Part 21

_Sir Jasp._ Stay but till the chairs come; they'll be here presently.

_Lady Fid._ No, no.

_Sir Jasp._ Nor can I stay longer. 'Tis, let me see, a quarter and half quarter of a minute past eleven. The council will be sat; I must away. Business must be preferred always before love and ceremony with the wise, Mr. Horner.

_Horn._ And the impotent, Sir Jasper.

_Sir Jasp._ Ay, ay, the impotent, Master Horner; hah! hah! hah!

_Lady Fid._ What, leave us with a filthy man alone in his lodgings?

_Sir Jasp._ He's an innocent man now, you know. Pray stay, I'll hasten the chairs to you.--Mr. Horner, your servant; I should be glad to see you at my house. Pray come and dine with me, and play at cards with my wife after dinner; you are fit for women at that game yet, ha! ha!--[_Aside._] 'Tis as much a husband's prudence to provide innocent diversion for a wife as to hinder her unlawful pleasures; and he had better employ her than let her employ herself.--[_Aloud._] Farewell.

_Horn._ Your servant, Sir Jasper. [_Exit_ Sir JASPER.

_Lady Fid._ I will not stay with him, foh!--

_Horn._ Nay, madam, I beseech you stay, if it be but to see I can be as civil to ladies yet as they would desire.

_Lady Fid._ No, no, foh! you cannot be civil to ladies.

_Mrs. Dain._ You as civil as ladies would desire?

_Lady Fid._ No, no, no, foh! foh! foh! [_Exeunt_ Lady FIDGET _and_ Mrs. DAINTY FIDGET.

_Quack._ Now, I think, I, or you yourself, rather, have done your business with the women.

_Horn._ Thou art an ass. Don't you see already, upon the report, and my carriage, this grave man of business leaves his wife in my lodgings, invites me to his house and wife, who before would not be acquainted with me out of jealousy?

_Quack._ Nay, by this means you may be the more acquainted with the husbands, but the less with the wives.

_Horn._ Let me alone; if I can but abuse the husbands, I'll soon disabuse the wives. Stay--I'll reckon you up the advantages I am like to have by my stratagem. First, I shall be rid of all my old acquaintances, the most insatiable sort of duns, that invade our lodgings in a morning; and next to the pleasure of making a new mistress is that of being rid of an old one, and of all old debts. Love, when it comes to be so, is paid the most unwillingly.

_Quack._ Well, you may be so rid of your old acquaintances; but how will you get any new ones?

_Horn._ Doctor, thou wilt never make a good chemist, thou art so incredulous and impatient. Ask but all the young fellows of the town if they do not lose more time, like huntsmen, in starting the game, than in running it down. One knows not where to find 'em; who will or will not. Women of quality are so civil, you can hardly distinguish love from good breeding, and a man is often mistaken: but now I can be sure she that shows an aversion to me loves the sport, as those women that are gone, whom I warrant to be right. And then the next thing is, your women of honour, as you call 'em, are only chary of their reputations, not their persons; and 'tis scandal they would avoid, not men. Now may I have, by the reputation of an eunuch, the privileges of one, and be seen in a lady's chamber in a morning as early as her husband; kiss virgins before their parents or lovers; and may be, in short, the _passe-partout_ of the town. Now, doctor.

_Quack._ Nay, now you shall be the doctor; and your process is so new that we do not know but it may succeed.

_Horn._ Not so new neither; _probatum est_, doctor.

_Quack._ Well, I wish you luck, and many patients, whilst I go to mine. [_Exit._

_Enter_ HARCOURT _and_ DORILANT.

_Har._ Come, your appearance at the play yesterday, has, I hope, hardened you for the future against the women's contempt, and the men's raillery; and now you'll abroad as you were wont.

_Horn._ Did I not bear it bravely?

_Dor._ With a most theatrical impudence, nay, more than the orange-wenches show there, or a drunken vizard-mask, or a great-bellied actress; nay, or the most impudent of creatures, an ill poet; or what is yet more impudent, a second-hand critic.

_Horn._ But what say the ladies? have they no pity?

_Har._ What ladies? The vizard-masks, you know, never pity a man when all's gone, though in their service.

_Dor._ And for the women in the boxes, you'd never pity them when 'twas in your power.

_Har._ They say 'tis pity but all that deal with common women should be served so.

_Dor._ Nay, I dare swear they won't admit you to play at cards with them, go to plays with 'em, or do the little duties which other shadows of men are wont to do for 'em.

