Part 17

_Dor._ And tell him, that _Pigmy_ has all the Vices that go to equip an Attorney.

_Euph._ That to one I cou'd be true to the last Moment of my Life.

_Dor._ That for t'other, she'd cuckold him the very Day of her Marriage. This, Sir, in few Words, is the Theme you are desir'd to preach upon.

_Esop._ I never yet had one that furnish'd me with more Matter.

_Enter Servant._

_Ser._ My Lord, there's a Lady below desires to speak with your Honour.

_Esop._ What Lady?

_Ser._ 'Tis my Lady--my Lady--[_To ~Doris~._] The Lady there, the wise-Lady, the great Scholar, that Nobody can understand.

_Dor._ O ho, is it she? Pray let's withdraw, and oblige her, Madam; she's ready to swoon at the insipid Sight of one of her own Sex.

_Euph._ You'll excuse us, Sir; we leave you to wiser Company.

[_Exeunt ~Euph~. and ~Dor~._

_Enter ~Hortensia~._

_Hort._ The Deess, who from _Atropos_'s Breast preserves the Names of Heroes and their Actions, proclaims your Fame throughout this mighty Orb, and----

_Esop._ [_Aside._] Shield me, my Stars! What have you sent me here? For Pity's Sake, good Lady, be more humane: My Capacity is too heavy, to mount to your Style: If you wou'd have me know what you mean, please to come down to my Understanding.

_Hort._ I've something in my Nature soars too high For vulgar Flight, I own; But _Esop_'s Sphere must needs be within Call; _Esop_ and I may sure converse together: I know he's modest, but I likewise know His Intellects are categorical.

_Esop._ Now, by my Faith, Lady, I don't know what _Intellect_ is; and methinks, _categorical_ sounds as if you call'd me Names. Pray, speak that you may be understood: Language was design'd for it; indeed it was.

_Hort._ Of vulgar Things in vulgar Phrase we talk; But when of _Esop_ we must speak, The Theme's too lofty for an humble Style: _Esop_ is sure no common Character.

_Esop._ No, truly; I am something particular. Yet if I am not mistaken, what I have extraordinary about me, may be describ'd in very homely Language. Here was a young Gentlewoman but just now pencil'd me out to a Hair, I thought; and yet, I vow to God, the learned'st Word I heard her make use of, was Monster.

_Hort._ That was a Woman, Sir, a very Woman; Her Cogitations all were on the outward Man: But I strike deeper; 'tis the Mind I view. The Soul's the worthy Object of my Care; The Soul, that Sample of Divinity, that glorious Ray of heavenly Light. The Soul, that awful Throne of Thought, that sacred Seat of Contemplation. The Soul, that noble Source of Wisdom, That Fountain of Comfort, That Spring of Joy, that happy Token of eternal Life. The Soul, that----

_Esop._ Pray, Lady, are you married?

_Hort._ Why that Question, Sir?

_Esop._ Only that I might wait upon your Husband, to wish him Joy.

_Hort._ When People of my Composition would marry, they first find something of their own Species to join with; I never could resolve to take a Thing of common Fabric to my Bed, lest, when his brutish Inclinations prompt him, he shou'd make me Mother to a Form like his own.

_Esop._ Methinks, a Lady so extremely nice should be much at a Loss who to converse with.

_Hort._ I keep my Chamber, and converse with myself; 'tis better being alone, than to mis-ally one's Conversation: Men are scandalous, and Women are insipid: Discourse without Figure makes me sick at my Soul: O the Charms of a Metaphor! What Harmony there is in the Words of Erudition! The Musick of them is inimaginable.

_Esop._ Will you hear a Fable, Lady?

_Hort._ Willingly, Sir; the Apologue pleases me, when the Application of it is just.

_Esop._ It is, I'll answer for it.

