Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB
[blocks in formation]

SINCE 'tis the intent and business of the stage,
To copy out the follies of the age;
To hold to every man a faithful glass,
And show him of what species he's an ass:
I hope the next that teaches in the school,
Will show our author he's a scribbling fool.
And, that the satire may be sure to bite,
Kind Heaven inspire some venom'd priest to write!
And grant some ugly lady may indite!

For I would have him lash'd, by heavens I would!
Till his presumption swam away in blood.
Three plays at once proclaims a face of brass,
No matter what they are; that's not the case;
To write three plays, e'en that's to be an ass.
But what I least forgive, he knows it too,
For to his cost he lately has known you.

Experience shows, to many a writer's smart,
You hold a court where mercy ne'er had part;
So much of the old serpent's sting you have,
You love to damn, as Heaven delights to save.
In foreign parts, let a bold volunteer,
For public good, upon the stage appear,
He meets ten thousand smiles to dissipate his fear.
All tickle on the adventuring young beginner,
And only scourge the incorrigible sinner;
They touch indeed his faults, but with a hand
So gentle, that his merit still may stand:
Kindly they buoy the follies of his pen,
That he may shun 'em when he writes again.
But 'tis not so in this good-natured town;
All's one, an ox, a poet, or a crown;

Old England's play was always knocking down.

ACT I.

SCENE 1.-A Room in Sir JOHN BRUTE'S

House.

Enter Sir JOHN BRUTE.

Sir John. What cloying meat is love-when matrimony's the sauce to it! Two years' marriage has debauched my five senses. Everything I see, everything I hear, everything I feel, everything I smell, and everything I taste-methinks has wife in't. No boy was ever so weary of his tutor, no girl of her bib, no nun of doing penance, nor old

maid of being chaste, as I am of being married. Sure, there's a secret curse entailed upon the very name of wife. My lady is a young lady, a fine lady, a witty lady, a virtuous lady-and yet I hate her. There is but one thing I loathe on earth beyond her that's fighting. Would my courage come up but to a fourth part of my ill-nature, I'd stand buff to her relations, and thrust her out of doors. But marriage has sunk me down to such an ebb of resolution, I dare not draw my sword, though even to get rid of my wife. But here she comes.

Enter Lady BRUTE. Lady Brute. Do you dine at home to-day, sir

John?

Sir John. Why, do you expect I should tell you what I don't know myself?

Lady Brute. I thought there was no harm in asking you.

Sir John. If thinking wrong were an excuse for impertinence, women might be justified in most things they say or do.

Lady Brute. I'm sorry I've said anything to displease you.

Sir John. Sorrow for things past is of as little importance to me, as my dining at home or abroad ought to be to you.

Lady Brute. My inquiry was only that I might have provided what you liked.

Sir John. Six to four you had been in the wrong there again; for what I liked yesterday I don't like to-day, and what I like to-day, 'tis odds I mayn't like to-morrow.

Lady Brute. But if I had asked you what you liked?

Sir John. Why, then, there would be more asking about it than the thing is worth.

Lady Brute. I wish I did but know how I might please you.

Sir John. Ay, but that sort of knowledge is not a wife's talent.

Lady Brute. Whate'er my talent is, I'm sure my will has ever been to make you easy.

Sir John. If women were to have their wills the world would be finely governed.

Lady Brute. What reason have I given you to use me as you do of late? It once was otherwise. You married me for love.

Sir John. And you me for money. So, you have your reward, and I have mine.

Lady Brute. What is it that disturbs you?
Sir John. A parson.

Lady Brute. Why, what has he done to you?
Sir John. He has married me.

[Exit.

Lady Brute. The devil's in the fellow, I think! -I was told before I married him that thus 'twould be: but I thought I had charms enough to govern him; and that where there was an estate, a woman must needs be happy; so, my vanity has deceived me, and my ambition has made me uneasy. But there's some comfort still; if one would be revenged of him, these are good times; a woman may have a gallant, and a separate maintenance too.- The surly puppy!-Yet, he's a fool for't; for hitherto he has been no monster: but who knows how far

