The Double

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Transcribed from the 1895 Methuen and best snowman kits for 11 year olds under 50 dollarsCo. edition by DavidPrice, email [email protected]

THE DOUBLE-DEALER
A COMEDY

Interdum tamen et vocem Comœdiatollit.—Hor. Ar.Po.

Huic equidem consilio palmam do: hic memagnifice
effero, qui vim tantam in me et potestatemhabeam
tantæ astutiæ, vera dicendo ut eos ambosfallam.

Syr. in Terent. Heaut.

TO THE
RIGHT HONOURABLE CHARLES MONTAGUE,
ONE OF THE LORDS OF THE TREASURY.

Sir,—I heartily wish this play were as perfect as Iintended it, that it might be more worthy your acceptance, andthat my dedication of it to you might be more becoming thathonour and esteem which I, with everybody who is so fortunate asto know you, have for you.  It had your countenance when yetunknown; and now it is made public, it wants your protection.

I would not have anybody imagine that I think this playwithout its faults, for I am conscious of several.  Iconfess I designed (whatever vanity or ambition occasioned thatdesign) to have written a true and regular comedy, but I found itan undertaking which put me in mind of Sudet multum,frustraque laboret ausus idem.  And now, to makeamends for the vanity of such a design, I do confess both theattempt and the imperfect performance.  Yet I must take theboldness to say I have not miscarried in the whole, for themechanical part of it is regular.  That I may say with aslittle vanity as a builder may say he has built a house accordingto the model laid down before him, or a gardener that he has sethis flowers in a knot of such or such a figure.  I designedthe moral first, and to that moral I invented the fable, and donot know that I have borrowed one hint of it anywhere.  Imade the plot as strong as I could because it was single, and Imade it single because I would avoid confusion, and was resolvedto preserve the three unities of the drama.  Sir, thisdiscourse is very impertinent to you, whose judgment much bettercan discern the faults than I can excuse them; and whose goodnature, like that of a lover, will find out those hidden beauties(if there are any such) which it would be great immodesty for meto discover.  I think I don’t speak improperly when Icall you a loverof poetry; for it is very well known shehas been a very kind mistress to you: she has not denied you thelast favour, and she has been fruitful to you in a most beautifulissue.  If I break off abruptly here, I hope everybody willunderstand that it is to avoid a commendation which, as it isyour due, would be most easy for me to pay, and too troublesomefor you to receive.

I have since the acting of this play harkened after theobjections which have been made to it, for I was conscious wherea true critic might have put me upon my defence.  I wasprepared for the attack, and am pretty confident I could havevindicated some parts and excused others; and where there wereany plain miscarriages, I would most ingenuously have confessed’em.  But I have not heard anything said sufficient toprovoke an answer.  That which looks most like an objectiondoes not relate in particular to this play, but to all or mostthat ever have been written, and that is soliloquy. Therefore I will answer it, not only for my own sake, but to saveothers the trouble, to whom it may hereafter be objected.

I grant that for a man to talk to himself appears absurd andunnatural, and indeed it is so in most cases; but thecircumstances which may attend the occasion make greatalteration.  It oftentimes happens to a man to have designswhich require him to himself, and in their nature cannot admit ofa confidant.  Such for certain is all villainy, and otherless mischievous intentions may be very improper to becommunicated to a second person.  In such a case, therefore,the audience must observe whether the person upon the stage takesany notice of them at all or no.  For if he supposes any oneto be by when he talks to himself, it is monstrous and ridiculousto the last degree.  Nay, not only in this case, but in anypart of a play, if there is expressed any knowledge of anaudience, it is insufferable.  But otherwise, when a man insoliloquy reasons with himself, and pro’sandcon’s, and weighs all his designs, we ought not toimagine that this man either talks to us or to himself; he isonly thinking, and thinking such matter as were inexcusable follyin him to speak.  But because we are concealed spectators ofthe plot in agitation, and the poet finds it necessary to let usknow the whole mystery of his contrivance, he is willing toinform us of this person’s thoughts; and to that end isforced to make use of the expedient of speech, no other betterway being yet invented for the communication of thought.

Another very wrong objection has been made by some who havenot taken leisure to distinguish the characters.  The heroof the play, as they are pleased to call him (meaning Mellefont),is a gull, and made a fool, and cheated.  Is every man agull and a fool that is deceived?  At that rate I’mafraid the two classes of men will be reduced to one, and theknaves themselves be at a loss to justify their title.  Butif an open-hearted honest man, who has an entire confidence inone whom he takes to be his friend, and whom he has obliged to beso, and who, to confirm him in his opinion, in all appearance andupon several trials has been so: if this man be deceived by thetreachery of the other, must he of necessity commence foolimmediately, only because the other has proved a villain? Ay, but there was caution given to Mellefont in the first act byhis friend Careless.  Of what nature was that caution? Only to give the audience some light into the character ofMaskwell before his appearance, and not to convince Mellefont ofhis treachery; for that was more than Careless was then able todo: he never knew Maskwell guilty of any villainy; he was only asort of man which he did not like.  As for his suspectinghis familiarity with my Lady Touchwood, let ’em examine theanswer that Mellefont makes him, and compare it with the conductof Maskwell’s character through the play.

I would beg ’em again to look into the character ofMaskwell before they accuse Mellefont of weakness for beingdeceived by him.  For upon summing up the enquiry into thisobjection, it may be found they have mistaken cunning in onecharacter for folly in another.

But there is one thing at which I am more concerned than allthe false criticisms that are made upon me, and that is, some ofthe ladies are offended.  I am heartily sorry for it, for Ideclare I would rather disoblige all the critics in the worldthan one of the fair sex.  They are concerned that I haverepresented some women vicious and affected.  How can I helpit?  It is the business of a comic poet to paint the vicesand follies of humankind; and there are but two sexes, male andfemale, menand women, which have a title tohumanity, and if I leave one half of them out, the work will beimperfect.  I should be very glad of an opportunity to makemy compliment to those ladies who are offended; but they can nomore expect it in a comedy than to be tickled by a surgeon whenhe’s letting ’em blood.  They who are virtuousor discreet should not be offended, for such characters as thesedistinguish them, and make their beauties more shining andobserved; and they who are of the other kind may neverthelesspass for such, by seeming not to be displeased or touched withthe satire of this comedy.  Thus have they alsowrongfully accused me of doing them a prejudice, when I have inreality done them a service.

You will pardon me, sir, for the freedom I take of makinganswers to other people in an epistle which ought wholly to besacred to you; but since I intend the play to be so too, I hope Imay take the more liberty of justifying it where it is in theright.

I must now, sir, declare to the world how kind you have beento my endeavours; for in regard of what was well meant, you haveexcused what was ill performed.  I beg you would continuethe same method in your acceptance of this dedication.  Iknow no other way of making a return to that humanity you shewed,in protecting an infant, but by enrolling it in your service, nowthat it is of age and come into the world.  Therefore bepleased to accept of this as an acknowledgment of the favour youhave shewn me, and an earnest of the real service and gratitudeof,

Sir, your most obliged, humble servant,

WILLIAM CONGREVE.

TO MY DEAR FRIEND MR. CONGREVE,
ON HIS COMEDY CALLED
THE DOUBLE-DEALER.

Well then, the promised hour is come at last;
The present age of wit obscures the past.
Strong were our sires; and as they fought they writ,
Conqu’ring with force of arms and dint of wit.
Theirs was the giant race, before the flood;
And thus, when Charles returned, our empire stood.
Like Janus he the stubborn soil manured,
With rules of husbandry the rankness cured,
Tamed us to manners, when the stage was rude,
And boist’rous English wit with art indued.
Our age was cultivated thus at length;
But what we gained in skill we lost in strength.
Our builders were with want of genius curst;
The second temple was not like the first:
Till you, the best Vitruvius, come at length,
Our beauties equal, but excel our strength.
Firm Doric pillars found your solid base,
The fair Corinthian crowns the higher space;
Thus all below is strength, and all above is grace.
In easy dialogue is Fletcher’s praise:
He moved the mind, but had no power to raise.
Great Johnson did by strength of judgment please
Yet doubling Fletcher’s force, he wants ease.
In diff’ring talents both adorned their age;
One for the study, t’other for the stage.
But both to Congreve justly shall submit,
One matched in judgment, both o’er-matched in wit.
In him all beauties of this age we see,
Etherege his courtship, Southern’s purity,
The satire, wit, and strength of manly Wycherly.
All this in blooming youth you have achieved,
Nor are your foiled contemporaries grieved;
So much the sweetness of your manners move,
We cannot envy you, because we love.
Fabius might joy in Scipio, when he saw
A beardless consul made against the law,
And join his suffrage to the votes of Rome;
Though he with Hannibal was overcome.
Thus old Romano bowed to Raphael’s fame,
And scholar to the youth he taught became.

O that your brows my laurel had sustained,
Well had I been deposed if you had reigned!
The father had descended for the son,
For only you are lineal to the throne.
Thus when the state one Edward did depose,
A greater Edward in his room arose.
But now, not I, but poetry is cursed;
For Tom the Second reigns like Tom the First.
But let ’em not mistake my patron’s part,
Nor call his charity their own desert.
Yet this I prophesy: Thou shalt be seen
(Though with some short parenthesis between)
High on the throne of wit; and seated there,
Not mine (that’s little) but thy laurel wear.
Thy first attempt an early promise made;
That early promise this has more than paid.
So bold, yet so judiciously you dare,
That your least praise is to be regular.
Time, place, and action may with pains be wrought,
But genius must be born, and never can be taught.
This is your portion, this your native store,
Heav’n, that but once was prodigal before,
To Shakespeare gave as much; she could not give him more.

Maintain your post: that’s all the fame you need;
For ’tis impossible you should proceed.
Already I am worn with cares and age,
And just abandoning th’ ungrateful stage:
Unprofitably kept at heav’n’s expense,
I live a rent-charge on his providence.
But you, whom every muse and grace adorn,
Whom I foresee to better fortune born,
Be kind to my remains; and oh, defend,
Against your judgment, your departed friend!
Let not th’ insulting foe my fame pursue;
But shade those laurels which descend to you:
And take for tribute what these lines express:
You merit more; nor could my love do less.

JOHN DRYDEN.

PROLOGUE
Spoken by Mrs. Bracegirdle.

Moors have this way (as story tells) to know
Whether their brats are truly got or no;
Into the sea the new-born babe is thrown,
There, as instinct directs, to swim or drown.
A barbarous device, to try if spouse
Has kept religiously her nuptial vows.

Such are the trials poets make of plays,
Only they trust to more inconstant seas;
So does our author, this his child commit
To the tempestuous mercy of the pit,
To know if it be truly born of wit.

Critics avaunt, for you are fish of prey,
And feed, like sharks, upon an infant play.
Be ev’ry monster of the deep away;
Let’s have a fair trial and a clear sea.

Let nature work, and do not damn too soon,
For life will struggle long e’er it sink down:
And will at least rise thrice before it drown.
Let us consider, had it been our fate,
Thus hardly to be proved legitimate:
I will not say, we’d all in danger been,
Were each to suffer for his mother’s sin:
But by my troth I cannot avoid thinking,
How nearly some good men might have ’scaped sinking.
But, heav’n be praised, this custom is confined
Alone to th’ offspring of the muses kind:
Our Christian cuckolds are more bent to pity;
I know not one Moor-husband in the city.
I’ th’ good man’s arms the chopping bastardthrives,
For he thinks all his own that is his wives’.

Whatever fate is for this play designed,
The poet’s sure he shall some comfort find:
For if his muse has played him false, the worst
That can befall him, is, to be divorced:
You husbands judge, if that be to be cursed.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

MEN.

Maskwell, a villain; pretendedfriend to Mellefont, gallant to Lady Touchwood, and in love withCynthia,—Mr. Betterton.

Lord Touchwood, uncle toMellefont,—Mr. Kynaston.

Mellefont, promised to, and in lovewith Cynthia,—Mr. Williams.

Careless, his friend,—Mr.Verbruggen.

Lord Froth, a solemncoxcomb,—Mr. Bowman.

Brisk, a pert coxcomb,—Mr.Powell.

Sir Paul Plyant, an uxorious,foolish old knight; brother to Lady Touchwood, and father toCynthia,—Mr. Dogget.

WOMEN.

Lady Touchwood, in love withMellefont,—Mrs. Barry.

Cynthia, daughter to Sir Paul by aformer wife, promised to Mellefont,—Mrs.Bracegirdle.

Lady Froth, a great coquette;pretender to poetry, wit, and learning,—Mrs.Mountfort.

Lady Plyant, insolent to herhusband, and easy to any pretender,—Mrs. Leigh.

Chaplain, Boy, Footmen,and Attendants.

TheScene: A gallery in the Lord Touchwood’s house, withchambers adjoining.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A gallery in the Lord Touchwood’s home, withchambers adjoining.

EnterCareless, crossingthe stage, with his hat, gloves, and swordin his hands; as just risen from table: Mellefont following him.

MEL.  Ned, Ned, whither so fast?  What, turnedflincher!  Why, you wo’ not leave us?

CARE.  Where are the women?  I’m weary ofguzzling, and begin to think them the better company.

MEL.  Then thy reason staggers, and thou’rt almostdrunk.

CARE.  No, faith, but your fools grow noisy; and if a manmust endure the noise of words without sense, I think the womenhave more musical voices, and become nonsense better.

MEL.  Why, they are at the end of the gallery; retired totheir tea and scandal, according to their ancient custom, afterdinner.  But I made a pretence to follow you, because I hadsomething to say to you in private, and I am not like to havemany opportunities this evening.

CARE.  And here’s this coxcomb most critically cometo interrupt you.

SCENE II.

[To them] Brisk.

BRISK.  Boys, boys, lads, where are you?  What, doyou give ground?  Mortgage for a bottle, ha?  Careless,this is your trick; you’re always spoiling company byleaving it.

CARE.  And thou art always spoiling company by coming ino’t.

BRISK.  Pooh, ha, ha, ha, I know you envy me. Spite, proud spite, by the gods! and burning envy. I’ll be judged by Mellefont here, who gives and takesraillery better than you or I.  Pshaw, man, when I say youspoil company by leaving it, I mean you leave nobody for thecompany to laugh at.  I think there I was with you. Ha, Mellefont?

MEL.  O’ my word, Brisk, that was a home thrust;you have silenced him.

BRISK.  Oh, my dear Mellefont, let me perish if thou artnot the soul of conversation, the very essence of wit and spiritof wine.  The deuce take me if there were three good thingssaid, or one understood, since thy amputation from the body ofour society.  He, I think that’s pretty andmetaphorical enough; i’gad I could not have said it out ofthy company.  Careless, ha?

CARE.  Hum, ay, what is’t?

BRISK.  O mon cœur!  Whatis’t!  Nay, gad, I’ll punish you for want ofapprehension.  The deuce take me if I tell you.

MEL.  No, no, hang him, he has no taste.  But, dearBrisk, excuse me, I have a little business.

CARE.  Prithee get thee gone; thou seest we areserious.

MEL.  We’ll come immediately, if you’ll butgo in and keep up good humour and sense in the company. Prithee do, they’ll fall asleep else.

