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— WAs ever Man so perplexed in his love as I? Unhappy Wretch! Have I been such a good Husband o' my Life for this? Was't this which made me so desirous of returning home? Thad been better for me to have spent my days any where in the World, than to come back hither, and find my self so unhappy here: For whatever Misfortune befals a Man, the longer
'tis before he knows it, is so much time clearly gained.
However, Sir, by your return, you'll be able the sooner to make your self easie. Had you staid away, the Breach wou'd ha' been far wider. Now, Sir, I'm confident that your presence will have a great Influence upon them all. So you'll learn the whole Business, rectifie Misunderstand∣ings, and make all Friends again. All these dread∣ful Apprehensions of yours are in themselves but very slight things.
Why d'ye pretend to comfort me, when I'm the greatest Wretch alive? Before I marry d this Woman, my Heart was engag d elsewhere; how much I suffered upon that account, any one may easily guess, without my telling; and yet I never was the Man that dared to refuse the Match my Father put upon me: I had but just weaned my self from Bacchis, and disengaged my Affections; but just fixed my Love on Philumena; when alas, a new Business happens which forced me to leave her too: Then I'm afraid I shall find either my Mother or Wife to blame; and if so, the Conse∣quence must be, that I shall be miserable still. For Duty, Parmeno, binds me to bear with my Mother's Failings; and for my Wife, I'm a thousand ways obliged to her, not only for meekly bearing with my Humors, but also for concealing my unkind Usage to her from all the World. Certainly, Par∣meno, some extraordinary thing must have hap∣pe••e••, which gave occasion to this Quarrel that has now lasted so long.
Some fri••olous thing or other I'll warrant ye, Sir: For upon close examination you'll find that the greatest Quarrels han t always the greatest Oc∣casions. Tis frequent, S••r, to find the same thing make one Man sta••k mad, and your mortal Enemy
for ever, when it doesn't move another. How do Childrenbite and scratch for the smallest Trifles! And why? Marry because their Understandings are weak, and are not able to direct em: And your Women truly are e'en as soon moved as Children; one chance word perhaps or so has been the occasion of all this Disturbance.
Well! go in, Parmeno, and let 'em know I'm here.
Hah! What,s here to do.
S't!
Here's a sad Bustle, they run up and down like mad— Pray, Sir, come a little this way.—
Hold your prating.—
So, you enjoyn me silence, and talk your self.
That's like Philumena's Mother's Voice.— Ruin'd!
Why so.
Undone!
Wherefore?
Ah, Parmeno, there is some Mischief more than ordinary has happen'd, which they conceal from me.
They said indeed your Lady was out of or∣der, whether that be it or no, I can't tell.
I'm a lost Man.— Why didn't ye tell me this before?
I con'dn't tell ye ev'ry thing at once.
What's her Distemper?
That I can't tell.
How! Is no body gone for a Doctor?
I can't tell that neither.
But why don't I go in my self, that I may know for certain what's the Business?— Ah my dear Philumena, in what Condition shall I now find thee? Should thy Life be in danger; I shall certainly die with thee.
Hark ye, Madam!
You ll meet with another repulse, Madam.
If youd be rul'd by me, Madam, neither see her, nor send to see her: For to be fond of one that perfectly hates you seems a double piece of Folly. You'll bestow your labour to no purpose, and be troublesome besides.— Then, Madam your Son went to see how she did, as soon as he came to Town.
How! my Son Pamphilus come ashore?
Yes, Madam.
Heavens be praised.— That word has reviv'd me, and set my Heart at rest.
Upo' this account especially, I wou'dn't ha' ye go in: For if her Pains be a little abated, I'm confident, now they're together, she'll up and tell him all that passed between you two; and how the Difference first began— But see where he comes.— He seems very melancholy upon't.
Ah, my Dear, dear Child!
Your Blessing, Madam.
Welcome home heartily.— But how is't with your Wife?
O' the mending hand—
Heavens continue it so.— But why in tears Son? Why thus melancholly.
Nothing at all, Madam.
What Bustle was that? tell me: Was she taken with a sudden Fit?
Yes Madam.
What's her Distemper?
An Ague.
A Quotidian?
So they tell me.— Pray, Madam, walk in, I'll follow immediately.
So I will.
