ACT II.
SCENE I. Gayman’s Lodging.
_Enter Gayman in a Night-Cap, and an old Campaign Coat tied about him, very melancholy_.
Gay. Curse on my Birth! Curse on my faithless Fortune!
Curse on my Stars, and curst be all—but Love!
That dear, that charming Sin, though t’have pull’d
Innumerable Mischiefs on my head,
I have not, nor I cannot find Repentance for.
Nor let me die despis’d, upbraided, poor:
Let Fortune, Friends and all abandon me—
But let me hold thee, thou soft smiling God,
Close to my heart while Life continues there.
Till the last pantings of my vital Blood,
Nay, the last spark of Life and Fire be Love’s!
Enter Rag.
—How now, Rag, what’s a Clock?
Rag. My Belly can inform you better than my Tongue.
Gay. Why, you gormandizing Vermin you, what have you done with the Three pence I gave you a fortnight ago.
Rag. Alas, Sir, that’s all gone long since.
Gay. You gutling Rascal, you are enough to breed a Famine in a Land. I have known some industrious Footmen, that have not only gotten their own Livings, but a pretty Livelihood for their Masters too.
Rag. Ay, till they came to the Gallows, Sir.
Gay. Very well, Sirrah, they died in an honourable Calling—but hark ye, Rag,—I have business, very earnest business abroad this Evening; now were you a Rascal of Docity, you wou’d invent a way to get home my last Suit that was laid in Lavender—with the Appurtenances thereunto belonging, as Perriwig, Cravat, and so forth.
Rag. Faith, Master, I must deal in the black Art then, for no human means will do’t—and now I talk of the black Art, Master, try your Power once more with my Landlady.
Gay. Oh! name her not, the thought on’t turns my Stomach—a sight of her is a Vomit; but he’s a bold Hero that dares venture on her for a kiss, and all beyond that sure is Hell it self—yet there’s my last, last Refuge—and I must to this Wedding—I know not what,—but something whispers me,—this Night I shall be happy—and without Julia ’.is impossible!
Rag. Julia, who’s that? my Lady Fulbank, Sir?
Gay. Peace, Sirrah—and call—a—no—Pox on’t, come back—and yet—yes—call my fulsome Landlady.
[Exit Rag.
Sir Cautious knows me not by Name or Person.
And I will to this Wedding, I’m sure of seeing Julia there.
And what may come of that—but here’s old Nasty coming.
I smell her up—hah, my dear Landlady.
_Enter Rag and _Landlady.
Quite out of breath—a Chair there for my Landlady.
Rag. Here’s ne’er a one, Sir.
Land. More of your Money and less of your Civility, good Mr. Wasteall.
Gay. Dear Landlady—
Land. Dear me no Dears, Sir, but let me have my Money—Eight Weeks Rent last Friday; besides Taverns, Ale-houses, Chandlers, Landresses’ Scores, and ready Money out of my Purse; you know it, Sir.
Gay. Ay, but your Husband don’t; speak softly.
Land. My Husband! what, do you think to fright me with my Husband?— I’d have you to know I’m an honest Woman, and care not this—for my Husband. Is this all the thanks I have for my kindness, for patching, borrowing and shifting for you; ‘twas but last Week I pawn’d my best Petticoat, as I hope to wear it again, it cost me six and twenty shillings besides Making; then this Morning my new Norwich Mantua followed, and two postle Spoons, I had the whole dozen when you came first; but they dropt, and dropt, till I had only Judas left for my Husband.
Gay. Hear me, good Landlady.
Land. Then I’ve past my word at the George Tavern, for forty Shillings for you, ten Shillings at my Neighbour Squabs for Ale, besides seven Shillings to Mother Suds for Washing; and do you fob me off with my Husband?
Gay. Here, Rag, run and fetch her a Pint of Sack—there’s no other way of quenching the Fire in her flabber Chops.
[Exit Rag.
—But, my dear Landlady, have a little Patience.
Land. Patience! I scorn your Words, Sir—is this a place to trust in? tell me of Patience, that us’d to have my money before hand; come, come, pay me quickly—or old Gregory Grimes house shall be too hot to hold you.
Gay. Is’t come to this, can I not be heard?
Land. No, Sir, you had good Clothes when you came first, but they dwindled daily, till they dwindled to this old Campaign—with tan’d coloured Lining—once red—but now all Colours of the Rain-bow, a Cloke to sculk in a Nights, and a pair of piss-burn’d shammy Breeches. Nay, your very Badge of Manhood’s gone too.
Gay. How, Landlady! nay then, i’faith, no wonder if you rail so.
Land. Your Silver Sword I mean—transmogrified to this two-handed Basket Hilt—this old Sir Guy of Warwick—which will sell for nothing but old Iron. In fine, I’ll have my money, Sir, or i’faith, Alsatia shall not shelter you.
Enter Rag.
Gay. Well, Landlady—if we must part—let’s drink at parting; here, Landlady, here’s to the Fool—that shall love you better than I have done. [Sighing, drinks.
Land. Rot your Wine—dy’e think to pacify me with Wine, Sir?
[She refusing to drink, he holds open her Jaws, Rag throws a Glass of Wine into her Mouth.
—What, will you force me?—no—give me another Glass, I scorn to be so uncivil to be forced, my service to you, Sir—this shan’t do, Sir.
[She drinks, he, embracing her, sings.
Ah, Cloris, ’.is in vain you scold,
Whilst your Eyes kindle such a Fire.
Tour Railing cannot make me cold,
So fast as they a Warmth inspire.
Land. Well, Sir, you have no reason to complain of my Eyes nor my Tongue neither, if rightly understood. [Weeps.
Gay. I know you are the best of Landladies, As such I drink your Health— [Drinks. But to upbraid a Man in Tribulation—fie—’tis not done like a Woman of Honour, a Man that loves you too.
[She drinks.
Land. I am a little hasty sometimes, but you know my good Nature.
Gay. I do, and therefore trust my little wants with you. I shall be rich again—and then, my dearest Landlady—
Land. Wou’d this Wine might ne’er go through me, if I wou’d not go, as they say, through Fire and Water—by Night or by Day for you. [She drinks.
Gay. And as this is Wine I do believe thee. [He drinks.
