Part 11

_Sir John._ Oons, Sir, I think a Woman and a Secret are the two impertinentest Themes in the Universe: Therefore pray let's hear no more of my Wife, nor your Mistress. Damn 'em both with all my heart, and every thing else that daggles a Petticoat, except four generous Whores, with _Betty Sands_ at the Head of 'em, who are drunk with my Lord _Rake_ and I ten times in a Fortnight.

[_Exit ~Sir John~._

_Const._ Here's a dainty Fellow for you! And the veriest Coward too. But his Usage of his Wife makes me ready to stab the Villain.

_Heart._ Lovers are short-sighted: All their Senses run into that of Feeling. This Proceeding of his is the only thing on Earth can make your Fortune. If any thing can prevail with her to accept of a Gallant, 'tis his ill Usage of her; for Women will do more for Revenge, than they'll do for the Gospel. Pr'ythee, take heart, I have great hopes for you: And since I can't bring you quite off of her, I'll endeavour to bring you quite on; for a whining Lover is the damn'dest Companion upon Earth.

_Const._ My dear Friend, flatter me a little more with these Hopes; for whilst they prevail, I have Heaven within me, and could melt with Joy.

_Heart._ Pray, no melting yet; let things go farther first. This afternoon, perhaps, we shall make some advance. In the mean while, let's go dine at _Locket_'s, and let Hope get you a Stomach.

[_Exeunt._

+SCENE+, _Lady_ Fancyfull's _House_.

_Enter Lady ~Fancyfull~ and ~Madamoiselle~._

_Lady Fan._ Did you ever see any thing so _importune, Madamoiselle_?

_Madam._ Inteed, Matam, to say de trute, he want leetel Good-breeding.

_Lady Fan._ Good-breeding! He wants to be caned, _Madamoiselle_: an insolent Fellow! And yet let me expose my Weakness, 'tis the only Man on Earth I cou'd resolve to dispense my Favours on, were he but a fine Gentleman. Well! did Men but know how deep an Impression a fine Gentleman makes in a Lady's Heart, they would reduce all their Studies to that of Good-breeding alone.

_Enter ~Cornet~._

_Cor._ Madam, here's Mr. _Treble_. He has brought home the Verses your Ladyship made, and gave him to set.

_Lady Fan._ O let him come in by all means. Now _Madamoiselle_, am I going to be unspeakably happy.

_Enter ~Treble~._

So, Mr. _Treble_, you have set my little Dialogue?

_Treb._ Yes, Madam, and I hope your Ladyship will be pleased with it.

_Lady Fan._ O, no doubt on't; for really, Mr. _Treble_, you set all things to a wonder: But your Musick is in particular heavenly, when you have my Words to clothe in't.

_Treb._ Your Words themselves, Madam, have so much Musick in 'em, they inspire me.

_Lady Fan._ Nay, now you make me blush, Mr. _Treble_; but pray let's hear what you have done.

_Treb._ You shall, Madam.

A SONG, to be sung between a Man and a Woman.

M. _Ah lovely Nymph, the World's on fire; Veil, veil those cruel Eyes_:

W. _The World may then in Flames expire, And boast that so it dies_.

M. _But when all Mortals are destroy'd, Who then shall sing your Praise?_

W. _Those who are fit to be employ'd: The Gods shall Altars raise_.

_Treb._ How does your Ladyship like it, Madam?

_Lady Fan._ Rapture, Rapture, Mr. _Treble_! I'm all Rapture! O Wit and Art, what Power have you when join'd! I must needs tell you the Birth of this little Dialogue, Mr. _Treble_. Its Father was a Dream, and its Mother was the Moon. I dream'd that by an unanimous Vote, I was chosen Queen of that pale World; and that the first time I appear'd upon my Throne----all my Subjects fell in love with me. Just then I wak'd, and seeing Pen, Ink and Paper lie idle upon the Table, I slid into my Morning-Gown, and writ this _impromptu_.

_Treb._ So I guess the Dialogue, Madam, is suppos'd to be between your Majesty and your first Minister of State.

_Lady Fan._ Just: He, as Minister, advises me to trouble my Head about the Welfare of my Subjects; which I, as Sovereign, find a very impertinent Proposal. But is the Town so dull, Mr. _Treble_, it affords us never another new Song?