Parmeno, do you run and meet my Ser∣vants, and help them home with their Luggage.
You ll be gone won't ye?
Where shall I begin now, to give an account of those many surprizing Misfortunes that ha' befallen me? Part of which I heard, and part I saw with these very eyes; which made me run out of the
House half distracted.— For when I hastily went in just now, in great concern for my Wife (think∣ing to find her sick of another-gates Distemper than what, alas! I found her in:) The Maids being sur∣priz'd at first sight all of 'em o're-joyd, cry'd out, Hes come: But immediately after I perceived they changed Countenance, because I happen'd to come at such an unlucky Minute: mean time one of 'em ran up Stairs to give notice of my Arrival; and I, as eager to see my Wife, follow her directly. No sooner was I got in, but immediately I perceiv'd her Ailment, unhappy Creature as I was: For they had no time i'th World to conceal the business, for her Cryings out did sufficiently discover her Condition. When I saw this, Base and unworthy, said I! And with that immediately flung out of the Room all in Tears, struck with Horror at such an unheard of dismal Accident. Her Mother, poor Soul, fol∣lowed me close, catch'd me at the Door, and flung her self at my Feet, melting into Tears: so that I cou'd not but pity her: And truly, I'm of Opinion, as a Man's Fortune rises or falls so is he up or down. She thus address'd her self to me: My dear Pam∣philus, you're an Eye-witness now of the Cause that made this unhappy Creature leave your House: She was ra∣vish'd sometime since by an unknown Villain; and is now fled hither to hide her shame from you and the World. He wipes his Eyes. But alas! the very Re∣membrance of her earnest Intreaties makes me melt afresh.— Whatsoever Chance or Fortune (conti∣nu d she) has brought you hither at this juncture, by that we both conjure ye (if we may in Equity and Justice pre∣sume so far) to bury and conceal this Mischance from the Eye of the World. If ever (dear Pamphilus!) if ever you were sensible that she had any Tenderness for ye, in requital she begs ye not to think that small Fa∣vour too much to grant her. As for taking her again,
use your own discretion. You're the only Person that knows of her Lying in, and that the Child is none of yours: For they say you had nothing to do with her the first two Months; and after you had, 'tis now seven and no more. Your Behaviour shows what your thoughts are about it: Now, if it be possible (my Dear!) I wish and endeavour nothing more than that her Lying in may be kept from her Father, and every Soul besides: But should it come out, it shall go for a Miscarriage, I know none will think otherwise; but, what is most like∣ly, will suppose you the Father of it. The Child shall immediately be expos'd, and you ne're the worse for't; and by this means you can suffer no inconvenience, and secure the poor Girls Reputation besides.— I passed my Word, and am resolv'd to keep it: But for ta∣king her again, I think it no ways for my Honour, nor will I do it; tho her Love and Conversation have a very great Influence o're me.— I can't but weep to think what a melancholy Life I must lead for the future—
But yonder comes Parmeno with the rest, there's no occasion for him to be hereabouts at this time; for he's the only Person I made privy to my Beha∣viour to my Wife, when we first marry'd. I fear should he hear her frequent Shrieks, he'll discover her to be in Labour: I must ev'n send him on some Errand or other till all's over.
In sober Sadness, Parmeno, 'tisn't possible to tell thee what a dismal thing 'tis to be a Ship-board.
Indeed?
Troth thou'rt a happy Fellow, little dost thou know what dangers thou escapest by keeping always on dry ground. To pass over other Hard∣ships, mark but this: Thirty long Days and Nights or more, was I on Ship-board; expecting evry minute to be sows'd to the bottom of the Sea, 'twas such plaguy stormy weather all the time, and the Wind against us.
Abominable!
So indeed I found it: In short, if I knew I must go back, rather than do't, upo my Soul I'd shew em a light pair of Heels for't.
Ay, old Boy, thou'st been ready for that sport upon slighter occasions than this:— But hold, yonder's my Master Pamphilus before that Door,— Go all in, and I'll step to him, and see if he has any business wi' me.
Are you here still, Sir.
Yes, I stay for you.
What's your Pleasure?
You must run as far as the Tower.
Who must?
You must.
As far as the Tower? For what pray, Sir?
To find out one Callidemides my Landlord of Myconia, who came over in the same Vessel wi' me.