_Horn._ What do you call shadows of men?

_Dor._ Half-men.

_Horn._ What, boys?

_Dor._ Ay, your old boys, old _beaux garçons_, who, like superannuated stallions, are suffered to run, feed, and whinny with the mares as long as they live, though they can do nothing else.

_Horn._ Well, a pox on love and wenching! Women serve but to keep a man from better company. Though I can't enjoy them, I shall you the more. Good fellowship and friendship are lasting, rational, and manly pleasures.

_Har._ For all that, give me some of those pleasures you call effeminate too; they help to relish one another.

_Horn._ They disturb one another.

_Har._ No, mistresses are like books. If you pore upon them too much, they doze you, and make you unfit for company; but if used discreetly, you are the fitter for conversation by 'em.

_Dor._ A mistress should be like a little country retreat near the town; not to dwell in constantly, but only for a night and away, to taste the town the better when a man returns.

_Horn._ I tell you, 'tis as hard to be a good fellow, a good friend, and a lover of women, as 'tis to be a good fellow, a good friend, and a lover of money. You cannot follow both, then choose your side. Wine gives you liberty, love takes it away.

_Dor._ Gad, he's in the right on't.

_Horn._ Wine gives you joy; love, grief and tortures, besides surgeons. Wine makes us witty; love, only sots. Wine makes us sleep; love breaks it.

_Dor._ By the world he has reason, Harcourt.

_Horn._ Wine makes--

_Dor._ Ay, wine makes us--makes us princes; love makes us beggars, poor rogues, egad--and wine--

_Horn._ So, there's one converted.--No, no, love and wine, oil and vinegar.

_Har._ I grant it; love will still be uppermost.

_Horn._ Come, for my part, I will have only those glorious manly pleasures of being very drunk and very slovenly.

_Enter_ Boy.

_Boy._ Mr. Sparkish is below, sir. [_Exit._

_Har._ What, my dear friend! a rogue that is fond of me only, I think, for abusing him.

_Dor._ No, he can no more think the men laugh at him than that women jilt him; his opinion of himself is so good.

_Horn._ Well, there's another pleasure by drinking I thought not of,--I shall lose his acquaintance, because he cannot drink: and you know 'tis a very hard thing to be rid of him; for he's one of those nauseous offerers at wit, who, like the worst fiddlers, run themselves into all companies.

_Har._ One that, by being in the company of men of sense, would pass for one.

_Horn._ And may so to the short-sighted world; as a false jewel amongst true ones is not discerned at a distance. His company is as troublesome to us as a cuckold's when you have a mind to his wife's.

_Har._ No, the rogue will not let us enjoy one another, but ravishes our conversation; though he signifies no more to't than Sir Martin Mar-all's[72] gaping, and awkward thrumming upon the lute, does to his man's voice and music.

_Dor._ And to pass for a wit in town shows himself a fool every night to us, that are guilty of the plot.

_Horn._ Such wits as he are, to a company of reasonable men, like rooks to the gamesters; who only fill a room at the table, but are so far from contributing to the play, that they only serve to spoil the fancy of those that do.

_Dor._ Nay, they are used like rooks too, snubbed, checked, and abused; yet the rogues will hang on.

_Horn._ A pox on 'em, and all that force nature, and would be still what she forbids 'em! Affectation is her greatest monster.

_Har._ Most men are the contraries to that they would seem. Your bully, you see, is a coward with a long sword; the little humbly-fawning physician, with his ebony cane, is he that destroys men.

_Dor._ The usurer, a poor rogue, possessed of mouldy bonds and mortgages; and we they call spendthrifts, are only wealthy, who lay out his money upon daily new purchases of pleasure.

_Horn._ Ay, your arrantest cheat is your trustee or executor; your jealous man, the greatest cuckold; your churchman the greatest atheist; and your noisy pert rogue of a wit, the greatest fop, dullest ass, and worst company, as you shall see; for here he comes.

_Enter_ SPARKISH.

_Spark._ How is't, sparks? how is't? Well, faith, Harry, I must rally thee a little, ha! ha! ha! upon the report in town of thee, ha! ha! ha! I can't hold i'faith; shall I speak?

_Horn._ Yes; but you'll be so bitter then.

_Spark._ Honest Dick and Frank here shall answer for me; I will not be extreme bitter, by the universe.

