Part 4

Custom, which bids the thief from cart harangue All those that come to make and see him hang, Wills the damned poet (though he knows he's gone) To greet you ere his execution. Not having fear of critic 'fore his eyes, But still rejecting wholesome, good advice, He e'en is come to suffer here to-day For counterfeiting (as you judge) a play, Which is against dread Phœbus highest treason; Damn, damning judges, therefore, you have reason:-- You he does mean who, for the selfsame fault, That damning privilege of yours have bought. So the huge bankers, when they needs must fail, Send the small brothers of their trade to jail; Whilst they, by breaking, gentlemen are made, Then, more than any, scorn poor men o' the trade. You hardened renegado poets, who Treat rhyming poets worse than Turk would do, But vent your heathenish rage, hang, draw, and quarter; His Muse will die to-day a fleering martyr; Since for bald jest, dull libel, or lampoon, There are who suffer persecution With the undaunted briskness of buffoon, And strict professors live of raillery, Defying porter's-lodge, or pillory. For those who yet write on our poet's fate, Should as co-sufferers commiserate: But he in vain their pity now would crave, Who for themselves, alas! no pity have, And their own gasping credit will not save; And those, much less, our criminal would spare, Who ne'er in rhyme transgress;--if such there are. Well then, who nothing hopes, need nothing fear: And he, before your cruel votes shall do it, By his despair declares himself no poet.

_DRAMATIS PERSONÆ._

Mr. RANGER, Mr. VINCENT, Mr. VALENTINE, Young Gentlemen of the town.

Alderman GRIPE, seemingly precise, but a covetous, lecherous, old Usurer of the city.

Sir SIMON ADDLEPLOT, a Coxcomb, always in pursuit of women of great fortunes.

Mr. DAPPERWIT, a brisk, conceited, half-witted fellow of the town.

Mrs. CROSSBITE'S Landlord, and his Prentices, Servants, Waiters, and other Attendants.

CHRISTINA, VALENTINE'S Mistress.

LYDIA, RANGER'S Mistress.

Lady FLIPPANT, GRIPE'S Sister, an affected Widow in distress for a husband, though still declaiming against marriage.

Mrs. MARTHA, GRIPE'S Daughter.

Mrs. JOYNER, a Match-maker, or precise city bawd.

Mrs. CROSSBITE, an old cheating jill, and bawd to her Daughter.

Miss LUCY, Mrs. CROSSBITE'S Daughter.

ISABEL, CHRISTINA'S Woman.

LEONORE, Servant to LYDIA.

SCENE--LONDON.

_LOVE IN A WOOD; OR, ST. JAMES'S PARK._

ACT THE FIRST.

SCENE I.--GRIPE'S _House, in the evening._

_Enter_ Lady FLIPPANT _and_ Mrs. JOYNER.

_Lady Flip._ Not a husband to be had for money!--Come, come, I might have been a better housewife for myself, as the world goes now, if I had dealt for an heir with his guardian, uncle, or mother-in-law; and you are no better than a chouse, a cheat.

_Mrs. Joyn._ I a cheat, madam!

_L. Flip._ I am out of my money, and patience too.

_Mrs. Joyn._ Do not run out of your patience, whatever you do:--'tis a necessary virtue for a widow without a jointure, in truly.

_L. Flip._ Vile woman! though my fortune be something wasted, my person's in good repair. If I had not depended on you, I had had a husband before this time. When I gave you the last five pounds, did you not promise I should be married by Christmas?

_Mrs. Joyn._ And I had kept my promise if you had co-operated.

_L. Flip._ Co-operated! what should I have done? 'Tis well known no woman breathing could use more industry to get her a husband than I have. Has not my husband's 'scutcheon walked as much ground as the citizens' signs since the Fire?--that no quarter of the town might be ignorant of the widow Flippant.

_Mrs. Joyn._ 'Tis well known, madam, indeed.

_L. Flip._ Have I not owned myself (against my stomach) the relict of a citizen, to credit my fortune?

_Mrs. Joyn._ 'Tis confessed, madam.

_L. Flip._ Have I not constantly kept Covent-Garden church, St. Martin's, the playhouses, Hyde Park, Mulberry garden,[26] and all the other public marts where widows and maids are exposed?

_Mrs. Joyn._ Far be it from me to think you have an aversion to a husband. But why, madam, have you refused so many good offers?

_L. Flip._ Good offers, Mrs. Joyner! I'll be sworn I never had an offer since my late husband's.--If I had an offer, Mrs. Joyner!--there's the thing, Mrs. Joyner.

