No More Learning

_L. Dunce. _ Ah, sir, see there.

_Sir Dav. _ Bless us! a man! and bloody! what, upon my
hall-table!

_L. Dunce. _ Two ruffians brought him in just now, pronouncing
the inhuman deed was done by your command: Sir Jolly came in
the same minute, or sure I had died with my distracting fears.
How could you think on a revenge so horrid?

_Sir Dav. _ As I hope to be saved, neighbour, I only bargained
with them to bastinado him in a way, or so, as one friend might
do to another: but do you say that he is dead?

_Sir Jol. _ Dead, dead as clay; stark stiff and useless all,
nothing about him stirring, but all's cold and still. I knew
him a lusty fellow once, a very mettled fellow; 'tis a thousand
pities!

_Sir Dav. _ What shall I do? I'll throw myself upon him, kiss
his wide wounds, and weep till blind as buzzard.

_L. Dunce. _ Oh, come not near him; there's such horrid
antipathy follows all murders, his wounds would stream afresh
should you but touch him. [47]

_Sir Dav. _ Dear neighbour, dearest neighbour, friend, Sir
Jolly, as you love charity, pity my wretched case, and give me
counsel; I'll give my wife and all my estate to have him live
again; or shall I bury him in the arbour, at the upper end of
the garden?

_Sir Jol. _ Alas-a-day, neighbour, never think on't, never think
on't; the dogs will find him there, as they scrape holes to
bury bones in; there is but one way that I know of.

_Sir Dav. _ What is it, dear neighbour, what is it? You see I am
upon my knees to you; take all I have and ease me of my fears.

_Sir Jol. _ Truly the best thing that I can think of is putting
of him to bed, putting him into a warm bed, and try to fetch
him to life again; a warm bed is the best thing in the world.
My lady may do much too, she's a good woman, and, as I've been
told, understands a green wound well.

_Sir Dav. _ My dear, my dear, my dear!

_L. Dunce. _ Bear me away! oh, send me hence far off, where my
unhappy name may be a stranger, and this sad accident no more
remembered to my dishonour!

_Sir Dav. _ Ah, but my love! my joy! are there no bowels in thee?

_L. Dunce. _ What would you have me do?

_Sir Dav. _ Pr'ythee do so much as try thy skill; there may be
one dram of life left in him yet. Take him up to thy chamber,
put him into thy own bed, and try what thou canst do with him;
pr'ythee do: if thou canst but find motion in him, all may be
well yet. I'll go up to my closet in the garret, and say my
prayers in the mean while.

_L. Dunce. _ Will ye then leave this ruin on my hands?

_Sir Dav. _ Pray, pray, my dear; I beseech you, neighbour, help
to persuade her if it be possible.

_Sir Jol. _ Faith, madam, do, try what you can do. I have a
great fancy you may do him good; who can tell but you may have
the gift of stroking? Pray, madam, be persuaded.

_L. Dunce. _ I'll do whate'er's your pleasure.

_Sir Dav. _ That's my best dear: I'll go to my closet and pray
for thee heartily. Alas, alas, that ever this should happen!
[_Exit. _

_Beau. _ So, is he gone, madam, my angel?

_Sir Jol. _ What, no thanks, no reward for old Jolly now?
Come hither, hussy, you little canary-bird, you little
hop-o'-my-thumb, come hither: make me a curtsey, and give me a
kiss now, ha! give me a kiss, I say; odd, I will have a kiss,
so I will, I will have a kiss if I set on't. Shoogh, shoogh,
shoogh, get you into a corner when I bid you, shoogh, shoogh,
shoogh--what, there already? [_She goes to_ BEAUGARD. ] Well, I
ha' done, I ha' done; this 'tis to be an old fellow now.

_Beau. _ And will you save the life of him you've wounded?

_L. Dunce. _ Dare you trust yourself to my skill for a cure?
[Sir DAVY _appears at a window above_.

