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Virg. Georg.
Hor. Art. Poet.
SCENE LONDON.
SCENE, An Antichamber in Sir Avarice Pedant's House.
Lady Lucy Pedant, Lady Gravely.
Lady Lucy, entring in a Passion, followed by the Lady Gravely.
No more of your Lectures, dear Sister. Must I be fatigu'd every Morning, with an odious Repetition of fulsome, dull, antiquated Maxims, extracted from old Philosophers and Divines, who no more practised what they wrote, than you practise what you read? Sure, never Woman had such a Time on't!—Between a Husband mad with Avarice, a Son-in-Law mad with Learning, a Neice mad with Love—and a Sister—
L. Gra.The World knows what you are—
It says it does; it talks of you very freely, Child. First, that you are not so young as you would seem; nor so handsom, or good as you do seem; that your Actions are as much disguised by your Words, as your Skin by Paint; that the Virtue in your Mouth, no more proceeds from the Purity of your Heart, than the Colour in your Cheeks does, from the Purity of your Blood.
L. Gra.That your Ardency to reprove the World is too often rank Envy; that you are not angry with the Deformities of the Mind, but the Beauties of the Person: For it is notorious, that you never spoke well of a handsome Woman, nor ill of an ugly one.
L. Gra.That you rail at the Diversions of the Town, for several Reasons, but the Love of Goodness has nothing to do with any. Assemblies, because you are very little regarded in them; Operas, because you have no Ear; Plays, because you have no Taste; Balls, because you can't dance: and lastly— that you went to Church, twice a-day, a whole Year and half, because—you was in Love with the Parson; ha, ha, ha!
L. Gra.Nay, but how ungenerous is this! when you have often told me, that to put one in Mind of Faults, is the truest sign of Friendship; and that Sincerity in private, should give no more Pain, than Flattery in publick, Pleasure.
L. Gra.Nay, this is Flattery, my Dear!
L. Gra.This carries an Air of Sincerity— thank you, my Dear.
L. Gra.L. Lucy.
Well, I will convince you, for I must laugh at that; ha, ha, ha!
L. Gra.
That you are not restrain'd from unlawful Pleasures, by the Love
of Virtue, but Variety; and that your Husband is not safe, from having
no Rival, but from having a great many; for your Heart is like a
Coffee-House, where the Beaus frisk in and out, one after another; and
you are as little the worse
for them, as the other is the better; for one Lover, like one
Poyson, is your Antidote against another.
Ha, ha, ha! I like your Comparison of Love and Poyson, for I hate them both alike.
L. Gra.Dear Soul tell me who the happy Creature is, for I am sure he'll think himself so.
L. Gra.Ha, ha, ha! and I'm sure you like my Taste.
L. Gra.And I believe it is as little News to you, that you have that of leading the vast, grave, solemn Body of Prudes: So let us be Friends— since, like the fiery Partizans of State, we aim only at the same thing, by several Ways: Their Aim is a Place at Court—ours is—this, my dear Sister!
L. Gra.To 'em, Young Pedant.
Y. Ped.
Hey-day! What, is it customary here for you Women to kiss one
another? It intimates the Men to be scarce, or backward, in my
Opinion.
And so, taking advantage of the Dearth of Gallants, you are come to Town to be enrolled in the Number.
Y. Ped.
May I be expelled the University that Day: If your Women want
Fools 'till I turn one to please them, they shall want them—till
their Fools turn Scholars like me, or 'till they themselves turn
Penelopes, that is (breviter) till the World's turn'd topsy
turvy.
Or, 'till such illiterate Pedants as you turn fine Gentlemen.
Y. Ped.
Illiterate! Mother-in-Law?—You are a Woman.
You are a Coxcomb.
Y. Ped.
I rejoice in the Irony. To be called Coxcomb by a Woman is as
sure a Sign of Sense, as to be called Rogue by a Courtier is of
Honesty.
Y. Ped.
Are you? then you are a Woman of Sense, Aunt; a very great
Honour to your Sex.
Did you ever hear so conceited, ignorant a Wretch!
Y. Ped.
Ignorant!—Know, Madam, that I have revolv'd more Volumes, than
you have done Pages; I might say Lines. More Sense has gone in at
these Eyes—
Than will ever come out at that Mouth, I believe.—Ha, ha, ha!
Y. Ped.
What do you laugh at? I could convince you, that what you said
then was only false Wir. Look ye, Mother, when you have been
conversant with the Greek Poets, you'll make better Jests.
And when you have convers'd with a French Dancing-Master, you'll make a better Figure; 'till when, you had best converse with your self. Come, Sister.
Y. Ped.
Sooner than converse with thee, may I be oblig'd to communicate
with a drunken, idle, illiterate Soph: A Creature, of all, my
Aversion.
Sir Avarice Pedant, and Young Pedant.
Sir Av.
How now, Son! What puts you into this Passion? I never knew any
thing got by being in a Passion.
Y. Ped.
Sir, with your Peace, I am not in a Passion;
I have read too much Philosophy, to have my Passions irritated by
Women.
Sir Av.
You seem, indeed, to have read a great deal; for you said several
things last Night beyond my Understanding: But I desire you would give
me some Account of your Improvement in that Way which I recommended
to you at your going to the University; I mean that useful Part of
Learning, the Arts of getting Money: I hope your Tutor has, according
to my Orders, instill'd into you a tolerable Insight into
Stock-jobbing. I hope to see you make a Figure at Garaway's,
Boy.
Y. Ped.
Sir, he has instructed me in a much nobler Science—Logick
—I have read all that has been written on that Subject, from the
Time of Aristotle, to that great and learned Modern,
Burgersdicius; truly, almost a Cart-load of Books.
Sir Av.
Have they taught you the Art to get a Cart-load of Money?
Y. Ped.
They have taught me the Art of getting Knowledge. Logick
is in Learning, what the Compass is in Navigation. It is the Guide,
by which our Reason steers in the Pursuit of true Philosophy.
Sir Av.
Did ever mortal Man hear the like!— Have I been at this Expence
to breed my Son a Philosopher? I tremble at the Name; it brings the
Thought of Poverty into my Mind. Why, do you think if your old
Philosophers were alive, any one would speak to them, any one wou'd
pay their Bills! —Ah! these Universities are fit for nothing but to
debauch the Principles of young Men; to poison their Minds with
Romantick Notions of Knowledge and Virtue: What could I expect, but
that Philosophy should teach you to crawl into a Prison; or Poetry,
to fly into one!—Well, I'll shew you the World! where you will see,
that Riches are the only Titles to Respect; and that Learning is not
the way to get Riches. There are Men who can draw for the Sum of a
hundred thousand Pounds, who can hardly spell it.
Sir Av.
That is my Intention, and you will find by it how nicely I
calculate. You know my Losses in the South-Sea had sunk my
Fortune to so low an Ebb, that from having been offered, ay, and
courted to accept a Wife of Quality (my present Lady) I sell so low,
to have my Proposals of Marriage between you and the Daughter of a
certain Citizen, rejected; tho' her Fortune was not equal to that of
my Wife. For I must tell you, that a Thousand a Year is all you can
expect from me, who might have left you Ten.
Y. Ped.
And is to me as desirable a Gift.
Sir Av.
I am sorry to hear you have no better Principles. But I have hit
on a Way to double that Sum. In short, I intend to marry you to your
Cousin Bellaria. I observed her, the Night of your Arrival, at
Supper, look much at you, tho' you were then rough, and just off your
Journey: my Brother sent her hither to prevent her marrying a
Gentleman in the Country of a small Fortune. Now, I'll take care you
shall have sufficient Opportunities together: and I question not but
to compass the Affair; by which I gain just Ten Thousand Pound clear,
for her Fortune is Twenty.
Y. Ped.
Sir, I desire to deliver my Reasons opponent to this Match; they
are two: First, to the Thing, Matrimony. Secondly, to the Person, who
is my Cousin-German.
Sir Av.
Now, Sir, I desire to deliver mine. I have but one, and that is
very short. If you refuse, I'll disinherit you.
Enter a Servant.
Serv.
Sir, here's a Gentleman who calls himself Wilding, at the
Door.
Y. Ped.
Yes, I will consider, but shall never find a Reply to so
substantial, prevalent, and convincing an Argument.
To them, Sir Harry Wilding.
Sir Har.
Is not your Name, Sir, Sir Avarice Pedant?
Sir Av.
At your Service, Sir.
Sir Har.
Then, Sir, I am your very humble Servant.
Sir Av.
I don't know you, Sir.
Sir Har.
Don't you, Sir! why then, 'tis probable, by reading this Letter,
you will know more than you do now.
Sir Av. [Reads.]
Dear Brother,
The Bearer is my very good Friend, Sir Harry Wilding; he comes to Town to introduce his eldest Son to Bellaria. The young Man, I'm told, has a great Character for Sobriety, and I know his Fortune equal to my Demands. I fear her old Lover will find her out, unless prevented by an immediate Match. Get every thing ready as quick as possible: I will be in Town soon; 'till when he particularly civil to Sir Harry and his Son. [Aside. Ay, with a Pox to them!]
Your humble Servant, and affectionate Brother, Geo. Pedant.
[To Sir Harry.] Sir, your very humble Servant. My Brother here informs me of your Proposals; I presume, Sir, I know your Son.
Sir Av.
May I ask what he studies, Sir?
Sir Har.
Law, Sir, he has follow'd it so close these Six Years, that he
has hardly had time to write even to—Me, (unless when he wants
Necessaries) But I cannot convince you better than by one of his
Bills—let me see—ay here—here it is!— here's a Bill—I shall
see the Rogue a Judge—This Bill, Sir, is only for one Quarter.
Fifty Pounds worth of Law-Books read in one Quarter of a Year.—I shall see the Rogue a Judge.
You see, he reads all Night.
Sir Har.
In short, the whole Bill amounts to two Hundred and Seventy-five
Pounds, for the Necessaries of Study only. I shall see the Rogue a
Judge.
Sir Av.
But (methinks) there is one Article a little extraordinary: How
comes it that your Son pays Four Shillings for a Coach to
Westminster, when four Lawyers go thither for One?
Sir Har.
Ay! why that's a Question, now, that has been ask'd me several
times: Heart! I believe you are all envious of my Boy. If he pays four
times as much, he carries four times as much Law, and that, I think,
is an Answer.
Sir Av.
I wonder, Sir Harry, a Gentleman of your plentiful
Fortune, should breed your eldest Son to the Law.
Sir Av.
It was your Misfortune to be bred a Gentleman, Sir Harry!
Sir Har.
Ay, Sir; but I always resolv'd to breed my Son to the Law; I
determin'd it before he was Born; and I don't question but to see him
a Judge.—I am impatient 'till I find him out; so I am your humble
Servant. You may expect me at Dinner.
Sir Av.
That's kind, however.—You see, Son, we have but a short time to
execute our Project in; and if we are not expeditious, the Stock will
be sold to another Purchaser. I am obliged to go into the City on
Business: after Dinner, I will introduce you to my Neice. In the mean
time think on some fine Speeches, some high Compliments: for in
dealing with Women (contrary to all other Merchandize) the way to get
them cheap, is to cry them up as much beyond their Value as possible.
Y. Ped.
So the Matter is reduced to this, Either to be Married
or Disinherited. I'll accept the Prior; for, if I am
disinherited, I shall never get my Estate again; but, if I am married
(Providentially) I may get rid of my Wife.
St. James's Park.
Valentine and Veromil.
Val.
This was an agreeable Surprize indeed! for of all Men, my
Veromil is he whom I most wished, but least expected to meet.
Ver.
My Wishes, Valentine, were equal to yours, but my
Expectations greater; for I was told the Town, and all its Pleasures,
had long engrossed the Heart
of my Valentine. Nor has my Information been false, I
find. These Cloaths! these Looks! these Airs! give me Reason to wonder
how I recollected my metamorphosed Friend.
Val.
Why, faith! I am a little changed since those happy Times, when
after a Day spent in Study, we us'd to regale at Night, and
communicate our Discoveries in Knowledge over a Pint of bad Port.
While, poor Creatures! we were Strangers to the greatest, pleasantest
Part of Knowledge—
Ver.
What?
Val.
Woman, dear Charles, Woman; a sort of Books prohibited at
the University, because your grave Dons, don't understand them. But
what Part of the World has possess'd you these Years?
Ver.