S'death! I'll be sworn this Master o'mine has made a Vow, that if e're he got ashore, he'd make me run my heart out.
Why don't ye stir?
Must I say any thing to him, or must I only give him the meeting?
Tell him I can't meet him to day as I ap∣pointed, that he mayn't stay to no purpose,— Fly.
But Sir, I don't know what manner of Man he is.
I'll tell ye how to know him presently.— He's a huge, fiery-fac'd, frizzled-crown'd fat Fellow, with wall-eyes, and looks as if he'd fright ye.
Ay, ay: Run Sirrah.
I beg your Pardon for that, I'm quite foun∣dered already.
He's gone,— Now what course shall poor I take?— I'm at a strange loss how to conceal Philumenas lying in, as her Mother desir'd me. I profess, I can't but pity the poor Woman. Ill do what I can, but still I'll discharge my Duty to my Parents, for my Love must give way to my Obe∣dience.
But lack-a-day there's my Father and Mr. Phi∣dippus together,— They make this way too.— I can't devise what to say 'em.
Yes.
I hear he's come, let her be brought home then.
O here's the Man we were talking of.
Your Blessing, Sir.
I'm glad to see thee.
Welcome h••me, Pamphilus; I'm also glad to see ye so sound and lusty after your Vo••age.
Im obliged to ye Sir.
Are ye but just landed, Son?
Just now, Sir.
Well! and what has our Kinsman Phanie left us? Hah!
Wh〈…〉〈…〉 really, Sir, he was a Man given up to his Pleasures in his Life-time, and such as he sel∣dom leave much to their Heirs: However they leave this Commendation behind 'em, that as long as they livd, they liv'd like Gentlemen.
Then thou hast brought home nothing but that pretty Sentence instead of an Estate.
That little he has left, may do us some kindness.
Ah! none at all.— I wish heartily he were alive and in health again.
You may safely wish that: He's past wish∣ing for.— I dare swear I know which you'd chuse.
But now he'll send her home again.
So I will.
Sir, I know the whole business, how ev'ry thing has been managed since I went. I heard the whole Story as soon as e're I arrived.
Hang those envious Dev••ls, that were so officious as to tell it y••.
Im sure I took all possible care to ••void giving an•• of ye the least offence: And had I•• mind to't, I could here tell ye how faithful, loving, and
kind I've been to her; but I had rather ye should hear't from her own Mouth: For by that means you ll the sooner believe my good Nature, when the Relation comes from her that at present is so un∣kind to me. Heavens my witness, I had no hand at all in this Difference: But since she thinks her self too good to stoop to my Mother, when Mo∣desty might ha' taught her t'have born with her Humour; and since there's no other way of com∣posing the Difference, I must een part with either one or the other. But now, Mr. Phidippus, Filial Duty obliges me to take my Mother's part before my Wifes.
I am not displeased, Pamphilus, to find ye so ready to sacrifice all to the Interests of your Pa∣rents: But have a care you dont engage too far in this Quarrel.
How can I engage my self in a Quarrel against her, that never disobligd me in any thing, but on the contrary has obliged me in many things? I love her, honour her, and still desire with all my Soul to keep her: For I've always found her of a wonderful sweet Temper towards me; there∣fore I wish with all my Heart she may spend the remainder of her days with a more fortunate Hus∣band than me; since meer necessity tears her from me.
'Tis in your own power to hinder that.
Take her home again, if you be wise.
That's not my intention, Sir. I must now consult my Mother's Interest.
Whether now?— Stay, stay, I say.— Where are ye going?
What Whim's this?
I told ye, Brother, how highly he'd resent this; and therefore beggd of ye to send home your Daughter in time.
'Sbud I didn't think he had been such a Churl. Does he think Ill go cringing with Cap in Hand to him? If he's dispos'd to take home his Wife, well and good; if not, let him refund her Portion, pack off, and a F— for him.
Look ye now; you're in as great a Fume as he.
Pamphilus, You're grown mighty huffish methinks after your Voyage.—
His anger will soon be over, tho indeed he had some cause.
Because forsooth you've got a little more Pelf fallen to ye, you swell so much upon't.
What? You'll fall out wi'me too?
Let him consider on't, and tell me to day, whether he'll have her or no; that if he won't ano∣ther may.
