_ Sir,
methinks
you are very curious.
Thomas Otway
_ Why so, I beseech you?
_L. Dunce. _ Had he stayed here, I had not been sacrificed to
the arms of this monument of man, for the bed of death could
not be more cold than his has been: he would have delivered me
from the monster, for even then I loved him, and was apt to
think my kindness not neglected.
_Sylv. _ I find indeed your ladyship had good thoughts of him.
_L. Dunce. _ Surely 'tis impossible to think too well of him,
for he has wit enough to call his good-nature in question, and
yet good-nature enough to make his wit suspected.
_Sylv. _ But how do you hope ever to get sight of him? Sir
Davy's watchfulness is invincible. I dare swear he would smell
out a rival if he were in the house, only by natural instinct;
as some that always sweat when a cat's in the room. Then again,
Beaugard's a soldier, and that's a thing the old gentleman, you
know, loves dearly.
_L. Dunce. _ There lies the greatest comfort of my uneasy life;
he is one of those fools, forsooth, that are led by the
nose by knaves to rail against the king and the government,
and is mightily fond of being thought of a party. I have had
hopes this twelve-month to have heard of his being in the
Gatehouse[33] for treason.
_Sylv. _ But I find only yourself the prisoner all this while.
_L. Dunce. _ At present indeed I am so; but fortune I hope will
smile, wouldst thou but be my friend, Sylvia.
_Sylv. _ In any mischievous design, with all my heart.
_L. Dunce. _ The conclusion, madam, may turn to your
satisfaction. But you have no thoughts of Courtine?
_Sylv. _ Not I, I'll assure you, cousin.
_L. Dunce. _ You don't think him well shaped, straight, and
proportionable?
_Sylv. _ Considering he eats but once a week, the man is well
enough.
_L. Dunce. _ And then he wears his clothes, you know, filthily,
and like a horrid sloven.
_Sylv. _ Filthily enough of all conscience, with a threadbare
red coat, which his tailor duns him for to this day, over which
a great, broad, greasy, buff-belt, enough to turn any one's
stomach but a disbanded soldier; a peruke tied up in a knot,
to excuse its want of combing; and then, because he has been a
man at arms, he must wear two tuffles of a beard, forsooth, to
lodge a dunghill of snuff upon, to keep his nose in good humour.
_L. Dunce. _ Nay, now I am sure that thou lovest him.
_Sylv. _ So far from it, that I protest eternally against the
whole sex.
_L. Dunce. _ That time will best demonstrate; in the mean while
to our business.
_Sylv. _ As how, madam?
_L. Dunce. _ To-night must I see Beaugard; they are this minute
at dinner in the Haymarket; now to make my evil genius, that
haunts me everywhere, my thing called a husband, himself to
assist his poor wife at a dead lift, I think would not be
unpleasant.
_Sylv. _ But 'twill be impossible.
_L. Dunce. _ I am apt to be persuaded rather very easy. You know
our good and friendly neighbour, Sir Jolly.
_Sylv. _ Out on him, beast! he's always talking filthily to a
body; if he sits but at the table with one, he'll be making
nasty figures in the napkins.
_L. Dunce. _ He and my sweet yoke-fellow are the most intimate
friends in the world; so that partly out of neighbourly
kindness, as well as the great delight he takes to be meddling
in matters of this nature, with a great deal of pains and
industry he has procured me Beaugard's picture, and given him
to understand how well a friend of his in petticoats, called
myself, wishes him.
_Sylv. _ But what's all this to the making the husband
instrumental? for I must confess, of all creatures, a husband's
the thing that's odious to me.
_L. Dunce. _ That must be done this night: I'll instantly to my
chamber, take my bed in a pet, and send for Sir Davy.
_Sylv. _ But which way then must the lover come?
_L. Dunce. _ Nay, I'll betray Beaugard to him, show him the
picture he sent me, and beg of him, as he tenders his own
honour and my quiet, to take some course to secure me from the
scandalous solicitations of that innocent fellow.
_Sylv. _ And so make him the property, the go-between, to bring
the affair to an issue the more decently.
_L. Dunce. _ Right, Sylvia; 'tis the best office a husband can
do a wife; I mean an old husband. Bless us, to be yoked in
wedlock with a paralytic, coughing, decrepit dotterel; to be a
dry-nurse all one's life-time to an old child of sixty-five;
to lie by the image of death a whole night, a dull immoveable,
that has no sense of life but through its pains! the pigeon's
as happy that's laid to a sick man's feet, when the world has
given him over:[34] for my part, this shall henceforth be my
prayer:--
Curst be the memory, nay double curst,
Of her that wedded age for interest first!
Though worn with years, with fruitless wishes full,
'Tis all day troublesome, and all night dull.
