SCENE I.--MANLY'S _Lodging.

_Enter_ MANLY _and_ FIDELIA.

_Man._ Well, there's success in thy face. Hast thou prevailed? say.

_Fid._ As I could wish, sir.

_Man._ So; I told thee what thou wert fit for, and thou wouldst not believe me. Come, thank me for bringing thee acquainted with thy genius. Well, thou hast mollified her heart for me?

_Fid._ No, sir, not so; but what's better.

_Man._ How, what's better?

_Fid._ I shall harden your heart against her.

_Man._ Have a care, sir; my heart is too much in earnest to be fooled with, and my desire at height, and needs no delay to incite it. What, you are too good a pimp already, and know how to endear pleasure by withholding it? But leave off your page's bawdy-house tricks, sir, and tell me, will she be kind?

_Fid._ Kinder than you could wish, sir.

_Man._ So, then: well, prithee, what said she?

_Fid._ She said--

_Man._ What? thou'rt so tedious: speak comfort to me; what?

_Fid._ That of all things you are her aversion.

_Man._ How!

_Fid._ That she would sooner take a bedfellow out of an hospital, and diseases into her arms, than you.

_Man._ What?

_Fid._ That she would rather trust her honour with a dissolute debauched hector, nay worse, with a finical baffled coward, all over loathsome with affectation of the fine gentleman.

_Man._ What's all this you say?

_Fid._ Nay, that my offers of your love to her were more offensive, than when parents woo their virgin-daughters to the enjoyment of riches only; and that you were in all circumstances as nauseous to her as a husband on compulsion.

_Man._ Hold! I understand you not.

_Fid._ So, 'twill work, I see. [_Aside._

_Man._ Did you not tell me--

_Fid._ She called you ten thousand ruffians.

_Man._ Hold, I say.

_Fid._ Brutes--

_Man._ Hold.

_Fid._ Sea-monsters--

_Man._ Damn your intelligence! Hear me a little now.

_Fid._ Nay, surly coward she called you too.

_Man._ Won't you hold yet? Hold, or--

_Fid._ Nay, sir, pardon me; I could not but tell you she had the baseness, the injustice, to call you coward, sir; coward, coward, sir.

_Man._ Not yet--

_Fid._ I've done:--coward, sir.

_Man._ Did not you say, she was kinder than I could wish her?

_Fid._ Yes, sir.

_Man._ How then?--O--I understand you now. At first she appeared in rage and disdain; the truest sign of a coming woman: but at last you prevailed, it seems; did you not?

_Fid._ Yes, sir.

_Man._ So then; let's know that only: come, prithee, without delays. I'll kiss thee for that news beforehand.

_Fid._ So; the kiss I'm sure is welcome to me, whatsoe'er the news will be to you. [_Aside._

_Man._ Come, speak, my dear volunteer.

_Fid._ How welcome were that kind word too, if it were not for another woman's sake! [_Aside._

_Man._ What, won't you speak? You prevailed for me at last, you say?

_Fid._ No, sir.

_Man._ No more of your fooling, sir: it will not agree with my impatience or temper.

_Fid._ Then not to fool you, sir, I spoke to her for you, but prevailed for myself; she would not hear me when I spoke in your behalf, but bid me say what I would in my own, though she gave me no occasion, she was so coming, and so was kinder, sir, than you could wish; which I was only afraid to let you know, without some warning.

_Man._ How's this? Young man, you are of a lying age; but I must hear you out, and if--

_Fid._ I would not abuse you, and cannot wrong her by any report of her, she is so wicked.

_Man._ How, wicked! had she the impudence, at the second sight of you only--

_Fid._ Impudence, sir! oh, she has impudence enough to put a court out of countenance, and debauch a stews.

_Man._ Why, what said she?

_Fid._ Her tongue, I confess, was silent; but her speaking eyes gloated such things, more immodest and lascivious than ravishers can act, or women under a confinement think.

