Wild. Hell and the Devil! I’ll hear no more Of this religious Stuff, this godly Nonsense. Death, Madam, do you bring me into your Chamber to preach Virtue to me?
L. Gal. I bring you hither! how can you say it?
I suffer’d you indeed to come, but not
For the base end you fancy’d, but to take
A last Leave of you. Let my Heart break with Love,
I cannot be that wretched thing you’d have me;
Believe I still shall have a Kindness for you,
Always your Friend, your Mistress now no more.
Wild. Cozen’d, abus’d, she loves some other Man!
Dull Blockhead, not to find it out before! [Aside.
—Well, Madam, may I at last believe
This is your fix’d and final Resolution?
And does your Tongue now truly speak your Heart,
That has so long bely’d it?
L. Gal. It does.
Wild. I’m glad on’t. Good Night; and when I visit you again, May you again thus fool me. [Offers to go.
L. Gal. Stay but a Moment.
Wild. For what? to praise your Night-dress, or make
Court to your little Dog? No, no, Madam, send for Mr.
Flamfull, and Mr. Flutterbuz, Mr. Lap-fool and Mr.
Loveall; they’ll do it better, and are more at leisure.
L. Gal. Hear me a little: You know I both despise, and hate those civil Coxcombs, as much as I esteem and love you. But why will you be gone so soon? and why are ye so cruel to urge me thus to part either with your good Opinion or your Kindness? I wou’d fain keep ‘em both. [In a soft Tone.
Wild. Then keep your Word, Madam.
L. Gal. My Word! and have I promis’d then to be
A Whore? A Whore! Oh, let me think of that!
A Man’s Convenience, his leisure Hours, his Bed of Ease,
To loll and tumble on at idle times;
The Slave, the Hackney of his lawless Lust!
A loath’d Extinguisher of filthy Flames,
Made use of, and thrown by—Oh, infamous!
Wild. Come, come, you love me not, I see it plain;
That makes your Scruples; that, that’s the Reason
You start at Words, and turn away from Shadows.
Already some pert Fop, some Ribbon Fool,
Some dancing Coxcomb, has supplanted me
In that unsteady treacherous Woman’s Heart of yours.
L. Gal. Believe it if you will. Yes, let me be false, unjust, ungrateful, any thing but a—Whore—
Wild. Oh, Sex on purpose form’d to plague Mankind!
All that you are, and all you do’s a Lye.
False are your Faces, false your floating Hearts;
False are your Quarrels, false your Reconcilements:
Enemies without Reason, and dear without Kindness;
Your Friendship’s false, but much more false your Love;
Your damn’d deceitful Love is all o’er false.
L. Gal. False rather are the Joys you are so fond of.
Be wise, and cease, Sir, to pursue ‘em farther.
Wild. No, them I can never quit, but you most easily: A Woman changeable and false as you.
L. Gal. Said you most easily? Oh, inhuman!
Your cruel Words have wak’d a dismal Thought;
I feel ‘em cold and heavy at my Heart,
And Weakness steals upon my Soul apace;
I find I must be miserable—
I wou’d not be thought false.
[In a soft Tone, coming near him.
Wild. Nor wou’d I think you so; give me not Cause.
L. Gal. What Heart can bear distrust from what it loves?
Or who can always her own Wish deny? [Aside.
My Reason’s weary of the unequal Strife;
And Love and Nature will at last o’ercome.
—Do you not then believe I love you?
[To him in a soft Tone.
Wild. How can I, while you still remain unkind?
L. Gal. How shall I speak my guilty Thoughts?
I have not Power to part with you; conceal my Shame, I doubt
I cannot, I fear I wou’d not any more deny you.
Wild. Oh heavenly Sound! Oh charming Creature! Speak that word again, agen, agen! for ever let me hear it.
L. Gal. But did you not indeed? and will you never, never love Mrs. Charlot, never?
Wild. Never, never.
L, Gal. Turn your Face away, and give me leave To hide my rising Blushes: I cannot look on you.
[As this last Speech is speaking, she sinks into his
Arms by degrees.
But you must undo me if you will—
Since I no other way my Truth can prove,
—You shall see I love.
Pity my Weakness, and admire my Love.
Wild. All Heaven is mine, I have it in my Arms,
Nor can ill Fortune reach me any more.
Fate, I defy thee, and dull World, adieu.
In Love’s kind Fever let me ever lie,
Drunk with Desire, and raving mad with Joy.
[Exeunt into the Bed-chamber, Wild. leading her with his Arms about her.
SCENE II. Changes.
Another Room in Lady Galliard’s House.
Enter Sir_ Charles Meriwill and Sir Anthony, Sir
Charles drunk.
Sir Anth. A Dog, a Rogue, to leave her!
Sir Char. Why, look ye, Uncle, what wou’d you have a Man do? I brought her to her Coach—
Sir Anth. To her Coach! to her Coach! Did not I put her into your Hand, follow’d you out, wink’d, smil’d and nodded; cry’d ‘bye Charles, ‘bye Rogue; which was as much as to say, Go home with her, Charles, home to her Chamber, Charles; nay, as much as to say, Home to her Bed, Charles; nay, as much as to say—Hum, hum, a Rogue, a Dog, and yet to be modest too! That I shou’d bring thee up with no more Fear of God before thy Eyes!
Sir Char. Nay, dear Uncle, don’t break my Heart now! Why, I did proffer, and press, and swear, and ly’d, and—but a pox on her, she has the damn’dst wheedling way with her, as dear Charles, nay prithee, fie, ’.is late, to morrow, my Honour, which if you lov’d you wou’d preserve; and such obliging Reasons.
Sir Anth. Reasons! Reason! a Lover, and talk of Reason! You lye, Sirrah, you lye. Leave a Woman for Reason, when you were so finely drunk too, a Rascal!
Sir Char. Why look ye, d’ye see, Uncle, I durst not trust my self alone with her in this pickle, lest I shou’d ha’ fallen foul on her.
Sir Anth. Why, there’s it; ‘tis that you shou’d have done; I am mistaken if she be not one of those Ladies that love to be ravisht of a Kindness. Why, your willing Rape is all the Fashion, Charles.
Sir Char. But hark ye, Uncle.
Sir Anth. Why, how now, Jack-sauce, what, capitulate?
Sir Char. Why, do but hear me, Uncle; Lord, you’re so hasty! Why, look ye, I am as ready, d’ye see, as any Man on these Occasions.