Who wed with fools, indeed, lead happy lives;
Fools are the fittest, finest things for wives:
Yet old men profit bring, as fools bring ease,
And both make youth and wit much better please. [_Exeunt. _
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
FOOTNOTES:
[26] Knights of the post were hired witnesses and men of straw who made
a trade of becoming bail. They hung about the various inns of court so
as to be available at a moment's notice. In _Hudibras_ we read:
"Retain all sorts of witnesses
That ply i' the Temples under trees,
Or walk the Round with Knights o' th' Posts
About the crossed-legged Knights their hosts. "
[27] In Covent Garden.
[28] A courtesan.
[29] A famous ordinary, which stood on the site of Drummond's bank at
Charing Cross, frequently alluded to by writers of the period.
[30] Refuse.
[31] The fate, according to an old proverb, of those who die maids.
[32] Hysterics.
[33] A well-known prison near the west end of Westminster Abbey, where
political prisoners were confined.
[34] An old superstitious practice. Pepys makes mention of pigeons
being placed at the feet of Catherine of Braganza, Charles II. 's queen,
when she was dangerously ill.
ACT THE SECOND.
SCENE I. --_The Street before Whitehall. _
_Enter_ Sir JOLLY JUMBLE, BEAUGARD, COURTINE,
_and_ FOURBIN.
_Cour. _ Sir Jolly is the glory of the age.
_Sir Jol. _ Nay, now, sir, you honour me too far.
_Beau. _ He's the delight of the young, and wonder of the old.
_Sir Jol. _ I swear, gentlemen, you make me blush.
_Cour. _ He deserves a statue of gold, at the charge of the
kingdom.
_Sir Jol. _ Out upon't, fie for shame! I protest I'll leave
your company if you talk so. But faith they were pure whores,
daintily dutiful strumpets: ha! uddsbud, they'd--have stripped
for t'other bottle.
_Beau. _ Truly, Sir Jolly, you are a man of very extraordinary
discipline: I never saw whores under better command in my life.
_Sir Jol. _ Pish, that's nothing, man, nothing; I can send for
forty better when I please; doxies that will skip, strip, leap,
trip, and do anything in the world, anything, old soul!
_Cour. _ Dear, dear Sir Jolly, where and when?
_Sir Jol. _ Odd! as simply as I stand here, her father was a
knight.
_Beau. _ Indeed, Sir Jolly! a knight, say you?
_Sir Jol. _ Ay, but a little decayed: I'll assure you she's a
very good gentlewoman born.
_Cour. _ Ay, and a very good gentlewoman bred too.
_Sir Jol. _ Ay, and so she is.
_Beau. _ But, Sir Jolly, how goes my business forward? when
shall I have a view of the quarry I am to fly at?
_Sir Jol. _ Alas-a-day, not so hasty; soft and fair, I beseech
you. Ah, my little son of thunder, if thou hadst her in thy
arms now between a pair of sheets, and I under the bed to see
fair play, boy; gemini! what would become of me? what would
become of me? there would be doings! O lawd, I under the bed!
_Beau. _ Or behind the hangings, Sir Jolly, would not that do as
well?
_Sir Jol. _ Ah no, under the bed against the world, and then it
would be very dark, ha!
_Beau. _ Dark to choose?
_Sir Jol. _ No, but a little light would do well; a small
glimmering lamp, just enough for me to steal a peep by; oh,
lamentable! oh, lamentable! I won't speak a word more! there
would be a trick! O rare! you friend, O rare! Odds-so, not a
word more, odds-so, yonder comes the monster that must be the
cuckold-elect; step, step aside and observe him; if I should be
seen in your company, 'twould spoil all.
[_Exeunt_ Sir JOLLY _and_ COURTINE.
_Beau. _ For my part, I'll stand the meeting of him; one way
to promote a good understanding with a wife, is first to get
acquainted with her husband. [_Retires. _
_Enter_ Sir DAVY DUNCE.
_Sir Dav. _ Well, of all blessings, a discreet wife is the
greatest that can light upon a man of years: had I been married
to anything but an angel now, what a beast had I been by this
time! well, I am the happiest old fool! 'tis a horrid age that
we live in, so that an honest man can keep nothing to himself.
If you have a good estate, every covetous rogue is longing
for't (truly I love a good estate dearly myself); if you have
a handsome wife, every smooth-faced coxcomb will be combing
and cocking[35] at her: flesh-flies are not so troublesome
to the shambles as those sort of insects are to the boxes in
the play-house. But virtue is a great blessing, an unvaluable
treasure: to tell me herself that a villain had tempted her,
and give me the very picture, the enchantment that he sent to
bewitch her! it strikes me dumb with admiration. Here's the
villain in effigy. [_Pulls out the picture. _] Odd! a very
handsome fellow, a dangerous rogue, I'll warrant him: such
fellows as these now should be fettered like unruly colts, that
they might not leap into other men's pastures. Here's a nose
now, I could find it in my heart to cut it off. Damned dog, to
dare to presume to make a cuckold of a knight! --bless us! what
will this world come to? Well, poor Sir Davy, down, down on thy
knees, and thank thy stars for this deliverance.
