ACT THE THIRD.
SCENE I
The Street.
Enter Colonel Standard and Vizard.
Colonel S. I bring him word where she lodged? I the civilest rival in the world? 'Tis impossible.
Vizard. I shall urge it no farther, sir. I only thought, sir, that my character in the world might add authority to my words, without so many repetitions.
Colonel S. Pardon me, dear Vizard. Our belief struggles hard, before it can be brought to yield to the disadvantage of what we love. But what said Sir Harry?
Vizard. He pitied the poor credulous colonel, laughed heartily, flew away with all the raptures of a bridegroom, repeating these lines:
| A mistress ne'er can pall her lover's joys, |
| Whose wit can whet, whene'er her beauty cloys. |
Colonel S. A mistress ne'er can pall! By all my wrongs he whores her, and I am made their property.——Vengeance——Vizard, you must carry a note for me to Sir Harry.
Vizard. What, a challenge? I hope you don't design to fight?
Colonel S. What, wear the livery of my king, and pocket an affront? 'Twere an abuse to his sacred Majesty: a soldier's sword, Vizard, should start of itself, to redress its master's wrong.
Vizard. However, sir, I think it not proper for me to carry any such message between friends.
Colonel S. I have ne'er a servant here; what shall I do?
Vizard. There's Tom Errand, the porter, that plies at the Blue Posts, one who knows Sir Harry and his haunts very well; you may send a note by him.
Colonel S. Here, you, friend.
Vizard. I have now some business, and must take my leave; I would advise you, nevertheless, against this affair.
Colonel S. No whispering now, nor telling of friends, to prevent us. He, that disappoints a man of an honourable revenge, may love him foolishly like a wife, but never value him as a friend.
Vizard. Nay, the devil take him, that parts you, say I. [Exit.
Enter Tom Errand.
Tom. Did your honour call porter?
Colonel S. Is your name Tom Errand?
Tom. People call me so, an't like your worship.
Colonel S. D'ye know Sir Harry Wildair?
Tom. Ay, very well, sir; he's one of my best masters; many a round half crown have I had of his worship; he's newly come home from France, sir.
Colonel S. Go to the next coffee-house, and wait for me.——Oh, woman, woman, how blessed is man, when favoured by your smiles, and how accursed when all those smiles are found but wanton baits to sooth us to destruction. [Exeunt.
Enter Sir H. Wildair, and Clincher Senior, following.
Clinch. sen. Sir, sir, sir, having some business of importance to communicate to you, I would beg your attention to a trifling affair, that I would impart to your understanding.
Sir H. What is your trifling business of importance, pray, sweet sir?
Clinch. sen. Pray, sir, are the roads deep between this and Paris?
Sir H. Why that question, sir?
Clinch. sen. Because I design to go to the jubilee, sir. I understand that you are a traveller, sir; there is an air of travel in the tie of your cravat, sir: there is indeed, sir——I suppose, sir, you bought this lace in Flanders.
Sir H. No, sir, this lace was made in Norway.
Clinch. sen. Norway, sir?
Sir H. Yes, sir, of the shavings of deal boards.
Clinch. sen. That's very strange now, 'faith—Lace made of the shavings of deal boards! 'Egad, sir, you travellers see very strange things abroad, very incredible things abroad, indeed. Well, I'll have a cravat of the very same lace before I come home.
Sir H. But, sir, what preparations have you made for your journey?
Clinch. sen. A case of pocket-pistols for the bravos, and a swimming-girdle.
Sir H. Why these, sir?
Clinch. sen. Oh, lord, sir, I'll tell you——Suppose us in Rome now; away goes I to some ball—for I'll be a mighty beau. Then, as I said, I go to some ball, or some bear-baiting—'tis all one, you know—then comes a fine Italian bona roba, and plucks me by the sleeve: Signior Angle, Signior Angle—She's a very fine lady, observe that—Signior Angle, says she—Signiora, says I, and trips after her to the corner of a street, suppose it Russel Street, here, or any other street: then, you know, I must invite her to the tavern; I can do no less——There up comes her bravo; the Italian grows saucy, and I give him an English dowse on the face: I can box, sir, box tightly; I was a 'prentice, sir——But then, sir, he whips out his stiletto, and I whips out my bull-dog—slaps him through, trips down stairs, turns the corner of Russel Street again, and whips me into the ambassador's train, and there I'm safe as a beau behind the scenes.
