Part 18

Esop. _There needed no more Invitation To e'er a Country 'Squire i'th' Nation: Exactly to the time he came, Punctual as Woman when she meets A Man between a pair of Sheets, As good a Stomach, and as little Shame._

_Rog._ Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho!

Esop. _To say the Truth, he found good Chear, With Wine, instead of Ale and Beer: But just as they sat down to eat, Came bouncing in a hungry Cat._

_Rog._ O Lord, O Lord, O Lord!

Esop. _The nimble Courtier skipt from Table, The 'Squire leapt too, as he was able: It can't be said that they were beat, It was no more than a Retreat; Which when an Army, not to fight By Day-light, runs away by Night, Was ever judg'd a great and glorious Feat._

_Rog._ Ever, ever, ever.

Esop. _The Cat retir'd, our Guests return, The Danger past becomes their Scorn, They fall to eating as before, The Butler rumbles at the Door._

_Rog._ Good Lord!

Esop. _To Boot and Saddle again they sound._

_Rog._ Ta ra, tan tan ta ra, ra ra tan ta ra.

Esop. _They frown, as they wou'd stand their Ground, But (like some of our Friends) they found 'Twas safer much to scour._

_Rog._ Tantive, Tantive, Tantive, _&c._

Esop. _At length the 'Squire, who hated Arms, Was so perplext with these Alarms, He rose up in a kind of Heat, Udswookers, quoth he, with all your Meat, I will maintain, a Dish of Pease, A Radish, and a Slice of Cheese, With a good Desert of Ease, Is much a better Treat. However, Since every Man shou'd have his due, I own, Sir, I'm oblig'd to you For your Intentions at your Board: But Pox upon your courtly Crew----_

_Rog._ _Amen_, I pray the Lord. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Now the De'el cuckold me if this Story be not worth a Sermon. Give me your Hond, Sir.----If it had na' been for your friendly Advice, I was going to be Fool enough to be Secretary of State.

_Esop._ Well, go thy ways home, and be wiser for the future.

_Rog._ And so I will: For that same Mause, your Friend, was a witty Person, gadsbudlikins! and so our Wife _Joan_ shall know: For between you and I, 'tis she has put me upon going to Court. Sir, she has been so praud, so saucy, so rampant, ever since I brought her home a lac'd Pinner, and a pink-colour'd pair of Shoe-strings, from _Tickledowne_ Fair, the Parson o'th' Parish can't rule her; and that you'll say's much. But so much for that. Naw I thank you for your good Counsel, honest little Gentleman; and to shew you that I'se not ungrateful--give me your Hond once more----If you'll take the pains but to walk dawne to our Towne--a Word in your Ear----I'se send you so drunk whome again, you shall remember friendly _Roger_ as long as you have Breath in your Body.

[_Exit ~Roger~_

_Esop. ~solus~._

Farewel, what I both envy and despise! Thy Happiness and Ignorance provoke me. How noble were the thing call'd Knowledge, Did it but lead us to a Bliss like thine! But there's a secret Curse in Wisdom's Train, } Which on its Pleasures stamps perpetual Pain, } And makes the wise Man Loser by his Gain. }

[_Exit._

+ACT+ III.

_Enter ~Esop~._

_Esop._ Who waits there?

[_Enter Servant._

If there be any body that has Business with me, let 'em in.

_Serv._ Yes, Sir.

[_Exit Serv._

_Enter ~Quaint~, who stands at a distance, making a great many fawning Bows._

_Esop._ Well, Friend, who are you?

_Quaint._ My Name's _Quaint_, Sir, the profoundest of all your Honour's humble Servants.

_Esop._ And what may your Business be with me, Sir?

_Quaint._ My Business, Sir, with every Man, is first of all to do him Service.

_Esop._ And your next is, I suppose, to be paid for't twice as much as 'tis worth.

_Quaint._ Your Honour's most obedient humble Servant.

_Esop._ Well, Sir, but upon what Account am I going to be oblig'd to you?