_Treb._ Madam, I have one in my Pocket, came out but Yesterday, if your Ladyship pleases to let Mrs. _Pipe_ sing it.

_Lady Fan._ By all means. Here, _Pipe_, make what Musick you can of this Song, here.

SONG.

I.

_Not an Angel dwells above, Half so fair as her I love. Heaven knows, how she'll receive me; If she smiles, I'm blest indeed; If she frowns, I'm quickly freed; Heaven knows she ne'er can grieve me._

II.

_None can love her more than I, Yet she ne'er shall make me die. If my Flame can never warm her, Lasting Beauty I'll adore; I shall never love her more, Cruelty will so deform her._

_Lady Fan._ Very well: This is _Heartfree_'s Poetry without question.

_Treb._ Won't your Ladyship please to sing yourself this Morning?

_Lady Fan._ O Lord, Mr. _Treble_, my Cold is still so barbarous to refuse me that Pleasure! He, he, hem.

_Treb._ I'm very sorry for it, Madam: Methinks all Mankind should turn Physicians for the Cure on't.

_Lady Fan._ Why, truly, to give Mankind their due, there's few that know me but have offer'd their Remedy.

_Treb._ They have reason, Madam; for I know no body sings so near a Cherubim as your Ladyship.

_Lady Fan._ What I do, I owe chiefly to your Skill and Care, Mr. _Treble_. People do flatter me, indeed, that I have a Voice, and a _Je-ne-sçai-quoy_ in the Conduct of it, that will make Musick of any thing. And truly I begin to believe so, since what happen'd t'other Night: Wou'd you think it, Mr. _Treble_? Walking pretty late in the Park, (for I often walk late in the Park, Mr _Treble_) a Whim took me to sing _Chevy Chase_; and, wou'd you believe it? next Morning I had three Copies of Verses, and six Billet-doux at my Levée upon it.

_Treb._ And without all dispute you deserv'd as many more, Madam. Are there any further Commands for your Ladyship's humble Servant?

_Lady Fan._ Nothing more at this Time, Mr. _Treble_. But I shall expect you here every Morning for this Month, to sing my little Matter there to me. I'll reward you for your Pains.

_Treb._ O Lord, Madam----

_Lady Fan._ Good-morrow, sweet Mr. _Treble_.

_Treb._ Your Ladyship's most obedient Servant.

[_Exit ~Treb~._

_Enter Servant._

_Serv._ Will your Ladyship please to dine yet?

_Lady Fan._ Yes, let 'em serve. [_Exit Servant._] Sure this _Heartfree_ has bewitch'd me, _Madamoiselle_. You can't imagine how oddly he mixt himself in my Thoughts during my Rapture e'en now. I vow 'tis a thousand Pities he is not more polish'd: Don't you think so?

_Madam._ Matam, I tink it so great pity, dat if I was in your Ladyship place, I take him home in my House, I lock him up in my Closet, and I never let him go till I teach him every ting dat fine Laty expect from fine Gentelman.

_Lady Fan._ Why, truly, I believe I shou'd soon subdue his Brutality; for without doubt, he has a strange _Penchant_ to grow fond of me, in spite of his Aversion to the Sex, else he wou'd ne'er have taken so much Pains about me. Lord, how proud wou'd some poor Creatures be of such a Conquest! But I, alas! I don't know how to receive as a Favour what I take to be so infinitely my Due. But what shall I do to new-mould him, _Madamoiselle_? for till then he's my utter Aversion.

_Madam._ Matam; you must laugh at him in all de place dat you meet him, and turn into de reticule all he say, and all he do.

_Lady Fan._ Why, truly, Satire has ever been of wondrous use to reform Ill-manners. Besides, 'tis my particular Talent to ridicule Folks. I can be severe, strangely severe, when I will, _Madamoiselle_----Give me the Pen and Ink----I find myself whimsical----I'll write to him----Or I'll let it alone, and be severe upon him that way [_Sitting down to write, rising up again._]--Yet Active Severity is better than Passive. [_Sitting down._]----'Tis as good let it alone, too; for every Lash I give him, perhaps, he'll take for a Favour. [_Rising._]----Yet 'tis a thousand pities so much Satire should be lost. [_Sitting._]---- But if it shou'd have a wrong Effect upon him, 'twould distract me. [_Rising._]----Well, I must write, tho', after all, [_Sitting._]----Or I'll let it alone, which is the same thing. [_Rising._]

Madam. _La voilà determinée._

[_Exeunt._

+ACT+ III.