BRISK.  I’gad, so they will.  Well, I will, Iwill; gad, you shall command me from the Zenith to theNadir.  But the deuce take me if I say a good thing till youcome.  But prithee, dear rogue, make haste, prithee makehaste, I shall burst else.  And yonder your uncle, my LordTouchwood, swears he’ll disinherit you, and Sir Paul Plyantthreatens to disclaim you for a son-in-law, and my Lord Frothwon’t dance at your wedding to-morrow; nor, the deuce takeme, I won’t write your Epithalamium—and see what acondition you’re like to be brought to.

MEL.  Well, I’ll speak but three words, and followyou.

BRISK.  Enough, enough.  Careless, bring yourapprehension along with you.

SCENE III.

Mellefont, Careless.

CARE.  Pert coxcomb.

MEL.  Faith, ’tis a good-natured coxcomb, and hasvery entertaining follies.  You must be more humane to him;at this juncture it will do me service.  I’ll tellyou, I would have mirth continued this day at any rate; thoughpatience purchase folly, and attention be paid with noise, thereare times when sense may be unseasonable as well as truth. Prithee do thou wear none to-day, but allow Brisk to have wit,that thou may’st seem a fool.

CARE.  Why, how now, why this extravagantproposition?

MEL.  Oh, I would have no room for serious design, for Iam jealous of a plot.  I would have noise and impertinencekeep my Lady Touchwood’s head from working: for hell is notmore busy than her brain, nor contains more devils than thatimaginations.

CARE.  I thought your fear of her had been over.  Isnot to-morrow appointed for your marriage with Cynthia, and herfather, Sir Paul Plyant, come to settle the writings this day onpurpose?

MEL.  True; but you shall judge whether I have not reasonto be alarmed.  None besides you and Maskwell are acquaintedwith the secret of my Aunt Touchwood’s violent passion forme.  Since my first refusal of her addresses she hasendeavoured to do me all ill offices with my uncle, yet hasmanaged ’em with that subtilty, that to him they have bornethe face of kindness; while her malice, like a dark lanthorn,only shone upon me where it was directed.  Still, it gave meless perplexity to prevent the success of her displeasure than toavoid the importunities of her love, and of two evils I thoughtmyself favoured in her aversion.  But whether urged by herdespair and the short prospect of time she saw to accomplish herdesigns; whether the hopes of revenge, or of her love, terminatedin the view of this my marriage with Cynthia, I know not, butthis morning she surprised me in my bed.

CARE.  Was there ever such a fury!  ’Tis wellnature has not put it into her sex’s power to ravish. Well, bless us, proceed.  What followed?

MEL.  What at first amazed me—for I looked to haveseen her in all the transports of a slighted and revengefulwoman—but when I expected thunder from her voice, andlightning in her eyes, I saw her melted into tears and hushedinto a sigh.  It was long before either of us spoke: passionhad tied her tongue, and amazement mine.  In short, theconsequence was thus, she omitted nothing that the most violentlove could urge, or tender words express; which when she saw hadno effect, but still I pleaded honour and nearness of blood to myuncle, then came the storm I feared at first, for, starting frommy bed-side like a fury, she flew to my sword, and with much adoI prevented her doing me or herself a mischief.  Havingdisarmed her, in a gust of passion she left me, and in aresolution, confirmed by a thousand curses, not to close her eyestill they had seen my ruin.

CARE.  Exquisite woman!  But what the devil, doesshe think thou hast no more sense than to get an heir upon herbody to disinherit thyself? for as I take it this settlement uponyou is, with a proviso, that your uncle have no children.

MEL.  It is so.  Well, the service you are to do mewill be a pleasure to yourself: I must get you to engage my LadyPlyant all this evening, that my pious aunt may not work her toher interest.  And if you chance to secure her to yourself,you may incline her to mine.  She’s handsome, andknows it; is very silly, and thinks she has sense, and has an oldfond husband.

CARE.  I confess, a very fair foundation for a lover tobuild upon.

MEL.  For my Lord Froth, he and his wife will besufficiently taken up with admiring one another and Brisk’sgallantry, as they call it.  I’ll observe my unclemyself, and Jack Maskwell has promised me to watch my auntnarrowly, and give me notice upon any suspicion.  As for SirPaul, my wise father-in-law that is to be, my dear Cynthia hassuch a share in his fatherly fondness, he would scarce make her amoment uneasy to have her happy hereafter.

CARE.  So you have manned your works; but I wish you maynot have the weakest guard where the enemy is strongest.

MEL.  Maskwell, you mean; prithee why should you suspecthim?

CARE.  Faith I cannot help it; you know I never likedhim: I am a little superstitious in physiognomy.

MEL.  He has obligations of gratitude to bind him to me:his dependence upon my uncle is through my means.

CARE.  Upon your aunt, you mean.

MEL.  My aunt!

CARE.  I’m mistaken if there be not a familiaritybetween them you do not suspect, notwithstanding her passion foryou.

MEL.  Pooh, pooh! nothing in the world but his design todo me service; and he endeavours to be well in her esteem, thathe may be able to effect it.

CARE.  Well, I shall be glad to be mistaken; but youraunt’s aversion in her revenge cannot be any way soeffectually shown as in bringing forth a child to disinherityou.  She is handsome and cunning and naturallywanton.  Maskwell is flesh and blood at best, andopportunities between them are frequent.  His affection toyou, you have confessed, is grounded upon his interest, that youhave transplanted; and should it take root in my lady, Idon’t see what you can expect from the fruit.

MEL.  I confess the consequence is visible, were yoursuspicions just.  But see, the company is broke up,let’s meet ’em.

SCENE IV.

[To them] Lord Touchwood,Lord Froth, SirPaul Plyant, andBrisk.

LORD TOUCH.  Out upon’t, nephew.  Leave yourfather-in-law and me to maintain our ground against youngpeople!

MEL.  I beg your lordship’s pardon.  We werejust returning.

SIR PAUL.  Were you, son?  Gadsbud, much better asit is.  Good, strange!  I swear I’m almost tipsy;t’other bottle would have been too powerful forme,—as sure as can be it would.  We wanted yourcompany, but Mr. Brisk—where is he?  I swear and vowhe’s a most facetious person, and the best company. And, my Lord Froth, your lordship is so merry a man, he, he,he.

LORD FROTH.  Oh, foy, Sir Paul, what do you mean? Merry!  Oh, barbarous!  I’d as lieve you calledme fool.

SIR PAUL.  Nay, I protest and vow now, ’tis true;when Mr. Brisk jokes, your lordship’s laugh does so becomeyou, he, he, he.

LORD FROTH.  Ridiculous!  Sir Paul, you’restrangely mistaken, I find champagne is powerful.  I assureyou, Sir Paul, I laugh at nobody’s jest but my own, or alady’s, I assure you, Sir Paul.

BRISK.  How? how, my lord? what, affront my wit! Let me perish, do I never say anything worthy to be laughedat?

LORD FROTH.  Oh, foy, don’t misapprehend me; Idon’t say so, for I often smile at your conceptions. But there is nothing more unbecoming a man of quality than tolaugh; ’tis such a vulgar expression of the passion;everybody can laugh.  Then especially to laugh at the jestof an inferior person, or when anybody else of the same qualitydoes not laugh with one—ridiculous!  To be pleasedwith what pleases the crowd!  Now when I laugh, I alwayslaugh alone.

BRISK.  I suppose that’s because you laugh at yourown jests, i’gad, ha, ha, ha.

LORD FROTH.  He, he, I swear though, your railleryprovokes me to a smile.

BRISK.  Ay, my lord, it’s a sign I hit you in theteeth, if you show ’em.

LORD FROTH.  He, he, he, I swear that’s so verypretty, I can’t forbear.

CARE.  I find a quibble bears more sway in yourlordship’s face than a jest.

LORD TOUCH.  Sir Paul, if you please we’ll retireto the ladies, and drink a dish of tea to settle our heads.

SIR PAUL.  With all my heart.  Mr. Brisk,you’ll come to us, or call me when you joke; I’ll beready to laugh incontinently.

SCENE V.

Mellefont, Careless, LordFroth, Brisk.

MEL.  But does your lordship never see comedies?

LORD FROTH.  Oh yes, sometimes; but I never laugh.

MEL.  No?

LORD FROTH.  Oh no; never laugh indeed, sir.

CARE.  No! why, what d’ye go there for?

LORD FROTH.  To distinguish myself from the commonaltyand mortify the poets; the fellows grow so conceited, when any oftheir foolish wit prevails upon the side-boxes.  Iswear,—he, he, he, I have often constrained my inclinationsto laugh,—he, he, he, to avoid giving themencouragement.

MEL.  You are cruel to yourself, my lord, as well asmalicious to them.

LORD FROTH.  I confess I did myself some violence atfirst, but now I think I have conquered it.

BRISK.  Let me perish, my lord, but there is somethingvery particular in the humour; ’tis true it makes againstwit, and I’m sorry for some friends of mine that write;but, i’gad, I love to be malicious.  Nay, deuce takeme, there’s wit in’t, too.  And wit must befoiled by wit; cut a diamond with a diamond, no other way,i’gad.

LORD FROTH.  Oh, I thought you would not be long beforeyou found out the wit.

CARE.  Wit!  In what?  Where the devil’sthe wit in not laughing when a man has a mind to’t?

BRISK.  O Lord, why can’t you find it out? Why, there ’tis, in the not laughing.  Don’t youapprehend me?  My lord, Careless is a very honest fellow,but harkee, you understand me, somewhat heavy, a little shallow,or so.  Why, I’ll tell you now, suppose now you comeup to me—nay, prithee, Careless, be instructed. Suppose, as I was saying, you come up to me holding your sides,and laughing as if you would—well—I look grave, andask the cause of this immoderate mirth.  You laugh on still,and are not able to tell me, still I look grave, not so much assmile.

CARE.  Smile, no, what the devil should you smile at,when you suppose I can’t tell you!

BRISK.  Pshaw, pshaw, prithee don’t interruptme.  But I tell you, you shall tell me at last, but it shallbe a great while first.

CARE.  Well, but prithee don’t let it be a greatwhile, because I long to have it over.

BRISK.  Well then, you tell me some good jest or somevery witty thing, laughing all the while as if you were ready todie, and I hear it, and look thus.  Would not you bedisappointed?

CARE.  No; for if it were a witty thing I should notexpect you to understand it.

LORD FROTH.  Oh, foy, Mr. Careless, all the world allowsMr. Brisk to have wit; my wife says he has a great deal.  Ihope you think her a judge.

BRISK.  Pooh, my lord, his voice goes for nothing; Ican’t tell how to make him apprehend.  Take itt’other way.  Suppose I say a witty thing to you?

CARE.  Then I shall be disappointed indeed.

MEL.  Let him alone, Brisk, he is obstinately bent not tobe instructed.

BRISK.  I’m sorry for him, the deuce take me.

MEL.  Shall we go to the ladies, my lord?

LORD FROTH.  With all my heart; methinks we are asolitude without ’em.

MEL.  Or what say you to another bottle of champagne?

LORD FROTH.  Oh, for the universe not a drop more, Ibeseech you.  Oh, intemperate!  I have a flushing in myface already.  [Takes out a pocket-glass and looks init.]

BRISK.  Let me see, let me see, my lord, I broke my glassthat was in the lid of my snuff-box.  Hum!  Deuce takeme, I have encouraged a pimple here too.  [Takes theglass and looks.]

LORD FROTH.  Then you must mortify him with a patch; mywife shall supply you.  Come, gentlemen, allons, hereis company coming.

SCENE VI.

Lady Touchwood andMaskwell.

LADY TOUCH.  I’ll hear no more.  You are falseand ungrateful; come, I know you false.

MASK.  I have been frail, I confess, madam, for yourladyship’s service.

LADY TOUCH.  That I should trust a man whom I had knownbetray his friend!

MASK.  What friend have I betrayed? or to whom?

LADY TOUCH.  Your fond friend Mellefont, and to me; canyou deny it?

MASK.  I do not.

LADY TOUCH.  Have you not wronged my lord, who has been afather to you in your wants, and given you being?  Have younot wronged him in the highest manner, in his bed?

MASK.  With your ladyship’s help, and for yourservice, as I told you before.  I can’t deny thatneither.  Anything more, madam?

LADY TOUCH.  More!  Audacious villain!  Oh,what’s more, is most my shame.  Have you notdishonoured me?

MASK.  No, that I deny; for I never told in all my life:so that accusation’s answered; on to the next.

LADY TOUCH.  Death, do you dally with my passion? Insolent devil!  But have a care,—provoke me not; for,by the eternal fire, you shall not ’scape myvengeance.  Calm villain!  How unconcerned he stands,confessing treachery and ingratitude!  Is there a vice moreblack?  Oh, I have excuses thousands for my faults; fire inmy temper, passions in my soul, apt to ev’ry provocation,oppressed at once with love, and with despair.  But asedate, a thinking villain, whose black blood runs temperatelybad, what excuse can clear?

MASK.  Will you be in temper, madam?  I would nottalk not to be heard.  I have been [she walks aboutdisordered] a very great rogue for your sake, and youreproach me with it; I am ready to be a rogue still, to do youservice; and you are flinging conscience and honour in my face,to rebate my inclinations.  How am I to behave myself? You know I am your creature, my life and fortune in your power;to disoblige you brings me certain ruin.  Allow it I wouldbetray you, I would not be a traitor to myself: I don’tpretend to honesty, because you know I am a rascal; but I wouldconvince you from the necessity of my being firm to you.

LADY TOUCH.  Necessity, impudence!  Can no gratitudeincline you, no obligations touch you?  Have not my fortuneand my person been subjected to your pleasure?  Were you notin the nature of a servant, and have not I in effect made youlord of all, of me, and of my lord?  Where is that humblelove, the languishing, that adoration, which once was paid me,and everlastingly engaged?

MASK.  Fixt, rooted in my heart, whence nothing canremove ’em, yet you—

LADY TOUCH.  Yet, what yet?

MASK.  Nay, misconceive me not, madam, when I say I havehad a gen’rous and a faithful passion, which you had neverfavoured, but through revenge and policy.

LADY TOUCH.  Ha!

MASK.  Look you, madam, we are alone,—pray containyourself and hear me.  You know you loved your nephew when Ifirst sighed for you; I quickly found it: an argument that Iloved, for with that art you veiled your passion ’twasimperceptible to all but jealous eyes.  This discovery mademe bold; I confess it; for by it I thought you in my power. Your nephew’s scorn of you added to my hopes; I watched theoccasion, and took you, just repulsed by him, warm at once withlove and indignation; your disposition, my arguments, and happyopportunity accomplished my design; I pressed the yieldingminute, and was blest.  How I have loved you since, wordshave not shown, then how should words express?

LADY TOUCH.  Well, mollifying devil!  And have I notmet your love with forward fire?

MASK.  Your zeal, I grant, was ardent, but misplaced;there was revenge in view; that woman’s idol had defiledthe temple of the god, and love was made a mock-worship.  Ason and heir would have edged young Mellefont upon the brink ofruin, and left him none but you to catch at for prevention.

