Love without interest, or, The man too hard for the master a comedy : as it was acted at the Theatre Royal by His Majesty's servants.

ACT IV. SCENE IV. Moor-Fields.

Wildman and Trulove meeting.

Wild.

OH, Mr. Trulove! you're as welcome as unexpected; I've had you once or twice in view, but I never, 'fore this, could give you the Turn.

Tru.

Like enough; for I've so cunning a Sportsman to deal with, that I am fain to cross double, and use all the Subtilties I can imagine, least he should unearth me, and cast me out to the Hounds. Nay lately, when (as I after heard) it was you that was coming to assist me in capitulating with that same Rascal Jonathan, your very Tread struck me into such a Pannick Fear, that in a manner, nolens volens, I was fain to scamper and take to Covert—

Wild.

In your Mistress's Apartment, I suppose.

Tru.

You may; I need make no Secret on't to you. You unharbour'd a Doe, I hear, that's like to give you sufficient Sport without poaching in my Pur∣lieus.

Wild.

Doe, dost call her? S'bud, hadst but seen her, when instead of flying end-ways, with what Resolution she stood at bay, I gad, you'd have rather taken her for a Sangler—But I expect that shortly will make her gentle, if any thing can do it.

True.

Fie! 'tis unmanly, I'd almost said, dishonest, to win a Lady by Com∣pulsion.

Wild.

Nay, prithee, none of thy nice Moralities, and Punctilio's of Honour. Pox on 'em, they have undone more Gentlemen than Drinking, Dicing, Drab∣bing, and all the other expencely Pastime of the Town together— Take your own Conrse, leave me to mine, it shall be as Honourable as Safety will per∣mit. S'life! see here they come; Fortune for me this once I beseech thee.

Enter Jonathan with a Trunk upon his Shoulders, followed by Letitia, Honoria, and Jenny.

Jon.

Servant, Gentlemen. Come in, come in, Damsels, here are your Knight-Errants,

pitches down the Trunk:

So lie thee there, my Charge. Pray, Masters, remember the Porter.

Wild.

Tru. give Money.

Ay, ay; here, here.

Jon.

aside.

Gold! by the Cap of Maintenance— Now to you Gentle∣men, for I suppose you'd be the Joint-Purchasers; tho', now I think on't, I'd best expose 'em by way of Auction.

To Wild.

Pray, Sir, do so much as give my Master a Call, perhaps he may have a mind to some of 'em.

Jenny.

Come, my Jonathan, prithee no Delays, slip not the Opportunity; for the Goods, now they're once expos'd to Sale, may perhaps not serve my Master's Turn so well.

Jon.

to Jenny.

I know that, you Jade; but I've two Ends to tantalize him, Lucre and Revenge, the two Idols of your Heathenish Sex.

Well, Gentlemen, what say you to the Matter? —

Let.

What, unsight, unseen?

Jon.

O, Madam, there's a whole Farrow of Pigs in the Poke, fat ones, I' faith, I'll secure you that. Well, Sirs, some few Hundreds, or so, you may spare, for I would be easie; I'm not for extorting, not I, upon Honour.

Wild.

Hundreds! Nay, then thou'rt too reasonable, and I scorn to be out∣done in that— S'foot! now I think on't, here's the Barbado's Fleet safely arriv'd, I'll buy the whole Cargo at a Lump, and present thee with it; Wou'dst have any thing else?

Jon.

No, no, that's enough in all Conscience; for you Sparks are large Pro∣misers, that I know, but bad Performers, or the Women fouly bely you: But consider on't, Gentlemen, a Thousand Pound a Man will be fair on all sides.

Tru.

That I'll give thee freely, for my part, if the Sale of my wretched Annuity can raise it; here's my Hand, shalt have all farther Security I can give thee.

Jon.

O Lack-a-day! Sir, you're a Man of Honour— Come, Mr. Wild-man, what say you? Will you follow your Leader, and leave the Merchants their Goods to solder up their Cracks.

Wild.