Sir Anth. Are you so, Sir? and I’ll make you willing, or try Toledo with you, Sir—Why, what, I shall have you whining when you are sober again, traversing your Chamber with Arms across, railing on Love and Women, and at last defeated, turn whipping Tom, to revenge your self on the whole Sex.
Sir Char. My dear Uncle, come kiss me and be friends; I will be rul’d.
[Kisses him.
Sir Anth.—A most admirable good-natur’d Boy this! [Aside.
Well then, dear Charles, know, I have brought thee now hither to the
Widow’s House, with a Resolution to have thee order matters so, as before
thou quitst her, she shall be thy own, Boy.
Sir Char. Gad, Uncle, thou’rt a Cherubin! Introduce me, d’ye see, and if I do not so woo the Widow, and so do the Widow, that e’er morning she shall be content to take me for better for worse—Renounce me! Egad, I’ll make her know the Lord God from Tom Bell, before I have done with her. Nay, backt by my noble Uncle, I’ll venture on her, had she all Cupid’s Arrows, genus’s Beauty, and Messalina’s Fire, d’ye see.
Sir Anth. A sweet Boy, a very sweet Boy! Hum, thou art damnable handsome to Night, Charles—Ay, thou wilt do’t; I see a kind of resistless Leudness about thee, a most triumphant Impudence, loose and wanton. [Stands looking on him.
Enter Closet.
Clos. Heavens, Gentlemen, what makes you here at this time of Night?
Sir Char. Where’s your Lady?
Clos. Softly, dear Sir.
Sir Char. Why, is she asleep? Come, come, I’ll wake her. [Offers to force in as to the Bed-chamber.
Clos. Hold, hold, Sir; No, no, she’s a little busy, Sir.
Sir Char. I’ll have no Business done to Night, Sweetheart.
Clos. Hold, hold, I beseech you, Sir, her Mother’s with her; For Heaven’s sake, Sir, be gone.
Sir Char. I’ll not budge.
Sir Anth. No, not a Foot.
Clos. The City you know, Sir, is so censorious—
Sir Char. Damn the City.
Sir Anth. All the Whigs, Charles, all the Whigs.
Sir Char. In short, I am resolv’d, d’ye see, to go to the Widow’s
Chamber.
Sir Anth. Harkye, Mrs. Closet I thought I had entirely engag’d you this
Evening.
Clos. I am perfectly yours, Sir; but how it happens so, her Mother being there—Yet if you wou’d withdraw for half an hour, into my Chamber, till she were gone—
Sir Anth. This is the Reason, Charles. Here, here’s two Pieces to buy thee a Gorget. [Gives her Money.
Sir Char. And here’s my two, because thou art industrious. [Gives her Money, and they go out with her.
Enter Lady Galliard in rage, held by Wilding.
L. Gal. What have I done? Ah, whither shall I fly? [Weeps.
Wild. Why all these Tears? Ah, why this cruel Passion?
L. Gal. Undone, undone! Unhand me, false, forsworn;
Be gone, and let me rage till I am dead.
What shou’d I do with guilty Life about me?
Wild. Why, where’s the harm of what we two have done?
L. Gal. Ah, leave me—
Leave me alone to sigh to flying Winds,
That the Infection may be borne aloft,
And reach no human Ear.
Wild. Cease, lovely Charmer, cease to wound me more.
L. Gal. Shall I survive this Shame? No, if I do,
Eternal Blushes dwell upon my Cheeks,
To tell the World my Crime.
—Mischief and Hell, what Devil did possess me?
Wild. It was no Devil, but a Deity;
A little gay wing’d God, harmless and innocent,
Young as Desire, wanton as Summer-breezes,
Soft as thy Smiles, resistless as thy Eyes.
L. Gal. Ah, what malicious God,
Sworn Enemy to feeble Womankind,
Taught thee the Art of Conquest with thy Tongue?
Thy false deluding Eyes were surely made
Of Stars that rule our Sex’s Destiny:
And all thy Charms were by Inchantment wrought,
That first undo the heedless Gazers on,
Then shew their natural Deformity.
Wild. Ah, my Galliard, am I grown ugly then? Has my increase of Passion lessen’d yours? [In a soft Tone.
L. Gal. Peace, Tempter, Peace, who artfully betrayest me,
And then upbraidest the Wretchedness thou’st made.
—Ah, Fool, eternal Fool! to know my Danger,
Yet venture on so evident a Ruin.
Wild. Say,—what one Grace is faded?
Is not thy Face as fair, thy Eyes as killing?
By Heaven, much more! This charming change of Looks
Raises my Flame, and makes me wish t’invoke
The harmless God again.
[Embraces her.
L. Gal. By Heaven, not all thy Art
Shall draw me to the tempting Sin again.
Wild. Oh, I must, or die.
L. Gal. By all the Powers, by—
Wild. Oh, do not swear, lest Love shou’d take it ill
That Honour shou’d pretend to give him Laws,
And make an Oath more powerful than his Godhead.
—Say that you will half a long Hour hence—
L. Gal. Hah!
Wild. Or say a tedious Hour.
L. Gal. Death, never—
Wild. Or if you—promise me then to morrow.
L. Gal. No, hear my Vows.
Wild. Hold, see me die; if you resolve ‘em fatal to my Love, by Heaven I’ll do’t. [Lays his Hand on his Sword.
L. Gal. Ah, what—
Wild. Revoke that fatal Never then.
L. Gal. I dare not.
Wild. Oh, say you will.
L. Gal. Alas, I dare not utter it.
Wild. Let’s in, and thou shalt whisper it into my Bosom; Or sighing, look it to me with thy Eyes.
L. Gal. Ah, Wilding— [Sighs.
Wild. It toucht my Soul! Repeat that Sigh again.
L. Gal. Ah, I confess I am but feeble Woman.
[Leans on him.
Sir Char. Good Mistress Keep-door, stand by: for I must enter.
[Sir Char. without.
L. Gal. Hah, young Meriwill’s Voice!
Clos. Pray, Sir Charles, let me go and give my Lady notice. [She enters and goes to Wild. —For Heaven’s sake, Sir, withdraw, or my Lady’s Honour’s lost.
Wild. What will you have me do? [To Galliard.
L. Gal. Be gone, or you will ruin me for ever. [In disorder.
Wild. Nay, then I will obey.
