are
you yourself?
you yourself?
Thomas Otway
_ 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. Sir
Jolly! neighbour! ha! is it you? are you sure it is you?
are
you yourself? if you be, give me your hand. Alas-a-day, I ha'
seen the devil.
_Sir Jol. _ The devil, neighbour?
_Sir Dav. _ Ay, ay, there's no help for't; at first I fancied
it was a young white bear's cub dancing in the shadow of my
candle; then it was turned to a pair of blue breeches with
wooden legs on, stamped about the room, as if all the cripples
in town had kept their rendezvous there; when all of a sudden,
it appeared like a leathern serpent, and with a dreadful clap
of thunder flew out of the window.
_Sir Jol. _ Thunder! why, I heard no thunder.
_Sir Dav. _ That may be too; what, were you asleep?
_Sir Jol. _ Asleep, quoth-a? no, no; no sleeping this night for
me, I assure you.
_Sir Dav. _ Well, what's the best news then? How does the man?
_Sir Jol. _ Even as he did before he was born nothing at all;
he's dead.
_Sir Dav. _ Dead! what, quite dead?
_Sir Jol. _ As good as dead, if not quite dead; 'twas a horrid
murder! and then the terror of conscience, neighbour.
_Sir Dav. _ And truly I have a very terrified one, friend,
though I never found I had any conscience at all till now. Pray
whereabout was his death's-wound?
_Sir Jol. _ Just here, just under his left pap, a dreadful gash.
_Sir Dav. _ So very wide?
_Sir Jol. _ Oh, as wide as my hat; you might have seen his
lungs, liver, and heart, as perfectly as if you had been in his
belly.
_Sir Dav. _ Is there no way to have him privately buried, and
conceal this murder? Must I needs be hanged by the neck like a
dog, neighbour? Do I look as if I would be hanged?
_Sir Jol. _ Truly, Sir Davy, I must deal faithfully with you,
you do look a little suspiciously at present; but have you seen
the devil, say you?
_Sir Dav. _ Ay, surely it was the devil, nothing else could have
frighted me so.
_Sir Jol. _ Bless us, and guard us all the angels! what's that?
_Sir Dav. _ "Potestati sempiternæ cujus benevolentiâ servantur
gentes, et cujus misericordiâ"--
[_Kneels, holding up his hands, and muttering as if he prayed. _
_Sir Jol. _ Neighbour, where are you, friend, Sir Davy?
_Sir Dav. _ Ah, whatever you do, be sure to stand close to me:
where, where is it?
_Sir Jol. _ Just, just there, in the shape of a coach and six
horses against the wall.
_Sir Dav. _ Deliver us all! he won't carry me away in that coach
and six, will he?
_Sir Jol. _ Do you see it? [_Exit. _
_Sir Dav. _ See it! plain, plain: dear friend, advise me what
I shall do: Sir Jolly, Sir Jolly, do you hear nothing? Sir
Jolly--ha! has he left me alone, Vermin?
_Ver. _ Sir.
_Sir Dav. _ Am I alive? Dost thou know me again? Am I thy
quondam master, Sir Davy Dunce?
_Ver. _ I hope I shall never forget you, sir.
_Sir Dav. _ Didst thou see nothing?
_Ver. _ Yes, sir, methought the house was all a-fire, as it were.
_Sir Dav. _ Didst thou not see how the devils grinned and
gnashed their teeth at me, Vermin?
_Ver. _ Alas, sir, I was afraid one of 'em would have bit off my
nose, as he vanished out of the door.
_Sir Dav. _ Lead me away, I'll go to my wife, I'll die by my
own dear wife. Run away to the Temple, and call Counsellor, my
lawyer; I'll make over my estate presently, I shan't live till
noon; I'll give all I have to my wife. Ha, Vermin!
_Ver. _ Truly, sir, she's a very good lady.
_Sir Dav. _ Ah, much, much too good for me, Vermin; thou canst
not imagine what she has done for me, man; she would break her
heart if I should give any thing away from her, she loves me so
dearly. Yet if I do die, thou shalt have all my old shoes.
_Ver. _ I hope to see you live many a fair day yet though.
_Sir Dav. _ Ah, my wife, my poor wife! lead me to my poor wife.
[_Exeunt. _
[Illustration]
SCENE III. --Lady DUNCE'S _Chamber_.
Lady DUNCE _and_ BEAUGARD _discovered_.
_L. Dunce. _ What think you now of a cold wet march over the
mountains, your men tired, your baggage not come up, but at
night a dirty watery plain to encamp upon, and nothing to
shelter you, but an old leaguer cloak as tattered as your
colours? Is not this much better, now, than lying wet, and
getting the sciatica?
