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NED, Ned, whither so fast? What, turn'd flincher! Why, you wo' not leave us?
Where are the Women? Pox I'm weary of guzling, and begin to think them the better Company.
Then thy Reason staggers, and thou'rt almost drunk.
No faith, but your Fools grow noisy—and if a man must endure the noise of words without Sence, I think the Women have the more Musical Voices, and become Nonsence better.
Why, they are at that end of the Gallery; retired to their Tea, and Scandal; according to their Antient Custome, after Dinner.—But I made a pretence of following you, because I had something to say to you in private, and I am not like to have many opportunities this Evening.
And here's this Cox-Comb most Critically come to interrupt you.
Boys, Boys, Lads, where are you? What do you give ground? Mortgage for a Bottle, ha? Careless, this is your trick; you're always spoiling Company by leav∣ing it.
And thou art always spoiling Company by coming into 't.
Pooh, ha, ha, ha, I know you envy me. Spite, proud spite, by the Gods! and burning envy.—I'le be judged by Mellefont here, who gives and takes Rail∣lery better, you or I. Pox, Man, when I say you spoil Company by leaving it, I mean you leave no body for the Company to Laugh at. I think there I was with you 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Mellefont.
O' my word, Brisk, that was a home thrust; you have silenc'd him.
Oh, my dear Mellefont, let me perish, if thou art not the Soul of Conversation, the very Essence of Wit, and Spirit of Wine,—the Deuce take me if there were three good things said; or one, understood, since thy Amputati∣on from the body of our Society.—He, I think that's pretty and Metaphorical enough: I' Gad I could not have said it out of thy Company.—Careless, ha?
Hum, ay, what is't?
O, Mon Coeur! What is't! nay gad I'll punish you for want of Apprehension: The Deuce take me if I tell you.
No, no, hang him, he has no tast,—but dear Brisk excuse me, I have a little business.
Prithee get thee gone; thou feest we are seri∣ous.
We'll come immediately, if you'll but go in, and keep up good Humour and Sense in the Company, prithee do, they'll fall asleep else.
I'gad so they will—well I will, I will, Gad you shall Command me from the Zenith to the Nadir.—But the Deuce take me if I say a good thing till you come.—But prithee dear Rogue, make haste, prithee make haste, I shall burst else.—And yonder your Uncle my Lord Touchwood swears, he'll Disinherit you, and Sir Paul Pliant threatens to disclaim you for a Son-in-Law, and my Lord Froth won't Dance at your Wedding to Morrow; nor the Deuce take me, I won't Write your Epithalamium—and see what a condition you're like to be brought to.
Well, I'll speak but three words, and follow you.
Enough, enough, Careless, bring your Apprehension along with you.
Pert Cox-Comb.
Faith 'tis a good natur'd Cox-Comb, and has very Entertaining follies—you must be more humane to him; at this Juncture it will do me Service.—I'll tell you, I would have mirth continued this day at any rate; tho' Pa∣tience purchase folly, and Attention be paid with noise: There are times when Sense may be unseasonable, as well as Truth. Prithee do thou wear none to day; but allow Brisk to have Wit, that thou may'st seem a Fool.
Why, how now, why this extravagant proposition?
O, I would have no room for serious design; for I am Jealous of a Plot. I would have Noise and Imperti∣nence keep my Lady Touchwood's Head from Working: For
Hell is not more busie than her Brain, nor contains more De∣vils, than that Imaginations.
I thought your fear of her had been over—is not to Morrow appointed for your Marriage with Cynthia, and her Father Sir Paul Plyant, come to settle the Writings, this day, on purpose?
True, but you shall judge whether I have not reason to be allarm'd. None besides you, and Maskwell, are acquaint∣ed with the Secret of my Aunt Touchwood's violent Passion for me. Since my first refusal of her Addresses, she has en∣deavour'd to do me all ill Offices with my Uncle; yet has managed 'em with that subtilty, that to him they have born the face of kindness; while her Malice, like a Dark Lant∣horn, onely shone upon me, where it was directed. Still it gave me less perplexity to prevent the success of her displea∣sure, than to avoid the importunities of her Love; and of two evils, I thought my self favour'd in her aversion: But whether urged by her despair, and the short prospect of time she saw, to accomplish her designs; whether the hopes of her revenge, or of her Love, terminated in the view of this my Marriage with Cynthia, I know not; but this Morning she surpriz'd me in my Bed.—
Was there ever such a Fury! 'tis well Nature has not put into her Sexes power to Ravish.—Well, bless us! Proceed. What follow'd?
