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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.INdeed, Madam! Is it Possible your Ladyship could have been so much in Love?
I could not sleep; I did not sleep one wink for Three Weeks together.
Prodigious! I wonder, want of sleep, and so much Love, and so much Wit as your Ladyship has, did not turn your Brain.
O my Dear Cynthia, you must not rally your Friend,—but really, as you say, I wonder too,—but then I had a way.—For between you and I, I had Whymsies and Vapours, but I gave them vent.
How pray, Madam?
O I Writ, Writ abundantly,—do you never Write?
Write, what?
Songs, Elegies, Satyrs, Encomiums, Pane∣gyricks, Lampoons, Plays, or Heroick Poems.
O Lord, not I, Madam; I'm content to be a Courteous Reader.
O Inconsistent! In Love, and not Write! if my Lord and I had been both of your Temper, we had never come together,—O bless me! What a sad thing would that have been, if my Lord and I should never have met!
Then neither my Lord and you would ever have met with your Match, on my Conscience.
O' my Conscience no more we should; thou say'st right—for sure my Lord Froth is as fine a Gen∣tleman, and as much a Man of Quality! Ah! Nothing at
all of the Common Air,—I think I may say he wants nothing, but a Blue Ribbon and a Star, to make him Shine, the very Phosphorus of our Hemisphere. Do you understand those Two hard Words? If you don't, I'll explain 'em to you.
Yes, yes, Madam, I'm not so Ignorant.—At least I won't own it, to be troubled with your In∣structions.
Nay, I beg your Pardon; but being Deriv∣ed from the Greek, I thought you might have escap'd the Etymology.—But I'm the more amazed, to find you a Woman of Letters, and not Write! Bless me! how can Mellefont believe you Love him?
Why Faith, Madam, he that won't take my Word, shall never have it under my Hand.
I Vow Mellefont's a pretty Gentleman, but Methinks he wants a Manner.
A Manner! what's that, Madam?
Some distinguishing Quality, as for example, the Belle-air or Brillant of Mr. Brisk; the Solemnity, yet Com∣plaisance of my Lord, or something of his own, that should look a little Iene-scay quoysh; he is too much a Mediocrity, in my mind.
He does not indeed affect either pertness, or for∣mality; for which I like him: Here he comes.
And my Lord with him: pray observe the dif∣ference.
Impertinent Creature, I could almost be angry with her now.
My Lord, I have been telling my dear Cynthia, how much I have been in Love with you; I swear I have; I'm not asham'd to own it now; ah! it makes my heart leap, I vow I sigh when I think on't: my dear Lord! ha, ha, ha, do you remember, my Lord?
Pleasant Creature! perfectly well, ah! that look, ay, there it is; who could resist! 'twas so my heart was made a Captive first, and ever since 't has been in Love with happy Slavery.
O that Tongue, that dear deceitful Tongue! that Charming Softness in your Mien and your Expression, and then your Bow! Good my Lord, bow as you did when I gave you my Picture, here suppose this my Pi∣cture—
Pray mind, my Lord; ah! he bows Charmingly; nay, my Lord, you sha'n't kiss it so much; I shall grow jealous, I vow now.
I saw my self there, and kissed it for your sake.
Ah! Gallantry to the last degree—Mr. Brisk, you're a Judge; was ever any thing so well-bred as my Lord?
Never any thing; but your Ladyship, let me perish.
O prettily turn'd again; let me die, but you have a great deal of Wit: Mr. Mellefont, don't you think Mr. Brisk has a World of Wit?
O, yes, Madam.
O Lord, Madam—
An infinite deal!
O Jesu, Madam—
More Wit than any Body.
I'm everlastingly your humble Servant, Deuce take me, Madam.
Don't you think us a happy Couple?
I vow, my Lord, I think you the happiest Cou∣ple in the World, for you are not only happy in one ano∣ther, and when you are together, but happy in your selves, and by your selves.
I hope Mellefont will make a good Husband too.
'Tis my Interest to believe he will, my Lord.
D'e think he'll Love you as well as I do my Wife? I'm afraid not.
I believe he'll Love me better.
Heavens! that can never be; but why do you think so?
Because he has not so much reason to be fond of himself.
O your humble Servant for that, dear Madam; well, Mellefont, you'll be a happy Creature.
Ay, my Lord, I shall have the same reason for my hap∣piness that your Lordship has, I shall think my self happy.
Ah, that's all.
Your Ladyship is in the right; but I'gad I'm wholly turn'd into Satyr. I confess I Write but seldom, but when I do—keen Iambicks I'gad. But my Lord was telling me, your Ladyship has made an Essay toward an Heroick Poem.
Did my Lord tell you? Yes I vow, and the Subject is my Lord's Love to me. And what do you think I call it? I dare Swear you won't guesse—The Sillibub, ha, ha, ha.
Because my Lord's Title's Froth, I'gad, ha, ha, ha, Deuce take me very a Propos and Surprizing, ha, ha, ha.
He, Ay, is not it?—and then I call my Lord Spumoso; and my self, what d'e think I call my self?
Lactilla may be,—'gad I cannot tell.
Biddy, that's all; just my own Name.
Biddy! I'gad very pretty—Deuce take me if •…•…ur Ladyship has not the Art of Surprizing the most Naturally in the World,—I hope you'll make me happy in Communicating the Poem.
O, you must be my Confident, I must ask your Advice.
I'm your Humble Servant, let me perish▪—I presume your Ladyship has Read Bossu?
O yes, and Rapine, and Dacier upon Aristotle and Horace.—My Lord you must not be Jealous, I'm Communicating all to Mr. Brisk.
No, no, I'll allow Mr. Brisk; have you no∣thing about you to shew him, my Dear?
Yes, I believe I have.—Mr. Brisk, come
will you go into the next Room? and there I'll shew you all I have.
I'll walk a turn in the Garden, and come to you.
You're thoughtful, Cynthia?
I'm thinking, that tho' Marriage makes Man and Wife One Flesh, it leaves 'em still Two Fools; and they become more Conspicuous by setting off one another.
That's only when Two Fools meet, and their follies are oppos'd.
Nay, I have known Two Wits meet, and by the opposition of their Wits, render themselves as ridiculous as Fools. 'Tis an odd Game we're going to Play at: What think you of drawing Stakes, and giving over in time?
No, hang't, that's not endeavouring to Win, because it's possible we may lose; since we have Shuffled and Cutt, let's e'en turn up Trump now.
Then I find its like Cards, if either of us have a good Hand, it is an Accident of Fortune.
No, Marriage is rather like a Game at Bowls, For∣tune indeed makes the match, and the Two nearest, and sometimes the Two farthest are together, but the Game de∣pends entirely upon Judgment.
Still it is a Game, and Consequently one of us must be a Loser.
Not at all; only a Friendly Tryal of Skill, and the Winnings to be Shared between us.—What's here, th•…•… Musick!—Oh, my Lord has promised the Company •…•… New Song, we'll get 'em to give it us by the way.
Pray let us have the Favour of you, to practice the Song, before the Company hear it.
SONG.
I.CYnthia frowns when e're I Woo her, Yet she's vext if I give over; Much she fears I should undo her, But much more, to lose her Lover: Thus, in doubting, she refuses: And not Winning, thus she loses.
You shall have my thanks below.
Gads bud! I am provoked into a Fermentation, as my Lady Froth says; was ever the like read of in Story?
Sir Paul have patience, let me alone to rattle him up.
Pray your Ladyship give me leave to be Angry—I'll rattle him up I Warrant you, I'll firk him with a Certiorari.
You firk him, I'll firk him my self; pray Sir Paul hold you Contented.
Bless me, what makes my Father in such a Passion!—I never saw him thus before.
Hold your self Contented, my Lady Plyant,—I find Passion coming upon me by inspiration, and I cannot sub∣mit as formerly, therefore give way.
How now! will you be pleased to retire, and—
No marry will I not be pleased, I am pleased to be angry, that's my pleasure at this time.
What can this mean!
Gads my life, the man's Distracted, why how now, who are you? What am I? 'Slidikins can't I govern you? What did I Marry you for? Am I not to be absolute and uncon∣troulable? Is it fit a Woman of my Spirit, and Conduct, should be contradicted in a matter of this Concern?
It concerns me, and only me;—besides, I'm not to be govern'd at all times. When I am in Tranquility, my Lady Plyant shall Command Sir Paul; but when I am provoked to fury, I cannot incorporate with Patience and Reason,—as soon may Tygers Match with Tygers, Lambs with Lambs, and every Creature couple with its Foe, as the Poet says.—
He's hot-headed still! 'Tis in vain to talk to you; but remember I have a Curtain-Lecture for you, you disobe∣dient, headstrong Brute.
No, 'tis because I won't be headstrong, because I won't be a Brute, and have my Head fortifi'd, that I am thus exasperated,—but I will protect my Honour, and yonder is the Violater of my Fame.
'Tis my Honour that is concern'd, and the violation was intended to me. Your Honour! You have none, but what is in my keeping, and I can dispose of it when I please—therefore don't provoke me.
Hum, gads bud she says true,—well, my Lady, March on, I will fight under you then: I am convinced, as far as Passion will permit.
Inhuman and Treacherous.
Thou Serpent and first Tempter of Womankind.—
Bless me! Sir; Madam; what mean you?
Thy, Thy, come away Thy, touch him not, come hither Girl, go not near him, there's nothing but deceit about him; Snakes are in his Peruke, and the Crocodile of Nilus in his Belly, he will eat thee up alive.
Dishonourable, impudent Creature!
For Heaven's sake, Madam, to whom do you direct this Language!
Have I behaved my self with all the decorum, and nicety, befitting the Person of Sir Paul's Wife? Have I preser∣ved my Honour as it were in a Snow-House for this three year past? Have I been white and unsulli'd even by Sir Paul himself?
Nay, she has been an impenetrable Wife, even to me, that's the truth on't.
Have I, I say, preserv'd my self, like a fair Sheet of Paper, for you to make a Blot upon—
And she shall make a Simile with any Woman in England.
I am so amazed, I know not what to speak.
Do you think my Daughter, this pretty Creature; gads bud she's a Wife for a Cherubin! Do you think her fit for nothing but to be a Stalking-Horse, to stand before you, while you take aim at my Wife? Gads bud I was never angry before in my Life, and I'll never be appeased again.
Hell and Damnation! this is my Aunt; such malice can be engendred no where else.
Sir Paul, take Cynthia from his fight; leave me to strike him with the remorse of his intended Crime.
Pray, Sir, stay, hear him, I dare affirm he's innocent.
Innocent! why heark'ee, come hither Thy, heark'ee, I had it from his Aunt, my Sister Touchwood,—gadsbud he does not care a Farthing for any thing of thee, but thy Portion, why he's in Love with my Wife; he would have tantalized thee, and made a Cuckold of thy poor Father,—and that would certainly have broke my Heart—I'm sure if ever I should have Horns, they would kill me; they would never come kindly, I should dye of 'em, like any Child, that were cutting his Teeth—I should, indeed, Thy—therefore come away; but providence has prevented all, therefore come away, when I bid you.
I must obey.
O, such a thing! the Impiety of it startles me—to wrong so good, so fair a Creature, and one that lov'd you tenderly—'tis a barbarity of barbarities, and nothing could be guilty of it—
But the greatest Villain imagination can form, I grant it; and next to the Villany of such a fact, is the Vil∣lany of aspersing me with the guilt. How? which way was I to wrong her? for yet I understand you not.
Why, gads my life, Cousin Mellefont, you cannot be so peremptory as to deny it; when I tax you with it to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 face; for now Sir Paul's gone, you are Corum Nobus.
By Heaven, I love her more than life, or—
Fiddle, faddle, don't tell me of this and that, and every thing in the World, but give me Mathemacular De∣monstration, answer me directly—but I have not pati∣ence—oh! the Impiety of it, as I was saying, and the un∣parallell'd wickedness! O merciful Father! how could you think to reverse Nature so, to make the Daughter the means of procuring the Mother?
