Complete Works of William Congreve

by William Congreve

  MRS. FORE. I do, and will help you to the utmost of my power. And I can tell you one thing that falls out luckily enough; my awkward daughter-in-law, who you know is designed to be his wife, is grown fond of Mr. Tattle; now if we can improve that, and make her have an aversion for the booby, it may go a great way towards his liking you. Here they come together; and let us contrive some way or other to leave ’em together.

  SCENE X.

  [To them] Tattle and Miss Prue.

  MISS. Mother, mother, mother, look you here!

  MRS. FORE. Fie, fie, Miss, how you bawl! Besides, I have told you, you must not call me mother.

  MISS. What must I call you then, are you not my father’s wife?

  MRS. FORE. Madam; you must say madam. By my soul, I shall fancy myself old indeed to have this great girl call me mother. Well, but Miss, what are you so overjoyed at?

  MISS. Look you here, madam, then, what Mr. Tattle has given me. Look you here, cousin, here’s a snuff-box; nay, there’s snuff in’t. Here, will you have any? Oh, good! How sweet it is. Mr. Tattle is all over sweet, his peruke is sweet, and his gloves are sweet, and his handkerchief is sweet, pure sweet, sweeter than roses. Smell him, mother — madam, I mean. He gave me this ring for a kiss.

  TATT. O fie, Miss, you must not kiss and tell.

  MISS. Yes; I may tell my mother. And he says he’ll give me something to make me smell so. Oh, pray lend me your handkerchief. Smell, cousin; he says he’ll give me something that will make my smocks smell this way. Is not it pure? It’s better than lavender, mun. I’m resolved I won’t let nurse put any more lavender among my smocks — ha, cousin?

  MRS. FRAIL. Fie, Miss; amongst your linen, you must say. You must never say smock.

  MISS. Why, it is not bawdy, is it, cousin?

  TATT. Oh, madam; you are too severe upon Miss; you must not find fault with her pretty simplicity: it becomes her strangely. Pretty Miss, don’t let ’em persuade you out of your innocency.

  MRS. FORE. Oh, demm you toad. I wish you don’t persuade her out of her innocency.

  TATT. Who, I, madam? O Lord, how can your ladyship have such a thought? Sure, you don’t know me.

  MRS. FRAIL. Ah devil, sly devil. He’s as close, sister, as a confessor. He thinks we don’t observe him.

  MRS. FORE. A cunning cur, how soon he could find out a fresh, harmless creature; and left us, sister, presently.

  TATT. Upon reputation

  MRS. FORE. They’re all so, sister, these men. They love to have the spoiling of a young thing, they are as fond of it, as of being first in the fashion, or of seeing a new play the first day. I warrant it would break Mr. Tattle’s heart to think that anybody else should be beforehand with him.

  TATT. O Lord, I swear I would not for the world —

  MRS. FRAIL. O hang you; who’ll believe you? You’d be hanged before you’d confess. We know you — she’s very pretty! Lord, what pure red and white! — she looks so wholesome; ne’er stir: I don’t know, but I fancy, if I were a man —

  MISS. How you love to jeer one, cousin.

  MRS. FORE. Hark’ee, sister, by my soul the girl is spoiled already. D’ee think she’ll ever endure a great lubberly tarpaulin? Gad, I warrant you she won’t let him come near her after Mr. Tattle.

  MRS. FRAIL. O my soul, I’m afraid not — eh! — filthy creature, that smells all of pitch and tar. Devil take you, you confounded toad — why did you see her before she was married?

  MRS. FORE. Nay, why did we let him — my husband will hang us. He’ll think we brought ’em acquainted.

  MRS. FRAIL. Come, faith, let us be gone. If my brother Foresight should find us with them, he’d think so, sure enough.

  MRS. FORE. So he would — but then leaving them together is as bad: and he’s such a sly devil, he’ll never miss an opportunity.

  MRS. FRAIL. I don’t care; I won’t be seen in’t.

  MRS. FORE. Well, if you should, Mr. Tattle, you’ll have a world to answer for; remember I wash my hands of it. I’m thoroughly innocent.

  SCENE XI.

  Tattle, Miss Prue.

  MISS. What makes ’em go away, Mr. Tattle? What do they mean, do you know?

  TATT. Yes my dear; I think I can guess, but hang me if I know the reason of it.

  MISS. Come, must not we go too?

  TATT. No, no, they don’t mean that.

  MISS. No! What then? What shall you and I do together?

  TATT. I must make love to you, pretty Miss; will you let me make love to you?

  MISS. Yes, if you please.

  TATT. Frank, i’Gad, at least. What a pox does Mrs. Foresight mean by this civility? Is it to make a fool of me? Or does she leave us together out of good morality, and do as she would be done by? — Gad, I’ll understand it so. [Aside.]

  MISS. Well; and how will you make love to me — come, I long to have you begin, — must I make love too? You must tell me how.

  TATT. You must let me speak, Miss, you must not speak first; I must ask you questions, and you must answer.

  MISS. What, is it like the catechism? Come then, ask me.

  TATT. D’ye think you can love me?

  MISS. Yes.