Land. Well—you have no money in your Pocket now, I’ll warrant you— here—here’s ten Shillings for you old Greg’ry knows not of. [Opens a great greasy purse.
Gay. I cannot in Conscience take it, good Faith, I cannot—besides, the next Quarrel you’ll hit me in the Teeth with it.
Land. Nay, pray no more of that; forget it, forget it. I own I was to blame—here, Sir, you shall take it.
Gay. Ay,—but what shou’d I do with Money in these damn’d Breeches? —No, put it up—I can’t appear abroad thus—no, I’ll stay at home, and lose my business.
Land. Why, is there no way to redeem one of your Suits?
Gay. None—none—I’ll e’en lay me down and die.
Land. Die—marry, Heavens forbid—I would not for the World—let me see—hum—what does it lie for?
Gay. Alas! dear Landlady, a Sum—a Sum.
Land. Well, say no more, I’ll lay about me.
Gay. By this kiss but you shall not—Assafetida, by this Light.
Land. Shall not? that’s a good one, i’faith: shall you rule, or I?
Gay. But shou’d your Husband know it?—
Land. Husband—marry come up, Husbands know Wives secrets? No, sure, the World’s not so bad yet—where do your things lie? and for what?
Gay. Five Pounds equips me—Rag can conduct you—but I say you shall not go, I’ve sworn.
Land. Meddle with your matters—let me see, the Caudle Cup that Molly’s Grandmother left her, will pawn for about that sum—I’ll sneak it out—well, Sir, you shall have your things presently—trouble not your head, but expect me.
[Ex. Landlady and Rag.
Gay. Was ever man put to such beastly shifts? ‘Sdeath, how she stunk— my senses are most luxuriously regal’d—there’s my perpetual Musick too—
[Knocking of Hammers on a Anvil.
The ringing of Bells is an Ass to’t.
Enter Rag.
Rag. Sir, there’s one in a Coach below wou’d speak to you.
Gay. With me, and in a Coach! who can it be?
Rag. The Devil, I think, for he has a strange Countenance.
Gay. The Devil! shew your self a Rascal of Parts, Sirrah, and wait on him up with Ceremony.
Rag. Who, the Devil, Sir?
Gay. Ay, the Devil, Sir, if you mean to thrive. [Exit Rag. Who can this be—but see he comes to inform me—withdraw.
Enter Bredwel drest like a Devil.
Bred. I come to bring you this— [Gives him a Letter.
Gayman reads.
Receive what Love and Fortune present you with, be grateful
and be silent, or ‘twill vanish like a dream, and leave you
more wretched that it found You.
Adieu.
—Hah—
[Gives him a bag of Money.
Bred. Nay, view it, Sir, ‘tis all substantial Gold.
Gay. Now dare not I ask one civil question for fear it vanish all— [Aside. But I may ask, how ‘tis I ought to pay for this great Bounty.
Bred. Sir, all the Pay is Secrecy—
Gay. And is this all that is required, Sir?
Bred. No, you’re invited to the Shades below.
Gay. Hum, Shades below!—I am not prepared for such a Journey, Sir.
Bred. If you have Courage, Youth or Love, you’ll follow me:
When Night’s black Curtain’s drawn around the World,
And mortal Eyes are safely lockt in sleep, [In feign’d Heroick Tone.
And no bold Spy dares view when Gods caress,
Then I’ll conduct thee to the Banks of Bliss.
—Durst thou not trust me?
Gay. Yes, sure, on such substantial security. [Hugs the Bag.
Bred. Just when the Day is vanish’d into Night, And only twinkling Stars inform the World, Near to the Corner of the silent Wall, In Fields of Lincoln’s-Inn, thy Spirit shall meet thee. —Farewell. [Goes out.
Gay. Hum—I am awake sure, and this is Gold I grasp.
I could not see this Devil’s cloven Foot;
Nor am I such a Coxcomb to believe,
But he was as substantial as his Gold.
Spirits, Ghosts, Hobgoblins, Furies, Fiends and Devils,
I’ve often heard old Wives fright Fools and Children with,
Which, once arriv’d to common Sense, they laugh at.
—No, I am for things possible and Natural:
Some Female Devil, old and damn’d to Ugliness,
And past all Hopes of Courtship and Address,
Full of another Devil called Desire,
Has seen this Face—this Shape—this Youth,
And thinks it’s worth her Hire. It must be so:
I must moil on in the damn’d dirty Road,
And sure such Pay will make the Journey easy:
And for the Price of the dull drudging Night,
All Day I’ll purchase new and fresh Delight.
[Exit.
SCENE II. Sir Feeble’s House.
Enter Leticia, pursu’d by Phillis.
Phil. Why, Madam, do you leave the Garden, For this retreat to Melancholy?
Let. Because it suits my Fortune and my Humour; And even thy Presence wou’d afflict me now.
Phil. Madam, I was sent after you; my Lady Fulbank has challeng’d Sir Feeble at Bowls, and stakes a Ring of fifty Pound against his new Chariot.
Let. Tell him I wish him Luck in every thing, But in his Love to me— Go tell him I am viewing of the Garden.
[Ex. Phillis.
Enter Bellmour at a distance behind her.
—Blest be this kind Retreat, this ‘lone Occasion,
That lends a short Cessation to my Torments,
And gives me leave to vent my Sighs and Tears. [Weeps.
Bel. And doubly blest be all the Powers of Love, That give me this dear Opportunity.
Let. Where were you, all ye pitying Gods of Love?
That once seem’d pleas’d at Bellmour’s Flame and mine,
And smiling join’d our Hearts, our sacred Vows,
And spread your Wings, and held your Torches high.
Bel. Oh—
[She starts, and pauses.
Let. Where were you now? When this unequal Marriage
Gave me from all my Joys, gave me from Bellmour;
Your Wings were flag’d, your Torches bent to Earth,
And all your little Bonnets veil’d your Eyes;
You saw not, or were deaf and pitiless.
Bel. Oh my Leticia!
Let. Hah, ‘tis there again; that very voice was Bellmour’s: Where art thou, Oh thou lovely charming Shade? For sure thou canst not take a Shape to fright me. —What art thou?—speak! [Not looking behind her yet for fear.
Bel. Thy constant true Adorer, Who all this fatal Day has haunted thee To ease his tortur’d Soul. [Approaching nearer.