The first Twelvemonth after I left the University, I remain'd in
the Country with my Father, (you had not then forgot to correspond
with me.) I then made the Tour of France and Italy. I
intended to visit Germany; but on my Return to Paris, I
there received the News of my Father's Death!
Val.
S'death! he did not deserve the Name.— Nay, I am no Stranger to
your Misfortunes. Sure, Nature was as blind when she gave him
such a Son, as Fortune when she robbed you of your Birthright.
Ver.
Valentine, I charge thee, on thy Friendship, not to
reflect on that Memory which shall be ever sacred to my Breast. Who
knows what Arts my Brother may have used? Nay, I have Reason to
believe my Actions abroad were misrepresented. I must have fallen by
a double Deceit. He must have colour'd my Innocence with the Face of
Vice, and cover'd his own notorious Vices under the Appearance of
Innocence.
Val.
Hell in its own Shape reward him for it.
Ver.
Heaven forgive him. I hope I can.
Val.
But tell me, (tho' I dread to ask) he did not, could not
disinherit you of all!
Val.
I still have been your Debtor: 'tis your superior Genius to
oblige; my utmost Efforts will be still your due.
Ver.
Let us then sacrifice this Day to Mirth and Joy.
Val.
With all my Heart.
Ver.
Is not that Wilding just come into the Mall?
Val.
I am sure he is alter'd since you saw him. I wonder his Dress
indeed did not prevent your knowing him.
Ver.
No; it is by his Dress I do know him, for I saw him in the very
same at Paris. He remembers me too, I perceive. Mr. Wilding
, your humble Servant.
Ver.
Soon after you left it.
Wild.
I thought you intended for Vienna. But I am glad that we
enjoy you so much sooner. For I suppose you are now come to Town for
good?
Val.
Nay, he shall not escape us again.
Ver.
My Inclinations would bid me spend my whole Life with my
Valentine: but Necessity confines our Happiness to this Day.
Val.
This Day!
Ver.
To-morrow Night I am to meet a Friend at Dover, to
embarque for France. I am glad we met
so soon, for every Hour I am with you, tho' it seems a Moment, is
worth an Age.
Wild.
You are soon weary of your Country, Mr. Veromil, which you
long'd to see so much, when we were at Paris.
Ver.
Misfortunes have made it disagreeable.
Wild.
Come, come, I see the Bottom of this: there is a Mistress in the
Case.
Val.
To France, for a Mistress!
Wild.
Ay, or what do all our fine Gentlemen there?
Val.
Learn to please an English one. It would be more
rational in a Frenchman to come abroad for a Dancing-master,
than in an Englishman to go abroad for a Mistress.
Ver.
However you'll allow a Lover to be partial, you must excuse me if
I think France has now the finest Woman in the Universe. But to
end your Amazement, she is our Country-woman.
Wild.
And has some devilish Coquet led you a Dance to Paris?
Never stir after her; if she does not return within ten Weeks, I'll be
bound to— fetch her.
Val.
Who can this great uncelebrated Beauty be?
Ver.
Oh! Valentine! She is one, whose Charms would delude
Stoicism into Love: The luscious Dreams of amorous Boys ne'er rais'd
Ideas of so fine a Form, nor Man of Sense e'er wish'd a Virtue in his
Mistress's Mind which she has not. That Modesty! that Sweetness! that
Virtue!
Wild.
Her Name, her Name?
Val.
Her Fortune, her Fortune?
Ver.
I know, Gentlemen, You, who have liv'd so much in the gay World,
will be surprized to hear me talk so seriously on this Affair. But be
assured, my whole Happiness is in the Breast of one Woman.
Wild.
I own my self surprized; but our Friend here can hardly be so,
for he is to-morrow to be happy with one Woman.
Ver.
How!
Wild.
Ay,—and every one who has a Wife, out of Pity.
Val.
'Sdeath! I'll be married to-morrow, and away into the Country the
next Morning.
Wild
Oh! the Country is vastly pleasant during the Honey-moon; Groves
and Mountains give one charming Ideas in the Spring of Matrimony. I
suppose we shall have you in Town again in the Winter: At least,
you'll be so obliging to send your Wife up. A Husband would be as
publick-spirited a Man, if he did not run away with his Wife, as he
who buys a fine Picture and hangs it up in his House, for the Benefit
of all Comers. But robbing the Publick of a fine Woman is barbarous,
and he who buries his Wife is as great a Miser, as he who buries his
Gold.
Ver.
The Publick may thank themselves; for no Man would do either, had
not the World affixed Shame to the sounds of Poverty and Cuckoldom.
Val.
You mention the Name, as if there were something frightful in it:
One would imagine you had liv'd in the first Age and Infancy of
Cuckoldom. Custom alters every thing. A Pair of Horns (perhaps) once
seem'd as odd an Ornament for the Head, as a Perriwig: But now they
are both equally in fashion, and a Man is no more star'd at for the
one than for the other.
Wild.
Nay, I rather think Cuckoldom is an Honour. I wish every Cuckold
had a Statue before his Door, erected at the publick Expence.
Val.
Then the City of London would have as many Statues in it
as the City of Rome had.
Wild.
The Ladies are oblig'd to you for your Opinion.
Val.
I think so. What is yours, pray!
Wild.
Mine! That the Poets ought to be hanged for every Compliment they
have made them.
Wild.
For that they have not said half enough in their Favour—Ah!
Charles! there are Women in the World—
Wild.
Dost thou think I confine my narrow Thoughts to one Woman? No; my
Heart is already in the Possession of five hundred, and there is
enough for five hundred more.
Val.
Why, thou hast more Women in thy Heart, than the Grand Turk has
in his Seraglio.
Wild.
Ay, and if I have not finer Women— 'Sdeath! well recollected.
Valentine, I must wait on one of your Aunts to an Auction this
Morning.
Ver.
Nay, dear honest Reprobate, let us dine together.
Wild.
I am engaged at the same Place.
Val.
Veromil, if you please, I'll introduce you. Perhaps you
will be entertain'd with as merry a mixture of Characters as you have
seen. There is (to give you a short Dramatis Personæ) my worthy
Uncle, whose whole Life and Conversation runs on that one Topick,
Gain. His Son, whom I believe you remember at the University, who is
since, with much Labour and without any Genius, improved to be a
learned Blockhead.
Ver.
I guess his Perfections by the Dawnings I observ'd in him. His
Learning adorns his Genius, as the Colouring of a great Painter would
the Features of a bad one.
Wild.
Or the Colouring of some Ladies do the Wrinkles of their Faces.
Val.
Then I have two Aunts as opposite in their Inclinations, as two
opposite Points of the Globe: and I believe as warm in them as the
Centre.
Wild.
And point to the same Centre too: or I'm mistaken.
Val.
Lastly, two young Ladies, one of whom is as Romantically in love
as your self, and whom perhaps,
when you have seen, you will not allow the finest Woman in the
World to be in France.
Ver.
I defie the Danger. Besides, I desire we may have the Afternoon
to our selves. I declare against all Cards and Parties whatsoever.
Val.
I'll second your Resistance: for I know we shall be ask'd; and
they will be as difficulty refus'd too as a starving Author, who begs
your Subscription to his next Miscellany; and you will get much the
same by both Compliances, a great deal of Nonsense and Impertinence
for your Money—for he who plays at Quadrille without being
let into the Secret, as surely loses, as he would at New-market
.
Wild.
Ay, but then he is let sometimes into much more charming Secrets.
Val.
Faith! very rarely!—Many have succeeded by the contrary
Practice, which is the Reason why Sharpers have been so often happy in
their Favours. Your Success would be more forwarded by winning five
hundred, then by losing five thousand.
Wild.
Why, faith! on a second Consideration, I begin to be of your
Opinion.
SCENE, Wilding's Chambers in the Temple.
Pincet alone
'Tis a fine thing to have a clear Conscience: But a clear Purse,
and a loaded Conscience, is the Devil. To have been a Rogue, in order
to be a Gentleman, and then reduced to be a Servant again!— What,
refuse paying my Annuity the second half Year, and bid me discover if
I dare! [Shews a Letter]—
Discover if I dare! You shall repent that, my dear Brother Rogue:
For since I can't live like a Gentleman by my Roguery, I'll e'en tell
the truth, and stand in the Pillory like one, by my Honesty.
[Knocking.] So, the Duns begin: Well, I can say truly, my Master
is not at Home now—but if he were it would be the same thing.
Sir Harry Wilding, Pincet.
Pin.
Hey-day! This is some Scrivener, or Dun of Authority.
Sir Har.
Here, you, Sirrah, where's your Master?
Pin.
I do not know, Sir.
Sir Har.
What, is not he at Home?
Pin.
No, Sir.
Sir Har.
And when do you expect him Home?
Pin.
I can't tell.
Sir Har.
I warrant, gone to Westminster—A diligent Rogue—when
did your Master go out?
Pin.
I don't know. (What strange Fellow is this?)
Sir Har. [Aside]
I warrant before this Rascal was up.—Come, Sirrah, show me your
Master's Library.
Pin.
His Library, Sir?
Sir Har.
His Library, Sir, his Study, his Books.
Pin.
My Master has no Books, Sir.
Sir Har.
Show me his Books, or I'll crack your Skull for you, Sir.
Pin.
Sir, he has no Books. What would you have with my Master, Sir?
Sir Har.
What's this? [Taking a Book up.] Rochester's Poems?
What does he do with Poems?— but 'tis better to spend an Hour so,
than in a Tavern. —What Book is this?—Plays—What, does he read
Plays too?—Heark ye, Sirrah, show me where your Master keeps his
Law-books.
Pin.
Sir, he has no Law-books: what should he do with Law-books!
To 'em, Taylor.
Tayl.
Mr. Pincet, is your Master within? I have brought my Bill.
Pin.
You must come another Time.
Tayl.
Another Time! Sir, I must speak with him now. I have been put off
this Twelvemonth, I can stay no longer.
Sir Har.
Give me your Bill.
Tayl.
Will you pay it, Sir?
Sir Har.
Perhaps, I will, Sir.
Tayl.
Here it is, Sir.
Sir Har.
Agad! it's a good long one. For a Suit of lac'd Cloaths
made your Honour last Michaelmass was two Years, Forty
Pounds—What, do your Templers wear lac'd Cloaths?
Tayl.
Do they? ha, ha, ha! wou'd they pay'd for them too. We have
Gentlemen here, Sir, who dress as finely as any Beaus of them all.
Pin.
And pay as finely too, I believe, to your Sorrow.
To 'em, Milliner, Perriwig-maker, Shoemaker, Hosier.
Mill.
Mr. Pincet, is your Master within?
Pin.
No, no, no,—you must all come another time.
Per.
Sir, we shall not come another time; we agreed to come all in a
Body; and unless we are paid we shall take other Methods.
Tricksy.
I tell you he is, and I will see him.
To them, Mrs. Tricksy. As she is crossing the Stage, Sir Harry takes hold on her.
Sir Har.
Heark ye, Madam, are you acquainted with my Son?
Tric.
Nor none of the Scrubs that belong to you, Fellow, I hope.
Sir Har.
The Gentleman who owns these Chambers, Madam, is my Son.
Tric.
Sir, you are an impudent Coxcomb; the Gentleman who owns these
Chambers has no such dirty Relations.
Sir Har.
Very fine, very fine! I see it now. My Son is an extravagant
Rake, and I am imposed upon. But I'll be reveng'd on these Fop-makers
at least.
Per.
Sir, I will have my Money.
Sir Har.
I'll pay you, Sir, with a Vengeance.— Dogs! Villains! Whores!
Sir Harry alone.
A Rogue! a Rogue! Is this his Studying Law?— Oh! here's his strong Box, we'll see what's in thee however. [Breaks it open] —What's this? [Reads]
Dr. Bunny,
I will meet you in the Balcony at the Old Play-house this Evening at Six. Dumps is gone into the Country. I chuse rather to see you abroad than at my own House; for some things, lately happen'd, I fear have given the Cuckold reason for Suspicion. Nothing can equal my Contempt for him, but my Love for you.
Yours Affectionately, J. G.
Oh! the Devil! the Devil!—Law!—ay, ay, he has studied Law with a Vengeance. I shall have him suffer the Law, instead of practising it. I'll demolish your Fopperies for you, Rascal,—Dear Bunny , [Looks on the Letter] I shall see the Rogue hanged.
An Antichamber in Sir Avarice Pedant's House.
Lady Lucy, Lady Gravely, Bellaria, Clarissa.
