Complete Fictional Works of Henry Fielding

  WISEMORE. You draw too direct inferences from her conduct towards coxcoMRS. Depend on it, they are mirrors, in which you can hardly discover the mind of a woman of sense, because she seldom shows it them unmasqued. If she be not a woman of sense, I have, indeed, built a castle in the air, which every breeze of perfumes can overturn.

  MERITAL. Why, really, it seems to me very little else, by what I know of her ladyship. But you are one of those reasonable lovers who can live a day on a kind look, a week on a smile, and a soft word would victual you for an East India voyage.

  WISEMORE. I find the conversation of a friend effaces the remembrance of business.

  MERITAL. Any thing to the island of love?

  WISEMORE. No, no, to that of law.

  MERITAL. Success attend you — why, I have been forgetful too, but fortune, I see, is so kind as to remind me.

  SCENE X.

  SIR APISH SIMPLE, MERITAL.

  MERITAL. Sir. Apish, your humble servant.

  SIR APISH SIMPLE. Dear Tom, I kiss your button.

  MERITAL. That’s a pretty suit of yours, Sir Apish, perfectly gay new, and à la mode.

  SIR APISH SIMPLE. He, he, he! the ladies tell me I refine upon them. I think I have studied dress long enough to know a little, and I have the good fortune to have every suit liked better than the former.

  MERITAL. Why, indeed, I have remarked that, as your dull pretenders to wisdom grow wiser with their years, so your men of gaiety, the older they grow, the finer they grow. But come, your looks confess there is more in this. The town says it too.

  SIR APISH SIMPLE. What, dear Tom?

  MERITAL. That you are to be married, and to a Yorkshire great fortune.

  SIR APISH SIMPLE. He, he, he! I’ll make you my confidant in that affair. ‘Tis true, I had such a treaty on foot, for the girl has ten thousand pounds, which would have patched up some breaches in my estate; but a finer lady has vouchsafed to throw a hundred into my lap, and so I have e’en dropt the other.

  MERITAL. What, are you in actual possession?

  SIR APISH SIMPLE. Of her heart, sir, and shall be, perhaps, of every thing else in a day or two. Ah! she’s a fine creature, Tom; she is the greatest beauty, and the greatest wit — Pshaw, can’t you guess whom I mean?

  MERITAL. No for I know no orange-wench of such a fortune. [Aside.

  SIR APISH SIMPLE. Why, who can be all this but Lady Matchless?

  MERITAL. Upon my word, I commend your exchange. Sir Apish, it lies in your power to do me an exquisite favour — and, I know, you will do any thing to serve your friend.

  SIR APISH SIMPLE. I would as much as another, indeed — why, what a pox, does he intend to borrow money on me. [Aside. Yes, yes, as I was saying, Tom, I would do any thing to serve a friend in necessity; but badness of tenants, two or three supernumerary suits of laced clothes, and a bad run of dice, have reduced me really to such an extremity of cash —

  MERITAL. You misapprehend me. You were this morning, I hear, to be married to Helena.

  SIR APISH SIMPLE. And, ha, ha, ha! I must tell it you: I have been just now with Sir Positive Trap, her uncle; and, when he expected the performance of articles, I persuaded him he was mad, laughed at him, and, with a brave front faced him down that I knew nothing of the matter.

  MERITAL. You shall go back then immediately, turn your former visit into raillery, — though it be a little absurd, it will pass on the knight — dissemble a willingness to go through affairs; I will be your chaplain, and may, perhaps, go through affairs in your place.

  SIR APISH SIMPLE. IS she an acquaintance of yours then?

  MERITAL. O, ay.

  SIR APISH SIMPLE. Dear Tom, I am very glad I can oblige you by a resignation, and will do to the utmost of my power; and to show you, sir, that I love to serve a friend, sir, I’ll but step to the next street, and be here, sir, at your commands, sir, in a moment, sir.

