather your fears, if there be any truth in you.
Sharp.
Call it what you please, Sir; but if you stand my friend, I have
something to tell you perhaps—
Fr.
This is no fit place to talk with you;—you shall come along
with me, Sir, and you too, Mrs. Rose,—for I am determined to sift
this black affair to the bottom. [To Emily.] Madam, I ordered my
chariot to follow me, which shall carry you to my house; for these
gentry, I shall take care to convey them thither myself.
Em.
And for me, Mr. Friendly, I am now indifferent whither I go.
Fr.
Come, Madam, all, I hope, will be clear'd up.
Sharp. [Following her, shakes his fist at her.]
a—h!
[A chamber in Friendly's house.]
Mrs. Friendly and Emily sitting. Wellford leaning on the back of Emily's chair.
Mrs. Fr.Em.
No, Madam, what I have declared, was but in justice to my own
character; for the rest, I am little solicitous to satisfy a man,
capable first of suspecting, and then of accusing me, as he has done.
Well.
Blind, blind and infatuated!
Em.
To think I cou'd favour such a mean impostor! a cheat even to his
very name!
Well.
I acknowledge my fault with all its aggravations; yet I thought
my penitence, my grief, for having so justly provoked this lady's
resentment, might have attoned for an offence, which nothing but the
strongest love cou'd have occasion'd.
Well.
For heaven's sake, Madam! don't name a wretch any more, that has
occasioned so much mischief!
Em.
You'll soon know, Madam. Here is Mr. Friendly.
Enter Friendly.
Mrs. Fr.Fr.
Sharply has told me something that has surprized me exceedingly.
Fr.
Psha;—I don't know.
Well.
What has he told you?
Fr.
Why, nothing less than that Sir John—
Fr.
I wish your drawing room and your company were— Sir John is
married!
Em.
Married!
Will.
To whom, in the name of wonder?
Fr.
Prithee, my dear, give me leave;—why to that compound of
mischief and wickedness, Mrs. Etherdown.
Well.
You amaze me!
Em.
Sure, Sir, this must be an invention of Sharply's?
Fr.
Ay, ay, I remember your prophesy.
Fr.
For heaven's sake, good wife! give others leave to speak as well
as yourself.—
Well.
Dear Madam, let me ask Mr. Friendly a question or two.
Fr.
There's no bearing this; come with me into my study, Wellford;
her tongue's wound up for an hour, and she must let it run down.
Enter a Servant.
Serv.
The ladies are come, Madam.
Fr.
Above a year, he tells me; and if it be true, the son he has by
Mrs. Etherdown is legitimate, and Emily's hopes are cut off at once.
Well.
I am glad of it.
Em.
How, Sir! that I'm not worth a shilling.
Well.
No, Madam; but that I can now convince all the world, I love you
for your own sake only. You, I hope, wanted no such proof of the
sincerity of my affection. Oh! Friendly! I have offended, too justly
provoked my Emily's resentment! persuade her to forgive my fault, and
let me call her mine.—
Fr.
What say you, Madam? This generosity deserves a kind return; and
if Sir John consents—
Em.
Hold, Sir! I own I have pride—perhaps too much; and cannot bear
to lay myself under obligations, where I once hoped to have the power
of conferring them.
Fr.
But, Madam—
Em.
Excuse me, Mr. Friendly: Let me only beg the protection of your
roof till my uncle's return: I dare say, when he hears how cruelly I
have been treated, he will provide for me somewhere: Perhaps I may
trouble you but for a night or two.
Well.
And whither will you then go? By heaven! you shall never be at
the mercy of those abandoned wretches, while I have life or power to
succour you.—Oh! Emily, this is not the return I expected from your
tenderness! To whom ought you to fly for shelter, but to the man that
loves you with such an honest and disinterested passion as I do?
Em.
No, Wellford, no; you ought to know me better. The woman whom you
have debased by your mean suspicions, will not, on such terms,
condescend to be your wife.
Well.
Lose her! I'd lose my life as soon. Dear Friendly, if you wou'd
preserve that, do you and your wife use all your influence on
her. That pride too, which would deform another woman, makes her still
more beautiful.—What is fortune in comparison with such a mind?
Fr.
Why, all this is very fine, I grant you; but the loss of a good
estate is a damned baulk notwithstanding, Wellford.
Well.
By all that's good, Friendly, I despise it; let me but possess my
Emily, and—
Fr.
You'll live in a cottage on love—determined like a true
Arcadian swain; but it won't do in this part of the world, let me tell
you, boy. But to be serious; what Sharply has told me, he has no other
authority for, than Mrs. Etherdown's own word; though he adds, that
Sir John, on account of this child's birth, means directly to own his
marriage. However, I'll suspend my belief till I am better inform'd.
Well.
But have you let Sharply escape? I had forgot to inquire after
him.
Fr.
Oh! I have made him my own. I got him to draw up in writing a
full account of Mrs. Etherdown's scheme concerted with him against
Emily; together with some other curious anecdotes, to which Rose and
he are privy: Which notable confession I have made them both sign.
Well.
And what use do you purpose to make of it? 'Tis of little
consequence now, methinks, to separate Sir John and his precious
bargain.
Fr.
I have a design in my head to bring that worthless puppy, if
possible, to a sense of his folly. I cannot now explain the whole of
my plan to you, for I mean to go immediately to Sir John's, who they
tell me is expected home every minute; but Emily shall not know this,
as I wish for your sake to detain her a while.
Fr.
Come, come, courage, man; you know you have a friend within; I'll
venture to bring you to her.
Well.
Do what you will with me.
[Changes to Sir John's House.]
Enter Sharply and Rose.
Sharp.
Have done, have done, wench, with your silly reproaches; Emily
will be kind to you, tho' in regard to your motive, she is but
little obliged to you for her fancied deliverance.
Rose.
Fancied!
Sharp.
Yes, fancied, ye mischievous baggage! Why, to what end do you
imagine I ran away with that girl?
Rose.
To what end, traitor! Why did you carry her to that house? Answer
me that, varlet.
Sharp.
Thou art a poor shallow-pated gipsey; very unfit to share the
counsels of the wise; but for once I'll inform you. I meant first to
be well paid for my trouble, then to discover the whole secret (that
trifling circumstance excepted) to Friendly, and fairly to deliver
Emily into his hands, making a merit of my own great integrity;—and
lastly, I meant (that I own I did) to rumple the young baggage a
little, partly out of spite, and to shew my power, which would have
enhanced the worth of her deliverance.
Rose.
