Chapter 14

Chairs._

Enter Lady _Fancy_ in a Morning-dress, _Maundy_ with Pen, Ink and Paper.

L. _Fan._ _Wittmore_ in the Garden, sayst thou, with _Isabella_! Oh perjur’d Man! it was by his contrivance then I was betray’d last night.

_Maun._ I thought so too at first, Madam, till going to conduct Mr. _Knowell_ through the Garden, he finding Mr. _Wittmore_ there with _Isabella_ drew on him, and they both fought out of the Garden: what mischief’s done I know not.--But, Madam, I hope Mr. _Knowell_ was not uncivil to your Ladyship. I had no time to ask what pass’d between you.

L. _Fan._ Oh, name it not: I gave him all I had reserv’d for _Wittmore_. I was so possess’d with the thoughts of that dear false one, I had no sense free to perceive the cheat:--but I will be reveng’d.--Come let me end my Letter, we are safe from interruption.

_Maun._ Yes, Madam, Sir _Patient_ is not yet up, the Doctors have been with him, and tell him he is not so bad as we persuaded him.

L. _Fan._ And was he soft and kind?--By all that’s good, she loves him, and they contriv’d this meeting.--My Pen and Ink--I am impatient to unload my Soul of this great weight of Jealousy.-- [Sits down, and writes.

Enter Sir _Patient_, looking over her Shoulder a tip-toe.

_Maun._ Heaven! here’s Sir _Patient_, Madam.

L. _Fan._ Hah,--and ‘tis too late to hide the Paper; I was just going to subscribe my Name.

Sir _Pat._ Good morrow, my Lady _Fancy_, your Ladyship is well employ’d, I see.

L. _Fan._ Indeed I was, and pleasantly too: I am writing a Love-letter, Sir.--But, my Dear, what makes you so soon up?

Sir _Pat._ A Love-letter!--let me see’t. [Goes to take it.

L. _Fan._ I’ll read it to you, Sir.

_Maun._ What mean you, Madam? [Aside.

Lady _Fancy_ reads.

It was but yesterday you swore you lov’d me, and I poor easy Fool believ’d; but your last Night’s Infidelity has undeceiv’d my Heart, and render’d you the falsest Man that ever Woman sigh’d for. Tell me, how durst you, when I had prepared all things for our Enjoyment, be so great a Devil to deceive my languishing Expectations? and in your room send one that has undone

Your--

_Maun._ Sure she’s mad to read this to him.

Sir _Pat._ Hum,--I profess ingenuously--I think it is indeed a Love-letter. My Lady _Fancy_, what means all this? as I take it, here are Riddles and Mysteries in this Business.

L. _Fan._ Which thus, Sir, I’ll unfold.-- [Takes the Pen, and writes _Isabella_.

Sir _Pat._ How! undone--Your--_Isabella_, meaning my Daughter?

L. _Fan._ Yes, my Dear, going this morning into her Chamber, she not being there, I took up a Letter that lay open on her Table, and out of curiosity read it; as near as I can remember ‘twas to this purpose: I writ it out now, because I had a mind thou shou’dst see’t; for I can hide nothing from thee.

Sir _Pat._ A very good Lady, I profess! to whom is it directed?

L. _Fan._ Why,--Sir--What shall I say, I cannot lay it now on _Lodwick_-- [Aside. I believe she meant it to Mr. _Fainlove_, for whom else cou’d it be design’d? she being so soon to marry him.

Sir _Pat._ Hah,--Mr. _Fainlove_! so soon so fond and amorous!

L. _Fan._ Alas, ‘tis the excusable fault of all young Women, thou knowst I was just such another Fool to thee, so fond--and so in love.--

Sir _Pat._ Ha,--thou wert indeed, my Lady _Fancy_, indeed thou wert.--But I will keep the Letter however, that this idle Baggage may know I understand her Tricks and Intrigues. [Puts up the Letter.

L. _Fan._ Nay then ‘twill out: No, I beseech you, Sir, give me the Letter, I wou’d not for the World _Isabella_ shou’d know of my theft, ’.wou’d appear malicious in me:--Besides, Sir, it does not befit your Gravity to be concern’d in the little Quarrels of Lovers.

Sir _Pat._ Lovers! Tell me not of Lovers, my Lady _Fancy_; with Reverence to your good Ladyship, I value not whether there be Love between ‘em or not. Pious Wedlock is my Business,--nay, I will let him know his own too, that I will, with your Ladyship’s permission.

L. _Fan._ How unlucky I am!--Sir, as to his Chastisement, use your own discretion, in which you do abound most plentifully. But pray let not _Isabella_ hear of it; for as I wou’d preserve my Duty to thee, by communicating all things to thee, so I wou’d conserve my good Opinion with her.

