No More Learning

_Four. _ Leave matters to my discretion, and if I do not--

_Beau. _ I know thou wilt; go, go about it, prosper, and be
famous. [_Exit_ FOURBIN. ] Now ere I dare venture to meet
Courtine again, will I go by myself, rail for an hour or two,
and then be good company. [_Exit. _

_Enter_ COURTINE _and_ SYLVIA.

_Sylv. _ Take my word, sir, you had better give this business
over. I tell you, there's nothing in the world turns my stomach
so much as the man, that man that makes love to me. I never saw
one of your sex in my life make love, but he looked so like an
ass all the while, that I blushed for him.

_Cour. _ I am afraid your ladyship then is one of those
dangerous creatures they call she-wits, who are always so
mightily taken with admiring themselves that nothing else is
worth their notice.

_Sylv. _ Oh, who can be so dull, not to be ravished with that
roisterous mien of yours, that ruffling air in your gait,
that seems to cry where'er you go, "Make room, here comes the
captain! " that face which bids defiance to the weather? Bless
us! if I were a poor farmer's wife in the country now, and you
wanted quarters, how would it fright me! But as I am young, not
very ugly, and one you never saw before, how lovingly it looks
upon me!

_Cour. _ Who can forbear to sigh, look pale, and languish, where
beauty and wit unite both their forces to enslave a heart so
tractable as mine is? First, for that modish swim of your body,
the victorious motion of your arms and head, the toss of your
fan, the glancing of the eyes--bless us! if I were a dainty
fine-dressed coxcomb, with a great estate, and a little or no
wit, vanity in abundance and good for nothing, how would they
melt and soften me! but as I am a scandalous honest rascal, not
fool enough to be your sport, nor rich enough to be your prey,
how gloatingly they look upon me!

_Sylv. _ Alas, alas! what pity 'tis your honesty should ever do
you hurt, or your wit spoil your preferment!

_Cour. _ Just as much, fair lady, as that your beauty should
make you be envied at, or your virtue provoke scandal.

_Sylv. _ Well, the more I look, the more I'm in love with you.

_Cour. _ The more I look, the more I am out of love with you.

_Sylv. _ How my heart swells when I see you!

_Cour. _ How my stomach rises when I am near you!

_Sylv. _ Nay, then let's bargain.

_Cour. _ With all my heart; what?

_Sylv. _ Not to fall in love with each other; I assure you,
Monsieur Captain.

_Cour. _ But to hate one another constantly and cordially.

_Sylv. _ Always when you are drunk, I desire you to talk
scandalously of me.

_Cour. _ Ay, and when I am sober too; in return whereof,
whene'er you see a coquette of your acquaintance, and I chance
to be named, be sure you spit at the filthy remembrance, and
rail at me as if you loved me.

_Sylv. _ In the next place, whene'er we meet in the Mall, I
desire you to "Humph! " put out your tongue, make ugly mouths,
laugh aloud, and look back at me.

_Cour. _ Which, if I chance to do, be sure at next turning to
pick up some tawdry fluttering fop or another.

_Sylv. _ That I made acquaintance withal at the music-meeting?

_Cour. _ Right, just such another spark to saunter by your side,
with his hat under his arm.

_Sylv. _ Hearkening to all the bitter things I can say to be
revenged.

_Cour. _ Whilst the dull rogue dare not so much as grin to
oblige you, for fear of being beaten for it, when he is out of
his waiting.

_Sylv. _ Counterfeit your letters from me.

_Cour. _ And you, to be even with me for the scandal, publish to
all the world I offered to marry you.

_Sylv. _ O hideous marriage!

_Cour. _ Horrid, horrid marriage!

_Sylv. _ Name, name no more of it!

_Cour. _ At that sad word let's part.

_Sylv. _ Let's wish all men decrepit, dull, and silly.

_Cour. _ And every woman old and ugly.

_Sylv. _ Adieu!

_Cour. _ Farewell!

_Enter_ FRISK, _a young fellow affectedly dressed, several_
_others with him_.

_Sylv. _ Ah me, Mr. Frisk!

_Frisk. _ Mademoiselle Sylvia! sincerely as I hope to be saved,
the devil take me--damme, madam, who's that?

_Sylv. _ Ha, ha, ha, hea! [_Exit with_ FRISK.

_Cour. _ True to thy failings always, woman! how naturally is
the sex fond of a rogue! What a monster was that for a woman
to delight in! Now must I love her still, though I know I'm a
blockhead for't, and she'll use me like a blockhead too, if I
don't prevent her. What's to be done? I'll have three whores a
day, to keep love out of my head.

