THE BEAUX-STRATAGEM

By George Farquhar

 'He was a delightful writer, and one to whom I should sooner recur for relaxation and entertainment and without after-cloying and disgust, than any of the school of which he may be said to have been the last The Beaux-Stratagem reads quite as well as it acts: it has life, movement, wit, humour, sweet nature and sweet temper from beginning to end. ' CHARLES COWDEN CLARKE

PREFACE

_The Author_. 'It is surprising, ' says Mr. Percy Fitzgerald, 'how much English Comedy owes to Irishmen. ' Nearly fiftyyears ago Calcraft enumerated eighty-seven Irish dramatists ina by no means exhaustive list, including Congreve, Southerne, Steele, Kelly, Macklin, and Farquhar--the really Irishrepresentative amongst the dramatists of the Restoration, the trueprototype of Goldsmith and Sheridan. Thoroughly Irish bybirth and education, Captain George Farquhar (1677-1707)had delighted the town with a succession of bright, rattlingcomedies--Love and a Bottle (1698), The Constant Couple(1699), Sir Harry Wildair (1701), The Inconstant (1702), The Twin Rivals (1702), The Recruiting Officer (1706). Inan unlucky moment, when hard pressed by his debts, he soldout of the army on the strength of a promise by the Duke ofOrmond to gain him some preferment, which never came. Inhis misery and poverty, with a wife and two helpless girls tosupport, Farquhar was not forsaken by his one true friend, Robert Wilks. Seeking out the dramatist in his wretchedgarret in St Martin's Lane, the actor advised him no longer totrust to great men's promises, but to look only to his pen forsupport, and urged him to write another play. 'Write!' saidFarquhar, starting from his chair; 'is it possible that a mancan write with common-sense who is heartless and has not ashilling in his pockets?' 'Come, come, George, ' said Wilks, 'banish melancholy, draw up your drama, and bring your sketchwith you to-morrow, for I expect you to dine with me. But asan empty purse may cramp your genius, I desire you to acceptmy mite; here is twenty guineas. ' Farquhar set to work, andbrought the plot of his play to Wilks the next day; the laterapproved the design, and urged him to proceed withoutdelay. Mostly written in bed, the whole was begun, finished, and acted within six weeks. The author designed to dedicateit to Lord Cadogan, but his lordship, for reasons unknown, declined the honour; he gave the dramatist a handsome present, however. Thus was _The Beaux-Stratagem_ written. Farquharis said to have felt the approaches of death ere he finished thesecond act. On the night of the first performance Wilkscame to tell him of his great success, but mentioned thatMrs. Oldfield wished that he could have thought of some morelegitimate divorce in order to secure the honour of Mrs. Sullen. 'Oh, ' said Farquhar, 'I will, if she pleases, solve thatimmediately, by getting a real divorce; marrying her myself, andgiving her my bond that she shall be a widow in less than afortnight' Subsequent events practically fulfilled this prediction, for Farquhar died during the run of the play: on theday of his extra benefit, Tuesday, 29th April 1707, the plauditsof the audience resounding in his ears, the destitute, broken-hearted dramatist passed to that bourne where stratagemsavail not any longer. 

_Criticism of The Beaux-Stratagem_. Each play thatFarquhar produced was an improvement on its predecessors, and all critics have been unanimous in pronouncing _The Beaux-Stratagem_his best, both in the study and on the stage, of whichit retained possession much the longest. Except _The RecruitingOfficer_ and _The Inconstant_, revived at Covent Garden in 1825, and also by Daly in America in 1885, non of Farquhar's otherplays has been put on the stage for upwards of a century. Hallam says: 'Never has Congreve equalled _The Beaux-Stratagem_in vivacity, in originality of contrivance, or in clearand rapid development of intrigue'; and Hazlitt considers it'sprightly lively, bustling, and full of point and interest:the assumed disguise of Archer and Aimwell is a perpetualamusement to the mind. ' The action--which commences, remarkably briskly, in the evening and ends about midnightthe next day--never flags for an instant. The well-contrivedplot is original and simple (all Farquhar's plots are excellent), giving rise to a rapid succession of amusing and sensationalincidents; though by no means extravagant or improbable, savepossibly the mutual separation of Squire Sullen and his wife inthe last scene--the weak point of the whole. Farquhar was amaster in stage-effect. Aimwell's stratagem of passing himselfoff as the wealthy nobleman, his brother (a device previouslyadopted by Vanbrugh in _The Relapse_ and subsequently bySheridan in his _Trip to Scarborough_), may perhaps be acovert allusion to the romantic story of the dramatist's owndeception by the penniless lady who gave herself out to bepossessed of a large fortune, and who thus induced him tomarry her. 

The style adopted is highly dramatic, the dialogue beingnatural and flowing; trenchant and sprightly, but not too wittyfor a truthful reflex of actual conversation. The humour isgenial and unforced; there is no smell of the lamp about it, no premeditated effort at dragging in jests, as in Congreve. As typical examples of Farquhar's _vis comica_ I Would cite thedescription of Squire Sullen's home-coming, and his 'pot ofale' speech, Aimwell's speech respecting conduct at church, thescene between Cherry and Archer about the £2000, and thefinal separation scene--which affords a curious view of themarriage tie and on which Leigh Hunt has founded an argumentfor divorce. This play contains several examples of Farquhar'scurious habit of breaking out into a kind of broken blank verseoccasionally for a few lines in the more serious passages. Partaking as it does of the elements of both comedy and force, it is the prototype of Goldsmith's _She Stoops to Conquer_, whichit resembles in many respects. It will be remembered thatMiss Hardcastle compares herself to Cherry (Act III. ), andyoung Marlow and Hastings much resemble Archer andAimwell. Goldsmith was a great admirer of the works of hisfellow-countryman, especially _The Beaux-Stratagem_, and refersto them several times (Citizen of the World, letter 93; Historyof England, letter 16; Vicar of Wakefield, ch. 18), and in theLiterary Magazine for 1758 he drew up a curious poetical scalein which he classes the Restoration dramatists thus:--Congreve--Genius 15, Judgment 16, Learning 14, Versification 14;Vanbrugh--14, 15, 14, 10; Farquhar--15, 15, 10, io. UnlikeGoldsmith, unhappily, Farquhar's moral tone is not high;sensuality is confounded with love, ribaldry mistaken for witThe best that can be said of him that he contrasts favourablywith his contemporary dramatists; Virtue is not _always_uninteresting in his pages. He is free from their heartlessness, malignity, and cruelty. The plot of _The Beaux-Stratagem_ iscomparatively inoffensive, and the moral of the whole ishealthy. Although a wit rather than a thinker, Farquhar inthis play shows himself capable of serious feelings. It isremarkable how much Farquhar repeats himself. Hardly anallusion or idea occurs in this play that is not to be foundelsewhere in his works. In the Notes I have pointed out many ofthese coincidences. 

_The Characters_. This play has added several distinctoriginal personages to our stock of comedy characters, and itaffords an excellent and lifelike picture of a peculiar andperishing phase of the manners of the time, especially thoseobtaining in the country house, and the village inn frequentedby highwaymen. The sly, rascally landlord, Boniface (whohas given his name to the class), is said to have been drawnfrom life, and his portrait, we are told, was still to be seenat Lichfield in 1775. The inimitable 'brother Scrub, ' that'indispensable appendage to a country gentleman's kitchen'(Hazlitt), with his ignorance and shrewd eye to the mainchance, is likewise said to have been a well-known personagewho survived till 1759, one Thomas Bond, servant to SirTheophilus Biddulph; others say he died at Salisbury in 1744. Although Farquhar, like Goldsmith, undoubtedly drew hisincidents and personages from his own daily associations, there is probably no more truth in these surmises than inthe assertion (repeatedly made, though denied in his prefaceto _The Inconstant_) that Farquhar depicts himself in his youngheroes, his rollicking 'men about town, ' Roebuck, Mirabel, Wildair, Plume, Archer. Archer (copied by Hoadley inhis character of Ranger in _The Suspicious Husband_) is adecided improvement on his predecessors, and is the best ofall Farquhar's creations; he is assuredly the most brilliantfootman that ever was, eminently sociable and, with all hiseasy, rattling volubility, never forgetful of his self-respectand never indifferent to the wishes or welfare of others. AsHunt has pointed out, the characters of Archer and Aimwellimprove as the play progresses; they set out as mere intriguers, but prove in the end true gentlemen. They are sad rogues, nodoubt, but they have no bitter cynicism, no meanness; Aimwellrefuses to marry Dorinda under any deception. Theythoroughly good fellows at bottom, manly, accomplished hisspirited, eloquent, generous--the forerunners of Charles Surfor. Marriage retrieves them and turns them into respectable andadoring husbands. Though rattle-brained, much given togallantry, and somewhat lax in morality, they are not knavesor monsters; they do not inspire disgust. Even the lumpishblockhead, Squire Sullen--according to Macaulay a type ofthe main strength of the Tory party for half a century after theRevolution--contrasts favourably with his prototype Sir JohnBrute in Vanbrugh's _Provoked Wife_, He is a sodden sot, who always goes to bed drunk, but he is not a demon; he doesnot beat his wife in public; he observes common decencysomewhat. His wife is a witty, attractive, warm-heartedwoman, whose faults are transparent; the chief one being thatshe has made the fatal mistake of marrying for fortune andposition instead of for love. There is something pathetic in herposition which claims our sympathy. She is well contrasted withher sister-in-law, the sincere, though somewhat weakly drawn, Dorinda; whilst their mother-in-law, Lady Bountiful, famed forher charity, is an amusing and gracious figure, which has oftenbeen copied. Cherry, with her honest heart and her quicknessof perception, is also a distinct creation. Strange to say, theonly badly drawn character is Foigard, the unscrupulous IrishJesuit priest. Farquhar is fond of introducing an Irishman intoeach of his plays, but I cannot say that I think he is generallysuccessful; certainly not in this instance. They are mostlybroad caricatures, and speak an outlandish jargon, more likeWelsh than Irish, supposed to be the Ulster dialect: anythingmore unlike it would be difficult to conceive. The earlyconventional stage Irishman, tracing him from Captain. Macmorrisin Henry V. , through Ben Jonson's _Irish Masque_ and _NewInn_, Dekker's Bryan, Ford's Mayor of Cork, Shadwell'sO'Divelly (probably Farquhar's model for Foigard), is trulya wondrous savage, chiefly distinguished by his use of theexpletives 'Dear Joy!' and 'By Creesh!' This characternaturally rendered the play somewhat unpopular in Ireland, and its repulsiveness is unrelieved (as it is in the case ofTeague in _The Twin Rivals_) by a single touch of humour ornative comicality. It is an outrage. 

_The First Performance_. _The Beaux-Stratagem_ was firstperformed on Saturday, 8th March 1707, at the Theatre Royal(or, as it was sometimes called, the Queen's Theatre), situatedin the Haymarket, on the site afterwards occupied by HerMajesty's Theatre. It ran for ten nights only, owing tobenefits. The cast on that occasion was a strong one. RobertWilks (a brother-Irishman), who performed Archer, was theforemost actor of the day. He was Farquhar's lifelong friend, and appeared in all his plays, except _Love and a Bottle_ whichwas produced in London during Wilks's absence in Dublin. This actor's most famous part was 'Sir Harry Wildair' (_TheConstant Couple_), which our author drew on purpose for him, andwhich ran for fifty-two nights on its first appearance. Farquharhimself said that when the stage had the misfortune to loseWilks, 'Sir Harry Wildair' might go to the Jubilee! PegWoffington is said to have been his only rival in this part. Sullenwas the last original character undertaken by Verbruggen, aleading actor of the time. It was from Verbruggen's wife(probably the 'Mrs. V------' of Farquhar's letters) that the famousMrs. Oldfield received her earliest instructions in acting. Thelast-named lady was the original Mrs. Sullen. Her connectionwith Farquhar is very interesting and romantic. She residedwith her aunt, Mrs. Voss, who kept the Mitre Tavern in St, James's Market (between Jeryrm Street, Regent Street, and theHaymarket). One day, when she was aged sixteen, Farquhar, a smart young captain of twenty-two, happened to be diningthere, and he overheard her reading Beaumont and Fletcher's_Scornful Lady_ aloud behind the bar. When Farquhar, muchstruck by her musical delivery and expression, pressed her toresume her reading, the tall and graceful girl consented withhesitation and bashfulness; although she afterwards confessed, 'I longed to be at it, and only needed a decent entreaty. ' Thedramatist quickly acquainted Sir John Vanbrugh with thejewel he had thus accidentally found, and she obtained throughhim an engagement at the Theatre Royal as 'Candiope' inDryden's _Secret Love_. She soon became the fine lady of thestage, and was the original representative of no less thansixty-five characters. Pope disliked and satirised her severely;on the other hand, Cibber worshipped her. According to some, Farquhar fell violently in love with her, and she is the 'Penelope'of his letters; but although she often spoke of the happyhours she spent in his company, there appears to be no foundationfor this surmise. Bowen, a low comedian of considerable talent, afterwards accidentally killed by Quin theactor, was Foigard; and Scrub--originally written for ColleyCibber, who, however, preferred Gibbet--was represented byNorris, a capital comic actor, universally known as 'JubileeDicky' on account of his representation of 'Dicky' in _TheConstant Couple_. He had an odd, formal little figure, and a highsqueaking voice; if he came into a coffee-house and merelycalled 'Waiter!' everybody present felt inclined to laugh. Hehad previously appeared in Farquhar's four principal plays, asalso had Mills, who did Aimwell. Cibber tells us that theplay was better received at Drury Lane than at the Haymarket, as, owing to the larger size of the latter house, it was difficultto hear. 

_Later Stage History_. Originally brought out under thetitle _The Stratagem_ only, which it retained in the playbills till1787 (though printed with 'Beaux'), this play continued to bevery popular with the stage down to the dawn of the presentcentury; and many great actors and actresses appeared fromtime to time in its characters; In 1721 Quin acted inLincoln's Inn Fields as Squire Sullen. The part of Mrs. Sullenhas been undertaken by Mrs. Pritchard (1740 and 1761), PegWoffington (1742, along with Garrick as Archer for the firsttime, and Macklin as Scrub), Mrs. Abington (1774, 1785, 1798), Mrs. Barry (1778), Miss Farren (1779), Mrs. Jordan(1802), Mrs. C. Kemble (1810), Mrs. Davison (1818), and MissChester (1823, for Dibdin's benefit, with Liston as Scrub). Garrick's repeated performances of Archer, in light blue andsilver livery, were supremely good, more particularly in thescenes with Cherry, the picture scene with Mrs. Sullen, and whenhe delivers Lady Howd'ye's message. He generally acted withWeston, an inimitable Scrub; but at O'Brien's benefit at DruryLane, 10th April 1761, Garrick himself played Scrub to O'Brien'sArcher. On one occasion Garrick had refused Weston a loan ofmoney, and Weston not appearing at the greenroom, Garrickcame forward before the curtain and announced that he wouldhimself play Scrub, as Weston was ill. Weston, who was in thegallery with a sham bailiff, shouted out, 'I am here, but thebailiff won't let me come '; whereupon the audience insistedon Garrick's paying the loan and relieving the debtor so as toenable him to play Scrub! Other famous Scrubs were Shutes(1774), Quick (1778, 1785, 1798), Bannister, junior (1802, willC. Kemble as Aimwell), Dowton (1802), Liston (1810), Johnstone(1821), and Keeley (1828, with C. Kemble as Archesand Miss Foote as Cherry; it ran for twelve nights at CovenlGarden). Goldsmith is said to have expressed a desire to artthis part. On the occasion of Mrs. Abington's benefit (CovenlGarden, November 19, 1785), she took the part of Scrub for thatnight only, for a wager, it is said. Ladies were desired to sendtheir servants to retain seats by four o'clock, and the pit andboxes were laid together. She disgraced herself, acting thepart with her hair dressed for 'Lady Racket' in the afterpiece(_Three Hours After Marriage_). In April 1823 another femaleimpersonator of this part appeared--not very successfully--inMiss Clara Fisher, with Farren as Archer. This was in Dublin(Hawkins' Street), where the play was frequently performedabout 1821-1823. It was also the piece chosen for the re-openingof Smock Alley Theatre, Dublin, in 1759, when Mrs. Abingtonmade her first appearance on the Irish stage as Mrs. Sullen. 

Miss Pope (1774), Mrs. Martyn (1785, 1798), and Mrs. Gibbs (1819) were the principal exponents of Cherry. In 1819Emery did Gibbet. 

About 1810 the play was performed at the Royal Circusunder Elliston as a _ballet d'action_, in order to evade the PatentAct. Otherwise, neither this play nor any other of Farquhar'sseems ever to have been 'adapted' for the modern stage. In thepresent half-century _The Beaux-Stratagem_ has been but seldomperformed. It was acted in London in 1856. In February1878 Mr. Phelps gave it extremely well in the Annexe Theatreat the Westminster Aquarium. Lastly, William Farren, asArcher, revived it at the Imperial Theatre, on Monday, 22ndSeptember 1879, with great success, a new Prologue (spokenby Mrs. Stirling) being written for the occasion. There wereseveral matinees given in succession. The cast included Mr. Kyrle Bellew as Gibbet; Mr. Lionel Brough as Scrub; MissMarie Litton as Mrs. Sullen; Mrs. Stirling--one of her lastappearances--as Lady Bountiful; Dorinda, Miss Meyrick;Cherry, Miss Carlotta Addison; Gipsy, Miss Passinger;Aimwell, Mr. Edgar; Sir Charles Freeman, Mr. Denny;Sullen, Mr. Ryder; Foigard, Mr. Bannister; Boniface, Mr. Everill; Hounslow, Mr. Bunch; Bagshot, Mr. Leitch. TheEpilogue for this occasion was written by Mr. Clement Scott. I know not if the play has been acted since that date. 

_Bibliography_. The first edition was published in a smallquarto (78 pages) by Bernard Lintott, 'at the Cross-Keysnext Nando's Coffeehouse in Fleet Street' between the twoTemple gates. The British Museum Catalogue dates it 1707(the copy in my possession, however, bears no date), but it issupposed not to have been published till 1710, three yearsafter Farquhar's decease; whence some have erroneously datedhis death in that year. Lintott, on January 27, 1707, hadpaid the dramatist £30. In advance for this play, double whathe usually gave for a play. The same publisher issued thefirst complete edition of Farquhar's plays in an octavo volume, dedicated to John Eyre, with a quaint illustration prefixed toeach play (we reproduce that prefixed to _The Beaux-Stratagem_), introducing all the characters of the play, and a frontispiecerepresenting Farquhar being presented to Apollo by BenJonson. The general title-page is undated, but the title-pagesof the various plays bear the date 1711, and all bear Lintott'sname (sometimes alone, sometimes with others) save _Sir HarryWildair_, which is said to be printed by James Knapton. Somesay this volume did not appear till 1714. In 1760 Rivingtonpublished an edition of Farquhar which appears to be slightly'bowdlerised. ' At least two complete editions of his workswere published in Dublin; one, described as the seventh, intwo volumes small octavo, by Risk and Smith, in 1743 (includinga memoir, and _Love and Business_), in which the title-pagesof the various plays bear different dates, ranging from 1727to 1741, _The Beaux-Stratagem_ being described as the twelfthedition, and dated 1739; the other, charmingly printed byEwing in three 16mo volumes, dated 1775, with a vignetteportrait and other illustrations, and containing a life by ThomasWilkes. An Edinburgh edition of The _Beaux-Stratagem_, withlife, appeared in 1768, and an edition in German in 1782 by J. Leonhardi, under the title _Die Stutzerlist_. Separate editionsof the play also appeared in 1748, 1778, and 1824 (New York), and it is included in all the various collections of Englishplays, such as Bell's, Oxberry's, Inchbald's, Dibdin's, Cumberland's, etc. , and in the collected editions of Farquhar'sworks dated 1718, 1728, 1736, 1742, 1760, and 1772. The principalmodern editions of Farquhar are Leigh Hunt's (along withWycherley, Vanbrugh, and Congreve), and Ewald's (1892), intwo volumes large octavo. 

ADVERTISEMENT

The reader may find some faults in this play, which my illness prevented the amending of;but there is great amends made in the representation, which cannot be matched, no more thanthe friendly and indefatigable care of Mr. Wilks, to whom I chiefly owe the success of the play. GEORGE FARQUHAR. 

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

With names of the original actors and actresses. 

[Illustration: Dramatis1]

S C E N E. --Lichfield. 

PROLOGUE

_Spoken by Mr. Wilks_. 

WHEN strife disturbs, or sloth corrupts an age, Keen satire is the business of the stage. When the _Plain-Dealer_ writ, he lash'd those crimes, Which then infested most--the modish times:But now, when faction sleeps, and sloth is fled, And all our youth in active fields are bred;When through Great Britain's fair extensive round, The trumps of fame, the notes of UNION sound;When Anna's sceptre points the laws their course, And her example gives her precepts force: {10}There scarce is room for satire; all our laysMust be, or songs of triumph, or of praise. But as in grounds best cultivated, taresAnd poppies rise among the golden ears;Our product so, fit for the field or school, Must mix with nature's favourite plant--a fool:A weed that has to twenty summers ran, Shoots up in stalk, and vegetates to man. Simpling our author goes from field to field, And culls such fools as many diversion yield {20}And, thanks to Nature, there's no want of those, For rain or shine, the thriving coxcomb grows. Follies to-night we show ne'er lash'd before, Yet such as nature shows you every hour;Nor can the pictures give a just offence, For fools are made for jests to men of sense. 