  TATT. Pooh, pox, you must not say yes already; I shan’t care a farthing for you then in a twinkling.

  MISS. What must I say then?

  TATT. Why you must say no, or you believe not, or you can’t tell —

  MISS. Why, must I tell a lie then?

  TATT. Yes, if you’d be well bred. All well bred persons lie. — Besides, you are a woman, you must never speak what you think: your words must contradict your thoughts; but your actions may contradict your words. So when I ask you if you can love me, you must say no, but you must love me too. If I tell you you are handsome, you must deny it, and say I flatter you. But you must think yourself more charming than I speak you: and like me, for the beauty which I say you have, as much as if I had it myself. If I ask you to kiss me, you must be angry, but you must not refuse me. If I ask you for more, you must be more angry, — but more complying; and as soon as ever I make you say you’ll cry out, you must be sure to hold your tongue.

  MISS. O Lord, I swear this is pure. I like it better than our old-fashioned country way of speaking one’s mind; — and must not you lie too?

  TATT. Hum — yes — but you must believe I speak truth.

  MISS. O Gemini! Well, I always had a great mind to tell lies; but they frighted me, and said it was a sin.

  TATT. Well, my pretty creature; will you make me happy by giving me a kiss?

  MISS. No, indeed; I’m angry at you. [Runs and kisses him.]

  TATT. Hold, hold, that’s pretty well, but you should not have given it me, but have suffered me to have taken it.

  MISS. Well, we’ll do it again.

  TATT. With all my heart. — Now then, my little angel. [Kisses her.]

  MISS. Pish.

  TATT. That’s right, — again, my charmer. [Kisses again.]

  MISS. O fie, nay, now I can’t abide you.

  TATT. Admirable! That was as well as if you had been born and bred in Covent Garden. And won’t you shew me, pretty miss, where your bed-chamber is?

  MISS. No, indeed won’t I; but I’ll run there, and hide myself from you behind the curtains.

  TATT. I’ll follow you.

  MISS. Ah, but I’ll hold the door with both hands, and be angry; — and you shall push me down before you come in.

  TATT. No, I’ll come in first, and push you down afterwards.

  MISS. Will you? Then I’ll be more angry and more complying.

  TATT. Then I’ll make you cry out.

  MISS. Oh, but you shan’t, for I’ll hold my tongue.

  TATT. O my dear apt scholar!

  MISS. Well, now I’ll run and make more haste than you.

  TATT. You shall not fly so fast, as I’ll pursue.

  ACT III. — SCENE I.

  Nurse alone.

  NURSE. Miss, Miss, Miss Prue! Mercy on me, marry and amen. Why, what’s become of the
child? Why Miss, Miss Foresight! Sure she has locked herself up in her chamber, and gone to sleep, or to prayers: Miss, Miss, — I hear her. — Come to your father, child; open the door. Open the door, Miss. I hear you cry husht. O Lord, who’s there? [peeps] What’s here to do? O the Father! A man with her! Why, miss, I say; God’s my life, here’s fine doings towards — O Lord, we’re all undone. O you young harlotry [knocks]. Od’s my life, won’t you open the door? I’ll come in the back way.

  SCENE II.

  Tattle, Miss Prue.

  MISS. O Lord, she’s coming, and she’ll tell my father; what shall I do now?

  TATT. Pox take her; if she had stayed two minutes longer, I should have wished for her coming.

  MISS. O dear, what shall I say? Tell me, Mr. Tattle, tell me a lie.

  TATT. There’s no occasion for a lie; I could never tell a lie to no purpose. But since we have done nothing, we must say nothing, I think. I hear her, — I’ll leave you together, and come off as you can. [Thrusts her in, and shuts the door.]

  SCENE III.

  Tattle, Valentine, Scandal, Angelica.

  ANG. You can’t accuse me of inconstancy; I never told you that I loved you.

  VAL. But I can accuse you of uncertainty, for not telling me whether you did or not.

  ANG. You mistake indifference for uncertainty; I never had concern enough to ask myself the question.

  SCAN. Nor good-nature enough to answer him that did ask you; I’ll say that for you, madam.

  ANG. What, are you setting up for good-nature?

  SCAN. Only for the affectation of it, as the women do for ill-nature.

  ANG. Persuade your friend that it is all affectation.

  SCAN. I shall receive no benefit from the opinion; for I know no effectual difference between continued affectation and reality.

  TATT. [coming up]. Scandal, are you in private discourse? Anything of secrecy? [Aside to Scandal.]

  SCAN. Yes, but I dare trust you; we were talking of Angelica’s love to Valentine. You won’t speak of it.

  TATT. No, no, not a syllable. I know that’s a secret, for it’s whispered everywhere.

  SCAN. Ha, ha, ha!

  ANG. What is, Mr. Tattle? I heard you say something was whispered everywhere.

  SCAN. Your love of Valentine.

  ANG. How!

  TATT. No, madam, his love for your ladyship. Gad take me, I beg your pardon, — for I never heard a word of your ladyship’s passion till this instant.

  ANG. My passion! And who told you of my passion, pray sir?

  SCAN. Why, is the devil in you? Did not I tell it you for a secret?

