Complete Works of Thomas Otway

by Thomas Otway

  Lady Squ, I’ll swear, sir, you are a most obliging person — ladies and gallants, poor Mr. Valentine here is fallen in love, and has desired me to be his advocate; who could withstand that eye, that lip, that shape and mien, besides a thousand graces in every thing he does! Oh lovely Camilla! guard, guard your heart; but I’ll swear, if it were my own case, I doubt I should not — ha, ha, ha!

  Val. Madam! What means all this!

  Good. Poor Ned Valentine!

  Tru. ’Tis but what I told him he must look for: but stay, there is more yet coming.

  Lady Squ. Nay, this is not half what thou art to expect; I’ll haunt thee worse than thy ill genius, take all opportunities to expose thy folly and falsehood every where, till I have made thee as ridiculous to our whole sex, as thou art odious to me.

  Val. But has your ladyship no mercy! Will nothing but my ruin appease you? Why should you choose by your malice to expose your decay of years, and lay open your poor lover’s follies to all, because you could improve ’em to your own use no longer]

  [Approaches.

  Lady Squ. Come not near me, traitor — Lord, madam Camilla, how can you be So cruel? See, see, how wildly he looks: for heaven’s sake have a care of him; I fear he is distempered in his mind: what pity ’tis, so hopeful a gentleman should run mad for love — ha, ha, ha!

  Mrs. Good. Dear madam, how can you use Mr. Valentine so? ’Tis enough to put him out of humour, and spoil him for being good company all the day after it.

  Lady Squ. Oh Lord, madam, ’tis the greatest pleasure to me in the world; let me die, but I love to rally a bashful young lover, and put him out of countenance, at my heart.

  Saunt. Ha, ha, ha! and I’ll swear the devil and all’s in her wit, when she sets on’t. Poor Ned Valentine! Lord, how sillily he looks!

  Cap. Ay, and would fain be angry if he knew but how.

  Val. Hark you, coxcomb; I can be angry, very angry, d’ye mark me?

  Clum. No, but sir, don’t be in a passion: my lady will have her humour; but she’s a very good woman at the bottom.

  Val. Very likely, sir.

  Mrs. Good. Now, madam, if your ladyship thinks fit, we’ll withdraw and leave the gentlemen to themselves a little; only Mr. Caper and Mr. Saunter must do us the honour of their company.

  Saunt. Say you so, madam? I’faith and you shall have it. Come, Caper, we are the men for the ladies, I see that — Hey boys!

  Lady Squ. Oh dear! and sweet Mr. Saunter shall oblige us with a song.

  Saunt. O madam, ten thousand, ten thousand if you please. I’ll swear I believe I could sing all day and all night, and never be weary.

  [Sings.

  When Phillis watch’d her harmless sheep,

  Not one poor lamb, &c.

  [Ex. Saunter, Caper, and Ladies.

  Good. A happy riddance this! now, gentlemen, for one bottle to entertain our noble friend and new acquaintance, sir Noble Clumsey.

  Clum. Really, gallants, I must beg your pardon; I dare not drink, for I have but a very weak brain, sir, and my head won’t bear it.

  Tru. Oh, surely that honourable bulk could never be maintained with thin regular diet and small beer.

  Clum. I must confess, sir, I am something plump; but a little fat is comely; I would not be too lean.

  Mal. No, by no means, my dear, thou hast an heroic face, which well becomes this noble port and fulness of thy body.

  Val. Goodvile, we have a suit to you: here is Malagene has been some time in a cloud; for this once receive him into good grace and favour again.

  Mal. Faith, Goodvile, do, for without any more words, I love thee with all my heart — faith and troth, give me thy hand.

  Good. But, sir, should I allow you my countenance, you would be very drunk, very rude, and very unmannerly, I fear.

  Mal. Drunk, sir, I scorn your words, I’d have you know I han’t been drunk this week: no, I am the son of a whore if I won’t be very sober. This noble knight shall be security for my good behaviour. Wilt thou not, knight?

  Clum. Sir, you are a person altogether a stranger to me; and I have sworn never to be bound for any man.

  Tru. But, sir Noble, you are obliged in honour to serve a gentleman and your friend.

  Clum. Say you so, sir? obliged in honour? I am satisfied. Sir, this gentleman is my friend and acquaintance, and whatsoever he says, I’ll stand to.

  Mal. Hark thee, son of Mars, thou art a knight already; I’ll marry thee to a lady of my acquaintance, and have thee made a lord.

  Good. Boy, the wine, give sir Noble his glass. — Gentlemen, sir Noble’s lady’s health.