L. Gal. Here, down the back-stairs—
As you have Honour, go and cherish mine.
[Pulling him. He goes out.
—He’s gone, and now nethinks the shivering Fit of
Honour is return’d.
Enter Sir Charles, rudely pushing Closet aside with Sir
Anthony.
Sir. Char. Deny’d an entrance! nay, then there is a Rival in the Case, or so; and I’m resolv’d to discover the Hellish Plot, d’ye see.
[Just as he enters drunk at one Door,
Wild. returns at the other.
L. Gal. Ha, Wilding return’d! Shield me, ye Shades of Night.
[Puts out the Candles, and goes to Wild.
Wild. The Back-Stairs Door is lockt.
L. Gal. Oh, I am lost! curse on this fatal Night!
Art thou resolv’d on my undoing every way.
Clos. Nay, now we’re by dark, let me alone to guide you. Sir.
[To Wild.
Sir Char. What, what, all in darkness? Do you make
Love like Cats, by Star-light? [Reeling about.
L. Gal. Ah, he knows he’s here!—Oh, what a pain is Guilt!
[Aside.
Wild. I wou’d not be surpriz’d.
[As Closet takes him to lead him out, he takes out his Sword, and by dark pushes by Sir Charles, and almost overthrows Sir Anth. at which they both draw, whilst he goes out with Closet.
Sir Char. Hah, Gad, ‘twas a Spark!—What, vanisht! hah—
Sir Anth. Nay, nay, Sir, I am for ye.
Sir Char. Are you so, Sir? and I am for the Widow, Sir, and—
[Just as they are passing at each other, Closet enters with a Candle.
Hah, why, what have we here?—my nown Flesh and Blood?
[Embracing his Uncle.
Sir Anth. Cry mercy, Sir! Pray, how fell we out?
Sir Char. Out, Sir! Prithee where’s my Rival? where’s the Spark, the— Gad, I took thee for an errant Rival: Where is he? [Searching about.
L. Gal. Whom seek ye, Sir, a Man, and in my Lodgings?
[Angrily.
Clos. A Man! Merciful, what will this scandalous lying World come to? Here’s no Man.
Sir Char. Away, I say, thou damn’d Domestick Intelligence, that comest out every half hour with some fresh Sham—No Man!—What, ‘twas an Appointment only, hum,—which I shall now make bold to unappoint, render null, void, and of none effect. And if I find him here, [Searches about.] I shall very civilly and accidentally, as it were, being in perfect friendship with him—pray, mark that—run him through the Lungs.
L. Gal. Oh, whata Coward’s Guilt! what mean you, Sir?
Sir Char. Mean? why I am obstinately bent to ravish thee, thou hypocritical Widow, make thee mine by force, that so I have no obligation to thee, and consequently use thee scurvily with a good Conscience.
Sir Anth. A most delicate Boy! I’ll warrant him as lend as the best of’em, God grant him Life and Health. [Aside.
L. Gal. ‘Tis late, and I entreat your absence, Sir: These are my Hours of Prayer, which this unseasonable Visit has disturb’d.
Sir Char. Prayer! No more of that, Sweetheart; for let me tell you, your Prayers are heard. A Widow of your Youth and Complexion can be praying for nothing so late, but a good Husband; and see, Heaven has sent him just in the crit—critical minute, to supply your Occasions.
Sir Anth. A Wag, an arch Wag; he’ll learn to make Lampoons presently.
I’ll not give Sixpence from him, though to the poor of the Parish.
Sir Char. Come, Widow, let’s to Bed.
[Pulls her, she is angry.
L. Gal. Hold, Sir, you drive the Jest too far;
And I am in no humour now for Mirth.
Sir Char. Jest: Gad, ye lye, I was never in more earnest in all my
Life.
Sir Anth. He’s in a heavenly humour, thanks to good Wine, good Counsel, and good Company. [Getting nearer the Door still.
L. Gal. What mean you, Sir? what can my Woman think to see me treated thus?
Sir Char. Well thought on! Nay, we’ll do things decently, d’ye see— Therefore, thou sometimes necessary Utensil, withdraw. [Gives her to Sir Anth.
Sir Anth. Ay, ay, let me alone to teach her her Duty. [Pushes her out, and goes out.
L. Gal. Stay, Closet, I command ye. —What have you seen in me shou’d move you to this rudeness? [To Sir Char.
Sir Char. No frowning; for by this dear Night, ‘tis Charity, care of your Reputation, Widow; and therefore I am resolv’d no body shall lie with you but my self. You have dangerous Wasps buzzing about your Hive, Widow—mark that—[She flings from him.] Nay, no parting but upon terms, which, in short, d’ye see, are these: Down on your Knees, and swear me heartily, as Gad shall judge your Soul, d’ye see, to marry me to morrow.
L. Gal. To morrow! Oh, I have urgent business then.
Sir Char. So have I. Nay, Gad, an you be for the nearest way to the Wood, the sober discreet way of loving, I am sorry for ye, look ye. [He begins to undress.
L. Gal. Hold, Sir, what mean you?
Sir Char. Only to go to Bed, that’s all. [Still undressing.
L. Gal. Hold, hold, or I’ll call out.
Sir Char. Ay, do, call up a Jury of your Female Neighbours, they’ll be for me, d’ye see, bring in the Bill Ignoramus, though I am no very true blue Protestant neither; therefore dispatch, or—
L. Gal. Hold, are you mad? I cannot promise you to night.
Sir Char. Well, well, I’ll be content with Performance then to night, and trust you for your Promise till to morrow.
Sir Anth. [peeping.] Ah, Rogue! by George, he out-does my
Expectations of him.
L. Gal. What Imposition’s this! I’ll call for help.
Sir. Char. You need not, you’ll do my business better alone. [Pulls her.
L. Gal. What shall I do? how shall I send him hence? [Aside.
Sir Anth. He shall ne’er drink small Beer more, that’s positive; I’ll burn all’s Books too, they have help’d to spoil him; and sick or well, sound or unsound, Drinking shall be his Diet, and Whoring his Study. [Aside, peeping unseen.
Sir Char. Come, come, no pausing; your Promise, or I’ll to Bed.
[Offers to pull off his Breeches, having pulled off almost all the rest of his Clothes.
L. Gal. What shall I do? here is no Witness near: And to be rid of him
I’ll promise him; he’ll have forgot it in his sober Passion. [Aside.
Hold, I do swear I will—
[He fumbling to undo his Breeches.
