The old batchelour a comedy, as it is acted at the Theatre Royal, by Their Majesties servants / written by Mr. Congreve.

SCENE changes to a Chamber in Fondle-wife's House.

Enter Laetitia and Bellmour, his Cloak, Hat, &c. lying loose about the Chamber.

Bell.

Here's no body, nor no noise;— 'twas nothing but your fears.

Laet.

I durst have sworn, I had heard my Monster's Voice.—I swear, I was heartily frightned.— Feel how my heart beats.

Bell.

'Tis an alarm to Love.— Come in again, and let us—

Fondl. without.

Cocky, Cocky, Where are you, Cocky? I'm come home.

Laet.

Ah! There he is. Make haste, gather up your things.

Fondl.

Cocky, Cocky, open the door.

Bell.

Fox choak him, would his Horns were in his Throat. My Patch, my Patch.

Looking about, and gathering up his things.

Laet.

My Jewel, Art thou there? No matter for your Patch.—You s'an't tum in, Nykin.— Run into my Chamber, quickly, quickly. You s'an't tum in.

Bell. goes in.

Fondl.

Nay, prithee, Dear, Iseck I'm in haste.

Laet.

Then, I'll let you in.

Opens the Door.

Enter Fondle-wife, and Sir Joseph.

Fond.

Kiss, Dear,— I met the Master of the Ship by the way,— and I must have my Papers of Accounts out of your Cabinet.

Laet.

Oh, I'm undone!

Aside.

Sir Ios.

Pray, first let me have 50 Pounds, good Alderman, for I'm in huste.

Fond.

A Hundred has already been paid, by your Order. Fifty? I have the Summ ready in Gold, in my Closet.

Goes into his Close.

Sir Ios.

Agad, it's a curious, fine, pretty Rogue; I'll speak to her,—Pray, Madam, what News d'ye hear?

Laet.

Sir, I seldom stir abroad.

Walks about in disorder.

Sir Ios.

I wonder at that, Madam, for 'tis most curious fine Weather.

Laet.

Methinks, 't has been very ill Weather.

Sir Ios.

As you say, Madam, 'tis pretty bad Weather, and has been so a great while.

Enter Fondle-wife.

Fond.

Here are fifty Pieces in this Purse, Sir Ioseph—If you will tarry a Moment, till I fetch my Papers, I'll wait upon you down stairs.

Laet.

Ruin'd, past redemption! What shall I do?— Ha! This fool may be of use.

Aside.

Stand off, rude Russian. Help me, my Dear,—O bless me! Why will you leave me alone with such a Satyr?

As Fondl. is going into the Chamber, she runs to Sir Jos. almost pushes him down, and Cries out.

Fond.

Bless us! What's the matter? What's the matter?

Laet.

Your back was no sooner turn'd, but like a Lion, he came open mouth'd upon me, and would have ravished a kiss from me by main force.

Sir Ios.

O Lord! Oh terrible! Ha, ha, ha, Is your Wife mad, Alderman?

Laet.

Oh! I am sick with the fright; won't you take him out of my sight?

Fond.

Oh Traytor! I'm astonished. Oh bloody-minded Traytor!

Sir Ios.

Hey-day! Traytor your self.—By the Lord-Harry, I was in most danger of being ravish'd, if you go to that.

Fond.

Oh, how the blasphemous Wretch swears! Out of my house, thou Son of the Whore of Babylon; Off-spring of Bell and the Dragon.—Bless us! Ravish my Wife! My Dinah! Oh Schechemite! Begone, I say.

Sir Ios.

Why, the Devil's in the People, I think.

Exit.

Laet.

Oh! Won't you follow, and see him out of Doors, my Dear?

Fond.

I'll shut this door, to secure him from coming back.— Give me the Key of your Cabinet, Cocky.—Ravish my Wife before my face! I warrant he's a Papist in his heart, at least, if not a French-man.

Laet.

What can I do now!

Aside.

Oh! my Dear, I have been in such a fright, that I forgot to tell you, poor Mr. Spin-text, has asad Fit of the Cho∣lick, and is forced to lie down upon our bed.— You'll disturb him; I can tread softlier.

Fond.

Alack poor Man.—No, no,—you don't know the Papers.—I won't disturb him; Give me the Key.

She gives him the Key, goes to the Chamber-door, and speaks aloud.

Laet.

'Tis no body but Mr. Fondlewife, Mr. Spin-text, lie still on your Sto∣mach; lying on your Stomach, will ease you of the Cholick.

Fond.

