ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE I.—Gripe's House, in the evening.
Enter Lady Flippant and Mrs. Joyner.
Lady Flip. Not a husband to be had for money!—Come, come, I might have been a better housewife for myself, as the world goes now, if I had dealt for an heir with his guardian, uncle, or mother-in-law; and you are no better than a chouse, a cheat.
Mrs. Joyn. I a cheat, madam!
L. Flip. I am out of my money, and patience too.
Mrs. Joyn. Do not run out of your patience, whatever you do:—'tis a necessary virtue for a widow without a jointure, in truly.
L. Flip. Vile woman! though my fortune be something wasted, my person's in good repair. If I had not depended on you, I had had a husband before this time. When I gave you the last five pounds, did you not promise I should be married by Christmas?
Mrs. Joyn. And I had kept my promise if you had co-operated.
L. Flip. Co-operated! what should I have done? 'Tis well known no woman breathing could use more industry to get her a husband than I have. Has not my husband's 'scutcheon walked as much ground as the citizens' signs since the Fire?—that no quarter of the town might be ignorant of the widow Flippant.
Mrs. Joyn. 'Tis well known, madam, indeed.
L. Flip. Have I not owned myself (against my stomach) the relict of a citizen, to credit my fortune?
Mrs. Joyn. 'Tis confessed, madam.
L. Flip. Have I not constantly kept Covent-Garden church, St. Martin's, the playhouses, Hyde Park, Mulberry garden,[26] and all the other public marts where widows and maids are exposed?
Mrs. Joyn. Far be it from me to think you have an aversion to a husband. But why, madam, have you refused so many good offers?
L. Flip. Good offers, Mrs. Joyner! I'll be sworn I never had an offer since my late husband's.—If I had an offer, Mrs. Joyner!—there's the thing, Mrs. Joyner.
Mrs. Joyn. Then your frequent and public detestation of marriage is thought real; and if you have had no offer, there's the thing, madam.
L. Flip. I cannot deny but I always rail against marriage;—which is the widow's way to it certainly.
Mrs. Joyn. 'Tis the desperate way of the desperate widows, in truly.
L. Flip. Would you have us as tractable as the wenches that eat oatmeal, and fooled like them too?
Mrs Joyn. If nobody were wiser than I, I should think, since the widow wants the natural allurement which the virgin has, you ought to give men all other encouragements, in truly.
L. Flip. Therefore, on the contrary, because the widow's fortune (whether supposed or real) is her chiefest bait, the more chary she seems of it, and the more she withdraws it, the more eagerly the busy gaping fry will bite. With us widows, husbands are got like bishoprics, by saying "No:" and I tell you, a young heir is as shy of a widow as of a rook, to my knowledge.
Mrs. Joyn. I can allege nothing against your practice—but your ill success; and indeed you must use another method with Sir Simon Addleplot.
L. Flip. Will he be at your house at the hour?
Mrs. Joyn. He'll be there by ten:—'tis now nine. I'll warrant you he will not fail.
L. Flip. I'll warrant you then I will not fail:—for 'tis more than time I were sped.
Mrs. Joyn. Mr. Dapperwit has not been too busy with you, I hope?—Your experience has taught you to prevent a mischance.
L. Flip. No, no, my mischance (as you call it) is greater than that. I have but three months to reckon, ere I lie down with my port and equipage, and must be delivered of a woman, a footman, and a coachman:—for my coach must down, unless I can get Sir Simon to draw with me.
Mrs. Joyn. He will pair with you exactly if you knew all. [Aside.
L. Flip. Ah, Mrs. Joyner, nothing grieves me like the putting down my coach! For the fine clothes, the fine lodgings,—let 'em go; for a lodging is as unnecessary a thing to a widow that has a coach, as a hat to a man that has a good peruke. For, as you see about town, she is most properly at home in her coach:—she eats, and drinks, and sleeps in her coach; and for her visits, she receives them in the playhouse.
Mrs. Joyn. Ay, ay, let the men keep lodgings, as you say, madam, if they will.
Enter behind, at one door, Gripe and Sir Simon Addleplot, the latter in the dress of a Clerk; at the other, Mrs. Martha.
L. Flip. Do you think if things had been with me as they have been, I would ever have housed with this counter-fashion brother of mine, (who hates a vest as much as a surplice,) to have my patches assaulted every day at dinner, my freedom censured, and my visitants shut out of doors?—Poor Mr. Dapperwit cannot be admitted.
