No More Learning

_ Out of the clouds?

_Beau. _ Ay, gold! does it not smell of the sweet hand that sent
it? Smell--smell, you dog!

[_To_ FOURBIN.

[FOURBIN _smells the handful of gold, and_
_gathers up some pieces in his mouth_.

_Four. _ Truly, sir, of heavenly sweetness, and very refreshing.

_Cour. _ Dear Beaugard, if thou hast any good-nature in thee, if
thou wouldst not have me hang myself before my time, tell me
where the devil haunts that helped thee to this, that I may go
make a bargain with him presently: speak, speak, or I am a lost
man.

_Beau. _ Why, thou must know this devil, which I have given
my soul to already, and must I suppose have my body very
speedily, lives I know not where, and may, for aught I know, be
a real devil; but if it be, 'tis the best natured devil under
Beelzebub's dominions,--that I'll swear to.

_Cour. _ But how came the gold, then?

_Beau. _ To deal freely with my friend, I am lately happened
into the acquaintance of a very reverend pimp, as fine a
discreet, sober, grey-bearded old gentleman as one would wish;
as good a natured public-spirited person as the nation holds;
one that is never so happy as when he is bringing good people
together, and promoting civil understanding betwixt the sexes:
nay, rather than want employment, he will go from one end of
the town to t'other, to procure my lord's little dog to be
civil to my lady's little languishing bitch.

_Cour. _ A very worthy member of the commonwealth!

_Beau. _ This noble person one day--but Fourbin can give you
a more particular account of the matter. Sweet sir, if you
please, tell us the story of the first encounter betwixt you
and Sir Jolly Jumble. You must know that's his title.

_Four. _ Sir, it shall be done. Walking one day upon the
Piazza,[27] about three of the clock i' the afternoon, to get
me a stomach to my dinner, I chanced to encounter a person
of goodly presence and worthy appearance; his beard and hair
white, grave, and comely; his countenance ruddy, plump, smooth,
and cheerful; who perceiving me also equipped as I am, with
a mien and air which might well inform him I was a person of
no inconsiderable quality, came very respectfully up to me,
and, after the usual ceremonies between persons of parts and
breeding had passed, very humbly inquired of me "What is it
o'clock? " I presently understanding by the question that he was
a man of parts and business, told him I did presume it was at
most but nicely turned of three.

_Beau. _ Very court-like, civil, quaint, and new, I think.

_Four. _ The freedom of commerce increasing, after some little
inconsiderable questions _pour passer le temps_, and so, he
was pleased to offer me the courtesy of a glass of wine: I
told him I very seldom drank, but, if he so pleased, I would
do myself the honour to present him with a dish of meat at an
eating-house hard by, where I had an interest.

_Cour. _ Very well: I think this squire of thine, Beaugard, is
as accomplished a person as any of the employment I ever saw.

_Beau. _ Let the rogue go on.

_Four. _ In short, we agreed and went together. As soon as we
entered the room, "I am your most humble servant, sir," says
he. "I am the meanest of your vassals, sir," said I. "I am
very happy in lighting into the acquaintance of so worthy a
gentleman as you appear to be, sir," said he again. "Worthy Sir
Jolly,"--then came I upon him again on t'other side (for you
must know by that time I had groped out his title), "I kiss
your hands from the bottom of my heart, which I shall be always
ready to lay at your feet. "

_Cour. _ Well, Fourbin, and what replied the knight then?

_Four. _ Nothing, he had nothing to say; his sense was
transported with admiration of my parts: so we sat down, and
after some pause, he desired to know by what title he was to
distinguish the person that had so highly honoured him.

_Beau. _ That is as much as to say, sir, whose rascal you were.

_Four. _ Sir, you may make as bold with your poor slave as
you please. --I told him those that knew me well were pleased
to call me the Chevalier Fourbin; that I was a cadet of the
ancient family of the Fourbinois; and that I had had the honour
of serving the great monarch of France in his wars in Flanders,
where I contracted great familiarity and intimacy with a
gallant officer of the English troops in that service, one
Captain Beaugard.

