SCENE I. ACT I. VALENTINE in his chamber reading; JEREMY waiting. Several books upon the table. Val. JEREMY! Jer. Sir. Val. Here, take away; I'll walk a turn, and digest what I have read. Jer. You'll grow devilish fat upon this paper diet! [Aside, and taking away the books. Val. And d'ye hear? go you to break fastThere's a page doubled down in Epictetus, that is a feast for an emperor. Jer. Was Epictetus a real cook, or did he only write receipts? Val. Read, read, sirrah, and refine your appetite; learn to live upon instruction; feast your mind, and mortify your flesh. Read, and take your nourishment in at your eyes; shut up your mouth, and chew the cud of understanding. So Epictetus advises. Jer. O lord! I have heard much of him, when I waited upon a gentleman at Cambridge. Pray, what was that Epictetus? Val. A very rich man-not worth a groat! Jer. Humph! and so he has made a very fine feast, where there is nothing to be eaten ! Val. Yes. Jer. Sir, you're a gentleman, and probably understand this fine feeding; but, if you please, I had rather be at board-wages. Does your Epictetus, or your Seneca here, or any of these poor rich rogues, teach you how to pay your debts without money? Will they shut up the mouths of your creditors? Will Plato be bail for you? or Diogenes, because he understands confinement, and lived in a tub, go to prison for you? 'Slife, sir, what do you mean, to mew yourself up here with three or four musty books, in commendation of starving and poverty? Val. Why, sirrah, I have no money, you know it; and therefore resolve to rail at all that have: and in that I but follow the examples of the wi sest and wittiest men in all ages—these poets and | philosophers, whom you naturally hate, for just such another reason; because they abound in sense, and you are a fool. Jer. Ay, sir, I am a fool, I know it; and yet, Heaven help me! I'm poor enough to be a wit. But I was always a fool, when I told you what your expences would bring you to; your coaches and your liveries; your treats and your balls; your being in love with a lady that did not care a farthing for you in your prosperity; and keeping company with wits, that cared for nothing but your prosperity, and now, when you are poor, hate you as much as they do one another. Val. Well! and now I am poor, I have an opportunity to be revenged on them all; I'll pursue Angelica with more love than ever, and appear more notoriously her admirer in this restraint, than when I openly rivalled the rich fops, that made court to her. So shall my poverty be a mortification to her pride, and perhaps make her compassionate the love, which has principally reduced me to this lowness of fortune. And for the wits, I'm sure I am in a condition to be even with them. Jer. Nay, your condition is pretty even with theirs, that's the truth on't. Val. I'll take some of their trade out of their hands. Jer. Now, Heaven of mercy continue the tax upon paper!-You don't mean to write? Val. Yes, I do; I'll write a play. tery! Nothing thrives that belongs to it. The man of the house would have been an alderman by this time, with half the trade, if he had set up in the city. For my part, I never sit at the door, that I don't get double the stomach that I do at a horse-race. The air upon Banstead Downs is nothing to it for a whetter; yet I never see it, but the spirit of famine appears to me--sometimes like a decayed porter, worn out with pimping, and carrying billet-doux and songs; not like other porters for hire, but for the jest's sake. Now, like a thin chairman, melted down to half his proportion, with carrying a poet upon tick, to visit some great fortune; and his fare to be paid him, like the wages of sin, either at the day of marriage, or the day of death. Jer. Why, so I have been telling my master, sir. Mr Scandal, for Heaven's sake, sir, try if you can dissuade him from turning poet, Scand. Poet! He shall turn soldier first, and rather depend upon the outside of his head, than the lining! Why, what the devil! has not your poverty made you enemies enough? must you needs shew your wit to get more? Jer. Ay, more indeed: for who cares for any body that has more wit than himself? Jer. Hem!