The Daughter procure the Mother!
Ay, for tho' I am not Cynthia's own Mother, I am her Father's Wife; and that's near enough to make it Incest.
Incest! O my precious Aunt, and the Devil in Con∣junction.
O reflect upon the horror of that, and then the guilt of deceiving every body; Marrying the Daughter, on∣ly to make a Cuckold of the Father; and then seducing me, debauching my purity, and perverting me from the road of Virtue, in which I have trod thus long, and never made one Trip, not one faux pas; O consider it, what would you have to answer for, if you should provoke me to frail∣ty? Alas! Humanity is feeble, Heaven knows! very feeble, and unable to support it self.
Where am I? sure, is it day? and am I awake, Ma∣dam?—
And no body knows how Circumstances may hap∣pen together,—to my thinking, now I could resist the strongest Temptation,—but yet I know, 'tis impossi∣ble for me to know whether I could or no, there is no cer∣tainty in the things of this life.
Madam, pray give me leave to ask you one questi∣on.—
O Lord, ask me the question, I'll swear I'll refuse it; I swear I'll deny it,—therefore don't ask me, nay you shan't ask me, I swear I'll deny it. O Gemini, you have brought all the Blood into my face; I warrant, I am as red as a Turky-Cock; O fie, Cousin Mellefont!
Nay, Madam, hear me; I mean—
Hear you, no, no; I'll deny you first, and hear you afterwards: For one does not know how ones mind may change upon hearing—hearing is one of the Senses, an•…•… all the Senses are fallible; I won't trust my Honour, I assure you; my Honour is infallible and uncomatible.
For Heaven's sake, Madam.—
O name it no more—bless me, how can you talk of Heaven! and have so much wickedness in your Heart? May be you don't think it a sin,—they say some of you Gentlemen don't think it a sin,—may be it is no sin to them that don't think it so;—indeed, if I did not think it a sin,—but still my honour, if it were no sin,—but then, to Marry my Daughter, for the Conveniency of frequent Opportunities,—I'll never consent to that, as sure as can be, I'll break the Match.
Death and amazement,—Madam, upon my knees.—
Nay, nay, rise up, come you shall see my good Na∣ture. I know Love is powerful, and no body can help his passion: 'Tis not your fault; nor I swear it is not mine,—how can I help it, if I have Charms? And how can you help it, if you are made a Captive; I swear it's pity it should be a fault,—but my honour—well, but your honour too—but the sin!—well but the necessity—O Lord, here's some body coming, I dare not stay. Well, you must consider of your Crime; and strive as much as can be a∣gainst it,—strive besure—but don't be melancholly, don't despair,—but never think that I'll grant you any thing; O Lord, no;—but besure you lay aside all thoughts of the Mar∣riage, for tho' I know you don't Love Cynthia, only as a blind for your Passion to me; yet it will make me jealous,—O Lord, what did I say? Jealous! no, no, I can't be jealous, for I must not Love you,—therefore don't hope,—but don't despair neither,—O, they're coming, I must fly.
So then,—spight of my care and foresight, I am caught, caught in my security,—yet this was but a shallow artifice, unworthy of my Matchiavilian Aunt: There must be more behind, this is but the first flash, the priming of her Engine; destruction follows hard, if not most presently prevented.
〈◊〉〈◊〉, welcome, thy presence is a view of Land, ap∣•…•… to my Shipwrack'd hopes: The Witch has rais'd 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Storm, and her Ministers have done their Work; you •…•…ee the Vessels are parted.
I know it; I met Sir Paul towing away Cynthia: Come, trouble not your head, I'll joyn you together e're to Morrow Morning, or drown between you in the attempt.
There's comfort in a hand stretch'd out, to one that's sinking; tho' ne'er so far off.
No sinking, nor no danger,—come, cheer up; why you don't know, that while I plead for you, your Aunt has given me a retaining Fee;—nay, I am your greatest E∣nemy, and she does but Journey-Work under me.
Ha! how's this?
What d'e think of my being employ'd in the execution of all her Plots? Ha, ha, ha, by Heaven it's true; I have un∣dertaken to break the Match, I have undertaken to make your Uncle Disinherit you, to get you turn'd out of Doors; and to—ha, ha, ha, I can't tell you for Laughing,—oh she has open'd her heart to me,—I am to turn you a Grazing, and to—ha, ha, ha, Marry Cynthia my self; there's a Plot for you.
Ha! O I see, I see my Rising Sun! Light breaks thro' Clouds upon me, and I shall live in Day—O my Maskwell! how shall I thank or praise thee; Thou hast outwitted Wo∣man.—But tell me, how could'st thou thus get into her Con∣fidence?—Ha! How? But was it her Contrivance to perswade my Lady Plyant to this extravagant belief?
It was, and to tell you the truth, I encouraged it for your diversion: Tho it made you a little uneasy for the present, yet the reflection of it must needs be entertaining.—I war∣rant she was very Violent at first.
Ha, ha, ha, I, a very Fury; but I was most afraid of her violence at last,—if you had not come as you did; I don't know what she might have attempted.
Ha, ha, ha, I know her temper,—well, you must know then, that all my Contrivances were but Bubbles; till at last I pretended to have been long Secretly in Love with Cynthia; that did my business; that convinced your Aunt, I might be trusted; since it was as much my interest as hers to break the Match: Then she thought my Jealousie might qualifie me to assist her in her Revenge. And, in short that belief, told me the Secrets of her heart. At length made this agreement, if accomplish her designs
She is most gracious in her Favour,—well, and dear Iack, how hast thou Contrived?
I would not have you stay to hear it now; for I don't know, but she may come this way; I am to meet her anon, after that I'll tell you the whole matter; be here in this Galle∣ry an hour hence, by that time I imagine our Consultation may be over.
I will; till then, success attend thee.
Till then, Success will attend me; for when I meet you, I meet the only Obstacle to my Fortune. Cynthia, let thy Beauty gild my Crimes; and whatsoever I commit of Treachery or Deceit, shall be imputed to me as a Merit—Treachery, what Treachery? Love cancels all the Bonds of Friendship, and sets Men right upon their first Foundations.
Duty to Kings, Piety to Parents, Gratitude to Benefactors, and Fidelity to Friends, are different and particular Ties: But the Name of Rival cuts 'em all asunder, and is a general acquit∣tance—Rival is equal, and Love like Death an universal Le∣veller of Mankind. Ha! but is there not such a thing as Honesty? Yes, and whosoever has it about him, bears an Enemy in his Breast: For your honest man, as I take it, is that nice, scrupulous, conscientious Person, who will cheat no body but himself; such another Coxcomb, as your wise man, who is too hard for all the World, and will be made a Fool of by no body, but himself: Ha, ha, ha. Well for Wis∣dom and Honesty, give me Cunning and Hypocrisie; oh 'tis such a pleasure, to angle for fair-faced Fools! then that hungry Gudgeon Credulity, will bite at any thing—Why, let me see, I have the same Face, the same Words and Accents, when I speak what I do think; and when I speak what I do not think—the very same—and dear dissimulation is the only Art, not to be known from Nature.
Why will Mankind be Fools, and be deceiv'd? And why are Friends and Lovers Oaths believ'd; When each, who searches strictly his own mind, May so much Fraud and Power of Baseness find?MY Lord, can you blame my Brother Plyant, if he refuse his Daughter upon this Provocation? The Contract's void by this unheard of Impiety.
I don't believe it true; he has better Principles—Pho, 'tis nonsense. Come, come, I know my Lady Plyant has a large Eye, and wou'd centre every thing in her own Circle; 'tis not the first time she has mistaken Respect for Love, and made Sir Paul jealous of the Civility of an undesigning per∣son, the better to bespeak his security in her unfeigned Pleasures.
You censure hardly, my Lord; my Sister's Honour is very well known.
Yes, I believe I know some that have been fami∣liarly acquainted with it. This is a little Trick wrought by some pitiful Contriver, envious of my Nephew's Merit.
Nay, my Lord, it may be so, and I hope it will be found so: but that will require some time; for in such a Case as this, demonstration is necessary.
There should have been demonstration of the con∣trary too, before it had been believ'd—
So I suppose there was.
How! Where? When?
That I can't tell; nay, I don't say there was—I am willing to believe as favourably of my Nephew as I can.
I don't know that.
How? Don't you believe that, say you, my Lord?
No, I don't say so—I confess I am troubled to find you so cold in his Defence.
His Defence! bless me, wou'd you have me de∣fend an ill thing?
You believe it then?
I don't know; I am very unwilling to speak my Thoughts in any thing that may be to my Cousin's disadvan∣tage; besides, I find, my Lord, you are prepared to re∣ceive an ill impression from any opinion of mine which is not consenting with your own: But since I am like to be suspected in the end, and 'tis a pain any longer to dissemble: I own it to you; in short I do believe it, nay, and can be∣lieve any thing worse, if it were laid to his charge—Don't ask me my Reasons, my Lord, for they are not fit to be told you.
I'm amaz'd, here must be something more than ordinary in this.
Not fit to be told me; Madam? You can have no Interests, wherein I am not concern'd, and con∣sequently the same Reasons ought to be convincing to me, which create your satisfaction or disquiet.
But those which cause my disquiet, I am willing to have remote from your hearing. Good my Lord, don't press me.
Don't oblige me to press you.
Whatever it was, 'tis past: And that is better to be unknown which cannot be prevented; therefore let me beg you rest satisfied—
When you have told me, I will—
You won't.
By my Life, my Dear, I will.
What if you can't.
How? Then I must know, nay I will: No more trifling—I charge you tell me—by all our mutual Peace to come; upon your Duty—
Nay, my Lord, you need say no more, to make me lay me heart before you, but don't be thus transported; compose your self: It is not of Concern, to make you lose one minutes temper. 'Tis not indeed, my Dear. Nay, by this kiss you shan't be angry. O Lord, I wish I had not told you any thing.—Indeed, my Lord, you have frighted me. Nay, look pleas'd, I'll tell you.
Well, well.
Nay, but will you be calm—indeed it's nothing but—
But what?
But will you promise me not to be angry—nay you must—not to be angry with Mellefont—I dare swear he's sorry—and were it to do again, would not—
Sorry, for what? 'Death you rack me with delay.
Nay, no great matter, only—well I have your promise—Pho, why nothing, only your Nephew had a mind to amuse himself, sometimes with a little Gallantry to∣wards me. Nay, I can't think he meant any thing seriously, but methought it look'd odly.
Consusion and Hell, what do I hear!
Or, may be, he thought he was not enough a-kin to me, upon your account, and had a mind to create a nea∣rer relation on his own; a Lover you know, my Lord—Ha, ha, ha. Well but that's all—now you have it; well re∣member your promise, my Lord, and don't take any notice of it to him.
No, no, no—Damnation!
Nay, I swear you must not—a little harmless mirth—only misplac'd that's all—but if it were more, 'tis over now, and all's well. For my part I have forgot it; and so has he, I hope—for I have not heard any thing from him these two days.
These two days! Is it so fresh? Unnatural Villain! 'Death I'll have him stripp'd and turn'd naked out of my doors this moment, and let him rot and perish, incestuous Brute!
O for Heaven's sake, my Lord, you'll ruine me if you take such publick notice of it, it will be a Town-talk: Consider your own and my Honour—nay, I told you you would not be satisfied when you knew it.
Before I've done, I will be satisfied. Ungrateful Monster, how long?—
Lord, I don't know: I wish my Lips had grown together when I told you—almost a Twelvemonth—nay, I won't tell you any more, till you are your self. Pray, my Lord, don't let the Company see you in this disorder—Yet, I confess, I can't blame you; for I think I was never so surpriz'd in my Life—Who would have thought my Ne∣phew could have so misconstrued my Kindness—but will
you go into your Closet, and recover your Temper. I'l make an excuse of sudden Business to the Company, and come to you. Pray, good dear my Lord, let me beg you do now: I'll come immediately, and tell you all; will you my Lord?
