RAMBLE. Very slightly indisposed of a cold at my departure.
POLITIC. I heartily forgive you all: so let me see you all embrace one another. This is the comfort of age, Mr. Worthy.
SOTMORE. Let me embrace you all together. — I have found this day two good women — and they have fallen to the share of my friends — and I will get drunk this night, if the spirit of wine will do it — I’ll drink to your happiness, while you are enjoying it. — While you are tasting the joys of Venus, I will swallow down the delights of Bacchus. — I despair of either of your company this month yet — but the justice shall celebrate this night with me. — Come, honest justice — I have found one honest justice too.
WORTHY. Really, sir, I think you have sufficiently celebrated already.
SOTMORE. No, but I have not — And you, sir, will be drunk at your children’s wedding-night.
POLITIC. I never drink any thing but coffee, sir.
SOTMORE. Damn your coffee —
RAMBLE. Sotmore, thou shalt have justice — Mr. Worthy, I assure you, notwithstanding this humour, the world hath not an honester man.
WORTHY. It is pity he should besot himself so. Your character of him encourages me to employ some labour in advising him to quit so beastly a pleasure. Come, gentlemen, I desire you would celebrate this day at my house. To-morrow, I will proceed to take all possible measures to your receiving satisfaction for your injuries, and making public example of so great a villain: for the crimes of a magistrate give the greatest sanction to sin.
No reverence that church or state attends
Whose laws the priest or magistrate offends.
EPILOGUE
SPOKEN BY MRS. YOUNGER
AT length the dreadful hurricane is ended,
And I and spouse are safe together landed.
For after all this mighty fuss about it,
Our play hath ended modestly without it.
But, ladies, did not you too sympathise?
Hey, pray, confess, do all your frowns arise
Because so much of Rape and Rape we bawl?
Or is it, that we have no Rape at all?
Indeed, our Poet, to oblige the age,
Had brought a dreadful scene upon the stage:
But I, perceiving what his Muse would drive at,
Told him the ladies never would connive at
A downright actual Rape — unless in private.
But notwithstanding what these poets tell us,
Who’d think our beaus were such high-mettled fellow
Oh! may our youth, whose vigour is so parlous,
To Italy be wafted with Don Carlos:
There should one victory but give them scope.
They would not leave one maidenhead for the Pope;
Or should some new pope Joan the chair possess,
They’d play the devil with her — holiness.
No nunnery one virgin should enclose,
But new Rome fall by what the old arose.
‘Twas a strange doctrine that Lucretia taught,
When on herself revenged her lover’s fault!
Heathenish wretch! The pious Christian wife.
Though ravish’d, still contents herself with life:
So zealous from self-murder we refrain,
We live, though sure of ravishing again.
But may no fears of such a fate affright
The beauteous kind spectators of to-night!
Safe to your husband’s arms may you escape,
And never know that dreadful thing, a RAPE!
THE LETTER-WRITER S
OR, A NEW WAY TO KEEP A WIFE AT HOME
This drama was first performed on 24 March 1731 at Haymarket and concerns two merchants that strive to keep their wives faithful. The farce deals with themes of sex and adultery and was commercially a failure, running for only four nights. While Fielding avoided the traditional clichés of the genre, he was severely criticised by contemporary critics, with one reviewer complaining that “the missing moral purpose is the key failure of the play”.
The Letter-Writers revolves around two old merchants named Mr Wisdom and Mr Softly. Each has a young wife and the two men are afraid that their wives will make cuckolds of them. They decide to send a threatening letter to each other’s wife in order to scare them into staying faithful. The letters do not work and Mrs Softly spends her time pursuing men about town while Mrs Wisdom stays at home with Rakel, an officer. While with Rakel, Mrs Wisdom is almost caught by Mr Wisdom but she is able to sneak him into a closet.
CONTENTS
DRAMATIS PERSONAÆ
ACT I.
ACT II.
ACT III.
DRAMATIS PERSONAÆ
MEN
RAKEL — Mr. Lacy.
COMMONS — Mr. Mullart.
MR. WISDOM — Mr. Jones.
MR. SOFTLY — Mr. Hallam.
RISQUE — Mr. Reynhold.
JOHN — Mr. Wathan.
SNEAKSBY — Mr. Davenport.
WOMEN
MRS. WISDOM — Mrs. Lacy.
MRS. SOFTLY — Mrs. Mullart.
BETTY — Mrs. Stokes.
Constable, Whores, Fiddlers, Servants, &c.
SCENE. — THE STREET
ACT I.
SCENE I.
The Street
RAKEL, RISQUE.
RAKEL. [Reading a letter.]
“Sir, — Your late behaviour hath determined me never to see you more; if you get entrance into this house for the future, it will not be by my consent: for I desire you would henceforth imagine there never was any acquaintance between you and LUCRETIA SOFTLY.”
So! the letter was thrown out of the window, was it?
RISQUE. Ay, sir, I am sure there is no good news in it by the face of that jade Susan. I know by the countenance of the maid when the mistress is in good humour.
