trying your power that way here, in Litchfield; you have drawn the French count to your colours already. Mrs Sul. The French are a people that can't live without their gallantries. Dor. And some English that I know, sister, are not averse to such amusements. Mrs Sul. Well, sister, since the truth must out, it may do as well now, as hereafter. I think Mrs Sul. Will you please dress, and go to one way to rouse my lethargic, sottish husband, church with me? the air may help you. Sul. Scrub! Scrub. Sir! Enter SCRUB. Sul. What day o' the week is this? Scrub. Sunday, an't please your worship. Sul. Sunday! Bring me a dram; and, d'ye hear, set out the venison-pasty, and a tankard of strong beer upon the hall-table; I'll go to break fast. [Going. Dor. Stay, stay, brother; you shan't get off so; you were very naughty last night, and must make your wife reparation. Come, come, brother; won't you ask pardon? Sul. For what? Dor. For being drunk last night. Sul. I can afford it, can't I? Mrs Sul. But I can't, sir. Sul. Then you may let it alone. is to give him a rival; security begets negligence in all people, and men must be alarmed to make them alert in their duty. Women are, like pictures, of no value in the hands of a fool, till he hears men of sense bid high for the purchase. Dor. This might do, sister, if my brother's understanding were to be convinced into a passion for you; but, I believe, there's a natural aversion on his side; and I fancy, sister, that you don't come much behind him, if you dealt fairly. Mrs Sul. I own it; we are united contradictions, fire and water. But I could be contented, with a great many other wives, to humour the censorious vulgar, and give the world an appearance of living well with my husband, could I bring him but to dissemble a little kindness, to keep me in countenance. Dor. But how do you know, sister, but that, instead of rousing your husband, by this artifice, to a counterfeit kindness, he should awake in a Mrs Sul. But I must tell you, sir, that this is real fury? not to be borne. Sul. Get things ready to shave my head. [Exit SULLEN. Mrs Sul. Have a care of coming near his temples, Scrub, for fear you meet something there that may turn the edge of your razor.---[Exit SCRUB.--Inveterate stupidity! Did you ever know so hard, so obstinate a spleen as his? Oh, sister, sister! I shall never have any good of the beast, till I get him to town; London, dear London, is the place for managing and breaking a husband. Dor. And has not a husband the same opportunities there for humbling a wife? Mrs Sul. No, no, child; 'tis a standing maxim in conjugal discipline, that, when a man would enslave his wife, he hurries her into the country; and, when a lady would be arbitrary with her husband, she wheedles her booby up to town. A man dare not play the tyrant in London, because there are so many examples to encourage the subject to rebel. O, Dorinda, Dorinda! A fine woman may do any thing in London. O' my conscience, she may raise an army of forty thousand men ! Dor. I fancy, sister, you have a mind to be Mrs Sul. Let him. If I can't entice him to the one, I would provoke him to the other. Dor. But how must I behave myself between ye? Mrs Sul. You must assist me. Dor. What, against my own brother? Mrs Sul. He's but half a brother, and I'm your entire friend. If I go a step beyond the bounds of honour, leave me; till then, I expect you should go along with me in every thing.The count is to dine here to-day. Dor. 'Tis a strange thing, sister, that I can't like that man. Mrs Sul. You like nothing; your time is not come. Love and death have their fatalities, and strike home, one time or other. You'll pay for all, one day, I warrant ye. But come; my lady's tea is ready, and 'tis almost church-time. SCENE II.-The Inn. [Exeunt. Enter AIMWELL dressed, and ARCHER. Aim. And was she the daughter of the house? Arch. The landlord is so blind as to think so; but, I dare swear, she has better blood in her veins. Aim. Why dost thou think so? Arch. Because the baggage has a pert je ne sçai quoi; she reads plays, keeps a monkey, and is troubled with vapours. FARQUHAR.] BRITISH DRAMA. Aim. By which discoveries, I guess that you know more of her. Arch. Not yet, faith. The lady gives herself airs, forsooth; nothing under a gentleman. Aim. Let me take her in hand. Arch. Say one word more of that, and I'll deevery clare myself, spoil your sport there, and where else. Look ye, Aimwell; every man in his own sphere. Aim. Right; and therefore you must pimp for your master. Arch. In the usual forms, good sir, after I have served myself-But to our business. You are so well dressed, Tom, and make so handsome a figure, that I fancy you may do execution in a the exterior part