Sir Char. What?
L. Gal. Marry you.
Sir Char. When?
L. Gal. Nay, that’s too much—Hold, hold, I will to morrow—Now you are satisfy’d, you will withdraw?
Enter Sir Anth. and Closet.
Sir Anth. Charles, Joy, Charles, give you Joy, here’s two substantial
Witnesses.
Clos. I deny it, Sir; I heard no such thing.
Sir Anth. What, what, Mrs. Closet, a Waiting-woman of Honour, and flinch from her Evidence! Gad, I’ll damn thy Soul if thou dar’st swear what thou say’st.
L. Gal. How, upon the Catch, Sir! am I betray’d?
Base and unkind, is this your humble Love?
Is all your whining come to this, false Man?
By Heaven, I’ll be reveng’d.
[She goes out in a Rage with Closet.
Sir Char. Nay, Gad, you’re caught, struggle and flounder as you please,
Sweetheart, you’ll but intangle more; let me alone to tickle your Gills,
i’faith. [Looking after her.—Uncle, get ye home about your Business;
I hope you’ll give me the good morrow, as becomes me—I say no more, a
Word to the Wise—
Sir Anth. By George, thou’rt a brave Fellow; why, I did not think it had been in thee, Man. Well, adieu; I’ll give thee such a good morrow, Charles—the Devil’s in him!—’Bye, Charles—a plaguy Rogue!—’night, Boy—a divine Youth!
[Going and returning, as not able to leave him. Exit.
Sir Char. Gad, I’ll not leave her now, till she is mine;
Then keep her so by constant Consummation.
Let Man o’ God do his, I’ll do my Part,
In spite of all her Fickleness and Art;
There’s one sure way to fix a Widow’s Heart.
[Exit.
ACT V.
SCENE I. Sir Timothy’s House.
Enter Dresswell, Foppington, Laboir, and five or six more disguised with Wizards and dark Lanthorns.
Fop. Not yet! a plague of this damn’d Widow: The Devil ow’d him an unlucky Cast, and has thrown it him to night.
Enter Wild, in Rapture and Joy.
—Hah, dear Tom, art thou come?
Wild. I saw how at her length she lay! I saw her rising Bosom bare!
Fop. A Pox of her rising Bosom! My dear, let’s dress and about our Business.
Wild. Her loose thin Robes, through which appear A Shape design’d for Love and Play!
Dres. Sheart, Sir, is this a time for Rapture? ‘tis almost day.
Wild. Ah, Frank, such a dear Night!
Dress. A Pox of Nights, Sir, think of this and the Day to come: which I perceive you were too well employ’d to remember.
Wild. The Day to come! Death, who cou’d be so dull in such dear Joys, To think of Time to come, or ought beyond ‘em! And had I not been interrupted by Charles Meriwill, who, getting drunk, had Courage enough to venture on an untimely Visit, I’d had no more power of returning, than committing Treason: But that conjugal Lover, who will needs be my Cuckold, made me then give him way, that he might give it me another time, and so unseen I got off. But come—my Disguise. [Dresses.
Dres. All’s still and hush, as if Nature meant to favour our Design.
Wild. ‘Tis well: and hark ye, my Friends, I’ll prescribe ye no Bounds, nor Moderation; for I have consider’d, if we modestly take nothing but the Writings,’.will be easy to suspect the Thief.
Fop. Right; and since ‘tis for the securing our Necks, ‘tis lawful Prize—Sirrah, leave the Portmantle here. [Exeunt as into the House.
After a small time, Enter Jervice undres’d, crying out, pursued by some of the Thieves.
Jer. Murder, Murder! Thieves, Murder!
Enter Wilding with his Sword drawn.
Wild. A plague upon his Throat; set a Gag in’s Mouth and bind him, though he be my Uncle’s chief Pimp—so—
[They bind and gag him.
Enter Dresswell, and Laboir.
Dres. Well, we have bound all within hearing in their Beds, e’er they cou’d alarm their Fellows by crying out.
Wild. ‘Tis well; come, follow me, like a kind Midnight-Ghost, I will conduct ye to the rich buried Heaps—this Door leads to my Uncle’s Apartment; I know each secret Nook conscious of Treasure.
[All go in, leaving Jervice bound on the Stage.
Enter Sensure running half undressed, as from Sir Timothy’s Chamber, with his Velvet-Coat on her Shoulders.
Sen. Help, help! Murder! Murder!
[Dres. Lab. and others pursue her.
Dres. What have we here, a Female bolted from Mr. Alderman’s Bed?
[Holding a Lanthorn to his Face.
Sen. Ah, mercy, Sir, alas, I am a Virgin.
Dres. A Virgin! Gad and that may be, for any great Miracles the old Gentleman can do.
Sen. Do! alas, Sir, I am none of the Wicked.
Dres. That’s well—The sanctify’d Jilt professes Innocence, yet has the Badge of her Occupation about her Neck. [Pulls off the Coat.
Sen. Ah, Misfortune, I have mistook his Worship’s Coat for my Gown. [A little Book drops out of her Bosom.
Dres. What have we here? A Sermon preacht by Richard Baxter, Divine. Gad a mercy, Sweetheart, thou art a hopeful Member of the true Protestant Cause.
Sen. Alack, how the Saints may be scandaliz’d! I went but to tuck his Worship up.
Dres. And comment upon the Text a little, which I suppose may be, increase and multiply—Here, gag, and bind her. [Exit Dres.
Sen. Hold, hold, I am with Child!
Lab. Then you’ll go near to miscarry of a Babe of Grace.
Enter Wild. Fop. and others, leading in Sir Timothy in his Night-gown and Night-Gap.
Sir Tim. Gentlemen, why, Gentlemen, I beseech you use a Conscience in what you do, and have a feeling in what you go about—Pity my Age.
Wild. Damn’d beggarly Conscience, and needless Pity—
Sir Tim. Oh, fearful—But, Gentlemen, what is’t you design? is it a general Massacre, pray? or am I the only Person aim’d at as a Sacrifice for the Nation? I know, and all the World knows, how many Plots have been laid against my self, both by Men, Women, and Children, the diabolical Emissaries of the Pope.
Wild. How, Sirrah! [Fiercely, he starts.
Sir Tim. Nay, Gentlemen, not but I love and honour his Holiness with all my Soul; and if his Grace did but know what I’ve done for him, d’ye see—
Fop. You done for the Pope, Sirrah! Why, what have you done for the Pope?
