ANG. If you speak truth, your endeavouring at wit is very unseasonable.
SCAN. She’s concerned, and loves him. [Aside.]
ANG. Mr. Scandal, you can’t think me guilty of so much inhumanity as not to be concerned for a man I must own myself obliged to? Pray tell me truth.
SCAN. Faith, madam, I wish telling a lie would mend the matter. But this is no new effect of an unsuccessful passion.
ANG. [Aside.] I know not what to think. Yet I should be vexed to have a trick put upon me. May I not see him?
SCAN. I’m afraid the physician is not willing you should see him yet. Jeremy, go in and enquire.
SCENE III.
Scandal, Angelica, Jenny.
ANG. Ha! I saw him wink and smile. I fancy ’tis a trick — I’ll try. — I would disguise to all the world a failing which I must own to you: I fear my happiness depends upon the recovery of Valentine. Therefore I conjure you, as you are his friend, and as you have compassion upon one fearful of affliction, to tell me what I am to hope for — I cannot speak — but you may tell me, tell me, for you know what I would ask?
SCAN. So, this is pretty plain. Be not too much concerned, madam; I hope his condition is not desperate. An acknowledgment of love from you, perhaps, may work a cure, as the fear of your aversion occasioned his distemper.
ANG. [Aside.] Say you so; nay, then, I’m convinced. And if I don’t play trick for trick, may I never taste the pleasure of revenge. — Acknowledgment of love! I find you have mistaken my compassion, and think me guilty of a weakness I am a stranger to. But I have too much sincerity to deceive you, and too much charity to suffer him to be deluded with vain hopes. Good nature and humanity oblige me to be concerned for him; but to love is neither in my power nor inclination, and if he can’t be cured without I suck the poison from his wounds, I’m afraid he won’t recover his senses till I lose mine.
SCAN. Hey, brave woman, i’faith — won’t you see him, then, if he desire it?
ANG. What signify a madman’s desires? Besides, ’twould make me uneasy: — if I don’t see him, perhaps my concern for him may lessen. If I forget him, ’tis no more than he has done by himself; and now the surprise is over, methinks I am not half so sorry as I was.
SCAN. So, faith, good nature works apace; you were confessing just now an obligation to his love.
ANG. But I have considered that passions are unreasonable and involuntary; if he loves, he can’t help it; and if I don’t love, I can’t help it; no more than he can help his being a man, or I my being a woman: or no more than I can help my want of inclination to stay longer here. Come, Jenny.
SCENE IV.
Scandal, Jeremy.
SCAN. Humh! An admirable composition, faith, this same womankind.
JERE. What, is she gone, sir?
SCAN. Gone? Why, she was never here, nor anywhere else; nor I don’t know her if I see her, nor you neither.
JERE. Good lack! What’s the matter now? Are any more of us to be mad? Why, sir, my master longs to see her, and is almost mad in good earnest with the joyful news of her being here.
SCAN. We are all under a mistake. Ask no questions, for I can’t resolve you; but I’ll inform your master. In the meantime, if our project succeed no better with his father than it does with his mistress, he may descend from his exaltation of madness into the road of common sense, and be content only to be made a fool with other reasonable people. I hear Sir Sampson. You know your cue; I’ll to your master.
SCENE V.
Jeremy, Sir Sampson Legend, with a Lawyer.
SIR SAMP. D’ye see, Mr. Buckram, here’s the paper signed with his own hand.
BUCK. Good, sir. And the conveyance is ready drawn in this box, if he be ready to sign and seal.
SIR SAMP. Ready, body o’ me? He must be ready. His sham-sickness shan’t excuse him. Oh, here’s his scoundrel. Sirrah, where’s your master?
JERE. Ah sir, he’s quite gone.
SIR SAMP. Gone! What, he is not dead?
JERE. No, sir, not dead.
SIR SAMP. What, is he gone out of town, run away, ha? has he tricked me? Speak, varlet.
JERE. No, no, sir, he’s safe enough, sir, an he were but as sound, poor gentleman. He is indeed here, sir, and not here, sir.