_Beau. _ 'Sdeath! what's that I see? sure 'tis the very picture
which I sent by Sir Jolly; if so, by this light, I am damnably
jilted.
_Sir Dav. _ But now if--
_Beau. _ Surely he does not see us yet.
_Four. _ See you, sir! why he has but one eye, and we are on his
blind side; I'll dumb-found him. [_Strikes him on the shoulder. _
_Sir Dav. _ Who the devil's this? Sir, sir, sir, who are you,
sir?
_Beau. _ Ay, ay, 'tis the same; now a pox of all amorous
adventures! 'sdeath, I'll go beat the impertinent pimp that
drew me into this fooling.
_Sir Dav.
_ Sir, methinks you are very curious.
_Beau. _ Sir, perhaps I have an extraordinary reason to be so.
_Sir Dav. _ And perhaps, sir, I care not for you, nor your
reasons neither.
_Beau. _ Sir, if you are at leisure, I would beg the honour to
speak with you.
_Sir Dav. _ With me, sir? what's your business with me?
_Beau. _ I would not willingly be troublesome, though it may be
I am so at this time.
_Sir Dav. _ It may be so too, sir.
_Beau. _ But to be known to so worthy a person as you are, would
be so great an honour, so extraordinary a happiness, that I
could not avoid taking this opportunity of tendering you my
service.
_Sir Dav. _ [_Aside. _] Smooth rogue! who the devil is this
fellow? But, sir, you were pleased to nominate business, sir; I
desire with what speed you can to know your business, sir, that
I may go about my business.
_Beau. _ Sir, if I might with good manners, I should be glad
to inform myself whose picture that is which you have in your
hand; methinks it is a very fine painting.
_Sir Dav. _ Picture, friend, picture! sir, 'tis a resemblance
of a very impudent fellow; they call him Captain Beaugard,
forsooth, but he is in short a rake-hell, a poor, lousy,
beggarly, disbanded devil; do you know him, friend?
_Beau. _ I think I have heard of such a vagabond: the truth on't
is, he is a very impudent fellow.
_Sir Dav. _ Ay, a damned rogue.
_Beau. _ Oh, a notorious scoundrel.
_Sir Dav. _ I expect to hear he's hanged by next sessions.
_Beau. _ The truth on't is, he has deserved it long ago. But did
you ever see him, Sir Davy?
_Sir Dav. _ Sir! --does he know me? [_Aside. _
_Beau. _ Because I fancy that miniature is very like him. Pray,
sir, whence had it you?
_Sir Dav. _ Had it, friend? had it? whence had it I? [_Aside. _]
Bless us! [_Compares the picture with_ BEAUGARD'S _face_. ] what
have I done now! this is the very traitor himself; if he should
be desperate now, and put his sword in my guts! --slitting my
nose will be as bad as that, I have but one eye left neither,
and may be--Oh, but this is the King's Court; odd, that's
well remembered; he dares not but be civil here. I'll try to
out-huff him. Whence had it you?
_Beau. _ Ay, sir, whence had it you? that's English in my
country, sir.
_Sir Dav. _ Go, sir, you are a rascal.
_Beau. _ How!
_Sir Dav. _ Sir, I say you are a rascal, a very impudent rascal;
nay, I'll prove you to be a rascal, if you go to that--
_Beau. _ Sir, I am a gentleman and a soldier.
_Sir Dav. _ So much the worse; soldiers have been cuckold-makers
from the beginning: sir, I care not what you are; for aught I
know you may be a--come, sir, did I never see you? Answer me
to that; did I never see you? for aught I know you may be a
Jesuit; there were more in the last army beside you.
_Beau. _ Of your acquaintance, and be hanged!
_Sir Dav. _ Yes, to my knowledge there were several at
Hounslow-heath, disguised in dirty petticoats, and cried
brandy. I knew a sergeant of foot that was familiar with one
of them all night in a ditch, and fancied him a woman; but the
devil is powerful.
_Beau. _ In short, you worthy villain of worship, that picture
is mine, and I must have it, or I shall take an opportunity to
kick your worship most inhumanly.
_Sir Dav. _ Kick, sir!
_Beau. _ Ay, sir, kick; 'tis a recreation I can show you.
_Sir Dav. _ Sir, I am a free-born subject of England, and there
are laws, look you, there are laws; so I say you are a rascal
again, and now how will you help yourself, poor fool?
_Beau. _ Hark you, friend, have not you a wife?
_Sir Dav. _ I have a lady, sir--oh, and she's mightily taken
with this picture of yours; she was so mightily proud of it,
she could not forbear showing it me, and telling too who it was
sent it her.
_Beau. _ And has she been long a jilt? has she practised the
trade for any time?
_Sir Dav. _ Trade! humph, what trade? what trade, friend?
_Beau. _ Why the trade of whore and no whore, caterwauling in
jest, putting out Christian colours, when she's a Turk under
deck. A curse upon all honest women in the flesh, that are
whores in the spirit!