Let. My Heart is well acquainted with that Voice, But Oh, my Eyes dare not encounter thee. [Speaking with signs of fear.
Bel. Is it because thou’st broken all thy Vows? —Take to thee Courage, and behold thy Slaughters.
Let. Yes, though the Sight wou’d blast me, I wou’d view it. [Turns. —’Tis he—’tis very Bellmour! or so like— I cannot doubt but thou deserv’st this Welcome. [Embraces him.
Bel. Oh my Leticia!
Let. I’m sure I grasp not Air; thou art no Fantom: Thy Arms return not empty to my Bosom, But meet a solid Treasure.
Bel. A Treasure thou so easily threw’st away; A Riddle simple Love ne’er understood.
Let. Alas, I heard, my Bellmour, thou wert dead.
Bel. And was it thus you mourn’d my Funeral?
Let. I will not justify my hated Crime: But Oh! remember I was poor and helpless, And much reduc’d, and much impos’d upon.
[Bellmour weeps.
Bel. And Want compell’d thee to this wretched Marriage—did it?
Let. ‘Tis not a Marriage, since my Bellmour lives; The Consummation were Adultery. I was thy Wife before, wo’t thou deny me?
Bel. No, by those Powers that heard our mutual Vows, Those Vows that tie us faster than dull Priests.
Let. But oh my Bellmour, thy sad Circumstances Permit thee not to make a publick Claim: Thou art proscribed, and diest if thou art seen.
Bel. Alas!
Let. Yet I wou’d wander with thee o’er the World, And share thy humblest Fortune with thy Love.
Bel. Is’t possible, Leticia, thou wou’dst fly To foreign Shores with me?
Let. Can Bellmour doubt the Soul he knows so well?
Bel. Perhaps in time the King may find my Innocence, and may extend his Mercy: Mean time I’ll make provision for our Flight.
Let. But how ‘twixt this and that can I defend My self from the loath’d Arms of an impatient Dotard, That I may come a spotless Maid to thee?
Bel. Thy native Modesty and my Industry
Shall well enough secure us.
Feign your nice Virgin-Cautions all the day;
Then trust at night to my Conduct to preserve thee.
—And wilt thou yet be mine? Oh, swear a-new,
Give me again thy Faith, thy Vows, thy Soul;
For mine’s so sick with this Day’s fatal Business,
It needs a Cordial of that mighty strength;
Swear—swear, so as if thou break’st—
Thou mayst be—any thing—but damn’d, Leticia.
Let. Thus then, and hear me, Heaven! [Kneels.
Bel. And thus—I’ll listen to thee. [Kneels.
Enter Sir Feeble, L. Fulbank, Sir Cautious.
Sir Feeb. Lette, Lette, Lette, where are you, little Rogue, Lette?
—Hah—hum—what’s here—
Bel. snatches her to his Bosom, as if she fainted.
Bel. Oh Heavens, she’s gone, she’s gone!
Sir Feeb. Gone—whither is she gone?—it seems she had the Wit to take good Company with her—
[The Women go to her, take her up.
Bel. She’s gone to Heaven, Sir, for ought I know.
Sir Cau. She was resolv’d to go in a young Fellow’s Arms, I see.
Sir Feeb. Go to, Francis—go to.
L. Ful. Stand back, Sir, she recovers.
Bel. Alas, I found her dead upon the Floor, —Shou’d I have left her so—if I had known your mind—
Sir Feeb. Was it so—was it so?—Got so, by no means, Francis.—
Let. Pardon him, Sir, for surely I had died, Bur for his timely coming.
Sir Feeb. Alas, poor Pupsey—was it sick—look here—here’s a fine thing to make it well again. Come, buss, and it shall have it—oh, how I long for Night. Ralph, are the Fidlers ready?
Ral. They are tuning in the Hall, Sir.
Sir Feeb. That’s well, they know my mind. I hate that same twang, twang, twang, fum, fum, fum, tweedle, tweedle, tweedle, then scrue go the Pins, till a man’s Teeth are on an edge; then snap, says a small Gut, and there we are at a loss again. I long to be in bed with a—hey tredodle, tredodle, tredodle,—with a hay tredool, tredodle, tredo— [Dancing and playing on his Stick like a Flute.
Sir Cau. A prudent Man would reserve himself—Good-facks, I danc’d so on my Wedding-day, that when I came to Bed, to my Shame be it spoken, I fell fast asleep, and slept till morning.
L. Ful. Where was your Wisdom then, Sir Cautious? But I know what a wise Woman ought to have done.
Sir Feeb. Odsbobs, that’s Wormwood, that’s Wormwood—I shall have my young Hussey set a-gog too; she’ll hear there are better things in the World than she has at home, and then odsbobs, and then they’ll ha’t, adod, they will, Sir Cautious. Ever while you live, keep a Wife ignorant, unless a Man be as brisk as his Neighbours.
Sir Cau. A wise Man will keep ‘em from baudy Christnings then, and
Gossipings.
Sir Feeb. Christnings and Gossipings! why, they are the very Schools that debauch our Wives, as Dancing-Schools do our Daughters.
Sir Cau. Ay, when the overjoy’d good Man invites ‘em all against that time Twelve-month: Oh, he’s a dear Man, cries one—I must marry, cries another, here’s a Man indeed—my Husband—God help him—
Sir Feeb. Then he falls to telling of her Grievance, till (half maudlin) she weeps again: Just my Condition, cries a third: so the Frolick goes round, and we poor Cuckolds are anatomiz’d, and turn’d the right side outwards; adsbobs, we are, Sir Cautious.
Sir Cau. Ay, ay, this Grievance ought to be redrest, Sir Feeble; the grave and sober part o’th’ Nation are hereby ridicul’d,—Ay, and cuckolded too for ought I know.
L. Ful. Wise Men knowing this, should not expose their Infirmities, by marrying us young Wenches; who, without Instruction, find how we are impos’d upon.
Enter Fiddles playing, Mr. Bearjest and Diana dancing; Bredwel, Noisey, &c.
L. Ful. So, Cousin, I see you have found the way to Mrs. Dy’s Heart.
Bea. Who, I, my dear Lady Aunt? I never knew but one way to a Woman’s Heart, and that road I have not yet travelled; for my Uncle, who is a wise Man, says Matrimony is a sort of a—kind of a—as it were, d’ye see, of a Voyage, which every Man of Fortune is bound to make one time or other: and Madam—I am, as it were—a bold Adventurer.
