Lady Brute. Indeed I will. Lady Fan. Indeed you shan't. Indeed, indeed, indeed, you shan't. [Exit LADY FANCYFUL, running; they follow. Re-enter LADY BRUTE. Lady Brute. This impertinent woman has put me out of humour for a fortnight-What an agreeable moment has her foolish visit interrupted! Lord, what a pleasure there is in doing what we should not do! Re-enter CONSTANT. Ha! here again? Con. Though the renewing my visit may seem a little irregular, I hope I shall obtain your pardon for it, madam, when you know I only left the room, lest the lady, who was here, should have been as malicious in her remarks, as she is foolish in her conduct. Lady Brute. He, who has discretion enough to be tender of a woman's reputation, carries a virtue about him, that may atone for a great many faults. Con. If it has a title to atone for any, its pretensions must needs be strongest, where the crime is love. I therefore hope I shall be forgiven the attempt I have made upon your heart, since my enterprize has been a secret to all the world but yourself. Lady Brute. Secrecy, indeed, in sins of this kind, is an argument of weight to lessen the punishment; but nothing's a plea, for a pardon entire, without a sincere repentance. Con. If sincerity in repentance consists in sorrow for offending, no cloister ever inclosed so true a penitent as I should be. But I hope it cannot be reckoned an offence to love, where it is a duty to adore. Lady Brute. 'Tis an offence, a great one, where it would rob a woman of all she ought to be adored for, her virtue. Con. Virtue!- Virtue, alas! is no more like the thing that's called so, than 'tis like vice itself. Lady Brute. If it be a thing of so very little value, why do you so earnestly recommend it to your wives and daughters? Con. We recommend it to our wives, madam, because we would keep them to ourselves; and to our daughters, because we would dispose of them to others. it Lady Brute. It is, then, of some importance, seems, since you can't dispose of them without it. Con. That importance, madam, lies in the humour of the country, not in the nature of the thing. Pray, what does your ladyship think of a powdered coat for deep mourning? Lady Brute. I think, sir, your sophistry has all the effect, that you can reasonably expect it should have; it puzzles, but don't convince. Con. I'm sorry for it. Lady Brute. I'm sorry to hear you say so. Con. Pray, why? Lady Brute. Because, if you expected more from it, you have a worse opinion of my understanding than I desire you should have. Con. [Aside.] I comprehend her: She would have me set a value upon her chastity, that I might think myself the more obliged to her, when she makes me a present of it,[To her.] I beg you will believe I did but rally, madam; I know you judge too well of right and wrong, to be deceived by arguments like those. I hope you will have so favourable an opinion of my understanding, too, to believe the thing called virtue has worth enough with me, to pass for an eternal obligation, wherever it is sacrificed. Lady Brute. It is, I think, so great a one, as nothing can repay. Con. Yes; the making the man you love your everlasting debtor. Lady Brute. When debtors once have borrowed all we have to lend, they are very apt to grow shy of their creditor's company. Con. That, madam, is only when they are forced to borrow of usurers, and not of a generous friend. Let us chuse our creditors, and we are seldom so ungrateful as to shun them. Lady Brute. What think you of sir John, sir? I was his free choice. Con. I think he is married, madam. Lady Brute. Does marriage, then, exclude men from your rule of constancy? Con. It does. Constancy is a brave, free, haughty, generous agent, that cannot buckle to the chains of wedlock. Lady Brute. Have you no exceptions to this general rule, as well as to the other? Con. Yes, I would, after all, be an exception to it myself, if you were frce in power and will to make me so. Lady Brute. Compliments are well placed, where it is impossible to lay hold on them. Con. I would to Heaven it were possible for you to lay hold on mine, that you might see it is no compliment at all. But since you are already disposed of, beyond redemption, to one who does not know the value of the jewel you have put into his hands, I hope you would not think him greatly wronged, though it should sometimes be looked on by a friend, who knows how to esteem it as he ought. Lady Brute. If looking on it alone would serve his turn, the wrong, perhaps, might not be very great. Con. Why, what if he should wear it now and then a day, so he gave good security to bring it home again at night? Lady Brute. Small security, I fancy, might serve for that. One might venture to take his word. Con. Then, where's the injury to the owner? Ha, Heartfree! Thou hast done me noble service, in prattling to the young gentlewoman without there: Come to my arms, thou venerable bawd, and let