ACT THE FOURTH.
SCENE I.—A Room in Gripe's House.
Enter Mrs. Joyner and Gripe, the latter in a blue gown and nightcap.
Mrs. Joyn. What, not well, your worship! This it is, you will be laying out yourself beyond your strength. You have taken a surfeit of the little gentlewoman, I find. Indeed you should not have been so immoderate in your embraces; your worship is something in years, in truly.
Gripe. Graceless, perfidious woman! what makest thou here? art thou not afraid to be used like an informer, since thou hast made me pay thee for betraying me?
Mrs. Joyn. Betray your worship! what do you mean? I an informer! I scorn your words!
Gripe. Woman, I say again, thou art as treacherous as an informer, and more unreasonable; for he lets us have something for our money before he disturb us.
Mrs. Joyn. Your money, I'm sure, was laid out faithfully; and I went away because I would not disturb you.
Gripe. I had not grudged you the money I gave you:—but the five hundred pounds! the five hundred pounds! Inconscionable, false woman, the five hundred pounds!—You cheated, trepanned, robbed me, of the five hundred pounds!
Mrs. Joyn. I cheat you! I rob you!—well, remember what you say, you shall answer it before Mr. Doublecap and the best of—
Gripe. Oh, impudent woman, speak softly!
Mrs. Joyn. I will not speak softly; for innocence is loud as well as barefaced. Is this your return, after you have made me a mere drudge to your filthy lusts?
Gripe. Speak softly; my sister, daughter, and servants, will hear.
Mrs. Joyn. I would have witnesses, to take notice that you blast my good name, which was as white as a tulip, and as sweet as the head of your cane, before you wrought me to the carrying on the work of your fleshly carnal seekings.
Gripe. Softly! softly! they are coming in.
Enter Lady Flippant and Mrs. Martha.
L. Flip. What's the matter, brother?
Gripe. Nothing, nothing, sister, only the godly woman is fallen into a fit of zeal against the enormous transgressions of the age. Go! go! you do not love to hear vanity reproved; pray begone!
Mrs. Joyn. Pray stay, madam, that you may know—
Gripe. [Aside to Mrs. Joyner.] Hold! hold! here are five guineas for thee,—pray say nothing.—[Aloud.] Sister, pray begone, I say.—[Exeunt Lady Flippant and Mrs. Martha.] Would you prejudice your own reputation to injure mine?
Mrs. Joyn. Would you prejudice your own soul to wrong my repute, in truly? [Pretends to weep.
Gripe. Pray have me in excuse. Indeed, I thought you had a share of the five hundred pounds, because you took away my seal-ring; which they made me send, together with a note to my cash-keeper for five hundred pounds. Besides, I thought none but you knew it was my wonted token to send for money by.
Mrs. Joyn. 'Tis unlucky I should forget it, and leave it on the table!—But oh the harlotry! did she make that use of it then? 'twas no wonder you did not stay till I came back.
Gripe. I stayed till the money released me.
Mrs. Joyn. Have they the money, then? five hundred pounds!
Gripe. Too certain.
Mrs. Joyn. They told me not a word of it; and have you no way to retrieve it?
Gripe. Not any.
Mrs. Joyn. [Aside.] I am glad of it.—[Aloud.] Is there no law but against saints?
Gripe. I will not for five hundred pounds publish my transgression myself, lest I should be thought to glory in't: though, I must confess, 'twould tempt a man to conform to public praying and sinning, since 'tis so chargeable to pray and sin in private.
Mrs. Joyn. But are you resolved to give off a loser?
Gripe. How shall I help it?
Mrs. Joyn. Nay, I'll see you shall have what the young jade has, for your money; I'll make 'em use some conscience, however.—Take a man's money for nothing!
Gripe. Thou sayest honestly, indeed. And shall I have my pennyworths out of the little gentlewoman for all this?
Mrs. Joyn. I'll be engaged body for body for her, and you shall take the forfeiture on me else.
Gripe. No, no, I'll rather take your word, Mrs. Joyner.
Mrs. Joyn. Go in and dress yourself smug, and leave the rest to me.
