Part 12

_Heart._ Not from me, I promise. [_Aside to ~Constant~._] But that's more than I'll do for her; for I know she can as well be damn'd as forbear writing to me.

_Const._ That I believe. But I think we had best be going, lest she should suspect something, and be malicious.

_Heart._ With all my heart.

_Const._ Ladies, we are your humble Servants. I see Sir _John_ is quite engag'd, 'twould be in vain to expect him. Come, _Heartfree_.

[_Exit._

_Heart._ Ladies, your Servant. [_To ~Belinda~._] I hope, Madam, you won't forget our Bargain; I'm to say what I please to you.

[_Exit ~Heartfree~._

_Bel._ Liberty of Speech entire, Sir.

_Lady Fan._ [_Aside._] Very pretty truly--But how the Blockhead went out--languishing at her, and not a Look toward me!--Well, Churchmen may talk, but Miracles are not ceas'd. For 'tis more than natural, such a rude Fellow as he, and such a little Impertinent as she, should be capable of making a Woman of my Sphere uneasy. But I can bear her sight no longer----methinks she's grown ten times uglier than _Cornet_. I must home, and study Revenge. [_To Lady ~Brute~._] Madam, your humble Servant; I must take my leave.

_Lady Brute._ What, going already, Madam?

_Lady Fan._ I must beg you'll excuse me this once; for really I have eighteen Visits to return this Afternoon: So you see I'm importun'd by the Women as well as the Men.

_Bel._ [_Aside._] And she's quits with them both.

_Lady Fan._ [_Going._] Nay, you shan't go one Step out of the Room.

_Lady Brute._ Indeed I'll wait upon you down.

_Lady Fan._ No, sweet Lady _Brute_, you know I swoon at Ceremony.

_Lady Brute._ Pray give me leave.

_Lady Fan._ You know I won't.

_Lady Brute._ Indeed I must.

_Lady Fan._ Indeed you shan't.

_Lady Brute._ Indeed I will.

_Lady Fan._. Indeed you shan't.

_Lady Brute._ Indeed I will.

_Lady Fan._ Indeed you shan't. Indeed, indeed, indeed you shan't.

[_Exit Lady ~Fan~. running; they follow._

_Re-enter Lady ~Brute~ sola._

This impertinent Woman has put me out of Humour for a Fortnight----What an agreeable Moment has her foolish Visit interrupted! Lord, how like a Torrent Love flows into the Heart, when once the Sluice of Desire is open'd! Good Gods! What a Pleasure there is in doing what we should not do!

_Re-enter ~Constant~._

Ha! here again?

_Const._ Tho' the renewing my Visit may seem a little irregular, I hope I shall obtain your Pardon for it, Madam, when you know I only left the Room, lest the Lady who was here should have been as malicious in her Remarks as she's foolish in her Conduct.

_Lady Brute._ He who has Discretion enough to be tender of a Woman's Reputation, carries a Virtue about him may atone for a great many Faults.

_Const._ If it has a Title to atone for any, its Pretensions must needs be strongest where the Crime is Love. I therefore hope I shall be forgiven the Attempt I have made upon your Heart, since my Enterprize has been a Secret to all the World but yourself.

_Lady Brute._ Secrecy, indeed, in Sins of this kind, is an Argument of weight to lessen the Punishment; but nothing's a Plea for a Pardon entire, without a sincere Repentance.

_Const._ If Sincerity in Repentance consists in Sorrow for offending, no Cloyster ever inclos'd so true a Penitent as I should be. But I hope it cannot be reckon'd an Offence to love where 'tis a Duty to adore.

_Lady Brute._ 'Tis an Offence, a great one, where it would rob a Woman of all she ought to be ador'd for--her Virtue.

_Const._ Virtue?--Virtue, alas! is no more like the thing that's call'd so, than 'tis like Vice itself. Virtue consists in Goodness, Honour, Gratitude, Sincerity, and Pity; and not in peevish, snarling, strait-lac'd Chastity. True Virtue, wheresoever it moves, still carries an intrinsick Worth about it, and is in every Place, and in each Sex, of equal Value. So is not Continence, you see: That Phantom of Honour, which Men in every Age have so contemned, they have thrown it amongst the Women to scrabble for.

