Part 22

_Alith._ Where? would you not have me civil? answer 'em in a box at the plays, in the drawing-room at Whitehall, in St James'-park, Mulberry-garden, or--

_Pinch._ Hold, hold! Do not teach my wife where the men are to be found: I believe she's the worse for your town-documents already. I bid you keep her in ignorance, as I do.

_Mrs. Pinch._ Indeed, be not angry with her, bud, she will tell me nothing of the town, though I ask her a thousand times a day.

_Pinch._ Then you are very inquisitive to know, I find?

_Mrs. Pinch._ Not I indeed, dear; I hate London. Our place-house in the country is worth a thousand of't: would I were there again!

_Pinch._ So you shall, I warrant. But were you not talking of plays and players when I came in?--[_To_ ALITHEA.] You are her encourager in such discourses.

_Mrs. Pinch._ No, indeed, dear; she chid me just now for liking the playermen.

_Pinch._ [_Aside._] Nay, if she be so innocent as to own to me her liking them, there is no hurt in't.--[_Aloud._] Come, my poor rogue, but thou likest none better than me?

_Mrs. Pinch._ Yes, indeed, but I do. The playermen are finer folks.

_Pinch._ But you love none better than me?

_Mrs. Pinch._ You are my own dear bud, and I know you. I hate a stranger.

_Pinch._ Ay, my dear, you must love me only; and not be like the naughty town-women, who only hate their husbands, and love every man else; love plays, visits, fine coaches, fine clothes, fiddles, balls, treats, and so lead a wicked town-life.

_Mrs. Pinch._ Nay, if to enjoy all these things be a town-life, London is not so bad a place, dear.

_Pinch._ How! if you love me, you must hate London.

_Alith._ The fool has forbid me discovering to her the pleasures of the town, and he is now setting her agog upon them himself. [_Aside._

_Mrs. Pinch._ But, husband, do the town-women love the playermen too?

_Pinch._ Yes, I warrant you.

_Mrs. Pinch._ Ay, I warrant you.

_Pinch._ Why, you do not, I hope?

_Mrs. Pinch._ No, no, bud. But why have we no playermen in the country?

_Pinch._ Ha!--Mrs. Minx, ask me no more to go to a play.

_Mrs. Pinch._ Nay, why, love? I did not care for going: but when you forbid me, you make me, as 'twere, desire it.

_Alith._ So 'twill be in other things, I warrant. [_Aside._

_Mrs. Pinch._ Pray let me go to a play, dear.

_Pinch._ Hold your peace, I wo' not.

_Mrs. Pinch._ Why, love?

_Pinch._ Why, I'll tell you.

_Alith._ Nay, if he tell her, she'll give him more cause to forbid her that place. [_Aside._

_Mrs. Pinch._ Pray why, dear?

_Pinch._ First, you like the actors; and the gallants may like you.

_Mrs. Pinch._ What, a homely country girl! No, bud, nobody will like me.

_Pinch._ I tell you yes, they may.

_Mrs. Pinch._ No, no, you jest--I won't believe you: I will go.

_Pinch._ I tell you then, that one of the lewdest fellows in town, who saw you there, told me he was in love with you.

_Mrs. Pinch._ Indeed! who, who, pray who was't?

_Pinch._ I've gone too far, and slipped before I was aware; how overjoyed she is! [_Aside._

_Mrs. Pinch._ Was it any Hampshire gallant, any of our neighbours? I promise you, I am beholden to him.

_Pinch._ I promise you, you lie; for he would but ruin you, as he has done hundreds. He has no other love for women but that; such as he look upon women, like basilisks, but to destroy 'em.

_Mrs. Pinch_ Ay, but if he loves me, why should he ruin me? answer me to that. Methinks he should not, I would do him no harm.

_Alith._ Ha! ha! ha!

_Pinch._ 'Tis very well; but I'll keep him from doing you any harm, or me either. But here comes company; get you in, get you in.