_Beau. _ Oh, sir, you did me too much honour. What a true-bred
rogue's this!

_Cour. _ Well, but the money, Fourbin, the money?

_Four. _ "Beaugard, hum! Beaugard," says he--"ay, it must be
so,--a black man, is he not? " "Ay," says I, "blackish--a dark
brown. " "Full-faced? " "Yes. " "A sly, subtle, observing eye? "
"The same. " "A strong-built, well-made man? " "Right. " "A
devilish fellow for a wench, a devilish fellow for a wench,
I warrant him; a thundering rogue upon occasion--Beaugard! a
thundering fellow for a wench: I must be acquainted with him. "

_Cour. _ But to the money, the money, man; that's the thing I
would be acquainted withal.

_Beau. _ This civil gentleman of the chevalier's acquaintance
comes yesterday morning to my lodging, and seeing my picture in
miniature upon the toilet, told me, with the greatest ecstasy
in the world, that was the thing he came to me about: he told
me there was a lady of his acquaintance had some favourable
thoughts of me, and "I'gad," says he, "she's a hummer; such a
_bona roba_,[28] ah! "--So without more ado begs me to lend it
him till dinner (for we concluded to eat together); so away he
scuttled with as great joy as if he had found the philosopher's
stone.

_Cour. _ Very well.

_Beau. _ At Locket's[29] we met again; where after a thousand
grimaces, to show how much he was pleased, instead of my
picture, presents me with the contents aforesaid; and told me
the lady desired me to accept of them for the picture, which
she was much transported withal, as well as with the original.

_Cour. _ Ha!

_Beau. _ Now, whereabouts this taking quality lies in me, the
devil take me, Ned, if I know; but the fates, Ned, the fates!

_Cour. _ A curse on the fates! Of all strumpets, fortune's the
basest. 'Twas fortune made me a soldier, a rogue in red, the
grievance of the nation; fortune made the peace just when we
were on the brink of a war; then fortune disbanded us, and lost
us two months' pay: fortune gave us debentures instead of ready
money, and by very good fortune I sold mine, and lost heartily
by it, in hopes the grinding ill-natured dog that bought it
will never get a shilling for't.

_Beau. _ Leave off thy railing, for shame! it looks like a cur
that barks for want of bones. Come, times may mend, and an
honest soldier be in fashion again.

_Cour. _ These greasy, fat, unwieldy, wheezing rogues that live
at home, and brood over their bags, when a fit of fear's upon
them, then if one of us pass but by, all the family is ready at
the door to cry, "Heavens bless you, sir! the Laird go along
with you! "

_Beau. _ "Ah, good men; what pity 'tis such proper gentlemen
should ever be out of employment! "

_Cour. _ But when the business is over, then every parish bawd
that goes but to a conventicle twice a week, and pays but
scot and lot to the parish, shall roar out, "Faugh, ye lousy
red-coat rake-hells! hout, ye caterpillars, ye locusts of the
nation! you are the dogs that would enslave us all, plunder our
shops, and ravish our daughters, ye scoundrels! "

_Beau. _ I must confess ravishing ought to be regulated; it
would destroy commerce, and many a good sober matron about this
town might lose the selling of her daughter's maidenhead, which
were a great grievance to the people, and a particular branch
of property lost. Fourbin!

_Four. _ Your worship's pleasure?

_Beau. _ Run, like a rogue as you are, and try to find Sir
Jolly, and desire him to meet me at the Blue-Posts in the
Haymarket about twelve; we'll dine together. [_Exit_ FOURBIN. ]
I must inquire farther into yesterday's adventure; in the
mean time, Ned, here's half the prize, to be doing withal:
old friends must preserve correspondence; we have shared good
fortune together, and bad shall never part us.