strikes first, country church; and you're in the right to make that impression favourable. Cher. Pray, father, don't put me upon getting any thing out of a man; I'm but young, you know, father, and don't understand wheedling. Bon. Young! Why, you jade, as the saying is, can any woman wheedle that is not young? Your mother was useless at five-and-twenty.Would you make your mother a whore, and me a cuckold, as the saying is! I tell you, his silence confesses it, and his master spends his money so freely, and is so much a gentleman every manner of way, that he must be a highwayman. Enter GIBBET in a cloak. Gib. Landlord, landlord, is the coast clear? Gib. No matter, ask no questions, all's fair and honourable; here, my dear Cherry-[Gives Aim. There's something in that, which may her a bag.]-Two hundred sterling pounds, as turn to advantage. The appearance of a stran- good as ever hanged or saved a rogue; lay them ger in a country church, draws as many gazers by with the rest; and here-three wedding-or took these from as a blazing star: no sooner he comes into the mourning rings; 'tis much the same, you know. cathedral, but a train of whispers rnns buzzing Here, two silver hilted swords; Who is fellows that never shew any part of their swords round the congregation in a moment. he? Whence comes he? Do you know him?- but the hilts. Here is a diamond necklace, which Then I, sir, tips me the verger half-a-crown; he the lady hid in the privatest place in the coach, This gold watch I took pockets the simony, and inducts me into the best but I found it out. pew in the church; I pull out my snuff-box, turn from a pawnbroker's wife; it was left in her myself round, bow to the bishop, or the dean, if hands by a person of quality; there's the arms the money from? he be the commanding officer, single out a beau- upon the case. Cher. But who had you ty, rivet both my eyes to hers, set my nose a Gib. Ah! Poor woman, I pitied her; from a bleeding by the strength of imagination, and shew the whole church my concern, by my en-poor lady just eloped from her husband. She had deavouring to hide it. After the sermon, the made up her cargo, and was bound for Ireland, whole town gives me to her for a lover, and, by as hard as she could drive; she told me of her persuading the lady that I am dying for her, the husband's barbarous usage, and so, faith, I left tables are turned, and she in good earnest falls her half-a-crown. But I had almost forgot, my dear Cherry; I have a present for you. in love with me. Cher. What is't? Arch. There's nothing in this, Tom, without a precedent; but, instead of rivetting your eyes to a beauty, try to fix them upon a fortune; that's our business at present. Aim. Pshaw! No woman can be a beauty without a fortune. Let me alone for a marks Gib. A pot of ceruse, my child, that I took out of a lady's under-petticoat pocket. Cher. What, Mr Gibbet, do you think that I paint? Gib. Why, you jade, your betters do. I'm sure the lady, that I took it from, had a coronet upon her handkerchief-Here, take my cloak, and go secure the premises. [Exit. Cher. I will secure them. Gib. They'll be here to-night. Bon. D'ye know of any other gentleman o' the pad on this road? Gib. No. Bon. I fancy that I have two that lodge in the house just now. Gib. The devil! how d'ye smoke them ? Bon. And the other is now in his master's chamber; he pretends to be a servant to the Gib. That's much.-That fellow has been at the bar, by his evasions.-But pray, sir, what is your master's name? Arch. Tall, all, dall! [Sings, and combs the periwig.] This is the most obstinate curl Gib. I ask you his name? Arch. Name, sir?-Tall, all, dall!--I never asked him his name in all my life-Tall, all, dall ! Bon. What think you now? Gib. Plain, plain; he talks now, as if he were before a judge. But pray, friend, which way does your master travel? Arch. A horseback. Gib. Very well, again; an old offender-Right Cher. The two first are fashionable in nature, and the third at court. Arch. That's my dear! What are the signs and tokens of that passion? Cher. A stealing look, a stammering tongue, words improbable, designs impossible, and actions impracticable. Arch. That's my good child; kiss memust a lover do to obtain his mistress? -What Cher. He must adore the person that disdains him; he must bribe the chambermaid that betrays him; and court the footman that laughs at him. He must, he must Arch. Nay, child, I must whip you, if you don't mind your lesson: he must treat his Cher. O aye. He must treat his enemies with respect, his friends with indifference, and all the world with contempt; he must suffer much, and fear more; he must desire much, and hope little; in short, he must embrace his ruin, and throw himself away. Arch. Had ever man so hopeful a pupil as -But I mean, does he go upwards or down-mine! Come, my dear; why is love called a rid dle? Cher. Because, being blind, he leads those that see; and, though a child, he governs a man. Arch. Mighty well!