_Re-enter_ BEAUGARD.

Beaugard, well met again; how go matters? handsomely?

_Beau. _ Oh, very handsomely! had you but seen how handsomely I
was used just now, you would swear so. I have heard thee rail
in my time; would thou wouldst exercise thy talent a little at
present!

_Cour. _ At what?

_Beau. _ Why, canst thou ever want a subject? rail at thyself,
rail at me--I deserve to be railed at. See there, what
thinkest thou of that engine, that moving lump of filthiness,
miscalled a man?

_A clumsy fellow marches over the Stage, dressed like_
_an_ Officer.

_Cour. _ Curse on him for a rogue, I know him.

_Beau. _ So.

_Cour. _ The rascal was a retailer of ale but yesterday, and
now he is an officer and be hanged; 'tis a dainty sight in a
morning to see him with his toes turned in, drawing his legs
after him, at the head of a hundred lusty fellows. Some honest
gentleman or other stays now, because that dog had money to
bribe some corrupt colonel withal.

_Enter another, gravely dressed. _

_Beau. _ There, there's another of my acquaintance; he was my
father's footman not long since, and has pimped for me oftener
than he prayed for himself; that good quality recommended him
to a nobleman's service, which, together with flattering,
fawning, lying, spying and informing, has raised him to an
employment of trust and reputation, though the rogue can't
write his name, nor read his neck-verse,[37] if he had occasion.

_Cour. _ 'Tis as unreasonable to expect a man of sense should
be preferred, as 'tis to think a hector can be stout, a priest
religious, a fair woman chaste, or a pardoned rebel loyal.

_Enter two others, seeming earnestly in discourse. _

_Beau. _ That's seasonably thought on. Look there, observe but
that fellow on the right hand, the rogue with the busiest face
of the two; I'll tell thee his history.

_Cour. _ I hope hanging will be the end of his history, so well
I like him at the first sight.

_Beau. _ He was born a vagabond, and no parish owned him: his
father was as obscure as his mother public; everybody knew her,
and nobody could guess at him.

_Cour. _ He comes of a very good family, Heaven be praised!

_Beau. _ The first thing he chose to rise by was rebellion; so a
rebel he grew, and flourished a rebel; fought against his king,
and helped to bring him to the block.

_Cour. _ And was he not religious too?

_Beau. _ Most devoutly! he could pray till he cried, and preach
till he foamed; which excellent talent made him popular,
and at last preferred him to be a worthy member of that
never-to-be-forgotten Rump Parliament.

_Cour. _ Pray, sir, be uncovered at that, and remember it with
reverence.

_Beau. _ In short, he was a committee-man, sequestrator and
persecutor-general of a whole county, by which he got enough at
the king's return to secure himself in the general pardon.

_Cour. _ Nauseous vermin! that such a swine, with the mark of
rebellion in his forehead, should wallow in his luxury, whilst
honest men are forgotten!

_Beau. _ Thus forgiven, thus raised, and made thus happy, the
ungrateful slave disowns the hand that healed him, cherishes
factions to affront his master, and once more would rebel
against the head which so lately saved his from a pole.

_Cour. _ What a dreadful beard and swinging sword he wears!

_Beau. _ 'Tis to keep his cowardice in countenance; the rascal
will endure kicking most temperately for all that; I know five
or six more of the same stamp, that never come abroad without
terrible long spits by their sides, with which they will let
you bore their own noses if you please. But let the villain be
forgotten.

_Cour. _ His co-rogue I have some knowledge of; he's a tattered
worm-eaten case-putter; some call him lawyer; one that takes it
very ill he is not made a judge.

_Beau. _ Yes, and is always repining that men of parts are not
regarded.

_Cour. _ He has been a great noise-maker in factious clubs these
seven years, and now I suppose is courting that worshipful
rascal, to make him recorder of some factious town.

_Beau. _ To teach tallow-chandlers and cheesemongers how far
they may rebel against their king by virtue of Magna Charta.

_Cour. _ But, friend Beaugard, methinks thou art very splenetic
of a sudden: how goes the affair of love forward? prosperously,
ha?

_Beau. _ Oh, I assure you most triumphantly; just now, you must
know, I am parted with the sweet, civil, enchanted lady's
husband.

_Cour. _ Well, and what says the cuckold? is he very kind and
good-natured, as cuckolds use to be?

_Beau. _ Why, he says, Courtine, in short, that I am a very
silly fellow--and truly I am very apt to believe him--and that
I have been jilted in this affair most unconscionably. A plague
on all pimps, I say; a man's business never thrives so well as
when he is his own solicitor.

