Sir Feeble’s House.
Enter Leticia, pursu’d by Phillis.
Phil. Why, Madam, do you leave the Garden, For this retreat to Melancholy?
Let. Because it suits my Fortune and my Humour; And even thy Presence wou’d afflict me now.
Phil. Madam, I was sent after you; my Lady Fulbank has challeng’d Sir Feeble at Bowls, and stakes a Ring of fifty Pound against his new Chariot.
Let. Tell him I wish him Luck in every thing, But in his Love to me — Go tell him I am viewing of the Garden.
[Ex. Phillis.
Enter Bellmour at a distance behind her.
— Blest be this kind Retreat, this ‘lone Occasion,
That lends a short Cessation to my Torments,
And gives me leave to vent my Sighs and Tears. [Weeps.
Bel. And doubly blest be all the Powers of Love, That give me this dear Opportunity.
Let. Where were you, all ye pitying Gods of Love?
That once seem’d pleas’d at Bellmour’s Flame and mine,
And smiling join’d our Hearts, our sacred Vows,
And spread your Wings, and held your Torches high.
Bel. Oh —
[She starts, and pauses.
Let. Where were you now? When this unequal Marriage
Gave me from all my Joys, gave me from Bellmour;
Your Wings were flag’d, your Torches bent to Earth,
And all your little Bonnets veil’d your Eyes;
You saw not, or were deaf and pitiless.
Bel. Oh my Leticia!
Let. Hah, ’tis there again; that very voice was Bellmour’s: Where art thou, Oh thou lovely charming Shade? For sure thou canst not take a Shape to fright me. — What art thou? — speak! [Not looking behind her yet for fear.
Bel. Thy constant true Adorer, Who all this fatal Day has haunted thee To ease his tortur’d Soul. [Approaching nearer.
Let. My Heart is well acquainted with that Voice, But Oh, my Eyes dare not encounter thee. [Speaking with signs of fear.
Bel. Is it because thou’st broken all thy Vows? — Take to thee Courage, and behold thy Slaughters.
Let. Yes, though the Sight wou’d blast me, I wou’d view it. [Turns.— ’Tis he— ’tis very Bellmour! or so like — I cannot doubt but thou deserv’st this Welcome. [Embraces him.
Bel. Oh my Leticia!
Let. I’m sure I grasp not Air; thou art no Fantom: Thy Arms return not empty to my Bosom, But meet a solid Treasure.
Bel. A Treasure thou so easily threw’st away; A Riddle simple Love ne’er understood.
Let. Alas, I heard, my Bellmour, thou wert dead.
Bel. And was it thus you mourn’d my Funeral?
Let. I will not justify my hated Crime: But Oh! remember I was poor and helpless, And much reduc’d, and much impos’d upon.
[Bellmour weeps.
Bel. And Want compell’d thee to this wretched Marriage — did it?
Let. ’Tis not a Marriage, since my Bellmour lives; The Consummation were Adultery. I was thy Wife before, wo’t thou deny me?
Bel. No, by those Powers that heard our mutual Vows, Those Vows that tie us faster than dull Priests.
Let. But oh my Bellmour, thy sad Circumstances Permit thee not to make a publick Claim: Thou art proscribed, and diest if thou art seen.
Bel. Alas!
Let. Yet I wou’d wander with thee o’er the World, And share thy humblest Fortune with thy Love.
Bel. Is’t possible, Leticia, thou wou’dst fly To foreign Shores with me?
Let. Can Bellmour doubt the Soul he knows so well?
Bel. Perhaps in time the King may find my Innocence, and may extend his Mercy: Mean time I’ll make provision for our Flight.
Let. But how ‘twixt this and that can I defend My self from the loath’d Arms of an impatient Dotard, That I may come a spotless Maid to thee?
Bel. Thy native Modesty and my Industry
Shall well enough secure us.
Feign your nice Virgin-Cautions all the day;
Then trust at night to my Conduct to preserve thee.
— And wilt thou yet be mine? Oh, swear a-new,
Give me again thy Faith, thy Vows, thy Soul;
For mine’s so sick with this Day’s fatal Business,
It needs a Cordial of that mighty strength;
Swear — swear, so as if thou break’st —
Thou mayst be — any thing — but damn’d, Leticia.
Let. Thus then, and hear me, Heaven! [Kneels.
Bel. And thus — I’ll listen to thee. [Kneels.
Enter Sir Feeble, L. Fulbank, Sir Cautious.
Sir Feeb. Lette, Lette, Lette, where are you, little Rogue, Lette?
— Hah — hum — what’s here —
Bel. snatches her to his Bosom, as if she fainted.
Bel. Oh Heavens, she’s gone, she’s gone!
Sir Feeb. Gone — whither is she gone? — it seems she had the Wit to take good Company with her —
[The Women go to her, take her up.