_Har._ We will be bound in a ten thousand pound bond, he shall not be bitter at all.

_Dor._ Nor sharp, nor sweet.

_Horn._ What, not downright insipid?

_Spark._ Nay then, since you are so brisk, and provoke me, take what follows. You must know, I was discoursing and rallying with some ladies yesterday, and they happened to talk of the fine new signs in town--

_Horn._ Very fine ladies, I believe.

_Spark._ Said I, I know where the best new sign is.--Where? says one of the ladies.--In Covent-Garden, I replied.--Said another, In what street?--In Russel-street, answered I.--Lord, says another, I'm sure there was never a fine new sign there yesterday.--Yes, but there was, said I again; and it came out of France, and has been there a fortnight.

_Dor._ A pox! I can hear no more, prithee.

_Horn._ No, hear him out; let him tune his crowd a while.

_Har._ The worst music, the greatest preparation.

_Spark._ Nay, faith, I'll make you laugh.--It cannot be, says a third lady.--Yes, yes, quoth I again.--Says a fourth lady--

_Horn._ Look to't, we'll have no more ladies.

_Spark._ No--then mark, mark, now. Said I to the fourth, Did you never see Mr. Horner? he lodges in Russel-street, and he's a sign of a man, you know, since he came out of France; ha! ha! ha!

_Horn._ But the devil take me if thine be the sign of a jest.

_Spark._ With that they all fell a-laughing, till they bepissed themselves. What, but it does not move you, methinks? Well, I see one had as good go to law without a witness, as break a jest without a laugher on one's side.--Come, come, sparks, but where do we dine? I have left at Whitehall an earl, to dine with you.

_Dor._ Why, I thought thou hadst loved a man with a title, better than a suit with a French trimming to't.

_Har._ Go to him again.

_Spark._ No, sir, a wit to me is the greatest title in the world.

_Horn._ But go dine with your earl, sir; he may be exception. We are your friends, and will not take it ill to be left, I do assure you.

_Har._ Nay, faith, he shall go to him.

_Spark._ Nay, pray, gentlemen.

_Dor._ We'll thrust you out, if you won't; what, disappoint anybody for us?

_Spark._ Nay, dear gentlemen, hear me.

_Horn._ No, no, sir, by no means; pray go, sir.

_Spark._ Why, dear rogues--

_Dor._ No, no. [_They all thrust him out of the room._

_All._ Ha! ha! ha!

_Re-enter_ SPARKISH.

_Spark._ But, sparks, pray hear me. What, d'ye think I'll eat then with gay shallow fops and silent coxcombs? I think wit as necessary at dinner, as a glass of good wine; and that's the reason I never have any stomach when I eat alone.--Come, but where do we dine?

_Horn._ Even where you will.

_Spark._ At Chateline's?

_Dor._ Yes, if you will.

_Spark._ Or at the Cock?[73]

_Dor._ Yes, if you please.

_Spark._ Or at the Dog and Partridge?

_Horn._ Ay, if you have a mind to't; for we shall dine at neither.

_Spark._ Pshaw! with your fooling we shall lose the new play; and I would no more miss seeing a new play the first day, than I would miss sitting in the wit's row. Therefore I'll go fetch my mistress, and away. [_Exit._

_Enter_ PINCHWIFE.

_Horn._ Who have we here? Pinchwife?

_Pinch._ Gentlemen, your humble servant.

_Horn._ Well, Jack, by thy long absence from the town, the grumness of thy countenance, and the slovenliness of thy habit, I should give thee joy, should I not, of marriage?

_Pinch._ [_Aside._] Death! does he know I'm married too? I thought to have concealed it from him at least.--[_Aloud._] My long stay in the country will excuse my dress; and I have a suit of law that brings me up to town, that puts me out of humour. Besides, I must give Sparkish to-morrow five thousand pounds to lie with my sister.

_Horn._ Nay, you country gentlemen, rather than not purchase, will buy anything; and he is a cracked title, if we may quibble. Well, but am I to give thee joy? I heard thou wert married.

_Pinch._ What then?

_Horn._ Why, the next thing that is to be heard, is, thou'rt a cuckold.

_Pinch._ Insupportable name! [_Aside._

_Horn._ But I did not expect marriage from such a whoremaster as you; one that knew the town so much, and women so well.

_Pinch._ Why, I have married no London wife.

