by John Dryden
Tim. Well, madam, what is it you would be at? you shall find me reasonable to all your propositions.
Isa. I have but one condition more to add; for I will be as reasonable as you; and that is a very poor request — to have all the money in my disposing.
Tim. How, all the money?
Isa. Ay, for I am sure I can huswife it better for your honour; not but that I shall be willing to encourage you with pocket-money, or so, sometimes.
Tim. This is somewhat hard.
Isa. Nay, if a woman cannot do that, I shall think you have an ill opinion of my virtue: Not trust your own flesh and blood, Sir Timorous?
Tim. Well, is there any thing more behind?
Isa. Nothing more, only the choice of my own company, my own hours, and my own actions: These trifles granted me, in all things of moment, I am your most obedient wife and servant, Isabella.
Tim. Is’t a match, then?
Isa. For once I am content it shall; but ’tis to redeem you from those rascals, Burr and Failer — that way, Sir Timorous, for fear of spies; I’ll meet you at the garden door. — [Exit TIMOROUS.] I have led all women the way, if they dare but follow me. And now march off, if I can scape but spying, With my drums beating, and my colours flying.
[Exit.
Burr. So, their wooing’s at an end; thanks to my wit.
Enter FAILER.
Fail. O Burr! whither is it Sir Timorous and Madam Isabella are gone together?
Burr. Adore my wit, boy; they are parted, never to meet again.
Fail. I saw them meet just now at the garden-door: So ho, ho, ho, who’s within there! Help here quickly, quickly.
Enter NONSUCH and two Servants.
Non. What’s the matter?
Fail. Your niece Isabella has stolen away Sir Timorous.
Non. Which way took they?
Fail. Follow me, I’ll show you.
Non. Break your necks after him, you idle varlets.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Enter LOVEBY. LOVEBY’S collar unbuttoned, band carelessly on, hat on the table, as new risen from sleep.
Lov. Boy! how long have I slept, boy?
Enter Boy.
Boy. Two hours and a half, sir.
Lov. What’s a-clock, sirrah?
Boy. Near four, sir.
Lov. Why, there’s it: I have promised my lady Constance an hundred pounds ere night; I had four hours to perform it in, when I engaged to do it; and I have slept out more than two of them. All my hope to get this money lies within the compass of that hat there. Before I lay down, I made bold a little to prick my finger, and write a note, in the blood of it, to this same friend of mine in t’other world, that uses to supply me: the devil has now had above two hours to perform it in; all which time I have slept, to give him the better opportunity: time enough for a gentleman of his agility to fetch it from the East Indies, out of one of his temples where they worship him; or, if he were lazy, and not minded to go so far, ‘twere but stepping over sea, and borrowing so much money out of his own bank at Amsterdam: hang it, what’s an hundred pounds between him and me? Now does my heart go pit-a-pat, for fear I should not find the money there: I would fain lift it up to see, and yet I am so afraid of missing: Yet a plague, why should I fear he’ll fail me; the name of a friend’s a sacred thing; sure he’ll consider that. Methinks, this hat looks as if it should have something under it: If one could see the yellow boys peeping underneath the brims now: Ha! [Looks under round about.] In my conscience I think I do. Stand out o’the way, sirrah, and be ready to gather up the pieces, that will flush out of the hat as I take it up.
Boy. What, is my master mad, trow?
[LOVEBY snatches up the hat, looks in it hastily, and sees nothing but the paper.
Low. Now, the devil take the devil! A plague! was ever man served so as I am! [Throws his hat upon the ground.] To break the bands of amity for one hundred pieces! Well, it shall be more out of thy way than thou imaginest, devil: I’ll turn parson, and be at open defiance with thee: I’ll lay the wickedness of all people upon thee, though thou art never so innocent; I’ll convert thy bawds and whores; I’ll Hector thy gamesters, that they shall not dare to swear, curse, or bubble; nay, I’ll set thee out so, that thy very usurers and aldermen shall fear to have to do with thee.
[A noise within of ISABELLA and FRANCES.
Enter FRANCES, thrusting back ISABELLA and TIMOROUS.
Franc. How now, what’s the matter?