+SCENE+ _opens; Sir ~John~, Lady ~Brute~ and ~Belinda~ rising from the Table._

_Sir John._ Here, take away the Things; I expect Company. But first bring me a Pipe; I'll smoak.

[_To a Servant._

_Lady Brute._ Lord, Sir _John_, I wonder you won't leave that nasty Custom.

_Sir John._ Pr'ythee, don't be impertinent.

_Bel._ [_To Lady ~Brute~._] I wonder who those People are he expects this Afternoon?

_Lady Brute._ I'd give the World to know: Perhaps 'tis _Constant_--he comes here sometimes: if it does prove him, I'm resolv'd I'll share the Visit.

_Bel._ We'll send for our Work, and sit here.

_Lady Brute._ He'll choak us with his Tobacco.

_Bel._ Nothing will choak us when we are doing what we have a mind to. _Lovewell!_

_Enter ~Lovewell~._

_Lov._ Madam.

_Lady Brute._ Here; bring my Cousin's Work and mine hither.

[_Exit ~Lov~. and re-enters with their Work._

_Sir John._ Whu! Pox, can't you work somewhere else?

_Lady Brute._ We shall be careful not to disturb you, Sir.

_Bel._ Your Pipe would make you too thoughtful, Uncle, if you were left alone; our Prittle-prattle will cure your Spleen.

_Sir John._ Will it so, Mrs. Pert? Now I believe it will so increase it, [_Sitting and smoaking._] I shall take my own House for a Paper-mill.

_Lady Brute._ [_To ~Bel~. aside._] Don't let's mind him; let him say what he will.

_Sir John._ A Woman's Tongue a Cure for the Spleen!--Oons--[_Aside._] If a Man had got the Head-ach, they'd be for applying the same Remedy.

_Lady Brute._ You have done a great deal, _Belinda_, since yesterday.

_Bel._ Yes, I have work'd very hard; how do you like it?

_Lady Brute._ O, 'tis the prettiest Fringe in the World. Well, Cousin, you have the happiest Fancy: Pr'ythee, advise me about altering my Crimson Petticoat.

_Sir John._ A Pox o' your Petticoat! Here's such a Prating, a Man can't digest his own Thoughts for you.

_Lady Brute._ Don't answer him. [_Aside._] Well, what do you advise me?

_Bel._ Why, really, I would not alter it at all. Methinks 'tis very pretty as it is.

_Lady Brute._ Ay, that's, true: But you know one grows weary of the prettiest things in the World, when one has had 'em long.

_Sir John._ Yes, I have taught her that.

_Bel._ Shall we provoke him a little?

_Lady Brute._ With all my Heart. _Belinda_, don't you long to be marry'd?

_Bel._ Why, there are some things in it I could like well enough.

_Lady Brute._ What do you think you shou'd dislike?

_Bel._ My Husband, a hundred to one else.

_Lady Brute._ O ye wicked Wretch! Sure you don't speak as you think?

_Bel._ Yes, I do: especially if he smoak'd Tobacco.

[_He looks earnestly at 'em._

_Lady Brute._ Why, that many times takes off worse Smells.

_Bel._ Then he must smell very ill indeed.

_Lady Brute._ So some Men will, to keep their Wives from coming near 'em.

_Bel._ Then those Wives shou'd cuckold 'em at a distance.

_He rises in a Fury, throws his Pipe at 'em, and drives 'em out. As they run off, ~Constant~ and ~Heartfree~ enter. Lady ~Brute~ runs against ~Constant~._

_Sir John._. 'Oons, get you gone up Stairs, you confederating Strumpets you, o I'll cuckold you, with a Vengeance!

_Lady Brute._ O Lord, he'll beat us, he'll beat us. Dear, dear Mr. _Constant_, save us!

[_Exeunt._

_Sir John._ I'll cuckold you, with a Pox.

_Const._ Heav'n! Sir _John_, what's the matter?