SIR SAMP. Hey day, rascal, do you banter me? Sirrah, d’ye banter me? Speak, sirrah, where is he? for I will find him.
JERE. Would you could, sir, for he has lost himself. Indeed, sir, I have a’most broke my heart about him — I can’t refrain tears when I think of him, sir: I’m as melancholy for him as a passing-bell, sir, or a horse in a pound.
SIR SAMP. A pox confound your similitudes, sir. Speak to be understood, and tell me in plain terms what the matter is with him, or I’ll crack your fool’s skull.
JERE. Ah, you’ve hit it, sir; that’s the matter with him, sir: his skull’s cracked, poor gentleman; he’s stark mad, sir.
SIR SAMP. Mad!
BUCK. What, is he non compos?
JERE. Quite non compos, sir.
BUCK. Why, then, all’s obliterated, Sir Sampson, if he be non compos mentis; his act and deed will be of no effect, it is not good in law.
SIR SAMP. Oons, I won’t believe it; let me see him, sir. Mad — I’ll make him find his senses.
JERE. Mr. Scandal is with him, sir; I’ll knock at the door.
[Goes to the scene, which opens.]
SCENE VI.
Sir Sampson, Valentine, Scandal, Jeremy, and Lawyer. Valentine upon a couch disorderly dressed.
SIR SAMP. How now, what’s here to do?
VAL. Ha! Who’s that? [Starting.]
SCAN. For heav’n’s sake softly, sir, and gently; don’t provoke him.
VAL. Answer me: who is that, and that?
SIR SAMP. Gads bobs, does he not know me? Is he mischievous? I’ll speak gently. Val, Val, dost thou not know me, boy? Not know thy own father, Val? I am thy own father, and this is honest Brief Buckram, the lawyer.
VAL. It may be so — I did not know you — the world is full. There are people that we do know, and people that we do not know, and yet the sun shines upon all alike. There are fathers that have many children, and there are children that have many fathers. ’Tis strange! But I am Truth, and come to give the world the lie.
SIR SAMP. Body o’ me, I know not what to say to him.
VAL. Why does that lawyer wear black? Does he carry his conscience withoutside? Lawyer what art thou? Dost thou know me?
BUCK. O Lord, what must I say? Yes, sir,
VAL. Thou liest, for I am Truth. ’Tis hard I cannot get a livelihood amongst you. I have been sworn out of Westminster Hall the first day of every term — let me see — no matter how long. But I’ll tell you one thing: it’s a question that would puzzle an arithmetician, if you should ask him, whether the Bible saves more souls in Westminster Abbey, or damns more in Westminster Hall. For my part, I am Truth, and can’t tell; I have very few acquaintance.
SIR SAMP. Body o’ me, he talks sensibly in his madness. Has he no intervals?
JERE. Very short, sir.
BUCK. Sir, I can do you no service while he’s in this condition. Here’s your paper, sir — he may do me a mischief if I stay. The conveyance is ready, sir, if he recover his senses.
SCENE VII.
Sir Sampson, Valentine, Scandal, Jeremy.
SIR SAMP. Hold, hold, don’t you go yet.
SCAN. You’d better let him go, sir, and send for him if there be occasion; for I fancy his presence provokes him more.
VAL. Is the lawyer gone? ’Tis well, then we may drink about without going together by the ears — heigh ho! What a’clock is’t? My father here! Your blessing, sir.
SIR SAMP. He recovers — bless thee, Val; how dost thou do, boy?
VAL. Thank you, sir, pretty well. I have been a little out of order, Won’t you please to sit, sir?
SIR SAMP. Ay, boy. Come, thou shalt sit down by me.
VAL. Sir, ’tis my duty to wait.
SIR SAMP. No, no; come,
come, sit thee down, honest Val. How dost thou do? Let me feel thy pulse. Oh, pretty well now, Val. Body o’ me, I was sorry to see thee indisposed; but I’m glad thou art better, honest Val.