Stay Brother, hear me but one word.— He's gone:— But what's this to me? In short, let 'em order their Matters as they please for me, since nei∣ther Brother nor Son will hear Reason, nor mind one Word I say, Ill turn all my Forces upo' my W••fe, the Promoter of all this Mischief, and dis∣charge all that sticks in my Stomach upon her.
I'm ruined! What shall I do?— Which way shall I turn my self?— Alas! What answer can I give my Husband? I'm perswaded he heard the Child cry, which made him run so hastily into my Daughters Chamber, without saying a word. Should he find that she's in Labour, I vow I can't devise what excuse to invent for the concealing of it.— The Door goes,— I'm afraid hes upo'the Scent after me.— I'm no Woman of this World.
Meaning me, my dear Husband?
I your Husband? D'ye regard me as a Hus∣band, or so much as a Man? For had ye esteem'd me either one or t'other (Gentlewoman!) you daren't ha' made me such a publick Scorn by your baseness.
By what baseness?
By what?— Isn't your Daughter brought to bed?— Hah! are ye Tongue-tyd now?— Who's the Father pray?
Is that a Question for a Father to ask?— Dear Heart, who d'ye think shou'd be but her own Husband?
I believe it, nor is it for a Father to think otherwise: But I'm amazed why ye should so care∣fully keep all in hugger-mugger from us, especial∣ly when she was delivered at her full time, and all things were as they shou'd be. Cou'd ye be so dam∣nably malicious, as to wish the poor Child's Death; which you knew would be the occasion of a more lasting Friendship between us, rather than suffer Man and Wife to live together contrary to your cross-grain'd Humour.— I took it to be wholly their fault, but now I find 'tis all long of you.
Im a miserable Creature.
Would I were sure o' that— It now comes fresh into my mind, what you formerly said on this subject, when the Match was first made. You profess'd forsooth, that you cou'dn't away with a Son-in-law that kept his Wenches, and lay abroad whole Nights together.
I had rather he should suspect any thing i't'h world, than guess at the true Cause.
I knew that he kept a Mistress (Madam Wife!) long before you did: But I never counted that such a mighty fault in a young Man; for 'tis what we are all born with, but the time will quickly come when he'll hate himself for't: But you I see are still the same, and could ne're be at quiet till you had parted em, and null'd the Mar∣riage, 'cause twas of my making. Now 'tis plain how rarely you stood affected to the Match.
Can ye suppose me so base and cruel to my own Flesh and Blood, if this Match had been to our advantag?
Pish! You able to foresee or judge what's to our advantage? May be some body inform'd inform'd you that they saw him going to or coming from his Mistress. And what of all that, if he did it pri∣vately, and but seldom? Isn't it more handsom for us to wink at such flailings, than blaze 'em abroad and get nothing but ill will to our selves by the bargain? For could he so suddenly draw his Af∣fections from one he has lov'd so many years, I shou'dn't count him a man, nor think him half stanch and constant enough for my Daughter.
Good Husband, no more of the young man; nor of my pretended faults neither: Go and meet him privately, and ask him whether he'll take home his wife or no: If he says yes, send her away, if not, I think I've taken a wise course with my Daughter.
If he wou'dn't receive her, and you knew him in fault, Wife; I wasn't far off, pray why wasn't I consulted; withal? This mads me to the Heart, to find that ye dare do such a thing without my leave. I charge ye upon your Life, not to let ••he Child stir out of the House.— But what a
Blockhead am I to think she'll mind what I say? I'll go in my self, and strictly charge my Servants, to let no body carry it away.
Let me die if I don't believe I'm th' unhappiest Woman i'th world: In good truth, I plainly fore∣see how extreamly ill he'll take it if he knew all, since he's so very angry for that little he does know; nor can I imagine how to alter his Resolution.— And this is the only Evil that could ha' befallen me after all my other Disasters, if I shou'd be forced to bring up a Child we don't know the Father of. For when my Daughter was ravish'd, 'twas so dark she cou'dn't discern his Face, nor yet get any Token from him, whereby to discover him afterwards 〈◊〉〈◊〉 only when the Fellow left her, he forced a Ring off her Finger. Upon the whole matter I'm strange••y afraid Mr. Pamphilus, when he comes to hear w•• bring up another Man's Child instead of his, will no longer conceal what we desired him to keep private.