_Once on a Time a Nightingale, To Changes prone, Unconstant, fickle, whimsical, (A Female one) Who sung like others of her kind, Hearing a well-taught Linnet's Airs, Had other Matters in her Mind. To imitate him she prepares; Her Fancy strait was on the Wing: I fly, quoth she, As well as he; I don't know why I should not try As well as he to sing. From that Day forth she chang'd her Note, She spoil'd her Voice, she strain'd her Throat: She did, as learned Women do, Till every Thing That heard her sing Wou'd run away from her----as I from you._

[_~Exit~ Esop ~running~._

_~Hortensia~ sola._

How grossly does this poor World suffer itself to be impos'd upon!----_Esop_, a Man of Sense----Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! Alas, poor Wretch! I shou'd not have known him but by his Deformity; his Soul's as nauseous to my Understanding, as his odious Body to my Sense of Feeling. Well,

_'Mongst all the Wits that are allow'd to shine, Methinks there's nothing yet approaches mine: Sure I was sent the homely Age t'adorn; } What Star, I know not, rul'd when I was born, } But every Thing besides myself's my Scorn._ }

[Exit.

+ACT+ II.

_Enter ~Euphronia~ and ~Doris~._

_Dor._ What, in the Name of _Jove_, 's the matter with you? Speak, for Heaven's sake!

_Euph._ Oh! what shall I do? _Doris_, I'm undone.

_Dor._ What, ravish'd?

_Euph._ No, ten times worse! Ten times worse! Unlace me, or I shall swoon.

_Dor._ Unlace you? Why, you are not thereabouts, I hope?

_Euph._ No no, worse still; worse than all that.

_Dor._ Nay, then 'tis bad, indeed.

[_~Doris~ unlaces her._

There: How d'ye do now?

_Euph._ So; 'tis going over.

_Dor._ Courage, pluck up your Spirits: Well, now what's the matter?

_Euph._ The matter! Thou shalt hear. Know that--that Cheat--_Esop_----

_Dor._ Like enough; speak: What has he done! That ugly ill-boding Cyclops--

_Euph._ Why, instead of keeping his Promise, and speaking for _Oronces_, he has not said one Word, but what has been for himself. And by my Father's Order, before to-morrow Noon he's to marry me.

_Dor._ He marry you!

_Euph._ Am I in the wrong to be in this Despair? Tell me, _Doris_, if I am to blame.

_Dor._ To blame? No, by my troth. That ugly, old, treacherous piece of Vermin--that melancholy Mixture of Impotence and Desire--does his Mouth stand to a young Partridge? Ah the old Goat! And your Father! He downright doats at last, then.

_Euph._ Ah, _Doris_, what a Husband does he give me! And what a Lover does he rob me of! Thou know'st 'em both; think of _Oronces_, and think of _Esop_.

_Dor._ [_Spitting._] A foul Monster! And yet, now I think on't, I'm almost as angry at t'other too: Methinks he makes but a slow Voyage on't, for a Man in Love: 'Tis now above two Months since he went to _Lesbos_, to pack up the old Bones of his dead Father; sure he might have made a little more Haste.

_Enter ~Oronces~._

_Euph._ Oh! my Heart, what do I see?

_Dor._ Talk of the Devil, and he's at your Elbow.

_Oron._ My dear Soul!

[_~Euph.~ runs and leaps about his Neck._

_Euph._ Why wou'd you stay so long from me?

_Oron._ 'Twas not my Fault, indeed; the Winds----

_Dor._ The Winds! Will the Winds blow you your Mistress again? We have had Winds too, and Waves into the Bargain; Storms and Tempests, Sea-Monsters, and the Devil and all. She struggled as long as she cou'd, but a Woman can do no more than she can do; when her Breath was gone, down she sunk.

_Oron._ What's the meaning of all this?

_Dor._ There's meaning and mumping too: your Mistress is married: that's all.

_Oron._ Death and Furies----

_Euph._ [_Clinging about him._] Don't you frighten him too much, neither, _Doris_. No, my Dear, I'm not yet executed, tho' I'm condemn'd.

_Oron._ Condemn'd! To what? Speak! Quick!

_Dor._ To be married.

_Oron._ Married? When? How? Where? To what? To whom?