_Man._ I know there are those whose eyes reflect more obscenity than the glasses in alcoves; but there are others too who use a little art with their looks, to make 'em seem more beautiful, not more loving; which vain young fellows like you are apt to interpret in their own favour, and to the lady's wrong.

_Fid._ Seldom, sir. Pray, have you a care of gloating eyes; for he that loves to gaze upon 'em, will find at last a thousand fools and cuckolds in 'em instead of cupids.

_Man._ Very well, sir.--But what, you had only eye-kindness from Olivia?

_Fid._ I tell you again, sir, no woman sticks there; eye-promises of love they only keep; nay, they are contracts which make you sure of 'em. In short, sir, she seeing me, with shame and amazement dumb, unactive, and resistless, threw her twisting arms about my neck, and smothered me with a thousand tasteless kisses. Believe me, sir, they were so to me.

_Man._ Why did you not avoid 'em then?

_Fid._ I fenced with her eager arms, as you did with the grapples of the enemy's fireship; and nothing but cutting 'em off could have freed me.

_Man._ Damned, damned woman, that could be so false and infamous! and damned, damned heart of mine, that cannot yet be false, though so infamous! what easy, tame suffering trampled things does that little god of talking cowards make of us! but--

_Fid._ So; it works, I find, as I expected. [_Aside._

_Man._ But she was false to me before, she told me so herself, and yet I could not quite believe it; but she was, so that her second falseness is a favour to me, not an injury, in revenging me upon the man that wronged me first of her love. Her love! a whore's, a witch's love!--But what, did she not kiss well, sir?--I'm sure I thought her lips--but I must not think of 'em more--but yet they are such I could still kiss--grow to--and then tear off with my teeth, grind 'em into mammocks,[121] and spit 'em into her cuckold's face.

_Fid._ Poor man, how uneasy he is! I have hardly the heart to give so much pain, though withal I give him cure, and to myself new life. [_Aside._

_Man._ But what, her kisses sure could not but warm you into desire at last, or a compliance with hers at least?

_Fid._ Nay, more, I confess--

_Man._ What more? speak.

_Fid._ All you could fear had passed between us, if I could have been made to wrong you, sir, in that nature.

_Man._ Could have been made! you lie, you did.

_Fid._ Indeed, sir, 'twas impossible for me; besides, we were interrupted by a visit; but I confess, she would not let me stir, till I promised to return to her again within this hour, as soon as it should be dark; by which time she would dispose of her visit, and her servants, and herself, for my reception. Which I was fain to promise, to get from her.

_Man._ Ha!

_Fid._ But if ever I go near her again, may you, sir, think me as false to you, as she is; hate and renounce me, as you ought to do her, and, I hope, will do now.

_Man._ Well, but now I think on't, you shall keep your word with your lady. What, a young fellow, and fail the first, nay, so tempting an assignation!

_Fid._ How, sir?

_Man._ I say, you shall go to her when 'tis dark, and shall not disappoint her.

_Fid._ I, sir! I should disappoint her more by going.

_Man._ How so?

_Fid._ Her impudence and injustice to you will make me disappoint her love, loathe her.

_Man._ Come, you have my leave; and if you disgust[122] her, I'll go with you, and act love, whilst you shall talk it only.

_Fid._ You, sir! nay, then I'll never go near her. You act love, sir! You must but act it indeed, after all I have said to you. Think of your honour, sir: love!--

_Man._ Well, call it revenge, and that is honourable: I'll be avenged on her; and thou shalt be my second.

_Fid._ Not in a base action, sir, when you are your own enemy. O go not near her, sir; for Heaven's sake, for your own, think not of it!

_Man._ How concerned you are! I thought I should catch you. What, you are my rival at last, and are in love with her yourself; and have spoken ill of her out of your love to her, not me: and therefore would not have me go to her!

_Fid._ Heaven witness for me, 'tis because I love you only, I would not have you go to her.