—Sir, if you please to give me a small certificate of three lines-only to certify those whom it may concern, that the bearer hereof, Jeremy Fetch by name, has, for the space Scand. Jeremy speaks like an oracle. Don't of seven years, truly and faithfully served Valen- you see how worthless great men and dull rich tine Legend, esquire; and that he is not now turn-rogues avoid a witty man of small fortune? Why, ed away for any misdemeanour, but does voluntarily dismiss his master from any future authority over him Val. No, sirrah; you shall live with me still. Jer. Sir, it's impossible-I may die with you, starve with you, or be damned with your works: but to live, even three days, the life of a play, I no more expect it, than to be canonized for a muse after my decease. Val. You are witty, you rogue, I shall want your help-I'll have you learn to make couplets, to tag the end of acts. D'ye hear? get the maids to crambo in an evening, and learn the knack of rhyming; you may arrive at the height of a song sent by an unknown hand, or a chocolate-house lampoon. Jer. But, sir, is this the way to recover your father's favour? Why, sir Sampson will be irreconcileable. If your younger brother should come from sea, he'd never look upon you again. You're undone, sir; you're ruined; you won't have a friend left in the world, if you turn poet. Ah, pox confound that Will's coffee-house! it has ruined more young men than the Royal Oak lot he looks like a writ of inquiry into their titles and estates; and seems commissioned by Heaven to seize the better half. Val. Therefore, I would rail in my writings, and be revenged. Scand. Rail! at whom? the whole world? Impotent and vain! Who would die a martyr to sense, in a country where the religion is folly? You may stand at bay for a while; but, when the full cry is against you, you shan't have fair play for your life. If you can't be fairly run down by the hounds, you will be treacherously shot by the huntsmen. No; turn pimp, flatterer, quack, lawyer; any thing but poet. A modern poet is worse, more servile, timorous, and fawning, than any I have named without you could retrieve the ancient honours of the name, recal the stage of Athens, and be allowed the force of open honest satire. : Val. You are as inveterate against our poets, as if your character had been lately exposed upon the stage. Nay, I am not violently bent upon the trade.-[One knocks.] Jeremy, see who's there. [JEREMY goes to the door.]-But tell me Val. And how the devil do you mean to keep your word? Jer. Keep it? Not at all: it has been so very much stretched, that I reckon it will break of course by to-morrow, and nobody be surprised at the matter!-[knocking.]-Again! Sir, if you don't like my negociation, will you be pleased to answer these yourself? Val. See who they are. [Erit JEREMY.] By this, Scandal, you may see what it is to be great. Secretaries of state, presidents of the council, and generals of an army, lead just such a life as I do have just such crowds of visitants in a morning, all soliciting of past promises; which are but a civiller sort of duns, that lay claim to voluntary debts. Scand. And you, like a truly great man, having engaged their attendance, and promised more than ever you intended to perform, are more perplexed to find evasions, than you would be to invent the honest means of keeping your word, and gratifying your creditors. Val. Scandal, learn to spare your friends, and do not provoke your enemies. This liberty of your tongue will one day bring confinement on your body, my friend. Enter JEREMY. Jer. O, sir, there's Trapland the scrivener, with two suspicious fellows, like lawful pads, that would knock a man down with pocket tipstaves! -And there's your father's steward; and the nurse, with one of your children, from Twittenham. Val. Pox on her! could she find no other time to fling my sins in my face? Here! give her this, gives money.] and bid her trouble me no more. Scand. What, is it bouncing Margery, with my godson? Jer. Yes, sir. Scand. My blessing to the boy, with this token [gives money.] of my love. Val. Bid Trapland come in. If I can give that Cerberus a sop, I shall be at rest for one day. [JEREMY goes out, and brings in TRAPLAND. O Mr Trapland! my old friend! welcome. Jeremy, a chair, quickly: a bottle of sack, and a -fly-a chair first. toast Trap. A good morning to you, Mr Valentine; and to you, Mr Scandal. Scand. The morning's a very good morning, if you don't spoil it. Val. Come, sit you down; you know his way. Trap. [sits.] There is a debt, Mr Valentine, of fifteen hundred pounds, of pretty long standing Val. I cannot talk about business with a thirsty palate. Sirrah! the sack! Trap. And I desire to know what course you have taken for the payment. Val. Faith, and troth, I am heartily glad to see you-my service to you! fill, fill, to honest Mr Trapland-fuller. Trap. Hold! sweetheart-this is not to our business. My service to you, Mr Scandal !— [drinks.]- I have forborn as long Val. Tother glass, and then we'll talk-Fill, Jeremy. say Trap. No more, in truth-I have forborn, I Val. Sirrah! fill! when I bid you. And how does your handsome daughter?