I will—I am mute with wonder.
Well but go now, here's some body coming.
Well I go—you won't stay, for I would hear more of this.
I follow instantly—So.
This was a Master-piece, and did not need my help—tho' I stood ready for a Cue to come in and con∣firm all, had there been occasion.
Have you seen Mellefont?
I have; and am to meet him here about this time.
How does he bear his Disappointment?
Secure in my Assistance, he seem'd not much af∣flicted, but rather laugh'd at the shallow Artifice, which so lit∣tle time must of necessity discover. Yet he is apprehensive of some farther design of yours, and has engaged me to watch you. I believe he will hardly▪ be able to prevent your Plot, yet I would have you use Caution and Expedi∣tion.
Expedition indeed; for all we do, must be per∣form'd in the remaining part of this Evening, and before the Company break up; lest my Lord should cool, and have an opportunity to talk with him privately—my Lord must not see him again.
By no means; therefore you must aggravate my Lord's Displeasure to a degree that will admit of no Confe∣rence with him.—What think you of mentioning me?
How?
To my Lord, as having been privy to Mellefont's design upon you, but still using my utmost Endeavours to
dissuade him: Tho' my Friendship and Love to him has made me conceal it; yet you may say, I threatned the next time he attempted any thing of that kind, to discover it to my Lord.
To what end is this?
It will confirm my Lord's opinion of my Honour and Honesty, and create in him a new Confidence in me, which (should this design mis•…•…arry) 〈◊〉〈◊〉 be necessary to the forming of another Plot that I have in my head—to cheat you, as well as the rest.
I'll do it—I'll tell him you hindred him once from forcing me.
Excellent! your Ladyship has a most improving Fancy. You had best go to my Lord, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 him as long as you can in his Closet, and I doubt not but you will mould him to what you please; your 〈◊〉〈◊〉 are so engaged in their own Follies and Intrigues, they'll miss neither of you.
When shall we meet?—at eight this Evening in my Chamber; there rejoice at our success, and toy away an hour in mirth.
I will not fail.
I know what she means by toying away an hour well enough. Pox I have lost all Appetite to her; yet she's a fine Woman, I lov'd her once. But I don't know, since I have been in a great measure kept by her, the case is alter'd; what was my Pleasure is become my Duty: And I have as little stomach to her now as if I were her Husband. Should she smoke my design upon Cynthia, I were in a fine pickle. She has a damn'd penetrating head, and knows how to interpret a Coldness the right way; therefore I must dissemble Ardour and E•…•…stasie, that's resolv'd: How easily and pleasantly is that dissembled before Fruition! Pox on't that a Man can't drink without quenching his Thirst. Ha! yonder comes Mellefont thoughtful. Let me think: Meet her at eight—hum—ha! by Heaven I have it—if I can speak to my Lord before—Was it my Brain or Providence? No Mat∣ter which—I will deceive 'em all, and yet secure my self, 'twas a lucky thought! Well this Double-Dealing is a
Jewel,
Here he comes, now for me—
Mercy on us, What will the Wickedness of this World come to?
How now, Iack? What so full of Contemplation that you run over!
I'm glad you're come, for I could not contain my self any longer: and was just going to give vent to a Secret, which no body but you ought to drink down.
Your Aunt's just gone from hence.
And having trusted thee with the Secrets of her Soul, thou art villai•…•…ously bent to discover 'em all to me, ha?
I'm afraid my frailty leans that way—but I don't know whether I can in honour discover all.
All, all man, what you may in honour betray her as far as she betrays her self. No tragical design upon my Per∣son I hope.
No, but it's a Comical design upon mine.
What dost thou mean?
Listen, and be dumb, we have been bargaining about the rate of your ruine—
Like any two Guardians to an Orphan Heiress—well.
And whereas pleasure is generally paid with mis∣chief, what mischief I shall do, is to be paid with Pleasure.
So when you've swallow'd the Potion, you sweeten your mouth with a plumb.
You are merry, Sir, but I shall probe your Consti∣tution. In short, the price of your Banishment is to be paid with the Person of—
Of Cynthia, and her Fortune—Why you forget you told me this before.
No, no—so far you are right, and I am, as an earnest of that Bargain, to have full and free possession of the person of—your Aunt.
Ha!—Pho, you trifle.
By this Light, I'm serious; all raillery apart—I knew 'twould stun you: This Evening at eight she will re∣ceive me in her Bed-Chamber.
Hell and the Devil, is she abandon'd of all Grace—Why the Woman is possess'd——
Well, will you go in my stead?
By Heav'n into a hot Furnace sooner.
No, you would not—it would not be so convenient, as I can order Matters.
What d'ye mean?
Mean? Not to disappoint the Lady I assure you—Ha, ha, ha, how gravely he looks—Come, come, I won't perplex you. 'Tis the only thing that Providence could have contriv'd to make me capable of serving you, ei∣ther to my Inclination or your own necessity—
How, how, for Heaven's sake, dear Maskwell?
Why thus—I'll go according to Appointment; you shall have notice at the critical minute to come and surprize your Aunt and me together: Counterfeit a rage against me, and I'll make my escape through the private passage from her Chamber, which I'll take care to leave open: 'twill be hard, if then you can't bring her to any Conditions. For this Discovery will disarm her of all De∣fence, and leave her entirely at your Mercy: nay, she must ver after be in one of you.
Let me adore thee, my better Genius! By Heav'n I think it is not in the power of Fate to disappoint my hopes—my hopes, my certainty!
Well, I'll meet you here, within a quarter of eight, and give you notice.
Good Fortune ever go along with thee.
Mellefont, get out o'th' way, my Lady Plyant's coming, and I shall never succeed while thou art in sight—tho' she begins to tack about; but I made Love a great while to no purpose.
Why, what's the Matter? She's convin'd that I don't care for her.
'Pox I can't get an Answer from her, that does not begin with her Honour, or her Vertue, her Religion, or some such Cant. Then she has told me the whole History of Sir Paul's nine years Courtship; how he has lain for whole nights together upon the Stairs, before her Chamber-door; and that the first Favour he receiv'd from her, was a piece of an old Scarlet Petticoat for a Stomacher; which, since the day of his Marriage, he has, out of a piece of Gallantry, con∣verted into a Night-Cap, and wears it still with much Solem∣nity on his anniversary Wedding-night.
That I have seen, with the Ceremony thereunto be∣longing - for on that night he creeps in at the Bed's Feet like a gull'd Bassa that has married a Relation of the Grand Signior's, and that night he has his arms at liberty. Did not she tell you at what a distance she keeps him. He has con∣fess'd to me that but at some certain times, that is I suppose when she apprehends being with Child, he never has the privilege of using the familiarity of a Husband with his Wife. He was once given to scrambling with his hands and spraw∣ling in his Sleep; and ever since she has him swaddled up in Blankets, and his hands and feet swath'd down, and so put to bed; and there he lies with a great Beard, like a Russian Bear upon a drift of Snow. You are very great with him, I won∣der he never told you his Grievances, he will I warrant you.
Excessively foolish—But that which gives me most hopes of her, is her telling me of the many Temptations she has resisted.
Nay, then you have her; for a woman's bragging to a man that she has overcome Temptations, is an argu∣ment that they were weakly offered, and a challenge to him to engage her more irresistably. 'Tis only an inhancing the price of the Commodity, by telling you how many Custo∣mers have underbid her.
Nay, I don't despair—but still she has a grudging to you—I talk'd to her t'other night at my Lord Fr•…•…th's Masquerade, when I'm satisfied she knew me, and I had no
reason to complain of my Reception; but I find women are not the same bare-faced and in Masks, and a Vizor—disguises their Inclinations as much as their Faces.
'Tis a mistake, for women may most properly be said to be unmask'd when they wear Vizors; for that secures them from blushing, and being out of Countenance, and next to being in the dark, or alone, they are most truly themselves in a Vizor Mask. Here they come, I'll leave you. Ply her close, and by and by clap a Billet doux into her hand: For a woman never thinks a man truly in love with her, till he has been fool enough to think of her out of her sight, and to lose so much time as to write to her.
Shan't we disturb your Meditation, Mr. Careless: you wou'd be private?
You bring that along with you, Sir Paul, that shall be always welcome to my privacy.
O, sweet Sir, you load your humble Servants, both me and my Wife, with continual Favours.
Jesu, Sir Paul, what a Phrase was there? You will be making Answers, and taking that upon you, which ought to lie upon me: That you should have so little breed∣ing to think Mr. Careless did not apply himself to me. 'Pray' what have you about you to entertain any bodies privacy? I swear and declare in the face of the World I'm ready to blush for your Ignorance.
I acquiesce, my Lady; but don't snub so loud.
Mr. Careless, If a person that is wholly illiterate might be supposed to be capable of being qualified to make a suitable return to those Obligations which you are pleased to conferr upon one that is wholly incapable of being qua∣lified in all those Circumstances I'm sure I should rather attempt it than any thing in the World
But I know Mr. Careless is so great a Critick and so fine a Gentleman, that it is impossible for me—
O Heavens! Madam, you confound me▪
Gad's bud, she's a fine person—
O Lord! Sir, pardon me, we women have not those Advantages: I know my own Imperfections—but at the same time you must give me leave to declare in the face of the World that no body is more sensible of Favours and Things for with the Reserve of my Honour, I assure you, Mr. Careless I don't know any thing in the World I would refuse to a person so meritorious—you'll pardon my want of Expression—
O your Ladyship is abounding in all Excellence, particularly that of Phrase.
You are so obliging, Sir.
Your Ladyship is so charming.
So, now, now; now my Lady.
So well bred.
So surprizing.
So well drest, so boon mein, so eloquent, so un∣affected, so easie, so free, so particular, so agreeable—
Ay, so, so, there.
O Lord, I beseech you, Madam, don't—
So gay, so graceful, so good teeth, so fine shape, so fine limbs, so fine linen, and I don't doubt but you have a very good skin, Sir.
For Heaven's sake, Madam—I'm quite out of Coun∣tenance.
And my Lady's quite out of Breath; or else you should hear—Gad's bud, you may talk of my Lady Froth.
O fie, fie, not to be named of a day—my Lady Froth is very well in her Accomplishments—but it is when my Lady Plyant is not thought of—if that can ever be.
O you overcome me—that is so excessive—
Nay, I swear and vow that was pretty.
O, Sir Paul, you are the happiest man alive. Such a Lady! that is the envy of her Sex, and the admiration of ours.
Your humble Servant, I am I thank Heaven in a fine way of living, as I may say, peacefully and happily, and I think need not envy any of my Neighbours, blessed be Provi∣dence—
ay, truly, Mr. Careless, my Lady is a great Blessing, a fine, discreet, well-spoken woman as you shall see—if it becomes me to say so; and we live very comfortably toge∣ther; she's a little hasty sometimes, and so am I; but mine's soon over, and then I'm so sorry—O, Mr. Careless, if it were not for one thhing—
How often have you been told of that you Jack-a∣napes?
Gad so, Gad's bud—Tim. carry it to my Lady, you should have carry'd it to my Lady first.
'Tis directed to your Worship.
Well, well, my Lady reads all Letters first—Child, do so no more; d'ye hear, Tim?
No, an please you.
A humour of my wife's, you know women have little sancies—But as I was telling you, Mr. Careless, if it were not for one thing, I should think my self the happiest man in the World; indeed that touches me near, very near.
What can that be, Sir Paul?
Why, I have, I thank Heaven, a very plentiful Fortune, a good Estate in the Country, some houses in Town, and some money, a pretty tolerable personal Estate; and it is a great grief to me, indeed it is Mr. Careless, that I have not a Son to inherit this—'Tis true I have a Daugh∣ter, and a fine dutiful Child she is, though I say it, blessed be Providence I may say; for indeed, Mr. Careless, I am mightily beholding to Providence——a poor unworthy Sinner—But if I had a Son, ah, that's my affliction, and my only affliction; indeed I cannot refrain Tears when it comes in my mind.