_Lady Brute._ If it be a thing of so little Value, why do you so earnestly recommend it to your Wives and Daughters?

_Const._ We recommend it to our Wives, Madam, because we wou'd keep 'em to ourselves; and to our Daughters, because we wou'd dispose of 'em to others.

_Lady Brute._ 'Tis then, of some Importance, it seems, since you can't dispose of them without it.

_Const._ That Importance, Madam, lies in the Humour of the Country, not in the Nature of the Thing.

_Lady Brute._ How do you prove that, Sir?

_Const._ From the Wisdom of a neighbouring Nation in a contrary Practice. In Monarchies, things go by Whimsy; but Commonwealths weigh all things in the Scale of Reason.

_Lady Brute._ I hope we are not so very light a People, to bring up Fashions without some ground.

_Const._ Pray what does your Ladyship think of a powder'd Coat for deep Mourning?

_Lady Brute._ I think, Sir, your Sophistry has all the effect that you can reasonably expect it should have; it puzzles, but don't convince.

_Const._ I'm sorry for it.

_Lady Brute._ I'm sorry to hear you say so.

_Const._ Pray why?

_Lady Brute._ Because, if you expected more from it, you have a worse Opinion of my Understanding than I desire you should have.

_Const._ [_Aside._] I comprehend her: She would have me set a Value upon her Chastity, that I might think myself the more oblig'd to her when she makes me a Present of it. [_To her._] I beg you will believe I did but rally, Madam; I know you judge too well of Right and Wrong, to be deceiv'd by Arguments like those. I hope you'll have so favourable an Opinion of my Understanding too, to believe the thing call'd Virtue has Worth enough with me, to pass for an eternal Obligation where'er 'tis sacrific'd.

_Lady Brute._ It is, I think, so great a one as nothing can repay.

_Const._ Yes; the making the Man you love your everlasting Debtor.

_Lady Brute._ When Debtors once have borrow'd all we have to lend, they are very apt to grow shy of their Creditors' Company.

_Const._ That, Madam, is only when they are forc'd to borrow of Usurers, and not of a generous Friend. Let us choose our Creditors, and we are seldom so ungrateful to shun 'em.

_Lady Brute._ What think you of Sir _John_, Sir? I was his free Choice.

_Const._ I think he's married, Madam.

_Lady Brute._ Does Marriage, then, exclude Men from your Rule of Constancy?

_Const._ It does. Constancy's a brave, free, haughty, generous Agent, that cannot buckle to the Chains of Wedlock. There's a poor sordid Slavery in Marriage, that turns the flowing Tide of Honour, and sinks us to the lowest Ebb of Infamy. 'Tis a corrupted Soil: Ill-Nature, Avarice, Sloth, Cowardice, and Dirt, are all its Product.

_Lady Brute._ Have you no Exceptions to this general Rule, as well as to t'other?

_Const._ Yes; I would, after all, be an Exception to it myself, if you were free in Power and Will to make me so.

_Lady Brute._ Compliments are well plac'd where 'tis impossible to lay hold on 'em.

_Const._ I wou'd to Heaven 'twere possible for you to lay hold on mine, that you might see it is no Compliment at all. But since you are already dispos'd of, beyond Redemption, to one who does not know the Value of the Jewel you have put into his Hands, I hope you wou'd not think him greatly wrong'd, tho' it should sometimes be look'd on by a Friend, who knows how to esteem it as he ought.

_Lady Brute._ If looking on't alone wou'd serve his turn, the Wrong, perhaps, might not be very great.

_Const._ Why, what if he shou'd wear it now and then a Day, so he gave good Security to bring it home again at Night?

_Lady Brute._ Small Security, I fancy, might serve for that. One might venture to take his Word.

_Const._ Then, where's the Injury to the Owner?

_Lady Brute._ 'Tis an Injury to him, if he think it one. For if Happiness be seated in the Mind, Unhappiness must be so too.

_Const._ Here I close with you, Madam, and draw my conclusive Argument from your own Position: If the Injury lie in the Fancy, there needs nothing but Secrecy to prevent the Wrong.