L. Lucy.Ha, ha, ha!—And have you the Assurance to own your self in Love, in an Age, when 'tis as immodest to love before Marriage, as 'tis unfashionable to love after it?
Bell.
And when the Merit of him I do love is much more a Rarity than
either. 'Tis only when we fix our Affections unworthily, that they are
blameable; but where Virtue, Sense, Reputation, Worth, Love and
Constancy meet in a Man, the Mistress who is asham'd of her Passion
must have a Soul too mean to distinguish them.
What will the Stupidity of it come to?
L. Grave.A young Woman to declare openly she loves One Man only! Your Wit and Beauty, Bellaria, were intended to inslave Mankind. Your Eyes should first conquer the World, and then weep, like Alexander 's, for more Worlds to conquer.
Bel.
I rather think he should have wept for those he had conquered. He
had no more Title to sacrifice the Lives of Men to his Ambition, than
a Woman has their Ease. And I assure you, Madam, had my Eyes that
Power you speak, I would only defend my own by them, which is the only
warrantable use of Power in both Sexes.
Well, for a Woman, who has seen so much of the World, you talk very strangely.
L. Gra.Bel.
I hope, Madam, I shall never give any of my Friends, Reason to
regret my Education.
Bel.
My Father commanded me, Madam, to love him.
Bel.
It is not in my Power to obey him, nor am I obliged to it. I
defie you to say, I ever gave Encouragement to any other; or to him,
before I had my Father's Leave, his Command. He introduc'd him to me,
and bid me think of him as my Husband. I obey'd with Difficulty, 'till
I discover'd such Worth, such Virtues in his Soul, that the Reception
which I at first gave him out of Duty, I afterwards gave him out of
Love. I plac'd the dear Image in my Heart; and you, or all the World,
shall never tear it thence, or plant another's there.
I can't help laughing at her; ha, ha, ha!
L. Gra.More Gaiety would become you, dear Neice.
Bel.
I find, Aunts, it's impossible to please you both, and I am
afraid it will be difficult for me to please either; for indeed, Lady
Gravely, I shall never come up to your Gravity; nor I believe,
Lady Lucy, to your Gaiety.
Dear Creature! you will alter your Opinion, when you have the Liberty to go to Plays, and Assemblies.
L. Gra.Bel.
I dare venture to both—I shall never reach that sublime Way of
thinking, which imputes Dulness to That, or Levity to This.—And if
you will give me leave to be free; I think, Lady Gravely may go
more to the one, and Lady Lucy ought to go more to the other.
To 'em, Servant.
Serv.
Ladies, Mr. Valentine, Mr. Wilding, and another
Gentleman are below.
Shew them up.
L. Gra.Nay, Lady Gravely.
L. Gra.Valentine, Wilding, Veromil, L. Lucy, Bellaria, Clarissa.
Val.
Ladies, your humble Servant. I beg the Honour of introducing a
Friend of mine—Lady Lucy. Mrs. Bellaria.
Was there much Company in the Park?
Wild.
All the World, but your selves; I wonder you could resist the
Temptation of so fine a Day, Lady Lucy.
Oh! never be surpriz'd at me, but when you see me walking; for I am
the most lazy Creature in the World. I would not have walk'd to my
Coach this Morning, to have been Empress of the Universe. Oh! I adore
the Eastern Way of travelling on Men's Shoulders: But walking is so
vulgar an Exercise, I wonder People of Quality give into it.
Val.
It has only the Recommendation of being wholsome and innocent.
Great Recommendations truly, to some antiquated Prude, some poor-spirited Animal, who is proud of an innocent Face.
Wild.
That is a Face, which never does the Beholders any Harm.
Unless it frightens them—ha, ha, ha!
Wild.
Some Women are innocent from their want of Beauty, as some Men
are from their want of Courage.
True. We should all be Tyrants, if we had Power.
Wild.
You will be too late for the Auction, Lady Lucy.
The other Lady has disappointed us, so I shall not go. But I have bought a Picture since I saw you, which if you don't admire, as much as I do, I shall not admire your Judgment.
Wild.
If I do not admire it, I'll say I do, and that's the same thing.
Cla.
You were not obliged to tell me so, methinks.
Val.
Freedom in a Husband, is—
Cla.
Impertinence—Stay 'till you have the Title.
Val.
A Day will give it me.
Cla.
Perhaps, not. This troublesome impertinent Freedom, makes me
believe you not so near your Happiness.
Val.
Madam! Madam! This Turbulency of Temper, makes me fear I am too
near my Misery.
Cla.
I don't understand you.
Val.
I fear you are more difficult to be understood than I am.—Stay
'till I have a Title!—He who marries a Woman, or pays for an Estate
before he is
apprized of their real Value, will find it then too late to
lament. The Purchaser indeed may sell his Estate to another, with
Loss; but the Husband, like a loaded Ass, must drag on the heavy
Burthen, till Death alone relieves him.
Cla.
Intolerable Insolence!—I'll never see you more.
Val.
Pardon me, Bellaria, I must follow her.— To make the
Quarrel irreconcileable.
Bel.
Are you—can you be my Veromil?
Ver.
Let this fond Kiss confirm me to be Veromil, and yours.
Bel.
And this Embrace, which pulls you to my Heart, assure you, that I
know I hold my Veromil: For none but him these Arms should e'er
encircle.
Ver.
My dear, my tender Love!
Bel.
Oh! tell me what strange, what unexpected Chance, has brought us
once again together.
Ver.
A Chance so strange; it seems the Direction of a Providence,
which looks with propitious Pleasure on the Sincerity of our virtuous
Loves: for had not the accidental Meeting of a Friend prevented it, I
had to-morrow gone for France, whither I falsely heard you was
sent.
Bel.
Did you never receive any Letter from me?
Ver.
And did not my Bellaria then forget me!— Oh! how blest
had I been to have seen a Line from her.
Bel.
Then I have been betray'd; for know, my Verimel, I was
forc'd from my Uncle's House, in the middle of the Night, and in two
Days brought hither; where I have been kept the closest Prisoner: Yet
I found means to write to you, and gave
the Letter to my Maid, with a Ring from my Finger to enforce her
Faithfulness; and she has a thousand times sworn she sent it you.
Ver.
O the false Jade!
Bel.
Heav'n knows what different Agonies I have felt! Sometimes I
thought you dead.—Nay, once I fear'd you false.
Ver.
Oh, my Paradise! no Worlds could have tempted me; for by this
sweetest, dearest Hand, I swear there's not an Atom in that charming
Form, which I would change for Worlds.
Bel.
You know how willingly I believe you.— But heark! if we are
over-seen, we are ruined.
Ver.
Tell me—O tell me, what I shall do.
Bel.
I'll think of it.—Is Valentine your Friend?
Ver.
Most nearly.
Bel.
Then consult with him, if you believe it safe.
Ver.
Oh Bellaria!
Ver.
Eternal Transports, Agonies of Joy delight thy Soul. Excellent,
charming Creature!—But ah! a sudden Damp chills all my rising Joys;
for oh! what Dragons must be overcome, before I gather that delicious
Fruit!—I must impart it to Valentine; for on his Friendship
hangs my sure Success.
Ver.
Valentine!—Are you my Friend?
Val.
If you doubt it, I am not.
Ver.
It is in your Power, perhaps, to grant me my utmost Wish—will
you?
Val.
You know I will.
Ver.
Be it whatever—
Val.
Humph!—Faith! unless it should be to go abroad with you
to-morrow; for the same Reason
keeps me at Home, that sends you away—a Woman; and I believe,
now you have seen her, you will confess as fine a one.
Ver.
What do you mean!
Val.
In a Word, that Lady I left you alone with, I doat on to
Distraction.—You seem disturb'd, Veromil! Did I not know you
already engag'd, and the Constancy of your Temper, her Charms might
excuse me suspecting a sudden Conquest.
Ver.
Be assur'd it is not in the Power of Wealth or Beauty to change
my Passion—And are you to be married to her to-morrow?
Val.
Would I were.—To shew you I distrust not your Friendship, I'll
open my whole Breast to you. I had for almost two Years pursued that
other Lady, and after a long Series of Importunity, at last obtain'd
her Consent, and To-morrow was the appointed Day. But about a Month
since, the Lady whom I told you of in our way from the Park,
came hither; that I lik'd her, you'll easily believe; but by frequent
Conversation, the Disease possess'd my whole Mind. My Love for her,
and Aversion for my former Mistress, encreased daily—'till I
resolv'd to break with the old, and pursue the new Passion. The one I
have accomplish'd in an irreconcileable Quarrel with Clarissa;
the first Step I will take to the Latter, shall be by all Means
whatsoever to lessen her Value for him she thinks herself engag'd
to—whom, could I once remove, I easily should supply his Place.
Ver.
But can you do this with Honour?
Val.
Ha, ha, ha! you and I had strange Notions of that Word, when we
us'd to read the Moralists at Oxford; but our Honour here is as
different from that, as our Dress. In short, it forbids us to receive
Injuries, but not to do them.
Ver.
Fine Honour, truly!—Just the Reverse of Christianity.
Val.
Pshaw!—thou art so unfashionably virtuous!
Val.
Ay, Virtue and Diamonds may be very like one another—but,
faith! they are seldom the Ornaments of the same Person.
Ver.
I am sorry for it.
Val.
Well, now tell me in what I can serve you?
Ver.
I must first persuade you into other Thoughts; but I hear
Company. If you please, we'll walk in the Garden.
Lady Gravely, following Sir Avarice.
L. Gra.Sir Av.
Well, and what do I lose by that? Would you have me part with my
Wife, because the World is pleas'd to belye her? I'll as soon sell out
of the Stocks the next Report that is rais'd about Gibraltar.
Sir Av.
Insensible! You are mistaken; I have computed it; and I find it
cheaper to maintain my Wife at home, than to allow her a separate
Maintenance. She has great Relations, and will consequently have a
great Allowance.
Sir Av.
If she is a Serpent, it's more than I know. If you can prove any
thing against her, do it.
Sir Av.
I am too good a Christian to give Money for Revenge.
Sir Av.
I'll have Faith, at least; and so, Sister, I believe my Wife
honest, and will believe it, 'till you prove the contrary.
Sir Av.
Very innocently, I dare swear.
Sir Av.
And very innocently, I dare aver.
Sir Av.
Since you enrage me, you yourself have a worse Character than my
Wife.
Sir Av.
And buried them both with great Satisfaction.
Sir Av.
Nor will not, 'till you have got a third, which I heartily wish
you had, that my House might be at ease, and that my poor Wife, my
poor Penelope, might not be disturb'd: For I will no more
believe any thing against her, than I will believe a Stock-Jobber
on the Exchange, or a Lawyer in Westminster-Hall.
Wilding, and Lady Gravely.
Wild.
So; now must I transform myself into a Shape as foreign to my
natural one, as ever Proteus did. [Aside.] Hem!
hem!—Lady Gravely, your humble Servant!
Wild.
As my Visits, Madam, are always innocent; I presum'd your
Ladyship might admit me at a Time when you deny Access to the Looser
of our Sex. I am, indeed, unfortunately, of that Part of the Species
which your Ladyship disesteems; but Sobriety, I know, recommends even
a Man to your Ladyship's Favour.
Wild.
I own, indeed, the former Part of my Life has been too freely
spent; but Love has made me a Convert. Love, which has made the Sober
often gay, has made me sober.
Wild.
Wou'd I durst tell you!
Wild.
Your Anger.
Wild.
Then 'tis your self, your self, Madam; the Object of my Thoughts,
my Dreams, my Wishes—
Wild.
Would but my Fate so far bless me, that I might have the
Opportunity of conversing with a Woman of your Sense, of communicating
my Censures on the World to you, and approving yours: Nothing can be
harmful that passes between such a Pair. [Kissing her Hand.] Let
what will proceed from their Amours.
Wild.
Their virtuous Hours. [Kissing it harder.] The World never
lays any Censure on their Conduct.
Wild.
Yes, and openly—it is six times the Crime. The Manner of doing
Ill, like the Manner of doing Well, is chiefly consider'd—and then
the Persons too.
Wild.
I don't know a Woman, beside your self, one can converse with.
Wild.
Ah, Madam! might one who has the Misfortune to be a Man—
Wild.
Can I hope?
Wild.
Oh! it is the Characteristick of a Man.
Wild.
Oh, Madam!
Wild.
Madam! Madam!
Wild.
Dear Madam!
And at the same time such a perfect, tender, manly Concern for the Reputation of all Women.
Wild.