And you did so, I warrant, Mr. Impudence?
Sharp.
Why no, faith, I don't know how that happened; these honest girls
have a damn'd impertinent way of keeping a man in awe; besides, when I
heard that hot-headed fellow Wellford was her lover, I confess it did
damp my courage a little.—But no matter, your curst intermeddling
has undone my whole plan, and what would have appeared an act of
virtue, seems now the result only of fear.
Rose.
And how was I to know all this? I am sure, only I thought you
were going to leave me, I had as soon have been burnt—
Rose.
If I should, I have an excuse ready.—Well, Mr. Sharply, sha'nt
we be friends again?
Sharp.
Not now, you puppy, 'twould take up too much time; hereafter
perhaps I may take you into favour.—But get you to your mistress; I
must change my clothes, and then go to Sir John.
A Chamber. A Table with Bottles and Glasses. Mrs. Etherdown sitting at it. Sir John half nodding in an elbow Chair.
Sir John.I am so tired I can hardly keep myself awake. No news of this blockhead Sharply yet?—Come, why don't you take your glass?
Mrs. Eth.What then, you abstemious jackanapes; one glass to welcome me home:—it won't poison you, will it?
Mrs. Eth.Take off your glass, I say.
Mrs. Eth.Ay, this comes of your drinking water; nothing but water will go down forsooth:—why it is enough to kill you, you fool.—I am as sleepy as if I had taken opium. [He nods again, and Sharply peeps in at the door and creeps over.]
Sharp.
What, fast!
Sir John rouzes himself.]
Secure! what are you secure of? Ha! Sharply, is it you? Shake
hands, you whelp.
Sharp.
A—h, Sir John, did you pretend to be asleep! you are so full of
tricks!—
Where have you been all this while? What the d—l has your blund'ring head been about now?
Sharp.
Been! why, I have been and dun'd every tenant you have in London,
from top to bottom, this good day; and if I can get a cross from them,
I wish I may never be worth one. I have been out since morning: my
sister there can tell.
What were you saying about being secure?
Sharp.
Oh!—ay, we are secure enough for that matter. I was saying I
had got security from that scurvy fellow there, that owes you a
hundred pound. He that keeps the great inn there in what-de-call-um—
In Holborn! ay, that's a sad dog! a sad dog! must turn him out.—But you are such a poor, soft, easy, quiet mungrel, let them but warm your heart with a bowl of punch, and make a poor mouth, and call you your honour, they may keep me out of my rent till dooms-day for you.
Mrs. Eth.I'll turn you off, by my soul, Sharply, if you don't learn to know the world.
Sharp.
I strive.—Ask my sister else.
Strive! poor devil; you do your best, I believe. Come, I'm glad your come in; can't drink by myself;—and Madam here, won't touch a drop.—Sit down there.—Do you know that Emily is run away?
Sharp.
Miss Emily, Sir! our Miss Emily?
Ay, our Miss Emily, Sir.—How Sharply gapes at the news?
Mrs. Eth.Sharp.
Its only one of your jokes, may be, Sir John: you are such a
joker! But I don't believe every thing you say for all that.
I have found out the whole plot, tho', you must know; and to-morrow I intend so to work Friendly about it.
Sharp.
Mr. Friendly! ay,—to be sure, he is a knowing man, and can give
fine advice when a body's in trouble.
Confound your loggerhead! do you think I want advice, or would take advice, and from him? Why, he is the whole contriver of the thing, man.
Sharp.
Who! Mr. Friendly, Sir?
Sharp.
Lord! I'd never ha' thought that of him!
You'd never ha' thought! Why, you numscull, how the plague shou'd you think, that mind nothing but dunning of tenants, and then excusing them their rent? A good joke, i'faith.
Mrs. Eth.And a miracle 'tis to me, that he can do even that! Take him out of his figures, and my coach dog has more sagacity.
Sharp. laughs foolishly.]
Ha! ha! ha! Well, well, I wou'd not give my figures for all your
wit:—now, Sir John, there's for you.
True! there you're right, Sharply. Every man has his talent.
Enter a Servant.
Serv.
Mr. Friendly's come to wait on you, Sir.
What the plague can Friendly want with me now?
Mrs. Eth.He'll find himself cursedly bit.—I think, I am a match for Friendly. Give me but a clue, and let me alone to unwind a piece of knavery.—Get you both into the next room. Desire Mr. Friendly to walk in. Ha! ha!
Sharp.
I wou'd not stand in Mr. Friendly's shoes, no, by the sun and
moon, not for all the money in his pocket.— You'll work him, Sir
John.
Yes, yes: I think I am a match for Friendly.
Enter Friendly.
Sir John.Your servant, Sir.
Fr.
How do you do, Sir John? I heard, by accident, you were arrived,
and just call'd in as I pass'd by.—
Oh, I thank you, Sir.
Fr.
You seem out of humour, Sir John.
Perhaps I really am so, Sir.
Fr.
I am sorry you have any occasion; but you need not shew it to
your friends. Prithee, what has ruffled you so?
Nothing worth ruffling my temper, or any man's temper; women will be women.
Fr.
Something about Mrs. Etherdown, I suppose.
No, Sir, it is not; you are always supposing in the wrong place.—There's my niece—
Fr.
What of her?
Run away—that's all.
Fr.
Run away! impossible! with whom?
How the d—l should I know? with a man, I suppose.
Fr.
It can't be! When did she go? Have you sent to enquire after her?
Ounds! what a catechising is here! I don't know when she went, nor where to look for her.
Fr.
I presume she'll come back again!
Ay, when she's ready for the magdalen-house, I suppose she may.
Fr.
Fy, fy, Sir John! how can you talk with so much levity of so good
a girl, and so near a relation?
Prithee, Friendly, none of your sanctified airs. A good girl! and a near relation! I warrant you'd have me be mighty anxious about her virtue now, and try to recover her, for fear she shou'd be ruin'd, as you call it. Not I, by the mass! if the wench has a mind to take her fling, e'en let her, for me.
Fr.
But have you no regard for—
The Honour of my family, I hope you are going to say—uph,
uph, uph—Yes, I'll tell you how far I
regard it: as I shou'd not chuse to have my estate squandered
away upon beggarly rascals, with handsome faces, (the use to which, I
suppose, my hopeful niece wou'd apply it) this frolic of her's has
determined me—
Fr.
To what?
Sir John.
To what goes plaguely against my stomach; but necessity—
Fr.
What do you mean?
I'd as lieve be a slave in the gallies; but since the young hussy has provoked me to it, I am resolved—
Fr.