_Enter_ Sir JOLLY JUMBLE _and a_ Boy.

_Sir Jol. _ Hist, hist! Captain! Captain! Captain! --Boy.

_Boy. _ Sir.

_Sir Jol. _ Run and get two chairs[38] presently; be sure you
get two chairs, sirrah, do you hear? Here's luck, here's luck!
now or never, captain; never if not now, captain! here's luck!

_Beau. _ Sir Jolly, no more adventures, sweet Sir Jolly; I am
like to have a very fine time on't truly.

_Sir Jol. _ The best in the world, dear dog, the very best in
the world; 'sbud, she's here hard by, man; stays on purpose
for thee, finely disguised. The cuckold has lost her too; and
nobody, knows anything of the matter but I, nobody but I; and
I, you must know, I am I, ha! and I, you little toad, ha!

_Beau. _ You are a very fine gentleman.

_Sir Jol. _ The best-natured fellow in the world, I believe, of
my years! Now does my heart so thump for fear this business
should miscarry: why, I'll warrant thee the lady is here, man;
she's all thy own; 'tis thy own fault if thou art not in _terra
incognita_ within this half-hour: come along, pr'ythee come
along; fie for shame!
what, make a lady lose her longing! come
along, I say, you--out upon't!

_Beau. _ Sir, your humble, I shan't stir.

_Sir Jol. _ What, not go?

_Beau. _ No, sir, no lady for me.

_Sir Jol. _ Not go! I should laugh at that, faith!

_Beau. _ No, I will assure you, not go, sir.

_Sir Jol. _ Away, you wag! you jest, you jest, you wag; not go,
quoth-a?

_Beau. _ No, sir, not go, I tell you; what the devil would you
have more?

_Sir Jol. _ Nothing, nothing, sir, but I am a gentleman.

_Beau. _ With all my heart.

_Sir Jol. _ And do you think then that I'll be used thus?

_Beau. _ Sir!

_Sir Jol. _ Take away my reputation, and take away my life: I
shall be disgraced for ever.

_Beau. _ I have not wronged you, Sir Jolly.

_Sir Jol. _ Not wronged me! but you shall find you have wronged
me, and wronged a sweet lady, and a fine lady--I shall never be
trusted again! never have employment more! I shall die of the
spleen. --Pr'ythee now be good-natured, pr'ythee be persuaded;
odd, I'll give thee this ring, I'll give thee this watch, 'tis
gold; I'll give thee anything in the world; go.

_Beau. _ Not one foot, sir.

_Sir Jol. _ Now that I durst but murder him! --Well, shall I
fetch her to thee? what shall I do for thee?

_Enter_ Lady DUNCE.

Odds fish! here she comes herself. Now, you ill-natured churl,
now, you devil, look upon her; do but look upon her: what shall
I say to her?

_Beau. _ E'en what you please, Sir Jolly.

_Sir Jol. _ 'Tis a very strange monster this! Madam, this
is the gentleman, that's he, though, as one may say, he's
something bashful, but I'll tell him who you are. [_Goes to_
BEAUGARD. ] If thou art not more cruel than leopards, lions,
tigers, wolves, or Tartars, don't break my heart, don't kill
me; this unkindness of thine goes to the soul of me. [_Goes to_
Lady DUNCE. ] Madam, he says he's so amazed at your triumphant
beauty, that he dares not approach the excellence that shines
from you.

_L. Dunce. _ What can be the meaning of all this?

_Sir Jol. _ Art thou then resolved to be remorseless? canst thou
be insensible? hast thou eyes? hast thou a heart? hast thou
anything thou shouldst have? Odd, I'll tickle thee! get you to
her, you fool; get you to her, to her, to her, to her, ha, ha,
ha!

_L. Dunce. _ Have you forgot me, Beaugard?

_Sir Jol. _ So now, to her again, I say! to her, to her, and be
hanged! ah, rogue! ah, rogue! now, now, have at her; now have
at her! There it goes; there it goes, hey, boy!

_L. Dunce. _ Methinks this face should not so much be altered,
as to be nothing like what I once thought it, the object of
your pleasure, and subject of your praises.

_Sir Jol. _ Cunning toad! wheedling jade! you shall see now how
by degrees she'll draw him into the whirlpool of love: now he
leers upon her, now he leers upon her. O law! there's eyes!
there's eyes! I must pinch him by the calf of the leg.