What at first amaz'd me; for I look'd to have seen her in all the Transports of a slighted and revengful Woman: But when I expected Thunder from her Voice, and Lightning in her Eyes; I saw her melted into Tears, and hush'd into a Sigh. It was long before either of us spoke, Passion had ty'd her Tongue, and Amazement mine.—In short, the Consequence was thus, she omitted nothing, that the most violent Love could urge, or tender words express; which when she saw had no effect; but still I pleaded Honour and nearness of Blood to my Uncle; then came the Storm I fear'd at first: For starting from my Bed-side like a Fury, she flew to my Sword, and with much ado I prevented her doing me or her self a mischief: having disarm'd her; in a gust of Passi∣on
she left me, and in a resolution, confirm'd by a Thousand Curses, not to close her Eyes, till she had seen my ruin.
Exquisite Woman! But what the Devil does she think, thou hast no more Sense, than to get an Heir upon her Body to Disinherit thy self: for as I take it this Settle∣ment upon you, is, with a Proviso, that your Uncle have no Children.
It is so. Well, the Service that you are to do me, will be a Pleasure to your self; I must get you to engage my Lady Pliant all this Evening, that my Pious Aunt may not work her to her Interest. And if you chance to secure her to your self, you may incline her to mine. She's handsome, and knows it; is very silly, and thinks she has Sense, and has an old fond Husband.
I confess a very fair Foundation, for a Lover to build upon.
For my Lord Froth, he and his Wife will be sufficiently taken up, with admiring one another, and Brisk's Gallantry, as they call it. I'le observe my Uncle my self; and Iack Maskwell has promised me, to watch my Aunt narrowly, and give me notice upon any sus∣picion. As for Sir Paul, my wife Father-in-Law that is to be, my Dear Cynthia has such a share in his Fatherly fond∣ness, he would scarce make her a Moment uneasy, to have her happy hereafter.
So, you have Mann'd your Works: But I wish you may not have the weakest Guard, where the Ene∣my is strongest.
Maskwell, you mean; prithee why should you suspect him?
Faith I cannot help it, you know I never lik'd him; I am a little Superstitious in Physiognomy.
He has Obligations of Gratitude, to bind him to me; his Dependance upon my Uncle is through my means.
Upon your Aunt, you mean.
My Aunt!
I'm mistaken if there be not a Familiarity be∣tween them, you do not suspect: For all her Passion for you.
Pooh, pooh, nothing in the World but his de∣sign to do me Service; and he endeavours to be well in her esteem, that he may be able to effect it.
Well, I shall be glad to be mistaken; but, your Aunts Aversion in her Revenge, cannot be any way so effectually shown, as in bringing forth a Child to Disin∣herit you. She is Handsome and cunning, and naturally wanton. Maskwell is Flesh and Blood at best, and oppor∣tunities between them are frequent. His Affection to you, you have confessed, is grounded upon his Interest, that, you have transplanted; and should it take Root in my Lady, I don't see what you can expect from the Fruit.
I confess the Consequence is visible, were your suspi∣cions just,—but see the Company is broke up, let's meet 'em.
Out upon't, Nephew—leave your Father∣in-Law, and me, to maintain our ground against Young People.
I beg your Lordships Pardon.—We were j•…•…st returning.—
Were you, Son? Gadsbud much better as it is—good, strange! I swear I'm almost Tipsy—t'o∣ther Bottle would have been too powerful for me,—as sure as can be it would.—we wanted your Com∣pany, but Mr. Brisk—where is he? I swear and vow, he's a most facetious Person—and the best Com∣pany.—And, my Lord Froth, your Lordship is so merry a Man, he, he, he.
O foy, Sir Paul, what do you mean? Merry! O Barbarous! I'd as lieve you call'd me Fool.
Nay, I protest and vow now, 'tis true; when Mr. Brisk Jokes, your Lordships Laugh does so become you, he, he, he.
Ridiculous! Sir Paul you're strangely mistaken, I find Champagne is powerful. I assure you, Sir Paul, I Laugh at no bodies Jest but my own, or a Ladies; I assure you, Sir Paul.
How? how, my Lord? What, affront my Wit! Let me perish, do I never say any thing worthy to be Laugh'd at?