-Come, a good husband to her. [drinks. Trap. Thank you-I have been out of this moneyVal. Drink first. Scandal, why do you not drink? [They drink. er. Trap. And, in short, I can be put off no long Val. I was much obliged to you for your supply: it did me signal service in my necessity. But you delight in doing good. Scandal, drink to me, my friend Trapland's health. An honester man lives not, nor one more ready to serve his friend in distress, though I say it to his face. Come, fill each man his glass. Scand. What? I know Trapland has been a whoremaster, and loves a wench still. You never knew a whoremaster, that was not an honest fellow. Trap. Fie, Mr Scandal, you never knew!- Scand. What don't I know?I know the buxom black widow in the Poultry-Eight hundred pounds a-year jointure, and twenty thousand pounds in money. Ahah! old Trap. Val. Say you so, i'faith? Come, we'll remember the widow: I know whereabouts you are; come, to the widow. Trap. No more, indeed. Val. But I have got a reprieve. Scand. I am surprised; what, does your fa ther relent? Val. What! the widow's health? Give it him off with it. [ [They drink.-A lovely girl, i' faith! black sparkling eyes, soft pouting ruby lips! Better sealing there, than a bond for a million, ha! Trap. No, no, there's no such thing; we'd bet-ditions in the world. You have heard of a ter mind our business-You're a wag! Val. No; he has sent me the hardest con booby brother of mine, that was sent to sea Val. No, faith, we'll mind the widow's busi- three years ago? This brother, my father hears, ness: fill again. Pretty round heaving breasts, is landed; whereupon he very affectionately a Barbary shape, would stir an anchorite; and the sends me word, 'If I will make a deed of conprettiest foot! Oh, if a man could but fasten his veyance of my right to his estate after his eyes to her feet, as they steal in and out, and play death to my younger brother, he will imat bo-peep under her petticoats-ha! Mr Trap-'mediately furnish me with four thousand land! 'pounds to pay my debts, and make my 'fortune.' This was once proposed before, and I refused it; but the present impatience of my creditors for their money, and my own impatience of confinement, and absence from Angelica, force me to consent. Trap. Verily, give me a glass-you're a wag— and here's to the widow. [Drinks. Scand. He begins to chuckle-ply him close, or he'll relapse into a dun. Enter Officer. Offi. By your leave, gentlemen.—Mr Trapland, if we must do our office, tell us. We have half a dozen gentlemen to arrest in Pallmall and Covent-garden; and if we don't make haste, the chairmen will be abroad, and block up the chocolate-houses; and then our labour's lost. Trap. Odso, that's true. Mr Valentine, I love mirth; but business must be done; are you ready to Jer. Sir, your father's steward says, he comes to make proposals concerning your debts. Val. Bid him come in: Mr. Trapland, send away your officer; you shall have an answer presently. Trap. Mr Snap, stay within call. [Exit Officer. Enter Steward, who whispers VALENTINE, Scand. Here's a dog now, a traitor in his wine! Sirrah, refund the sack: Jeremy, fetch him some warm water, or I'll rip up his stomach, and go the shortest way to his conscience. Trap. Mr Scandal, you are uncivil. I did not value your sack; but you cannot expect it again, when I have drunk it. Scand. And how do you expect to have your money again, when a gentleman has spent it? Val. You need say no more. I understand the conditions; they are very hard, but my necessity is very pressing: I agree to them. Take Mr Trapland with you, and let him draw the writing. Mr Trapland, you know this man; he shall satisfy you. Trap. Sincerely, I am loth to be thus sing; but my necessity Val. No apology, good Mr Scrivener; shall be paid. you Scand. A very desperate demonstration of your love to Angelica! and I think she has never given you any assurance of hers. Val. You know her temper; she never gave me any great reason either for hope or despair. Scand. Women of her airy temper, as they seldom think before they act, so they rarely give us any light to guess at what they mean: but you have little reason to believe that a woman of this age, who has had an indifference for you in your prosperity, will fall in love with your ill fortune. Besides, Angelica has a great fortune of her own; and great fortunes either expect another great fortune, or a fool. Enter JEREMY. Jer. More misfortunes, sir. Jer. No, sir; but Mr Tattle is come to wait upon you. Val. Well, I cannot help it--you must bring him up; he knows I don't go abroad. [Exit JEREMY. Scand. Pox on him! I'll be gone. Val. No, prithee stay: Tattle and you should never be asunder; you are light and shadow, and shew one another. He is