On what, prithee?
To marry, Sir, if you must know.
Fr.
The Duce you will! you'd as soon hang yourself!
Ay, ay, that's true; I do hate the thoughts of it most con —sumedly, you know I do; but when a man's ill us'd in his own family—and to tell you the truth, Friendly, I don't find myself so young as I was some years ago.
Fr.
No! that's strange!
And faith, I begin to think it's time to settle, and live a little honestly; a man can't hold out always, to drive such a career. I have been a sad dog, that's the truth on't.
Fr.
Oh, you intend to mend then?
No, hang it, I don't say that neither; I don't know whether I can mend or not;—what's bred in the bone, you know—the old leaven, I'm afraid; but a man may try.—Come, Friendly, let me have a little of thy advice. I have a mind to marry, as I told you; what sort of a woman, now, do you think wou'd suit me?
Fr.
Why, if you are actually resolved—
Peremptorily.
Fr.
In the first place then, I wou'd not have you marry one that's
over young.—
Right—not a giddy girl. [Bab's thirty at least. Aside.]
Fr.
In the next place, one whom you think doesn't marry you merely
for the sake of your fortune; but a woman who can have some regard for
your person.
Ah! good! [Aside. Bab again, she adores me!]
Fr.
One of a mild and gentle temper, who can bear with all your odd
humours.
Excellent! [Aside. Still Bab.]
Oraculous! [Aside. Bab's the very thing.] Well, and what more?
Fr.
Nay, I think that's enough, you need not desire money.
Give me your hand. [Aside. Bab to a tittle; she's not worth a groat.] Egad, Friendly, you never talked so sensibly in your life; and now, who do you think answers this description in every point?
Fr.
Nay, I can't tell; I suppose there are women enough to be found
who do.
Suppose I were to name one: what think you of Bab?
Fr.
Mrs. Etherdown! marry Mrs. Etherdown!
What! you don't approve of it?
Fr.
I do not, indeed, Sir John.
[Aside. Oh! I thought so.] But why not? I always intended to marry her, when I grew weary of her.
Fr.
That's a strange paradox.
Not at all; for may be, in a cross fit, I might turn her off; and then I know I shou'd repent it, I am so used to her little coaxing ways.
Fr.
Why, do you know the consequence of marrying a kept mistress?
What! if I keep her myself, man?
Fr.
That makes very little difference, Sir John.
No! [Aside. Now it begins to work.]
Fr.
No! believe me, a woman who has been used to consider a man as a
kind of property, of whom she is to make the most, while his
inclination to her lasts, will not easily be brought to think, that
there is but one common interest between them, as man and wife.
Ah! she won't?
Fr.
Nor can she who has been accustomed to caresses, and flattery and
stuff, as a mistress, descend to the meek, the tender, the complying
duties of a wife.
Indeed! [Aside. How I'll surprize him just now.] Why, Bab has always been the most obliging, submissive creature in the world to me.
Fr.
She finds it her interest to be so, but if once she were sure of
you, she'd change her note.
You don't tell me so! [Aside. How he'll stare presently!]
Ha! ha! ha! ha! poor Friendly! thou art, generally speaking damnably out of thy judgment; but were never more so in thy life than now! For you must know:— ha! ha! ha! excuse my laughing at you, you must know, that I have been married to her above two and fifty weeks, and have never repented of it yet. Ha! ha! ha!
Fr.
Oh, Sir John—enjoy your laugh; but that joke won't take.
Fr.
I understand you, Sir John;—you want to trick your niece out of
her inheritance; and Mrs. Etherdown and you have entered into a
confederacy to say you are married.
Ah! do you begin to feel?
Fr.
Who do you think will take your word?
I'm an unlucky dog in point of character, that I own;—but I can prove this, honest Friendly.
Fr.
I defy you.
Ah! does it sting? can name the parson and the witness.
Fr.
You may name a parson that has been transported, and a witness,
may be, that has been hang'd.
What do you think of my little toping curate, of Woodall Green; is he transported? and our old friend in equity, Tom Shifter, is he hang'd?
Fr.
Were they your operators?
Ask them.
Fr.
Ha! ha! ha! ha!
Ha! ha! ha! Who's the fool now, Friendly?
Fr.
'Tis even so then—well, peace be with you.
Poor devil! how he's mortified! don't go, man.
Fr.
What am I to stay for?
I want a little more of your advice.
Fr.
Confound you.
I wish you joy of your heiress, Friendly!— Ha! ha! a turbulent booby! I'll go and tell Bab tho'.
Sharply and Mrs. Etherdown enter as he goes out.
Sir John.Oh! are you there! come in.—He's gone.— E'gad I have given it to him!
Mrs. Eth.But the best joke of all is, he pretends not to believe what I told him.
Mrs. Eth.Sharp.
No, nor wont unless Sir John says it; ay, and swear to it too,
that's more, for all you think me so easy.
And why not, Sharply? come, let's have your wise reasons.
Sharp.
Sir John, now mind me; only mind what I am going to say—
Observe his important face.—Now, for a weighty sentence of sound argument! out with it, Sharply.
Sharp.
Sir John, I have known you early and late; and tho' I am one that
don't very well comprehend—that is, I am not very capable—I mean,
I can't so very well express—
Ha! ha! poor Sharply! ha! ha! ha!
Sharp.
There it is now, you always dash one in the middle of an
argument; and because you have more learning, and can talk like a
satyr, a body must not speak plain sense before you.
Call it a satyrist the next time, Sharply.
Sharp.
You may call it what you please; but reason is reason, and truth
is truth, and so I don't believe a word of the matter.
Fact tho', for all that, Sharply.
Sharp.
My sister Lady Woodall! O—h!
The dog's proud of it, you see.
Mrs. Eth.Sharp.
Good! by all the flesh of my back, I wou'd not be such a sinner!
no, not for all his land! Take that now, Sir John:—you find I can be
smart when I please. Ha! ha! ha!
Ha! ha! ha! scurrilous varlet;—but you are right, Sharply, I have done such things in my time! Ha! ha! ha! did I ever show you my list? no, I believe not; hang it, I never loved boasting—there were not above nine of them that I did not turn off next day tho'.
Sharp.
Nine! I don't know what nine you mean.
Only of the girls that I have had; none of them behaved like my old girl here.
Sharp.
She's a sensible woman to be sure, for all she's my sister.
No, no, Sharply, no; not much of that neither: But she is docile; a teachable wench enough; and with a little of my training we do pretty well: e'nt it so, Bab?