_Mrs. Pinch._ But, pray, husband, is he a pretty gentleman that loves me?

_Pinch._ In, baggage, in. [_Thrusts her in, and shuts the door._

_Enter_ SPARKISH _and_ HARCOURT.

What, all the lewd libertines of the town brought to my lodging by this easy coxcomb! 'sdeath, I'll not suffer it.

_Spark._ Here, Harcourt, do you approve my choice?--[_To_ ALITHEA.] Dear little rogue, I told you I'd bring you acquainted with all my friends, the wits and--[HARCOURT _salutes her._

_Pinch._ Ay, they shall know her, as well as you yourself will, I warrant you.

_Spark._ This is one of those, my pretty rogue, that are to dance at your wedding to-morrow; and him you must bid welcome ever, to what you and I have.

_Pinch._ Monstrous! [_Aside._

_Spark._ Harcourt, how dost thou like her, faith? Nay, dear, do not look down; I should hate to have a wife of mine out of countenance at anything.

_Pinch._ Wonderful! [_Aside._

_Spark._ Tell me, I say, Harcourt, how dost thou like her? Thou hast stared upon her enough, to resolve me.

_Har._ So infinitely well, that I could wish I had a mistress too, that might differ from her in nothing but her love and engagement to you.

_Alith._ Sir, Master Sparkish has often told me that his acquaintance were all wits and raillieurs, and now I find it.

_Spark._ No, by the universe, madam, he does not rally now; you may believe him. I do assure you, he is the honestest, worthiest, true-hearted gentlemen--a man of such perfect honour, he would say nothing to a lady he does not mean.

_Pinch._ Praising another man to his mistress! [_Aside._

_Har._ Sir, you are so beyond expectation obliging, that--

_Spark._ Nay, egad, I am sure you do admire her extremely; I see't in your eyes.--He does admire you, madam.--By the world, don't you?

_Har._ Yes, above the world, or the most glorious part of it, her whole sex: and till now I never thought I should have envied you, or any man about to marry, but you have the best excuse for marriage I ever knew.

_Alith._ Nay, now, sir, I'm satisfied you are of the society of the wits and raillieurs, since you cannot spare your friend, even when he is but too civil to you; but the surest sign is, since you are an enemy to marriage,--for that I hear you hate as much as business or bad wine.

_Har._ Truly, madam, I was never an enemy to marriage till now, because marriage was never an enemy to me before.

_Alith._ But why, sir, is marriage an enemy to you now? because it robs you of your friend here? for you look upon a friend married, as one gone into a monastery, that is, dead to the world.

_Har._ 'Tis indeed, because you marry him; I see, madam, you can guess my meaning. I do confess heartily and openly, I wish it were in my power to break the match; by Heavens I would.

_Spark._ Poor Frank!

_Alith._ Would you be so unkind to me?

_Har._ No, no, 'tis not because I would be unkind to you.

_Spark._ Poor Frank! no gad, 'tis only his kindness to me.

_Pinch._ Great kindness to you indeed! Insensible fop, let a man make love to his wife to his face! [_Aside._

_Spark._ Come, dear Frank, for all my wife there, that shall be, thou shalt enjoy me sometimes, dear rogue. By my honour, we men of wit condole for our deceased brother in marriage, as much as for one dead in earnest: I think that was prettily said of me, ha, Harcourt?--But come, Frank, be not melancholy for me.

_Har._ No, I assure you, I am not melancholy for you.

_Spark._ Prithee, Frank, dost think my wife that shall be there, a fine person?

_Har._ I could gaze upon her till I became as blind as you are.

_Spark._ How as I am? how?

_Har._ Because you are a lover, and true lovers are blind, stock blind.

_Spark._ True, true; but by the world she has wit too, as well as beauty: go, go with her into a corner, and try if she has wit; talk to her anything, she's bashful before me.

_Har._ Indeed if a woman wants wit in a corner, she has it nowhere.

_Alith._ Sir, you dispose of me a little before your time--[_Aside to_ SPARKISH.