_Sir Dav. _ Poor devil, how he rails! ha, ha, ha! Look you,
sweet soul, as I told you before, there are laws, there are
laws, but those are things not worthy your consideration:
beauty's your business. But, dear vagabond, trouble thyself
no further about my spouse; let my doxy rest in peace, she's
meat for thy master, old boy; I have my belly-full of her every
night.
_Beau. _ Sir, I wish all your noble family hanged from the
bottom of my heart.
_Sir Dav. _ Moreover, Captain Swash, I must tell you my wife
is a honest woman, of a virtuous disposition, one that I have
loved from her infancy, and she deserves it by her faithful
dealing in this affair, for that she has discovered loyally to
me the treacherous designs laid against her chastity, and my
honour.
_Beau. _ By this light, the beast weeps! [_Aside. _
_Sir Dav. _ Truly I cannot but weep for joy, to think how
happy I am in a sincere, faithful, and loving yoke-fellow.
She charged me too to tell you into the bargain, that she is
sufficiently satisfied of the most secret wishes of your heart.
_Beau. _ I'm glad on't.
_Sir Dav. _ And that 'tis her desire that you would trouble
yourself no more about the matter.
_Beau. _ With all my heart.
_Sir Dav. _ But henceforward behave yourself with such
discretion as becomes a gentleman.
_Beau. _ Oh, to be sure, most exactly!
_Sir Dav. _ And let her alone to make the best use of those
innocent freedoms I allow her, without putting her reputation
in hazard.
_Beau. _ As how, I beseech you?
_Sir Dav. _ By your impertinent and unseasonable address.
_Beau. _ And this news you bring me by a particular commission
from your sweet lady?
_Sir Dav. _ Yea, friend, I do; and she hopes you'll be sensible,
dear heart, of her good meaning by it: these were her very
words, I neither add nor diminish, for plain-dealing is my
mistress's friend.
_Beau. _ Then all the curses I shall think on this twelvemonth
light on her, and as many more on the next fool that gives
credit to the sex!
_Sir Dav. _ Well, certainly I am the happiest toad! How
melancholy the monkey stands now! Poor pug, hast thou lost her?
_Beau. _ To be so sordid a jilt, to betray me to such a beast as
that! Can she have any good thoughts of such a swine? Damn her,
had she abused me handsomely it had never vexed me.
_Sir Dav. _ Now, sir, with your permission I'll take my leave.
_Beau. _ Sir, if you were gone to the devil I should think you
very well disposed of.
_Sir Dav. _ If you have any letter, or other commendation to
the lady that was so charmed with your resemblance there, it
shall be very faithfully conveyed by--
_Beau. _ Fool!
_Sir Dav. _ Your humble servant. Sir, I'm gone; I shall disturb
you no further; your most humble servant, sir. [_Exit. _
_Beau. _ Now poverty, plague, pox, and prison fall thick upon
the head of thee! --Fourbin!
_Four. _ Sir!
_Beau. _ Thou hast been an extraordinary rogue in thy time.
_Four. _ I hope I have lost nothing in your honour's service,
sir.
_Beau. _ Find out some way to revenge me on this old rascal, and
if I do not make thee a gentleman--
_Four. _ That you have been pleased to do long ago, I thank you;
for I am sure you have not left me one shilling in my pocket
these two months.
_Beau. _ Here, here's for thee to revel withal. [_Gives money. _
_Four. _ Will your honour please to have his throat cut?
_Beau. _ With all my heart.
_Four. _ Or would you have him decently hanged at his own door,
and then give out to the world he did it himself?
_Beau. _ That would do very well.
_Four. _ Or I think (to proceed with more safety) a good stale
jakes[36] were a very pretty expedient.
_Beau. _ Excellent, excellent, Fourbin!
_Four. _ Leave matters to my discretion, and if I do not--
_Beau. _ I know thou wilt; go, go about it, prosper, and be
famous. [_Exit_ FOURBIN. ] Now ere I dare venture to meet
Courtine again, will I go by myself, rail for an hour or two,
and then be good company. [_Exit. _
_Enter_ COURTINE _and_ SYLVIA.
_Sylv. _ Take my word, sir, you had better give this business
over. I tell you, there's nothing in the world turns my stomach
so much as the man, that man that makes love to me. I never saw
one of your sex in my life make love, but he looked so like an
ass all the while, that I blushed for him.
_Cour. _ I am afraid your ladyship then is one of those
dangerous creatures they call she-wits, who are always so
mightily taken with admiring themselves that nothing else is
worth their notice.
_Sylv. _ Oh, who can be so dull, not to be ravished with that
roisterous mien of yours, that ruffling air in your gait,
that seems to cry where'er you go, "Make room, here comes the
captain! " that face which bids defiance to the weather? Bless
us! if I were a poor farmer's wife in the country now, and you
wanted quarters, how would it fright me! But as I am young, not
very ugly, and one you never saw before, how lovingly it looks
upon me!
_Cour. _ Who can forbear to sigh, look pale, and languish, where
beauty and wit unite both their forces to enslave a heart so
tractable as mine is?
