Complete Works of Thomas Otway
Page 85
Chlor.
A very hopeful Resolution.
Lucr.
As thus: When I and another Spark meet; Dam me, Iack, says I What Times are there stirring? What ready to be had? What Caravans have you met with, or what Loose lately managed? You Rogue, you look very high upon the Huckle.
Chlor.
Well Madam; But what will all this Gibberish signifie?
Lucr.
Signifie, you Fool! why what it signifies already; Wit, Courage, Martial Discipline, Interest at Court, Pretence to Preferment, Free Quarters in my Lodgings, and Free Booty in every Cuckold’s Shop, who shall trust me against his palpable knowledge, that I’m not worth a Groat; and never have the Impudence to hope to be paid.
Chlor.
And must your Honour have a Mistress too?
Lucr.
Yes Huzzy, and you shall be serviceable to me in the matter: I’ll have a Doxy this very Night; I have singled her out already; Courtin’s Wife, that jealous, raging, insatiable Help-meet of the Captains shall be my Ducinea del Toboso. She’s in Love with me already, that’s my comfort: as I passed through the Hall just now, she coming into the House to pay a Visit to the Widow Porcia, (who, by the way, is as wicked as my self, and my great Councellor in this noble Project) we met: I, you must know, bow’d very respectfully; she taking me for a Stranger, Curt ‘sy’d as low; and viewing me strictly leer’d at me, as if that Minute she took Aim at my Heart, and designed me for her Quarry.
Chlor.
But, Madam, she knows, and must discover you.
Lucr.
Thou art a fool: she never saw me till yesterday in her life-time, then too disguised: So that if I do not practise on her frailty, and by that means find a way to revenge my self on that Vizard-monger Beaugard, may I be condemn’d to wear Breeches as long as I live, and never know more than the present use I make of them.
Chlor.
Hist Madam, she’s returning.
Enter Sylvia.
Lucr.
Hush then: now my Cause is coming on, and have at her.
Sylv.
Sweet-heart, pray oblige me so far to shew me the way to the Gardens; I come to pay a Visit to Madam Porcia, and am informed she’s gone there for the Air. — A very handsom Youth —
[Aside.
Chlor.
Madam, this young Gentleman here is come hither on the same kind Errand with your Ladyship, and waits till her Return.
Lucr.
But, Madam, the good fortune of seeing you is a happiness would recompence the being disappointed of all the Conversation of your Sex besides.
Sylv.
Indeed, Sir!
Lucr.
Yes indeed, Madam.
Sylv.
Are you a Relation to this Family, Sir?
Lucr.
Madam, the greatest Advantage I hope from the Family is, henceforth to have oftner the Honour of kissing your fair Hands here: It is an Opportunity I should make no Ungentlemanly use of.
Sylv.
Opportunity, Sir?
Lucr.
Yes, Opportunity Madam: I am not ashamed to mention so honest a Friend as Opportunity, to one that, by her Years and Beauty, should not, methinks, be a mortal Foe to Opportunity.
Sylv.
Do you know me, Sir?
Lucr.
Why, Madam; do I treat you like a Stranger? Know you, by this good Hour, there has not been a Day or Night since I first saw you, that I have thought or dreamt of any thing else. Are not you the Wife of a certain swaggering Squire about this Town, who calls himself Captain Courtine?
Sylv.
Yes Sir; such a Friend in a Corner I have, Sir; and what have you to say to him, Sir? I’ll swear, a very handsom Youth still. —
Lucr.
What, Madam! what I have to say to you, rather than lose you, I would say to him: which is, that I like you, love you, languish for you; and would, with all my Heart, Blood, Spirit and Flesh —
Sylv.
I’ll swear, Sir, I am mightily obliged to you, and so is Mr. Courtine; ha, ha, ha! —
Lucr.
Mr. Courtine! Take notice, Madam, I receive that Expression as kindly as if you had called him what I wish him: for, pretty one, if my Intelligence be true, he lives with your Ladyship as much like Mr. Courtine, as much like a Gentleman —
Sylv.
Sir!
Lucr.
Madam!
Sylv.
Oh Gaud! he’s very handsom.
Lucr.