THE BEAUX-STRATAGEM

ACT I. , SCENE I. 

_A Room in Bonifaces Inn_. _Enter Boniface running_. 

_Bon_. Chamberlain! maid! Cherry! daughter Cherry!all asleep? all dead?

_Enter Cherry running_. 

_Cher_. Here, here! why d'ye bawl so, father? d'ye thinkwe have no ears?

_Bon_. You deserve to have none, you young minx! Thecompany of the Warrington coach has stood in thehall this hour, and nobody to show them to theirchambers. 

_Cher_. And let 'em wait farther; there's neither red-coatin the coach, nor footman behind it. {10}

_Bon_. But they threaten to go to another inn to-night. 

_Cher_. That they dare not, for fear the coachman shouldoverturn them to-morrow. --Coming! coming!--Here's the London coach arrived. 

_Enter several people with trunks, bandboxes, and otherluggage, and cross the stage_. 

_Bon_. Welcome, ladies!

_Cher_. Very welcome, gentlemen!--Chamberlain, showthe _Lion and the Rose_. [_Exit with the company_. 

_Enter Aimwell in a riding-habit, and Archeras footman, carrying a portmantle_. 

_Bon_. This way, this way, gentlemen!

_Aim_. [_To Archer_. ] Set down the things; go to thestable, and see my horses well rubbed. {20}

_Arch_. I shall, sir. [_Exit_. 

_Aim_. You're my landlord, I suppose?

_Bon_. Yes, sir, I 'm old Will Boniface, pretty well knownupon this road, as the saying is. 

_Aim_. O Mr. Boniface, your servant!

_Bon_. O sir!--What will your honour please to drink, asthe saying is?

_Aim_. I have heard your town of Lichfield much famedfor ale; I think I 'll taste that. {29}

_Bon_. Sir, I have now in my cellar ten tun of the best alein Staffordshire; 'tis smooth as oil, sweet as milk, clear as amber, and strong as brandy; and will bejust fourteen year old the fifth day of next March, old style. 

_Aim_. You're very exact, I find, in the age of your ale. 

_Bon_. As punctual, sir, as I am in the age of my children. I'll show you such ale!--Here, tapster [_EnterTapster_] broach number 1706, as the saying is. --Sir, you shall taste my _Anno Domini_. --I have livedin Lichfield, man and boy, above eight-and-fiftyyears, and, I believe, have not consumed eight-and-fiftyounces of meat. {42}

_Aim_. At a meal, you mean, if one may guess your senseby your bulk. 

_Bon_. Not in my life, sir: I have fed purely upon ale; Ihave eat my ale, drank my ale, and I always sleepupon ale. 

_Enter Tapster with a bottle and glass, and exit_. 

Now, sir, you shall see!--[_Fitting out a glass_. ]Your worship's health. --[_Drinks_. ] Ha! delicious, delicious! fancy it burgundy, only fancy it, and 'tisworth ten shillings a quart. {51}

_Aim_. [Drinks, ] 'Tis confounded strong!

_Bon_. Strong! it must be so, or how should we be strongthat drink it?

_Aim_. And have you lived so long upon this ale, landlord?

_Bon_. Eight-and-fifty years, upon my credit, sir--but itkilled my wife, poor woman, as the saying is. 

_Aim_. How came that to pass?

_Bon_. I don't know how, sir; she would not let the aletake its natural course, sir; she was for qualifyingit every now and then with a dram, as the sayingis; and an honest gentleman that came this wayfrom Ireland, made her a present of a dozen bottlesof usquebaugh--but the poor woman was neverwell after: but, howe'er, I was obliged to thegentleman, you know. {66}

_Aim_. Why, was it the usquebaugh that killed her?

_Bon_. My Lady Bountiful said so. She, good lady, didwhat could be done; she cured her of threetympanies, but the fourth carried her off. Butshe's happy, and I 'm contented, as the saying is. 

_Aim_. Who 's that Lady Bountiful you mentioned?

_Bon_. 'Ods my life, sir, we'll drink her health. --[Drinks. ]My Lady Bountiful is one of the best of women. Her last husband, Sir Charles Bountiful, left herworth a thousand pound, a year; and, I believe, she lays out one-half on't in charitable uses for thegood of her neighbours. She cures rheumatisms, ruptures, and broken shins in men; green-sickness, obstructions, and fits of the mother, in women; theking's evil, chincough, and chilblains, in children:in short, she has cured more people in and aboutLichfield within ten years than the doctors havekilled in twenty; and that's a bold word. {84}

_Aim_. Has the lady been any other way useful in hergeneration?

_Bon_. Yes, sir; she has a daughter by Sir Charles, thefinest woman in all our country, and the greatest_fortune_. She has a son too, by her first husband, Squire Sullen, who married a fine lady from Londont' other day; if you please, sir, we 'll drink his health. 

_Aim_. What sort of a man is he? {92}

_Bon_. Why, sir, the man 's well enough; says little, thinksless, and does--nothing at all, faith. But he's aman of a great estate, and values nobody. 

_Aim_. A sportsman, I suppose?

_Bon_. Yes, sir, he's a man of pleasure; he plays atwhisk and smokes his pipe eight-and-forty hourstogether sometimes. 

_Aim_. And married, you say? {100}

_Bon_. Ay, and to a curious woman, sir. But he's a--hewants it here, sir. [_Pointing to his forehead_. 

_Aim_. He has it there, you mean?

_Bon_. That's none of my business; he's my landlord, and so a man, you know, would not--But--ecod, he'sno better than--Sir, my humble service to you. --[_Drinks_. ] Though I value not a farthing what hecan do to me; I pay him his rent at quarter-day;I have a good running-trade; I have but onedaughter, and I can give her--but no matter forthat. {111}

_Aim_. You're very happy, Mr. Boniface. Pray, whatother company have you in town?

_Bon_. A power of fine ladies; and then we have theFrench officers. 

_Aim_. Oh, that's right, you have a good many of thosegentlemen: pray, how do you like their company?

_Bon_. So well, as the saying is, that I could wish we hadas many more of'em; they're full of money, and paydouble for everything they have. They know, sir, that we paid good round taxes for the taking of 'em, and so they are willing to reimburse us a little. One of 'em lodges in my house. {123}

_Re-enter Archer_. 

_Arch_. Landlord, there are some French gentlemenbelow that ask for you. 

_Bon_. I'll wait on 'em. --[_Aside to Archer_. ] Does yourmaster stay long in town, as the saying is?

_Arch_. I can't tell, as the saying is. 

_Bon_. Come from London?

_Arch_. No. {130}

_Bon_. Going to London, mayhap?

_Arch_. No. 

_Bon_. [_Aside_. ] An odd fellow this. --[_To Aimwell_. ] I begyour worship's pardon, I 'll wait on you in half aminute. [_Exit_. 

_Aim_. The coast's clear, I see. --Now, my dear Archer, welcome to Lichfield!

_Arch_. I thank thee, my dear brother in iniquity. 

_Aim_. Iniquity! prithee, leave canting; you need notchange your style with your dress. {140}

_Arch_. Don't mistake me, Aimwell, for 'tis still mymaxim, that there is no scandal like rags, nor anycrime so shameful as poverty. 

_Aim_. The world confesses it every day in its practicethough men won't own it for their opinion. Whodid that worthy lord my brother, single out of theside-box to sup with him t' other night?

_Arch_. Jack Handicraft, a handsome, well-dressed, mannerly, sharping rogue, who keeps the best companyin town. {150}

_Aim_. Right!' And, pray, who married my ladyManslaughter t'other day, the great fortune?

_Arch_. Why, Nick Marrabone, a professed pickpocket, and a good bowler; but he makes a handsomefigure, and rides in his coach, that he formerly usedto ride behind. 

 _Aim_. But did you observe poor Jack Generous in thePark last week. 

_Arch_. Yes, with his autumnal periwig, shading hismelancholy face, his coat older than anything butits fashion, with one hand idle in his pocket, andwith the other picking his useless teeth; and, thoughthe Mall was crowded with company, yet was poorJack as single and solitary as a lion in a desert. 

_Aim_. And as much avoided for no crime upon earthbut the want of money. {166}

_Arch_. And that's enough. Men must not be poor;idleness is the root of all evil; the world's wideenough, let 'em bustle. Fortune has taken the weakunder her protection, but men of sense are left totheir industry. {171}

_Aim_. Upon which topic we proceed, and, I think, luckilyhitherto. Would not any man swear now, that I ama man of quality, and you my servant, when if ourintrinsic value were known--

_Arch_. Come, come, we are the men of intrinsic valuewho can strike our fortunes out of ourselves, whoseworth is independent of accidents in life, or revolutionsin government: we have heads to get moneyand hearts to spend it. {180}

_Aim_. As to pur hearts, I grant ye, they are as willingtits as any within twenty degrees: but I can haveno great opinion of our heads from the service theyhave done us hitherto, unless it be that they havebrought us from London hither to Lichfield, mademe a lord and you my servant. 

_Arch_. That 's more than you could expect already. Butwhat money have we left?

_Aim_. But two hundred pound. {189}

_Arch_. And our horses, clothes, rings, etc. --Why, wehave very good fortunes now for moderate people;and, let me tell you, that this two hundred pound, with the experience that we are now masters of, isa better estate than the ten we have spent--Ourfriends, indeed, began to suspect that our pocketswere low, but we came off with flying colours, showed no signs of want either in word or deed. 

_Aim_. Ay, and our going to Brussels was a good pretenceenough for our sudden disappearing; and, Iwarrant you, our friends imagine that we are gonea-volunteering. {201}

_Arch_. Why, faith, if this prospect fails, it muste'en come to that I am for venturing one of thehundreds, if you will, upon this knight-errantry; but, in case it should fail, we 'll reserve t' other to carryus to some counterscarp, where we may die, as welived, in a blaze. 

_Aim_. With all my heart; and we have lived justly, Archer: we can't say that we have spent our fortunes, but that we have enjoyed 'em. {210}

_Arch_. Right! so much pleasure for so much money. We have had our pennyworths; and, had I millions, I would go to the same market again. --O London!London!--Well, we have had our share, and letus be thankful: past pleasures, for aught I know, are best, such as we are sure of; those to comemay disappoint us. {217}

_Aim_. It has often grieved the heart of me to see howsome inhuman wretches murder their kind fortunes;those that, by sacrificing all to one appetite, shallstarve all the rest. You shall have some that liveonly in their palates, and in their sense of tastingshall drown the other four: others are only epicuresin appearances, such who shall starve their nightsto make a figure a days, and famish their own to feedthe eyes of others: a contrary sort confine theirpleasures to the dark, and contract their speciousacres to the circuit of a muff-string. {228}

_Arch_. Right! But they find the Indies in that spotwhere they consume 'em, and I think your kindkeepers have much the best on't: for they indulgethe most senses by one expense, there's the seeing, hearing, and feeling, amply gratified; and, somephilosophers will tell you, that from such acommerce there arises a sixth sense, that givesinfinitely more pleasure than the other five puttogether, {237}

_Aim_. And to pass to the other extremity, of all keepers Ithink those the worst that keep their money. 

_Arch_. Those are the most miserable wights in being, they destroy the rights of nature, and disappointthe blessings of Providence. Give me a man thatkeeps his five senses keen and bright as his sword, that has 'em always drawn out in their just order andstrength, with his reason as commander at the headof 'em, that detaches 'em by turns upon whateverparty of pleasure agreeably offers, and commands 'emto retreat upon the least appearance of disadvantageor danger! For my part, I can stick to my bottlewhile my wine, my company, and my reason, holdgood; I can be charmed with Sappho's singingwithout falling in love with her face: I love hunting, but would not, like Actæon, be eaten up by my owndogs; I love a fine house, but let another keep it;and just so I love a fine woman. {255}

_Aim_. In that last particular you have the better of me. 

_Arch_. Ay, you're such an amorous puppy, that I'mafraid you 'll spoil our sport; you can't counterfeitthe passion without feeling it. 

_Aim_. Though the whining part be out of doors in town, 'tis still in force with the country ladies: and let metell you, Frank, the fool in that passion shall-outdothe knave at any time. 

_Arch_. Well, I won't dispute it now; you command forthe day, and so I submit: at Nottingham, youknow, I am to be master. {266}

_Aim_. And at Lincoln, I again. 

_Arch_. Then, at Norwich I mount, which, I think, shallbe our last stage; for, if we fail there, we'll embarkfor Holland, bid adieu to Venus, and welcomeMars. 

_Aim_. A match!--Mum!

_Re-enter Boniface_. 

_Bon_. What will your worship please to have for supper?

_Aim_. What have you got?

_Bon_. Sir, we have a delicate piece of beef in the pot, and a pig at the fire. 

_Aim_. Good supper-meat, I must confess. I can't eatbeef, landlord. {278}

_Arch_. And I hate pig. 

_Aim_. Hold your prating, sirrah! do you know who youare?

_Bon_. Please to bespeak something else; I have everythingin the house. 

_Aim_. Have you any veal?

_Bon_. Veal! sir, we had a delicate loin of veal onWednesday last. 

_Aim_. Have you got any fish or wildfowl? {287}

_Bon_. As for fish, truly, sir, we are an inland town, andindifferently provided with fish, that 's the truth on't;and then for wildfowl--we have a delicate couple ofrabbits. {291}

_Aim_. Get me the rabbits fricasseed. 

_Bon_. Fricasseed! Lard, sir, they 'll eat much bettersmothered with onions. 

_Arch_. Psha! Damn your onions!

_Aim_. Again, sirrah!--Well, landlord, what you please. But hold, I have a small charge of money, and yourhouse is so full of strangers that I believe it maybe safer in your custody than mine; for when thisfellow of mine gets drunk he tends to nothing. --Here, sirrah, reach me the strong-box. {301}

_Arch_. Yes, sir. --[_Aside_. ] This will give us a reputation. 

[_Brings Aimwell the box_. 

_Aim_. Here, landlord; the locks are sealed down bothfor your security and mine; it holds somewhatabove two hundred pound: if you doubt it I'llcount it to you after supper; but be sure you lay itwhere I may have it at a minute's warning; for myaffairs are a little dubious at present; perhaps Imay be gone in half an hour, perhaps I may beyour guest till the best part of that be spent; andpray order your ostler to keep my horses alwayssaddled. But one thing above the rest I must beg, that you would let this fellow have none of your_Anno Domini_, as you call it; for he's the mostinsufferable sot--Here, sirrah, light me to my chamber. 

[_Exit, lighted by Archer_. 

_Bon_. Cherry! daughter Cherry! {315}

_Re-enter Cherry_. 

_Cher_. D'ye call, father?

_Bon_. Ay, child, you must lay by this box for thegentleman: 'tis full of money. 

_Cher_. Money! all that money! why, sure, father, thegentleman comes to be chosen parliament-man. Who is he? {321}

_Bon_. I don't know what to make of him; he talks ofkeeping his horses ready saddled, and of goingperhaps at a minute's warning, or of staying perhapstill the best part of this be spent. 

_Cher_. Ay, ten to one, father, he's a highwayman. 

_Bon_. A highwayman! upon my life, girl, you have hit it, and this box is some new-purchased booty. Now, could we find him out, the money were ours. 

_Cher_. He don't belong to our gang. {330}

_Bon_. What horses have they?

_Cher_. The master rides upon a black. 

_Bon_. A black! ten to one the man upon the blackmare; and since he don't belong to our fraternity, we may betray him with a safe conscience: I don'tthink it lawful to harbour any rogues but my own. Look'ee, child, as the saying is, we must gocunningly to work, proofs we must have; thegentleman's servant loves drink, I'll ply him thatway, and ten to one loves a wench: you must workhim t' other way. {341}

_Cher_. Father, would you have me give my secret forhis?

_Bon_. Consider, child, there's two hundred pound toboot. --[_Ringing without_. ] Coming! coming!--Child, mind your business. [_Exit_. 

_Cher_. What a rogue is my father! My father! I denyit. My mother was a good, generous, free-heartedwoman, and I can't tell how far her good naturemight have extended for the good of her children. This landlord of mine, for I think I can call himno more, would betray his guest, and debauch hisdaughter into the bargain--by a footman too!

_Re-enter Archer_. 

_Arch_. What footman, pray, mistress, is so happy as tobe the subject of your contemplation? {355}

_Cher_. Whoever he is, friend, he'll be but little thebetter for't. 

_Arch_. I hope so, for, I 'm sure, you did not think of me. 

_Cher_. Suppose I had?

_Arch_. Why, then, you 're but even with me; for theminute I came in, I was a-considering in whatmanner I should make love to you. 

_Cher_. Love to me, friend!

_Arch_. Yes, child. {364}

_Cher_. Child! manners!--If you kept a little moredistance, friend, it would become you much better. 

_Arch_. Distance! good-night, sauce-box. [_Going_. 

_Cher_. [_Aside_. ] A pretty fellow! I like his pride. --[_Aloud_. ] Sir, pray, sir, you see, sir [_Archer returns_]I have the credit to be entrusted with your master'sfortune here, which sets me a degree above hisfootman; I hope, sir, you an't affronted? {372}

_Arch_. Let me look you full in the face, and I 'll tell youwhether you can affront me or no. 'Sdeath, child, you have a pair of delicate eyes, and you don'tknow what to do with 'em!

_Cher_. Why, sir, don't I see everybody?

_Arch_. Ay, but if some women had 'em, they would killeverybody. Prithee, instruct me, I would fain makelove to you, but I don't know what to say. {380}

_Cher_. Why, did you never make love to anybodybefore?

_Arch_. Never to a person of your figure I can assureyou, madam: my addresses have been always confinedto people within my own sphere, I neveraspired so high before. [_Sings_. 

 But you look so bright, And are dress'd so tight, That a man would swear you 're right, As arm was e'er laid over. {390}

 Such an air You freely wear To ensnare, As makes each guest a lover!

 Since then, my dear, I 'm your guest, Prithee give me of the best Of what is ready drest: Since then, my dear, etc. 

_Cher_. [_Aside_. ] What can I think of this man?--[_Aloud_. ]Will you give me that song, sir? {400}

_Arch_. Ay, my dear, take it while 'tis warm. --[_Kissesher_. ] Death and fire! her lips are honeycombs. 

_Cher_. And I wish there had been bees too, to havestung you for your impudence. 

_Arch_. There 's a swarm of Cupids, my little Venus, thathas done the business much better. 

_Cher_. [_Aside_. ] This fellow is misbegotten as well as I. --[Aloud. ] What's your name, sir?

_Arch_. [_Aside_. ] Name! egad, I have forgot it. --[_Aloud_. ]Oh! Martin. {410}

_Cher_. Where were you born?

_Arch_. In St Martin's parish. 

_Cher_. What was your father?

_Arch_. St. Martin's parish. 

_Cher_. Then, friend, good-night

_Arch_. I hope not. 

_Cher_. You may depend upon't

_Arch_. Upon what?

_Cher_. That you're very impudent. 

_Arch_. That you 're very handsome. {420}

_Cher_. That you're a footman. 

_Arch_. That you're an angel. 

_Cher_. I shall be rude. 

_Arch_. So shall I. 

_Cher_. Let go my hand. 

_Arch_. Give me a kiss. [_Kisses her_. 

[_Call without_. ] Cherry! Cherry!

_Cher_. I'm--my father calls; you plaguy devil, howdurst you stop my breath so? Offer to follow meone step, if you dare. [_Exit_. 

_Arch_. A fair challenge, by this light! this is a prettyfair opening of an adventure; but we are knight-errants, and so Fortune be our guide. [_Exit_. 

ACT II. , SCENE I. 

_A Gallery in Lady Bountifuls House_. _Enter Mrs. Sullen and Dorinda, meeting_. 

_Dor_. Morrow, my dear sister; are you for church thismorning?

_Mrs. Sul_. Anywhere to pray; for Heaven alone canhelp me. But I think, Dorinda, there's no form ofprayer in the liturgy against bad husbands:

_Dor_. But there's a form of law in Doctors-Commonand I swear, sister Sullen, rather than see you thiscontinually discontented, I would advise youapply to that: for besides the part that I bearyour vexatious broils, as being sister to the husbandand friend to the wife, your example gives me suchan impression of matrimony, that I shall be aptcondemn my person to a long vacation all its lifeBut supposing, madam, that you brought it tocase of separation, what can you urge against yourhusband? My brother is, first, the most constantman alive. 

_Mrs. Sul_. The most constant husband, I grant ye. 

_Dor_. He never sleeps from you. 

_Mrs. Sul_. No, he always sleeps with me. {20}

_Dor_. He allows you a maintenance suitable to yourquality. 

_Mrs. Sul_. A maintenance! do you take me, madam, foran hospital child, that I must sit down, and blessmy benefactors for meat, drink, and clothes? AsI take it, madam, I brought your brother tenthousand pounds, out of which I might expect somepretty things, called pleasures. 