me squeeze thee, [Embracing him eagerly.] as a new pair of stays does a fat country girl, when she is carried to court to stand for a maid of honour. Heart. Why, what the devil is all this rapture for? Con. Rapture! There is ground for rapture, man; there is hopes, my Heartfree; hopes, my friend! Heart. Hopes! of what? Con. Why, hopes that my lady and I together (for it is more than one body's work) should make sir John a cuckold. Heart. Prithee, what did she say to thee? Con. Say! What did she not say? She said, that says she-she said-Zoons, I don't know what she said; but she looked as if she said every thing I'd have her; and so, if thou wilt go to the tavern, I'll treat you with any thing, that gold can buy; I'll give all my silver amongst the drawers, make a bonfire before the door; say the plenipo's have signed the peace, and the bank of England's grown honest. [Exeunt. SCENE II. LORD RAKE, SIR JOHN, &c. at a table, drinking. All. Huzza! Lord Rake. Come boys, charge again-So Lord Rake. How are the the streets inhabited, sirrah? Page. My lord, 'tis sunday-night, they are full of drunken citizens. Lord Rake. Along, then, boys! we shall have a feast. Col. Bully. Along, noble knight. Sir John. Ay-along, Bully; and he that says sir John Brute is not as drunk, and as religious as the drunkennest citizen of them all-is a liar, and the son of a whore. Col. Bully. Why, that was bravely spoke, and like a free-born Englishman. Sir John. What's that to you, sir, whether I am an Englishman or a Frenchman? Col. Bully. Zoons, you are not angry, sir? Sir John. Zoons, I am angry, sir-for if I'm a freeborn Englishman, what have you to do, even to talk of my privileges? Lord Rake. Why, prithee, knight, don't quarrel here; leave private animosities to be decided by day-light; let the night be employed against the public enemy. Sir John. My lord, I respect you, because you are a man of quality. But I'll make that fellow know I am within a hair's breadth as absolute by my privileges, as the king of France is by his prerogative. He, by his prerogative, takes money, where it is not his due; I, by my privilege, refuse paying it, where I owe it. Liberty and pro perty, and Old England-Huzza! All. Huzza! Lady Brute. Yet, methinks, I would fain stay [Exit SIR JOHN reeling, all following him. a little longer, to see you fixed, too, that we might SCENE III-A bed-chamber. Enter LADY BRUTE and BELINDA. Lady Brute. Sure 'its late, Belinda; I begin to be sleepy. Bel. Yes, 'tis near twelve. Will you go to bed? Lady Brute. To bed, my dear! And by that time I am fallen into a sweet sleep, (or perhaps a sweet dream, which is better and better) sir John will come home roaring drunk, and be overjoyed be finds me in a condition to be disturbed. Bel. O, you need not fear him; he is in for all night. The servants say he is gone to drink with my lord Rake. Lady Brute. Nay, 'tis not very likely, indeed, such suitable company should part presently. What hogs men turn, Belinda, when they grow weary of women! Bel. And what owls they are, whilst they are fond of them! Lady Brute. But that we may forgive well enough, because they are so upon our accounts. But, prithee, one word of poor Constant before we go to bed, if it be but to furnish matter for dreams: I dare swear he is talking of me now, or thinking of me, at least. Bel. So he ought, I think; for you were pleased to make him a good round advance to-day, madam. Lady Brute. Why, I have even plagued him enough to satisfy any reasonable woman: He has besieged me these two years to no purpose. Bel. And if he besieged you two years more, he'd be well enough paid, so he had the plundering of you at last. Lady Brute. That may be; but I'm afraid the town won't be able to hold out much longer: for, to confess the truth to you, Belinda, the garrison begins to grow mutinous. ter. Bel. Then the sooner you capitulate, the bet start together, and see who could love longest. What think you, if Heartfree should have a month's mind to you? Bel. Why, faith, I could almost be in love with him, for despising that foolish, affected lady Fancyful; but I'm afraid he is too cold ever to warm himself by my fire. Lady Brute. Then he deserves to be froze to death. Would I were a man for your sake, dear rogue! [Kissing her.] Bel. You'd wish yourself a woman for your own, or the men are mistaken. But if I could make a conquest of this son of Bacchus, and rival his bottle, what should I do with him? He has no fortune; I can't marry him; and sure you would not have me-do I don't know what with him. Lady Brute. Why, if you did, child, it would be but a good friendly part; if it were only to keep me in countenance, whilst I play the fool with Constant. Bel. Well, if I can't resolve to serve you that way, I may perhaps some other, as much to your satisfaction. But pray, how shall we contrive to see these blades again quickly? Lady Brute. We must e'en have