Sir Tim. Why, Sir, an’t like ye, I have done you very great Service, very great Service; for I have been, d’ye see, in a small Tryal I had, the cause and occasion of invalidating the Evidence to that degree, that I suppose no Jury in Christendom will ever have the Impudence to believe ’.m hereafter, shou’d they swear against his Holiness and all the Conclave of Cardinals.
Wild. And yet you plot on still, cabal, treat, and keep open Debauch, for all the Renegado-Tories and old Commonwealthsmen to carry on the good Cause.
Sir Tim. Alas, what signifies that! You know, Gentlemen, that I have such a strange and natural Agility in turning—I shall whip about yet, and leave ‘em all in the Lurch.
Wild. ‘Tis very likely; but at this time we shall not take your Word for that.
Sir Tim. Bloody-minded Men, are you resolv’d to assassinate me then?
Wild. You trifle, Sir, and know our Business better, than to think we come to take your Life, which wou’d not advantage a Dog, much less any Party or Person—Come, come, your Keys, your Keys.
Fop. Ay, ay, discover, discover your Money, Sir, your ready—
Sir Tim. Money, Sir, good lack, is that all? [Smiling on ‘em.]
Why, what a Beast was I, not knowing of your coming, to put out all my
Money last Week to Alderman Draw-tooth? Alack, alack, what shift shall I
make now to accommodate you?—But if you please to come again to morrow—
Fop. A shamming Rogue; the right Sneer and Grin of a dissembling Whig. Come, come, deliver, Sir; we are for no Rhetorick but ready Money. [Aloud and threatning.
Sir Tim. Hold, I beseech you, Gentlemen, not so loud; for there is a Lord, a most considerable Person, and a Stranger, honours my House to night; I wou’d not for the world his Lordship shou’d be disturb’d.
Wild. Take no care for him, he’s fast bound and all his Retinue.
Sir Tim. How, bound! my Lord bound, and all his People! Undone, undone, disgrac’d! What will the Polanders say, that I shou’d expose their Embassador to this Disrespect and Affront?
Wild. Bind him, and take away his Keys.
[They bind him hand and foot, and take his Keys out of his Bosom. Ex. all.
Sir Tim. Ay, ay, what you please, Gentlemen, since my Lord’s bound—Oh, what Recompence can I make for so unhospitable Usage? I am a most unfortunate Magistrate: hah, who’s there, Jervice? Alas, art thou here too? What, canst not speak? but ‘tis no matter and I were dumb too; for what Speech or Harangue will serve to beg my Pardon of my Lord?—And then my Heiress, Jervice, ay, my rich Heiress, why, she’ll be ravisht: Oh Heavens, ravisht! The young Rogues will have no Mercy, Jervice; nay, perhaps as thou say’st, they’ll carry her away.—Oh, that thought! Gad, I rather the City-Charter were lost. [Enter some with Bags of Money. —Why, Gentlemen, rob like Christians, Gentlemen.
Fop. What, do you mutter, Dog?
Sir Tim. Not in the least, Sir, not in the least; only a Conscience, Sir, in all things does well—Barbarous Rogues. [They go out all again.] Here’s your arbitrary Power, Jervice; here’s the Rule of the Sword now for you: These are your Tory Rogues, your tantivy Roysters; but we shall cry quits with you, Rascals, ere long; and if we do come to our old Trade of Plunder and Sequestration, we shall so handle ye—we’ll spare neither Prince, Peer, nor Prelate. Oh, I long to have a slice at your fat Church-men, your Crape-Gownorums.
Enter Wild. Dresswell, Laboir, and the rest, with more Bags.
Wild. A Prize, a Prize, my Lads, in ready Guineas; Contribution, my beloved.
Dres. Nay, then ‘tis lawful Prize, in spite of Ignoramus and all his Tribe—What hast thou here? [To Fop. who enters with a Bag full of Papers.
Fop. A whole Bag of Knavery, damn’d Sedition, Libels, Treason, Successions, Rights and Privileges, with a new-fashion’d Oath of Abjuration, call’d the Association.—Ah, Rogue, what will you say when these shall be made publick?
Sir Tim. Say, Sir? why, I’ll deny it, Sir; for what Jury will believe so wise a Magistrate as I cou’d communicate such Secrets to such as you? I’ll say you forg’d ‘em, and put ‘em in—or print every one of ‘em, and own ‘em, as long as they were writ and publisht in London, Sir. Come, come, the World is not so bad yet, but a Man may speak Treason within the Walls of London, thanks be to God, and honest conscientious Jury-Men. And as for the Money, Gentlemen, take notice you rob the Party.
Wild. Come, come, carry off the Booty, and prithee remove that Rubbish of the Nation out of the way—Your servant, Sir.—So, away with it to Dresswell’s Lodgings, his Coach is at the Door ready to receive it.
[They carry off Sir Timothy, and others take up the Bags, and go out with ‘em.
Dres. Well, you are sure you have all you came for?
Wild. All’s safe, my Lads, the Writings all—
Fop. Come, let’s away then.
Wild. Away? what meanest thou? is there not a Lord to be found bound in his Bed, and all his People? Come, come, dispatch, and each Man bind his Fellow.
Fop. We had better follow the Baggage, Captain.
Wild. No, we have not done so ill, but we dare shew our Faces. Come, come, to binding.
Fop. And who shall bind the last Man?
Wild. Honest Laboir, d’ye hear, Sirrah? you get drunk and lay in your Clothes under the Hall-Table; d’ye hear me? Look to’t, ye Rascal, and carry things discreetly, or you’ll be hang’d, that’s certain. [Ex. Wild, and Dres.
Fop. So, now will I i’th’ Morning to Charlot, and give her such a Character of her Love, as if she have Resentment, makes her mine. [Exit Fop.
Sir Tim. [calls within.] Ho, Jenkins, Roger, Simon! Where are these
Rogues? none left alive to come to my Assistance? So ho, ho, ho, ho!
Rascals, Sluggards, Drones! so ho, ho, ho!
Lab. So, now’s my Cue—and stay, I am not yet sober. [Puts himself into a drunken Posture.
Sir Tim. Dogs, Rogues, none hear me? Fire, fire, fire!
Lab. Water, water, I say; for I am damnable dry.
Sir Tim. Hah, who’s there?
Lab. What doleful Voice is that?