_Dor_. You share in all the pleasures that the countryaffords. {30}

_Mrs. Sul_. Country pleasures! racks and torments!Dost think, child, that my limbs were made forleaping of ditches, and clambering over stiles? orthat my parents, wisely foreseeing my futurehappiness in country pleasures, had early instructedme in rural accomplishments of drinking fat ale, playing at whisk, and smoking tobacco with myhusband? or of spreading of plasters, brewing ofdiet-drinks, and stilling rosemary-water, with thegood old gentlewoman my mother-in-law? {40}

_Dor_. I'm sorry, madam, that it is not more in ourpower to divert you; I could wish, indeed, that ourentertainments were a little more polite, or yourtaste a little less refined. But, pray, madam, howcame the poets and philosophers, that laboured somuch in hunting after pleasure, to place it at last ina country life? {47}

_Mrs. Sul_. Because they wanted money, child, to findout the pleasures of the town. Did you ever see apoet or philosopher worth ten thousand pounds?if you can show me such a man, I 'll lay you fiftypounds you'll find him somewhere within theweekly bills. Not that I disapprove rural pleasures, as the poets have painted them; in their landscape, every Phillis has her Corydon, every murmuringstream, and every flowery mead, gives fresh alarmsto love. Besides, you'll find, that their coupleswere never married:--but yonder I see my Corydon, and a sweet swain it is, Heaven knows!Come, Dorinda, don't be angry, he's my husband, and your brother; and, between both, is he not asad brute? {62}

_Dor_. I have nothing to say to your part of him, you 'rethe best judge. 

_Mrs. Sul_. O sister, sister! if ever you marry, beware ofa sullen, silent sot, one that's always musing, butnever thinks. There's some diversion in a talkingblockhead; and since a woman must wear chains, I would have the pleasure of hearing 'em rattle alittle. Now you shall see, but take this by the way. He came home this morning at his usual hour offour, wakened me out of a sweet dream of somethingelse, by tumbling over the tea-table, which hebroke all to pieces; after his man and he hadrolled about the room, like sick passengers in astorm, he comes flounce into bed, dead as a salmoninto a fishmonger's basket; his feet cold as ice, hisbreath hot as a furnace, and his hands and his faceas greasy as his flannel night-cap. O matrimony!He tosses up the clothes with a barbarous swingover his shoulders, disorders the whole economy ofmy bed, leaves me half naked, and my whole night's comfort is the tuneable serenade of that wakefulnightingale, his nose! Oh, the pleasure of countingthe melancholy clock by a snoring husband! Butnow, sister, you shall see how handsomely, being awell-bred man, he will beg my pardon. {87}

_Enter Squire Sullen_. 

_Squire Sul_. My head aches consumedly. 

_Mrs. Sul_. Will you be pleased, my dear, to drink teawith us this morning? it may do your head good. 

_Squire Sul_. No. 

_Dor_. Coffee, brother?

_Squire Sul_. Psha!

_Mrs. Sul_. Will you please to dress, and go to churchwith me? the air may help you. 

_Squire Sul_. Scrub! [_Calls_. 

_Enter Scrub_. 

_Scrub_. Sir!

_Squire Sul_. What day o' th' week is this?

_Scrub_. Sunday, an't please your worship. {99}

_Squire Sul_. Sunday! bring me a dram; and d'ye hear, set out the venison-pasty, and a tankard of strongbeer upon the hall-table, I 'll go to breakfast[_Going_. 

_Dor_. Stay, stay, brother, you shan't get off so; youwere very naught last night, and must make yourwife reparation; come, come, brother, won't youask pardon?

_Squire Sul_. For what?

_Dor_. For being drunk last night. 

_Squire Sul_. I can afford it, can't I? {109}

_Mrs. Sul_. But I can't, sir. 

_Squire Sul_. Then you may let it alone. 

_Mrs. Sul_. But I must tell you, sir, that this is not to beborne. 

_Squire Sul_. I 'm glad on't. 

_Mrs. Sul_. What is the reason, sir, that you use me thusinhumanly?

_Squire Sul_. Scrub!

_Scrub_. Sir! {118}

_Squire Sul_. Get things ready to shave my head. [_Exit_. 

_Mrs. Sul_. Have a care of coming near his temples, Scrub, for fear you meet something there that mayturn the edge of your razor. --[_Exit Scrub_. ] Inveteratestupidity I did you ever know so hard, soobstinate a spleen as his? O sister, sister! I shallnever ha' good of the beast till I get him to town;London, dear London, is the place for managingand breaking a husband. 

_Dor_. And has not a husband the same opportunitiesthere for humbling a wife? {129}

_Mrs. Sul_. No, no, child, 'tis a standing maxim inconjugal discipline, that when a man would enslave hiswife, he hurries her into the country; and whena lady would be arbitrary with her husband, shewheedles her booby up to town. A man dare not playthe tyrant in London, because there are so manyexamples to encourage the subject to rebel. ODorinda! Dorinda! a fine woman may do anythingin London: o' my conscience, she may raise anarmy of forty thousand men. {139}

_Dor_. I fancy, sister, you have a mind to be trying yourpower that way here in Lichfield; you have drawnthe French count to your colours already. 

_Mrs. Sul_. The French are a people that can't livewithout their gallantries. 

_Dor_. And some English that I know, sister, are notaverse to such amusements. 

_Mrs. Sul_. Well, sister, since the truth must out, it maydo as well now as hereafter; I think, one way torouse my lethargic, sottish husband, is to give hima rival: security begets negligence in all people, and men must be alarmed to make 'em alert-in theirduty. Women are like pictures, of no value in thehands of a fool, till he hears men of sense bid highfor the purchase. 

_Dor_. This might do, sister, if my brother's understandingwere to be convinced into a passion for you; but, I fancy, there's a natural aversion on his side; andI fancy, sister, that you don't come much behindhim, if you dealt fairly. {159}

_Mrs. Sul_. I own it, we are united contradictions, fireand water: but I could be contented, with a greatmany other wives, to humour the censorious mob, and give the world an appearance of living well withmy husband, could I bring him but to dissemble alittle kindness to keep me in countenance. 

_Dor_. But how do you know, sister, but that, instead ofrousing your husband by this artifice to a counterfeitkindness, he should awake in a real fury?

_Mrs. Sul_. Let him: if I can't entice him to the one, Iwould provoke him to the other. {170}

_Dor_. But how must I behave myself between ye?

_Mrs. Sul_. You must assist me. 

_Dor_. What, against my own brother?

_Mrs. Sul_. He's but half a brother, and I 'm your entirefriend. If I go a step beyond the bounds of honour, leave me; till then, I expect you should go along withme in everything; while I trust my honour in yourhands, you may trust your brother's in mine. Thecount is to dine here to-day. 

_Dor_. 'Tis a strange thing, sister, that I can't like thatman. {181}

_Mrs. Sul_. You like nothing; your time is not come;Love and Death have their fatalities, and strike homeone time or other: you 'll pay for all one day, Iwarrant ye. But come, my lady's tea is ready, and'tis almost church time. [_Exeunt_. 

ACT II. , SCENE II. 

_A Room in Boniface's Inn_. _Enter Aimwell dressed, and Archer_. 

_Aim_. And was she the daughter of the house?

_Arch_. The landlord is so blind as to think so; but Idare swear she has better blood in her veins. 

_Aim_. Why dost think so?

_Arch_. Because the baggage has a pert _je ne sais quoi_;she reads plays, keeps a monkey, and is troubledwith vapours. 

_Aim_. By which discoveries I guess that you know moreof _Cher_. 

_Arch_. Not yet, faith; the lady gives herself airs;forsooth, nothing under a gentleman!

_Aim_. Let me take her in hand. 

_Arch_. Say one word more of that, and I'll declaremyself, spoil your sport there, and everywhere else;look ye, Aim well, every man in his own sphere. 

_Aim_. Right; and therefore you must pimp for yourmaster. 

_Arch_. In the usual forms, good sir, after I have servedmyself. --But to our business. You are so welldressed, Tom, and make so handsome a figure, thatI fancy you may do execution in a country church;the exterior part strikes first, and you're in theright to make that impression favourable. {23}

_Aim_. There's something in that which may turn toadvantage. The appearance of a stranger in acountry church draws as many gazers as a blazing-star;no sooner he comes into the cathedral, but atrain of whispers runs buzzing round the congregationin a moment: _Who is he? Whence comes he?Do you know him?_Then I, sir, tips me the vergerwith half-a-crown; he pockets the simony, andinducts me into the best pew in the church; I pullout my snuff-box, turn myself round, bow to thebishop, or the dean, if he be the commanding-officer;single out a beauty, rivet both my eyesto hers, set my nose a-bleeding by the strength ofimagination, and show the whole church my concern, by my endeavouring to hide it; after thesermon, the whole town gives me to her for a lover, and by persuading the lady that I am a-dying forher, the tables are turned, and she in good earnestfalls in love with me. {42}

_Arch_. There's nothing in this, Tom, without a precedent;but instead of riveting your eyes to abeauty, try to fix 'em upon a fortune; that's ourbusiness at present. 

_Aim_. Psha! no woman can be a beauty without afortune. Let me alone, for I am a marksman. 

_Arch_. Tom!

_Aim_. Ay. {50}

_Arch_. When were you at church before, pray?

_Aim_. Um--I was there at the coronation. 

_Arch_. And how can you expect a blessing by going tochurch now?

_Aim_. Blessing! nay, Frank, I ask but for a wife. [_Exit_. 

_Arch_. Truly, the man is not very unreasonable in hisdemands. [_Exit at the opposite door_. 

_Enter Boniface and Cherry_. 

_Bon_. Well, daughter, as the saying is, have you broughtMartin to confess? {59}

_Cher_. Pray, father, don't put me upon getting anythingout of a man; I 'm but young, you know, father, and I don't understand wheedling. 

_Bon_. Young! why, you jade, as the saying is, can anywoman wheedle that is not young? your motherwas useless at five-and-twenty. Not wheedle!would you make your mother a whore, and me acuckold, as the saying is? I tell you, his silenceconfesses it, and his master spends his money sofreely, and is so much a gentleman every manner ofway, that he must be a highwayman. {70}

_Enter Gibbet, in a cloak_. 

_Gib_. Landlord, landlord, is the coast clear?

_Bon_. O Mr. Gibbet, what 's the news?

_Gib_. No matter, ask no questions, all fair andhonourable. --Here, my dear Cherry. --[_Gives her a bag_. ]Two hundred sterling pounds, as good as any thatever hanged or saved a rogue; lay 'em by with therest; and here-three wedding or mourning rings, 'tis much the same you know-here, two silver-hiltedswords; I took those from fellows that nevershow any part of their swords but the hilts-hereis a diamond necklace which the lady hid in theprivatest place in the coach, but I found it out--this gold watch I took from a pawnbroker's wife; itwas left in her hands by a person of quality: there'sthe arms upon the case. 

_Cher_. But who had you the money from? {86}

_Gib_. Ah! poor woman! I pitied her;-from a poorlady just eloped from her husband. She had madeup her cargo, and was bound for Ireland, as hardas she could drive; she told me of her husband'sbarbarous usage, and so I left her half-a-crown. But I had almost forgot, my dear Cherry, I have apresent for you. 

_Cher_. What is 't?

_Gib_. A pot of ceruse, my child, that I took out of alady's under-pocket. 

_Cher_. What, Mr. Gibbet, do you think that I paint?

_Gib_. Why, you jade, your betters do; I 'm sure the ladythat I took it from had a coronet upon her handkerchief. Here, take my cloak, and go, secure thepremises. {101}

_Cher_. I will secure 'em. [_Exit_. 

_Bon_. But, hark'ee, where's Hounslow and Bagshot?

_Gib_. They'll be here to-night. 

_Bon_. D' ye know of any other gentlemen o' the pad onthis road?

_Gib_. No. 

_Bon_. I fancy that I have two that lodge in the housejust now. 

_Gib_. The devil! how d'ye smoke 'em? {110}

_Bon_. Why, the one is gone to church. 

_Gib_. That's suspicious, I must confess. 

_Bon_. And the other is now in his master's chamber; hepretends to be servant to the other; we 'll call himout and pump him a little. 

_Gib_. With all my heart. 

_Bon_. Mr. Martin! Mr. Martin! [_Calls_. 

_Enter Archer, combing a periwig and singing_. 

_Gib_. The roads are consumed deep, I'm as dirty as OldBrentford at Christmas. --A good pretty fellowthat; whose servant are you, friend? {120}

_Arch_. My master's. 

_Gib_. Really!

_Arch_. Really. 

_Gib_. That 's much. --The fellow has been at the bar byhis evasions. --But, pray, sir, what is your master'sname?

_Arch_. _Tall, all, dall!_--[_Sings and combs the periwig. _]This is the most obstinate curl--

_Gib_. I ask you his name?

_Arch_. Name, sir--_tall, all, doll!_--I never asked himhis name in my life. --_Tall, all, doll!_ {131}

_Bon_. What think you now? [Aside to Gibbet. 

_Gib_. [_Aside to Boniface_. ] Plain, plain, he talks now asif he were before a judge. --[_To Archer_. ] But pray, friend, which way does your master travel?

_Arch_. A-horseback. 

_Gib_. [_Aside_. ] Very well again, an old offender, right--

[_To Archer_. ] But, I mean, does he go upwards ordownwards?

_Arch_. Downwards, I fear, sir. --_Tall, all!_ {140}

_Gib_. I 'm afraid my fate will be a contrary way. 

_Bon_. Ha! ha! ha! Mr. Martin, you 're very arch. This gentleman is only travelling towards Chester, and would be glad of your company, that's all. --Come, captain, you'll stay to-night, I suppose?I'll show you a chamber--come, captain. 

_Gib_. Farewell, friend!

_Arch_. Captain, your servant. --[_Exeunt Boniface andGibbet. _] Captain! a pretty fellow! 'Sdeath, Iwonder that the officers of the army don't conspireto beat all scoundrels in red but their own. {151}

_Re-enter Cherry_. 

_Cher_. [_Aside_. ] Gone, and Martin here! I hope he didnot listen; I would have the merit of the discoveryall my own, because I would oblige him to love me. --[_Aloud_] Mr. Martin, who was that man with myfather?

_Arch_. Some recruiting Serjeant, or whipped-out trooper, I suppose. 

_Cher_. All's safe, I find. [_Aside_

_Arch_. Come, my dear, have you conned over thecatechise I taught you last night? {161}

_Cher_. Come, question me. 

_Arch_. What is love?

_Cher_. Love is I know not what, it comes I know nothow, and goes I know not when. 

_Arch_. Very well, an apt scholar. --[_Chucks her under thechin_. ] Where does love enter?

_Cher_. Into the eyes. 

_Arch_. And where go out?

_Cher_. I won't tell ye. {170}

_Arch_. What are the objects of that passion?

_Cher_. Youth, beauty, and clean linen. 

_Arch_. The reason?

_Cher_. The two first are fashionable in nature, and thethird at court. 

_Arch_. That's my dear. --What are the signs and tokensof that passion?

_Cher_. A stealing look, a stammering tongue, wordsimprobable, designs impossible, and actions impracticable. {180}_Arch_. That's my good child, kiss me. ---What must alover do to obtain his mistress?

_Cher_. He must adore the person that disdains him, he must bribe the chambermaid that betrays him, and court the footman that laughs at him. Hemust--he must--

_Arch_. Nay, child, I must whip you if you don't mindyour lesson; he must treat his-- {188}

_Cher_. Oh ay!--he must treat his enemies with respect, his friends with indifference, and all the world withcontempt; he must suffer much, and fear more; hemust desire much, and hope little; in short, hemust embrace his ruin, and throw himself away. 

_Arch_. Had ever man so hopeful a pupil as mine!--Come, my dear, why is love called a riddle?

_Cher_. Because, being blind, he leads those that see, and, though a child, he governs a man. 

_Arch_. Mighty well!--And why is Love pictured blind?

_Cher_. Because the painters out of the weakness orprivilege of their art chose to hide those eyes thatthey could not draw. {199}

_Arch_. That's my dear little scholar, kiss me again. --And why should Love, that's a child, govern a man?

_Cher_. Because that a child is the end of love. 

_Arch_. And so ends Love's catechism. --And now, mydear, we'll go in and make my master's bed. 

_Cher_. Hold, hold, Mr. Martin! You have taken a greatdeal of pains to instruct me, and what d' ye think Ihave learned by it?

_Arch_. What? {209}

_Cher_. That your discourse and your habit arecontradictions, and it would be nonsense in me to believeyou a footman any longer. 

_Arch_. 'Oons, what a witch it is!

_Cher_. Depend upon this, sir, nothing in this garb shallever tempt me; for, though I was born to servitude, I hate it. Own your condition, swear you love me, and then--

_Arch_. And then we shall go make my master's bed?

_Cher_. Yes. {219}

_Arch_. You must know, then, that I am born a gentleman, my education was liberal; but I went toLondon a younger brother, fell into the hands ofsharpers, who stripped me of my money, my friendsdisowned me, and now my necessity brings me towhat you see. 

_Cher_. Then take my hand--promise to marry me beforeyou sleep, and I'll make you master of twothousand pounds. 

_Arch_. How! {229}

_Cher_. Two thousand pounds that I have this minute inmy own custody; so, throw off your livery thisinstant, and I 'll go find a parson. 

_Arch_. What said you? a parson!

_Cher_. What! do you scruple?

_Arch_. Scruple! no, no, but--Two thousand pounds, you say?

_Cher_. And better. 

_Arch_. [_Aside_. ] 'Sdeath, what shall I do?--[_Aloud_. ] Buthark 'ee, child, what need you make me master ofyourself and money, when you may have the samepleasure out of me, and still keep your fortune inyour hands?

_Cher_. Then you won't marry me? {242}

_Arch_. I would marry you, but--

_Cher_. O sweet sir, I'm your humble servant, you'refairly caught! Would you persuade me that anygentleman who could bear the scandal of wearinga livery would refuse two thousand pounds, let thecondition be what it would? no, no, sir. But Ihope you 'll pardon the freedom I have taken, sinceit was only to inform myself of the respect that Iought to pay you. [_Going_. 

_Arch_. [_Aside_. ] Fairly bit, by Jupiter!--[_Aloud_. ] Hold!hold!--And have you actually two thousand pounds? {254}

_Cher_. Sir, I have my secrets as well as you; when youplease to be more open I shall be more free, andbe assured that I have discoveries that will matchyours, be what they will. In the meanwhile, besatisfied that no discovery I make shall ever hurtyou, but beware of my father! [_Exit_. 

_Arch_. So! we're like to have as many adventures inour inn as Don Quixote had in his. Let me see--two thousand pounds--if the wench would promiseto die when the money were spent, egad, one wouldmarry her; but the fortune may go off in a year ortwo, and the wife may live--Lord knows how long. Then an innkeeper's daughter! ay, that's thedevil--there my pride brings me off. {268}

For whatsoe'er the sages charge on pride, The angels' fall, and twenty faults beside, On earth, I'm sure, 'mong us of mortal calling, Pride saves man oft, and woman too, from falling. 

[_Exit_. 

ACT III. , SCENE I

_The Gallery in Lady Bountiful's House. Enter Mrs. Sullen and Dorinda_. 

_Mrs. Su_. , Ha! ha! ha! my dear sister, let me embracethee! now we are friends indeed; for I shall have asecret of yours as a pledge for mine--now you'll begood for something, I shall have you conversable inthe subjects of the sex. 

_Dor_. But do you think that I am so weak as to fall inlove with a fellow at first sight?

_Mrs. Sul_. Psha! now you spoil all; why should not webe as free in our friendships as the men? I warrantyou, the gentleman has got to his confidant already, has avowed his passion, toasted your health, calledyou ten thousand angels, has run over your lips, eyes, neck, shape, air, and everything, in a descriptionthat warms their mirth to a second enjoyment. 

_Dor_. Your hand, sister, I an't well. 

_Mrs. Sul_. So--she's breeding already--come, child, upwith it--hem a little--so--now tell me, don't you likethe gentleman that we saw at church just now?

_Dor_. The man's well enough. 

_Mrs. Sul_. Well enough! is he not a demigod, a Narcissus, a star, the man i' the moon? {21}

_Dor_. O sister, I'm extremely ill!

_Mrs. Sul_. Shall I send to your mother, child, for a littleof her cephalic plaster to put to the soles of yourfeet, or shall I send to the gentleman for somethingfor you? Come, unlace your stays, unbosom yourself. The man is perfectly a pretty fellow; I sawhim when he first came into church. 

_Dor_. I saw him too, sister, and with an air that shone, methought, like rays about his person. {30}

_Mrs. Sul_. Well said, up with it!

_Dor_. No forward coquette behaviour, no airs to set himoff, no studied looks nor artful posture--but Naturedid it all--

_Mrs. Sul_. Better and better!--one touch more--come!

_Dor_. But then his looks--did you observe his eyes?

_Mrs. Sul_. Yes, yes, I did. --His eyes, well, what of hiseyes? {38}

_Dor_. Sprightly, but not wandering; they seemed toview, but never gazed on anything but me. --Andthen his looks so humble were, and yet so noble, that they aimed to tell me that he could with pridedie at my feet, though he scorned slavery anywhereelse. 