_Quaint._ Sir, I'm a Genealogist.

_Esop._ A Genealogist!

_Quaint._ At your Service, Sir.

_Esop._ So, Sir?

_Quaint._ Sir, I am inform'd from common Fame, as well as from some little private familiar Intelligence, that your Wisdom is ent'ring into Treaty with the _Primum Mobilè_ of Good and Evil, a fine Lady. I have travell'd, Sir; I have read, Sir; I have consider'd, Sir; and I find, Sir, that the Nature of a fine Lady is to be----a fine Lady, Sir; a fine Lady's a fine Lady, Sir, all the World over;----she loves a fine House, fine Furniture, fine Clothes, fine Liveries, fine Petticoats, fine Smocks; and if she stops there--she's a fine Lady indeed, Sir. But to come to my Point. It being the _Lydian_ Custom, that the fair Bride should be presented on her Wedding-day with something that may signify the Merit and the Worth of her dread Lord and Master, I thought the noble _Esop_'s Pedigree might be the welcom'st Gift that he could offer. If his Honour be of the same Opinion--I'll speak a bold Word--there's ne'er a Herald in all _Asia_ shall put better Blood in his Veins, than--Sir, your humble Servant, _Jacob Quaint_.

_Esop._ Dost thou then know my Father, Friend? For I protest to thee I am a Stranger to him.

_Quaint._ Your Father, Sir? Ha, ha! I know every Man's Father, Sir; and every Man's Grandfather, and every Man's Great Grandfather. Why, Sir, I'm a Herald by Nature, my Mother was a _Welchwoman_.

_Esop._ A _Welchwoman_? Pr'ythee of what Country is that?

_Quaint._ That, Sir, is a Country in the World's Backside, where every Man is born a Gentleman and a Genealogist. Sir, I cou'd tell my Mother's Pedigree before I could speak plain; which, to shew you the Depth of my Art, and the Strength of my Memory, I'll trundle you down in an instant. _Noah_ had three Sons, _Shem_, _Ham_, and _Japhet_; _Shem_----

_Esop._ Hold, I conjure thee, in the Name of all thy Ancestors.

_Quaint._ Sir, I cou'd take it higher, but I begin at Noah for brevity's sake.

_Esop._ No more on't, I intreat thee.

_Quaint._ Your Honour's impatient, perhaps, to hear your own Descent. _A Word to the wise is enough._ Hem, hem! _Solomon_, the wise King of _Judea_----

_Esop._ Hold, once more!

_Quaint._ Ha, ha! Your Honour's modest, but----_Solomon_, the wise King of _Judea_----

_Esop._ Was my Ancestor, was he not?

_Quaint._ He was, my Lord, which no one sure can doubt, who observes how much of Prince there hangs about you.

_Esop._ What! Is't in my Mien?

_Quaint._ You have something----wondrous noble in your Air.

_Esop._ Personable too; view me well.

_Quaint._ N----not Tall; but Majestick.

_Esop._ My Shape?

_Quaint._ A World of Symmetry in it.

_Esop._ The Lump upon my Back?

_Quaint._ N----not regular; but agreeable.

_Esop._ Now by my Honesty thou art a Villain, Herald. But Flattery's a Thrust I never fail to parry. 'Tis a Pass thou should'st reserve for young Fencers; with Feints like those they're to be hit: I do not doubt but thou hast found it so; hast not?

_Quaint._ I must confess, Sir, I have sometimes made 'em bleed by't. But I hope your Honour will please to excuse me, since, to speak the Truth, I get my Bread by't, and maintain my Wife and Children: And Industry, you know, Sir, is a commendable Thing. Besides, Sir, I have debated the Business a little with my Conscience; for I'm like the rest of my Neighbours, I'd willingly get Money, and be sav'd too, if the Thing may be done upon any reasonable Terms: And so, Sir, I say, to quiet my Conscience, I have found out at last, that Flattery is a Duty.

_Esop._ A Duty!