Sir _Pat._ Ah, what a Blessing I possess in so excellent a Wife! and in regard I am every day descending to my Grave.--ah--I will no longer hide from thee the Provision I have made for thee, in case I die.--

L. _Fan._ This is the Musick that I long’d to hear.--Die!--Oh, that fatal Word will kill me-- [Weeps. Name it no more, if you’d preserve my Life.

Sir _Pat._ Hah--now cannot I refrain joining with her in affectionate Tears.--No, but do not weep for me, my excellent Lady, for I have made a pretty competent Estate for thee. Eight thousand Pounds, which I have conceal’d in my Study behind the Wainscot on the left hand as you come in.

L. _Fan._ Oh, tell me not of transitory Wealth, for I’m resolv’d not to survive thee. Eight thousand Pound say you?--Oh, I cannot endure the thoughts on’t. [Weeps.

Sir _Pat._ Eight thousand Pounds just, my dearest Lady.

L. _Fan._ Oh, you’ll make me desperate in naming it,--is it in Gold or Silver?

Sir _Pat._ In Gold, my dearest, the most part, the rest in Silver.

L. _Fan._ Good Heavens! why should you take such pleasure in afflicting me? [Weeps.] --Behind the Wainscot say you?

Sir _Pat._ Behind the Wainscot, prithee be pacified,--thou makest me lose my greatest Virtue, Moderation, to see thee thus: alas, we’re all born to die.--

L. _Fan._ Again of dying! Uncharitable Man, why do you delight in tormenting me?--On the left hand, say you as you go in?

Sir _Pat._ On the left hand, my Love: had ever Man such a Wife?

L. _Fan._ Oh, my Spirits fail me--lead me, or I shall faint,--lead me to the Study, and shew me where ‘tis,--for I am able to hear no more of it.

Sir _Pat._ I will, if you will promise indeed and indeed, not to grieve too much. [Going to lead her out.

Enter _Wittmore_.

_Wit._ Heaven grant me some kind opportunity to speak with _Lucia_! hah, she’s here,--and with her the fond Cuckold her Husband.--Death, he has spy’d me, there’s no avoiding him.--

Sir _Pat._ Oh, are you there, Sir?--_Maundy_, look to my Lady,--I take it, Sir, you have not dealt well with a Person of my Authority and Gravity. [Gropes for the Letter in his pocket.

_Wit._ So this can be nothing less than my being found out to be no _Yorkshire_ Esq; a Pox of my _Geneva_ Breeding; it must be so, what the Devil shall I say now?

Sir _Pat._ And this disingenuous dealing does ill become the Person you have represented, I take it.

_Wit._ Represented! ay, there ‘tis, wou’d I were handsomely off o’ this Business; neither _Lucia_ nor _Maundy_ have any intelligence in their demure looks that can instruct a Man.--Why, faith, Sir,--I must confess,--I am to blame--and that I have--a--

L. _Fan._ Oh, _Maundy_, he’ll discover all, what shall we do?

Sir _Pat._ Have what, Sir?

_Wit._ From my violent Passion for your Daughter--

L. _Fan._ Oh, I’m all Confusion.--

_Wit._ Egad, I am i’th wrong, I see by _Lucia’s_ Looks.

Sir _Pat._ That you have, Sir, you wou’d say, made a Sport and May-game of the Ingagement of your Word; I take it, Mr. _Fainlove_, ‘tis not like the Stock you come from.

_Wit._ Yes, I was like to have spoil’d all, ‘sheart, what fine work I had made--but most certainly he has discover’d my Passion for his Wife.--Well, Impudence assist me--I made, Sir, a trifle of my Word, Sir! from whom have you this Intelligence?

Sir _Pat._ From whom shou’d I, Sir, but from my Daughter _Isabella_?

_Wit._ _Isabella!_ The malicious Baggage understood to whom my first Courtship was address’d last Night, and has betray’d me.

Sir _Pat._ And, Sir, to let you see I utter nothing without Precaution, pray read that Letter.

_Wit._ Hah--a Letter! what can this mean,--’tis _Lucia’s_ Hand, with _Isabella’s_ Name to’t.--Oh, the dear cunning Creature, to make her Husband the Messenger too.--How, I send one in my room! [He reads.

L. _Fan._ Yes, Sir, you think we do not know of the Appointment you made last Night; but having other Affairs in hand than to keep your Promise, you sent Mr. _Knowell_ in your room,--false Man.

_Wit._ I send him, Madam! I wou’d have sooner died.

Sir _Pat._ Sir, as I take it, he cou’d not have known of your Designs and Rendezvous without your Informations.--Were not you to have met my Daughter here to night, Sir?