Gripe. No man breathing would give-off a loser, as she says. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.—Another Room in the same.
Sir Simon Addleplot discovered sitting at a desk writing as a Clerk, Lady Flippant jogging him.
Sir Sim. 'Tis a lord's mortgage, and therefore requires the more haste:—pray do not jog me, madam.
L. Flip. Dull rascal! [Aside.
Sir Sim. They cannot stay for money as other folks. If you will not let me make an end on't, I shall lose my expedition-fee.
L. Flip. There are some clerks would have understood me before this. [Aside.
Sir Sim. Nay, pray be quiet, madam; if you squeeze me so to the wall, I cannot write.
L. Flip. [Aside.] 'Tis much for the honour of the gentlemen of this age, that we persons of quality are forced to descend to the importuning of a clerk, a butler, coachman, or footman; while the rogues are as dull of apprehension, too, as an unfledged country squire amongst his mother's maids! [Jogs him again.
Sir Sim. Again! Let me tell you, madam, familiarity breeds contempt: you'll never leave till you have made me saucy.
L. Flip. I would I could see that.
Sir Sim. I vow and swear then, get you gone! or I'll add a black patch or two to those on your face.—[Aside.] I shall have no time to get Mrs. Martha out, for her.
L. Flip. Will you, sir, will you! [Jogs him again.
Sir Sim. [Aside.] I must have a plot for her, she is a coy woman.—[Aloud.] I vow and swear if you pass this crevice,[45] I'll kiss you in plain English.
L. Flip. I would I could see that!—do you defy me! [Steps to him—he kisses her.
Sir Sim. [Aside.] How's this! I vow and swear, she kisses as tamely as Mrs. Ticklish, and with her mouth open too.
L. Flip. I thought you would have been ashamed to have done so to your master's own sister!
Sir Sim. I hope you'll be quiet now, madam?
L. Flip. Nay, I'll be revenged of you sure.
Sir Sim. If you come again, I shall do more to you than that.—[Aside.] I'll pursue my plot and try if she be honest.
L. Flip. You do more to me than that! nay, if you'll do more to me than that—[She throws down his ink and runs out, he following her.
Enter Mrs. Joyner.
Mrs. Joyn. I must visit my young clients in the meantime.
Re-enter Sir Simon, holding up his hands.
What's the matter, Sir Simon?
Sir Sim. Lord! who would have thought it?
Mrs. Joyn. What ails you, Sir Simon?
Sir Sim. I have made such a discovery, Mrs. Joyner!
Mrs. Joyn. What is't?
Sir Sim. Such a one that makes me at once glad and sorry; I am sorry my Lady Flippant is naught, but I'm glad I know it:—thanks still to my disguise.
Mrs. Joyn. Fy! fy!
Sir Sim. Nay, this hand can tell—
Mrs. Joyn. But how?
Sir Sim. She threw down my ink-glass, and ran away into the next room; I followed her, and, in revenge, threw her down upon the bed:—but, in short, all that I could do to her would not make her squeak.
Mrs. Joyn. She was out of breath, man, she was out of breath.
Sir Sim. Ah, Mrs. Joyner, say no more, say no more of that!
Re-enter Lady Flippant.
L. Flip. You rude, unmannerly rascal!
Mrs. Joyn. You see she complains now.
Sir Sim. I know why, Mrs. Joyner, I know why. [Aside to Mrs. Joyner.
L. Flip. I'll have you turned out of the house; you are not fit for my brother's service.
Sir Sim. Not for yours, you mean, madam. [Aside.
L. Flip. I'll go and acquaint my brother—
Mrs. Joyn. [Aside to Lady Flippant.] Hold, hold, madam, speak not so loud:—'tis Sir Simon Addleplot, your lover, who has taken this disguise on purpose to be near you, and to watch and supplant his rival.
L. Flip. What a beast was I, I could not discover it! you have undone me! why would you not tell me sooner of it? [Aside to Mrs. Joyner.
Mrs. Joyn. I thought he had been discernible enough.
L. Flip. I protest, I knew him not; for I must confess to you, my eyes are none of the best since I have used the last new wash of mercury-water.—What will he think of me!
