Tatt. Well, miss, I have your promise. [Aside to Miss. Sir Sam. Body o'me, madam, you say true.— Look you, Ben, this is your mistress. Come, miss, you must not be shame-faced; we'll leave you together. Miss Prue. I can't abide to be left alone.Mayn't my cousin stay with me? Sir Sam. No, no. Come, let's away. Ben. Look you, father, mayhap the young woman mayn't take a liking to me. Sir Sam. I warrant thee, boy. we'll be gone. I'll venture that. Come, come, [Exeunt SIR SAMPSON, TATTLE, and Mrs FRAIL. Ben. Come, mistress, will you please to sit down? For, an you stand astern a that'n, we shall never grapple together. Come, I'll hawl a chair; there, an you please to sit, I'll sit by you. Miss Prue. You need not sit so near one; if you have any thing to say, I can hear you farther off; I an't deaf. never will, that's more. So, there's your answer for you; and don't trouble me no more, you ugly thing. Ben. Look you, young woman, you may learn to give good words, however. I spoke you fair, d'ye see, and civil. As for your love, or your liking, I don't value it of a rope's end—and mayhap I like you as little as you do me. What I said was in obedience to father. Gad, I fear a whipping no more than you do. But I tell you one thing-if you should give such language at sea, you'd have a cat o' nine tails laid across your shoulders. Flesh! who are you? You heard the other handsome young woman speak civilly to me, of her own accord. Whatever you think of yourself, Gad, I don't think you are any more to compare to her, than a can of small-beer to a bowl of punch. Miss Prue. Well, and there's a handsome gentleman, and a fine gentleman, and a sweet gentleman, that was here, that loves me, and I love him; and, if he sees you speak to me any more, he'll thrash your jacket for you; he will, you great sea-calf. Ben. Why that's true, as you say, nor I an't dumb; I can be heard as far as another. I'll Ben. What do you mean that fair-weather heave off, to please you. [Sits farther off-spark that was here just now? Will he thrash An we were a league asunder, I'd undertake my jacket? Let'n---let'n. But an' he comes to hold discourse with you, an 'twere not a main near me, mayhap I may giv'n a salt eel for's suphigh wind, indeed, and full in my teeth. Look per, for all that. What does father mean, to you, forsooth; I am, as it were, bound for the leave me alone, as soon as I come home, with land of matrimony: 'tis a voyage, d'ye see, that such a dirty dowdy? Sea calf! I an't calf enough was none of my seeking; I was commanded by to lick your chalked face, you cheese-curd, you, father, and if you like it, mayhap I may steer in- Marry thee! 'Oons, I'll marry a Lapland witch to your harbour. How say you, mistress? The as soon, and live upon selling contrary winds, short of the thing is, that if you like me, and I and wrecked vessels. like you, we may chance to swing in a hammock together. Miss Prue. I don't know what to say to you, nor I don't care to speak with you at all. Ben. No! I am sorry for that. But, pray, why are you so scornful? Miss Prue. As long as one must not speak one's mind, one had better not speak at all, I think; and truly I won't tell a lie for the matter. Ben. Nay, you say true in that; it's but a folly to lie for to speak one thing, and to think just the contrary way, is, as it were, to look one way, and to row another. Now, for my part, d'ye see, I'm for carrying things above board;I'm not for keeping any thing under hatchesso that, if you ben't as willing as I, say so, a God's name; there's no harm done. Mayhap, you may be shame-faced; some maidens, though they love a man well enough, yet they don't care to tell'n so to's face. If that's the case, why silence gives consent. Miss Prue. But I'm sure it is not so, for I'll speak sooner than you should believe that; and I'll speak truth, though one should always tell a lje to a man; and I don't care, let my father do what he will, I'm too big to be whipt; so I'll tell you plainly, I don't like you, nor love you at all; nor VOL. II. Miss Prue. I won't be called names, nor I won't be abused thus, so I won't. If I were a man---[Cries.]