_Man._ Come, come, the more I think on't, the more I'm satisfied you do love her. Those kisses, young man, I knew were irresistible; 'tis certain.

_Fid._ There is nothing certain in the world, sir, but my truth and your courage.

_Man._ Your servant, sir. Besides, false and ungrateful as she has been to me, and though I may believe her hatred to me great as you report it, yet I cannot think you are so soon and at that rate beloved by her, though you may endeavour it.

_Fid._ Nay, if that be all, and you doubt it still, sir, I will conduct you to her; and, unseen, your ears shall judge of her falseness, and my truth to you, if that will satisfy you.

_Man._ Yes, there is some satisfaction in being quite out of doubt; because 'tis that alone withholds us from the pleasure of revenge.

_Fid._ Revenge! What revenge can you have, sir? Disdain is best revenged by scorn; and faithless love, by loving another, and making her happy with the other's losings. Which, if I might advise--

_Enter_ FREEMAN.

_Man._ Not a word more.

_Free._ What, are you talking of love yet, captain? I thought you had done with't.

_Man._ Why, what did you hear me say?

_Free._ Something imperfectly of love, I think.

_Man._ I was only wondering why fools, rascals, and desertless wretches, should still have the better of men of merit with all women, as much as with their own common mistress, Fortune.

_Free._ Because most women, like Fortune, are blind, seem to do all things in jest, and take pleasure in extravagant actions. Their love deserves neither thanks, nor blame, for they cannot help it: 'tis all sympathy; therefore, the noisy, the finical, the talkative, the cowardly, and effeminate, have the better of the brave, the reasonable, and man of honour; for they have no more reason in their love, or kindness, than Fortune herself.

_Man._ Yes, they have their reason. First, honour in a man they fear too much to love; and sense in a lover upbraids their want of it; and they hate anything that disturbs their admiration of themselves; but they are of that vain number, who had rather show their false generosity, in giving away profusely to worthless flatterers, than in paying just debts. And, in short, all women, like fortune (as you say) and rewards, are lost by too much meriting.

_Fid._ All women, sir! sure there are some who have no other quarrel to a lover's merit, but that it begets their despair of him.

_Man._ Thou art young enough to be credulous; but we--

_Enter_ Sailor.

_Sail._ Here are now below, the scolding daggled gentlewoman, and that Major Old--Old--Fop, I think you call him.

_Free._ Oldfox:--prithee bid 'em come up, with your leave, captain, for now I can talk with her upon the square, if I shall not disturb you. [_Exit_ Sailor.

_Man._ No; for I'll begone. Come, volunteer.

_Free._ Nay, pray stay; the scene between us will not be so tedious to you as you think. Besides, you shall see how I rigged my 'squire out, with the remains of my shipwrecked wardrobe; he is under your sea valet-de-chambre's hands, and by this time dressed, and will be worth your seeing. Stay, and I'll fetch my fool.

_Man._ No; you know I cannot easily laugh: besides, my volunteer and I have business abroad. [_Exeunt_ MANLY _and_ FIDELIA _on one side_; FREEMAN _on the other._

_Enter_ Major OLDFOX _and_ Widow BLACKACRE.

_Wid._ What, nobody here! did not the fellow say he was within?

_Old._ Yes, lady; and he may be perhaps a little busy at present; but if you think the time long till he comes, [_Unfolding papers_] I'll read you here some of the fruits of my leisure, the overflowings of my fancy and pen.--[_Aside._] To value me right, she must know my parts.--[_Aloud._] Come--

_Wid._ No, no; I have reading work enough of my own in my bag, I thank you.

_Old._ Ay, law, madam; but here's a poem, in blank verse, which I think a handsome declaration of one's passion.

_Wid._ O, if you talk of declarations, I'll show you one of the prettiest penned things, which I mended too myself, you must know.