Dia. And are you sure, Sir, you will venture on me?
Bea. Sure!—I thank you for that—as if I could not believe my Uncle; For in this case a young Heir has no more to do, but to come and see, settle, marry, and use you scurvily.
Dia. How, Sir, scurvily?
Bea. Very scurvily, that is to say, be always fashionably drunk, despise the Tyranny of your Bed, and reign absolutely—keep a Seraglio of Women, and let my Bastard Issue inherit; be seen once a Quarter, or so, with you in the Park for Countenance, where we loll two several ways in the gilt Coach like Janus, or a Spread-Eagle.
Dia. And do you expect I shou’d be honest the while?
Bea. Heaven forbid, not I, I have not met with that Wonder in all my Travels.
L. Ful. How, Sir, not an honest Woman?
Bea. Except my Lady Aunt—Nay, as I am a Gentleman and the first of my Family—you shall pardon me, here—cuff me, cuff me soundly. [Kneels to her.
Enter Gayman richly drest.
Gay. This Love’s a damn’d bewitching thing—Now though I should lose my Assignation with my Devil, I cannot hold from seeing Julia to night: hah—there, and with a Fop at her Feet.—Oh Vanity of Woman! [Softly pulls her.
L. Ful. Oh, Sir, you’re welcome from Northamptonshire.
Gay. Hum—surely she knows the Cheat. [Aside.
L. Ful. You are so gay, you save me, Sir, the labour of asking if your
Uncle be alive.
Gay. Pray Heaven she have not found my Circumstances!
But if she have, Confidence must assist me— [Aside.
—And, Madam, you’re too gay for me to inquire
Whether you are that Julia which I left you?
L. Ful. Oh, doubtless, Sir—
Gay. But why the Devil do I ask—Yes, you are still the same; one of those hoiting Ladies, that love nothing like Fool and Fiddle; Crouds of Fops; had rather be publickly, though dully, flatter’d, than privately ador’d: you love to pass for the Wit of the Company, by talking all and loud.
L. Ful. Rail on, till you have made me think my Virtue at so low Ebb, it should submit to you.
Gay. What—I’m not discreet enough;
I’ll babble all in my next high Debauch,
Boast of your Favours, and describe your Charms
To every wishing Fool.
L. Ful. Or make most filthy Verses of me—
Under the name of Cloris—you Philander,
Who in leud Rhimes confess the dear Appointment;
What Hour, and where, how silent was the Night,
How full of Love your Eyes, and wishing mine.
Faith, no; if you can afford me a Lease of your Love,
Till the old Gentleman my Husband depart this wicked World,
I’m for the Bargain.
Sir Cau. Hum—what’s here, a young Spark at my Wife?
[Goes about ‘em.
Gay. Unreasonable Julia, is that all,
My Love, my Sufferings, and my Vows must hope?
Set me an Age—say when you will be kind,
And I will languish out in starving Wish:
But thus to gape for Legacies of Love,
Till Youth be past Enjoyment,
The Devil I will as soon—farewel.
[Offers to go.
L. Ful. Stay, I conjure you stay.
Gay. And lose my Assignation with my Devil. [Aside.
Sir Cau. ‘Tis so, ay, ay, ‘tis so—and wise Men will perceive it; ‘tis here—here in my forehead, it more than buds; it sprouts, it flourishes.
Sir Feeb. So, that young Gentleman has nettled him, stung him to the quick: I hope he’ll chain her up—the Gad-Bee’s in his Quonundrum—in Charity I’ll relieve him—Come, my Lady Fulbank, the Night grows old upon our hands; to dancing, to jiggiting—Come, shall I lead your Ladyship?
L. Ful. No, Sir, you see I am better provided— [Takes Gayman’s hand.
Sir Cau. Ay, no doubt on’t, a Pox on him for a young handsome Dog.
[They dance all.
Sir Feeb. Very well, very well, now the Posset; and then—ods bobs, and then—
Dia. And then we’ll have t’other Dance.
Sir Feeb. Away, Girls, away, and steal the Bride to Bed; they have a deal to do upon their Wedding-nights; and what with the tedious Ceremonies of dressing and undressing, the smutty Lectures of the Women, by way of Instruction, and the little Stratagems of the young Wenches —odds bobs, a Man’s cozen’d of half his Night: Come, Gentlemen, one Bottle, and then—we’ll toss the Stocking.
[Exeunt all but L. Ful. Bred, who are talking, and Gayman.
L. Ful. But dost thou think he’ll come?
Bred. I do believe so, Madam—
L. Ful. Be sure you contrive it so, he may not know whither, or to whom he comes.
Bred. I warrant you, Madam, for our Parts. [Exit Bredwel, stealing out Gayman.
L. Ful. How now, what, departing?
Gay. You are going to the Bride-Chamber.
L. Ful. No matter, you shall stay—
Gay. I hate to have you in a Croud.
L. Ful. Can you deny me—will you not give me one lone hour i’th’
Garden?
Gay. Where we shall only tantalize each other with dull kissing, and part with the same Appetite we met—No, Madam; besides, I have business—
L. Ful. Some Assignation—is it so indeed?
Gay. Away, you cannot think me such a Traitor; ‘tis more important business—
L. Ful. Oh, ‘tis too late for business—let to morrow serve.
Gay. By no means—the Gentleman is to go out of Town.
L. Ful. Rise the earlier then—
Gay.—But, Madam, the Gentleman lies dangerously—sick—and should he die—
L. Ful. ‘Tis not a dying Uncle, I hope, Sir?
Gay. Hum—
L. Ful. The Gentleman a dying, and to go out of Town to morrow?
Gay. Ay—a—he goes—in a Litter—’tis his Fancy, Madam—Change of Air may recover him.
L. Ful. So may your change of Mistress do me, Sir—farewel.
[Goes out.
Gay. Stay, Julia—Devil, be damn’d—for you shall tempt no more,
I’ll love and be undone—but she is gone—
And if I stay, the most that I shall gain
Is but a reconciling Look, or Kiss.
No, my kind Goblin—
I’ll keep my Word with thee, as the least Evil;
A tantalizing Woman’s worse than Devil.
