Chapter 10

before; _Lodwick_ as just risen in Disorder from the Bed, buttoning himself, and setting himself in order; and Noise at the Door of unlatching it._

Enter _Isabella_ groping, Sir _Patient_ without.

L. _Fan._ It is this Door that open’d, and which I thought I had secur’d.

Sir _Pat._ [Within.] Oh, insupportable, abominable, and not to be indur’d!

_Isab._ Hah, my Father! I’m discover’d and pursu’d,--grant me to find the Bed.

L. _Fan._ Heavens! ‘twas my Husband’s Voice, sure we’re betray’d. It must be so, for what Devil but that of Jealousy cou’d raise him at this late hour?

_Isab._ Hah, where am I, and who is’t that speaks-- [To her self.

_Lod._ So, he must know that I have made a Cuckold of him. [Aside.

Sir _Pat._ [Within.] Call up my Men, the Coachman, Groom, and Butler, the Footmen, Cook, and Gardiner; bid ‘em all rise and arm, with long Staff, Spade and Pitchfork, and sally out upon the Wicked.

_Lod._ S’heart! what a Death shall I die:--is there no place of safety hereabouts--for there is no resisting these unmerciful Weapons.

_Isab._ A Man’s Voice!

L. _Fan._ I know of none, nor how to prevent your Discovery.

Sir _Pat._ [Within.] Oh, oh, lead me forward, I’ll lie here on the Garden-side, out of the hearing of this Hellish Noise.

L. _Fan._ Hah, Noise!--what means he?

_Lod._ Nay, I know not, is there no escaping?--

_Isab._ Who can they be that talk thus? sure I have mistook my Chamber.

L. _Fan._ Oh, he’s coming in--I’m ruin’d; what shall we do? here--get into the Bed--and cover your self with the Clothes--quickly--oh, my Confusion will betray me. [_Lodwick_ gets into the Bed, _Isabella_ hides behind the Curtain very near to him.

Enter Sir _Patient_, led by _Nurse_ and _Maundy_, with Lights.

_Maun._ Pray go back, Sir, my poor Lady will be frighted out of her Wits at this danger you put your self into, the Noise shall be still’d.

L. _Fan._ Oh, what’s the matter with my Love? what, do you mean to murder him? oh, lead him instantly back to his Bed.

Sir _Pat._ Oh, oh, no, I’ll lie here,--put me to bed, oh, I faint,--my Chamber’s possest with twenty thousand Evil Spirits.

L. _Fan._ Possest! what sickly Fancy’s this?

Sir _Pat._ Ah, the House is beset, surrounded and confounded with profane tinkling, with Popish Horn-Pipes, and Jesuitical Cymbals, more Antichristian and Abominable than Organs, or Anthems.

_Nurse._ Yea verily, and surely it is the spawn of Cathedral Instruments plaid on by Babylonish Minstrels, only to disturb the Brethren.

Sir _Pat._ Ay, ‘tis so, call up my Servants, and let them be first chastiz’d and then hang’d; accuse ‘em for _French_ Papishes, that had a design to fire the City, or any thing:--oh, I shall die--lead me gently to this Bed.

L. _Fan._ To hinder him will discover all:--stay, Sir.--

Sir _Pat._ Hah, my Lady turn’d rebellious!--put me to Bed I say;-- [Throws himself forward to the Bed.] --hah--what’s here?--what are thou,--a Man,--hah, a Man, Treason! betray’d! my Bed’s defil’d, my Lady polluted, and I am cornuted; oh thou vile Serpent of my Bosom! [She stands with her Face towards the Stage in signs of fear.

_Isab._ A Man, and in my virtuous Lady Mother’s Chamber! how fortunate was I to light on this discovery!

L. _Fan._ Well, Sir, since you have seen him, I beseech you for my sake, Dear, pardon him this one time. [Coakesing him.

Sir _Pat._ Thou beg his Pardon! Oh, was ever heard such Impudence!

L. _Fan._ Indeed, my Love, he is to blame; but we that are judicious should bear with the Frailities of Youth.

Sir _Pat._ Oh insupportable Audacity!--what canst thou say, false Woman?