_L. Dunce. _ Had he stayed here, I had not been sacrificed to
the arms of this monument of man, for the bed of death could
not be more cold than his has been: he would have delivered me
from the monster, for even then I loved him, and was apt to
think my kindness not neglected.
_Sylv. _ I find indeed your ladyship had good thoughts of him.
_L. Dunce. _ Surely 'tis impossible to think too well of him,
for he has wit enough to call his good-nature in question, and
yet good-nature enough to make his wit suspected.
_Sylv. _ But how do you hope ever to get sight of him? Sir
Davy's watchfulness is invincible. I dare swear he would smell
out a rival if he were in the house, only by natural instinct;
as some that always sweat when a cat's in the room. Then again,
Beaugard's a soldier, and that's a thing the old gentleman, you
know, loves dearly.
_L. Dunce. _ There lies the greatest comfort of my uneasy life;
he is one of those fools, forsooth, that are led by the
nose by knaves to rail against the king and the government,
and is mightily fond of being thought of a party. I have had
hopes this twelve-month to have heard of his being in the
Gatehouse[33] for treason.
_Sylv. _ But I find only yourself the prisoner all this while.
_L. Dunce. _ At present indeed I am so; but fortune I hope will
smile, wouldst thou but be my friend, Sylvia.
_Sylv. _ In any mischievous design, with all my heart.
_L. Dunce. _ The conclusion, madam, may turn to your
satisfaction. But you have no thoughts of Courtine?
_Sylv. _ Not I, I'll assure you, cousin.
_L. Dunce. _ You don't think him well shaped, straight, and
proportionable?
_Sylv. _ Considering he eats but once a week, the man is well
enough.
_L. Dunce. _ And then he wears his clothes, you know, filthily,
and like a horrid sloven.
_Sylv. _ Filthily enough of all conscience, with a threadbare
red coat, which his tailor duns him for to this day, over which
a great, broad, greasy, buff-belt, enough to turn any one's
stomach but a disbanded soldier; a peruke tied up in a knot,
to excuse its want of combing; and then, because he has been a
man at arms, he must wear two tuffles of a beard, forsooth, to
lodge a dunghill of snuff upon, to keep his nose in good humour.
_L. Dunce. _ Nay, now I am sure that thou lovest him.
_Sylv. _ So far from it, that I protest eternally against the
whole sex.
_L. Dunce. _ That time will best demonstrate; in the mean while
to our business.
_Sylv. _ As how, madam?
_L. Dunce. _ To-night must I see Beaugard; they are this minute
at dinner in the Haymarket; now to make my evil genius, that
haunts me everywhere, my thing called a husband, himself to
assist his poor wife at a dead lift, I think would not be
unpleasant.
_Sylv. _ But 'twill be impossible.
_L. Dunce. _ I am apt to be persuaded rather very easy. You know
our good and friendly neighbour, Sir Jolly.
_Sylv. _ Out on him, beast! he's always talking filthily to a
body; if he sits but at the table with one, he'll be making
nasty figures in the napkins.
_L. Dunce. _ He and my sweet yoke-fellow are the most intimate
friends in the world; so that partly out of neighbourly
kindness, as well as the great delight he takes to be meddling
in matters of this nature, with a great deal of pains and
industry he has procured me Beaugard's picture, and given him
to understand how well a friend of his in petticoats, called
myself, wishes him.
_Sylv. _ But what's all this to the making the husband
instrumental? for I must confess, of all creatures, a husband's
the thing that's odious to me.
_L. Dunce. _ That must be done this night: I'll instantly to my
chamber, take my bed in a pet, and send for Sir Davy.
_Sylv. _ But which way then must the lover come?
_L. Dunce. _ Nay, I'll betray Beaugard to him, show him the
picture he sent me, and beg of him, as he tenders his own
honour and my quiet, to take some course to secure me from the
scandalous solicitations of that innocent fellow.
_Sylv. _ And so make him the property, the go-between, to bring
the affair to an issue the more decently.
_L. Dunce. _ Right, Sylvia; 'tis the best office a husband can
do a wife; I mean an old husband. Bless us, to be yoked in
wedlock with a paralytic, coughing, decrepit dotterel; to be a
dry-nurse all one's life-time to an old child of sixty-five;
to lie by the image of death a whole night, a dull immoveable,
that has no sense of life but through its pains! the pigeon's
as happy that's laid to a sick man's feet, when the world has
given him over:[34] for my part, this shall henceforth be my
prayer:--
Curst be the memory, nay double curst,
Of her that wedded age for interest first!
Though worn with years, with fruitless wishes full,
'Tis all day troublesome, and all night dull.