Well, if it must be so, tho' I confess—

Let.

Nay, Sir, I'd have you make as cheap a Bargain as may be, especially for Goods that may stand you, possibly, but in little stead. Women, you know, are changeable.

Wild.

I hope so, Madam.

Aside.

What Bear-like Entertainment is this! a snap of Comfort, and a polt on the Pate.

Jon.

to Wild.

Come, Sir, come, I'm in pain till I have discharg'd my Trust.

Let.

Nay, prithee, Patience; What, give the Gentleman leave to consider a little.

Wild.

That's needless, Madam; for tho' I have felt the Severity of your Disdain, yet your Honour I never call'd in question.

To Jon.

Come, Tru∣love's my Security, if you question my own.

Tru.

I am, I am; come, prithee, dispatch.

Wild.

going to the Trunk.

No, no, I'll—

Jon.

interposing.

No, no, but you shan't; fair and softly, by your Leave, Sir. Think not that a trifling Summ, which here is one will share, has induc'd me to this: Know, Sir, 'tis the Honour of the Deed, and that I'll reserve en∣tire to my self; the Honour and Danger shall be mine, and mine alone.

Opens the Box.

By your Leave, Madam, let me peep into your Stomacher.

Takes out a Paper.

So, here a comes.

Wild.

Let.

Let's see't, let's see't.

Jon.

Three moments Patience, Mr. Wildman, and then— Hey toss! what have we got here? Mynheer van dunc van dunc Vanduncart's Bond, I think— Pho pox! 'tis a Dutch Man's Bond, not worth a Butterom.

Takes up another.

Omnes.

Now! now!

Jon.

Three Moments Patience, Gentlemen, and then— Hum—

Reads.

A Settlement upon my Man Jonathan of Twenty Pounds per Annum, after my Decease. Griping Dog! What intended he to do with the rest? Sure he has some Correspondence in Hell, that he designs to draw Bills upon.

To Trulove.

Faith, Sir, I see 'em on the right side of the Stile, as it happens.

Hon.

Nay, prithee, no more preaching; you'll tire my Patience presently.

Tru.

Come Jonathan.

Jon.

Coming, coming, Sir.

(Tumbles the Papers.)

Oh! have I caught you?

(Stands up, shuts the Box, and puts his Foot out.)

Hum, hum, hum.

(Reads.)

My Brother Sir Roger's Settlement upon Niece Lettice. Ha! Sir, is this it?

Wild.

Ay, honest Jonathan, this, or nothing.

Jon.

Here, Sir.

To Letitia.

And give you Joy, Madam.

Aside.

And there's two; for when the Man has the Fortune, the Woman's his of Course.

To Tru.

Here, Sir, here's your Honoria's as close as —

Wild.

Come, no more Similies, but to work; let's see what else.

Jon.

Else! What i'th' the Name of Balzebub would you have else? You'd make the Devil of a Farmer— Crop and Gleanings too! Why, i'th' Name of Avarice, won't a Thousand Pound

(points to Let.)

a Year, besides so neat, tight, convenient a Pleasure-House upon it, serve turn? Enough, Enough—

Wild.

In all Conscience, but only Curiosity—

Jon.

Nay, I must confess that's a plaguy itching Distemper. But if you want a Rasp, a Rubber, or a Scratcher,

(points to Let.)

she'll—

Omnes, preter. Wild.

Ha, ha, ha.

Wild.

To th' Trunk, you Dog, and cease barking, or—

Jon.

Sir, I'd have you to know I am none of your barking Currs: Indeed, I do bite sometimes; I have Teeth, Sir, as shall appear when you'll give me leave to employ 'em.

Wild.

Sirrah!

Going towards him, Trulove interposes.

Tru.

Nay, prithee, make an end; for I see you will be the Disturber.

Jon.

Ay, ay, Sir, you see I love to distribute my Favours.

Goes to the Trunk, and stumbles over it, rubbing his Shins and Nose.

Madam Letitia! cry your Mercy— Pox on't, I thought it had been her by my Nose and Shins.

