Part 6

_Vin._ Nay, madam, I never suffer any violence to be used to a woman but what I do myself: she must stay, and you must not go.

_L. Flip._ Unhand me, you rude fellow!

_Vin._ Nay, now I am sure you will stay and be kind; for coyness in a woman is as little sign of true modesty, as huffing in a man is of true courage.

_Dap._ Use her gently, and speak soft things to her.

_Lyd._ [_Aside._] Now do I guess I know my coxcomb.--[_To_ DAPPERWIT.] Sir, I am extremely glad I am fallen into the hands of a gentleman that can speak soft things; and this is so fine a night to hear soft things in;--morning, I should have said.

_Dap._ It will not be morning, dear madam, till you pull off your mask.--[_Aside._] That I think was brisk.

_Lyd._ Indeed, dear sir, my face would frighten back the sun.

_Dap._ With glories more radiant than his own.--[_Aside._] I keep up with her, I think.

_Lyd._ But why would you put me to the trouble of lighting the world, when I thought to have gone to sleep?

_Dap._ You only can do it, dear madam, let me perish!

_Lyd._ But why would you (of all men) practise treason against your friend Phœbus, and depose him for a mere stranger?

_Dap._ I think she knows me. [_Aside._

_Lyd._ But he does not do you justice, I believe; and you are so positively cock-sure of your wit, you would refer to a mere stranger your plea to the bay-tree.

_Dap._ She jeers me, let me perish! [_Aside._

_Vin._ Dapperwit, a little of your aid; for my lady's invincibly dumb.

_Dap._ Would mine had been so too! [_Aside._

_Vin._ I have used as many arguments to make her speak, as are requisite to make other women hold their tongues.

_Dap._ Well, I am ready to change sides.--Yet before I go, madam, since the moon consents now I should see your face, let me desire you to pull off your mask; which to a handsome lady is a favour, I'm sure.

_Lyd._ Truly, sir, I must not be long in debt to you for the obligation; pray let me hear you recite some of your verses; which to a wit is a favour, I'm sure.

_Dap._ Madam, it belongs to your sex to be obliged first; pull off your mask, and I'll pull out my paper.--[_Aside._] Brisk again, of my side.

_Lyd._ 'Twould be in vain, for you would want a candle now.

_Dap._ [_Aside._] I dare not make use again of the lustre of her face.--[_To_ LYDIA.] I'll wait upon you home then, madam.

_Lyd._ Faith, no; I believe it will not be much to our advantages to bring my face or your poetry to light: for I hope you have yet a pretty good opinion of my face, and so have I of your wit. But if you are for proving your wit, why do not you write a play?

_Dap._ Because 'tis now no more reputation to write a play, than it is honour to be a knight. Your true wit despises the title of poet, as much as your true gentleman the title of knight; for as a man may be a knight and no gentleman, so a man may be a poet and no wit, let me perish!

_Lyd._ Pray, sir, how are you dignified or distinguished amongst the rates of wits? and how many rates are there?

_Dap._ There are as many degrees of wits as of lawyers: as there is first your solicitor, then your attorney, then your pleading-counsel, then your chamber-counsel, and then your judge; so there is first your court-wit, your coffee-wit, your poll-wit, or politic-wit, your chamber-wit, or scribble-wit, and last of all, your judge-wit, or critic.

_Lyd._ But are there as many wits as lawyers? Lord, what will become of us!--What employment can they have? how are they known?

_Dap._ First, your court-wit is a fashionable, insinuating, flattering, cringing, grimacing fellow--and has wit enough to solicit a suit of love; and if he fail, he has malice enough to ruin the woman with a dull lampoon:--but he rails still at the man that is absent, for you must know all wits rail; and his wit properly lies in combing perukes, matching ribbons, and being severe, as they call it, upon other people's clothes.

_Lyd._ Now, what is the coffee-wit?

_Dap._ He is a lying, censorious, gossiping, quibbling wretch, and sets people together by the ears over that sober drink, coffee: he is a wit, as he is a commentator, upon the Gazette; and he rails at the pirates of Algier, the Grand Signior of Constantinople, and the Christian Grand Signior.

_Lyd._ What kind of man is your poll-wit?