_Quaint._ Ay, Sir, a Duty: For the Duty of all Men is to make one another pass their time as pleasantly as they can. Now, Sir, here's a young Lord, who has a great deal of Land, a great deal of Title, a great deal of Meat, a great deal of Noise, a great many Servants, and a great many Diseases. I find him very dull, very restless, tir'd with Ease, cloy'd with Plenty, a Burden to himself, and a Plague to his Family. I begin to flatter: He springs off of the Couch; turns himself round in the Glass; finds all I say true; cuts a Caper a yard high; his Blood trickles round his Veins; his Heart's as light as his Heels; and before I leave him----his Purse is as empty as his Head. So we both are content; for we part much happier than we met.

_Esop._ Admirable Rogue! What dost thou think of Murder and of Rape, are not they Duties too? Wert not for such vile fawning Things as thou art, young Nobles wou'd not long be what they are: They'd grow asham'd of Luxury and Ease, and rouse up the old Spirit of their Fathers; leave the pursuit of a poor frightned Hare, and make their Foes to tremble in their stead; furnish their Heads with Sciences and Arts, and fill their Hearts with Honour, Truth and Friendship; Be generous to some, and just to all; drive home their Creditors with Bags of Gold, instead of chasing 'em away with Swords and Staves; be faithful to their King and Country both, and stab the Offerer of a Bribe from either; blush even at a wandering Thought of Vice, and boldly own they durst be Friends to Virtue; trembling at nothing but the Frowns of Heaven, and be no more asham'd of Him that made 'em.

_Quaint._ [_Aside._] If I stand to hear this Crump preach a little longer, I shall be Fool enough perhaps to be bubbled out of my Livelyhood, and so lose a Bird in the Hand for two in the Bush. Sir, since I have not been able to bring you to a good Opinion of yourself, 'tis very probable I shall scarce prevail with you to have one of me. But if you please to do me the favour to forget me, I shall ever acknowledge myself----Sir, your most obedient, faithful, humble Servant.

_Esop._ Hold; if I let thee go, and give thee nothing, thou'lt be apt to grumble at me; and therefore----who waits there?

_Enter Servant._

_Quaint._ [_Aside._] I don't like his Looks, by Gad.

_Esop._ I'll present thee with a Token of my Love.

_Quaint._ A--another time, Sir, will do as well.

_Esop._ No; I love to be out of Debt, tho' 'tis being out of the Fashion. So, d'ye hear! Give this honest Gentleman half a score good Strokes on the Back with a Cudgel.

_Quaint._ By no means in the World, Sir.

_Esop._ Indeed, Sir, you shall take 'em.

_Quaint._ Sir, I don't merit half your Bounty.

_Esop._ O 'tis but a Trifle!

_Quaint._ Your Generosity makes me blush.

[_Looking about to make his Escape._

_Esop._ That's your Modesty, Sir.

_Quaint._ Sir, you are pleased to compliment. But a----twenty Pedigrees for a clear Coast.

[_Running off, the Servant after him._

_Esop._ Wait upon him down Stairs, Fellow; I'd do't myself, were I but nimble enough; but he makes haste, to avoid Ceremony.

_Enter Servant._

_Serv._ Sir, here's a Lady in great haste, desires to speak with you.

_Esop._ Let her come in.

_Enter ~Aminta~, weeping._

_Amin._ O Sir, if you don't help me, I'm undone.

_Esop._ What, what's the Matter, Lady?

_Amin._ My Daughter, Sir, my Daughter's run away with a filthy Fellow.

_Esop._ A slippery Trick indeed!

_Amin._ For Heaven's sake, Sir, send immediately to pursue 'em, and seize 'em. But 'tis in vain, 'twill be too late, 'twill be too late; I'll warrant at this very Moment they are got together in a Room with a Couch in't; all's gone, all's gone; tho' 'twere made of Gold, 'tis lost: Oh! my Honour, my Honour. A forward Girl she was always; I saw it in her Eyes the very Day of her Birth.

