SCENE I.--ELIZA'S _Lodgings.

_Enter_ OLIVIA _and_ ELIZA.

_Oliv._ Ah, cousin! nothing troubles me but that I have given the malicious world its revenge, and reason now to talk as freely of me as I used to do of it.

_Eliza._ Faith, then, let not that trouble you; for, to be plain, cousin, the world cannot talk worse of you than it did before.

_Oliv._ How, cousin! I'd have you to know, before this _faux pas_, this trip of mine, the world could not talk of me.

_Eliza._ Only that you mind other people's actions so much that you take no care of your own, but to hide 'em; that, like a thief, because you know yourself most guilty, you impeach your fellow-criminals first, to clear yourself.

_Oliv._ O wicked world!

_Eliza._ That you pretend an aversion to all mankind in public, only that their wives and mistresses may not be jealous, and hinder you of their conversation in private.

_Oliv._ Base world!

_Eliza._ That abroad you fasten quarrels upon innocent men for talking of you, only to bring 'em to ask your pardon at home, and to become dear friends with them, who were hardly your acquaintance before.

_Oliv._ Abominable world!

_Eliza._ That you condemn the obscenity of modern plays, only that you may not be censured for never missing the most obscene of the old ones.

_Oliv._ Damned world!

_Eliza._ That you deface the nudities of pictures, and little statues, only because they are not real.[124]

_Oliv._ O, fy! fy! fy! hideous, hideous! Cousin, the obscenity of their censures makes me blush!

_Eliza._ The truth of 'em, the naughty world would say now.

_Enter_ LETTICE _hastily._

_Let._ O, madam! here is that gentleman coming up who now you say is my master.

_Oliv._ O, cousin! whither shall I run? protect me, or--[OLIVIA _runs away, and stands at a distance._

_Enter_ VERNISH.

_Ver._ Nay, nay, come--

_Oliv._ O, sir, forgive me!

_Ver._ Yes, yes, I can forgive you being alone in the dark with a woman in man's clothes: but have a care of a man in woman's clothes.

_Oliv._ What does he mean? he dissembles only to get me into his power: or has my dear friend made him believe he was a woman? My husband may be deceived by him, but I'm sure I was not. [_Aside._

_Ver._ Come, come, you need not have lain out of your house for this; but perhaps you were afraid, when I was warm with suspicions, you must have discovered who she was.--And, prithee, may I not know it?

_Oliv._ She was!--[_Aside._] I hope he has been deceived: and since my lover has played the card, I must not renounce.

_Ver._ Come, what's the matter with thee? If I must not know who she is, I'm satisfied without. Come hither.

_Oliv._ Sure you do know her; she has told you herself, I suppose.

_Ver._ No, I might have known her better but that I was interrupted by the goldsmith, you know, and was forced to lock her into your chamber, to keep her from his sight; but, when I returned, I found she was got away by tying the window-curtains to the balcony, by which she slid down into the street. For, you must know, I jested with her, and made her believe I'd ravish her; which she apprehended, it seems, in earnest.

_Oliv._ And she got from you?

_Ver._ Yes.

_Oliv._ And is quite gone?

_Ver._ Yes.

_Oliv._ I'm glad on't--otherwise you had ravished her, sir? But how durst you go so far, as to make her believe you would ravish her? let me understand that, sir. What! there's guilt in your face, you blush too: nay, then you did ravish her, you did, you base fellow! What, ravish a woman in the first month of our marriage! 'tis a double injury to me, thou base, ungrateful man! wrong my bed already, villain! I could tear out those false eyes, barbarous, unworthy wretch!

_Eliza._ So, so!--

_Ver._ Prithee hear, my dear.

_Oliv._ I will never hear you, my plague, my torment!

_Ver._ I swear--prithee, hear me.

_Oliv._ I have heard already too many of your false oaths and vows, especially your last in the church. O wicked man! and wretched woman that I was! I wish I had then sunk down into a grave, rather than to have given you my hand, to be led to your loathsome bed. Oh--Oh--[_Pretends to weep._

_Ver._ So, very fine! just a marriage-quarrel! which though it generally begins by the wife's fault, yet, in the conclusion, it becomes the husband's; and whosoever offends at first, he only is sure to ask pardon at last. My dear--

_Oliv._ My devil!--

_Ver._ Come, prithee be appeased, and go home; I have bespoken our supper betimes: for I could not eat till I found you. Go, I'll give you all kind of satisfactions; and one, which uses to be a reconciling one, two hundred of those guineas I received last night, to do what you will with.