LADY TOUCH.  Again provoke me!  Do you wind me likea larum, only to rouse my own stilled soul for yourdiversion?  Confusion!

MASK.  Nay, madam, I’m gone, if you relapse. What needs this?  I say nothing but what you yourself, inopen hours of love, have told me.  Why should you denyit?  Nay, how can you?  Is not all this present heatowing to the same fire?  Do you not love him still? How have I this day offended you, but in not breaking off hismatch with Cynthia? which, ere to-morrow, shall be done, had youbut patience.

LADY TOUCH.  How, what said you, Maskwell?  Anothercaprice to unwind my temper?

MASK.  By heav’n, no; I am your slave, the slave ofall your pleasures; and will not rest till I have given youpeace, would you suffer me.

LADY TOUCH.  O Maskwell! in vain I do disguise me fromthee, thou know’st me, knowest the very inmost windings andrecesses of my soul.  O Mellefont!  I burn; married tomorrow!  Despair strikes me.  Yet my soul knows I hatehim too: let him but once be mine, and next immediate ruin seizehim.

MASK.  Compose yourself, you shall possess and ruin himtoo,—will that please you?

LADY TOUCH.  How, how?  Thou dear, thou preciousvillain, how?

MASK.  You have already been tampering with my LadyPlyant.

LADY TOUCH.  I have: she is ready for any impression Ithink fit.

MASK.  She must be throughly persuaded that Mellefontloves her.

LADY TOUCH.  She is so credulous that way naturally, andlikes him so well, that she will believe it faster than I canpersuade her.  But I don’t see what you can proposefrom such a trifling design, for her first conversing withMellefont will convince her of the contrary.

MASK.  I know it.  I don’t depend uponit.  But it will prepare something else, and gain us leisureto lay a stronger plot.  If I gain a little time, I shallnot want contrivance.

One minute gives invention to destroy,

What to rebuild will a whole age employ.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Lady Froth andCynthia.

CYNT.  Indeed, madam!  Is it possible your ladyshipcould have been so much in love?

LADY FROTH.  I could not sleep; I did not sleep one winkfor three weeks together.

CYNT.  Prodigious!  I wonder want of sleep, and somuch love and so much wit as your ladyship has, did not turn yourbrain.

LADY FROTH.  Oh, my dear Cynthia, you must not rally yourfriend.  But really, as you say, I wonder too.  Butthen I had a way.  For, between you and I, I had whimsiesand vapours, but I gave them vent.

CYNT.  How, pray, madam?

LADY FROTH.  Oh, I writ, writ abundantly.  Do younever write?

CYNT.  Write what?

LADY FROTH.  Songs, elegies, satires, encomiums,panegyrics, lampoons, plays, or heroic poems?

CYNT.  O Lord, not I, madam; I’m content to be acourteous reader.

LADY FROTH.  Oh, inconsistent!  In love and notwrite!  If my lord and I had been both of your temper, wehad never come together.  Oh, bless me!  What a sadthing would that have been, if my lord and I should never havemet!

CYNT.  Then neither my lord nor you would ever have metwith your match, on my conscience.

LADY FROTH.  O’ my conscience, no more we should;thou say’st right.  For sure my Lord Froth is as finea gentleman and as much a man of quality!  Ah! nothing atall of the common air.  I think I may say he wants nothingbut a blue ribbon and a star to make him shine, the veryphosphorus of our hemisphere.  Do you understand those twohard words?  If you don’t, I’ll explain’em to you.

CYNT.  Yes, yes, madam, I’m not soignorant.—At least I won’t own it, to be troubledwith your instructions.  [Aside.]

LADY FROTH.  Nay, I beg your pardon; but being derivedfrom the Greek, I thought you might have escaped theetymology.  But I’m the more amazed to find you awoman of letters and not write!  Bless me! how can Mellefontbelieve you love him?

CYNT.  Why, faith, madam, he that won’t take myword shall never have it under my hand.

LADY FROTH.  I vow Mellefont’s a pretty gentleman,but methinks he wants a manner.

CYNT.  A manner!  What’s that, madam?

LADY FROTH.  Some distinguishing quality, as, forexample, the bel airor brillantof Mr. Brisk; thesolemnity, yet complaisance of my lord, or something of his ownthat should look a little Je-ne-sais-quoish; he is toomuch a mediocrity, in my mind.

CYNT.  He does not indeed affect either pertness orformality; for which I like him.  Here he comes.

LADY FROTH.  And my lord with him.  Pray observe thedifference.

SCENE II.

[To them] Lord Froth, Mellefont, andBrisk.

CYNT.  Impertinent creature!  I could almost beangry with her now.  [Aside.]

LADY FROTH.  My lord, I have been telling Cynthia howmuch I have been in love with you; I swear I have; I’m notashamed to own it now.  Ah! it makes my heart leap, I vow Isigh when I think on’t.  My dear lord!  Ha, ha,ha, do you remember, my lord?  [Squeezes him by thehand, looks kindly on him, sighs, and thenlaughs out.]

LORD FROTH.  Pleasant creature! perfectly well, ah! thatlook, ay, there it is; who could resist? ’twas so my heartwas made a captive first, and ever since t’has been in lovewith happy slavery.

LADY FROTH.  Oh, that tongue, that dear deceitful tongue!that charming softness in your mien and your expression, and thenyour bow!  Good my lord, bow as you did when I gave you mypicture; here, suppose this my picture. [Gives him apocket-glass.]  Pray mind, my lord; ah! he bowscharmingly; nay, my lord, you shan’t kiss it so much; Ishall grow jealous, I vow now.  [He bows profoundlylow, then kisses the glass.]

LORD FROTH.  I saw myself there, and kissed it for yoursake.

LADY FROTH.  Ah!  Gallantry to the lastdegree.  Mr. Brisk, you’re a judge; was ever anythingso well bred as my lord?

BRISK.  Never anything, but your ladyship; let meperish.

LADY FROTH.  Oh, prettily turned again; let me die, butyou have a great deal of wit.  Mr. Mellefont, don’tyou think Mr. Brisk has a world of wit?

MEL.  O yes, madam.

BRISK.  O dear, madam—

LADY FROTH.  An infinite deal!

BRISK.  O heav’ns, madam—

LADY FROTH.  More wit than anybody.

BRISK.  I’m everlastingly your humble servant,deuce take me, madam.

LORD FROTH.  Don’t you think us a happy couple?

CYNT.  I vow, my lord, I think you the happiest couple inthe world, for you’re not only happy in one another, andwhen you are together, but happy in yourselves, and byyourselves.

LORD FROTH.  I hope Mellefont will make a good husbandtoo.

CYNT.  ’Tis my interest to believe he will, myLord.

LORD FROTH.  D’ye think he’ll love you aswell as I do my wife?  I’m afraid not.

CYNT.  I believe he’ll love me better.

LORD FROTH.  Heav’ns! that can never be.  Butwhy do you think so?

CYNT.  Because he has not so much reason to be fond ofhimself.

LORD FROTH.  Oh, your humble servant for that, dearmadam.  Well, Mellefont, you’ll be a happycreature.

MEL.  Ay, my lord, I shall have the same reason for myhappiness that your lordship has, I shall think myself happy.

LORD FROTH.  Ah, that’s all.

BRISK.  [ToLadyFroth.]  Your ladyship is in the right; but,i’gad, I’m wholly turned into satire.  I confessI write but seldom, but when I do—keen iambics,i’gad.  But my lord was telling me your ladyship hasmade an essay toward an heroic poem.

LADY FROTH.  Did my lord tell you?  Yes, I vow, andthe subject is my lord’s love to me.  And what do youthink I call it?  I dare swear you won’tguess—The Sillabub, ha, ha, ha.

BRISK.  Because my lord’s title’s Froth,i’gad, ha, ha, ha, deuce take me, very à propos andsurprising, ha, ha, ha.

LADY FROTH.  He, ay, is not it?  And then I call mylord Spumoso; and myself, what d’ye think I callmyself?

BRISK.  Lactilla, may be,—i’gad, I cannottell.

LADY FROTH.  Biddy, that’s all; just my ownname.

BRISK.  Biddy!  I’gad, very pretty. Deuce take me if your ladyship has not the art of surprising themost naturally in the world.  I hope you’ll make mehappy in communicating the poem.

LADY FROTH.  Oh, you must be my confidant, I must askyour advice.

BRISK.  I’m your humble servant, let meperish.  I presume your ladyship has read Bossu?

LADY FROTH.  Oh yes, and Racine, and Dacier uponAristotle and Horace.  My lord, you must not be jealous,I’m communicating all to Mr. Brisk.

LORD FROTH.  No, no, I’ll allow Mr. Brisk; have younothing about you to shew him, my dear?

LADY FROTH.  Yes, I believe I have.  Mr. Brisk,come, will you go into the next room? and there I’ll shewyou what I have.

LORD FROTH.  I’ll walk a turn in the garden, andcome to you.

SCENE III.

Mellefont, Cynthia.

MEL.  You’re thoughtful, Cynthia?

CYNT.  I’m thinking, though marriage makes man andwife one flesh, it leaves ’em still two fools; and theybecome more conspicuous by setting off one another.

MEL.  That’s only when two fools meet, and theirfollies are opposed.

CYNT.  Nay, I have known two wits meet, and by theopposition of their wit render themselves as ridiculous asfools.  ’Tis an odd game we’re going to playat.  What think you of drawing stakes, and giving over intime?

MEL.  No, hang’t, that’s not endeavouring towin, because it’s possible we may lose; since we haveshuffled and cut, let’s even turn up trump now.

CYNT.  Then I find it’s like cards, if either of ushave a good hand it is an accident of fortune.

MEL.  No, marriage is rather like a game at bowls:fortune indeed makes the match, and the two nearest, andsometimes the two farthest, are together, but the game dependsentirely upon judgment.

CYNT.  Still it is a game, and consequently one of usmust be a loser.

MEL.  Not at all; only a friendly trial of skill, and thewinnings to be laid out in an entertainment.  What’shere, the music?  Oh, my lord has promised the company a newsong; we’ll get ’em to give it us by the way. [Musicians crossing the stage.]  Pray let us have thefavour of you, to practise the song before the company hearit.

SONG.

I.

Cynthia frowns whene’er I woo her,
Yet she’s vext if I give over;
Much she fears I should undo her,
But much more to lose her lover:
Thus, in doubting, she refuses;
And not winning, thus she loses.

II.

Prithee, Cynthia, look behind you,
Age and wrinkles will o’ertake you;
Then too late desire will find you,
When the power must forsake you:
Think, O think o’ th’ sad condition,
To be past, yet wish fruition.

MEL.  You shall have my thanks below.  [To themusicians, they go out.]

SCENE IV.

[To them] Sir Paul PlyantandLady Plyant.

SIR PAUL.  Gadsbud!  I am provoked into afermentation, as my Lady Froth says; was ever the like read of instory?

LADY PLYANT.  Sir Paul, have patience, let me alone torattle him up.

SIR PAUL.  Pray, your ladyship, give me leave to beangry.  I’ll rattle him up, I warrant you, I’llfirk him with a certiorari.

LADY PLYANT.  You firk him, I’ll firk him myself;pray, Sir Paul, hold you contented.

CYNT.  Bless me, what makes my father in such apassion?  I never saw him thus before.

SIR PAUL.  Hold yourself contented, my Lady Plyant. I find passion coming upon me by inflation, and I cannot submitas formerly, therefore give way.

LADY PLYANT.  How now! will you be pleased to retireand—

SIR PAUL.  No, marry will I not be pleased: I am pleasedto be angry, that’s my pleasure at this time.

MEL.  What can this mean?

LADY PLYANT.  Gads my life, the man’s distracted;why, how now, who are you?  What am I?  Slidikins,can’t I govern you?  What did I marry you for? Am I not to be absolute and uncontrollable?  Is it fit awoman of my spirit and conduct should be contradicted in a matterof this concern?

SIR PAUL.  It concerns me and only me.  Besides,I’m not to be governed at all times.  When I am intranquillity, my Lady Plyant shall command Sir Paul; but when Iam provoked to fury, I cannot incorporate with patience andreason: as soon may tigers match with tigers, lambs with lambs,and every creature couple with its foe, as the poet says.

LADY PLYANT.  He’s hot-headed still! ’Tis in vain to talk to you; but remember I have acurtain-lecture for you, you disobedient, headstrong brute.

SIR PAUL.  No, ’tis because I won’t beheadstrong, because I won’t be a brute, and have my headfortified, that I am thus exasperated.  But I will protectmy honour, and yonder is the violator of my fame.

LADY PLYANT.  ’Tis my honour that is concerned, andthe violation was intended to me.  Your honour!  Youhave none but what is in my keeping, and I can dispose of it whenI please: therefore don’t provoke me.

SIR PAUL.  Hum, gadsbud, she says true.  Well, mylady, march on; I will fight under you, then: I am convinced, asfar as passion will permit.  [LadyPlyant andSir Paulcome up toMellefont.]

LADY PLYANT.  Inhuman and treacherous—

SIR PAUL.  Thou serpent and first tempter ofwomankind.

CYNT.  Bless me!  Sir, madam, what mean you?

SIR PAUL.  Thy, Thy, come away, Thy; touch him not. Come hither, girl; go not near him, there’s nothing butdeceit about him.  Snakes are in his peruke, and thecrocodile of Nilus is in his belly; he will eat thee upalive.

LADY PLYANT.  Dishonourable, impudent creature!

MEL.  For heav’n’s sake, madam, to whom doyou direct this language?

LADY PLYANT.  Have I behaved myself with all the decorumand nicety befitting the person of Sir Paul’s wife? Have I preserved my honour as it were in a snow-house for thesethree years past?  Have I been white and unsullied even bySir Paul himself?

SIR PAUL.  Nay, she has been an invincible wife, even tome; that’s the truth on’t.

LADY PLYANT.  Have I, I say, preserved myself like a fairsheet of paper for you to make a blot upon?

SIR PAUL.  And she shall make a simile with any woman inEngland.

MEL.  I am so amazed, I know not what to say.

SIR PAUL.  Do you think my daughter, this prettycreature—gadsbud, she’s a wife for acherubim!—do you think her fit for nothing but to be astalking horse, to stand before you, while you take aim at mywife?  Gadsbud, I was never angry before in my life, andI’ll never be appeased again.

MEL.  Hell and damnation!  This is my aunt; suchmalice can be engendered nowhere else.  [Aside.]

LADY PLYANT.  Sir Paul, take Cynthia from his sight;leave me to strike him with the remorse of his intendedcrime.

CYNT.  Pray, sir, stay, hear him; I dare affirmhe’s innocent.

SIR PAUL.  Innocent!  Why, hark’ee—comehither, Thy—hark’ee, I had it from his aunt, mysister Touchwood.  Gadsbud, he does not care a farthing foranything of thee but thy portion.  Why, he’s in lovewith my wife.  He would have tantalised thee, and made acuckold of thy poor father, and that would certainly have brokemy heart.  I’m sure, if ever I should have horns, theywould kill me; they would never come kindly—I should die of’em like a child that was cutting his teeth—I shouldindeed, Thy—therefore come away; but providence hasprevented all, therefore come away when I bid you.