_Horn._ Pshaw! that's all one. That grave circumspection in marrying a country wife, is like refusing a deceitful pampered Smithfield jade, to go and be cheated by a friend in the country.

_Pinch._ [_Aside._] A pox on him and his simile!--[_Aloud._] At least we are a little surer of the breed there, know what her keeping has been, whether foiled or unsound.

_Horn._ Come, come, I have known a clap gotten in Wales; and there are cousins, justices' clerks, and chaplains in the country, I won't say coachmen. But she's handsome and young?

_Pinch._ [_Aside._] I'll answer as I should do.--[_Aloud._] No, no; she has no beauty but her youth, no attraction but her modesty: wholesome, homely, and huswifely; that's all.

_Dor._ He talks as like a grazier as he looks.

_Pinch._ She's too awkward, ill-favoured, and silly to bring to town.

_Har._ Then methinks you should bring her to be taught breeding.

_Pinch._ To be taught! no, sir, I thank you. Good wives and private soldiers should be ignorant--I'll keep her from your instructions, I warrant you.

_Har._ The rogue is as jealous as if his wife were not ignorant. [_Aside._

_Horn._ Why, if she be ill-favoured, there will be less danger here for you than by leaving her in the country. We have such variety of dainties that we are seldom hungry.

_Dor._ But they have always coarse, constant, swingeing stomachs in the country.

_Har._ Foul feeders indeed!

_Dor._ And your hospitality is great there.

_Har._ Open house; every man's welcome.

_Pinch._ So, so, gentlemen.

_Horn._ But prithee, why shouldst thou marry her? If she be ugly, ill-bred, and silly, she must be rich then.

_Pinch._ As rich as if she brought me twenty thousand pound out of this town; for she'll be as sure not to spend her moderate portion, as a London baggage would be to spend hers, let it be what it would: so 'tis all one. Then, because she's ugly, she's the likelier to be my own; and being ill-bred, she'll hate conversation; and since silly and innocent, will not know the difference betwixt a man of one-and-twenty and one of forty.

_Horn._ Nine--to my knowledge. But if she be silly, she'll expect as much from a man of forty-nine, as from him of one-and-twenty. But methinks wit is more necessary than beauty; and I think no young woman ugly that has it, and no handsome woman agreeable without it.

_Pinch._ 'Tis my maxim, he's a fool that marries; but he's a greater that does not marry a fool. What is wit in a wife good for, but to make a man a cuckold?

_Horn._ Yes, to keep it from his knowledge.

_Pinch._ A fool cannot contrive to make her husband a cuckold.

_Horn._ No; but she'll club with a man that can: and what is worse, if she cannot make her husband a cuckold, she'll make him jealous, and pass for one: and then 'tis all one.

_Pinch._ Well, well, I'll take care for one. My wife shall make me no cuckold, though she had your help, Mr. Horner. I understand the town, sir.

_Dor._ His help! [_Aside._

_Har._ He's come newly to town, it seems, and has not heard how things are with him. [_Aside._

_Horn._ But tell me, has marriage cured thee of whoring, which it seldom does?

_Har._ 'Tis more than age can do.

_Horn._ No, the word is, I'll marry and live honest: but a marriage vow is like a penitent gamester's oath, and entering into bonds and penalties to stint himself to such a particular small sum at play for the future, which makes him but the more eager; and not being able to hold out, loses his money again, and his forfeit to boot.

_Dor._ Ay, ay, a gamester will be a gamester whilst his money lasts, and a whoremaster whilst his vigour.

_Har._ Nay, I have known 'em, when they are broke, and can lose no more, keep a fumbling with the box in their hands to fool with only, and hinder other gamesters.

_Dor._ That had wherewithal to make lusty stakes.

_Pinch._ Well, gentlemen, you may laugh at me; but you shall never lie with my wife: I know the town.

_Horn._ But prithee, was not the way you were in better? is not keeping better than marriage?

_Pinch._ A pox on't! the jades would jilt me, I could never keep a whore to myself.

_Horn._ So, then you only married to keep a whore to yourself. Well, but let me tell you, women, as you say, are like soldiers, made constant and loyal by good pay, rather than by oaths and covenants. Therefore I'd advise my friends to keep rather than marry, since too I find, by your example, it does not serve one's turn; for I saw you yesterday in the eighteenpenny place with a pretty country-wench.

_Pinch._ How the devil! did he see my wife then? I sat there that she might not be seen. But she shall never go to a play again. [_Aside._

_Horn._ What! dost thou blush, at nine-and-forty, for having been seen with a wench?

