Part 17
_Don._ What! I warrant you are like the rest of the young silly baggages of England, that like nothing but what is French? You would not have him reformed, you would have a monsieur to your husband, would you, _cuerno_?
_Hip._ No, indeed, father, I would not have a monsieur to my husband; not I indeed: and I am sure you'll never make my cousin otherwise.
_Don._ I warrant you.
_Hip._ You can't, you can't indeed, father: and you have sworn, you know, he shall never have me, if he does not leave off his monsieurship. Now, as I told you, 'tis as hard for him to cease being a monsieur, as 'tis for you to break a Spanish oath; so that I am not in any great danger of having a monsieur to my husband.
_Don._ Well, but you shall have him for your husband, look you.
_Hip._ Then you will break your Spanish oath.
_Don._ No, I will break him of his French tricks; and you shall have him for your husband, _cuerno!_
_Hip._ Indeed and indeed, father, I shall not have him.
_Don._ Indeed you shall, daughter.
_Hip._ Well, you shall see, father.
_Mrs. Caut._ No, I warrant you, she will not have him, she'll have her dancing-master rather: I know her meaning, I understand her.
_Don._ Thou malicious foolish woman! you understand her!--But I do understand her; she says, I will not break my oath, nor he his French customs; so, through our difference, she thinks she shall not have him: but she shall.
_Hip._ But I shan't.
_Mrs. Caut._ I know she will not have him, because she hates him.
_Don._ I tell you, if she does hate him, 'tis a sign she will have him for her husband; for 'tis not one of a thousand that marries the man she loves, look you. Besides, 'tis all one whether she loves him now or not; for as soon as she's married, she'd be sure to hate him. That's the reason we wise Spaniards are jealous, and only expect, nay, will be sure our wives shall fear us, look you.
_Hip._ Pray, good father and aunt, do not dispute about nothing; for I am sure he will never be my husband to hate.
_Mrs. Caut._ I am of your opinion, indeed; I understand you. I can see as far as another.
_Don._ You! you cannot see so much as through your spectacles!--But I understand her: 'tis her mere desire to marriage makes her say she shall not have him; for your poor young things, when they are once in the teens, think they shall never be married.
_Hip._ Well, father, think you what you will; but I know what I think.
_Re-enter_ Monsieur de PARIS _in the Spanish habit entire, only with a cravat, and followed by the little_ Blackamoor _with a golilla_[62] _in his hand._
_Don._ Come, did not I tell you, you should have him? look you there, he has complied with me, and is a perfect Spaniard.
_Mons._ Ay! ay! I am ugly rogue enough now, sure, for my cousin. But 'tis your father's fault, cousin, that you han't the handsomest, best-dressed man in the nation; a man _bien mis_.
_Don._ Yet again at your French! and a cravat on still! _voto á St. Jago!_ off, off, with it!
_Mons._ Nay, I will ever hereafter speak clownish good English, do but spare me my cravat.
_Don._ I am _un positivo_, look you.
_Mons._ Let me not put on that Spanish yoke, but spare me my cravat; for I love cravat _furieusement_.
_Don._ Again at your _furieusements!_
_Mons._ Indeed I have forgot myself: but have some mercy. [_Kneels._
_Don._ Off, off, off with it, I say! Come, refuse the _ornamento_ principal of the Spanish habit! [_Takes him by the cravat, pulls it off, and the_ Black _puts on the golilla._
_Mons._ Will you have no mercy, no pity? alas! alas! alas! Oh! I had rather put on the English pillory, than that Spanish _golilla_, for 'twill be all a case I'm sure: for when I go abroad, I shall soon have a crowd of boys about me, peppering me with rotten eggs and turnips. _Hélas! hélas!_ [Don DIEGO _puts on the golilla._
_Don. Hélas_, again!
_Mons._ Alas! alas! alas!
_Hip._ I shall die! } } Ha! ha! ha! _Prue._ I shall burst! }
_Mons._ Ay! ay! you see what I am come to for your sake, cousin: and, uncle, pray take notice how ridiculous I am grown to my cousin, that loves me above all the world: she can no more forbear laughing at me, I vow and swear, than if I were as arrant a Spaniard as yourself.
_Don._ Be a Spaniard like me, and ne'er think people laugh at you: there was never a Spaniard that thought any one laughed at him. But what! do you laugh at a _golilla_, baggage? Come, sirrah black, now do you teach him to walk with the _verdadero gesto, gracia,_ and _gravidad_ of a true Castilian.