_Sir Jol. _ Hist! hist! Close, close, I say again; yonder's Sir
Davy, odds so!

_Sir Dav. _ My dear! my dear! my dear!

_L. Dunce. _ Who's that calls? my love, is't you?

_Sir Dav. _ Ay, some comfort or my heart's broke! are there any
hopes yet? I've tried to say my prayers, and cannot: if he be
quite dead, I shall never pray again! Neighbour, no hopes?

_Sir Jol. _ Truly little or none; some small pulse I think there
is left, very little: there's nothing to be done if you don't
pray: get you to prayers whatever you do. Get you gone; nay,
don't stay now, shut the window, I tell you.

_Sir Dav. _ Well, this is a great trouble to me; but good-night.
[_Retires. _

_Sir Jol. _ Good-night to you, dear neighbour. --Get ye up, get
ye up, and begone into the next room presently, make haste.
[_To_ BEAUGARD _and_ Lady DUNCE. ] But don't steal away till
I come to you; be sure ye remember, don't ye stir till I
come--pish, none of this bowing and fooling, it but loses time;
I'll only bolt the door that belongs to Sir Davy's lodgings,
that he may be safe, and be with you in a twinkle. Ah--so, now
for the door; very well, friend, you are fast.

[_Bolts the door and sings. _

Bonny lass, gan thoo wert mine,
And twonty thoosand poonds aboot thee, &c. [_Exeunt. _

[Illustration]

FOOTNOTES:

[41] Louis XIV.

[42] Take it off.

[43] This probably refers to the supposed murder, in 1678, of Sir
Edmundsbury Godfrey, the magistrate before whom Titus Oates made
his incredible depositions concerning the alleged Popish plot. Many
believed it was a case of suicide. He was found pierced through with
his own sword on Primrose Hill. But the infamous Bedloe, a convicted
felon, and accomplice of Titus Oates, accused Queen Catharine's
Catholic servants of murdering Godfrey in Somerset House, where the
queen then resided, and so struck at the queen herself. Oates and he
afterwards accused her of conspiring to murder the king. But Charles
was not so mad and bad as to believe them. Godfrey had warned one of
the denounced persons, Coleman, and the murder, if it was one, is now
generally attributed to the Ultra-Protestant faction. At any rate,
they used the incident to inflame the public mind against the Roman
Catholics.

[44] Algiers.

[45] _i. e. _ Drink to him.

[46] Sporting dogs used to be called "questing hounds" (see Malory, for
instance), and a hound may run forward in pursuit at the wrong moment.
This is evidently the allusion here.

[47] An allusion to the common superstition that if the murderer
touched the dead body the wounds would commence to bleed afresh.




ACT THE FIFTH.


SCENE I. --SYLVIA'S _Chamber_.

COURTINE _discovered bound on a couch_.

_Cour. _ Heigho! heigho! Ha! where am I? Was I drunk or no,
last night? Something leaning that way. But where the devil am
I? sincerely in a bawdy-house: faugh! what a smell of sin is
here! Let me look about; if there be ever a Geneva Bible or
a _Practice of Piety_ in the room, I am sure I have guessed
right. What's the matter now? tied fast! bound too! What tricks
have I played to come into this condition? I have lighted into
the territories of some merrily-disposed chambermaid or other;
and she in a witty fit, forsooth, hath trussed me up thus: has
she pinned no rags to my tail, or chalked me upon the back,
trow? Would I had her mistress here at a venture!

_Enter_ SYLVIA _and_ Maid.

_Sylv. _ What would you do with her, my enchanted knight, if you
had her? you are too sober for her by this time: next time you
get drunk, you may perhaps venture to scale her balcony like a
valiant captain as you are.