_Dap._ He is a fidgetting, busy, dogmatical, hot-headed fop, that speaks always in sentences and proverbs, (as other in similitudes,) and he rails perpetually against the present government. His wit lies in projects and monopolies, and penning speeches for young parliament men.

_Lyd._ But what is your chamber-wit, or scribble-wit?

_Dap._ He is a poring, melancholy, modest sot, ashamed of the world: he searches all the records of wit, to compile a breviate of them for the use of players, printers, booksellers, and sometimes cooks, tobacco-men; he employs his railing against the ignorance of the age, and all that have more money than he.

_Lyd._ Now your last.

_Dap._ Your judge-wit, or critic, is all these together, and yet has the wit to be none of them: he can think, speak, write, as well as the rest, but scorns (himself a judge) to be judged by posterity: he rails at all the other classes of wits, and his wit lies in damning all but himself:--he is your true wit.

_Lyd._ Then, I suspect you are of his form.

_Dap._ I cannot deny it, madam.

_Vin._ Dapperwit, you have been all this time on the wrong side; for you love to talk all, and here's a lady would not have hindered you.

_Dap._ A pox! I have been talking too long indeed here; for wit is lost upon a silly weak woman, as well as courage. [_Aside._

_Vin._ I have used all common means to move a woman's tongue and mask; I called her ugly, old, and old acquaintance, and yet she would not disprove me:--but here comes Ranger, let him try what he can do; for, since my mistress is dogged, I'll go sleep alone. [_Exit._

_Re-enter_ RANGER.

_Lyd._ [_Aside._] Ranger! 'tis he indeed: I am sorry he is here, but glad I discovered him before I went. Yet he must not discover me, lest I should be prevented hereafter in finding him out. False Ranger!--[_To_ Lady FLIPPANT.] Nay, if they bring fresh force upon us, madam, 'tis time to quit the field. [_Exeunt_ LYDIA _and_ Lady FLIPPANT.

_Ran._ What, play with your quarry till it fly from you!

_Dap._ You frighten it away.

_Ran._ Ha! is not one of those ladies in mourning?

_Dap._ All women are so by this light.

_Ran._ But you might easily discern. Don't you know her?

_Dap._ No.

_Ran._ Did you talk with her?

_Dap._ Yes, she is one of your brisk silly baggages.

_Ran._ 'Tis she, 'tis she!--I was afraid I saw her before; let us follow 'em: prithee make haste.--[_Aside._] 'Tis Lydia. [_Exeunt._

_Re-enter, on the other side_, LYDIA _and_ Lady FLIPPANT--DAPPERWIT _and_ RANGER _following them at a distance._

_Lyd._ They follow us yet, I fear.

_L. Flip._ You do not fear it certainly; otherwise you would not have encouraged them.

_Lyd._ For Heaven's sake, madam, waive your quarrel a little, and let us pass by your coach, and so on foot to your acquaintance in the old Pall-mall[33]: for I would not be discovered by the man that came up last to us. [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.--CHRISTINA'S _Lodging._

_Enter_ CHRISTINA _and_ ISABEL.

_Isa._ For Heaven's sake, undress yourself, madam! They'll not return to-night: all people have left the Park an hour ago.

_Chris._ What is't o'clock?

_Isa._ 'Tis past one.

_Chris._ It cannot be!

_Isa._ I thought that time had only stolen from happy lovers:--the disconsolate have nothing to do but to tell the clock.

_Chris._ I can only keep account with my misfortunes.

_Isa._ I am glad they are not innumerable.

_Chris._ And, truly, my undergoing so often your impertinency is not the least of them.

_Isa._ I am then more glad, madam, for then they cannot be great; and it is in my power, it seems, to make you in part happy, if I could but hold this villainous tongue of mine: but then let the people of the town hold their tongues if they will, for I cannot but tell you what they say.

_Chris._ What do they say?

_Isa._ Faith, madam, I am afraid to tell you, now I think on't.

_Chris._ Is it so ill?

_Isa._ O, such base, unworthy things!

_Chris._ Do they say I was really Clerimont's wench, as he boasted; and that the ground of the quarrel betwixt Valentine and him was not Valentine's vindication of my honour, but Clerimont's jealousy of him?

_Isa._ Worse, worse a thousand times! such villainous things to the utter ruin of your reputation!

_Chris._ What are they?