Mrs. Eth.Come, here's your health. I can't but think of that booby, Friendly, how he must be gall'd! and his meddling fool of a wife, I wish she would cuckold him, that I might laugh at him about her virtue.—Here's his health tho', I have known him these twenty years.
Rose comes to the door.
Rose.
I'd speak with you, Madam.
Where now, Bab?
[She makes signs of drinking to Sharply, and Exit.]
Sharp.
Married!
Faith, Sharply, I began to think it high time to wipe off the score.
Sharp.
And my sister Lady Woodall!
Confound you, leave off your exclamations, and put the bottle about.
Sharp.
And all unknown to me!
The dog's beginning to get drunk! and I shall be overwhelm'd with a deluge of folly and impertinence.
Sharp.
And I'll warrant, you have settled the Lord knows what upon her!
What's that to you, Sir?
Sharp.
Sir John, now mind what I say. You know, I am very apt to give a
little good advice now and then, and
tho' you rail at me so, I can't for the blood of me keep it.—
Now, I wou'd not have settled sixpence on her, were I you, for all
she's my sister. I'd know how to manage a wife, I warrant: I am sharp
enough in some things. She's as proud as Lucifer, tho' she's my
sister.
That's a lie;—if she has any thing good, 'tis her humility and meekness, buzzard!
Sharp.
And an extravagant woman, tho' I say it.
Another lie!—if she has any virtue, 'tis her good oeconomy.—I'd trust her with all I'm worth.
Sharp.
By the sun that shines then, so would not I, nor e'er a woman
that ever wore a head; I have a little judgment too.
Judgment! you judgment!
Sharp.
Sir John, listen to me now, and let me advise you—
By my soul, I'll break your head, if you begin to advise, Sharply.
Sharp.
By this good day, I never was in such a humour for giving advice
in my life.
You are ever so when you are drunk, you dog; tho' you can't speak a sentence of common sense when you are sober.
Sharp.
Then 'tis my duty never to be sober; for I find myself at this
minute as wise as any oracle that ever was born, and therefore my
advice is pro and con—No settlement. —Mark what the
oracle says.
I do, I do; and to shew what prodigious influence your sage counsel has on me, I intend—
Sharp.
Ha, ha, ha! I knew you'd come about; you find I have judgment.
Tho' I never thought of doing it before, I shall settle a hundred a-year upon her, for all she's your sister.
Sharp.
What, after all my arguments against it! By this hand of mine
then, I'll have nothing to say to it. Mr. Friendly wou'd no more do
such a thing than he'd eat fire. Sir John, I say thirty pounds a-year;
observe me now; and that only during pleasure, do you mind?
Two hundred a-year, by the Lord! and that settled irrevocably, since you provoke me to it.
Sharp.
Mercy upon me! Well, don't be too hasty now, Sir John, in this
affair, but think a few days, and consult—
Burn you! whom should I consult?
You know I always take your advice, and therefore—it shall be done directly.
Sharp.
What, not to night, Sir John; you are not bewitch'd sure.—
Sharply—depart in a whole skin, and take a walk to Mr. Bustle's, you'll find him in his chambers at this hour.—
Sharp.
Won't next week do as well, Sir John?
Utter one word more, and I break every bone in your body. The thing shall be done now, immediately, this identical night, and I'll surprise my Lady Woodall with it to-morrow. I'll write a line to my lawyer, and you shall carry it, to shew you of what importance you are.—So come to me in half-an-hour; in the mean while, go and sleep yourself sober, most oraculous Sharply.
[Friendly's House.]
Enter Wellford and Mrs. Friendly.
Well.
I wish Mr. Friendly were returned, tho' I expect nothing but a
confirmation of Sir John's marriage; —but any thing is better than
suspense.
Well. [Aside.
Oh! thank my stars, here's Friendly come to relieve me.]
Enter Friendly.
Mrs. Fr.Fr.
'Tis even as Sir John said; he is actually married. I have found
out the person who was present.
Fr.
He scrupled at first, but finding I was let into the secret, he
confirmed every thing that Sir John told me. I am heartily sorry for
it for Emily's sake. Have you seen her this morning, Wellford?
Fr.
What then, man, thou wilt not hang thyself on a willow!
Well.
I hope so too, Madam; but I shall be but little solicitous to
preserve a life, that without her will be a burden.
Well.
Oh! I have not the least expectation of that; one thing however
let me request of you both before I go.
Fr.
What is it, Wellford? you know you may command us.
Well.
That you will take Emily under your protection. To what must she
be exposed in such a world as this? young and beautiful as she is—an
orphan—without fortune —Let me not have the grief to add, without
friends too.
Fr.
You need not doubt my tenderness for her.
Well.
Will you, my dear Mrs. Friendly, be a mother to my Emily?
Well.
I beg pardon for thus distressing you.—We'll talk no more on
the subject; the few hours I have to stay ought not to be spent in
fruitless vexation.
Fr.
A few hours sometimes produces strange revolutions, especially in
a woman's mind—Emily's may alter.
Well.
Oh! you don't know her as well as I do.
Fr.
Well, I'll not oppose you, only beg for the present you'll clear
up your brow a little. I have a mind to have some mirth with Sir John
this morning, which shall however only be a prelude to a more serious
scene. I shall go to him presently, and pretending not to believe a
syllable in regard to his marriage, I will, by way of prevention, lay
open all Mrs. Etherdown's conduct.
Well.
This may entertain you, Friendly; but what is it to me?
Fr.
Oh! you shall have an opportunity: I find he is possessed with a
belief that Emily has been inveigled away thro' mine and my wife's
means.
Fr.
Ay; but when he finds that his own dear Bab is at the bottom of
it, I'll answer for it, that my Lady Woodall will be turn'd off with
disgrace.
Well.
What does that signify now? She has done all the mischief she
could already.
Well.
No doubt, Madam, it is a christian office to part a man and his
wife.
Fr.
Right, my dear, Wellford is out of humour, and wou'd pervert our
meaning.—Leave the management of the business to me; I think I shall
entertain you.
Well.
I fancy not; but take your own way.—You'll excuse me; I must go
and give orders about my journey, and then I'll come, and bid Emily
adieu.
Fr.
Perhaps you don't go, Wellford.
Well.
Certainly, Friendly.
Fr.
Ay; go and comfort the sweet girl.
Changes to Sir John's. Mrs. Etherdown at her Toilet, Rose attending.
Mrs. Eth.Rose.