  Clum. Odd’s my life, I’ll drink that, though I die for’t. Gallants, I have a lady in this head of mine, and that you shall find anon. By my troth, I think this be a glass of good wine.

  Val. Say you so? take the other glass then, Sir Noble.

  Clum. Tore George, and so I will. Pox on’t, let it be a brimmer: gentlemen, God save the king.

  Mal. Well said, my lovely man of might. His worship grows good company.

  Tru. Sir Noble, you are a great acquaintance with Mr. Caper and Mr. Saunter; they are men of pretty parts.

  Clum. Oh sir, the finest persons the most obliging, well-bred, complaisant, modish gentlemen: they are acquainted with all the ladies in town, and are men of fine estates.

  Tru. This rogue is one of those earthly mongrels that knows the value of nothing but a good estate, and loves a fellow with a great deal of land and a title, though his grandfather were a blacksmith. [Aside.

  Clum. How say you, sir, a good estate? odd’s heart, give me the other glass; I have two thousand pounds a-year.

  Mal. Say’st thou so? boy, bring more wine; wine in abundance, sirrah, d’ye hear? Frank Goodvile, thou seest I am free, for faith I hate ceremony, and would fain make the knight merry.

  Good. Malagene, it shall be your task; drink him up lustily, and when that’s done, we’ll bring him to my lady his cousin, it may make some sport.

  Val. A very good proposal.

  Mal. Say no more; thy word’s a law, and it shall be done. Come, bear up, my lusty limb of honour, and hang sobriety.

  Clum. Ay, so say I, hang sobriety — drink, whore, rant, roar, swear, make a noise, and all that: but be honest, dost hear, be honest.

  Tru. I would very fain be so if I could; but the damned billet this morning won’t out of my head. Well, madam Goodvile, if any mischief comes on’t, ’tis your own fault, not mine. I did not strike first, and there’s an end on’t. [Music within.

  Enter LETTICE.

  Let. Sir, the fiddles are ready, and the ladies desire your company. Mr. Truman, my lady wants you.

  Tru. Say’st thou so? I thank thee for thy news with all my heart. The devil I see will get the better on’t, and there is no resisting.

  Let. Sir Noble, my lady Squeamish sent me to tell you she wants your company to dance.

  Clum. Tell her I am busy about a grand affair of the nation, and cannot come. — Dance! I look like a dancer indeed! but these women will be always putting us on more than we can do Boy, give me more wine.

  Good. Malagene, remember, and use expedition.

  [Ex. Good. Trum. Val. Lettice.

  Clum. Sirrah, do you know me? I am a knight; and here’s a health to all the whores in Christendom.

  Mal. Not forgetting all the ladies within. Now we are alone I may talk. [Drinks.

  Clum. So, there’s for you, do you see? [Breaks a glass Sirrah, don’t you look scurvily; I have money in my pocket, you must know that. — Bring us more wine. — Malagene, thou art a pretty fellow; dost thou love me? Give me thy hand: I will salute thy under lip.

  [Staggers.

  Mal. Ha, what’s the meaning of this? I doubt I shall almost be drunk as soon as the knight. Sir Noble canst thou whore?

  Clum. How, whore! what a question’s there! thou shalt be my pimp, and I’ll prefer thee.

  Mal. What a rascal this knight is! I have known as worthy a person as himself a pimp, and one that thought it
no blemish to his honour neither. [Aside.

  Enter Lady SQUEAMISH at the Door.

  Clum. Hah, my lady cousin! — Faith, madam, you see I am at it.

  Mal. The devil’s in it, I think; we could no sooner talk of whores, but she must come in, with a pox to her. Madam, your ladyship’s most humble servant.

  Lady Squ. Oh, odious! insufferable! who would have thought, cousin, you would have served me so? — fough, how he stinks of wine! I can smell him hither. — How have yon the patience to hear the noise of fiddles, and spend your time in nasty drinking?

  Clum. Hum! ’tis a good creature: lovely lady, thou shalt take thy glass.

  Lady Squ. Uh gud; murder! I had rather you had offered me a toad.

  Clum. Then Malagene, here’s a health to my lady cousin’s Pelion upon Ossa.

  [Drinks, and breaks the glass.

  Lady Squ. Lord, dear Mr. Malagene, what’s that?

  Mal. A certain place, madam, in Greece, much talked of by the ancients; the noble gentleman is well read.

  Lady Squ. Nay, he is an ingenious person, I’ll assure you.