Wild.

Hellhound! let me come at him.

Trulove interposes again.

Omnes, preter. Wild.

Ha, ha, ha.

Tru.

Sirrah, dispatch, or I'll be gone, and leave you to his Mercy.

Jon.

squatting down before the Trunk.

Nay, then it's time to be serious.

Aside.

I must dispatch before Afternoon's Luncheon-time, or he'll have the whip hand of me, and make me languish till Supper.

Jon. pulls out several Papers, slings 'em by slightly, while he sings.

And when I was a little Boy I wash'd my Mother's Dishes, I put my Fingers in the Pail, and pull'd out little Fishes.

(Pulling and heaving.)

Ho, up, Mass. This should be a swinger by the weight and gills.

(Pulls out a Parchment, with Labels.)

If this been't a Deed of weight, the Devil's in't. Oh—

(Reads.)

Securities for the Thousand Pound left by my Brother Sir Roger to —

(Overturns the Trunk.)

Here, take 'em among you, for I've neither Encouragement nor Patience to stay any longer. Oons, here's Money enough to redeem the City Charter— Save ye, Gentle∣men; and pray remember the Civility-Money.

As he is going out, enters Lurcher, who over-runs him almost.

S bud, you blind Mill Horse, can't you see where you stumble?

Eurcher.

Make off, Gentlemen, and Ladies, all of you; here's Sir Fickle coming this way, and in a damn'd bad Humour, I can tell you so much.

Jon.

Nay, then, all Friends, come all Hands aloft.

They put in all the Papers, except one left on the Stage, Jon. takes the Trunk.

Away, away there, here a comes, and in a plaguy Chafe I'll warrant him, or else he wears no Socks to Day, I smell that alleady.

Exeunt Omnes.

Enter Sir Fickle Solus.

Fickle.

Well, now Sir Fickle you're like to be fitted with a young, brisk, gal∣lant Lady— Marry send you good Luck, for 'tis a shrewd Undertaking for one of your Years and Constitution; and let me tell you so much, Sir, there are many in better Circumstances than your self that would be plaguily affraid of sore Eyes for all their Golden Thumb Rings. Well, Look afore you leap, And what's done can't be recover'd, are Proverbial Saws as old as Aldersgate, there∣fore, methinks, 'twere worth Time to consider— Hum! She's young, I

(Coughing.)

o-o-old as her Grannum: She's brisk; ay, pox! brisk enough, enough, and too much for me. Then for her Gallantry, the Girl, I percieve, is pretty well inclin'd; and, for all her Country Breeding, would make shift, in a very reasonable time, to reduce the East-India Stock into a Pedlar's Pack. Hum, methinks our two Qualities agree like Dogs-Turd and Honey; and I should be most plaguily deceiv'd, if, instead of a Lenitive for the Spleen, I should meet with a Caustick for a sore Throat. Well, I'll to Council; two Heads are better than one, as Neighbour Wrangle says, and all the City acknowledge him for the Pro-po-potatripes, I think they call him, of Learning and Sence. Well, I'll to Graves's, this is the Hour of Audience; if I can but meet with him in the Humour of talking Sence in English, he'll dispatch me in as few Words as a Lawyer his Client that comes to him in Forma Pauperis.

Exit.

SCENE Changes.

Enter Wrangle, Sobersides, Fickle aloof off.

Wrangle.

Fool! Blockhead! Incomprehensible Dolt! Thou Ox in an Ass's Skin!

Fickle.

Oh here he is, and Neighbour Sobersides too! piping hot from the Coffee-House, I'll warrant 'em, by the profoundness of their Talk.

Wrangle.

Get you gone to School again, and learn the Meaning of the Word Ratification befor you pretend to dispute the Legality or Essential For∣mality, requisite to the Constitution thereof; for I tell you once more, thou impertinent Head-piece, Ignoratis terminis, Ignoratur & ars!

Fickle,

aside.

Oh, I understand this a little.

To Wrangle.