_Spark._ Nay, nay, madam, let me have an earnest of your obedience, or--go, go, madam--[HARCOURT _courts_ ALITHEA _aside._

_Pinch._ How, sir! if you are not concerned for the honour of a wife, I am for that of a sister; he shall not debauch her. Be a pander to your own wife! bring men to her! let 'em make love before your face! thrust 'em into a corner together, then leave 'em in private! is this your town wit and conduct?

_Spark._ Ha! ha! ha! a silly wise rogue would make one laugh more than a stark fool, ha! ha! I shall burst. Nay, you shall not disturb 'em; I'll vex thee, by the world. [_Struggles with_ PINCHWIFE _to keep him from_ HARCOURT _and_ ALITHEA.

_Alith._ The writings are drawn, sir, settlements made; 'tis too late, sir, and past all revocation.

_Har._ Then so is my death.

_Alith._ I would not be unjust to him.

_Har._ Then why to me so?

_Alith._ I have no obligation to you.

_Har._ My love.

_Alith._ I had his before.

_Har._ You never had it; he wants, you see, jealousy, the only infallible sign of it.

_Alith._ Love proceeds from esteem; he cannot distrust my virtue: besides, he loves me, or he would not marry me.

_Har._ Marrying you is no more sign of his love than bribing your woman, that he may marry you, is a sign of his generosity. Marriage is rather a sign of interest than love; and he that marries a fortune covets a mistress, not loves her. But if you take marriage for a sign of love, take it from me immediately.

_Alith._ No, now you have put a scruple in my head; but in short, sir, to end our dispute, I must marry him, my reputation would suffer in the world else.

_Har._ No; if you do marry him, with your pardon, madam, your reputation suffers in the world, and you would be thought in necessity for a cloak.

_Alith._ Nay, now you are rude, sir.--Mr. Sparkish, pray come hither, your friend here is very troublesome, and very loving.

_Har._ Hold! hold!--[_Aside to_ ALITHEA.

_Pinch._ D'ye hear that?

_Spark._ Why, d'ye think I'll seem to be jealous, like a country bumpkin?

_Pinch._ No, rather be a cuckold, like a credulous cit.

_Har._ Madam, you would not have been so little generous as to have told him.

_Alith._ Yes, since you could be so little generous as to wrong him.

_Har._ Wrong him! no man can do't, he's beneath an injury: a bubble, a coward, a senseless idiot, a wretch so contemptible to all the world but you, that--

_Alith._ Hold, do not rail at him, for since he is like to be my husband, I am resolved to like him: nay, I think I am obliged to tell him you are not his friend.--Master Sparkish, Master Sparkish!

_Spark._ What, what?--[_To_ HARCOURT.] Now, dear rogue, has not she wit?

_Har._ Not so much as I thought, and hoped she had. [_Speaks surlily._

_Alith._ Mr. Sparkish, do you bring people to rail at you?

_Har._ Madam--

_Spark._ How! no; but if he does rail at me, 'tis but in jest, I warrant: what we wits do for one another, and never take any notice of it.

_Alith._ He spoke so scurrilously of you, I had no patience to hear him; besides, he has been making love to me.

_Har._ True, damned tell-tale woman! [_Aside._

_Spark._ Pshaw! to show his parts--we wits rail and make love often, but to show our parts: as we have no affections, so we have no malice, we--

_Alith._ He said you were a wretch below an injury--

_Spark._ Pshaw!

_Har._ Damned, senseless, impudent, virtuous jade! Well, since she won't let me have her, she'll do as good, she'll make me hate her. [_Aside._

_Alith._ A common bubble--

_Spark._ Pshaw!

_Alith._ A coward--

_Spark._ Pshaw, pshaw!

_Alith._ A senseless, drivelling idiot--

_Spark._ How! did he disparage my parts? Nay, then, my honour's concerned, I can't put up that, sir, by the world--brother, help me to kill him--[_Aside_] I may draw now, since we have the odds of him:--'tis a good occasion, too, before my mistress--[_Offers to draw._

_Alith._ Hold, hold!

