by John Dryden
Non. Begone, and put off your livery, sirrah! — You shall not stay a minute in my service.
Tob. I beseech your good worship, be good to me; ’twas the first fault I ever committed in this kind. I have three poor children by my wife; and if you leave me to the wide world, with a new charge upon myself —
Non. Begone! I will not hear a word.
Tob. If I must go, I’ll not go alone: Ambrose Tinis, the cook, is as bad as I am.
Non. I think you’ll make me mad. Call the rascal hither! I must account with him on another score, now I think on’t.
Enter AMBROSE TINIS.
Non. Sirrah, what made you send a pheasant with one wing to the table yesterday?
Amb. I beseech your worship to pardon me; I longed for’t.
Isa. I feared as much.
Amb. And I beseech your worship let me have a boy, to help me in the kitchen; for I find myself unable to go through with the work. Besides, the doctor has warned me of stooping to the fire, for fear of a mischance.
Non. Why, are you with child, sirrah?
Amb. So he tells me; but, if I were put to my oath, I know not that ever I deserved for’t.
Non. Still worse and worse. And here comes Setstone groaning.
Enter SETSTONE.
Set. O, sir! I have been so troubled with swooning fits; and have so longed for cherries!
Non. He’s poopt too.
Isa. Well, this is not the worst yet: I suspect something more than I will speak of.
Non. What dost thou suspect, ha!
Isa. Is not your lordship with child, too?
Non. Who, I with child! marry, heaven forbid! What dost thou see by me, to ground it on?
Isa. You’re very round of late; — that’s all, sir.
Non. Round! that’s only fat, I hope. I have had a very good stomach of late, I’m sure.
Isa. Alas, and well you may; — You eat for two, sir.
Non. Setstone, look upon me, and tell me true: Do you observe any alteration in me?
Set. I would not dishearten your ladyship — your lordship, I would say — but I have observed, of late, your colour goes and comes extremely. Methinks your lordship looks very sharp, and bleak i’the face, and mighty puffed i’the body.
Non. O, the devil! Wretched men, that we are all! Nothing grieves me, but that, in my old age, when others are past child-bearing, I should come to be a disgrace to my family.
Const. How do you, sir? Your eyes look wondrous dim. Is not there a mist before ‘em?
Isa. Do you not feel a kicking in your belly — When do you look, uncle?
Non. Uh, uh! — Methinks, I am very sick o’the sudden.
Isa. What store of old shirts have you against the good time? Shall I give you a shift, uncle?
Non. Here’s like to be a fine charge towards! We shall all be brought to-bed together! Well, if I be with devil, I will have such gossips: an usurer, and a scrivener, shall be godfathers.
Isa. I’ll help you, uncle; and Sawney’s two grannies shall be godmothers. The child shall be christened by the directory; and the gossips’ gifts shall be the gude Scotch kivenant.
Const. Set. Non. Tob. Amb. Uh! uh! uh!
Isa. What rare music’s here!
Non. Whene’er it comes from me, ‘twill kill me; that’s certain.
Set. Best take a vomit.
Isa. An’t come upward, the horns will choke him.
Non. Mass! and so they will.
Isa. Your only way, is to make sure o’the man-midwife.
Non. But my child’s dishonour troubles me the most. If I could but see her well married, before I underwent the labour and peril of child-bearing! — What would you advise, niece?
Isa. That which I am very loth to do. Send for honest Jack Loveby, and let him know the truth on’t: He’s a fellow without a fortune, and will be glad to leap at the occasion.
Non. But why Loveby, of all the world? ’Tis but staying ‘till to-morrow, and then Sir Timorous will marry her.
Const. Uh! — I swell so fast, I cannot hide it ‘till to-morrow.
Isa. Why, there’s it now!
Non. I’ll send for the old alderman, Getwell, immediately: He’ll father the devil’s bastard, I warrant you.
Isa. Fie, uncle! my cousin’s somewhat too good yet for an alderman. If it were her third child, she might hearken to you.
Non. Well, since it must be so, Setstone, go you to Loveby; make my excuse to him for the arrest, and let him know, what fortune may attend him.
Isa. Mr Setstone, pray acquaint him with my cousin’s affection to him; and prepare him to father the cushion underneath her petticoat.