Mrs. Joyn. Let me alone with him.—[To Sir Simon.] Come, come, did you think you could disguise yourself from my lady's knowledge? she knew you, man, or else you had ne'er had those liberties. Alas, poor lady, she cannot resist you!
L. Flip. 'Tis my weakness.
Sir Sim. How's this!—but here comes my master.
Enter Gripe and Mrs. Martha.
Gripe. Come, Mrs. Joyner, are you ready to go?
Mrs. Joyn. I am ever ready when your worship commands.
L. Flip. Brother, if you go to t'other end of the town, you'll set me down near the playhouse?
Gripe. The playhouse! do you think I will be seen near the playhouse?
L. Flip. You shall set me down in Lincoln's-inn-fields, then? for I have earnest business there.—[Apart to Sir Simon.] When I come home again, I'll laugh at you soundly, Sir Simon.
Sir Sim. Has Joyner betrayed me then! 'tis time to look to my hits. [Aside.
Gripe. Martha, be sure you stay within now. If you go out, you shall never come into my doors again.
Mrs. Mar. No, I will not, sir; I'll ne'er come into your doors again, if once I should go out.
Gripe. 'Tis well said, girl. [Exeunt Gripe, Mrs. Joyner, and Lady Flippant.
Sir Sim. 'Twas prettily said: I understand you, they are dull, and have no intrigue in 'em. But dear sweet Mrs. Martha, 'tis time we were gone; you have stole away your scarfs and hood from your maid, I hope?
Mrs. Mar. Nay, I am ready, but—
Sir Sim. Come, come, Sir Simon Addleplot, poor gentleman, is an impatient man, to my knowledge.
Mrs. Mar. Well, my venture is great, I'm sure, for a man I know not. But pray, Jonas, do not deceive me; is he so fine a gentleman, as you say he is?
Sir Sim. Pish! pish! he is the—gentleman of the town, faith and troth.
Mrs. Mar. But may I take your word, Jonas?
Sir Sim. 'Tis not my word, 'tis the word of all the town.
Mrs. Mar. Excuse me, Jonas, for that:—I never heard any speak well of him but Mr. Dapperwit and you.
Sir Sim. That's because he has been a rival to all men, and a gallant to all ladies. Rivals and deserted mistresses never speak well of a man.
Mrs. Mar. Has he been so general in his amours? his kindness is not to be valued then.
Sir Sim. The more by you; because 'tis for you he deserts all the rest, faith and troth.
Mrs. Mar. You plead better for him than he could for himself, I believe; for, indeed, they say he is no better than an idiot.
Sir Sim. Then, believe me, madam—for nobody knows him better than I—he has as much wit, courage, and as good a mien to the full, as I have.—He an idiot!
Mrs. Mar. The common gull; so perspicuous a fop, the women find him out:—for none of 'em will marry him.
Sir Sim. You may see, now, how he and you are abused. For that he is not married, is a sign of his wit; and for being perspicuous, 'tis false; he is as mysterious as a new parliament-man, or a young statesman newly taken from a coffee-house or tennis-court.
Mrs. Mar. But is it a sign of his wit because he is not married?
Sir Sim. Yes, yes; your women of the town ravish your fops: there's not one about the town unmarried that has anything.
Mrs. Mar. It may be then he has spent his estate.
Sir Sim. [Aside.] How unluckily guessed!—[Aloud.] If he had, he has a head can retrieve it again.
Mrs. Mar. Besides, they say he has the modish distemper.
Sir Sim. He can cure it with the best French chirurgeon in town.
Mrs. Mar. Has his practice on himself been so much?
Sir Sim. Come, come.—
Fame, like deserted jilt, does still belie men;
Who doubts her man, must be advised by Hymen;
For he knows best of any how to try men. [Exeunt.
SCENE III.—The old Pall Mall.
Enter Ranger and Dapperwit.
Ran. Now the Lucys have renounced us, hey for the Christinas! She cannot use me worse than your honourable mistress did you.