_Mons._ Must I have my dancing-master too?--Come, little master, then, lead on. [_The_ Black _struts about the stage,_ Monsieur _follows him, imitating awkwardly all he does._
_Don. Malo! malo!_ with your hat on your poll, as it it hung upon a pin!--the French and English wear their hats as if their horns would not suffer 'em to come over their foreheads, _voto!_
_Mons._ 'Tis true, there are some well-bred gentlemen have so much reverence for their peruke, that they would refuse to be grandees of your Spain for fear of putting on their hats, I vow and swear!
_Don._ Come, black, teach him now to make a Spanish leg.[63]
_Mons._ Ha! ha! ha! your Spanish leg is an English courtesy, I vow and swear, hah! hah! hah!
_Don._ Well, the hood does not make the monk; the ass was an ass still, though he had the lion's skin on. This will be a light French fool, in spite of the grave Spanish habit, look you.--But, black, do what you can; make the most of him; walk him about.
_Prue._ Here are the people, sir, you sent to speak about provisions for the wedding; and here are clothes brought home too, mistress. [_Goes to the door and returns._
_Don._ Well, I come.--Black, do what you can with him; walk him about.
_Mons._ Indeed, uncle, if I were as you, I would not have the grave Spanish habit so travestied: I shall disgrace it, and my little black master too, I vow and swear.
_Don._ Learn, learn of him; improve yourself by him--and do you walk him, walk him about soundly.--Come, sister, and daughter, I must have your judgments, though I shall not need 'em, look you.--Walk him, see you walk him. [_Exeunt_ Don DIEGO, HIPPOLITA, _and_ Mrs. CAUTION.
_Mons. Jarni!_ he does not only make a Spaniard of me, but a Spanish jennet, in giving me to his lackey to walk.--But come along, little master. [_The_ Black _instructs_ Monsieur _on one side of the stage_, PRUE _standing on the other._
_Prue._ O the unfortunate condition of us poor chambermaids! who have all the carking and caring, the watching and sitting up, the trouble and danger of our mistresses' intrigues, whilst they go away with all the pleasure! And if they can get their man in a corner, 'tis well enough; they ne'er think of the poor watchful chambermaid, who sits knocking her heels in the cold, for want of better exercise, in some melancholy lobby or entry, when she could employ her time every whit as well as her mistress, for all her quality, if she were but put to't. [_Aside._
_Black._ Hold up your head, hold up your head sir:--a stooping Spaniard, _malo!_
_Mons._ True, a Spaniard scorns to look upon the ground.
_Prue._ We can shift for our mistresses, and not for ourselves. Mine has got a handsome proper young man, and is just going to make the most of him; whilst I must be left in the lurch here with a couple of ugly little blackamoor boys in bonnets, and an old withered Spanish eunuch; not a servant else in the house, nor have I hopes of any comfortable society at all. [_Aside._
_Black._ Now let me see you make your visit-leg, thus.
_Mons._ Auh, _tête non!_--ha! ha! ha!
_Black._ What! a Spaniard, and laugh aloud! No, if you laugh, thus only--so--Now your salutation in the street, as you pass by your acquaintance; look you, thus--if to a woman, thus--putting your hat upon your heart; if to a man, thus, with a nod--so--but frown a little more, frown:--but if to a woman you would be very ceremonious to, thus--so--your neck nearer your shoulder--so--Now, if you would speak contemptibly of any man, or thing, do thus with your hand--so--and shrug up your shoulders till they hide your ears.--[Monsieur _imitating the_ Black.] Now walk again. [_The_ Black _and_ Monsieur _walk off the stage._
_Prue._ All my hopes are in that coxcomb there: I must take up with my mistress's leavings, though we chambermaids are wont to be beforehand with them. But he is the dullest, modestest fool, for a frenchified fool, as ever I saw; for nobody could be more coming to him than I have been, though I say it, and yet I am ne'er the nearer. I have stolen away his handkerchief, and told him of it; and yet he would never so much as struggle with me to get it again: I have pulled off his peruke, untied his ribbons, and have been very bold with him: yet he would never be so with me: nay, I have pinched him, punched him and tickled him; and yet he would never do the like for me.
_Re-enter the_ Black _and_ Monsieur.
_Black._ Nay, thus, thus, sir.
