SCENE VII.
LOVEGIRLO, GALLONO.
GALLONO. And wilt thou leave us for a woman thus!
Art thou Lovegirlo? Tell me, art thou he,
Whom I have seen the saffron-coloured morn
With rosy fingers beckon home in vain?
Than whom none oftener pulled the pendent bell,
None oftener cried, “Another bottle bring!”
And canst thou leave us for a worthless woman?
LOVEGIRLO. I charge thee, my Gallono do not speak
Aught against woman; by Kissinda’s smiles,
(Those smiles more worth than all the Cornwall mines)
When I drank most, ‘twas woman made me drink,
The toast was to the wine an orange-peel.
GALLONO. Oh! would they spur us on to noble drink,
I too would be a lover of the sex.
And sure for nothing else they were designed,
Woman was only born to be a toast.
LOVEGIRLO. What madness moves thy slander-hurling tongue?
Woman! what is there in the world like woman?
Man without woman is a single boot,
Is half a pair of shears. Her wanton smiles
Are sweeter than a draught of cool small beer
To the scorched palate of a walking sot.
Man is a puppet which a woman moves
And dances as she will — Oh! had it not
Been for a woman, thou hadst not been here.
GALLONO. And were it not for wine — I would not be
Wine makes a cobbler greater than a king;
Wine gives mankind the preference to beasts,
Thirst teaches all the animals to drink,
But drunkenness belongs to only man.
LOVEGIRLO. If woman were not, my Gallono, man
Would make a silly figure in the world.
GALLONO. And without wine all human kind would be
One stupid, snivelling, sneaking, sober fellow.
LOVEGIRLO. What does the pleasures of our life refine?
‘Tis charming woman.
GALLONO. Wine.
LOVEGIRLO. ‘Tis woman.
GALLONO. Wine.
SCENE VIII.
CAPTAIN BILKUM. Much may be said on both sides of this question.
Let me consider what the question is:
If wine or woman be our greater good.
Wine is good — and so is woman too,
But which the greater good [a long pause] I cannot tell.
Either to other to prefer I’m loth,
But he does wisest who takes most of both.
SCENE IX.
LOVEGIRLO, KISSINDA.
LOVEGIRLO. Oh! my Kissinda! Oh! how sweet art thou!
Nor Covent Garden nor Stocks-Market knows
A flower like thee; less sweet the Sunday rose,
With which, in country church, the milkmaid decks
Her ruddy breast: ne’er washed the courtly dame
Her neck with honey-water half so sweet.
Oh! thou art perfume all; a perfume shop.
KISSINDA. Cease, my Lovegirlo, oh! thou hast a tongue
Might charm a bailiff to forego his hold.
Oh! I could hear thee ever, could with joy
Live a whole day upon a dish of tea,
And listen to the bagpipes in thy voice.
LOVEGIRLO. Hear this, ye harlots, hear her and reform:
Not so the miser loves to see his gold,
Not so the poet loves to see his play,
Not so the critic loves to see a fault,
Not so the beauty loves to see herself,
As I delight to see Kissinda smile.
KISSINDA. Oh! my Lovegirlo, I must hear no more,
Thy words are strongest poison to my soul;
I shall forget my trade and learn to dote.
LOVEGIRLO. Oh! give a loose to all the warmth of love.
Love like a bride upon the second night;
I like a ravished bridegroom on the first.
KISSINDA. Thou know’st too well a lady of the town.
If she give way to love, must be undone.
LOVEGIRLO. The town! thon shalt be on the town no more.
I’ll take thee into keeping, take the room
So large, so furnished, in so fine a street,
The mistress of a Jew shall envy thee;
By Jove, I’ll force the sooty tribe to own
A Christian keeps a whore as well as they.
KISSINDA. And wilt thou take me into keeping? —
LOVEGIRLO. Yes.
KISSINDA. Then I am blest indeed — and I will be
The kindest, gentlest, and the cheapest girl.
A joint of meat a day is all I ask,
And that I’ll dress myself — A pot of beer,
When thou dinest from me, shall be all my wine;
Few clothes I’ll have, and those too second-hand;
Then when a hole within thy stocking’s seen,
(For stockings will have holes) I’ll darn it for thee;
With my own hands I’ll wash thy soapened shirt
And make the bed I have unmade with thee.
LOVEGIRLO. Do virtuous women use their husbands so?
Who but a fool would marry that can keep —
What is this virtue that mankind adore?
Sounds less the scolding of a virtuous tongue!
Or who remembers to increase his joy
In the last moments of excessive bliss,
The ring, the licence, parson, or his clerk?
Besides, whene’er my mistress plays me foul,
I cast her, like a dirty shirt, away.
But oh! a wife sticks like a plaster fast,
Like a perpetual blister to the poll.
KISSINDA. And wilt thou never throw me off?
LOVEGIRLO. Never,
‘Till thou art soiled.
KISSINDA. Then turn me to the streets,
Those streets you took me from.