_Lady Brute._ [_Going._] A surer way to prevent it, is to hear no more Arguments in its behalf.

_Const._ [_Following her._] But, Madam----

_Lady Brute._ But, Sir, 'tis my turn to be discreet now, and not suffer too long a Visit.

_Const._ [_Catching her Hand._] By Heaven, you shall not stir, till you give me hopes that I shall see you again at some more convenient Time and Place!

_Lady Brute._ I give you just hopes enough----[_Breaking from him._] to get loose from you: and that's all I can afford you at this time.

[_Exit running._

_~Constant~ solus._

Now, by all that's great and good, she is a charming Woman! In what Extasy of Joy she has left me! For she gave me Hope, did she not say she gave me Hope?--Hope! Ay: what Hope? Enough to make me let her go--Why, that's enough in Conscience. Or, no matter how 'twas spoke: Hope was the Word: it came from her, and it was said to me.

_Enter ~Heartfree~._

Ha, _Heartfree_! Thou hast done me noble Service in prattling to the young Gentlewoman without there; come to my Arms, thou venerable Bawd, and let me squeeze thee [_Embracing him eagerly._] as a new Pair of Stays does a fat Country Girl, when she's carried to Court to stand for a Maid of Honour.

_Heart._ Why, what the Devil's all this Rapture for?

_Const._ Rapture! There's ground for Rapture, Man; there's Hopes, my _Heartfree_, Hopes, my Friend!

_Heart._ Hopes! of what?

_Const._ Why, Hopes that my Lady and I together (for 'tis more than one Body's Work) should make Sir _John_ a Cuckold.

_Heart._ Pr'ythee, what did she say to thee?

_Const._ Say? What did she not say? She said that----says she--she said--Zoons, I don't know what she said; but she look'd as if she said every thing I'd have her. And so, if thou'lt go to the Tavern, I'll treat thee with any thing that Gold can buy; I'll give all my Silver amongst the Drawers, make a Bonfire before the Door; say the Plenipo's have sign'd the Peace, and the Bank of _England_'s grown honest.

[_Exeunt._

+SCENE+ _opens; Lord ~Rake~, Sir ~John~, &c. at a Table, drinking._

_All._ Huzza!

_Lord Rake._ Come, Boys, charge again----So--Confusion to all Order! Here's Liberty of Conscience.

_All._ Huzza!

_Lord Rake._ I'll sing you a Song I made this Morning to this purpose.

_Sir John._ 'Tis wicked, I hope.

_Col. Bully._ Don't my Lord tell you he made it?

_Sir John._ Well, then, let's ha't.

Lord _Rake_ Sings.

I.

_What a Pother of late Have they kept in the State, About setting our Consciences free! A Bottle has more Dispensations in store, Than the King and the State can decree._

II.

_When my Head's full of Wine, I o'erflow with Design, And know no ~Penal-Laws~ that can curb me: Whate'er I devise Seems good in my Eyes, And Religion ne'er dares to disturb me._

III.

_No saucy Remorse Intrudes in my Course, Nor impertinent Notions of Evil; So there's Claret in store, In Peace I've my Whore, And in Peace I jog on to the Devil._

All sing. _So there's Claret_, &c.

_Lord Rake._ [Rep.] _And in Peace I jog on to the Devil._ Well, how do you like it, Gentlemen?

_All._ O, admirable!

_Sir John._ I would not give a Fig for a Song that is not full of Sin and Impudence.

_Lord Rake._ Then my Muse is to your Taste. But drink away; the Night steals upon us; we shall want Time to be lewd in. Hey, Page! Sally out, Sirrah, and see what's doing in the Camp; we'll beat up their Quarters presently.

_Page._ I'll bring your Lordship an exact Account.

[_Exit Page._

_Lord Rake._. Now let the Spirit of Clary go round. Fill me a Brimmer Here's to our Forlorn Hope. Courage, Knight, Victory attends you.

_Sir John._ And Laurels shall crown me; drink away, and be damn'd.

_Lord Rake._ Again, Boys; t'other Glass, and damn Morality.