_Mrs. Sul_. The physic works purely!--How d' ye findyourself now, my dear?

_Dor_. Hem! much better, my dear. --Oh, here comes ourMercury!

_Enter Scrub_. 

Well, Scrub, what news of the gentleman?

_Scrub_. Madam, I have brought you a packet of news. 

_Dor_. Open it quickly, come. {51}

_Scrub_. In the first place I inquired who the gentlemanwas; they told me he was a stranger. Secondly, Iasked what the gentleman was; they answered andsaid, that they never saw him before. Thirdly, Iinquired what countryman he was; they replied, 'twas more than they knew. Fourthly, I demandedwhence he came; their answer was, they could nottell. And, fifthly, I asked whither he went; andthey replied, they knew nothing of the matter, --andthis is all I could learn. {61}

_Mrs. Sul_. But what do the people say? can't theyguess?

_Scrub_. Why, some think he's a spy, some guess he's amountebank, some say one thing, some another:but, for my own part, I believe he's a Jesuit. 

_Dor_. A Jesuit! why a Jesuit?

_Scrub_. Because he keeps his horses always readysaddled, and his footman talks French. 

_Mrs. Sul_. His footman! {70}

_Scrub_. Ay, he and the count's footman were jabberingFrench like two intriguing ducks in a mill-pond;and I believe they talked of me, for they laughedconsumedly. 

_Dor_. What sort of livery has the footman?

_Scrub_. Livery! Lord, madam, I took him for a captain, he's so bedizzened with lace! And then he hastops to his shoes, up to his mid leg, a silver-headedcane dangling at his knuckles; he carries hishands in his pockets just so--[_walks in the Frenchair_. --and has a fine long periwig tied up in a bag. --Lord, madam, he's clear another sort of manthan I! {83}

_Mrs. Sul_. That may easily be. --But what shall we donow, sister?

_Dor_. I have it--this fellow has a world of simplicity, and some cunning, the first hides the latter byabundance. --Scrub!

_Scrub_. Madam!

_Dor_. We have a great mind to know who this gentlemanis, only for our satisfaction. 

_Scrub_. Yes, madam, it would be a satisfaction, no doubt. 

_Dor_. You must go and get acquainted with his footman, and invite him hither to drink a bottle of your alebecause you 're butler to-day. {95}

_Scrub_. Yes, madam, I am butler every Sunday. 

_Mrs. Sul_. O' brave! sister, o' my conscience, youunderstand the mathematics already. 'Tis the bestplot in the world: your mother, you know, will begone to church, my spouse will be got to the ale-housewith his scoundrels, and the house will be ourown--so we drop in by accident, and ask the fellowsome questions ourselves. In the country, youknow, any stranger is company, and we're glad totake up with the butler in a country-dance, andhappy if he 'll do us the favour. {106}

_Scrub_. O madam, you wrong me! I never refused yourladyship the favour in my life. 

_Enter Gipsy_. 

_Gip_. Ladies, dinner's upon table. 

_Dor_. Scrub, we'll excuse your waiting--go where weordered you. 

_Scrub_. I shall. [_Exeunt_. 

ACT III. , SCENE II

_A Room in Bonifaces Inn_. _Enter Aimwell and Archer_. 

_Arch_. Well, Tom, I find you 're a marksman. 

_Aim_. A marksman! who so blind could be, as notdiscern a swan among the ravens?

_Arch_. Well, but hark'ee, Aimwell!

_Aim_. Aimwell! call me Oroondates, Cesario, Amadis, all that romance can in a lover paint, and then I 'llanswer. O Archer! I read her thousands in herlooks, she looked like Ceres in her harvest: corn, wine and oil, milk and honey, gardens, groves, andpurling streams played on her plenteous face. {10}

_Arch_. Her face! her pocket, you mean; the corn, wineand oil, lies there. In short, she has ten thousandpounds, that's the English on't. 

_Aim_. Her eyes------

_Arch_. Are demi-cannons, to be sure; so I won't standtheir battery. [_Going_. 

_Aim_. -Pray excuse me, my passion must have vent. 

_Arch_. Passion! what a plague, d' ye think theseromantic airs will do our business? Were my temperas extravagant as yours, my adventures have somethingmore romantic by half. {21}

_Aim_. Your adventures!

_Arch_. Yes, The nymph that with her twice ten hundred pounds, With brazen engine hot, and quoif clear-starched, Can fire the guest in warming of the bed----

There's a touch of sublime Milton for you, and thesubject but an innkeeper's daughter! I can playwith a girl as an angler does with his fish; he keepsit at the end of his line, runs it up the stream, anddown the stream, till at last he brings it to hand, tickles the trout, and so whips it into his basket. 

_Enter Boniface_. 

_Bon_. Mr. Martin, as the saying is--yonder's an honestfellow below, my Lady Bountiful's butler, who begsthe honour that you would go home with him andsee his cellar. 

_Arch_. Do my _baise-mains_ to the gentleman, and tellhim I will do myself the honour to wait on himimmediately. [_Exit Boniface_. 

_Aim_. What do I hear? {40}Soft Orpheus play, and fair Toftida sing!

_Arch_. Psha! damn your raptures; I tell you, here's apump going to be put into the vessel, and the shipwill get into harbour, my life on't. You say, there'sanother lady very handsome there?

_Aim_. Yes, faith. 

_Arch_. I 'm in love with her already. 

_Aim_. Can't you give me a bill upon Cherry in themeantime?

_Arch_. No, no, friend, all her corn, wine and oil, isingrossed to my market. And once more I warnyou, to keep your anchorage clear of mine; for ifyou fall foul of me, by this light you shall goto the bottom! What! make prize of my littlefrigate, while I am upon the cruise for you!----

_Aim_. Well, well, I won't. [_Exit Archer_. 

_Re-enter Boniface_. 

Landlord, have you any tolerable company in thehouse, I don't care for dining alone?

_Bon_. Yes, sir, there's a captain below, as the saying is, that arrived about an hour ago. {60}

_Aim_. Gentlemen of his coat are welcome everywhere;will you make him a compliment from me and tellhim I should be glad of his company?

_Bon_. Who shall I tell him, sir, would--

_Aim_. [_Aside_. ] Ha! that stroke was well thrown in!--

[_Aloud. _] I'm only a traveller, like himself, andwould be glad of his company, that's all. 

_Bon_. I obey your commands, as the saying is. [_Exit_. 

_Re-enter Archer_. 

_Arch_. 'Sdeath I I had forgot; what title will you giveyourself? {70}

_Aim_. My brother's, to be sure; he would never give meanything else, so I'll make bold with his honourthis bout:--you know the rest of your cue. 

_Arch_. Ay, ay. [_Exit_. 

_Enter Gibbet_. 

_Gib_. Sir, I 'm yours. 

_Aim_. 'Tis more than I deserve, sir, for I don't knowyou. 

_Gib_. I don't wonder at that, sir, for you never saw mebefore--[_Aside_] I hope. 

_Aim_. And pray, sir, how came I by the honour of seeingyou now? {81}

_Gib_. Sir, I scorn to intrude upon any gentleman--butmy landlord--

_Aim_. O sir, I ask your pardon, you 're the captain hetold me of?

_Gib_. At your service, sir. 

_Aim_. What regiment, may I be so bold?

_Gib_. A marching regiment, sir, an old corps. 

_Aim_. [_Aside_. ] Very old, if your coat be regimental--[_Aloud_. ] You have served abroad, sir? {90}

_Gib_. Yes, sir--in the plantations, 'twas my lot to besent into the worst service; I would have quitted itindeed, but a man of honour, you know--Besides, 'twas for the good of my country that I should beabroad:--anything for the good of one's country--I'm a Roman for that. 

_Aim_. [_Aside_. ] One of the first; I 'll lay my life. [_Aloud_. ]You found the West Indies very hot, sir?

_Gib_. Ay, sir, too hot for me. 

_Aim_. Pray, sir, han't I seen your face at Will's coffee-house? {101}_Gib_. Yes, sir, and at White's too. 

_Aim_. And where is your company now, captain?

_Gib_. They an't come yet. 

_Aim_. Why, d' ye expect 'em here?

_Gib_. They 'll be here to-night, sir. 

_Aim_. Which way do they march?

_Gib_. Across the country. --[_Aside_. ] The devil's in 't, if Ihan't said enough to encourage him to declare!But I'm afraid he's not right; I must tackabout {111}

_Aim_. Is your company to quarter in Lichfield?

_Gib_. In this house, sir. 

_Aim_. What! all?

_Gib_. My company's but thin, ha! ha! ha! we are butthree, ha! ha! ha!

_Aim_. You're merry, sir. 

_Gib_. Ay, sir, you must excuse me, sir; I understand theworld, especially the art of travelling: I don't care, sir, for answering questions directly upon the road--for I generally ride with a charge about me. {121}

_Aim_. Three or four, I believe. [Aside. 

_Gib_. I am credibly informed that there are highwaymenupon this quarter; not, sir, that I could suspect agentleman of your figure--but truly, sir, I have gotsuch a way of evasion upon the road, that I don'tcare for speaking truth to any man. 

_Aim_. [_Aside_. ] Your caution may be necessary. --[_Aloud_. ]Then I presume you're no captain? {129}

_Gib_. Not I, sir; captain is a good travelling name, andso I take it; it stops a great many foolish inquiriesthat are generally made about gentlemen that travel, it gives a man an air of something, and makes thedrawers obedient:--and thus far I am a captain, and no farther. 

_Aim_. And pray, sir, what is your true profession?

_Gib_. O sir, you must excuse me!--upon my word, sir, Idon't think it safe to tell ye. 

_Aim_. Ha! ha! ha! upon my word I commend you. 

_Re-enter Boniface_. 

Well, Mr. Boniface, what's the news? {140}

_Bon_. There's another gentleman below, as the saying is, that hearing you were but two, would be glad tomake the third man, if you would give him leave. 

_Aim_. What is he?

_Bon_. A clergyman, as the saying is. 

_Aim_. A clergyman! is he really a clergyman? or is itonly his travelling name, as my friend the captainhas it?

_Bon_. O sir, he's a priest, and chaplain to the Frenchofficers in town. {150}

_Aim_. Is he a Frenchman?

_Bon_. Yes, sir, born at Brussels. 

_Gib_. A Frenchman, and a priest! I won't be seen in hiscompany, sir; I have a value for my reputation, sir. 

_Aim_. Nay, but, captain, since we are by ourselves--canhe speak English, landlord?

_Bon_. Very well, sir; you may know him, as the sayingis, to be a foreigner by his accent, and that's all. 

_Aim_. Then he has been in England before?

_Bon_. Never, sir; but he's a master of languages, as thesaying is; he talks Latin--it does me good to hearhim talk Latin. {162}

_Aim_. Then you understand Latin, Mr Boniface?

_Bon_. Not I, sir, as the saying is; but he talks it so veryfast, that I 'm sure it must be good. 

_Aim_. Pray, desire him to walk up. 

_Bon_. Here he is, as the saying is. 

_Enter Foigard_. 

_Foi_. Save you, gentlemens, bote. 

_Aim_. [Aside. ] A Frenchman!--[To Foigard. ] Sir, yourmost humble servant. {170}

_Foi_. Och, dear joy, I am your most faithful shervant, and yours alsho. 

_Gib_. Doctor, you talk very good English, but you havea mighty twang of the foreigner. 

_Foi_. My English is very veil for the vords, but weforeigners, you know, cannot bring our tonguesabout the pronunciation so soon. 

_Aim_. [_Aside_. ] A foreigner! a downright Teague, bythis light!--[_Aloud_. ] Were you born in France, doctor? {180}

_Foi_. I was educated in France, but I was borned atBrussels; I am a subject of the King of Spain, joy. 

_Gib_. What King of Spain, sir? speak!

_Foi_. Upon my shoul, joy, I cannot tell you as yet. 

_Aim_. Nay, captain, that was too hard upon the doctor;he's a stranger. 

_Foi_. Oh, let him alone, dear joy; I am of a nation that isnot easily put out of countenance. 

_Aim_. Come, gentlemen, I 'll end the dispute. --Here, landlord, is dinner ready? {190}

_Bon_. Upon the table, as the saying is. 

_Aim_. Gentlemen--pray--that door--

_Foi_. No, no, fait, the captain must lead. 

_Aim_. No, doctor, the church is our guide. 

_Gib_. Ay, ay, so it is. 

[_Exit Foigard foremost, the others following_. 

ACT III. , SCENE III. 

_The Gallery in Lady Bountiful's House_. 

_Enter Archer and Scrub singing, and hugging oneanother, the latter with a tankard in his handGipsy listening at a distance_. 

_Scrub_. _Tall, all, dall!_--Come, my dear boy, let 's havethat song once more. 

_Arch_. No, no, we shall disturb the family. --But will yoube sure to keep the secret?

_Scrub_. Pho! upon my honour, as I'm a gentleman. 

_Arch_. 'Tis enough. You must know, then, that my masteris the Lord Viscount Aimwell; he fought a duelt' other day in London, wounded his man so dangerously, that he thinks fit to withdraw till he hearswhether the gentleman's wounds be mortal or notHe never was in this part of England before, so hechose to retire to this place, that's all. {12}

_Gip_. And that's enough for me. [_Exit_. 

_Scrub_. And where were you when your masterfought?

_Arch_. We never know of our masters' quarrels. 

_Scrub_. No! if our masters in the country here receivea challenge, the first thing they do is to tell theirwives; the wife tells the servants, the servantsalarm the tenants, and in half an hour you shallhave the whole county in arms. {21}

_Arch_. To hinder two men from doing what they haveno mind for. --But if you should chance to talk nowof my business?

Scrub. Talk! ay, sir, had I not learned the knack ofholding my tongue, I had never lived so long in agreat family. 

_Arch_. Ay, ay, to be sure there are secrets in all families. 

_Scrub_. Secrets! ay;--but I 'll say no more. Come, sitdown, we 'll make an end of our tankard: here--

[_Gives Archer the tankard_. 

_Arch_. With all my heart; who knows but you and Imay come to be better acquainted, eh? Here'syour ladies' healths; you have three, I think, and tobe sure there must be secrets among 'em. [_Drinks_. 

_Scrub_. Secrets! ay, friend. --I wish I had a friend!

_Arch_. Am not I your friend? come, you and I willsworn brothers. 

_Scrub_. Shall we?

_Arch_. . From this minute. Give me a kiss:--and nobrother Scrub--

_Scrub_. And now, brother Martin, I will tell you a secretthat will make your hair stand on end. You mustknow that I am consumedly in love. 

_Arch_. That's a terrible secret, that's the truth on't

_Scrub_. That jade, Gipsy, that was with us just now inthe cellar, is the arrantest whore that ever wore apetticoat; and I 'm dying for love of her. 

_Arch_. Ha! ha! ha!--Are you in love with her personher virtue, brother Scrub?

_Scrub_. I should like virtue best, because it is moredurable than beauty: for virtue holds good withsome women long, and many a day after they havelost it. 

_Arch_. In the country, I grant ye, where no woman'svirtue is lost, till a bastard be found. 

_Scrub_. Ay, could I bring her to a bastard, I should haveher all to myself; but I dare not put it upon, thelay, for fear of being sent for a soldier. Praybrother, how do you gentlemen in London like thissame Pressing Act?

_Arch_. Very ill, brother Scrub; 'tis the worst that everwas made for us. Formerly I remember the gooddays, when we could dun our masters for our wageand if they refused to pay us, we could have awarrant to carry 'em before a Justice: but now ifwe talk of eating, they have a warrant for us, andcarry us before three Justices. 

_Scrub_. And to be sure we go, if we talk of eating; forthe Justices won't give their own servants a badexample. Now this is my misfortune--I dare notspeak in the house, while that jade Gipsy dingsabout like a fury. ---Once I had the better end of thestaff. 

_Arch_. And how comes the change now?

_Scrub_. Why, the mother of all this mischief is a priest. 

_Arch_. A priest!

_Scrub_. Ay, a damned son of a whore of Babylon, thatcame over hither to say grace to the French officers, and eat up our provisions. There's not a day goesover his head without a dinner or supper in this house. 

_Arch_. How came he so familiar in the family? {81}

_Scrub_. Because he speaks English as if he had livedhere all his life, and tells lies as if he had been atraveller from his cradle. 

_Arch_. And this priest, I'm afraid, has converted theaffections of your Gipsy?

_Scrub_. Converted! ay, and perverted, my dear friend:for, I 'm afraid, he has made her a whore and apapist! But this is not all; there's the Frenchcount and Mrs. Sullen, they 're in the confederacy, and for some private ends of their own, to be sure. 

_Arch_. A very hopeful family yours, brother Scrub!suppose the maiden lady has her lover too?

_Scrub_. Not that I know: she's the best on 'em, that'sthe truth on't: but they take care to prevent mycuriosity, by giving me so much business, that I'ma perfect slave. What d' ye think is my place inthis family?

_Arch_. Butler, I suppose. 99

_Scrub_. Ah, Lord help you! I 'll tell you. Of a MondayI drive the coach, of a Tuesday I drive the plough, on Wednesday I follow the hounds, a Thursday Idun the tenants, on Friday I go to market, on SaturdayI draw warrants, and a Sunday I draw beer. 

_Arch_. Ha! ha! ha! if variety be a pleasure in life, youhave enough on't, my dear brother. But whatladies are those?

_Scrub_. Ours, ours; that upon the right hand is Mrs. Sullen, and the other is Mrs. Dorinda. Don't mind'em; sit still, man. {110}

_Enter Mrs. Sullen and Dorinda_. 

_Mrs. Sul_. I have heard my brother talk of my LordAimwell; but they say that his brother is thefiner gentleman. 

_Dor_. That's impossible, sister. 

_Mrs. Sul_. He's vastly rich, but very close, they say. 

_Dor_. No matter for that; if I can creep into his heart, I 'll open his breast, I warrant him: I have heardsay, that people may be guessed at by the behaviourof their servants; I could wish we might talk tothat fellow. {120}

_Mrs. Sul_. So do I; for I think he 's a very prettyfellow. Come this way, I'll throw out a lure forhim presently. 

[_Dorinda and Mrs. Sullen walk a turn towardsthe opposite side of the stage_. 

_Arch_. [_Aside_. ] Corn, wine, and oil indeed!--But, Ithink, the wife has the greatest plenty of flesh andblood; she should be my choice. --Ay, ay, say youso!--[_Mrs. Sullen drops her glove. Archer runs, takes it up and gives to her_. ] Madam--your ladyship'sglove. 

_Mrs. Sul_. O sir, I thank you!--[To Dorinda. ] Whata handsome bow the fellow has! {131}

_Dor_. Bow! why, I have known several footmen comedown from London set up here for dancing-masters, and carry off the best fortunes in the country. 

_Arch_. [_Aside_. ] That project, for aught I know, had beenbetter than ours. --[_To Scrub_. ] Brother Scrub, whydon't you introduce me?

_Scrub_. Ladies, this is the strange gentleman's servantthat you saw at church to-day; I understood hecame from London, and so I invited him to thecellar, that he might show me the newest flourish inwhetting my knives. {142}

_Dor_. And I hope you have made much of him?

_Arch_. Oh yes, madam, but the strength of your ladyship's liquor is a little too potent for the constitutionof your humble servant. 

_Mrs. Sul_. What, then you don't usually drink ale?

_Arch_. No, madam; my constant drink is tea, or a littlewine and water. 'Tis prescribed me by the physicianfor a remedy against the spleen. {150}

_Scrub_. Oh la! Oh la! a footman have the spleen!

_Mrs. Sul_. I thought that distemper had been onlyproper to people of quality?

_Arch_. Madam, like all other fashions it wears Out, andso descends to their servants; though in a greatmany of us, I believe, it proceeds from somemelancholy particles in the blood, occasioned bythe stagnation of wages. 

_Dor_. [_Aside to Mrs. Sullen_. ] How affectedly the fello*talks!--[_To Archer_. ] How long, pray, have yonserved your present master? {161}

_Arch_. Not long; my life has been mostly spent in theservice of the ladies. 

_Mrs. Sul_. And pray, which service do you like best?

_Arch_. Madam, the ladies pay best; the honour ofserving them is sufficient wages; there is a charm intheir looks that delivers a pleasure with their commands, and gives our duty the wings of inclination. 

_Mrs. Sul_. [_Aside_. ] That flight was above the pitch of alivery. --[_Aloud_. ] And, sir, would not you be satisfiedto serve a lady again? {171}

_Arch_. As a groom of the chamber, madam, but not as afootman. 

_Mrs. Sul_. I suppose you served as footman before?_Arch_. For that reason I would not serve in that postagain; for my memory is too weak for the load ofmessages that the ladies lay upon their servants inLondon. My Lady Howd'ye, the last mistress Iserved, called me up one morning, and told me, 'Martin, go to my Lady Allnight with my humbleservice; tell her I was to wait on her ladyshipyesterday, and left word with Mrs. Rebecca, thatthe preliminaries of the affair she knows of, arestopped till we know the concurrence of the personthat I know of, for which there are circumstanceswanting which we shall accommodate at the oldplace; but that in the meantime there is a personabout her ladyship, that from several hints andsurmises, was accessory at a certain time to thedisappointments that naturally attend things, thatto her knowledge are of more importance--' {191}

_Mrs. Sul_. , _Dor_. Ha! ha! ha! where are you going, sir?