Mrs. Joyn. He knows him too well to keep his acquaintance.
L. Flip. He is a censorious rigid fop, and knows nothing.
Gripe. So, so! [Behind.
Mrs. Joyn. [Aside.] Is he here?—[To Lady Flippant.] Nay, with your pardon, madam, I must contradict you there. He is a prying commonwealth's-man, an implacable magistrate, a sturdy pillar of his cause, and—[To Gripe] But, oh me, is your worship so near then? if I had thought you heard me—
Gripe. Why, why, Mrs. Joyner, I have said as much of myself ere now; and without vanity, I profess.
Mrs. Joyn. I know your virtue is proof against vainglory; but the truth to your face looks like flattery in your worship's servant.
Gripe. No, no; say what you will of me in that kind, far be it from me to suspect you of flattery.
Mrs. Joyn. In truly, your worship knows yourself, and knows me, for I am none of those—
L. Flip. [Aside.] Now they are in—Mrs. Joyner, I'll go before to your house, you'll be sure to come after me.
Mrs. Joyn. Immediately.—[Exit Lady Flippant.] But as I was saying, I am none of those—
Gripe. No, Mrs. Joyner, you cannot sew pillows under folks' elbows; you cannot hold a candle to the devil; you cannot tickle a trout to take him; you—
Mrs. Joyn. Lord, how well you do know me indeed!—and you shall see I know your worship as well. You cannot backslide from your principles; you cannot be terrified by the laws; nor bribed to allegiance by office or preferment; you—
Gripe. Hold, hold, my praise must not interrupt yours.
Mrs. Joyn. With your worship's pardon, in truly, I must on.
Gripe. I am full of your praise, and it will run over.
Mrs. Joyn. Nay, sweet sir, you are—
Gripe. Nay, sweet Mrs. Joyner, you are—
Mrs. Joyn. Nay, good your worship, you are—[Stops her mouth with his handkerchief.
Gripe. I say you are—
Mrs. Joyn. I must not be rude with your worship.
Gripe. You are a nursing mother to the saints; through you they gather together; through you they fructify and increase; and through you the child cries from out of the hand-basket.
Mrs. Joyn. Through you virgins are married, or provided for as well; through you the reprobate's wife is made a saint; and through you the widow is not disconsolate, nor misses her husband.
Gripe. Through you—
Mrs. Joyn. Indeed you will put me to the blush.
Gripe. Blushes are badges of imperfection:—saints have no shame. You are—are the flower of matrons, Mrs. Joyner.
Mrs. Joyn. You are the pink of courteous aldermen.
Gripe. You are the muffler of secrecy.
Mrs. Joyn. You are the head-band of justice.
Gripe. Thank you, sweet Mrs. Joyner: do you think so indeed? You are—you are the bonfire of devotion.
Mrs. Joyn. You are the bellows of zeal.
Gripe. You are the cupboard of charity.
Mrs. Joyn. You are the fob of liberality.
Gripe. You are the rivet of sanctified love or wedlock.
Mrs. Joyn. You are the picklock and dark-lantern of policy; and, in a word, a conventicle of virtues.
Gripe. Your servant, your servant, sweet Mrs. Joyner! you have stopped my mouth.
Mrs. Joyn. Your servant, your servant, sweet alderman! I have nothing to say.
Sir Sim. The half pullet will be cold, sir.
Gripe. Mrs. Joyner, you shall sup with me.
Mrs. Joyn. Indeed I am engaged to supper with some of your man's friends; and I came on purpose to get leave for him too.
Gripe. I cannot deny you anything. But I have forgot to tell you what a kind of fellow my sister's Dapperwit is: before a full table of the coffee-house sages, he had the impudence to hold an argument against me in the defence of vests and protections; and therefore I forbid him my house; besides, when he came I was forced to lock up my daughter for fear of him, nay, I think the poor child herself was afraid of him.—Come hither, child, were you not afraid of Dapperwit?
Mrs. Mar. Yes indeed, sir, he is a terrible man.—Yet I durst meet with him in a piazza at midnight. [Aside.
Gripe. He shall never come into my doors again.
Mrs. Mar. Shall Mr. Dapperwit never come hither again then?
Gripe. No, child.
Mrs. Mar. I am afraid he will.
Gripe. I warrant thee.
Mrs. Mar. [Aside.] I warrant you then I'll go to him.—I am glad of that, for I hate him as much as a bishop.