Ay, ay, lie still, lie still; don't let me disturb you.

Goes in.

Laet.

Sure, when he does not see his face, he won't discover him. Dear Fortune, help me but this once, and I'll never run in thy debt again.—But this Opportunity is the Devil.

Fondle-wife returns with Papers.

Fond.

Good lack! Good lack!—I profess, the poor Man is in great torment, he lies as flat— Dear, you should heat a Trencher, or a Nap∣kin.—Where's Deborah? Let her clap a warm thing to his Stomach, or chafe it with a warm-hand, rather than fail. What Book's this?

Sees the Book that Bellmour forgot.

Laet.

Mr. Spintext's Prayer-Book, Dear.— Pray Heav'n it be a Prayer-Book.

Aside.

Fond.

Good Man! I warrant he dropp'd it on purpose, that you might take it up, and read some of the pious Ejaculations.

Taking up the Book.

O bless me! O monstrous! A Prayer-Book? Ay, this is the Devil's Pater-noster. Hold, letme see; The Innocent Adultery.

Laet.

Misfortune! Now all's ruin'd again.

Aside.

Bell.

Peeping.

Damn'd Chance! If I had gone a-Whoring with the Pra∣ctice of Piety in my Pocket, I had never been discover'd.

Fond.

Adultery, and innocent! O Lord! Here's Doctrine! Ay, here's Discipline!

Laet.

Dear Husband, I'm amaz'd:— Sure it's a good Book, and only tends to the Speculation of Sin.

Fond.

Speculation! No, no; something went farther than Speculation when I was not to be let in.— Where is this Apocryphal Elder? I'll ferret him.

Laet.

I'm so distracted, I can't think of a Lye.

Aside

Fondle-wife halling out Bellmour.

Fond.

Come out here, thou Ananias incarnate.—Who, how now! Who have we here?

Laet.

Ha!

Shrieks, as surpriz'd.

Fond.

Oh, thou salacious Woman! Am I then brutified? Ay, I feel it here; I sprout, I bud, I blossom, I am ripe-horn-mad. But who, in the Devil's name, are you? Mercy on me for swearing. But—

Laet.

Oh, Goodness keep us! Who's this? Who are you? What are you?

Bell.

Soh.

Laet.

In the Name of the— Oh! Good, my Dear, don't come near it I'm afraid 'tis the Devil; indeed it has hoofs, Deare.

Fond.

Indeed, and I have Horns, Deare. The Devil, no, I'm afraid, 'tis the Flesh, thou Harlot. Deare, with the Pox. Come Syren, speak, confess, who is this reverend, brawny Pastor?

Laet.

Indeed, and indeed, now my dear Nyken— I never saw this wicked Man before.

Fondl.

Oh, it is a Man then, it seems.

Laet.

Rather, sure it is a Wolf in the cloathing of a Sheep.

Fondl.

Thou art a Devil in his proper Cloathing, Womans-flesh. What, you know nothing of him, but his Fleece here!— You don't love Mutton?—you Magdalen unconverted.

Bell.

Well, now I know my Cue.— That is very honourably, to excuse her, and very impudently accuse my self.

Aside.

Laet.

Why then, I wish I may never enter into the Heaven of your Embra∣ces again, my Dear, if ever I saw his face before.

Fond.

O Lord! O strange! I am in admiration of your impudence. Look at him a little better; he is more modest, I warrant you, than to deny it. Come, Were you two never face to face before? Speak.

Bell.

Since all Artisice is vain—and I think my self obliged to speak the truth in justice to your Wife.—No.

Fond.

Humph.

Laet.

No, indeed Dear.

Fond.

Nay, I find you are both in a Story; that, I must confess. But, what—not to be cured of the Cholick? Don't you know your Patient, Mrs. Quack? Oh, lie upon your Stomach; lying upon your Stomach will cure you of the Cholick. Ah! I wish he has lain upon no-bodies stomach but his own. Answer me that, Jezabel?

Laet.

Let the wicked Man answer for himself; does he think that I have nothing to do but excuse him; 'tis enough, if I can clear my own inno∣cence to my own Deare.

Bell.

By my troth, and so 'tis.—I have been a little too backward, that's the truth on't.

Aside.

Fond.

Come, Sir, Who are you, in the first place? And what are you?

Bell.

A Whore-master.

Fond.

Very Concise.

Laet.

O beastly, impudent Creature.

Fondl.

Well Sir, And what came you hither for?

Bell.

To lie with your Wife.

Fondl.