_Old._ Nay, lady, if you have used yourself so much to the reading harsh law, that you hate smooth poetry, here is a character for you, of--

_Wid._ A character! nay, then I'll show you my bill in chancery here, that gives you such a character of my adversary, makes him as black--

_Old._ Pshaw! away, away, lady! But if you think the character too long, here is an epigram, not above twenty lines, upon a cruel lady, who decreed her servant should hang himself, to demonstrate his passion.

_Wid._ Decreed! if you talk of decreeing, I have such a decree here, drawn by the finest clerk--

_Old._ O lady, lady, all interruption, and no sense between us, as if we were lawyers at the bar! but I had forgot, Apollo and Littleton never lodge in a head together. If you hate verses, I'll give you a cast of my politics in prose. 'Tis "a Letter to a Friend in the Country;" which is now the way of all such sober solid persons as myself, when they have a mind to publish their disgust to the times; though perhaps, between you and I, they have no friend in the country. And sure a politic, serious person may as well have a feigned friend in the country to write to, as an idle poet a feigned mistress to write to. And so here's my letter to a friend, or no friend, in the country, concerning the late conjuncture of affairs, in relation to coffee-houses; or, "The Coffee-man's Case."

_Wid._ Nay, if your letter have a case in't, 'tis something; but first I'll read you a letter of mine to a friend in the country, called a letter of attorney.

_Re-enter_ FREEMAN, _with_ JERRY BLACKACRE _in an old gaudy suit and red breeches of_ FREEMAN'S.

_Old._ What, interruption still! O the plague of interruption! worse to an author than the plague of critics. [_Aside._

_Wid._ What's this I see? Jerry Blackacre, my minor, in red breeches! What, hast thou left the modest seemly garb of gown and cap for this? and have I lost all my good inns-of-chancery breeding upon thee then? and thou wilt go a-breeding thyself from our inn of chancery and Westminster Hall, at coffee-houses, and ordinaries, play-houses, tennis-courts, and bawdy-houses?

_Jer._ Ay, ay, what then? perhaps I will; but what's that to you? Here's my guardian and tutor now, forsooth, that I am out of your huckster's hands.

_Wid._ How! thou hast not chosen him for thy guardian yet?

_Jer._ No, but he has chosen me for his charge, and that's all one; and I'll do anything he'll have me, and go all the world over with him; to ordinaries, and bawdy-houses, or anywhere else.

_Wid._ To ordinaries and bawdy-houses! have a care, minor, thou wilt enfeeble there thy estate and body: do not go to ordinaries and bawdy-houses, good Jerry.

_Jer._ Why, how come you to know any ill by bawdy-houses? you never had any hurt by 'em, had you, forsooth? Pray hold yourself contented; if I do go where money and wenches are to be had, you may thank yourself; for you used me so unnaturally, you would never let me have a penny to go abroad with; nor so much as come near the garret where your maidens lay; nay, you would not so much as let me play at hotcockles with 'em, nor have any recreation with 'em though one should have kissed you behind, you were so unnatural a mother, so you were.

_Free._ Ay, a very unnatural mother, faith, squire.

_Wid._ But, Jerry, consider thou art yet but a minor; however, if thou wilt go home with me again, and be a good child, thou shalt see--

_Free._ Madam, I must have a better care of my heir under age, than so; I would sooner trust him alone with a stale waiting-woman and a parson, than with his widow-mother and her lover or lawyer.

_Wid._ Why, thou villain, part mother and minor! rob me of my child and my writings! but thou shalt find there's law; and as in the case of ravishment of guard--Westminster the Second.

_Old._ Young gentleman squire, pray be ruled by your mother and your friends.

_Jer._ Yes, I'll be ruled by my friends, therefore not by my mother, so I won't: I'll choose him for my guardian till I am of age; nay, maybe, for as long as I live.

_Wid._ Wilt thou so, thou wretch? and when thou'rt of age, thou wilt sign, seal and deliver too, wilt thou?

_Jer._ Yes, marry will I, if you go there too.