_Spark._ What, what?

_Alith._ [_Aside._] I must not let 'em kill the gentleman neither, for his kindness to me: I am so far from hating him, that I wish my gallant had his person and understanding. Nay, if my honour--

_Spark._ I'll be thy death.

_Alith._ Hold, hold! Indeed, to tell the truth, the gentleman said after all, that what he spoke was but out of friendship to you.

_Spark._ How! say, I am, I am a fool, that is, no wit, out of friendship to me?

_Alith._ Yes, to try whether I was concerned enough for you; and made love to me only to be satisfied of my virtue, for your sake.

_Har._ Kind, however. [_Aside._

_Spark._ Nay, if it were so, my dear rogue, I ask thee pardon; but why would not you tell me so, faith?

_Har._ Because I did not think on't, faith.

_Spark._ Come, Horner does not come; Harcourt, let's be gone to the new play.--Come, madam.

_Alith._ I will not go, if you intend to leave me alone in the box, and run into the pit, as you use to do.

_Spark._ Pshaw! I'll leave Harcourt with you in the box to entertain you, and that's as good; if I sat in the box, I should be thought no judge but of trimmings.--Come away, Harcourt, lead her down. [_Exeunt_ SPARKISH, HARCOURT, _and_ ALITHEA.

_Pinch._ Well, go thy ways, for the flower of the true town fops, such as spend their estates before they come to 'em, and are cuckolds before they're married. But let me go look to my own freehold.--How!

_Enter_ Lady FIDGET, Mrs. DAINTY FIDGET, _and_ Mrs. SQUEAMISH.

_Lady Fid._ Your servant, sir: where is your lady? We are come to wait upon her to the new play.

_Pinch._ New play!

_Lady Fid._ And my husband will wait upon you presently.

_Pinch._ [_Aside._] Damn your civility.--[_Aloud._] Madam, by no means; I will not see Sir Jasper here, till I have waited upon him at home; nor shall my wife see you till she has waited upon your ladyship at your lodgings.

_Lady Fid._ Now we are here, sir?

_Pinch._ No, Madam.

_Mrs. Dain._ Pray, let us see her.

_Mrs. Squeam._ We will not stir till we see her.

_Pinch._ [_Aside._] A pox on you all!--[_Goes to the door, and returns._] She has locked the door, and is gone abroad.

_Lady Fid._ No, you have locked the door, and she's within.

_Mrs. Dain._ They told us below she was here.

_Pinch._ [_Aside._] Will nothing do?--[_Aloud._] Well, it must out then. To tell you the truth, ladies, which I was afraid to let you know before, lest it might endanger your lives, my wife has just now the small-pox come out upon her; do not be frightened; but pray be gone, ladies; you shall not stay here in danger of your lives; pray get you gone, ladies.

_Lady Fid._ No, no, we have all had 'em.

_Mrs. Squeam._ Alack, alack!

_Mrs. Dain._ Come, come, we must see how it goes with her; I understand the disease.

_Lady Fid._ Come!

_Pinch._ [_Aside._] Well, there is no being too hard for women at their own weapon, lying, therefore I'll quit the field. [_Exit._

_Mrs. Squeam._ Here's an example of jealousy!

_Lady Fid._ Indeed, as the world goes, I wonder there are no more jealous, since wives are so neglected.

_Mrs. Dain._ Pshaw! as the world goes, to what end should they be jealous?

_Lady Fid._ Foh! 'tis a nasty world.

_Mrs. Squeam._ That men of parts, great acquaintance, and quality, should take up with and spend themselves and fortunes in keeping little playhouse creatures, foh!

_Lady Fid._ Nay, that women of understanding, great acquaintance, and good quality, should fall a-keeping too of little creatures, foh!

_Mrs. Squeam._ Why, 'tis the men of quality's fault; they never visit women of honour and reputation as they used to do; and have not so much as common civility for ladies of our rank, but use us with the same indifferency and ill-breeding as if we were all married to 'em.