perfectly thy reverse, both in humour and understanding; and, as you set up for defamation, he is a mender of reputations. Scand. A mender of reputations! ay, just as he is a keeper of secrets, another virtue that he sets up for in the same manner. For the rogue will speak aloud in the posture of a whisper; and deny a woman's name, while he gives you pres-the marks of her person. He will forswear receiving a letter from her, and at the same time shew you her hand in the superscription: and yet, perhaps, he has counterfeited her hand too, and sworn to a truth; but he hopes not to be believed; and refuses the reputation of a lady's favour, as a doctor says no to a bishoprick, only that it may be granted him.---In short, he is a public professor of sccrecy, and makes pro Trap. I hope you forgive me; my business requires [Exeunt TRAPLAND, Steward and JEREMY. Scand. He begs pardon like a hangman at an execution. clamation that he holds private intelligence. He | innocence; for I told her-Madam, says I, there is here. Enter TATTLE. Tatt. Valentine, good morrow: Scandal, I am yours- -that is, when you speak well of me. Scand. That is, when I am yours? for while I am my own, or any body's else, that will never happen. Tatt. How inhuman! Val. Why, Tattle, you need not be much concerned at any thing, that he says: for to converse with Scandal, is to play at losing loadum; you must lose a good name to him, before you can win it for yourself. Tatt. But how barbarous that is, and how unfortunate for him, that the world shall think the better of any person for his calumniation !—I thank Heaven, it has always been a part of my character to handle the reputations of others very tenderly indeed. Scand. Ay, such rotten reputations as you have to deal with are to be handled tenderly indeed. Tatt. Nay, why rotten? why should you say rotten, when you know not the persons of whom you speak? How cruel that is! Scand. Not know them? Why, thou never hadst to do with any one, that did not stink to all the town. Tatt. Ha, ha, ha! nay, now you make a jest of it, indeed. For there is nothing more known, than that nobody knows any thing of that nature of me. As I hope to be saved, Valentine, I never exposed a woman, since I knew what woman was. Val. And yet you have conversed with several? Tatt. To be free with you, I have--I don't care if I own that- nay, more (I'm going to say a bold word now), I never could meddle with a woman, that had to do with any body else. Scand. How! Val. Nay, faith, I'm apt to believe him--except her husband, Tattle. Tatt. Oh that Scand. What think you of that noble commoner, Mrs Drab? Tatt. Pooh, I know madam Drab has made her brags in three or four places, that I said this and that, and writ to her, and did I know not what--but, upon my reputation, she did me wrong—well, well, that was malice-but I know the bottom of it. She was bribed to that by one we all know-a man, too-only to bring me into disgrace with a certain woman of quality Scand. Whom we all know. Tutt. No matter for that-Yes, yes, every body knows no doubt on't, every body knows my secrets! But I soon satisfied the lady of my are some persons who make it their business to tell stories, and say this and that of one and the other, and every thing in the world; and, says I, if your grace Scand. Grace! Scand. Why, Tattle, thou hast more impudence than one can in reason expect: I shall have an esteem for thee-well, and ha, ha, ha! well go on, and what did you say to her grace? Val. I confess this is something extraordinary. Tatt. Not a word, as I hope to be saved; an arrant lapsus lingua! Come, let us talk of something else. Val. Well, but how did you acquit yourself? Tatt. Pooh, pooh, nothing at all; I only rallied with you. A woman of ordinary rank was a little jealous of me, and I told her something or other faith, I know not what; come, let's talk of something else. [Hums a song. Scand. Hang him, let him alone; he has a mind we should inquire. Tatt. Valentine, I supped last night with your mistress, and her uncle old Foresight: I think your father lies at Foresight's. Val. Yes. Scand. She says otherwise. Scand. Yes, faith. Ask Valentine else. Tatt. Why, then, as I hope to be saved, I believe a woman only obliges a man to secresy, that she may have the pleasure of telling herself. Scand. No doubt of it. Well, but has she done you wrong, or no? You have had her? ha! Tatt. Though I have more honour than to tell first, I have more manners than to contradict what a lady has declared. Scand. Well, you own it? Tatt. I am strangely surprised! Yes, yes, I cannot deny it, if she taxes me with it. Scand. She'll be here by and by; she sees Valentine every morning. Tutt. How! |