VAL. I thank you, sir.
SCAN. Miracle! The monster grows loving. [Aside.]
SIR SAMP. Let me feel thy hand again, Val. It does not shake; I believe thou canst write, Val. Ha, boy? thou canst write thy name, Val. Jeremy, step and overtake Mr. Buckram, bid him make haste back with the conveyance; quick, quick. [In whisper to Jeremy.]
SCENE VIII.
Sir Sampson, Valentine, Scandal.
SCAN. That ever I should suspect such a heathen of any remorse! [Aside.]
SIR SAMP. Dost thou know this paper, Val? I know thou’rt honest, and wilt perform articles. [Shows him the paper, but holds it out of his reach.]
VAL. Pray let me see it, sir. You hold it so far off that I can’t tell whether I know it or no.
SIR SAMP. See it, boy? Ay, ay; why, thou dost see it— ’tis thy own hand, Vally. Why, let me see, I can read it as plain as can be. Look you here. [Reads.] The condition of this obligation — Look you, as plain as can be, so it begins — and then at the bottom — As witness my hand, VALENTINE LEGEND, in great letters. Why, ’tis as plain as the nose in one’s face. What, are my eyes better than thine? I believe I can read it farther off yet; let me see. [Stretches his arm as far as he can.]
VAL. Will you please to let me hold it, sir?
SIR SAMP. Let thee hold it, sayest thou? Ay, with all my heart. What matter is it who holds it? What need anybody hold it? I’ll put it up in my pocket, Val, and then nobody need hold it. [Puts the paper in his pocket.] There, Val; it’s safe enough, boy. But thou shalt have it as soon as thou hast set thy hand to another paper, little Val.
SCENE IX.
[To them] Jeremy with Buckram.
VAL. What, is my bad genius here again! Oh no, ’tis the lawyer with an itching palm; and he’s come to be scratched. My nails are not long enough. Let me have a pair of red-hot tongs quickly, quickly, and you shall see me act St. Dunstan, and lead the devil by the nose.
BUCK. O Lord, let me begone: I’ll not venture myself with a madman.
SCENE X.
Sir Sampson, Valentine, Scandal, Jeremy.
VAL. Ha, ha, ha; you need not run so fast, honesty will not overtake you. Ha, ha, ha, the rogue found me out to be in forma pauperis presently.
SIR SAMP. Oons! What a vexation is here! I know not what to do, or say, nor which way to go.
VAL. Who’s that that’s out of his way? I am Truth, and can set him right. Harkee, friend, the straight road is the worst way you can go. He that follows his nose always, will very often be led into a stink. Probatum est. But what are you for? religion or politics? There’s a couple of topics for you, no more like one another than oil and vinegar; and yet those two, beaten together by a state-cook, make sauce for the whole nation.
SIR SAMP. What the devil had I to do, ever to beget sons? Why did I ever marry?
VAL. Because thou wert a monster, old boy! The two greatest monsters in the world are a man and a woman! What’s thy opinion?
SIR SAMP. Why, my opinion is, that those two monsters joined together, make yet a greater, that’s a man and his wife.
VAL. Aha! Old True-penny, say’st thou so? Thou hast nicked it. But it’s wonderful strange, Jeremy.
JERE. What is, sir?
VAL. That gray hairs should cover a green head — and I make a fool of my father. What’s here! Erra Pater: or a bearded sibyl? If Prophecy comes, Truth must give place.
SCENE XI.
Sir Sampson, Scandal, Foresight, Miss Foresight, Mrs. Frail.
FORE. What says he? What, did he prophesy? Ha, Sir Sampson, bless us! How are we?
SIR SAMP. Are we? A pox o’ your prognostication. Why, we are fools as we use to be. Oons, that you could not foresee that the moon would predominate, and my son be mad. Where’s your oppositions, your trines, and your quadrates? What did your Cardan and your Ptolemy tell you? Your Messahalah and your Longomontanus, your harmony of chiromancy with astrology. Ah! pox on’t, that I that know the world and men and manners, that don’t believe a syllable in the sky and stars, and sun and almanacs and trash, should be directed by a dreamer, an omen-hunter, and defer business in expectation of a lucky hour, when, body o’ me, there never was a lucky hour after the first opportunity.
