Chapter 12

_The Gallery in the same house. Enter Aimwell and Dorinda_.

_Dor_. Well, well, my lord, you have conquered; your late generous action will, I hope, plead for my easy yielding; though I must own, your lordship had a friend in the fort before.

_Aim_. The sweets of Hybla dwell upon her tongue!-- Here, doctor--

_Enter Foigard with a book_.

_Foi_. Are you prepared boat?

_Dor_. I 'm ready. But first, my lord, one word.--I have a frightful example of a hasty marriage in my own family; when I reflect upon't it shocks me. Pray, my lord, consider a little-- {11}

_Aim_. Consider! do you doubt my honour or my love?

_Dor_. Neither: I do believe you equally just as brave: and were your whole sex drawn out forme to choose, I should not cast a look upon the multitude if you were absent. But, my lord, I'm a woman; colours, concealments may hide a thousand faults in me, therefore know me better first; I hardly dare affirm I know myself in anything except my love. {19}

_Aim_. [Aside,] Such goodness who could injure! I find myself unequal to the task of villain; she has gained my soul, and made it honest like her own.-- I cannot, cannot hurt her.--[_Aloud_.] Doctor, retire. --[_Exit Foigard_] Madam, behold your lover and your proselyte, and judge of my passion by my conversion!--I 'm all a lie, nor dare I give a fiction to your arms; I 'm all counterfeit, except my passion.

_Dor_. Forbid it, Heaven! a counterfeit! {29}

_Aim_. I am no lord, but a poor needy man, come with a mean, a scandalous design to prey upon your fortune; but the beauties of your mind and person have so won me from myself that, like a trusty servant, I prefer the interest of my mistress to my own.

_Dor_. Sure I have had the dream of some poor mariner, a sleepy image of a welcome port, and wake involved in storms!--Pray, sir, who are you?

_Aim_. Brother to the man whose title I usurped, but stranger to his honour or his fortune. {39}

_Dor_. Matchless honesty!--Once I was proud, sir, of your wealth and title, but now am prouder that you want it: now I can show my love was justly levelled, and had no aim but love.--Doctor, come in.

_Enter Foigard at one door, Gipsy at another-, who whispers Dorinda_.

[_To Foigard_.] Your pardon, sir, we shan't want you now.--[_To Aimweil_.] Sir, you must excuse me--I 'll wait on you presently. [_Exit with Gipsy_.

_Foi_. Upon my shoul, now, dis is foolish. [_Exit_.

_Aim_. Gone! and bid the priest depart!--It has an ominous look.

_Enter Archer_.

_Arch_. Courage, Tom!--Shall I wish you joy? {50}

_Aim_. No.

_Arch_. 'Oons, man, what ha' you been doing?

_Aim_. O Archer! my honesty, I fear, has ruined me.

_Arch_. How?

_Aim_. I have discovered myself.

_Arch_. Discovered! and without my consent? What! have I embarked my small remains in the same bottom with yours, and you dispose of all without my partnership?

_Aim_. O Archer! I own my fault. 60

_Arch_. After conviction--'tis then too late for pardon.-- You may remember, Mr. Aimwell, that you proposed this folly: as you begun, so end it. Henceforth I 'll hunt my fortune single--so farewell!

_Aim_. Stay, my dear Archer, but a minute.

_Arch_. Stay! what, to be despised, exposed, and laughed at! No, I would sooner change conditions with the worst of the rogues we just now bound, than bear one scornful smile from the proud knight that once I treated as my equal. {70}

_Aim_. What knight?

_Arch_. Sir Charles Freeman, brother to the lady that I had almost--but no matter for that, 'tis a cursed night's work, and so I leave you to make the best on't. [_Going_.

_Aim_. Freeman!--One word, Archer. Still I have hopes; methought she received my confession with pleasure.

_Arch_. 'Sdeath, who doubts it?

_Aim_. She consented after to the match; and still I dare believe she will be just. {81}

_Arch_. To herself, I warrant her, as you should have been.

_Aim_. By all my hopes she comes, and smiling comes!