Shall we walk in these Gardens anon, for I have the privilege of a Key that opens into the Fields: The Moon shines too.
Sylv.
Between Ten and Eleven does the Moon shine?
Lucr.
As bright as any thing but your self.
Sylv.
But you’ll tell, young Gentleman.
Lucr.
Only you how I love you.
Sylv.
Eleven’s a late Hour.
Lucr.
Not too late.
Sylv.
Indeed!
Lucr.
Take this, and my Word for it.
[Kisses her.
Sylv.
Fye, how you use me, when you mean to forget me.
Lucr.
Hush, no more; Company’s coming. Eleven.
Sylv.
Ten if you are kind enough.
Lucr.
Well said, my chast Sex.
Enter Porcia.
Porcia.
Oh Cousin, art thou come! Thou art the welcomest Creature on the Earth; I have expected thee almost to despair for these three Hours. Oh, Sir! your Servant.
Lucr.
I am here, Madam, in order to your Commands.
Sylv.
Her Commands!
Porcia.
Oh, Cousin, the prettiest best natur’d Youth! He is something related to us a great way off; and by that means has the privilege of Visiting, without offence to my jealous Brother in Law, and Tyrannical Guardian. Have you contriv’d that business?
Lucr.
Madam, it is done.
Sylv.
Bus’ness! What Bus’ness, Cousin?
Lord, Cousin, you seem concern’d at it.
Porcia.
I’ll tell thee: Seeing my self here consin’d to the Rules and Limits of a very Prison, I have resolv’d to put as good a face upon the matter as it will bear, and make my misfortune as easie as I can. Wherefore, for a little present diversion, I have contrived a Letter in an unknown name, by this young Agent here, and convey’d it to thy lewd Husband, with another in my own to Beaugard; and sent for thee, my Dear, to share in the pleasure of the Consequence.
Sylv.
Ha, ha ha! But what will be this Consequence, Cousin?
Porcia.
Twenty to one but it occasions some new Alarm, and Divertisement to my Jaylours; who are so very capricious, they would fancy a Rat behind the Hangings for a concealed Lover. It may too, by chance, produce me some lucky opportunity once more to make my Escape out of their merciless Power. Nay, they are already half disposed to run away themselves; for by my Womans interest in the Chirurgeon, who has care of the swearing Atheistical Fellow, yesterday hurt in the scuffle, and afterwards conveyed hither, he gives it out, that he fears his Wounds may be mortal. Upon which, my Lover Gratian sighs, and turns up his Eyes like a Godly Brother at Exercise. My Brother Theodoret puffs, swells, grinds his Teeth, and stamps as if he would brain himself against the next Wall; while poor Beaugard’s ne’er be good Father has, with pure fear, lost a red Nose that has been his fast Friend for these 40 years; and every time he sees his Face in a Glass, fancies every Wrinkle there has the shape of a Gibbet.
Enter Phillis.
Phill.
Oh, my dear, dear Lady, what will become of us! the most unhappy Accident!
Porcia.
Hah!
Phill.
Indeed Madam, I could not possibly help it: I ha’ lost it.
Porcia.
Lost it, lost what? What hast thou lost? Would thou hadst lost thy self; lost a Leg or an Arm, or any thing, rather than have put me in this fright. Speak, what is the matter?
Phill.
Oh, Madam, the Billet; Madam, the Billet.
Lucr. Sylv.
How’s this?
Porcia.
What, the Note I sent to Beaugard?
Phill.
As I hope to see you happy, Madam, I put it as fast here between these two poor naked Breasts here, as ever it could stick, so I did, when, just as I was going forth, who should meet me but the old, wicked, ranting, roaring Gentleman that lies hid here for fear of hanging, would he had been well hang’d a Twelvemonth since; and there he fell a towzing, and a mowzing, and a meddling with me; I was never so afraid of being ravish’d in my life, Gad he knows: So in the struggle, I guess the Note was lost truly; though, in my heart, I wish I had been ravish’d six times over, rather than such a misfortune had happened. Nevertheless, I ha’ done your bus’ness for you, so I have.
Porcia.
Bus’ness! what Bus’ness? Ugliness and ill Reputation light on thee. Thou hast undone and ruin’d me for ever.
