BERINTHIA’S Dressing-room.
Enter LOVELESS.
Love. So, thus far all’s well: I have got into her dressing-room, and it being dusk, I think nobody has perceived me steal into the house. I heard Berinthia tell my wife she had some particular letters to write this evening, before she went to Sir
Tunbelly’s, and here are the implements of correspondence. — How shall I muster up assurance to show myself, when she comes? I think she has given me encouragement; and, to do my impudence justice, I have made the most of it. — I hear a door open, and some one coming. If it should be my wife, what the devil should I say? I believe she mistrusts me, and, by my life, I don’t deserve her tenderness. However, I am determined to reform, though not yet. Ha! Berinthia! — So, I’ll step in here, till I see what sort of humour she is in. [Goes into the closet.]
Enter BERINTHIA.
Ber. Was ever so provoking a situation! To think I should sit and hear him compliment Amanda to my face! I have lost all patience with them both! I would not for something have Loveless know what temper of mind they have piqued me into; yet I can’t bear to leave them together. No, I’ll put my papers away, and return, to disappoint them. — [Goes to the closet.] — O
Lord! a ghost! a ghost! a ghost!
Re-enter LOVELESS.
Love. Peace, my angel; it’s no ghost, but one worth a hundred spirits.
Ber. How, sir, have you had the insolence to presume to — run in again; here’s somebody coming. [LOVELESS goes into the closet.]
Enter MAID.
Maid. O Lord, ma’am, what’s the matter?
Ber. O Heavens! I’m almost frightened out of my wits! I thought verily I had seen a ghost, and ’twas nothing but a black hood pinned against the wall. You may go again; I am the fearfullest fool! [Exit MAID.]
Re-enter LOVELESS.
Love. Is the coast clear?
Ber. The coast clear! Upon my word, I wonder at your assurance.
Love. Why, then, you wonder before I have given you a proof of it. But where’s my wife?
Ber. At cards.
Love. With whom?
Ber. With Townly.
Love. Then we are safe enough.
Ber. You are so! Some husbands would be of another mind, were he at cards with their wives.
Love. And they’d be in the right on’t, too; but I dare trust mine.
Ber. Indeed! and she, I doubt not, has the same confidence in you. Yet, do you think she’d be content to come and find you here?
Love. Egad, as you say, that’s true! — Then for fear she should come, hadn’t we better go into the next room, out of her way?
Ber. What, in the dark?
Love. Ay, or with a light, which you please.
Ber. You are certainly very impudent.
Love. Nay, then — let me conduct you, my angel!
Ber. Hold, hold! you are mistaken in your angel, I assure you.
Love. I hope not; for by this hand I swear —
Ber. Come, come, let go my hand, or I shall hate you! —
I’ll cry out, as I live!
Love. Impossible! you cannot be so cruel.
Ber. Ha! here’s some one coming. Begone instantly.
Love. Will you promise to return, if I remain here?
Ber. Never trust myself in a room again with you while I live.
Love. But I have something particular to communicate to you.
Ber. Well, well, before we go to Sir Tunbelly’s, I’ll walk upon the lawn. If you are fond of a moonlight evening, you’ll find me there.
Love. I’faith, they’re coming here now! I take you at your word. [Exit into the closet.]
Ber. ’Tis Amanda, as I live! I hope she has not heard his voice; though I mean she should have her share of jealousy in her turn.
Enter AMANDA.
Aman. Berinthia, why did you leave me?
Ber. I thought I only spoiled your party.
Aman. Since you have been gone, Townly has attempted to renew his importunities. I must break with him, for I cannot venture to acquaint Mr. Loveless with his conduct.
Ber. Oh, no! Mr. Loveless mustn’t know of it by any means.
Aman. Oh, not for the world — I wish, Berinthia, you would undertake to speak to Townly on the subject.
Ber. Upon my word, it would be a very pleasant subject for me to talk upon! But, come, let us go back; and you may depend on’t I’ll not leave you together again, if I can help it.
[Exeunt.]
Re-enter LOVELESS.
Love. So — so! a pretty piece of business I have overheard!
Townly makes love to my wife, and I am not to know it for all the world. I must inquire into this — and, by Heaven, if I find that
Amanda has, in the smallest degree — yet what have I been at here! — Oh, ‘sdeath! that’s no rule.
That wife alone unsullied credit wins,
Whose virtues can atone her husband’s sins,
Thus, while the man has other nymphs in view,
It suits the woman to be doubly true.
[Exit.]