he may provoke me? I never loved him, yet I have been ever true to him; and that in spite of all the attacks of art and nature upon a poor weak woman's heart, in favour of a tempting lover. Methinks so noble a defence as I have made should be rewarded with a better usage.-Or who can tell -perhaps a good part of what I suffer from my husband, may be a judgment upon me for my cruelty to my lover.-Lord, with what pleasure could I indulge that thought, were there but a possibility of finding arguments to make it good!--And how do I know but there may ?-Let me see.-What opposes?-My matrimonial vow.-Why, what did I vow? I think I promised to be true to my husband. Well; and he promised to be kind to me. But he han't kept his word.-Why, then, I am

absolved from mine.-Ay, that seems clear to me. The argument's good between the king and the people, why not between the husband and the wife? Oh, but that condition was not expressed.No matter, 'twas understood. Well, by all I see, if I argue the matter a little longer with myself, I shan't find so many bugbears in the way as I thought I should. Lord, what fine notions of virtue do we women take up upon the credit of old foolish philosophers! Virtue's its own reward, virtue's this, virtue's that-virtue's an ass, and a gallant's worth forty on't.

Enter BELINDA.

Lady Brute. Good morrow, dear cousin! Bel. Good-morrow, madam; you look pleased this morning.

Lady Brute. I am so.

Bel. With what, pray?

Lady Brute. With my husband.

Bel. Drown husbands! for yours is a provoking fellow. As he went out just now, I prayed him to tell me what time of day 'twas; and he asked me if I took him for the church-clock, that was obliged to tell all the parish.

Lady Brute. He has been saying some good obliging things to me too. In short, Belinda, he has used me so barbarously of late, that I could almost resolve to play the downright wife-and euckold him.

Bel. That would be downright, indeed.

Lady Brute. Why, after all, there's more to be said for't than you'd imagine, child. I know, according to the strict statute law of religion, I should do wrong; but, if there were a Court of Chancery in heaven, I'm sure I should cast him.

Bel. If there were a House of Lords you might. Lady Brute. In either I should infallibly carry my cause. Why, he's the first aggressor, not I. Bel. Ay, but you know, we must return good for evil.

Lady Brute. That may be a mistake in the translation.-Prithee, be of my opinion, Belinda; for I'm positive I'm in the right; and if you'll keep up the prerogative of a woman, you'll likewise be positive you are in the right, whenever you do anything you have a mind to. But I shall play the fool and jest on, till I make you begin to think I'm in earnest.

Bel. I shan't take the liberty, madam, to think of anything that you desire to keep a secret from

[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors]

him, force yourself away from him, and then be out of humour with everything about you. In a word, never was poor creature so spurred on by desire, and so reined in with fear!

Lady Bente. How strong is fancy!
Bel. How weak is woman!

Lady Brute. Prithee, niece, have a better opinion of your aunt's inclination.

Bel. Dear aunt, have a better opinion of your niece's understanding.

Lady Brute. You'll make me angry.

Bel. You'll make me laugh.

Lady Brute. Then you are resolved to persist?
Bel. Positively.

Lady Brute. And all I can say

Bel. Will signify nothing.

Lady Brute. Though I should swear 'twere false

Bel. I should think it true.

Lady Brute. Then let us both forgive-[Kissing her] for we have both offended: I in making a secret, you in discovering it.

Bel. Good-nature may do much but you have more reason to forgive one, than I have to pardon t'other.

Lady Brute. 'Tis true, Belinda, you have given me so many proofs of your friendship, that my reserve has been indeed a crime. But that you may more easily forgive me, remember, child, that when our nature prompts us to a thing our honour and religion have forbid us, we would (were't possible) conceal, even from the soul itself, the knowledge of the body's weakness.

Bel. Well, I hope, to make your friend amends, you'll hide nothing from her for the future, though the body should still grow weaker and weaker.

Lady Brute. No, from this moment I have no more reserve; and for a proof of my repentance, I own, Belinda, I'm in danger. Merit and wit assault me from without; nature and love solicit me within; my husband's barbarous usage piques me to revenge; and Satan, catching at the fair occasion, throws in my way that vengeance which, of all vengeance, pleases women best.

Bel. 'Tis well Constant don't know the weakness of the fortification; for, o' my conscience, he'd soon come on to the assault!

