Ber. Your lordship, I suppose, is fond of music?
Lord Fop. Oh, passionately, on Tuesdays and Saturdays; for then there is always the best company, and one is not expected to undergo the fatigue of listening.
Aman. Does your lordship think that the case at the opera?
Lord Fop. Most certainly, madam. There is my Lady Tattle, my Lady Prate, my Lady Titter, my Lady Sneer, my Lady Giggle, and my Lady Grin — these have boxes in the front, and while any favourite air is singing, are the prettiest company in the waurld, stap my vitals! — Mayn’t we hope for the honour to see you added to our society, madam?
Aman. Alas! my lord, I am the worst company in the world at a concert, I’m so apt to attend to the music.
Lord Fop. Why, madam, that is very pardonable in the country or at church, but a monstrous inattention in a polite assembly. But I am afraid I tire the company?
Love. Not at all. Pray go on.
Lord Fop. Why then, ladies, there only remains to add, that I generally conclude the evening at one or other of the clubs; nat that I ever play deep; indeed I have been for some time tied up from losing above five thousand paunds at a sitting.
Love. But isn’t your lordship sometimes obliged to attend the weighty affairs of the nation?
Lord Fop. Sir, as to weighty affairs, I leave them to weighty heads; I never intend mine shall be a burden to my body.
Ber. Nay, my lord, but you are a pillar of the state.
Lord Fop. An ornamental pillar, madam; for sooner than undergo any part of the fatigue, rat me, but the whole building should fall plump to the ground!
Aman. But, my lord, a fine gentleman spends a great deal of his time in his intrigues; you have given us no account of them yet.
Lord Fop. [Aside.] So! she would inquire into my amours — that’s jealousy, poor soul! — I see she’s in love with me. — [Aloud.] O Lord, madam, I had like to have forgot a secret I must need tell your ladyship. — Ned, you must not be so jealous now as to listen.
Love. [Leading BERINTHIA up the stage.] Not
I, my lord; I am too fashionable a husband to pry into the secrets of my wife.
Lord Fop. [Aside to AMANDA squeezing her hand.] I am in love with you to desperation, strike me speechless!
Aman. [Strikes him on the ear.] Then thus I return your passion. — An impudent fool!
Lord Fop. God’s curse, madam, I am a peer of the realm!
Love. [Hastily returning.] Hey! what the devil, do you affront my wife, sir? Nay, then —
[Draws. They fight.]
Aman. What has my folly done? — Help! murder! help! Part them for Heaven’s sake.
Lord Fop. [Falls back and leans on his sword.] Ah! quite through the body, stap my vitals!
Enter SERVANTS.
Love. [Runs to LORD FOPPINGTON.] I hope I ha’nt killed the fool, however. Bear him up. — Call a surgeon there.
Lord Fop. Ay, pray make haste. [Exit SERVANT.
Love. This mischief you may thank yourself for.
Lord Fop. I may say so; love’s the devil indeed, Ned.
Re-enter SERVANT, with PROBE.
Ser. Here’s Mr. Probe, sir, was just going by the door.
Lord Fop. He’s the welcomest man alive.
Probe. Stand by, stand by, stand by; pray, gentlemen, stand by. Lord have mercy upon us, did you never see a man run through the body before? — Pray stand by.
Lord Fop. Ah, Mr. Probe, I’m a dead man.
Probe. A dead man, and I by! I should laugh to see that, egad.
Love. Pr’ythee don’t stand prating, but look upon his wound.
Probe. Why, what if I don’t look upon his wound this hour, sir?
Love. Why, then he’ll bleed to death, sir.
Probe. Why, then I’ll fetch him to life again, sir.
Love. ‘Slife! he’s run through the body, I tell thee.
Probe. I wish he was run through the heart, and I should get the more credit by his cure. Now I hope you are satisfied?
Come, now let me come at him — now let me come at him. —
[Viewing his wound.] Oops I what a gash is here! why, sir, a man may drive a coach and six horses into your body.
Lord Fop. Oh!