LOVEGIRLO. Forbid it all
Ye powers propitious to unlawful love.
Oh! my Kissinda, by this kiss I swear
(This kiss, which at a shilling is not dear)
I would not quit the joys this night shall give.
For all the virtuous wives or maids alive.
Oh! I am all on fire, thou lovely wench,
Torrents of joy my burning soul must quench.
Reiterated joys!
Thus burning from the fire, the washer lifts
The red-hot iron to make smooth her shifts,
With arm impetuous rubs her shift amain,
And rubs, and rubs, and rubs it o’er again;
Nor sooner does her rubbing arm withhold,
‘Till she grows warm, and the hot iron cold.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
STORMANDRA., CAPTAIN BILKUM.
STORMANDRA. Not, though you were the best man in the land,
Should you, unpaid for, have from me a favour.
Therefore come down the Ready, or I go.
CAPTAIN BILKUM. Forbid it, Venus, I should ever set
So cursed an example to the world:
Forbid, the rake, in full pursuit of joy
Required the unready Ready to come down,
Should curse my name, and cry, “Thus Bilkum did;
To him this cursed precedence we owe.”
STORMANDRA. Rather forbid, that, bilked in after-time,
The chairless girl should curse Stormandra’s name,
That as she walks with draggled coats the street,
(Coats shortly to be pawned) the hungry wretch
Should bellow out, “For this I thank Stormandra!”
CAPTAIN BILKUM. Trust me to-night and never trust me more,
If I do not come down when I get up.
STORMANDRA. And dost thou think I have a soul so mean?
Trust thee! dost think I came last week to town,
The waggon straws yet hanging to my tail
?
Trust thee! oh! when I trust thee for a groat,
Hanover Square shall come to Drury Lane.
CAPTAIN BILKUM. Madam, ‘tis well; your mother may perhaps
Teach your rude tongue to know a softer tone,
And see, she comes, the smiling brightness comes.
SCENE II.
MOTHER PUNCHBOWL, CAPTAIN BILKUM, STORMANDRA.
STORMANDRA. Oh! Mother Punchbowl, teach me how to rail;
Oh! teach me to abuse this monstrous man.
MOTHER PUNCHBOWL. What has he done?
STORMANDRA. Sure a design so base,
Turk never yet conceived.
MOTHER PUNCHBOWL. Forbid it, virtue.
STORMANDRA. It wounds me to the soul — he would have bilked me.
MOTHER PUNCHBOWL. Ha! in my house! oh! Bilkum, is this true?
Who set thee on, thou traitor, to undo me?
Is it some envious sister? such may be;
For even bawds, I own it with a blush,
May be dishonest in this vicious age.
Perhaps, thou art an enemy to us all,
Wilt join malicious justices against us.
Oh! think not thus to bribe the ungrateful tribe,
The hand to Bridewell which thy mother sends,
May one day send thee to more fatal gaol;
And oh! (avert the omen, all ye stars!)
The very hemp I beat may hang my son.
CAPTAIN BILKUM. Mother, you know the passage to my heart,
But do not shock it with a thought so base.
Sooner Fleet Ditch like silver Thames shall flow,
The New-Exchange shall with the Royal vie,
Or Covent Garden’s with St. Paul’s great bell.
Give no belief to that ungrateful woman;
Gods! who would be a bully to a woman?
Canst thou forget — (it is too plain thou canst)
When at the Rummer, at the noon of night,
I found thee with a base apprentice boxing?
And though none better dart the clinched fist,
Yet wast thou overmatched and on the ground.
Then like a bull-dog in Hockleian holes,
Rushed I tremendous on the snotty foe,
I took him by the throat, and kicked him down the stairs.
STORMANDRA. Dost thou recount thy services, base wretch,
Forgetting mine? Dost thou forget the time,
When shivering on a winter’s icy morn,
I found thy coatless carcase at the Round-house?
Did I not then forget my proper woes,
Did I not send for half a pint of gin
To warm th’ ungrateful guts? Pulled I not off
A quilted petticoat to clothe thy back?
That unskinned back, which rods had dressed in red,
Thy only title to the name of Captain?
Did I not pick a pocket of a watch,
A pocket pick for thee?
CAPTAIN BILKUM. Dost thou mention
So slight a favour? Have I not for thee
Fled from the feather bed of soft repose,
And, as the watch proclaimed approaching day,
Robbed the stage coach? — Again, when puddings hot,
And Well-fleet oysters cried, the evening come,
Have I not been a footpad for thy pride?
MOTHER PUNCHBOWL. Enough, my children, let this discord cease,
Had both your merits had, you both deserve
The fate of greater persons — Go, my son,
Retire to rest — gentle Stormandra soon
Will follow yon. See kind consent appear
In softest smiles upon her lovely brow.
CAPTAIN BILKUM. And can I think Stormandra will be mine!
Once more, unpaid for, mine! then I again
Am blest, am paid for all her former scorn.