_Dor._ No, faith, I warrant 'twas his wife, which he seated there out of sight; for he's a cunning rogue, and understands the town.

_Har._ He blushes. Then 'twas his wife; for men are now more ashamed to be seen with them in public than with a wench.

_Pinch._ Hell and damnation! I'm undone, since Horner has seen her, and they know 'twas she. [_Aside._

_Horn._ But prithee, was it thy wife? She was exceeding pretty: I was in love with her at that distance.

_Pinch._ You are like never to be nearer to her. Your servant, gentlemen. [_Offers to go._

_Horn._ Nay, prithee stay.

_Pinch._ I cannot; I will not.

_Horn._ Come, you shall dine with us.

_Pinch._ I have dined already.

_Horn._ Come, I know thou hast not: I'll treat thee, dear rogue; thou sha't spend none of thy Hampshire money to-day.

_Pinch._ Treat me! So, he uses me already like his cuckold. [_Aside._

_Horn._ Nay, you shall not go.

_Pinch._ I must; I have business at home. [_Exit._

_Har._ To beat his wife. He's as jealous of her, as a Cheapside husband of a Covent-garden wife.

_Horn._ Why, 'tis as hard to find an old whoremaster without jealousy and the gout, as a young one without fear, or the pox:--

As gout in age from pox in youth proceeds, So wenching past, then jealousy succeeds; The worst disease that love and wenching breeds.

[_Exeunt._

ACT THE SECOND.

SCENE I _.--A Room in_ PINCHWIFE'S _House._

Mrs. MARGERY PINCHWIFE _and_ ALITHEA. PINCHWIFE _peeping behind at the door._

_Mrs. Pinch._ Pray, sister, where are the best fields and woods to walk in, in London?

_Alith._ [_Aside._] A pretty question!--[_Aloud._] Why, sister, Mulberry-garden and St. James's park; and, for close walks, the New Exchange.[74]

_Mrs. Pinch._ Pray, sister, tell me why my husband looks so grum here in town, and keeps me up so close, and will not let me go a-walking, nor let me wear my best gown yesterday.

_Alith._ O, he's jealous, sister.

_Mrs. Pinch._ Jealous! what's that?

_Alith._ He's afraid you should love another man.

_Mrs. Pinch._ How should he be afraid of my loving another man, when he will not let me see any but himself?

_Alith._ Did he not carry you yesterday to a play?

_Mrs. Pinch._ Ay; but we sat amongst ugly people. He would not let me come near the gentry, who sat under us, so that I could not see 'em. He told me, none but naughty women sat there, whom they toused and moused. But I would have ventured, for all that.

_Alith._ But how did you like the play?

_Mrs. Pinch._ Indeed I was weary of the play; but I liked hugeously the actors. They are the goodliest, properest men, sister!

_Alith._ O, but you must not like the actors, sister.

_Mrs. Pinch._ Ay, how should I help it, sister? Pray, sister, when my husband comes in, will you ask leave for me to go a-walking?

_Alith._ A-walking! ha! ha! Lord, a country-gentlewoman's pleasure is the drudgery of a footpost; and she requires as much airing as her husband's horses.--[_Aside._] But here comes your husband: I'll ask, though I'm sure he'll not grant it.

_Mrs. Pinch._ He says he won't let me go abroad for fear of catching the pox.

_Alith._ Fy! the small-pox you should say.

_Enter_ PINCHWIFE.

_Mrs. Pinch._ O my dear, dear bud, welcome home! Why dost thou look so fropish? who has nangered thee?

_Pinch._ You're a fool. [Mrs. PINCHWIFE _goes aside, and cries._

_Alith._ Faith, so she is, for crying for no fault, poor tender creature!

_Pinch._ What, you would have her as impudent as yourself, as arrant a jilflirt, a gadder, a magpie; and to say all, a mere notorious town-woman?

_Alith._ Brother, you are my only censurer; and the honour of your family will sooner suffer in your wife there than in me, though I take the innocent liberty of the town.

_Pinch._ Hark you, mistress, do not talk so before my wife.--The innocent liberty of the town!

_Alith._ Why, pray, who boasts of any intrigue with me? what lampoon has made my name notorious? what ill women frequent my lodgings? I keep no company with any women of scandalous reputations.

_Pinch._ No, you keep the men of scandalous reputations company.