O foy, don't misapprehend me, I don't say so, for I often smile at your Conceptions. But there is nothing more unbecoming a Man of Quality, than to Laugh; Jesu, 'tis such a Vulgar Expression of the Passion! every body can Laugh. Then especially to Laugh at the Jest of an Inferiour Person, or when any body else of the same Quality does not Laugh with him. Ridiculous! To be pleased with what pleases the Croud! Now when I Laugh, I always Laugh alone.
I suppose that's because you Laugh at your own Jests, I'gad, ha, ha, ha.
He, he, I swear tho', your Raillery provokes me to a smile.
Ay, my Lord, it's a sign I hit you in the Teeth, if you show 'em.
He, he, he, I swear that's so very pretty, I can't forbear.
I find a Quibble bears more sway in your Lordships Face, than a Jest.
Sir Paul, if you please we'll retire to the Ladys, and Drink a Dish of Tea, to settle our Heads.
With all my heart.—Mr. Brisk you'll come to us,—or call me when you're going to Joke, I'll be ready to Laugh incontinently.
But does your Lordship never see Comedies?
O yes, sometimes,—but I never Laugh.
No?
Oh, no.—Never Laugh indeed, Sir.
No, why what d'ee go there for?
To distinguish my self from the Commo∣nalty, and mortify the Poets; the Fellows grow so Conceited, when any of their foolish Wit prevails up∣on the side Boxes.—I swear,—he, he, he, I have often constrained my Inclinations to Laugh.—He, he, he, to avoid giving them encouragement.
You are Cruel to your self, my Lord, as well as Malicious to them.
I confess, I did my self some violence at first, but now I think I have Conquer'd it.
Let me perish, my Lord, but there is something very particular and novel in the Humour; 'tis true, it makes against Wit, and I'm sorry for some Friends of mine that Write, but—I'gad, I love to be malicious.—Nay, Deuce take me, there's Wit in't too—and Wit must be foil'd by Wit; cut a Diamond with a Diamond; no other way, I'gad.
Oh, I thought you would not be long, before you found out the Wit.
Wit! In what? Where the Devil's the Wit, in not Laughing when a Man has a mind to't.
O Lord, why can't you find it out?—Why there 'tis, in the not Laughing—don't you Apprehend me?—My Lord, Careless, is a very honest Fellow, but harkee,—you understand me. Somewhat heavy, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 little shallow, or so.—Why I'll tell you now, suppose now, you come up to me—nay, prithee Careless be instruct∣ed. Suppose, as I was saying, you come up to me, holding your sides, and Laughing as if you would bepi•…•…s your self—I look grave, and ask the cause of this Immoderate Mirth.—You Laugh on still, and are not able to tell me—still I look grave, not so much as smile.—
Smile, no, what the Devil should you smile at, when you suppose I can't tell you?
Pshaw, pshaw, prithee don't interrupt me.—But I tell you, you shall tell me—at last.—But it shall be a great while first.
Well, but prithee don't let it be a great while, because I long to have it over.
Well then, you tell me, some good Jest, or very Witty thing, Laughing all the while as if you were rea∣dy to die—and I hear it, and look thus.—Would not you be disappointed?
No; for if it were a witty thing, I should not ex∣pect you to understand it.
O foy, Mr. Careless, all the World allow Mr. Brisk to have Wit; my Wife says, he has a great deal. I hope you think her a Judge?
Pooh, my Lord, his Voice goes for nothing.—I can't tell how to make him Apprehend,—take it t'other way. Suppose I say a witty thing to you?
Then I shall be disappointed indeed.
Let him alone, Brisk, he is obstinately bent not to be instructed.
I'm sorry for him, Deuce take me.
Shall we go to the Ladies, my Lord?
With all my heart, methinks we are a Soli∣tude without'em.
Or, what say you, to another Bottle of Cham∣paign?
O, for the Universe, not a drop more I beseech you, O Intemperate! I have a flushing in my Face already.
Let me see, let me see, my Lord, I broke my Glass that was in the Lid of my Snuff-Box. Hum! Deuce take me, I have encourag'd a Pimple here too.
Then you must mortifie him, with a Patch; my Wife shall supply you. Come, Gentlemen, allons.
I'll hear no more.—Y' are False and Un∣grateful; come, I know you false.
I have been frail, I confess, Madam, for your Lady∣ships Service.
That I should trust a Man, whom I had known betray his Friend!
What Friend have I betray'd? Or to Whom?
Your fond Friend Mellefont, and to me; can you deny it?
I do not.
Have you not wrong'd my Lord, who has been a Father to you in your wants, and given you being? have you not wrong'd him in the highest manner, in his Bed?