Sir H. Is your pistol charged, sir?
Clinch. sen. Only a brace of bullets, that's all, sir.
Sir H. 'Tis a very fine pistol, truly; pray let me see it.
Clinch. sen. With all my heart, sir.
Sir H. Harkye, Mr. Jubilee, can you digest a brace of bullets?
Clinch. sen. Oh, by no means in the world, sir.
Sir H. I'll try the strength of your stomach, however. Sir, you're a dead man.
[Presenting the Pistol to his Breast.
Clinch. sen. Consider, dear sir, I am going to the Jubilee: when I come home again, I am a dead man at your service.
Sir H. Oh, very well, sir; but take heed you are not so choleric for the future.
Clinch. sen. Choleric, sir! Oons, I design to shoot seven Italians in a week, sir.
Sir H. Sir, you won't have provocation.
Clinch. sen. Provocation, sir! Zouns, sir, I'll kill any man for treading upon my corns: and there will be a devilish throng of people there: they say that all the princes of Italy will be there.
Sir H. And all the fops and fiddlers in Europe——But the use of your swimming girdle, pray sir?
Clinch. sen. Oh lord, sir, that's easy. Suppose the ship cast away; now, whilst, other foolish people are busy at their prayers, I whip on my swimming girdle, clap a month's provision in my pocket, and sails me away, like an egg in a duck's belly. Well, sir, you must pardon me now, I'm going to see my mistress. [Exit.
Sir H. This fellow's an accomplished ass before he goes abroad. Well, this Angelica has got into my heart, and I cannot get her out of my head. I must pay her t'other visit. [Exit.
SCENE II.
Lady Darling's House.
Enter Angelica, Lady Darling, Clincher Junior, and Dicky.
Lady D. This is my daughter, cousin.
Dicky. Now sir, remember your three scrapes.
Clinch. jun. [Saluting Angelica.] One, two, three, your humble servant. Was not that right, Dicky?
Dicky. Ay, 'faith, sir; but why don't you speak to her?
Clinch. jun. I beg your pardon, Dicky; I know my distance. Would you have me to speak to a lady at the first sight?
Dicky. Ay sir, by all means; the first aim is the surest.
Clinch. jun. Now for a good jest, to make her laugh heartily——By Jupiter Ammon, I'll give her a kiss.
[Goes towards her.
Enter Wildair, interposing.
Sir H. 'Tis all to no purpose; I told you so before; your pitiful five guineas will never do. You may go; I'll outbid you.
Clinch. jun. What the devil! the madman's here again.
Lady D. Bless me, cousin, what d'ye mean? Affront a gentleman of his quality in my house?
Clinch. jun. Quality!—Why, madam, I don't know what you mean by your madmen, and your beaux, and your quality——they're all alike, I believe.
Lady D. Pray, sir, walk with me into the next room.
[Exit Lady Darling, leading Clincher, Dicky following.
Ang. Sir, if your conversation be no more agreeable than 'twas the last time, I would advise you to make your visit as short as you can.
Sir H. The offences of my last visit, madam, bore their punishment in the commission; and have made me as uneasy till I receive pardon, as your ladyship can be till I sue for it.
Ang. Sir Harry, I did not well understand the offence, and must therefore proportion it to the greatness of your apology; if you would, therefore, have me think it light, take no great pains in an excuse.
Sir H. How sweet must the lips be that guard that tongue! Then, madam, no more of past offences; let us prepare for joys to come. Let this seal my pardon.
[Kisses her Hand.
Ang. Hold, sir: one question, Sir Harry, and pray answer plainly—D'ye love me?
Sir H. Love you! Does fire ascend? Do hypocrites dissemble? Usurers love gold, or great men flattery? Doubt these, then question that I love.
Ang. This shows your gallantry, sir, but not your love.
Sir H. View your own charms, madam, then judge my passion.
Ang. If your words be real, 'tis in your power to raise an equal flame in me.
Sir H. Nay, then, I seize——
Ang. Hold, sir; 'tis also possible to make me detest and scorn you worse than the most profligate of your deceiving sex.
Sir H. Ha! a very odd turn this. I hope, madam, you only affect anger, because you know your frowns are becoming.
Ang. Sir Harry, you being the best judge of your own designs, can best understand whether my anger should be real or dissembled; think what strict modesty should bear, then judge of my resentment.