Gripe. Thou art no child of mine, if thou dost not hate bishops and wits.—Well, Mrs. Joyner, I'll keep you no longer. [To Addleplot.] Jonas, wait on Mrs. Joyner.
Mrs. Joyn. Good night to your worship.
Gripe. But stay, stay, Mrs. Joyner: have you spoken with the widow Crossbite about her little daughter, as I desired?
Mrs. Joyn. I will to-morrow early; it shall be the first thing I'll do after my prayers.
Gripe. If Dapperwit should contaminate her!—I cannot rest till I have redeemed her from the jaws of that lion.—Good night.
Mrs. Joyn. Good gentleman. [Exeunt Gripe and Mrs. Martha.
Sir Sim. Ha! ha! ha! Mrs. Joyner.
Mrs. Joyn. What's the matter, Sir Simon?
Sir Sim. Ha! ha! ha!—let us make haste to your house, or I shall burst, faith and troth, to see what fools you and I make of these people.
Mrs. Joyn. I will not rob you of any of the credit; I am but a feeble instrument, you are an engineer.
Sir Sim. Remember what you say now when things succeed, and do not tell me then,—I must thank your wit for all.
Mrs. Joyn. No, in truly, Sir Simon.
Sir Sim. Nay, I am sure Dapperwit and I have been partners in many an intrigue, and he uses to serve me so.
Mrs. Joyn. He is an ill man to intrigue with, as you call it.
Sir Sim. Ay, so are all your wits; a pox! if a man's understanding be not so public as theirs, he cannot do a wise action but they go away with the honour of it, if he be of their acquaintance.
Mrs. Joyn. Why do you keep such acquaintance then?
Sir Sim. There is a proverb, Mrs. Joyner, "You may know him by his company."
Mrs. Joyn. No, no, to be thought a man of parts, you must always keep company with a man of less wit than yourself.
Sir Sim. That's the hardest thing in the world for me to do, faith and troth.
Mrs. Joyn. What, to find a man of less wit than yourself? Pardon my raillery, Sir Simon.
Sir Sim. No, no, I cannot keep company with a fool:—I wonder how men of parts can do't, there's something in't.
Mrs. Joyn. If you could, all your wise actions would be your own, and your money would be your own too.
Sir Sim. Nay, faith and troth, that's true; for your wits are plaguily given to borrow. They'll borrow of their wench, coachman, or linkboy, their hire, Mrs. Joyner; Dapperwit has that trick with a vengeance.
Mrs. Joyn. Why will you keep company with him then, I say? for, to be plain with you, you have followed him so long, that you are thought but his cully;[27] for every wit has his cully, as every squire his led captain.
Sir Sim. I his cully, I his cully, Mrs. Joyner! Lord, that I should be thought a cully to any wit breathing!
Mrs. Joyn. Nay, do not take it so to heart, for the best wits of the town are but cullies themselves.
Sir Sim. To whom, to whom, to whom, Mrs. Joyner?
Mrs. Joyn. To sempstresses and bawds.
Sir Sim. To your knowledge, Mrs. Joyner.—[Aside.] There I was with her.
Mrs. Joyn. To tailors and vintners, but especially to the French houses.
Sir Sim. But Dapperwit is a cully to none of them; for he ticks.
Mrs. Joyn. I care not, but I wish you were a cully to none but me; that's all the hurt I wish you.
Sir Sim. Thank you, Mrs. Joyner. Well, I will throw off Dapperwit's acquaintance when I am married, and will only be a cully to my wife; and that's no more than the wisest husband of 'em all is.
Mrs. Joyn. Then you think you shall carry Mrs. Martha?
Sir Sim. Your hundred guineas are as good as in your lap.
Mrs. Joyn. But I am afraid this double plot of yours should fail: you would sooner succeed if you only designed upon Mrs. Martha, or only upon my Lady Flippant.
Sir Sim. Nay, then, you are no woman of intrigue, faith and troth: 'tis good to have two strings to one's bow. If Mrs. Martha be coy, I tell the widow I put on my disguise for her; but if Mrs. Martha be kind to Jonas, Sir Simon Addleplot will be false to the widow: which is no more than widows are used to; for a promise to a widow is as seldom kept as a vow made at sea, as Dapperwit says.
Mrs. Joyn. I am afraid they should discover you.