_Cour. _ Hast thou done this, my dear destruction? and am I in
thy limbo? I must confess, when I am in my beer, my courage
does run away with me now and then; but let me loose, and thou
shalt see what a gentle humble animal thou hast made me. Fie
upon't! what, tie me up like an ungovernable cur to the frame
of a table! let, let thy poor dog loose, that he may fawn and
make much of thee a little.

_Sylv. _ What, with those paws which you have been ferreting
Moor-fields withal, and are very dirty still? After you have
been daggling[48] yourself abroad for prey, and can meet with
none, you come sneaking hither for a crust, do you?

_Maid. _ Shall I fetch the whip and the bell, madam, and slash
him for his roguery soundly?

_Cour. _ Indeed, indeed! Do you long to be ferking[49] of man's
flesh, madam flea-trap? Does the chaplain of the family use you
to the exercise, that you are so ready for it?

_Sylv. _ If you should be let loose, and taken into favour now,
you would be for rambling again so soon as you had got your
liberty.

_Cour. _ Do but try me, and if ever I prove recreant more, let
me be beaten and used like a dog in good earnest.

_Sylv. _ Promise to grant me but one request, and it shall be
done.

_Cour. _ Hear me but swear.

_Sylv. _ That anybody may do ten thousand times a-day.

_Cour. _ Upon the word of a gentleman; nay, as I hope to get
money in pocket.

_Sylv. _ There I believe him, lelely. [50] You'll keep your word,
you say?

_Cour. _ If I don't, hang me up in that wench's old garters.

_Sylv. _ See, sir, you have your freedom. [_Unbinds him. _

_Cour. _ Well, now name the price; what I must pay for't?

_Sylv. _ You know, sir, considering our small acquaintance, you
have been pleased to talk to me very freely of love-matters.

_Cour. _ I must confess, I have been something to blame that
way; but if ever thou hearest more of it from my mouth after
this night's adventure--would I were well out of the house!

_Sylv. _ Have a care of swearing, I beseech you; for you must
understand that, spite of my teeth, I am at last fallen in love
most unmercifully.

_Cour.
_ And dost thou imagine I am so hard-hearted a villain as
to have no compassion of thee?

_Sylv. _ No, for I hope he's a man you can have no exceptions
against.

_Cour. _ Yes, yes, the man is a man, I'll assure you, that's one
comfort.

_Sylv. _ Who do you think it may be now? try if you can guess
him.

_Cour. _ Whoever he is, he's an honest fellow, I'll warrant him,
and I believe will not think himself very unhappy neither.

_Sylv. _ If a fortune of five thousand pounds, pleasant nights,
and quiet days, can make him happy, I assure you he may be so;
but try once to guess at him.

_Cour. _ But if I should be mistaken?

_Sylv. _ Why, who is it you would wish me to?

_Cour. _ You have five thousand pound, you say?

_Sylv. _ Yes.

_Cour. _ Faith, child, to deal honestly, I know well enough
who 'tis I wish for; but, sweetheart, before I tell you my
inclinations, it were but reasonable that I knew yours.

_Sylv. _ Well, sir, because I am confident you will stand my
friend in the business, I'll make a discovery; and to hold you
in suspense no longer, you must know I have a month's mind[51]
to an arm-full of your dearly-beloved friend and brother
captain; what say you to't?

_Cour. _ Madam, your humble servant; good-bye, that's all.

_Sylv. _ What, thus cruelly leave a lady that so kindly took
you in, in your last night's pickle, into her lodging? whither
would you rove now, my wanderer?

_Cour. _ Faith, madam, you have dealt so gallantly in trusting
me with your passion, that I cannot stay here without telling
you, that I am three times as much in love with an acquaintance
of yours, as you can be with any friend of mine.

_Sylv. _ Not with my waiting-woman, I hope, sir.

_Cour. _ No, but it is with a certain kinswoman of thine, child;
they call her my Lady Dunce, and I think this is her house too;
they say she will be civil upon a good occasion, therefore,
pr'ythee be charitable, and show the way to her chamber a
little.