Lady Brute. Ay, and I'm afraid carry the town too. But whatever you may have observed, I have dissembled so well as to keep him ignorant. So you see I'm no coquette, Belinda: and if you'll follow my advice, you'll never be one neither. 'Tis true, coquetry is one of the main ingredients in the natural composition of a woman; and I, as well as others, could be well enough pleased to see a crowd of young fellows ogling, and glancing, and watching all occasions to do forty foolish officious things. Nay, should some of 'em push on, even to hanging or drowning, why, faith, if I should let pure woman alone, I should e'en be but too well pleased with't.

Bel. I'll swear 'twould tickle me strangely.

Lady Brute. But after all, 'tis a vicious practice in us to give the least encouragement but where we design to come to a conclusion. For 'tis an unreasonable thing to engage a man in a disease which we beforehand resolve we never will apply a cure to.

Bel. 'Tis true; but then a woman must abandon one of the supreme blessings of her life. For

I am fully convinced, no man has half that pleasure in possessing a mistress as a woman has in jilting a gallant.

Lady Brute. The happiest woman then on earth must be our neighbour.

Bel. O the impertinent composition! She has vanity and affectation enough to make her a ridiculous original, in spite of all that art and nature ever furnished to any of her sex before her.

Lady Brute. She concludes all men her captives; and whatever course they take, it serves to confirm her in that opinion.

Bel. If they shun her, she thinks 'tis modesty, and takes it for a proof of their passion.

Lady Brute. And if they are rude to her, 'tis conduct, and done to prevent town-talk.

Bel. When her folly makes 'em laugh, she thinks they are pleased with her wit.

Lady Brute. And when her impertinence makes 'em dull, concludes they are jealous of her favours. Bel. All their actions and their words she takes for granted aim at her.

Lady Brute. And pities all other women because she thinks they envy her.

Bel. Pray, out of pity to ourselves, let us find a better subject, for I'm weary of this. Do you think your husband inclined to jealousy?

Lady Brute. Oh, no; he does not love me well enough for that. Lord, how wrong men's maxims are! They are seldom jealous of their wives, unless they are very fond of 'em; whereas they ought to consider the women's inclinations, for there depends their fate. Well, men may talk; but they are not so wise as we, that's certain. Bel. At least in our affairs.

Lady Brute. Nay, I believe we should outdo 'em in the business of the state too; for methinks they do and undo, and make but bad work on't.

Bel. Why then don't we get into the intrigues of government as well as they?

Lady Brute. Because we have intrigues of our own that make us more sport, child. And so let's in, and consider of 'em. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.-Lady FANCYFUL's Dressing-Room. Enter Lady FANCYFUL, MADEMOISELLE, and Cornet. Lady Fan. How do I look this morning? Cor. Your ladyship looks very ill, truly. Lady Fan. Lard, how ill-natured thou art, Cornet, to tell me so, though the thing should be true Don't you know that I have humility enough to be but too easily out of conceit with myself. Hold the glass; I dare swear that will have more manners than you have.-Mademoiselle, let me have your opinion too.

Mad. My opinion pe, matam, dat your ladyship never look so well in your life.

Lady Fan. Well, the French are the prettiest obliging people; they say the most acceptable, well-mannered things, and never flatter.

Mad. Your ladyship say great justice inteed. Lady Fun. Nay, everything's just in my house but Cornet. The very looking-glass gives her the démenti.-But I'm almost afraid it flatters me, it makes me look so very engaging.

[Looking affectedly in the glass. Mad. Inteed, matam, your face pe handsomer den all de looking-glass in tee world, croyez-moi!

SCENE 11.

Lady Fan. But is it possible my eyes can be so languishing, and so very full of fire?

Mad. Matam, if de glass was burning-glass, I believe your eyes set de fire in de house.

Lady Fan. You may take that night-gown, Mademoiselle.-Get out of the room, Cornet! I can't endure you.-[Exit CORNET.] This wench, methinks, does look so unsufferably ugly.

Mad. Every ting look ugly, matam, dat stand by your latiship.

Lady Fan. No really, Mademoiselle, methinks you look mighty pretty.

Mad. Ah, matam, de moon have no eclat, ven de sun appear.

Lady Fan. O pretty expression ! ever been in love, Mademoiselle?

Mad. Oui, matam.

Lady Fan. Well there may be faults, Mademoiselle, but the design is so very obliging, 'twould be a matchless ingratitude in me to discover 'em.

