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.
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.
Thomas Otway
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.
_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.
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.
_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.