Ay, ay, Sir, so he is an ignorant termegant Ass, to pretend to argue with you that can read, write, and Latin— But I come, Sir, to advise with, not to dispute, your Wisdom.

Wrangle.

Dilate energically, concisely, and uninaegmatically.

To Sober∣sides.

Oph.

Fickle.

Sir—

Aside.

Pox! now his Learning has got the upper-hand of his Sence, there will be no understanding of his cramp Language for Men of my Capacity— Sir, I did not understand—

Wrangle.

Oh ye pellucid Stars! whose Influences are subservient to Sa∣pience, deconglommerate me from these unzodiacal, uncerebrated, circumam∣bient Gemini.

Fickle.

Nay, an he be got up to the Stars already, O Gemini too say I — Save you, Sir, and pray give me notice of the next Thunder; I have a Stock of Beer in my Celler.

As he is going out, Wrangle siezes him.

Wrangle.

Arrest!

(Fickle starts.)

I will descend, the Gods themselves have deign'd to cope with Mortals.

Fickle.

With Grocers, Sir!

Wrangle.

With their Inferiors far, with Milkmaids! Europa was one, Jove courted her in the Shape of a Bull, and had Issue by her, a Proginy of Cuc∣kolds, autockthonical, aboriginal, demi-deify'd Cuckolds.

O Felices nimium si sua bona norint!

Fickle.

aside.

A pretty Account, Faith, of the Rise of Cuckoldom, a Bull, and a Milk-maid! Doubtless hence come the Proverb of sucking a Bull— But, Sir, be pleas'd to hear my Sence of—

Wrangle.

Sir, I tell you both Sence or no Sence, Ratification is an Overt Subsequent Act to a Precedent Covert Transaction.

Fickle.

Overt! Covert! Precedent! and Subsequent! What Trade do these Terms of Art belong to? What a Devil, do you banter? Or are you a con∣juring?

Wrangle.

I'll be plain: For Example, I owe you a Grudge; that's a Covert, or Secret Transaction in my Mind.

Fickle.

Good.

Wrangle.

Then

(Kicks and cuffs him.)

This is an Open, Publick, or Overt Act or Declaration thereof— Now I hope you understand this is de∣monstrative.

Fickle.

O most sensibly, Sir.

Aside.

Pox on him! I could give him a Suit of Second Mourning too, as Wildman says, for Example's sake, but that he's such a Royster.

Wrang. to Sobers.

And you, I hope, have your Intellectuals meliorated when this—

(Points to Fickle.)

Fick. making to him.

This, what, Sir? This, what? I'd have you to know I'm in as fair a way both to a Chain and a Clog as—

Wrang.

But I lose time 'mongst a Brace of Owls.

Fickle.

Owls! Pox, Owls! Owls in your Throat, Sir; Owls in your Belly, Sir; Owls in your— Pantiples, Sir. Pox! if hard Words, dry Blows, and Affronts, be all the Counsel I must expect, Exit my Riddle-me-ree,

Exit. (Turning him out.)

Wrangle.

(Fickle at the same time.)

Then will I leave you, as I found you, obfuscated by Poetick Dulness and Palpable Calliginosity.

Fickle.

Bur-r-r, Buz-z-z, Gingiber & Lacer Cicer Pepper atque Papaver.

(Turns him out.)

Owls! Pox, Owls! I don't know but I may be as good a Scholar as himself. Pox! I begin to—

Re-enter Wrangle.

Wrangle.

And Cimerian Tenebrosity.

Fickle.

Hey! here again with his Tenebrosity? Hey, Noun,

(Runs to him.)

Pronoun, Preposition, Conjunction, Participle, Interjection; Haec aquila, an Owl, both he and she.

(Like an Owl runs at him.)

Or-ro-o-o-o-o-o—

(Looking after him.)

Huzza! Victoria! So, 'tis but a little Resolution, and these Roarers are soon tam'd.

(Spying Sobersides.)

O, Sir, cry vour Mercv.

This same passionate Puppy has so what-ye-call't my Intellectuals, I protest, I over-look'd you.