You may thank your stars you have got so much, Madam.—I reckon
Mrs. Friendly has blazed your marriage all over the town, for here
have been I don't know how many people with their bills this morning
already.— Here's a comfortable breakfast for him.
Rose.
Ay, for then, I suppose, he must give you a separate maintenance.
Rose.
Ay, that will be charming.
Rose.
I did, Ma'am; he will be here presently.
Enter Sir John, speaking as he comes in.
Sir John.Bab, Bab, my Bab!—What, what, what have we got here? What's all this bedizzening for? Patch'd! and painted too, I believe, by my soul!
Mrs. Eth.Hey! knock at the door! it was not that you said, I hope?
Mrs. Eth.Rose, can you tell what ails your mistress?
Rose.
There's nothing ails my lady, that I know of, Sir.
No! Why but, Bab?
Mrs. Eth.Hey day, mad, by my soul! fit for Bedlam! This comes of my owning
her! I must take her down a peg or so.—Get you out of the room.—
[Exit Rose.
I gave you a paper this morning; a little parchment, you know; a
settlement on you, Bab. [I'll take it from her, by the Lord. Aside.]
Why, there was a mistake committed in the drawing of it up; let me have it again, that I may get it rectify'd.
Mrs. Eth.[Enter Rose.]
Rose.
Here's Mr. Brilliant, Madam.
Mr. Brilliant! who the d—l's he?
Rose.
My lady's jeweller, Sir.
My lady's jeweller, quotha?—We'l, I'll treat you with a ring, since you put me in mind of it.
[Enter Jeweller.]
Mrs. Eth.Jew.
I made bold to bring your ladyship a few things, that I fancy
will please you.
Jew.
Here's a pair of ear-rings will come cheap; I can let your
ladyship have them for two hundred and eighty pound.
'Pshaw!—If you have got ever a neat diamond hoop, of about nine or ten guineas, my wife may be a purchaser.
Jew.
None so low as that, Sir; I have from fifteen to twenty—will
your ladyship please to look at these?
No, no; you have nothing here that we want.
Jew.
I have brought a bill, according to your orders, Madam.
I have no occasion for it, Sir; I suppose I can furnish myself at any other shop as well as at yours.
Pay him! for what?
Mrs. Eth.Jew.
You'll find my charges very reasonable, Sir.
Well, well, Sir, you may carry your trinkets away.
Jew.
It's very well, Madam.
So Bab! egad, this was a good bold push— and you really thought I was to be drawn in to buy you some of these gym-cracks!
Mrs. Eth.Debts!
Mrs. Eth.Bills!
Why, what!—you don't mean, I suppose, that these are debts!
Mrs. Eth.And that I am to pay them! you don't mean that?
Mrs. Eth.And I am your husband, and you are my wife; and all these are real, actual debts, you say?
Mrs. Eth.Sir John. [Stands and stares at her.]
Why—why—why —what the devil are you? a woman or a fiend?
Why, you are an imp of hell, I believe; where's your sawcer eyes, and your cloven feet—and, and, and, and —your horns, pray?
Mrs. Eth.Dear! damnable!
Curse me, but I have a good mind to—to—
Mrs. Eth.Live with me! fire and sulphur! I'd as soon— I'll lock you up in a dungeon—feed you on bread and water—bastinado you!
Mrs. Eth.Starve you—make you lie on straw—
Mrs. Eth.I'll turn you out of my doors; expose you, brand you! confound me if I don't.—And that scoundrel Sharply, I'll kick him out of my house too.
Mrs. Eth.I'll make you an example to all the—
[Enter Servant.]
Serv.
Mr. Friendly, Sir, is come to wait on you.
I won't see him, Sirrah.
Serv.
He's coming up, Sir.
You dog, how dare you let him in?
[Enter Friendly.]
Fr.
Good-day to you, Sir John.
So, Sir.
Fr.
Why so gruff, Sir John? What's the matter now?
Poh!—nothing at all.
Fr.
Nothing at all! that can't be; you have too much sense and too
much temper to be out of humour at nothing.
'Pshaw—it is next to nothing—only a little foolish debate here, between Madam and me.
Fr.
A debate between you!
Ay, she has been playing the wag a little with
me this morning, that's all.—What sort of weather is it abroad,
Friendly?
Fr.
Nay, Sir John, I am afraid there's more in this; you don't use to
wear so angry a brow.
'Pshaw—I tell you I am not in the least angry: —will you drink a dish of chocolate, Friendly?
Fr.
Not any, Sir John.—And you, Madam, seem extremely ruffled.
Fr.
Oh fy, Sir John! there I must take your lady's part; so prudent a
woman as Lady Woodall! such an oeconomist! 'tis but a trifle, I'll lay
my life now.
Seven hundred devils!—don't believe her a word she says, man.
Fr.
Seven hundred pound! that's a good round sum! but I suppose my
lady has made some pretty little purchase now, for your use; and you
are so testy because you did not do it yourself—Come, own, is not
that the case now? —What is it, Madam? a bit of land in the country?
or a house in town?
Poh!—split your enquiries—Why, there's not a syllable of truth in the thing.
Mrs. Eth.Fr.
Oh! what it was for trinkets then? humph; to be sure, Sir John,
you ought to pay your wife's debts; and in my opinion—
Rot your opinion, Sir! keep it to yourself— 's curse, you are so inquisitive, and so troublesome, one wou'd take you for your wife that had got into breeches.
Mrs. Eth.Fr.
Rude to your lady! Oh monstrous! and to such a meek woman too!
S'death, Sir, I'll be angry when I please; and reconciled when I please; without asking your leave.
Fr.
And she has such little coaxing ways, you know.
This is damn'd hard, that a man must be besieged with such impertinence in his own house; prithee, Friendly, mind your own affairs.
Fr.
Come, Sir John, all jesting apart; I will now do the office of a
friend by you.
Sir, I want none of your offices.—
Fr.
Look ye, Sir John, as I did not think you wou'd have persisted in
this ridiculous pretence of your being married, I wou'd not, last
night, add to the vexation of your niece's being stolen from you, the
knowledge of this vile woman's conduct.
Your house!
Mrs. Eth.Fr.
Madam, Madam! this affair is growing too serious: —I know Sir
John is not married to you; we don't take him for such a fool neither.
Fr.
I shou'd not wish to expose you, bad as you are, if I were not
afraid, that my friend's utter disgrace wou'd be the consequence of
his suffering you to pass for his wife.
E'gad, I think you seem to be a match for him.
Fr.
Sir John, this woman, I speak it before her face, has betray'd
and deceiv'd you in every article.