Mad. Ma foi, matam, I tink de gentleman's song tell you de trute: if you never love, you never be happy.-Ah, que j'aime l'amour moi !

Re-enter CORNET, with another letter.

Cor. Madam, here's another letter for your [Exit. ladyship. Lady Fan. 'Tis thus I am importuned every morning, Mademoiselle. Pray how do the French ladies when they are thus accablées ?

Mad. Matam, dey never complain. Au conHave you traire, when one Frense laty have got hundred lover-den she do all she can-to get hundred more.

[Sighing. Lady Fan. And were you beloved again? [Sighing. Mad. No, matam. Lady Fan. O ye gods! what an unfortunate But nature creature should I be in such a case! has made me nice for my own defence: I'm nice, strangely nice, Mademoiselle. I believe were the merit of whole mankind bestowed upon one single I should still think the fellow wanted someperson, thing to make it worth my while to take notice of him. And yet I could love; nay fondly love, were it possible to have a thing made on purpose for me: for I'm not cruel, Mademoiselle'; I'm only

nice.

Mad. Ah, matam, I wish I was fine gentleman for your sake. I do all de ting in de world to get I make song, I make leetel way into your heart. verse, I give you de serenade, I give great many present to Mademoiselle; I no eat, I no sleep, I be lean, I be mad, I hang myself, I drown myself. Ah ma chère dame, que je vous aimerais !

[Embracing her. Lady Fan. Well, the French have strange obliging ways with 'em ; you may take those two pair of gloves, Mademoiselle.

Mad. Me humbly tanke my sweet lady.

Re-enter CORNET.

Cor. Madam, here's a letter for your ladyship by the penny-post.

[Exit. Lady Fan. Some new conquest, I'll warrant you. For without vanity, I looked extremely clear last night, when I went to the Park.-O agreeable ! Here's a new song made of me and ready set too. O thou welcome thing!-[Kissing it.] Pipe hither, she shall sing it instantly.

Enter PIPE.

Here, sing me this new song, Pipe.

PIPE sings.

Fly, fly, you happy shepherds, fly'
Avoid Philira's charms;

The rigour of her heart denies

The heaven that's in her arms.
Ne'er hope to gaze, and then retire,
Nor yielding, to be blest:
Nature, who form'd her eyes of fire,
Of ice composed her breast.
Yet, lovely maid, this once believe
A slave whose zeal you move;
The gods, alas, your youth deceive,
Their heaven consists in love.
In spite of all the thanks you owe,
You may reproach 'em this,

That where they did their form bestow,
They have denied their bliss.

Call

[Exit.

Lady Fan. Well, strike me dead, I think they have le goût bon! For 'tis an unutterable pleasure to be adored by all the men, and envied by all the women.-Yet I'll swear I'm concerned at the torture I give 'em. Lard, why was I formed to But let me make the whole creation uneasy! read my letter.-[Reads.] If you have a mind to hear of your faults, instead of being praised for your virtues, take the pains to walk in the Greenwalk in St. James's with your woman an hour hence. You'll there meet one who hates you for some things, as he could love you for others, ani therefore is willing to endeavour your reformation. If you come to the place I mention, you'll know who I am; if you don't, you never shall: so take your choice. This is strangely familiar, Mademoiselle; now have I a provoking fancy to know who this impudent fellow is.

Mad. Den take your scarf and your mask, and go to de rendezvous. De Frense laty do justement

[blocks in formation]

nouveau.

Lady Fan. Why, how do I know what designs he may have? He may intend to ravish me for aught I know.

Mad. Ravish!-bagatelle. I would fain see one impudent rogue ravish Mademoiselle; oui, je le voudrais.

Lady Fan. Oh, but my reputation, Mademoiselle, my reputation; ah, ma chère réputation ! Mad. Matam, quand on l'a une fois perdue, on n'en est plus embarrassée.

Lady Fan. Fi Mademoiselle, fi! Reputation is a jewel.

Mad. Qui coûte bien-chère, matam.

Lady Fan. Why sure you would not sacrifice your honour to your pleasure?

Mad. Je suis philosophe.

Lady Fan. Bless me, how you talk! Why, what if honour be a burden, Mademoiselle, must it not be borne ?