_Mrs. Joyn._ Then your frequent and public detestation of marriage is thought real; and if you have had no offer, there's the thing, madam.

_L. Flip._ I cannot deny but I always rail against marriage;--which is the widow's way to it certainly.

_Mrs. Joyn._ 'Tis the desperate way of the desperate widows, in truly.

_L. Flip._ Would you have us as tractable as the wenches that eat oatmeal, and fooled like them too?

_Mrs Joyn._ If nobody were wiser than I, I should think, since the widow wants the natural allurement which the virgin has, you ought to give men all other encouragements, in truly.

_L. Flip._ Therefore, on the contrary, because the widow's fortune (whether supposed or real) is her chiefest bait, the more chary she seems of it, and the more she withdraws it, the more eagerly the busy gaping fry will bite. With us widows, husbands are got like bishoprics, by saying "No:" and I tell you, a young heir is as shy of a widow as of a rook, to my knowledge.

_Mrs. Joyn._ I can allege nothing against your practice--but your ill success; and indeed you must use another method with Sir Simon Addleplot.

_L. Flip._ Will he be at your house at the hour?

_Mrs. Joyn._ He'll be there by ten:--'tis now nine. I'll warrant you he will not fail.

_L. Flip._ I'll warrant you then I will not fail:--for 'tis more than time I were sped.

_Mrs. Joyn._ Mr. Dapperwit has not been too busy with you, I hope?--Your experience has taught you to prevent a mischance.

_L. Flip._ No, no, my mischance (as you call it) is greater than that. I have but three months to reckon, ere I lie down with my port and equipage, and must be delivered of a woman, a footman, and a coachman:--for my coach must down, unless I can get Sir Simon to draw with me.

_Mrs. Joyn._ He will pair with you exactly if you knew all. [_Aside._

_L. Flip._ Ah, Mrs. Joyner, nothing grieves me like the putting down my coach! For the fine clothes, the fine lodgings,--let 'em go; for a lodging is as unnecessary a thing to a widow that has a coach, as a hat to a man that has a good peruke. For, as you see about town, she is most properly at home in her coach:--she eats, and drinks, and sleeps in her coach; and for her visits, she receives them in the playhouse.

_Mrs. Joyn._ Ay, ay, let the men keep lodgings, as you say, madam, if they will.

_Enter behind, at one door,_ GRIPE _and_ Sir SIMON ADDLEPLOT, _the latter in the dress of a_ Clerk; _at the other,_ Mrs. MARTHA.

_L. Flip._ Do you think if things had been with me as they have been, I would ever have housed with this counter-fashion brother of mine, (who hates a vest as much as a surplice,) to have my patches assaulted every day at dinner, my freedom censured, and my visitants shut out of doors?--Poor Mr. Dapperwit cannot be admitted.

_Mrs. Joyn._ He knows him too well to keep his acquaintance.

_L. Flip._ He is a censorious rigid fop, and knows nothing.

_Gripe._ So, so! [_Behind._

_Mrs. Joyn._ [_Aside._] Is he here?--[_To_ Lady FLIPPANT.] Nay, with your pardon, madam, I must contradict you there. He is a prying commonwealth's-man, an implacable magistrate, a sturdy pillar of his cause, and--[_To_ GRIPE] But, oh me, is your worship so near then? if I had thought you heard me--

_Gripe._ Why, why, Mrs. Joyner, I have said as much of myself ere now; and without vanity, I profess.

_Mrs. Joyn._ I know your virtue is proof against vainglory; but the truth to your face looks like flattery in your worship's servant.

_Gripe._ No, no; say what you will of me in that kind, far be it from me to suspect you of flattery.

_Mrs. Joyn._ In truly, your worship knows yourself, and knows me, for I am none of those--

_L. Flip._ [_Aside._] Now they are in--Mrs. Joyner, I'll go before to your house, you'll be sure to come after me.

_Mrs. Joyn._ Immediately.--[_Exit_ Lady FLIPPANT.] But as I was saying, I am none of those--

_Gripe._ No, Mrs. Joyner, you cannot sew pillows under folks' elbows; you cannot hold a candle to the devil; you cannot tickle a trout to take him; you--

_Mrs. Joyn._ Lord, how well you do know me indeed!--and you shall see I know your worship as well. You cannot backslide from your principles; you cannot be terrified by the laws; nor bribed to allegiance by office or preferment; you--

_Gripe._ Hold, hold, my praise must not interrupt yours.

_Mrs. Joyn._ With your worship's pardon, in truly, I must on.

_Gripe._ I am full of your praise, and it will run over.