[Exit.
ACT III.
SCENE I. Sir Feeble’s House.
The Second Song before the Entry.
A SONG made by Mr. Cheek.
_No more, Lucinda, ah! expose no more
To the admiring World those conquering Charms:
In vain all day unhappy Men adore,
What the kind Night gives to my longing Arms.
Their vain Attempts can ne’er successful prove,
Whilst I so well maintain the Fort of Love.
Yet to the World with so bewitching Arts,
Your dazling Beauty you around display,
And triumph in the Spoils of broken Hearts,
That sink beneath your feet, and croud your Way.
Ah! suffer now your Cruelty to cease,
And to a fruitless War prefer a Peace_.
Enter Ralph with Light, Sir Feeble, and Bellmour
Sir Feeb. So, so, they’re gone—Come, Francis, you shall have the Honour of undressing me for the Encounter; but ‘twill be a sweet one, Francis.
Bel. Hell take him, how he teazes me! [Undressing all the while.
Sir Feeb. But is the young Rogue laid, Francis—is she stoln to Bed?
What Tricks the young Baggages have to whet a man’s Appetite?
Bel. Ay, Sir—Pox on him—he will raise my Anger up to Madness, and I shall kill him to prevent his going to Bed to her. [Aside.
Sir Feeb. A pise of those Bandstrings—the more haste the less speed.
Bel. Be it so in all things, I beseech thee, Venus.
Sir Feeb. Thy aid a little, Francis—oh, oh—thou choakest me, ’.bobs, what dost mean? [Pinches him by the Throat.
Bel. You had so hamper’d ‘em, Sir—the Devil’s very mischievous in me. [Aside.
Sir Feeb. Come, come, quick, good Francis, adod, I’m as yare as a
Hawk at the young Wanton—nimbly, good Francis, untruss, untruss.
Bel. Cramps seize ye—what shall I do? the near Approach distracts me. [Aside.
Sir Feeb. So, so, my Breeches, good Francis. But well, Francis, how dost think I got the young Jade my Wife?
Bel. With five hundred pounds a year Jointure, Sir.
Sir Feeb. No, that wou’d not do, the Baggage was damnably in love with a young Fellow they call Bellmour, a handsome young Rascal he was, they say, that’s truth on’t; and a pretty Estate: but happening to kill a Man he was forced to fly.
Bel. That was great pity, Sir.
Sir Feeb. Pity! hang him, Rogue, ‘sbobs, and all the young Fellows in the Town deserve it; we can never keep our Wives and Daughters honest for rampant young Dogs; and an old Fellow cannot put in amongst ‘em, under being undone, with Presenting, and the Devil and all. But what dost think I did? being damnably in love—I feign’d a Letter as from the Hague, wherein was a Relation of this same Bellmour’s being hang’d.
Bel. Is’t possible, Sir, you cou’d devise such News?
Sir Feeb. Possible, Man! I did it, I did it; she swooned at the News, shut her self up a whole Month in her Chamber; but I presented high: she sigh’d and wept, and swore she’d never marry: still I presented; she hated, loathed, spit upon me; still, adod, I presented, till I presented my self effectually in Church to her; for she at last wisely considered her Vows were cancell’d, since Bellmour was hang’d.
Bel. Faith, Sir, this was very cruel, to take away his Fame, and then his Mistress.
Sir Feeb. Cruel! thou’rt an Ass, we are but even with the brisk
Rogues, for they take away our Fame, cuckold us, and take away our
Wives: so, so, my Cap, Francis.
Bel. And do you think this Marriage lawful, Sir?
Sir Feeb. Lawful! it shall be when I’ve had Livery and Seisin of her Body—and that shall be presently Rogue,—quick—besides, this Bellmour dares as well be hang’d as come into England.
Bel. If he gets his Pardon, Sir—
Sir Feeb. Pardon! no, no, I have took care for that, for I have, you must know, got his Pardon already.
Bel. How, Sir! got his Pardon, that’s some amends for robbing him of his Wife.
Sir Feeb. Hold, honest Francis: What, dost think ‘twas in kindness to him! No, you Fool, I got his Pardon my self, that no body else should have it, so that if he gets any body to speak to his Majesty for it, his Majesty cries he has granted it; but for want of my appearance, he’s defunct, trust up, hang’d, Francis.
Bel. This is the most excellent revenge I ever heard of.
Sir Feeb. Ay, I learnt it of a great Politician of our Times.
Bel. But have you got his Pardon?—
Sir Feeb. I’ve done’t, I’ve done’t; Pox on him, it cost me five hundred pounds though: Here ‘tis, my Solicitor brought it me this Evening. [Gives it him.
Bel. This was a lucky hit—and if it scape me, let me be hang’d by a Trick indeed. [Aside.
Sir Feeb. So, put it into my Cabinet,—safe, Francis, safe.
Bel. Safe, I’ll warrant you, Sir.
Sir Feeb. My Gown, quick, quick,—t’other Sleeve, Man—so now my
Night-cap; well, I’ll in, throw open my Gown to fright away the Women,
and jump into her Arms.
[Exit Sir Feeble.
Bel. He’s gone, quickly, oh Love inspire me!
Enter a Footman.
Foot. Sir, my Master, Sir Cautious Fulbank, left his Watch on the little Parlor-Table to night, and bid me call for’t.
Bel. Hah—the Bridegroom has it, Sir, who is just gone to Bed, it shall be sent him in the Morning.
Foot. ‘Tis very well, Sir—your Servant— [Exit Footman.
Bel. Let me see—here is the Watch, I took it up to keep for him—but his sending has inspir’d me with a sudden Stratagem, that will do better than Force, to secure the poor trembling Leticia—who, I am sure, is dying with her Fears.
[Exit Bellmour.
SCENE II. _Changes to the Bed-chamber; Leticia in an undressing by the Women at the Table_.
Enter to them Sir Feeble Fainwou’d.
Sir Feeb. What’s here? what’s here? the prating Women still. Ods bobs, what, not in Bed yet? for shame of Love, Leticia.
Let. For shame of Modesty, Sir; you wou’d not have me go to Bed before all this Company.
Sir Feeb. What, the Women! why, they must see you laid, ‘tis the fashion.
