The Comedies of William Congreve Part 24

HEART. And who would you visit there, say you? (O'ons, how my heart aches.)

SHARP. Pshaw, thou'rt so troublesome and inquisitive. My, I'll tell you; 'tis a young creature that Vainlove debauched and has forsaken. Did you never hear Bellmour chide him about Sylvia?

HEART. Death, and h.e.l.l, and marriage! My wife! [_Aside_.]

SHARP. Why, thou art as musty as a new-married man that had found his wife knowing the first night.

HEART. h.e.l.l, and the Devil! Does he know it? But, hold; if he should not, I were a fool to discover it. I'll dissemble, and try him.

[_Aside_.] Ha, ha, ha. Why, Tom, is that such an occasion of melancholy? Is it such an uncommon mischief?

SHARP. No, faith; I believe not. Few women but have their year of probation before they are cloistered in the narrow joys of wedlock. But, prithee, come along with me or I'll go and have the lady to myself. B'w'y George. [_Going_.]

HEART. O torture! How he racks and tears me! Death! Shall I own my shame or wittingly let him go and wh.o.r.e my wife? No, that's insupportable. O Sharper!

SHARP. How now?

HEART. Oh, I am married.

SHARP. (Now hold, spleen.) Married!

HEART. Certainly, irrecoverably married.

SHARP. Heaven forbid, man! How long?

HEART. Oh, an age, an age! I have been married these two hours.

SHARP. My old bachelor married! That were a jest. Ha, ha, ha.

HEART. Death! D'ye mock me? Hark ye, if either you esteem my friendship, or your own safety--come not near that house--that corner- house--that hot brothel. Ask no questions.

SHARP. Mad, by this light.

Thus grief still treads upon the heels of pleasure: Married in haste, we may repent at leisure.

SCENE IX.

SHARPER, SETTER.

SET. Some by experience find these words misplaced: At leisure married, they repent in haste.

As I suppose my master Heartwell.

SHARP. Here again, my Mercury!

SET. Sublimate, if you please, sir: I think my achievements do deserve the epithet--Mercury was a pimp too, but, though I blush to own it, at this time, I must confess I am somewhat fallen from the dignity of my function, and do condescend to be scandalously employed in the promotion of vulgar matrimony.

SHARP. As how, dear, dexterous pimp?

SET. Why, to be brief, for I have weighty affairs depending--our stratagem succeeded as you intended--Bluffe turns errant traitor; bribes me to make a private conveyance of the lady to him, and put a shame-settlement upon Sir Joseph.

SHARP. O rogue! Well, but I hope--

SET. No, no; never fear me, sir. I privately informed the knight of the treachery, who has agreed seemingly to be cheated, that the captain may be so in reality.

SHARP. Where's the bride?

SET. Shifting clothes for the purpose, at a friend's house of mine.

Here's company coming; if you'll walk this way, sir, I'll tell you.

SCENE X.

BELLMOUR, BELINDA, ARAMINTA, _and_ VAINLOVE.

VAIN. Oh, 'twas frenzy all: cannot you forgive it? Men in madness have a t.i.tle to your pity. [_To_ ARAMINTA.]

ARAM. Which they forfeit, when they are restored to their senses.

VAIN. I am not presuming beyond a pardon.

ARAM. You who could reproach me with one counterfeit, how insolent would a real pardon make you! But there's no need to forgive what is not worth my anger.

BELIN. O' my conscience, I could find in my heart to marry thee, purely to be rid of thee--at least thou art so troublesome a lover, there's hopes thou'lt make a more than ordinary quiet husband. [_To_ BELLMOUR.]

BELL. Say you so? Is that a maxim among ye?

BELIN. Yes: you fluttering men of the _mode_ have made marriage a mere French dish.

BELL. I hope there's no French sauce. [_Aside_.]

BELIN. You are so curious in the preparation, that is, your courtship, one would think you meant a n.o.ble entertainment--but when we come to feed, 'tis all froth, and poor, but in show. Nay, often, only remains, which have been I know not how many times warmed for other company, and at last served up cold to the wife.

BELL. That were a miserable wretch indeed, who could not afford one warm dish for the wife of his bosom. But you timorous virgins form a dreadful chimaera of a husband, as of a creature contrary to that soft, humble, pliant, easy thing, a lover; so guess at plagues in matrimony, in opposition to the pleasures of courtship. Alas! courtship to marriage, is but as the music in the play-house, until the curtain's drawn; but that once up, then opens the scene of pleasure.

BELIN. Oh, foh,--no: rather courtship to marriage, as a very witty prologue to a very dull play.

SCENE XI.

[_To them_] SHARPER.

SHARP. Hist! Bellmour. If you'll bring the ladies, make haste to Sylvia's lodgings, before Heartwell has fretted himself out of breath.

BELL. You have an opportunity now, madam, to revenge yourself upon Heartwell, for affronting your squirrel. [_To_ BELINDA.]