CYNT.  I must obey.

SCENE V.

Lady Plyant, Mellefont.

LADY PLYANT.  Oh, such a thing! the impiety of itstartles me—to wrong so good, so fair a creature, and onethat loves you tenderly—’tis a barbarity ofbarbarities, and nothing could be guilty of it—

MEL.  But the greatest villain imagination can form, Igrant it; and next to the villainy of such a fact is the villainyof aspersing me with the guilt.  How? which way was I towrong her?  For yet I understand you not.

LADY PLYANT.  Why, gads my life, cousin Mellefont, youcannot be so peremptory as to deny it, when I tax you with it toyour face? for now Sir Paul’s gone, you are corumnobus.

MEL.  By heav’n, I love her more than lifeor—

LADY PLYANT.  Fiddle faddle, don’t tell me of thisand that, and everything in the world, but give me mathemaculardemonstration; answer me directly.  But I have notpatience.  Oh, the impiety of it, as I was saying, and theunparalleled wickedness!  O merciful Father!  How couldyou think to reverse nature so, to make the daughter the means ofprocuring the mother?

MEL.  The daughter to procure the mother!

LADY PLYANT.  Ay, for though I am not Cynthia’s ownmother, I am her father’s wife, and that’s nearenough to make it incest.

MEL.  Incest!  O my precious aunt, and the devil inconjunction.  [Aside.]

LADY PLYANT.  Oh, reflect upon the horror of that, andthen the guilt of deceiving everybody; marrying the daughter,only to make a cuckold of the father; and then seducing me,debauching my purity, and perverting me from the road of virtuein which I have trod thus long, and never made one trip, not onefaux pas.  Oh, consider it!  What would you haveto answer for if you should provoke me to frailty?  Alas!humanity is feeble, heav’n knows! very feeble, and unableto support itself.

MEL.  Where am I? is it day? and am I awake? Madam—

LADY PLYANT.  And nobody knows how circumstances mayhappen together.  To my thinking, now I could resist thestrongest temptation.  But yet I know, ’tis impossiblefor me to know whether I could or not; there’s no certaintyin the things of this life.

MEL.  Madam, pray give me leave to ask you onequestion.

LADY PLYANT.  O Lord, ask me the question; I’llswear I’ll refuse it, I swear I’ll denyit—therefore don’t ask me; nay, you shan’t askme, I swear I’ll deny it.  O Gemini, you have broughtall the blood into my face; I warrant I am as red as aturkey-cock.  O fie, cousin Mellefont!

MEL.  Nay, madam, hear me; I mean—

LADY PLYANT.  Hear you?  No, no; I’ll deny youfirst and hear you afterwards.  For one does not know howone’s mind may change upon hearing.  Hearing is one ofthe senses, and all the senses are fallible.  I won’ttrust my honour, I assure you; my honour is infallible anduncomeatable.

MEL.  For heav’n’s sake, madam—

LADY PLYANT.  Oh, name it no more.  Bless me, howcan you talk of heav’n, and have so much wickedness in yourheart?  May be you don’t think it a sin—they saysome of you gentlemen don’t think it a sin.  May be itis no sin to them that don’t think it so; indeed, if I didnot think it a sin—But still my honour, if it were nosin.  But then, to marry my daughter for the conveniency offrequent opportunities, I’ll never consent to that; as sureas can be, I’ll break the match.

MEL.  Death and amazement!  Madam, upon myknees—

LADY PLYANT.  Nay, nay, rise up; come, you shall see mygood-nature.  I know love is powerful, and nobody can helphis passion.  ’Tis not your fault; nor, I swear, it isnot mine.  How can I help it, if I have charms?  Andhow can you help it, if you are made a captive?  I swear itis pity it should be a fault.  But my honour,—well,but your honour, too—but the sin!—well, but thenecessity—O Lord, here’s somebody coming, I dare notstay.  Well, you must consider of your crime; and strive asmuch as can be against it,—strive, be sure.  Butdon’t be melancholic; don’t despair.  But neverthink that I’ll grant you anything.  O Lord, no. But be sure you lay aside all thoughts of the marriage, forthough I know you don’t love Cynthia, only as a blind foryour passion to me, yet it will make me jealous.  O Lord,what did I say?  Jealous! no, no, I can’t be jealous,for I must not love you; therefore don’t hope,—butdon’t despair neither.  Oh, they’re coming, Imust fly.

SCENE VI.

Mellefont alone.

MEL.  [After a pause.]  So then, spite of mycare and foresight, I am caught, caught in my security.  Yetthis was but a shallow artifice, unworthy of my Machiavellianaunt.  There must be more behind: this is but the firstflash, the priming of her engine.  Destruction follows hard,if not most presently prevented.

SCENE VII.

[To him] Maskwell.

MEL.  Maskwell, welcome, thy presence is a view of land,appearing to my shipwrecked hopes.  The witch has raised thestorm, and her ministers have done their work: you see thevessels are parted.

MASK.  I know it.  I met Sir Paul towing awayCynthia.  Come, trouble not your head; I’ll join youtogether ere to-morrow morning, or drown between you in theattempt.

MEL.  There’s comfort in a hand stretched out toone that’s sinking; though ne’er so far off.

MASK.  No sinking, nor no danger.  Come, cheer up;why, you don’t know that while I plead for you, your aunthas given me a retaining fee.  Nay, I am your greatestenemy, and she does but journey-work under me.

MEL.  Ha! how’s this?

MASK.  What d’ye think of my being employed in theexecution of all her plots?  Ha, ha, ha, by heav’n,it’s true: I have undertaken to break the match; I haveundertaken to make your uncle disinherit you; to get you turnedout of doors; and to—ha, ha, ha, I can’t tell you forlaughing.  Oh, she has opened her heart to me!  I am toturn you a-grazing, and to—ha, ha, ha, marry Cynthiamyself.  There’s a plot for you.

MEL.  Ha!  Oh, see, I see my rising sun!  Lightbreaks through clouds upon me, and I shall live in day—Oh,my Maskwell! how shall I thank or praise thee?  Thou hastoutwitted woman.  But, tell me, how couldst thou thus getinto her confidence?  Ha!  How?  But was it hercontrivance to persuade my Lady Plyant to this extravagantbelief?

MASK.  It was; and to tell you the truth, I encouraged itfor your diversion.  Though it made you a little uneasy forthe present, yet the reflection of it must needs beentertaining.  I warrant she was very violent at first.

MEL.  Ha, ha, ha, ay, a very fury; but I was most afraidof her violence at last.  If you had not come as you did, Idon’t know what she might have attempted.

MASK.  Ha, ha, ha, I know her temper.  Well, youmust know, then, that all my contrivances were but bubbles, tillat last I pretended to have been long secretly in love withCynthia; that did my business, that convinced your aunt I mightbe trusted; since it was as much my interest as hers to break thematch.  Then, she thought my jealousy might qualify me toassist her in her revenge.  And, in short, in that belief,told me the secrets of her heart.  At length we made thisagreement, if I accomplish her designs (as I told you before) shehas engaged to put Cynthia with all her fortune into mypower.

MEL.  She is most gracious in her favour.  Well,and, dear Jack, how hast thou contrived?

MASK.  I would not have you stay to hear it now; for Idon’t know but she may come this way.  I am to meether anon; after that, I’ll tell you the whole matter. Be here in this gallery an hour hence; by that time I imagine ourconsultation may be over.

MEL.  I will; till then success attend thee.

SCENE VIII.

Maskwell alone.

Till then, success will attend me; for when I meet you, I meetthe only obstacle to my fortune.  Cynthia, let thy beautygild my crimes; and whatsoever I commit of treachery or deceit,shall be imputed to me as a merit.  Treachery?  Whattreachery?  Love cancels all the bonds of friendship, andsets men right upon their first foundations.

Duty to kings, piety to parents, gratitude to benefactors, andfidelity to friends, are different and particular ties.  Butthe name of rival cuts ’em all asunder, and is a generalacquittance.  Rival is equal, and love like death anuniversal leveller of mankind.  Ha!  But is there notsuch a thing as honesty?  Yes, and whosoever has it abouthim, bears an enemy in his breast.  For your honest man, asI take it, is that nice, scrupulous, conscientious person, whowill cheat nobody but himself; such another coxcomb as your wiseman, who is too hard for all the world, and will be made a foolof by nobody but himself; ha, ha, ha.  Well, for wisdom andhonesty give me cunning and hypocrisy; oh, ’tis such apleasure to angle for fair-faced fools!  Then that hungrygudgeon credulity will bite at anything.  Why, let me see, Ihave the same face, the same words and accents when I speak whatI do think, and when I speak what I do not think, the very same;and dear dissimulation is the only art not to be known fromnature.

Why will mankind be fools, and be deceived,
And why are friends’ and lovers’ oaths believed,
When each, who searches strictly his own mind,
May so much fraud and power of baseness find?

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Lord Touchwood andLady Touchwood.

LADY TOUCH.  My lord, can you blame my brother Plyant ifhe refuse his daughter upon this provocation?  Thecontract’s void by this unheard-of impiety.

LORD TOUCH.  I don’t believe it true; he has betterprinciples.  Pho, ’tis nonsense.  Come, come, Iknow my Lady Plyant has a large eye, and would centre everythingin her own circle; ’tis not the first time she has mistakenrespect for love, and made Sir Paul jealous of the civility of anundesigning person, the better to bespeak his security in herunfeigned pleasures.

LADY TOUCH.  You censure hardly, my lord; mysister’s honour is very well known.

LORD TOUCH.  Yes, I believe I know some that have beenfamiliarly acquainted with it.  This is a little trickwrought by some pitiful contriver, envious of my nephew’smerit.

LADY TOUCH.  Nay, my lord, it may be so, and I hope itwill be found so.  But that will require some time; for insuch a case as this, demonstration is necessary.

LORD TOUCH.  There should have been demonstration of thecontrary too, before it had been believed.

LADY TOUCH.  So I suppose there was.

LORD TOUCH.  How?  Where?  When?

LADY TOUCH.  That I can’t tell; nay, I don’tsay there was.  I am willing to believe as favourably of mynephew as I can.

LORD TOUCH.  I don’t know that.  [Halfaside.]

LADY TOUCH.  How?  Don’t you believe that, sayyou, my lord?

LORD TOUCH.  No, I don’t say so.  I confess Iam troubled to find you so cold in his defence.

LADY TOUCH.  His defence!  Bless me, would you haveme defend an ill thing?

LORD TOUCH.  You believe it, then?

LADY TOUCH.  I don’t know; I am very unwilling tospeak my thoughts in anything that may be to my cousin’sdisadvantage: besides, I find, my lord, you are prepared toreceive an ill impression from any opinion of mine which is notconsenting with your own.  But, since I am like to besuspected in the end, and ’tis a pain any longer todissemble, I own it to you; in short I do believe it, nay, andcan believe anything worse, if it were laid to his charge. Don’t ask me my reasons, my lord, for they are not fit tobe told you.

LORD TOUCH.  I’m amazed: there must be somethingmore than ordinary in this.  [Aside.]  Not fitto be told me, madam?  You can have no interests wherein Iam not concerned, and consequently the same reasons ought to beconvincing to me, which create your satisfaction or disquiet.

LADY TOUCH.  But those which cause my disquiet I amwilling to have remote from your hearing.  Good my lord,don’t press me.

LORD TOUCH.  Don’t oblige me to press you.

LADY TOUCH.  Whatever it was, ’tis past.  Andthat is better to be unknown which cannot be prevented; thereforelet me beg you to rest satisfied.

LORD TOUCH.  When you have told me, I will.

LADY TOUCH.  You won’t.

LORD TOUCH.  By my life, my dear, I will.

LADY TOUCH.  What if you can’t?

LORD TOUCH.  How?  Then I must know, nay, Iwill.  No more trifling.  I charge you tell me. By all our mutual peace to come; upon your duty—

LADY TOUCH.  Nay, my lord, you need say no more, to makeme lay my heart before you, but don’t be thus transported;compose yourself.  It is not of concern to make you lose oneminute’s temper.  ’Tis not, indeed, mydear.  Nay, by this kiss you shan’t be angry.  OLord, I wish I had not told you anything.  Indeed, my lord,you have frighted me.  Nay, look pleased, I’ll tellyou.

LORD TOUCH.  Well, well.

LADY TOUCH.  Nay, but will you be calm?  Indeedit’s nothing but—

LORD TOUCH.  But what?

LADY TOUCH.  But will you promise me not to beangry?  Nay, you must—not to be angry withMellefont?  I dare swear he’s sorry, and were it to doagain, would not—

LORD TOUCH.  Sorry for what?  ’Death, you rackme with delay.

LADY TOUCH.  Nay, no great matter, only—well, Ihave your promise.  Pho, why nothing, only your nephew had amind to amuse himself sometimes with a little gallantry towardsme.  Nay, I can’t think he meant anything seriously,but methought it looked oddly.

LORD TOUCH.  Confusion and hell, what do I hear?

LADY TOUCH.  Or, may be, he thought he was not enoughakin to me, upon your account, and had a mind to create a nearerrelation on his own; a lover you know, my lord.  Ha, ha,ha.  Well, but that’s all.  Now you have it; wellremember your promise, my lord, and don’t take any noticeof it to him.

LORD TOUCH.  No, no, no.  Damnation!

LADY TOUCH.  Nay, I swear you must not.  A littleharmless mirth; only misplaced, that’s all.  But if itwere more, ’tis over now, and all’s well.  Formy part I have forgot it, and so has he, I hope,—for I havenot heard anything from him these two days.

LORD TOUCH.  These two days!  Is it so fresh? Unnatural villain!  Death, I’ll have him stripped andturned naked out of my doors this moment, and let him rot andperish, incestuous brute!

LADY TOUCH.  Oh, for heav’n’s sake, my lord,you’ll ruin me if you take such public notice of it; itwill be a town talk.  Consider your own and my honour; nay,I told you you would not be satisfied when you knew it.

LORD TOUCH.  Before I’ve done I will besatisfied.  Ungrateful monster! how long?

LADY TOUCH.  Lord, I don’t know; I wish my lips hadgrown together when I told you.  Almost a twelvemonth. Nay, I won’t tell you any more till you are yourself. Pray, my lord, don’t let the company see you in thisdisorder.  Yet, I confess, I can’t blame you; for Ithink I was never so surprised in my life.  Who would havethought my nephew could have so misconstrued my kindness? But will you go into your closet, and recover your temper. I’ll make an excuse of sudden business to the company, andcome to you.  Pray, good, dear my lord, let me beg you donow.  I’ll come immediately and tell you all; willyou, my lord?

LORD TOUCH.  I will—I am mute with wonder.

LADY TOUCH.  Well, but go now, here’s somebodycoming.

LORD TOUCH.  Well, I go.  You won’t stay? forI would hear more of this.

LADY TOUCH.  I follow instantly.  So.

SCENE II.

Lady Touchwood, Maskwell.