_Isa._ Faith, madam, you'll be angry: 'tis the old trick of lovers to hate their informers, after they have made 'em such.

_Chris._ I will not be angry.

_Isa._ They say then, since Mr. Valentine's flying into France you are grown mad, have put yourself into mourning, live in a dark room, where you'll see nobody, nor take any rest day or night, but rave and talk to yourself perpetually.

_Chris._ Now, what else?

_Isa._ But the surest sign of your madness is, they say, because you are desperately resolved (in case my Lord Clerimont should die of his wounds) to transport yourself and fortune into France to Mr. Valentine, a man that has not a groat to return you in exchange.

_Chris._ All this, hitherto, is true; now to the rest.

_Isa._ Indeed, madam, I have no more to tell you. I was sorry, I'm sure, to hear so much of any lady of mine.

_Chris._ Insupportable insolence!

_Isa._ [_Aside._] This is some revenge for my want of sleep to-night.--[_Knocking at the door._] So, I hope my old second is come; 'tis seasonable relief. [_Exit._

_Chris._ Unhappy Valentine! couldst thou but see how soon thy absence and misfortunes have disbanded all thy friends, and turned thy slaves all renegadoes, thou sure wouldst prize my only faithful heart!

_Enter_ Lady FLIPPANT, LYDIA, _and_ ISABEL.

_L. Flip._ Hail, faithful shepherdess! but, truly, I had not kept my word with you, in coming back to-night, if it had not been for this lady, who has her intrigues too with the fellows as well as you.

_Lyd._ Madam, under my Lady Flippant's protection, I am confident to beg yours; being just now pursued out of the Park by a relation of mine, by whom it imports me extremely not to be discovered:--[_Knocking at the door._] but I fear he is now at the door.--[_To_ ISABEL, _who goes out._] Let me desire you to deny me to him courageously;--for he will hardly believe he can be mistaken in me.

_Chris._ In such an occasion, where impudence is requisite, she will serve you as faithfully as you can wish, madam.

_L. Flip._ Come, come, madam, do not upbraid her with her assurance, a qualification that only fits her for a lady's service. A fine woman of the town can be no more without a woman that can make an excuse with assurance, than she can be without a glass, certainly.

_Chris._ She needs no advocate.

_L. Flip._ How can any one alone manage an amorous intrigue? though the birds are tame, somebody must help draw the net. If 'twere not for a woman that could make an excuse with assurance, how should we wheedle, jilt, trace, discover, countermine, undermine, and blow up the stinking fellows? which is all the pleasure I receive, or design by them; for I never admitted a man to my conversation, but for his punishment, certainly.

_Chris._ Nobody will doubt that, certainly.

_Re-enter_ ISABEL.

_Isa._ Madam, the gentleman will not be mistaken: he says you are here, he saw you come in; he is your relation, his name's Ranger, and is come to wait upon you home. I had much ado to keep him from coming up.

_Lyd._ [_To_ CHRISTINA.] Madam, for Heaven's sake, help me! 'tis yet in your power; if but, while I retire into your dining-room, you will please to personate me, and own yourself for her he pursued out of the Park: you are in mourning too, and your stature so much mine it will not contradict you.

_Chris._ I am sorry, madam, I must dispute any command of yours. I have made a resolution to see the face of no man, till an unfortunate friend of mine, now out of the kingdom, return.

_Lyd._ By that friend, and by the hopes you have to see him, let me conjure you to keep me from the sight of mine now. Dear madam, let your charity prevail over you superstition.

_Isa._ He comes, he comes, madam! [LYDIA _withdraws, and stands unseen at the door._

_Enter_ RANGER.

_Ran._ Ha! this is no Lydia. [_Aside._

_Chris._ What, unworthy defamer, has encouraged you to offer this insolence?

_Ran._ She is liker Lydia in her style than her face. I see I am mistaken; but to tell her I followed her for another, were an affront rather than an excuse. She's a glorious creature! [_Aside._

_Chris._ Tell me, sir, whence had you reason for this your rude pursuit of me, into my lodgings, my chamber? why should you follow me?

_Ran._ Faith, madam, because you ran away from me.

_Chris._ That was no sign of an acquaintance.

_Ran._ You'll pardon me, madam.