Fr.
But I can prove it, Madam: nay, what's more, that it was by your
contrivance Emily was spirited away by that rascal Sharply.
Ha! ha! ha! Emily spirited away by Sharply!
Fr.
Yes, Sir John: that scoundrel, that vile tool, that abettor in
all her iniquity, has conveyed your niece away, and married her
by this time, for ought I know.
What, in the name of Beelzebub, is all this?
Fr.
'Tis all as I tell you, Sir John; this precious hypocrite here,
you see, does n't deny it.
Wife! the vengeance! I don't believe you are my wife, if you go to that;—I - I never was married— get out of my house this minute.
Mrs. Eth.Fr.
Come, courage, Sir John; don't let the termagant frighten you,
speak boldly and say at once, she is not your wife.
O—nz! I believe she is not my wife.
Fr.
Believe! are not you certain of it, Sir John?
I wish I was;—but I am not certain, there's the curse of it.
Fr.
What! married to such a creature as this?
Get you out of my doors, thou fiend!
Mrs. Eth.Fr.
Is this really so, Sir John?
Really so, Sir John! what the d—l signifies your coming with your queries now? cou'd n't you have told me this before?
Fr.
Before what? don't you say, you have been married above this
twelvemonth?
Death and fire, Sir! it is enough to distract a man to hear such things—That woman is turned into a fury, I think—It's all magic and witchcraft.
Fr.
I am very sorry, Sir John—
Burn your sorrow, Sir, keep it to yourself— Unfaithful to me!—Friendly, this is damn'd odd of you to say so.
Fr.
True, believe me, Sir John.
And Emily ran away with by Sharply!
Fr.
Fact—and by your wife's contrivance.
Oh the infernal sorceress!—but it can't be, man! the thing's impossible! the fellow's almost an idiot!
Fr.
Oh, you are as much deceived in that as in the rest— I tell
you, he has own'd it all.
A dog! but I have one comfort left, the rascal's bit in his hopes; he thought Emily was to be my heir—I have a son, tho' his mother may be a—But I don't believe a word you say, Friendly—Do now, own that it's all a confounded lye of your own inventing; do, dear Friendly.
Fr.
I wish it were for your sake; but it's all too true, Sir John;
and what is still worse, Sharply will possess your estate in
spite of you. That boy which has been palm'd upon you for your own, is
not even your wife's; but some brat brought in on purpose to induce
you to own your marriage.
Death, Sir! do you take me for a stock, or an idiot! that you attempt to make me swallow such impossibilities?
Fr.
Read this paper, Sir John—'Tis Sharply's full confession of the
whole plot—Rose, who was her mistress's agent in the conveyance of
the child, (tho' she herself was ignorant of the design) in her days
of fondness for Sharply let him into the cheat—You will find the
whole account there, when you are calm enough to peruse it.
And the villain knowing this, has married Emily!—I'll have him hang'd—as sure as fate he swings for this—That's a comfort—He has stolen an heiress, knowing her to be such.—And that wicked she imp—I'll be divorc'd from her.—You can prove her an adultress, you say?—You shall prove it, and I'll be divorc'd—that's another comfort.
Fr.
There, I'm afraid, Sir John, we shall find a difficulty; for,
tho' we have the strongest presumptive proof in the world against her,
yet the law requires more in those cases.
Sir, it shall have all, and more than it requires.
Fr.
There is not the least doubt of your being (I am sorry to say) a
cuckold, Sir John; yet the crime can't be proved against your wife.
Fr.
Why is not your wife—?
Wife! Uph—uph—Oh! Friendly, that word is worse than ten thousand daggers.
Fr.
Now, Sir John, you see the consequence of your foolish as well as
criminal affectation, of wanting to pass for a worse man than you are.
Sir John. [Walking about.]
The fiends!—the vipers! —the monsters!
Fr.
Do you think that a woman who could submit to live with you,
under the infamous imputation of being kept, could have any
principles?
Hell-hounds! robbers! and murderers!
Fr.
Or that a low rascal, like Sharply, the mean flatterer of your
follies, and the real practiser of your imaginary vices, whose sole
business in your family was to prey on your fortune, and make a jest
of your person, was to be bound by any ties of gratitude?
Scorpions! serpents! furies!
Fr.
Or could you expect that an inexperienced young creature like
Emily could be trusted in the house with two such wretches as I have
described, and not be undone?
Oh! Friendly, Friendly, Friendly!
Fr.
Do you see your folly?
My folly! my purgatory! my hell! Don't let your wife come near me, nor Sharply, nor Emily, nor my own everlasting torment—I'll cut my own throat—My estate shall be forfeited—I'd be burnt at a stake, rather than let them have it!
Fr.
Will you at last submit to be advised by me?
What can advice do now? Am not I married to a strumpet?
Fr.
Turn her off.
Suppose I do, I can't marry again, can't hope for an heir, and my estate will go to a scoundrel, that has ruined my poor niece.—Oh! Friendly, I am punished for the sins of my youth!
Fr.
Indeed, Sir John, I pity you.
S'death! have I lived to be pitied too!—Sir, you sha'nt pity me;
I won't be pitied by e'er a man alive.— And now I am recovered from
my surprise, you shall see the
justice I will do myself on that crocodile and her brother.
—Who's there!
Enter a Servant.
Bid your mistress come hither.Fr.
Her brother! Why Sharply's no more her brother than he is mine;
he has acknowledged that he was only a creature of her's entertained
under that notion to impose on you.
Mercy on me! mercy on me!
Enter a Servant.
Serv.
Sir, my lady is just gone out, and said she should not return.
What's to be done now, Friendly?
Fr.
Why now, Sir John, I think we must see what can be done with
Sharply; if you'll step with me to my house, I'll send for a friend of
mine, a man deeply skilled in the law, who we'll consult on the
occasion.
Ha! good; I'll do it, Friendly.—I'll hamper him, by the mass!
Fr.
Ay, Sir John, we'll teach him to run away with heiresses!
Come along, Friendly; I'll hamper him.
A Room in Friendly's House. Emily sitting alone reading. Enter to her Wellford. She rises.
Well.
Forgive me, Madam, for thus intruding; but I am now come to take
my leave of you, to bid you farewell, perhaps for ever.
Em.
My good wishes, Sir, shall always attend you.
Well.
And is that all, Madam?
Em.
My prayers too, for your happiness.
Well.
Unkind Emily! we met but yesterday, after a long, long absence;
and is it thus we part to day?
Em.
How did we meet yesterday? Wellford, remember that.