_Arch_. Why, I han't half done!--The whole howd'ye wasabout half an hour long; so I happened to misplacetwo syllables, and was turned off, and rendered incapable. 

_Dor_. [_Aside to Mrs. Sullen_. ] The pleasantest fellow, sister, I ever saw!--[_To Archer_. ] But, friend, if yourmaster be married, I presume you still serve a lady?

_Arch_. No, madam, I take care never to come into amarried family; the commands of the master andmistress are always so contrary, that 'tis impossibleto please both. {203}

_Dor_. There's a main point gained: my lord is notmarried, I find. [_Aside_. 

_Mrs. Sul_. But I wonder, friend, that in so many goodservices, you had not a better provision made foryou. 

_Arch_. I don't know how, madam. I had a lieutenancyoffered me three or four times; but that is not bread, madam--I live much better as I do. {211}

_Scrub_. Madam, he sings rarely! I was thought to dopretty well here in the country till he came; butalack a day, I 'm nothing to my brother Martin!

_Dor_. Does he?--Pray, sir, will you oblige us with asong?

_Arch_. Are you for passion or humour?

_Scrub_. Oh le! he has the purest ballad about a trifle--

_Mrs. Sul_. A trifle! pray, sir, let's have it. 

_Arch_. I 'm ashamed to offer you a trifle, madam; butsince you command me-- {221}

[_Sings to the tune of Sir Simon the King_]

 A trifling song you shall hear, Begun with a trifle and ended: All trifling people draw near, And I shall be nobly attended. 

 Were it not for trifles, a few, That lately have come into play; The men would want something to do, And the women want something to say. 

 What makes men trifle in dressing? {235} Because the ladies (they know) Admire, by often possessing, That eminent trifle, a beau. 

 When the lover his moments has trifled, The trifle of trifles to gain: No sooner the virgin is rifled, But a trifle shall part 'em again. 

 What mortal man would be able At White's half an hour to sit? Or who could bear a tea-table, {240} Without talking of trifles for wit?

 The court is from trifles secure, Gold keys are no trifles, we see: White rods are no trifles, I 'm sure, Whatever their bearers may be. 

 But if you will go to the place, Where trifles abundantly breed, The levee will show you His Grace Makes promises trifles indeed. 

 A coach with six footmen behind, {250} I count neither trifle nor sin: But, ye gods! how oft do we find A scandalous trifle within. 

 A flask of champagne, people think it A trifle, or something as bad: But if you 'll contrive how to drink it; You 'll find it no trifle, egad!

 A parson's a trifle at sea, A widow's a trifle in sorrow: A peace is a trifle to-day, {260} Who knows what may happen to-morrow!

 A black coat a trifle may cloke, Or to hide it, the red may endeavour: But if once the army is broke, We shall have more trifles than ever. 

 The stage is a trifle, they say, The reason, pray carry along, Because at every new play, The house they with trifles so throng. 

 But with people's malice to trifle, {270} And to set us all on a foot: The author of this is a trifle, And his song is a trifle to boot. 

_Mrs. Sul_. Very well, sir, we 're obliged to you. --Something for a pair of gloves. [_Offering him money_. 

_Arch_. I humbly beg leave to be excused: my master, madam, pays me; nor dare I take money from anyother hand, without injuring his honour, anddisobeying his commands. [_Exit Archer and Scrub_. 

_Dor_. This is surprising! Did you ever see so pretty awell-bred fellow? {281}

_Mrs. Sul_. The devil take him for wearing that livery!

_Dor_. I fancy, sister, he may be some gentleman, a friendof my lord's, that his lordship has pitched upon forhis courage, fidelity, and discretion, to bear himcompany in this dress, and who ten to one was hissecond too. 

_Mrs. Sul_. It is so, it must be so, and it shall be so!--for I like him. 

_Dor_. What! better than the Count? {290}

_Mrs. Sul_. The Count happened to be the most agreeableman upon the place; and so I chose him to serveme in my design upon my husband. But I shouldlike this fellow better in a design upon myself. 

_Dor_. But now, sister, for an interview with this lord andthis gentleman; how shall we bring that about?

_Mrs. Sul_. Patience! you country ladies give no quarterif once you be entered. Would you prevent theirdesires, and give the fellows no wishing-time?Look'ee, Dorinda, if my Lord Aimwell loves you ordeserves you, he'll find a way to see you, and therewe must leave it. My business comes now uponthe tapis. Have you prepared your brother? {303}

_Dor_. Yes, yes. 

_Mrs. Sul_. And how did he relish it?

_Dor_. He said little, mumbled something to himself, promised to be guided by me--but here he comes. 

_Enter Squire Sullen_. 

_Squire Sul_. What singing was that I heard just now?

_Mrs. Sul_. The singing in your head, my dear; youcomplained of it all day. {310}

_Squire Sul_. You're impertinent

_Mrs. Sul_. I was ever so, since I became one flesh withyou. 

_Squire Sul_. One flesh! rather two carcasses joinedunnaturally together. 

_Mrs. Sul_. Or rather a living soul coupled to a deadbody. 

_Dor_. So, this is fine encouragement for me!

_Squire Sul_. Yes, my wife shows you what you must do. 

_Mrs. Sul_. And my husband shows you what you mustsuffer. {321}

_Squire Sul_. 'Sdeath, why can't you be silent?

_Mrs. Sul_. 'Sdeath, why can't you talk?

_Squire Sul_. Do you talk to any purpose?

_Mrs. Sul_. Do you think to any purpose?

_Squire Sul_. Sister, hark'ee I--[_Whispers_. ] I shan't behome till it be late. [_Exit_. 

_Mrs. Sul_. What did he whisper to ye? {328}

_Dor_. That he would go round the back way, come intothe closet, and listen as I directed him. But letme beg you once more, dear sister, to drop thisproject; for as I told you before, instead of awakinghim to kindness, you may provoke him to a rage;and then who knows how far his brutality may carryhim?

_Mrs. Sul_. I 'm provided to receive him, I warrant you. But here comes the Count: vanish! [_Exit Dorinda_. 

_Enter Count Bellair_. 

Don't you wonder, Monsieur le Count, that I wasnot at church this afternoon? {339}

_Count Bel_. I more wonder, madam, that you go dere atall, or how you dare to lift those eyes to heaven thatare guilty of so much killing. 

_Mrs. Sul_. If Heaven, sir, has given to my eyes with thepower of killing the virtue of making a cure, I hopethe one may atone for the other. 

_Count Bel_. Oh, largely, madam, would your ladyship beas ready to apply the remedy as to give the wound. Consider, madam, I am doubly a prisoner; first tothe arms of your general, then to your more conqueringeyes. My first chains are easy--there aransom may redeem me; but from your fetters Inever shall get free. {352}

_Mrs. Sul_. Alas, sir! why should you complain to meof your captivity, who am in chains myself? Youknow, sir, that I am bound, nay, must be tied up inthat particular that might give you ease: I am likeyou, a prisoner of war--of war, indeed--I havegiven my parole of honour! would you break yoursto gain your liberty? {359}

_Count Bel_. Most certainly I would, were I a prisoneramong the Turks; dis is your case, you 're a slave, madam, slave to the worst of Turks, a husband. 

_Mrs. Sul_. There lies my foible, I confess; no fortifications, no courage, conduct, nor vigilancy, can pretendto defend a place where the cruelty of the governorforces the garrison to mutiny. 

_Count Bel_. And where de besieger is resolved to diebefore de place. --Here will I fix [_Kneels_];--withtears, vows, and prayers assault your heart and never rise till you surrender; or if I must storm--Love and St. Michael!--And so I begin theattack. {372}

_Mrs. Sul_. Stand off!--[_Aside_. ] Sure he hears me not!--And I could almost wish--he did not!--Thefellow makes love very prettily. --[_Aloud_. ] But, sir, why should you put such a value upon my person, when you see it despised by one that knows it somuch better?

_Count Bel_. He knows it not, though he possesses it; ifhe but knew the value of the jewel he is master ofhe would always wear it next his heart, and sleepwith it in his arms. {382}

_Mrs. Sul_. But since he throws me unregarded fromhim--

_Count Bel_. And one that knows your value well comesby and takes you up, is it not justice?

[_Goes to lay hold of her_. 

_Enter Squire Sullen with his sword drawn_. 

_Squire Sul_. Hold, villain, hold!

_Mrs. Sul_. [_Presenting a pistol_. ] Do you hold!

_Squire Sul_. What! murder your husband, to defendyour bully! {390}

_Mrs. Sul_. Bully! for shame, Mr. Sullen, bullies wearlong swords, the gentleman has none; he's aprisoner, you know. I was aware of your outrage, and prepared this to receive your violence; and, ifoccasion were, to preserve myself against the forceof this other gentleman. 

_Count Bel_. O madam, your eyes be bettre firearms thanyour pistol; they nevre miss. 

_Squire Sul_. What! court my wife to my face!

_Mrs. Sul_. Pray, Mr. Sullen, put up; suspend your furyfor a minute. {401}

_Squire Sul_. To give you time to invent an excuse!

_Mrs. Sul_. I need none. 

_Squire Sul_. No, for I heard every syllable of yourdiscourse. 

_Count Bel_. Ah! and begar, I tink the dialogue was verapretty. 

_Mrs. Sul_. Then I suppose, sir, you heard something ofyour own barbarity?

_Squire Sul_. Barbarity! 'oons, what does the woman callbarbarity? Do I ever meddle with you? {411}

_Mrs. Sul_. No. 

_Squire Sul_. As for you, sir, I shall take another time. 

_Count Bel_. Ah, begar, and so must I. 

_Squire Sul_. Look'ee, madam, don't think that my angerproceeds from any concern I have for your honour, but for my own, and if you can contrive any way ofbeing a whore without making me a cuckold, do itand welcome. {419}

_Mrs. Sul_. Sir, I thank you kindly, you would allow methe sin but rob me of the pleasure. No, no, I 'mresolved never to venture upon the crime withoutthe satisfaction of seeing you punished for't. 

_Squire Sul_. Then will you grant me this, my dear?Let anybody else do you the favour but thatFrenchman, for I mortally hate his whole generation. 

[_Exit_. 

_Count Bel_. Ah, sir, that be ungrateful, for begar, I lovesome of yours. --Madam------ [_Approaching her_. 

_Mrs. Sul_. No, sir. {429}

_Count Bel_. No, sir! garzoon, madam, I am not yourhusband. 

_Mrs. Sul_. 'Tis time to undeceive you, sir. I believedyour addresses to me were no more than an amusement, and I hope you will think the same of mycomplaisance; and to convince you that you ought, you must know that I brought you hither onlyto make you instrumental in setting me right withmy husband, for he was planted to listen by myappointment. 

_Count Bel_. By your appointment? {440}

_Mrs. Sul_. Certainly. 

_Count Bel_. And so, madam, while I was telling twentystories to part you from your husband, begar, I wasbringing you together all the while?

_Mrs. Sul_. I ask your pardon, sir, but I hope this willgive you a taste of the virtue of the English ladies. 

_Count Bel_. Begar, madam, your virtue be vera great, but garzoon, your honeste be vera little. 

_Re-enter Dorinda_. 

_Mrs. Sul_. Nay, now, you 're angry, sir. {449}

_Count Bel_. Angry!--_Fair Dorinda [Sings 'FairDorinda, ' the opera tune, and addresses Dorinda. _]Madam, when your ladyship want a fool, send for me. _Fair Dorinda, Revenge, etc, [Exit singing_. 

_Mrs. Sul_. There goes the true humour of his nation--resentment with good manners, and the height ofanger in a song! Well, sister, you must be judge, for you have heard the trial. 

_Dor_. And I bring in my brother guilty. 

_Mrs. Sul_. But I must bear the punishment. Tis hard, sister. {460}

_Dor_. I own it; but you must have patience. 

_Mrs. Sul_. Patience! the cant of custom--Providencesends no evil without a remedy. Should I liegroaning under a yoke I can shake off, I wereaccessory to my ruin, and my patience were nobetter than self-murder. 

_Dor_. But how can you shake off the yoke? your divisionsdon't come within the reach of the law for a divorce. 

_Mrs. Sul_. Law! what law can search into the remoteabyss of nature? what evidence can prove theunaccountable disaffections of wedlock? Can a jurysum up the endless aversions that are rooted in oursouls, or can a bench give judgment upon antipathies? {474}

_Dor_. They never pretended, sister; they never meddle, but in case of uncleanness. 

_Mrs. Sul_. Uncleanness! O sister! casual violation isa transient injury, and may possibly be repaired, butcan radical hatreds be ever reconciled? No, no, sister, nature is the first lawgiver, and when she hasset tempers opposite, not all the golden links ofwedlock nor iron manacles of law can keep 'emfast. 

 Wedlock we own ordain'd by Heaven's decree, But such as Heaven ordain'd it first to be;-- Concurring tempers in the man and wife As mutual helps to draw the load of life. 

 View all the works of Providence above, The stars with harmony and concord move; View all the works of Providence below, {490} The fire, the water, earth and air, we know, All in one plant agree to make it grow. 

 Must man, the chiefest work of art divine, Be doom'd in endless discord to repine? No, we should injure Heaven by that surmise, Omnipotence is just, were man but wise. 

[_Exeunt_. 

ACT IV. , SCENE I

_The Gallery in Lady Bountiful's House, Mrs. Sullen discovered alone_. 

_Mrs. Sul_. Were I born an humble Turk, where womenhave no soul nor property, there I must sitcontented. But in England, a country whose womenare its glory, must women be abused? where womenrule, must women be enslaved? Nay, cheated intoslavery, mocked by a promise of comfortable societyinto a wilderness of solitude! I dare not keep thethought about me. Oh, here comes something todivert me. 

_Enter a Countrywoman_. 

_Worn_. I come, an't please your ladyship--you're myLady Bountiful, an't ye? {11}

_Mrs. Sul_. Well, good woman, go on. 

_Worn_. I have come seventeen long mail to have a curefor my husband's sore leg. 

_Mrs. Sul_. Your husband! what, woman, cure yourhusband!

_Worn_. Ay, poor man, for his sore leg won't let him stirfrom home. 

_Mrs. Sul_. There, I confess, you have given me a reason. Well, good woman, I 'll tell you what you must do. You must lay your husband's leg upon a table, andwith a chopping-knife you must lay it open as broadas you can, then you must takeout the bone, andbeat the flesh soundly with a rolling-pin, then takesalt, pepper, cloves, mace, and ginger, some sweet-herbs, and season it very well, then roll it up likebrawn, and put it into the oven for two hours. 

_Worn_. Heavens reward your ladyship!--I have twolittle babies too that are piteous bad with the graips, an't please ye. {30}

_Mrs. Sul_. Put a little pepper and salt in their bellies, good woman. 

_Enter Lady Bountiful_. 

I beg your ladyship's pardon for taking your businessout of your hands; I have been a-tamperinghere a little with one of your patients. _Lady Boun_. Come, good woman, don't mind this madcreature; I am the person that you want, I suppose. What would you have, woman?

_Mrs. Sul_. She wants something for her husband's soreleg. {40}

_Lady Boun_. What's the matter with his leg, goody?

_Worn_. It come first, as one might say, with a sort ofdizziness in his foot, then he had a kind of lazinessin his joints, and then his leg broke out, and then itswelled, and then it closed again, and then it brokeout again, and then it festered, and then it grewbetter, and then it grew worse again. 

_Mrs. Sul_. Ha! ha! ha!

_Lady Boun_. How can you be merry with the misfortunesof other people? {50}

Mrs. Sul, Because my own make me sad, madam. 

_Lady Boun_. The worst reason in the world, daughter;your own misfortunes should teach you to pityothers. 

_Mrs. Sul_. But the woman's misfortunes and mine arenothing alike; her husband is sick, and mine, alas!is in health. 

_Lady Boun_. What! would you wish your husband sick?

_Mrs. Sul_. Not of a sore leg, of all things. {59}

_Lady Boun_. Well, good woman, go to the pantry, getyour bellyful of victuals, then I 'll give you a receiptof diet-drink for your husband. But d'ye hear, goody, you must not let your husband move toomuch?

_Worn_. No, no, madam, the poor man's inclinable enoughto lie still. [_Exit_. 

_Lady Boun_. Well, daughter Sullen, though you laugh, Ihave done miracles about the country here with myreceipts. {69}

_Mrs. Sul_. Miracles indeed, if they have cured anybody;but I believe, madam, the patient's faith goes. Farther toward the miracle than your prescription. 

_Lady Boun_. Fancy helps in some cases; but there'syour husband, who has as little fancy as anybody, Ibrought him from death's door. 

_Mrs. Sul_. I suppose, madam, you made him drinkplentifully of ass's milk. 

_Enter Dorinda, who runs to Mrs. Sullen_. 

_Dor_. News, dear sister! news! news!

_Enter Archer, running_. 

_Arch_. Where, where is my Lady Bountiful?--Pray, which is the old lady of you three? {80}

_Lady Boun_. I am. 

_Arch_. O madam, the fame of your ladyship's charity, goodness, benevolence, skill and ability, have drawnme hither to implore your ladyship's help in behalfof my unfortunate master, who is this momentbreathing his last. 

_Lady Boun_. Your master! where is he?

_Arch_. At your gate, madam. Drawn by the appearanceof your handsome house to view it nearer, andwalking up the avenue within five paces of thecourtyard, he was taken ill of a sudden with a sort ofI know not what, but down he fell, and there he lies. 

_Lady Boun_. Here, Scrub! Gipsy! all run, get my easychair down stairs, put the gentleman in it, and bringhim in quickly! quickly! {95}

_Arch_. Heaven will reward your ladyship for this charitableact. 

_Lady Boun_. Is your master used to these fits?

_Arch_. O yes, madam, frequently: I have known himhave five or six of a night. {100}

_Lady Boun_. What's his name?

_Arch_. Lord, madam, he 's a-dying! a minute's care orneglect may save or destroy his life. 

_Lady Boun_. Ah, poor gentleman!--Come, friend, showme the way; I 'll see him brought in myself. 

 [_Exit with Archer_. 

_Dor_. O sister, my heart flutters about strangely! I canhardly forbear running to his assistance. {107}

_Mrs. Sul_. And I 'll lay my life he deserves yourassistance more than he wants it. Did not I tell you thatmy lord would find a way to come at you? Love'shis distemper, and you must be the physician; puton all your charms, summon all your fire into youreyes, plant the whole artillery of your looks againsthis breast, and down with him. 

_Dor_. O sister! I 'm but a young gunner; I shall be afraidto shoot, for fear the piece should recoil, and hurtmyself. 

_Mrs. Sul_. Never fear, you shall see me shoot before you, if you will. {119}

_Dor_. No, no, dear sister; you have missed your mark sounfortunately, that I shan't care for being instructedby you. 

_Enter Aimwell in a chair carried by Archer and Scrubsand counterfeiting a swoon; Lady Bountiful andGipsy following_. 

_Lady Boun_. Here, here, let's see the hartshorn drops. --Gipsy, a glass of fair water! His fit's very strong. --Bless me, how his hands are clinched!

_Arch_. For shame, ladies, what d' ye do? why don't youhelp us?--[_To Dorinda_. ] Pray, madam, take hishand, and open it, if you can, whilst I hold his head. 

[_Dorinda takes his hand_. 

_Dor_. Poor gentleman!--Oh!--he has got my handwithin his, and squeezes it unmercifully-- {130}

_Lady Boun_. 'Tis the violence of his convulsion, child. 

_Arch_. Oh, madam, he's perfectly possessed in thesecases--he'll bite if you don't have a care. 

_Dor_. Oh, my hand! my hand!

_Lady Boun_. What's the matter with the foolish girl? Ihave got his hand open, you see, with a great deal ofease. 

_Arch_. Ay, but, madam, your daughter's hand is somewhatwarmer than your ladyship's, and the heat ofit draws the force of the spirits that way. {140}

_Mrs. Sul_. I find, friend, you're very learned in thesesorts of fits. 

_Arch_. Tis no wonder, madam, for I 'm often troubledwith them myself; I find myself extremely ill at thisminute. [_Looking hard at Mrs. Sullen_. 

_Mrs. Sul_. I fancy I could find a way to cure you. 

[_Aside_. 

_Lady Boun_. His fit holds him very long. 

_Arch_. Longer than usual, madam. --Pray, young lady, open his breast and give him air. 

_Lady Boun_. Where did his illness take him first, pray?

_Arch_. To-day at church, madam. {151}

_Lady Boun_. In what manner was he taken?

_Arch_. Very strangely, my lady. He was of a suddentouched with something in his eyes, which, at thefirst, he only felt, but could not tell whether 'twaspain or pleasure. 

_Lady Boun_. Wind, nothing but wind!

_Arch_. By soft degrees it grew and mounted to his brain, there his fancy caught it; there formed it so beautiful, and dressed it up in such gay, pleasing colours, that his transported appetite seized the fair idea, andstraight conveyed it to his heart That hospitableseat of life sent all its sanguine spirits forth to meet, and opened all its sluicy gates to take the stranger in. 