_Wid._ O do not squeeze wax, son; rather go to ordinaries and bawdy-houses, than squeeze wax. If thou dost that, farewell the goodly manor of Blackacre, with all its woods, underwoods, and appurtenances whatever! Oh, oh! [_Weeps._

_Free._ Come, madam, in short, you see I am resolved to have a share in the estate, yours or your son's; if I cannot get you, I'll keep him, who is less coy, you find; but if you would have your son again, you must take me too. Peace or war? love or law? You see my hostage is in my hand: I'm in possession.

_Wid._ Nay, if one of us must be ruined, e'en let it be him. By my body, a good one! Did you ever know yet a widow marry or not marry for the sake of her child? I'd have you to know, sir, I shall be hard enough for you both yet, without marrying you, if Jerry won't be ruled by me. What say you, booby, will you be ruled? speak.

_Jer._ Let one alone, can't you?

_Wid._ Wilt thou choose him for guardian, whom I refuse for husband?

_Jer._ Ay, to choose, I thank you.

_Wid._ And are all my hopes frustrated? Shall I never hear thee put cases again to John the butler, or our vicar? never see thee amble the circuit with the judges; and hear thee, in our town-hall, louder than the crier?

_Jer._ No, for I have taken my leave of lawyering and pettifogging.

_Wid._ Pettifogging! thou profane villain, hast thou so? Pettifogging!--then you shall take your leave of me, and your estate too; thou shalt be an alien to me and it forever. Pettifogging!

_Jer._ O, but if you go there too, mother, we have the deeds and settlements, I thank you. Would you cheat me of my estate, i'fac?

_Wid._ No, no, I will not cheat your little brother Bob; for thou wert not born in wedlock.

_Free._ How's that?

_Jer._ How? what quirk has she got in her head now?

_Wid._ I say, thou canst not, shalt not inherit the Blackacres' estate.

_Jer._ Why? why, forsooth? What d'ye mean, if you go there too?

_Wid._ Thou art but my base child; and according to the law, canst not inherit it. Nay, thou art not so much as bastard eigne.[123]

_Jer._ What, what, am I then the son of a whore, mother?

_Wid._ The law says--

_Free._ Madam, we know what the law says; but have a care what you say. Do not let your passion, to ruin your son, ruin your reputation.

_Wid._ Hang reputation, sir! am not I a widow? have no husband, nor intend to have any? Nor would you, I suppose, now have me for a wife. So I think now I'm revenged on my son and you, without marrying, as I told you.

_Free._ But consider, madam.

_Jer._ What, have you no shame left in you, mother?

_Wid._ Wonder not at it, major. 'Tis often the poor pressed widow's case, to give up her honour to save her jointure; and seem to be a light woman, rather than marry: as some young men, they say, pretend to have the filthy disease, and lose their credit with most women, to avoid the importunities of some. [_Aside to_ OLDFOX.

_Free._ But one word with you, madam.

_Wid._ No, no, sir. Come, major, let us make haste now to the Prerogative-court.

_Old._ But, lady, if what you say be true, will you stigmatise your reputation on record? and if it be not true, how will you prove it?

_Wid._ Pshaw! I can prove anything: and for my reputation, know, major, a wise woman will no more value her reputation, in disinheriting a rebellious son of a good estate, than she would in getting him, to inherit an estate. [_Exeunt_ Widow BLACKACRE _and_ Major OLDFOX.

_Free._ Madam.--We must not let her go so, squire.

_Jer._ Nay, the devil can't stop her though, if she has a mind to't. But come, bully-guardian, we'll go and advise with three attorneys, two proctors, two solicitors, and a shrewd man of Whitefriars, neither attorney, proctor, nor solicitor, but as pure a pimp to the law as any of 'em: and sure all they will be hard enough for her, for I fear, bully-guardian, you are too good a joker to have any law in your head.

_Free._ Thou'rt in the right on't, squire, I understand no law; especially that against bastards, since I'm sure the custom is against that law, and more people get estates by being so, than lose 'em. [_Exeunt._