  TATT. Gadso; but I thought she might have been trusted with her own affairs.

  SCAN. Is that your discretion? Trust a woman with herself?

  TATT. You say true, I beg your pardon. I’ll bring all off. It was impossible, madam, for me to imagine that a person of your ladyship’s wit and gallantry could have so long received the passionate addresses of the accomplished Valentine, and yet remain insensible; therefore you will pardon me, if, from a just weight of his merit, with your ladyship’s good judgment, I formed the balance of a reciprocal affection.

  VAL. O the devil, what damned costive poet has given thee this lesson of fustian to get by rote?

  ANG. I dare swear you wrong him, it is his own. And Mr. Tattle only judges of the success of others, from the effects of his own merit. For certainly Mr. Tattle was never denied anything in his life.

  TATT. O Lord! Yes, indeed, madam, several times.

  ANG. I swear I don’t think ’tis possible.

  TATT. Yes, I vow and swear I have; Lord, madam, I’m the most unfortunate man in the world, and the most cruelly used by the ladies.

  ANG. Nay, now you’re ungrateful.

  TATT. No, I hope not, ’tis as much ingratitude to own some favours as to conceal others.

  VAL. There, now it’s out.

  ANG. I don’t understand you now. I thought you had never asked anything but what a lady might modestly grant, and you confess.

  SCAN. So faith, your business is done here; now you may go brag somewhere else.

  TATT. Brag! O heavens! Why, did I name anybody?

  ANG. No; I suppose that is not in your power; but you would if you could, no doubt on’t.

  TATT. Not in my power, madam! What, does your ladyship mean that I have no woman’s reputation in my power?

  SCAN. ‘Oons, why, you won’t own it, will you? [Aside.]

  TATT. Faith, madam, you’re in the right; no more I have, as I hope to be saved; I never had it in my power to say anything to a lady’s prejudice in my life. For as I was telling you, madam, I have been the most unsuccessful creature living, in things of that nature; and never had the good fortune to be trusted once with a lady’s secret, not once.

  ANG. No?

  VAL. Not once, I dare answer for him.

  SCAN. And I’ll answer for him; for I’m sure if he had, he would have told me; I find, madam, you don’t know Mr. Tattle.

  TATT. No indeed, madam, you don’t know me at all, I find. For sure my intimate friends would have known —

  ANG. Then it seems you would have told, if you had been trusted.

  TATT. O pox, Scandal, that was too far put. Never have told particulars, madam. Perhaps I might have talked as of a third person; or have introduced an amour of my own, in conversation, by way of novel; but never have explained particulars.

  ANG. But whence comes the reputation of Mr. Tattle’s secrecy, if he was never trusted?

  SCAN. Why, thence it arises — the thing is proverbially spoken; but may be applied to him — as if we should say in general terms, he only is secret who never was trusted; a satirical proverb upon our sex. There’s another upon yours — as she is chaste, who was never asked the question. That’s all.

  VAL. A couple of very civil proverbs, truly. ’Tis hard to tell whether the lady or Mr. Tattle be the more obliged to you. For you found her virtue upon the backwardness of the men; and his secrecy upon the mistrust of the women.

  TATT. Gad, it’s very true, madam, I think we are obliged to acquit ourselves. And for my part — but your ladyship is to speak first.

  ANG. Am I? Well, I freely confess I have resisted a great deal of temptation.

  TATT. And i’Gad, I have given some temptation that has not been resisted.

  VAL. Good.

  ANG. I cite Valentine here, to declare to the court, how fruitless he has found his endeavours, and to confess all his solicitations and my denials.

  VAL. I am ready to plead not guilty for you; and guilty for myself.

  SCAN. So, why this is fair, here’s demonstration with a witness.

  TATT. Well, my witnesses are not present. But I confess I have had favours from persons. But as the favours are numberless, so the persons are nameless.

  SCAN. Pooh, this proves nothing.

  TATT. No? I can show letters, lockets, pictures, and rings; and if there be occasion for witnesses, I can summon the maids at the chocolate-houses, all the porters at Pall Mall and Covent Garden, the door-keepers at the Playhouse, the drawers at Locket’s, Pontack’s, the Rummer, Spring Garden, my own landlady and valet de chambre; all who shall make oath that I receive more letters than the Secretary’s office, and that I have more vizor-masks to enquire for me, than ever went to see the Hermaphrodite, or the Naked Prince. And it is notorious that in a country church once, an enquiry being made who I was, it was answered, I was the famous Tattle, who had ruined so many women.

  VAL. It was there, I suppose, you got the nickname of the Great Turk.

  TATT. True; I was called Turk-Tattle all over the parish. The next Sunday all the old women kept their daughters at home, and the parson had not half his congregation. He would have brought me into the spiritual court, but I was revenged upon him, for he had a handsome daughter whom I initiated into the science. But I repented it afterwards, for it was talked of in town. And a lady of quality that shall be nameless, in a raging fit of jealousy, came d
own in her coach and six horses, and exposed herself upon my account; Gad, I was sorry for it with all my heart. You know whom I mean — you know where we raffled —