The Widow Ranter’s Hall.
Enter Surelove fan’d by two Negroes, followed by Hazard.
Sure. This Madam Ranter is so prodigious a Treater — oh! I hate a Room that smells of a great Dinner, and what’s worse, a desert of Punch and Tobacco — what! are you taking leave so soon, Cousin?
Haz. Yes, Madam, but ’tis not fit I should let you know with what regret I go, — but Business will be obey’d.
Sure. Some Letters to dispatch to English Ladies you have left behind — come, Cousin, confess.
Haz. I own I much admire the English Beauties but never yet have put their Fetters on.
Sure. Never in love! oh, then you have pleasure to come.
Haz. Rather a Pain when there’s no Hope attends it.
Sure. Oh, such Diseases quickly cure themselves.
Haz. I do not wish to find it so; for even in Pain I find a Pleasure too.
Sure. You are infected then, and come abroad for Cure.
Haz. Rather to receive my Wounds, Madam.
Sure. Already, Sir, — whoe’er she be, she made good haste to conquer, we have few here boast that Dexterity.
Haz. What think you of Chrisante, Madam?
Sure. I must confess your Love and your Despair are there plac’d right, of which I am not fond of being made a Confident, since I am assur’d she can love none but Friendly.
[Coldly.
Haz. Let her love on as long as Life shall last, let Friendly take her, and the Universe, so I had my next wish —
[Sighs.
Madam, it is yourself that I adore — I should not be so vain to tell you this, but that I know you have found the Secret out already from my Sighs.
Sure. Forbear, Sir, and know me for your Kinsman’s Wife, and no more.
Haz. Be scornful as you please, rail at my Passion, and refuse to hear it; yet I’ll love on, and hope in spite of you; my Flame shall be so constant and submissive, it shall compel your Heart to some return.
Sure. You’re very confident of your Power, I perceive; but if you chance to find yourself mistaken, say your Opinion and your Affectation were misapply’d, and not that I was cruel.
[Ex. Surelove.
Haz. Whate’er denials dwell upon your Tongue, your Eyes assure me that your Heart is tender.
[Goes out.
Enter the Bagpiper, playing before a great Bowl of Punch, carry’d
between two Negroes, a Highlander dancing after it; the Widow
Ranter led by Timorous; Chrisante by Dullman; Mrs. Flirt
and Friendly, all dancing after it; they place it on the Table.
Dull. This is like the noble Widow all over, i’faith.
Tim. Ay, ay, the Widow’s Health in a full Ladle, Major.
[Drinks. — But a Pox on’t, what made that young Fellow here, that affronted us yesterday, Major?
[While they drink about.
Dull. Some damned Sharper that would lay his Knife aboard your Widow, Cornet.
Tim. Zoors, if I thought so, I’d arrest him for Salt and Battery, lay him in Prison for a swinging Fine, and take no Bail.
Dull. Nay, had it not been before my Mistress here, Mrs. Chrisante, I had swinged him for his Yesterday’s Affront; — ah, my sweet Mistress Chrisante — if you did but know what a power you have over me —
Chris. Oh, you’re a great Courtier, Major.
Dull. Would I were any thing for your sake, Madam.
Ran. Thou art anything, but what thou shouldst be; prithee, Major, leave off being an old Buffoon, that is, a Lover turn’d ridiculous by Age, consider thy self a mere rouling Tun of Nantz, — a walking Chimney, ever smoaking with nasty Mundungus, and then thou hast a Countenance like an old worm-eaten Cheese.
Dull. Well, Widow, you will joke, ha, ha, ha —
Tim. Gad’ Zoors, she’s pure company, ha, ha —
Dull. No matter for my Countenance, — Col. Downright likes my Estate, and is resolved to have it a match.
Friend. Dear Widow, take off your damned Major, for if he speak another word to Chrisante, I shall be put past all my patience, and fall foul upon him.
Ran. S’life, not for the world — Major, I bar Love-making within my Territories, ’tis inconsistent with the Punch-Bowl, if you’l drink, do, if not, be gone.
Tim. Nay, Gad’s Zooks, if you enter me at the Punch-Bowl you enter me in Politicks — well, ’tis the best Drink in Christendom for a Statesman.
[They drink about, the Bagpipe playing.
Ran. Come, now you shall see what my High-land Valet can do.
[A Scots Dance.
Dull. So — I see, let the World go which way it will, Widow, you are resolv’d for mirth, — but come — to the conversation of the Times.
Ran. The Times! why, what a Devil ails the Times? I see nothing in the Times but a Company of Coxcombs that fear without a Cause.
Tim. But if these Fears were laid, and Bacon were hanged, I look upon Virginia to be the happiest part of the World, gads zoors, — why, there’s England— ’tis nothing to’t, — I was in England about six Years ago, and was shewed the Court of Aldermen, some were nodding, some saying nothing, and others very little to purpose; but how could it be otherwise, for they had neither Bowl of Punch, Bottles of Wine or Tobacco before ‘em, to put Life and Soul into ‘em as we have here: then for the young Gentlemen — their farthest Travels is to France or Italy, they never come hither.
Dull. The more’s the pity, by my troth.
[Drinks.
Tim. Where they learn to swear Mor-blew, Mor-dee —
Friend. And tell you how much bigger the Louvre is than Whitehall; buy a suit a-la-mode, get a swinging Clap of some French Marquise, spend all their Money, and return just as they went.
Dull. For the old Fellows, their business is Usury, Extortion, and undermining young Heirs.
Tim. Then for young Merchants, their Exchange is the Tavern, their Ware-house the Play-house, and their Bills of Exchange Billet-Douxs, where to sup with their Wenches at the other end of the Town, — now judge you what a condition poor England is in: for my part I look upon it as a lost Nation, gads zoors.
Dull. I have considered it, and have found a way to save all yet.
Tim. As how, I pray?
Dull. As thus: we have Men here of great Experience and Ability — now I would have as many sent into England, as would supply all Places and Offices, both Civil and Military, d’ye see; their young Gentry should all travel hither for breeding, and to learn the mysteries of State.
Friend. As for the old covetous Fellows, I would have the Tradesmen get in their Debts, break and turn Troopers.
Tim. And they’d be soon weary of Extortion, gad zoors.
Dull. Then for the young Merchants, there should be a Law made, none should go beyond Ludgate.
Friend. You have found out the only way to preserve that great Kingdom.
[Drinking all this while sometimes.
Tim. Well, gad zoors, ’tis a fine thing to be a good Statesman.
Friend. Ay, Cornet, which you had never been had you staid in Old England.
Dull. Why, Sir, we were somebody in England.
Friend. So I heard, Major.
Dull. You heard, Sir! what have you heard? he’s a Kidnapper that says he heard any thing of me — and so my service to you. — I’ll sue you, Sir, for spoiling my Marriage here by your Scandals with Mrs. Chrisante: but that shan’t do, Sir, I’ll marry her for all that, and he’s a Rascal that denies it.
Friend. S’death, you lye, Sir — I do.
Tim. Gad zoors, Sir, lye to a Privy-Counsellor, a Major of Horse! Brother, this is an Affront to our Dignities: draw and I’ll side with you.
[They both draw on Friendly, the Ladies run off.
Friend. If I disdain to draw, ’tis not that I fear your base and cowardly Force, but for the respect I bear you as Magistrates, and so I leave you.
[Goes out.
Tim. An arrant Coward, gad zoors.
Dull. A mere Paultroon, and I scorn to drink in his Company.
[Exeunt, putting up their Swords.