Who wed with fools, indeed, lead happy lives;
Fools are the fittest, finest things for wives:
Yet old men profit bring, as fools bring ease,
And both make youth and wit much better please. [_Exeunt. _
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
FOOTNOTES:
[26] Knights of the post were hired witnesses and men of straw who made
a trade of becoming bail. They hung about the various inns of court so
as to be available at a moment's notice. In _Hudibras_ we read:
"Retain all sorts of witnesses
That ply i' the Temples under trees,
Or walk the Round with Knights o' th' Posts
About the crossed-legged Knights their hosts. "
[27] In Covent Garden.
[28] A courtesan.
[29] A famous ordinary, which stood on the site of Drummond's bank at
Charing Cross, frequently alluded to by writers of the period.
[30] Refuse.
[31] The fate, according to an old proverb, of those who die maids.
[32] Hysterics.
[33] A well-known prison near the west end of Westminster Abbey, where
political prisoners were confined.
[34] An old superstitious practice. Pepys makes mention of pigeons
being placed at the feet of Catherine of Braganza, Charles II. 's queen,
when she was dangerously ill.
ACT THE SECOND.
SCENE I. --_The Street before Whitehall. _
_Enter_ Sir JOLLY JUMBLE, BEAUGARD, COURTINE,
_and_ FOURBIN.
_Cour. _ Sir Jolly is the glory of the age.
_Sir Jol. _ Nay, now, sir, you honour me too far.
_Beau. _ He's the delight of the young, and wonder of the old.
_Sir Jol. _ I swear, gentlemen, you make me blush.
_Cour. _ He deserves a statue of gold, at the charge of the
kingdom.
_Sir Jol. _ Out upon't, fie for shame! I protest I'll leave
your company if you talk so. But faith they were pure whores,
daintily dutiful strumpets: ha! uddsbud, they'd--have stripped
for t'other bottle.
_Beau. _ Truly, Sir Jolly, you are a man of very extraordinary
discipline: I never saw whores under better command in my life.
_Sir Jol. _ Pish, that's nothing, man, nothing; I can send for
forty better when I please; doxies that will skip, strip, leap,
trip, and do anything in the world, anything, old soul!
_Cour. _ Dear, dear Sir Jolly, where and when?
_Sir Jol. _ Odd! as simply as I stand here, her father was a
knight.
_Beau. _ Indeed, Sir Jolly! a knight, say you?
_Sir Jol. _ Ay, but a little decayed: I'll assure you she's a
very good gentlewoman born.
_Cour. _ Ay, and a very good gentlewoman bred too.
_Sir Jol. _ Ay, and so she is.
_Beau. _ But, Sir Jolly, how goes my business forward? when
shall I have a view of the quarry I am to fly at?
_Sir Jol. _ Alas-a-day, not so hasty; soft and fair, I beseech
you. Ah, my little son of thunder, if thou hadst her in thy
arms now between a pair of sheets, and I under the bed to see
fair play, boy; gemini! what would become of me? what would
become of me? there would be doings! O lawd, I under the bed!
_Beau. _ Or behind the hangings, Sir Jolly, would not that do as
well?
_Sir Jol. _ Ah no, under the bed against the world, and then it
would be very dark, ha!
_Beau. _ Dark to choose?
_Sir Jol. _ No, but a little light would do well; a small
glimmering lamp, just enough for me to steal a peep by; oh,
lamentable! oh, lamentable! I won't speak a word more! there
would be a trick! O rare! you friend, O rare! Odds-so, not a
word more, odds-so, yonder comes the monster that must be the
cuckold-elect; step, step aside and observe him; if I should be
seen in your company, 'twould spoil all.
[_Exeunt_ Sir JOLLY _and_ COURTINE.
_Beau. _ For my part, I'll stand the meeting of him; one way
to promote a good understanding with a wife, is first to get
acquainted with her husband. [_Retires. _
_Enter_ Sir DAVY DUNCE.
_Sir Dav. _ Well, of all blessings, a discreet wife is the
greatest that can light upon a man of years: had I been married
to anything but an angel now, what a beast had I been by this
time! well, I am the happiest old fool! 'tis a horrid age that
we live in, so that an honest man can keep nothing to himself.
If you have a good estate, every covetous rogue is longing
for't (truly I love a good estate dearly myself); if you have
a handsome wife, every smooth-faced coxcomb will be combing
and cocking[35] at her: flesh-flies are not so troublesome
to the shambles as those sort of insects are to the boxes in
the play-house. But virtue is a great blessing, an unvaluable
treasure: to tell me herself that a villain had tempted her,
and give me the very picture, the enchantment that he sent to
bewitch her! it strikes me dumb with admiration. Here's the
villain in effigy. [_Pulls out the picture. _] Odd! a very
handsome fellow, a dangerous rogue, I'll warrant him: such
fellows as these now should be fettered like unruly colts, that
they might not leap into other men's pastures. Here's a nose
now, I could find it in my heart to cut it off. Damned dog, to
dare to presume to make a cuckold of a knight! --bless us! what
will this world come to? Well, poor Sir Davy, down, down on thy
knees, and thank thy stars for this deliverance.
_Beau. _ 'Sdeath! what's that I see? sure 'tis the very picture
which I sent by Sir Jolly; if so, by this light, I am damnably
jilted.