_Beau. _ The hopes of this made all fatigue easy to me; the
thoughts of Clarinda have a thousand times refreshed me in my
solitude. Whene'er I marched, I fancied still it was to my
Clarinda; when I fought, I imagined it was for my Clarinda; but
when I came home, and found Clarinda lost! --How could you think
of wasting but a night in the rank, surfeiting arms of this
foul-feeding monster, this rotten trunk of a man, that lays
claim to you?
_L. Dunce. _ The persuasion of friends, and the authority of
parents.
_Beau. _ And had you no more grace than to be ruled by a father
and mother?
_L. Dunce. _ When you were gone, that should have given me
better counsel, how could I help myself?
_Beau. _ Methinks, then, you might have found out some cleanlier
shift to have thrown away yourself upon than nauseous old age,
and unwholesome deformity.
_L. Dunce. _ What, upon some over-grown, full-fed country fool,
with a horse-face, a great ugly head, and a great fine estate;
one that should have been drained and squeezed, and jolted up
and down the town in hackneys with cheats and hectors, and so
sent home at three o'clock every morning, like a lolling booby,
stinking, with a belly-full of stummed wine,[52] and nothing
in's pockets?
_Beau. _ You might have made a tractable beast of such a one; he
would have been young enough for training.
_L. Dunce. _ Is youth then so gentle, if age be stubborn? Young
men, like springs wrought by a subtle workman, easily ply to
what their wishes press them; but the desire once gone that
kept them down, they soon start straight again, and no sign's
left which way they bent before.
_Sir Jol. _ [_At the door peeping. _] So, so, who says I see
anything now? I see nothing, not I; I don't see, I don't see, I
don't look, not so much as look, not I. [_He enters. _
_Enter_ Sir DAVY DUNCE.
_Sir Dav. _ I will have my wife, carry me to my wife, let me go
to my wife, I'll live and die with my wife, let the devil do
his worst; ah, my wife, my wife, my wife!
_L. Dunce. _ [_To_ BEAUGARD. ] Alas! alas! we are ruined! shift
for yourself; counterfeit the dead corpse once more, or
anything.
_Sir Dav. _ Ha! whosoe'er thou art thou canst not eat me! speak
to me, who has done this? Thou canst not say I did it.
_Sir Jol. _ Did it? did what? Here's nobody says you did
anything that I know, neighbour; what's the matter with you?
what ails you? whither do you go? whither do you run? I tell
you here's nobody says a word to you.
_Sir Dav. _ Did you not see the ghost just now?
_Sir Jol. _ Ghost! pr'ythee now, here's no ghost; whither would
you go? I tell you, you shall not stir one foot farther, man;
the devil take me if you do. Ghost! pr'ythee, here's no ghost
at all; a little flesh and blood, indeed, there is, some old,
some young, some alive, some dead, and so forth; but ghost!
pish, here's no ghost.
_Sir Dav. _ But, sir, if I say I did see a ghost, I did see a
ghost, an you go to that; why, sure I know a ghost when I see
one. Ah, my dear, if thou hadst but seen the devil half so
often as I have seen him!
_L. Dunce. _ Alas, Sir Davy! if you ever loved me, come not, oh,
come not near me; I have resolved to waste the short remainder
of my life in penitence, and taste of joys no more.
_Sir Dav. _ Alas, my poor child! But do you think there was no
ghost indeed?
_Sir Jol. _ Ghost! Alas-a-day, what should a ghost do here?
_Sir Dav. _ And is the man dead?
_Sir Jol. _ Dead! ay, ay, stark dead, he's stiff by this time.
_L. Dunce. _ Here you may see the horrid ghastly spectacle,
the sad effects of my too rigid virtue, and your too fierce
resentment--
_Sir Jol. _ Do you see there?
_Sir Dav. _ Ay, ay, I do see; would I had never seen him; would
he had lain with my wife in every house between Charing Cross
and Aldgate, so this had never happened!
_Sir Jol. _ In truth, and would he had! but we are all mortal,
neighbour, all mortal; to-day we are here, to-morrow gone; like
the shadow that vanisheth, like the grass that withereth, or
like the flower that fadeth; or indeed like anything, or rather
like nothing: but we are all mortal.
_Sir Dav. _ Heigh!
_L. Dunce. _ Down, down that trap-door, it goes into a
bathing-room; for the rest, leave it to my conduct.
[BEAUGARD _descends_.
_Sir Jol. _ 'Tis very unfortunate that you should run yourself
into this _premunire_,[53] Sir Davy.
_Sir Dav. _ Indeed, and so it is.