_Re-enter Dorinda, mighty gay_.

_Dor_. Come, my dear lord--I fly with impatience to your arms--the minutes of my absence were a tedious year. Where's this priest?

_Re-enter Foigard_.

_Arch_. 'Oons, a brave girl!

_Dor_. I suppose, my lord, this gentleman is privy to our affairs? {90}

_Arch_. Yes, yes, madam, I 'm to be your father.

_Dor_. Come, priest, do your office.

_Arch_. Make haste, make haste, couple 'em any way.-- [_Takes Aimwells hand_.] Come, madam, I 'm to give you--

_Dor_. My mind's altered; I won't.

_Arch_. Eh!

_Aim_. I 'm confounded!

_Foi_. Upon my shoul, and sho is myshelf.

_Arch_. What 's the matter now, madam? {100}

_Dor_. Look'ee, sir, one generous action deserves another. --This gentleman's honour obliged him to hide nothing from me; my justice engages me to conceal nothing from him. In short, sir, you are the person that you thought you counterfeited; you are the true Lord Viscount Aimwell, and I wish your Lordship joy.--Now, priest, you may be gone; if my Lord is pleased now with the match, let his Lordship marry me in the face of the world.

_Aim., Arch_. What does she mean? {110}

_Dor_. Here's a witness for my truth.

_Enter Sir Charles Freeman and Mrs Sullen_.

_Sir Chas_. My dear Lord Aimwell, I wish you joy.

_Aim_. Of what?

_Sir Chas_. Of your honour and estate. Your brother died the day before I left London; and all your friends have writ after you to Brussels;--among the rest I did myself the honour.

_Arch_. Hark 'ee, sir knight, don't you banter now?

_Sir Chas_. 'Tis truth, upon my honour.

_Aim_. Thanks to the pregnant stars that formed this accident! {121}

_Arch_. Thanks to the womb of time that brought it forth!--away with it!

_Aim_. Thanks to my guardian angel that led me to the prize! [_Taking Dorindas hand_].

_Arch_. And double thanks to the noble Sir Charles Freeman.--My Lord, I wish you joy.--My Lady, I wish you joy.--Egad, Sir Freeman, you're the honestest fellow living!--'Sdeath, I'm grown strange airy upon this matter!--My Lord, how d'ye?--A word, my Lord; don't you remember something of a previous agreement, that entitles me to the moiety of this lady's fortune, which I think will amount to five thousand pounds?

_Aim_. Not a penny, Archer; you would ha' cut my throat just now, because I would not deceive this lady.

_Arch_. Ay, and I 'll cut your throat again, if you should deceive her now. {139}

_Aim_. That's what I expected; and to end the dispute, the lady's fortune is ten thousand pounds, we'll divide stakes: take the ten thousand pounds or the lady.

_Dor_. How! is your lordship so indifferent?

_Arch_. No, no, no, madam! his Lordship knows very well that I 'll take the money; I leave you to his Lordship, and so we 're both provided for.

_Enter Count Bellair_.

_Count Bel_. _Mesdames et Messieurs_, I am your servant trice humble! I hear you be rob here.

_Aim_. The ladies have been in some danger, sir.

_Count Bel_. And, begar, our inn be rob too! {150}

_Aim_. Our inn! by whom?

_Count Bel_. By the landlord, begar!--Garzoon, he has rob himself, and run away!

_Arch_. Robbed himself!

_Count Bel_. Ay, begar, and me too of a hundre pound.

_Arch_. A hundred pounds?

_Count Bel_. Yes, that I owed him.

_Aim_. Our money's gone, Frank.

_Arch_. Rot the money! my wench is gone.--[_To Count Bellair_.] _Savez-vous quelquechase de Mademoiselle Cherry?_ {161}

_Enter a Countryman with a strong-box and a letter_.

_Coun_. Is there one Martin here?

_Arch_. Ay, ay--who wants him?

_Coun_. I have a box here, and letter for him.