_Esop._ That indeed was early; but how do you know she's gone with a Fellow?

_Amin._ I have e'en her own insolent Hand-writing for't: Sir, take but the pains to read what a Letter she has left me.

_Esop._ Reads.

_I love and am belov'd, and that's the Reason I run away._

Short, but significant!----_I'm sure there's no Body knows better than your Ladyship what Allowances are to be made to Flesh and Blood; I therefore hope this from your Justice, that what you have done three Times yourself, you'll pardon once in your Daughter._ _The Dickens!_

_Amin._ Now, Sir, what do you think of the Business?

_Esop._ Why truly, Lady, I think it one of the most natural Businesses I have met with a great while. I'll tell you a Story.

_A Crab-fish once her Daughter told, (In Terms that savour'd much of Scold) She cou'd not bear to see her go Sidle, sidle, to and fro: The Devil's in the Wench, quoth she, When so much Money has been paid To polish you like me, It makes me almost mad to see Y'are still so awkward, an ungainly Jade. Her Daughter smil'd, and look'd a-skew; } She answer'd (for to give her her due) } Pertly, as most Folks Daughters do: } Madam, your Ladyship, quoth she, Is pleas'd to blame in me What, on Enquiry, you may find, Admits a passable Excuse, From a Proverb much in use, ~That Cat will after kind~._

_Amin._ Sir, I took you to be a Man better bred, than to liken a Lady to a Crab-fish.

_Esop._ What I want in Good-breeding, Lady, I have in Truth and Honesty: As what you have wanted in Virtue, you have had in a good Face.

_Amin._ Have had, Sir! What I have had, I have still; and shall have a great while, I hope. I'm no Grandmother, Sir.

_Esop._ But in a fair way for't, Madam.

_Amin._ Thanks to my Daughter's Forwardness then, not my Years. I'd have you to know, Sir, I have never a Wrinkle in my Face. A young pert Slut! Who'd think she shou'd know so much at her Age?

_Esop._ Good Masters make quick Scholars, Lady; she has learn'd her Exercise from you.

_Amin._ But where's the Remedy, Sir?

_Esop._ In trying if a good Example will reclaim her, as an ill one has debauch'd her. Live private, and avoid Scandal.

_Amin._ Never speak it; I can no more retire, than I can go to Church twice on a Sunday.

_Esop._ What, your youthful Blood boils in your Veins, I'll warrant?

_Amin._ I have Warmth enough to endure the Air, old Gentleman. I need not shut myself up in a House these twenty Years.

_Esop._ [_Aside._] She takes a long Lease of Lewdness: She'll be an admirable Tenant to Lust.

_Amin._ [_Walking hastily to and fro._] People think when a Woman is turn'd Forty, she's old enough to turn out of the World: But I say, when a Woman is turn'd Forty, she's old enough to have more Wit. The most can be said is, her Face is the worse for wearing: I'll answer for all the rest of her Fabrick. The Men wou'd be to be pity'd, by my troth, wou'd they, if we shou'd quit the Stage, and leave 'em nothing but a parcel of young pert Sluts, that neither know how to speak Sense, nor keep themselves clean. But, don't let 'em fear, we a'n't going yet----[_~Esop~ stares upon her, and as she turns from him, runs off the Stage._] How now! What left alone! An unmannerly Piece of Deformity! Methinks he might have had Sense enough to have made Love to me. But I have found Men strangely dull for the last ten or twelve Years: Sure they'll mend in Time, or the World won't be worth living in.

_For let Philosophers say all they can, The Source of Women's Joys is plac'd in Man._

[Exit.

_Enter ~Learchus~ and ~Euphronia~, ~Doris~ following at a Distance._

_Lear._ [_To Euph._] I must tell you, Mistress, I'm too mild with you; Parents shou'd never intreat their Children, nor will I hereafter. Therefore, in a Word, let _Esop_ be lov'd, let _Oronces_ be hated; let one be a Peacock, let t'other be a Bat: I'm Father, you are Daughter; I command, and you shall obey.