Probe. Why, what the devil have you run the gentleman through with — a scythe? — [Aside.] A little scratch between the skin and the ribs, that’s all.
Love. Let me see his wound.
Probe. Then you shall dress it, sir; for if anybody looks upon it I won’t.
Love. Why, thou art the veriest coxcomb I ever saw!
Probe. Sir, I am not master of my trade for nothing.
Lord Fop. Surgeon!
Probe. Sir.
Lord Fop. Are there any hopes?
Probe. Hopes! I can’t tell. What are you willing to give for a cure? Lord Fop. Five hundred paunds with pleasure.
Probe. Why then perhaps there may be hopes; but we must avoid further delay. — Here, help the gentleman into a chair, and carry him to my house presently — that’s the properest place —
[Aside.] to bubble him out of his money. — [Aloud.]
Come, a chair — a chair quickly — there, in with him. [SERVANTS put LORD FOPPINGTON into a chair.]
Lord Fop. Dear Loveless, adieu; if I die, I forgive thee; and if I live, I hope thou wilt do as much by me. I am sorry you and I should quarrel, but I hope here’s an end on’t; for if you are satisfied, I am.
Love. I shall hardly think it worth my prosecuting any further, so you may be at rest, sir.
Lord Fop. Thou art a generous fellow, strike me dumb!
— [Aside.] But thou hast an impertinent wife, stap my vitals!
Probe. So — carry him off! — carry him off! — We shall have him into a fever by-and-by. — Carry him off! [Exit with LORD FOPPINGTON.]
Enter COLONEL TOWNLY.
Col. Town. So, so, I am glad to find you all alive. — I met a wounded peer carrying off. For heaven’s sake what was the matter?
Love. Oh, a trifle! he would have made love to my wife before my face, so she obliged him with a box o’ the ear, and I ran him through the body, that was all.
Col. Town. Bagatelle on all sides. But pray, madam, how long has this noble lord been an humble servant of yours?
Aman. This is the first I have heard on’t — so I suppose,
’tis his quality more than his love has brought him into this adventure. He thinks his title an authentic passport to every woman’s heart below the degree of a peeress.
Col. Town. He’s coxcomb enough to think anything: but I would not have you brought into trouble for him. I hope there’s no danger of his life?
Love. None at all. He’s fallen into the hands of a roguish surgeon, who, I perceive, designs to frighten a little money out of him: but I saw his wound— ’tis nothing: he may go to the ball to-night if he pleases.
Col. Town. I am glad you have corrected him without further mischief, or you might have deprived me of the pleasure of executing a plot against his lordship, which I have been contriving with an old acquaintance of yours.
Love. Explain.
Col. Town. His brother, Tom Fashion, is come down here, and we have it in contemplation to save him the trouble of his intended wedding: but we want your assistance. Tom would have called but he is preparing for his enterprise, so I promised to bring you to him — so, sir, if these ladies can spare you —
Love. I’ll go with you with all my heart. — [Aside.]
Though I could wish, methinks, to stay and gaze a little longer on that creature. Good gods! how engaging she is! — but what have I to do with beauty? I have already had my portion, and must not covet more.
Aman. Mr. Loveless, pray one word with you before you go.
[Exit COLONEL TOWNLY.
Love. What would my dear?
Aman. Only a woman’s foolish question: how do you like my cousin here?
Love. Jealous already, Amanda?
Aman. Not at all: I ask you for another reason.
Love
. [Aside.] Whate’er her reason be, I must not tell her true. — [Aloud.] Why, I confess, she’s handsome: but you must not think I slight your kinswoman, if I own to you, of all the women who may claim that character, she is the last that would triumph in my heart.
Aman. I’m satisfied.
Love. Now tell me why you asked?
Aman. At night I will — adieu!
Love. I’m yours. [Kisses her and exit.]
Aman. I’m glad to find he does not like her, for I have a great mind to persuade her to come and live with me.
[Aside.]
Ber. So! I find my colonel continues in his airs; there must be something more at the bottom of this than the provocation he pretends from me. [Aside.]
Aman. For Heaven’s sake, Berinthia, tell me what way I shall take to persuade you to come and live with me.