Sir H. Strict modesty should bear! Why, 'faith, madam, I believe, the strictest modesty may bear fifty guineas, and I don't believe 'twill bear one farthing more.
Ang. What d'ye mean, sir?
Sir H. Nay, madam, what do you mean? If you go to that. I think now, fifty guineas is a fine offer for your strict modesty, as you call it.
Ang. I'm afraid you're mad, sir.
Sir H. Why, madam, you're enough to make any man mad. 'Sdeath, are you not a——
Ang. What, sir?
Sir H. Why, a lady of—strict modesty, if you will have it so.
Ang. I shall never hereafter trust common report, which represented you, sir, a man of honour, wit, and breeding; for I find you very deficient in them all three. [Exit.
Sir H. Now I find, that the strict pretences, which the ladies of pleasure make to strict modesty, is the reason why those of quality are ashamed to wear it.
Enter Vizard.
Vizard. Ah! Sir Harry, have I caught you? Well, and what success?
Sir H. Success! 'Tis a shame for you young fellows in town here, to let the wenches grow so saucy. I offered her fifty guineas, and she was in her airs presently, and flew away in a huff. I could have had a brace of countesses in Paris for half the money, and je vous remercie into the bargain.
Vizard. Gone in her airs, say you! and did not you follow her?
Sir H. Whither should I follow her?
Vizard. Into her bedchamber, man; she went on purpose. You a man of gallantry, and not understand that a lady's best pleased when she puts on her airs, as you call it!
Sir H. She talked to me of strict modesty, and stuff.
Vizard. Certainly. Most women magnify their modesty, for the same reason that cowards boast their courage—because they have least on't. Come, come, Sir Harry, when you make your next assault, encourage your spirits with brisk Burgundy: if you succeed, 'tis well; if not, you have a fair excuse for your rudeness. I'll go in, and make your peace for what's past. Oh, I had almost forgot——Colonel Standard wants to speak with you about some business.
Sir H. I'll wait upon him presently; d'ye know where he may be found?
Vizard. In the piazza of Covent Garden, about an hour hence, I promised to see him: and there you may meet him—to have your throat cut. [Aside.] I'll go in and intercede for you.
Sir H. But no foul play with the lady, Vizard. [Exit.
Vizard. No fair play, I can assure you. [Exit.
SCENE III.
The Street before Lady Lurewell's Lodgings.
Clincher Senior, and Lurewell, coquetting in the Balcony.—Enter Standard.
Colonel S. How weak is reason in disputes of love! I've heard her falsehood with such pressing proofs, that I no longer should distrust it. Yet still my love would baffle demonstration, and make impossibilities seem probable. [Looks up.] Ha! That fool too! What, stoop so low as that animal?—'Tis true, women once fallen, like cowards in despair, will stick at nothing; there's no medium in their actions. They must be bright as angels, or black as fiends. But now for my revenge; I'll kick her cully before her face, call her whore, curse the whole sex, and leave her. [Goes in.
SCENE IV.
A Dining Room.
Enter Lady Lurewell and Clincher Senior.
Lady L. Oh lord, sir, it is my husband! What will become of you?
Clinch. sen. Ah, your husband! Oh, I shall be murdered! What shall I do? Where shall I run? I'll creep into an oven—I'll climb up the chimney—I'll fly—I'll swim;——I wish to the lord I were at the Jubilee now.
Lady L. Can't you think of any thing, sir?
Clinch. sen. Think! not I; I never could think to any purpose in my life.
Lady L. What do you want, sir?
Enter Tom Errand.
Tom. Madam, I am looking for Sir Harry Wildair; I saw him come in here this morning; and did imagine he might be here still, if he is not gone.
Lady L. A lucky hit! Here, friend, change clothes with this gentleman, quickly, strip.
Clinch. sen. Ay, ay, quickly strip; I'll give you half a crown to boot. Come here; so.
[They change Clothes.
Lady L. Now slip you [To Clinch Senior.] down stairs, and wait at the door till my husband be gone; and get you in there [To Tom Errand.] till I call you.
[Puts Errand in the next Room.
Enter Colonel Standard.
Oh, sir, are you come? I wonder, sir, how you have the confidence to approach me, after so base a trick.
Colonel S. Oh, madam, all your artifices won't avail.