_Sir John._ Sure, if Women had been ready created, the Devil, instead of being kick'd down into Hell, had been marry'd.

_Heart._ Why, what new Plague have you found now?

_Sir John._ Why, these two Gentlewomen did but hear me say, I expected you here this Afternoon; upon which they presently resolv'd to take up the Room, o' purpose to plague me and my Friends.

_Const._ Was that all? Why, we shou'd have been glad of their Company.

_Sir John._ Then I should have been weary of yours; for I can't relish both together. They found fault with my smoaking Tobacco, too; and said Men stunk. But I have a good mind--to say something.

_Const._ No, nothing against the Ladies, pray.

_Sir John._ Split the Ladies! Come, will you sit down? Give us some Wine, Fellow: You won't smoak?

_Const._. No; nor drink, neither, at this time--I must ask your Pardon.

_Sir John._ What, this Mistress of yours runs in your Head! I'll warrant it's some such squeamish Minx as my Wife, that's grown so dainty of late, she finds fault even with a dirty Shirt.

_Heart._ That a Woman may do, and not be very dainty, neither.

_Sir John._ Pox o' the Women! let's drink. Come, you shall take one Glass, tho' I send for a Box of Lozenges to sweeten your Mouth after it.

_Const._ Nay, if one Glass will satisfy you, I'll drink it, without putting you to that Expence.

_Sir John._ Why, that's honest. Fill some Wine, Sirrah: So here's to you, Gentlemen--A Wife's the Devil. To your being both married.

[_They drink._

_Heart._ O, your most humble Servant, Sir.

_Sir John._ Well, how do you like my Wine?

_Const._ 'Tis very good, indeed.

_Heart._ 'Tis admirable.

_Sir John._ Then give us t'other Glass.

_Const._ No, pray excuse us now: We'll come another time, and then we won't spare it.

_Sir John._ This one Glass, and no more: Come, it shall be your Mistress's Health: And that's a great Compliment from me, I assure you.

_Const._ And 'tis a very obliging one to me: So give us the Glasses.

_Sir John._ So: let her live--

[_Sir ~John~ coughs in the Glass._

_Heart._ And be kind.

_Const._ What's the matter? Does it go the wrong way?

_Sir John._ If I had Love enough to be jealous, I shou'd take this for an ill Omen: For I never drank my Wife's Health in my Life, but I puk'd in the Glass.

_Const._ O, she's too virtuous to make a reasonable Man jealous.

_Sir John._ Pox of her Virtue! If I cou'd but catch her Adulterating, I might be divorc'd from her by Law.

_Heart._ And so pay her a yearly Pension, to be a distinguish'd Cuckold.

_Enter Servant._

_Serv._ Sir, there's my Lord _Rake_, Colonel _Bully_, and some other Gentlemen at the _Blue-Posts_, desire your Company.

_Sir John._ Cod's so, we are to consult about playing the Devil to-night.

_Heart._ Well, we won't hinder Business.

_Sir John._ Methinks I don't know how to leave you, tho': But for once I must make bold. Or look you; may be the Conference mayn't last long: So, if you'll wait here half an hour, or an hour; if I don't come then--why, then--I won't come at all.

_Heart._ [_To ~Const~._] A good modest Proposition, truly!

[_Aside._

_Const._ But let's accept on't, however. Who knows what may happen?

_Heart._ Well, Sir, to shew you how fond we are of your Company, we'll expect your Return as long as we can.

_Sir John._ Nay, may be I mayn't stay at all. But Business, you know, must be done. So your Servant--Or hark you, if you have a mind to take a Frisk with us, I have an Interest with my Lord; I can easily introduce you.

_Const._ We are much beholden to you; but for my part, I'm engag'd another way.

_Sir John._ What! to your Mistress, I'll warrant. Pr'ythee, leave your nasty Punk to entertain herself with her own lewd Thoughts, and make one with us to-night.

_Const._ Sir, 'tis Business that is to employ me.

_Heart._ And me; and Business must be done, you know.

_Sir John._ Ay, Women's Business, tho' the World were consum'd for't.

[_Exit Sir ~John~._

_Const._ Farewel, Beast! And now, my dear Friend, would my Mistress be but as complaisant as some Men's Wives, who think it a piece of good Breeding to receive the Visits of their Husband's Friends in his Absence!