Why, methinks that might be easily remedied—my Lady's a fine likely Woman—
Oh, a fine likely Woman as you shall see in a Summers▪ day—indeed she is, Mr. Careless, in all respects.
And I should not have taken you to have been so old—
Alas, that's not it, Mr. Careless; ah! that's not it; no, no, you shoot wide of the mark a mile; indeed you do, that's not it, Mr. Careless; no, no, that's not it.
No, what can be the matter then?
You'll scarcely believe me, when I shall tell you why my Lady is so nice—it's very strange, but it's true: too true—she's so very nice, that I don't believe she would touch a Man for the World—at least not above once a year; I'm sure I have found it so; and alas, what's once a year to an Old Man, who would do good in his Generation? indeed it's true, Mr. Careless, it breaks my heart—I am her Hus∣band, as I may say, though far unworthy of that honour, yet I am her Husband; but alas-a-day, I have no more fa∣miliarity with her Person—as to that matter—than with my own Mother—no indeed.
Alas-a-day, this is a lamentable story; my Lady must be told on't; she must i'faith, Sir Paul; 'tis an injury to the World.
Ah! would to Heav'n you would, Mr. Careless; you are mightily in her favour.
I warrant you, what we must have a Son some way or other.
Indeed, I should be mightily bound to you, if you could bring it about, Mr. Careless.
Here, Sir Paul, it's from your Steward, here's a re∣turn of 600 Pounds; you may take fifty of it for your next half year.
How does my Girl? come hither to thy Father, poor Lamb, thou'rt melancholy.
Heav'n, Sir Paul, you amaze me, of all things in the World—you are never pleased but when we are all upon the broad grin, all laugh and no Company; ah, then 'tis such a
sight to see some teeth—sure you're a great admirer of my Lady Whifler, Mr. Sneer, and Sir Laurence Loud, and that gang.
I vow and swear she's a very merry Woman, but I think she laughs a little too much.
Merry! O Lord, what a character that is of a Wo∣man of Quality—you have been at my Lady Whifler's upon her day, Madam?
Yes, my Lord—I must humour this Fool.
Well and how? hee! what is your sense of the Con∣versation there?
O most ridiculous, a perpetual consort of laughing without any harmony; for sure, my Lord, to laugh out of time, is as disagreeable as to sing out of time or out of tune.
Hee, hee, hee, right; and then my Lady Whifler is so ready—she always comes in three bars too soon—and then, what do they laugh at? For you know laughing with∣out a jest is as impertinent; hee! as, as—
As dancing without a Fiddle.
Just 'ifaith, that was at my tongues end.
But that cannot be properly said of them, for I think they are all in good nature with the World, and only laugh at one another; and you must allow they have all jests in their Persons, though they have none in their Conversation.
True, as I'm a Person of Honour—for Heaven's sake let us sacrifice 'em to mirth a little.
'Gads so—Wife, Wife, my Lady Plyant, I have a word.
I'm busie, Sir Paul, I wonder at your imperti∣nence—
Sir Paul, harkee, I'm reasoning the matter you know; Madam,—if your Ladyship please, we'll discourse of this in the next Room.
O •…•…o, I wish you good success, I wish you good success. Boy, tell my Lady, when she has done, I would speak with her below.
Then you think that Episode between Susan, the Dairymaid, and our Coach-man is not amiss; you know, I may suppose the Dairy in Town, as well as in the Country.
Incomparable, let me perish—but then being an Heroick Poem, had not you better call him a Charioteer? Charioteer sounds great; besides your Ladyship's Coach-man having a red face, and you comparing him to the Sun—and you know the Sun is call'd Heav'ns Charioteer.
Oh, infinitely better; I'm extremely beholding to you for the hint, stay we'll read over those half a score lines again.
Let me see here, you know what goes before, the comparison, you know.
I'm afraid that simile wont do in wet Weather—because you say the Sun shines every day.
No, for the Sun it wont, but it will do for the Coachman, for you know there's most occasion for a Coach in wet Weather.
Right, right, that saves all.
Then I don't say the Sun shines all the day, but, that he peeps now and then, yet he does shine all the day too, you know, tho' we don't see him.
Right, but the vulgar will never comprehend that.
Well you shall hear—let me see.
That's right, all's well, all's well.
Ay, Charioteer does better.
Into the Dairy he descends, And there his whipping and his driving ends; There he's secure from danger of a bilk, His fare is paid him, and he sets in Milk.For Susan, you know, is Theti•…•…, and so—
Incomparable well and proper, Igad—but I have one exception to make.—don't you think bilk (I know its good Rhime) but don't you think bilk and fare too like a Hackney Coach-man?
I swear and vow I'm afraid so—And yet our Iehu was a Hackney Coach-man, when my Lord took him.
Was that he then, I'm answered, if Iehu was a Hack∣ney Coach-man—you may put that into the marginal Notes, tho' to prevent Criticisms—only mark it with a small aste∣rism, and say,—Iehu was formerly a Hackney Coach-man.
I will; you'd oblige me extremely to write Notes to the whole Poem.
With all my Heart and Soul, and proud of the vast honour, let me perish.
Hee, hee, hee, my Dear, have you done—wont you joyn with us, we were laughing at my Lady Whister, and Mr. Sneer.
—Ay my Dear—were you? Oh filthy Mr. Sneer; he's a nauseous figure, a most fulsamick Fop, Foh—he spent two days together in going about Covent Garden to suit the lining of his Coach with his complexion.
O silly! yet his Aunt is as fond of him, as if she had brought the Ape into the World her self.
Who, my Lady Toothless; O, she's a mortifying Spe∣ctacle; she's always chewing the Cud like an old Yew.
Fie Mr. Brisk, 'tis Eringo's for her Cough.
I have seen her take 'em half chew'd out of her Mouth, to Laugh, and then put 'em in again—Foh.
Foh.
Then she's always ready to Laugh when Sneer offers to speak——And sits in expectation of his no Jest, with her Gums bare, and her Mouth open.—
Like an Oyster at low Ebb, I'gad—ha, ha, ha.
Well, I find there are no Fools so inconsi∣derable in themselves, but they can render other People contemptible in exposing their Infirmities.
Then that t'other great strapping Lady—I can't hit of her Name; the old fat Fool that Paints so ex∣orbitantly.
I know whom you mean—But Deuce take me, I can't hit of her Name neither—Paints de'e say? Why she lays it on with a Trowel—Then she has a great Beard that bristles through it, and makes her look as if she were plaistred with Lime and Hair, let me perish.
Oh you made a Song upon her, Mr Brisk.
He? e'gad, so I did—My Lord can sing it.
O good my Lord let's hear it.
'Tis not a Song neither—it's a •…•…ort of an Epigram, or rather an Epigrammatick Sonnet; I don't know what to call it, but it's Satyr.—Sing it my Lord.
SONG.
Ld. F.Sings.Ancient Phillis, has young Graces, 'Tis a strange thing, but a true one; Shall I tell you how? She her self makes her own Faces, And each Morning wears a new one; Where's the Wonder now?
Short, but there's Salt in't, my way of writing I'gad.
How now?
Your Ladiships Chair is come.
Is Nurse and the Child in it?
Yes, Madam.
O the dear Creature! Let's go see it.
I swear, my Dear, you'll spoil that Child, with sending it to and again so often, this is the seventh time the Chair has gone for her to Day.
O-law, I swear it's but the sixth,—and I han't seen her these two hours.——The poor dear Creature—If wear, my Lord, you don't Love poor little Sapho—Come, my dear Cynthia, Mr. Brisk, we'll go see Sapho, tho' my Lord wont.
I'll wait upon your Ladiship.
Pray, Madam, how old is Lady Sapho?
Three Quarters, but I swear she has a World of Wit, and can sing a Tune already? My Lord wont you go? Wont you? What not to see Saph? Pray, My Lord, come see little Saph. I knew you cou'd not stay.
'Tis not so hard to counterfeit Joy in the depth of Affliction, as to dissemble Mirth in Company of Fools—Why should I call 'em Fools? The World thinks better of 'em; for these have Quality and Education, Wit and fine Conversation are receiv'd and admir'd by the World—If not, they like and admire themselves—And why is not that true Wisdom, for 'tis Happiness: And for ought I know, we have misapply'd the Name all this while, and mistaken the thing: Since
If Happiness in Self-content is plac'd, The Wise are Wretched, and Fools only Bless'd.I Heard him loud as I came by the Closet-Door, and my Lady with him, but she seem'd to moderate his Passion.
Ay, Hell thank her, as gentle breezes moderate a fire; but I shall counter-work her Spells, and ride the Witch in her own Bridle.
It's impossible; she'll cast beyond you still—I'll lay my Life it will never be a Match.
What?
Between you and me.
Why so?
My Mind gives me it wont—because we are both so willing; we each of us strive to reach the Gole, and hinder one another in the Race; I swear it never do's well when the Parties are so agreed—for when People walk hand in hand, there's neither overtaking nor meeting: We Hunt in Couples where we both pursue the same Game, but forget one another; and 'tis because we are so near that we don't think of coming together.
Hum, 'gad I believe there's something in't;—Marriage is the Game that we Hunt, and while we think that we only have it in view, I don't see but we have it in our power.
Within reach; for example, give me your hand; why have you look'd through the wrong end of the Per∣spective all this while; for nothing has been between us but our fears.
I don't know why we should not steal out of the House this moment and Marry one another, without Consi∣deration
or the fear of Repentance. Pox o'Fortune, Portion, Settlements and Joyntures.
Ay, ay, what have we to do with 'em; you know we Marry for Love.
Love, Love, down right very Villanous Love.
And he that can't live upon Love, deserves to die in a Ditch—Here then, I give you my promise, in spight of Duty, any temptation of Wealth, your inconstan∣cy, or my own inclination to change.—
To run most wilfully and unreasonably away with me this moment and be Married.
Hold—Never to Marry any Body elfe.
That's but a kind of Negative Consent.—Why, you wont baulk the Frollick?
If you had not been so assured of your own Con∣duct I would not—But 'tis but reasonable that since I consent to like a Man without the vile Consideration os Money, He should give me a very evident demonstration of his Wit: Therefore let me see you undermine my Lady Touchwood, as you boasted, and force her to give her Con∣sent, and then—
I'll do't.
And I'll do't.
This very next ensuing hour of Eight a Clock, is the last Minute of her Reign, unless the Devil assist her in propria persona.
Well, if the Devil should assist her, and your Plot miscarry.—
Ay, what am I to trust to then?
Why if you give me very clear demonstration that it was the Devil, I'll allow for irresistable odds. But if I find it to be only chance, or destiny, or unlucky Stars, or any thing but the very Devil, I'm inexorable: Only still I'll keep my word, and live a Maid for your sake.
And you won't die one, for your own, so still there's hope.
Here's my Mother-in-Law, and your Friend Care∣less, I would not have'em see us together yet.
I swear, Mr. Careless, you are very alluring—And say so many fine things, and nothing is so moving to me as a fine thing. Well, I must do you this justice, and declare in the face of the World, never any body gain'd so far upon me as your self, with Blushes I must own it, you have shaken, as I may say, the very foundation of my Ho∣nour—Well, sure if I escape your Importunities, I shall value my self as long as I live, I swear.
And Despise me.
The last of any Man in the World, by my pu∣rity; now you make me swear—O Gratitude for bid, that I should ever be wanting in a respectful acknowledg∣ment of an intire resignation of all my best Wishes, for the Person and Parts of so accomplish'd a Person, whose Merit challenges much more, I'm sure, than my illiterate Praises can description.
Ah Heavens, Madam, you ruine me wirh Kindness; your Charming Tongue pursues the Victory of your Eyes, while at your Feet your poor A∣dorer dies.
Ah! Very fine.
Ah why are you so Fair, so be∣witching Fair? O let me grow to the ground here, and feast upon that hand; O let me press it to my heart, my aking trembling heart, the nimble movement shall instruct your Pulse, and teach it to allarm Desire.