--And why is love pictured blind? Cher. Because the painters, out of their weakness, or the privilege of their art, chose to hide those eyes they could not draw. Arch. That's my dear little scholar; kiss me again--And why should love, that's a child, govern a man? Cher. Because that a child is the end of love. Arch. And so ends love's catechism.-And now, my dear, we'll go in, and make my master's bed? Cher. Hold, hold, Mr Martin-you have taken a great deal of pains to instruct me, and what d'ye think I have learned by it? Arch. What? Cher. That your discourse and your habit are contradictions, and it would be nonsense in me to believe you a footman any longer. Arch. 'Oons, what a witch it is! Cher. Depend upon this, sir, nothing in that garb shall ever tempt me for though I was born to servitude, I hate it.- -Own your condition, swear you love me, and then Arch. And then we shall go make my master's bed? Cher. Yes. Arch. You must know, then, that I am born a gentleman; my education was liberal; but I went to London a younger brother, fell into the hands of sharpers, who stript me of my money; my friends disowned me, and now my necessity brings me to what you see. Cher. Then take my hand -promise to marry me before you sleep, and I'll make you master of two thousand pounds. Arch. How! Cher. Two thousand pounds that I have this minute in my own custody; so throw off your livery this instant, and I'll go find a parson. Arch. What said you? a parson? Cher. What! do you scruple? I have taken, since it was only to inform myself of the respect that I ought to pay to you. [Going Arch. Fairly bit, by Jupiter!-Hold, hold! and have you actually two thousand pounds? Cher. Sir, I have my secrets, as well as youwhen you please to be more open, I shall be more free; and be assured, that I have discoveries that will match yours, be they what they will.-In the mean while, be satisfied, that no discovery I make shall ever hurt you; but beware of my fa Arch. Scruple! no, no; but-two thousand | ther. pounds, you say? Cher. And better. Arch. 'Sdeath! what shall I do? -But harkye, child; what need you make me master of yourself and money, when you may have the same pleasure out of me, and still keep your fortune in your own hands? Cher. Then you wont marry me? Cher. O, sweet sir, I'm your humble servant; you're fairly caught. Would you persuade me that any gentleman, who could bear the scandal of wearing a livery, would refuse two thousand pounds, let the condition be what it would-No, no, sir-But I hope you'll pardon the freedom SCENE I-Lady BOUNTIFUL's house. [Exit. Arch. So we're like to have as many adventures in our inn, as Don Quixotte had in his.Let me see-two thousand pounds! If the wench would promise to die when the money were spent, i'gad, one would marry her but the fortune may go off in a year or two, and the wife may liveLord knows how long! Then an innkeeper's daughter! Aye, that's the devil-there my pride brings me off. For whatsoc'er the sages charge on pride, The angels' fall, and twenty faults beside; On earth, I'm sure, 'mong us of mortal calling, Pride saves man oft, and woman, too, from falling. [Exit. ACT III. Enter MRS SULLEN and DORINDA. Mrs Sul. Ha, ha, ha! my dear sister! let me embrace thee; now we are friends, indeed; for I shall have a secret of yours as a pledge for mine-Now you'll be good for something; I shall have you conversible in the subjects of the sex. Dor. But do you think that I am so weak as to fall in love with a fellow at first sight? Mrs Sul. Pshaw! now you spoil all; why should not we be as free in our friendships as the men? I warrant you, the gentleman has got to his confidant already, has avowed his passion, toasted your health, called you ten thousand angels, has run over your lips, eyes, neck, shape, air, and every thing, in a description that warms their mirth to a second enjoyment. Dor. Your hand, sister: I an't well. Mrs Sul. So-she's breeding already-Come, child, up with it—hem a little-so-Now, tell me, don't you like the gentleman that we saw at church just now? Dor. The man's well enough. Mrs Sul. Well enough! Is he not a demi-god, a Narcissus, a star, the man i' the moon? Dor. O, sister, I'm extremely ill. Mrs Sul. Shall I send to your mother, child, for a little cephalic plaster, to put to the soles of your fect? Or shall I send to the gentleman Mrs Sul. Well said; up with it. Dor. No forward coquette behaviour, no air to set him off, no studied looks, nor artful posture -but