RAKEL. Well, may you meet with better success in the next expedition. Here, carry this letter to Mrs. Wisdom, I’ll wait here till you return with an answer.
RISQUE. But, sir —
RAKEL. Well, sir?
RISQUE. This affair, sir, may end in a blanketing, and that is a danger I never love to run with an empty stomach.
RAKEL. Sirrah; if I were to be tossed myself I would wish to be as empty as possible; but thou art such an epicure, thou art continually thinking on thy belly.
RISQUE. The reason of that is very plain, sir; for I am continually hungry. Whilst I followed your honour’s heels as a soldier I expected no better fare; but, since I have been promoted to the office of pimp, I ought to live in another manner. Would it not vex a man to the heart to run about gnawing his nails like a starved skeleton, and see every day so many plump brethren of the same profession riding in their coaches?
RAKEL. Bring me but an answer to my wish, and then —
RISQUE. Don’t promise me, sir — for then I shall be sure of having nothing. If you were but as like a great man in your riches as you are in your promises, I should dine oftener by two or three days a week than I do now.
RAKEL. To your business. It is happy for the nation that this fellow ran away from his master; for, had he become an authorised attorney, he would have been a greater burden to the town he was quartered on than our whole regiment.
SCENE II.
RAKEL, COMMONS
COMMONS. Captain Rakel, your servant.
RAKEL. Jack Commons! — My dear rake, welcome to town: how do all our friends at quarters?
COMMONS. All in the old way. I left your two brother officers with two parsons and the mayor of the town as drunk as your drums.
RAKEL. Mr. Mayor, indeed, is a thorough honest fellow; and hath not, I believe, been sober since he was in the chair; he encourages that virtue as a magistrate, which he lives by as a publican.
COMMONS. Very fine, faith! and if the mayor was a glazier, I suppose he would encourage breaking windows too.
RAKEL. But prithee, what hath brought thee to town?
COMMONS. My own inclinatio
ns chiefly. I resolved to take one swing in the charming plains of iniquity; so I am come to take my leave of this delicious lewd place, of all the rakes and whores of my acquaintance, — to spend one happy month in the joys of wine and women, and then sneak down into the country, and go into orders.
RAKEL. Ha, ha, ha! And hast thou the impudence to pretend to a call?
COMMONS. Ay, sir; the usual call; I have the promise of a good living. Lookee, captain, my call of piety is much the same as yours of honour. — You will fight, and I shall pray, for the same reasons, I assure you.
RAKEL. If thy gown doth not rob thee of sincerity, thou wilt have one virtue under it at least.
COMMONS. Ay, ay, sincerity is all that can be expected; that is the chief difference among men. All men have sins; but some hide them. Vice is as natural to us as our skins, and both would equally appear, if we had neither clothes nor hypocrisy to cover them.
RAKEL. Thou art a fine promising holder forth, faith, and dost begin to preach in a most orthodox manner.
COMMONS. Pox of preaching! will you go steal an act or two of the new tragedy?
RAKEL. Not! I go to no tragedy — but the tragedy of Tom Thumb.
COMMONS. The tragedy of Tom Thumb! what the devil is that?
RAKEL. Why, sir, it is a tragedy that makes me laugh: and, if your sermons will do as much, I shall be glad to make one of your audience.
COMMONS. Will you go to the tavern?
RAKEL. No, I am engaged.
COMMONS. Engaged; then it must be to a bawdy-house, and I’ll along with you.
RAKEL. Indeed, you cannot, my young Levite; for mine is a private bawdy-house, and you will not be admitted, even though you had your gown on.
COMMONS. If thy engagement be not pressing, thou shalt go along with me: I will introduce thee to a charming fine girl, a relation of mine.
RAKEL. Dost thou think me dull enough to undergo the ceremonies of being introduced by a relation to a modest woman? — Hast thou a mind to marry me to her?
COMMONS. No, sir, she is married already. — There are a brace of them, as fine women as you have seen, and both married to old husbands.
RAKEL. Nay, then they are worth my acquaintance, and some other time thou shalt introduce me to them.
COMMONS. Nay, thou shalt go drink tea with one of them now — It is but just by — I dined there to-day, and my uncle is now gone abroad. Come, ‘tis but two steps into the square here, at the first two lamps.
RAKEL. The first two lamps!
COMMONS. Ay, no farther — Her husband’s name is “Wisdom”.
RAKEL. By all that’s unlucky, the very woman I have sent Risque to! — [Aside.
COMMONS. Come, we’ll go make her a visit now, and to-morrow I’ll carry thee to my aunt Softly.
RAKEL. Another mistress of mine, by Lucifer. [Aside.
Hast thou no more female relations in town?
COMMONS. No more! Won’t two serve your unreasonable appetite?
RAKEL. But thou seemest to be so free of them, I could wish thee, for the sake of the publie, related to all the beauties in Christendom. But, Jack, I hope these two aunts of thine are not rigidly virtuous?
COMMONS. Ha, ha, ha! — Do not I tell thee they are young and handsome, and that their husbands are old?
