The Comedies of William Congreve Part 50

MASK. Ha, ha, ha!

LADY TOUCH. Ha! Do you mock my rage? Then this shall punish your fond, rash contempt. Again smile! [_Goes to strike_.] And such a smile as speaks in ambiguity! Ten thousand meanings lurk in each corner of that various face.

Oh! that they were written in thy heart,

That I, with this, might lay thee open to my sight!

But then 'twill be too late to know--

Thou hast, thou hast found the only way to turn my rage. Too well thou knowest my jealous soul could never bear uncertainty. Speak, then, and tell me. Yet are you silent. Oh, I am wildered in all pa.s.sions. But thus my anger melts. [_Weeps_.] Here, take this poniard, for my very spirits faint, and I want strength to hold it; thou hast disarmed my soul. [_Gives the dagger_.]

LORD TOUCH. Amazement shakes me. Where will this end?

MASK. So, 'tis well--let your wild fury have a vent; and when you have temper, tell me.

LADY TOUCH. Now, now, now I am calm and can hear you.

MASK. [_Aside_.] Thanks, my invention; and now I have it for you.

First, tell me what urged you to this violence: for your pa.s.sion broke in such imperfect terms, that yet I am to learn the cause.

LADY TOUCH. My lord himself surprised me with the news you were to marry Cynthia, that you had owned our love to him, and his indulgence would a.s.sist you to attain your ends.

CYNT. How, my lord?

LORD TOUCH. Pray forbear all resentments for a while, and let us hear the rest.

MASK. I grant you in appearance all is true; I seemed consenting to my lord--nay, transported with the blessing. But could you think that I, who had been happy in your loved embraces, could e'er be fond of an inferior slavery?

LORD TOUCH. Ha! Oh, poison to my ears! What do I hear?

CYNT. Nay, good my lord, forbear resentment; let us hear it out.

LORD TOUCH. Yes, I will contain, though I could burst.

MASK. I, that had wantoned in the rich circle of your world of love, could be confined within the puny province of a girl? No. Yet though I dote on each last favour more than all the rest, though I would give a limb for every look you cheaply throw away on any other object of your love: yet so far I prize your pleasures o'er my own, that all this seeming plot that I have laid has been to gratify your taste and cheat the world, to prove a faithful rogue to you.

LADY TOUCH. If this were true. But how can it be?

MASK. I have so contrived that Mellefont will presently, in the chaplain's habit, wait for Cynthia in your dressing-room; but I have put the change upon her, that she may be other where employed. Do you procure her night-gown, and with your hoods tied over your face, meet him in her stead. You may go privately by the back stairs, and, unperceived, there you may propose to reinstate him in his uncle's favour, if he'll comply with your desires--his case is desperate, and I believe he'll yield to any conditions. If not here, take this; you may employ it better than in the heart of one who is nothing when not yours. [_Gives the dagger_.]

LADY TOUCH. Thou can'st deceive everybody. Nay, thou hast deceived me; but 'tis as I would wish. Trusty villain! I could worship thee.

MASK. No more; it wants but a few minutes of the time; and Mellefont's love will carry him there before his hour.

LADY TOUCH. I go, I fly, incomparable Maskwell!

SCENE XVIII.

MASKWELL, CYNTHIA, LORD TOUCHWOOD.

MASK. So, this was a pinch indeed, my invention was upon the rack, and made discovery of her last plot. I hope Cynthia and my chaplain will be ready; I'll prepare for the expedition.

SCENE XIX.

CYNTHIA _and_ LORD TOUCHWOOD.

CYNT. Now, my lord?

LORD TOUCH. Astonishment binds up my rage! Villainy upon villainy!

Heavens, what a long track of dark deceit has this discovered! I am confounded when I look back, and want a clue to guide me through the various mazes of unheard-of treachery. My wife! d.a.m.nation! My h.e.l.l!

CYNT. My lord, have patience, and be sensible how great our happiness is, that this discovery was not made too late.

LORD TOUCH. I thank you, yet it may be still too late, if we don't presently prevent the execution of their plots;--ha, I'll do't. Where's Mellefont, my poor injured nephew? How shall I make him ample satisfaction?

CYNT. I dare answer for him.

LORD TOUCH. I do him fresh wrong to question his forgiveness; for I know him to be all goodness. Yet my wife! d.a.m.n her:--she'll think to meet him in that dressing-room. Was't not so? And Maskwell will expect you in the chaplain's chamber. For once, I'll add my plot too:--let us haste to find out, and inform my nephew; and do you, quickly as you can, bring all the company into this gallery. I'll expose the strumpet, and the villain.

SCENE XX.

LORD FROTH _and_ SIR PAUL.

LORD FROTH. By heavens, I have slept an age. Sir Paul, what o'clock is't? Past eight, on my conscience; my lady's is the most inviting couch, and a slumber there is the prettiest amus.e.m.e.nt! But where's all the company?

SIR PAUL. The company, gads-bud, I don't know, my lord, but here's the strangest revolution, all turned topsy turvy; as I hope for providence.

LORD FROTH. O heavens, what's the matter? Where's my wife?

SIR PAUL. All turned topsy turvy as sure as a gun.

LORD FROTH. How do you mean? My wife?

SIR PAUL. The strangest posture of affairs!

LORD FROTH. What, my wife?

SIR PAUL. No, no, I mean the family. Your lady's affairs may be in a very good posture; I saw her go into the garden with Mr. Brisk.

LORD FROTH. How? Where, when, what to do?

SIR PAUL. I suppose they have been laying their heads together.