MASK.  This was a masterpiece, and did not need my help,though I stood ready for a cue to come in and confirm all, hadthere been occasion.

LADY TOUCH.  Have you seen Mellefont?

MASK.  I have; and am to meet him here about thistime.

LADY TOUCH.  How does he bear his disappointment?

MASK.  Secure in my assistance, he seemed not muchafflicted, but rather laughed at the shallow artifice, which solittle time must of necessity discover.  Yet he isapprehensive of some farther design of yours, and has engaged meto watch you.  I believe he will hardly be able to preventyour plot, yet I would have you use caution and expedition.

LADY TOUCH.  Expedition indeed, for all we do must beperformed in the remaining part of this evening, and before thecompany break up, lest my lord should cool and have anopportunity to talk with him privately.  My lord must notsee him again.

MASK.  By no means; therefore you must aggravate mylord’s displeasure to a degree that will admit of noconference with him.  What think you of mentioning me?

LADY TOUCH.  How?

MASK.  To my lord, as having been privy toMellefont’s design upon you, but still using my utmostendeavours to dissuade him, though my friendship and love to himhas made me conceal it; yet you may say, I threatened the nexttime he attempted anything of that kind to discover it to mylord.

LADY TOUCH.  To what end is this?

MASK.  It will confirm my lord’s opinion of myhonour and honesty, and create in him a new confidence in me,which (should this design miscarry) will be necessary to theforming another plot that I have in my head.—To cheat youas well as the rest.  [Aside.]

LADY TOUCH.  I’ll do it—I’ll tell himyou hindered him once from forcing me.

MASK.  Excellent!  Your ladyship has a mostimproving fancy.  You had best go to my lord, keep him aslong as you can in his closet, and I doubt not but you will mouldhim to what you please; your guests are so engaged in their ownfollies and intrigues, they’ll miss neither of you.

LADY TOUCH.  When shall we meet?—at eight thisevening in my chamber?  There rejoice at our success, andtoy away an hour in mirth.

MASK.  I will not fail.

SCENE III.

Maskwell alone.

I know what she means by toying away an hour wellenough.  Pox, I have lost all appetite to her; yetshe’s a fine woman, and I loved her once.  But Idon’t know: since I have been in a great measure kept byher, the case is altered; what was my pleasure is become my duty,and I have as little stomach to her now as if I were herhusband.  Should she smoke my design upon Cynthia, I were ina fine pickle.  She has a damned penetrating head, and knowshow to interpret a coldness the right way; therefore I mustdissemble ardour and ecstasy; that’s resolved.  Howeasily and pleasantly is that dissembled before fruition! Pox on’t that a man can’t drink without quenching histhirst.  Ha! yonder comes Mellefont, thoughtful.  Letme think.  Meet her at eight—hum—ha!  Byheav’n I have it.—If I can speak to my lordbefore.  Was it my brain or providence?  No matterwhich—I will deceive ’em all, and yet securemyself.  ’Twas a lucky thought!  Well, thisdouble-dealing is a jewel.  Here he comes, now for me. [Maskwell, pretending not to seehim, walks by him, and speaks as it were tohimself.]

SCENE IV.

[To him] Mellefont,musing.

MASK.  Mercy on us, what will the wickedness of thisworld come to?

MEL.  How now, Jack?  What, so full of contemplationthat you run over?

MASK.  I’m glad you’re come, for I could notcontain myself any longer, and was just going to give vent to asecret, which nobody but you ought to drink down.  Youraunt’s just gone from hence.

MEL.  And having trusted thee with the secrets of hersoul, thou art villainously bent to discover ’em all to me,ha?

MASK.  I’m afraid my frailty leans that way. But I don’t know whether I can in honour discover ’emall.

MEL.  All, all, man!  What, you may in honour betrayher as far as she betrays herself.  No tragical design uponmy person, I hope.

MASK.  No, but it’s a comical design upon mine.

MEL.  What dost thou mean?

MASK.  Listen and be dumb; we have been bargaining aboutthe rate of your ruin—

MEL.  Like any two guardians to an orphan heiress. Well?

MASK.  And whereas pleasure is generally paid withmischief, what mischief I do is to be paid with pleasure.

MEL.  So when you’ve swallowed the potion yousweeten your mouth with a plum.

MASK.  You are merry, sir, but I shall probe yourconstitution.  In short, the price of your banishment is tobe paid with the person of—

MEL.  Of Cynthia and her fortune.  Why, you forgetyou told me this before.

MASK.  No, no.  So far you are right; and I am, asan earnest of that bargain, to have full and free possession ofthe person of—your aunt.

MEL.  Ha!  Pho, you trifle.

MASK.  By this light, I’m serious; all railleryapart.  I knew ’twould stun you.  This evening ateight she will receive me in her bedchamber.

MEL.  Hell and the devil, is she abandoned of allgrace?  Why, the woman is possessed.

MASK.  Well, will you go in my stead?

MEL.  By heav’n, into a hot furnace sooner.

MASK.  No, you would not; it would not be so convenient,as I can order matters.

MEL.  What d’ye mean?

MASK.  Mean?  Not to disappoint the lady, I assureyou.  Ha, ha, ha, how gravely he looks.  Come, come, Iwon’t perplex you.  ’Tis the only thing thatprovidence could have contrived to make me capable of servingyou, either to my inclination or your own necessity.

MEL.  How, how, for heav’n’s sake, dearMaskwell?

MASK.  Why, thus.  I’ll go according toappointment; you shall have notice at the critical minute to comeand surprise your aunt and me together.  Counterfeit a rageagainst me, and I’ll make my escape through the privatepassage from her chamber, which I’ll take care to leaveopen.  ’Twill be hard if then you can’t bringher to any conditions.  For this discovery will disarm herof all defence, and leave her entirely at your mercy—nay,she must ever after be in awe of you.

MEL.  Let me adore thee, my better genius!  Byheav’n I think it is not in the power of fate to disappointmy hopes—my hopes?  My certainty!

MASK.  Well, I’ll meet you here, within a quarterof eight, and give you notice.

MEL.  Good fortune ever go along with thee.

SCENE V.

Mellefont, Careless.

CARE.  Mellefont, get out o’ th’ way, my LadyPlyant’s coming, and I shall never succeed while thou artin sight.  Though she begins to tack about; but I made lovea great while to no purpose.

MEL.  Why, what’s the matter?  She’sconvinced that I don’t care for her.

CARE.  I can’t get an answer from her, that doesnot begin with her honour, or her virtue, her religion, or somesuch cant.  Then she has told me the whole history of SirPaul’s nine years courtship; how he has lain for wholenights together upon the stairs before her chamber-door; and thatthe first favour he received from her was a piece of an oldscarlet petticoat for a stomacher, which since the day of hismarriage he has out of a piece of gallantry converted into anight-cap, and wears it still with much solemnity on hisanniversary wedding-night.

MEL.  That I have seen, with the ceremony thereuntobelonging.  For on that night he creeps in at thebed’s feet like a gulled bassa that has married a relationof the Grand Signior, and that night he has his arms atliberty.  Did not she tell you at what a distance she keepshim?  He has confessed to me that, but at some certaintimes, that is, I suppose, when she apprehends being with child,he never has the privilege of using the familiarity of a husbandwith a wife.  He was once given to scrambling with hishands, and sprawling in his sleep, and ever since she has himswaddled up in blankets, and his hands and feet swathed down, andso put to bed; and there he lies with a great beard, like aRussian bear upon a drift of snow.  You are very great withhim, I wonder he never told you his grievances: he will, Iwarrant you.

CARE.  Excessively foolish!  But that which gives memost hopes of her is her telling me of the many temptations shehas resisted.

MEL.  Nay, then you have her; for a woman’sbragging to a man that she has overcome temptations is anargument that they were weakly offered, and a challenge to him toengage her more irresistibly.  ’Tis only an enhancingthe price of the commodity, by telling you how many customershave underbid her.

CARE.  Nay, I don’t despair.  But still shehas a grudging to you.  I talked to her t’other nightat my Lord Froth’s masquerade, when I’m satisfied sheknew me, and I had no reason to complain of my reception; but Ifind women are not the same bare-faced and in masks, and a vizordisguises their inclinations as much as their faces.

MEL.  ’Tis a mistake, for women may most properlybe said to be unmasked when they wear vizors; for that securesthem from blushing and being out of countenance, and next tobeing in the dark, or alone, they are most truly themselves in avizor mask.  Here they come: I’ll leave you.  Plyher close, and by and by clap a billet douxinto her hand;for a woman never thinks a man truly in love with her, till hehas been fool enough to think of her out of her sight, and tolose so much time as to write to her.

SCENE VI.

Careless, SirPaul, andLadyPlyant.

SIR PAUL.  Shan’t we disturb your meditation, Mr.Careless?  You would be private?

CARE.  You bring that along with you, Sir Paul, thatshall be always welcome to my privacy.

SIR PAUL.  O sweet sir, you load your humble servants,both me and my wife, with continual favours.

LADY PLYANT.  Sir Paul, what a phrase was there? You will be making answers, and taking that upon you which oughtto lie upon me.  That you should have so little breeding tothink Mr. Careless did not apply himself to me.  Pray whathave you to entertain anybody’s privacy?  I swear anddeclare in the face of the world I’m ready to blush foryour ignorance.

SIR PAUL.  I acquiesce, my lady; but don’t snub soloud.  [Aside to her.]

LADY PLYANT.  Mr. Careless, if a person that is whollyilliterate might be supposed to be capable of being qualified tomake a suitable return to those obligations, which you arepleased to confer upon one that is wholly incapable of beingqualified in all those circumstances, I’m sure I shouldrather attempt it than anything in the world, [Courtesies]for I’m sure there’s nothing in the world that Iwould rather.  [Courtesies]  But I know Mr.Careless is so great a critic, and so fine a gentleman, that itis impossible for me—

CARE.  O heavens! madam, you confound me.

SIR PAUL.  Gads-bud, she’s a fine person.

LADY PLYANT.  O Lord! sir, pardon me, we women have notthose advantages; I know my imperfections.  But at the sametime you must give me leave to declare in the face of the worldthat nobody is more sensible of favours and things; for with thereserve of my honour I assure you, Mr. Careless, I don’tknow anything in the world I would refuse to a person someritorious.  You’ll pardon my want of expression.

CARE.  O, your ladyship is abounding in all excellence,particularly that of phrase.

LADY PLYANT.  You are so obliging, sir.

CARE.  Your ladyship is so charming.

SIR PAUL.  So, now, now; now, my lady.

LADY PLYANT.  So well bred.

CARE.  So surprising.

LADY PLYANT.  So well dressed, so bonne mine, soeloquent, so unaffected, so easy, so free, so particular, soagreeable.

SIR PAUL.  Ay, so, so, there.

CARE.  O Lord, I beseech you madam, don’t.

LADY PLYANT.  So gay, so graceful, so good teeth, so fineshape, so fine limbs, so fine linen, and I don’t doubt butyou have a very good skin, sir,

CARE.  For heaven’s sake, madam, I’m quiteout of countenance.

SIR PAUL.  And my lady’s quite out of breath; orelse you should hear—Gads-bud, you may talk of my LadyFroth.

CARE.  O fie, fie, not to be named of a day.  MyLady Froth is very well in her accomplishments.  But it iswhen my Lady Plyant is not thought of.  If that can everbe.

LADY PLYANT.  O, you overcome me.  That is soexcessive.

SIR PAUL.  Nay, I swear and vow that was pretty.

CARE.  O, Sir Paul, you are the happiest man alive. Such a lady! that is the envy of her own sex, and the admirationof ours.

SIR PAUL.  Your humble servant.  I am, I thankheaven, in a fine way of living, as I may say, peacefully andhappily, and I think need not envy any of my neighbours, blessedbe providence.  Ay, truly, Mr. Careless, my lady is a greatblessing, a fine, discreet, well-spoken woman as you shall see,if it becomes me to say so, and we live very comfortablytogether; she is a little hasty sometimes, and so am I; butmine’s soon over, and then I’m so sorry.—O Mr.Careless, if it were not for one thing—

SCENE VII.

Careless, SirPaul, Lady Plyant, Boy with a letter.

LADY PLYANT.  How often have you been told of that, youjackanapes?

SIR PAUL.  Gad so, gad’s-bud.  Tim, carry itto my lady, you should have carried it to my lady first.

BOY.  ’Tis directed to your worship.

SIR PAUL.  Well, well, my lady reads all lettersfirst.  Child, do so no more; d’ye hear, Tim.

BOY.  No, and please you.

SCENE VIII.

Careless, SirPaul, Lady Plyant.

SIR PAUL.  A humour of my wife’s: you know womenhave little fancies.  But as I was telling you, Mr.Careless, if it were not for one thing, I should think myself thehappiest man in the world; indeed that touches me near, verynear.

CARE.  What can that be, Sir Paul?

SIR PAUL.  Why, I have, I thank heaven, a very plentifulfortune, a good estate in the country, some houses in town, andsome money, a pretty tolerable personal estate; and it is a greatgrief to me, indeed it is, Mr. Careless, that I have not a son toinherit this.  ’Tis true I have a daughter, and a finedutiful child she is, though I say it, blessed be providence Imay say; for indeed, Mr. Careless, I am mightily beholden toprovidence.  A poor unworthy sinner.  But if I had ason!  Ah, that’s my affliction, and my onlyaffliction; indeed I cannot refrain tears when it comes in mymind.  [Cries.]

CARE.  Why, methinks that might be easilyremedied—my lady’s a fine likely woman—

SIR PAUL.  Oh, a fine likely woman as you shall see in asummer’s day.  Indeed she is, Mr. Careless, in allrespects.

CARE.  And I should not have taken you to have been soold—

SIR PAUL.  Alas, that’s not it, Mr. Careless; ah!that’s not it; no, no, you shoot wide of the mark a mile;indeed you do, that’s not it, Mr. Careless; no, no,that’s not it.

CARE.  No?  What can be the matter then?

SIR PAUL.  You’ll scarcely believe me when I shalltell you—my lady is so nice.  It’s very strange,but it’s true; too true—she’s so very nice,that I don’t believe she would touch a man for theworld.  At least not above once a year; I’m sure Ihave found it so; and, alas, what’s once a year to an oldman, who would do good in his generation?  Indeed it’strue, Mr. Careless, it breaks my heart.  I am her husband,as I may say; though far unworthy of that honour, yet I am herhusband; but alas-a-day, I have no more familiarity with herperson—as to that matter—than with my ownmother—no indeed.

CARE.  Alas-a-day, this is a lamentable story.  Mylady must be told on’t.  She must i’faith, SirPaul; ’tis an injury to the world.

SIR PAUL.  Ah! would to heaven you would, Mr. Careless;you are mightily in her favour.

CARE.  I warrant you, what! we must have a son some wayor other.

SIR PAUL.  Indeed I should be mightily bound to you ifyou could bring it about, Mr. Careless.

LADY PLYANT.  Here, Sir Paul, it’s from yoursteward.  Here’s a return of 600 pounds; you may takefifty of it for the next half year.  [Gives him theletter.]

SCENE IX.

[To them] Lord Froth, Cynthia.