Oh! eternally careful, Madam.
SCENE, The Anti-Chamber.
Lady Lucy and Wilding.
I have been half dead with Impatience to know your Success.
Wild.
If ever I am sent on such an Errand again—
I'll engage she gave it you home.
Wild.
That she did, indeed.
And—and—Ha, ha, ha!—How did she receive you?—Ha, ha, ha!
Wild.
Why, I attacked her in a grave solemn Style. I put on as
hypocritical a Countenance, as a Jesuit at a Confession.
And she received you like a Nun, I suppose.
Wild.
Sir, (says she) while you frequent my Sister's Assemblies, your
affected Sobriety will gain no Place in my Belief. I receive no Visits
from any Man—but from such a gay, wild, loose, raking, dancing,
singing, fluttering—
Coxcomb! Ha, ha, ha!
Wild.
Wou'd you recommend your self to me, you must leave off your
whole Set of Company; and particularly, that wild, vain, thoughtless,
flirting, unfix'd, inconstant—
Hold! hold!
Wild.
Mimicking, sighing, laughing—
Whom do you mean?
Wild.
She nam'd no Body.
No, she did not need. I know whom she scandaliz'd, and I'll tell her, be it only to make Mischief.
My Name!
Wild.
'Tis too true.
The Devil take you for telling me of it; it has discompos'd me so—I find it impossible to have any Complexion to-day.
Wild.
You need none, you have done Mischief enough already; 'tis time
to think of repairing some of it.
But I will not repair any Mischief I have done.
Wild.
That's an Affectation: You are better-natur'd.
Indeed I am as cruel as Caligula. I wish your whole Sex had but one pair of Eyes, that I might kill them all with a Frown.
Wild.
And one Body, that you might recover them as easily. Come, come,
Lady Lucy, I have been your Fool long enough, and have had no
Reward for my Pains.
No Reward! Have I not spoke to you in all Publick Places? Have I not read your odious Letters? Have I not sung your more odious Songs? Have I not suffer'd you to gallant my Fan, to kiss my Lap-Dog? What can a reasonable Creature ask, which I have not done?
Wild.
The only Thing a reasonable Creature would ask. You have turn'd
the Tables on me finely indeed, and made that my Reward, which I
should have pleaded as my Merit. A Prince wou'd be finely serv'd
truly, who, when his Soldiers ask'd him for a Reward, was to tell
them, the Honour of serving him was one.
I can reckon Fifty Lovers of mine contented with less.
Wild.
Rare Lovers! A Lady wou'd be as finely serv'd by such Lovers, as
a King by such Soldiers—Fellows only fit to guard a Drawing-Room, or
to court
in it; and of no more Use in the real Fields of Love or War, than
an Eunuch in a Bed-chamber, or a Parson in a Battle.
I have taken a sudden Resolution.—
Wild.
Have a care of a bad one!
Never to see you more.
Wild.
I thank you for telling me, however, because it has led me into
another Resolution.
Impertinent!
Wild.
Never to leave you more, 'till you have given me all the Joys in
your Power.
I hate you.
Wild.
That's barbarous, when you know my Love.
Yes, I do know your Love, and therefore I have us'd you like a Spaniel, and will use you like a Spaniel.
Wild.
And I, like a Spaniel, will but fawn the more, my Angel.
To them, Sir Avarice Pedant.
Sir Av.
Hoity-toity! Hey-day! What's here to do? Have I caught you,
Gentle-folks? I begin to see I am rightly inform'd. Are these your
innocent Gaieties, Madam?
To them, Sir Harry Wilding.
Sir Har.
Where is the Dog? Sirrah! Scoundrel! Where are you? I shall see
you hang'd, Rascal! I shall see you hang'd, Sirrah! I'll begin the
Executioner's Work. I'll chastise you, Sirrah!
Wild.
Humph!
Sir Av.
Sir Harry! what is the Matter?
Sir Har.
The Matter! Why, Sir, my Boy, my Lawyer, that I told you of, is
ruin'd and undone.
Sir Av.
How, pray?—[Aside.] I'm glad to hear it, however.
Wild.
Sir, I hope I have done nothing to deserve such a Fate.
Sir Har.
Nothing! Is disappointing my Hopes, nothing? Is being a Beau,
when I thought you a Lawyer, nothing?—I'll disinherit you,
Sirrah!—you are no Son of mine—you have prov'd your Mother a
Strumpet, and me a Cuckold.
Sir Av.
Truly, so he has me too, I am afraid.
L. Lucy.
Ha!
Sir Av.
So he has me, truly.
L. Lucy.
And me, I am sure.
Sir Av.
I short, I suspect, Sir Harry, that he has been too free
with my Wife; and he who is too free with one's Wife, may, some time
or other, rob one's House.
Sir Har.
Nay, (perhaps) he has begun to rob already. It's probable, I may
see him hang'd before I go out of Town.
L. Lucy.
He has been too free indeed! What did you ever see in me, Sir, or
in my Conduct, which cou'd give you an ill Suspicion of me?
Wild.
Soh! I'm in a fine way i'faith.
Sir Av.
He deserves it truly.
L. Lucy.
What could make you imagine that I was to be brib'd to so mean,
base, low an Action! what could make you think I'd ever sell my Neice?
Sir Av., Sir Har.
How!
L. Lucy.
Sir Avarice, you are a Stranger to the Arts
of this wicked young Man: He has importuned me a thousand times,
since Bellaria's coming to Town, to betray her to him; and just
now, he vow'd never to let me go, till I had promis'd.—Had you not
come in, Heav'n knows whether I should have ever got away from him.
Wild.
Can you blame the Effects of Love, Madam? You yourself see what a
Metamorphosis it has caused in me.—I, who for six long Years scarce
ever liv'd out of a Study, who knew no Amusement, no Diversion, but
in Books, no sooner saw the charming Maid, than Reading grew my Bane;
Gaiety, Dress, every thing that might charm the Fair, has since
employ'd my Thoughts.
Sir Har.
What do I hear!
Wild.
My Father here, who from not knowing the Cause of this
Transformation, has so severely resented it, can testifie the Truth of
what I say.
Sir Har.
I shall see the Rogue a Judge—that I can, my dear Boy; and I
will take Care that thou shalt not be forc'd to bribe or beg any one:
the Girl shall be thy own—Sir Avarice, I ask your Pardon;
and, Madam, I ask your Pardon; and, Harry, I ask your Pardon.
Wild.
Oh Sir! you make me blush.—Dear witty Creature!
Sir Har.
I was hunting after my Boy here; but I will be glad to be
recommended to the Butler presently.
Sir Av.
At your own time.—Come, my Dear; Sir Harry may have some
Privacies for his Son; I have something to impart to you too.
Sir Harry Wilding, Young Wilding.
Sir Har.
But heark you, young Man; what's become of all your Law-Books,
hey?
Sir Har.
Then they are invisible. If I could but have seen as much of them
as of my own in the Country, (I mean the Out-sides) I shou'd have been
satisfied. —And pray, Sir, how came you by this Letter?
Wild.
Damnation!
Wild.
That Letter, Sir!
Sir Har.
Yes, Sir, that Letter, Sir.
Wild.
That Letter, Sir!
Sir Har.
Yes, Sir.
Wild.
I don't know what it is, Sir, I never read it.
Sir Har.
You are too great a Man to read your own Letters, I suppose. You
keep a Secretary, I hope. I have paid off your Secretary, I assure
you. But I presume—a—you can read it.—You are not a perfect
Beau, I hope.
Wild.
What shall I do! I am ruin'd and undone.
Wild.
S'death! how came I not to recollect that sooner. [Aside.]
—To Capt. Belvil!—I see the whole Mistake.
Sir Har.
What Mistake!
Wild.
You have been at another Gentleman's Chambers.
Sir Har.
Sir, I was at those Chambers where I plac'd you.
Wild.
Ah, Sir! there's the Mistake. I chang'd them about a Fortnight
ago: they were so noisy, they discompos'd me in my Study. I should
have sent you word of it in my next Letter.
Sir Har.
How!—I have committed a fine Set of Errors, I'm sure.
Wild.
What have you done, Sir?
Wild.
Forbid it—you have a most litigious Man to deal with.
Sir Har.
I must make it up in the best manner I can. You must assist me
with Law. But come, we will lose no Time with our Heiress. Besides, I
long to see your Chambers, and your Books. I am resolv'd I'll find
some Time this Afternoon. I'll first obey a certain Call that I find
within me, and then wash my Face and Hands, and get my Wig powder'd,
that I may be fit to wait on the young Lady: So don't be out of the
Way.
Wild.
This is a miraculous Escape; or rather, a short Reprieve; for how
to carry on the Deceit I don't know. I'll e'en go and advise with
trusty Pincet; for I believe he is (as well as several of my
Brother Templer's Servants) a better Lawyer than his Master.
Sir Avarice, L. Lucy, Bellaria, Young Pedant.
Sir Av.
Be not angry with me, Bellaria, I get nothing by this
Match; and when I get nothing by an Affair, it is very hard I shou'd
be blamed for it.
Bel.
I know not whom to be angry with.
L. Lucy.
Look-you, Bellaria, I am heartily sorry for your
Misfortune; because I know nothing so inconvenient, as being married
to a very gay Man. Mr. Wilding may be a diverting Lover, but he
is not fit for a Husband.
Bel.
I cannot distinguish between those Names, Madam.
L. Lucy.
Don't affect the Prude, dear Bellaria.— You see your
self reduced to a necessity of marrying, and I know but one way in the
World to avoid the Match proposed—and that too, by Sir Avarice
's Leave.
Sir Av.
Any thing in my Power. I confess, I do not approve of the young
Man.
Sir Av.
Well, well, you see my excessive Fondness, Neice. I sacrifice my
Reputation, to your Happiness.
Bellaria, Young Pedant.
Bel.
I am infinitely obliged to your Concern for me—
[A long Silence here.
So, Cousin, you hear what my Aunt says; you are in Love with me,
it seems.
Y. Ped.
No truly, I cannot profess that I am. Matrimony is a Subject I
have very little revolved in my Thoughts: but Obedience to a Parent is
most undoubtedly due.
Bel.
Obedience to a Parent, Cousin!
Y. Ped.
Nay, nay, I shall not require any thing to be given which admits
of a Dispute—or which (as Mr. Lock very well observes) does
not receive our Assent as soon as the Proposition is known and
understood. Let us introduce then this Syllogism: Whatever the Law of
Nature enjoins is indispensably just: But the Law of Nature
enjoins Obedience to a Parent: Ergo, Obedience to a Parent is
indispensably just.
Bel.
Nay, but what have we to do with the Law of Nature?
Y. Ped.
O, if you require farther—the divine Law confirms the Law of
Nature. I shall proceed to shew that it is approved by prophane
Writers also; translating them as they occur for their more immediate
Comprehension.
Bel.
I'll leave you to your Meditations.
Young Pedant alone.
Y. Ped.
Venus says to Æneas in Virgil, Fear not the
Commands of a Parent; nor refuse to obey her Precepts—What says
Polynices to Jocasta in Euripides? —Whatever
you will, O my Mother, shall also be grateful to me.—The
Sons of Metellus, as recorded by Alexander, are a great
Instance—Plautus in Sticho; Whatever our Parents
command we are obliged to perform. Why are Cleobis and
Biton preferr'd by Solon in Herodotus? why, for
their Piety to their Mother. What an Instance have we in the second
Son of Axtaxerxes—.
To him, Valentine, Veromil.
Val.
So, Cousin Pedant, what, arguing with your self?
Ped.
What! is she gone?
Val.
Who?
Ped.
The Lady: Bellaria, I think they call her. The Women of
this Age are profoundly wicked! I was proving to her the Necessity of
obeying a Parent, and she wou'd not stay to hear it.
Val.
Oh! you must not entertain Ladies with those Subjects.
Ped.
I shou'd rejoice egregiously not to be obliged to entertain them
at all. I have a very hard Fate, that I cannot be permitted to pursue
my Studies; but must be summoned up hither to be married. I have Money
enough to buy Books, and the Necessaries of Life; why should I marry
then?—Because my Wife is rich.—Why, if it be granted that I have
enough, the Conclusion will be, that I do not want more.
Ver.
Here's News for you, Valentine.
Val.
The Villany of my Uncle gives me more Surprize, than I have
Apprehension from his Son.
Ver.
Surprized at Villany, now-a-days! No, Valentine, be
surprized when you see a Man honest: when
you find that Man, whom God will not transform into a Knave, I
will believe it possible you may find that Stone which will change
every thing into Gold.