Sobers.

gravely.

That might be, Sir.

Fickle.

mocking.

So it might, I vow, Sir. Now shall I be as much plagu'd with this Fellow's formal Preciseness, as I was with the t'other's blustering Bombast— Deliver me but from this Piece of stiffn'd Tiffany, and if ever I go to Counsel to a citizen again, may he take my Nose and Ears for his Fee.

To Sobers.

But Sir.

Sob.

formally.

Sir.

Fickle.

Why, Sir, what I intended to have discours'd this same tasty, old, positive Puppy about, was Matrimony; I'm a going to be married to a brisk, young Country Virgin, her Fortune, it's true, is but small, but my Inclinations are great; you know me, let me know your Opinion.

Sob.

That I believe I shall give you; but first, by way of Advice, repre∣hend not that Positiveness in another, whereof you seem to be so well provi∣ded; for you seem positively to affirm that you are going to be married, which, if you consider the Mutability of sublunary things, I esteem that you might with more Modesty say, that you conceive, or think, judge, or suppose your self upon the Matrimonial Point.

Fickle.

The Man's in the right on't there; for we're farthest off sometimes, when we think our selves nearest to the Blank: And I remember, Neighbour Horner going once to view a She-Tenement he was about purchasing, found a Copy-holder making forcible Entry into the capital Messuage of the Mannor, and so flew off; and Reason good, was it not, Sir?

Sob.

Not unlikely— Then, Sir, as for her Briskness, it may possibly be Levity; her Youth artificial, and her Vertue and Virginity as slender as her Fortune.

Fickle,

angrily.

How, Sir! No Vertue! No Virginity!

Sob.

Possibly none; for I am of the Sect of the Scepticks, I think, I affirm nothing.

Fickle.

But I am not, and do positively say that Man's a Villain that dare call her Honour in question; therefore, Sir Dubious, pick up your Awls, or, now my Hand's in, I can promise you no better Entertainment than your De∣conglomerating Predecessor; th' Example's fresh, my Passion rises; therefore once more walk off, or I shall Overtly ratifie upon your Morrion.

Sob.

Fortune I contemn, Examples I defie, and will maintain my Opinion, spight of Passion or Ratification.

Fickle.

Nay, Pox, if you begin to be positive, walk, walk, my Philosopher.

As he turns him out.

Sob.

I'll have Satisfaction for this Affront done to my Person and Opinion; I'll be reveng'd, look to it.

Fickle thrusts him out.

Fickle.

No, no, you only conceive, think, suppose, or believe so: Ha, ha, what a pair of Issaker's Asses have I turn'd out to Grass! That Men should be such Fools, as to believe that a hard Word, or mysterial Nod, should be the only Ingredients to the making up of a wise Man! Tho', I must confess, this same Scipstick Philosopher has put twenty Cunnundrums into my Head. Well, Time will clear all; therefore Patience, say I.

Enter Wildman, pulling in Eugenia.

Eug.

Nay, prithee, Wildman, whither wou'd you draw me? Come, you'll ne'er forget your old Tricks.

Fickle.

Ha, old Tricks! and so familiar— I'll retire, this Spark may inform me better than Old Sir Grandsire Grey-beard, with his Scythe and Hour-Glass.

Wild.

No, never sear, I've had enough of that same hoity toity Business; I come to read you a far different Lesson, for you have been plaguily out of late; and for all your Philosopher's Stone you brag of, Lettice has discover'd you to be but of base Allay: I gad, should the Old Man discover the Counterfeit, you may e'n shift for your self; I have done my part every way, if you spoil all, your Ruine be upon you; I wash my Hands of it and you: My Mind's chang'd with my Fortune, and I'm resolv'd hereafter to feed upon one Dish; 'tis whol∣somest, you know.

Fickle,

aside.

A good Beginning, truly! Where will this end, trow?

Eug.

For that matter as you please; I believe you may find Employment enough at Home. If my Cornuted Cully to be has too much, if his kind Neighbour will but lend him a hand, they'll find me both Reasonable and Civil.