Sir Tim. What art thou, Friend or Foe? [In a doleful Tone.
Lab. Very direful—why, what the Devil art thou?
Sir Tim. If thou’rt a Friend, approach, approach the wretched.
Lab. Wretched! What art thou, Ghost, Hobgoblin, or walking Spirit? [Reeling in with a Lanthorn in’s Hand.
Sir Tim. Oh, neither, neither, but mere Mortal, Sir Timothy Treat-all, robb’d and bound. [Coming out led by Laboir.
Lab. How, our generous Host!
Sir Tim. How, one of my Lord’s Servants! Alas, alas, how cam’st thou to escape?
Lab. E’en by miracle, Sir; by being drunk, and falling asleep under the Hall-Table with your Worship’s Dog Tory, till just now a Dream of Small-beer wak’d me: and crawling from my Kennel to secure the black Jack, I stumbled upon this Lanthorn, which I took for one, till I found a Candle in’t, which helps me to serve your Worship. [Goes to unbind his Hands.
Sir Tim. Hold, hold, I say; for I scorn to be so uncivil to be unbound before his Lordship: therefore run, Friend, to his Honour’s Chamber, for he, alas, is confined too.
Lab. What, and leave his worthy Friend in distress? by no means, Sir.
Sir Tim. Well then, come, let’s to my Lord, whom if I be not asham’d to look in the Face, I am an errant Sarazen.
[Exit Sir Tim. and Lab.
SCENE II. Changes to Wilding’s Chamber.
He is discovered sitting in a Chair bound, his Valet bound by him; to them Sir Timothy and Laboir.
Wild. Peace, Sirrah, for sure I hear some coming—Villains, Rogues! I care not for my self, but for the good pious Alderman. [Sir Tim. as listening.
Sir Tim. Wonderful Goodness, for me! Alas, my Lord, this sight will break my Heart. [Weeps.
Wild. Sir Timothy safe! nay, then I do forgive ‘em.
Sir Tim. Alas, my Lord, I’ve heard of your rigid Fate.
Wild. It is my Custom, Sir, to pray an Hour or two in my Chamber, before I go to Bed; and having pray’d that drousy Slave asleep, the Thieves broke in upon us unawares, I having laid my Sword aside.
Sir Tim. Oh, Heavens, at his Prayers! damn’d Ruffians, and wou’d they not stay till you had said your Prayers?
Wild. By no Persuasion—Can you not guess who they shou’d be, Sir?
Sir Tim. Oh, some damn’d Tory-rory Rogues, you may be sure, to rob a
Man at his Prayers! why, what will this World come to?
Wild. Let us not talk, Sir, but pursue ‘em.
[Offering to go.
Sir Tim. Pursue ‘em! alas, they’re past our reach by this time.
Wild. Oh, Sir, they are nearer than you imagine: some that know each Corner of your House, I’ll warrant.
Sir Tim. Think ye so, my Lord? ay, this comes of keeping open House; which makes so many shut up their Doors at Dinner-time.
Enter Dresswell.
Dres. Good Morrow, Gentlemen! what, was the Devil broke loose to night?
Sir Tim. Only some of his Imps, Sir, saucy Varlets, insupportable
Rascals—But well, my Lord, now I have seen your Lordship at liberty,
I’ll leave you to your rest, and go see what Harm this night’s Work has
done.
Wild. I have a little Business, Sir, and will take this time to dispatch it in; my Servants shall to Bed, though ‘tis already day—I’ll wait on you at Dinner.
Sir Tim. Your time; my House and all I have is yours; and so I take my Leave of your Lordship. [Ex. Sir Tim.
Wild. Now for my angry Maid, the young Charlot; ’.will be a Task to soften her to Peace; She is all new and gay, young as the Morn, Blushing as tender Rose-Buds on their Stalks, Pregnant with Sweets, for the next Sun to ravish. —Come, thou shalt along with me, I’ll trust thy Friendship.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III. Changes to Diana’s Chamber.
She is discovered dressing, with Betty.
Dia. Methinks I’m up as early as if I had a mind to what I’m going to do, marry this rich old Coxcomb.
Bet. And you do well to lose no time.
Dia. Ah, Betty, and cou’d thy Prudence prefer an old Husband, because rich, before so young, so handsom, and so soft a Lover as Wilding?
Bet. I know not that, Madam; but I verily believe the way to keep your young Lover, is to marry this old one: for what Youth and Beauty cannot purchase, oney and Quality may.
Dia. Ay, but to be oblig’d to lie with such a Beast; ay, there’s the
Devil,
Betty. Ah, when I find the difference of their Embraces,
The soft dear Arms of Wilding round my Neck.
From those cold feeble ones of this old Dotard;
When I shall meet, instead of Tom’s warm kisses,
A hollow Pair of thin blue wither’d Lips,
Trembling with Palsy, stinking with Disease,
By Age and Nature barricado’d up
With a kind Nose and Chin;
What Fancy or what Thought can make my Hours supportable?
Bet. What? why six thousand Pounds a Year, Mistress. He’ll quickly die, and leave you rich, and then do what you please.
Dia. Die! no, he’s too temperate—Sure these Whigs, Betty, believe there’s no Heaven, they take such care to live so long in this World—No, he’ll out-live me. [Sighs.
Bet. In Grace a God he may be hang’d first, Mistress—Ha, one knocks, and I believe ‘tis he. [She goes to open the Door.
Dia. I cannot bring my Heart to like this Business; One sight of my dear Tom wou’d turn the Scale.
Bet. Who’s there?
Enter Sir Tim. joyful; Dian. walks away.
Sir Tim. ‘Tis I, impatient I, who with the Sun have welcom’d in the
Day;
This happy Day to be inroll’d
In Rubrick Letters and in Gold.
—Hum, I am profoundly eloquent this Morning. [Aside.
—Fair Excellence, I approach—
[Going toward her.
Dia. Like Physick in a Morning next one’s Heart; [Aside. Which, though it be necessary, is most filthy loathsom. [Going from him.
Sir Tim. What, do you turn away, bright Sun of Beauty?
—Hum, I’m much upon the Suns and Days this Morning.
Dia. It will not down.
[Turning on him, looks on him, and turns away.
Sir Tim. Alas, ye Gods, am I despis’d and scorn’d?
Did I for this ponder upon the Question,
Whether I should be King or Alderman?
[Heroickly.