Isa. Nay, sweet mistress, be not so hard-hearted; all I desire of you is but harbour for a minute: you cannot, in humanity, deny that small succour to a gentlewoman.
Franc. A gentlewoman! I thought so; my house, affords no harbour for gentlewomen: you are a company of proud harlotries: I’ll teach you to take place of tradesmen’s wives, with a wannion to you.
Lov. How’s this! Madam Isabella!
Isa. Mr Loveby! how happy am I to meet with you in my distress!
Lov. What’s the matter, madam?
Isa. I’ll tell you, if this gentlewoman will give me leave.
Franc. No, gentlewoman, I will not give you leave; they are such as we maintain your pride, as they say. [ISABELLA and LOVEBY whisper.] Our husbands trust you, and you must go before their wives. I am sure my good-man never goes to any of your lodgings, but he comes home the worse for it, as they say.
Lov. Is that all? pr’ythee, good landlady, for my sake entertain my friends.
Franc. If the gentleman’s worship had come alone, it may be I might have entertained him; but for your minion!
Enter NONSUCH, FAILER, BURR, and Officers. Cry within, Here, here.
Fail. My lord, arrest Sir Timorous upon a promise of marriage to your daughter, and we’ll witness it.
Tim. Why, what a strange thing of you’s this, madam Isabella, to bring a man into trouble thus!
Fail. You are not yet married to her?
Tim. Not that I remember.
Isa. Well, Failer, I shall find a time to reward your diligence.
Lov. If the knight would have owned his action, I should have taught some of you more manners, than to come with officers into my lodging.
Franc. I’m glad with all my heart this minx is prevented of her design: the gentleman had got a great catch of her, as they say. His old father in the country would have given him but little thanks for it, to see him bring down a fine-bred woman, with a lute, and a dressing-box, and a handful of money to her portion.
Isa. Good Mistress Whatdeelack! I know your quarrel to the ladies; do they take up the gallants from the tradesmen’s wives? Lord, what a grievous thing it is, for a she citizen to be forced to have children by her own husband!
Franc. Come, come, you’re a slanderful huswife, and I squorn your harlotry tricks, that I do, so I do.
Isa. Steeple-hat your husband never gets a good look when he comes home, except he brings a gentleman to dinner; who, if he casts an amorous eye towards you, then, “Trust him, good husband, sweet husband, trust him for my sake: Verily the gentleman’s an honest man, I read it in his countenance: and if you should not be at home to receive the money, I know he will pay the debt to me.” Is’t not so, mistress?
Enter BIBBER in slippers, with a skein of silk about his neck.
Franc. Will you see me wronged thus, under my own roof, as they say, William?
Isa. Nay, ’tis very true, mistress: you let the men, with old compliments, take up new clothes; I do not mean your wife’s clothes, Mr Merchant-Tailor.
Bib. Good, i’faith! a notable smart gentlewoman!
Isa. Look to your wife, sir, or, in time, she may undo your trade; for she’ll get all your men-customers to herself.
Bib. An’ I should be hanged, I can forbear no longer. [He plucks out his measure, and runs to ISABELLA, to take measure of her.
Isa. How now! what means Prince Pericles by this?
Bib. [On his knees.] I must beg your ladyship e’en to have the honour to trust you but for your gown, for the sake of that last je
st, flowered sattin, wrought tabby, silver upon any grounds; I shall run mad if I may not trust your ladyship.
Franc. I think you are mad already, as they say, William: You shall not trust her —
[Plucks him back.
Bib. Let me alone, Frances: I am a lion when I am angered.
Isa. Pray do not pull your lion by the tail so, mistress — In these clothes, that he now takes measure of me for, will I marry Sir Timorous; mark that, and tremble, Failer.
Fail. Never threaten me, madam; you’re a person I despise.
Isa. I vow to gad, I’ll be even with you, sir.
[Exit.
Non. [To the Bailiff’s.] — And when you have arrested him, be sure you search him for my gold.
Bailiffs. [To LOVEBY.] We arrest you, sir, at my Lord Nonsuch’s suit.
Lov. Me, you rascals!
Non. Search him for my gold; you know the marks on’t.
Lov. If they can find any marked or unmarked gold about me, they’ll find more than I can. You expect I should resist now; no, no; I’ll hamper you for this.