_Dor. Esop, Esop, Esop, Esop, Esop._

_Oron._ Fiends and Spectres! What! That piece of Deformity! That Monster! That Crump!

_Dor._ The same, Sir, the same. I find he knows him. You might have come home sooner.

_Oron._ Dear _Euphronia_, ease me from my Pain. Swear that you neither have nor will consent. I know this comes from your ambitious Father; But you're too generous, too true to leave me: Millions of Kingdoms ne'er wou'd shake my Faith, And I believe your Constancy as firm.

_Euph._ You do me Justice, you shall find you do: For Racks and Tortures, Crowns and Scepters join'd, shall neither fright me from my Truth, nor tempt me to be false. On this you may depend.

_Dor._ Wou'd to the Lord you wou'd find some other Place to make your fine Speeches in! Don't you know that your dear Friend _Esop_'s coming to receive his Visits here? In this great downy Chair, your pretty little Husband Elect is to sit and hear all the Complaints of the Town: One of Wisdom's chief Recompences being to be constantly troubled with the Business of Fools. Pray, Madam, will you take the Gentleman by the Hand, and lead him into your Chamber; and when you are there, don't lie whining, and crying, and sighing, and wishing----[_Aside._] If he had not been more modest than wise, he might have set such a Mark upon the Goods before now, that ne'er a Merchant of 'em all wou'd have bought 'em out of his Hands. But young Fellows are always in the wrong: Either so impudent they are nauseous, or so modest they are useless. Go; pray get you gone together.

_Euph._ But if my Father catch us, we are ruin'd.

_Dor._ By my Conscience, this Love will make us all turn Fools. Before your Father can open the Door, can't he slip down the Back-stairs? I'm sure he may, if you don't hold him; but that's the old Trade. Ah--Well, get you gone, however----Hark----I hear the old Baboon cough; away! [_Ex. ~Oron.~ and ~Euph.~ running._] Here he comes, with his ugly Beak before him. Ah--a luscious Bedfellow, by my troth!

_Enter ~Learchus~ and ~Esop~._

_Lear._ Well, _Doris_; what News from my Daughter? Is she prudent?

_Dor._ Yes, very prudent.

_Lear._ What says she? What does she do?

_Dor._ Do? What shou'd she do? Tears her Cornet; bites her Thumbs; throws her Fan in the Fire; thinks 'tis dark Night at Noon-day; dreams of Monsters and Hobgoblins; raves in her Sleep of forc'd Marriage and Cuckoldom; cries, _Avaunt_ Deformity; then wakens on a sudden, with fifty Arguments at her Fingers-ends to prove the Lawfulness of Rebellion in a Child, when a Parent turns Tyrant.

_Lear._ Very fine! But all this shan't serve her turn. I have said the Word, and will be obey'd----My Lord does her Honour.

_Dor._ [_Aside._] Yes, and that's all he can do to her. [_To ~Lear~._] But I can't blame the Gentleman, after all; he loves my Mistress, because she's handsome; and she hates him, because he's ugly. I never saw two People more in the right in my Life. [_To ~Esop~._] You'll pardon me, Sir, I'm somewhat free.

_Esop._ Why, a Ceremony wou'd but take up time. But, Governor, methinks I have an admirable Advocate about your Daughter.

_Lear._ Out of the Room, Impudence: be gone, I say.

_Dor._ So I will: But you'll be as much in the wrong when I'm gone, as when I'm here. And your Conscience, I hope, will talk as pertly to you as I can do.

_Esop._ If she treats me thus before my face, I may conclude I'm finely handled behind my Back.

_Dor._ I say the Truth here; and I can say no worse any where.

[_Exit ~Doris~._

_Lear._ I hope your Lordship won't be concern'd at what this prattling Wench bleats out: my Daughter will be govern'd. She's bred up to Obedience. There may be some small Difficulty in weaning her from her young Lover: But 'twon't be the first time she has been wean'd from a Breast, my Lord.

_Esop._ Does she love him fondly, Sir?