SIR PAUL.  How does my girl?  Come hither to thyfather, poor lamb: thou’rt melancholic.

LORD FROTH.  Heaven, Sir Paul, you amaze me, of allthings in the world.  You are never pleased but when we areall upon the broad grin: all laugh and no company; ah, then’tis such a sight to see some teeth.  Sureyou’re a great admirer of my Lady Whifler, Mr. Sneer, andSir Laurence Loud, and that gang.

SIR PAUL.  I vow and swear she’s a very merrywoman; but I think she laughs a little too much.

LORD FROTH.  Merry!  O Lord, what a character thatis of a woman of quality.  You have been at my LadyWhifler’s upon her day, madam?

CYNT.  Yes, my lord.  I must humour this fool. [Aside.]

LORD FROTH.  Well, and how? hee!  What is your senseof the conversation?

CYNT.  Oh, most ridiculous, a perpetual comfort oflaughing without any harmony; for sure, my lord, to laugh out oftime, is as disagreeable as to sing out of time or out oftune.

LORD FROTH.  Hee, hee, hee, right; and then, my LadyWhifler is so ready—she always comes in three bars toosoon.  And then, what do they laugh at?  For you knowlaughing without a jest is as impertinent, hee! as, as—

CYNT.  As dancing without a fiddle.

LORD FROTH.  Just i’faith, that was at mytongue’s end.

CYNT.  But that cannot be properly said of them, for Ithink they are all in good nature with the world, and only laughat one another; and you must allow they have all jests in theirpersons, though they have none in their conversation.

LORD FROTH.  True, as I’m a person of honour. For heaven’s sake let us sacrifice ’em to mirth alittle.  [EnterBoy andwhispersSir Paul.]

SIR PAUL.  Gads so.—Wife, wife, my Lady Plyant, Ihave a word.

LADY PLYANT.  I’m busy, Sir Paul, I wonder at yourimpertinence.

CARE.  Sir Paul, harkee, I’m reasoning the matteryou know.  Madam, if your ladyship please, we’lldiscourse of this in the next room.

SIR PAUL.  O ho, I wish you good success, I wish you goodsuccess.  Boy, tell my lady, when she has done, I wouldspeak with her below.

SCENE X.

Cynthia, LordFroth, Lady Froth, Brisk.

LADY FROTH.  Then you think that episode between Susan,the dairy-maid, and our coachman is not amiss; you know, I maysuppose the dairy in town, as well as in the country.

BRISK.  Incomparable, let me perish.  But then,being an heroic poem, had you not better call him acharioteer?  Charioteer sounds great; besides, yourladyship’s coachman having a red face, and you comparinghim to the sun—and you know the sun is calledHeaven’s charioteer.

LADY FROTH.  Oh, infinitely better; I’m extremelybeholden to you for the hint; stay, we’ll read over thosehalf a score lines again.  [Pulls out a paper.] Let me see here, you know what goes before,—the comparison,you know.  [Reads.]

For as the sun shines ev’ry day,
So of our coachman I may say.

BRISK.  I’m afraid that simile won’t do inwet weather; because you say the sun shines every day.

LADY FROTH.  No; for the sun it won’t, but it willdo for the coachman, for you know there’s most occasion fora coach in wet weather.

BRISK.  Right, right, that saves all.

LADY FROTH.  Then I don’t say the sun shines allthe day, but that he peeps now and then; yet he does shine allthe day too, you know, though we don’t see him.

BRISK.  Right, but the vulgar will never comprehendthat.

LADY FROTH.  Well, you shall hear.  Let mesee.  [Reads.]

For as the sun shines ev’ry day,
So of our coachman I may say,
He shows his drunken fiery face,
Just as the sun does, more or less.

BRISK.  That’s right, all’s well, all’swell.  ‘More or less.’

LADY FROTH reads:

And when at night his labour’s done,
Then too, like Heav’n’s charioteer the sun:

Ay, charioteer does better.

Into the dairy he descends,
And there his whipping and his driving ends;
There he’s secure from danger of a bilk,
His fare is paid him, and he sets in milk.

For Susan you know, is Thetis, and so—

BRISK.  Incomparable well and proper, egad—but Ihave one exception to make—don’t you thinkbilk—(I know it’s good rhyme)—but don’tyou think bilkand faretoo like a hackneycoachman?

LADY FROTH.  I swear and vow I’m afraid so. And yet our Jehu was a hackney coachman, when my lord tookhim.

BRISK.  Was he?  I’m answered, if Jehu was ahackney coachman.  You may put that in the marginal notesthough, to prevent criticism—only mark it with a smallasterism, and say, ‘Jehu was formerly a hackneycoachman.’

LADY FROTH.  I will.  You’d oblige meextremely to write notes to the whole poem.

BRISK.  With all my heart and soul, and proud of the vasthonour, let me perish.

LORD FROTH.  Hee, hee, hee, my dear, have you done?won’t you join with us?  We were laughing at my LadyWhifler and Mr. Sneer.

LADY FROTH.  Ay, my dear, were you?  Oh, filthy Mr.Sneer; he’s a nauseous figure, a most fulsamic fop,foh!  He spent two days together in going about CoventGarden to suit the lining of his coach with his complexion.

LORD FROTH.  O silly! yet his aunt is as fond of him asif she had brought the ape into the world herself.

BRISK.  Who, my Lady Toothless?  Oh, she’s amortifying spectacle; she’s always chewing the cud like anold ewe.

CYNT.  Fie, Mr. Brisk, eringo’s for her cough.

LADY FROTH.  I have seen her take ’em half chewedout of her mouth, to laugh, and then put ’em inagain.  Foh!

LORD FROTH.  Foh!

LADY FROTH.  Then she’s always ready to laugh whenSneer offers to speak, and sits in expectation of his no jest,with her gums bare, and her mouth open—

BRISK.  Like an oyster at low ebb, egad.  Ha, ha,ha!

CYNT.  [Aside]  Well, I find there are nofools so inconsiderable in themselves but they can render otherpeople contemptible by exposing their infirmities.

LADY FROTH.  Then that t’other great strappinglady—I can’t hit of her name; the old fat fool thatpaints so exorbitantly.

BRISK.  I know whom you mean—but deuce take me, Ican’t hit of her name neither.  Paints, d’yesay?  Why, she lays it on with a trowel.  Then she hasa great beard that bristles through it, and makes her look as ifshe were plastered with lime and hair, let me perish.

LADY FROTH.  Oh, you made a song upon her, Mr. Brisk.

BRISK.  He! egad, so I did.  My lord can singit.

CYNT.  O good, my lord, let’s hear it.

BRISK.  ’Tis not a song neither, it’s a sortof an epigram, or rather an epigrammatic sonnet; I don’tknow what to call it, but it’s satire.  Sing it, mylord.

LORD FROTH sings.

Ancient Phyllis has young graces,
’Tis a strange thing, but a true one;
Shall I tell you how?
She herself makes her own faces,
And each morning wears a new one;
Where’s the wonder now?

BRISK.  Short, but there’s salt in’t; my wayof writing, egad.

SCENE XI.

[To them] Footman.

LADY FROTH.  How now?

FOOT.  Your ladyship’s chair is come.

LADY FROTH.  Is nurse and the child in it?

FOOT.  Yes, madam.

LADY FROTH.  O the dear creature!  Let’s gosee it.

LORD FROTH.  I swear, my dear, you’ll spoil thatchild, with sending it to and again so often; this is the seventhtime the chair has gone for her to-day.

LADY FROTH.  O law!  I swear it’s but thesixth—and I haven’t seen her these two hours. The poor creature—I swear, my lord, you don’t lovepoor little Sapho.  Come, my dear Cynthia, Mr. Brisk,we’ll go see Sapho, though my lord won’t.

CYNT.  I’ll wait upon your ladyship.

BRISK.  Pray, madam, how old is Lady Sapho?

LADY FROTH.  Three-quarters, but I swear she has a worldof wit, and can sing a tune already.  My lord, won’tyou go?  Won’t you?  What! not to see Saph? Pray, my lord, come see little Saph.  I knew you could notstay.

SCENE XII.

Cynthia alone.

CYNT.  ’Tis not so hard to counterfeit joy in thedepth of affliction, as to dissemble mirth in company offools.  Why should I call ’em fools?  The worldthinks better of ’em; for these have quality and education,wit and fine conversation, are received and admired by theworld.  If not, they like and admire themselves.  Andwhy is not that true wisdom? for ’tis happiness: and forought I know, we have misapplied the name all this while, andmistaken the thing: since

If happiness in self-content is placed,
The wise are wretched, and fools only bless’d.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Mellefont andCynthia.

CYNT.  I heard him loud as I came by the closet-door, andmy lady with him, but she seemed to moderate his passion.

MEL.  Ay, hell thank her, as gentle breezes moderate afire; but I shall counter-work her spells, and ride the witch inher own bridle.

CYNT.  It’s impossible; she’ll cast beyondyou still.  I’ll lay my life it will never be amatch.

MEL.  What?

CYNT.  Between you and me.

MEL.  Why so?

CYNT.  My mind gives me it won’t, because we areboth willing.  We each of us strive to reach the goal, andhinder one another in the race.  I swear it never does wellwhen the parties are so agreed; for when people walk hand in handthere’s neither overtaking nor meeting.  We hunt incouples, where we both pursue the same game but forget oneanother; and ’tis because we are so near that wedon’t think of coming together.

MEL.  Hum, ’gad I believe there’s somethingin it.  Marriage is the game that we hunt, and while wethink that we only have it in view, I don’t see but we haveit in our power.

CYNT.  Within reach; for example, give me yourhand.  You have looked through the wrong end of theperspective all this while, for nothing has been between us butour fears.

MEL.  I don’t know why we should not steal out ofthe house this very moment and marry one another, withoutconsideration or the fear of repentance.  Pox o’fortune, portion, settlements, and jointures.

CYNT.  Ay, ay, what have we to do with ’em? You know we marry for love.

MEL.  Love, love, downright, very villainous love.

CYNT.  And he that can’t live upon love deserves todie in a ditch.  Here then, I give you my promise, in spiteof duty, any temptation of wealth, your inconstancy, or my owninclination to change—

MEL.  To run most wilfully and unreasonably away with methis moment and be married.

CYNT.  Hold.  Never to marry anybody else.

MEL.  That’s but a kind of negative consent. Why, you won’t baulk the frolic?

CYNT.  If you had not been so assured of your own conductI would not.  But ’tis but reasonable that since Iconsent to like a man without the vile consideration of money, heshould give me a very evident demonstration of his wit: thereforelet me see you undermine my Lady Touchwood, as you boasted, andforce her to give her consent, and then—

MEL.  I’ll do’t.

CYNT.  And I’ll do’t.

MEL.  This very next ensuing hour of eight o’clockis the last minute of her reign, unless the devil assist herin propriâ personâ.

CYNT.  Well, if the devil should assist her, and yourplot miscarry—

MEL.  Ay, what am I to trust to then?

CYNT.  Why, if you give me very clear demonstration thatit was the devil, I’ll allow for irresistible odds. But if I find it to be only chance, or destiny, or unlucky stars,or anything but the very devil, I’m inexorable: only stillI’ll keep my word, and live a maid for your sake.

MEL.  And you won’t die one, for your own, so stillthere’s hope.

CYNT.  Here’s my mother-in-law, and your friendCareless; I would not have ’em see us together yet.

SCENE II.

Careless andLady Plyant.

LADY PLYANT.  I swear, Mr. Careless, you are veryalluring, and say so many fine things, and nothing is so movingto me as a fine thing.  Well, I must do you this justice,and declare in the face of the world, never anybody gained so farupon me as yourself.  With blushes I must own it, you haveshaken, as I may say, the very foundation of my honour. Well, sure, if I escape your importunities, I shall value myselfas long as I live, I swear.

CARE.  And despise me.  [Sighing.]

LADY PLYANT.  The last of any man in the world, by mypurity; now you make me swear.  O gratitude forbid, that Ishould ever be wanting in a respectful acknowledgment of anentire resignation of all my best wishes for the person and partsof so accomplished a person, whose merit challenges much more,I’m sure, than my illiterate praises can description.

CARE.  [In a whining tone.]  Ah heavens,madam, you ruin me with kindness.  Your charming tonguepursues the victory of your eyes, while at your feet your pooradorer dies.

LADY PLYANT.  Ah!  Very fine.

CARE.  [Still whining.]  Ah, why are you sofair, so bewitching fair?  O let me grow to the ground here,and feast upon that hand; O let me press it to my heart, mytrembling heart: the nimble movement shall instruct your pulse,and teach it to alarm desire.  (Zoons, I’m almost atthe end of my cant, if she does not yield quickly.) [Aside.]

LADY PLYANT.  O that’s so passionate and fine, Icannot hear.  I am not safe if I stay, and must leaveyou.

CARE.  And must you leave me!  Rather let melanguish out a wretched life, and breath my soul beneath yourfeet.  (I must say the same thing over again, andcan’t help it.)  [Aside.]

LADY PLYANT.  I swear I’m ready to languishtoo!  O my honour!  Whither is it going?  Iprotest you have given me the palpitation of the heart.

CARE.  Can you be so cruel—

LADY PLYANT.  O rise, I beseech you, say no more till yourise.  Why did you kneel so long?  I swear I was sotransported, I did not see it.  Well, to show you how faryou have gained upon me, I assure you, if Sir Paul should die, ofall mankind there’s none I’d sooner make my secondchoice.

CARE.  O Heaven!  I can’t out-live this nightwithout your favour; I feel my spirits faint, a general dampnessoverspreads my face, a cold deadly dew already vents through allmy pores, and will to-morrow wash me for ever from your sight,and drown me in my tomb.

LADY PLYANT.  Oh, you have conquered, sweet, melting,moving sir, you have conquered.  What heart of marble canrefrain to weep, and yield to such sad sayings! [Cries.]

CARE.  I thank Heaven, they are the saddest that I eversaid.  Oh!  (I shall never contain laughter.) [Aside.]

LADY PLYANT.  Oh, I yield myself all up to youruncontrollable embraces.  Say, thou dear dying man, when,where, and how.  Ah, there’s Sir Paul.

CARE.  ’Slife, yonder’s Sir Paul, but if hewere not come, I’m so transported I cannot speak. This note will inform you.  [Gives her a note.]

SCENE III.

Lady Plyant, Sir Paul, Cynthia.

SIR PAUL.  Thou art my tender lambkin, and shalt do whatthou wilt.  But endeavour to forget this Mellefont.

CYNT.  I would obey you to my power, sir; but if I havenot him, I have sworn never to marry.

SIR PAUL.  Never to marry!  Heavens forbid! must Ineither have sons nor grandsons?  Must the family of thePlyants be utterly extinct for want of issue male?  Oimpiety!  But did you swear, did that sweet creature swear?ha!  How durst you swear without my consent, ah? Gads-bud, who am I?

CYNT.  Pray don’t be angry, sir, when I swore I hadyour consent; and therefore I swore.

SIR PAUL.  Why then the revoking my consent does annul,or make of none effect your oath; so you may unswear itagain.  The law will allow it.