Lady L. Nay, sir, your artifices won't avail. I thought, sir, that I gave you caution enough against troubling me with Sir Harry Wildair's company, when I sent his letters back by you; yet you, forsooth, must tell him where I lodged, and expose me again to his impertinent courtship!
Colonel S. I expose you to his courtship!
Lady L. I'll lay my life you'll deny it now. Come, come, sir: a pitiful lie is as scandalous to a red coat, as an oath to a black.
Colonel S. You're all lies; first, your heart is false; your eyes are double; one look belies another; and then your tongue does contradict them all—Madam, I see a little devil just now hammering out a lie in your pericranium.
Lady L. As I hope for mercy, he's in the right on't. [Aside.
Colonel. S. Yes, yes, madam, I exposed you to the courtship of your fool Clincher, too; I hope your female wiles will impose that upon me——also——
Lady L. Clincher! Nay, now you're stark mad. I know no such person.
Colonel S. Oh, woman in perfection! not know him! 'Slife, madam, can my eyes, my piercing jealous eyes, be so deluded? Nay, madam, my nose could not mistake him; for I smelt the fop by his pulvilio, from the balcony down to the street.
Lady L. The balcony! ha! ha! ha! the balcony! I'll be hanged but he has mistaken Sir Harry Wildair's footman, with a new French livery, for a beau.
Colonel S. 'Sdeath, madam! what is there in me that looks like a cully? Did I not see him?
Lady L. No, no, you could not see him; you're dreaming, colonel. Will you believe your eyes, now that I have rubbed them open?—Here, you friend.
Enter Tom Errand, in Clincher Senior's Clothes.
Colonel S. This is illusion all; my eyes conspire against themselves. Tis legerdemain.
Lady L. Legerdemain! Is that all your acknowledgment for your rude behaviour?—Oh, what a curse is it to love as I do!—Begone sir, [To Tom Errand.] to your impertinent master, and tell him I shall never be at leisure to receive any of his troublesome visits.—Send to me to know when I should be at home!—Begone, sir. [Exit Tom Errand.] I am sure he has made me an unfortunate woman. [Weeps.
Colonel S. Nay, then there is no certainty in nature; and truth is only falsehood well disguised.
Lady L. Sir, had not I owned my fond, foolish passion, I should not have been subject to such unjust suspicions: but it is an ungrateful return. [Weeping.
Colonel S. Now, where are all my firm resolves? I hope, madam, you'll pardon me, since jealousy, that magnified my suspicion, is as much the effect of love, as my easiness in being satisfied.
Lady L. Easiness in being satisfied! No, no, sir; cherish your suspicions, and feed upon your jealousy: 'tis fit meat for your squeamish stomach.
| With me all women should this rule pursue: |
| Who think us false, should never find us true. |
| [Exit in a Rage. |
Enter Clincher Senior in Tom Errand's Clothes.
Clinch. sen. Well, intriguing is the prettiest, pleasantest thing for a man of my parts.—How shall we laugh at the husband, when he is gone?—How sillily he looks! He's in labour of horns already.—To make a colonel a cuckold! 'Twill be rare news for the alderman.
Colonel S. All this Sir Harry has occasioned; but he's brave, and will afford me a just revenge.—Oh, this is the porter I sent the challenge by——Well sir, have you found him?
Clinch. sen. What the devil does he mean now?
Colonel S. Have you given Sir Harry the note, fellow?
Clinch. sen. The note! what note?
Colonel S. The letter, blockhead, which I sent by you to Sir Harry Wildair; have you seen him?
Clinch. sen. Oh, lord, what shall I say now? Seen him? Yes, sir—no, sir.—I have, sir—I have not, sir.
Colonel S. The fellow's mad. Answer me directly, sirrah, or I'll break your head.
Clinch. sen. I know Sir Harry very well, sir; but as to the note, sir, I can't remember a word on't: truth is, I have a very bad memory.
Colonel S. Oh, sir, I'll quicken your memory. [Strikes him.
Clinch. sen. Zouns, sir, hold!—I did give him the note.
Colonel S. And what answer?
Clinch. sen. I mean, I did not give him the note.
Colonel S. What, d'ye banter, rascal? [Strikes him again.
Clinch. sen. Hold, sir, hold! He did send an answer.
Colonel S. What was't, villain?
Clinch. sen. Why, truly sir, I have forgot it: I told you that I had a very treacherous memory.
Colonel S. I'll engage you shall remember me this month, rascal.