  MERITAL. [SOLUS.] My rencounter with the old lady, last night, surprised me: there must have been some mystery in that affair, which my disguise may help me to unravel. Men of capricious tempers would raise a hundred jealousies on this occasion; but it shall be ever my sentiments of a mistress, in all doubtful cases —

  That if she’s true, time will her truth discover;

  But if she’s false, I’ll be as false a lover.

  SCENE XI

  LADY MATCIILESS’S House.

  LADY MATCHLESS, VERMILIA.

  LADY MATCHLESS. Ha, ha, ha! love and scandal are the best sweeteners of tea.

  VERMILIA. The best embitterers, you mean; but, in my opinion, scandal is the sweetest of the two, and least dangerous.

  LADY MATCHLESS. Love is not so dangerous to our sex as you imagine. It is a warfare wherein we always get the better, if we manage prudently; men are perfect empty bullies in it; and, as a certain poet says —

  “Swift to attack, and swift to run away.”

  VERMILIA. Well, but what do you intend by your assignation?

  LADY MATCHLESS. Only to get an excuse for discarding a troublesome lover. Lookee, Vermilia, you shall attack him for me; I am afraid of a discovery myself. If you can but bring him to terms, that is, if you can procure his consent to a second treaty, I shall be very handsomely disengaged of mine.

  VERMILIA. You banter, sure. But, if you are in earnest, I must advise you to get another proxy; for I heartily hate mankind, and will forswear any conversation with them.

  LADY MATCHLESS. Nay, but you shall force your inclinations to serve a friend.

  VERMILIA. And, pray, what has caused this sudden revolution in your temper, since, if I am not mistaken, you, but yesterday, expressed some favour for him?

  LADY MATCHLESS. But I have found him such an out-offashion creature that I am heartily ashamed of him; besides, I have this morning received proposals from that prince of pretty fellows — Lord Formal.

  VERMILIA. O constancy! thou art a virtue.

  LADY MATCHLESS. It is indeed. For virtues, like saints, are never canonised till after they are dead — which poor Constancy has been long ago.

  VERMILIA. I am afraid it proved abortive, and died before it was born. But, if it ever had being, it was most certainly feminine; and, indeed, the men have been so modest to allow all the virtues to be of our sex.

  LADY MATCHLESS. O! we are extremely obliged to them; they have found out housewifery to belong to us too. In short, they throw their families and their honour into our care, because they are unwilling to have the trouble of preserving them themselves.

  VERMILIA. But you rally, sure, in what you say concerning Lord Formal.

  LADY MATCHLESS. Fie! my dear, is a title so ludicrous a thing? — But, come, you shall undertake my assignation with Wisemore.

  VERMILIA. Were I sure it would give an uneasy moment to Malvil, I would; for there is nothing I would stick at to be revenged on him.

  LADY MATCHLESS. When we resolve revenge against our lovers that little rogue Love sits on his throne and laughs till he almost bursts.

  Though ne’er so high our rage, the rogue will find

  Some little, ticklish corner in the mind,

  Work himself in, and make the virgin kind.

  When next before her feet her lover lies,

  All her resentment, in a moment, dies.

  Then with a sigh the tender maid forgives,

  And love’s the only passion that survives.

  ACT V.

  SCENE I.

  SIR POSITIVE TRAP’S House.

  SIR POSITIVE TRAP, HELENA.

  SIR POSITIVE TRAP. I say, it was your own plot, your own contrivance, your own stratagem. You threatened him to — Hey! and he was fool enough to believe you!

  HELENA. He was wise enough to believe me; for I threatened no impossibilities. But don’t put on that severe aspect, dear uncle; for I protest it makes you look so like one of the Cæsar’s heads in our long gallery.

  SIR POSITIVE TRAP. Very likely, there may be a resemblance, indeed; for Julius Cæsar, by his great grandfather’s wife�
�s great grandmother, was a Trap.

  HELENA. Ha, ha, ha! I am afraid we can hardly call him cousin. But pray, did he leave any legacy to us?

  SIR POSITIVE TRAP. A swinging legacy! abundance of honour!