Sir Sim. You have nothing to fear; you have your twenty guineas in your pocket for helping me into my service, and if I get into Mrs. Martha's quarters, you have a hundred more; if into the widow's, fifty:—happy go lucky! Will her ladyship be at your house at the hour?
Mrs. Joyn. Yes.
Sir Sim. Then you shall see when I am Sir Simon Addleplot and myself I'll look like myself; now I am Jonas, I look like an ass. You never thought Sir Simon Addleplot could have looked so like an ass by his ingenuity.
Mrs. Joyn. Pardon me, Sir Simon.
Sir Sim. Nay, do not flatter, faith and troth.
Mrs. Joyn. Come let us go, 'tis time.
Sir Sim. I will carry the widow to the French house.
Mrs. Joyn. If she will go.
Sir Sim. If she will go! why, did you ever know a widow refuse a treat? no more than a lawyer a fee, faith and troth: yet I know too—
No treat, sweet words, good mien, but sly intrigue
That must at length the jilting widow fegue.[28] [Exeunt.
SCENE II.—The French House. A table, wine and candles.
Enter Vincent, Ranger, and Dapperwit.
Dap. Pray, Mr. Ranger, let's have no drinking to-night.
Vin. Pray, Mr. Ranger, let's have no Dapperwit to-night.
Ran. Nay, nay, Vincent.
Vin. A pox! I hate his impertinent chat more than he does the honest Burgundy.
Dap. But why should you force wine upon us? we are not all of your gusto.
Vin. But why should you force your chawed jests, your damned ends of your mouldy lampoons, and last year's sonnets, upon us? we are not all of your gusto.
Dap. The wine makes me sick, let me perish!
Vin. Thy rhymes make me spew.
Ran. At repartee already! Come, Vincent. I know you would rather have him pledge you: here, Dapperwit—[Gives him the glass.]—But why are you so eager to have him drink always?
Vin. Because he is so eager to talk always, and there is no other way to silence him.
Enter Waiter.
Wait. Here is a gentleman desires to speak with Mr. Vincent.
Vin. I come. [Exit Vincent with Waiter.
Dap. He may drink, because he is obliged to the bottle for all the wit and courage he has; 'tis not free and natural like yours.
Ran. He has more courage than wit, but wants neither.
Dap. As a pump gone dry, if you pour no water down you will get none out, so—
Ran. Nay, I bar similes too, to-night.
Dap. Why, is not the thought new? don't you apprehend it?
Ran. Yes, yes, but—
Dap. Well, well, will you comply with his sottishness too, and hate brisk things in complaisance to the ignorant dull age? I believe shortly 'twill be as hard to find a patient friend to communicate one's wit to, as a faithful friend to communicate one's secret to. Wit has as few true judges as painting, I see.
Ran. All people pretend to be judges of both.
Dap. Ay, they pretend; but set you aside, and one or two more—
Ran. But why, has Vincent neither courage nor wit?
Dap. He has no courage, because he beat his wench for giving me les doux yeux once; and no wit, because he does not comprehend my thoughts; and he is a son of a whore for his ignorance. I take ignorance worse from any man than the lie, because 'tis as much as to say I am no wit.
Re-enter Vincent.
You need not take any notice, though, to him what I say.
Vin. Ranger, there is a woman below in a coach would speak with you.
Ran. With me? [Exit Ranger.
Dap. This Ranger, Mr. Vincent, is as false to his friend as his wench.
Vin. You have no reason to say so, but because he is absent.
Dap. 'Tis disobliging to tell a man of his faults to his face. If he had but your grave parts and manly wit, I should adore him; but, a pox! he is a mere buffoon, a jack-pudding, let me perish!
Vin. You are an ungrateful fellow. I have heard him maintain you had wit, which was more than e'er you could do for yourself.—I thought you had owned him your Mæcenas.
Dap. A pox! he cannot but esteem me, 'tis for his honour; but I cannot but be just for all that—without favour or affection. Yet I confess I love him so well, that I wish he had but the hundredth part of your courage.
Vin. He has had courage to save you from many a beating, to my knowledge.
Dap. Come, come, I wish the man well, and, next to you, better than any man! and, I am sorry to say it, he has not courage to snuff a candle with his fingers. When he is drunk, indeed, he dares get a clap, or so—and swear at a constable.
Vin. Detracting fop! when did you see him desert his friend?
