John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  [Exeunt Mill.and Rose from above.

  Mood. O, son! here has been the most villainous tragedy against you.

  Sir John. What tragedy? Has there been any blood shed since I went?

  Mood. No blood shed: but, as I told you, a most damnable tragedy.

  Warn. A tragedy! I’ll be hanged if he does not mean a stratagem.

  Mood. Jack sauce! if I say it is a tragedy, it shall be a tragedy, in spite of you; teach your grandam how to piss. What! I hope I am old enough to spout English with you, sir.

  Sir John. But what was the reason you came not after me?

  Mood. ’Twas well I did not; I’ll promise you, there were those would have made bold with mistress Bride; and if she had stirred out of doors, there were whipsters abroad, i’faith, padders of maidenheads, that would have trussed her up, and picked the lock of her affections, ere a man could have said, what’s this? But, by good luck, I had warning of it by a friend’s letter.

  Sir John. The remedy for all such dangers is easy; you may send for a parson, and have the business despatched at home.

  Mood. A match, i’faith; do you provide a domine, and I’ll go tell her our resolutions, and hearten her up against the day of battle.

  [Exit.

  Sir John. Now I think on’t, this letter must needs come from Sir Martin; a plot of his, upon my life, to hinder our marriage.

  Warn. I see, sir, you’ll still mistake him for a wit; but I’m much deceived, if that letter came not from another hand.

  Sir John. From whom, I pr’ythee?

  Warn. Nay, for that you shall excuse me, sir; I do not love to make a breach between persons, that are to be so near related.

  Sir John. Thou seemest to imply, that my mistress was in the plot.

  Warn. Can you make a doubt on’t? Do you not know she ever loved him, and can you hope she has so soon forsaken him? You may make yourself miserable, if you please, by such a marriage.

  Sir John. When she is once mine, her virtue will secure me.

  Warn. Her virtue!

  Sir John. What, do you make a mock on’t?

  Warn. Not I; I assure you, sir, I think it no such jesting matter.

  Sir John. Why, is she not honest?

  Warn. Yes, in my conscience is she; for Sir Martin’s tongue’s no slander.

  Sir John. But does he say to the contrary?

  Warn. If one would believe him, — which, for my part, I do not, — he has in a manner confessed it to me.

  Sir John. Hell and damnation!

  Warn. Courage, sir, never vex yourself; I’ll warrant you ’tis all a lie.

  Sir John. But, how shall I be sure ’tis so?

  Warn. When you are married, you’ll soon make trial, whether she be a maid or no.

  Sir John. I do not love to make that experiment at my own cost.

  Warn. Then you must never marry.

  Sir John. Ay, but they have so many tricks to cheat a man, which are entailed from mother to daughter through all generations; there’s no keeping a lock for that door, for which every one has a key.

  Warn. As, for example, their drawing up their breaths, with — oh! you hurt me, can you be so cruel? then, the next day, she steals a visit to her lover, that did you the courtesy beforehand, and in private tells him how she cozened you; twenty to one but she takes out another lesson with him, to practise the next night.

  Sir John. All this while, miserable I must be their May-game!

  Warn. ’Tis well, if you escape so; for commonly he strikes in with you, and becomes your friend.

  Sir John. Deliver me from such a friend, that stays behind with my wife, when I gird on my sword to go abroad.

  Warn. Ay, there’s your man, sir; besides, he will be sure to watch your haunts, and tell her of them, that, if occasion be, she may have wherewithal to recriminate: at least she will seem to be jealous of you; and who would suspect a jealous wife?

  Sir John. All manner of ways I am most miserable.

  Warn. But, if she be not a maid when you marry her, she may make a good wife afterwards; ’tis but imagining you have taken such a man’s widow.

  Sir John. If that were all; but the man will come and claim her again.

  Warn. Examples have been frequent of those that have been wanton, and yet afterwards take up.

  Sir John. Ay, the same thing they took up before.

  Warn. The truth is, an honest simple girl, that’s ignorant of all things, maketh the best matrimony: There is such pleasure in instructing her; the best is, there’s not one dunce in all the sex; such a one with a good fortune ——

  Sir John. Ay, but where is she, Warner?

  Warn. Near enough, but that you are too far engaged.