[Beats him, and exit.
Enter Lurewell and Parly.
Lady L. Oh, my poor gentleman! and was it beaten?
Clinch. sen. Yes, I have been beaten. But where's my clothes? my clothes?
Lady L. What, you won't leave me so soon, my dear, will ye?
Clinch. sen. Will ye!—If ever I peep into the colonel's tent again, may I be forced to run the gauntlet. But my clothes, madam.
Lady L. I sent the porter down stairs with them: did not you meet him?
Clinch. sen. Meet him? No, not I.
Parly. No! He went out at the back door, and is run clear away, I'm afraid.
Clinch. sen. Gone, say you, and with my clothes, my fine Jubilee clothes?—Oh, the rogue, the thief!—I'll have him hang'd for murder—But how shall I get home in this pickle?
Parly. I'm afraid, sir, the colonel will be back presently, for he dines at home.
Clinch. sen. Oh, then I must sneak off. Was ever such an unfortunate beau, To have his coat well thrash'd, and lose his coat also! [Exit.
Parly. Methinks, madam, the injuries you have suffered by men must be very great, to raise such heavy resentments against the whole sex;—and, I think, madam, your anger should be only confined to the author of your wrongs.
Lady L. The author! alas, I know him not.
Parly. Not know him? Tis odd, madam, that a man should rob you of that same jewel, and you not know him.
Lady L. Leave trifling: 'tis a subject that always sours my temper: but since, by thy faithful service, I have some reason to confide in your secresy, hear the strange relation.—Some twelve years ago, I lived at my father's house in Oxfordshire, blest with innocence, the ornamental, but weak guard of blooming beauty. Then it happened that three young gentlemen from the university coming into the country, and being benighted, and strangers, called at my father's: he was very glad of their company, and offered them the entertainment of his house.
Parly. Which they accepted, no doubt. Oh, these strolling collegians are never abroad, but upon some mischief.
Lady L. Two of them had a heavy, pedantic air: but the third——
Parly. Ah, the third, madam—the third of all things, they say, is very critical.
Lady L. He was—but in short, nature formed him for my undoing. His very looks were witty, and his expressive eyes spoke softer, prettier things, than words could frame.
Parly. There will be mischief by and by; I never heard a woman talk so much of eyes, but there were tears presently after.
Lady L. My father was so well pleased with his conversation, that he begged their company next day; they consented, and next night, Parly——
Parly. Ah, next night, madam——next night (I'm afraid) was a night indeed.
Lady L. He bribed my maid, with his gold, out of her modesty; and me, with his rhetoric, out of my honour. [Weeps.] He swore that he would come down from Oxford in a fortnight, and marry me.
Parly. The old bait, the old bait—I was cheated just so myself. [Aside.] But had not you the wit to know his name all this while?
Lady L. He told me that he was under an obligation to his companions, of concealing himself then, but, that he would write to me in two days, and let me know his name and quality. After all the binding oaths of constancy, I gave him a ring with this motto—"Love and Honour"—then we parted, and I never saw the dear deceiver more.
Parly. No, nor never will, I warrant you.
Lady L. I need not tell my griefs, which my father's death made a fair pretence for; he left me sole heiress and executrix to three thousand pounds a year: at last, my love for this single dissembler turned to a hatred of the whole sex; and, resolving to divert my melancholy, I went to travel. Here I will play my last scene; then retire to my country-house, and live solitary. We shall have that old impotent lecher, Smuggler, here to-night; I have a plot to swinge him, and his precise nephew, Vizard.
Parly. I think, madam, you manage every body that comes in your way.
Lady L. No, Parly; those men, whose pretensions I found just and honourable, I fairly dismissed, by letting them know my firm resolutions never to marry, But those villains, that would attempt my honour, I've seldom failed to manage.
Parly. What d'ye think of the colonel, madam? I suppose his designs are honourable.
Lady L. That man's a riddle; there's something of honour in his temper that pleases; I'm sure he loves me too, because he's soon jealous, and soon satisfied.—But hang him, I have teased him enough—Besides, Parly, I begin to be tired of my revenge: but this buss and guinea I must maul once more. I'll hansel his woman's clothes for him. Go, get me pen and ink; I must write to Vizard too.
| Fortune, this once assist me as before: |
| Two such machines can never work in vain, |
| As thy propitious wheel, and my projecting brain. |
| [Exeunt. |