O that's so passionate and fine, I cannot hear it—I am not safe if I stay, and must leave you.
And must you leave me! Rather let me Languish out a Wretched Life, and breath my Soul beneath your Feet.
I swear I am ready to Languish too—O my Honour! Whither is it going? I protest you have gi∣ven me the Palpitation of the Heart.
Can you be so cruel.—
O rise I beseech you, say no more till you rise—Why did you kneel so long? I swear I was so tran∣ported, I did not see it.—Well, to shew you how far you have gain'd upon me; I assure you if Sir Paul should die, of all Mankind there's none I'd sooner make my second choice.
O Heaven! I can't out-live this Night without your favour—I feel my Spirits faint, a general damp∣ness over spreads my face, a cold deadly dew already vents through all my Pores, and will to Morrow wash me for e∣ver from your sight, and drown me in my Tomb.
O you have Conquered, sweet, melting, mo∣ving Sir, you have Conquered—What heart of Marble can refrain to weep and yield to such sad Sayings.—
I thank Heav'n, they are the saddest that I ever said—Oh!
Oh, I yield my self all up to your uncontroul∣able Embraces—Say, thou dear dying Man, when, where, and how—Ah, there's Sir Paul.
'Slife yonder's Sir Paul, but if he were not come, I'm so transported I cannot speak—This Note will in∣form you.
Thou art my tender Lambkin, and shalt do what thou wilt—But endeavour to forget this Mellefont.
I would obey you to my power, Sir; but if I have not him, I have sworn never to Marry.
Never to Marry! Heaven forbid; must I nei∣ther have Sons nor Grandsons? Must the Family of the Plyants be utterly extinct for want of Issue Male. Oh Im∣piety! But did you swear, did that sweet Creature swear! ha? How durst you swear without my Consent, ha? Gads-bud, who am I?
Pray don't be angry, Sir, when I swore, I had your Consent; and therefore I swore.
Why then the revoking my Consent does an∣nul, or make of none effect your Oath: So you may un∣swear it again—The Law will allow it.
Ay, but my Conscience never will.
Gads-bud no matter for that, Conscience and Law never go together; you must not expect that.
Ay, but Sir Paul, I conceive if she has sworn, d'ye mark me, if she has once sworn: It is most unchristian, inhumane, and obscene that she should break it.—I'll make up this Match again, because Mr. Careless said it would oblige him.
Does your Ladiship conceive so—Why I was of that Opinion once too—Nay if your Ladiship conceives so, I'm of that Opinion again; but I can neither find my Lord nor my Lady to know what they intend.
I'm satisfied that my Cousin Mellefont has been much wrong'd.
I'm amazed to find her of our side, for I'm sure she lov'd him.
I know my Lady Touchwood has no kindness for him; and besides, I have been inform'd by Mr. Careless, that Mellefont had never any thing more than a profound respect—That he has own'd himself to be my Admirer 'tis true, but he never was so presumptuous to entertain any dishonourable Notions of things; so that if this be made plain—I don't see how my Daughter can in Con∣science, or Honour, or any thing in the World.—
Indeed if this be made plain, as my Lady your Mother says Child—
Plain! I was inform'd of it by Mr. Careless—And I assure you Mr. Careless is a Person—that has a most extraordinary respect and honour for you, Sir Paul.
And for your Ladiship too, I believe, or else you had not chang'd sides so soon; now I begin to find it.
I am much obliged to Mr. Careless really, he is a Person that I have a great value for not only for that, but because he has a great veneration for your Ladiship.
O las, no indeed, Sir Paul, 'tis upon your account.
No I protest and vow, I have no title to his esteem, but in having the honour, to appertain in some measure, to your Ladiship, that's all.
O law now, I swear and declare, it shan't be so, you'r too modest, Sir Paul.
It becomes me, when there is any comparison made, between—
O fy, fy, Sir Paul, you'l put me out of Counte∣nance—Your very obedient and affectionate Wife; that's all—and highly honoured in that Title.
Gads bud, I am transported! give me leave to kiss your Ladiships Hand.
That my poor Father, should be so very silly.
My Lip indeed, Sir Paul, I swear you shall.
I humbly thank your Ladiship—I don't know whether I fly on Ground, or walk in Air—Gads bud, she was never thus before—Well, I must own my self the most beholden to Mr. Careless—As sure as can be this is all his doings—something that he has said; Well, 'tis a rare thing to have an ingenious Friend. Well, your Ladiship is of opinion that the Match may go forward.
By all means—Mr. Careless has satisfied me of the matter.
Well, why then Lamb you may keep your Oath, but have a care of making rash Vows; Come hither to me, kiss and Papa.
I swear and declare, I am such a twitter to read Mr. Careless his Letter, that I can't forbear any longer—but though I may read all Letters first by Prerogative, yet I'll be sure to be unsuspected this time.—Sir Paul.
Did your Ladiship call?
Nay, not to interrupt you my Dear—only lend me your Letter, which you had from your Steward to day: I would look upon the Account again; and may be increase your Allowance.
There it is, Madam; Do you want a Pen and Ink?
No, no, nothing else I thank you, Sir Paul,—So now I can read my own Letter under the cover of his.
He? And wilt thou bring a Grandson at 9 Months end—He? A brave Chopping Boy.—I'll settle a Thousand pound a Year upon the Rogue as soon as ever he looks me in the Face, I will Gads-bud. I'm overjoy'd to think I have any of my Family that will bring Children in∣to the World. For I would fain have some resemblance of my self in my Posterity, he Thy? Can't you contrive that af∣fair Girl? Do gads-bud, think on thy old Father; Heh? Make the young Rogue as like as you can.
I'm glad to see you so merry, Sir.
Merry, Gads-bud I'm serious, I'll give thee 500 l. for every inch of him that resembles me; ah this Eye, this Left Eye! A 1000 l. for this Left Eye. This has done Ex∣ecution in its time Girl; why thou hast my Leer Hussey, just thy Father's Leer.—Let it be transmitted to the young Rogue by the help of imagination; why, 'tis the mark of our Family Thy; our House is distinguished by a Languishing Eye, as the House of Austria is by a thick Lip.—Ah! when I was of your Age Hussy, I would have held sifty to one, I could have drawn'my own Picture—Gads-bud I could have done—not so much as you neither,—but—Nay, don't Blush—
I don't Blush Sir, for I vow I don't understand.—
Pshaw, Pshaw, you fib you Baggage, you do un∣derstand, and you shall understand, come don't be so nice, Gads-bud don't learn after your Mother-in-Law my Lady here: Marry Heaven forbid that you should follow her Example, that would spoil all indeed. Bless us, if you should take a Vagarie and make a rash Resolution on your Wedding Night, to die a Maid; as she did. All were ru∣in'd, all my hopes lost—My Heart would break, and my Estate would be left to the wide World, he? I hope you are a better Christian than to think of being a Nun; he? Answer me?
I'm all Obedience, Sir, to your Commands.
O dear Mr. Careless, I swear he writes charmingly, and he talks charmingly, and he looks charmingly, and he has charm'd me, as much as I have charm'd him; and so I'll tell him in the Wardrobe when 'tis Dark. O Crimine! I hope, Sir Paul has not seen both Letters. Sir Paul, here's your Letter, to Mor∣row Morning I'll settle the Accounts to your Advantage.
Sir Paul, Gads-bud you're an uncivil Person, let me tell you, and all that; and I did not think it had been in you.
O Law, what's the matter now? I hope you are not angry, Mr. Brisk.
Deuce take me I believe you intend to Marry your Daughter your self; you're always brooding over her like an Old Hen, as if she were not well hatch'd, I'gad, he?
Good strange! Mr. Brisk is such a Merry Facetious Person, he, he, he. No, no, I have done with her. I have done with her now.
The Fiddles have stay'd this hour in the Hall, and my Lord Froth wants a Partner, we can never begin with∣out her.
Go, go Child, go, get you gone and Dance and be Merry, I'll come and look at you by and by.—Where's my Son Mellefont?
I'll send him to them, I know where he is—
Sir Paul, will you send Careless into the Hall if you meet him.
I will, I will, I'll go and look for him on purpose.
So now they are all gone, and I have an opportunity to practice.—Ah! My dear Lady Froth! She's a most
engaging Creature, if she were not so fond of that damn'd coxcomly Lord of hers; and yet I am forced to allow him Wit too, to keep in with him—No matter, she's a Wo∣man of parts, and I'gad parts will carry her. She said she would follow me into the Gallery—Now to make my Approaches—Hem hem! Ah Ma∣dam!—Pox on't, why should I disparage my parts by thinking what to say? None but dull Rogues think; witty Men like rich Fellows, are always ready for all Expences; while your Blockheads, like poor needy Scoundrels, are forced to examine their Stock, and forecast the Charges of the Day. Here she comes, I'll seem not to see her, and try to win her with a new airy invention of my own, hem!
O ye Powers! O my Lady▪ Froth, my Lady Froth! My Lady Froth! Heigho! Break Heart; God's I thank you.
O Heavens Mr. Brisk! What's the matter?
My Lady Froth! Your Ladyships most humble Servant;——The matter Madam? Nothing, Madam, nothing at all I'gad. I was fallen into the most agreeable amusement in the whole Province of Contemplation: That's all—(I'll seem to conceal my Passion, and that will look like Respect.
Bless me, why did you call out upon me so loud?—
O Lord I Madam! I beseech your Ladiship—when?
Just now as I came in, bless me, why don't you know it?
Not I, let me perish—But did I! Strange! I confess your Ladiship was in my Thoughts; and I was in
a sort of Dream that did in a manner represent a very plea∣sing Object to my imagination, but—But did I indeed?—To see how Love and Murder will out. But did I really name my Lady Froth?
Three times aloud, as I love Letters—But did you talk of Love? O Parnassus! Who would have thought Mr. Brisk could have been in Love, ha ha ha. O Heaven's I thought you cou'd have no Mistress but the Nine Muses.
No more I have I'gad, for I adore 'em all in your Ladiship—Let me perish, I don't know whether to be splenatick, or airy upon't; the Deuce take me if I can tell whether I am glad or sorry that your Ladiship has made the Discovery.
O be merry by all means—Prince Voscius in Love! Ha ha ha.
O barbarous, to turn me into ridicule! Yet, ha ha ha. The Deuce take me, I can't help laughing my self neither, ha ha ha; yet by Heavens I have ▪violent passion for your Ladiship, seriously.
Seriously? Ha ha ha.
Seriously, ha ha ha. Gad I have, for all I Laugh.
Ha ha ha! What d'e think I Laugh at? Ha ha ha.
Me I'gad, ha ha.
No the Deuce take me if I don't Laugh at my self; for hang me if I have not a violent Passion for Mr. Brisk, ha ha ha.
Seriously?
Seriously, ha ha ha.
That's well enough; let me perish, ha ha ha. O Miraculous, what a happy Discovery. Ah my dear charm∣ing Lady Froth!
Oh my adored Mr. Brisk!
The Company are all ready—How now!
Zoons, Madam, there's my Lord.
Take no notice—But observe me—Now cast off, and meet me at the lower end of the Room, and then joyn hands again; I could teach my Lord this Dance purely, but I vow Mr. Brisk, I can't tell how to come so near any other Man. Oh here's my Lord, now you shall see me do it with him.
—Oh I see there's no harm yet—But I don't like this familiarity.
—Shall you and I do our close Dance to show Mr. Brisk?
—No, my Dear, do it with him.
—I'll do it with him, my Lord, when you are out of the way.
That's good I'gad, that's good, Deuce take me I can hardly hold Laughing in his Face.
Any other time, my Dear, or we'll Dance it be∣low.
With all my heart.
Come my Lord, I'll wait on you—My charming witty Angel!
We shall have whispering time enough, you know, since we are Partners.
O Mr. Careless, Mr. Careless, I'm ruin'd, I'm undone.
What's the matter, Madam?