_Sir Jol.
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. Sir
Jolly! neighbour! ha! is it you? are you sure it is you?
are
you yourself? if you be, give me your hand. Alas-a-day, I ha'
seen the devil.
_Sir Jol. _ The devil, neighbour?
_Sir Dav. _ Ay, ay, there's no help for't; at first I fancied
it was a young white bear's cub dancing in the shadow of my
candle; then it was turned to a pair of blue breeches with
wooden legs on, stamped about the room, as if all the cripples
in town had kept their rendezvous there; when all of a sudden,
it appeared like a leathern serpent, and with a dreadful clap
of thunder flew out of the window.
_Sir Jol. _ Thunder! why, I heard no thunder.
_Sir Dav. _ That may be too; what, were you asleep?
_Sir Jol. _ Asleep, quoth-a? no, no; no sleeping this night for
me, I assure you.
_Sir Dav. _ Well, what's the best news then? How does the man?
_Sir Jol. _ Even as he did before he was born nothing at all;
he's dead.
_Sir Dav. _ Dead! what, quite dead?
_Sir Jol. _ As good as dead, if not quite dead; 'twas a horrid
murder! and then the terror of conscience, neighbour.
_Sir Dav. _ And truly I have a very terrified one, friend,
though I never found I had any conscience at all till now. Pray
whereabout was his death's-wound?
_Sir Jol. _ Just here, just under his left pap, a dreadful gash.
_Sir Dav. _ So very wide?
_Sir Jol. _ Oh, as wide as my hat; you might have seen his
lungs, liver, and heart, as perfectly as if you had been in his
belly.
_Sir Dav. _ Is there no way to have him privately buried, and
conceal this murder? Must I needs be hanged by the neck like a
dog, neighbour? Do I look as if I would be hanged?
_Sir Jol. _ Truly, Sir Davy, I must deal faithfully with you,
you do look a little suspiciously at present; but have you seen
the devil, say you?
_Sir Dav. _ Ay, surely it was the devil, nothing else could have
frighted me so.
_Sir Jol. _ Bless us, and guard us all the angels! what's that?
_Sir Dav. _ "Potestati sempiternæ cujus benevolentiâ servantur
gentes, et cujus misericordiâ"--
[_Kneels, holding up his hands, and muttering as if he prayed. _
_Sir Jol. _ Neighbour, where are you, friend, Sir Davy?
_Sir Dav. _ Ah, whatever you do, be sure to stand close to me:
where, where is it?
_Sir Jol. _ Just, just there, in the shape of a coach and six
horses against the wall.
_Sir Dav. _ Deliver us all! he won't carry me away in that coach
and six, will he?
_Sir Jol. _ Do you see it? [_Exit. _
_Sir Dav. _ See it! plain, plain: dear friend, advise me what
I shall do: Sir Jolly, Sir Jolly, do you hear nothing? Sir
Jolly--ha! has he left me alone, Vermin?
_Ver. _ Sir.
_Sir Dav. _ Am I alive? Dost thou know me again? Am I thy
quondam master, Sir Davy Dunce?
_Ver. _ I hope I shall never forget you, sir.
_Sir Dav. _ Didst thou see nothing?
_Ver. _ Yes, sir, methought the house was all a-fire, as it were.
_Sir Dav. _ Didst thou not see how the devils grinned and
gnashed their teeth at me, Vermin?
_Ver. _ Alas, sir, I was afraid one of 'em would have bit off my
nose, as he vanished out of the door.
_Sir Dav. _ Lead me away, I'll go to my wife, I'll die by my
own dear wife. Run away to the Temple, and call Counsellor, my
lawyer; I'll make over my estate presently, I shan't live till
noon; I'll give all I have to my wife. Ha, Vermin!
_Ver. _ Truly, sir, she's a very good lady.
_Sir Dav. _ Ah, much, much too good for me, Vermin; thou canst
not imagine what she has done for me, man; she would break her
heart if I should give any thing away from her, she loves me so
dearly. Yet if I do die, thou shalt have all my old shoes.
_Ver. _ I hope to see you live many a fair day yet though.
_Sir Dav. _ Ah, my wife, my poor wife! lead me to my poor wife.
[_Exeunt. _
[Illustration]
SCENE III. --Lady DUNCE'S _Chamber_.
Lady DUNCE _and_ BEAUGARD _discovered_.
_L. Dunce. _ What think you now of a cold wet march over the
mountains, your men tired, your baggage not come up, but at
night a dirty watery plain to encamp upon, and nothing to
shelter you, but an old leaguer cloak as tattered as your
colours? Is not this much better, now, than lying wet, and
getting the sciatica?