_Prue._ And to make my person more acceptable to him, I have used art, as they say; for every night since he came, I have worn the forehead-piece of bees-wax and hog's-grease, and every morning washed with butter-milk and wild tansy; and have put on every day for his only sake my Sunday's bowdy[64] stockings, and have new-chalked my shoes, as constantly as the morning came: nay, I have taken occasion to garter my stockings before him, as if unawares of him; for a good leg and foot, with good shoes and stockings, are very provoking, as they say; but the devil a bit would he be provoked.--But I must think of a way. [_Aside._
_Black._ Thus, thus.
_Mons._ What, so! Well, well, I have lessons enough for this time, little master; I will have no more, lest the multiplicity of them make me forget them, da.--Prue, art thou there and so pensive? what art thou thinking of?
_Prue._ Indeed, I am ashamed to tell your worship.
_Mons._ What, ashamed! wert thou thinking then of my beastliness? ha! ha! ha!
_Prue._ Nay, then I am forced to tell your worship in my own vindication.
_Mons._ Come then.
_Prue._ But indeed, your worship--I'm ashamed, that I am, though it was nothing but a dream I had of your sweet worship last night.
_Mons._ Of my sweet worship! I warrant it was a sweet dream then:--what was it? ha! ha! ha!
_Prue._ Nay, indeed, I have told your worship enough already; you may guess the rest.
_Mons._ I cannot guess; ha! ha! ha! What should it be? prithee let's know the rest.
_Prue._ Would you have me so impudent?
_Mons._ Impudent! ha! ha! ha! Nay, prithee tell me; for I can't guess, da--
_Prue._ Nay, 'tis always so, for want of the men's guessing the poor women are forced to be impudent:--but I am still ashamed.
_Mons._ I will know it; speak.
_Prue._ Why then, methought last night you came up into my chamber in your shirt when I was in bed; and that you might easily do, for I have ne'er a lock to my door.--Now I warrant I am as red as my petticoat.
_Mons._ No, thou'rt as yellow as e'er thou wert.
_Prue._ Yellow, sir!
_Mons._ Ay, ay: but let's hear the dream out.
_Prue._ Why, can't you guess the rest now?
_Mons._ No, not I, I vow and swear: come, let's hear.
_Prue._ But can't you guess, in earnest?
_Mons._ Not I, the devil eat me!
_Prue._ Not guess yet! why then, methought you came to bed to me.--Now am I as red as my petticoat again.
_Mons._ Ha! ha! ha!--well, and what then? ha! ha! ha!
_Prue._ Nay, now I know by your worship's laughing you guess what you did. I'm sure I cried out, and waked all in tears, with these words in my mouth--"You have undone me! you have undone me! your worship has undone me!"
_Mons._ Ha! ha! ha!--but you waked, and found it was but a dream.
_Prue._ Indeed it was so lively, I know not whether 'twas a dream, or no.--But if you were not there, I'll undertake you may come when you will, and do anything to me you will, I sleep so fast.
_Mons._ No, no; I don't believe that.
_Prue._ Indeed you may, your worship--
_Mons._ It cannot be.
_Prue._ Insensible beast! he will not understand me yet; and one would think I speak plain enough. [_Aside._
_Mons._ Well, but, Prue, what art thou thinking of?
_Prue._ Of the dream, whether it were a dream or no.
_Mons._ 'Twas a dream, I warrant thee.
_Prue._ Was it? I am hugeous glad it was a dream.
_Mons._ Ay, ay, it was a dream: and I am hugeous glad it was a dream too.
_Prue._ But now I have told your worship my door has neither lock nor latch to it, if you should be so naughty as to come one night, and prove the dream true--I am so afraid on't.
_Mons._ Ne'er fear it:--dreams go by the contraries.
_Prue._ Then, by that I should come into your worship's chamber, and come to bed to your worship.--Now am I as red as my petticoat again, I warrant.
_Mons._ No, thou art no redder than a brick unburnt, Prue.
_Prue._ But if I should do such a trick in my sleep, your worship would not censure a poor harmless maid, I hope?--for I am apt to walk in my sleep.
_Mons._ Well, then, Prue, because thou shalt not shame thyself, poor wench, I'll be sure to lock my door every night fast.
_Prue._ [_Aside._] So! so! this way I find will not do:--I must come roundly and downright to the business, like other women, or--
_Enter_ GERRARD.
_Mons._ O, the dancing-master!
_Prue._ Dear sir, I have something to say to you in your ear, which I am ashamed to speak aloud.
_Mons._ Another time, another time, Prue. But now go call your mistress to her dancing-master. Go, go.
_Prue._ Nay, pray hear me, sir, first.
_Mons._ Another time, another time, Prue; prithee begone.