Dia. If I must marry him, give him Patience to endure the Cuckolding, good Heaven. [Aside.
Sir Tim. Heaven! did she name Heaven, Betty?
Bet. I think she did, Sir.
Sir Tim. I do not like that: What need has she to think of Heaven upon her Wedding-day?
Dia. Marriage is a sort of Hanging, Sir; and I was only making a short Prayer before Execution.
Sir Tim. Oh, is that all? Come, come, we’ll let that alone till we’re abed, that we have nothing else to do. [Takes her Hand.
Dia. Not much, I dare swear.
Sir Tim. And let us, Fair one, haste; the Parson stays; besides, that heap of Scandal may prevent us—I mean, my Nephew.
Dia. A Pox upon him now for naming Wilding. [Weeps.
Sir Tim. How, weep at naming my ungracious Nephew? Nay, then I am provok’d—Look on this Head, this wise and Reverend Head; I’d have ye know, it has been taken measure on to fit it to a Crown, d’ye see.
Dia. A Halter rather. [Aside.
Sir Tim. Ay, and it fits it too: and am I slighted, I that shall receive Billet-Doux from Infanta’s? ‘tis most uncivil and impolitick.
Dia. I hope he’s mad, and then I reign alone. [Aside.
Pardon me, Sir, that parting Tear I shed indeed at naming Wilding,
Of whom my foolish Heart has now ta’en leave,
And from this Moment is intirely yours.
[Gives him her Hand, they go out followed by Betty.
SCENE IV. Changes to a Street.
Enter Charlot, led by Foppington, follow’d by Mrs. Clacket.
Char. Stay, my Heart misgives me, I shall be undone. —Ah, whither was I going? [Pulls her Hand from Fop.
Fop. Do, stay till the News arrives that he is married to her that had his Company to night, my Lady Galliard.
Char. Oh! Take heed lest you sin doubly, Sir.
Fop. By Heaven, ‘tis true, he past the Night with her.
Char. All night! what cou’d they find to do?
Mrs. Clack. A very proper Question; I’ll warrant you they were not idle, Madam.
Char. Oh, no; they lookt and lov’d and vow’d and lov’d, and swore eternal Friendship—Haste, haste, and lead me to the Church, the Altar; I’ll put it past my Power to love him more.
Fop. Oh, how you charm me! [Takes her by the Hand.
Char. Yet what art thou? a Stranger to my Heart. Wherefore, ah why, on what occasion shou’d I?
Mrs. Clack. Acquaintance, ‘tis enough, I know him, Madam, and I hope my Word will be taken for a greater matter in the City: In troth you’re beholden to the Gentleman for marrying you, your Reputation’s gone.
Char. How, am I not honest then?
Mrs. Clack. Marry, Heaven forbid! But who that knows you have been a single Hour in Wilding’s Hands, wou’d not swear you have lost your Maidenhead? And back again I’m sure you dare not go unmarried; that wou’d be a fine History to be sung to your eternal Fame in a Ballad.
Fop. Right; and you see Wilding has left you for the Widow, to whom perhaps you’ll shortly hear he’s married.
Char. Oh, you trifle, Sir; lead on.
[They going out, meet Sir Anthony with Musick: they return.
Sir Anth. Come, come, Gentlemen, this is the House, and this the Window belonging to my Lady’s Bed-chamber: Come, come, let’s have some neat, soft, brisk, languishing, sprightly Air now.
Fop. Old Meriwill—how shall I pass by him! [Stand by.
Sir Anth. So, here’s Company too; ‘tis very well—Not have the Boy?
I’ll warrant this does the Business—Come, come, screw up your
Chitterling.
[They play.
—Hold, hold a little—Good morrow, my Lady Galliard.
—Give your Ladyship Joy.
Char. What do I hear, my Lady Galliard joy’d?
Fop. How, married her already?
Char. Oh, yes, he has. Lovely and false, hast thou deceiv’d my Faith?
Mrs. Clack. Oh, Heavens, Mr. Foppington, she faints.—ah me!
[They hold her, Musick plays. Enter Wilding and Dresswell, disguis’d as before.
Wild. Ah, Musick at Galliard’s Door!
Sir Anth. Good morrow, Sir Charles Meriwill: give your Worship and your fair Lady Joy.
Wild. Hah, Meriwill married the Widow!
Dres. No matter; prithee advance, and mind thy own Affairs.
Wild. Advance, and not inquire the meaning on’t! Bid me not eat, when Appetite invites me; Not draw, when branded with the Name of Coward; Nor love, when Youth and Beauty meet my Eyes— Hah!— [Sees Sir Charles come into the Balcony undrest.
Sir Char. Good morrow, Uncle. Gentlemen, I thank ye: Here, drink the King’s Health, with my Royal Master’s the Duke. [Gives ‘em Money.
Fid. Heaven bless your Honour, and your virtuous Bride.
Fop. Wilding! undone. [Shelters Charlot, that she may not see Wilding.
Wild. Death and the Devil, Meriwill above!
Sir Anth. Ah, the Boy’s Rival here! By George, here may be breathing this Morning—No matter, here’s two to two; come, Gentlemen, you must in. [Thrusts the Musick in, and goes in.
Dres. Is’t not what you expected? nay, what you wisht?
Wild. What then? it comes too suddenly upon me—
E’er my last Kiss was cold upon her Lips,
Before the pantings of her Breast were laid,
Rais’d by her joys with me; Oh, damn’d deluding Woman!
Dres. Be wise, and do not ruin where you love.
Wild. Nay, if thou com’st to reasoning, thou hast lost me. [Breaks from him, and runs in.
Char. I say ‘twas Wilding’s Voice, and I will follow it.
Fop. How, Madam, wou’d you after him?
Char. Nay, force me not; by Heaven, I’ll cry a Rape, Unless you let me go—Not after him! Yes, to the infernal Shades—Unhand me, Sir.
Fop. How, Madam, have you then design’d my Ruin?
Char. Oh, trust me, Sir, I am a Maid of Honour. [Runs in after Wild.
Mrs. Clack. So; a Murrain of your Projects, we’re all undone now: For my part I’ll e’en after her, and deny to have any hand in the Business. [Goes in.
Fop. Damn all ill Luck, was ever Man thus Fortune-bit, that he shou’d cross my Hopes just in the nick? But shall I lose her thus? No, Gad, I’ll after her; and come the worst, I have an Impudence shall out-face a Middlesex Jury, and out-swear a Discoverer. [Goes in.