_Mrs. Joyn._ Nay, sweet sir, you are--

_Gripe._ Nay, sweet Mrs. Joyner, you are--

_Mrs. Joyn._ Nay, good your worship, you are--[_Stops her mouth with his handkerchief._

_Gripe._ I say you are--

_Mrs. Joyn._ I must not be rude with your worship.

_Gripe._ You are a nursing mother to the saints; through you they gather together; through you they fructify and increase; and through you the child cries from out of the hand-basket.

_Mrs. Joyn._ Through you virgins are married, or provided for as well; through you the reprobate's wife is made a saint; and through you the widow is not disconsolate, nor misses her husband.

_Gripe._ Through you--

_Mrs. Joyn._ Indeed you will put me to the blush.

_Gripe._ Blushes are badges of imperfection:--saints have no shame. You are--are the flower of matrons, Mrs. Joyner.

_Mrs. Joyn._ You are the pink of courteous aldermen.

_Gripe._ You are the muffler of secrecy.

_Mrs. Joyn._ You are the head-band of justice.

_Gripe._ Thank you, sweet Mrs. Joyner: do you think so indeed? You are--you are the bonfire of devotion.

_Mrs. Joyn._ You are the bellows of zeal.

_Gripe._ You are the cupboard of charity.

_Mrs. Joyn._ You are the fob of liberality.

_Gripe._ You are the rivet of sanctified love or wedlock.

_Mrs. Joyn._ You are the picklock and dark-lantern of policy; and, in a word, a conventicle of virtues.

_Gripe._ Your servant, your servant, sweet Mrs. Joyner! you have stopped my mouth.

_Mrs. Joyn._ Your servant, your servant, sweet alderman! I have nothing to say.

_Sir Sim._ The half pullet will be cold, sir.

_Gripe._ Mrs. Joyner, you shall sup with me.

_Mrs. Joyn._ Indeed I am engaged to supper with some of your man's friends; and I came on purpose to get leave for him too.

_Gripe._ I cannot deny you anything. But I have forgot to tell you what a kind of fellow my sister's Dapperwit is: before a full table of the coffee-house sages, he had the impudence to hold an argument against me in the defence of vests and protections; and therefore I forbid him my house; besides, when he came I was forced to lock up my daughter for fear of him, nay, I think the poor child herself was afraid of him.--Come hither, child, were you not afraid of Dapperwit?

_Mrs. Mar._ Yes indeed, sir, he is a terrible man.--Yet I durst meet with him in a piazza at midnight. [_Aside._

_Gripe._ He shall never come into my doors again.

_Mrs. Mar._ Shall Mr. Dapperwit never come hither again then?

_Gripe._ No, child.

_Mrs. Mar._ I am afraid he will.

_Gripe._ I warrant thee.

_Mrs. Mar._ [_Aside._] I warrant you then I'll go to him.--I am glad of that, for I hate him as much as a bishop.

_Gripe._ Thou art no child of mine, if thou dost not hate bishops and wits.--Well, Mrs. Joyner, I'll keep you no longer. [_To_ ADDLEPLOT.] Jonas, wait on Mrs. Joyner.

_Mrs. Joyn._ Good night to your worship.

_Gripe._ But stay, stay, Mrs. Joyner: have you spoken with the widow Crossbite about her little daughter, as I desired?

_Mrs. Joyn._ I will to-morrow early; it shall be the first thing I'll do after my prayers.

_Gripe._ If Dapperwit should contaminate her!--I cannot rest till I have redeemed her from the jaws of that lion.--Good night.

_Mrs. Joyn._ Good gentleman. [_Exeunt_ GRIPE _and_ Mrs. MARTHA.

_Sir Sim._ Ha! ha! ha! Mrs. Joyner.

_Mrs. Joyn._ What's the matter, Sir Simon?

_Sir Sim._ Ha! ha! ha!--let us make haste to your house, or I shall burst, faith and troth, to see what fools you and I make of these people.

_Mrs. Joyn._ I will not rob you of any of the credit; I am but a feeble instrument, you are an engineer.

_Sir Sim._ Remember what you say now when things succeed, and do not tell me then,--I must thank your wit for all.

_Mrs. Joyn._ No, in truly, Sir Simon.

_Sir Sim._ Nay, I am sure Dapperwit and I have been partners in many an intrigue, and he uses to serve me so.

_Mrs. Joyn._ He is an ill man to intrigue with, as you call it.

_Sir Sim._ Ay, so are all your wits; a pox! if a man's understanding be not so public as theirs, he cannot do a wise action but they go away with the honour of it, if he be of their acquaintance.