_Lear._ Foolishly, my Lord.

_Esop._ And he her?

_Lear._ The same.

_Esop._ Is he young?

_Lear._ Yes, and vigorous.

_Esop._ Rich?

_Lear._ So, so.

_Esop._ Well-born?

_Lear._ He has good Blood in his Veins.

_Esop._ Has he Wit?

_Lear._ He had, before he was in Love.

_Esop._ And handsome with all this?

_Lear._ Or else we shou'd not have half so much trouble with him.

_Esop._ Why do you, then, make her quit him for me? All the World knows I am neither young, noble, nor rich: And as for my Beauty----Look you, Governor, I'm honest. But when Children cry, they tell 'em _Esop_'s a-coming. Pray, Sir, what is it makes you so earnest to force your Daughter?

_Lear._ Am I, then, to count for nothing the favour you are in at Court? Father-in-law to the great _Esop_! What may not I aspire to? My foolish Daughter, perhaps, mayn't be so well pleas'd with it, but we wise Parents usually weigh our Children's Happiness in the Scale of our own Inclinations.

_Esop._ Well, Governor, let it be your Care, then, to make her consent.

_Lear._ This Moment, my Lord, I reduce her either to Obedience, or to Dust and Ashes.

[_Exit ~Lear~._

_Esop._ Adieu. Now let in the People who come for Audience.

[_~Esop~ sits in his Chair, reading of Papers._

_Enter two ordinary Tradesmen._

_1 Tra._ There he is, Neighbour: Do but look at him.

_2 Tra._ Aye; one may know him: He's well mark'd. But do'st hear me? What Title must we give him? for if we fail in that point, d'ye see me, we shall never get our Business done. Courtiers love Titles almost as well as they do Money, and that's a bold Word now.

_1 Tra._ Why, I think we had best call him, his Grandeur.

_2 Tra._ That will do; thou hast hit on't. Hold still, let me speak. May it please your Grandeur----

_Esop._ There I interrupt you, Friend; I have a weak Body that will ne'er be able to bear that Title.

_2 Tra._ D'ye hear that, Neighbour? What shall we call him now?

_1 Tra._ Why, call him, call him, his Excellency; try what that will do.

_2 Tra._ May it please your Excellency----

_Esop._ Excellency's a long Word, it takes up too much time in Business: Tell me what you'd have in few Words.

_2 Tra._

Neighbour, this Man will never give Ten thousand Pounds to be made a Lord. But what shall I say to him now? He puts me quite out of my play.

_1 Tra._ Why e'en talk to him as we do to one another.

_2 Tra._ Shall I? Why, so I will, then. Hem! Neighbour, we want a new Governor, Neighbour.

_Esop._ A new Governor, Friend?

_2 Tra._ Aye, Friend.

_Esop._ Why, what's the matter with your old one?

_2 Tra._

What's the matter! Why, he grows rich; that's the matter; And he that's rich can't be innocent; that's all.

_Esop._ Does he use any of you harshly? Or punish you without a Fault?

_2 Tra._ No, but he grows as rich as a Miser; his Purse is so cramm'd, 'tis ready to burst again.

_Esop._ When 'tis full, 'twill hold no more; a new Governor will have an empty one.

_2 Tra._ 'Fore Gad, Neighbour, the little Gentleman's in the right on't.

_1 Tra._

Why, truly, I don't know but he may: For now it comes in my Head, It cost me more Money to fat my Hog, Than to keep him fat when he was so. Pr'ythee tell him we'll keep our old Governor.

_2 Tra._ I'll do't. Why, look you, Sir, d'ye see me: Having seriously consider'd of the matter, my Neighbour _Hobson_ and I here, we are content to jog on a little longer with him we have: but if you'd do us another Courtesy, you might.

_Esop._ What's that, Friend?

_2 Tra._ Why, that's this: Our King Crœsus is a very good Prince, as a Man may say: But----a----but--Taxes are high, an't please you; and----a----poor Men want Money, d'ye see me: 'Tis very hard, as we think, that the Poor shou'd work to maintain the Rich. If there were no Taxes, we shou'd do pretty well.