To them, Wilding.
Wild.
Wish me Joy, wish me Joy, my Friends!
Ver.
We shou'd rather ask the Occasion of your Joy.
Wild.
The usual Occasion, Marriage—I don't know but I may be married
To-morrow—But (perhaps) you'll think, from what I said To-day, I
shou'd have rather begg'd your Pity than your Congratulation.
Ver.
Your Wife may (perhaps) want that most— But who is she?
Wild.
She is—She is—Ha, ha, ha!
Val.
One thou art asham'd to name, I believe.
Wild.
She is a very great Friend of a Friend of yours. She is even—
Bellaria.
Val.
Bellaria?
Ver.
Confusion!
Val.
Because I believe you won't have her.
Wild.
Ha, ha, ha! if I have her not: if I don't win her, wed her, love
her, and grow weary of her in a Month, may I be reduced to that last
Extremity, to live by the Charity of Superannuated Widows of the Town,
and either go to bed with an old Woman, or without a Supper.
Val.
A very modest Declaration! and may you thrive according to your
Merits. But I must leave you on some Business—Veromil.
Wilding, Young Pedant.
Wild.
So cold! 'Sdeath! this Fellow's in Love with Matrimony it self,
and jealous of any others sharing in it.
Y. Ped.
Sir, if I recollect your Face, your Name is Wilding.
Wild.
Ha! Mr. Pedant, your very humble Servant.
Y. Ped.
I hear, Sir, you are about to consummate with a young Lady here.
I assure you none will so sensibly rejoice in your Fortune, as my
self.
Wild.
Dear Sir!
Y. Ped.
For your Preferment will be my Deliverance, and the Occasion of
restoring me to my Studies.
Wild.
Oh! Sir!
Y. Ped.
For Books are, in my Eye, as much preferable to Women, as the
Greek Language is to the French.
Wild.
You say true—and Women are as much more difficult to be
understood.
Y. Ped.
Ay, Sir; and when you have studied them your whole Life, you may
justly say of them, what a certain Philosopher romanced of Learning—
that you know nothing at all.
Wild.
It is no doubt a very great Uneasiness to you, to be absent from
your Books.
Y. Ped.
Yet, Sir, do not imagine me totally absent: I have the benefit of
a Friend's Chambers in the Temple, one formerly my Chum, now
out of Town, who has no very bad Collection, and condescends to permit
me the Use of his Rooms.
Wild.
You just now told me, you rejoyced in my Fortune.
Y. Ped.
I remember.
Wild.
It is then in your Power to promote it infinitely, by lending me
your Chambers this Afternoon.
Y. Ped.
Sir, you may depend upon my doing— quantum in me, to
serve you. How will they be instrumental?
Clarissa follow'd by Bellaria, Valentine, and Veromil.
Clar.
Nothing shall prevail with me,—I detest his Sight; the
Appearance of Ghosts or Fiends can bring no greater Horrour, nor more
wou'd I avoid them.
Val.
You see, Bellaria, how happy I should have been in a Wife.
Bel.
This is only Affectation; you must not part so. Follow her, Mr.
Valentine; she can fly no farther than that Chamber. Nay, I vow
you shall.—The little Quarrels of Lovers are only throwing Water on
the Flames, which quells them for a while, then makes them burn the
brighter.
Val.
But when you throw on too great a Quantity, the Flames may be
extinguish'd.
Bel.
Nay, this is barbarous: You must and shall follow her, and
appease her.
Val.
Since you command, Madam—It shall be my own fault, if this be
not the last Visit.
Bel.
What means my Love?
Ver.
I know not what I mean.
Bel.
Nam'd you not Falshood!
Ver.
Ha! do you start at that Sound? A guilty
Conscience starts when it is upbraided—the Name of a Crime has
Magick in it to the guilty Ear.
Bell.
I am confounded!
Ver.
So am I, Bellaria!
Bel.
Oh! tell me what it is that afflicts you. I will relieve your
Pain.
Ver.
Have you the Power then of that fabled Spear, can you as easily
cure as give a Wound?
Bel. [Smiling.]
If I have given you the Wound, I will have the Charity to cure
it.
Ver.
Your Charity is extensive, Madam; you wou'd do the same to
more—to Valentine.—But oh! you can not wound him as you
have wounded me; his Heart is better fortified; one of those whom Love
may make a Scar in for a while, which Time will soon wear off. You
have pierc'd my Soul, Bellaria.
Bel.
It never felt a Pain, like that torments me now; tell me, be
generous, and tell me all your Griefs.
Ver.
What can they be? but that Bellaria's false, false with my
Friend; she triumphs in her Falshood, and bid me make a Confident of
my happier Rival.
Bel.
Do I hear this, and live!
Ver.
Wonder rather that I have liv'd to tell it. Live! I do not! My
Life was wrapp'd in you, in you, my only Love, whom Youth or Beauty,
Wit or Wealth could never chase away from my Bosom; whom through a
tedious Three Years Absence, amidst the splendor of Foreign Courts, my
constant Breast still cherish'd as its Guardian Angel; for whom I've
sigh'd, I've wept more than becomes a Man to boast of.
Bel.
I shall not boast what I have done for you; yet this; I would not
have accused you without a Cause.
Ver.
A Cause! Demonstration is one.
Bel.
Demonstration!
Ver.
Ay, Madam, the Words of such a Friend are little less: He told me
that you knew of his Passion, and had not discourag'd it.
Bel.
By all that's Virtuous! by all the Powers of Heav'n, he wronged
me.
Bel.
Your Friend—a Woman's Testimony bears no Proportion with a
Man's.
Ver.
By Heav'n, it shou'd not.
Bel.
Still maintain the unjust Superiority; allow no Virtue, no Merit
to us; make us as you do your Slaves. Inconstancy, which damns a
Woman, is no Crime in Man. The practis'd Libertine, who seduces poor
unskilful thoughtless Virgins, is applauded, while they must suffer
endless Infamy and Shame. Well have ye revenged the Sin of Eve
upon us: for Man has since supplied the Serpent's Place, and
scandalously lurks to cause our Ruin: For what but such an infernal
Spirit cou'd inspire a Villain to abuse my Innocence to you?
Ver.
Cou'd he be such a Villain!
Bel.
Do, believe him, ungrateful as thou art; but oh! remember this,
you'll find too late how much you've wronged me, and curse that
credulous Ear which separates us for ever.
Bel.
Be not too sure of any thing; I was too sure you never cou'd have
thought me so.
Ver.
Oh! did you know the Torments of my Mind, you'd pity, not upbraid
me.
Bel.
Witness Heav'n I do pity you; and while I am rack'd with Torments
of my own, I feel yours too.
Ver.
Oh! thou art all Angel: would I had had no Ears, or he no Tongue,
or that I had lost my own, e'er I had said—I believe, I know thee
innocent; thy Mind is white as purest Snow. But oh! that curs'd
Suspicion has blacken'd mine. I never shall forgive it to my self.
Bel.
For my sake, ease the Tempests of your Mind. I'll never think
on't more.
Ver.
When I deserve it, do. Surely, thou art more than Woman. How
dearly mightest thou have revenged my unjust Accusation, by keeping me
a few
Moments in the Horrour of having offended thee, or Doubt of thy
Pardon!
Bel.
Unkindly you think me capable of such a Behaviour. No, Veromil
, I know the Sincerity of your Love—and wou'd not give you an uneasy
Hour, to gain more Worlds than you deserve.
Ver.
Hear her, ye wanton Fools, who sacrifice your own and Lover's
Happiness to fantastick Triumphs, and an ill-judging World. O may'st
thou be the Pattern of thy Sex; 'till Women, learning by thy bright
Example, wipe off the Scandals which are thrown upon them. O let me
press thee to my Heart for ever.
SCENE Continues.
Pin.
As my Catechism, Sir; and I'll engage, that I act it to your
Satisfaction. If I am not revenged on those Blows of yours, old
Gentleman— if I don't make your Heart bleed, may you fetch the last
Drop out of mine!
Wild.
Fetch but the Money out of his Pocket—
Pin.
That's my Intention—the Way to most Men's Hearts, is through
their Pockets.
Wild.
But do you think he will not discover you, when you are disguis'd
in the Gown?
Wild.
Away then; for shou'd the old Gentleman see us together, we are
ruin'd.—My Affairs in this House are in a very good Situation. Here
are four Ladies in it, and I am in a fair way of being happy with
three of them. Agad, I begin to wish my self fairly off from my two
Aunts; for I think a modest and reasonable Man can desire no more than
one Woman out of a Family. But, I have gone too far, to make an
honourable Retreat; for Women act in Love, as Heroes do in War: Their
Passions are not presently rais'd for the Combat; but when once up,
there's no getting off without fighting. Here comes one. Humph!
Lady Gravely, Wilding.
L. Gra.Wild.
Lady Gravely, I ask a thousand Pardons.
Wild.
They ought to be so; for the only Excuse to their Actions, is a
Supposition that they do not.
Wild.
Their Dress however wou'd persuade one otherwise: The Care and
Art employed in that, seem the Effects of Thought—
Wild.
I wonder how they recommend themselves to so many fine Ladies.
Wild.
That I fear our whole Sex is.
Wild.
Is it possible!
Wil.
O my Happiness!
Wild.
Soh!—
Wild.
O my Angel! I vow by this soft Hand, I'll instantly obey.
Wild.
Humph!
Wild.
She is really handsome.
Wild.
Still, Madam, there is one Pleasure, which recompenses all; my
marrying your Neice will entitle me to your Conversation.
Wild.
What Reason can you have?
Wild.
No Torments shou'd extort it from me.
Sir Har. [without]
Harry, Harry! where's Harry?
Sir Harry Wilding, Lady Gravely.
Sir Har.
Have you seen my Son, Madam?
Sir Har.
What can be become of him! I have been beating about this half
Hour. I have unkennell'd a Fox in less time.
Sir Har.
How, Madam!
Sir Har.
No, no, Madam, I have taken care to prepare such a Match, as
shall make him happy.
Sir Har.
I ask your Pardon, Madam, she has twenty thousand Pounds—very
good Principles, I think.
Sir Har.
Is that all?
Sir Har.
She has Money enough to stop it up, Madam.
Sir Har.
If she had as many as she has Pounds, and if I were to receive a
Pound for every Flaw, the more she had the better.
Lady Lucy, Lady Gravely, Young Pedant.
L. Lucy.
You seem discompos'd, Sister; what's the matter?
L. Gra.
I suppose you are in the Plot too.
L. Lucy.
What Plot?
L. Gra.
To sell my Neice; to give her up to a wild, raking, extravagant
young Fellow;
L. Gra.
Distraction! she's in Love with him herself.
L. Gra.
Any Secret is safe with me, that is not contrary to Virtue and
Honour.
L. Lucy.
Nay, but I am afraid that you refine too much on those Words.
L. Gra.
Refine, Madam! I believe, to censure your Conduct needs no
Refinement. I see very well what your Drift is; I know what you wou'd
say.
Y. Ped.
Hold, Aunt: That you can know what my Mother is going to say, is
denied; for, to know one's
Thoughts, before that Knowledge is convey'd by Words, implies a
supernatural Insight into the Mind. It will be proper, therefore, to
prove you have that Insight, before any Assent to your Proposition can
be requir'd.
L. Gra.
Fool! Coxcomb! Pedant! You shou'd be sent to an Academy to learn
Men, before you converse with them; or else be confin'd to a Tub, as
one of your Philosophers were, 'till you had learnt enough to know
you are a Fool.
Y. Ped.
Aunt, I wish a Female Relation of mine was shut up, 'till any one
thought her wise, beside herself.—Shut up in a Tub! I agree, so that
no Women trouble me. I had rather live in a Tub by myself, than in a
Palace with a Woman. You see, Madam, what an Encouragement I have to
marry.— What a Task must I undertake, to marry a Girl, when my
Aunt, who has had two Husbands, is not half tamed!—Get me such a
Wife as Andromache was, and I'll marry; but for your fine
Ladies, as you term them, I wou'd as soon put on a laced Coat; for
they are both alike: Your fine Coat is only admired when new, no more
is your fine Lady: Your fine Coat is most commonly the Property of a
Fool, so is your fine Lady: Your fine Coat is to be bought, so is
your fine Lady: I despise them both to an excessive Degree.
L. Lucy.
Leave us, Sir, 'till you learn more Manners.
