The Reply of Erasmus.
Hence, if a Mouse, thy wit must this confess:—
I will be Sum-mus:—Can’st thou make me less?
J. R. P.
Garrick Plays.
No. XXX.
[From a “Woman’s a Weathercock,” a Comedy, by Nathaniel Field, 1612.]
False Mistress.
Scudmore alone; having a letter in his hand from Bellafront, assuring him of her faith.
Scud. If what I feel I could express in words,
Methinks I could speak joy enough to men
To banish sadness from all love for ever.
O thou that reconcilest the faults of all
Thy frothy sex, and in thy single self
Confines! nay has engross’d, virtue enough
To frame a spacious world of virtuous women!
Had’st thou been the beginning of thy sex,
I think the devil in the serpent’s skin
Had wanted cunning to o’er-come thy goodness;
And all had lived and died in innocency,
The whole creation—.
Who’s there?—come in—
Nevill (entering.) What up already, Scudmore?
Scud. Good morrow, my dear Nevill?
Nev. What’s this? a letter! sure it is not so—
Scud. By heav’n, you must excuse me. Come, I know
You will not wrong my friendship, and your manners,
To tempt me so.
Nev. Not for the world, my friend.
Good morrow—
Scud. Nay, Sir, neither must you
Depart in anger from this friendly hand.
I swear I love you better than all men,
Equally with all virtue in the world:
Yet this would be a key to lead you to
A prize of that importance—
Nev. Worthy friend,
I leave you not in anger,—what d’ye mean?—
Nor am I of that inquisitive nature framed,
To thirst to know your private businesses.
Why, they concern not me: if they be ill,
And dangerous, ’twould grieve me much to know them;
If good, they be so, though I know them not:
Nor would I do your love so gross a wrong,
To covet to participate affairs
Of that near touch, which your assured love
Doth not think fit, or dares not trust me with.
Scud. How sweetly doth your friendship play with mine,
And with a simple subtlety steals my heart
Out of my bosom! by the holiest love
That ever made a story, you are a man
With all good so replete, that I durst trust you
Ev’n with this secret, were it singly mine.
Nev. I do believe you. Farewell, worthy friend.
Scud. Nay, look you, this same fashion does not please me.
You were not wont to make your visitation
So short and careless.
Nev. ’Tis your jealousy,
That makes you think it so; for, by my soul,
You’ve given me no distaste in keeping from me
All things that might be burdensome, and oppress me.—
In truth, I am invited to a Wedding;
And the morn faster goes away from me,
That I go toward it: and so good morrow—
Scud. Good morrow, Sir. Think I durst show it you—
Nev. Now, by my life, I not desire it, Sir
Nor ever lov’d these prying list’ning men,
That ask of others ’states and passages:
Not one among a hundred but proves false,
Envious and sland’rous, and will cut that throat
He twines his arms about. I love that Poet,
That gave us reading “Not to seek ourselves
Beyond ourselves.” Farewell.
Scud. You shall not go.
I cannot now redeem the fault I have made
To such a friend, but in disclosing all.
Nev. Now, if you love me, do not wrong me so;
I see you labour with some serious thing,
And think, like fairies’ treasure, to reveal it
Will burst your breast,—’tis so delicious,
And so much greater than the continent.
Scud. O you have pierced my entrails with your words,
And I must now explain all to your eyes. (Gives him the Letter.)
Read; and be happy in my happiness.
Nev. Yet think on’t; keep thy secret and thy friend
Sure and entire. Oh give not me the means
To become false hereafter; or thyself
A probable reason to distrust thy friend,
Though he be ne’er so near. I will not see it.
Scud. I die, by heav’n, if you deny again.
I starve for counsel; take it, look upon it.
If you do not, it is an equal plague
As if it been known and published.
For God’s sake, read; but with this caution,—
By this right hand, by this yet unstain’d sword,
Were you my father flowing in these waves,
Or a dear son exhausted out of them,
Should you betray the soul of all my hopes,
Like the two Brethren (though love made them Stars)
We must be never more both seen again.
Nev. I read it, fearless of the forfeiture:—
Yet warn you, be as cautelous not to wound
My integrity with doubt, on likelihoods
From misreport, but first exquire the truth, (reads.)
Scud. She is the food, the sleep, the air I live by—
Nev. (having read the Letter.) O heav’n, we speak like Gods, and do like Dogs!—
Scud. What means my—
Nev. This day this Bellafront, this rich heir
Is married unto Count Frederick;
And that’s the Wedding I was going to.
Scud. I prithee do not mock me;—married!—
Nev. It is no matter to be plaid withal;
But yet as true, as women all are false.
Scud. O that this stroke were thunder to my breast,
For, Nevill, thou hast spoke my heart in twain;
And with the sudden whirlwind of thy breath
Hast ravish’d me out of a temperate soil,
And set me under the red burning zone.
Nev. For shame, return thy blood into thy face
Know’st not how slight a thing a Woman is?
Scud. Yes; and how serious too.—
Scudmore, afterwards, forsaken.