--you durst not talk at this rate--no, you durst not, you stinking tar-barrel. Enter MRS FORESIGHT and MRS FRAIL. Mrs Fore. They have quarrelled, just as we could wish. Ben. Tar-barrel! Let your sweetheart there, call me so, if he'll take your part, your Tom Essence, and I'll say something to him---Gad, I'll lace his musk-doublet for him. I'll make him stink; he shall smelt more like a weasel than a civet cat, afore I ha' done with 'en. Mrs Fore. Bless me! what's the matter, miss? What, does she cry? Mr Benjamin, what have you done to her? Ben. Let her cry: the more she cries, the less she'll---she has been gathering foul weather in her mouth, and now it rains out at her eyes. Mrs Fore. Come, miss, come along with me; and tell me, poor child. Mrs Frail. Lord, what shall we do? There's my brother Foresight and sir Sampson coming. sister, do you take miss down into the parlour, and I'll carry Mr Benjamin into my chamber; for they must not know that they are fallen out. I [Exeunt. Enter SIR SAMPSON and FORESIGHT. Sir Sam. I left them together here. What, are they gone? Ben is a brisk boy: he has got her into a corner-father's own son, faith! he'll touzle her, and mouzle her. The rogue's sharp set coming from sea. If he should not stay for saying grace, old Foresight, but fall to without the help of a parson, ha? Odd, if he should, I could not be angry with him; 'twould be but like me, a chip of the old block. Ha! thou art melancholic, old prognostication; as melancholic as if thou hadst spilt the salt, or paired thy nails on a Sunday. Come, cheer up, look about thee: look up, old star-gazer. Now is he poring upon the ground for a crooked pin, or an old horsenail, with the head towards him. Fore. Sir Sampson, we'll have the wedding tomorrow morning. Sir Sam. With all my heart. Fore. At ten o'clock; punctually at ten. don't know what it may come to--but it has had to say. Sir Sam. Hoity toity! what have I to do with his dreams or his divination? body o' me, this is a trick, to defer signing the conveyance. I warrant the devil will tell him in a dream, that he must not part with his estate. But I'll bring him a parson to tell him that the devil's a liar-or, if that won't do, I'll bring a lawyer, that shall outlie the devil; and so I'll try whether my blackguard, or his, shall get the better of the day. [Exit SIR SAMPSON. Scand. Alas! Mr Foresight, I am afraid all is not right. You are a wise man, and a conscientious man; a searcher into obscurity and futurity; and, if you commit an error, it is with a great deal of consideration, and discretion, and caution. Fore. Ah, good Mr Scandal! Sir Sam. To a minute, to a second; thou shalt set thy watch, and the bridegroom shall observe its motions; they shall be married to a minute, Scand. Nay, nay, 'tis manifest; I do not flatgo to bed to a minute; and, when the alarm ter you. But sir Sampson is hasty, very hastystrikes, they shall keep time like the figures of St I'm afraid he is not scrupulous enough, Mr ForeDunstan's clock, and consummatum est shall ringsight. He has been wicked; and Heaven grant all over the parish! Enter Servant. Ser. Sir, Mr Scandal desires to speak with you upon earnest business. Fore. I go to him; sir Sampson, your servant. [Exit FORESIGHT. Sir Sam. What's the matter, friend? Ser. Sir, 'tis about your son Valentine; something has appeared to him in a dream, that makes him prophecy. Enter SCANDAL. Scand. Sir Sampson, sad news. Sir Sam. Why, what's the matter? he may mean well in this affair with you! but my mind gives me, these things cannot be wholly insignificant. You are wise, and should not be over-reached: methinks you should not. Fore. Alas, Mr Scandal— Humanum est errare ! Scand. You say true, man will err; mere man will err: but you are something more. There have been wise men; but they were such as you -men who consulted the stars, and were observers of omens. Solomon was wise; but how? by his judgment in astrology. So says Pineda, in his third book, and eighth chapter. Fore. You are learned, Mr Scandal. Scand. A trifler-but a lover of art. And the wise men of the east owed their instructions to a star; which is rightly observed by Gregory the Great, in favour of astrology. And Albertus Magnus makes it the most valuable science-because, says he, it teaches us to consider the cau Sir Sam. Body o' me! I don't know any uni-sation of causes, in the causes of things. versal grievance, but a new tax, or the loss of the Canary fleet-unless popery should be landed in the west, or the French fleet were at anchor at Blackwall. Scand. No! undoubtedly, Mr Foresight knew all this, and might have prevented it. Fore. 