Y. Ped.
I obey willingly.
Lady Lucy, Lady Gravely.
L. Lucy.
A Pedant is a most intolerable Wretch: I'm afraid she'll never
endure him.
L. Gra.
Who endure him?
L. Lucy.
That is my Secret—Sir Avarice sent for this Wretch to
Town, in order to match him to Bellaria. I was afraid to trust
you with it, because of your nice Principles.
I am a little in the Vapours at this present; I wish, my Dear, you wou'd give me a spoonful of your Ratafia.
L. Grave.One of mine will open it.
L. Grave.You have more; for I drank some this Morning.
L. Grave.Nay, I will have one Drop.
L. Grave.Indeed I will.
To 'em, Wilding from the Closet.
L. Lucy.If this be your Ratafia, you may keep it all to your self; the very Sight of it has cur'd me; ha, ha, ha!
L. Grave.Confess, Sir, by what Art did you open the Door when the Key was lost?
L. Grave.Only like a Gentleman, of what you wou'd not be a bit the poorer for losing.
L. Grave.He is dumb.
L. Grave.He is bringing forth Truth, I believe: it comes so difficulty from him.
Wild.
(If I am not revenged on you, Madam!) —look ye, Ladies, since
our Design is prevented, I don't know why it shou'd be kept a Secret;
so, Lady Lucy, you have my Leave to tell it.
I tell!
L. Grave.Wild.
Nay, there was no such Impiety in the Case neither: so tell, Lady
Lucy.
Surprizing!
L. Grave.Wild.
Come, come, discover all; tell her Ladyship the whole Design of
your putting me in her Chamber.—But you will own you have lost the
Wager.
Impudence beyond Belief!
L. Grave.Wild.
Only a Wager between Lady Lucy, and Me, whether your
Ladyship was afraid of Sprites. So, Lady Lucy convey'd me into
your Chamber; and if upon my stalking out as frightful as possible,
your Ladyship shriek'd out, I was to lose the Wager.
Prodigious!
L. Grave.By any thing in the Shape of a Man, I am confident.
Lady Lucy, Wilding.
L. Lucy.Leave the Room.
Wild.
When you command with a Smile, I obey; but as a fine Lady never
frowns but in jest, what she says then may be supposed to be spoken in
jest too.
This Assurance is unsupportable; to belie me to my Sister; before my Face too.
Wild.
Hear this now! What way shall a Man take to please a Woman? Did
you not desire me to make Love to her for your Diversion? Have I not
done it? am I not striving to bring Matters to an Issue? should I not
have frustrated it all at once, if I had not come off some way or
other? What other way cou'd I have come off? Have I not been
labouring, sweating, toiling for your Diversion? and do you banish me
for it?
Nay, if this be true—
Wild.
Rip open my Heart, that Fountain of Truth, and there you will see
it with your own dear Image.
Well then; do one thing, and I forgive you.
Wild.
Any thing.
Refuse my Neice.
Wild.
Any thing but that.
You shall, you must.
Wild.
To refuse a fine Lady, with twenty thousand Pounds, is neither in
my Will, nor in my Power. It is against Law, Reason, Justice—In
short, it is a most execrable Sin, and I'll die a Martyr to Matrimony
e're I consent to it.
And I'll die a thousand times rather than you shall have her.
Wild.
What Reason can you have?
Ill Nature.
Wild.
I see a better;—you wou'd have me your self. Lookee, Madam,
I'll lay a fair Wager, I am at Liberty again before you. You will
never bury Sir Avarice; you are not half fond enough. Kindness
is the
surest Pill to an old Husband; the greatest Danger from a Woman,
or a Serpent, is in their Embraces.
Indeed, you are mistaken, wise Sir; I do not want to bury him; but if I did bury him, Matrimony shou'd be the last Folly I'd commit again, and you the last Man in the World I'd think of for a Husband.
Wild.
But the first for a Lover, my Angel.
Keep off. Remember the Serpent.
Wild.
I am resolved to venture.
I'll alarm the House, I'll raise the Powers of Heaven and Hell to my assistance.
Wild.
And I,
Wild.
It thunders now indeed.
Sir Av.
Was ever such a Traytor heard of!
To 'em, Sir Avarice Pedant.
L. Lucy.What's the matter, Sir Avarice?
Sir Av.
Ask me nothing: I am in such a Passion, I shall never come to my
self again.
That will break my Heart, certainly.
Sir Av.
We have harbour'd in our House a Traytor, a Thief, a Villain.
Sir Av.
The Gentleman Valentine brought hither to day, I have
over-heard making Love to Bellaria.
Wild.
Whom, Veromil?
I am glad to hear it.
To 'em, Valentine.
Sir Av.
Pack up your all, Sir, pack up your all, and be gone; you shall
not bring a set of idle Vagabonds to my House, I am resolved.
Sir Av.
Why, good Sir, the Gentleman you were so kind to introduce to me
this Day, I have discover'd addressing Bellaria.
Val.
How, Sir!
Sir Av.
I over-heard him, Sir, just now. So, if you please to go to him
from me, and desire him civilly to walk out of my House.
Val.
Nay, Sir—if it be so—
Sir Av.
And hearkee, Sir, if you please to shew him the Way, to conduct
him your self, you will prevent my using rougher Means. Here, Sir, you
harbour no longer.—I see him coming up the Gallery; we'll leave you
to deliver your Message.—Heark you! cut his Throat, and I will deal
favourably with you in that Affair: You know what I mean.
Ver.
Valentine, I am glad to find you; I have been looking you.
Val.
I am sorry Mr. Veromil should have acted in a manner to
make our Meeting uneasy to either. I am forced to deliver you a
Message from my Unkle, less civil than I thought you cou'd have
deserved.
Ver.
What's this, Valentine?
Val.
The Violation of our long and tender Friendship shocks me so, I
have hardly Power to disclose your Crime, more—than that you know my
Love, and have basely wronged it.
Ver.
How, Sir!
Val.
You have injur'd me—you know it.
Ver.
Valentine, you have injur'd me, and do not know it: Yet,
the Injustice of the Act you know. Yes, too well you know Religion
forbids an Injury to a Stranger.
Ver.
You speak the Meaning of a Libertine Age; the Heart that throws
off the Face of Religion, wears but the Mask of Honour.
Val.
Rather, he that has not Honour, wears but the Mask of Piety.
Canting sits easy on the Tongue that wou'd employ its Rhetorick
against a Friend.
Ver.
Your Reflection on me is base and vain. You know I scorn the
Apprehension of doing a Wrong.
Val.
Ha!
Ver.
Nay, 'tis true; true as that you did intend to wrong another; to
rob him of his Right, his Love; and Heaven, in Vengeance on the black
Design, ordained it to be your Friend. Yes, Valentine, it was
from me the beauteous, lovely Bellaria was torn: Her whom I
ignorantly wou'd have pursued abroad; and 'tis to you I owe, that I am
not robbed of her for ever.
Val.
Curse on the Obligation! 'Tis to Chance, not me: for had I
known to whom I had discover'd her, thou hadst still been
ignorant.—But thus I cancel it, and all our Friendship, in a Breath:
Henceforward, I am thy Foe.
Ver.
Cou'd I as easily be thine, I shou'd deride and scorn thee, as I
pity thee now. By Heav'ns! I shou'd disclaim all Friendship with a Man
who falsly wrong'd my Love—You I can forgive.
Val.
Forgive! I ask it not. Do thy worst.
Val.
Hell! Hell and Confusion!
Ver.
You see she meets my Passion with an equal Flame; and tho' a
thousand Difficulties may delay our Happiness, they can't prevent it.
Yours she can never be; for all your Hopes must lie in her Affection,
which you will never gain. No, Valentine, I know my self so
fix'd, so rooted in that dear Bosom, that Art or Force wou'd both
prove ineffectual.
Val.
I'm wrack'd to Death!
Ver.
Reflect upon the Impossibility of your Success. —But grant the
contrary; wou'd you sacrifice our long, our tender Friendship, to the
faint, transitory Pleasures of a brutal Appetite? for Love, that is
not mutual, is no more.
Val.
Grant not that I might succeed. No Passion of my Soul cou'd
counterpoise my Love; nor Reason's weaker Efforts make a Stand against
it.
Ver.
Think it impossible, then.
Val.
Thou knowest not the Strugglings of my Breast; for Heaven never
made so fine a Form.
Ver.
Can Love, that's grounded on the Outside only, make so deep an
Impression on your Heart. Possession soon wou'd quench those sudden
Flames. Beauty, my Valentine, as the flowery Blossoms, soon
fades; but the Diviner Excellencies of the Mind, like the Medicinal
Virtues of the Plant, remain in it, when all those Charms are
withered. Had not that beauteous Shell so perfect an Inhabitant, and
were our Souls not link'd, not join'd so fast together, by Heav'n, I
wou'd resign her to my Friend.
Val.
O Veromil! Life, Fortune, I cou'd easily abandon for thy
Friendship.—I will do more, and strive to forget thy Mistress.
Ver.
Let me applaud thy Virtue, and press thy noble Bosom to my Heart.
Val.
It will be necessary for you to remove from hence. I will, if
possible, find some Means to effect your Wishes. Within this Hour you
shall find me at the Coffee-House.
SCENE, Clarissa's Apartment.
Clarissa alone, rising from a Table with a Letter in her Hand.
So! the Task is done: Heav'n knows how difficult a one; so entirely to subdue the Stubborness of my Resentment. What have I writ? I will see once more.
If there be the least Spark of Honour remaining in your Breast, you will, you must be obliged to relent of your Behaviour towards me. I am now too well assured of the Reason of your late Conduct, from Bellaria: But as it is impossible you shou'd succeed there, I hope—I can read no farther—I hope you will reflect on those Vows you have so solemnly made to the unhappy
Clarissa.
I am resolved not to send it.
To her, Valentine.
Cla.
Ha! he's here; and comes to insult me. Distraction!
Val.
I fear, Madam, you are surprized at this sudden Renewal of my
Visit.
Cla.
I own, Sir, I expected your Good-breeding, if not your
Good-nature, wou'd have forbidden you to continue your Affronts to a
Woman—but if your making me uneasy, wretched, miserable, can do you
any Service to Bellaria—Cruel! barbarous! How have I
deserved this Usage? If you can be cruel, perfidious, forsworn,
forgetful of your Honour— yet, sure, to insult me, is beneath a Man.
Val.
If to relent—if with a bleeding Heart to own my Crime, and with
Tears to ask your Pardon, be insulting—
Cla.
Ha!
Val.
See, see my Grief, and pity me. I cannot excuse, nor dare I name
my Crime; but here will kneel 'till you forgive it.
Cla.
Nay, since you repent, you shall not have a Cause for kneeling
long—Rise, I forgive you.
Val.
Sure, such transcendent Goodness never commanded a Woman's Heart
before! it gives new Strength to my reviving Passion; a Love, which
never more shall know Decay. Let us this Moment tie the joyful Knot.
Cla.
Never, never, Valentine. As a Christian, I forgive you;
but, as a Lover, will never regard you more. O I have seen too lively
an Instance of your Inconstancy.
Val.
Forbid it, Heav'n!
Cla.
May it, indeed, forbid our Marriage. No, Valentine, if
ever more I hearken to your Vows; if ever I once think of you as my
Husband, may I—
Val.
Swear not, I conjure you; for, unless you make me happy in your
self, your Pardon but augments my Misery.
Val.
Oh! name him.
Cla.
Not 'till your Vengeance shall come too late.
Val.
This Letter may unfold—
Val.
What do I see!—Is it possible?
Cla.
It will do you little Service.
Val.
Not to discover the Man: But it has shewn me a Woman in the
liveliest Colours. This Letter, Madam, is the Production of no new
Amour. 'Tis too plain, you are false. Oh! how happy is this Discovery.
What a Wretch shou'd I have been, with the cast, forgotten, slighted
Mistress of another. When I see you next, when I am that Slave to ask,
to wish, to hope you for a Wife, may I be curs'd with all the Plagues
that ever curs'd a Husband.— Adieu.
Cla.
Oh! stay, and hear my Innocence.
Val.
'Tis impossible.
Cla.
You, you are the Man, whose forgotten Mistress you have call'd
me—I blush to say, 'twas you to whom that Letter was intended. Nay,
read, read the Direction.
Val.
Amazement!
Cla.
