The Comedies of William Congreve Part 13

SHARP. Harkee, Sir Joseph, a word with ye. In consideration of some favours lately received, I would not have you draw yourself into a _premunire_, by trusting to that sign of a man there--that pot-gun charged with wind.

SIR JO. O Lord, O Lord, Captain, come justify yourself--I'll give him the lie if you'll stand to it.

SHARP. Nay, then, I'll be beforehand with you, take that, oaf. [_Cuffs him_.]

SIR JO. Captain, will you see this? Won't you pink his soul?

BLUFF. Husht, 'tis not so convenient now--I shall find a time.

SHARP. What do you mutter about a time, rascal? You were the incendiary. There's to put you in mind of your time.--A memorandum.

[_Kicks him_.]

BLUFF. Oh, this is your time, sir; you had best make use on't.

SHARP. I--Gad and so I will: there's again for you. [_Kicks him_.]

BLUFF. You are obliging, sir, but this is too public a place to thank you in. But in your ear, you are to be seen again?

SHARP. Ay, thou inimitable coward, and to be felt--as for example.

[_Kicks him_.]

BELL. Ha, ha, ha, prithee come away; 'tis scandalous to kick this puppy unless a man were cold and had no other way to get himself aheat.

SCENE IX.

SIR JOSEPH, BLUFFE.

BLUFF. Very well--very fine--but 'tis no matter. Is not this fine, Sir Joseph?

SIR JO. Indifferent, agad, in my opinion, very indifferent. I'd rather go plain all my life than wear such finery.

BLUFF. Death and h.e.l.l to be affronted thus! I'll die before I'll suffer it. [_Draws_.]

SIR JO. O Lord, his anger was not raised before. Nay, dear Captain, don't be in pa.s.sion now he's gone. Put up, put up, dear Back, 'tis your Sir Joseph begs, come let me kiss thee; so, so, put up, put up.

BLUFF. By heaven, 'tis not to be put up.

SIR JO. What, Bully?

BLUFF. The affront.

SIR JO. No, aged, no more 'tis, for that's put up all already; thy sword, I mean.

BLUFF. Well, Sir Joseph, at your entreaty--But were not you, my friend, abused, and cuffed, and kicked? [_Putting up his sword_.]

SIR JO. Ay, ay, so were you too; no matter, 'tis past.

BLUFF. By the immortal thunder of great guns, 'tis false--he sucks not vital air who dares affirm it to this face. [_Looks big_.]

SIR JO. To that face I grant you, Captain. No, no, I grant you--not to that face, by the Lord Harry. If you had put on your fighting face before, you had done his business--he durst as soon have kissed you, as kicked you to your face. But a man can no more help what's done behind his back than what's said--Come, we'll think no more of what's past.

BLUFF. I'll call a council of war within to consider of my revenge to come.

SCENE X.

HEARTWELL, SILVIA. _Silvia's apartment_.

SONG.

As Amoret and Thyrsis lay Melting the hours in gentle play, Joining faces, mingling kisses, And exchanging harmless blisses: He trembling cried, with eager haste, O let me feed as well as taste, I die, if I'm not wholly blest.

[_After the song a dance of antics_.]

SILV. Indeed it is very fine. I could look upon 'em all day.

HEART. Well has this prevailed for me, and will you look upon me?

SILV. If you could sing and dance so, I should love to look upon you too.

HEART. Why, 'twas I sung and danced; I gave music to the voice, and life to their measures. Look you here, Silvia, [_pulling out a purse and c.h.i.n.king it_] here are songs and dances, poetry and music--hark! how sweetly one guinea rhymes to another--and how they dance to the music of their own c.h.i.n.k. This buys all t'other--and this thou shalt have; this, and all that I am worth, for the purchase of thy love. Say, is it mine then, ha? Speak, Syren--Oons, why do I look on her! Yet I must. Speak, dear angel, devil, saint, witch; do not rack me with suspense.

SILV. Nay, don't stare at me so. You make me blush--I cannot look.

HEART. O manhood, where art thou? What am I come to? A woman's toy, at these years! Death, a bearded baby for a girl to dandle. O dotage, dotage! That ever that n.o.ble pa.s.sion, l.u.s.t, should ebb to this degree.

No reflux of vigorous blood: but milky love supplies the empty channels; and prompts me to the softness of a child--a mere infant and would suck.

Can you love me, Silvia? Speak.

SILV. I dare not speak until I believe you, and indeed I'm afraid to believe you yet.

HEART. Death, how her innocence torments and pleases me! Lying, child, is indeed the art of love, and men are generally masters in it: but I'm so newly entered, you cannot distrust me of any skill in the treacherous mystery. Now, by my soul, I cannot lie, though it were to serve a friend or gain a mistress.

SILV. Must you lie, then, if you say you love me?

HEART. No, no, dear ignorance, thou beauteous changeling--I tell thee I do love thee, and tell it for a truth, a naked truth, which I'm ashamed to discover.

SILV. But love, they say, is a tender thing, that will smooth frowns, and make calm an angry face; will soften a rugged temper, and make ill- humoured people good. You look ready to fright one, and talk as if your pa.s.sion were not love, but anger.

HEART. 'Tis both; for I am angry with myself when I am pleased with you.

And a pox upon me for loving thee so well--yet I must on. 'Tis a bearded arrow, and will more easily be thrust forward than drawn back.

SILV. Indeed, if I were well a.s.sured you loved; but how can I be well a.s.sured?

HEART. Take the symptoms--and ask all the tyrants of thy s.e.x if their fools are not known by this party-coloured livery. I am melancholic when thou art absent; look like an a.s.s when thou art present; wake for thee when I should sleep; and even dream of thee when I am awake; sigh much, drink little, eat less, court solitude, am grown very entertaining to myself, and (as I am informed) very troublesome to everybody else. If this be not love, it is madness, and then it is pardonable. Nay, yet a more certain sign than all this, I give thee my money.