_1 Tra._ Taxes, indeed, are very burdensome.

_Esop._ I'll tell you a Story, Countrymen.

_Once on a time, the Hands and Feet, As Mutineers, grew mighty great; They met, caball'd, and talk'd of Treason, They swore by ~Jove~ they knew no Reason The Belly shou'd have all the Meat-- } It was a damn'd notorious Cheat } They did the Work, and--Death and Hell, they'd eat. } The Belly, who ador'd good Chear, Had like t'have dy'd away for Fear: Quoth he, Good Folks, you little know } What 'tis you are about to do; } If I am starv'd, what will become of you? } We neither know nor care, cry'd they, But this we will be bound to say, We'll see you damn'd Before we'll work, And you receive the Pay. With that the Hands to Pocket went Full Wrist-band deep, The Legs and Feet fell fast asleep: Their Liberty they had redeem'd, And all, except the Belly, seem'd Extremely well content. But mark what follow'd; 'twas not long Before the right became the wrong; The Mutineers were grown so weak, They found 'twas more than time to squeak: They call for work, but 'twas too late. The Stomach (like an aged Maid, } Shrunk up, for want of human Aid) } The common Debt of Nature paid, } And with its Destiny entrain'd their Fate._ }

_Esop._ What think you of this Story, Friends, ha? Come, you look like wise Men; I'm sure you understand what's for your good; in giving part of what you have, you secure all the rest: If the King had no Money, there cou'd be no Army; and if there were no Army, your Enemies would be amongst you: One Day's Pillage wou'd be worse than twenty Years' Taxes. What say ye? Is't not so?

_2 Tra._ By my troth, I think he's in the right on't, again. Who'd think that little Hump-back of his Shou'd have so much Brains in't, Neighbour?

_Esop._ Well, honest Men, is there any thing else that I can serve you in?

_1 Tra._ D'ye hear that, _Humphry_?----Why, that was civil now. But Courtiers seldom want Good-breeding; let's give the Devil his due. Why, to tell you the truth, honest Gentlemen, we had a whole Budget full of Grievances to complain of. But I think----a----Ha, Neighbour? We had e'en as good let 'em alone.

_1 Tra._ Why good feath I think so too; for by all I can see, we are like to make no great hond on't. Besides, between thee and me, I began to daubt, whether aur Grievances do us such a plaguy deal of Mischief as we fancy.

_2 Tra._ Or put the Case they did, _Humphry_; I'se afraid he that goes to a Courtier, in hope to get fairly rid of 'em, may be said (in our Country Dialect) to take the wrong Sow by the Ear. But here's Neighbour _Roger_, he's a Wit, let's leave him to him.

[_Exeunt._

_Enter ~Roger~, a Country Bumkin, looks seriously upon ~Esop~; then bursts out a laughing._

_Rog._ Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Did ever Mon behold the like? Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

_Esop._ Hast thou any business with me, Friend?

_Rog._ Yes, by my troth, have I; But if _Roger_ were to be hang'd up for't, Look you now, he cou'd not hold laughing: What I have in my Mind, out it comes: But bar that; I'se on honest Lad as well as another.

_Esop._ My time's dearer to me than yours, Friend; have you any thing to say to me?

_Rog._ Gadswookers, do People use to ask for Folks when they have nothing to say to 'em: I'se tell you my Business.

_Esop._ Let's hear it.

_Rog._ I have, as you see, a little Wit.

_Esop._ True.