_Arch_. [_Taking the box_.] Ha! ha! ha! what's here? Legerdemain!--By this light, my lord, our money again!--But this unfolds the riddle.--[_Opening the letter_.] Hum, hum, hum!--Oh, 'tis for the public good, and must be communicated to the company.

[_Reads_.

Mr. Martin, lyo

My father being afraid of an impeachment by the rogues that are taken to-night, is gone off; but if you can procure him a pardon, he'll make great discoveries that may be useful to the country. Could I have met you instead of your master to-night, I would have delivered myself into your hands, with a sum that much exceeds that in your strong-box, which I have sent you, with an assurance to my dear Martin that I shall ever be his most faithful friend till death. CHERRY BONIFACE.

There's a billet-doux for you! As for the father, I think he ought to be encouraged; and for the daughter--pray, my Lord, persuade your bride to take her into her service instead of Gipsy. {184}

_Aim_. I can assure you, madam, your deliverance was owing to her discovery.

_Dor_. Your command, my Lord, will do without the obligation. I 'll take care of her.

_Sir Chas_. This good company meets opportunely in favour of a design I have in behalf of my unfortunate sister. I intend to part her from her husband--gentlemen, will you assist me? {192}

_Arch_. Assist you! 'sdeath, who would not?

_Count Bel_. Assist! garzoon, we all assist!

_Enter Squire Sullen_.

_Squire Sul_. What 's all this? They tell me, spouse, that you had like to have been robbed.

_Mrs. Sul_. Truly, spouse, I was pretty near it, had not these two gentlemen interposed.

_Squire Sul_. How came these gentlemen here?

_Mrs. Sul_. That's his way of returning thanks, you must know. {201}

_Count Bel_. Garzoon, the question be apropos for all dat.

_Sir Chas_. You promised last night, sir, that you would deliver your lady to me this morning.

_Squire Sul_. Humph!

_Arch_. Humph! what do you mean by humph? Sir, you shall deliver her--in short, sir, we have saved you and your family; and if you are not civil, we 'll unbind the rogues, join with 'em, and set fire to your house. What does the man mean? not part with his wife! {211}

_Count Bel_. Ay, garzoon, de man no understan common justice.

_Mrs. Sul_. Hold, gentlemen, all things here must move by consent, compulsion would spoil us; let my dear and I talk the matter over, and you shall judge it between us.

_Squire Sul_. Let me know first who are to be our judges. Pray, sir, who are you?

_Sir Chas_. I am Sir Charles Freeman, come to take away your wife. {221}

_Squire Sul_. And you, good sir?

_Aim_. Thomas, Viscount Aimwell, come to take away your sister.

_Squire Sul_. And you, pray, sir?

_Arch_. Francis Archer, esquire, come----

_Squire Sul_. To take away my mother, I hope. Gentlemen, you 're heartily welcome; I never met with three more obliging people since I was born!-- And now, my dear, if you please, you shall have the first word. {231}

_Arch_. And the last, for five pounds!

_Mrs. Sul_. Spouse!

_Squire Sul_. Rib!

_Mrs. Sul_. How long have we been married?

_Squire Sul_. By the almanac, fourteen months; but by my account, fourteen years.

_Mrs. Sul_. 'Tis thereabout by my reckoning.

_Count Bel_. Garzoon, their account will agree.

_Mrs. Sul_. Pray, spouse, what did you marry for? {240}

_Squire Sul_. To get an heir to my estate.

_Sir Chas_. And have you succeeded?

_Squire Sul_. No.

_Arch_. The condition fails of his side.--Pray, madam, what did you marry for?

_Mrs. Sul_. To support the weakness of my sex by the strength of his, and to enjoy the pleasures of an agreeable society.

_Sir Chas_. Are your expectations answered?

_Mrs. Sul_. No. {250}

_Count Bel_. A clear case! a clear case!

_Sir Chas_. What are the bars to your mutual contentment?

_Mrs. Sul_. In the first place, I can't drink ale with him.

_Squire Sul_. Nor can I drink tea with her.

_Mrs. Sul_. I can't hunt with you.