Dap. A pox! some young heir or another has promised her marriage. There are so many fools in the world, 'tis impossible for a man of wit to keep his wench from being a lady, let me perish!
Ran. But have you no other acquaintance that sticks to her vocation, in spite of temptations of honour or filthy lucre? I declare, I make honourable love merely out of necessity, as your rooks play on the square rather than not play at all.
Enter Leonore masked, with a letter in her hand.
Dap. Come, the devil will not lose a gamester: here's ready money for you, push freely.
Ran. Thou art as well met as if by assignation. [To Leonore.
Leo. And you are as well met as if you were the man I looked for.
Ran. Kind rogue!
Leo. Sweet sir!
Ran. Come, I am thy prisoner, (without more words,) show but thy warrant. [Goes to pull off her mask.
Leo. You mistake, sir; here is my pass. [Gives him the letter.
Ran. A letter! and directed to me!
[Reads.] "I cannot put up the injuries and affronts you did me last night;"—a challenge, upon my life! and by such a messenger!—"therefore conjure you by your honour, at eight o'clock precisely, this evening, to send your man to St. James's gate, to wait for me with a chair, to conduct me to what place you shall think most fit, for the giving of satisfaction to the injured—Christina."
Christina! I am amazed! What is it o'clock, Dapperwit?
Dap. It wants not half an hour of eight.
Ran. [To Leonore.] Go then back, my pretty herald, and tell my fair enemy the service she designs my man is only fit for my friend here; whose faith and honour she may be secure of. He shall immediately go wait for her at St James's gate, whilst I go to prepare a place for our rencounter, and myself to die at her feet. [Exit Leonore.] Dapperwit, dear Dapperwit.
Dap. What lucky surprisal's this?
Ran. Prithee ask no questions, till I have more leisure and less astonishment. I know you will not deny to be an instrument in my happiness.
Dap. No, let me perish! I take as much pleasure to bring lovers together as an old woman; or as a bankrupt gamester loves to look on, though he has no advantage by the play; or as a bully that fights not himself, yet takes pleasure to set people together by the ears, or as—
Ran. 'Sdeath! is this a time for similitudes?
Dap. You have made me miscarry of a good thought now, let me perish!
Ran. Go presently to St. James's gate, where you are to expect the coming of a lady ('tis Christina), accompanied by that woman you saw e'en now. She will permit you to put her into a chair, and then conduct her to my lodging; while I go before to remove some spies, and prepare it for her reception.
Dap. Your lodging? had you not better carry her to Vincent's? 'tis hard by; and there a vizard mask has as free egress and regress as at the playhouse.
Ran. Faith, though it be not very prudent, yet she shall come thither in my vindication; for he would not believe I had seen her last night.
Dap. To have a fine woman, and not tell on't as you say, Mr. Ranger—
Ran. Go, and bring her to Vincent's lodging; there I'll expect you. [Exeunt severally.
SCENE IV.—The Street before Vincent's Lodging.
Enter Christina and Isabel.
Isa. This is the door, madam; here Mr. Vincent lodges.
Chris. 'Tis no matter, we will pass it by; lest the people of our lodgings should watch us. But if he should not be here now!
Isa. Who, Mr. Valentine, madam? I warrant you my intelligencer dares not fail me.
Chris. Did he come last night, said he?
Isa. Last night late.
Chris. And not see me yet! nay, not send to me!—'tis false, he is not come,—I wish he were not. I know not which I should take more unkindly from him, exposing his life to his revengeful enemies, or being almost four-and-twenty hours so near me, and not let me know't.
Isa. A lover's dangers are the only secrets kept from his mistress; he came not to you because he would not purchase his happiness with your fear and apprehensions.
Chris. Nay, he is come, I see, since you are come about again of his side.
Isa. Will you go in, madam, and disprove me, if you can? 'tis better than standing in the street.
Chris. We'll go a little further first, and return. [Exeunt.
SCENE V.—Vincent's Lodging.
Enter Vincent and Valentine.
Vin. I told you I had sent my man to Christina's this morning, to inquire of her maid, (who seldom denies him a secret,) if her lady had been at the Park last night; which she peremptorily answered to the contrary, and assured him she had not stirred out since your departure.