Bail. There’s nothing to be found about him.
Fail. ’Tis no matter, to prison with him; there all his debts will come upon him.
Lov. What, hurried to durance, like a stinkard!
Job. Now, as I live, a pleasant gentleman; I could find in my heart to bail him; but I’ll overcome myself, and steal away. [Is going.
Bail. Come, sir, we must provide you of another lodging; but I believe you’ll scarce like it.
Lov. If I do not, I ask no favour; pray turn me out of doors.
Bib. Turn him out of doors! What a jest was there? Now, an’ I should be hanged, I cannot forbear bailing him: Stay, officers, I bail him body and soul for that jest.
Fail. Let us begone in time, Burr.
[Exeunt BURR, FAILER, and TIMOROUS.
Franc. You shall not bail him.
Bib. I know I am a rogue to do it; but his wit has prevailed upon me, and a man must not go against his conscience. There, officers.
Lov. to Non. Old man, if it were not for thy daughter —
Non. Well, well; take your course, sir.
[Exeunt NONSUCH and Bailiffs.
Lov. Come, Will, I’ll thank thee at the tavern. Frances, remember this the next time you come up to make my bed.
Franc. Do your worst, I fear you not, sir. This is twice to day, William; to trust a gentlewoman, and bail a ragamuffin: I am sure he called you cuckold but yesterday, and said he would make you one.
Lov. Look you, Frances, I am a man of honour, and, if I said it, I’ll not break my word with you.
Bib. There he was with you again, Frances: An excellent good jest, i’faith la.
Franc. I’ll not endure it, that I won’t, so I won’t: I’ll go to the justice’s worship, and fetch a warrant for him.
Lov. But, landlady, the word cuckold will bear no action in the law, except you could prove your husband prejudiced by it. Have any of his customers forsook him for’t? Or any mercer refused to trust him the less, for my calling him so?
Franc. Nay, I know not for the mercers; perhaps the citizens may take it for no slander among one another, as they say: but for the gentlemen —
Lov. Will, have they forsaken thee upon it?
Bib. No, I assure you, sir.
Lov. No, I warrant ‘em: A cuckold has the signification of an honest well-meaning citizen; one, that is not given to jealousies or suspicions; a just person to his wife, &c.; one that, to speak the worst of him, does but to her, what he would be content should be done to her by other men.
Franc. But that another man should be the father of his children, as they say; I don’t think that a civil thing, husband.
Lov. Not civil, landlady! why all things are civil, that are made so by custom.
Bib. Why may not he get as fine children as I, or any man?
Franc. But if those children, that are none of yours, should call you father, William!
Bib. If they call me father, and are none of mine, I am the more beholden to ‘em.
Franc. Nay, if that be your humour, husband, I am glad I know it, that I may please you the better another time, as they say. [Exit FRANCES.
Bib. Nay, but Frances, Frances! ’tis such another woman. [Exit BIBBER.
Lov. ’Tis such another man: — My coat and sword, boy, I must go to Justice Trice’s; bring the women; and come after me. [Exit LOVEBY.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
A Table set with Cards upon it.
TRICE walking: Enter Servant.
Serv. Sir, some company is without upon justice-business.
Trice. Saucy rascal, to disturb my meditations. [Exit Servant. — Ay, it shall be he: Jack Loveby, what think’st thou of a game at piquet, we two, hand to fist? you and I will play one single game for ten pieces: ’Tis deep stake, Jack, but ’tis all one between us two: You shall deal, Jack: — Who I, Mr Justice! that’s a good one; you must give me use for your hand then; that’s six i’the hundred. — Come, lift, lift; — mine’s a ten; Mr Justice: — mine’s a king; oh ho, Jack, you deal. I have the advantage of this, i’faith, if I can keep it. [He deals twelve a piece, two by two, and looks on his own cards.] I take seven, and look on this — Now for you, Jack Loveby.
Enter LOVEBY behind.
Lov. How’s this? Am I the man he fights with?