Dap. You have a rough kind of a raillery, Mr. Vincent; but since you will have it, (though I love the man heartily, I say,) he deserted me once in breaking of windows, for fear of the constables—
Re-enter Ranger.
But you need not take notice to him of what I tell you; I hate to put a man to the blush.
Ran. I have had just now a visit from my mistress, who is as jealous of me as a wife of her husband when she lies in:—my cousin Lydia,—you have heard me speak of her.
Vin. But she is more troublesome than a wife that lies in, because she follows you to your haunts. Why do you allow her that privilege before her time?
Ran. Faith, I may allow her any privilege, and be too hard for her yet. How do you think I have cheated her to-night?—Women are poor credulous creatures, easily deceived.
Vin. We are poor credulous creatures, when we think 'em so.
Ran. Intending a ramble to St. James's Park to-night, upon some probable hopes of some fresh game I have in chase, I appointed her to stay at home; with a promise to come to her within this hour, that she might not spoil the scent and prevent my sport.
Vin. She'll be even with you when you are married, I warrant you. In the meantime here's her health, Dapperwit.
Ran. Now had he rather be at the window, writing her anagram in the glass with his diamond, or biting his nails in the corner for a fine thought to come and divert us with at the table.
Dap. No, a pox! I have no wit to-night. I am as barren and hide-bound as one of your damned scribbling poets, who are sots in company for all their wit; as a miser is poor for all his money. How do you like the thought?
Vin. Drink, drink!
Dap. Well, I can drink this, because I shall be reprieved presently.
Vin. Who will be so civil to us?
Dap. Sir Simon Addleplot:—I have bespoke him a supper here, for he treats to-night a new rich mistress.
Ran. That spark, who has his fruitless designs upon the bed-ridden rich widow, down to the suckling heiress in her pissing-clout. He was once the sport, but now the public grievance, of all the fortunes in town; for he watches them like a younger brother that is afraid to be mumped of his snip,[29] and they cannot steal a marriage, nor stay their stomachs, but he must know it.
Dap. He has now pitched his nets for Gripe's daughter, the rich scrivener, and serves him as a clerk to get admission to her; which the watchful fop her father denies to all others.
Ran. I thought you had been nibbling at her once, under pretence of love to her aunt.
Dap. I confess I have the same design yet, and Addleplot is but my agent, whilst he thinks me his. He brings me letters constantly from her, and carries mine back.
Vin. Still betraying your best friends!
Dap. I cannot in honour but betray him. Let me perish! the poor young wench is taken with my person, and would scratch through four walls to come to me.
Vin. 'Tis a sign she is kept up close indeed.
Dap. Betray him! I'll not be traitor to love for any man.
Enter Sir Simon Addleplot with the Waiter.
Sir Sim. Know 'em! you are a saucy Jack-straw to question me, faith and troth; I know everybody, and everybody knows me.
All. Sir Simon! Sir Simon! Sir Simon!
Ran. And you are a welcome man to everybody.
Sir Sim. Now, son of a whore, do I know the gentlemen?—A dog! would have had a shilling of me before he would let me come to you!
Ran. The rogue has been bred at Court, sure.—Get you out, sirrah. [Exit Waiter.
Sir Sim. He has been bred at a French-house, where they are more unreasonable.
Vin. Here's to you, Sir Simon.
Sir Sim. I cannot drink, for I have a mistress within; though I would not have the people of the house to know it.
Ran. You need not be ashamed of your mistresses, for they are commonly rich.
Sir Sim. And because she is rich, I would conceal her; for I never had a rich mistress yet, but one or other got her from me presently, faith and troth.
Ran. But this is an ill place to conceal a mistress in; every waiter is an intelligencer to your rivals.
Sir Sim. I have a trick for that:—I'll let no waiters come into the room; I'll lay the cloth myself rather.
Ran. But who is your mistress?
Sir Sim. Your servant,—your servant, Mr. Ranger.
Vin. Come, will you pledge me?
Sir Sim. No, I'll spare your wine, if you will spare me Dapperwit's company; I came for that.
Vin. You do us a double favour, to take him and leave the wine.
Sir Sim. Come, come, Dapperwit.
Ran. Do not go, unless he will suffer us to see his mistress too. [Aside to Dapperwit.
Sir Sim. Come, come, man.
Dap. Would you have me so uncivil as to leave my company?—they'll take it ill.
Sir Sim. I cannot find her talk without thee.—Pray, gentlemen, persuade Mr. Dapperwit to go with me.