[Aside to SETSTONE. Exit.]
Set. I’ll bring him immediately.
Isa. When he comes, uncle, pray cover your great belly with your hat, that he may not see it.
Non. It goes against my heart to marry her to this Loveby; but, what must be, must be.
Enter LOVEBY.
Const. O, Mr Loveby! The welcomest man alive! You met Setstone, I hope, that you came so opportunely?
Lov. No, faith, madam; I came of my own accord.
Isa. ’Tis unlucky; he’s not prepared.
Lov. Look you, madam, I have brought the hundred pounds; the devil was as punctual as three o’ clock at a playhouse. Here; ’tis right, I warrant it, without telling: I took it upon his word.
[Gives it.
Const. Your kindness shall be requited, servant: But I sent for you upon another business. Pray, cousin, tell it him, for I am ashamed to do’t.
Lov. Ha! ’tis not that great belly, I hope. Is’t come to that?
Isa. Hark you, Mr Loveby; a word with you.
Lov. A word with you, madam: Whither is your cousin bound?
Isa. Bound, sir?
Lov. Ay, bound: Look you, she’s under sail, with a lusty fore-wind.
Non. I sent for you, sir; but, to be plain with you, ’twas more out of necessity than love.
Lov. I wonder, my lord, at your invincible ill-nature. You forget the arrest, that I passed by: But this it is to be civil to unthankful persons; ’tis feeding an ill-natured dog, that snarls while he takes victuals from your hand.
Non. All friends! all friends! No ripping up old stories; you shall have my daughter.
Lov. Faith, I see your lordship would let lodgings ready furnished; but I am for an empty tenement.
Non. I had almost forgot my own great belly. If he should discover that too! [Claps his hat before it.
Isa. [To Lov.] You will not hear me, sir. ’Tis all roguery, as I live.
Lov. Flat roguery, I’ll swear! If I had been father on’t, nay, if I had but laid my breeches upon the bed, I would have married her: But I see we are not ordained for one another.
[Is going.
Non. I beseech you, sir.
Lov. Pray cover, my lord.
Isa. He does his great belly, methinks.
Non. I’ll make it up in money to you.
Lov. That cannot tempt me. I have a friend, that shall be nameless, that will not see me want; and so, your servant.
[Exit LOVEBY.
Isa. I’ll after, and bring him back.
Non. You shall not stir after him; — Does he scorn my daughter?
Isa. Lord, how fretful you are! This breeding makes you so peevish, uncle.
Non. ’Tis no matter, she shall straight be married to Sir Timorous.
Const. I am ruined, cousin.
[Aside.
Isa. I warrant you. — My lord, I wish her well married to Sir Timorous; but Loveby will certainly infect him with the news of her great belly.
Non. I’ll dispatch it, ere he can speak with him.
Isa. Whene’er he comes, he’ll see what a bona roba she is grown.
Non. Therefore, it shall be done i’the evening.
Isa. It shall, my lord.
Const. Shall it?
[Aside.
Isa. Let me alone, cousin. — And to this effect she shall write to him, that, to conform to your will,
and his modesty, she desires him to come hither alone this evening.
Non. Excellent wench! — I’ll get my chaplain ready.
[Exit NONSUCH.
Const. How can you hope to deceive my father?
Isa. If I don’t, I have hard luck.
Const. You go so strange a way about, your bowl must be well bias’d to come in.
Isa. So plain a ground, there’s not the least rub in’t. I’ll meet Sir Timorous in the dark; and, in your room, marry him.
Const. You’ll be sure to provide for one.
Isa. You mistake me, cousin: — Oh! here’s Setstone again.
Enter SETSTONE.
Mr Jeweller, you must again into your devil’s shape, and speak with
Loveby. But pray be careful not to be discovered.
Set. I warrant you, madam. I have cozened wiser men than he in my own shape; and, if I cannot continue it in a worse, let the devil, I make bold with, e’en make as bold with me.
Isa. You must guide him, by back ways, to my uncle’s house, and so to my cousin’s chamber, that he may not know where he is when he comes there. The rest I’ll tell you as we go along.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Enter TIMOROUS; after him BURR and FAILER.
Tim. Here, here, read this note; there’s news for us.