  Sir John. Engaged to one, that hath given me the earnest of cuckoldom beforehand!

  Warn. What think you then of Mrs Christian here in the house? There’s five thousand pounds, and a better penny.

  Sir John. Ay, but is she fool enough?

  Warn. She’s none of the wise virgins, I can assure you.

  Sir John. Dear Warner, step into the next room, and inveigle her out this way, that I may speak to her.

  Warn. Remember, above all things, you keep this wooing secret; if it takes the least wind, old Moody will be sure to hinder it.

  Sir John. Dost thou think I shall get her aunt’s consent?

  Warn. Leave that to me.

  [Exit Warn.

  Sir John. How happy a man shall I be, if I can but compass this! and what a precipice have I avoided! then the revenge, too, is so sweet, to steal a wife under her father’s nose, and leave ‘em in the lurch, who have abused me; well, such a servant as this Warner is a jewel.

  Enter Warner and Mrs Christian to him.

  Warn. There she is, sir; now I’ll go to prepare her aunt.

  [Exit.

  Sir John. Sweet mistress, I am come to wait upon you.

  Chr. Truly you are too good to wait on me.

  Sir John. And in the condition of a suitor.

  Chr. As how, forsooth?

  Sir John. To be so happy as to marry you.

  Chr. O Lord, I would not marry for any thing!

  Sir John. Why? ’tis the honest end of womankind.

  Chr. Twenty years hence, forsooth: I would not lie in bed with a man for a world, their beards will so prickle one.

  Sir John. Pah! — What an innocent girl it is, and very child! I like a colt that never yet was backed; for so I shall make her what I list, and mould her as I will. Lord! her innocence makes me laugh my cheeks all wet. [Aside.] — Sweet lady ——

  Chr. I’m but a gentlewoman, forsooth.

  Sir John. Well then, sweet mistress, if I get your friends’ consent, shall I have yours?

  Chr. My old lady may do what she will, forsooth; but by my truly, I hope she will have more care of me, than to marry me yet. Lord bless me, what should I do with a husband?

  Sir John. Well, sweetheart, then instead of wooing you, I must woo my old lady.

  Chr. Indeed, gentleman, my old lady is married already: Cry you mercy, forsooth, I think you are a knight.

  Sir John. Happy in that title, only to make you a lady.

  Chr. Believe me, Mr Knight, I would not be a lady; it makes folks proud, and so humorous, and so ill huswifes, forsooth.

  Sir John. Pah! — she’s a baby, the simplest thing that ever yet I knew: the happiest man I shall be in the world; for should I have my wish, it should be to keep school, and teach the bigger girls, and here, in one, my wish it is absolved.

  Enter Lady Dupe.

  L. Dupe. By your leave, sir: I hope this noble knight will make you happy, and you make him —

  Chr. What should I make him?

  [Sighing.

  L. Dupe. Marry, you shall make him happy in a good wife.

  Chr. I will not marry, madam.

  L. Dupe. You fool!

  Sir John. Pray, madam, let me speak with you; on my soul, ’tis the prettiest innocentest thing in the world.

  L. Dupe. Indeed,
sir, she knows little besides her work, and her prayers; but I’ll talk with the fool.

  Sir John. Deal gently with her, dear madam.

  L. Dupe. Come, Christian, will you not marry this noble knight?

  Chr. Ye — ye — yes ——

  [Sobbingly.

  L. Dupe. Sir, it shall be to night.

  Sir John. This innocence is a dowry beyond all price.

  [Exeunt old Lady and Mrs Christian.

  Enter Sir Martin to Sir John, musing.

  Sir Mart. You are very melancholy, methinks, sir.

  Sir John. You are mistaken, sir.

  Sir Mart. You may dissemble as you please, but Mrs Millisent lies at the bottom of your heart.

  Sir John. My heart, I assure you, has no room for so poor a trifle.

  Sir Mart. Sure you think to wheedle me; would you have me imagine you do not love her?

  Sir John. Love her! why should you think me such a sot? love a prostitute, an infamous person!

  Sir Mart. Fair and soft, good Sir John.

  Sir John. You see, I am no very obstinate rival, I leave the field free to you: Go on, sir, and pursue your good fortune, and be as happy as such a common creature can make thee.