Fickle.

A very civil Resolution indeed! Oh, my Head! My Horns are cut∣ting already.

Wild.

That as you can agree, mean while be more circumspect; when you have spring'd the Woodcock, why then cook him to your Palate; he's ready plum'd to your Hand, so much I can assure you.

Eug.

Plum'd! What mean you?

Fickle.

Ay, that, that, my Heart misgives me most confoundedly.

Wild.

No Questions, for Safety sake. Women ought to be trusted with Se∣crets, as Mad Folks with Daggers; you may give 'em the Scabbard to please 'em, but be sure to keep the Weapon close and fast.

(Treads upon a Paper.)

So, what have we here? Some Grocer's Bill, I'll warrant ir.

(Takes it up, and looks on it.)

No, Faith, 'tis Vanduncart's Bond.

Fickle.

Oh, Oh.

Wild.

Left out for hast, in the last Surprize; I wish there he no more: For tho' I'm pretty sure of my Point, yet things are not yet ripe enough for a Dis∣covery. Let's see.

(Looking about, spies Sir Fickle, who makes up to him.)

Fickle.

Hem, hem; yours, Sir, yours.

Wild.

Oh, Sir, you're a diligent Courtier. Indeed, were you not a true∣bred Englishman; one would take this for Italian Jealousie, but 'tis too soon for that Man, ha?

Fickle.

Why, truly, Sir, I am somewhat of a different Opinion, as a Man may say; I think it is rather of the latest; for—

Wild.

Right too; for when things are so far advanc'd, Jealousie's as unseason∣able as a Song or Dance brought in Head and Shoulders, to lengthen out or set off a scanty-witted Bear-Play.

Fickle.

Gently, gently, Sir; not so neither. My Farce is but a Rehearsing, and I find it so far below my Expectation, I'm affraid to venture it on the Theatre, for fear of being hiss'd off the Stage.

Wild.

aside.

The Devil's in him, sure— Sir, you're mysterions; pray, be plain.

Fickle.

Why then most plainly thus: My Love, Thanks to my Years, has been so moderate as to leave me some few of my Senses, with which I have consider'd, that at the best 'tis but Folly, but in old Men meer Dotage. I find all other Passions encreasing, this only dwindl'd to nothing, which makes me judge my self unfit for a Lady of her Qualities. These, and some other pri∣vate ones, have abated the Violence of my Frensie, and inspir'd into me the Re∣solution of gaining in Statu quo, as a Man may say, till I see better Reasons for a Change— Now I hope you're both satisfy'd.

Eug.

weeping.

Oh my Heart!

Fickle.

aside.

Oh my Head a!

Wild.

Satisfy'd! No, but I will expect it For all th'Affronts you've put upon my Cousin, Poor tho' in Fortune, yet in Vertue rich; For all those Tears, thou stony-hearted Beast! Your Barbarity now causes her to shed. Her Presence now protects you from my Rage. But set a better Price on Innocence, Or Fell Revenge shall follow you with speed. Come, Cousin.

Exeunt. Fickle manet.

Fickle.

Ay, ay, I'll prevent that; I'll swear the Peace against him: First, for endeavouring to top his Whore upon me; and then for threatning to Fell me. If I don't, believe her honest. Many a Man has cut a Caper, and never come down alive again, for less than this, that's certain. I'll trounce the sly Dog; I'll bind him to his good Behaviour, I will a— O plague of the Devil! now I talk of binding, the Bond! the Bond! how come that there? I'm sure it was in the Trunk I entrusted Jonathan with. I gad, if he gets the rest, I'm like to be hamper'd my self. By Cheapside Conduit, I'm running mad; Horn-mad, by Bedlam Weather-cock. But Necessity has no Law. I must se∣cure my Youngster and my self, and take the best Order for the rest the little Brains I have will permit;

And if I frustrate all their poisonous Arts, Why then Sir Fickle is a Man of Parts.

The End of the Fourth ACT.