nature did it all Mrs Sul. Better and better-One touch more-Come Dor. But then his looks-did you observe his eyes? Mrs Sul. Yes, yes, I did his eyes; well, what of his eyes? Dor. Sprightly, but not wandering; they seemed to view, but never gazed on any thing but me and then his looks so humble were, and yet so noble, that they aimed to tell me, that he could with pride die at my feet, though he scorned slavery any where else. Mrs Sul. The physic works purely- -How d'ye find yourself now, my dear? Dor. Hem! Much better, my dear—Oh, here comes our Mercury! Enter SCRUB. Well, Scrub, what news of the gentleman ? Scrub. Madam, I have brought you a whole packet of news. Dor. Open it quickly; come. Scrub. In the first place, I enquired who the gentleman was? They told me he was a stranger. Secondly, I asked what the gentleman was? They answered and said, that they never saw him before. Thirdly, I enquired what countryman he was? They replied, 'twas more than they knew. Fourthly, I demanded whence he came ? Their answer was, they could not tell. And, fifthly, I asked whither he went? And they replied, they knew nothing of the matter-And this is all I could learn. Mrs Sul. But what do the people say? Can't they guess? Scrub. Why some think he's a spy, some guess he's a mountebank, some say one thing, some another; but, for my own part, I believe he's a jesuit. Dor. A jesuit! why a jesuit? Scrub. Because he keeps his horses always ready saddled, and his footman talks French. Mrs Sul. His footman ! Scrub. Ay, he and the count's footman were gabbering French like two intriguing ducks in a mill-pond; and I believe they talked of me, for they laughed consumedly. Dor. What sort of livery has the footman? Scrub. Livery! Lord, madam, I took him for a captain, he's so bedizened with lace; and then he has tops to his shoes, up to his mid-leg, a silver-headed cane dangling at his knuckles:-he carries his hands in his pockets, and walks just so-[Walks in a French air.] and has a fine long perriwig, tied up in a bag-Lord, madam, he's clear another sort of a man than I. Mrs Sul. That may easily be-But what shall we do now, sister? Dor. I have it-This fellow has a world of simplicity, and some cunning; the first hides the latter by abundance- -Scrub ! Scrub. Madam. Dor. We have a great mind to know who this gentleman is, only for our satisfaction. Scrub. Yes, madam, it would be a satisfaction, no doubt. Dor. You must go and get acquainted with his footman, and invite him hither to drink a bottle of your ale, because you're butler today. Scrub. Yes, madam; I am butler every Sunday. Mrs Sul. O brave sister! o' my conscience, you understand the mathematics already-'Tis the best plot in the world! Your mother, you know, will be gone to church, my spouse will be got to the alehouse with his scoundrels, and the house will be our own—so we drop in by accident, and ask the fellow some questions ourselves. In the country, you know, any stranger is company, and we're glad to take up with the butler in a country dance, and happy if he will do us the favour. Scrub. Oh, madam, you wrong me; I never refused your ladyship the favour in my life. Enter GIPSEY. Gip. Ladies, dinner's upon table. Dor. Scrub, we'll excuse your waiting—— Go where we ordered you. Scrub. I shall. SCENE II.-Changes to the Inn. Enter AIMWELL and ARCHER. Arch. Well, Tom, I find you're a marksman. Aim. A marksman! who so blind could be as not discern a swan among the ravens ? Arch. Well, but hark'e, Aimwell. Aim. Aimwell! call me Oroondates, Cesario, Amadis, all that romance can in a lover paint, and then I'll answer. Oh, Archer! I read her thousands in her looks; she looked like Ceres in her harvest; corn, wine, and oil, milk, honey, gardens, groves, and purling streams, played on her plenteous face. Arch. Her face! her pocket, you mean! the corn, wine, and oil lie there. In short, she has twenty thousand pounds; that's the English on't. Aim. Her eyes Arch. Are demi-cannons, to be sure; so I won't stand their battery. [Going. Aim. Pray, excuse me; my passion must have vent. Arch. Passion! what a plague! d'ye think these romantic airs will do our business? were my temper as extravagant as yours, my adventures have something more romantic by half. Aim. Your adventures? Arch. Yes. The nymph, that with her twice ten hundred pounds, 'With brazen engine hot, and coif clear starched, 'Can fire the guest in warming of the bed'— There's a touch of sublime Milton for you, and the subject but an innkeeper's daughter! I can play with a girl as an angler does with his fish; he keeps it at the end of his line, runs it up the stream, and down the stream, till at last he brings it to hand, tickles the trout, and so whips it into his basket. |