'Tis no earthquake? Fore. I protest, I honour you, Mr Scandal. I did not think you had been read in these matters. Few young men are inclined Scand. I thank my stars that have inclined me. But I fear this marriage, and making over the estate, this transferring of a rightful inheri tance, will bring judgments upon us. I propheScund. No, not yet; no whirlwind. But we cy it; and I would not have the fate of Cassan dra, not to be believed. Valentine is disturbed; | him out of the way, that I might have an oppor what can be the cause of that? and sir Sampson tunity of waiting upon you. is hurried on by an unusual violence-I fear he does not act wholly from himself; and, methinks, he does not look as he used to do. Fore. He was always of an impetuous nature. But, as to this marriage, I have consulted the stars; and all appearances are prosperous. Scand. Come, come, Mr Foresight; let not the prospect of worldly lucre carry you beyond your judgment, nor against your conscience. You are not satisfied that you act justly. Fore. How! [Whisper. FORESIGHT looking in the glass. Fore. I do not see any revolution here. Methinks I look with a serene and benign aspect→ pale, a little pale—but the roses of these cheeks have been gathered many years-ha! I do not like that sudden flushing- -gone already! hem, hem, hem! faintish. My heart is pretty good; yet it beats: and my pulses, ha! I have none→→→ mercy on me!-hum!-Yes, here they are.Gallop, gallop, gallop, gallop, gallop, gallop! hey, whither will they hurry me? now they're gone Scand. You are not satisfied, I say. I am loth again-and now I'm faint again; and pale again, to discourage you—but it is palpable that not satisfied. you are Fore. How does it appear, Mr Scandal? 1 think I am very well satisfied. Scand. Either you suffer yourself to deceive yourself, or you do not know yourself. Fore. Pray explain yourself. Scand. Do you sleep well o' nights? Scand. Are you certain? you do not look so. Scand. So was Valentine this morning; and looked just so. Fore. How! Am I altered any way? I don't perceive it. Scand. That may be; but your beard is longer than it was two hours ago. Fore. Indeed? bless me ! Enter MRS FORESIGHT. Mrs Fore. Husband, will you go to bed? it's ten o'clock. Mr Scandal, your servant. Scand. Pox on her, she has interrupted my design-but I must work her into the project. You keep early hours, madam. Mrs Fore. Mr Foresight is punctual; we sit up after him. Fore. My dear, pray lend me your glass, your little looking-glass. Scand. Pray lend it him, madam-I'll tell you the reason-She gives him the glass: SCANDAL and she whisper-my passion for you is grown so violent, that I am no longer master of myself; I was interrupted in the morning, when you had charity enough to give me your attention; and I had hopes of finding another opportunity of explaining myself to you-but was disappointed all this day; and the uneasiness that has attended me ever since, brings me now hither at this unseasonable hour. Mrs Fore. Was there ever such impudence, to make love to me before my husband's face? I'll swear I'll tell him. Scand. Do. I'll die a martyr rather than disclaim my passion. But come a little farther this way; and I'll tell you what project I had to get and, hem and my, hem!--breath, and, hem!grows short; hem! he, he, hem! Scand. It takes! pursue it, in the name of love and pleasure. Mrs Fore. How do you do, Mr Foresight? Fore. Hum, not so well as I thought I was. Lend me your hand. Scand. Look you there, now. Your lady says your sleep has been unquiet of late. Fore. Very likely! Mrs Fore. O, mighty restless! but I was afraid to tell him so. He has been subject to talking and starting. Scand. And did not use to be so? Mrs Fore. Never, never; till within these three nights, I cannot say that he has once broken my rest since we have been married. Fore. I will go to bed. Scand. Do so, Mr Foresight, and say your prayers-He looks better than he did. Mrs Fore. Nurse, nurse! Fore. Do you think so, Scandal? Scand. Yes, yes; I hope this will be gone by morning: take it in time. Fore. I hope so. Fore. And-hem, hem! I am very faint. Scand. No, no, you look much better. Fore. Do I? And I hope, neither the