_Cour. _ Well, thou wilt certainly die in a ditch for this: hast
thou no more grace than to be a true friend? nay, to part with
thy money to thy friend? I grant you, a gentleman may swear and
lie for his friend, pimp for his friend, hang for his friend,
and so forth; but to part with ready money is the devil.

_Beau. _ Stand aside; either I am mistaken, or yonder's Sir
Jolly coming: now, Courtine, will I show thee the flower of
knighthood. Ah, Sir Jolly!

_Enter_ Sir JOLLY JUMBLE.

_Sir Jol. _ My hero! my darling! my Ganymede! how dost thou?
Strong! wanton! lusty! rampant! ha, ah, ah! She's thine, boy!
odd, she's thine; plump, soft, smooth, wanton! ha, ah, ah! Ah,
rogue! ah, rogue! here's shoulders! here's shape! there's a
foot and leg, here's a leg, here's a leg--Qua-a-a-a-a!

[_Squeaks like a cat, and tickles_
BEAUGARD's _legs_.

_Cour. _ What an old goat's this!

_Sir Jol. _ Child, child, child, who's that? a friend of thine,
a friend o' thine? A pretty fellow, odd, a very pretty fellow,
and a strong dog I'll warrant him. How dost do, dear heart?
pr'ythee let me kiss thee. I'll swear and vow I will kiss thee;
ha, ha, he, he, he, he, a toad, a toad, a toa-a-a-d!

_Cour. _ Sir, I am your humble servant.

_Beau. _ But the lady, Sir Jolly, the lady; how does the lady?
what says the lady, Sir Jolly?

_Sir Jol. _ What says the lady! why, she says--she says--odd,
she has a delicate lip, such a lip, so red, so hard, so plump,
so blub; I fancy I am eating cherries every time I think
on't--and for her neck and breasts, and her--odd's life! I'll
say no more, not a word more; but I know, I know--

_Beau. _ I am sorry for that with all my heart; do you know, say
you, sir? and would you put off your mumbled orts,[30] your
offal, upon me?

_Sir Jol. _ Hush, hush, hush! have a care; as I live and
breathe, not I; alack and well-a-day, I am a poor old fellow,
decayed and done: all's gone with me, gentlemen, but my
good-nature; odd, I love to know how matters go though now and
then, to see a pretty wench and a young fellow touze and rouze
and frouze and mouze; odd, I love a young fellow dearly, faith
dearly!

_Cour. _ This is the most extraordinary rogue I ever met withal.

_Beau. _ But, Sir Jolly, in the first place, you must know I
have sworn never to marry.

_Sir Jol. _ I would not have thee, man: I am a bachelor myself
and have been a whore-master all my life;--besides, she's
married already, man; her husband's an old, greasy, untoward,
ill-natured, slovenly, tobacco-taking cuckold; but plaguy
jealous.

_Beau. _ Already a cuckold, Sir Jolly?

_Sir Jol. _ No, that shall be, my boy; thou shalt make him one,
and I'll pimp for thee, dear heart; and shan't I hold the door?
shan't I peep, ha? shan't I, you devil, you little dog, shan't
I?

_Beau. _ What is it I'd not grant to oblige my patron!

_Sir Jol. _ And then dost hear? I have a lodging for thee in my
own house: dost hear, old soul? in my own house; she lives the
very next door, man; there's but a wall to part her chamber and
thine; and then for a peep-hole--odd's fish, I have a peep-hole
for thee; 'sbud, I'll show thee, I'll show thee--

_Beau. _ But when, Sir Jolly? I am in haste, impatient.

_Sir Jol. _ Why, this very night, man; poor rogue's in haste,
poor rogue; but hear you--

_Cour. _ The matter?

_Sir Jol. _ Shan't we dine together?

_Beau. _ With all my heart.

_Sir Jol. _ The Mall begins to empty. Get you before, and
bespeak dinner at the Blue-Posts; while I stay behind and
gather up a dish of whores for a dessert.