L. _Fan._ Truly not much in his Defence, my Dear.

_Isab._ Oh cunning Devil!--

L. _Fan._ But, Sir, to hide the weakness of your Daughter, I have a little strain’d my Modesty.--

_Isab._ Heavens! what says she?--

L. _Fan._ ‘Tis _Isabella’s_ Lover, Sir, whom I’ve conceal’d.

_Lod._ A good hint to save both our Credits.

Sir _Pat._ How, Mr. _Fainlove_ mean you?

[_Lodwick_ rises and comes a little more forward, _Isabella_ does the like, till both meet at the feet of the Bed, and start, _Lodwick_ looking simply.

L. _Fan._ Ay, my dear, Mr. _Fainlove_.

_Lod._ _Isabella_ here! must she know too what a fine inconstant Dog I am?--

_Isab._ _Lodwick!_ and in my Mother’s Chamber! may I believe my Eyes!

Sir _Pat._ But how got he hither?--tell me that: oh Youth, Youth, to what degree of Wickedness art thou arriv’d?

L. _Fan._ She appointed him to come this Night, Sir, and he going to her Chamber, by mistake came into mine, it being the next to her’s.

_Maun._ But, Lord, Sir, had you heard how my Lady school’d him, whilst I ran down to fetch a Light!

_Lod._ Now does my Conscience tell me, I am a damn’d Villain.-- [Aside, looking pitifully on _Isabella_.

L. _Fan._ But the poor Man presently perceiv’d his mistake, and beg’d my pardon in such feeling Terms--that I vow I had not the heart to deny it him.

_Isab._ Oh Traytor! wou’d thou hadst been that Ravisher I took thee for, rather than such a Villain--false! and with my Mother too!

L. _Fan._ And just then, Sir, you came to the Door, and lest you shou’d see him, intreated me to hide him from your Anger,--the Offence is not so heinous, Sir, considering he is so soon to marry her.

Sir _Pat._ Well, Sir, and what have you to say in your Defence?--hah, how, Mr. _Knowell_,--worse and worse,--why, how came you hither, Sir? hah.--

L. _Fan._ Not _Wittmore_! oh, I am ruin’d and betray’d. [Falls almost in a swoon.

Sir _Pat._ Hah, _Isabella_ here too!

_Isab._ Yes, Sir, to justify her Innocence.

Sir _Pat._ Hah! Innocence! and justify! take her away; go out of my sight, thou Limb of Satan,--take her away, I say, I’ll talk with you to morrow, Lady Finetricks--I will.--

_Isab._ --And I’ll know before I sleep, the mystery of all this, and who ’.was this faithless Man sent in his room to deceive me in the Garden. [Goes out.

_Lod._ A plague of all ill-luck--how the Devil came she hither? I must follow and reconcile her. [Going out, Sir _Patient_ stays him.

Sir _Pat._ Nay, Sir, we must not part so till I have known the truth of this Business, I take it.

_Lod._ Truth, Sir! oh, all that your fair Lady has said, Sir; I must confess her Eyes have wounded me enough with Anger, you need not add more to my Shame.--

L. _Fan._ Some little comfort yet, that he prov’d indeed to be _Isabella’s_ Lover: Oh, that I should mistake so unluckily! [Aside.

Sir _Pat._ Why, I thought it had been Mr. _Fainlove_.

L. _Fan._ By all that’s good, and so did I.

_Lod._ I know you did, Madam, or you had not been so kind to me: Your Servant, dear Madam.-- [Going, Sir _Patient_ stays him.

L. _Fan._ Pray, Sir, let him go; oh, how I abominate the sight of a Man that cou’d be so wicked as he has been!

Sir _Pat._ Ha,--good Lady, excellent Woman: well, Sir, for my Lady’s sake I’ll let you pass with this, but if I catch you here again, I shall spoil your Intrigues, Sir, marry, shall I, and so rest ye satisfied, Sir.--

_Lod._ At this time, I am, Sir--Madam, a thousand Blessings on you for this Goodness.

L. _Fan._ Ten thousand Curses upon thee,--go, boast the Ruin you have made. [Aside to _Lod._

Sir _Pat._ Come, no more Anger now, my Lady; the Gentleman’s sorry you see, I’ll marry my pert Huswife to morrow for this.--_Maundy_, see the Gentleman safe out:--ah, put me to Bed; ah, this Night’s Work will kill me, ah, ah.

[Exeunt _Lodwick_ and _Maundy_.

_The Scene draws over Sir _Patient_ and Lady: draws again and discovers_