_Wit._ Yes, Sir, and I hope ‘tis no such great Crime, to desire a little Conversation with the fair Person one loves, and is so soon to marry, which I was hinder’d from doing by the greatest and most unlucky Misfortune that ever arriv’d: but for my sending him, Madam, credit me, nothing so much amazes me and afflicts me, as to know he was here.

Sir _Pat._ He speaks well, ingenuously, he does.--Well, Sir, for your Father’s sake, whose Memory I reverence, I will for once forgive you. But let’s have no more Night-works, no more Gambols, I beseech you, good Mr. _Fainlove_.

_Wit._ I humbly thank ye, Sir, and do beseech you to tell the dear Creature that writ this, that I love her more than Life or Fortune, and that I wou’d sooner have kill’d the Man that usurp’d my place last Night, than have assisted him.

L. _Fan._ Were you not false, then?--Now hang me if I do not credit him. [Aside.

Sir _Pat._ Alas, good Lady! how she’s concern’d for my Interest, she’s even jealous for my Daughter. [Aside.

_Wit._ False! charge me not with unprofitable Sins; wou’d I refuse a Blessing, or blaspheme a Power that might undo me? wou’d I die in my full vigorous Health, or live in constant Pain? All this I cou’d, sooner than be untrue.

Sir _Pat._ Ingenuously, my Lady _Fancy_, he speaks discreetly, and to purpose.

L. _Fan._ Indeed, my Dear, he does, and like an honest Gentleman: and I shou’d think my self very unreasonable not to believe him.--And, Sir, I’ll undertake your Peace shall be made with your Mistress.

Sir _Pat._ Well, I am the most fortunate Man in a Wife, that ever had the blessing of a good one.

_Wit._ Madam, let me fall at your Feet, and thank you for this Bounty.--Make it your own case, and then consider what returns ought to be made to the most passionate and faithful of Lovers. [Kneels.

Sir _Pat._ I profess a wonderful good natur’d Youth, this; rise, Sir, my Lady _Fancy_ shall do you all the kind Offices she can, o’ my word, she shall.

L. _Fan._ I’m all Obedience, Sir, and doubtless shall obey you.

Sir _Pat._ You must, indeed you must; and, Sir, I’ll defer your Happiness no longer, this Day you shall be marry’d.

_Wit._ This Day, Sir!--why, the Writings are not made.

Sir _Pat._ No matter, Mr. _Fainlove_; her Portion shall be equivalent to the Jointure you shall make her, I take it, that’s sufficient.

_Wit._ A Jointure, quoth he! it must be in new _Eutopian_ Land then.--And must I depart thus, without a kind Word, a Look, or a Billet, to signify what I am to expect. [Looking on her slily.

Sir _Pat._ Come, my Lady _Fancy_, shall I wait on you down to Prayer! Sir, you will get your self in order for your Marriage, the great Affair of human Life; I must to my Morning’s Devotion: Come, Madam. [She endeavours to make Signs to _Wittmore_.

L. _Fan._ Alas, Sir, the sad Discourse you lately made me, has so disorder’d me, and given me such a Pain in my Head, I am not able to endure the Psalm-singing.

Sir _Pat._ This comes of your Weeping; but we’ll omit that part of th’ Exercise, and have no Psalm sung.

L. _Fan._ Oh, by no means, Sir, ‘twill scandalize the Brethren; for you know a Psalm is not sung so much out of Devotion, as ‘tis to give notice of our Zeal and pious Intentions: ‘tis a kind of Proclamation to the Neighbourhood, and cannot be omitted.--Oh, how my Head aches!

_Wit._ He were a damn’d dull Lover, that cou’d not guess what she meant by this. [Aside.

Sir _Pat._ Well, my Lady _Fancy_, your Ladyship shall be obey’d,--come, Sir, we’ll leave her to her Women. [Exit Sir _Pat._ [As _Wittmore_ goes out, he bows and looks on her; she gives him a Sign.

_Wit._ That kind Look is a sufficient Invitation. [Exit.

L. _Fan._ _Maundy_, follow ‘em down, and bring _Wittmore_ back again.-- [Exit _Maun._] There’s now a necessity of our contriving to avoid this Marriage handsomly,--and we shall at least make two Hours our own; I never wish’d well to long Prayers till this Minute.

Enter _Wittmore_.

_Wit._ Oh my dear _Lucia_!

L. _Fan._ Oh _Wittmore_! I long to tell thee what a fatal Mistake had like to have happened last Night.

_Wit._ My Friend has told me all, and how he was prevented by the coming of your Husband from robbing me of those sacred Delights I languish for. Oh, let us not lose inestimable Time in dull talking; but haste to give each other the only Confirmation we can give, how little we are our own.

L. _Fan._ I see _Lodwick’s_ a Man of Honour, and deserves a Heart if I had one to give him.

[Exeunt.