With your Ladyships help, and for your Service, as I told you before. I can't deny that neither.—Any thing more, Madam?
More! Audacious Villain. O what's more, is most my Shame,—have you not Dishonoured me?
No, that I deny; for I never told in all my Life: So that Accusation's Answer'd; on to the next.
Death, do you dally with my Passion? 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Devil! But have a care,—provoke me not; For, by the Eternal Fire, you shall not scape my Vengance.—Calm Villain! How unconcern'd he stands, Confessing Treachery and Ingratitude! Is there Vice more black!—O I have Excuses, Thousands for my Faults; Fire in my Temper, Passions in my Soul, apt to every provocation; oppressed at once with Love, and with Despair. But a sedate, a thinking Villain, whose Black Blood runs temperately bad, what excuse can clear? one, who is no more moved with the reflection of his Crimes, than of his Face; but walks unstartled from the Mirrour, and streight forgets the hideous form.
Will you be in Temper, Madam? I would not talk, not to be heard. I have been
Necessity, Impudence! Can no Gratitude in∣cline you, no Obligations touch you? Have not my Fortune, and my Person, been 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to your Plea∣sure? Were you not in the nature of a Servant, and have not I in effect made you 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of all, of me, and of my Lord? Where is 〈◊〉〈◊〉 humble Love, the Languishing, that Adoration, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 once was paid me, and everlastingly engaged?
Fix'd, Rooted in my Heart, whence nothing can remove 'em, yet you.—
Yet, what yet?
Nay, Misconceive me not, Madam, when I say I have had a Generous, and a Faithful Passion, which you had never favour'd, but through Revenge and Po∣licy.
Ha!
Look you, Madam, we are alone,—pray con∣tain your self, and hear me. You know you Lov'd your Nephew, when I first Sigh'd for you; I quickly found it, an Argument that I Lov'd; for with that Art you veil'd your Passion, 'twas imperceptible to all but Jealous Eyes. This discovery made me bold; I confess it; for by it, I thought you in my Power. Your Nephew's Scorn of you, added to my hopes; I watch'd the Occasion, and took you, just Repulsed by him, warm at once with Love and Indignation; your
Disposition, my Arguments, and happy Opportunity, accom∣plish'd my Design; I prest the yielding Minute, and was blest. How, I have Lov'd you since, Words have not shown, then how should Words express.
Well, mollifying Devil!—And have I not met your Love with forward Fire?
Your Zeal I grant was Ardent, but misplac'd; there was Revenge in view; that Womans Idol had defil'd the Temple of the God, and Love was made a Mock-Worship,—a Son and Heir, would have edg'd Young Mellefont upon the brink of Ruin, and left him nought but you to catch at for Prevention.
Again, provoke me! Do you wind me like a Larum, only to rouse my own still'd Soul for your Diversi∣on? Confusion!
Na, Madam, I'm gone, if you Relapse,—what needs this? I say nothing but what your self, in open hours of Love, have told me. Why should you deny it? Nay, how can you? Is not all this present Heat owing to the same Fire? Do you not Love him still? How have I this day Offended you, but in not breaking off his Match with Cynthia? Which e're to Morrow shall be done,—had you but Patience.
How, what said you Maskwell—another Caprice, to unwind my temper.
By heaven, no; I am your Slave, the Slave of all your Pleasures; and will not rest till I have given you peace, would you suffer me.
O' Maskwell, in Vain I do disguise me from thee, thou know'st me, know'st the very inmost Windings and Recesses of my Soul.—Oh Mellefont! I burn; Married to Morrow! Despair strikes me. Yet my Soul knows I hate him too: Let him but once be mine, and next immediate Ruin seize him.
Compose your self, You shall Enjoy and Ruin him too,—Will that please you?
How, how? Thou Dear, thou precious Villain, how?
You have already been tampering with my Lady Plyant?
I have: She is ready for any Impression I think fit.
She must be throughly perswaded, that Mellefont Loves her.
She is so Credulous that way naturally, and likes him so well, that she will believe it faster than I can perswade her. But I don't see what you can propose from such a trifling design; for her first Conversing with Mellefont, will convince her of the contrary.
I know it.—I don't depend upon it.—But it will prepare some thing else; and gain us leasure to lay a stronger Plot: if I gain a little time, I shall not want Contrivance.
One Minute, gives Invention to Destroy, What, to Rebuild, will a whole Age Employ.