_Sir Dav. _ But now if--
_Beau. _ Surely he does not see us yet.
_Four. _ See you, sir! why he has but one eye, and we are on his
blind side; I'll dumb-found him. [_Strikes him on the shoulder. _
_Sir Dav. _ Who the devil's this? Sir, sir, sir, who are you,
sir?
_Beau. _ Ay, ay, 'tis the same; now a pox of all amorous
adventures! 'sdeath, I'll go beat the impertinent pimp that
drew me into this fooling.
_Sir Dav.
_ Sir, methinks you are very curious.
_Beau. _ Sir, perhaps I have an extraordinary reason to be so.
_Sir Dav. _ And perhaps, sir, I care not for you, nor your
reasons neither.
_Beau. _ Sir, if you are at leisure, I would beg the honour to
speak with you.
_Sir Dav. _ With me, sir? what's your business with me?
_Beau. _ I would not willingly be troublesome, though it may be
I am so at this time.
_Sir Dav. _ It may be so too, sir.
_Beau. _ But to be known to so worthy a person as you are, would
be so great an honour, so extraordinary a happiness, that I
could not avoid taking this opportunity of tendering you my
service.
_Sir Dav. _ [_Aside. _] Smooth rogue! who the devil is this
fellow? But, sir, you were pleased to nominate business, sir; I
desire with what speed you can to know your business, sir, that
I may go about my business.
_Beau. _ Sir, if I might with good manners, I should be glad
to inform myself whose picture that is which you have in your
hand; methinks it is a very fine painting.
_Sir Dav. _ Picture, friend, picture! sir, 'tis a resemblance
of a very impudent fellow; they call him Captain Beaugard,
forsooth, but he is in short a rake-hell, a poor, lousy,
beggarly, disbanded devil; do you know him, friend?
_Beau. _ I think I have heard of such a vagabond: the truth on't
is, he is a very impudent fellow.
_Sir Dav. _ Ay, a damned rogue.
_Beau. _ Oh, a notorious scoundrel.
_Sir Dav. _ I expect to hear he's hanged by next sessions.
_Beau. _ The truth on't is, he has deserved it long ago. But did
you ever see him, Sir Davy?
_Sir Dav. _ Sir! --does he know me? [_Aside. _
_Beau. _ Because I fancy that miniature is very like him. Pray,
sir, whence had it you?
_Sir Dav. _ Had it, friend? had it? whence had it I? [_Aside. _]
Bless us! [_Compares the picture with_ BEAUGARD'S _face_. ] what
have I done now! this is the very traitor himself; if he should
be desperate now, and put his sword in my guts! --slitting my
nose will be as bad as that, I have but one eye left neither,
and may be--Oh, but this is the King's Court; odd, that's
well remembered; he dares not but be civil here. I'll try to
out-huff him. Whence had it you?
_Beau. _ Ay, sir, whence had it you? that's English in my
country, sir.
_Sir Dav. _ Go, sir, you are a rascal.
_Beau. _ How!
_Sir Dav. _ Sir, I say you are a rascal, a very impudent rascal;
nay, I'll prove you to be a rascal, if you go to that--
_Beau. _ Sir, I am a gentleman and a soldier.
_Sir Dav. _ So much the worse; soldiers have been cuckold-makers
from the beginning: sir, I care not what you are; for aught I
know you may be a--come, sir, did I never see you? Answer me
to that; did I never see you? for aught I know you may be a
Jesuit; there were more in the last army beside you.
_Beau. _ Of your acquaintance, and be hanged!
_Sir Dav. _ Yes, to my knowledge there were several at
Hounslow-heath, disguised in dirty petticoats, and cried
brandy. I knew a sergeant of foot that was familiar with one
of them all night in a ditch, and fancied him a woman; but the
devil is powerful.
_Beau. _ In short, you worthy villain of worship, that picture
is mine, and I must have it, or I shall take an opportunity to
kick your worship most inhumanly.
_Sir Dav. _ Kick, sir!
_Beau. _ Ay, sir, kick; 'tis a recreation I can show you.
_Sir Dav. _ Sir, I am a free-born subject of England, and there
are laws, look you, there are laws; so I say you are a rascal
again, and now how will you help yourself, poor fool?
_Beau. _ Hark you, friend, have not you a wife?
_Sir Dav. _ I have a lady, sir--oh, and she's mightily taken
with this picture of yours; she was so mightily proud of it,
she could not forbear showing it me, and telling too who it was
sent it her.
_Beau. _ And has she been long a jilt? has she practised the
trade for any time?
_Sir Dav. _ Trade! humph, what trade? what trade, friend?
_Beau. _ Why the trade of whore and no whore, caterwauling in
jest, putting out Christian colours, when she's a Turk under
deck. A curse upon all honest women in the flesh, that are
whores in the spirit!