_Lady Boun_. Your master should never go without abottle to smell to. --Oh--he recovers! Thelavender-water--some feathers to burn under his nose--Hungary water to rub his temples. --Oh, he comesto himself!--Hem a little, sir, hem. --Gipsy! bringthe cordial-water. {171}

[_Aimwell seems to awake in amaze_. 

_Dor_. How d' ye, sir?

_Aim_. Where am I? [_Rising_. 

 Sure I have pass'd the gulf of silent death, And now I land on the Elysian shore!-- Behold the goddess of those happy plains, Fair Proserpine--let me adore thy bright divinity. 

[_Kneels to Dorinda, and kisses her hand_. 

_Mrs. Sul_. So, so, so! I knew where the fit would end!

_Aim_. Eurydice perhaps--

 How could thy Orpheus keep his word, {180} And not look back upon thee? No treasure but thyself could sure have bribed him To look one minute off thee. 

_Lady Boun_. Delirious, poor gentleman!

_Arch_. Very delirious, madam, very delirious. 

_Aim_. Martin's voice, I think. 

_Arch_. Yes, my Lord. --How does your lordship?

_Lady Boun_. Lord! did you mind that, girls?

[_A side to Mrs. Sullen and Dorinda_. 

_Aim_. Where am I? {189}

_Arch_. In very good hands, sir. You were taken justnow with one of your old fits, under the trees, justby this good lady's house; her ladyship had youtaken in, and has miraculously brought you toyourself, as you see. 

_Aim_. I am so confounded with shame, madam, that Ican now only beg pardon; and refer my acknowledgmentsfor your ladyship's care till an opportunityoffers of making some amends. I dare be nolonger troublesome. --Martin! give two guineas tothe servants. [_Going_. 

_Dor_. Sir, you may catch cold by going so soon into theair; you don't look, sir, as if you were perfectlyrecovered. {203}

[_Here Archer talks to Lady Bountiful in dumb show_. 

_Aim_. That I shall never be, madam; my present illnessis so rooted that I must expect to carry it to mygrave. 

_Mrs. Sul_. Don't despair, sir; I have known several inyour distemper shake it off with a fortnight'sphysic. {209}

_Lady Boun_. Come, sir, your servant has been telling methat you're apt to relapse if you go into the air:your good manners shan't get the better of ours--you shall sit down again, sir. Come, sir, we don'tmind ceremonies in the country--here, sir, myservice t'ye. --You shall taste my water; 'tis acordial I can assure you, and of my own making--drink it off, sir. --[_Aimwell drinks_. ] And how d'yefind yourself now, sir?

_Aim_. Somewhat better--though very faint still. {219}

_Lady Boun_. Ay, ay, people are always faint after thesefits. --Come, girls, you shall show the gentleman thehouse. --'Tis but an old family building, sir; butyou had better walk about, and cool by degrees, than venture immediately into the air. You 'll findsome tolerable pictures. --Dorinda, show the gentlemanthe way. I must go to the poor woman below. [_Exit_. 

_Dor_. This way, sir. 

_Aim_. Ladies, shall I beg leave for my servant to wait onyou, for he understands pictures very well? {231}

_Mrs. Sul_. Sir, we understand originals as well as hedoes pictures, so he may come along. 

[_Exeunt all but Scrub, Aimwell leading Dorinda. Enter Foigard_. 

_Foi_. Save you, Master Scrub!

_Scrub_. Sir, I won't be saved your way--I hate a priest, I abhor the French, and I defy the devil. Sir, I 'ma bold Briton, and will spill the last drop of myblood to keep out popery and slavery. 

_Foi_. Master Scrub, you would put me down in politics, and so I would be speaking with Mrs. Shipsy. {240}

_Scrub_. Good Mr. Priest, you can't speak with her; she'ssick, sir, she's gone abroad, sir, she's--dead twomonths ago, sir. 

_Re-enter Gipsy_. 

_Gip_. How now, impudence! how dare you talk sosaucily to the doctor?--Pray, sir, don't take it ill;for the common people of England are not so civilto strangers, as--

_Scrub_. You lie! you lie! 'tis the common people thatare civilest to strangers. 

_Gip_. Sirrah, I have a good mind to--get you out I say. 

_Scrub_. I won't. . {251}

_Gip_. You won't, sauce-box!--Pray, doctor, what, is thecaptain's name that came to your inn last night?

_Scrub_. [Aside. ] The captain! ah, the devil, there shehampers me again; the captain has me on one side, and the priest on t' other: so between the gown andthe sword, I have a fine time on't. --But, _Ceduntarma toga_. [_Going_. 

_Gip_. What, sirrah, won't you march?

_Scrub_. No, my dear, I won't march--but I'll walk. --[_Aside_. ] And I 'll make bold to listen a little too. 

[_Goes behind the side-scene and listens_. 

_Gip_. Indeed, doctor, the Count has been barbarouslytreated, that's the truth on't. {263}

_Foi_. Ah, Mrs. Gipsy, upon my shoul, now, gra, hiscomplainings would mollify the marrow in yourbones, and move the bowels of your commiseration!He veeps, and he dances, and he fistles, and he swears, and he laughs, and he stamps, andhe sings; in conclusion, joy, he's afflicted_à-la-Française_, and a stranger would not know whiderto cry or to laugh with him. {271}

_Gip_. What would you have me do, doctor?

_Foi_. Noting, joy, but only hide the Count in Mrs. Sullen's closet when it is dark. 

_Gip_. Nothing! is that nothing? it would be both a sinand a shame, doctor. 

_Foi_. Here is twenty louis-d'ors, joy, for your shameand I will give you an absolution for the shin. 

_Gip_. Sut won't that money look like a bribe? {279}

_Foi_. Dat is according as you shall tauk it. If youreceive the money beforehand, 'twill be _logicè_, abribe; but if you stay till afterwards, 'twill be onlya gratification. 

_Gip_. Well, doctor, I 'll take it _logicè_ But what must Ido with my conscience, sir?

_Foi_. Leave dat wid me, joy; I am your priest, gra; andyour conscience is under my hands. 

_Gip_. But should I put the Count into the closet--

_Foi_. Vel, is dere any shin for a man's being in a closhet?one may go to prayers in a closhet. {290}

_Gip_. But if the lady should come into her chamber, andgo to bed?

_Foi_. Vel, and is dere any shin in going to bed, joy?

_Gip_. Ay, but if the parties should meet, doctor?

_Foi_. Vel den--the parties must be responsible. Doyou be gone after putting the Count into thecloshet; and leave the shins wid themselves. Iwill come with the Count to instruct you in yourchamber. {299}

_Gip_. Well, doctor, your religion is so pure! MethinksI'm so easy after an absolution, and can sin afreshwith so much security, that I 'm resolved to die amartyr to't Here's the key of the garden door, come in the back way when 'tis late, I 'll be ready toreceive you; but don't so much as whisper, onlytake hold of my hand; I 'll lead you, and do youlead the Count, and follow me. [_Exeunt_. 

_Scrub_. [_Coming forward_. ] What witchcraft now havethese two imps of the devil been a-hatching here?'There 's twenty louis-d'ors'; I heard that, and sawthe purse. --But I must give room to my betters. 

[_Exit_. 

_Re-enter Aimwell, leading Dorinda, and making love indumb show; Mrs. Sullen and Archer following_. 

_Mrs. Sul_. [_To Archer_. ] Pray, sir, how d'ye like thatpiece? {313}

_Arch_. Oh, 'tis Leda! You find, madam, how Jupitercomes disguised to make love--

_Mrs. Sul_. But what think you there of Alexander'sbattles?

_Arch_. We only want a Le Brun, madam, to draw greaterbattles, and a greater general of our own. TheDanube, madam, would make a greater figure ina picture than the Granicus; and we have ourRamillies to match their Arbela. {322}

_Mrs. Sul_. Pray, sir, what head is that in the cornerthere?

_Arch_. O madam, 'tis poor Ovid in his exile. 

_Mrs. Sul_. What was he banished for?

_Arch_. His ambitious love, madam. --[_Bowing_. ] Hismisfortune touches me. 

_Mrs. Sul_. Was he successful in his amours?

_Arch_. There he has left us in, the dark. He was toomuch a gentleman to tell. {331}

_Mrs. Sul_. If he were secret, I pity him. 

_Arch_. And if he were successful, I envy him. 

_Mrs. Sul_. How d 'ye like that Venus over the chimney?

_Arch_. Venus! I protest, madam, I took it for yourpicture; but now I look again, 'tis not handsomeenough. 

_Mrs. Sul_. Oh, what a charm is flattery! If you wouldsee my picture, there it is over that cabinet. Howd' ye like it? {340}

_Arch_. I must admire anything, madam, that has theleast resemblance of you. But, methinks, madam--[_He looks at the picture and Mrs. Sullen threeor four times, by turns_. ] Pray, madam, who drew it?

_Mrs. Sul_. A famous hand, sir. 

[_Here Aimwell and Dorinda go off_. 

_Arch_. A famous hand, madam!--Your eyes, indeed, arefeatured there; but where's the sparking moisture, shining fluid, in which they swim? The picture, indeed, has your dimples; but where's the swarmof killing Cupids that should ambush there? Thelips too are figured out; but where's the carnationdew, the pouting ripeness that tempts the taste inthe original? {353}

_Mrs. Sul_. Had it been my lot to have matched withsuch a man! [_Aside_. 

_Arch_. Your breasts too--presumptuous man! what, paint Heaven!--Apropos, madam, in the very nextpicture is Salmoneus, that was struck dead withlightning, for offering to imitate Jove's thunder; Ihope you served the painter so, madam? {360}

_Mrs. Sul_. Had my eyes the power of thunder, theyshould employ their lightning better. 

_Arch_. There's the finest bed in that room, madam! Isuppose 'tis your ladyship's bedchamber. 

_Mrs. Sul_. And what then, sir?

_Arch_. I think the quilt is the richest that ever I saw. I can't at this distance, madam, distinguish thefigures of the embroidery; will you give me leave, madam? {369}

_Mrs. Sul_. [_Aside_. ] The devil take his impudence!--Sure, if I gave him an opportunity, he durst notoffer it?--I have a great mind to try. --[_Going:Returns_. ] 'Sdeath, what am I doing?--And alone, too!--Sister! sister! [_Runs out_. 

_Arch_. I 'll follow her close--

For where a Frenchman durst attempt to storm, A Briton sure may well the work perform. [_Going_. 

_Re-enter Scrub_. 

_Scrub_. Martin! brother Martin! {378}

_Arch_. O brother Scrub, I beg your pardon, I was nota-going: here's a guinea my master ordered you. 

_Scrub_. A guinea! hi! hi! hi! a guinea! eh--bythis light it is a guinea! But I suppose you expectone-and-twenty shillings in change?

_Arch_. Not at all; I have another for Gipsy. 

_Scrub_. A guinea for her! faggot and fire for the witch!Sir, give me that guinea, and I 'll discover a plot. 

_Arch_. A plot!

_Scrub_. Ay, sir, a plot, and a horrid plot! First, it mustbe a plot, because there's a woman in't: secondly, it must be a plot, because there's a priest in't:thirdly, it must be a plot, because there 's Frenchgold in't: and fourthly, it must be a plot, becauseI don't know what to make on't. {393}

_Arch_. Nor anybody else, I 'm afraid, brother Scrub. 

_Scrub_. Truly, I 'm afraid so too; for where there's apriest and a woman, there's always a mystery anda riddle. This I know, that here has been thedoctor with a temptation in one hand and anabsolution in the other, and Gipsy has sold herselfto the devil; I saw the price paid down, my eyesshall take their oath on't. {401}

_Arch_. And is all this bustle about Gipsy?

_Scrub_. That's not all; I could hear but a word here andthere; but I remember they mentioned a Count, acloset, a back-door, and a key. 

_Arch_. The Count!--Did you hear nothing of Mrs. Sullen?

_Scrub_. I did hear some word that sounded that way;but whether it was Sullen or Dorinda, I could notdistinguish. {409}

_Arch_. You have told this matter to nobody, brother?

_Scrub_. Told! no, sir, I thank you for that; I 'm resolvednever to speak one word _pro_ nor _con_, till we have apeace. 

_Arch_. You're i' the right, brother Scrub. Here's atreaty afoot between the Count and the lady: thepriest and the chambermaid are the plenipotentiaries. It shall go hard but I find a way to be included inthe treaty. --Where 's the doctor now?

_Scrub_. He and Gipsy are this moment devouring mylady's marmalade in the closet. {420}

_Aim_. [_From without_. ] Martin! Martin!

_Arch_. I come, sir, I come. 

_Scrub_. But you forget the other guinea, brother Martin. 

_Arch_. Here, I give it with all my heart. 

_Scrub_. And I take it with all my soul. --[_Exit Archer_. ]Ecod, I 'll spoil your plotting, Mrs. Gipsy! and ifyou should set the captain upon me, these twoguineas will buy me off. [_Exit_. 

_Re-enter Mrs. Sullen and Dorinda, meeting_. 

_Mrs. Sul_. Well, sister!

_Dor_. And well, sister! {430}

_Mrs. Sul_. What's become of my lord?

_Dor_. What's become of his servant?

_Mrs. Sul_. Servant! he's a prettier fellow, and a finergentleman by fifty degrees, than his master. 

_Dor_. O' my conscience, I fancy you could beg thatfellow at the gallows-foot!

_Mrs. Sul_. O' my conscience I could, provided I couldput a friend of yours in his room. 

_Dor_. You desired me, sister, to leave you, when youtransgressed the bounds of honour. {440}

_Mrs. Sul_. Thou dear censorious country girl! whatdost mean? You can't think of the man withoutthe bedfellow, I find. 

_Dor_. I don't find anything unnatural in that thought:while the mind is conversant with flesh and blood, it must conform to the humours of the company. 

_Mrs. Sul_. How a little love and good companyimproves a woman! Why, child, you begin to live--you never spoke before. {449}

_Dor_. Because I was never spoke to. --My lord has toldme that I have more wit and beauty than anyof my sex; and truly I begin to think the man issincere. 

_Mrs. Sul_. You're in the right, Dorinda; pride is thelife of a woman, and flattery is our daily bread; andshe's a fool that won't believe a man there, as muchas she that believes him in anything else. But I 'lllay you a guinea that I had finer things said to methan you had. 

_Dor_. Done! What did your fellow say to ye? {460}

_Mrs. Sul_. My fellow took the picture of Venus for mine. 

_Dor_. But my lover took me for Venus herself. 

_Mrs. Sul_. Common cant! Had my spark called me aVenus directly, I should have believed him a footmanin good earnest. 

_Dor_. But my lover was upon his knees to me. 

_Mrs. Sul_. And mine was upon his tiptoes to me. 

_Dor_. Mine vowed to die for me. {468}

_Mrs. Sul_. Mine swore to die with me. 

_Dor_. Mine spoke the softest moving things. 

_Mrs. Sul_. Mine had his moving things too. 

_Dor_. Mine kissed my hand ten thousand times, _Mrs. Sul_. Mine has all that pleasure to come. 

_Dor_. Mine offered marriage. 

_Mrs. Sul_. O Lard! d' ye call that a moving thing? {475}

_Dor_. The sharpest arrow in his quiver, my dear sister!Why, my ten thousand pounds may lie broodinghere this seven years, and hatch nothing at lastbut some ill-natured clown like yours. Whereas ifI marry my Lord Aimwell, there will be titled, place, and precedence, the Park, the play, and thedrawing-room, splendour, equipage, noise, andflambeaux. --_Hey, my Lady Aimwell's servantsthere!--Lights, lights to the stairs!--My LadyAimwell's coach put forward!--Stand by makeroom for her ladyship!_--Are not these thingsmoving?--What! melancholy of a sudden? {487}

_Mrs. Sul_. Happy, happy sister! your angel has beenwatchful for your happiness, whilst mine hasslept regardless of his charge. Long smiling yearsof circling joys for you, but not one hour forme! [_Weeps_. 

_Dor_. Come, my dear, we 'll talk of something else. 

_Mrs. Sul_. O Dorinda! I own myself a woman, full ofmy sex, a gentle, generous soul, easy and yieldingto soft desires; a spacious heart, where love and allhis train might lodge. And must the fair apartmentof my breast be made a stable for a brute to lie in?

_Dor_. Meaning your husband, I suppose? {499}

_Mrs. Sul_. Husband! no; even husband is too soft aname for him. --But, come, I expect my brotherhere to-night or to-morrow; he was abroad whenmy father married me; perhaps he 'll find a way tomake me easy. 

_Dor_. Will you promise not to make yourself easy in themeantime with my lord's friend?

_Mrs. Sul_. You mistake me, sister. It happens withus as among the men, the greatest talkers arethe greatest cowards? and there's a reason forit; those spirits evaporate in prattle, which mightdo more mischief if they took another course. --Though, to confess the truth, I do love that fellow;--and if I met him dressed as he should be, and Iundressed as I should be--look 'ee, sister, I have nosupernatural gifts--I can't swear I could resist thetemptation; though I can safely promise to avoidit; and that's as much as the best of us can do. 

[_Exeunt_. 

ACT IV. , SCENE II. 

_A Room in Bonifaces Inn_. _Enter Aimwell and Archer laughing_. 

_Arch_. And the awkward kindness of the good motherlyold gentlewoman--

_Aim_. And the coming easiness of the young one--'Sdeath, 'tis pity to deceive her!

_Arch_. Nay, if you adhere to these principles, stop whereyou are. 

_Aim_. I can't stop; for I love her to distraction. 

_Arch_. 'Sdeath, if you love her a hair's-breadth beyonddiscretion, you must go no further. 9

_Aim_. Well, well, anything to deliver us from saunteringaway our idle evenings at White's, Tom's, or Will'sand be stinted to bare looking at our old acquaintance, the cards; because our impotent pockets can'tafford us a guinea for the mercenary drabs. 

_Arch_. Or be obliged to some purse-proud coxcomb for ascandalous bottle, where we must not pretend toour share of the discourse, because we can't payour club o' th' reckoning. --Damn it, I had rathersponge upon Morris, and sup upon a dish of bonesscored behind the door!

_Aim_. And there expose our want of sense by talkingcriticisms, as we should our want of money byrailing at the government. 

_Arch_. Or be obliged to sneak into the side-box, andbetween both houses steal two acts of a play, andbecause we han't money to see the other three, wecome away discontented, and damn the whole five. 

_Aim_. And ten thousand such rascally tricks--had weoutlived our fortunes among our acquaintance. --But now-- {30}

_Arch_. Ay, now is the time to prevent all this:--strikewhile the iron is hot. --This priest is the luckiestpart of our adventure; he shall marry you, andpimp for me. 

_Aim_. But I should not like a woman that can be sofond of a Frenchman. 

_Arch_. Alas, sir! Necessity has no law. The lady maybe in distress; perhaps she has a confoundedhusband, and her revenge may carry her fartherthan her love. Egad, I have so good an opinion ofher, and of myself, that I begin to fancy strangethings: and we must say this for the honour of ourwomen, and indeed of ourselves, that they do stickto their men as they do to their _Magna Charta_, Ifthe plot lies as I suspect, I must put on thegentleman. --But here comes the doctor--I shall beready. [_Exit_. 

[_Enter Foigard_. ]

_Foi_. Sauve you, noble friend. 

_Aim_. O sir, your servant! Pray, doctor, may I craveyour name? {50}

Foi, Fat naam is upon me? My naam is Foigard, joy. 

_Aim_. Foigard! a very good name for a clergyman. Pray, Doctor Foigard, were you ever in Ireland?Foi, Ireland! no, joy. Fat sort of plaace is dat saamIreland? Dey say de people are catched dere whendey qre young. 

_Aim_. And some of 'em when they are old:--as forexample. --[_Takes Foigard by the shoulder_. ] Sir, Iarrest you as a traitor against the government;you're a subject of England, and this morningshowed me a commission, by which you servedas chaplain in the French army. This is death byour law, and your reverence must hang for it. 

_Foi_. Upon my shoul, noble friend, dis is strange newsyou tell me! Fader Foigard a subject of England!de son of a burgomaster of Brussels, a subject ofEngland! ubooboo---- {68}

_Aim_. The son of a bog-trotter in Ireland! Sir, yourtongue will condemn you before any bench in thekingdom. 

_Foi_. And is my tongue all your evidensh, joy?

_Aim_. That's enough. 

_Foi_. No, no, joy, for I vill never spake English no more. 

_Aim_. Sir, I have other evidence. --Here, Martin!

_Re-enter Archer_. 

You know this fellow?

_Arch_. [_In a brogue_. ] Saave you, my dear cussen, howdoes your health? {78}

_Foi_. [Aside. ] Ah! upon my shoul dere is my countryman, and his brogue will hang mine. --[_To Archer_. ]_Mynheer, Ick wet neat watt hey xacht, Ick universtonewe neaty sacramant!_

_Aim_. Altering your language won't do, sir; this fellowknows your person, and will swear to your face. 

_Foi_. Faash! fey, is dere a brogue upon my faash too?

_Arch_. Upon my soulvation dere ish, joy!--But cussenMackshane, vil you not put a remembrance upon me?

_Foi_. Mackshane! by St. Paatrick, dat ish my naamshure enough! [_Aside_. 

_Aim_. I fancy, Archer, you have it. [_Aside to Archer_. 