_Chris._ Then, it seems, you mistook me for another, and the night is your excuse, which blots out all distinctions. But now you are satisfied in your mistake, I hope you will seek out your woman in another place.

_Ran._ Madam, I allow not the excuse you make for me. If I have offended, I will rather be condemned for my love, than pardoned for my insensibility.

_Lyd._ How's that? [_Aside._

_Chris._ What do you say?

_Ran._ Though the night had been darker, my heart would not have suffered me to follow any one but you:--he has been too long acquainted with you to mistake you.

_Lyd._ What means this tenderness? he mistook me for her sure. [_Aside._

_Chris._ What says the gentleman? did you know me then, sir?

_Ran._ [_Aside._] Not I, the devil take me! but I must on now.--[_Aloud._] Could you imagine, madam, by the innumerable crowd of your admirers, you had left any man free in the town, or ignorant of the power of your beauty?

_Chris._ I never saw your face before, that I remember.

_Ran._ Ah, madam! you would never regard your humblest slave; I was till now a modest lover.

_Lyd._ Falsest of men! [_Aside._

_Chris._ My woman said, you came to seek a relation here, not a mistress.

_Ran._ I must confess, madam, I thought you would sooner disprove my dissembled error, than admit my visit, and was resolved to see you.

_Lyd._ 'Tis clear! [_Aside._

_Ran._ Indeed, when I followed you first out of the Park, I was afraid you might have been a certain relation of mine, for your statures and habits are the same; but when you entered here, I was with joy convinced. Besides, I would not for the world have given her troublesome love so much encouragement, to have disturbed my future addresses to you; for the foolish woman does perpetually torment me to make our relation nearer; but never more in vain than since I have seen you, madam.

_Lyd._ How! shall I suffer this? 'tis clear he disappointed me to-night for her, and made me stay at home that I might not disappoint him of her company in the Park. [_Aside._

_Chris._ I am amazed! but let me tell you, sir, if the lady were here, I would satisfy her the sight of me should never frustrate her ambitious designs upon her cruel kinsman.

_Lyd._ I wish you could satisfy me. [_Aside._

_Ran._ If she were here, she would satisfy you she were not capable of the honour to be taken for you:--though in the dark. Faith, my cousin is but a tolerable woman to a man that had not seen you.

_Chris._ Sure, to my plague, this is the first time you ever saw me!

_Ran._ Sure, to the plague of my poor heart, 'tis not the hundredth time I have seen you! For, since the time I saw you first, you have not been at the Park, playhouse, Exchange,[34] or other public place, but I saw you; for it was my business to watch and follow.

_Chris._ Pray, when did you see me last at the Park, playhouse, or Exchange?

_Ran._ Some two, three days, or a week ago.

_Chris._ I have not been this month out of this chamber.

_Lyd._ That is to delude me. [_Aside._

_Chris._ I knew you were mistaken.

_Ran._ You'll pardon a lover's memory, madam.--[_Aside._] A pox! I have hanged myself in my own line. One would think my perpetual ill-luck in lying should break me of the quality; but, like a losing gamester, I am still for pushing on, till none will trust me.

_Chris._ Come, sir, you run out of one error into a greater: you would excuse the rudeness of your mistake, and intrusion at this hour into my lodgings, with your gallantry to me,--more unseasonable and offensive.

_Ran._ Nay, I am in love I see, for I blush and have not a word to say for myself.

_Chris._ But, sir, if you will needs play the gallant, pray leave my house before morning, lest you should be seen go hence, to the scandal of my honour. Rather than that should be, I'll call up the house and neighbours to bear witness I bid you begone.

_Ran._ Since you take a night visit so ill, madam, I will never wait upon you again but by day. I go, that I may hope to return; and, for once, I wish you a good night without me.

_Chris._ Good night, for as long as I live. [_Exit_ RANGER.

_Lyd._ And good night to my love, I'm sure. [_Aside._

_Chris._ Though I have done you an inconsiderable service, I assure you, madam, you are not a little obliged to me.--[_Aside._] Pardon me, dear Valentine!

_Lyd._ I know not yet whether I am more obliged than injured: when I do, I assure you, madam, I shall not be insensible of either.

_Chris._ I fear, madam, you are as liable to mistakes as your kinsman.

_Lyd._ I fear I am more subject to 'em: it may be for want of sleep, therefore I'll go home.