_Euph._ I never yet did otherwise; nor shall I now, Sir; but pray let Reason guide you.

_Lear._ So it does: But 'tis my own, not yours, Hussy.

_Dor._ Ah--Well, I'll say no more; but were I in her Place, by the Mass, I'd have a tug for't.

_Lear._ Dæmon, born to distract me! Whence art thou, in the Name of Fire and Brimstone? Have I not satisfy'd thee? Have I not paid thee what's thy due? And have not I turn'd thee out of Doors, with Orders never more to stride my Threshold, ha? Answer, abominable Spirit; what is't that makes thee haunt me?

_Dor._ A foolish Passion to do you good, in spite of your Teeth: Pox on me for my Zeal, I say.

_Lear._ And Pox on thee, and thy Zeal too, I say.

_Dor._ Now if it were not for her Sake more than for yours, I'd leave all to your own Management, to be reveng'd of you. But rather than I'll see that sweet Thing sacrificed--I'll play the Devil in your House.

_Lear._ Patience, I summon thee to my Aid.

_Dor._ Passion, I defy thee; to the last Drop of my Blood I'll maintain my Ground. What have you to charge me with? Speak! I love your Child better than you do, and you can't bear that, ha? Is't not so? Nay, 'tis well y'are asham'd on't; there's some Sign of Grace still. Look you, Sir, in a few Words, you'll make me mad; and 'twere enough to make any Body mad (who has Brains enough to be so) to see so much Virtue shipwreck'd at the very Port. The World never saw a Virgin better qualify'd; so witty, so discreet, so modest, so chaste: in a Word, I brought her up myself, and 'twould be the Death of me to see so virtuous a Maid become a lewd Wife; which is the usual Effect of Parents Pride and Covetousness.

_Lear._ How, Strumpet! wou'd any Thing be able to debauch my Daughter?

_Dor._ Your Daughter! Yes, your Daughter, and myself into the Bargain: A Woman's but a Woman; and I'll lay a hundred Pound on Nature's side. Come, Sir, few Words dispatch Business. Let who will be the Wife of _Esop_, she's a Fool, or he's a Cuckold. But you'll never have a true Notion of this Matter, till you suppose yourself in your Daughter's Place. As thus: You are a pretty, soft, warm, wishing young Lady: I'm a straight, proper, handsome, vigorous, young Fellow. You have a peevish, positive, covetous, old Father, and he forces you to marry a little, lean, crooked, dry, sapless Husband. This Husband's gone abroad, you are left at home. I make you a Visit; find you all alone: the Servant pulls to the Door; the Devil comes in at the Window. I begin to wheedle, you begin to melt: you like my Person, and therefore believe all I say: so first I make you an Atheist, and then I make you a Whore. Thus the World goes, Sir.

_Lear._ Pernicious Pestilence! Has not thy eternal Tongue run down its Larum yet?

_Dor._ Yes.

_Lear._ Then go out of my House, Abomination.

_Dor._ I'll not stir a Foot.

_Lear._ Who waits there? Bring me my great Stick.

_Dor._ Bring you a Stick! Bring you a Head-piece: That you'd call for, if you knew your own wants.

_Lear._ Death and Furies, the Devil and so forth! I shall run distracted.

_Euph._ Pray, Sir, don't be so angry at her. I'm sure she means well, tho' she may have an odd way of expressing herself.

_Lear._ What, you like her meaning? Who doubts it, Offspring of _Venus_? But I'll make you stay your Stomach with Meat of my chusing, you liquorish young Baggage you. In a Word, _Esop_'s the Man; and to-morrow he shall be your Lord and Master. But since he can't be satisfied unless he has your Heart, as well as all the rest of your Trumpery, let me see you receive him in such a Manner that he may think himself your Choice as well as mine; 'twill make him esteem your Judgment: For we usually guess at other People's Understandings, by their approving our Actions and liking our Faces. See here, the great Man comes! [_To ~Dor~._] Follow me, Insolence; and leave 'em to express their Passion to each other. [_To ~Euph~._] Remember my last Word to you is, Obey.