  HELENA. And pray, what will all that honour sell for?

  SIR POSITIVE TRAP. Your right honour is not to be bought nor obtained: it is what a man brings into the world with him. He is as much an upstart who gets his own honour as he who gets his own estate. Take it for a maxim, child, no one can be a great man unless his father has been so before him. Your true old English honour, like your English oak, will not come to any maturity under a hundred years. It must be planted by one generation for the good of another.

  HELENA. But, if I were to choose a husband, I should be more forward to inquire into his own merits than those of his ancestors.

  SIR POSITIVE TRAP. Ay, ay, to be sure. You would prefer one, who is likely to leave a long retinue behind him, to one who has had never so many glorious ancestors before him; and be sooner enamoured of a fine coat than a fine coat of arms. Harkee, hussy, most of these fine fellows are but mere snails, they carry their all upon their backs; and yet it is as difficult to keep our wives and daughters from the one, as our fruit from the other.

  HELENA. Do you think so, sir? I have heard there is not a more dangerous place than a ehina-shop: take care my aunt does not bring one home in a jar, and then you may chance to see it pop forth its horns on the top of your cabinet.

  SIR POSITIVE TRAP. [Aside.] Ha! I must own, I do not like these morning rambles.

  HELENA. Lookee, sir, I can make discoveries to you; and, since my aunt has falsely accused me with being the occasion of Sir Apish’s behaviour to-day, I will tell you out of revenge what I would never have told you out of love. In short, my aunt has —

  SIR POSITIVE TRAP. How! what?

  HELENA. Planted something that wall branch to maturity in less than a hundred years, ha, ha, ha! She has set a modern front upon your old tabernacle, ha, ha, ha! — I hear the coach stop this moment. Step but into that closet, and you shall hear her convict herself. — I’ll bring her to confession.

  SIR POSITIVE TRAP. [Aside.] Hum! methinks I grow suspicious.

  HELENA. Nay, nay, nay, if you don’t accept the trial, I shall proclaim you dare not.

  SIR POSITIVE TRAP. Lookee, hussy, if you wrong my lady, by the right hand of the Traps —

  HELENA. Any, any, punishment. But fly, she’s just here.

  SCENE II.

  LADY TRAP, HELENA.

  LADY TRAP. I am fatigued to death. — Oh! your servant, miss: but, perhaps, I ought to say, mistress; your husband may have changed your title since I saw you.

  HELENA. And your ladyship may have changed your husband’s title — But that change has been made long ago.

  LADY TRAP. What do you mean, madam?

  HELENA. Ha, ha, ha! dear aunt, the world knows the use of china-shops, though Sir Positive does not.

  LADY TRAP. You seem to know, madam, I think, more than is consistent with your years.

  HELENA. And you seem to practise, madam, more than is consistent with yours. The theory becomes my age much better than the practice does yours.

  LADY TRAP. Your age! marry come up; you are always boasting of that youth and beauty which you have.

  HELENA. That’s more excusable than to boast of that youth and beauty which we have not.

  LADY TRAP. I know whom you reflect on. — I thank my stars, indeed, I am no girl; and as for beauty, if my glass be allowed a judge —

  HELENA. A very corrupt judge: for a glass is so wellbred a thing, that it tells every woman she is a beauty. O! it is the greatest flatterer in the world to our faces; but the reverse in one thing, for it never disparages us behind our backs.

  LADY TRAP. Malapert creature! A girl is now-a-days no sooner out of her leading strings than she sets up for a toast. And as the girls are women before their time, so the men are children all their lives; for they will be devouring the green fruit.

  HELENA. And sure the green is preferable to the withered, aunt. Come, come, madam, you had better make me your friend and confidant: for, if you declare war, I shall be able to enlist more soldiers than you. But here’s my hand; and if you will let me into your secrets I’ll give you the honour of a woman never to disclose them.

  SCENE III.

  To them, Sir Apish Simple, Merital disguised as a Parson.

  SIR APISH SIMPLE. Lady Trap, I am your most obedient; sweet mistress Helena, I am everlastingly yours.