Ber. Why, one way in the world there is, and but one.
Aman. And pray what is that?
Ber. It is to assure me — I shall be very welcome.
Aman. If that be all, you shall e’en sleep here to-night.
Ber. To-night.
Aman. Yes, to-night.
Ber. Why, the people where I lodge will think me mad.
Aman. Let ’em think what they please.
Ber. Say you so, Amanda? Why, then, they shall think what they please: for I’m a young widow, and I care not what anybody thinks. — Ah, Amanda, it’s a delicious thing to be a young widow!
Aman. You’ll hardly make me think so.
Ber. Poh! because you are in love with your husband.
Aman. Pray, ’tis with a world of innocence I would inquire whether you think those we call women of reputation do really escape all other men as they do those shadows of beaux.
Ber. Oh no, Amanda; there are a sort of men make dreadful work amongst ’em, men that may be called the beau’s antipathy, for they agree in nothing but walking upon two legs. These have brains, the beau has none. These are in love with their mistress, the beau with himself. They take care of their reputation, the beau is industrious to destroy it. They are decent, he’s a fop; in short, they are men, he’s an ass.
Aman. If this be their character, I fancy we had here, e’en now, a pattern of ’em both.
Ber. His lordship and Colonel Townly?
Aman. The same.
Ber. As for the lord, he is eminently so; and for the other, I can assure you there’s not a man in town who has a better interest with the women that are worth having an interest with.
Aman. He answers the opinion I had ever of him. [Takes her hand.] I must acquaint you with a secret— ’tis not that fool alone has talked to me of love; Townly has been tampering too.
Ber. [Aside.] So, so! here the mystery comes out! —
[Aloud.] Colonel Townly! impossible, my dear!
Aman. ’Tis true indeed; though he has done it in vain; nor do I think that all the merit of mankind combined could shake the tender love I bear my husband; yet I will own to you, Berinthia, I did not start at his addresses, as when they came from one whom I contemned.
Ber. [Aside.] Oh, this is better and better! —
[Aloud.] Well said, Innocence! and you really think, my dear, that nothing could abate your constancy and attachment to your husband?
Aman. Nothing, I am convinced.
Ber. What, if you found he loved another woman better?
Aman. Well!
Ber. Well! — why, were I that thing they call a slighted wife, somebody should run the risk of being that thing they call — a husband. Don’t I talk madly?
Aman. Madly indeed!
Ber. Yet I’m very innocent.
Aman. That I dare swear you are. I know how to make allowances for your humour: but you resolve then never to marry again?
Ber. Oh no! I resolve I will.
Aman. How so?
Ber. That I never may.
Aman. You banter me.
Ber. Indeed I don’t: but I consider I’m a woman, and form my resolutions accordingly.
Aman. Well, my opinion is, form what resolutions you will, matrimony will be the end on’t.
Ber. I doubt it — but a — Heavens! I have business at home, and am half an hour too late.
Aman. As you are to return with me, I’ll just give some orders, and walk with you.
Ber. Well, make haste, and we’ll finish this subject as we go — [Exit AMANDA.]. Ah, poor Amanda! you have led a country life. Well, this discovery is lucky! Base Townly! at once false to me and treacherous to his friend! — And my innocent and demure cousin too! I have it in my power to be revenged on her, however. Her husband, if I have any skill in countenance, would be as happy in my smiles as Townly can hope to be in hers. I’ll make the experiment, come what will on’t. The woman who can forgive the being robbed of a favoured lover, must be either an idiot or a wanton. [Exit.]
ACT III.
SCENE I.
LORD FOPPINGTON’s Lodgings.
Enter LORD FOPPINGTON, and LA VAROLE.
Lord Fop. Hey, fellow, let thy vis-a-vis come to the door.
La Var. Will your lordship venture so soon to expose yourself to the weather?
Lord Fop. Sir, I will venture as soon as I can expose myself to the ladies.
La Var. I wish your lordship would please to keep house a little longer; I’m afraid your honour does not well consider your wound.