_Cour. _ Be sure that they be lewd, drunken, stripping whores,
Sir Jolly, that won't be affectedly squeamish and troublesome.

_Sir Jol. _ I warrant you.

_Cour. _ I love a well-disciplined whore, that shows all the
tricks of her profession with a wink, like an old soldier that
understands all his exercise by beat of drum.

_Sir Jol. _ Ah, thief, sayest thou so? I must be better
acquainted with that fellow; he has a notable nose; a hard
brawny carle, true and trusty, and mettle, I'll warrant him.

_Beau. _ Well, Sir Jolly, you'll not fail us?

_Sir Jol. _ Fail ye! am I a knight?
hark ye, boys: I'll muster
this evening such a regiment of rampant, roaring, roisterous
whores, that shall make more noise than if all the cats in the
Haymarket were in conjunction; whores, ye rogues, that shall
swear with you, drink with you, talk bawdy with you, fight with
you, scratch with you, lie with you, and go to the devil with
you. Shan't we be very merry, ha?

_Cour. _ As merry as wine, women, and wickedness can make us.

_Sir Jol. _ Odd, that's well said again, very well said; as
merry as wine, women, and wickedness can make us. I love a
fellow that's very wicked dearly: methinks there's a spirit
in him, there's a sort of tantara-rara; tantara-rara, ah, ah!
well, and won't ye, when the women come, won't ye, and shall
I not see a little sport amongst you? well, get ye gone; ah,
rogues, ah, rogues, da, da, I'll be with you, da, da!

[_Exeunt_ BEAUGARD _and_ COURTINE.

_Enter several_ Whores, _and Three_ Bullies.

_1st Bully. _ In the name of Satan, what whores are these in
their copper trim, yonder?

_1st Whore. _ Well, I'll swear, madam, 'tis the finest
evening;--I love the Mall mightily.

_2nd Bully. _ Let's huzza the bulkers.

_2nd Whore. _ Really, and so do I; because there's always good
company, and one meets with such civilities from every body.

_3rd Bully. _ Damned whores! hout, ye filthies!

_3rd Whore. _ Ay, and then I love extremely to show myself
here, when I am very fine, to vex those poor devils that call
themselves virtues, and are very scandalous and crapish, I'll
swear. O crimine! who's yonder? Sir Jolly Jumble, I vow.

_1st Bully. _ Faugh! let's leave the nasty sows to fools and
diseases. [_Exeunt_ Bullies.

_1st Whore. _ Oh papa, papa! where have you been these two days,
papa?

_2nd Whore. _ You are a precious father indeed, to take no
more care of your children! we might be dead for all you, you
naughty daddy, you.

_Sir Jol. _ Dead, my poor fubses! odd, I had rather all the
relations I have were dead; a-dad, I had. Get you gone, you
little devils! Bubbies! oh, law, there's bubbies! --odd, I'll
bite 'em; odd, I will!

_1st Whore. _ Nay, fie, papa! I'll swear you'll make me angry,
except you carry us and treat us to-night; you have promised me
a treat this week; won't you, papa?

_2nd Whore. _ Ay, won't you, dad?

_Sir Jol. _ Odds so, odds so, well remembered! get you gone,
don't stay talking: get you gone! Yonder's a great lord,
the Lord Beaugard, and his cousin the baron, the count, the
marquis, the Lord knows what, Monsieur Courtine, newly come to
town, odds so.

_3rd Whore. _ O law, where, daddy, where? O dear, a lord!

_1st Whore. _ Well, you are the purest papa; but where be dey
mun, papa?

_Sir Jol. _ I won't tell you, you gipsies, so I won't--except
you tickle me: 'sbud they are brave fellows, all tall, and not
a bit small; odd, one of 'em has a devilish deal of money.

_1st Whore. _ Oh, dear! but which is he, papa?

_2nd Whore. _ Shan't I be in love with him, daddy?