recourse to the old way; make them an appointment betwixt jest and earnest: it will look like a frolick; and that, you know, is a very good thing to save a woman's blushes. Bel. You advise well; but where shall it be? Lady Brute. In Spring Garden. But they shan't know their women, till they pull off their masks; for a surprise is the most agreeable thing in the world: And I find myself in a very good humour, ready to do them any good turn I can think on. Bel. Then, pray write them the necessary billet, without farther delay. Lady Brute. Let's go into your chamber, then; and whilst you say your prayers, I'll do it, child. [Exeunt. SCENE I-Covent Garden. ACT IV. Enter LORD RAKE, SIR JOHN, &c. with swords drawn. Lord Rake. Is the dog dead? Col. Bully. No, damn him; I heard him wheeze. Lord Rake. How the witch his wife howled! Col. Bully. Ay, she'll alarm the watch presently. Lord Rake. Appear, knight, then; come, you have a good cause to fight for; there's a man mur tisfied; for I'll sacrifice a constable to it presently, and burn his body upon his wooden chair. Enter a Tailor, with a bundle under his arm. Col. Bully. How now? what have we got here? a thief? Tai. No, an't please you, I'm no thief. Lord Rake. That we'll see presently: Here, let the general examine him. Sir John. Ay, ay, let me examine him, and I'll lay a hundred pounds I find him guilty in spite of his teeth; for he looks-like a-sneaking rascal. Come, sirrah, without equivocation or mental reSir John. Is there? then let his ghost be sa-servation, tell me of what opinion you are, and VOL. II. dered. 2 D what calling; for by them-I shall guess at your morals. Tui. An't please you, I'm a dissenting journeyman tailor. Sir John. Then, sirrah, you love lying by your religion, and theft by your trade: And so, that your punishments may be suitable to your crimes -I'll have you first gagged-and then hanged. Tui. Pray, good worthy gentleman, don't abuse me! indeed I'm an honest man, and a good workman, though I say it, that should not say it. Sir John. No words, sirrah, but attend your fate. Lord Rake. Let me see what's in that bundle. Tai. An't please you, it's my lady's short cloak and wrapping gown, Sir John. What lady, you reptile, you? What the plague ails me?--Love? No, I thank you for that, my heart's rock still-Yes, 'tis Belinda that disturbs me, that's positiveWell, what of all that? Must I love her for be Tai. My lady Brute, an't please your honour. Sir John. My lady Brute! my wife! the robe of my wife with reverence let me approaching troublesome? At that rate, I might love all it. The dear angel is always taking care of me in danger, and has sent me this suit of armour to protect me in this day of battle-on they go. Alt. O brave knight! Lord Rake. Live Don Quixotte the second! Sir John. Sancho, my 'squire, help me on with my armour. Tai. O dear gentlemen! I shall be quite undone if you take the sack. Sir John. Retire, sirrah! and you carry off your skin, go home, and be happy! So! how Since d'ye like my shapes now? Lord Rake. To a miracle! He looks like a queen of the Amazons-But to your arms, gentlemen! The enemy's upon their march-here's the watch Sir John. 'Oons! if it were Alexander the Great, at the head of his army, I would drive him into a horse-pond, All. Huzza! O brave knight! Enter Watchmen. Sir John. See! Here he comes, with all his Greeks about him Watch. Hey-day! Who have we got here! Stand. Sir John. May-hap not. the women I meet, 'egad. But hold !———though I don't love her for disturbing me, yet she may disturb me, because I love her-Ay, that may be, faith! I have dreamt of her, that's certain-Well, so I have of my mother; therefore, what's that to the purpose? Ay, but Belinda runs in my mind waking--and so does many a damned thing, that I don't care a farthing for-Methinks, though, I would fain be talking to her, and yet I have no business-Well, am I the first man that has had a mind to do an impertinent thing? Enter CONSTANT. Con. How now, Heart free? What makes you up and dressed so soon? I thought none but lovers quarrelled with their beds; I expected to have found you snoring, as I used to do. Heart. Why, faith, friend, 'tis the care I have of your affairs, that makes me so thoughtful. I have been studying all night how to bring your matter about with Belinda. Con. With Belinda! Heart. With my lady, I mean: And, faith, I have mighty hopes of it. Sure you must be vory well satisfied with her behaviour to you yesterday? Watch. What are you all doing here in the Con. So well, that nothing but a lover's fears streets at this time o'night? And who are you, can make me doubt of success. But what can madam, that seems to be at the head of this no-this sudden change proceed from? ble crew? Heart. Why, you saw her husband beat her, did you not? Sir John. Sirrahı, I'm Bonduca, queen of the Welchmen; and with a leek as long as my pedigree, I will destroy your Roman