_Chris._ My Lady Flippant, good night.

_L. Flip._ Good night, or rather good morrow, faithful shepherdess.

_Chris._ I'll wait on you down.

_Lyd._ Your coach stays yet, I hope.

_L. Flip._ Certainly. [_Exeunt._

SCENE III.--_The Street before_ CHRISTINA'S _Lodging._

_Enter_ RANGER _and_ DAPPERWIT.

_Dap._ I was a faithful sentinel: nobody came out, let me perish!

_Ran._ No, no, I hunted upon a wrong scent; I thought I had followed a woman, but found her an angel.

_Dap._ What is her name?

_Ran._ That you must tell me. What very fine woman is there lives hereabouts?

_Dap._ Faith, I know not any. She is, I warrant you, some fine woman of a term's standing or so in the town; such as seldom appear in public, but in their balconies, where they stand so constantly, one would think they had hired no other part of the house.

_Ran._ And look like the pictures which painters expose to draw in customers;--but I must know who she is. Vincent's lodging is hard by, I'll go and inquire of him, and lie with him to-night: but if he will not let me, I'll lie with you, for my lodging is too far off.

_Dap._ Then I will go before, and expect you at mine. [_Exeunt._

SCENE IV.--VINCENT'S _Lodging._

_Enter_ VINCENT _and_ VALENTINE _in a riding habit, as newly from a journey._

_Vin._ Your mistress, dear Valentine, will not be more glad to see you! but my wonder is no less than my joy, that you would return ere you were informed Clerimont were out of danger. His surgeons themselves have not been assured of his recovery till within these two days.

_Val._ I feared my mistress, not my life. My life I could trust again with my old enemy Fortune; but no longer my mistress in the hands of my greater enemies, her relations.

_Vin._ Your fear was in the wrong place, then: for though my Lord Clerimont live, he and his relations may put you in more danger of your life than your mistress's relations can of losing her.

_Val._ Would any could secure me her! I would myself secure my life, for I should value it then.

_Vin._ Come, come; her relations can do you no hurt. I dare swear, if her mother should but say, "Your hat did not cock handsomely," she would never ask her blessing again.

_Val._ Prithee leave thy fooling, and tell me if, since my departure, she has given evidences of her love, to clear those doubts I went away with:--for as absence is the bane of common and bastard love, 'tis the vindication of that which is true and generous.

_Vin._ Nay, if you could ever doubt her love, you deserve to doubt on; for there is no punishment great enough for jealousy--but jealousy.

_Val._ You may remember, I told you before my flight I had quarrelled with the defamer of my mistress, but I thought I had killed my rival.

_Vin._ But pray give me now the answer which the suddenness of your flight denied me;--how could Clerimont hope to subdue her heart by the assault of her honour?

_Val._ Pish! it might be the stratagem of a rival to make me desist.

_Vin._ For shame! if 'twere not rather to vindicate her, than satisfy you, I would not tell you how like a Penelope she has behaved herself in your absence.

_Val._ Let me know.

_Vin._ Then know, the next day you went she put herself in mourning, and--

_Val._ That might be for Clerimont, thinking him dead, as all the world besides thought.

_Vin._ Still turning the dagger's point on yourself! hear me out. I say she put herself into mourning for you--locked herself in her chamber this month for you--shut out her barking relations for you--has not seen the sun or the face of man since she saw you--thinks and talks of nothing but you--sends to me daily to hear of you--and, and, in short, (I think,) is mad for you. All this I can swear; for I am to her so near a neighbour, and so inquisitive a friend for you--

_Enter_ Servant.

_Serv._ Mr. Ranger, sir, is coming up.

_Vin._ What brings him now? he comes to lie with me.

_Val._ Who, Ranger?

_Vin._ Yes. Pray retire a little, till I send him off:--unless you have a mind to have your arrival published to-morrow in the coffee houses. [VALENTINE _retires to the door behind._

_Enter_ RANGER.

_Ran._ What! not yet a-bed? your man is laying you to sleep with usquebaugh or brandy; is he not so?

_Vin._ What punk[35] will not be troubled with you to-night, therefore I am?--is it not so?

_Ran._ I have been turned out of doors, indeed, just now, by a woman,--but such a woman, Vincent!

_Vin._ Yes, yes, your women are always such women!