_Beau. _ The hopes of this made all fatigue easy to me; the
thoughts of Clarinda have a thousand times refreshed me in my
solitude. Whene'er I marched, I fancied still it was to my
Clarinda; when I fought, I imagined it was for my Clarinda; but
when I came home, and found Clarinda lost! --How could you think
of wasting but a night in the rank, surfeiting arms of this
foul-feeding monster, this rotten trunk of a man, that lays
claim to you?
_L. Dunce. _ The persuasion of friends, and the authority of
parents.
_Beau. _ And had you no more grace than to be ruled by a father
and mother?
_L. Dunce. _ When you were gone, that should have given me
better counsel, how could I help myself?
_Beau. _ Methinks, then, you might have found out some cleanlier
shift to have thrown away yourself upon than nauseous old age,
and unwholesome deformity.
_L. Dunce. _ What, upon some over-grown, full-fed country fool,
with a horse-face, a great ugly head, and a great fine estate;
one that should have been drained and squeezed, and jolted up
and down the town in hackneys with cheats and hectors, and so
sent home at three o'clock every morning, like a lolling booby,
stinking, with a belly-full of stummed wine,[52] and nothing
in's pockets?
_Beau. _ You might have made a tractable beast of such a one; he
would have been young enough for training.
_L. Dunce. _ Is youth then so gentle, if age be stubborn? Young
men, like springs wrought by a subtle workman, easily ply to
what their wishes press them; but the desire once gone that
kept them down, they soon start straight again, and no sign's
left which way they bent before.
_Sir Jol. _ [_At the door peeping. _] So, so, who says I see
anything now? I see nothing, not I; I don't see, I don't see, I
don't look, not so much as look, not I. [_He enters. _
_Enter_ Sir DAVY DUNCE.
_Sir Dav. _ I will have my wife, carry me to my wife, let me go
to my wife, I'll live and die with my wife, let the devil do
his worst; ah, my wife, my wife, my wife!
_L. Dunce. _ [_To_ BEAUGARD. ] Alas! alas! we are ruined! shift
for yourself; counterfeit the dead corpse once more, or
anything.
_Sir Dav. _ Ha! whosoe'er thou art thou canst not eat me! speak
to me, who has done this? Thou canst not say I did it.
_Sir Jol. _ Did it? did what? Here's nobody says you did
anything that I know, neighbour; what's the matter with you?
what ails you? whither do you go? whither do you run? I tell
you here's nobody says a word to you.
_Sir Dav. _ Did you not see the ghost just now?
_Sir Jol. _ Ghost! pr'ythee now, here's no ghost; whither would
you go? I tell you, you shall not stir one foot farther, man;
the devil take me if you do. Ghost! pr'ythee, here's no ghost
at all; a little flesh and blood, indeed, there is, some old,
some young, some alive, some dead, and so forth; but ghost!
pish, here's no ghost.
_Sir Dav. _ But, sir, if I say I did see a ghost, I did see a
ghost, an you go to that; why, sure I know a ghost when I see
one. Ah, my dear, if thou hadst but seen the devil half so
often as I have seen him!
_L. Dunce. _ Alas, Sir Davy! if you ever loved me, come not, oh,
come not near me; I have resolved to waste the short remainder
of my life in penitence, and taste of joys no more.
_Sir Dav. _ Alas, my poor child! But do you think there was no
ghost indeed?
_Sir Jol. _ Ghost! Alas-a-day, what should a ghost do here?
_Sir Dav. _ And is the man dead?
_Sir Jol. _ Dead! ay, ay, stark dead, he's stiff by this time.
_L. Dunce. _ Here you may see the horrid ghastly spectacle,
the sad effects of my too rigid virtue, and your too fierce
resentment--
_Sir Jol. _ Do you see there?
_Sir Dav. _ Ay, ay, I do see; would I had never seen him; would
he had lain with my wife in every house between Charing Cross
and Aldgate, so this had never happened!
_Sir Jol. _ In truth, and would he had! but we are all mortal,
neighbour, all mortal; to-day we are here, to-morrow gone; like
the shadow that vanisheth, like the grass that withereth, or
like the flower that fadeth; or indeed like anything, or rather
like nothing: but we are all mortal.
_Sir Dav. _ Heigh!
_L. Dunce. _ Down, down that trap-door, it goes into a
bathing-room; for the rest, leave it to my conduct.
[BEAUGARD _descends_.
_Sir Jol. _ 'Tis very unfortunate that you should run yourself
into this _premunire_,[53] Sir Davy.
_Sir Dav. _ Indeed, and so it is.
_Sir Jol.