_Beau. _ Madam, I must confess I do remember that I had once
acquaintance with a face whose air and beauty much resembled
yours; and, if I may trust my heart, you are called Clarinda.

_L. Dunce. _ Clarinda I was called, till my ill-fortune wedded
me; now you may have heard of me by another title: your friend
there, I suppose, has made nothing a secret to you.

_Beau. _ And are you then that kind enchanted fair one who was
so passionately in love with my picture that you could not
forbear betraying me to the beast your husband, and wrong
the passion of a gentleman that languished for you, only to
make your monster merry? Hark you, madam! had your fool been
worth it, I had beaten him, and have a month's mind[39] to
be exercising my parts that way upon your go-between, your
male-bawd there.

_Sir Jol. _ Ah Lord! ah Lord! all's spoiled again, all's ruined;
I shall be undone for ever! Why, what a devil is the matter
now? what have I done? what sins have I committed? [_Aside. _

_L. Dunce. _ And are you that passionate adorer of our sex, who
cannot live a week in London without loving? Are you the shark
that sends your picture up and down to longing ladies, longing
for a pattern of your person?

_Beau. _ Yes, madam, when I receive so good hostages as these
are--[_Shows the gold_]--that it shall be well used. Could you
find nobody but me to play the fool withal?

_Sir Jol. _ Alack-a-day!

_L. Dunce. _ Could you pitch upon nobody but that wretched woman
that has loved you too well to abuse you thus?

_Sir Jol. _ That ever I was born!

_Beau. _ Here, here, madam, I'll return you your dirt; I scorn
your wages, as I do your service.

_L. Dunce. _ Fie for shame! what, refund? that is not like a
soldier, to refund: keep, keep it to pay your sempstress withal.

_Sir Jol. _ His sempstress! who the devil is his sempstress?
Odd, what would I give to know that now! [_Aside. _

_L. Dunce. _ There was a ring too, which I sent you this
afternoon; if that fit not your finger, you may dispose of it
some other way, where it may give no occasion of scandal, and
you'll do well.

_Beau. _ A ring, madam?

_L. Dunce. _ A small trifle; I suppose Sir Davy delivered it to
you, when he returned you your miniature.

_Beau. _ I beseech you, madam! --

_L. Dunce. _ Farewell, you traitor.

_Beau. _ As I hope to be saved, and upon the word of a
gentleman--

_L. Dunce. _ Go, you are a false, ungrateful brute; and trouble
me no more. [_Exit. _

_Beau. _ Sir Jolly, Sir Jolly, Sir Jolly.

_Sir Jol. _ Ah, thou rebel!

_Beau. _ Some advice, some advice, dear friend, ere I'm ruined.

_Sir Jol. _ Even two pennyworth of hemp for your honour's
supper, that's all the remedy that I know.

_Beau. _ But pr'ythee hear a little reason.

_Sir Jol. _ No, sir, I ha' done; no more to be said, I ha' done;
I am ashamed of you, I'll have no more to say to you; I'll
never see your face again, good-b'w'ye. [_Exit. _

_Beau. _ Death and the devil! what have my stars been doing
to-day? A ring! delivered by Sir Davy--what can that mean? Pox
on her for a jilt, she lies, and has a mind to amuse and laugh
at me a day or two longer. Hist, here comes her beast once
more; I'll use him civilly, and try what discovery I can make.

_Re-enter_ Sir DAVY DUNCE.

_Sir Dav. _ Ha, ha, ha! here's the captain's jewel; very well:
in troth, I had like to have forgotten it. Ha, ha, ha! --how
damnable mad he'll be now, when I shall deliver him his ring
again, ha, ha! --Poor dog, he'll hang himself at least, ha, ha,
ha! --Faith, 'tis a very pretty stone, and finely set: humph! if
I should keep it now? --I'll say I have lost it--no, I'll give
it him again o' purpose to vex him, ha, ha, ha!

_Beau. _ Sir Davy, I am heartily sorry--

_Sir Dav. _ O sir, 'tis you I was seeking for, ha, ha, ha! --What
shall I say to him now to terrify him? [_Aside. _

_Beau. _ Me, sir!

_Sir Dav. _ Ay, you, sir, if your name be Captain Beaugard.
[_Aside. _] How like a fool he looks already!

_Beau. _ What you please, sir.

_Sir Dav. _ Sir, I would speak a word with you, if you think
fit. --What shall I do now to keep my countenance? [_Aside. _

_Beau. _ Can I be so happy, sir, as to be able to serve you in
anything?

_Sir Dav. _ No, sir; ha, ha, ha! I have commands of service to
you, sir. O Lord!