A Select Collection of Old English Plays Part 117

CAPT. Come, come away, I'll get the points. I'm glad the coachman's well; the rogue had like to have spoiled our comedy.

[_Exeunt omnes._

SCENE III.

_Enter the_ LADY LOVEALL, MASTER SAD _and_ CONSTANT, _undressed, and b.u.t.toning themselves as they go_.

SAD. Married?

CON. And to them?

LOVE. Ay, married, if you prevent it not: catched with a trick, an old stale trick; I have seen a ballad on't.

SAD. We shall go near to prevent 'em. Boy, my sword.

_Enter_ CAPTAIN.

CAPT. Whither so fast?

SAD. You guess.

CAPT. If you mean the wedding, you come too late.

CON. Why, are they married?

CAPT. No, but l.u.s.tily promised.

SAD. We may come time enough to be revenged, though----

CAPT. Upon whom? yourselves, for you are only guilty. Who carried them thither last night? who laid the plot for the coachman?

SAD. Why, do they know it?

LOVE. Well, you'll find the poet a rogue, 'tis he that has betrayed you; and if you'll take my counsel, be revenged upon him.

CON. Nay, we were told he did not love us.

CAPT. By my life, you wrong him: upon my knowledge, the poet meant you should have them.

SAD. Why, who had the power to hinder, then?

CAPT. I know not where the fault lies directly: they say the wits of the town would not consent to't; they claim a right in the ladies as orphan wits.

CON. The wits! hang 'em in their strong lines.

CAPT. Why, ay, such a clinch as that has undone you, and upon my knowledge 'twere enough to hinder your next match.

SAD. Why, what have they to do with us?

CAPT. I know not what you have done to disoblige them, but they crossed it: there was amongst 'em too a pair of she-wits, something stricken in years; they grew in fury at the mention of it, and concluded you both with an authority out of a modern author: besides, 'tis said you run naturally into the sixpenny-room, and steal sayings, and a discourse more than your pennyworth of jests every term. Why, just now you spit out one jest stolen from a poor play, that has but two more in five acts; what conscience is there in't, knowing how dear we pay poets for our plays?

CON. 'Twas madam with the ill face, one of those whom you refused to salute the other day at Chipp's house: a cheesecake had saved all this.

LOVE. Why do you not make haste about your business, but lose time with this babbler?

SAD. Madam, will you give us leave to make use of your coach?

LOVE. You may command it, sir: when you have done, send him to the Exchange, where I'll despatch a little business, and be with you immediately.

[_Exeunt all but the_ CAPTAIN.

CAPT. So, this fire is kindled; put it out that can. What would not I give for a peeper's place at the meeting? I'll make haste, and it shall go hard, but I'll bear my part of the mirth too.

[_Exit._

SCENE IV.

_Enter_ WIDOW, PLEASANT, CARELESS, WILD, PARSON, JOLLY, WANTON, _and_ SECRET: _the_ FIDDLERS _play as they come in_.

PAR. Master Jolly, I find I am naturally inclined to mirth this day, and methinks my corns ache more than my horns; and to a man that has read Seneca, a cuckold ought to be no grief, especially in this parish, where I see such droves of St Luke's clothing.

There's little Secret too, th' allay of waiting-woman, makes me hope she may prove metal of the parson's standard. Find a way to rid me of Wanton, and I'll put in to be chaplain to this merry family: if I did not inveigle formal Secret, you should hang me.

I know the trick on't; 'tis but praying to, and preaching of the waiting-woman, then carefully seeing her cushion laid, with her book and leaf turned down, does it, with a few anagrams, acrostics, and her name in the register of my Bible: these charm the soft-souled sinner: then sometimes to read a piece of my sermon, and tell her a Sat.u.r.day where my text shall be, spells that work more than philtres.

JOLLY. If you can be serious, we'll think of this at leisure. See how they eye Wanton!

CARE. What! consulting, parson? let us be judges betwixt you.

D'ye hear, Jack? if he offers ready money, I counsel, as a friend, take it; for, by this light, if you refuse it, your wife will not. D'ye see those gay petticoats?

PAR. Yes, if you mean my wife's.

CARE. You know they're his, and she only wears 'em for his pleasure: and 'tis dangerous to have a wife under another man's petticoats. What if you should find his breeches upon her?

PAR. Are not you married too? take care that yours does not wear the breeches, another kind of danger, but as troublesome as that, or sore eyes; and if she get but a trick of taking as readily as she's persuaded to give, you may find a horn at home. I have seen a cuckold of your complexion; if he had had as much hoof as horn, you might have hunted the beast by his slot.[277]

PLEA. How fine she is! and, by this light, a handsome wench.

Master Jolly, I am easier persuaded to be reconciled to your fault than any man's I have seen of this kind: her eyes have more arguments in 'em than a thousand of those that seduce the world; hang me, if those quivers be not full of darts; I could kiss that mouth myself. Is this she my aunt quarrelled with you for?

JOLLY. The same, selfsame: and, by this hand, I was barbarous to her, for your aunt's sake; and had I not 'scaped that mischief of matrimony, by this light, I had never seen her again. But I was resolved not to quit her till I was sure of a wife, for fear of what has followed. Had I been such an a.s.s to have left her upon the airy hopes of a widow's oaths, what a case had I been in now!

You see your aunt's provided of a man. Bless him, and send him patience! 'Twould have been fine to have seen me walking, and sighing upon cold hunting, seeking my wh.o.r.e again, or forced to make use of some common mercenary thing, that sells sin and diseases, crimes, penance, and sad repentance together! Here's consolation and satisfaction in Wanton, though a man lose his meal with the widow. And faith, be free--how do you like my girl?

Rid thee of her! What does she want now, pray, but a jointure, to satisfy any honest man? Speak your conscience, ladies: don't you think a little repentance hereafter will serve for all the small sins that good-nature can act with such a sinner?

PAR. Pray, sir, remember she's my wife, and be so civil to us both, as to forget these things.

JOLLY. For that, Jack, we'll understand hereafter. 'Tis but a trick of youth, man, and her jest will make us both merry, I warrant thee.

PAR. Pray, sir, no more of your jests, nor your Jack. Remember my coat and calling. This familiarity, both with my wife and myself, is not decent: your clergy with Christian names are scarce held good Christians.