Ran. We will not hinder him of better company.
Dap. Yours is too good to be left rudely.
Sir Sim. Nay, gentlemen, I would desire your company too, if you knew the lady.
Dap. They know her as well as I; you say I know her not.
Sir Sim. You are not everybody.
Ran. Perhaps we do know the lady, Sir Simon.
Sir Sim. You do not, you do not: none of you ever saw her in your lives;—but if you could be secret, and civil—
Ran. We have drunk yet but our bottle a-piece.
Sir Sim. But will you be civil, Mr. Vincent?
Ran. He dares not look a woman in the face under three bottles.
Sir Sim. Come along then. But can you be civil, gentlemen? will you be civil, gentlemen? pray be civil if you can, and you shall see her.
[Exit, and returns with Lady Flippant and Mrs. Joyner.
Dap. How, has he got his jilt here! [Aside.
Ran. The widow Flippant! [Aside.
Vin. Is this the woman that we never saw! [Aside.
L. Flip. Does he bring us into company!—and Dapperwit one! Though I had married the fool, I thought to have reserved the wit as well as other ladies. [Aside.
Sir Sim. Nay, look as long as you will, madam, you will find them civil gentlemen, and good company.
L. Flip. I am not in doubt of their civility, but yours.
Mrs. Joyn. You'll never leave snubbing your servants! Did you not promise to use him kindly? [Aside to Lady Flippant.
L. Flip. [Aside to Mrs. Joyner.] 'Tis true.—[Aloud.] We wanted no good company, Sir Simon, as long as we had yours.
Sir Sim. But they wanted good company, therefore I forced 'em to accept of yours.
L. Flip. They will not think the company good they were forced into, certainly.
Sir Sim. A pox! I must be using the words in fashion, though I never have any luck with 'em. Mrs. Joyner, help me off.
Mrs. Joyn. I suppose, madam, he means the gentlemen wanted not inclination to your company, but confidence to desire so great an honour; therefore he forced 'em.
Dap. What makes this bawd here? Sure, mistress, you bawds should be like the small cards, though at first you make up a pack, yet, when the play begins, you should be put out as useless.
Mrs. Joyn. Well, well, gibing companion: you would have the pimps kept in only? you would so?
Vin. What, they are quarrelling!
Ran. Pimp and bawd agree now-a-days like doctor and apothecary.
Sir Sim. Try, madam, if they are not civil gentlemen; talk with 'em, while I go lay the cloth—no waiter comes here.—[Aside.] My mother used to tell me, I should avoid all occasions of talking before my mistress, because silence is a sign of love as well as prudence. [Lays the cloth.
L. Flip. Methinks you look a little yellow on't, Mr. Dapperwit. I hope you do not censure me because you find me passing away a night with this fool:—he is not a man to be jealous of, sure.
Dap. You are not a lady to be jealous of, sure.
L. Flip. No, certainly.—But why do you look as if you were jealous then?
Dap. If I had met you in Whetstone's park,[30] with a drunken foot-soldier, I should not have been jealous of you.
L. Flip. Fy, fy! now you are jealous, certainly; for people always, when they grow jealous, grow rude:—but I can pardon it since it proceeds from love certainly.
Dap. I am out of all hopes to be rid of this eternal old acquaintance: when I jeer her, she thinks herself praised; now I call her whore in plain English she thinks I am jealous. [Aside.
L. Flip. Sweet Mr. Dapperwit, be not so censorious, (I speak for your sake, not my own,) for jealousy is a great torment, but my honour cannot suffer certainly.
Dap. No, certainly; but the greatest torment I have is—your love.
L. Flip. Alas! sweet Mr. Dapperwit, indeed love is a torment: but 'tis a sweet torment; but jealousy is a bitter torment.—I do not go about to cure you of the torment of my love.
Dap. 'Tis a sign so.
L. Flip. Come, come, look up, man; is that a rival to contest with you?
Dap. I will contest with no rival, not with my old rival your coachman; but they have heartily my resignation; and, to do you a favour, but myself a greater, I will help to tie the knot you are fumbling for now, betwixt your cully here and you.
L. Flip. Go, go, I take that kind of jealousy worst of all, to suspect I would be debauched to beastly matrimony.—But who are those gentlemen, pray? are they men of fortunes, Mrs. Joyner?
Mrs. Joyn. I believe so.