legion in an instant-Britons, strike home! [Snatches a watchman's staff, strikes at Watch. So! We have got the queen, however. We'll make her pay well for her ransom-Come, madam, will your majesty please to walk before the constable? Con. That's true: A husband is scarce to be borne upon any terms, much less when he fights with his wife. Methinks, she should e'en have cuckolded him upon the very spot, to shew, that after the battle she was master of the field. Heart. A council of war of women would infallibly have advised her to it. But, I confess, so agreeable a woman as Belinda deserves better usage. Con. Belinda again! Heart. My lady, I mean. What a pox makes me blunder so to-day? [Aside.] A plague of this treacherous tongue. Con. Pr'ythee look upon me seriously, Heartfree-Now answer me directly: Is it my lady or Belinda, employs your careful thoughts thus? Heart. My lady, or Belinda? Con. In love, by this light! in love. Con. Nay, ne'er deny it; for thou'lt do it so awkwardly, 'twill but make the jest sit heavier about thee. My dear friend, I give thee much joy. Heart. Why, pr'ythee, you won't persuade me to it, will you? Con. That she's mistress of your tongue, that's plain; and I know you are so honest a fellow, your tongue and heart always go together. But how-but how the devii? Pha, ha, ha, ha, ha!Heart. Hey-day! Why sure you don't believe it in earnest? Con. Yes, I do, because I see you deny it in jest. Heart. Nay, but look you, Ned-any in jest- -a-gadzooks, you know I say when a man denys a thing in jest a a Con. Pha, ha, ha, ha, ha! you tremble justly. But how do you intend to proceed, friend? Heart. Thou know'st I'm but a novice; be friendly, and advise me. Con. Why, look you then; I'd have youSerenade and a-write a song-Go to church; look like a fool-be very officious: Ogle, write and lead out: And who knows, but in a year or two's time, you may be-called a troublesome puppy, and sent about your business. Heart. That's hard. Con. Yet thus it oft falls out with lovers, sir. Heart. Pox on me for making one of the number! Con. Have a care; say no saucy things; 'twill but augment your crime; and if your mistress hears on't, increase your punishment. Heart. Pr'ythee say something then to encourage me; you know I helped you in your dist tress, Con. Why, then, to encourage you to perscverance, that you may be thoroughly ill used for vour offences, I'll put you in mind, that even the -de-coyest ladies of them all are made up of desires, as well as we; and though they do hold out a long time, they will capitulate at last. For that thundering engineer, Nature, does make such havoc in the town, they must surrender at the long-run, or perish in their own flames. Heart. Nay, then, we shall have it: What, because a man stumbles at a word! Did you never make a blunder? Con. Yes; for I am in love, I own it. Heart. Then, so am I- -Now laugh till thy soul's glutted with mirth. [Embracing him.] But, dear Constant, don't tell the town ou't. Con. Nay, then, 'twere almost pity to laugh at thee, after so honest a confession. But tell us a little, Jack, by what new invented arms has this mighty stroke been given? Heart. E'en by that unaccountable weapon, called je-ne sçai-quoi: For every thing, that can come within the verge of beauty, I have seen it with indifference. Con. So, in few words then, the je-ne sçaiquoi has been too hard for the quilted petticoat. Heart. 'Egad, I think the je-ne sçai-quoi is in the quilted petticoat; at least 'tis certain, I ne'er think on't without-a-a je-ne sçai-quoi in every part about me. Con. Well, but have all your remedies lost their virtue! Have you turned her inside yet? out Heart. I dare not so much as think on't. Con. But don't the two years fatigue I have had, discourage you? Heart. Yes: I dread what I foresee; yet cannot quit the enterprize. Like some soldiers, whose courage dwells more in their honour than their nature: On they go, though the body trembles at what the soul makes it undertake. Con. Nay, if you expect your mistress will use you, as your profanations against her sex deserve, Enter FOOTMAN. Foot. Sir, there's a porter without, with a letter; he desires to give it into your own hands. Con. Call him in. Enter PORTER. What, Joe! Is it thee? Por. An't please you, sir, I was ordered to deliver this into your own hands, by two wellshaped ladies at the New Exchange. I was at your honour's lodgings, and your servants sent me hither. Con. 'Tis well; are you to carry any answer ? Por. No, my noble master! They' Con. Very well; there. [Gives him money. Por. God bless your honour! [Exit PORTER. Con. Now let's see what honest, trusty Joe has brought us, [Reads If you and your play-fellow can spare time 'from your business and devotions, don't fail to 'be at Spring Garden about eight in the evening. You'll find nothing there but women, so you need bring no other arms than what you usually carry about you.' |