Phill.
Why, I have met with the Captain, and told him the whole matter, as well as if he had read it in the Letter himself. He’s but too kind a Man to you, and I too faithful a Servant, so I am, to be thus reviled and cursed by you, for all this.
Porcia.
What then did he say? Fool, Beast and Blockhead; tell me.
Phill.
Why, he said, he’d die a thousand and a thousand times for you, were it possible, so he did; and that that he will not eat, drink or sleep, till he has set you at liberty, so he wo’not; and that he will be in the Garden before Ten.
Lucr.
What’s in this Case to be done, Madam?
Porcia.
O dearest Cousin, retire if you love me; for, should the Lords of my Liberty get any notice of this Billet, and find a Man here, notwithstanding your Relation, who knows what ill usage it may aggravate! — To thy Chamber, dear Lucrece, e’er the Storm comes upon us,
[Aside.
Lucr.
I am all Obedience. Sweet Creature, you’ll remember!
[To Sylvia.
Sylv.
It is not possible to forget you, surely.
Lucr.
Blessings on you for this Goodness.
[Kisses her Hand, and Exit.
Enter Theodoret in a Rage.
Theod.
Double Bar up all the Doors and Windows: Load all the Arms in the House, and be ready for Execution instantly, all of ye. By those Devils that dance in your gogling Eyes, Madam, I’ll try if you have given, your self over to Hell so far, that you can out at a Key-hole.
Porcia.
What means the great He Brute?
Theod.
To cut off your Intelligence, Lady, and make thee, e’er I have done, to curse thy Father and Mother, that let thee learn to write. Seest thou this! thou irreclamable profligate Wretch! Fogh! Send you the draggle-tail’d Minister of thy lewd Affairs a hunting, full cry about the Town, upon the rank Scent of a Brawny-back’d Hector! By Heavens! the thought of it makes me loath the House, and fancy it stinks of the foul Sins thou hast imagined in it.
Porcia.
Thou barbarous, ill manner’d, worse than Beast! Why am I abus’d thus? Why made a Prisoner too, at your sawcy Will? Fetter’d up, and barr’d all Liberty and Converse?
Theod.
For the same reason other too hot blooded Females are; because, if possible, I would not have a good Breed spoil’d.
Porcia.
What a Load of Dirt is the Thick-Skull cram’d withall, if the Tongue were able to throw it out!
Theod.
Filthy, filthy, fulsom filthy! What, be a Doll-Common, follow the Camp! How lovelily would your fair Ladyship look, mounted upon a Baggage-Cart, presiding over the rest of the Captain’s dirty Equipage!
Sylv.
If any thing in the World would make me follow a Camp, it would be a very strong fancy I have, that I should never see you in one, Sir.
Theod.
Your Ladyship has reason to defend the Souldiers Cause: You have married one, as I take it, Madam. Ha, ha, ha.
Porcia.
He in a Camp! He has not Courage enough to animate half a Taylor, not good Nature enough to make a Spaniel of, or Sence enough, if he were that Animal, to learn to fetch and carry.
Theod.
This will open no Locks, Lady.
Porcia.
But there are Instruments to be had, that will break open Locks, Sir.
Theod.
Will you please to retire, and consider farther of that in your Chamber.
Porcia.
No, I’ll not stir, Sir.
Theod.
Nay, by Heaven, but you shall, Madam.
Sylv.
Nay, by Heaven, but she shall not, Sir.
[Father at the Door.
Theod.
How!
Fath.
By Iove, and that’s well said, I’ll stand still a little, and see what’s the matter.
Theod.
Do not drive me to use Violence.
Fath.
How! Violence to a fair Lady! That’s not so well, neither.
Porcia.
Heark you, Sir; my Jaylor, or my Hang-man; for which of the two your Office will end in, by your proceedings I cannot imagine: do but touch me, or offer the least force to compel me to a closer Confinement; by this injur’d Heart, I’ll fire the House about your Asses Ears: I’ll sooner burn with you, to be reveng’d, than endure such Insolence and Torment any longer.
Theod.
Very well.
Fath.