Lord Fop. My wound! — I would not be in eclipse another day, though I had as many wounds in my body as I have had in my heart. So mind, Varole, let these cards be left as directed; for this evening I shall wait on my future father-in-law, Sir
Tunbelly, and I mean to commence my devoirs to the lady, by giving an entertainment at her father’s expense; and hark thee, tell Mr. Loveless I request he and his company will honour me with their presence, or I shall think we are not friends.
La Var. I will be sure, milor. [Exit.]
Enter TOM FASHION.
Fash. Brother, your servant; how do you find yourself to-day?
Lord Fop. So well that I have ardered my coach to the door — so there’s no danger of death this baut, Tam.
Fash. I’m very glad of it.
Lord Fop. [Aside.] That I believe a lie. —
[Aloud.] Pr’ythee, Tam, tell me one thing — did not your heart cut a caper up to your mauth, when you heard I was run through the bady?
Fash. Why do you think it should?
Lord Fop. Because I remember mine did so when I heard my uncle was shot through the head.
Fash. It, then, did very ill.
Lord Fop. Pr’ythee, why so?
Fash. Because he used you very well.
Lord Fop. Well! — Naw, strike me dumb! he starved me; he has let me want a thausand women for want of a thausand paund.
Fash. Then he hindered you from making a great many ill bargains; for I think no woman worth money that will take money.
Lord Fop. If I was a younger brother I should think so too.
Fash. Then you are seldom much in love?
Lord Fop. Never, stap my vitals!
Fash. Why, then, did you make all this bustle about
Amanda?
Lord Fop. Because she’s a woman of insolent virtue, and I thought myself piqued in honour to debauch her.
Fash. Very well. — [Aside.] Here’s a rare fellow for you, to have the spending of ten thousand pounds a year! But now for my business with him. — [Aloud.] Brother, though I know to talk of any business (especially of money) is a theme not quite so entertaining to you as that of the ladies, my necessities are such, I hope you’ll have patience to hear me.
Lord Fop. The greatness of your necessities, Tam, is the worst argument in the waurld for your being patiently heard. I do believe you are going to make a very good speech, but, strike me dumb! it has the worst beginning of any speech I have heard this twelvemonth.
Fash. I’m sorry you think so.
Lord Fop. I do believe thou art: but, come, let’s know the affair quickly.
Fash. Why, then, m
y case, in a word, is this: the necessary expenses of my travels have so much exceeded the wretched income of my annuity, that I have been forced to mortgage it for five hundred pounds, which is spent. So unless you are so kind as to assist me in redeeming it, I know no remedy but to take a purse.
Lord Fop. Why, faith, Tam, to give you my sense of the thing, I do think taking a purse the best remedy in the waurld; for if you succeed, you are relieved that way, if you are taken
[Drawing his hand round his neck], you are relieved t’other.
Fash. I’m glad to see you are in so pleasant a humour; I hope I shall find the effects on’t.
Lord Fop. Why, do you then really think it a reasonable thing, that I should give you five hundred paunds?
Fash. I do not ask it as a due, brother; I am willing to receive it as a favour.
Lord Fop. Then thou art willing to receive it anyhow, strike me speechless! But these are damned times to give money in; taxes are so great, repairs so exorbitant, tenants such rogues, and bouquets so dear, that the devil take me I’m reduced to that extremity in my cash, I have been forced to retrench in that one article of sweet pawder, till I have brought it down to five guineas a maunth — now judge, Tam, whether I can spare you five paunds.
Fash. If you can’t I must starve, that’s all. —
[Aside.] Damn him!
Lord Fop. All I can say is, you should have been a better husband.
Fash. Ouns! if you can’t live upon ten thousand a year, how do you think I should do’t upon two hundred?
Lord Fop. Don’t be in a passion, Tam, for passion is the most unbecoming thing in the waurld — to the face. Look you, I don’t love to say anything to you to make you melancholy, but upon this occasion I must take leave to put you in mind that a running horse does require more attendance than a coach-horse.
Nature has made some difference twixt you and me.
Delphi Complete Works of Richard Brinsley Sheridan Page 21