Trice. I’ll do you right, Jack; as I am an honest man, you must discard this; there’s no other way: If you were my own brother, I could do no better for you. — Zounds, the rogue has a quint-major, and three aces younger hand. — [Looks on the other cards.] Stay; what am I for the point? But bare forty, and he fifty-one: Fifteen, and five for the point, twenty, and three by aces, twenty-three; well, I am to play first: one, twenty-three; two, twenty-three; three, twenty-three; four, twenty-three; — Pox on’t, now I must play into his hand: five: — now you take it, Jack; — five, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, and the cards forty.
Lov. Hitherto it goes well on my side. —
Trice. Now I deal: How many do you take, Jack? All. Then I am gone: What a rise is here! Fourteen by aces, and a sixieme-major; I am gone, without looking into my cards. — [Takes up an ace and bites it.] Ay, I thought so: If ever man play’d with such cursed fortune, I’ll be hanged, and all for want of this damned ace — there’s your ten pieces, with a pox to you, for a rooking beggarly rascal as you are.
LOVEBY enters.
Lov. What occasion have I given you for these words, sir? Rook and rascal! I am no more rascal than yourself, sir.
Trice. How’s this! how’s this!
Lov. And though for this time I put up, because I am a winner — [Snatches the gold.
Trice. What a devil do’st thou put up? Not my gold, I hope, Jack?
Lov. By your favour, but I do; and ’twas won fairly: a sixieme, and fourteen by aces, by your own confession, — What a pox, we don’t make childrens’ play, I hope?
Trice. Well, remember this, Jack; from this hour I forswear playing with you when I am alone; what, will you bate me nothing on’t?
Lov. Not a farthing, Justice; I’ll be judged by you; if I had lost, you would have taken every piece on’t: What I win, I win — and there’s an end.
Enter Servant.
Serv. Sir, these people stay without, and will not be answered.
Trice. Well, what’s their business?
Serv. Nay, no great matter; only a fellow for getting a wench with child.
Trice. No great matter, say’st thou? ‘Faith, but it is. Is he a poor fellow, or a gentleman?
Serv. A very poor fellow, sir.
Trice. Hang him, rogue; make his mittimus immediately; must such as he presume to get children?
Lov. Well considered: A poor lousy rascal, to intrench upon the game of gentlemen! He might have passed his time at nine-pins, or shovel-board; that had been fit sport for such as he: Justice, have no mercy on him.
Trice. No, by the
sword of justice will I not.
Lov. Swear’st thou, ungracious boy? That’s too much, on the other hand, for a gentleman. I swear not, I drink not, I curse not, I cheat not; they are unnecessary vices: I save so much out of those sins, and take it out in that one necessary vice of wenching.
Enter LOVEBY’S Boy.
Boy. Sir, the parties are without, according to your order.
Lov. ’Tis well; bring ‘em in, boy.
Enter Lady Du LAKE, and two or three Whores.
Justice, I recommend this ancient gentlewoman, with these virtuous ladies, to thy patronage; for her part, she is a person of exemplary life and behaviour; of singular conduct to break through, and patience to bear the assaults of fortune: A general benefactress of mankind, and, in fine, a promoter of that great work of nature, love.
Trice. Or, as the vulgar translation hath it, a very sufficient and singular good bawd: Is’t not so, boy?
Lov. Ay, boy: Now for such a pettifogging fellow as thy clerk to persecute this lady; pr’ythee think on’t: Tis a grievance of the free-born subject.
L. Du Lake. To see the ingratitude of this generation! That I, that have spent my youth; set at nought my fortune; and, what is more dear to me, my honour, in the service of gentlemen; should now, in my old age, be left to want and beggary, as if I were the vilest and most unworthy creature upon God’s earth! [Crying.
Lov. Nay, good mother, do not take it so bitterly.
L. Du Lake. I confess, the unkindness of it troubles me.
Lov. Thou shalt not want, so long as I live. — Look, here’s five pieces of cordial gold, to comfort thy heart with: I won it, e’en now, off Mr Justice; and I dare say he thinks it well bestowed.
Trice. My money’s gone to very pious uses.
L. Du Lake. [Laying her hand on LOVEBY’S head.] Son Loveby, I knew thy father well; and thy grandfather before him. Fathers they were both to me; and I could weep for joy to see how thou tak’st after them. [Weeping again.] I wish it lay in my power too to gratify this worthy Justice in my vocation.
Trice. ‘Faith, I doubt I am past that noble sin.