_Sir John._ [_Drunk._] Ay--damn Morality--and damn the Watch. And let the Constable be married.

_All._ Huzza!

_Re-enter Page._

_Lord Rake._ How are the Streets inhabited, Sirrah?

_Page._ My Lord, 'tis Sunday-night; they are full of drunken Citizens.

_Lord Rake._ Along, then, Boys, we shall have a Feast.

_Col. Bully._ Along, noble Knight.

_Sir John._ Ay----along, _Bully_; and he that says Sir _John Brute_ is not as drunk and as religious as the drunkenest Citizen of them all--is a Liar, and the Son of a Whore.

_Col. Bully._ Why, that was bravely spoke, and like a free-born _Englishman_.

_Sir John._ What's that to you, Sir, whether I am an _Englishman_ or a _Frenchman_?

_Col. Bully._ Zoons, you are not angry, Sir?

_Sir John._ Zoons, I am angry, Sir----for if I'm a free-born _Englishman_, what have you to do even to talk of my Privileges?

_Lord Rake._ Why, pr'ythee, Knight, don't quarrel here; leave private Animosities to be decided by Day-light; let the Night be employ'd against the publick Enemy.

_Sir John._ My Lord, I respect you because you are a Man of Quality. But I'll make that Fellow know, I am within a Hair's breadth as absolute by my Privileges, as the King of _France_ is by his Prerogative. He by his Prerogative takes Money where it is not his due; I by my Privilege refuse paying it where I owe it. Liberty and Property, and _Old England_, Huzza!

_All._ Huzza!

[_Exit Sir ~John~ reeling, all following him._

+SCENE+, _A Bed-Chamber._

_Enter ~Lady Brute~ and ~Belinda~._

_Lady Brute._ Sure 'tis late, _Belinda_; I begin to be sleepy.

_Bel._ Yes, 'tis near Twelve. Will you go to Bed?

_Lady Brute._ To Bed, my Dear? And by that time I am fallen into a sweet Sleep (or perhaps a sweet Dream, which is better and better) Sir _John_ will come home roaring drunk, and be overjoy'd he finds me in a Condition to be disturb'd.

_Bel._ O, you need not fear him; he's in for all Night. The Servants say he's gone to drink with my Lord _Rake_.

_Lady Brute._ Nay, 'tis not very likely, indeed, such suitable Company should part presently. What Hogs Men turn, _Belinda_, when they grow weary of Women!

_Bel._ And what Owls they are, whilst they are fond of 'em!

_Lady Brute._ But That we may forgive well enough, because they are so upon our accounts.

_Bel._ We ought to do so, indeed; but 'tis a hard matter. For when a Man is really in love, he looks so unsufferably silly, that tho' a Woman lik'd him well enough before, she has then much ado to endure the Sight of him: And this I take to be the Reason why Lovers are so generally ill-us'd.

_Lady Brute._ Well, I own, now, I'm well enough pleased to see a Man look like an Ass for me.

_Bel._ Ay, I'm pleas'd he should look like an Ass, too;--that is, I'm pleased with myself for making him look so.

_Lady Brute._ Nay, truly, I think if he'd find some other way to express his Passion, 'twould be more to his advantage.

_Bel._ Yes; for then a Woman might like his Passion and him too.

_Lady Brute._ Yet, _Belinda_, after all, a Woman's Life would be but a dull Business, if it were not for Men; and Men that can look like Asses, too. We shou'd never blame Fate for the shortness of our Days; our Time would hang wretchedly upon our Hands.

_Bel._ Why, truly, they do help us off with a good share on't: For were there no Men in the World, o'my Conscience, I shou'd be no longer a-dressing than I'm a-saying my Prayers; nay, tho' it were Sunday: For you know that one may go to Church without Stays on.

_Lady Brute._ But don't you think Emulation might do something? For every Woman you see desires to be finer than her Neighbour.

_Bel._ That's only that the Men may like her better than her Neighbour. No, if there were no Men, adieu fine Petticoats, we should be weary of wearing 'em.

_Lady Brute._ And adieu Plays, we should be weary of seeing 'em.

_Bel._ Adieu _Hyde Park_, the Dust would choak us.