  LADY TRAP. Sir Apish, your behaviour this morning staggered us; but I am glad to find you are relapsed.

  SIR APISH SIMPLE. He, he, he! it was all a jest, upon my word; as I question not but my future behaviour will explain to that lady.

  HELENA. It has already explained you, sir, to me, to be the greatest jest in nature.

  LADY TRAP. Sir Apish, you know too much of the world to regard a young lady’s coyness: and I assure you, sir, it is all affected; for she is ever repeating your name, even in her sleep. Don’t blush, child. But you’ll excuse the faults of youth: she will learn more sense.

  HELENA. I don’t know whether you move my anger or my pity most. But for that thing there, I’d have him know, I scorn and detest him.

  SIR APISH SIMPLE. I would not have your ladyship chagrin at my bride’s expression; for I’ll engage we shall hate one another with as much good-breeding as any couple under the sun.

  MERITAL. Give me the permission to lead you, madam.

  SIR APISH SIMPLE. [Apart to LADY TRAP.] If you’d leave miss a few minutes with Mr. Parson here, I would engage for his success. — He is a noted matchmaker.

  LADY TRAP. Niece, pray be attentive to that reverend gentleman; he will convince you of your errors. — Come, Sir Apish, we’ll take a turn in the dining-room; Sir Positive will not be long. [Apart to SIR APISH SIMPLE. [These two speeches spoken together.]

  HELENA. [Aside.] Sir Positive is safe. I’m sure, till I give him an opportunity to sneak off; so I’ve a reprieve at least.

  SCENE IV.

  HELENA, MERITAL.

  HELENA. What, gone? — Ha!

  MERITAL. Be not frightened, dear madam; for I have nothing of sanctity but the masque, I assure you. [Discovering himself.

  HELENA. I believe it, nor of any other virtue.

  MERITAL. Very prettily frowned. — I know some ladies who have practised a smile twenty years, without becoming it so well. — But, come, we have no time to lose.

  HELENA. No, to upbraid you were loss of time, indeed; for the remonstrances of an injured woman have but little weight with such hardened sinners.

  MERITAL. Hum! the sight of a gown has not inspired you, I hope: you don’t intend to preach; but if you do, the wedding, you know, is always before the sermon, — which is one of the chief things wherein hanging and matrimony disagree. [Aside.

  HELENA. Mr. Merital, I liked your raillery well enough whilst I believed you innocent. But as that gaiety in dress, which gives a bloom to beauty, shows deformity in its worst light; so that mirth and humour, which are vastly amiable, in the innocent, look horrid in the guilty.

  MERITAL. Are you really in earnest, child?

  HELENA. That question surprises me, when you know I was witness to your last night’s adventure.

  MERITAL. Faith, my dear, I might have been more justly surprised that you should make me an assignation, and send your aunt to keep it.

  HELENA. I make you an assignation! I’ll never see you more.

  MERITAL. Turn, mighty conqueress, turn your eyes this way,

  And hear at once your priest and lover pray.

  In vain, by frowns, you would the world subdue,

  For when, with all your might, you’ve knit your brow

  Your grandmother more wrinkles has than you.

  Ha, ha, ha! don’t put on those severe looks, dear Helena; good humour sets off a lady’s face more than jewels.

  HELENA. I wish my looks had power to blast you.
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br />   MERITAL. No, no madam. I have a sort of armour called common-sense that’s frown-proof, I assure you. Your smiles may melt, but your frowns will never pierce it. What, to make me an assignation with your own hand, then send your aunt for a proxy? My good nature, indeed, gave it the turn of a trial, — though she was a fitter object to try my vigour than my constancy. [Half aside.

  HELENA. I write to you yesterday!

  MERITAL. Why, I cannot positively say it was you; for I begin to think myself in Don Quixote’s case, and that some wicked enchanters have transmographied my Dulcinea. I’ll leave it to your own judgment whether you are not a little altered since you writ this. [Shows a letter.