lord of my ascendant, nor the moon, will be combust; and then, I may do well. Scand. I hope so-Leave that to me; I will erect a scheme; and, I hope I shall find both Sol and Venus in the sixth house. Forc. I thank you, Mr Scandal; indeed, that would be a great comfort to me. Hem, Hem! | her to hear it. If it won't interrupt you, Mr Ben good night. [Exit FORE. will entertain you with a song. Scand. Good night, good Mr Foresight. And I hope Mars and Venus will be in conjunctionwhile your wife and I are together. Mrs Fore. Well; and what use do you hope to make of this project? You don't think that you are ever like to succeed in your design upon me? Scand. Yes, faith, I do; I have a better opinion both of you and myself, than to despair. Mrs Fore. Did you ever hear such a toad?— Hark'ye, devil: do you think any woman honest? Scand. Yes, several, very honest—they'll cheat a little at cards, sometimes; but that's nothing. Mrs Fore. Pshaw! but virtuous, I mean? Scand. Yes, faith, I believe some women are virtuous, too; but 'tis, as I believe some men are valiant, through fear-For why should a man court danger, or a woman shun pleasure? Mrs. Fore. I'll swear you're impudent. Mrs Fore. Pish, you'd tell me so, though you did not think so. Scand. And you'd think so, though I did not tell you so and now I think we know one another pretty well. Mrs Fore. O Lord! who's here? Enter MRS FRAIL and BEN. Ben. Mess, I love to speak my mind-Father has nothing to do with me. Nay, I can't say that neither; he has something to do with me; but what does that signify? If so be, that I ben't minded to be steered by him, 'tis as thof he should strive against wind and tide. Mrs Frail. Ay, but, my dear, we must keep it secret, till the estate be settled; for, you know, marrying without an estate is like sailing in a ship without ballast. Ben. He, he, he! why that's true; just so for all the world, it is as like as two cable ropes. Mrs Frail. And though I have a good portion, you know one would not venture all in one bottom. Ben. Why, that's true again; for, mayhap, one bottom may spring a leak. You have hit it, indeed; mess, you've nicked the channel. Mrs Frail. Well, but if you should forsake me after all, you'd break my heart. Ben. Break your heart? I'd rather the Marygold should break her cable in a storm, as well as I love her. Flesh, you don't think I'm falsehearted, like a landman? A sailor would be honest, thof, mayhap, he has never a penny of money in his pocket. Mayhap, I may not have so fair a face as a citizen or courtier; but, for all that, I've as good blood in my veins, and a heart as sound as a biscuit. Mrs Frail. And will you love me always? Ben. Nay, an I love once, I'll stick like pitch; I'll tell you that. Come, I'll sing you a song of a sailor. Mrs Frail. Hold, there's my sister; I'll call Ben. The song was made upon one of our ship's-crew's wife; our boatswain made the song; mayhap you know her, sir. Before she married, she was called Buxom Joan of Deptford. Scand. I have heard of her. BALLAD, [BEN sings. A soldier and a sailor, Whose name was Buxom Joan, The soldier swore like thunder, With fighting for her sake. And stop up every leak. But while these three were prating, He then might play his part: That won the fair maid's heart. Ben. Thus we live at sea; eat biscuit, and drink flip; put on a clean shirt once a quartercome home, and lie with our landladies once a year; get rid of a little money, and then put with the next fair wind. How d'ye like us? Mrs Frail. Oh, you are the happiest, merriest men alive! off Mrs Fore. We're beholden to Mr Benjamin for this entertainment. I believe it is late. turn Ben. Why, forsooth, an you think so, you had best go to bed. For my part, I mean to toss a can, and remember my sweetheart, before in; mayhap I may dream of her! Mrs Fore. Mr Scandal, you had best go to bed, and dream, too. Scand. Why, faith, I have a good lively imagination; and can dream as much to the purpose as another, if I set about it. But dreaming is the poor retreat of a lazy, hopeless, and imperfect lover. [Exeunt. SCENE I-VALENTINE'S Lodgings. ACT IV. Enter SCANDAL and JEREMY. Scand. WELL, is your master ready! does he look madly, and talk madly? Jer. Yes, sir; you need make no great doubt of that: he, that was so near turning poet yesterday morning, can't