_Rog._ I live in a Village hard by, and I'se the best Man in it, tho' I say it that should not say it. I have good Drink in my Cellar, and good Corn in my Barn: I have Cows and Oxen, Hogs and Sheep, Cocks and Hens, and Geese and Turkeys: But the Truth will out, and so let it out. I'se e'en tired of being call'd plain _Roger_. I has a Leathern Purse, and in that Purse there's many a fair Half-crown, with the King's sweet Face upon it, God bless him; and with his Money, I have a mind to bind myself 'Prentice to a Courtier: 'Tis a good Trade, as I have heard say; there's Money stirring: Let a Lad be but diligent, and do what he's bid, he shall be let into the Secret, and share Part of the Profits; I have not lived to these Years for nothing: Those that will swim must go into deep water: I'se get our Wife _Joan_ to be the Queen's Chamber-maid; and then----Crack, says me I; and forget all my Acquaintance. But to come to the Business. You who are the King's great Favourite, I desire you'd be pleas'd to sell me some of your Friendship, that I may get a Court-Place. Come, you shall chuse me one yourself; you look like a shrewd Man; by the Mass, you do.

_Esop._ I chuse thee a Place!

_Rog._ Yes, I wou'd willingly have it such a sort of a Place, as wou'd cost little, and bring in a great deal; in a Word, much Profit, and nothing to do.

_Esop._ But you must name what Post you think wou'd suit your Humour.

_Rog._ Why I'se pratty indifferent as to that: Secretary of State, or Butler; twenty Shillings more, or twenty Shillings less, is not the thing I stand upon. I'se no Hagler, Godswookers; and he that says I am--'Zbud he lies: There's my Humour now.

_Esop._ But hark you, Friend, you say you are well as you are, why then do you desire to change?

_Rog._ Why what a Question now is there for a Man of your Parts? I'm well, d'ye see me; and what of all that? I desire to be better: There's an Answer for you. [_Aside._] Let _Roger_ alone with him.

_Esop._ Very well: This is reasoning; and I love a Man should reason with me. But let us enquire a little whether your Reasons are good or not. You say, at home you want for nothing?

_Rog._ Nothing, 'fore _George_.

_Esop._ You have good Drink?

_Rog._ 'Zbud, the best i'th' Parish. [_Singing._] And dawne it merrily goes, my Lad, and dawne it merrily goes.

_Esop._ You eat heartily?

_Rog._ I have a noble Stomach.

_Esop._ You sleep well?

_Rog._ Just as I drink, till I can sleep no longer.

_Esop._ You have some honest Neighbours?

_Rog._ Honest! 'Zbud we are all so, the Tawne raund, we live like Breether; when one can sarve another, he does it with all his Heart and Guts; when we have any thing that's good, we eat it together, Holidays and Sundays we play at Nine-pins, tumble upon the Grass with wholesome young Maids, laugh till we split, daunce till we are weary, eat till we burst, drink till we are sleepy, then swap into Bed, and snore till we rise to Breakfast.

_Esop._ And all this thou wou'dst leave to go to Court? I'll tell thee what once happen'd:

_A Mouse, who long had liv'd at Court, } (Yet ne'er the better Christian for't) } Walking one Day to see some Country Sport, } He met a home-bred Village-Mouse; Who with an awkward Speech and Bow, } That savour'd much of Cart and Plow, } Made a shift, I know not how, } T' invite him to his House. Quoth he, My Lord, I doubt you'll find Our Country Fare of homely kind; But by my troth, you're welcome to't, Y'ave that, and Bread and Cheese to boot: And so they sat and din'd._

_Rog._ Very well.

_Esop._ _The ~Courtier~ cou'd have eat at least As much as any Houshold Priest, But thought himself oblig'd in Feeding, To shew the difference of Town breeding; He pick'd and cull'd, and turn'd the Meat, He champt and chew'd, and cou'd not eat: No toothless Woman at Fourscore, Was ever seen to mumble more. He made a thousand ugly Faces, } Which (as sometimes in Ladies cases) } Were all design'd for Airs and Graces._ }

_Rog._ Ha, ha!

Esop. _At last he from the Table rose, He pick'd his Teeth and blow'd his Nose, And with an easy Negligence, As tho' he lately came from France, He made a careless sliding Bow: 'Fore Gad, quoth he, I don't know how I shall return your friendly Treat; But if you'll take a bit of Meat In Town with me, You there shall see, How we poor Courtiers eat._

_Rog._ Tit for tat; that was friendly.