SCENE V. Changes to a Chamber.
Enter Lady Galliard, pursued by Sir Charles, and Footman.
L. Gal. Sirrah, run to my Lord Mayor’s, and require some of his Officers to assist me instantly; and d’ye hear, Rascal, bar up my Doors, and let none of his mad Crew enter. [To the Footman who is going.
Sir Char. William, you may stay, William.
L. Gal. I say, obey me, Sirrah.
Sir Char. Sirrah, I say—know your Lord and Master.
Will. I shall, Sir. [Goes out.
L. Gal. Was ever Woman teaz’d thus? pursue me not.
Sir Char. You are mistaken, I’m disobedient grown,
Since we became one Family; and when
I’ve us’d you thus a Week or two, you will
Grow weary of this peevish fooling.
L. Gal. Malicious thing, I wo’not, I am resolv’d I’ll tire thee out merely in spite, to have the better of thee.
Sir Char. I’m as resolv’d as you, and do your worst,
For I’m resolv’d never to quit thy House.
L. Gal. But, Malice, there are Officers i’th’ City, that will not see me us’d thus, and will be here anon.
Sir Char. Magistrates! why, they shall be welcome, if they be honest and loyal; if not, they may be hang’d in Heaven’s good time.
L. Gal. Are you resolv’d to be thus obstinate? Fully resolv’d to make this way your Conquest?
Sir Char. Most certainly, I’ll keep you honest to your Word, my Dear—
I’ve Witness—
L. Gal. You will?
Sir Char. You’ll find it so.
L. Gal. Then know, if thou darest marry me, I will so plague thee, be so reveng’d for all those Tricks thou hast play’d me— Dost thou not dread the Vengeance Wives can take?
Sir Char. Not at all: I’ll trust thy Stock of Beauty with thy Wit.
L. Gal. Death, I will cuckold thee.
Sir Char. Why, then I shall be free o’th’ Reverend City.
L. Gal. Then I will game without cessation, till I’ve undone thee.
Sir Char. Do, that all the Fops of empty Heads and Pockets may know where to be sure of a Cully; and may they rook ye till ye lose, and fret, and chafe, and rail those youthful Eyes to sinking; watch your fair Face to pale and withered Leanness.
L. Gal. Then I will never let thee bed with me, but when I please.
Sir Char. For that, see who’ll petition first, and then I’ll change for new ones every Night.
Enter William.
Will. Madam, here’s Mr. Wilding at the Door, and will not be deny’d seeing you.
L. Gal. Hah, Wilding! Oh, my eternal Shame! Now thou hast done thy worst.
Sir Char. Now for a Struggle ‘twixt your Love and Honour!
—Yes, here’s the Bar to all my Happiness,
You wou’d be left to the wide World and Love,
To Infamy, to Scandal, and to Wilding;
But I have too much Honour in my Passion,
To let you loose to ruin: Consider and be wise.
L. Gal. Oh, he has toucht my Heart too sensibly. [Aside.
Sir Anth. [within.] As far as good Manners goes I’m yours;
But when you press indecently to Ladies Chambers, civil
Questions ought to askt, I take it, Sir.
L. Gal. To find him here, will make him mad with Jealousy, and in the
Fit he’ll utter all he knows: Oh, Guilt, what art thou! [Aside.
Enter Sir Anth. Wild, and Dres.
Dres. Prithee, dear Wilding, moderate thy Passion.
Wild. By Heaven, I will; she shall not have the Pleasure to see I am concern’d—Morrow, Widow; you are early up, you mean to thrive, I see, you’re like a Mill that grinds with every Wind.
Sir Char. Hah, Wilding, this that past last Night at Sir Timothy’s for a Man of Quality? Oh, give him way, Wilding’s my Friend, my Dear, and now I’m sure I have the Advantage of him in my Love. I can forgive a hasty Word or two.
Wild. I thank thee, Charles—what, you are married then?
L. Gal. I hope you’ve no Exception to my Choice. [Scornfully.
Wild. False Woman, dost thou glory in thy Perfidy? [To her aside angrily. —Yes, Faith, I’ve many Exceptions to him— [Aloud. Had you lov’d me, you’d pitcht upon a Blockhead, Some spruce gay Fool of Fortune, and no more, Who would have taken so much Care of his own ill-favour’d Person, He shou’d have had no time to have minded yours, But left it to the Care of some fond longing Lover.
L. Gal. Death, he will tell him all! [Aside.] Oh, you are merry, Sir.
Wild. No, but thou art wondrous false, False as the Love and Joys you feign’d last Night. [In a soft Tone aside to her.
L. Gal. Oh, Sir, be tender of those treacherous Minutes.
[Softly to him.
—If this be all you have to say to me—
[Walking away, and speaking loud.
Wild. Faith, Madam, you have us’d me scurvily, To marry, and not give me notice. [Aloud. —Curse on thee, did I only blow the Fire To warm another Lover? [To her softly aside.
L. Gal. Perjur’d—was’t not by your Advice I married? —Oh, where was then your Love? [Softly to him aside.
Wild. So soon did I advise? Didst thou invite me to the Feast of Love, To snatch away my Joys as soon as tasted? Ah, where was then you Modesty and Sense of Honour? [Aside to her in a low Tone.
L. Gal. Ay, where indeed, when you so quickly vanquisht? [Soft.
—But you, I find, are come prepared to rail. [Aloud.
Wild. No, ‘twas with thee to make my last Effort against your scorn. [Shews her the Writings. And this I hop’d, when all my Vows and Love, When all my Languishments cou’d nought avail, Had made ye mine for ever. [Aloud.
Enter Sir Anthony, pulling in Sir Tim. and Diana.
Sir Anth. Morrow, Charles; Morrow to your Ladyship: Charles, bid Sir Timothy welcome; I met him luckily at the Door, and am resolv’d none of my Friends shall pass this joyful Day without giving thee Joy, Charles, and drinking my Lady’s Health.
Wild. Hah, my Uncle here so early? [Aside.
Sir Tim. What, has your Ladyship serv’d me so? How finely I had been
mump’d now, if I had not took Heart of Grace, and shew’d your Ladyship
Trick for Trick? for I have been this Morning about some such Business of
Life too, Gentlemen: I am married to this fair Lady, the Daughter and
Heiress of Sir Nicholas Gett-all, Knight and Alderman.