RAKEL. And thou wouldst not take it amiss if one were to dub an uncle of thine a cuckold?
COMMONS. Harkye, Tom, if thou hadst read as much as I, thou wouldst know that cuckold is no such term of reproach as it is imagined: half the great men in history are cuckolds on record. Take it amiss! ha, ha, ha! Why, my uncle himself will not; for the whole world knows he is a cuckold already.
RAKEL. How?
COMMONS. Ay, sir, when an old man goes publicly to church with a young woman he proclaims that title loud enough. But come, will you to my aunt?
RAKEL. You must excuse me now.
COMMONS. When I make you such another offer, you sha’n’t refuse it: I thought you would have postponed any business for a mistress.
RAKEL. But I am in pursuit of another mistress, one I am pre-engaged to. — Afterwards, sir, I am at the service of your whole family.
COMMONS. Success attend your iniquity. — I’ll inquire for you at the Tilt Yard. So, your servant.
RAKEL. Yours. — A very pretty fellow this — I find, if he should discover my amours, he is not likely to be any obstacle to them.
SCENE III.
RAKEL, RISQUE.
RAKEL. So, sir.
RISQUE. Sir, I have with great dexterity delivered your honour’s letter, and with equal pleasure have brought you an answer.
RAKEL. [Reads.]
“Be here at the time you mention; my husband is luckily out of the way. I wish your happiness be (as you say) entirely in the power of— “ELIZABETH WISDOM.”
Ay, now thou hast performed well indeed, and I’ll give thee all the money I have in my pocket for an encouragement. Odso! I have but sixpence about me — here, take, take this and be diligent.
RISQUE. Very fine encouragement truly! This it is to serve a poor, beggarly, lousy — If half this dexterity had been employed in the service of a great man, I had been a captain or a Middlesex justice long ago — But I must tug along the empty portmanteau of this shabby no-pay ensign. Pox on’t, what can a man expect who is but the rag-carrier of a rag-carrier?
SCENE IV.
MRS. WISDOM, RAKEL.
MRS. WISDOM. Sure never any thing was so lucky for us as this threatening letter: while my husband imagined I should go abroad, he was almost continually at home; but now he thinks himself secure of my not venturing out, he is scarce ever with me.
RAKEL. How shall I requite this goodness, which can make such a confinement easy for my sake?
MRS. WISDOM. The woman that thinks it worth her while to confine herself for her gallant thinks herself sufficiently requited by his company.
BETTY. [Entering.] Oh! madam, here’s my master come home: had he not quarrelled with the footman at the door he had certainly found you together.
RAKEL. What shall I do?
MRS. WISDOM. Step into this closet — quick, quick, what can have sent him home so soon?
SCENE V.
MR. WISDOM, MRS. WISDOM.
MRS. WISDOM. Oh! my dear! you are better than your word now; this is kind indeed, to return so much earlier than your promise.
MR. WISDOM. Mr. Mortgageland hath disappointed me: I’m afraid somebody else hath taken him off my hands: so let some of the servants get me my nightgown and slippers, for I intend to stay at home all the evening.
MRS. WISDOM. Was exer such ill-luck — they are both in my closet. Lord, child, why will you put on that odious nightgown; indeed, it doth not become you — you don’t look pretty in it, lovey, indeed you don’t.
MR. WISDOM. Pshaw! it doth not become a wife to dislike her husband in any dress whatsoever.
MRS. WISDOM. Well, my dear, if you command, I will be always ready to obey. — Betty, go fetch your master’s nightgown out of my closet. — Take care you don’t open the door too wide, lest you throw down a china basin that is just within it.
MR. WISDOM. Come, give me a kiss; you look very pretty to-night, you little wanton rogue. — Adod! I shall, I shall make thee amends for the pleasures you miss abroad.
MRS. WISDOM. So you won’t put the money where the rogues order you, and you’ll have your poor wife murdered to save twenty guineas.
MR. WISDOM. If you stay at home, you will not be murdered, and I shall save many a twenty guineas.
MRS. WISDOM. But then, I shall lose all my acquaintance by not returning their visits.
MR. WISDOM. Then I shall lose all my torments: and truly, if I owe this loss to the letter-writer, I am very much obliged to him. I would have tied a much larger purse to the knocker of my door to have kept it free from that rattat-tat-tat-tat, which continually thundered at it.
SCENE VI.
MR. SOFTLY, MR. WISDOM, MRS. WISDOM.
MR. SOFTLY. Mr. Wisdom, your
servant; madam, I am your humble servant: a friend of yours, Mr. Wisdom, expects you at Tom’s.
MR. WISDOM. Nay, if he be come, I must leave thee for one hour, my dear. So, take the key of my closet, and fetch me that bundle of parchment that lies in the bureau.
MRS. WISDOM. I will, my dear. — (This is extremely lucky.) — [Aside.
SCENE VII.
MR. WISDOM, MR. SOFTLY.
MR. SOFTLY. Well: doth the plot succeed notably?
Complete Fictional Works of Henry Fielding Page 266