Good again—A very civil Person this, and, I believe speaks truth.

Laet.

Oh, insupportable Impudence!

Fondl.

Well, Sir,—Pray be cover'd—and you have—Heh! You have finish'd the matter, Heh? And I am, as I should be, a sort of a civil Perquisite to a Whore-master, called a Cuckold, Heh. Is it not so? Come, I'm inclining to believe every word you say.

Bell.

Why, Faith I must confess, so I design'd you.—But, you were a little unlucky in coming so soon, and hindred the making of your own Fortune.

Fond.

Humph. Nay, if you mince the matter once, and go back of your word; you are not the Person I took you for. Come, come, go on boldly —What, don't be asham'd of your Profession.—Confess, confess, I shall love thee the better for't.— I shall, Ifeck— What, dost think I don't know how to behave my self in the Employment of a Cuckold, and have been 3 Years Apprentice to Matrimony? Come, come, plain-dealing is a Jewel.

Bell.

Well, since I see thou art a good honest Fellow, I'll confess the whole matter to thee.

Fond.

Oh, I am a very honest Fellow—You never lay with an honester Man's Wise in your life.

Laet.

How my heart akes! All my comfort lies in his impudence, and Hea∣ven be praised, he has a considerable Portion.

Aside.

Bell.

In short then, I was informed of the opportunity of your absence, by my Spy, (for Faith, honest Isaac, I have a long time designed thee this fa∣vour) I knew Spin-text was to come by your direction—But I laid a trap for him, and procured his Habit; in which, I pais'd upon your Servants, and was conducted hither. I pretended a Fit of the Cholick, to excuse my lying down upon your Bed, hoping that when she heard of it, her good Na∣ture would bring her to administer Remedies for my Distemper.— You know what might have follow'd.— But like an uncivil Person, you knock'd at the Door, before your Wife was come to me.

Fond.

Ha! This is Apocryphal; I may chuse whether I will believe it or no.

Bell.

That you may, Faith, and I hope you wou'd believe a word on't.—But I can't help telling the truth, for my life.

Fond.

How! Would not you have me believe you, say you?

Bell.

No, for then you must of consequence part with your Wife, and there will be some hopes of having her upon the Publick; then the encou∣ragement of a separate maintenance.—

Fond.

No, no, for that matter—when she and I part, she'll carry her se∣parate-maintenance about her.

Laet.

Ah cruel Dear, how can you be so barbarous? You'll break my heart, if you talk of parting.

Cries.

Fond.

Ah, dissembling Vermin!

Bell.

How canst thou be so cruel, Isaac? Thou hast the Heart of a Mountain-Tyger. By the faith of a sincere Sinner, she's innocent, for me. Go to him, Madam, fling your snowy Arms about his stubborn Neck; bathe his relentless face in your salt trick∣ling Tears.— So, a few soft Words, and a Kiss; and the good Man melts. See, how kind Nature works, and boils over in him.

She goes and hangs upon his neck, and kisses him. Bell, kisses her hand, behind Fondle-wife's back.

Laet.

Indeed, my Dear, I was but just coming down stair, when you knock'd at the door; and the Maid told me, Mr. Spin-text was ill of the Cholick, upon our bed. And won't you speak to me, cruel Nykin? Indeed, I'll die, if you don't.

Fond.

Ah! No, no, I cannot speak; my heart's so full—I have been a tender Husband, a tender Yoke-fellow; you know I have—But thou hast been a faithless Dallilah, and the Philistines have been upon thee. Heh! Art thou not vile and unclean, Heh? Speak.

Weeping.

Laet.

No-h.

Sighing.

Fond.

Oh, that I could believe thee!

Laet.

Oh, my heart will break!

Seeming to faint.

Fond.

Heh, How? No, stay, stay, I will believe thee, I will.— Pray, bend her forward, Sir.

Laet.

Oh! Oh! Where is my ••••ar.

Fond.

Here, here, I do believe thee.— I won't believe my own Eyes.

Bell.

For my part, I am so charm'd with the Love of your Turtle to you, that I'll go and sollicite Matrimony with all my might and main.

Fond.

Well, well, Sir, as long as I believe'st, 'tis well enough. No thanks to you Sir, for her Vertue.—But, I'll show you the way out of my house, if you please. Come, my Dear. Nay, I will believe thee, I do, Ifeck.

Bell.

See the great Blessing of an easy Faith; Opinion cannot err.

No Husband, by his Wife, can be deceiv'd: See still is Vertuous, if she's so believ'd.

Exeunt.