  Sir Mart. This is Hebrew-Greek to me; but I must tell you, sir, I will not suffer my divinity to be prophaned by such a tongue as yours.

  Sir John. Believe it; whate’er I say, I can quote my author for.

  Sir Mart. Then, sir, whoever told it you, lied in his throat, d’ye see, and deeper than that, d’ye see, in his stomach, and his guts, d’ye see: Tell me she’s a common person! he’s a son of a whore that said it, and I’ll make him eat his words, though he spoke ‘em in a privy-house.

  Sir John. What if Warner told me so? I hope you’ll grant him to be a competent judge in such a business.

  Sir Mart. Did that precious rascal say it? — Now I think on’t, I’ll not believe you: In fine, sir, I’ll hold you an even wager he denies it.

  Sir John. I’ll lay you ten to one, he justifies it to your face.

  Sir Mart. I’ll make him give up the ghost under my fist, if he does not deny it.

  Sir John. I’ll cut off his ears upon the spot, if he does not stand to’t.

  Enter Warner.

  Sir Mart. Here he comes, in pudding-time, to resolve the question: — Come hither, you lying varlet, hold up your hand at the bar of justice, and answer me to what I shall demand.

  Warn. What-a-goodjer is the matter, sir?

  Sir Mart. Thou spawn of the old serpent, fruitful in nothing but in lies!

  Warn. A very fair beginning this.

  Sir Mart. Didst thou dare to cast thy venom upon such a saint as Mrs Millisent, to traduce her virtue, and say it was adulterate?

  Warn. Not guilty, my lord.

  Sir Mart. I told you so.

  Sir John. How, Mr Rascal! have you forgot what you said but now concerning Sir Martin and Mrs Millisent? I’ll stop the lie down your throat, if you dare deny it.

  Sir Mart. Say you so! are you there again, i’faith?

  Warn. Pray pacify yourself, sir; ’twas a plot of my own devising.

  [Aside.

  Sir Mart. Leave off your winking and your pinking, with a hose-pox t’ye. I’ll understand none of it; tell me in plain English the truth of the business; for an you were my own brother, you should pay for it: Belie my mistress! what a pox, d’ye think I have no sense of honour?

  Warn. What the devil’s the matter w’ye? Either be at quiet, or I’ll resolve to take my heels, and begone.

  Sir Mart. Stop thief, there! what, did you think to ‘scape the hand of justice? [Lays hold on him.] The best on’t is, sirrah, your heels are not altogether so nimble as your tongue.

  [Beats him.

  Warn. Help! Murder! Murder!

  Sir Mart. Confess, you rogue, then.

  Warn. Hold your hands, I think the devil’s in you, — I tell you ’tis a device of mine.

  Sir Mart. And have you no body to devise it on but my mistress, the very map of innocence?

  Sir John. Moderate your anger, good Sir Martin.

  Sir Mart. By your patience, sir, I’ll chastise him abundantly.

  Sir John. That’s a little too much, sir, by your favour, to beat him in my presence.

  Sir Mart. That’s a good one, i’faith; your presence shall hinder me from beating my own servant?

  Warn. O traitor to all sense and reason! he’s going to discover that too.

  Sir Mart. An I had a mind to beat him to mummy, he’s my own, I hope.

  Sir John. At present, I must tell you, he’s mine, sir.

  Sir Mart. Hey-day! here’s fine juggling!

  Warn. Stop yet, sir, you are just upon the brink of a precipice.

  [Aside.

  Sir Mart. What is’t thou mean’st now? — O Lord! my mind misgives me, I have done some fault; but would I were hanged if I can find it out.

  [Aside.

  Warn. There’s no making him understand me.

  Sir Mart. Pox on’t, come what will, I’ll not be faced down with a lie; I say, he is my man.

  Sir John. Pray remember yourself better; did not you turn him away for some fault lately, and laid a livery of black and blue on his back, before he went?

  Sir Mart. The devil of any fault, or any black and blue, that I remember: Either the rascal put some trick upon you, or you would upon me.

  Sir John. O ho, then it seems the cudgelling and turning away were pure invention; I am glad I understand it.

  Sir Mart. In fine, its all so damned a lie ——

  Warn. Alas! he has forgot it, sir; good wits, you know, have bad memories.