Bel. She’s gone to Heaven, Sir, for ought I know.
Sir Cau. She was resolv’d to go in a young Fellow’s Arms, I see.
Sir Feeb. Go to, Francis — go to.
L. Ful. Stand back, Sir, she recovers.
Bel. Alas, I found her dead upon the Floor, — Shou’d I have left her so — if I had known your mind —
Sir Feeb. Was it so — was it so? — Got so, by no means, Francis. —
Let. Pardon him, Sir, for surely I had died, Bur for his timely coming.
Sir Feeb. Alas, poor Pupsey — was it sick — look here — here’s a fine thing to make it well again. Come, buss, and it shall have it — oh, how I long for Night. Ralph, are the Fidlers ready?
Ral. They are tuning in the Hall, Sir.
Sir Feeb. That’s well, they know my mind. I hate that same twang, twang, twang, fum, fum, fum, tweedle, tweedle, tweedle, then scrue go the Pins, till a man’s Teeth are on an edge; then snap, says a small Gut, and there we are at a loss again. I long to be in bed with a — hey tredodle, tredodle, tredodle, — with a hay tredool, tredodle, tredo — [Dancing and playing on his Stick like a Flute.
Sir Cau. A prudent Man would reserve himself — Good-facks, I danc’d so on my Wedding-day, that when I came to Bed, to my Shame be it spoken, I fell fast asleep, and slept till morning.
L. Ful. Where was your Wisdom then, Sir Cautious? But I know what a wise Woman ought to have done.
Sir Feeb. Odsbobs, that’s Wormwood, that’s Wormwood — I shall have my young Hussey set a-gog too; she’ll hear there are better things in the World than she has at home, and then odsbobs, and then they’ll ha’t, adod, they will, Sir Cautious. Ever while you live, keep a Wife ignorant, unless a Man be as brisk as his Neighbours.
Sir Cau. A wise Man will keep ‘em from baudy Christnings then, and
Gossipings.
Sir Feeb. Christnings and Gossipings! why, they are the very Schools that debauch our Wives, as Dancing-Schools do our Daughters.
Sir Cau. Ay, when the overjoy’d good Man invites ‘em all against that time Twelve-month: Oh, he’s a dear Man, cries one — I must marry, cries another, here’s a Man indeed — my Husband — God help him —
Sir Feeb. Then he falls to telling of her Grievance, till (half maudlin) she weeps again: Just my Condition, cries a third: so the Frolick goes round, and we poor Cuckolds are anatomiz’d, and turn’d the right side outwards; adsbobs, we are, Sir Cautious.
Sir Cau. Ay, ay, this Grievance ought to be redrest, Sir Feeble; the grave and sober part o’th’ Nation are hereby ridicul’d, — Ay, and cuckolded too for ought I know.
L. Ful. Wise Men knowing this, should not expose their Infirmities, by marrying us young Wenches; who, without Instruction, find how we are impos’d upon.
Enter Fiddles playing, Mr. Bearjest and Diana dancing; Bredwel, Noisey, &c.
L. Ful. So, Cousin, I see you have found the way to Mrs. Dy’s Heart.
Bea. Who, I, my dear Lady Aunt? I never knew but one way to a Woman’s Heart, and that road I have not yet travelled; for my Uncle, who is a wise Man, says Matrimony is a sort of a — kind of a — as it were, d’ye see, of a Voyage, which every Man of Fortune is bound to make one time or other: and Madam — I am, as it were — a bold Adventurer.
Dia. And are you sure, Sir, you will venture on me?
Bea. Sure! — I thank you for that — as if I could not believe my Uncle; For in this case a young Heir has no more to do, but to come and see, settle, marry, and use you scurvily.
Dia. How, Sir, scurvily?
Bea. Very scurvily, that is to say, be always fashionably drunk, despise the Tyranny of your Bed, and reign absolutely — keep a Seraglio of Women, and let my Bastard Issue inherit; be seen once a Quarter, or so, with you in the Park for Countenance, where we loll two several ways in the gilt Coach like Janus, or a Spread-Eagle.
Dia. And do you expect I shou’d be honest the while?
Bea. Heaven forbid, not I, I have not met with that Wonder in all my Travels.
L. Ful. How, Sir, not an honest Woman?
Bea. Except my Lady Aunt — Nay, as I am a Gentleman and the first of my Family — you shall pardon me, here — cuff me, cuff me soundly. [Kneels to her.
Enter Gayman richly drest.
Gay. This Love’s a damn’d bewitching thing — Now though I should lose my Assignation with my Devil, I cannot hold from seeing Julia to night: hah — there, and with a Fop at her Feet. — Oh Vanity of Woman! [Softly pulls her.
L. Ful. Oh, Sir, you’re welcome from Northamptonshire.
Gay. Hum — surely she knows the Cheat. [Aside.