_Sylv. _ What, commit adultery, captain? fie upon't! what,
hazard your soul?

_Cour. _ No, no, only venture my body a little, that's all; look
you, you know the secret, and may imagine my desires, therefore
as you would have me assist your inclinations, pray be civil
and help me to mine; look you, no demurring upon the matter,
no qualms, but show me the way--[_To the_ Maid] or you, hussy,
you shall do't; any bawd will serve at present, for I will go.
[_Exit_ Maid.

_Sylv. _ But you shan't go, sir.

_Cour. _ Shan't go, lady?

_Sylv. _ No, shan't go, sir; did I not tell you when once you
had got your liberty, that you would be rambling again.

_Cour. _ Why, child, wouldst thou be so uncharitable to tie up a
poor jade to an empty rack in thy stable, when he knows where
to go elsewhere, and get provender enough?

_Sylv. _ Any musty provender, I find, will serve your turn, so
you have it but cheap, or at another man's charges.

_Cour. _ No, child, I had rather my ox should graze in a field
of my own, than live hide-bound upon the common, or run the
hazard of being pounded every day for trespasses.

_Sylv. _ Truly, all things considered, 'tis a great pity so good
a husbandman as you should want a farm to cultivate.

_Cour. _ Wouldst thou be but kind, and let me have a bargain in
a tenement of thine, to try how it would agree with me!

_Sylv. _ And would you be contented to take a lease for your
life?

_Cour. _ So pretty a lady of the manor, and a moderate rent!

_Sylv. _ Which you'll be sure to pay very punctually?

_Cour. _ If thou doubtest my honesty, faith, e'en take a little
earnest beforehand.

_Sylv. _ Not so hasty neither, good tenant. _Imprimis_, you
shall oblige yourself to a constant residence, and not, by
leaving the house uninhabited, let it run to repairs.

_Cour. _ Agreed.

_Sylv. Item_, for your own sake you shall promise to keep the
estate well fenced and inclosed, lest some time or other your
neighbour's cattle break in and spoil the crop on the ground,
friend.

_Cour. _ Very just and reasonable, provided I don't find it lie
too much to common already.

_Sylv. Item_, you shall enter into strict covenant not to
take any other farm upon your hands, without my consent and
approbation; or, if you do, that then it shall be lawful for me
to get me another tenant, how and where I think fit.

_Cour. _ Faith, that's something hard though, let me tell you
but that, landlady.

_Sylv. _ Upon these terms, we'll draw articles.

_Cour. _ And when shall we sign them?

_Sylv. _ Why, this morning, as soon as the ten o'clock office in
Covent-garden is open.

_Cour. _ A bargain; but how will you answer your entertainment
of a drunken red-coat in your lodgings at these unseasonable
hours?

_Sylv. _ That's a secret you will be hereafter obliged to keep
for your own sake; and for the family, your friend Beaugard
shall answer for us there.

_Cour. _ Indeed I fancied the rogue had mischief in his head,
he behaved himself so soberly last night: has he taken a farm
lately too?

_Sylv. _ A trespasser, I believe, if the truth were known, upon
the provender you would fain have been biting at just now.

_Re-enter_ Maid.

_Maid. _ Madam, madam, have a care of yourself: I see lights in
the great hall; whatever is the matter, Sir Davy and all the
family are up.

_Cour. _ I hope they'll come, and catch me here: well, now you
have brought me into this condition, what will you do with me,
ha?

_Sylv. _ You won't be contented for awhile to be tied up like a
jade to an empty rack without hay, will you?

_Cour. _ Faith, e'en take me, and put thy mark upon me quickly,
that if I light into strange hands they may know me for a sheep
of thine.

_Sylv. _ What, by your wanting a fleece do you mean? If it must
be so, come follow your shepherdess. Ba-a-a! [_Exeunt. _

[Illustration]


SCENE II. --_A Room in_ Sir DAVY DUNCE'S _House_.