Let. What, with a Man? I wou’d not for the World. Oh, Bellmour, where art thou with all thy promised aid? [Aside.
Dia. Nay, Madam, we shou’d see you laid indeed.
Let. First in my Grave, Diana.
Sir Feeb. Ods bobs, here’s a Compact amongst the Women—High Treason against the Bridegroom—therefore, Ladies, withdraw, or, adod, I’ll lock you all in. [Throws open his Gown, they run all away, he locks the Door.
So, so, now we’re alone, Leticia—off with this foolish Modesty, and Night Gown, and slide into my Arms. [She runs from him. H’e’, my little Puskin—what, fly me, my coy Daphne, [He pursues her. Knocking. Hah—who’s that knocks—who’s there?—
Bel. [Within.] ‘Tis I, Sir, ‘tis I, open the door presently.
Sir Feeb. Why, what’s the matter, is the House o-fire?
Bel. [Within.] Worse, Sir, worse—
[_He opens the door, Bellmour enters with the Watch in his hand_.
Let. ‘Tis Bellmour’s Voice!
Bel. Oh, Sir, do you know this Watch?
Sir Feeb. This Watch!
Bel. Ay, Sir, this Watch?
Sir Feeb. This Watch!—why, prithee, why dost tell me of a Watch? ‘tis Sir Cautious Fulbank’s Watch; what then, what a Pox dost trouble me with Watches? [Offers to put him out, he returns.
Bel. ‘Tis indeed his Watch, Sir, and by this Token he has sent for you, to come immediately to his House, Sir.
Sir Feeb. What a Devil, art mad, Francis? or is his Worship mad, or does he think me mad?—go, prithee tell him I’ll come to him to morrow. [Goes to put him out.
Bel. To morrow, Sir! why all our Throats may be cut before to morrow.
Sir Feeb. What sayst thou, Throat cut?
Bel. Why, the City’s up in Arms, Sir, and all the Aldermen are met at Guild-Hall; some damnable Plot, Sir.
Sir Feeb. Hah—Plot—the Aldermen met at Guild-Hall!—hum—why, let ’.m meet, I’ll not lose this Night to save the Nation.
Let. Wou’d you to bed, Sir, when the weighty Affairs of State require your Presence?
Sir Feeb.—Hum—met at Guild-Hall;—my Clothes, my Gown again, Francis, I’ll out—out! what, upon my Wedding-night? No—I’ll in. [Putting on his Gown pausing, pulls it off again.
Let. For shame, Sir, shall the Reverend Council of the City debate without you?
Sir Feeb. Ay, that’s true, that’s true; come truss again, Francis, truss again—yet now I think on’t, Francis, prithee run thee to the Hall, and tell ‘em ‘tis my Wedding-night, d’ye see, Francis; and let some body give my Voice for—
Bel. What, Sir?
Sir Feeb. Adod, I cannot tell; up in Arms, say you! why, let ‘em fight
Dog, fight Bear; mun, I’ll to Bed—go—
Let. And shall his Majesty’s Service and his Safety lie unregarded for a slight Woman, Sir?
Sir Feeb. Hum, his Majesty!—come, haste, Francis, I’ll away, and call Ralph, and the Footmen, and bid ‘em arm; each Man shoulder his Musket, and advance his Pike—and bring my Artillery Implements quick—and let’s away: Pupsey—b’u’., Pupsey, I’ll bring it a fine thing yet before Morning, it may be—let’s away: I shall grow fond, and forget the business of the Nation—Come, follow me, Francis.—
[Exit Sir Feeble, Bellmour runs to Leticia.
Bel. Now, my Leticia, if thou e’er didst Love, If ever thou design’st to make me blest—Without delay fly this adulterous Bed.
Sir Feeb. Why, Francis, where are you, Knave?
[_Sir Feeb. within_.
Bel. I must be gone, lest he suspect us—I’ll lose him, and return to thee immediately—get thy self ready.—
Let. I will not fail, my Love.
[Exit Bellmour.
Old Man forgive me—thou the Aggressor art,
Who rudely forc’d the Hand without the Heart.
She cannot from the Paths of Honour rove,
Whose Guide’s Religion, and whose End is Love.
[Exit.
SCENE III. Changes to a Wash-house, or Out-House.
Enter with a Dark-lanthorn Bredwel disguis’d like a Devil, leading Gayman.
Bred. Stay here till I give notice of your coming. [Exit Bredwel, leaves his Dark-Lanthorn.
Gay. Kind Light, a little of your aid—now must I be peeping, though my Curiosity should lose me all—hah—Zouns, what here—a Hovel or a Hog-sty? hum, see the Wickedness of Man, that I should find no time to swear in, but just when I’m in the Devil’s Clutches.
Enter Pert, as an old Woman, with a Staff.
Old W. Good Even to you, fair Sir.
Gay. Ha—defend me; if this be she, I must rival the Devil, that’s certain.
Old W. Come, young Gentleman, dare not you venture?
Gay. He must be as hot as Vesuvius that does—I shall never earn my Morning’s Present.
Old W. What, do you fear a longing Woman, Sir?
Gay. The Devil I do—this is a damn’d Preparation to Love.
Old W. Why stand you gazing, Sir? A Woman’s Passion is like the Tide, it stays for no man when the hour is come—
Gay. I’m sorry I have took it at its Turning; I’m sure mine’s ebbing out as fast.
Old W. Will you not speak, Sir—will you not on?
Gay. I wou’d fain ask—a civil Question or two first.
Old W. You know too much Curiosity lost Paradise.
Gay. Why, there’s it now.
Old W. Fortune and Love invite you, if you dare follow me.
Gay. This is the first thing in Petticoats that ever dar’d me in vain. Were I but sure she were but human now—for sundry Considerations she might down—but I will on—
[She goes, he follows; both go out.
SCENE IV. _A Chamber in the Apartments of L. _Fulbank.
Enter Old Woman followed by Gayman in the dark.
[Soft Musick plays, she leaves him.
Gay.—Hah, Musick—and Excellent!
SONG.
_Oh! Love, that stronger art than Wine,
Pleasing Delusion, Witchery divine,
Want to be prized above all Wealth,
Disease that has more Joys than Health;
Though we blaspheme thee in our Pain,
And of thy Tyranny complain,
We all are bettered by thy Reign.