_Foi_. The devil hang you, joy! by fat acquaintance areyou my cussen? {92}

_Arch_. Oh, de devil hang yourshelf, joy! you know wewere little boys togeder upon de school, and yourfoster-moder's son was married upon my nurse'schister, joy, and so we are Irish cussens. 

_Foi_. De devil taake de relation! vel, joy, and fat schoolwas it?

_Arch_. I tinks it vas--aay--'twas Tipperary. 

_Foi_. No, no, joy; it vas Kilkenny. {100}

_Aim_. That 's enough for us--self-confession, ---come, sir, we must deliver you into the hands of the nextmagistrate. 

_Arch_. He sends you to jail, you 're tried next assizes, andaway you go swing into purgatory. 

_Foi_. And is it so wid you, cussen?

_Arch_. It vil be sho wid you, cussen, if you don'timmediately confess the secret between you and Mrs. Gipsy. Look 'ee, sir, the gallows or the secret, takeyour choice. {110}

_Foi_. The gallows! upon my shoul I hate that saamgallow, for it is a diseash dat is fatal to our family. Vel, den, dere is nothing, shentlemens, but Mrs. Shullen would spaak wid the Count in her chamberat midnight, and dere is no haarm, joy, for I am toconduct the Count to the plash, myshelf. 

_Arch_. As I guessed. --Have you communicated thematter to the Count?

_Foi_. I have not sheen him since. {120}

_Arch_. Right again! Why then, doctor--you shall conductme to the lady instead of the Count. 

_Foi_. Fat, my cussen to the lady! upon my shoul, gra, dat is too much upon the brogue. 

_Arch_. Come, come, doctor; consider we have got arope about your neck, and if you offer to squeak, we 'll stop your windpipe, most certainly: we shallhave another job for you in a day or two, I hope. 

_Aim_. Here 's company coming this way; let's into mychamber, and there concert our affairs farther. {130}

_Arch_. Come, my dear cussen, come along. [_Exeunt_. 

_Enter Boniface, Hounslow, and Bagshot at onedoor, Gibbet at the opposite_. 

_Gib_. Well, gentlemen, 'tis a fine night for our enterprise. 

_Houn_. Dark as hell. 

_Bag_. And blows like the devil; our landlord here hasshowed us the window where we must break in, andtells us the plate stands in the wainscot cupboard inthe parlour. 

_Bon_. Ay, ay, Mr. Bagshot, as the saying is, knives andforks, and cups and cans, and tumblers and tankards. There's one tankard, as the saying is, that's nearupon as big as me; it was a present to the squirefrom his godmother, and smells of nutmeg and toastlike an East-India ship. {143}

_Houn_. Then you say we must divide at the stairhead?

_Bon_. Yes, Mr Hounslow, as the saying is. At one endof that gallery lies my Lady Bountiful and herdaughter, and at the other Mrs. Sullen. As for thesquire--

_Gib_. He's safe enough, I have fairly entered him, andhe's more than half seas over already. But such aparcel of scoundrels are got about him now, that, egad, I was ashamed to be seen in their company. 

_Bon_. Tis now twelve, as the saying is--gentlemen, youmust set out at one. 

_Gib_. Hounslow, do you and Bagshot see our arms fixed, and I 'll come to you presently. 

_Houn. , Bag_. We will. [_Exeunt_. 

_Gib_. Well, my dear Bonny, you assure me that Scrub isa coward?

_Bon_. A chicken, as the saying is. You 'll have nocreature to deal with but the ladies. {161}

_Gib_. And I can assure you, friend, there's a great dealof address and good manners in robbing a lady; Iam the most a gentleman that way that ever travelledthe road. --But, my dear Bonny, this prize willbe a galleon, a Vigo business. --I warrant you weshall bring off three of four thousand pounds. 

_Bon_. In plate, jewels, and money, as the saying is, youmay. {169}

_Gib_. Why then, Tyburn, I defy thee! I'll get up totown, sell off my horse and arms, buy myself somepretty employment in the household, and be assnug and as honest as any courtier of 'em all. 

_Bon_. And what think you then of my daughter Cherryfor a wife?

_Gib_. Look 'ee, my'dear Bonny--Cherry _is the Goddess Iadore_, as the song goes; but it is a maxim, thatman and wife should never have it in their powerto hang one another; for if they should, the Lordhave mercy on 'em both! [_Exeunt_. 

ACT V. , SCENE I. 

_A Room in Bonifaces Inn, Knocking without, enter Boniface_. 

_Bon_. Coming! Coming!--A coach and six foaminghorses at this time o' night I some great man, as thesaying is, for he scorns to travel with other people. 

 _Enter Sir Charles Freeman_. 

_Sir Chas_. What, fellow! a public house, and abed whenother people sleep?

_Bon_. Sir, I an't abed, as the saying is. 

_Sir Chas_. Is Mr. Sullen's family abed, think 'ee?

_Bon_. All but the squire himself, sir, as the saying is;he's in the house. 

_Sir Chas_. What company has he? {10}

_Bon_. Why, sir, there 's the constable, Mr. Gage theexciseman, the hunch-backed barber, and two orthree other gentlemen. 

_Sir Chas_. I find my sister's letters gave me the truepicture of her spouse. [_Aside_. 

_Enter Squire Sullen, drunk_. 

_Bon_. Sir, here's the squire. 

_Squire Sul_. The puppies left me asleep--Sir!

_Sir Chas_. Well, sir. 

_Squire Sul_. Sir, I am an unfortunate man--I have threethousand pounds a year, and I can't get a man todrink a cup of ale with me. {21}

 _Sir Chas_. That's very hard. 

_Squire Sul_. Ay, sir; and unless you have pity upon me, and smoke one pipe with me, I must e'en go hometo my wife, and I had rather go to the devil by half. 

_Sir Chas_. But I presume, sir, you won't see your wifeto-night; she 'll be gone to bed. You don't use tolie with your wife in that pickle?

_Squire Sul_. What I not lie with my wife! why, sir, doyou take me for an atheist or a rake? {30}

_Sir Chas_. If you hate her, sir, I think you had better liefrom her. 

_Squire Sul_. I think so too, friend. But I'm a Justice ofpeace, and must do nothing against the law. 

_Sir Chas_. Law! as I take it, Mr. Justice, nobodyobserves law for law's sake, only for the good of thosefor whom it was made. 

_Squire Sul_. But, if the law orders me to send you to jailyou must lie there, my friend. 

_Sir Chas_. Not unless I commit a crime to deserve it

_Squire Sul_. A crime? 'oons, an't I martied? {40}

_Sir Chas_. Nay, sir, if you call a marriage a crime, youmust disown it for a law. 

_Squire Sul_. Eh! I must be acquainted with you, sir. --But, sir, I should be very glad to know the truth ofthis matter. 

_Sir Chas_. Truth, sir, is a profound sea, and few therebe that dare wade deep enough to find out thebottom on't. Besides, sir, I 'm afraid the line ofyour understanding mayn't be long enough. {50}

_Squire Sul_. Look'ee, sir, I have nothing to say to yoursea of truth, but, if a good parcel of land can entitlea man to a little truth, I have as much as any He inthe country. 

_Bon_. I never heard your worship, as the saying is, talkso much before. 

_Squire Sul_. Because I never met with a man that Iliked before. 

_Bon_. Pray, sir, as the saying is, let me ask you onequestion: are not man and wife one flesh? {60}

_Sir Chas_. You and your wife, Mr. Guts, may be oneflesh, because ye are nothing else; but rationalcreatures have minds that must be united. 

_Squire Sul_. Minds!

_Sir Chas_. Ay, minds, sir; don't you think that the mindtakes place of the body?

_Squire Sul_. In some people. 

_Sir Chas_. Then the interest of the master must beconsulted before that of his servant {69}

_Squire Sul_. Sir, you shall dine with me to-morrow!--'Oons, I always thought that we were naturally one. 

_Sir Chas_. Sir, I know that my two hands are naturallyone, because they love one another, kiss one another, help one another in all the actions of life; but Icould not say so much if they were always at cuffs. 

_Squire Sul_. Then 'tis plain that we are two. 

_Sir Chas_. Why don't you part with her, sir?

_Squire Sul_. Will you take her, sir?

_Sir Chas_. With all my heart. {79}

_Squire Sul_. You shall have her to-morrow morning, anda venison-pasty into the bargain. 

_Sir Chas_. You 'll let me have her fortune too?

_Squire Sul_. Fortune! why, sir, I have no quarrel at herfortune: I only hate the woman, sir, and none butthe woman shall go. 

_Sir Chas_. But her fortune, sir--

_Squire Sul_. Can you play at whisk, sir?

_Sir Chas_. No, truly, sir. 

_Squire Sul_. Nor at all-fours?

_Sir Chas_. Neither. {90}

_Squire Sul_. [_Aside_. ] 'Oons! where was this man bred?--[_Aloud_. ] Burn me, sir! I can't go home, 'tis but twoa clock. 

_Sir Chas_. For half an hour, sir, if you please; but youmust consider 'tis late. 

_Squire Sul_. Late! that's the reason I can't go to bed. --Come, sir! [_Exeunt_. 

_Enter Cherry, runs across the stage, and knocks atAimwells chamber door. Enter Aimwell in hisnightcap and gown_. 

_Aim_. What's the matter? you tremble, child; you'refrighted. {99}

_Cher_. No wonder, sir--But, in short, sir, this veryminute a gang of rogues are gone to rob my LadyBountiful's house. 

_Aim_. How!

_Cher_. I dogged 'em to the very door, and left 'em breaking in. 

_Aim_. Have you alarmed anybody else with the news?

_Cher_. No, no, sir, I wanted to have discovered the wholeplot, and twenty other things, to your man Martin;but I have searched the whole house, and can't findhim: where is he? {110}

_Aim_. No matter, child; will you guide me immediatelyto the house?

_Cher_. With all my heart, sir; my Lady Bountiful is mygodmother, and I love Mrs. Dorinda so well--

_Aim_. Dorinda! the name inspires me, the glory and thedanger shall be all my own. --Come, my life, let mebut get my sword. [_Exeunt_. 

ACT V. , SCENE II. 

_A Bedchamber in Lady Bountifuls House. Mrs. Sullen and Dorinda discovered undressed;a table and lights_. 

_Dor_. 'Tis very late, sister, no news of your spouse yet?

_Mrs. Sul_. No, I 'm condemned to be alone till towardsfour, and then perhaps I may be executed with hiscompany. 

_Dor_. Well, my dear, I'll leave you to your rest; you 'llgo directly to bed, I suppose?

_Mrs. Sul_. I don't know what to do. --Heigh-ho!

_Dor_. That's a desiring sigh, sister. 

_Mrs. Sul_. This is a languishing hour, sister. 

_Dor_. And might prove a critical minute if the prettyfellow were here. {11}

_Mrs. Sul_. Here! what, in my bedchamber at two o'clocko' th' morning, I undressed, the family asleep, myhated husband abroad, and my lovely fellow at myfeet!--O 'gad, sister!

_Dor_. Thoughts are free, sister, and them I allow you. --So, my dear, good night. 

_Mrs. Sul_. A good rest to my dear Dorinda!--[_ExitDorinda_. ] Thoughts free! are they so? Why, then, suppose him here, dressed like a youthful, gay, and burning bridegroom, {21}

[Here Archer steals out of a closet behind. With tongue enchanting, eyes bewitching, kneesimploring. ]

--[_Turns a little on one side and seesArcher in the posture she describes_. ]--Ah!--[_Shrieks, and runs to the other side of the stage_. ] Have mythoughts raised a spirit?--What are you, sir, a manor a devil?

_Arch_. A man, a man, madam. [_Rising_. 

_Mrs. Sul_. How shall I be sure of it?

_Arch_. Madam, I'll give you demonstration this minute. 

[_Takes her hand_. 

_Mrs. Sul_. What, sir! do you intend to be rude? {31}

_Arch_. Yes, madam, if you please. 

_Mrs. Sul_. In the name of wonder, whence came ye?

_Arch_. From the skies, madam--I'm a Jupiter in love, and you shall be my Alcmena. 

_Mrs. Sul_. How came you in?

_Arch_. I flew in at the window, madam; your cousinCupid lent me his wings, and your sister Venusopened the casement. 

_Mrs. Sul_. I 'm struck dumb with wonder! {40}

_Arch_. And I--with admiration!

[_Looks passionately at her_. 

_Mrs. Sul_. What will become of me?

_Arch_. How beautiful she looks!--The teeming jollySpring smiles in her blooming face, and, when shewas conceived, her mother smelt to roses, looked onlilies--

 Lilies unfold their white, their fragrant charms, When the warm sun thus darts into their arms. 

[_Runs to her_. 

_Mrs. Sul_. Ah! [_Shrieks_. 

_Arch_. 'Oons, madam, what d' ye mean? you 'll raise thehouse. {51}

_Mrs. Sul_. Sir, I 'll wake the dead before I bear this!--What! approach me with the freedom of a keeper!I 'm glad on't, your impudence has cured me. 

_Arch_. If this be impudence--[_Kneels_. ] I leave to yourpartial self; no panting pilgrim, after a tedious, painful voyage, e'er bowed before his saint withmore devotion. {58}

_Mrs. Sul_. [_Aside_. ] Now, now, I 'm ruined if he kneels!--[_Aloud_. ] Rise, thou prostrate engineer, not allthy undermining skill shall reach my heart. --Rise, and know I am a woman without my sex; I canlove to all the tenderness of wishes, sighs, and tears--but go no farther. --Still, to convince you-thatI'm more than woman, I can speak my frailty, confess my weakness even for you, but--

_Arch_. For me! [_Going to lay hold on her_. 

_Mrs. Sul_. Hold, sir! build not upon that; for my mostmortal hatred follows if you disobey what I command younow. --Leave me this minute. --[_Aside_. ]If he denies I 'm lost. {71}

_Arch_. Then you 'll promise--

_Mrs. Sul_. Anything another time. 

_Arch_. When shall I come?

_Mrs. Sul_. To-morrow--when you will. 

_Arch_. Your lips must seal the promise. 

_Mrs. Sul_. Psha!

_Arch_. They must! they must! [_Kisses her_. ]--Raptures and paradise!--And why not now, my angel? thetime, the place, silence, and secrecy, all conspire. And the now conscious stars have preordained thismoment for my happiness. [_Takes her in his arms_. 

_Mrs. Sul_. You will not! cannot, sure! {83}

_Arch_. If the sun rides fast, and disappoints not mortalsof to-morrow's dawn, this night shall crown myjoys. 

_Mrs. Sul_. My sex's pride assist me!

_Arch_. My sex's strength help me!

_Mrs. Sul_. You shall kill me first!

_Arch_. I 'll die with you. [_Carrying her off_. 

_Mrs. Sul_. Thieves! thieves! murder! {91}

_Enter Scrub in his breeches, and one shoe_. 

_Scrub_. Thieves! thieves! murder! popery!

_Arch_. Ha! the very timorous stag will kill in ruttingtime. [_Draws, and offers to stab Scrub_. 

_Scrub_. [_Kneeling_. ] O pray, sir, spare all I have, andtake my life!

_Mrs. Sul_. [_Holding Archer's hand_. ] What does thefellow mean?

_Scrub_. O madam, down upon your knees, your marrow-bones!--he 's one of 'em. {100}

_Arch_. Of whom?

_Scrub_. One of the rogues--I beg your pardon, one ofthe honest gentlemen that just now are broke intothe house. 

_Arch_. How!

_Mrs. Sul_. I hope you did not come to rob me?

_Arch_. Indeed I did, madam, but I would have takennothing but what you might ha' spared; but yourcrying 'Thieves' has waked this dreaming fool, andso he takes 'em for granted. {110}

_Scrub_. Granted! 'tis granted, sir; take all we have. 

_Mrs. Sul_. The fellow looks as if he were broke out ofBedlam. 

_Scrub_. 'Oons, madam, they 're broke into the house withfire and sword! I saw them, heard them; they 'llbe here this minute. 

_Arch_. What, thieves!

_Scrub_. Under favour, sir, I think so. 

_Mrs. Sul_. What shall we do, sir?

_Arch_. Madam, I wish your ladyship a good night {120}

_Mrs. Sul_. Will you leave me?

_Arch_. Leave you! Lord, madam, did not you commandme to be gone just now, upon pain of yourimmortal hatred?

_Mrs. Sul_. Nay, but pray, sir---- [_Takes hold of him_. 

_Arch_. Ha! ha! ha! now comes my turn to be ravished. --You see now, madam, you must use men one wayor other; but take this by the way; good madam, that none but a fool will give you the benefit of hiscourage, unless you'll take his love along with it. --How are they armed, friend? {131}

_Scrub_. With sword and pistol, sir. 

_Arch_. Hush!--I see a dark lantern coming through thegallery--Madam, be assured I will protect you, orlose my life. 

_Mrs. Sul_. Your life! no, sir, they can rob me ofnothing that I value half so much; therefore now, sir, let me entreat you to be gone. {138}

_Arch_. No, madam, I'll consult my own safety for thesake of yours; I 'll work by stratagem. Have youcourage enough to stand the appearance of 'em?

_Mrs. Sul_. Yes, yes, since I have 'scaped your hands, Ican face anything. 

_Arch_. Come hither, brother Scrub! don't you know me?

_Scrub_. Eh, my dear brother, let me kiss thee. 

[_Kisses Archer_. 

_Arch_. This way--here----

[Archer and Scrub hide behind the bed. 

_Enter Gibbet, with a dark lantern in one hand, anda pistol in the other_. 

_Gib_. Ay, ay, this is the chamber, and the lady alone. 

_Mrs. Sul_. Who are you, sir? what would you have?d' ye come to rob me? {149}

_Gib_. Rob you! alack a day, madam, I 'm only ayounger brother, madam; and so, madam, if youmake a noise, I 'll shoot you through the head; butdon't be afraid, madam. --[_Laying his lantern andpistol upon the table_. ] These rings, madam; don'tbe concerned, madam, I have a profound respectfor you, madam; your keys, madam; don't befrighted, madam, I 'm the most of a gentleman. --[_Searching her pockets_. ] This necklace, madam;I never was rude to any lady;--I have a veneration--for this necklace-- {160}

[_Here Archer having come round, and seized thepistol takes Gibbet by the collar, trips up hisheels, and claps the pistol to his breast_. 

_Arch_. Hold, profane villain, and take the reward of thysacrilege!

_Gib_. Oh! pray, sir, don't kill me; I an't prepared. 

_Arch_. How many is there of 'em, Scrub?

_Scrub_. Five-and-forty, sir. 

_Arch_. Then I must kill the villain, to have him out ofthe way. 

_Gib_. Hold, hold, sir, we are but three, upon my honour. 

_Arch_. Scrub, will you undertake to secure him?

_Scrub_. Not I, sir; kill him, kill him! {170}

_Arch_. Run to Gipsy's chamber, there you'll find thedoctor; bring him hither presently. --[_Exit Scrub, running_. ] Come, rogue, if you have a short prayer, say it. 

_Gib_. Sir, I have no prayer at all; the government hasprovided a chaplain to say prayers for us on theseoccasions. 

_Mrs. Sul_. Pray, sir, don't kill him: you fright me asmuch as him. {179}

_Arch_. The dog shall die, madam, for being the occasionof my disappointment. --Sirrah, this moment is yourlast. 

_Gib_. Sir, I 'll give you two hundred pounds to spare mylife. 

_Arch_. Have you no more, rascal?

_Gib_. Yes, sir, I can command four hundred, but I mustreserve two of 'em to save my life at the sessions. 

_Re-enter Scrub and Foigard_. 

_Arch_. Here, doctor, I suppose Scrub and you betweenyou may manage him. Lay hold of him, doctor. 

[_Foigard lays hold of Gibbet_. 

_Gib_. What! turned over to the priest already!--Look 'ee, doctor, you come before your time; I an'tcondemned yet, I thank ye. {192}

_Foi_. Come, my dear joy; I vill secure your body andyour shoul too; I vill make you a good catholic, and give you an absolution. 

_Gib_. Absolution! can you procure me a pardon, doctor?

_Foi_. No, joy--

_Gib_. Then you and your absolution may to the devil! {199}_Arch_. Convey him into the cellar, there bind him:--take the pistol, and if he offers to resist, shoot himthrough the head--and come back to us with allthe speed you can. 

_Scrub_. Ay, ay, come, doctor, do you hold him fast, andI 'll guard him. 

[_Exit Foigard with Gibbet, Scrub following_. 

_Mrs. Sul_. But how came the doctor--

_Arch_. In short, madam--[_Shrieking without_. ] 'Sdeath!the rogues are at work with the other ladies--I 'mvexed I parted with the pistol; but I must fly totheir assistance. --Will you stay here, madam, orventure yourself with me? {211}

_Mrs. Sul_. [_Taking him by the arm_. ] Oh, with you, dearsir, with you. [_Exeunt_. 

ACT V. , SCENE III. 

_Another Bedchamber in the same. Enter Hounslow and Bagshot, with swords drawn, haling in Lady Bountiful and Dorinda_. 

_Houn_. Come, come, your jewels, mistress!

_Bag_. Your keys, your keys, old gentlewoman!