_Prue._ Nay, I beseech your worship hear me.
_Mons._ No; prithee begone.
_Prue._ [_Aside._] Nay, I am e'en well enough served for not speaking my mind when I had an opportunity.--Well, I must be playing the modest woman, forsooth! a woman's hypocrisy in this case does only deceive herself. [_Exit._
_Mons._ O, the brave dancing master! the fine dancing-master! Your servant, your servant.
_Ger._ Your servant sir: I protest I did not know you at first--[_Aside._] I am afraid this fool should spoil all, notwithstanding Hippolita's care and management; yet I ought to trust her:--but a secret is more safe with a treacherous knave than a talkative fool.
_Mons._ Come, sir, you must know a little brother dancing-master of yours--walking master I should have said; for he teaches me to walk and make legs, by-the-bye. Pray, know him, sir; salute him, sir.--You Christian dancing-masters are so proud.
_Ger._ But, monsieur, what strange metamorphosis is this? You look like a Spaniard, and talk like an Englishman again, which I thought had been impossible.
_Mons._ Nothing impossible to love: I must do't, or lose my mistress, your pretty scholar; for 'tis I am to have her. You may remember I told you she was to be married to a great man, a man of honour and quality.
_Ger._ But does she enjoin you to this severe penance?--such I am sure it is to you.
_Mons._ No, no: 'tis by the compulsion of the starched fop her father, who is so arrant a Spaniard, he would kill you and his daughter, if he knew who you were: therefore have a special care to dissemble well. [_Draws him aside._
_Ger._ I warrant you.
_Mons._ Dear Gerrard--Go, little master, and call my cousin: tell her her dancing-master is here. [_Exit the_ Black]--I say, dear Gerrard, faith, I'm obliged to you for the trouble you have had. When I sent you, I intended a jest indeed; but did not think it would have been so dangerous a jest: therefore pray forgive me.
_Ger._ I do, do heartily forgive you.
_Mons._ But can you forgive me for sending you at first, like a fool as I was? 'Twas ill done of me: can you forgive me?
_Ger._ Yes, yes, I do forgive you.
_Mons._ Well, thou art a generous man, I vow and swear, to come and take upon you all this trouble, danger, and shame, to be thought a paltry dancing-master; and all this to preserve a lady's honour and life, who intended to abuse you. But I take the obligation upon me.
_Ger._ Pish! pish! you are not obliged to me at all.
_Mons._ Faith, but I am strangely obliged to you.
_Ger._ Faith, but you are not.
_Mons._ I vow and swear but I am.
_Ger._ I swear you are not.
_Mons._ Nay, thou art so generous a dancing-master, ha! ha! ha!
_Re-enter_ Don DIEGO, HIPPOLITA, Mrs. CAUTION, _and_ PRUE.
_Don._ You shall not come in, sister.
_Mrs. Caut._ I will come in.
_Don._ You will not be civil.
_Mrs. Caut._ I'm sure they will not be civil, if I do not come in:--I must, I will.
_Don._ Well, honest friend, you are very punctual, which is a rare virtue in a dancing-master; I take notice of it, and will remember it; I will, look you.
_Mons._ So, silly, damned, politic Spanish uncle!--ha! ha! ha! [_Aside._
_Ger._ My fine scholar, sir, there, shall never have reason, as I have told you, sir, to say I am not a punctual man; for I am more her servant than to any scholar I ever had.
_Mons._ Well said, i'faith!--[_Aside._] Thou dost make a pretty fool of him, I vow and swear. But I wonder people can be made such fools of:--ha! ha! ha!
_Hip._ Well, master, I thank you; and I hope I shall be a grateful, kind scholar to you.
_Mons._ Ha! ha! ha! cunning little jilt, what a fool she makes of him too! I wonder people can be made such fools of, I vow and swear:--ha! ha! ha! [_Aside._
_Hip._ Indeed, it shall go hard but I'll be a grateful, kind scholar to you.
_Mrs. Caut._ As kind as ever your mother was to your father, I warrant.
_Don._ How! again with your senseless suspicions.
_Mons._ Pish! pish! aunt--[_Aside._] Ha! ha! ha! she's a fool another way: she thinks she loves him, ha! ha! ha! Lord! that people should be such fools!
_Mrs. Caut._ Come, come, I cannot but speak: I tell you, beware in time; for he is no dancing-master, but some debauched person who will mump you of your daughter.
_Don._ Will you be wiser than I still? Mump me of my daughter! I would I could see any one mump me of my daughter.