be much to seek in playing the inadman to day. Scand. Would he have Angelica acquainted with the design? Jer. No, sir, not yet. He has a mind to try whether his playing the madman won't make her play the fool, and fall in love with him; or at least own that she has loved him all this while, and concealed it. I should be vext to have a trick put upon me May I not see him? Scand. I'm afraid the physician is not willing you should see him yet. Jeremy go in and inquire. [Erit JEREMY. Ang. Ha! I saw him wink and smile! I fancy a trick. I'll try. Aside.] I would disguise to all the world, sir, a failing which I must own to you -I fear my happiness depends upon the recovery of Valantine. Therefore, I conjure you, as you are his friend, and as you have compassion on one fearful of affliction, to tell me what I am to hope for—I cannot speak-But you may tell me, for you know what I would ask. Scand. So, this is pretty plain !-Be not too much concerned, madam; I hope his condition is Scand. I saw her take her coach just now with not desperate. An acknowledgment of love from her maid; and think I heard her bid the coach-you, perhaps, may work a cure, as the fear of man drive hither. your aversion occasioned his distemper. Jer. Like enough, sir: for I told her maid this morning, my master was run stark mad, only for love of her mistress. I hear a coach stop: if it should be she, sir, I believe he would not see her, till he hears how she takes it. Scand. Well, I'll try her-'tis she; here she comes. Enter ANGELICA. Ang. Mr Scandal, I suppose you don't think it a novelty, to see a woman visit a man at his own lodgings in a morning? Scand. Not upon a kind occasion, madam. But, when a lady comes, tyrannically, to insult a ruined lover, and make manifest the cruel triumphs of her beauty, the barbarity of it something surprizes me. Ang. I don't like raillery from a serious face. Pray, tell me what is the matter? Jer. No strange matter, madam; my master's mad, that's all. I suppose your ladyship has thought him so a great while. Ang. How d'ye mean! mad? Jer. Why, faith, madam, he's mad for want of his wits, just as he was poor for want of money. His head is e'en as light as his pockets; and any body, that has a mind to a bad bargain, can't do better than to beg him for his estate. Ang. If you speak truth, your endeavouring at wit is very unseasonable. Scand. She's concerned, and loves him! [Aside. Ang. Mr Scandal, you can't think me guilty of so much inhumanity, as not to be concerned for a man I must own myself obliged to. Pray, tell me the truth. Scand. Faith, madam, I wish telling a lie would mend the matter. But this is no new effect of an unsuccessful passion. Ang. [Aside.] I know not what to think! Yet Ang. Say you so? nay, then I'm convinced : and if I don't play trick for trick, may I never taste the pleasure of revenge! [Aside.]-Acknowledgement of love! I find you have mistaken my compassion, and think me guilty of a weakness I am a stranger to. But I have too much sincerity to deceive you, and too much charity to suffer him to be deluded with vain hopes. Good nature and humanity oblige me to be concerned for him: but to love, is neither in my power nor inclination. Scand. Hey, brave woman, i'faith!-Won't you see him then, if he desires it? Ang. What signibes a madman's. desires? besides, 'twould make me uneasy-If I don't see him, perhaps my concern for him may lessenIf I forget him, 'tis no more than he has done by himself; and now the surprise is over, methinks I'm not half so sorry as I was. Scand. So, faith, good-nature works apace; you were confessing just now an obligation to his love. Ang. But I have considered that passions are unreasonable and involuntary. If he loves, he can't help it; and if I don't love, I cannot help it: no more than he can help his being a man, or my being a woman; or no more than I can, help my want of inclination to stay longer here. [Exit. Scand. Humph!--An admirable composition, faith, this same womankind! Enter JEREMY. Jer. What, is she gone, sir? Scand. Gone? why she was never here, nor any where else; nor I don't know her, if I see her, nor you neither. Jer. Good lack! what's the matter now? are any more of us to be mad? Why, sir, my master longs to see her; and is almost mad in good earnest with the joyful news of her being here. |