O the unlucki'st Accident, I'm afraid I shan't live to tell it you.
Heav'n forbid! What is it?
I'm in such a fright; the strangest Quandary and Premunire! I'm all over in a Universal Agitation, I dare swear every Circumstance of me trembles.—O your Letter, your Letter! By an Unfortunate Mistake, I have given Sir Paul your Letter instead of his own.
That was unlucky.—
O yonder he comes reading of it, for Heavens sake step in here and advise me quickly, before he sees.
—O Providence, what a Conspiracy have I dis∣cover'd—But let me see to make an end on't.—
Hum—After Supper in the Wardrobe by the Gal∣lery. If Sir Paul should surprize us, I have a Commission from him to treat with you about the very matter of Fact.—Matter of Fact! Very pretty; it seems then I am conducing to my own Cuckoldom; why this is the very traiterous Po∣sition of taking up Arms by my Authority, against my Person! Well, let me see—Till then I languish in ex∣pectation of my Adored Charmer.
Gads bud, would that were Matter of Fact too. Die and be Damn'd for a Iudas Maccabeus, and Iscariot both. O friendship! What art thou but a Name! Henceforward, let no Man make a Friend that would not be a Cuckold: For whomsoever he receives into his bosom, will find the way to his Bed, and there return his Caresses with interest to his Wife. Have I for this been pinion'd Night after Night for three Years past? Have I been swath'd in Blankets till I have even been depriv'd of motion, and render'd uncapable of using the commo•…•… benefits of Nature? Have I approach'd the Marriage Bed with reverence as to a sacred shrine, and deny'd my self the enjoyment of lawful Domestick Plea∣sures to preserve its Purity, and must I now find it polluted
by▪ Foreign Iniquity? O my Lady Plyant, you were Chaste as Ice, but you are melted now, and false as Water.—But Providence has been constant to me in discovering this Conspiracy; still I am beholden to Providence, if it were not for Providence, sure poor Sir Paul thy Heart would break.
So Sir, I see you have read the Letter▪—well now, Sir Paul, what do you think of your Friend Care∣less? Has he been Treacherous, or did you give his insolence a License to make trial of your Wifes suspected Vertue? De è see here? Look, read it? Gad's my Life if I thought it were so, I would this moment renounce all Communication with you. Ungrateful Monster! He? Is it so? Ay, I see it, a Plot upon my Honour; your guilty Cheeks confess it; Oh where shall wrong'd Vertue fly for Reparation! I'll be Divorced this instant.
Gads-bud, what shall I say? This is the strangest Surprize! Why I don't know any thing at all, nor I don't know whether there be any thing at all in the World, or no.
I thought I should try you, false Man. I that never dissembled in my Life Yet to make tryal of you, pretended to like that Monster of Iniquity, Careless, and found out that con∣trivance to let you see this Letter; which now I find was of your own inditing—I do Heathen, I do, see my Face no more; there has hardly been Consummation be∣tween us, and I'll be Divorced presently.
O strange, what will become of me!—I'm so amazed, and so overjoy'd, so afraid, and so sorry.—But did you give me this Letter on purpose he? Did you?
Did I? Do you doubt me, Turk, Sarazen? I have a Cousin that's a Proctor in the Commons, I'll go to him instantly.—
Hold, stay, I beseech your Ladiship—I'm so overjoy'd, stay I'll confess all.
What will you confess, Jew?
Why now as I hope to be saved, I had no hand in this Letter—Nay hear me, I beseech your Ladiship: The Devil take me now if he did not go beyond my Com∣mission—If I desired him to do any more than speak a good word only just for me, Gads-bud only for poor Sir Paul, I'm an Anabaptist, or a Jew, or what you please to call me.
Why is not here Matter of Fact?
Ay, but by your own Vertue and Continency that matter of Fact is all his own doing.—I confess I had a great desire to have some Honours Conferr'd upon me, which lie all in your Ladiships Breast, and he being a well spoken Man, I desired him to intercede for me.—
Did you so, Presumption! Well, remember for this, your Right Hand shall be swathed down again to Night—and I thought to have always allow'd you that Li∣berty—
Nay but Madam, I shall offend again if you don't allow me that to reach—
Drink the less you Sot, and do't before you come to Bed.
Sir Paul, I'm glad I've met with you, 'gad I have said all I could, but can't prevail—Then my Friend∣ship to you has carried me a little farther in this matter—
Indeed—Well Sir—I'll dissemble with him a little.
Why faith I have in my time known Honest Gen∣tlemen abused by a pretended Coyness in their Wives, and I had a mind to try my Ladies Vertue—And when I could not prevail for you, 'gad I pretended to be in Love my self—but all in vain, she would not hear a word upon that
Subject: Then I writ a Letter to her; I don't know what effects that will have, but I'll be sure to tell you when I do, tho' by this Light I believe her Virtue is impregna∣ble.
O Providence! Providence! What Discoveries are here made? Why, this is better and more Miraculous than the rest.
What do you mean?
I can't tell you I'm so overjoy'd; come along with me to my Lady, I can't contain my self; come my dear Friend.
So, so, so, this difficulty's over.
Maskwell! I have been looking for you—'tis with∣in a Quarter of Eight.
My Lady is just gone down from my Lords Closet, you had best steal into her Chamber before she comes, and lie conceal'd there; otherwise she may Lock the Door when we are together, and you not easily get in to surprize us.
He? you say true.
You had best make haste, for she's but gone to make some Apology to the Company for her own, and my Lords absence all this while, and will to her Chamber instantly.
I go this moment: Now Fortune I defie thee.
I confess you may be allow'd to be secure in your own Opinion; the appearance is very fair, but I have an After-Gamé to play that shall turn the Tables, and here comes the Man that I must Manage.
Maskwell, you are the Man I wish'd to meet.
I am happy to be in the way of your Lordships Commands.
I have always found you prudent and careful in a∣ny thing that has concern'd me or my Family.
I were a Villain else—I am bound by Duty and Gratitude, and my own Inclination, to be ever your Lord∣ship's Servant.
Enough—You are my Friend; I know it: Yet there has been a thing in your Knowledge, which has concern'd me nearly, that you have conceal'd from me.
My Lord!
Nay, I excuse your Friendship to my unnatu∣ral Nephew thus far—but I know you have been Privy to his impious Designs upon my Wife. This Evening she has told me all: Her good Nature conceal'd it as long as was possible; but he perseveres so in Villany, that she has told me even you were weary of disswading him, though you have once actually hindered him from forcing her.
I am sorry, my Lord, I can make you no Answer; this is an Occasion in which I would not willingly be so silent.
I know you would excuse him—and I know as well that you can't.
Indeed I was in hopes 'thad been a youthful Heat that might have soon boil'd over; but—
Say on.
I have nothing more to say, my Lord—but to express my Concern; for I think his Frenzy increases daily.
How! give me but Proof of it, Ocular Proof, that I may justifie my Dealing with him to the World, and share my Fortunes.
O my Lord! consider that is hard: besides, time may work upon him: then, for me to do it! I have pro∣fess'd an everlasting Friendship to him.
He is your Friend, and what am I?
I am answered.
Fear not his Displeasure; I will put you out of his, and Fortune's Power, and for that thou art scrupulously ho∣nest, I will secure thy Fidelity to him, and give my Honour
never to own any Discovery that you shall make me. Can you give me a demonstrative Proof? Speak.
I wish I could not—To be plain, my Lord, I intended this Evening to have try'd all Arguments to dis∣swade him from a Design, which I suspect; and if I had not succeeded, to have informed your Lordship of what I knew.
I thank you. What is the Villains Purpose?
He has own'd nothing to me of late, and what I mean now, is only a bare Suspicion of my own. If your Lordship will meet me a quarter of an Hour hence there, in that Lobby by my Lady's Bed-Chamber, I shall be able to tell you more.
I will.
My Duty to your Lordship, makes me do a se∣vere Piece of Justice—
I will be secret, and reward your Honesty beyond your Hopes.
Pray Heaven my Aunt keep touch with her Assig∣nation—Oh that her Lord were but sweating behind this Hanging, with the Expectation of what I shall see—Hist, she comes—Little does she think what a Mine is just ready to spring under her Feet. But to my Post.
'Tis Eight a Clock: Methinks I should have found him here. Who does not prevent the Hour of Love; outstays the Time; for to be dully punctual, is too slow.—I was accusing you of Neglect.
I confess you do Reproach me when I see you here before me; but 'tis fit I should be still behind hand, still to be more and more indebted to your goodness.
You can excuse a fault too well, not to have been too blame—a ready Answer shews you were pre∣par'd.
Guilt is ever at a loss and confusion waits upon it, when Innocence and bold Truth are always ready for expression——
Not in Love, Words are the weak support of Cold indifference; Love has no Language to be heard.
Excess of Joy had made me stupid! Thus may my Lips be ever clos'd.
And thus▪—Oh who would not lose his Speech, upon condition to have Joys above it?
Hold, let me Lock the Door first.
That I believ'd; 'twas well I left the pri∣vate passage open.
So, that's safe.
And so may all your Pleasures be, and secret as this kiss—
And may all Treachery be thus discovered.
Ah!
Villain!
Nay then, there's but one way.
Say you so, were you provided for an Escape? Hold, Madam, you have no more holes to your Burrough, I'll stand between you and this Sally-Port.
Thunder strike thee Dead for this Deceit, imme∣diate Lightning blast thee, me and the whole World—Oh! I could rack my self, play the Vulture to my own Heart, and gnaw it piece-meal, for not boding to me this misfortune.
Be Patient.—
Be Damn'd.
Consider I have you on the hook; you will but flounder your self a weary, and be nevertheless my Prisoner.
I'le hold my breath and die, but I'le be free.
O Madam, have a care of dying unprepared, I doubt you have some unrepented Sins that may hang heavy and retard your flight.
O. What shall I do? say? whither shall I turn? has Hell no remedy?
None, Hell has served you even as Heaven has done, left you to your self.—You're in a kind of Erasmus Paradice; yet if you please you may make it a Purgato∣ry; and with a little Pennance and my Absolution all this may turn to good account.
Hold in my passion, and fall, fall, a little thou swelling Heart; let me have some intermission of this rage, and one minutes coolness to dissemble.
You have been to blame.—I like those Tears, and hope they are of the purest kind—Penitential Tears.
O the Scene was shifted quick before me—I had not time to think—I was surprised to see a Monster in the Glass, and now I find it is my self; Can you have mercy to forgive the faults I have imagined, but never put in practice—O Consider, Consider, how fatal you have been to me, you have already killed the quiet of this Life, the love of you, was the first wandring fire that e're misled my steps, and while I had only that in view, I ways betray'd into unthought of ways of ruine.
May I believe this true?
O be not cruelly incredulous—How can you doubt these streaming Eyes? Keep the severest Eye o're all my future Conduct; and if I once relapse, let me not hope forgiveness, 'twill ever be in your power to ruin me—My Lord shall sign to your desires; I will my self create your Happiness, and Cynthia shall be this night your Bride—Do but conceal my failings, and forgive—
Upon such terms I will be ever yours in every ho∣nest way.
I have kept my word, he's here, but I must not be seen.
Hell and Amazement, she's in Tears.
Eternal Blessings thank you—Ha! my Lord listning! O Fortune has o'repaid me all, all! all's my own!
Nay, I beseech you rise.
Never, never! I'le grow to the Ground, be buried quick beneath it, e're I be consenting to so damn'd a Sin as Incest! unnatural Incest!
Ha!
O cruel Man, will you not let me go—I'le for∣give all that's past—O Heaven, you will not ravish me!
Damnation!
Monster, Dog! your Life shall answer this—
O Heavens my Lord! hold, hold, for Heavens sake.
Confusion, my Uncle! O the damn'd Sorceress.
Moderate your rage good my Lord! he's mad, alas he's mad—indeed he's my Lord, and knows not what he does—see how wild he looks.
By Heaven'twere senceless not to be mad, and see such Witchcraft.