_Mrs. Caut._ And mump you of your mistress too, young Spaniard.
_Mons._ Ha! ha! ha! will you be wiser than I too, _voto_? Mump me of my mistress! I would I could see any one mump me of my mistress.--[_Aside to_ GERRARD _and_ HIPPOLITA.] I am afraid this damned old aunt should discover us, I vow and swear: be careful therefore and resolute.
_Mrs. Caut._ He! he does not go about his business like a dancing-master. He'll ne'er teach her to dance; but he'll teach her no goodness soon enough, I warrant.--He a dancing-master!
_Mons._ Ay, the devil eat me if he be not the best dancing-master in England now!--[_Aside to_ GERRARD _and_ HIPPOLITA.] Was not that well said, cousin? was it not? for he's a gentleman dancing-master, you know.
_Don._ You know him, cousin, very well? cousin, you sent him to my daughter?
_Mons._ Yes, yes, uncle:--know him!--[_Aside._] We'll ne'er be discovered, I warrant, ha! ha! ha!
_Mrs. Caut._ But will you be made a fool of too?
_Mons._ Ay, ay, aunt, ne'er trouble yourself.
_Don._ Come, friend, about your business; about with my daughter.
_Hip._ Nay, pray, father, be pleased to go out a little, and let us practise awhile, and then you shall see me dance the whole dance to the violin.
_Don._ Tittle tattle! more fooling still!--Did not you say, when your master was here last, I should see you dance to the violin when he came again?
_Hip._ So I did, father: but let me practise a little first before, that I may be perfect. Besides, my aunt is here, and she will put me out; you know I cannot dance before her.
_Don._ Fiddle faddle!
_Mons._ [_Aside._] They're afraid to be discovered by Gerrard's bungling, I see.--[_Aloud._] Come, come, uncle turn out! let 'em practise.
_Don._ I won't, _voto á St. Jago!_ what a fooling's here.
_Mons._ Come, come, let 'em practise: turn out, turn out, uncle.
_Don._ Why can't she practise it before me?
_Mons._ Come, dancers and singers are sometimes humoursome; besides, 'twill be more grateful to you to see it danced all at once to the violin. Come, turn out, turn out, I say.
_Don._ What a fooling's here still among you, _voto!_
_Mons._ So, there he is with you, _voto!_--Turn out, turn out; I vow and swear you shall turn out. [_Takes him by the shoulder._
_Don._ Well, shall I see her dance it to the violin at last?
_Ger._ Yes, yes, sir; what do you think I teach her for?
_Mons._ Go, go, turn out.--[_Exit_ Don DIEGO.] And you too, aunt.
_Mrs. Caut._ Seriously, nephew, I shall not budge; royally, I shall not.
_Mons._ Royally, you must, aunt: come.
_Mrs. Caut._ Pray hear me, nephew.
_Mons._ I will not hear you.
_Mrs. Caut._ 'Tis for your sake I stay: I must not suffer you to be wronged.
_Mons._ Come, no wheedling, aunt: come away.
_Mrs. Caut._ That slippery fellow will do't.
_Mons._ Let him do't.
_Mrs. Caut._ Indeed he will do't; royally he will.
_Mons._ Well, let him do't, royally.
_Mrs. Caut._ He will wrong you.
_Mons._ Well, let him, I say; I have a mind to be wronged: what's that to you? I will be wronged, if you go there too, I vow and swear.
_Mrs. Caut._ You shall not be wronged.
_Mons._ I will.
_Mrs. Caut._ You shall not.
_Re-enter_ Don DIEGO.
_Don._ What's the matter? won't she be ruled?--Come, come away; you shall not disturb 'em. [Don DIEGO _and_ Monsieur _try to thrust_ Mrs. CAUTION _out._
_Mrs. Caut._ D'ye see how they laugh at you both?--Well, go to; the troth-telling Trojan gentlewoman of old was ne'er believed till the town was taken, rummaged, and ransacked. Even, even so--
_Mons._ Ha! ha! ha! turn out--[_Exeunt_ Mrs. CAUTION _and_ Don DIEGO.]--Lord, that people should be such arrant cuddens![65] ha! ha! ha! But I may stay, may I not?
_Hip._ No, no; I'd have you go out and hold the door, cousin; or else my father will come in again before his time.
_Mons._ I will, I will then, sweet cousin.--'Tis well thought on; that was well thought on, indeed, for me to hold the door.
_Hip._ But be sure you keep him out, cousin, till we knock.