Mad. Chacun à sa façon. Quand quelquechosc m'incommode moi, je m'en défais, vite.

Lady Fan. Get you gone, you little naughty Frenchwoman you! I vow and swear I must turn you out of doors, you talk thus.

Mad. Turn me out of doors!_turn yourself out of doors, and go see what de gentleman have to

z 2

say to you.-Tenez.-Voilà [Giving her her things hastily] votre écharpe, voilà votre coiffe, voilà votre masque, voilà tout.-[Calling within.] Hé, Mercure, coquin! call one chair for matam, and one oder for me: va-t'en vite.-[Turning to her lady, and helping her on hastily with her things.] Allons, matam; dépêchez-vous donc. Mon Dieu, quelles scrupules!

Lady Fan. Well for once, Mademoiselle, I'll follow your advice, out of the intemperate desire I have to know who this ill-bred fellow is. But I have too much délicatesse to make a practice on't.

Mad. Belle chose vraiment que la délicatesse, lorsqu'il s'agit de se divertir!-Ah, ça-Vous voilà équipée; partons.-Hé bien !-qu'avez vous donc ?

Lady Fan. J'ai peur.

Mad. Je n'en ai point moi. Lady Fan. I dare not go.

Mad. Démeurez donc.

Lady Fan. Je suis poltronne.

Mad. Tant pis pour vous.

Lady Fan. Curiosity's a wicked devil.

[blocks in formation]

SCENE 1.-St. James's Park.

ACT II.

Enter Lady FANCYFUL and MADEMOISELLE. Lady Fan. Well, I vow, Mademoiselle, I'm strangely impatient to know who this confident fellow is.

Enter HEARTFREE.

Look, there's Heart free. But sure it can't be him; he's a professed woman-hater. Yet who knows what my wicked eyes may have done!

Mad. Il nous approche, madame. Lady Fan. Yes, 'tis he: now will he be most intolerably cavalier, though he should be in love with me.

Heart. Madam, I'm your humble servant; I perceive you have more humility and good-nature than I thought you had.

Lady Fan. What you attribute to humility and good-nature, sir, may perhaps be only due to curiosity. I had a mind to know who 'twas had ill manners enough to write that letter.

[Throwing him his Letter. Heart. Well, and now I hope you are satisfied. Lady Fan. I am so, sir; good b'w'y t’ye. Heart. Nay, hold there; though you have done your business, I han't done mine: by your ladyship's leave, we must have one moment's prattle together. Have you a mind to be the prettiest woman about town, or not? How she stares upon me! What! this passes for an impertinent question with you now, because you think you are so already.

Lady Fan. Pray, sir, let me ask you a question in my turn by what right do you pretend to examine me?

Heart. By the same right that the strong govern the weak, because I have you in my power; for you cannot get so quickly to your coach but I shall

have time enough to make you hear everything I have to say to you.

Lady Fan. These are strange liberties you take, Mr. Heartfree!

Heart. They are so, madam, but there's no help for it; for know that I have a design upon you. Lady Fan. Upon me, sir!

Heart. Yes; and one that will turn to your glory, and my comfort, if you will but be a little wiser than you use to be.

Lady Fan. Very well, sir.

Heart. Let me see your vanity, madam, I take to be about some eight degrees higher than any woman's in the town, let t'other be who she will; and my indifference is naturally about the samie pitch. Now could you find the way to turn this indifference into fire and flames, methinks your vanity ought to be satisfied; and this, perhaps, you might bring about upon pretty reasonable terms.

Lady Fan. And pray at what rate would this indifference be bought off, if one should have so depraved an appetite to desire it?

Heart. Why, madam, to drive a quaker's bargain, and make but one word with you, if I do part with it-you must lay me down-your affectation. Lady Fan. My affectation, sir!

Heart. Why, I ask you nothing but what you may very well spare.

Lady Fan. You grow rude, sir!-Come, Made. moiselle, 'tis high time to be gone.

Mad. Allons, allons, allons!

Heart. [Stopping them.] Nay, you may as well stand still; for hear me you shall, walk which way you please.

Lady Fan. What mean you, sir?

Heart. I mean to tell you, that you are the most ungrateful woman upon earth.

Lady Fan. Ungrateful! To who?
Heart. To nature.

« ZurückWeiter »