  Sir John. No, no, sir, that shall not serve your turn; you may return when you please to your old master; I give you a fair discharge, and a glad man I am to be so rid of you: Were you thereabouts, i’faith? What a snake I had entertained in my bosom! Fare you well, sir, and lay your next plot better between you, I advise you.

  [Exit Sir John.

  Warn. Lord, sir, how you stand, as you were nipped i’the head! Have you done any new piece of folly, that makes you look so like an ass?

  Sir Mart. Here’s three pieces of gold yet, if I had the heart to offer it thee.

  [Holds the gold afar off, trembling.

  Warn. Noble sir, what have I done to deserve so great a liberality? I confess, if you had beaten me for my own fault, if you had utterly destroyed all my projects, then it might have been expected, that ten or twenty pieces should have been offered by way of recompence or satisfaction.

  Sir Mart. Nay, an you be so full of your flouts, your friend and servant; who the devil could tell the meaning of your signs and tokens, an you go to that?

  Warn. You are no ass then?

  Sir Mart. Well, sir, to do you service, d’ye see, I am an ass in a fair way; will that satisfy you?

  Warn. For this once produce those three pieces; I am contented to receive that inconsiderable tribute; or make ‘em six, and I’ll take the fault upon myself.

  Sir Mart. Are we friends then? If we are, let me advise you ——

  Warn. Yet advising!

  Sir Mart. For no harm, good Warner: But pray next time make me of your council, let me enter into the business, instruct me in every point, and then if I discover all, I am resolved to give over affairs, and retire from the world.

  Warn. Agreed, it shall be so; but let us now take breath a while, then on again. take breath a while, then on again.

  For though we had the worst, those heats are past; We’ll whip and spur, and fetch him up at last. [Exeunt.

  ACT V.

  SCENE I.

  Enter Lord, Lady Dupe, Mistress Christian, Rose, and Warner.

  Lord. Your promise is admirably made good to me, that Sir John Swallow should be this night married to Mrs Christian; instead of that, he is more deeply engaged than ever with old Moody.

  Warn. I cannot help those ebbs and flows of fortune.

  L. Dupe. I am sure my niece suffers most in’t; he’s come off to
her with a cold compliment of a mistake in his mistress’s virtue, which he has now found out, by your master’s folly, to be a plot of yours to separate them.

  Chr. To be forsaken, when a woman has given her consent!

  Lord. ’Tis the same scorn, as to have a town rendered up, and afterwards slighted.

  Rose. You are a sweet youth, sir, to use my lady so, when she depended on you; is this the faith of a valet de chambre? I would be ashamed to be such a dishonour to my profession; it will reflect upon us in time; we shall be ruined by your good example.

  Warn. As how, my dear lady embassadress?

  Rose. Why, they say the women govern their ladies, and you govern us: So if you play fast and loose, not a gallant will bribe us for our good wills; the gentle guinea will now go to the ordinary, which used as duly to steal into our hands at the stair-foot, as into Mr Doctor’s at parting.

  Lord. Night’s come, and I expect your promise.

  L. Dupe. Fail with me if you think good, sir.

  Chr. I give no more time.

  Rose. And if my mistress go to bed a maid to-night —

  Warn. Hey-day! you are dealing with me, as they do with the bankrupts, call in all your debts together; there’s no possibility of payment at this rate, but I’ll coin for you all as fast as I can, I assure you.

  L. Dupe. But you must not think to pay us with false money, as you have done hitherto.

  Rose. Leave off your mountebank tricks with us, and fall to your business in good earnest.

  Warn. Faith, and I will, Rose; for, to confess the truth, I am a kind of mountebank; I have but one cure for all your diseases, that is, that my master may marry Mrs Millisent, for then Sir John Swallow will of himself return to Mrs Christian.

  Lord. He says true, and therefore we must all be helping to that design.

  Warn. I’ll put you upon something, give me but a thinking time. In the first place, get a warrant and bailiffs to arrest Sir John Swallow upon a promise of marriage to Mrs Christian.

  Lord. Very good.

  L. Dupe. We’ll all swear it.

  Warn. I never doubted your ladyship in the least, madam — for the rest we will consider hereafter.

  Lord. Leave this to us.

  [Ex. Lord, Lady Dupe, and Chr.