Val. Will not chambermaids lie, Vincent?
Vin. Will not Ranger lie, Valentine?
Val. The circumstances of his story proved it true.
Vin. Do you think so old a master in the faculty as he will want the varnish of probability for his lies?
Val. Do you think a woman, having the advantage of her sex, and education under such a mistress, will want impudence to disavow a truth that might be prejudicial to that mistress?
Vin. But if both testimonies are fallible, why will you needs believe his? we are apter to believe the things we would have, than those we would not.
Val. My ill luck has taught me to credit my misfortunes and doubt my happiness.
Vin. But fortune we know is inconstant.
Val. And all of her sex.
Vin. Will you judge of fortune by your experience, and not do your mistress the same justice? Go see her, and satisfy yourself and her; for if she be innocent, consider how culpable you are, not only in your censures of her, but in not seeing her since your coming.
Val. If she be innocent, I should be afraid to surprise her, for her sake; if false, I should be afraid to surprise her for my own.
Vin. To be jealous and not inquisitive is as hard as to love extremely and not to be something jealous.
Val. Inquisitiveness as seldom cures jealousy, as drinking in a fever quenches the thirst.
Vin. If she were at the Park last night, 'tis probable she'll not miss this. Go watch her house, see who goes out, who in; while I, in the meantime, search out Ranger: who, I'll pawn my life, upon more discourse shall avow his mistake.—Here he is; go in:—how luckily is he come! [Valentine retires to the door behind.
Enter Ranger.
Ranger, you have prevented me: I was going to look you out, between the scenes at the playhouse, the coffee-house, tennis-court, or Gifford's.[46]
Ran. Do you want a pretence to go to a bawdy-house?—but I have other visits to make.
Vin. I forget. I should rather have sought you in Christina's lodgings, ha! ha! ha!
Ran. Well, well, I'm just come to tell you that Christina—
Vin. Proves not, by daylight, the kind lady you followed last night out of the Park.
Ran. I have better news for you, to my thinking.
Vin. What is't?
Ran. Not that I have been in Christina's lodging this morning; but that she'll be presently here in your lodging with me.
Val. How! [Aside.
Vin. [Retiring, and speaking softly to Valentine.] You see now, his report was a jest, a mere jest.—[To Ranger.] Well, must my lodging be your vaulting-school[47] still? thou hast appointed a wench to come hither, I find.
Ran. A wench! you seemed to have more reverence for Christina last night.
Vin. Now you talk of Christina, prithee tell me what was the meaning of thy last night's romance of Christina?
Ran. You shall know the meaning of all when Christina comes: she'll be here presently.
Vin. Who will? Christina?
Ran. Yes, Christina.
Vin. Ha! ha! ha!
Ran. Incredulous envy! thou art as envious as an impotent lecher at a wedding.
Vin. Thou art either mad, or as vain as a Frenchman newly returned home from a campaign, or obliging England.
Ran. Thou art as envious as a rival; but if thou art mine, there's that will make you desist; [gives him a letter] and if you are not my rival, entrusting you with such a secret will, I know, oblige you to keep it, and assist me against all other interests.
Vin. Do you think I take your secret as an obligation? don't I know, lovers, travellers, and poets, will give money to be heard? But what's the paper? a lampoon upon Christina, hatched last night betwixt squire Dapperwit and you, because her maid used you scurvily?
Ran. No, 'tis only a letter from her, to show my company was not so disgustful to her last night, but that she desires it again to-day.
Val. A letter from her! [Aside.
Vin. A letter from Christina! [Reads.]—Ha! ha! ha!
Ran. Nay, 'tis pleasant.
Vin. You mistake, I laugh at you, not the letter.
Ran. I am like the winning gamester, so pleased with my luck, I will not quarrel with any who calls me a fool for't.
Vin. Is this the style of a woman of honour?
Ran. It may be, for ought you know; I'm sure 'tis well if your female correspondents can read.
Vin. I must confess I have none of the little letters, half name or title, like your Spanish Epistles Dedicatory; but that a man so frequent in honourable intrigues as you are, should not know the summons of an impudent common woman, from that of a person of honour!