_Heart._ Why, for your sake I could forgive her, tho' she should be so complaisant to receive something else in his Absence. But what way shall we invent to see her?

_Const._ O, ne'er hope it: Invention will prove as vain as Wishes.

_Enter Lady ~Brute~ and ~Belinda~._

_Heart._ What do you think now, Friend?

_Const._ I think I shall swoon.

_Heart._ I'll speak first, then, whilst you fetch breath.

_Lady Brute._ We think ourselves oblig'd, Gentlemen, to come and return you thanks for your Knight-Errantry. We were just upon being devour'd by the fiery Dragon.

_Bel._ Did not his Fumes almost knock you down, Gentlemen?

_Heart._ Truly, Ladies, we did undergo some Hardships; and should have done more, if some greater Heroes than ourselves, hard by, had not diverted him.

_Const._ Tho' I'm glad of the Service you are pleas'd to say we have done you, yet I'm sorry we could do it in no other way, than by making ourselves privy to what you would perhaps have kept a Secret.

_Lady Brute._ For Sir _John_'s part, I suppose he design'd it no Secret, since he made so much Noise. And for myself, truly I'm not much concern'd, since 'tis fallen only into this Gentleman's Hands and yours; who, I have many Reasons to believe, will neither interpret nor report any thing to my disadvantage.

_Const._ Your good Opinion, Madam, was what I fear'd I never could have merited.

_Lady Brute._ Your Fears were vain, then, Sir; for I'm just to every body.

_Heart._ Pr'ythee, _Constant_, what is't you do to get the Ladies good Opinions? for I'm a Novice at it.

_Bel._ Sir, will you give me leave to instruct you?

_Heart._ Yes, that I will, with all my Soul, Madam.

_Bel._ Why, then, you must never be slovenly, never be out of humour, fare well and cry Roast-meat, smoak Tobacco, nor drink but when you are dry.

_Heart._ That's hard.

_Const._ Nay, if you take his Bottle from him, you break his Heart, Madam.

_Bel._ Why, is it possible the Gentleman can love Drinking?

_Heart._ Only by way of Antidote.

_Bel._ Against what, pray?

_Heart._ Against Love, Madam.

_Lady Brute._ Are you afraid of being in Love, Sir?

_Heart._ I should, if there were any Danger of it.

_Lady Brute._ Pray why so?

_Heart._ Because I always had an Aversion to being us'd like a Dog.

_Bel._ Why, truly, Men in Love are seldom us'd better.

_Lady Brute._ But was you never in Love, Sir?

_Heart._ No, I thank Heav'n, Madam.

_Bel._ Pray, where got you your Learning, then?

_Heart._ From other People's Expence.

_Bel._ That's being a Spunger, Sir, which is scarce honest: If you'd buy some Experience with your own Money, as 'twould be fairlier got, so 'twould stick longer by you.

_Enter Footman._

_Foot._ Madam, here's my Lady _Fancyfull_, to wait upon your Ladyship.

_Lady Brute._ Shield me, kind Heaven! What an Inundation of Impertinence is here coming upon us!

_Enter Lady ~Fancyfull~, who runs first to Lady ~Brute~, then to ~Belinda~, kissing 'em._

_Lady Fan._ My dear Lady _Brute_, and sweet _Belinda_, methinks 'tis an Age since I saw you.

_Lady Brute._ Yet 'tis but three Days; sure you have pass'd your time very ill, it seems so long to you.

_Lady Fan._ Why, really, to confess the truth to you, I am so everlastingly fatigu'd with the Addresses of unfortunate Gentlemen, that, were it not for the Extravagancy of the Example, I shou'd e'en tear out these wicked Eyes with my own Fingers, to make both myself and Mankind easy. What think you on't, Mr. _Heartfree_, for I take you to be my faithful Adviser?

_Heart._ Why, truly, Madam--I think--every Project that is for the good of Mankind ought to be encourag'd.

_Lady Fan._ Then I have your Consent, Sir?

_Heart._ To do whatever you please, Madam.