CYNT.  Ay, but my conscience never will.

SIR PAUL.  Gads-bud, no matter for that, conscience andlaw never go together; you must not expect that.

LADY PLYANT.  Ay, but, Sir Paul, I conceive if she hassworn, d’ye mark me, if she has once sworn, it is mostunchristian, inhuman, and obscene that she should break it. I’ll make up the match again, because Mr. Careless said itwould oblige him.  [Aside.]

SIR PAUL.  Does your ladyship conceive so?  Why, Iwas of that opinion once too.  Nay, if your ladyshipconceives so, I’m of that opinion again; but I can neitherfind my lord nor my lady to know what they intend.

LADY PLYANT.  I’m satisfied that my cousinMellefont has been much wronged.

CYNT.  [Aside.]  I’m amazed to find herof our side, for I’m sure she loved him.

LADY PLYANT.  I know my Lady Touchwood has no kindnessfor him; and besides I have been informed by Mr. Careless, thatMellefont had never anything more than a profound respect. That he has owned himself to be my admirer ’tis true, buthe was never so presumptuous to entertain any dishonourablenotions of things; so that if this be made plain, I don’tsee how my daughter can in conscience, or honour, or anything inthe world—

SIR PAUL.  Indeed if this be made plain, as my lady, yourmother, says, child—

LADY PLYANT.  Plain!  I was informed of it by Mr.Careless.  And I assure you, Mr. Careless is a person thathas a most extraordinary respect and honour for you, SirPaul.

CYNT.  [Aside.]  And for your ladyship too, Ibelieve, or else you had not changed sides so soon; now I beginto find it.

SIR PAUL.  I am much obliged to Mr. Careless really; heis a person that I have a great value for, not only for that, butbecause he has a great veneration for your ladyship.

LADY PLYANT.  O las, no indeed, Sir Paul, ’tis uponyour account.

SIR PAUL.  No, I protest and vow, I have no title to hisesteem, but in having the honour to appertain in some measure toyour ladyship, that’s all.

LADY PLYANT.  O law now, I swear and declare itshan’t be so; you’re too modest, Sir Paul.

SIR PAUL.  It becomes me, when there is any comparisonmade between—

LADY PLYANT.  O fie, fie, Sir Paul, you’ll put meout of countenance.  Your very obedient and affectionatewife; that’s all.  And highly honoured in thattitle.

SIR PAUL.  Gads-bud, I am transported!  Give meleave to kiss your ladyship’s hand.

CYNT.  That my poor father should be so very silly! [Aside.]

LADY PLYANT.  My lip indeed, Sir Paul, I swear youshall.  [He kisses her, and bows verylow.]

SIR PAUL.  I humbly thank your ladyship.  Idon’t know whether I fly on ground, or walk in air. Gads-bud, she was never thus before.  Well, I must ownmyself the most beholden to Mr. Careless.  As sure as canbe, this is all his doing, something that he has said; well,’tis a rare thing to have an ingenious friend.  Well,your ladyship is of opinion that the match may go forward.

LADY PLYANT.  By all means.  Mr. Careless hassatisfied me of the matter.

SIR PAUL.  Well, why then, lamb, you may keep your oath,but have a care about making rash vows; come hither to me, andkiss papa.

LADY PLYANT.  I swear and declare, I am in such a twitterto read Mr. Careless his letter, that I can’t forbear anylonger.  But though I may read all letters first byprerogative, yet I’ll be sure to be unsuspected this time,Sir Paul.

SIR PAUL.  Did your ladyship call?

LADY PLYANT.  Nay, not to interrupt you, my dear. Only lend me your letter, which you had from your steward to-day;I would look upon the account again, and may be increase yourallowance.

SIR PAUL.  There it is, madam, do you want a pen andink?  [Bows and gives the letter.]

LADY PLYANT.  No, no, nothing else, I thank you, SirPaul.  So, now I can read my own letter under the cover ofhis.  [Aside.]

SIR PAUL.  He?  And wilt thou bring a grandson atnine months end—he?  A brave chopping boy. I’ll settle a thousand pound a year upon the rogue as soonas ever he looks me in the face, I will, gads-bud. I’m overjoyed to think I have any of my family that willbring children into the world.  For I would fain have someresemblance of myself in my posterity, he, Thy?  Can’tyou contrive that affair, girl?  Do, gads-bud, think on thyold father, heh?  Make the young rogue as like as youcan.

CYNT.  I’m glad to see you so merry, sir.

SIR PAUL.  Merry, gads-bud, I’m serious; I’llgive thee five hundred pounds for every inch of him thatresembles me; ah, this eye, this left eye!  A thousandpounds for this left eye.  This has done execution in itstime, girl; why, thou hast my leer, hussey, just thyfather’s leer.  Let it be transmitted to the youngrogue by the help of imagination; why, ’tis the mark of ourfamily, Thy; our house is distinguished by a languishing eye, asthe house of Austria is by a thick lip.  Ah! when I was ofyour age, hussey, I would have held fifty to one, I could havedrawn my own picture—gads-bud I could have done—notso much as you, neither; but—nay, don’t blush.

CYNT.  I don’t blush, sir, for I vow I don’tunderstand.

SIR PAUL.  Pshaw, pshaw, you fib, you baggage, you dounderstand, and you shall understand; come, don’t be sonice.  Gads-bud, don’t learn after your mother-in-lawmy lady here.  Marry, heaven forbid that you should followher example; that would spoil all indeed.  Bless us! if youshould take a vagary and make a rash resolution on your weddingnight, to die a maid, as she did; all were ruined, all my hopeslost.  My heart would break, and my estate would be left tothe wide world, he?  I hope you are a better Christian thanto think of living a nun, he?  Answer me?

CYNT.  I’m all obedience, sir, to yourcommands.

LADY PLYANT.  [Having read the letter.]  Odear Mr. Careless, I swear he writes charmingly, and he lookscharmingly, and he has charmed me, as much as I have charmed him;and so I’ll tell him in the wardrobe when ’tisdark.  O criminy!  I hope Sir Paul has not seen bothletters.  [Puts the wrong letter hastily up, andgives him her own.]  Sir Paul, here’s your letter;to-morrow morning I’ll settle accounts to youradvantage.

SCENE IV.

[To them] Brisk.

BRISK.  Sir Paul, gads-bud, you’re an uncivilperson, let me tell you, and all that; and I did not think it hadbeen in you.

SIR PAUL.  O law, what’s the matter now?  Ihope you are not angry, Mr. Brisk.

BRISK.  Deuce take me, I believe you intend to marry yourdaughter yourself; you’re always brooding over her like anold hen, as if she were not well hatched, egad, he.

SIR PAUL.  Good strange!  Mr. Brisk is such a merryfacetious person, he, he, he.  No, no, I have done with her,I have done with her now.

BRISK.  The fiddles have stayed this hour in the hall,and my Lord Froth wants a partner, we can never begin withouther.

SIR PAUL.  Go, go child, go, get you gone and dance andbe merry; I’ll come and look at you by and by. Where’s my son Mellefont?

LADY PLYANT.  I’ll send him to them, I know wherehe is.

BRISK.  Sir Paul, will you send Careless into the hall ifyou meet him?

SIR PAUL.  I will, I will, I’ll go and look for himon purpose.

SCENE V.

Brisk alone.

BRISK.  So now they are all gone, and I have anopportunity to practice.  Ah!  My dear Lady Froth,she’s a most engaging creature, if she were not so fond ofthat damned coxcombly lord of hers; and yet I am forced to allowhim wit too, to keep in with him.  No matter, she’s awoman of parts, and, egad, parts will carry her.  She saidshe would follow me into the gallery.  Now to make myapproaches.  Hem, hem!  Ah ma- [bows.]dam!  Pox on’t, why should I disparage my parts bythinking what to say?  None but dull rogues think; wittymen, like rich fellows, are always ready for all expenses; whileyour blockheads, like poor needy scoundrels, are forced toexamine their stock, and forecast the charges of the day. Here she comes, I’ll seem not to see her, and try to winher with a new airy invention of my own, hem!

SCENE VI.

[To him] Lady Froth.

BRISK [Sings, walking about.] ‘I’m sick with love,’ ha, ha, ha,‘prithee, come cure me.  I’m sick with,’etc.  O ye powers!  O my Lady Froth, my Lady Froth, myLady Froth!  Heigho!  Break heart; gods, I thankyou.  [Stands musing with his arms across.]

LADY FROTH.  O heavens, Mr. Brisk!  What’s thematter?

BRISK.  My Lady Froth!  Your ladyship’s mosthumble servant.  The matter, madam?  Nothing, madam,nothing at all, egad.  I was fallen into the most agreeableamusement in the whole province of contemplation: that’sall—(I’ll seem to conceal my passion, and that willlook like respect.)  [Aside.]

LADY FROTH.  Bless me, why did you call out upon me soloud?

BRISK.  O Lord, I, madam!  I beseech yourladyship—when?

LADY FROTH.  Just now as I came in, bless me, why,don’t you know it?

BRISK.  Not I, let me perish.  But did I? Strange!  I confess your ladyship was in my thoughts; and Iwas in a sort of dream that did in a manner represent a verypleasing object to my imagination, but—but did Iindeed?—To see how love and murder will out.  But didI really name my Lady Froth?

LADY FROTH.  Three times aloud, as I love letters. But did you talk of love?  O Parnassus!  Who would havethought Mr. Brisk could have been in love, ha, ha, ha.  Oheavens, I thought you could have no mistress but the NineMuses.

BRISK.  No more I have, egad, for I adore ’em allin your ladyship.  Let me perish, I don’t know whetherto be splenetic, or airy upon’t; the deuce take me if I cantell whether I am glad or sorry that your ladyship has made thediscovery.

LADY FROTH.  O be merry by all means.  PrinceVolscius in love!  Ha, ha, ha.

BRISK.  O barbarous, to turn me into ridicule!  Yet,ha, ha, ha.  The deuce take me, I can’t help laughingmyself, ha, ha, ha; yet by heavens, I have a violent passion foryour ladyship, seriously.

LADY FROTH.  Seriously?  Ha, ha, ha.

BRISK.  Seriously, ha, ha, ha.  Gad I have, for allI laugh.

LADY FROTH.  Ha, ha, ha!  What d’ye think Ilaugh at?  Ha, ha, ha.

BRISK.  Me, egad, ha, ha.

LADY FROTH.  No, the deuce take me if I don’t laughat myself; for hang me if I have not a violent passion for Mr.Brisk, ha, ha, ha.

BRISK.  Seriously?

LADY FROTH.  Seriously, ha, ha, ha.

BRISK.  That’s well enough; let me perish, ha, ha,ha.  O miraculous; what a happy discovery.  Ah my dearcharming Lady Froth!

LADY FROTH.  Oh my adored Mr. Brisk! [Embrace.]

SCENE VII.

[To them] Lord Froth.

LORD FROTH.  The company are all ready.  Hownow?

BRISK.  Zoons! madam, there’s my lord. [Softly to her.]

LADY FROTH.  Take no notice, but observe me.  Now,cast off, and meet me at the lower end of the room, and then joinhands again; I could teach my lord this dance purely, but I vow,Mr. Brisk, I can’t tell how to come so near any otherman.  Oh here’s my lord, now you shall see me do itwith him.  [They pretend to practise part of a countrydance.]

LORD FROTH.  Oh, I see there’s no harm yet, but Idon’t like this familiarity.  [Aside.]

LADY FROTH.  Shall you and I do our close dance, to showMr. Brisk?

LORD FROTH.  No, my dear, do it with him.

LADY FROTH.  I’ll do it with him, my lord, when youare out of the way.

BRISK.  That’s good, egad, that’s good. Deuce take me, I can hardly hold laughing in his face. [Aside.]

LORD FROTH.  Any other time, my dear, or we’lldance it below.

LADY FROTH.  With all my heart.

BRISK.  Come, my lord, I’ll wait on you.  Mycharming witty angel!  [To her.]

LADY FROTH.  We shall have whispering time enough, youknow, since we are partners.

SCENE VIII.

Lady Plyant andCareless.

LADY PLYANT.  Oh, Mr. Careless, Mr. Careless, I’mruined, I’m undone.

CARE.  What’s the matter, madam?

LADY PLYANT.  Oh, the unluckiest accident, I’mafraid I shan’t live to tell it you.

CARE.  Heaven forbid!  What is it?

LADY PLYANT.  I’m in such a fright; the strangestquandary and premunire!  I’m all over in a universalagitation; I dare swear every circumstance of me trembles. O your letter, your letter!  By an unfortunate mistake Ihave given Sir Paul your letter instead of his own.

CARE.  That was unlucky.

LADY PLYANT.  Oh, yonder he comes reading of it; forheaven’s sake step in here and advise me quickly before hesees.

SCENE IX.

Sir Paul with theLetter.

SIR PAUL.  O Providence, what a conspiracy have Idiscovered.  But let me see to make an end on’t. [Reads.]  Hum—After supper in the wardrobe bythe gallery.  If Sir Paul should surprise us, I have acommission from him to treat with you about the very matter offact.  Matter of fact!  Very pretty; it seems that I amconducting to my own cuckoldom.  Why, this is the verytraitorous position of taking up arms by my authority, against myperson!  Well, let me see.  Till then I languish inexpectation of my adored charmer.—Dying Ned Careless. Gads-bud, would that were matter of fact too.  Die and bedamned for a Judas Maccabeus and Iscariot both.  Ofriendship! what art thou but a name?  Henceforward let noman make a friend that would not be a cuckold: for whomsoever hereceives into his bosom will find the way to his bed, and therereturn his caresses with interest to his wife.  Have I forthis been pinioned, night after night for three years past? Have I been swathed in blankets till I have been even deprived ofmotion?  Have I approached the marriage bed with reverenceas to a sacred shrine, and denied myself the enjoyment of lawfuldomestic pleasures to preserve its purity, and must I now find itpolluted by foreign iniquity?  O my Lady Plyant, you werechaste as ice, but you are melted now, and false as water. But Providence has been constant to me in discovering thisconspiracy; still, I am beholden to Providence.  If it werenot for Providence, sure, poor Sir Paul, thy heart wouldbreak.

SCENE X.

[To him] Lady Plyant.

LADY PLYANT.  So, sir, I see you have read theletter.  Well, now, Sir Paul, what do you think of yourfriend Careless?  Has he been treacherous, or did you givehis insolence a licence to make trial of your wife’ssuspected virtue?  D’ye see here?  [Snatchesthe letter as in anger.]  Look, read it.  Gads mylife, if I thought it were so, I would this moment renounce allcommunication with you.  Ungrateful monster!  He? is itso?  Ay, I see it, a plot upon my honour; your guilty cheeksconfess it.  Oh, where shall wronged virtue fly forreparation?  I’ll be divorced this instant.

SIR PAUL.  Gads-bud, what shall I say?  This is thestrangest surprise.  Why, I don’t know anything atall, nor I don’t know whether there be anything at all inthe world, or no.