My Lord, you hear him—he talks Idly.
Hence from my sight, thou living infamy to my Name; when next I see that Face, I'le write Villain in't with my Swords point.
Now, by my Soul, I will not go till I have made known my wrongs—Nay, till I have made known yours, which (if possible) are greater—Though she has all the Host of Hell her Servants; Though she can wear more shapes in
shining day, then fear shews Cowards in the dark——
Alas he raves! talks very Poetry! for Heavens sake away my Lord, he'l either tempt you to extravagance, or commit some himself.
Death and Funes, will you not hear me—Why by Heaven she laughs, grins, points to your Back, she forks out Cuckoldom with her Fingers, and you're running Horn mad after your Fortune.
I fear he's mad indeed-Let's send Maskwell to him-
Send him, to her.
Come, come, good my Lord, my Heart akes so, I shall faint if I stay.
O I could curse my Stars, Fate, and Chance; all Causes▪ and Accidents of Fortune in this Life! but to what purpose? yet, 'sdeath, for a Man to have the fruit of all his Industry grown full and ripe, ready to drop into his mouth, and just when he holds out his hand to gather it, to have a sudden Whirlwind come, tear up Tree and all, and bear away the very root and foundation of his hopes; What temper can contain? They talk of sending Miskwell to me; I never had more need of him—But what can he do? Imagination can∣not form a fairer and more plausible design than this of his which has miscarried.—O my Pretious Aunt, I shall never thrive without I deal with the Devil, or another Woman.
Women like flames have a destroying pow'r, Ne'er to be quench'd, till they themselves devour.WAst not Lucky?
Lucky! Fortune is your own, and 'tis her interest so to be; By Heaven I believe you can con∣troul her power, and she fears it; though chance brought my Lord, 'twas your own art that turned it to advantage.
'Tis true it might have been my ruine—but yon∣ders my Lord, I believe he's coming to find you, I'le not be seen.
So; I durst not own my introducing my Lord, though it succeeded well for her, for she would have suspect∣ed a design which I should have been puzled to excuse. My Lord is thoughtful—I'le be so too; yet he shall know my thoughts; or think he does—
What have I done?
Talking to himself!
'Twas honest—And shall I be rewarded for it? No, 'twas honest, therefore I shan't;—Nay, rather, therefore I ought not; for it rewards it self.
Unequall'd Virtue!
But should it be known! then I have lost a Friend! He was an ill Man, and I have gain'd; for half my self I lent him, and that, I have recall'd; so I have served my self, and what is yet better, I have served a worthy Lord to whom I owe my self.
Excellent Man!
Yet I am wretched—O there is a secret burns within this Breast, which should it once blaze forth, would ruine all, consume my honest Character, and brand me with the name of Villain.
Ha!
Why do I love! yet Heaven and my waking Conscience are my Witnesses, I never gave one working thought a vent; which might discover that I lov'd, nor ever must; no, let it prey upon my Heart; for I would rather die, than seem once, barely seem, dishones:—O, should it once be known I love fair Cynthia, all this. that I have done, would look like Rivals Malice, false Friendship to my Lord, and base Self-interest. Let me pe∣rish first, and from this hour avoid all sight and speech, and, if I can, all thought of that pernicious Beauty. Ha! but what is my distraction doing? I am wildly talking to my self, and some ill Chance might have directed malici∣ous Ears this way.
Start not—let guilty and dishonest Souls start at the revelation of their thoughts, but be thou fix'd, as is thy Vertue.
I am confounded, and beg your Lordship's pardon for those free discourses which I have had with my self.
Come, I beg your pardon that I over-heard you, and yet it shall not need—Honest Maskwell! thy and my good Genius led me hither—mine, in that I have discovered so much Manly Vertue; thine, in that thou shalt have due reward of all thy worth. Give me thy hand—my Nephew is the alone remaining Branch of all our ancient Family; him I thus blow away, and constitute thee in his room to be my Heir—
Now Heaven forbid—
No more—I have resolv'd—The Wri∣tings are ready drawn, and wanted nothing but to be sign'd, and have his name inserted—yours will fill the Blank as well—I will have no reply—Let me command this time; for 'tis the last, in which I will assume Authority—hereafter, you shall rule where I have Power.
I humbly would petition—
Is't for your self?—
I'll hear of nought for any body else.
Then witness Heaven for me, this Wealth and Honour was not of my seeking, nor would I build my For∣tune on another's ruine: I had but one desire—
Thou shalt enjoy it—if all I'm worth in Wealth or Interest can purchase Cynthia, she is thine.—I'm sure Sir Paul's Consent will follow Fortune; I'll quickly show him which way that is going.
You oppress me with Bounty; my Gratitude is weak, and shrinks beneath the weight, and cannot rise to thank you—What, enjoy my Love! Forgive the Tran∣sports of a Blessing so unexpected, so unhop'd for, so un∣thought of!
I will confirm it, and rejoyce with thee.
This is prosperous indeed—Why let him find me out a Villain, settled in possession of a fair Estate, and full fruition of my Love, I'll bear the railings of a losing Game∣ster—but shou'd he find me out before! 'tis dangerous to de∣lay—let me think—shou'd my Lord proceed to treat openly of my Marriage with Cynthia, all must be discover'd, and Mellefont can be no longer blinded.—It must not be; nay, shou'd my Lady know it—ay, then were fine work indeed! her fury wou'd spare nothing, tho' she involv'd her self in ruine. No, it must be by Stratagem—I must de∣ceive Mellefont once more, and get my Lord to consent to my private management. He comes opportunely—now will I, in my old way, discover the whole and real truth of the matter to him, that he may not suspect one word on't.
No Mask like open Truth to cover Lies, As to go naked is the best disguise.O Maskwell, what hopes? I am confounded in a maze of thoughts, each leading into one another, and all ending
in perplexity. My Uncle will not see, nor hear me.
No matter, Sir, don't trouble your head, all's in my power.
How? for Heaven's sake?
Little do you think that your Aunt has kept her word,—how the Devil she wrought my Lord into this dotage, I know not; but he's gone to Sir Paul about my Marriage with Cynthia, and has appointed me his Heir.
The Devil he has! what's to be done?
I have it, it must be by Stratagem; for it's in vain to make Application to him. I think I have that in my head that cannot fail: Where's Cynthia?
In the Garden.
Let us go and consult her, my life for yours, I cheat my Lord.
Maskwell your Heir, and Marry Cynthia!
I cannot do too much, for so much merit.
But this is a thing of too great moment, to be so suddenly resolv'd. Why, Cynthia? Why must he be Marri∣ed? Is there not reward enough in raising his low Fortune, but he must mix his Blood with mine, and Wed my Niece? how know you that my Brother will consent, or she? nay, he himself perhaps may have Affections otherwhere.
No, I am convinced he loves her.
Maskwell love Cynthia, impossible!
I told you, he confess'd it to me.
Confusion! how's this!
His humility long stifled his Passion: And his Love of Mellefont would have made him still conceal it,—but, by Encouragement, I wrung the secret from him; and know he's no way to be rewarded but in her. I'll defer my farther proceedings in it, till you have consider'd it, but remember how we are both indebted to him.
Both indebted to him! yes, we are both in∣debted to him, if you knew all, damn'd Villain! oh, I am
wild with this surprize of Treachery: Hell and Fire, it is impossible, it cannot be,—he Love Cynthia! what have I been Bawd to his designs? his Property only, a baiting place to stay his stomach in the road to her; now I see what made him false to Mellefont,—Shame and Destruction! I cannot bear it, oh! what Woman can bear to be a Pro∣perty? To be kindled to a flame, only to light him to ano∣thers Arms; oh! that I were Fire indeed, that I might burn the vile Traytor to a Hell of Torments,—but he's Damnation proof, a Devil already, and Fire is his Element. What shall I do? how shall I think? I cannot think,—all my designs are lost, my Love unsated, my Revenge unfi∣nished, and fresh cause of fury from unthought of Plagues.
Madam, Sister, my Lady Sister, did you see my Lady my Wife?
Oh! Torture!
Gad'sbud, I can't find her high nor low; where can she be, think you?
Where she's serving you, as all your Sex ought to be served; making you a Beast. Don't you know that you're a Fool, Brother?
A Fool; he, he, he, you're merry—no, no, not I, I know no such matter.
Why then you don't know half your happy∣ness?
That's a jest with all my heart, faith and troth,—but hearkee, my Lord told me something of a Revolution of things; I don't know what to make on't,—gad'sbud I must consult my Wife,—he talks of disinheriting his Nephew; and I don't know what,—look you, Sister, I must know what my Girl has to trust to; or not a syllable of a Wedding, gad'sbud—to shew you that I am not a Fool.
Hear me; consent to the breaking off this Mar∣riage, and the promoting any other, without consulting me,
and I'll renounce all Blood, all relation and concern with you for ever,—nay, I'll be your Enemy, and pursue you to Destruction, I'll tear your Eyes out, and tread you under my feet.—
Why, what's the matter now? Good Lord, what's all this for? Pooh, here's a joke, indeed—why, where's my Wife?
With Careless, in the close Arbour, he may want you by this time, as much as you want her.
O, if she be with Mr. Careless, 'tis well enough.
Fool, Sot, insensible Ox! but remember what I said to you, or you had better eat your own Horns, and Pimp for your living; by this light you had.
She's a passionate Woman, gad'sbud,—but to say truth, all our Family are Cholerick; I am the only peaceable Person amongst 'em.
I know no other way but this he has proposed; If you have Love enough to run the venture.
I don't know whether I have Love enough,—but I find I have obstinacy enough to pursue whatever I have once resolved; and a true Female courage to oppose any thing that resists my will, tho' 'twere reason it self.
That's right,—well, I'll secure the Writ∣ings; and run the hazard along with you.
But how can the Coach and six Horses be got ready without suspicion?
Leave it to my care; that shall be so far from be∣ing suspected, that it shall be got ready by my Lord's own order.
How?
Why, I intend to tell my Lord the whole matter of our Contrivance, that's my way.
I don't understand you.
Why, I'll tell my Lord, I laid this Plot with you, on purpose to betray you; and that which put me upon it,
was, the finding it impossible to gain the Lady any other way, but in the hopes of her Marrying you.—
So.—
So, why so, while you are busied in making your self ready, I'll wheedle her into the Coach; and instead of you, Borrow my Lords Chaplain, and so run away with her my self.
O I conceive you, you'll tell him so?
Tell him so! Ay, why you don't think I mean to do so?
No, no; ha, ha, I dare swear thou wilt not.
You may be deceiv'd—Therefore, for our farther Security, I would have you Disguis'd like a Parson, that if my Lord should have Curiosity to peep, he may not discover you in the Coach, but think the Cheat is carried on as he would have it.
Excellent Maskwell, thou wer't certainly meant for a Statesman or a Jesuite, but that thou'rt too honest for one, and too pious for the other.
Well, get your selves ready, and meet me in half an hour, yonder in my Lady's Dressing-Room; go by the back Stairs, and so we may slip down without being observ'd.—I'll send the Chaplain to you with his Robes; I have made him my own,—and ordered him to meet us to Morrow Morning at St. Albans; there we will Sum up this Account, to all our satisfactions.
Should I begin to thank or praise thee, I should waste the little time we have.
Madam you will be ready?
I will be punctual to the Minute.
Stay, I have a doubt—upon second thoughts, we had better meet in the Chaplain's Chamber, here the corner Chamber at this end of the Gallery, there is a back way into it, so that you need not come thro' this Door—and a Pair of private Stairs leads down to the Stables—it will be more convenient.
I am guided by you,—but Mellefont will mistake.
No, no, I'll after him immediately, and tell him.
I will not fail.
Why, qui vult decipi decipiatur.—'Tis no fault of mine, I have told 'em in plain terms, how easie 'tis for me to cheat 'em; and if they will not hear the Serpent's hiss, they must be stung into experience, and future caution,—Now to prepare my Lord to consent to this.—But first I must instruct my little Levite, there is no Plot, publick or private, that can expect to prosper without one of 'em have a finger in't, he promised me to be within at this hour,—Mr. Saygrace, Mr. Saygrace.