Well.
I thought, Madam, that a few rash words which jealous love forc'd
me to utter might have been forgiven.
Em.
Think how you reproached me!
Well.
I was in hopes my sorrow for having offended you might—
Em.
How you scorn'd, and left me!
Well.
Since my crime is too great for pardon, Madam, I can plead no
more in my defence.
Em.
I could have born with patience every misfortune but that—the
loss of parents, friends, fortune!
Well.
And can you, Emily, let that stubborn cruelty banish for ever
from your presence a man who loves you as I do? Cold unrelenting
creature! but I have done—Fare-you-well—
Em.
Wellford!—I forgive you.
Well.
Speak that again!
Well.
Part! did you say, part! sooner with my eyes, my life, my very
soul! No, Emily, no; since you forgive me, we never more will part!
Em.
Indeed we must.
Well.
By heaven, we won't! What is there now wanting to compleat our
felicity?
Em.
Ah! Wellford—your ardor makes you forget it now; but will you
always speak thus, when the burden of a wife makes you feel the want
of fortune?
Well.
For shame, my love, what a thought is that to mix with our
new-kindled flames?—No, Emily, the world contains not any thing that
I would not give in exchange for you!—why do you hang your head?
Em.
Wellford, this generosity of yours has quite conquered my
resentment, but it shall not overcome my resolution.— My heart is
yours for ever.—Were I mistress of a crown, you should share it with
me; but you shall not be partaker of my poverty: And now fare you well
at once.
Enter Mrs. Friendly.
Mrs. Fr.Well.
Oh! Madam, all my hopes are now at an end! Emily has forgiven me,
yet peremptorily refuses to be mine—
Well.
She's just now retired to her chamber.—I thank you for your
good intentions; but as I know your attempt will be in vain, I will
not wait the issue.
Well.
You'll pardon me, Madam; my own thoughts have rendered me unfit
for any other company. I shall set
out immediately on my journey, and so—my good old friend,
adieu.
Changes to the Street before Friendly's House. As Wellford comes out, enter Sir John and Friendly.
Fr.
Where now, Wellford?
Well.
I am this minute going to leave town, Friendly; and am glad I
have met you to bid you good-bye.
Fr.
I have something to say to you; you must not go yet.
Well.
Indeed you must excuse me.
Fr. [Aside.
Sir John, do you insist on his staying; this is the gentleman I
mentioned to you.]
Sir John. [Aside.
What the d—l, a lawyer in militaries! he holds well; but I have
been so masqueraded, that e'gad I am surprised at nothing I
see]—Pray, Sir, step in with us, I have material business with you;
my name is Woodall.
Well.
I'll attend you, Sir.—[Friendly, what can this mean? Aside
to Friendly.]
Sir John. [Aside.
Mind that, Friendly.—A whimsical dog I suppose.]
Mrs. Friendly and Emily.
Em.
But, dear Madam, would you have had me, thus situated, throw
myself on a young man who has nothing but his sword to carve him out a
maintenance?—Suppose we should have a family?
Em.
Well, Madam, and does n't this—
Em.
Why, does n't this strengthen my argument against marrying
Wellford? You know he is liberal to a fault, he loves pleasure too—
Em.
But, good Madam, you will not hear my reasons against a
thing that you urge me to comply with, and yet are offering strong
ones against it yourself.
Em.
May have! Why, Madam, I have been endeavouring to give
them to you, if you would hear them.
Em.
Is he gone?
Em.
Poor Wellford!
Em.
My uncle!
Enter Friendly and Sir John.
Fr.
Now, Sir John, are you satisfied?
How came you here, Emily?
Mrs. Fr.Hang me if you shall.—I'd rather remain in ignorance till doom's-day.—Let the girl speak for herself. —Was it Sharply who carried you away from my house?
Em.
It was, Sir; and by Lady Woodall's contrivance: I am sorry to
add, she had reasons for it, very disgraceful to herself and you.
Fr.
My dear, don't teaze him.
Answer me one question, Emily, and speak truth: Did that same lady of mine ever entertain a gallant or so, in my absence?
Em.
She did, indeed.
Em.
But, Sir, out of respect to you, I now wish the story to be
buried in silence.
Fr.
Why, she has turned out a very tygress, and behaved worse since
he has own'd her, than she did before.
I have turned her off tho': why don't you tell that too, Friendly?
Mrs. Fr.Em.
I am sorry, Sir, that matters are gone so far, for the sake of
your child.
Child! why, Friendly says it's none of mine.
Mrs. Fr.Prithee, Madam, hold your tongue.—Friendly, have you no command in your own house?
Mrs. Fr.Your husband's, I believe.
Mrs. Fr.Why not? where wou'd be the wonder, pray?
Mrs. Fr.Heaven help me! my wickedness is a lasting topic with these good sort of gentlewomen.—Pray, Friendly, desire your wife not to abuse me.
Fr.
My dear, you wrong Sir John; he is very far from being wicked; he
has indeed been grossly deceived.
Don't provoke me, Friendly, don't!
Fr.
Provoke you, Sir John! does the vindicating your character
provoke you?
My character, Sir, is very well known; I want none of your palliations—if I have been an idle fellow, what's that to any man? perhaps I may reform, if I take it into my head.
Fr.
As you please for that, Sir John.—In the mean while, you must
give me leave to bring in a friend of mine.
Wickedness, and wickedness! I must be twitted forsooth every where I go with my wickedness!
Mrs. Fr.O—ds, Madam, who do you call an honest man?
Mrs. Fr.Curse me, Madam, but you are very absurd, and I won't bear this!
Mrs. Fr.Dupe! Dupe! 's-death, do you know what you are saying? do you know
the meaning of that word,
that you use as familiarly indeed, as if—as if you knew what
you said?
That thinks you are possessed with ten thousand talking devils; and that I had rather be buried alive than listen to you.
Enter Friendly and Wellford.
Fr.
How now, Sir John! quarrelling with my wife!
By my soul there's no bearing her, Friendly: I wish you were as well rid of her as I am of my plague.
Mrs. Fr.Em.
I thought he had been gone!
Fr.
Why, I luckily intercepted him in his flight, and have, within
this quarter of an hour, unravelled a mystery to Sir John, and made
him acquainted with this gentleman.
Well, Captain, are you disposed to marry, notwithstanding the sad example you have before you, in me and poor Friendly here?
Mrs. Fr.Fr.
Don't worry him, my dear.
Well.