_Enter_ Sir DAVY DUNCE _and_ VERMIN.

_Sir Dav. _ I cannot sleep, I shall never sleep again: I have
prayed too so long, that were I to be hanged presently, I have
never a prayer left to help myself: I was no sooner lain down
upon the bed just now, and fallen into a slumber, but methought
the devil was carrying me down Ludgate-hill a-gallop, six
puny fiends with flaming fire-forks running before him like
link-boys, to throw me headlong into Fleetditch, which seemed
to be turned into a lake of fire and brimstone: would it were
morning!

_Ver. _ Truly, sir, it has been a very dismal night.

_Sir Dav. _ But didst thou meet never a white thing upon the
stairs?

_Ver. _ No, sir, not I; but methoughts I saw our great dog
Towzer, with his brass collar on, stand at the cellar-door as I
came along the old entry.

_Sir Dav. _ It could never be: Towzer has a chain; had this
thing a chain on?

_Ver. _ No, sir, no chain, but it had Towzer's eyes for all the
world.

_Sir Dav. _ What, ugly, great, frightful eyes?

_Ver. _ Ay, ay, huge saucer eyes, but mightily like Towzer's.

_Sir Dav. _ O Lord! O Lord! hark! hark!

_Ver. _ What? what I beseech you, sir?

_Sir Dav. _ What's that upon the stairs? Didst thou hear
nothing? Hist, hark, pat, pat, pat, hark, hey!

_Ver. _ Hear nothing! where, sir?

_Sir Dav. _ Look! look! what's that? what's that in the corner
there?

_Ver. _ Where?

_Sir Dav. _ There.

_Ver. _ What, upon the iron chest?

_Sir Dav. _ No, the long black thing up by the old clock-case.
See! see! now it stirs, and is coming this way.

_Ver. _ Alas, sir, speak to it--you are a justice o' peace--I
beseech you. I dare not stay in the house: I'll call the watch,
and tell 'em hell's broke loose; what shall I do? oh! [_Exit. _

_Sir Dav. _ O Vermin, if thou art a true servant, have pity on
thy master, and do not forsake me in this distressed condition.
Satan, begone! I defy thee. I'll repent and be saved, I'll say
my prayers, I'll go to church; help! help! help! Was there
anything or no? in what hole shall I hide myself? [_Exit. _

_Enter_ Sir JOLLY, FOURBIN, _and_ BLOODY-BONES.

_Sir Jol. _ That should be Sir Davy's voice; the waiting-woman,
indeed, told me he was afraid and could not sleep. Pretty
fellows, pretty fellows both; you've done your business
handsomely; what, I'll warrant you have been a-whoring together
now; ha! You do well, you do well, I like you the better for't;
what's o'clock?

_Four. _ Near four, sir; 'twill not be day yet these two hours.

_Sir Jol. _ Very well, but how got ye into the house?

_Four. _ A ragged retainer of the family, Vermin I think they
call him, let us in as physicians sent for by your order.

_Sir Jol. _ Excellent rogues! and then I hope all things are
ready, as I gave directions?

_Four. _ To a tittle, sir; there shall not be a more critical
observer of your worship's pleasure than your humble servant
the Chevalier Fourbin.

_Sir Jol. _ Get you gone, you rogue, you have a sharp nose, and
are a nimble fellow; I have no more to say to you, stand aside,
and be ready when I call: here he comes; hist, hem, hem, hem.

[_Exeunt_ FOURBIN _and_ BLOODY-BONES.

_Re-enter_ Sir DAVY DUNCE.

_Sir Dav. _ Ha! what art thou?
Approach thou like the rugged Bankside bear,
The East-cheap bull, or monster shown in fair,--
Take any shape but that, and I'll confront thee!

_Sir Jol. _ Alas, unhappy man! I am thy friend.

_Sir Dav. _ Thou canst not be my friend, for I defy thee.