_Dor._ [_To ~Euph.~ aside._] And remember my last Advice to you is, Rebel.

[_Exit ~Lear.~ ~Dor.~ following him._

_Euph._ Alas, I'm good-natured; the last Thing that's said to me usually leaves the deepest Impression.

_Enter ~Esop~; they stand some Time without speaking._

_Esop._--They say, That Lovers, for want of Words, have Eyes to speak with. I'm afraid you do not understand the Language of mine, since yours, I find, will make no Answer to 'em. But I must tell you, Lady, there is a numerous Train of youthful Virgins, that are endow'd with Wealth and Beauty too, who yet have thought it worth their Pains and Care to point their Darts at _Esop_'s homely Breast; whilst you so much contemn what they pursue, that a young senseless Fop's preferr'd before me.

_Euph._ Did you but know that Fop you dare to term so, his very Looks wou'd fright you into nothing.

_Esop._ A very Bauble.

_Euph._ How!

_Esop._ A Butterfly.

_Euph._ I can't bear it.

_Esop._ A Parroquet can prattle and look gaudy.

_Euph._ It may be so; but let me paint him and you in your proper Colours, I'll do it exactly, and you shall judge which I ought to chuse.

_Esop._ No, hold; I'm naturally not over-curious; besides, 'tis Pride makes People have their Pictures drawn.

_Euph._ Upon my Word, Sir, you may have yours taken a hundred times before any Body will believe 'tis done upon that Account.

_Esop._ [_Aside._] How severe she is upon me! You are resolv'd then to persist, and be fond of your Feather; sigh for a Perriwig, and die for a Cravat string.

_Euph._ Methinks, Sir, you might treat with more respect what I've thought fit to own I value; your Affronts to him are doubly such to me; if you continue your provoking Language, you must expect my Tongue will sally too; and if you are as wise as some would make you, you can't but know I shou'd have Theme enough.

_Esop._ But is it possible you can love so much as you pretend?

_Euph._ Why do you question it?

_Esop._ Because Nobody loves so much as they pretend: But hark you, young Lady: Marriage is to last a long, long Time; and where one Couple bless the sacred Knot, a Train of Wretches curse the Institution. You are in an Age where Hearts are young and tender; a pleasing Object gets Admittance soon. But since to Marriage there's annexed this dreadful Word, _For ever_, the following Example ought to move you:

_A Peacock once, of splendid show, Gay, gaudy, foppish, vain----a Beau, Attack'd a fond young Pheasant's Heart With such Success, He pleas'd her, tho' he made her smart; He pierc'd her with so much Address, She smil'd the Moment that he fixt his Dart. A Cuckow in a neighbouring Tree, Rich, honest, ugly, old----like me, Lov'd her as he lov'd his Life: No pamper'd Priest e'er study'd more To make a virtuous Nun a Whore, Than he to get her for his Wife: But all his Offers still were vain, His Limbs were weak, his Face was plain; Beauty, Youth, and Vigour weigh'd With the warm desiring Maid: No Bird, she cry'd, wou'd serve her turn, But what cou'd quench as well as burn; She'd have a young Gallant: so one she had. But 'ere a Month was come and gone, } The Bride began to change her tone, } She found a young Gallant was an inconstant one. } She wander'd to a neighbouring Grove, Where after musing long on Love, She told her Confidant, she found, When for one's Life one must be bound, (Tho' Youth indeed was a delicious Bait) An aged Husband, rich, tho' plain, } Wou'd give a slavish Wife less Pain; } And, what was more, was sooner slain, } Which was a Thing of Weight._

Behold, young Lady, here, the Cuckow of the Fable; I'm deform'd, 'tis true, yet I have found the Means to make a Figure amongst Men, that well has recompens'd the Wrongs of Nature; my Rival's Beauty promises you much; perhaps my homely Form might yield you more; at least, consider on't, 'tis worth your Thought.