What Reason never can bestow,
We to this useful Passion owe.
Love wakes the dull from sluggish Ease,
And learns a Clown the Art to please:
Humbles the Vain, kindles the Cold,
Makes Misers free, and Cowards bold.
‘Tis he reforms the Sot from Drink,
And teaches airy Fops to think.
When full brute Appetite is fed,
And choak’d the Glutton lies, and dead;
Thou new Spirits dost dispense,
And fine’st the gross Delights of Sense.
Virtue’s unconquerable Aid,
That against Nature can persuade;
And makes a roving Mind retire
Within the Bounds of just Desire.
Chearer of Age, Youth’s kind Unrest,
And half the Heaven of the blest_.
Gay. Ah, Julia, Julia! if this soft Preparation
Were but to bring me to thy dear Embraces;
What different Motions wou’d surround my Soul,
From what perplex it now.
Enter Nymphs and Shepherds, and dance.
[Then two dance alone. All go out but Pert and a Shepherd.
—If these be Devils, they are obliging ones:
I did not care if I ventur’d on that last Female Fiend.
Man sings.
Cease your Wonder, cease your Guess,
Whence arrives your happiness.
Cease your Wonder, cease your Pain,
Human Fancy is in vain.
Chorus.
’.is enough, you once shall find, Fortune may to Worth be kind; [gives him Gold. And Love can leave off being blind.
Pert sings.
You, before you enter here On this sacred Ring must swear, [Puts it on his Finger, holds his Hand. _By the Figure which is round, Your Passion constant and profound; By the Adamantine Stone, To be fixt to one alone:
By the Lustre, which is true,
Ne’er to break your sacred Vow.
Lastly, by the Gold that’s try’d,
For Love all Dangers to abide_.
They all dance about him, while those same two sing.
Man. Once about him let us move,
To confirm him true to Love. [bis.
Pert. Twice with mystick turning Feet,
Make him silent and discreet. [bis.
Man. Thrice about him let us tread,
To keep him ever young in Bed. [bis.
Gives him another part.
Man. Forget Aminta’s proud Disdain;
Haste here, and sigh no more in vain,
The Joy of Love without the Pain.
Pert. That God repents his former Slights,
And Fortune thus your Faith requites.
Both. Forget Aminta’s proud Disdain;
Then taste, and sigh no more in vain,
The Joy of Love without the Pain,
The Joy of Love without the Pain.
[Exeunt all Dancers. Looks on himself, and feels about him.
Gay. What the Devil can all this mean? If there be a Woman in the Case—sure I have not liv’d so bad a Life, to gain the dull Reputation of so modest a Coxcomb, but that a Female might down with me, without all this Ceremony. Is it care of her Honour?—that cannot be—this Age affords none so nice: Nor Fiend nor Goddess can she be, for these I saw were Mortal. No—’tis a Woman—I am positive. Not young nor handsom, for then Vanity had made her glory to have been seen. No—since ‘tis resolved, a Woman—she must be old and ugly, and will not balk my Fancy with her sight, but baits me more with this essential Beauty.
Well—be she young or old, Woman or Devil, She pays, and I’ll endeavour to be civil.
[Exit.
SCENE V. In the same House. The flat Scene of the Hall.
After a Knocking, enter Bredwel in his masking Habit, with his Vizard in the one Hand, and a Light in t’other, in haste.
Bred. Hah, knocking so late at our Gate— [Opens the door.
Enter Sir Feeble drest, and arm’d Cap-a-pee, with a broad Waste-Belt stuck round with Pistols, a Helmet, Scarf, Buff-coat and half Pike.
Sir Feeb. How now, how now, what’s the matter here?
Bred. Matter, what, is my Lady’s innocent Intrigue found out?— Heavens, Sir, what makes you here in this warlike Equipage?
Sir Feeb. What makes you in this showing Equipage, Sir?
Bred. I have been dancing among some of my Friends.
Sir Feeb. And I thought to have been fighting with some of my Friends.
Where’s Sir Cautious, where’s Sir Cautious?
Bred. Sir Cautious—Sir, in Bed.
Sir Feeb. Call him, call him—quickly, good Edward.
Bred. Sure my Lady’s Frolick is betray’d, and he comes to make Mischief. However, I’ll go and secure Mr. Gayman. [Exit Bredwel.
Enter Sir Cautious and Dick his Boy with Light.
Dick. Pray, Sir, go to Bed, here’s no Thieves; all’s still and well.
Sir Cau. This last Night’s misfortune of mine, Dick, has kept me waking, and methought all night, I heard a kind of a silent Noise. I am still afraid of Thieves; mercy upon me, to lose five hundred Guineas at one clap, Dick.—Hah—bless me! what’s yonder? Blow the great Horn, Dick—Thieves—Murder, Murder!
Sir Feeb. Why, what a Pox, are you mad? ‘Tis I, ‘tis I, man.
Sir Cau. I, who am I? Speak—declare—pronounce.
Sir Feeb. Your Friend, old Feeble Fainwou’d.
Sir Cau. How, Sir Feeble! At this late hour, and on his Wedding-Night —why, what’s the matter, Sir—is it Peace or War with you?
Sir Feeb. A Mistake, a Mistake, proceed to the business, good Brother, for time you know is precious.
Sir Cau. Some strange Catastrophe has happened between him and his
Wife to Night, and makes him disturb me thus— [Aside.
—Come, sit, good Brother, and to the business as you say—
[_They sit one at one end of the Table, the other at the other;
Dick sets down the Light and goes out—both sit gaping and
staring, and expecting when either should speak_.
Sir Feeb. As soon as you please, Sir.
Lord, how wildly he stares! He’s much disturb’d in’s mind
—Well, Sir, let us be brief—
Sir Cau. As brief as you please, Sir—Well, Brother—
[Pausing still.
Sir Feeb. So, Sir.
Sir Cau. How strangely he stares and gapes—some deep concern.
Sir Feeb. Hum—hum—
Sir Cau. I listen to you, advance—
Sir Feeb. Sir?
Sir Cau. A very distracted Countenance—pray Heaven he be not mad, and a young Wife is able to make an old Fellow mad, that’s the Truth on’t. [Aside.
Sir Feeb. Sure ‘tis something of his Lady—he’s so loth to bring it out
—I am sorry you are thus disturb’d, Sir.