I Gad, a brave Girl, a delicate Wench! How my Fingers itch to take her part now! I have a Months mind to espouse her Quarrel, and make Friends with poor Iacky again. Honest Iacky! ’tis the best natur’d Boy in the World, though I was such a Beast to fall out with him.
Porcia.
Inhumane, cruel Theodoret! Why do you afflict me thus? Why do you force the Tears from my poor Eyes, and wrack a tender Heart that never wrong’d you? —
[Weeps.
Theod.
For your Souls Health, Lady; and the Welfare of your wasting Reputation. A Pox o’your Whining! Come, to your Chamber, to your Prayer-Book and Repentance: Fasting and Humiliation will be good for you. To your Chamber.
Porcia.
To my Grave first.
Theod.
Nay then — Wha, hoa!
[Offers to lay hold of her.
Porcia.
Stand off! Murder! Cramps, Rheums and Palsies, wither thy unmanly Hands.
Theod.
By Heav’n!
Porcia.
You dare not do’t.
Theod.
Hah!
Sylvia.
No Sir, you dare not do’t, you dare not.
Theod.
Avaunt Pass! Confound me, but I shall be scratch’d here presently for my patience.
Sylv.
What an ill bred Camel ’tis!
Fath.
Nay, and what’s more; you shall not do’t, you shall not; Sir Hoh! Is this the Issue of your honourable Pretensions?
Theod.
Et tu Brute!
Fath.
Brute, Brute! Brute me no Brutes Friend: Oonds I am a Man, Fellow; Battoons and Bilboes! Brute! a Gentleman!
Theod.
Your Pardon, Sir!
Sylv.
Don’t pardon him, Sir.
Enter Gratian leaning on a Staff.
Grat.
Oh, Friend!
Theod.
Poor Gratian.
Grat.
If ever we ought to do any thing for our Safety, let us now prepare, and look about us: I have made hard shift to hobble hither, my Wound’s grown very troublesom — We are all lost.
Theod.
I can fear nothing when my Friend’s so near me.
Sylv.
Now Cousin rebel, and force your Freedom nobly.
Fath.
Iacky, I hope. Iacky at the Head of Mirmidons, and declaring for his Property. Look you, Gentlemen; I must confess, I have Remorse of Conscience, and am sensible I have been a Rebel: wherefore, if my Liege Son and Heir have recruited his Power, and be once more up in Arms, Loyalty and Natural Affection, Friends, will work, I must pronounce for Prince Iacky; and here I resolve to defend his Territories.
[Draws a broad Sword.
Grat.
If Prince Iacky have Interest enough to get your Pardon for Murder, Sir, it will be your best way to close with him; for, in short, the Atheist Dardevill, your Antagonist, is dead Sir.
Theod.
Hah! Dead!
Fath.
Dead!
Gratian.
Yes dead, Sir.
Sylv.
So much the better. Porcia, let us run up to the Leads, and cry out Murder to the Streets this Moment.
Fath.
Then I find that I am but a short liv’d Sinner; farewell for ever old Hock, Sherry, Nutmeg and Sugar, Seven and Eleven; Sink-Tray, and the Doublets! Never comes better of rebleting against one’s natural born Children. I shall be hanged one of these Sun-shiny Mornings, and a Ballad come out in the Afternoon to a lamentable Eighty eight Tune of the careful Son, and prodigal Father. Dead said you, Sir.
Grat.
Or, at least, cannot survive half an Hour; therefore it is my Opinion that we instantly quit the House, and provide all for our Safety.
Theod.
Confusion, Devils!
Porcia.
Nay, Sir; stand fast! dare but to open a Door, Sir; by Heav’n, that Moment I’ll alarm the Town: you shall not think to escape, reeking with a poor Man’s Blood, shed in defence of me.
Theod.
Lady, no fooling.
Porcia.
No Sir, no fooling: but now, Sir, do you to your Chamber, Sir, to your Chamber; to your Prayer-Book and Repentance; Fasting and Humiliation will be good for you: To your Chamber, Sir; as you tender your Neck, Sir.
Theod.
Damnation! Unhand me!
Porcia.
I’ll dye e’er I’ll unhold you. Think you so barb’rously to leave me here in the House with a dead Wretch, and have the Punishment of his horrid Murder light on my innocent Head.