_Oliv._ What, would you pay me for being your bawd?

_Ver._ Nay, prithee no more; go, and I'll thoroughly satisfy you when I come home; and then, too, we will have a fit of laughter at Manly, whom I am going to find at the Cock in Bow-street, where I hear he dined. Go, dearest, go home.

_Eliza._ A very pretty turn, indeed, this! [_Aside._

_Ver._ Now, cousin, since by my wife I have that honour and privilege of calling you so, I have something to beg of you too; which is not to take notice of our marriage to any whatever yet a while, for some reasons very important to me. And, next, that you will do my wife the honour to go home with her; and me the favour, to use that power you have with her, in our reconcilement.

_Eliza._ That I dare promise, sir, will be no hard matter. Your servant.--[_Exit_ VERNISH.]--Well, cousin, this, I confess, was reasonable hypocrisy; you were the better for't.

_Oliv._ What hypocrisy?

_Eliza._ Why, this last deceit of your husband was lawful, since in your own defence.

_Oliv._ What deceit? I'd have you to know I never deceived my husband.

_Eliza._ You do not understand me, sure: I say, this was an honest come-off, and a good one. But 'twas a sign your gallant had had enough of your conversation, since he could so dexterously cheat your husband in passing for a woman.

_Oliv._ What d'ye mean, once more, with my gallant and passing for a woman?

_Eliza._ What do you mean? you see your husband took him for a woman.

_Oliv._ Whom?

_Eliza._ Heyday! why, the man he found you with, for whom last night you were so much afraid; and who you told me--

_Oliv._ Lord, you rave sure!

_Eliza._ Why, did you not tell me last night--

_Oliv._ I know not what I might tell you last night, in a fright.

_Eliza._ Ay, what was that fright for? for a woman? besides, were you not afraid to see your husband just now? I warrant only for having been found with a woman! Nay, did you not just now, too, own your false step, or trip, as you called it? which was with a woman too! fy, this fooling is so insipid, 'tis offensive!

_Oliv._ And fooling with my honour will be more offensive. Did you not hear my husband say he found me with a woman in man's clothes? and d'ye think he does not know a man from a woman?

_Eliza._ Not so well, I'm sure, as you do; therefore I'd rather take your word.

_Oliv._ What, you grow scurrilous, and are, I find, more censorious than the world! I must have a care of you, I see.

_Eliza._ No, you need not fear yet, I'll keep your secret.

_Oliv._ My secret! I'd have you to know, I have no need of confidants, though you value yourself upon being a good one.

_Eliza._ O admirable confidence! you show more in denying your wickedness, than other people in glorying in't.

_Oliv._ Confidence, to me! to me such language! nay, then I'll never see your face again.--[_Aside._] I'll quarrel with her, that people may never believe I was in her power; but take for malice all the truth she may speak against me.--[_Aloud._] Lettice, where are you! Let us be gone from this censorious ill woman.

_Eliza._ [_Aside._] Nay, thou shalt stay a little, to damn thyself quite.--[_Aloud._] One word first, pray, madam; can you swear that whom your husband found you with--

_Oliv._ Swear! ay, that whosoever 'twas that stole up, unknown, into my room, when 'twas dark, I know not, whether man or woman, by Heavens! by all that's good; or, may I never more have joys here, or in the other world! Nay, may I eternally--

_Eliza._ Be damned. So, so, you are damned enough already by your oaths; and I enough confirmed, and now you may please to be gone. Yet take this advice with you, in this plain-dealing age, to leave off forswearing yourself; for when people hardly think the better of a woman for her real modesty, why should you put that great constraint upon yourself to feign it?

_Oliv._ O hideous, hideous advice! let us go out of the hearing of it. She will spoil us, Lettice.

[_Exeunt_ OLIVIA _and_ LETTICE _at one door_, ELIZA _at the other._