L. Ful. You are so gay, you save me, Sir, the labour of asking if your
Uncle be alive.
Gay. Pray Heaven she have not found my Circumstances!
But if she have, Confidence must assist me — [Aside.
— And, Madam, you’re too gay for me to inquire
Whether you are that Julia which I left you?
L. Ful. Oh, doubtless, Sir —
Gay. But why the Devil do I ask — Yes, you are still the same; one of those hoiting Ladies, that love nothing like Fool and Fiddle; Crouds of Fops; had rather be publickly, though dully, flatter’d, than privately ador’d: you love to pass for the Wit of the Company, by talking all and loud.
L. Ful. Rail on, till you have made me think my Virtue at so low Ebb, it should submit to you.
Gay. What — I’m not discreet enough;
I’ll babble all in my next high Debauch,
Boast of your Favours, and describe your Charms
To every wishing Fool.
L. Ful. Or make most filthy Verses of me —
Under the name of Cloris — you Philander,
Who in leud Rhimes confess the dear Appointment;
What Hour, and where, how silent was the Night,
How full of Love your Eyes, and wishing mine.
Faith, no; if you can afford me a Lease of your Love,
Till the old Gentleman my Husband depart this wicked World,
I’m for the Bargain.
Sir Cau. Hum — what’s here, a young Spark at my Wife?
[Goes about ‘em.
Gay. Unreasonable Julia, is that all,
My Love, my Sufferings, and my Vows must hope?
Set me an Age — say when you will be kind,
And I will languish out in starving Wish:
But thus to gape for Legacies of Love,
Till Youth be past Enjoyment,
The Devil I will as soon — farewel.
[Offers to go.
L. Ful. Stay, I conjure you stay.
Gay. And lose my Assignation with my Devil. [Aside.
Sir Cau. ’Tis so, ay, ay, ’tis so — and wise Men will perceive it; ’tis here — here in my forehead, it more than buds; it sprouts, it flourishes.
Sir Feeb. So, that young Gentleman has nettled him, stung him to the quick: I hope he’ll chain her up — the Gad-Bee’s in his Quonundrum — in Charity I’ll relieve him — Come, my Lady Fulbank, the Night grows old upon our hands; to dancing, to jiggiting — Come, shall I lead your Ladyship?
L. Ful. No, Sir, you see I am better provided — [Takes Gayman’s hand.
Sir Cau. Ay, no doubt on’t, a Pox on him for a young handsome Dog.
[They dance all.
Sir Feeb. Very well, very well, now the Posset; and then — ods bobs, and then —
Dia. And then we’ll have t’other Dance.
Sir Feeb. Away, Girls, away, and steal the Bride to Bed; they have a deal to do upon their Wedding-nights; and what with the tedious Ceremonies of dressing and undressing, the smutty Lectures of the Women, by way of Instruction, and the little Stratagems of the young Wenches — odds bobs, a Man’s cozen’d of half his Night: Come, Gentlemen, one Bottle, and then — we’ll toss the Stocking.
[Exeunt all but L. Ful. Bred, who are talking, and Gayman.
L. Ful. But dost thou think he’ll come?
Bred. I do believe so, Madam —
L. Ful. Be sure you contrive it so, he may not know whither, or to whom he comes.
Bred. I warrant you, Madam, for our Parts. [Exit Bredwel, stealing out Gayman.
L. Ful. How now, what, departing?
Gay. You are going to the Bride-Chamber.
L. Ful. No matter, you shall stay —
Gay. I hate to have you in a Croud.
L. Ful. Can you deny me — will you not give me one lone hour i’th’
Garden?
Gay. Where we shall only tantalize each other with dull kissing, and part with the same Appetite we met — No, Madam; besides, I have business —
L. Ful. Some Assignation — is it so indeed?
Gay. Away, you cannot think me such a Traitor; ’tis more important business —
L. Ful. Oh, ’tis too late for business — let to morrow serve.
Gay. By no means — the Gentleman is to go out of Town.
L. Ful. Rise the earlier then —
Gay. — But, Madam, the Gentleman lies dangerously — sick — and should he die —
L. Ful. ’Tis not a dying Uncle, I hope, Sir?
Gay. Hum —
L. Ful. The Gentleman a dying, and to go out of Town to morrow?
Gay. Ay — a — he goes — in a Litter— ’tis his Fancy, Madam — Change of Air may recover him.
L. Ful. So may your change of Mistress do me, Sir — farewel.
[Goes out.
Gay. Stay, Julia — Devil, be damn’d — for you shall tempt no more,
I’ll love and be undone — but she is gone —
And if I stay, the most that I shall gain
Is but a reconciling Look, or Kiss.
No, my kind Goblin —
I’ll keep my Word with thee, as the least Evil;
A tantalizing Woman’s worse than Devil.
[Exit.