_Sir Dav. _ Poor devil, how he rails! ha, ha, ha! Look you,
sweet soul, as I told you before, there are laws, there are
laws, but those are things not worthy your consideration:
beauty's your business. But, dear vagabond, trouble thyself
no further about my spouse; let my doxy rest in peace, she's
meat for thy master, old boy; I have my belly-full of her every
night.
_Beau. _ Sir, I wish all your noble family hanged from the
bottom of my heart.
_Sir Dav. _ Moreover, Captain Swash, I must tell you my wife
is a honest woman, of a virtuous disposition, one that I have
loved from her infancy, and she deserves it by her faithful
dealing in this affair, for that she has discovered loyally to
me the treacherous designs laid against her chastity, and my
honour.
_Beau. _ By this light, the beast weeps! [_Aside. _
_Sir Dav. _ Truly I cannot but weep for joy, to think how
happy I am in a sincere, faithful, and loving yoke-fellow.
She charged me too to tell you into the bargain, that she is
sufficiently satisfied of the most secret wishes of your heart.
_Beau. _ I'm glad on't.
_Sir Dav. _ And that 'tis her desire that you would trouble
yourself no more about the matter.
_Beau. _ With all my heart.
_Sir Dav. _ But henceforward behave yourself with such
discretion as becomes a gentleman.
_Beau. _ Oh, to be sure, most exactly!
_Sir Dav. _ And let her alone to make the best use of those
innocent freedoms I allow her, without putting her reputation
in hazard.
_Beau. _ As how, I beseech you?
_Sir Dav. _ By your impertinent and unseasonable address.
_Beau. _ And this news you bring me by a particular commission
from your sweet lady?
_Sir Dav. _ Yea, friend, I do; and she hopes you'll be sensible,
dear heart, of her good meaning by it: these were her very
words, I neither add nor diminish, for plain-dealing is my
mistress's friend.
_Beau. _ Then all the curses I shall think on this twelvemonth
light on her, and as many more on the next fool that gives
credit to the sex!
_Sir Dav. _ Well, certainly I am the happiest toad! How
melancholy the monkey stands now! Poor pug, hast thou lost her?
_Beau. _ To be so sordid a jilt, to betray me to such a beast as
that! Can she have any good thoughts of such a swine? Damn her,
had she abused me handsomely it had never vexed me.
_Sir Dav. _ Now, sir, with your permission I'll take my leave.
_Beau. _ Sir, if you were gone to the devil I should think you
very well disposed of.
_Sir Dav. _ If you have any letter, or other commendation to
the lady that was so charmed with your resemblance there, it
shall be very faithfully conveyed by--
_Beau. _ Fool!
_Sir Dav. _ Your humble servant. Sir, I'm gone; I shall disturb
you no further; your most humble servant, sir. [_Exit. _
_Beau. _ Now poverty, plague, pox, and prison fall thick upon
the head of thee! --Fourbin!
_Four. _ Sir!
_Beau. _ Thou hast been an extraordinary rogue in thy time.
_Four. _ I hope I have lost nothing in your honour's service,
sir.
_Beau. _ Find out some way to revenge me on this old rascal, and
if I do not make thee a gentleman--
_Four. _ That you have been pleased to do long ago, I thank you;
for I am sure you have not left me one shilling in my pocket
these two months.
_Beau. _ Here, here's for thee to revel withal. [_Gives money. _
_Four. _ Will your honour please to have his throat cut?
_Beau. _ With all my heart.
_Four. _ Or would you have him decently hanged at his own door,
and then give out to the world he did it himself?
_Beau. _ That would do very well.
_Four. _ Or I think (to proceed with more safety) a good stale
jakes[36] were a very pretty expedient.
_Beau. _ Excellent, excellent, Fourbin!
_Four. _ Leave matters to my discretion, and if I do not--
_Beau. _ I know thou wilt; go, go about it, prosper, and be
famous. [_Exit_ FOURBIN. ] Now ere I dare venture to meet
Courtine again, will I go by myself, rail for an hour or two,
and then be good company. [_Exit. _
_Enter_ COURTINE _and_ SYLVIA.
_Sylv. _ Take my word, sir, you had better give this business
over. I tell you, there's nothing in the world turns my stomach
so much as the man, that man that makes love to me. I never saw
one of your sex in my life make love, but he looked so like an
ass all the while, that I blushed for him.
_Cour. _ I am afraid your ladyship then is one of those
dangerous creatures they call she-wits, who are always so
mightily taken with admiring themselves that nothing else is
worth their notice.
_Sylv. _ Oh, who can be so dull, not to be ravished with that
roisterous mien of yours, that ruffling air in your gait,
that seems to cry where'er you go, "Make room, here comes the
captain! " that face which bids defiance to the weather? Bless
us! if I were a poor farmer's wife in the country now, and you
wanted quarters, how would it fright me! But as I am young, not
very ugly, and one you never saw before, how lovingly it looks
upon me!
_Cour. _ Who can forbear to sigh, look pale, and languish, where
beauty and wit unite both their forces to enslave a heart so
tractable as mine is?