Your Genius is triumphant, and here my Empire ends; for I must
own, with blushing Shame must own, that all my Disdain to you has
still been counterfeit. I had a secret growing Love for you, even
before you first intimated yours. But I am sure the Agonies I have
this Day felt, have severely revenged all those Pangs my Vanity has
given you—So here's my Hand.
Val.
Let my eternal Gratitude demonstrate with what Raptures I receive
it.
To them Bellaria, with an open Letter.
Bel.
I am witness of the Bargain. The farther Sealing it shall be
perform'd at the finishing another.— I have consider'd your Friend's
Proposals [Shews the Letter.] and approve them.
Val.
I hope then, Madam, my Diligence in their Execution, will prevail
on you to forget—
Bel.
I am sure I shall have no Reason to recollect—
Val.
This Goodness, Madam, at the same time that it pardons, pleads
also an Excuse for my Crime.—I shall do my utmost to merit it.
Bel.
Your former Conduct was to me much more wonderful; for, to
disguise our Passions, is, in my Opinion, a harder Task than to
discover them. I have often laughed at the ridiculous Cruelty of
Women; to torment our selves, to be revenged on an Enemy, is absurd;
but to do it that we may give Pain to a Lover, is as monstrous a Folly
as 'tis a Barbarity.
Cla.
You wou'd strip Beauty of all its Power!
Bel.
I wou'd strip Beauty of all its Imperfections, and persuade her
whom Nature has adorn'd without, to employ her chief Art to adorn her
self within; for believe it, my dear Clarissa, a pretty Face,
over Affectation, Pride, Ill-nature, in a word, over Coquetry, is but
a gilt Cover over a Volume of Nonsense, which will be despised by all
wise Men; and having been expos'd to Sale for a few Years, in all the
publick Auctions of the Town, will be doom'd to rust neglected in the
Possession of a Coxcomb.
To them Wilding, and Sir Harry Dress'd and Powder'd.
Sir Har.
Madam, your most humble Servant. I suppose, Madam, Sir Avarice
has opened the Affair to you, which has brought me to Town; it was
settled before I left the Country, as to the material Points. Nothing
now remains but the Ceremonies of the Marriage, &c.—So this Visit is
to desire to know what Day you fix on for that Purpose.
Bel.
Your Method of Proceeding, Sir, something surprizes me! Your Son
has never mention'd a Word of that Nature to me.
Sir Har.
Alack-a-day, Madam! the Boy is modest; Harry's modest,
Madam: But, alas! you are the only Person to whom he has not mention'd
it: Perhaps the Rogue might think, as old Cowley says;
Wild.
I wish those lovely Eyes cou'd see as far into my Heart, as they
pierce: I shou'd not then be oblig'd to paint in the weak Colourings
of Words, a Passion, no Language can express, because none ever felt
before.
Sir Har.
To her, Boy, to her.—I'll leave you together. Come, young Lady,
you must not spoil Sport.
Bel.
Ay, this is something like Love; by that time you have sighed
away two Years in this manner, I may be persuaded to admit you into
the Number of my Admirers.
Wild. [Aside.]
I shall be admitted into Bedlam first, I hope.—'Tis that
very thing makes so many Couple unhappy; for you Ladies will have all
our Love before-hand, and then you expect it all afterwards. Like a
thoughtless Heir, who spends his Estate before he is in the
Possession; with this Difference—he antedates his Pleasures, you
postpone them.
Bel.
Finely argued! I protest, Mr. Wilding, I did not think you
had made such a Proficience in your Studies.—It wou'd be pity to
take so promising a young Man from the Bar.—You may come to be a
Judge.
Wild.
You only rally me; for I cannot think you believe that I ever
studied Law: Dress, and the Ladies, have employed my time.—I protest
to you, Madam, I know no more of the Law, than I do of the Moon.
Bel.
I thought you had been six Years in the Temple.
Wild.
Ha, ha, ha! Madam, you may as well think I am a Scholar, because
I have been at Oxford, as that I am a Lawyer, because I have
been at the Temple.
Bel.
So then, you have deceived your Father in the Character of a
Lawyer; how shall I be sure you will not Me, in that of a Lover?
Wild.
Oh! a thousand ways, Madam: First, by my Countenance; then by the
Temptation; and lastly, I hope you will think I talk like a Lover. No
one, I'm sure, ever heard me talk like a Lawyer.
Bel.
Indeed, you do now—very like one; for you talk for a Fee.
Wild.
Nay, Madam, that's ungenerous. How shall I assure you? If Oaths
will—I swear—
Wild.
Is there no way of convincing you?
Bel.
Oh! yes. I will tell you how. You must flatter me egregiously;
not only with more Perfections than I have, but than ever any one had;
for which you must submit to very ill Usage. And when I have treated
you like a Tyrant over-night, you must in a submissive Letter ask my
Pardon the next Morning, for having offended me; tho' you had done
nothing.
Wild.
This is easy.
Bel.
You must follow me to all publick Places, where I shall give an
unlimited Encouragement to the most notorious Fools I can meet with,
at which you are to seem very much concerned, but not dare to upbraid
me with it—then if, when I am going out, you offer me your Hand, I
don't see you, but give it to one of the Fools I mention'd—
Wild.
This is nothing.
Bel.
Then you are sometimes to be honour'd with playing with me at
Quadrille; where, to shew you my Good-nature, I will take as much
of your Money as I can possibly cheat you of. And when you have done
all these, and twenty more such trifling things, for one five Years,
I shall be convinc'd—that you are an Ass, and laugh at you five
times more heartily than I do now. Ha, ha, ha!
Wilding, alone.
Shall you so?—I may give you reason for another sort of Passion
long before that time. I shall be Master of the Citadel with a much
shorter Siege, I believe.—She is a fine Creature; but Pox of her
Beauty, I shall surfeit on't in Six Days Enjoyment.
The twenty thousand Pound! there's the solid Charm, that may
last, with very good Management, almost as many Years.
To him, Lady Gravely.
[Wild.]
Your Ladyship's most humble Servant. You have not made a great
many Visits.
Wilding, Solus; reads.
I hear, by Sir Harry, you have a great Collection of Books. You know my Curiosity that way, so send me the Number of your Chambers, and this Evening I will come and look over them.
What shall I do? If I disappoint her, her Resentment may be of ill Consequence, and I must expect the most warm one. I do not care, neither, at this Crisis, to let her into the Secret of my Deceit on my Father. Suppose I appoint her at Youg Pedant's— that must be the Place. And since I can't wait on her my self, I'll provide her other Company. I'll appoint Lady Lucy at the same Time and Place; so they will discover one another, and I shall be rid of them both, which I begin to wish; for since I have been propos'd a Wife out of it, my Stomach is turn'd against all the rest of the Family.
Pincet, as a Counsellor, Servant.
Serv.
I believe, Sir, Sir Harry is in the House; if you please
to walk this way, I'll bring you to him.
Pin.
But stay; enquire if he has any Company with him—if so, you may
let him know I am here, and would be glad to speak with him.
Serv.
Whom, Sir, shall I mention?
Pin.
A Counsellor at Law, Sir.
Serv.
Sir, I shall.
Pin.
I am not much inclin'd to Fear, or Superstition, or I should
think I this Day saw the Ghost of him I've injur'd. I cannot rest with
what I have done, nor know I well by what Course to make a
Reparation.—But here comes my Game.
To him, Sir Harry, and Wilding.
Mr. Wilding, your Servant. I presume this may be my Client, the good Sir Harry.
Sir Har.
Sir!
Pin.
I believe, Sir Harry, I have not the Honour of being known
to you. My Name is Ratsbane— Counsellor Ratsbane of
the Inner-Temple. I have had, Sir, according to the Order of
your Son, a Conference with Mr. Councellor Starchum, who is
for the Plaintiff, and have come to a Conclusion thereon.
Sir Har.
Oh! have you?—I am your humble Servant, dear Sir; and if it
lies in my Power to oblige you, in Return—
Pin.
Oh, dear Sir! No Obligation! we only do our Duty. Our Case will
be this:—First, a Warrant will be issued; upon which, we are taken
up; then we shall be Indicted; after which, we are Convicted (that no
doubt we shall, on such a Strength of Proof)
immediately Sentence is awarded against us, and then Execution
regularly follows.
Sir Har.
Execution, Sir!—what Execution?
Wild.
Oh, my unfortunate Father!—Hanging, Sir.
Pin.
Ay, ay, hanging, hanging is the regular Course of Law; and no way
to be averted. But, as to our Conveyance to the Place of Execution,
that I believe we shall be favoured in. The Sheriff is to render us
there; but whether in a Coach or Cart, I fancy a small Sum may turn
that Scale.
Sir Har.
Coach or Cart! Hell and the Devil! why Son, why Sir, is there no
Way left?
Pin.
None. We shall be convicted of Felony, and then Hanging follows
of Course.
Wild.
It's too true—so says Cook against Littleton.
Sir Har.
But Sir, dear Sir, I am as innocent—
Pin.
Sir, the Law proceeds by Evidence—my Brother Starchum
indeed offer'd, that upon a Bond of five thousand Pounds he wou'd
make up the Affair; but I thought it much too extravagant a Demand;
and so I told him flatly—we wou'd be hang'd.
Sir Har.
Then you told a damn'd Lie; for if twice that Sum wou'd save us,
we will not.
Pin.
How, Sir! are you willing to give that Money?
Sir Har.
No, Sir, I am not willing; but I am much less willing to be
hang'd.
Wild.
But do you think, Mr. Counsellor, you cou'd not prevail for four
thousand?
Pin.
That truly we cannot reply to, till a Conference be first had.
Sir Har.
Ay, or for four hundred?
Pin.
Four hundred!—why it wou'd cost you more the other Way, if
you were hang'd any thing decently. Look you, Sir, Mr. Starchum
is at the Crown and Rolls just by; if you please we
will go thither, and I assure you to make the best Bargain I can.
Wild.
Be quick, Sir; here's Sir Avarice coming.
Sir Har.
Come along—Oons! I wou'd not have him know it for the World.
Valentine, Sir Avarice, Young Pedant.
Val.
Have but the Patience to hear me, Sir. The Gentleman I
unwittingly brought hither, was the very Man on whose Account
Bellaria was sent to Town.
Sir Av.
How!
Val.
Bellaria, imagining me his Friend, in the highest Rage of
Despair, when she found her Lover discover'd, laid open her whole
Breast to me, and begg'd my Advice: I have promised to contrive an
Interview. Now, I will promise her, to convey her to Veromil;
and bring her to a Place where she shall meet you and your Son. When
you have her there, and a Parson with you, if you do not finish the
Affair, it will be your own Fault.
Sir Av.
Hum! it has an Appearance.
Val.
But, Sir, I shall not do this, unless you deliver me up those
Writings of mine in your Hands, which you unjustly detain.
Sir Av.
Sir!
Val.
And moreover, Sir, unless you do, I will frustrate your Design
for ever.
Sir Av.
Very well, Sir; when she is married.
Val.
Sir, I will have no Conditions. What I ask is my own, and unless
you grant it, I will publish your Intentions to the World, sooner than
you can accomplish them.
Sir Av.
Well, well, I'll fetch them—stay you here, and expect my
Return.
Valentine, Young Pedant.
Y. Ped.
Cousin Valentine, have I offended you? have I injured you
any Way?
Val.
No, dear Cousin.
Y. Ped.
Will you please, Sir, then to assign the Reason why you do
contrive my Ruin, by espousing me to this young Woman.
Y. Ped.
Alas! Sir, Matrimony has ever appeared to me; a Sea full of Rocks
and Quicksands; it is Scylla, of whom Virgil
Delphinum Caudas utero commissa Luporum. Or as Ovid
,—
To them, Sir Avarice.
Sir Av.
Here, Sir, is a Note which I believe will content you.
Val.
How, Sir! these are not my Writings.
Sir Av.
No, Sir; but if your Intentions are as you say, it is of equal
Value with them. I have there promis'd to pay you the Sum, which you
say I have in my Hands, on the Marriage of my Neice. Now if you
scruple accepting that Condition, I shall scruple trusting her in
your Hands.
Val. [having read it, and mus'd.]
Well, Sir, to shew you my Sincerity, I do accept it; and you
shall find I will not fail delivering the young Lady at the appointed
Hour and Place.
Sir Av.
Let the Hour be eight, and the Place my Son's Chambers. I'll
prepare Matters that no body shall prevent you. And hearkee, suppose
you gave her a Dose of Opium in a Dish of Chocolate: If she were
married half a-sleep, you and I cou'd swear she was awake, you know.