_Enter Aimwell and Cherry_. 

_Aim_. Turn this way, villains! I durst engage an armyin such a cause. [_He engages them both_. 

_Dor_. O madam, had I but a sword to help the braveman!

_Lady Boun_. There's three or four hanging up in thehall; but they won't draw. I 'll go fetch one, however. [_Exit_. 

_Enter Archer and Mrs. Sullen_. 

_Arch_. Hold, hold, my lord! every man his bird, pray. [_They engage man to man; Hounslow andBagshot are thrown and disarmed_. 

_Cher_. [Aside. ] What! the rogues taken! then they'llimpeach my father: I must give him timely notice. 

[_Runs out_. 

_Arch_. Shall we kill the rogues?

_Aim_. No, no, we 'll bind them. 

_Arch_. Ay, ay. --[_To Mrs. Sullen, who stands by him_. ]Here, madam, lend me your garter. 

_Mrs. Sul_. [_Aside_. ] The devil's in this fellow! he fights, loves, and banters, all in a breath. --[_Aloud_. ]Here's a cord that the rogues brought with 'em, Isuppose. {20}

_Arch_. Right, right, the rogue's destiny, a rope to hanghimself. --Come, my lord--this is but a scandaloussort of an office [_Binding the Highwaymen together_. ]if our adventures should end in this sort ofhangman-work; but I hope there is something inprospect, that--

_Enter Scrub_. 

_Arch_. Well, Scrub, have you secured your Tartar?

_Scrub_. Yes, sir, I left the priest and him disputing aboutreligion. 

_Aim_. And pray carry these gentlemen to reap thebenefit of the controversy. {31}

[_Delivers the prisoners to Scrubs who leadsthem out_. 

_Mrs. Sul_. Pray, sister, how came my lord here?

_Dor_. And pray, how came the gentleman here?

_Mrs. Sul_. I 'll tell you the greatest piece of villainy--

[_They talk in dumb show_. 

_Aim_. I fancy, Archer, you have been more successful inyour adventures than the housebreakers. 

_Arch_. No matter for my adventure, yours is theprincipal. --Press her this minute to marry you--nowwhile she's hurried between the palpitation of herfear and the joy of her deliverance, now while thetide of her spirits is at high-flood--throw yourselfat her feet, speak some romantic nonsense or other--address her, like Alexander in the height of hisvictory, confound her senses, bear down her reason, and away with her. --The priest is now in the cellar, and dare not refuse to do the work. 

_Re-enter Lady Bountiful_. 

_Aim_. But how shall I get off without being observed?

_Arch_. You a lover, and not find a way to get off!--Letme see--

_Aim_. You bleed, Archer. {50}

_Arch_. 'Sdeath, I 'm glad on 't; this wound will do thebusiness. I 'll amuse the old lady and Mrs. Sullenabout dressing my wound, while you carry offDorinda. 

_Lady Boun_. Gentlemen, could we understand how youwould be gratified for the services--

_Arch_. Come, come, my lady, this is no time for compliments;I 'm wounded, madam. 

_Lady Boun. , Mrs. Sut_. How! wounded!

_Dor_. I hope, sir, you have received no hurt? {60}

_Aim_. None but what you may cure----

[_Makes love in dumb show_. 

_Lady Boun_. Let me see your arm, sir--I must havesome powder-sugar to stop the blood. --O me! anugly gash; upon my word, sir, you must go into bed. 

_Arch_. Ay, my lady, a bed would do very well. --[_ToMrs. Sullen_. ] Madam, will you do me the favourto conduct me to a chamber. 

_Lady Boun_. Do, do, daughter--while I get the lint andthe probe and the plaster ready. 

[_Runs out one way, Aimwell carries offDorinda another_. 

_Arch_. Come, madam, why don't you obey your mother'scommands? {71}

_Mrs. Sul_. How can you, after what is passed, have theconfidence to ask me?

_Arch_. And if you go to that, how can you, after what ispassed, have the confidence to deny me? Was notthis blood shed in your defence, and my life exposedfor your protection? Look 'ee, madam, I 'm none ofyour romantic fools, that fight giants and monstersfor nothing; my valour is downright Swiss; I'm asoldier of fortune, and must be paid. ' {80}

_Mrs. Sul_. 'Tis ungenerous in you, sir, to upbraid mewith your services!

_Arch_. 'Tis ungenerous in you, madam, not to reward 'em

_Mrs. Sul_. How! at the expense of my honour?

_Arch_. Honour! can honour consist with ingratitude?If you would deal like a woman of honour, do likea man of honour. D' ye think I would deny you insuch a case?

_Enter a Servant_. 

_Serv_. Madam, my lady ordered me to tell you, that yourbrother is below at the gate. [_Exit_. 

_Mrs. Sul_. My brother! Heavens be praised!--Sir, heshall thank you for your services; he has it in hispower. {93}

_Arch_. Who is your brother, madam?

_Mrs. Sul_. Sir Charles Freeman. --You'll excuse me, sir; I must go and receive him. [_Exit_. 

_Arch_. Sir Charles Freeman! 'sdeath and hell! my oldacquaintance. Now unless Aimwell has made gooduse of his time, all our fair machine goes souse intothe sea like the Eddystone. [_Exit_. 

ACT V. , SCENE IV. 

_The Gallery in the same house. Enter Aimwell and Dorinda_. 

_Dor_. Well, well, my lord, you have conquered; your lategenerous action will, I hope, plead for my easyyielding; though I must own, your lordship had afriend in the fort before. 

_Aim_. The sweets of Hybla dwell upon her tongue!--Here, doctor--

_Enter Foigard with a book_. 

_Foi_. Are you prepared boat?

_Dor_. I 'm ready. But first, my lord, one word. --I havea frightful example of a hasty marriage in my ownfamily; when I reflect upon't it shocks me. Pray, my lord, consider a little-- {11}

_Aim_. Consider! do you doubt my honour or my love?

_Dor_. Neither: I do believe you equally just as brave:and were your whole sex drawn out forme to choose, I should not cast a look upon the multitude if youwere absent. But, my lord, I'm a woman; colours, concealments may hide a thousand faults in me, therefore know me better first; I hardly dare affirmI know myself in anything except my love. {19}

_Aim_. [Aside, ] Such goodness who could injure! I findmyself unequal to the task of villain; she hasgained my soul, and made it honest like her own. --I cannot, cannot hurt her. --[_Aloud_. ] Doctor, retire. --[_Exit Foigard_] Madam, behold your lover andyour proselyte, and judge of my passion by myconversion!--I 'm all a lie, nor dare I give afiction to your arms; I 'm all counterfeit, except mypassion. 

_Dor_. Forbid it, Heaven! a counterfeit! {29}

_Aim_. I am no lord, but a poor needy man, come with amean, a scandalous design to prey upon your fortune;but the beauties of your mind and person haveso won me from myself that, like a trusty servant, Iprefer the interest of my mistress to my own. 

_Dor_. Sure I have had the dream of some poor mariner, a sleepy image of a welcome port, and wake involvedin storms!--Pray, sir, who are you?

_Aim_. Brother to the man whose title I usurped, butstranger to his honour or his fortune. {39}

_Dor_. Matchless honesty!--Once I was proud, sir, ofyour wealth and title, but now am prouder that youwant it: now I can show my love was justly levelled, and had no aim but love. --Doctor, come in. 

_Enter Foigard at one door, Gipsy at another-, who whispers Dorinda_. 

[_To Foigard_. ] Your pardon, sir, we shan't want younow. --[_To Aimweil_. ] Sir, you must excuse me--I 'llwait on you presently. [_Exit with Gipsy_. 

_Foi_. Upon my shoul, now, dis is foolish. [_Exit_. 

_Aim_. Gone! and bid the priest depart!--It has anominous look. 

_Enter Archer_. 

_Arch_. Courage, Tom!--Shall I wish you joy? {50}

_Aim_. No. 

_Arch_. 'Oons, man, what ha' you been doing?

_Aim_. O Archer! my honesty, I fear, has ruined me. 

_Arch_. How?

_Aim_. I have discovered myself. 

_Arch_. Discovered! and without my consent? What!have I embarked my small remains in the samebottom with yours, and you dispose of all withoutmy partnership?

_Aim_. O Archer! I own my fault. 60

_Arch_. After conviction--'tis then too late for pardon. --You may remember, Mr. Aimwell, that you proposedthis folly: as you begun, so end it. HenceforthI 'll hunt my fortune single--so farewell!

_Aim_. Stay, my dear Archer, but a minute. 

_Arch_. Stay! what, to be despised, exposed, and laughedat! No, I would sooner change conditions with theworst of the rogues we just now bound, than bearone scornful smile from the proud knight that onceI treated as my equal. {70}

_Aim_. What knight?

_Arch_. Sir Charles Freeman, brother to the lady that Ihad almost--but no matter for that, 'tis a cursednight's work, and so I leave you to make the beston't. [_Going_. 

_Aim_. Freeman!--One word, Archer. Still I havehopes; methought she received my confession withpleasure. 

_Arch_. 'Sdeath, who doubts it?

_Aim_. She consented after to the match; and still I darebelieve she will be just. {81}

_Arch_. To herself, I warrant her, as you should havebeen. 

_Aim_. By all my hopes she comes, and smiling comes!

_Re-enter Dorinda, mighty gay_. 

_Dor_. Come, my dear lord--I fly with impatience to yourarms--the minutes of my absence were a tediousyear. Where's this priest?

_Re-enter Foigard_. 

_Arch_. 'Oons, a brave girl!

_Dor_. I suppose, my lord, this gentleman is privy to ouraffairs? {90}

_Arch_. Yes, yes, madam, I 'm to be your father. 

_Dor_. Come, priest, do your office. 

_Arch_. Make haste, make haste, couple 'em any way. --[_Takes Aimwells hand_. ] Come, madam, I 'm to giveyou--

_Dor_. My mind's altered; I won't. 

_Arch_. Eh!

_Aim_. I 'm confounded!

_Foi_. Upon my shoul, and sho is myshelf. 

_Arch_. What 's the matter now, madam? {100}

_Dor_. Look'ee, sir, one generous action deserves another. --This gentleman's honour obliged him to hidenothing from me; my justice engages me to concealnothing from him. In short, sir, you are theperson that you thought you counterfeited; you arethe true Lord Viscount Aimwell, and I wish yourLordship joy. --Now, priest, you may be gone; ifmy Lord is pleased now with the match, let hisLordship marry me in the face of the world. 

_Aim. , Arch_. What does she mean? {110}

_Dor_. Here's a witness for my truth. 

_Enter Sir Charles Freeman and Mrs Sullen_. 

_Sir Chas_. My dear Lord Aimwell, I wish you joy. 

_Aim_. Of what?

_Sir Chas_. Of your honour and estate. Your brotherdied the day before I left London; and all yourfriends have writ after you to Brussels;--amongthe rest I did myself the honour. 

_Arch_. Hark 'ee, sir knight, don't you banter now?

_Sir Chas_. 'Tis truth, upon my honour. 

_Aim_. Thanks to the pregnant stars that formed thisaccident! {121}

_Arch_. Thanks to the womb of time that brought itforth!--away with it!

_Aim_. Thanks to my guardian angel that led me to theprize! [_Taking Dorindas hand_]. 

_Arch_. And double thanks to the noble Sir CharlesFreeman. --My Lord, I wish you joy. --My Lady, Iwish you joy. --Egad, Sir Freeman, you're thehonestest fellow living!--'Sdeath, I'm grownstrange airy upon this matter!--My Lord, howd'ye?--A word, my Lord; don't you remembersomething of a previous agreement, that entitles meto the moiety of this lady's fortune, which I thinkwill amount to five thousand pounds?

_Aim_. Not a penny, Archer; you would ha' cut my throatjust now, because I would not deceive this lady. 

_Arch_. Ay, and I 'll cut your throat again, if you shoulddeceive her now. {139}

_Aim_. That's what I expected; and to end the dispute, the lady's fortune is ten thousand pounds, we'lldivide stakes: take the ten thousand pounds orthe lady. 

_Dor_. How! is your lordship so indifferent?

_Arch_. No, no, no, madam! his Lordship knows verywell that I 'll take the money; I leave you to hisLordship, and so we 're both provided for. 

_Enter Count Bellair_. 

_Count Bel_. _Mesdames et Messieurs_, I am your servanttrice humble! I hear you be rob here. 

_Aim_. The ladies have been in some danger, sir. 

_Count Bel_. And, begar, our inn be rob too! {150}

_Aim_. Our inn! by whom?

_Count Bel_. By the landlord, begar!--Garzoon, he hasrob himself, and run away!

_Arch_. Robbed himself!

_Count Bel_. Ay, begar, and me too of a hundre pound. 

_Arch_. A hundred pounds?

_Count Bel_. Yes, that I owed him. 

_Aim_. Our money's gone, Frank. 

_Arch_. Rot the money! my wench is gone. --[_To CountBellair_. ] _Savez-vous quelquechase de MademoiselleCherry?_ {161}

_Enter a Countryman with a strong-box and a letter_. 

_Coun_. Is there one Martin here?

_Arch_. Ay, ay--who wants him?

_Coun_. I have a box here, and letter for him. 

_Arch_. [_Taking the box_. ] Ha! ha! ha! what's here?Legerdemain!--By this light, my lord, our moneyagain!--But this unfolds the riddle. --[_Opening theletter_. ] Hum, hum, hum!--Oh, 'tis for the publicgood, and must be communicated to the company. 

[_Reads_. 

Mr. Martin, lyo

My father being afraid of an impeachment by therogues that are taken to-night, is gone off; but ifyou can procure him a pardon, he'll make greatdiscoveries that may be useful to the country. Could Ihave met you instead of your master to-night, I wouldhave delivered myself into your hands, with a sumthat much exceeds that in your strong-box, which Ihave sent you, with an assurance to my dear Martinthat I shall ever be his most faithful friend tilldeath. CHERRY BONIFACE. 

There's a billet-doux for you! As for the father, I think he ought to be encouraged; and for thedaughter--pray, my Lord, persuade your bride totake her into her service instead of Gipsy. {184}

_Aim_. I can assure you, madam, your deliverance wasowing to her discovery. 

_Dor_. Your command, my Lord, will do without theobligation. I 'll take care of her. 

_Sir Chas_. This good company meets opportunely infavour of a design I have in behalf of my unfortunatesister. I intend to part her from herhusband--gentlemen, will you assist me? {192}

_Arch_. Assist you! 'sdeath, who would not?

_Count Bel_. Assist! garzoon, we all assist!

_Enter Squire Sullen_. 

_Squire Sul_. What 's all this? They tell me, spouse, that you had like to have been robbed. 

_Mrs. Sul_. Truly, spouse, I was pretty near it, had notthese two gentlemen interposed. 

_Squire Sul_. How came these gentlemen here?

_Mrs. Sul_. That's his way of returning thanks, you mustknow. {201}

_Count Bel_. Garzoon, the question be apropos for all dat. 

_Sir Chas_. You promised last night, sir, that you woulddeliver your lady to me this morning. 

_Squire Sul_. Humph!

_Arch_. Humph! what do you mean by humph? Sir, you shall deliver her--in short, sir, we have savedyou and your family; and if you are not civil, we 'llunbind the rogues, join with 'em, and set fire toyour house. What does the man mean? not partwith his wife! {211}

_Count Bel_. Ay, garzoon, de man no understan commonjustice. 

_Mrs. Sul_. Hold, gentlemen, all things here must moveby consent, compulsion would spoil us; let my dearand I talk the matter over, and you shall judge itbetween us. 

_Squire Sul_. Let me know first who are to be our judges. Pray, sir, who are you?

_Sir Chas_. I am Sir Charles Freeman, come to take awayyour wife. {221}

_Squire Sul_. And you, good sir?

_Aim_. Thomas, Viscount Aimwell, come to take awayyour sister. 

_Squire Sul_. And you, pray, sir?

_Arch_. Francis Archer, esquire, come----

_Squire Sul_. To take away my mother, I hope. Gentlemen, you 're heartily welcome; I never met withthree more obliging people since I was born!--And now, my dear, if you please, you shall havethe first word. {231}

_Arch_. And the last, for five pounds!

_Mrs. Sul_. Spouse!

_Squire Sul_. Rib!

_Mrs. Sul_. How long have we been married?

_Squire Sul_. By the almanac, fourteen months; but bymy account, fourteen years. 

_Mrs. Sul_. 'Tis thereabout by my reckoning. 

_Count Bel_. Garzoon, their account will agree. 

_Mrs. Sul_. Pray, spouse, what did you marry for? {240}

_Squire Sul_. To get an heir to my estate. 

_Sir Chas_. And have you succeeded?

_Squire Sul_. No. 

_Arch_. The condition fails of his side. --Pray, madam, what did you marry for?

_Mrs. Sul_. To support the weakness of my sex by thestrength of his, and to enjoy the pleasures of anagreeable society. 

_Sir Chas_. Are your expectations answered?

_Mrs. Sul_. No. {250}

_Count Bel_. A clear case! a clear case!

_Sir Chas_. What are the bars to your mutual contentment?

_Mrs. Sul_. In the first place, I can't drink ale with him. 

_Squire Sul_. Nor can I drink tea with her. 

_Mrs. Sul_. I can't hunt with you. 

_Squire Sul_. Nor can I dance with you. 

_Mrs. Sul_. I hate cocking and racing. 

_Squire Sul_. And I abhor ombre and piquet. 

_Mrs. Sul_. Your silence is intolerable. 

_Squire Sul_. Your prating is worse. {260}

_Mrs. Sul_. Have we not been a perpetual offence to eachother? a gnawing vulture at the heart?

_Squire Sul_. A frightful goblin to the sight?

_Mrs. Sul_. A porcupine to the feeling?

_Squire Sul_. Perpetual wormwood to the taste?

_Mrs. Sul_. Is there on earth a thing we could agree in?

_Squire Sul_. Yes--to part. 

_Mrs. Sul_. With all my heart

_Squire Sul_. Your hand. 

_Mrs. Sul_. Here. {270}

_Squire Sul_. These hands joined us, these shall part us. --Away!

_Mrs. Sul_. North

_Squire Sul_. South. 

_Mrs. Sul_. East. 

_Squire Sul_. West--far as the poles asunder. 

_Count Bel_. Begar, the ceremony be vera pretty!

_Sir Chas_. Now, Mr. Sullen, there wants only my sister'sfortune to make us easy. 

_Squire Sul_. Sir Charles, you love your sister, and I loveher fortune; every one to his fancy. {281}

_Arch_. Then you won't refund;

_Squire Sul_. Not a stiver. 

_Arch_. Then I find, madam, you must e'en go to yourprison again. 

_Count Bel_. What is the portion?

_Sir Chas_. Ten thousand pounds, sir. 

_Count Bel_. Garzoon, I 'll pay it, and she shall go homewid me. {289}

_Arch_. Ha! ha! ha! French all over. -- Do you know, sir, what ten thousand pounds English is?

_Count Bel_. No, begar, not justement. 

_Arch_. Why, sir, 'tis a hundred thousand livres. 

_Count Bel_. A hundre tousand livres! Ah! garzoon, mecanno' do't, your beauties and their fortunes areboth too much for me. 

_Arch_. Then I will. --This night's adventure has provedstrangely lucky to us all--for Captain Gibbet in hiswalk had made bold, Mr. Sullen, with your studyand escritoir, and had taken out all the writings ofyour estate, all the articles of marriage with thislady, bills, bonds, leases, receipts to an infinitevalue: I took 'em from him, and I deliver 'em toSir Charles. 

[_Gives Sir Charles Freeman a parcel ofpapers and parchments_. 

_Squire Sul_. How, my writings!--my head achesconsumedly. --Well, gentlemen, you shall have herfortune, but I can't talk. If you have a mind, SirCharles, to be merry, and celebrate my sister'swedding and my divorce, you may command myhouse--but my head aches consumedly. --Scrub, bring me a dram. 

_Arch_. [_To Mrs. Sullen_. ] Madam, there's a countrydance to the trifle that I sung to-day; your hand, and we'll lead it up. 

_Here a Dance_. 

Twould be hard to guess which of these parties isthe better pleased, the couple joined, or the coupleparted; the one rejoicing in hopes of an untastedhappiness, and the other in their deliverance froman experienced misery. Both happy in their several states we find, Those parted by consent, and those conjoined. Consent, if mutual, saves the lawyer's fee. Consent is law enough to set you free. 

[_Exeunt omnes_. 

EPILOGUE

_Designed to be spoken in 'The Beaux-Stratagem'_. 

If to our play your judgment can't be kind, Let its expiring author pity find:Survey his mournful case with melting eyes, Nor let the bard be damn'd before he dies. Forbear, you fair, on his last scene to frown, But his true exit with a plaudit crown;Then shall the dying poet cease to fearThe dreadful knell, while your applause he hear. At Leuctra so the conquering Theban died, Claim'd his friends' praises, but their tears denied:Pleased in the pangs of death he greatly thoughtConquest with loss of life but cheaply boughtThe difference this, the Greek was one would fightAs brave, though not so gay, as Serjeant Kite;Ye sons of Will's, what's that to those who write?To Thebes alone the Grecian owed his bays, You may the bard above the hero raise, Since yours is greater than Athenian praise.