_Mrs. Joyn._ Why do you keep such acquaintance then?

_Sir Sim._ There is a proverb, Mrs. Joyner, "You may know him by his company."

_Mrs. Joyn._ No, no, to be thought a man of parts, you must always keep company with a man of less wit than yourself.

_Sir Sim._ That's the hardest thing in the world for me to do, faith and troth.

_Mrs. Joyn._ What, to find a man of less wit than yourself? Pardon my raillery, Sir Simon.

_Sir Sim._ No, no, I cannot keep company with a fool:--I wonder how men of parts can do't, there's something in't.

_Mrs. Joyn._ If you could, all your wise actions would be your own, and your money would be your own too.

_Sir Sim._ Nay, faith and troth, that's true; for your wits are plaguily given to borrow. They'll borrow of their wench, coachman, or linkboy, their hire, Mrs. Joyner; Dapperwit has that trick with a vengeance.

_Mrs. Joyn._ Why will you keep company with him then, I say? for, to be plain with you, you have followed him so long, that you are thought but his cully;[27] for every wit has his cully, as every squire his led captain.

_Sir Sim._ I his cully, I his cully, Mrs. Joyner! Lord, that I should be thought a cully to any wit breathing!

_Mrs. Joyn._ Nay, do not take it so to heart, for the best wits of the town are but cullies themselves.

_Sir Sim._ To whom, to whom, to whom, Mrs. Joyner?

_Mrs. Joyn._ To sempstresses and bawds.

_Sir Sim._ To your knowledge, Mrs. Joyner.--[_Aside._] There I was with her.

_Mrs. Joyn._ To tailors and vintners, but especially to the French houses.

_Sir Sim._ But Dapperwit is a cully to none of them; for he ticks.

_Mrs. Joyn._ I care not, but I wish you were a cully to none but me; that's all the hurt I wish you.

_Sir Sim._ Thank you, Mrs. Joyner. Well, I will throw off Dapperwit's acquaintance when I am married, and will only be a cully to my wife; and that's no more than the wisest husband of 'em all is.

_Mrs. Joyn._ Then you think you shall carry Mrs. Martha?

_Sir Sim._ Your hundred guineas are as good as in your lap.

_Mrs. Joyn._ But I am afraid this double plot of yours should fail: you would sooner succeed if you only designed upon Mrs. Martha, or only upon my Lady Flippant.

_Sir Sim._ Nay, then, you are no woman of intrigue, faith and troth: 'tis good to have two strings to one's bow. If Mrs. Martha be coy, I tell the widow I put on my disguise for her; but if Mrs. Martha be kind to Jonas, Sir Simon Addleplot will be false to the widow: which is no more than widows are used to; for a promise to a widow is as seldom kept as a vow made at sea, as Dapperwit says.

_Mrs. Joyn._ I am afraid they should discover you.

_Sir Sim._ You have nothing to fear; you have your twenty guineas in your pocket for helping me into my service, and if I get into Mrs. Martha's quarters, you have a hundred more; if into the widow's, fifty:--happy go lucky! Will her ladyship be at your house at the hour?

_Mrs. Joyn._ Yes.

_Sir Sim._ Then you shall see when I am Sir Simon Addleplot and myself I'll look like myself; now I am Jonas, I look like an ass. You never thought Sir Simon Addleplot could have looked so like an ass by his ingenuity.

_Mrs. Joyn._ Pardon me, Sir Simon.

_Sir Sim._ Nay, do not flatter, faith and troth.

_Mrs. Joyn._ Come let us go, 'tis time.

_Sir Sim._ I will carry the widow to the French house.

_Mrs. Joyn._ If she will go.

_Sir Sim._ If she will go! why, did you ever know a widow refuse a treat? no more than a lawyer a fee, faith and troth: yet I know too--

No treat, sweet words, good mien, but sly intrigue That must at length the jilting widow fegue.[28] [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.--_The French House. A table, wine and candles._

_Enter_ VINCENT, RANGER, _and_ DAPPERWIT.

_Dap._ Pray, Mr. Ranger, let's have no drinking to-night.

_Vin._ Pray, Mr. Ranger, let's have no Dapperwit to-night.

_Ran._ Nay, nay, Vincent.

_Vin._ A pox! I hate his impertinent chat more than he does the honest Burgundy.

_Dap._ But why should you force wine upon us? we are not all of your gusto.

_Vin._ But why should you force your chawed jests, your damned ends of your mouldy lampoons, and last year's sonnets, upon us? we are not all of your gusto.

_Dap._ The wine makes me sick, let me perish!

_Vin._ Thy rhymes make me spew.