SCENE XII.
Scandal, Foresight, Mrs. Foresight, Mrs. Frail.
FORE. Ah, Sir Sampson, heav’n help your head. This is none of your lucky hour; Nemo omnibus horis sapit. What, is he gone, and in contempt of science? Ill stars and unconvertible ignorance attend him.
SCAN. You must excuse his passion, Mr. Foresight, for he has been heartily vexed. His son is non compos mentis, and thereby incapable of making any conveyance in law; so that all his measures are disappointed.
FORE. Ha! say you so?
MRS. FRAIL. What, has my sea-lover lost his anchor of hope, then? [Aside to Mrs. Foresight.]
MRS. FORE. O sister, what will you do with him?
MRS. FRAIL. Do with him? Send him to sea again in the next foul weather. He’s used to an inconstant element, and won’t be surprised to see the tide turned.
FORE. Wherein was I mistaken, not to foresee this? [Considers.]
SCAN. Madam, you and I can tell him something else that he did not foresee, and more particularly relating to his own fortune. [Aside to Mrs. Foresight.]
MRS. FORE. What do you mean? I don’t understand you.
SCAN. Hush, softly, — the pleasures of last night, my dear, too considerable to be forgot so soon.
MRS. FORE. Last night! And what would your impudence infer from last night? Last night was like the night before, I think.
SCAN. ‘Sdeath, do you make no difference between me and your husband?
MRS. FORE. Not much, — he’s superstitious, and you are mad, in my opinion.
SCAN. You make me mad. You are not serious. Pray recollect yourself.
MRS. FORE. Oh yes, now I remember, you were very impertinent and impudent, — and would have come to bed to me.
SCAN. And did not?
MRS. FORE. Did not! With that face can you ask the question?
SCAN. This I have heard of before, but never believed. I have been told, she had that admirable quality of forgetting to a man’s face in the morning that she had lain with him all night, and denying that she had done favours with more impudence than she could grant ’em. Madam, I’m your humble servant, and honour you. — You look pretty well, Mr. Foresight: how did you rest last night?
FORE. Truly, Mr. Scandal, I was so taken up with broken dreams and distracted visions that I remember little.
SCAN. ’Twas a very forgetting night. But would you not talk with Valentine? Perhaps you may understand him; I’m apt to believe there is something mysterious in his discourses, and sometimes rather think him inspired than mad.
FORE. You speak with singular good judgment, Mr. Scandal, truly. I am inclining to your Turkish opinion in this matter, and do reverence a man whom the vulgar think mad. Let us go to him.
MRS. FRAIL. Sister, do you stay with them; I’ll find out my lover, and give him his discharge, and come to you. O’ my conscience, here he comes.
SCENE XIII.
Mrs. Frail, Ben.
BEN. All mad, I think. Flesh, I believe all the calentures of the sea are come ashore, for my part.
MRS. FRAIL. Mr. Benjamin in choler!
BEN. No, I’m pleased well enough, now I have found you. Mess, I have had such a hurricane upon your account yonder.
MRS. FRAIL. My account; pray what’s the matter?
BEN. Why, father came and found me squabbling with yon chitty-faced thing as he would have me marry, so he asked what was the matter. He asked in a surly sort of a way — it seems brother Val is gone mad, and so that put’n into a passion; but what did I know that? what’s that to me? — so he asked in a surly sort of manner, and gad I answered ‘n as surlily. Wha
t thof he be my father, I an’t bound prentice to ‘n; so faith I told ‘n in plain terms, if I were minded to marry, I’d marry to please myself, not him. And for the young woman that he provided for me, I thought it more fitting for her to learn her sampler and make dirt-pies than to look after a husband; for my part I was none of her man. I had another voyage to make, let him take it as he will.
Complete Works of William Congreve Page 48