So when the doting henpecked husband long
Hath stood the thunder of his deary’s tongue;
If, supper over, she attempt to toy,
And laugh and languish for approaching joy,
His raptured fancy runs her charms all o’er,
While transport dances jigs through every pore,
He hears the thunder of her tongue no more.
SCENE III.
STORMANDRA, MOTHER PUNCHBOWL.
MOTHER PUNCHBOWL. Daughter, you use the captain too unkind.
Forbid it, virtue, I should ever think
A woman squeezes any cull too much:
But bullies never should be used as culls.
With caution still preserve the bully’s love;
A house like this without a bully left,
Is like a puppet-show without a Punch.
When you shall be a bawd, and sure that day
Is written in the almanack of fate,
You’ll own the mighty truth of what I say.
So the gay girl whose head romances fill,
By mother married well against her will;
Once past the age that pants for love’s delight,
Herself a mother, owns her mother in the right.
SCENE IV.
STORMANDRA. [Sola.] What shall I do? Shall I unpaid to bed?
Oh! my Lovegirlo! oh! that thou wert here;
How my heart dotes upon Lovegirlo’s name,
Eor no one ever paid his girls like him.
She, with Lovegirlo who had spent the night,
Sighs not in vain for next day’s masquerade,
Sure of a ticket from him — Ha! ye powers,
What is’t I see? Is it a ghost I see?
It is a ghost. It is Lovegirlo’s ghost.
Lovegirlo’s dead; for if he were not dead,
How could his living ghost be walking here?
SCENE V.
LOVEGIRLO, STORMANDRA.
LOVEGIRLO. Surely this is some holiday in hell
And ghosts are let abroad to take the air,
Eor I have seen a dozen ghosts to-night
Dancing in merry mood the winding hayes.
If ghosts all lead such merry lives as these,
Who would not be a ghost!
STORMANDRA. Art thou not one?
LOVEGIRLO. What do I see, ye stars? Is it Stormandra?
STORMANDRA. Art thou Lovegirlo? Oh! I see thou art.
But tell me, I conjure, art thou not dead?
LOVEGIRLO. No, by my soul, I am not.
STORMANDRA. May I trust thee?
Yet if thou art alive, what dost thou here
Without Stormandra? — but thou needst not say,
I know thy falsehood, yes, perfidious fellow,
I know thee false as water or as hell;
Falser than any thing but thyself —
LOVEGIRLO. Or thee.
Dares thus the devil to rebuke our sin!
Dares thus the kettle say the pot is black!
Canst thou upbraid my falsehood; thou! who still
Art ready to obey the porter’s call,
At any hour, to any sort of guest;
Thy person is as common as the dirt
Which Piccadilly leaves on every heel.
STORMANDRA. Can I hear this, ye stars! Injurious man!
May I be ever bilked; —— May I ne’er fetch
My watch from pawn, if I’ve been false to you!
LOVEGIRLO. Oh! impudence unmatched! canst thou deny
That thou hast had a thousand different men?
STORMANDRA. If that be falsehood, I indeed am false.
And never lady of the town was true;
But though my person be upon the town,
My heart has still been fixed on only you.
SCENE VI.
LOVEGIRLO, STORMANDRA, KISSINDA.
KISSINDA. Where’s my Lovegirlo? Point him out, ye stars,
Restore him panting to Kissinda’s arms.
Ha! do I see!
STORMANDRA. Hast thou forgot to rail?
Now call me false, perfidious, and ingrate,
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Common as air, as dirt, or as thyself.
Beneath my rage, hast thou forsaken me?
All my full meals of luscious love, to starve
At the lean table of a girl like that?
KISSINDA. That girl you mention with so forced a scorn,
Envies not all the large repasts you boast;
A little dish oft furnishes enough:
And sure enough is equal to a feast.
STORMANDRA. The puny wretch such little plates may choose;
Give me the man who knows a stronger taste.
KISSINDA. Sensual and base! to such as you we owe
That harlot is a title of disgrace,
The worst of scandals on the best of trades.
STORMANDRA. That shame more justly to the wretch belongs
Who gives those favours which she cannot sell.
KISSINDA. But harder is the wretched harlot’s lot,
Who offers them for nothing, and in vain.
STORMANDRA. Show me the man who thus accuses me.
I own I chose Lovegirlo, own I loved him;
But then I chose and loved him as a cull:
Therefore preferred him to all other men,
Because he better paid his girls than they.
Oh! I despise all love but that of gold:
Throw that aside, and all men are alike.
KISSINDA. And I despise all other charms but love.
Nothing could bribe me from Lovegirlo’s arms;
Him, in a cellar, would my love prefer
To lords in houses of six rooms a floor.
Oh! had I in the world a hundred pounds,
I’d give him all. Or did he (fate forbid!)
Want three half crowns his reckoning to pay,
I’d pawn my under-petticoat to lend them.
Complete Fictional Works of Henry Fielding Page 290