  Clum. Now, lady bright, I am wholly thy slave: give me thy hand, I’ll go straight and begin my grandmother’s kissing dance; but first deign me the private honour of thy lip.

  Lady Squ. Nay, fy, sir Noble! how I hate you now! for shame! be not so rude: I swear you are quite spoiled. Get you gone, you good-natured toad you.

  [Exeunt.

  ACT III.

  SCENE I.

  Enter GOODVILE, a little heated.

  Good. What a damned chicken-brained fellow am I grown! If I but dip my bill I am giddy. Now am I as hot-headed with my bare two bottles, as a drunken ‘prentice on a holiday. Truman marries Victoria, that’s resolved on; and so one care is over. But then Camilla! how shall I get possession of her? Well, my mind misgives me, I shall do something may call my discretion in question; and yet I can’t avoid it. Camilla I do love, and must have her, come what will on’t; and no time so fit to begin the enterprize as this; she may make a good wife for Valentine for all that.

  Enter TRUMAN and VALENTINE. Music.

  Fy, gentlemen, without the ladies! did you quit champaign for this? Faith I begin to despair of you, and doubt you are grown as weak lovers as drinkers.

  Tru. Goodvile, thou hast no conscience; a decayed cavalier captain, that drinks journey-work under a deputy-lieutenant in the country, is not able to keep thee company. Two bottles, as I take it, is no such trifling matter.

  Good. Oh but I hate to be baulked; and a friend that leaves me at two bottles, is as unkind as a mistress that jilts me when I thought I had made sure of the business. But, gallants, how stand the affairs of love? Truman, is Victoria kind? I question not your friendship in the matter, but trust the honour of my family in your hands.

  Val. He little thinks Truman is informed of all, and no longer a stranger on what score he is so wondrous civil. But I am mistaken if he be behind with him in kindness long. [Aside.

  Tru. A pox on’t, I am afraid this marriage will never agree with me; methinks the very thought on’t goes a little against my stomach. Like a young thief, though I have some itching to be at it, yet I am loth to venture what may follow.

  Good. Well, I’ll go in and better prepare Victoria: in the mean time, believe it only my ambition to be as well allied in blood, as friendship, to so good and generous a person as Truman. [Exit.

  Tru. What a damned creature man is! Valentine, didst thou believe this fellow could be a villain?

  Val. I must confess it something surprizes me; he might have found out a fitter person to put his mistress upon, than his friend. But how the devil got you the knowledge of it?

  Tru. Faith I’ll tell thee; for I think I am no way obliged to conceal it — his wife, even his very wife told me all.

  Val. I begin to suspect that Mrs. Goodvile has no ill opinion of you; I observed something but now, very obliging towards you: besides, when a woman begins to betray her husband’s secrets, ’tis a certain sign she has a mind to communicate very important ones of her own.

  Tru. Valentine, no more of that; though it would be a rare revenge to make a cuckold of this smiling rogue.

  Val. ’Tis fifty times better than cutting his throat; that were to do him more honour than he deserves.

  Enter MALAGENE.

  Mal. Ha, ha, ha! the rarest sport Jack Truman, Ned Valentine.

  Tru. Why, what’s the matter? Where?

  Mal. Yonder’s my rogue of a knight, as drunk as a porter; and faith, Jack, I am but little better.

  Val. Dear sir, and what of all this?

  Mal. Why, with a bottle under his arm, and a beer-glass in his hand, I set him full drive at my lady Squeamish; for nothing else but to make mischief, Ned — nothing else in the world; for every body knows I am the worst-natured fellow breathing: ’tis my way of wit.

  Val. Do you love nobody then?

  Mal. No, not I; yes, a pox on’t, I love you well enough, because you are a rogue I have known a good while. Though should I take the least prejudice against you, I could not afford you a good word behind your back for my heart.

  Tru. Sir, we are much obliged to you: ’tis a sign the rogue is drunk that he speaks truth.

  Mal. I tell you what I did t’other day: faith ’tis as good a jest as ever you heard.

  Val. Pray, sir, do.

  Mal. Why, walking alone, a lame fellow followed me, and asked my charity, (which, by the way, was a pretty proposition to me). Being in one of my witty merry fits, I asked him how long he had been in that condition? The poor fellow shook his head, and told me he was born so. But how d’ye think I served him?

  Val. Nay, the devil knows.

  Mal. I showed my parts, I think; for I tripped Up both his wooden legs, and walked off gravely about my business.

  Tru. And this you say is your way of wit?