L. Flip. Do you believe so, indeed?—Gentlemen—[Advancing towards Ranger and Vincent.
Ran. If the civility we owe to ladies had not controlled our envy to Mr. Dapperwit, we had interrupted ere this your private conversation.
L. Flip. Your interruption, sir, had been most civil and obliging;—for our discourse was of marriage.
Ran. That is a subject, madam, as grateful as common.
L. Flip. O fy, fy! are you of that opinion too? I cannot suffer any to talk of it in my company.
Ran. Are you married then, madam?
L. Flip. No, certainly.
Ran. I am sure so much beauty cannot despair of it.
L. Flip. Despair of it!—
Ran. Only those that are married, or cannot be married, hate to hear of marriage.
L. Flip. Yet you must know, sir, my aversion to marriage is such, that you, nor no man breathing, shall ever persuade me to it.
Ran. Cursed be the man should do so rude a thing as to persuade you to anything against your inclination! I would not do it for the world, madam.
L. Flip. Come, come, though you seem to be a civil gentleman, I think you no better than your neighbours. I do not know a man of you all that will not thrust a woman up into a corner, and then talk an hour to her impertinently of marriage.
Ran. You would find me another man in a corner, I assure you, madam; for you should not have a word of marriage from me, whatsoever you might find in my actions of it; I hate talking as much as you.
L. Flip. I hate it extremely.
Ran. I am your man then, madam; for I find just the same fault with your sex as you do with ours:—I ne'er could have to do with woman in my life, but still she would be impertinently talking of marriage to me.
L. Flip. Observe that, Mrs. Joyner.
Dap. Pray, Mr. Ranger, let's go; I had rather drink with Mr. Vincent, than stay here with you; besides 'tis Park-time.
Ran. [To Dapperwit.] I come.—[To Lady Flippant.] Since you are a lady that hate marriage, I'll do you the service to withdraw the company; for those that hate marriage hate loss of time.
L. Flip. Will you go then, sir? but before you go, sir, pray tell me is your aversion to marriage real?
Ran. As real as yours.
L. Flip. If it were no more real than mine—[Aside.
Ran. Your servant, madam. [Turns to go.
L. Flip. But do you hate marriage certainly? [Plucks him back.
Ran. Certainly.
L. Flip. Come, I cannot believe it: you dissemble it only because I pretend it.
Ran. Do you but pretend it then, madam?
L. Flip. [Aside] I shall discover myself—[Aloud] I mean, because I hold against it, you do the same in complaisance:—for I have heard say, cunning men think to bring the coy and untractable women to tameness as they do some mad people—by humouring their frenzies.
Ran. I am none of those cunning men, yet have too much wit to entertain the presumption of designing upon you.
L. Flip. 'Twere no such presumption neither.
Dap. Come away; 'sdeath! don't you see your danger?
Ran. Those aims are for Sir Simon.—Good night, madam.
L. Flip. Will you needs go, then?—[To Sir Simon] The gentlemen are a-going, Sir Simon; will you let 'em?
Sir Sim. Nay, madam, if you cannot keep 'em, how should I?
L. Flip. Stay, sir; because you hate marriage, I'll sing you a new song against it. [Sings.
A spouse I do hate,
For either she's false or she's jealous;
But give us a mate
Who nothing will ask us or tell us.
She stands on no terms,
Nor chaffers, by way of indenture,
Her love for your farms;
But takes her kind man at a venture.
If all prove not right,
Without an act, process, or warning,
From wife for a night
You may be divorced in the morning.
When parents are slaves,
Their brats cannot be any other;
Great wits and great braves
Have always a punk[31] to their mother.
Though it be the fashion for women of quality to sing any song whatever, because the words are not distinguished, yet I should have blushed to have done it now, but for you, sir.
Ran. The song is edifying, the voice admirable—and, once more, I am your servant, madam.
L. Flip. What, will you go too, Mr Dapperwit?
Sir Sim. Pray, Mr. Dapperwit, do not you go too.
Dap. I am engaged.
Sir Sim. Well, if we cannot have their company, we will not have their room: ours is a private backroom; they have paid their reckoning, let's go thither again.
L. Flip. But pray, sweet Mr. Dapperwit, do not go. Keep him, Sir Simon.
Sir Sim. I cannot keep him. [Exeunt Vincent, Ranger, and Dapperwit.
It is impossible; (the world is so;)
One cannot keep one's friend, and mistress too. [Exeunt.