_Lady Brute._ Adieu _St. James_'s, walking would tire us.

_Bel._ Adieu _London_, the Smoke would stifle us.

_Lady Brute._ And adieu going to Church, for Religion wou'd ne'er prevail with us.

_Both._ Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!

_Bel._ Our Confession is so very hearty, sure we merit Absolution.

_Lady Brute._ Not unless we go thro' with't, and confess all. So, pr'ythee, for the Ease of our Consciences, let's hide nothing.

_Bel._ Agreed.

_Lady Brute._ Why, then, I confess, that I love to sit in the Fore-front of a Box; for if one sits behind, there's two Acts gone, perhaps, before one's found out. And when I am there, if I perceive the Men whispering and looking upon me, you must know I cannot for my Life forbear thinking they talk to my Advantage; and that sets a thousand little tickling Vanities on foot----

_Bel._ Just my Case, for all the World; but go on.

_Lady Brute._ I watch with Impatience for the next Jest in the Play, that I might laugh, and shew my white Teeth. If the Poet has been dull, and the Jest be long a-coming, I pretend to whisper one to my Friend, and from thence fall into a little small Discourse, in which I take occasion to shew my Face in all Humours, brisk, pleas'd, serious, melancholy, languishing----Not that what we say to one another causes any of these alterations. But----

_Bel._ Don't trouble yourself to explain. For if I'm not mistaken, you and I have had some of these necessary Dialogues before now with the same Intention.

_Lady Brute._ Why, I swear, _Belinda_, some People do give strange agreeable Airs to their Faces in speaking. Tell me true--Did you never practise in the Glass?

_Bel._ Why, did you?

_Lady Brute._ Yes, 'faith, many a time.

_Bel._ And I too, I own it; both how to speak myself, and how to look when others speak. But my Glass and I could never yet agree what Face I should make when they come blunt out with a nasty thing in a Play: For all the Men presently look upon the Women, that's certain: so laugh we must not, tho' our Stays burst for't, because that's telling Truth, and owning we understand the Jest. And to look serious is so dull, when the whole House is a laughing--

_Lady Brute._ Besides, that looking serious does really betray our Knowledge in the matter, as much as laughing with the Company would do: For if we did not understand the thing, we shou'd naturally do like other People.

_Bel._ For my part, I always take that occasion to blow my Nose.

_Lady Brute._ You must blow your Nose half off, then, at some Plays.

_Bel._ Why don't some Reformer or other be at the Poet for't?

_Lady Brute._ Because he is not so sure of our private Approbation, as of our publick Thanks. Well, sure there is not upon Earth so impertinent a thing as Women's Modesty.

_Bel._ Yes: Men's Fantasque, that obliges us to it. If we quit our Modesty, they say we lose our Charms: and yet they know that very Modesty is Affectation, and rail at our Hypocrisy.

_Lady Brute._ Thus, one would think 'twere a hard matter to please 'em, Niece; yet our kind Mother Nature has given us something that makes amends for all. Let our Weakness be what it will, Mankind will still be weaker; and whilst there is a World, 'tis Woman that will govern it. But, pr'ythee, one Word of poor _Constant_ before we go to bed, if it be but to furnish matter for Dreams: I dare swear he's talking of me now, or thinking of me at least, tho' it be in the middle of his Prayers.

_Bel._ So he ought, I think; for you were pleas'd to make him a good round Advance to-day, Madam.

_Lady Brute._ Why, I have e'en plagu'd him enough to satisfy any reasonable Woman: He has besieg'd me these two Years, to no purpose.

_Bel._ And if he besieg'd you two Years more, he'd be well enough pay'd, so he had the plundering of you at last.

_Lady Brute._ That may be; but I'm afraid the Town won't be able to hold out much longer: for to confess the Truth to you, _Belinda_, the Garrison begins to grow mutinous.

_Bel._ Then the sooner you capitulate, the better.

_Lady Brute._ Yet, methinks, I wou'd fain stay a little longer to see you fix'd too, that we might start together, and see who cou'd love longest. What think you, if _Heartfree_ shou'd have a Month's Mind to you?