  Mal. Ay altogether, this and mimickry. I’m a very good mimick: I can act Punchinello, Scaramouchio, Harlequin, prince Pretty man, or any thing. I can act the rumbling of a wheelbarrow.

  Val. The rumbling of a wheelbarrow!

  Mal. Ay, the rumbling of a wheelbarrow, so I say — Nay, more than that, I can act a sow and pigs, sausages a-broiling, a shoulder of mutton a-roasting: I can act a fly in a honey-pot.

  Tru. That indeed must be the effect of very curious observation.

  Mal. No, hang it, I never make it my business to observe any thing; that is mechanic. But all this I do, you shall see me if you will. But here comes her ladyship and sir Noble.

  Enter Lady SQUEAMISH and Sir NOBLE CLUMSEY.

  Lady Squ. Oh, dear Mr. Truman, rescue me. Nay, sir Noble, for heaven’s sake.

  Clum. I tell thee, lady, I must embrace thy lovely body: sir, do you know me? I am sir Noble Clumsey: I am a rogue of ah estate, and I live — Do you want any money? I have fifty pounds.

  Val. Nay, good sir Noble, none of your generosity we beseech you. The lady, the lady, Sir Noble.

  Clum. Nay, ’tis all one to me if you won’t take it, there it is. — Hang money, my father was an alderman.

  Mal. ’Tis pity good guineas should be spoiled: sir Noble, by your leave. [Picks up the Guineas.

  Clum. But, sir, you will not keep my money?

  Mal. Oh, hang money, sir, your father was an alderman.

  Clum. Well, get thee gone for an arch-wag — I do but sham all this while — but by dad he’s pure company.

  Tru. Was there ever such a blockhead! Now has he nevertheless a mighty opinion of himself, and thinks all this wit and pretty discourse.

  Clum. Lady, once more I say be civil, and come kiss me; I shall ravish else, I shall ravish mightily.

  Val. Well done, sir Noble, to her, never spare.

  Lady Squ. I may be even with you though for all this, Mr. Valentine: nay, dear sir Noble: Mr. Truman, I’ll swear he’ll put me into fits.

  Clum. No, but let me salute the hem of thy garment. Wilt thou marry me? [Kneels.

  Mal. Faith, madam do, let me make the ma
tch.

  Lady Squ. Let me die, Mr. Malagene, you are a strange man, and I’ll swear have a great deal of wit. Lord, why don’t you write?

  Mal. Write! I thank your ladyship for that with all my heart. No, I have a finger in a lampoon or so, sometimes, that’s all.

  Tru. But he can act.

  Lady Squ. I’ll swear, and so he does better than any one upon our theatres; I have seen him. Oh, the English comedians are nothing, not comparable to the French or Italian: besides, we want poets.

  Clum. Poets! why I am a poet. I have written three acts of a play, and have named it already. ’Tis to be a tragedy.

  Lady Squ. Oh cousin, if you undertake to write a tragedy, take my counsel. Be sure to say soft, melting, tender things in it, that may be moving, and make your ladies’ characters virtuous, Whate’er you do.

  Clum. Moving! why, I can never read it myself but it makes me laugh: well, ’tis the prettiest plot, and so full of waggery.

  Lady Squ. Oh ridiculous!

  Mal. But, knight, the title; knight, the title.

  Clum. Why let me see; ’tis to be called, “The Merry Conceits of Love; or the Life and Death of the Emperor Charles the Fifth, with the Humours of his Dog Bobadillo.”

  Mal. Ha, ha, ha!

  Val. But, sir Noble, this sounds more like a comedy.

  Clum. Oh, but I have resolved it shall be a tragedy, because Bobadillo’s to be killed in the play. Comedy! no, I scorn to write comedy. I know several that can squirt comedy. — I’ll tell you more of this when I am sober.

  Lady Squ. But, dear Mr. Malagene, won’t you let us see you act a little something of Harlequin? I’ll swear you do it so naturally, it makes me think I am at the Louvre or Whitehall all the time. [Malagene acts.] Oh, Lord, don’t, don’t, neither: I’ll swear you’ll make me burst. Was there ever any thing so pleasant?

  Tru. Was ever any thing so affected and ridiculous? Her whole life sure is a continued scene of impertinence. What a damned creature is a decayed woman, with all the exquisite silliness and vanity of her sex, yet none of the charms!

  [Malagene speaks in Punchinello’s voice.

  Lady Squ. O Lord, that, that; that is a pleasure intolerable. Well, let me die if I can hold out any longer. Pray, Mr. Malagene, how long have you been in love with Mrs. Tawdry the actress?