Ran. Christina is so much a person of honour she'll own what she has writ when she comes.
Vin. But will she come hither indeed?
Ran. Immediately. You'll excuse my liberty with you; I could not conceal such a happiness from such a friend as you, lest you should have taken it unkindly.
Vin. Faith, you have obliged me indeed; for you and others would often have made me believe your honourable intrigues, but never did me the honour to convince me of 'em before.
Ran. You are merry, I find, yet.
Vin. When you are happy I cannot be otherwise.
Ran. [Aside.] But I lose time; I should lay a little parson in ambush, that lives hard by, in case Christina should be impatient to be revenged of her friends, as it often happens with a discontented heiress. Women, like old soldiers, more nimbly execute than they resolve. [Going out.
Vin. What now! you will not disappoint a woman of Christina's quality?
Ran. I'll be here before she comes, I warrant you. [Exit.
Vin. I do believe you truly!—What think you, Valentine?
Val. [Coming forward.] I think, since she has the courage to challenge him, she'll have the honour of being first in the field.
Vin. Fy, your opinion of her must be as bad, as Ranger's of himself is good, to think she would write to him. I long till his bona-roba[48] comes, that you may be both disabused.
Val. And I have not patience to stay her coming, lest you should be disabused.
Enter Christina and Isabel.
Vin. Here she is, i'faith; I'm glad she's come.
Val. And I'm sorry. But I will to my post again, lest she should say she came to me. [Retires as before.
Vin. [Aside.] By heavens, Christina herself! 'tis she! [Christina pulls off her mask.
Val. 'Tis she:—cursed be these eyes! more cursed than when they first betrayed me to that false bewitching face. [Aside.
Chris. You may wonder, sir, to see me here—
Vin. I must confess I do.
Chris. But the confidence your friend has in you is the cause of mine; and yet some blushes it does cost me to come to seek a man.
Val. Modest creature! [Aside.
Vin. How am I deceived! [Aside.
Chris. Where is he, sir? why does he not appear, to keep me in countenance? pray call him, sir; 'tis something hard if he should know I'm here.
Vin. I hardly can myself believe you are here, madam.
Chris. If my visit be troublesome or unseasonable, 'tis your friend's fault; I designed it not to you, sir. Pray call him out, that he may excuse it, and take it on himself, together with my shame.
Vin. How impatient she is! [Aside.
Chris. Or do you delay the happiness I ask, to make it more welcome? I have stayed too long for it already, and cannot more desire it. Dear sir, call him out. Where is he? above, or here within? I'll snatch the favour which you will not give.—[Goes to the door and discovers Valentine.] What! Do you hide yourself for shame?
Val. [Coming forward.] I must confess I do.
Chris. To see me come hither—
Val. I acknowledge it. [Valentine offers to go out.
Chris. Before you came to me? But whither do you go? come, I can forgive you.
Val. But I cannot forgive you.
Chris. Whither do you go? you need not forge a quarrel to prevent mine to you: nor need you try if I would follow you, you know I will;—I have, you see.
Val. That impudence should look so like innocence! [Aside.
Chris. Whither would you go? why would you go?
Val. To call your servant to you.
Chris. She is here; what would you have with her?
Val. I mean your lover,—the man you came to meet.
Chris. Oh heavens! what lover? what man? I came to see no man but you, whom I had too long lost.
Val. You could not know that I was here.
Chris. Ask her; 'twas she that told me. [Points to Isabel.
Val. How could she know?
Chris. That you shall know hereafter.
Val. No, you thought me too far out of the way to disturb your assignation; and I assure you, madam, 'twas my ill-fortune, not my design: and that it may appear so, I do withdraw, as in all good breeding and civility I am obliged; for sure your wished-for lover's coming.
Chris. What do you mean? are you a-weary of that title?
Val. I am ashamed of it, since it grows common. [Going out.
Chris. Nay, you will not, shall not go.