Sir Cau. No disturbance to serve a Friend—
Sir Feeb. I think I am your Friend indeed, Sir Cautious, or I wou’d not have been here upon my Wedding-Night.
Sir Cau. His Wedding-Night—there lies his Grief, poor Heart! Perhaps she has cuckolded him already— [Aside. —Well, come, Brother—many such things are done—
Sir Feeb. Done—hum—come, out with it; Brother—what troubles you to
Night?
Sir Cau. Troubles me—why, knows he I am robb’d? [Aside.
Sir Feeb. I may perhaps restore you to the Rest you’ve lost.
Sir Cau. The Rest; why, have I lost more since? Why, know you then who did it?—Oh, how I’d be reveng’d upon the Rascal!
Sir Feeb. ‘Tis—Jealousy, the old Worm that bites— [Aside.
Who is it you suspect?
Sir Cau. Alas, I know not whom to suspect, I wou’d I did; but if you cou’d discover him—I wou’d so swinge him—
Sir Feeb. I know him—what, do you take me for a Pimp, Sir? I know him—there’s your Watch again, Sir; I’m your Friend, but no Pimp, Sir— [Rises in Rage.
Sir Cau. My Watch; I thank you, Sir—but why Pimp, Sir?
Sir Feeb. Oh, a very thriving Calling, Sir,—and I have a young Wife to practise with. I know your Rogues.
Sir Cau. A young Wife!—’tis so, his Gentlewoman has been at
Hot-Cockles without her Husband, and he’s Horn-mad upon’t. I suspected
her being so close in with his Nephew—in a Fit with a Pox—[Aside.]
Come, come, Sir Feeble, ‘tis many an honest Man’s Fortune.
Sir Feeb. I grant it, Sir—but to the business, Sir, I came for.
Sir Cau. With all my Soul—
[They sit gaping, and expecting when either should speak. Enter Bredwel and Gayman at the door. Bredwel sees them, and puts Gayman_ back again_.
Bred. Hah—Sir Feeble, and Sir Cautious there—what shall I do? For this way we must pass, and to carry him back wou’d discover my Lady to him, betray all, and spoil the Jest—retire, Sir, your Life depends upon your being unseen. [Go out.
Sir Feeb. Well, Sir, do you not know that I am married, Sir? and this my Wedding Night?
Sir Cau. Very good, Sir.
Sir Feeb. And that I long to be in bed?
Sir Cau. Very well, Sir.
Sir Feeb. Very good, Sir, and very well, Sir—why then what the Devil do I make here, Sir? [Rises in a rage.
Sir Cau. Patience, Brother—and forward.
Sir Feeb. Forward! lend me your hand, good Brother; let’s feel your
Pulse; how has this Night gone with you?
Sir Cau. Ha, ha, ha—this is the oddest Quonudrum—sure he’s mad—and yet now I think on’t, I have not slept to night, nor shall I ever sleep again, till I have found the Villain that robb’d me. [Weeps.
Sir Feeb. So, now he weeps—far gone—this Laughing and Weeping is a very bad sign! [Aside.] Come, let me lead you to your Bed.
Sir Cau. Mad, stark mad—no, now I’m up ‘tis no matter—pray ease your troubled Mind—I am your Friend—out with it—what, was it acted? or but designed?
Sir Feeb. How, Sir?
Sir Cau. Be not asham’d, I’m under the same Premunire I doubt, little better than a—but let that pass.
Sir Feeb. Have you any Proof?
Sir Cau. Proof of what, good Sir?
Sir Feeb. Of what! why, that you’re a Cuckold; Sir, a Cuckold, if you’ll ha’t.
Sir Cau. Cuckold! Sir, do ye know what ye say?
Sir Feeb. What I say?
Sir Cau. Ay, what you say, can you make this out?
Sir Feeb. I make it out!
Sir Cau. Ay, Sir—if you say it, and cannot make it out, you’re a—
Sir Feeb. What am I, Sir? What am I?
Sir Cau. A Cuckold as well as my self, Sir; and I’ll sue you for Scandalum Magnatum; I shall recover swinging Damages with a City-Jury.
Sir Feeb. I know of no such thing, Sir.
Sir Cau. No, Sir?
Sir Feeb. No, Sir.
Sir Cau. Then what wou’d you be at, Sir?
Sir Feeb. I be at, Sir! what wou’d you be at, Sir?
Sir Cau. Ha, ha, ha—why this is the strangest thing—to see an old Fellow, a Magistrate of the City, the first Night he’s married, forsake his Bride and Bed, and come arm’d Cap-a-pee, like Gargantua, to disturb another old Fellow, and banter him with a Tale of a Tub; and all to be-cuckold him here—in plain English, what’s your Business?
Sir Feeb. Why, what the Devil’s your Business, and you go to that?
Sir Cau. My Business, with whom?
Sir Feeb. With me, Sir, with me; what a Pox do you think I do here?
Sir Cau. ‘Tis that I wou’d be glad to know, Sir.
_Enter _Dick.
Sir Feeb. Here, Dick, remember I’ve brought back your Master’s Watch; next time he sends for me o’er Night, I’ll come to him in the Morning.
Sir Cau. Ha, ha, ha, I send for you! Go home and sleep, Sir—Ad, and ye keep your Wife waking to so little purpose, you’ll go near to be haunted with a Vision of Horns.
[Exit Dick.
Sir Feeb. Roguery, Knavery, to keep me from my Wife—Look ye, this was the Message I receiv’d. [Tells him seemingly.
Enter Bredwel to the Door in a white Sheet like a Ghost, speaking to Gayman who stands within.
Bred. Now, Sir, we are two to two, for this way you must pass or be taken in the Lady’s Lodgings—I’ll first adventure out to make you pass the safer, and that he may not, if possible, see Sir Cautious, whom I shall fright into a Trance, I am sure. And Sir Feeble, the Devil’s in’t if he know him. [Aside.
Gay. A brave kind Fellow this.
Enter Bredwel stalking on as a Ghost by them.
Sir Cau. Oh—undone,—undone; help, help;—I’m dead, I’m dead.
[Falls down on his Face; Sir Feeble stares,—and stands still.
Bred. As I could wish. [Aside, turns. Come on, thou ghastly thing, and follow me.