_Sir Jol. _ What, nobody tickle me! nobody tickle me! --not yet?
Tickle me a little, Mally--tickle me a little, Jenny--do! he,
he, he, he, he, he! [_They tickle him. _] No more, O dear, O
dear! poor rogues! so, so, no more,--nay, if you do, if you do,
odd I'll, I'll, I'll--

_3rd Whore. _ What, what will you do, trow?

_Sir Jol. _ Come along with me, come along with me; sneak after
me at a distance, that nobody take notice: swingeing fellows,
Mally--swingeing fellows, Jenny; a devilish deal of money: get
you afore me then, you little didappers, ye wasps, ye wagtails,
get you gone, I say; swingeing fellows! [_Exeunt. _

[Illustration]


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

_Enter_ Lady DUNCE _and_ SYLVIA.

_L. Dunce. _ Die a maid, Sylvia, fie, for shame! what a
scandalous resolution's that! Five thousand pounds to your
portion, and leave it all to hospitals, for the innocent
recreation hereafter of leading apes in hell? [31] fie, for
shame!

_Sylv. _ Indeed, such another charming animal as your consort,
Sir Davy, might do much with me; 'tis an unspeakable blessing
to lie all night by a horseload of diseases; a beastly,
unsavoury, old, groaning, grunting, wheezing wretch, that
smells of the grave he's going to already. From such a curse,
and haircloth next my skin, good Heaven deliver me!

_L. Dunce. _ Thou mistakest the use of a husband, Sylvia:
they are not meant for bedfellows; heretofore, indeed, 'twas
a fulsome fashion, to lie o' nights with a husband; but the
world's improved, and customs altered.

_Sylv. _ Pray instruct me then what the use of a husband is.

_L. Dunce. _ Instead of a gentleman-usher for ceremony's sake,
to be in waiting on set days and particular occasions; but the
friend, cousin, is the jewel unvaluable.

_Sylv. _ But Sir Davy, madam, will be difficult to be so
governed; I am mistaken if his nature is not too jealous to be
blinded.

_L. Dunce. _ So much the better; of all, the jealous fool is
easiest to be deceived: for observe, where there's jealousy
there's always fondness; which if a woman, as she ought to do,
will make the right use of, the husband's fears shall not so
awake him on one side, as his dotage shall blind him on the
other.

_Sylv. _ Is your piece of mortality such a doting doodle? is he
so very fond of you?

_L. Dunce. _ No, but he has the vanity to think that I am very
fond of him; and if he be jealous, 'tis not so much for fear
I do abuse, as that in time I may, and therefore imposes this
confinement on me; though he has other divertisements that take
him off from my enjoyment, which make him so loathsome no woman
but must hate him.

_Sylv. _ His private divertisements I am a stranger to.

_L. Dunce. _ Then for his person, 'tis incomparably odious; he
has such a breath, one kiss of him were enough to cure the fits
of the mother;[32] 'tis worse than assafoetida.

_Sylv. _ Oh, hideous!

_L. Dunce. _ Everything that's nasty he affects: clean linen
he says is unwholesome; and to make him more charming, he's
continually eating of garlic and chewing tobacco.

_Sylv. _ Faugh! this is love! this is the blessing of matrimony!

_L. Dunce. _ Rail not so unreasonably against love, Sylvia. As I
have dealt freely, and acknowledged to thee the passion I have
for Beaugard, so methinks Sylvia need not conceal her good
thoughts of her friend. Do not I know Courtine sticks in your
stomach?

_Sylv. _ If he does, I'll assure you he shall never get to my
heart. But can you have the conscience to love another man now
you are married? What do you think will become of you?

_L. Dunce. _ I tell thee, Sylvia, I was never married to that
engine we have been talking of; my parents indeed made me
say something to him after a priest once, but my heart went
not along with my tongue; I minded not what it was: for my
thoughts, Sylvia, for these seven years, have been much better
employed--Beaugard! Ah, curse on the day that first sent him
into France!

_Sylv. _ 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.