Val. My stay might give him jealousy, and so do you injury, and him the greatest in the world: heavens forbid! I would not make a man jealous; for though you call a thousand vows, and oaths, and tears to witness (as you safely may), that you have not the least of love for me, yet if he ever knew how I have loved you, sure he would not, could not believe you.
Chris. I do confess, your riddle is too hard for me to solve; therefore you are obliged to do't yourself.
Val. I wish it were capable of any other interpretation than what you know already.
Chris. Is this that generous good Valentine? who has disguised him so? [Weeps.
Vin. Nay, I must withhold you then. [Stops Valentine going out.] Methinks she should be innocent; her tongue, and eyes, together with that flood that swells 'em, do vindicate her heart.
Val. They show but their long practice of dissimulation. [Going out.
Vin. Come back: I hear Ranger coming up: stay but till he comes.
Val. Do you think I have the patience of an alderman?
Vin. You may go out this way, when you will, by the back-stairs; but stay a little, till—Oh, here he comes.
Re-enter Ranger. Upon his entrance Christina puts on her mask.
Val. My revenge will now detain me. [Valentine retires again.
Ran. [Aside.]—What, come already! where is Dapperwit?—[Aloud.] The blessing's double that comes quickly; I did not yet expect you here, otherwise I had not done myself the injury to be absent. But I hope, madam, I have not made you stay long for me.
Chris. I have not staid at all for you.
Ran. I am glad of it, madam.
Chris. [To Isabel.] Is not this that troublesome stranger who last night followed the lady into my lodgings?—[Aside.] 'Tis he. [Removing from him to the other side.
Ran. [Aside.] Why does she remove so disdainfully from me?—[Aloud.] I find you take it ill I was not at your coming here, madam.
Chris. Indeed I do not; you are mistaken, sir.
Ran. Confirm me by a smile then, madam; remove that cloud, which makes me apprehend foul weather. [Goes to take off her mask.]—Mr. Vincent, pray retire; 'tis you keep on the lady's mask, and no displeasure which she has for me.—Yet, madam, you need not distrust his honour or his faith.—But do not keep the lady under constraint; pray leave us a little, Master Vincent.
Chris. You must not leave us, sir; would you leave me with a stranger?
Val. How's that! [Aside.
Ran. [Aside.] I've done amiss, I find, to bring her hither.—Madam, I understand you—[Apart to Christina.
Chris. Sir, I do not understand you.
Ran. You would not be known to Mr. Vincent.
Chris. 'Tis your acquaintance I would avoid.
Ran. [Aside.] Dull brute that I was, to bring her hither!—I have found my error, madam; give me but a new appointment, where I may meet you by and by, and straight I will withdraw as if I knew you not. [Softly to her.
Chris. Why, do you know me?
Ran. [Aside.] I must not own it.—No, madam, but—[Offers to whisper.
Chris. Whispering, sir, argues an old acquaintance; but I have not the vanity to be thought of yours, and resolve you shall never have the disparagement of mine.—Mr. Vincent, pray let us go in here.
Ran. How's this! I am undone, I see; but if I let her go thus, I shall be an eternal laughing-stock to Vincent. [Aside.
Vin. Do you not know him, madam? I thought you had come hither on purpose to meet him.
Chris. To meet him!
Vin. By your own appointment.
Chris. What strange infatuation does delude you all? you know, he said he did not know me.
Vin. You writ to him; he has your letter.
Chris. Then, you know my name sure? yet you confessed but now you knew me not.
Ran. I must confess your anger has disguised you more than your mask: for I thought to have met a kinder Christina here.
Chris. [Aside.] Heavens! how could he know me in this place? he watched me hither sure; or is there any other of my name.—[Aloud.] That you may no longer mistake me for your Christina, I'll pull off that which soothes your error. [Pulls off her mask.
Ran. Take but t'other vizard off too, (I mean your anger,) and I'll swear you are the same, and only Christina which I wished, and thought, to meet here.
Chris. How could you think to meet me here?
Ran. [Gives her the letter.] By virtue of this your commission; which now, I see, was meant a real challenge: for you look as if you would fight with me.
Chris. The paper is a stranger to me; I never writ it. You are abused.
Vin. Christina is a person of honour, and will own what she has written, Ranger.