Sir John, if this lady can be prevailed on to accept of me—
What do you say, Emily? Friendly has given me a good account of this young fellow; and since he is willing to take you without a fortune, I have no objection; I'll hinder no body from playing the fool that has a mind to it.
Em.
Mr. Wellford, Sir, already knows my determination on that
subject.
You won't have him then? a spirited wench, by my soul; I like her for that too.—How puzzled she looks tho', Friendly!
So now, there's a surprize, you! egad, I think I carried on the joke very well.
Em.
Uncle, is it possible this can be true?
Faith I don't know whether it is possible or not; but I believe it to be fact. It has been a strange damn'd whimsical affair, from beginning to end.
Mrs. Fr.Fr.
Softly, my dear.
Em.
Wellford, here's my hand; and since my uncle approves—
Ay, ay, with all my heart; and since I am my own master again, I'll try what living a little virtuously will do.
Fr.
Well said, Sir John, resolved like a wise and a worthy man; and
let me tell you that is a better character than that of a fool and a
rake; the first of which titles was all you got by affecting the last.
None of your grave saws, Friendly; the wisest man may be deceived, if he deals with greater knaves than himself.
Em.
Uncle, if you will permit me to return to your house, I shall
endeavour by the most dutiful behaviour—
Ay, ay, you are all fine promisers.—I'll consider of it;—but let nobody interpose, you know I hate that. —I'll have a bonfire to-night, and get drunk, for joy that I am rid of my wife.
Fr.
And here's Wellford and I will get drunk for joy with you.
Oh! brave Friendly! Ah! you rogue, you wou'd not let me be good, if I had a mind to it! but I will in spite of your teeth; I'll let you see I can be just what I please.
Fr.
There's no contending with you, Sir John, once you are resolved;
that I know.
You allow that, I believe, Friendly; a determin'd dog, that you'll grant.
Fr.
Here are two criminals without, Sir John, that are afraid to
appear in your presence; but since they have been so instrumental in
detecting your wife's baseness—
Oh! you mean Sharply and Rose—as precious a brace as ever were unhang'd—What wou'd you advise me to do with them, Friendly? I can transport them, at least.
Mrs. Fr.You do! then to let you see I am a better Christian than you, I will forgive them both. What do you say to me now, Friendly?
Fr.
Faith, Sir John, I think you are even with her. Shall I call
them? Who's there?
[Enter a Servant, Friendly whispers to him.]
Sir John.Ay, do—poor paultry devils not worth my resentment;—tho' that Sharply is a sad rascal too, for I was always kind to him.
Fr.
And he has repaid your kindness, Sir John; for if it had not been
for him, you would not be the free man that you now are.
Faith, that's true—[Rose and Sharply come to the door.]
Come in, you sneaking scoundrel you.—
[Sharply enters.]
What, my oracle! my adviser!—Hey, how's this? what the plague's
become of your fool's face?
Sharp.
That was but a mask, Sir John, which I wore occasionally, for
your entertainment, but have now no farther occasion for it.
The d—l ow'd me a spite, and he has paid me with a vengeance;—so I am not angry with you, I don't think you worth it.—[Aside. Is not that right, Friendly?]
Fr.
Perfectly.—You see how much he's asham'd, poor bashful fellow.
As for you, Rose, you are a poor ignorant wench, and did as your mistress bid you. I suppose you did not think you were doing any great harm, so I forgive you too.—[Aside. Am I right, Friendly?]
Fr.
Never more so in your life.—Come, Mr. Sharply, since Sir John
has pardon'd you your crimes against him, the rest of the company must
own themselves obliged to you.
Em.
I have promised that he shall not find me ungrateful.
Rose. [Apart to Emily.]
Good Madam, if you wou'd but make Mr. Sharply keep his promise to
me!
Em.
Did he promise you marriage?
Rose.
He did indeed, Madam, or I am sure I should never—
And you want him to keep his word, I hope?
Rose.
Yes, Sir, if you please.
Go, go, you silly slut, you are better as you are. —What do you think, Friendly?
Fr.
I think, Sir John, the woman's a fool who subjects herself for
life to a man who must despise her.
Right.—What do you think, Emily?
Mrs. Fr.Stop, stop, stop; 's death! I have raised a wasp's nest about my own ears—What do you think yourself, Sharply?
Sharp.
I think, that having many sins to repent of, Sir John, I'll throw
my vows to Mrs. Rose in amongst the rest; but will not impose such a
pennance on myself as to fulfil them.
Well said, Sharply. Egad he's no fool after all. Rose, you see the banns are forbid on all sides. No more matrimony, as you love me.
Fr.
No, no; no wedding, Rose.
Well.
By no means, it would spoil both their fortunes.
Fr.
Come, Sir John, if you weigh the good against the bad, you will
find that you are arrived at a happy period of your life; for you
have, within these four-and-twenty hours, acquired a piece of knowlege
that you were ignorant of all your days before.
I have paid devilish dear for my knowlege tho', Friendly, and have learnt nothing by it, but that there is no truth in man or woman.
Fr.
You mistake me, Sir John; the knowlege I mean is that of knowing
yourself.
Fr.
And now, Sir John, I give you joy?
Of what, pray?
Fr.
That you have recovered your senses.
I'd rather recover my money tho', by the mass!
Mrs. Fr.Prithee, Friendly, put a padlock on your wife's mouth, and then I shall be glad of her company and yours to dinner.
Fr.
We'll attend you, and celebrate Wellford's union and your
separation together.
Agreed.—And to anticipate all Mrs. Friendly can say of me for the remainder of her life, I will here acknowlege that I have been a sot, a fool, a dupe, a most egregious ass; that my wife was an artful wicked strumpet; that Sharply was an hypocritical rascal; Rose a cozening baggage; poor Emily an injured innocence; the Captain there a generous lover; Friendly a zealous honest fellow; his wife a discerning and prudent matron; and for myself, that, after passing through the fiery trial, I am come out (it is to be hoped) a discreet and sober gentleman—Now, Madam, have you any thing more to add? I'll lay you fifty pounds, Friendly, she has not another word to say.
Well.
Take up his bett, Friendly, and I'll go your halves.
Fr.
Done, Sir John!
Fr.
Well said, my dear; go on—
S'death! Friendly, let me off for half my bett.
Mrs. Fr.Fr. [Lays his hand on her mouth.]
Peace, peace, my dear! let us devote this day to mirth; and that
Sir John may not be out of humour at his own lot, let him reflect how
many are in the same predicament with himself, without ever finding
it out.
True, Friendly; but I hope I may at least serve as a warning to my brethren.