_Squire Sul_. Nor can I dance with you.

_Mrs. Sul_. I hate cocking and racing.

_Squire Sul_. And I abhor ombre and piquet.

_Mrs. Sul_. Your silence is intolerable.

_Squire Sul_. Your prating is worse. {260}

_Mrs. Sul_. Have we not been a perpetual offence to each other? a gnawing vulture at the heart?

_Squire Sul_. A frightful goblin to the sight?

_Mrs. Sul_. A porcupine to the feeling?

_Squire Sul_. Perpetual wormwood to the taste?

_Mrs. Sul_. Is there on earth a thing we could agree in?

_Squire Sul_. Yes--to part.

_Mrs. Sul_. With all my heart

_Squire Sul_. Your hand.

_Mrs. Sul_. Here. {270}

_Squire Sul_. These hands joined us, these shall part us. --Away!

_Mrs. Sul_. North

_Squire Sul_. South.

_Mrs. Sul_. East.

_Squire Sul_. West--far as the poles asunder.

_Count Bel_. Begar, the ceremony be vera pretty!

_Sir Chas_. Now, Mr. Sullen, there wants only my sister's fortune to make us easy.

_Squire Sul_. Sir Charles, you love your sister, and I love her fortune; every one to his fancy. {281}

_Arch_. Then you won't refund;

_Squire Sul_. Not a stiver.

_Arch_. Then I find, madam, you must e'en go to your prison again.

_Count Bel_. What is the portion?

_Sir Chas_. Ten thousand pounds, sir.

_Count Bel_. Garzoon, I 'll pay it, and she shall go home wid me. {289}

_Arch_. Ha! ha! ha! French all over.-- Do you know, sir, what ten thousand pounds English is?

_Count Bel_. No, begar, not justement.

_Arch_. Why, sir, 'tis a hundred thousand livres.

_Count Bel_. A hundre tousand livres! Ah! garzoon, me canno' do't, your beauties and their fortunes are both too much for me.

_Arch_. Then I will.--This night's adventure has proved strangely lucky to us all--for Captain Gibbet in his walk had made bold, Mr. Sullen, with your study and escritoir, and had taken out all the writings of your estate, all the articles of marriage with this lady, bills, bonds, leases, receipts to an infinite value: I took 'em from him, and I deliver 'em to Sir Charles.

[_Gives Sir Charles Freeman a parcel of papers and parchments_.

_Squire Sul_. How, my writings!--my head aches consumedly.--Well, gentlemen, you shall have her fortune, but I can't talk. If you have a mind, Sir Charles, to be merry, and celebrate my sister's wedding and my divorce, you may command my house--but my head aches consumedly.--Scrub, bring me a dram.

_Arch_. [_To Mrs. Sullen_.] Madam, there's a country dance to the trifle that I sung to-day; your hand, and we'll lead it up.

_Here a Dance_.

Twould be hard to guess which of these parties is the better pleased, the couple joined, or the couple parted; the one rejoicing in hopes of an untasted happiness, and the other in their deliverance from an experienced misery. Both happy in their several states we find, Those parted by consent, and those conjoined. Consent, if mutual, saves the lawyer's fee. Consent is law enough to set you free.

[_Exeunt omnes_.

EPILOGUE

_Designed to be spoken in 'The Beaux-Stratagem'_.

If to our play your judgment can't be kind, Let its expiring author pity find: Survey his mournful case with melting eyes, Nor let the bard be damn'd before he dies. Forbear, you fair, on his last scene to frown, But his true exit with a plaudit crown; Then shall the dying poet cease to fear The dreadful knell, while your applause he hear. At Leuctra so the conquering Theban died, Claim'd his friends' praises, but their tears denied: Pleased in the pangs of death he greatly thought Conquest with loss of life but cheaply bought The difference this, the Greek was one would fight As brave, though not so gay, as Serjeant Kite; Ye sons of Will's, what's that to those who write? To Thebes alone the Grecian owed his bays, You may the bard above the hero raise, Since yours is greater than Athenian praise.