Sweet Sir, I will but pen the last Line of an Acrostick, and be with you in the twinckling of an Ejaculation, in the pronouncing of an Amen, or before you can—
Nay, good Mr. Saygrace do not prolong the time, by describing to me the shortness of your stay; rather if you please, defer the finishing of your Wit, and let us talk about our business, it shall be Tithes in your way.
You shall prevail, I would break off in the middle of a Sermon to do you pleasure.
You could not do me a greater,—except—the business in hand—have you provided a Habit for Mellefont?
I have, they are ready in my Chamber, together with a clean starch'd Band and Cuffs.
Good, let them be carried to him,—have you stitch'd the Gown Sleeve, that he may be puzzled, and waste time in putting it on?
I have; the Gown will not be indued without per∣plexity.
Meet me in half an Hour, here in your own Cham∣ber. When Cynthia comes, let there be no Light, and do not speak, that she may not distinguish you from Mellefont. I'll urge haste, to excuse your silence.
You have no more Commands?
None, your Text is short.
But pithy, and I will handle it with Discretion.
It will be the first you have so serv'd.
Sure I was born to be controuled by those I should Command: my very Slaves will shortly give me Rules how I shall govern them.
I am concern'd to see your Lordship discomposed—
Have you seen my Wife lately, or disobliged her?
No, my Lord. What can this mean?
Then Mellefont has urg'd some body to incense her—something she has heard of you which carries her beyond the bounds of Patience.
This I fear'd.
Did not your Lordship tell her of the Honours you designed me?
Yes.
'Tis that; you know my Lady has a high Spirit, she thinks I am unworthy.
Unworthy! 'tis an ignorant Pride in her to think so—Honesty to me is true Nobility. However, 'tis my Will it should be so, and that shou'd be convincing to her as much as reason—by Heav'n, I'll not be Wife-ridden; were it possible it shou'd be done this night.
By Heav'n, he meets my wishes
Few things are impossible to willing minds.
Instruct me how this may be done, you shall see I want no inclination.
I had laid a small design for to morrow (as Love will be inventing) which I thought to communicate to your Lordship—but it may be as well done to night.
Here's Company—come this way and tell me.
Is not that he, now gone out with my Lord?
Yes.
By Heaven there's Treachery—the Confusion that I saw your Father in, my Lady Touchwood's Passion, with what imperfectly I over-heard between my Lord and her, confirm me in my fears. Where's Mellefont?
Here he comes.
Did Maskwell tell you any thing of the Chaplain's Cham∣ber?
No; my Dear, will you get ready—the things are all in my Chamber; I want nothing but the Habit.
You are betray'd, and Maskwell is the Villain that I always thought him.
When you were gone, he said his mind was chang'd, and bid me meet him in the Chaplain's Room, pretending immediately to follow you, and give you notice.
How!
There's Saygrace tripping by with a bundle under his Arm—he cannot be ignorant that Maskwell means to use his Chamber; let's follow and examine him.
'Tis loss of time—I cannot think him false.
My Lord musing!
He has a quick invention, if this were suddenly design'd—yet he says he had prepar'd my Chaplain already.
How's this! now I fear indeed.
Cynthia here; alone, fair Cousin, and me∣lancholly?
Your Lordship was thoughtful.
My thoughts were on serious business, not worth your hearing.
Mine were on Treachery concerning you, and may be worth your hearing.
Treachery concerning me! pray be plain—hark! what noise!
Will you not hear me?
No, Monster! H•…•…llish Traitor! no.
My Lady and Maskwell! this may be lucky—My Lord, let me entreat you to stand behind this Skreen, and listen; perhaps this chance may give you proof of what you ne're could have believ'd from my suspicions.
You want but leasure to invent fresh falshood, and sooth me to a fond belief of all your fictions; but I will stab the Lie that's forming in your heart, and save a Sin, in pity to your Soul.
Strike then—Since you will have it so.
Ha! a steady Villain to the l•…•…st!
Come, why do you dally with me thus?
Thy stubborn temper shocks me, and you knew it would—by Heav'n, this is Cunning all, and not Courage; no, I know thee well: but thou shalt miss thy aim.
Ha, ha, ha.
Had do you mock my Rage? then this shall punish your fond, rash Contempt! Again smile.
And such a smile as speaks in Ambiguity!
Ten thousand meanings lurk in each corner of that various face,
O! that they were written in thy heart,
That I, with this, might lay thee open to my sight!
But then 'twill be too late to know—
Thou hast, thou hast found the only way to turn my Rage; Too well thou know'st my jealous Soul cou'd never bear Uncertainty. Speak then, and tell me—yet are you silent? Oh, I am wilder'd in all Passions! but thus my An∣ger melts.
Here, take this Ponyard, for my very Spirits faint, and I want strength to hold it, thou hast dis∣arm'd my Soul.
Amazement shakes me—where will this end?
So, 'tis well—let your wild fury have a vent; and when you have temper, tell me.
Now, now, now I am calm, and can hear you.
Thanks, my invention; and now I have it for you.—First tell me what urg'd you to this violence? for your Passion broke in such imperfect terms, that yet I am to learn the cause.
My Lord himself surpriz'd me with the News, You were to marry Cynthia—that you had own'd your Love to him, and his indulgence would assist you to at∣tain your ends.
How, my Lord.
Pray forbear all Resentments for a while, and let us hear the rest
I grant you in appearance all is true; I seem'd consenting to my Lord; nay, transported with the Bles∣sing—bu•…•… could you think that I who had been happy in your lov'd Embraces, could e're be sond of an inferiour Slavery.
Ha! O poison to my Ears! what do I hear!
Nay, good my Lord, forbear Resentment, let us hear it out.
Yes, I will contain, tho' I cou'd burst.
I that had wanton'd in the wide Circle of your World of Love, cou'd be confin'd within the puny Province of a Girl. No—yet tho' I doat on each last Favour more than all the rest; though I would give a Limb for every look you cheaply throw away on any other Object of your Love; yet so far I prize your Pleasures o're my own, that all this seeming Plot that I have •…•…aid, has been to gratifie your taste, and cheat the World, to prove a faith∣ful Rogue to you.
If this were true—but how can it be?
I have so contriv'd, that Mellefont will presently, in the Caplain's habit, wait for Cynthia in your Dressing-Room: but I have put the change upon her, that she may be otherwhere employ'd—do you procure her Night-Gown, and with your Hoods tied over your face, meet him
in her stead, you may go privately by the back Stairs, and, unperceiv'd, there you may propose to reinstate him in his Uncle's favour; if he'll comply with your desires; his Case is desperate, and I believe he'll yield to any Conditions,—if not, here take this; you may employ it better, than in the Death of one who is nothing when not yours.
Thou can'st deceive every body,—nay, thou hast deceiv'd me; but 'tis as I would wish,—trusty Villain! I could worship thee.—
No more,—there want but a few Minutes of the time; and Mellefont's Love will carry him there before his hour.
I go, I fly, incomparable, Maskwell!
So, this was a pinch indeed, my invention was up∣on the Rack; and made discov'ry of her last Plot: I hope Cynthia, and my Chaplain will be ready, I'll prepare for the Expedition.
Now, my Lord?
Astonishment binds up my rage! Villany upon Villany! Heavens, what a long track of dark deceit has this discover'd! I am confounded when I look back, and want a Clue to guide me through the various mazes of un∣heard of Treachery. My Wife! Damnation! my Hell.
My Lord, have patience, and be sensible how great our happiness is, that this discovery was not made too late.
I thank you, yet it may be still too late, if we don't presently prevent the Execution of their plots;—ha, I'll do't, where's Mellefont, my poor injured Nephew,—how shall I make him ample satisfaction?—
I dare answer for him.
I do him fresh wrong to question his forgiv∣ness; for I know him to be all goodness,—yet my Wise! Dam her,—she'll think to meet him in that Dressing-Room,—was't not so? And Maskwell will expect you in the Chaplain's Chamber,—for once, I'll add to my Plot too,—let us haste to find out, and inform my Nephew,
and do you quickly as you can, bring all the Company into this Gallery,—I'll expose the Strumpet, and the Vil∣lain.
By Heaven's, I have slept an Age,—Sir Paul, what a Clock is't? past Eight, on my Conscience, my Lady's is the most inviting Couch; and a slumber there, is the prettiest amusement! but where's all the Company?—
The Company, gad'sbud, I don't know, my Lord, but here's the strangest Revolution, all turn'd topsie turvy; as I hope for Providence.
O Heaven's, what's the matter? Where's my Wife?
All turn'd topsie turvy, as sure as a Gun.
How do you mean? My Wife!
The strangest posture of Affairs!
What, my Wife?
No, no, I mean the Family,—your Lady's Af∣fairs may be in a very good posture; I saw her go into the Garden with Mr. Brisk.
How? where, when, what to do?
I suppose they have been laying their heads toge∣ther.
How?
Nay, only about Poetry, I suppose, my Lord; making Couplets.
Couplets.
O, here they come.
My Lord, your humble Servant; Sir Paul yours,—the finest night!
My dear, Mr. Brisk and I have been Star-gazing, I don't know how long.
Does it not tire your Ladyship? are not you weary with looking up?
Oh, no, I love it violently,—my dear you're melancholly.
No, my dear; I'm but just awake.—
Snuff some of my Spirit of Hartshorn.
I've some of my own, thank you, my dear.
Well, I swear, Mr. Brisk, you understood Astro∣nomy like an old Egyptian.
Not comparable to your Ladyship; you are the very Cynthia of the Skies, and Queen of Stars.
That's because I've no light, but what's by Re∣flection from you, who are the Sun.
O Jesu! Madam, you have Eclip•…•…'d me quite let me perish.—I can't answer that.
No matter,—heark'ee, shall you and I make an Almanack together.
With all my Soul,—your Ladyship has made me the Man in't already, I'm •…•… full of the Wounds which you have given.
O finely taken! I swear, now you are even with me, O Parnassus, you have an infinite deal of Wit.
So he has, gad'sbud, and so has your Ladyship.
You tell me most surprizing things; bless me who would ever trust a man? O my heart akes for fear they should be all deceitful alike.
You need not fear, Madam, you have Charms to fix Inconstancy it self.
O dear, you make me blush.
Come my dear, shall we take leave of my Lord and Lady.
They'll wait upon your Lordship presently.
Mr. Brisk. my Coach shall set you down.
What's the matter?
O I'm betray'd,—save me, help me.
Now what Evasion, Strumpet?
Stand off, let me go, and Plagues, and Curses seize you all.
Go, and thy own Infamy pursue thee,—you stare as you were all amazed,—I don't wonder at it,—but too soon you'll know mine, and that Woman's shame.
Nay, by Heaven you shall be seen,—Careless, your hand;—do you hold down your head? Yes, I am your Chaplain, look in the Face of your injur'd Friend; thou wonder of all Falshood.
Are you silent, Monster?
Good Heavens! how I believ'd and Lov'd this Man!—Take him hence, for he's a Disease to my Sight.
Secure that manifold Villain.
Miracle of Ingratitude!
This is all very surprizing, let me perish.
You know I told you Saturn look'd a little more angry than usual.
We'll think of punishment at leasure, but let me hasten to do Justice, in rewarding Virtue and wrong'd In∣nocence.—Nephew, I hope I have your pardon, and Cynthia's.
We are your Lordships Creatures.
And be each others comfort;—let me joyn your hands.—Unwearied Nights, and wishing Days attend you both; mutual Love, lasting Health, and Circling Joys, tread round each happy Year of your long Lives.
Let secret Villany from hence be warn'd; How e're in private, Mischiefs are conceiv'd, Torture and shame attend their open Birth: Like Vipers in the Womb, base Treach'ry lies, Still gnawing that, whence, first it did arise; No sooner born, but the Vile Parent dies.