_Ran._ At repartee already! Come, Vincent. I know you would rather have him pledge you: here, Dapperwit--[_Gives him the glass._]--But why are you so eager to have him drink always?

_Vin._ Because he is so eager to talk always, and there is no other way to silence him.

_Enter_ Waiter.

_Wait._ Here is a gentleman desires to speak with Mr. Vincent.

_Vin._ I come. [_Exit_ VINCENT _with_ Waiter.

_Dap._ He may drink, because he is obliged to the bottle for all the wit and courage he has; 'tis not free and natural like yours.

_Ran._ He has more courage than wit, but wants neither.

_Dap._ As a pump gone dry, if you pour no water down you will get none out, so--

_Ran._ Nay, I bar similes too, to-night.

_Dap._ Why, is not the thought new? don't you apprehend it?

_Ran._ Yes, yes, but--

_Dap._ Well, well, will you comply with his sottishness too, and hate brisk things in complaisance to the ignorant dull age? I believe shortly 'twill be as hard to find a patient friend to communicate one's wit to, as a faithful friend to communicate one's secret to. Wit has as few true judges as painting, I see.

_Ran._ All people pretend to be judges of both.

_Dap._ Ay, they pretend; but set you aside, and one or two more--

_Ran._ But why, has Vincent neither courage nor wit?

_Dap._ He has no courage, because he beat his wench for giving me _les doux yeux_ once; and no wit, because he does not comprehend my thoughts; and he is a son of a whore for his ignorance. I take ignorance worse from any man than the lie, because 'tis as much as to say I am no wit.

_Re-enter_ VINCENT.

You need not take any notice, though, to him what I say.

_Vin._ Ranger, there is a woman below in a coach would speak with you.

_Ran._ With me? [_Exit_ RANGER.

_Dap._ This Ranger, Mr. Vincent, is as false to his friend as his wench.

_Vin._ You have no reason to say so, but because he is absent.

_Dap._ 'Tis disobliging to tell a man of his faults to his face. If he had but your grave parts and manly wit, I should adore him; but, a pox! he is a mere buffoon, a jack-pudding, let me perish!

_Vin._ You are an ungrateful fellow. I have heard him maintain you had wit, which was more than e'er you could do for yourself.--I thought you had owned him your Mæcenas.

_Dap._ A pox! he cannot but esteem me, 'tis for his honour; but I cannot but be just for all that--without favour or affection. Yet I confess I love him so well, that I wish he had but the hundredth part of your courage.

_Vin._ He has had courage to save you from many a beating, to my knowledge.

_Dap._ Come, come, I wish the man well, and, next to you, better than any man! and, I am sorry to say it, he has not courage to snuff a candle with his fingers. When he is drunk, indeed, he dares get a clap, or so--and swear at a constable.

_Vin._ Detracting fop! when did you see him desert his friend?

_Dap._ You have a rough kind of a raillery, Mr. Vincent; but since you will have it, (though I love the man heartily, I say,) he deserted me once in breaking of windows, for fear of the constables--

_Re-enter_ RANGER.

But you need not take notice to him of what I tell you; I hate to put a man to the blush.

_Ran._ I have had just now a visit from my mistress, who is as jealous of me as a wife of her husband when she lies in:--my cousin Lydia,--you have heard me speak of her.

_Vin._ But she is more troublesome than a wife that lies in, because she follows you to your haunts. Why do you allow her that privilege before her time?

_Ran._ Faith, I may allow her any privilege, and be too hard for her yet. How do you think I have cheated her to-night?--Women are poor credulous creatures, easily deceived.

_Vin._ We are poor credulous creatures, when we think 'em so.

_Ran._ Intending a ramble to St. James's Park to-night, upon some probable hopes of some fresh game I have in chase, I appointed her to stay at home; with a promise to come to her within this hour, that she might not spoil the scent and prevent my sport.

_Vin._ She'll be even with you when you are married, I warrant you. In the meantime here's her health, Dapperwit.

_Ran._ Now had he rather be at the window, writing her anagram in the glass with his diamond, or biting his nails in the corner for a fine thought to come and divert us with at the table.

_Dap._ No, a pox! I have no wit to-night. I am as barren and hide-bound as one of your damned scribbling poets, who are sots in company for all their wit; as a miser is poor for all his money. How do you like the thought?

_Vin._ Drink, drink!

_Dap._ Well, I can drink this, because I shall be reprieved presently.

_Vin._ Who will be so civil to us?

_Dap._ Sir Simon Addleplot:--I have bespoke him a supper here, for he treats to-night a new rich mistress.