Y. Ped.
I cannot assent to that. Suppose the Positum be—
Sir Av.
Burgersdicius was an Ass, and so are you.
Val.
Be not in a Passion, Sir Avarice; our Time is short. I
will go perform my part; pray, observe yours.
Sir Avarice Pedant, young Pedant.
Sir Av.
Logick indeed! can your Logick teach you more than this? two and
two make four: Take six out of seven, and there remains one. The Sum
given is twenty thousand Pounds, take Nought out of twenty, and there
remains a Score. If your great Logician, your Aristotle, was
alive, take nought out of his Pocket and there wou'd remain nought. A
compleat Notion of Figures is beyond all the Greek and Latin
in the World. Learning is a fine thing indeed, in an Age when of the
few that have it, the greater part starve. I remember when a Set of
strange Fellows us'd to meet at Wills-Coffee-house; but now
it's another Change-Alley. Every Man now who wou'd live, must
be a Stock-jobber.—Here is twenty thousand Pounds Capital Stock
fallen into your Hands, and wou'd you let it slip?
Y. Ped.
But, Sir, is not Injustice a—
Sir Av.
Injustice! heark-you, Sirrah! I have been guilty of five hundred
Pieces of Injustice for a less Sum. I don't see why you shou'd reap
the Benefit of my Labours, without joyning your own.
Young Pedant's Chambers.
Lady Gravely, Servant.
L. Gra.Ser.
No, Madam; but if you please to divert your self with these
Books, I presume he will not be long. (I dare not ask her what Master
she means, for fear of a Mistake: tho' as I am in no great Doubt what
her Ladyship is, I suppose it to be my Beau Master.)
Lady Lucy, Lady Gravely.
L. Grav.Sister, your Servant; your Servant, Sister.
L. Grav.Ha, ha, ha! I am a little surpriz'd too, Ha, ha!
L. Grav.You were a little unfortunate tho', not to find the Doctor at home.
L. Grav.Ha, ha, ha! Doctor Wilding, my Dear, a Physician of great Practice among the Ladies—I presume your Ladyship uses him.
L. Grav.But you know a Gentleman of that Name, I suppose.
L. Grav.Indeed you are.
L. Grav.A Chair, my Dear.
L. Grav.By my own Orders.
L. Grav.Indeed, Sister, 'tis true.
L. Grav.I see your Policy. You wou'd preserve your self, by sacrificing me: But tho' a Thief saves his Life by sacrificing his Companion, he saves not his Reputation. Your nice Story of a couple of Templers will not be admitted by the Court of Scandal, at Lady Prude's Tea-Table.
L. Grave.Madam, Madam, the World shall know what a Sister I have.
L. Grave.You make me merry.
L. Grave.That's more ill-natur'd than I'll shew my self to you—so, your Servant.
L. Lucy. (Re-entring.)
O! for Heaven's sake, let us lay aside all Quarrels, and take
care of both our Reputations. Here's a whole Coach-load coming up
Stairs. I heard them enquire for these Chambers—Here's a Closet;
in, in. I never was so frightned in my whole Life.
Bel.
Too easily, my Veromil, I guess; I know them by my own;
for sure I am not in Debt one Sigh to Love.
Ver.
In Debt! Not all the Service of my Life can pay thee for a tender
Thought of me. Oh! how I long for one soft Hour to tell thee all I've
undergone. For to look back upon a dreadful Sea which we've escap'd,
adds to the Prospect of the beauteous Country we are to enjoy.
Servant [Entring.]
Gentlemen, a Clergyman in the other Room.—
Ver.
Come, my Bellaria, a few short Moments lead me into
Paradise.
Val.
Wou'd thou hadst found another; but Love forbids you this—You
know I strove with all my Power against it; but it has conquer'd—and
through my Heart you only reach Bellaria.
Ver.
Ha! Nay then, wert thou as much my Friend, as thou art unworthy
of the Name—through twenty Hearts like thine, I'd rush into her
Arms.
[Fight. The Women
shreik. Lady Lucy, Lady Gravely, run out of the Closet; they all hold
Valentine, and as Veromil is leading off Bellaria, Sir Harry, Wilding
and Pincet meet them at the Door.
Then take thy Life—and now, my Sweetest—
Sir Harry Wilding, Wilding, Pincet, Lady Lucy, Lady Gravely, Valentine, Veromil, Bellaria, and Clarissa.
Val.
Away. Stand off. Eternal Furies seize you.
L. Lucy.
You may rave, good Sir; but three Women will be too hard for you,
though you were as stout and as mad as Hercules.
Sir Har.
Hey-day! We had but one Whore before, here's a Seraglio.
Ver.
Let me pass, Sir.
Sir Har.
No, indeed, Sir. I must first know how you came here, and then,
perhaps, you shall pass—to the Round-House.
Ver.
Then I'll force my Way thus.
Wild.
Nay, I must secure my Father.
Ver.
Through the Heart, Bellaria, by this Prevention.
Bel.
Be easy then; for all the Powers of Hell shall never part us.
To em, Sir Avarice, Young Pedant.
Sir Av.
Hey! what have we here? my Wife, and Sister, and Sir Harry
, and all the World!
Sir Har.
Death and the Devil! what does this mean?
Sir Av.
Nay, good People! how came you all here?
Sir Har.
Ay, how came you all here? for I will know before any one go
out—
Pin.
Sir, I beg to be excus'd—
Sir Av.
Your Son's Chambers, Sir Harry!
Y. Ped.
That they were his, datur—that they are his, negatur
—for the time that they were lent for is expir'd—ergo, they
were his, but are not.
L. Lucy., L. Gra.
What's this?
Sir Har.
Were his, but are not—What, have you sold these too, Harry
!
Wild.
'Twill out.
Sir Har.
Speak, Sir; why don't you speak? are not these your Chambers?
Wild.
No, Sir.
Sir Av.
His!
L. Lucy.
His, indeed!
L. Gra.
What do you think, Sir Harry, I shou'd do in your Son's
Chambers?
L. Lucy.
Or what do you see here like the Apartment of a Beau—but I ask
Pardon. Your Son is a Lawyer.
Omnes.
A Lawyer! Ha, ha, ha!
L. Gra.
In short, Sir Harry, your Son is as great a Rake as any in
Town.
Y. Ped.
And as ignorant as any at the University.
L. Lucy.
Ay, or as one half of his Brother Templers.
Sir Av.
And as great a Rogue, I'm afraid, as the other half.
Sir Har.
He shall be as great a Beggar then as those that are honest.
Wild.
That, Sir, an honest Captain of my Acquaintance will prevent; for
as they were my Locks that were broke open, he has given up those
Articles you were pleased to enter into, to me and my Use. For which
I am to thank the honest Counsellor Ratsbane; into whose
Possession you have given a Bond of Annuity of five hundred Pounds a
Year.
Sir Har.
Cheated! abus'd! Dog! Villain!—Ha! I'll see whether I am able
to recover it—
Pin.
Help! Murder!
Ver.
Nay, Sir Harry!
Sir Har.
Dog! Rascal!—I'll be revenged on you all—
Sir Avarice, Young Pedant, Lady Lucy, Lady Gravely, Wilding, Veromil, Valentine, Bellaria, Clarissa, and Pincet.
Ver. [taking up a Letter]
Here's one of your Papers, Sir—[starts] Gilbert,
my Father's Servant!—[looking on the Letter] By Heav'ns! my
Brother's Hand too—then my Curiosity is pardonable.
Ver.
Prodigious!—Gentlemen, I beg that Man may be secur'd.
Wild.
He is my Servant, Sir.
Ver.
He formerly was my Father's—This Letter here, which is from my
Brother to him, will inform you farther.
Gilbert,
I received yours, and shou'd have paid you your half Year's Annuity long since, but I have had urgent Occasions for my Money—You say, it is hard to be reduced to your primitive Degree, when you have ventur'd your Soul to raise your self to a higher; and a little after have the Impudence to threaten to discover—discover if you dare—you will then find you have ventur'd your Body too; and that Perjury will entitle you to the same Reward, as you audaciously say Forgery will me—expect to hear no more from me. You may discover if you please, but you shall find I will not spare that Money which your Roguery has assisted me in getting, to have the Life of him who is the Cause of my losing it.
J. Veromil.
Bell.
Is this possible?
Ver.
Yes, my Sweet—I am now again that Veromil, to whom you
first were promis'd, and from whose Breast nothing can tear you more.
Sir Avarice, you may be at Ease; for it is now in my Power to
offer up a better Fortune to this Lady's Merit, than any of her
Pretenders.
Bel.
No Fortune can ever add to my Love for you, nor Loss diminish it.
Sir Av.
What is the meaning of this?
Ver.
That Fortune, Sir, which recommended me to this Lady's Father,
and which by Forgery and Perjury I was depriv'd of, my happy Stars now
promise to restore me.
Pin.
You need not doubt your Success. The other Evidence to the Deed
has been touched with the same Scruples of Conscience, and will be
very ready on an assur'd Pardon to recant.
Wild.
Dear Veromil, let me embrace thee. I am heartily glad I
have been instrumental in the procuring your Happiness; and tho' it is
with my Mistress, I wish you Joy sincerely.
Ver.
Wilding, I thank you; and in Return, I wish you may be
restor'd into your Father's Favour.
Wild.
I make Peace with Sword in Hand, and question not but to bring
the old Gentleman to Reason.
Bel.
There yet remains a Quarrel in the Company, which I would
reconcile—Clarissa, I think I read Forgiveness in your Face;
and I am sure Penitence is very plain in Valentine's.
Val.
I am too much a Criminal to hope for Pardon. Yet, if my Fault may
be attoned for, I will employ my utmost Care to do it. Cou'd I think
the Acquisition of Fortune any Recommendation, Sir Avarice
has obliged himself to pay me seven thousand Pounds on this
Lady's Marriage.
Sir Av.
The Conditions are not fullfill'd Sir, and—
Val.
Not 'till she is married, Sir. As you have not been pleased to
mention to whom, Veromil will fill the Place as well as any
other.
Sir Av.
Sir!
Val.
Sir, what you have agreed to give is but my own; your Conditions
of delivering it are as scandalous as your retaining it: So you may
make a Bustle, and lose as much Reputation as you please; but the
Money you will be obliged to pay.
Sir Av.
And pray, Sir, why did you invite all this Company hither?
Val.
How some of it came here, I know no more than you do.
L. Gra.
I can only account for myself and Sister.
L. Lucy.
Ay; my Sister and I came together.
Wild.
Mine is a long Story; but I will divert you all with it some
other time.
Pin.
May I then hope your Pardon?
Ver.
Deserve it, and I will try to get his Majesty's for you, which
will do you most Service.
SCENE the last.
To 'em, a Servant.
Ser.
An't please your Honour, your Honour's Brother, Mr. Pedant
, is just come to Town, and is at home now with Sir Harry Wilding
.
Sir Av.
Then all my Hopes are frustrated. Get Chairs to the Door.
Ver.
This is lucky News indeed! and may be so for you too, Wilding
: For Sir Harry is too good-humour'd a Man to be an Exception
to the universal Satisfaction of a Company. I hope this Lady will
prevent the Uneasiness of another.
Val.
Generous, noble Soul!
Ver.
Madam, give me leave to join your Hands.
Bel.
Nay, since I have been the unfortunate Cause of separating 'em, I
must assist.
Cla.
I know not whether the World will Pardon my forgiving
you—but—
Val.
Oh! say no more, lest I am lost in too excessive Joy.
L. Lucy.
Indeed, I think she need not.
L. Gra. [to Wild.]
Your Excuses to me are vain. We have both discover'd you to be a
Villain. I have seen the Assignation you made my Sister, and she has
seen mine: So you may be assured we will neither of us speak to you
more.
Wild.
I hope to give you substantial Reasons for my Conduct; at least
my Secrecy you may be assured of.
Sir Av.
Come, Gentlemen, and Ladies, we will now adjourn, if you please,
to my House; where, Sir, [to Ver.] if my Brother and you agree
(as certainly you will, if you prove your Title to your Father's
Estate) I have nothing to say against your Match.
Ped.
Nor against my returning to the University, I hope.
Ver.
Sir Avarice, I wait on you; and before the Conclusion of
this Evening, I hope you will not have a discontented Mind in your
House. Come, my Dear Bellaria; after so many Tempests, our
Fortune once more puts on a serene Aspect; once more we have that
Happiness in view, which crowns the Success of Virtue, Constancy and
Love.