_Lady Fan._ You had a much more limited Complaisance this Morning, Sir. Would you believe it, Ladies? The Gentleman has been so exceeding generous, to tell me of above fifty Faults, in less time than it was well possible for me to commit two of 'em.

_Const._ Why, truly, Madam, my Friend there is apt to be something familiar with the Ladies.

_Lady Fan._ He is, indeed, Sir; but he's wondrous charitable with it: He has had the Goodness to design a Reformation, even down to my Fingers-ends.----'Twas thus, I think, Sir, [_Opening her fingers in an aukward manner._] you'd have had 'em stand--My Eyes, too, he did not like: How was't you wou'd have directed 'em? Thus, I think. [_Staring at him._]--Then there was something amiss in my Gait, too: I don't know well how 'twas; but as I take it, he would have had me walk like him. Pray, Sir, do me the Favour to take a turn or two about the Room, that the Company may see you.--He's sullen, Ladies, and won't. But, to make short, and give you as true an Idea as I can of the matter, I think 'twas much about this Figure, in general, he would have moulded me to: But I was an obstinate Woman, and could not resolve to make myself Mistress of his Heart, by growing as aukward as his Fancy.

[_She walks aukwardly about, staring and looking ungainly, then changes on a sudden to the Extremity of her usual Affectation._

_Heart._. Just thus Women do, when they think we are in love with em, or when they are so with us.

[_Here ~Constant~ and Lady ~Brute~ talk together apart._

_Lady Fan._ 'Twould, however, be less Vanity for me to conclude the former, than you the latter, Sir.

_Heart._. Madam, all I shall presume to conclude, is, That if I wer in love, you'd find the means to make me soon weary on't.

_Lady Fan._ Not by Over-fondness, upon my Word, Sir. But pray let's stop here; for you are so much govern'd by Instinct, I know you'll grow brutish at last.

_Bel._ [_Aside._] Now am I sure she's fond of him: I'll try to make her jealous. Well, for my part, I should be glad to find somebody would be so free with me, that I might know my Faults, and mend 'em.

_Lady Fan._ Then pray let me recommend this Gentleman to you: I have known him some time, and will be Surety for him, that upon a very limited Encouragement on your side, you shall find an extended Impudence on his.

_Heart._ I thank you, Madam, for your Recommendation: But hating Idleness, I'm unwilling to enter into a Place where I believe there would be nothing to do. I was fond of serving your Ladyship, because I knew you'd find me constant Employment.

_Lady Fan._ I told you he'd be rude, _Belinda_.

_Bel._ O, a little Bluntness is a sign of Honesty, which makes me always ready to pardon it. So, Sir, if you have no other Exceptions to my Service, but the fear of being idle in it, you may venture to lift yourself: I shall find you Work, I warrant you.

_Heart._ Upon those Terms I engage, Madam; and this (with your leave) I take for Earnest.

[_Offering to kiss her Hand._

_Bel._ Hold there, Sir; I'm none of your Earnest-givers. But if I'm well serv'd, I give good Wages, and pay punctually.

[_~Heartf~. and ~Bel~. seem to continue talking familiarly._

_Lady Fan._ [_Aside._] I don't like this jesting between 'em--Methinks the Fool begins to look as if he were in earnest.----But then he must be a Fool, indeed.----Lard, what a Difference there is between me and her! [_Looking at ~Bel~. scornfully._] How I shou'd despise such a Thing, if I were a Man!----What a Nose she has!--What a Chin----What a Neck!----Then her Eyes----And the worst kissing Lips in the Universe----No, no, he can never like her, that's positive----Yet I can't suffer 'em together any longer. Mr. _Heartfree_, do you know that you and I must have no Quarrel for all this? I can't forbear being a little severe now and then: But Women, you know, may be allowed any thing.

_Heart._ Up to a certain Age, Madam.

_Lady Fan._ Which I'm not yet past, I hope.

_Heart._ [_Aside._] Nor never will, I dare swear.

_Lady Fan._ [_To Lady ~Brute~._] Come, Madam, will your Ladyship be Witness to our Reconciliation?

_Lady Brute._ You agree, then, at last?

_Heart._ [_Slightingly._] We forgive.

_Lady Fan._ [_Aside._] That was a cold, ill-natur'd Reply.

_Lady Brute._ Then there's no Challenges sent between you?