Fail. Let me see’t. [Reads.
Sir Timorous, Be at the garden-door at nine this evening; there I’ll receive you with my daughter. To gratify your modesty I designed this way, after I had better considered on it: and pray leave your caterpillars, Burr and Failer, behind you. Yours, Nonsuch.
There is some trick in this, whate’er it be. But this word, caterpillars — You see, Burr, Sir Timorous is like to be lured from us. [Aside.
Burr. Is there no prevention? [Aside.
Fail. One way there is. — Sir Timorous, pray walk a turn, while Burr and I confer a little upon this matter. — Look you, Burr, there is but one remedy in nature, I vow to gad; that is, for you to have a new Sir Timorous, exceeding this person in bounty to you. Observe, then; in Sir Timorous’ place will I go, and, egad, I’ll marry my lady Constance; and then, from the bowels of friendship, bless thee with a thousand pounds, besides lodging and diet for thy life, boy.
Burr. Umph, very well thought on. — No, sir! you shall trust to my bounty; I’ll go in his place. Murmur or repine, speak the least word, or give thy lips the least motion, and I’ll beat thee till thou art not in condition to go.
Fail. I vow to gad, this is extreme injustice. — Was it not my invention?
Burr. Why, dost thou think thou art worthy to make use of thy own invention? — Speak another word, d’ye see! — Come, help me quickly to strip Sir Timorous; his coat may conduce to the deceit. — Sir Timorous, by your leave. [Fatts on him.
Tim. O, Lord! what’s the matter? — Murder? murder!
Burr. D’ye open? I have something in my pocket that will serve for a gag, now I think on’t.
[Gags, and binds him.
So, lie there, knight. Come, sir, and help to make me Sir Timorous; and, when I am married, remember to increase your manners with my fortune. — Yet we’ll always drink together. [Exeunt.
ACT V.
SCENE I.
Enter CONSTANCE, ISABELLA, and NONSUCH.
Const. This is just the knight’s hour; and lovers seldom come after their time.
Non. Good night, daughter; I’ll to bed, and give you joy to-morrow morning. [Exit.
Isa. I’m glad he’s gone: What, your train takes?
Const. Yes, yes; Loveby will come: Setstone has been with him in disguise; and promised him golden mountains, if he will not be wanting to his own fortune.
Isa. Is your habit provided too?
Const. All is ready.
Isa. Away then; for this is the place where we must part like knights errant, that take several paths to their adventures.
Const. ’Tis time, for I hear somebody come along the alley; without question ’tis Timorous. Farewell; the chaplain stays for me in the chamber.
Isa. And I’ll post after you to matrimony; I have laid a fresh parson at the next stage, that shall carry me tantivy.
[Exit CONSTANCE.
Enter BURR with TIMOROUS’S coat on.
Burr. My lady Constance!
Isa. The same: Sir Timorous?
Burr. The same.
Isa. Sir Timorous takes me for my cousin.
[Aside.
Burr. My lady Constance mistakes me for the knight.
[Aside.
Isa. Here, sir; through the dark walk: ’tis but a little way about — He’s my own beyond redemption —
[Aside.
Burr. The Indies are mine; and a handsome lady into the bargain.
[Excunt.
Enter FAILER, dogging them, as they go off.
Fail. He shall be hanged, ere he shall get her. Thus far I have dogged them, and this way I am sure they must pass, ere they come to the house. The rogue had got the old dog-trick of a statesman; to fish things out of wiser heads than his own, and never so much as to take notice of him that gave the counsel —
Enter ISABELLA and BURR again.
Now, if I can but give her the hint without his knowledge! — Madam — my lady Constance!
Isa. What voice is that?
Fail. A word in private, or you are undone — Pray step aside.
Burr. Where are you, madam?
Isa. Immediately, Sir Timorous.
Fail. You are mistaken, madam; ’tis not Sir Timorous, but Burr in his clothes; he has stripped the knight, gagged him, and locked him up.
Isa. Failer?
Fail. The same. I could not but prevent your unhappiness, though I hazard my person in the discovery, I vow to gad, madam.
Burr. Who’s that talks to you, my lady Constance?
Isa. A maid of my acquaintance, that’s come to take her leave of me before I marry; the poor soul does so pity me.