_Lady Fid._ She says true; 'tis an arrant shame women of quality should be so slighted; methinks birth--birth should go for something; I have known men admired, courted, and followed for their titles only.

_Mrs. Squeam._ Ay, one would think men of honour should not love, no more than marry, out of their own rank.

_Mrs. Dain._ Fy, fy, upon 'em! they are come to think cross breeding for themselves best, as well as for their dogs and horses.

_Lady Fid._ They are dogs and horses for't.

_Mrs. Squeam._ One would think, if not for love, for vanity a little.

_Mrs. Dain._ Nay, they do satisfy their vanity upon us sometimes; and are kind to us in their report, tell all the world they lie with us.

_Lady Fid._ Damned rascals, that we should be only wronged by 'em! To report a man has had a person, when he has not had a person, is the greatest wrong in the whole world that can be done to a person.

_Mrs. Squeam._ Well, 'tis an arrant shame noble persons should be so wronged and neglected.

_Lady Fid._ But still 'tis an arranter shame for a noble person to neglect her own honour, and defame her own noble person with little inconsiderable fellows, foh!

_Mrs. Dain._ I suppose the crime against our honour is the same with a man of quality as with another.

_Lady Fid._ How! no sure, the man of quality is likest one's husband, and therefore the fault should be the less.

_Mrs. Dain._ But then the pleasure should be the less.

_Lady Fid._ Fy, fy, fy, for shame, sister! whither shall we ramble? Be continent in your discourse, or I shall hate you.

_Mrs. Dain._ Besides, an intrigue is so much the more notorious for the man's quality.

_Mrs. Squeam._ 'Tis true that nobody takes notice of a private man, and therefore with him 'tis more secret; and the crime's the less when 'tis not known.

_Lady Fid._ You say true; i'faith, I think you are in the right on't: 'tis not an injury to a husband, till it be an injury to our honours; so that a woman of honour loses no honour with a private person; and to say truth--

_Mrs. Dain._ So, the little fellow is grown a private person--with her--[_Apart to_ Mrs. SQUEAMISH.

_Lady Fid._ But still my dear, dear honour--

_Enter_ Sir JASPER FIDGET, HORNER, _and_ DORILANT.

_Sir Jasp._ Ay, my dear, dear of honour, thou hast still so much honour in thy mouth--

_Horn._ That she has none elsewhere. [_Aside._

_Lady Fid._ Oh, what d'ye mean to bring in these upon us?

_Mrs. Dain._ Foh! these are as bad as wits.

_Mrs. Squeam._ Foh!

_Lady Fid._ Let us leave the room.

_Sir Jasp._ Stay, stay; faith, to tell you the naked truth--

_Lady Fid._ Fy, Sir Jasper! do not use that word naked.

_Sir Jasp._ Well, well, in short I have business at Whitehall, and cannot go to the play with you, therefore would have you go--

_Lady Fid._ With those two to a play?

_Sir Jasp._ No, not with t'other, but with Mr. Horner; there can be no more scandal to go with him than with Mr. Tattle, or Master Limberham.

_Lady Fid._ With that nasty fellow! no--no.

_Sir Jasp._ Nay, prithee, dear, hear me. [_Whispers to_ Lady FIDGET.

_Horn._ Ladies--[HORNER _and_ DORILANT _draw near_ Mrs. SQUEAMISH _and_ Mrs. DAINTY FIDGET.

_Mrs. Dain._ Stand off.

_Mrs. Squeam._ Do not approach us.

_Mrs. Dain._ You herd with the wits, you are obscenity all over.

_Mrs. Squeam._ And I would as soon look upon a picture of Adam and Eve, without fig-leaves, as any of you, if I could help it; therefore keep off, and do not make us sick.

_Dor._ What a devil are these?

_Horn._ Why, these are pretenders to honour, as critics to wit, only by censuring others; and as