_Bel._ Why, 'faith, I cou'd almost be in love with him for despising that foolish, affected Lady _Fancyfull_; but I'm afraid he's too cold ever to warm himself by my Fire.

_Lady Brute._ Then he deserves to be froze to death. Wou'd I were a Man for your sake, dear Rogue! [_Kissing her._]

_Bel._ You'd wish yourself a Woman again for your own, or the Men are mistaken. But if I cou'd make a Conquest of this Son of _Bacchus_, and rival his Bottle, what shou'd I do with him? He has no Fortune, I can't marry him: and sure you wou'd not have me commit Fornication?

_Lady Brute._ Why, if you did, Child, 'twould be but a good friendly part; if 'twere only to keep me in countenance whilst I commit--you know what.

_Bel._ Well, if I can't resolve to serve you that way, I may perhaps some other, as much to your Satisfaction. But pray how shall we contrive to see these Blades again quickly?

_Lady Brute._ We must e'en have recourse to the old way; make 'em an Appointment 'twixt Jest and Earnest; 'twill look like a Frolick, and that you know 's a very good thing to save a Woman's Blushes.

_Bel._ You advise well; but where shall it be?

_Lady Brute._ In _Spring Garden_. But they shan't know their Women, till their Women pull off their Masks; for a Surprize is the most agreeable thing in the World: And I find myself in a very good Humour, ready to do 'em any good turn I can think on.

_Bel._ Then pray write 'em the necessary Billet, without farther delay.

_Lady Brute._ Let's go into your Chamber, then, and whilst you say your Prayers I'll do it, Child.

[_Exeunt._

+ACT+ IV.

+SCENE+, _Covent Garden_.

_Enter Lord ~Rake~, Sir ~John~, &c. with Swords drawn._

_Lord Rake._ Is the Dog dead?

_Col. Bully._ No, damn him, I heard him wheeze.

_Lord Rake._ How the Witch his Wife howl'd!

_Col. Bully._ Ay, she'll alarm the Watch presently.

_Lord Rake._ Appear, Knight, then; come, you have a good Cause to fight for--there's a Man murder'd.

_Sir John._ Is there? Then let his Ghost be satisfy'd; for I'll sacrifice a Constable to it presently, and burn his Body upon his wooden Chair.

_Enter a Taylor, with a Bundle under his Arm._

_Col. Bully._ How now? What have we got here? A Thief.

_Taylor._ No, an't please you, I'm no Thief.

_Lord Rake._ That we'll see presently: Here, let the General examine him.

_Sir John._ Ay, ay, let me examine him, and I'll lay a hundred Pound I find him guilty, in spite of his Teeth--for he looks--like a--sneaking Rascal. Come, Sirrah, without Equivocation or mental Reservation, tell me of what Opinion you are, and what Calling; for by them----I shall guess at your Morals.

_Taylor._ An't please you, I'm a Dissenting Journeyman Taylor.

_Sir John._ Then, Sirrah, you love Lying by your Religion, and Theft by your Trade: And so, that your Punishment may be suitable to your Crimes--I'll have you first gagg'd--and then hang'd.

_Tayl._ Pray, good worthy Gentlemen, don't abuse me: indeed I'm an honest Man, and a good Workman, tho' I say it, that should not say it.

_Sir John._ No Words, Sirrah, but attend your Fate.

_Lord Rake._ Let me see what's in that Bundle.

_Tayl._ An't please you, it is the Doctor of the Parish's Gown.

_Lord Rake._ The Doctor's Gown!----Hark you, Knight, you won't stick at abusing the Clergy, will you?

_Sir John._ No, I'm drunk, and I'll abuse any thing--but my Wife; and her I name--with Reverence.

_Lord Rake._ Then you shall wear this Gown, whilst you charge the Watch; that tho' the Blows fall upon you, the Scandal may light upon the Church.

_Sir John._ A generous Design----by all the Gods----give it me.

[_Takes the Gown, and puts it on._

_Tayl._ O dear Gentlemen, I shall be quite undone, if you take the Gown.

_Sir John._ Retire, Sirrah; and since you carry off your Skin--go home and be happy.