Burr. How will that maid lie, thinking of you and me to-night!
Isa. Has he the key about him? [To FAILER.
Fail. I think so, madam.
Isa. Could not you possibly pick his pocket, and give me the key? then let me alone to release Sir Timorous; and you shall be witness of the wedding.
Fail. Egad, you want your cousin Isabella’s wit to bring that to pass, madam.
Isa. I warrant you, my own wit will serve to fool Burr — and you too, or I am much deceived. [Aside.
Fail. I am a little apprehensive of the rascal’s fingers, since I felt them last; and yet my fear has not power to resist the sweet temptation of revenge; I vow to gad I’ll try, madam.
Isa. Never fear; let me alone to keep him busy.
Burr. Come, madam, and let me take off these tasteless kisses the maid gave you; may we not join lips before we are married?
Isa. No; fie, Sir Timorous.
[They struggle a little, and in that time FAILER picks his pocket of the key.
Fail. I have it — here it is — now, shift for yourself, as I’ll do; I’ll wait you in the alley.
[Exit.
Isa. Sir Timorous, pray go into my chamber, and make no noise till I return; I’ll but fetch the little man of God, and follow you in a twinkling.
Burr. There’s no light, I hope?
Isa. Not a spark.
Burr. For to light me to the mark —
[Exit.
Isa. What a scowering have I ‘scaped to-night! Fortune, ’tis thou hast been ingenious for me! Allons, Isabella! Courage! now to deliver my knight from the enchanted castle.
[Exit.
Enter LOVEBY, led by SETSTONE, antickly habited; with a torch in one hand, and a wand in the other.
Lov. What art thou, that hast led me this long hour through lanes and alleys, and blind passages?
Set. I am thy genius; and conduct thee to wealth, fame, and honour; what thou comest to do, do boldly; fear not; with this rod I charm thee; and neither elf nor goblin now can harm thee.
Lov. Well, march on; if thou art my genius, thou art bound to be answerable for me; I’ll have thee hanged, if I miscarry.
Set. Fear not, my son.
Lov. Fear not, quotha! then, pr’ythee, put on a more familiar shape: — one of us two stinks extremely: Pr’ythee, do not come so near me; I do not love to have my face bleached like a tiffany with thy brimstone.
Set. Fear not, but follow me.
Lov. ‘Faith, I have no great mind to’t; I am somewhat godly at present; but stay a month longer, and I’ll be proud, and fitter for thee. In the mean time, pr’ythee, stay thy stomach with some Dutchman; an Hollander, with butter, will fry rarely in hell.
Set. Mortal, ’tis now too late for a retreat; go on, and live; step back, and thou art mine.
Lorn. So I am, however, first or last; but for once I’ll trust thee. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.
The scene opens, and discovers CONSTANCE, and a Parson by her; she habited like Fortune.
Enter again.
Set. Take here the mighty queen of good and ill, Fortune; first marry, then enjoy thy fill Of lawful pleasures; but depart ere morn; Slip from her bed, or else thou shalt be torn Piecemeal by fiends; thy blood caroused in bowls, And thy four quarters blown to the top of Paul’s.
Lov. By your favour, I’ll never venture. Is marrying the business? I’ll none, I thank you.
[Here CONSTANCE whispers SETSTONE.
Set. Fortune will turn her back if twice denied.
Lav. Why, she may turn her girdle too on t’other side. This is the devil; I will not venture on her.
Set. Fear not; she swears thou shalt receive no harm.
Lov. Ay, if a man durst trust her; but the devil is got into such an ill name of lying —
Set. Whene’er you are not pleased, it shall be lawful to sue out your divorce.
Lov. Ay, but where shall I get a lawyer? there you are aforehand with me; you have retained most of them already. For the favours I have received, I am very much her servant; but, in the way of matrimony, Mr Parson there can tell you ’tis an ordinance, and must not be entered into without mature deliberation; besides, marriages, you know, are made in heaven; and that I am sure this was not.
Set. She bids you then, at least, restore that gold, which she, too lavishly, poured out on you, unthankful man.
Lov. Faith, I have it not at present; ’tis all gone, as I am a sinner; but, ’tis gone wickedly; all spent in the devil her father’s service.