Ran. [Aside.] So! the comedy begins; I shall be laughed at sufficiently if I do not justify myself; I must set my impudence to hers. She is resolved to deny all, I see, and I have lost all hope of her.
Vin. Come, faith, Ranger—
Ran. You will deny too, madam, that I followed you last night from the Park to your lodging, where I staid with you till morning? you never saw me before, I warrant.
Chris. That you rudely intruded last night into my lodging, I cannot deny; but I wonder you have the confidence to brag of it: sure you will not of your reception?
Ran. I never was so ill-bred as to brag of my reception in a lady's chamber; not a word of that, madam.
Val. [Aside.] How! If he lies, I revenge her; if it I be true, I revenge myself. [Valentine draws his sword, which Vincent, seeing, thrusts him back, and shuts the door upon him before he is discovered by Ranger.
Enter Lydia and Leonore, stopping at the door.
Lyd. What do I see! Christina with him! a counterplot to mine, to make me and it ridiculous. 'Tis true, I find, they have been long acquainted, and I long abused; but since she intends a triumph, in spite, as well as shame, (not emulation,) I retire. She deserves no envy, who will be shortly in my condition; his natural inconstancy will prove my best revenge on her—on both. [Exeunt Lydia and Leonore.
Enter Dapperwit.
Dap. Christina's going away again;—what's the matter?
Ran. What do you mean?
Dap. I scarce had paid the chairmen, and was coming up after her, but I met her on the stairs, in as much haste as if she had been frightened.
Ran. Who do you talk of?
Dap. Christina, whom I took up in a chair just now at St. James's gate.
Ran. Thou art mad! here she is, this is Christina.
Dap. I must confess I did not see her face; but I am sure the lady is gone that I brought just now.
Ran. I tell you again this is she: did you bring two?
Chris. I came in no chair, had no guide but my woman there.
Vin. When did you bring your lady, Dapperwit?
Dap. Even now, just now.
Vin. This lady has been here half-an-hour.
Ran. He knows not what he says, he is mad: you are all so; I am so too.
Vin. 'Tis the best excuse you can make for yourself, and by owning your mistake you'll show you are come to yourself. I myself saw your woman at the door, who but looked in, and then immediately went down again;—as your friend Dapperwit too affirms.
Chris. You had best follow her that looked for you; and I'll go seek out him I came to see.—Mr. Vincent, pray let me in here.
Ran. 'Tis very fine! wondrous fine! [Christina goes out a little, and returns.
Chris. Oh! he is gone! Mr. Vincent, follow him; he were yet more severe to me in endangering his life, than in his censures against me. You know the power of his enemies is great as their malice;—just Heaven preserve him from them, and me from this ill or unlucky man! [Exeunt Christina, Isabel, and Vincent.
Ran. 'Tis well—nay, certainly, I shall never be master of my senses more: but why dost thou help to distract me too?
Dap. My astonishment was as great as yours to see her go away again; I would have stayed her if I could.
Ran. Yet again talking of a woman you met going out, when I talk of Christina!
Dap. I talk of Christina too.
Ran. She went out just now; the woman you found me with was she.
Dap. That was not the Christina I brought just now.
Ran. You brought her almost half an hour ago;—'sdeath, will you give me the lie?
Dap. A lady disappointed by her gallant, the night before her journey, could not be more touchy with her maid or husband, than you are with me now after your disappointment; but if you thank me so, I'll go serve myself hereafter. For aught I know, I have disappointed Mrs. Martha for you, and may lose thirty thousand pounds by the bargain. Farewell! a raving lover is fit for solitude. [Exit.
Ran. Lydia, triumph! I now am thine again. Of intrigues, honourable or dishonourable, and all sorts of rambling, I take my leave; when we are giddy, 'tis time to stand still. Why should we be so fond of the by-paths of love, where we are still waylaid with surprises, trepans, dangers, and murdering disappointments?—
Just as at blindman's buff we run at all,
Whilst those that lead us laugh to see us fall;
And when we think we hold the lady fast,
We find it but her scarf, or veil, at last. [Exit.