LADY PLYANT.  I thought I should try you, falseman.  I, that never dissembled in my life, yet to make trialof you, pretended to like that monster of iniquity, Careless, andfound out that contrivance to let you see this letter, which nowI find was of your own inditing—I do, heathen, I do. See my face no more; I’ll be divorced presently.

SIR PAUL.  O strange, what will become of me? I’m so amazed, and so overjoyed, so afraid, and sosorry.  But did you give me this letter on purpose,he?  Did you?

LADY PLYANT.  Did I?  Do you doubt me, Turk,Saracen?  I have a cousin that’s a proctor in theCommons; I’ll go to him instantly.

SIR PAUL.  Hold, stay, I beseech your ladyship. I’m so overjoyed, stay, I’ll confess all.

LADY PLYANT.  What will you confess, Jew?

SIR PAUL.  Why, now, as I hope to be saved, I had no handin this letter—nay, hear me, I beseech your ladyship. The devil take me now if he did not go beyond mycommission.  If I desired him to do any more than speak agood word only just for me; gads-bud, only for poor Sir Paul,I’m an Anabaptist, or a Jew, or what you please to callme.

LADY PLYANT.  Why, is not here matter of fact?

SIR PAUL.  Ay, but by your own virtue and continency thatmatter of fact is all his own doing.  I confess I had agreat desire to have some honours conferred upon me, which lieall in your ladyship’s breast, and he being a well-spokenman, I desired him to intercede for me.

LADY PLYANT.  Did you so? presumption!  Oh, hecomes, the Tarquin comes; I cannot bear his sight.

SCENE XI.

Careless, SirPaul.

CARE.  Sir Paul, I’m glad I’ve met with you,’gad, I have said all I could, but can’tprevail.  Then my friendship to you has carried me a littlefarther in this matter.

SIR PAUL.  Indeed; well sir, I’ll dissemble withhim a little.  [Aside.]

CARE.  Why, faith I have in my time known honestgentlemen abused by a pretended coyness in their wives, and I hada mind to try my lady’s virtue.  And when I could notprevail for you, gad, I pretended to be in love myself; but allin vain, she would not hear a word upon that subject.  ThenI writ a letter to her; I don’t know what effects that willhave, but I’ll be sure to tell you when I do, though bythis light I believe her virtue is impregnable.

SIR PAUL.  O Providence!  Providence!  Whatdiscoveries are here made?  Why, this is better and moremiraculous than the rest.

CARE.  What do you mean?

SIR PAUL.  I can’t tell you, I’m sooverjoyed; come along with me to my lady, I can’t containmyself; come, my dear friend.

CARE.  So, so, so, this difficulty’s over. [Aside.]

SCENE XII.

Mellefont, Maskwell, from different doors.

MEL.  Maskwell!  I have been looking foryou—’tis within a quarter of eight.

MASK.  My lady is just gone into my lord’s closet,you had best steal into her chamber before she comes, and lieconcealed there, otherwise she may lock the door when we aretogether, and you not easily get in to surprise us.

MEL.  He?  You say true.

MASK.  You had best make haste, for after she has madesome apology to the company for her own and my lord’sabsence all this while, she’ll retire to her chamberinstantly.

MEL.  I go this moment.  Now, fortune, I defythee.

SCENE XIII.

Maskwell alone.

MASK.  I confess you may be allowed to be secure in yourown opinion; the appearance is very fair, but I have anafter-game to play that shall turn the tables, and here comes theman that I must manage.

SCENE XIV.

[To him] Lord Touchwood.

LORD TOUCH.  Maskwell, you are the man I wished tomeet.

MASK.  I am happy to be in the way of yourlordship’s commands.

LORD TOUCH.  I have always found you prudent and carefulin anything that has concerned me or my family.

MASK.  I were a villain else.  I am bound by dutyand gratitude, and my own inclination, to be ever yourlordship’s servant.

LORD TOUCH.  Enough.  You are my friend; I knowit.  Yet there has been a thing in your knowledge, which hasconcerned me nearly, that you have concealed from me.

MASK.  My lord!

LORD TOUCH.  Nay, I excuse your friendship to myunnatural nephew thus far.  But I know you have been privyto his impious designs upon my wife.  This evening she hastold me all.  Her good nature concealed it as long as waspossible; but he perseveres so in villainy, that she has told meeven you were weary of dissuading him, though you have onceactually hindered him from forcing her.

MASK.  I am sorry, my lord, I can’t make you ananswer; this is an occasion in which I would not willing besilent.

LORD TOUCH.  I know you would excuse him—and I knowas well that you can’t.

MASK.  Indeed I was in hopes it had been a youthful heatthat might have soon boiled over; but—

LORD TOUCH.  Say on.

MASK.  I have nothing more to say, my lord; but toexpress my concern; for I think his frenzy increases daily.

LORD TOUCH.  How!  Give me but proof of it, ocularproof, that I may justify my dealing with him to the world, andshare my fortunes.

MASK.  O my lord! consider; that is hard.  Besides,time may work upon him.  Then, for me to do it!  I haveprofessed an everlasting friendship to him.

LORD TOUCH.  He is your friend; and what am I?

MASK.  I am answered.

LORD TOUCH.  Fear not his displeasure; I will put you outof his, and fortune’s power, and for that thou artscrupulously honest, I will secure thy fidelity to him, and givemy honour never to own any discovery that you shall makeme.  Can you give me a demonstrative proof?  Speak.

MASK.  I wish I could not.  To be plain, my lord, Iintended this evening to have tried all arguments to dissuade himfrom a design which I suspect; and if I had not succeeded, tohave informed your lordship of what I knew.

LORD TOUCH.  I thank you.  What is thevillain’s purpose?

MASK.  He has owned nothing to me of late, and what Imean now, is only a bare suspicion of my own.  If yourlordship will meet me a quarter of an hour hence there, in thatlobby by my lady’s bed-chamber, I shall be able to tell youmore.

LORD TOUCH.  I will.

MASK.  My duty to your lordship makes me do a severepiece of justice.

LORD TOUCH.  I will be secret, and reward your honestybeyond your hopes.

SCENE XV.

Scene opening, shows Lady Touchwood’schamber.

Mellefont solus.

MEL.  Pray heaven my aunt keep touch with herassignation.  O that her lord were but sweating behind thishanging, with the expectation of what I shall see.  Hist,she comes.  Little does she think what a mine is just readyto spring under her feet.  But to my post.  [Goesbehind the hangings.]

SCENE XVI.

Lady Touchwood.

LADY TOUCH.  ’Tis eight o’clock; methinks Ishould have found him here.  Who does not prevent the hourof love, outstays the time; for to be dully punctual is tooslow.  I was accusing you of neglect.

SCENE XVII.

Lady Touchwood, Maskwell, Mellefont absconding.

MASK.  I confess you do reproach me when I see you herebefore me; but ’tis fit I should be still behindhand, stillto be more and more indebted to your goodness.

LADY TOUCH.  You can excuse a fault too well, not to havebeen to blame.  A ready answer shows you were prepared.

MASK.  Guilt is ever at a loss, and confusion waits uponit; when innocence and bold truth are always ready forexpression.

LADY TOUCH.  Not in love: words are the weak support ofcold indifference; love has no language to be heard.

MASK.  Excess of joy has made me stupid!  Thus maymy lips be ever closed.  [Kisses her.]  Andthus—O who would not lose his speech, upon condition tohave joys above it?

LADY TOUCH.  Hold, let me lock the door first. [Goes to the door.]

MASK.  [Aside.]  That I believed; ’twaswell I left the private passage open.

LADY TOUCH.  So, that’s safe.

MASK.  And so may all your pleasures be, and secret asthis kiss—

MEL.  And may all treachery be thus discovered. [Leaps out.]

LADY TOUCH.  Ah!  [Shrieks.]

MEL.  Villain!  [Offers to draw.]

MASK.  Nay, then, there’s but one way. [Runs out.]

SCENE XVIII.

Lady Touchwood, Mellefont.

MEL.  Say you so, were you provided for an escape? Hold, madam, you have no more holes to your burrow; I’llstand between you and this sally-port.

LADY TOUCH.  Thunder strike thee dead for this deceit,immediate lightning blast thee, me, and the whole world! Oh!  I could rack myself, play the vulture to my own heart,and gnaw it piecemeal, for not boding to me this misfortune.

MEL.  Be patient.

LADY TOUCH.  Be damned.

MEL.  Consider, I have you on the hook; you will butflounder yourself a-weary, and be nevertheless my prisoner.

LADY TOUCH.  I’ll hold my breath and die, butI’ll be free.

MEL.  O madam, have a care of dying unprepared, I doubtyou have some unrepented sins that may hang heavy, and retardyour flight.

LADY TOUCH.  O! what shall I do? say?  Whither shallI turn?  Has hell no remedy?

MEL.  None; hell has served you even as heaven has done,left you to yourself.—You’re in a kind of Erasmusparadise, yet if you please you may make it a purgatory; and witha little penance and my absolution all this may turn to goodaccount.

LADY TOUCH.  [Aside.]  Hold in my passion,and fall, fall a little, thou swelling heart; let me have someintermission of this rage, and one minute’s coolness todissemble.  [She weeps.]

MEL.  You have been to blame.  I like those tears,and hope they are of the purest kind,—penitentialtears.

LADY TOUCH.  O the scene was shifted quick beforeme,—I had not time to think.  I was surprised to see amonster in the glass, and now I find ’tis myself; can youhave mercy to forgive the faults I have imagined, but never putin practice?—O consider, consider how fatal you have beento me, you have already killed the quiet of this life.  Thelove of you was the first wandering fire that e’er misledmy steps, and while I had only that in view, I was betrayed intounthought of ways of ruin.

MEL.  May I believe this true?

LADY TOUCH.  O be not cruelly incredulous.—How canyou doubt these streaming eyes?  Keep the severest eyeo’er all my future conduct, and if I once relapse, let menot hope forgiveness; ’twill ever be in your power to ruinme.  My lord shall sign to your desires; I will myselfcreate your happiness, and Cynthia shall be this night yourbride.  Do but conceal my failings, and forgive.

MEL.  Upon such terms I will be ever yours in everyhonest way.

SCENE XIX.

Maskwell softly introducesLord Touchwood, andretires.

MASK.  I have kept my word, he’s here, but I mustnot be seen.

SCENE XX.

Lady Touchwood, Lord Touchwood, Mellefont.

LORD TOUCH.  Hell and amazement, she’s intears.

LADY TOUCH.  [Kneeling.]  Eternal blessingsthank you.—Ha! my lord listening!  O fortune haso’erpaid me all, all! all’s my own! [Aside.]

MEL.  Nay, I beseech you rise.

LADY TOUCH.  [Aloud.]  Never, never! I’ll grow to the ground, be buried quick beneath it,e’er I’ll be consenting to so damned a sin as incest!unnatural incest!

MEL.  Ha!

LADY TOUCH.  O cruel man, will you not let me go? I’ll forgive all that’s past.  O heaven, youwill not ravish me?

MEL.  Damnation!

LORD TOUCH.  Monster, dog! your life shall answerthis!  [Draws and runs atMellefont, is held byLady Touchwood.]

LADY TOUCH.  O heavens, my lord!  Hold, hold, forheaven’s sake.

MEL.  Confusion, my uncle!  O the damnedsorceress.

LADY TOUCH.  Moderate your rage, good my lord! He’s mad, alas, he’s mad.  Indeed he is, mylord, and knows not what he does.  See how wild helooks.

MEL.  By heaven, ’twere senseless not to be mad,and see such witchcraft.

LADY TOUCH.  My lord, you hear him, he talks idly.

LORD TOUCH.  Hence from my sight, thou living infamy tomy name; when next I see that face, I’ll write villainin’t with my sword’s point.

MEL.  Now, by my soul, I will not go till I have madeknown my wrongs.  Nay, till I have made known yours, which,if possible, are greater,—though she has all the host ofhell her servants.

LADY TOUCH.  Alas, he raves!  Talks verypoetry!  For heaven’s sake away, my lord, he’lleither tempt you to extravagance, or commit some himself.

MEL.  Death and furies, will you not hear me?—Whyby heaven she laughs, grins, points to your back; she forks outcuckoldom with her fingers, and you’re running horn-madafter your fortune.  [As she is going she turns back andsmiles at him.]

LORD TOUCH.  I fear he’s madindeed.—Let’s send Maskwell to him.

MEL.  Send him to her.

LADY TOUCH.  Come, come, good my lord, my heart aches so,I shall faint if I stay.

SCENE XXI.

Mellefont alone.

MEL.  Oh, I could curse my stars, fate, and chance; allcauses and accidents of fortune in this life!  But to whatpurpose?  Yet, ’sdeath, for a man to have the fruit ofall his industry grow full and ripe, ready to drop into hismouth, and just when he holds out his hand to gather it, to havea sudden whirlwind come, tear up tree and all, and bear away thevery root and foundation of his hopes:—what temper cancontain?  They talk of sending Maskwell to me; I never hadmore need of him.  But what can he do?  Imaginationcannot form a fairer and more plausible design than this of hiswhich has miscarried.  O my precious aunt, I shall neverthrive without I deal with the devil, or another woman.

Women, like flames, have a destroying power,

Ne’er to be quenched, till they themselves devour.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

Lady Touchwood andMaskwell.

LADY TOUCH.  Was’t not lucky?

MASK.  Lucky!  Fortune is your own, and ’tisher interest so to be.  By heaven I believe you can controlher power, and she fears it: though chance brought my lord,’twas your own art that turned it to advantage.

LADY TOUCH.  ’Tis true it might have been myruin.  But yonder’s my lord.  I believehe’s coming to find you: I’ll not be seen.

SCENE II.

Maskwell alone.

MASK.  So; I durst not own my introducing my lord, thoughit succeeded well for her, for she would have suspected a designwhich I should have been puzzled to excuse.  My lord isthoughtful.  I’ll be so too; yet he shall know mythoughts: or think he does.

SCENE III.

[To him] Lord Touchwood.

MASK.  What have I done?

LORD TOUCH.  Talking to himself!

MASK.  ’Twas honest—and shall I be rewardedfor it?  No, ’twas honest, therefore Ishan’t.  Nay, rather therefore I ought not; for itrewards itself.

LORD TOUCH.  Unequalled virtue!  [Aside.]

MASK.  But should it be known, then I have lost afriend!  He was an ill man, and I have gained; for halfmyself I lent him, and that I have recalled: so I have servedmyself, and what is yet better, I have served a worthy lord towhom I owe myself.

LORD TOUCH.  Excellent man!  [Aside.]

MASK.  Yet I am wretched.  Oh, there is a secretburns within this breast, which, should it once blaze forth,would ruin all, consume my honest character, and brand me withthe name of villain.

LORD TOUCH.  Ha!

MASK.  Why do I love!  Yet heaven and my wakingconscience are my witnesses, I never gave one working thought avent, which might discover that I loved, nor ever must.  No,let it prey upon my heart; for I would rather die, than seemonce, barely seem, dishonest.  Oh, should it once be known Ilove fair Cynthia, all this that I have done would look likerival’s malice, false friendship to my lord, and baseself-interest.  Let me perish first, and from this houravoid all sight and speech, and, if I can, all thought of thatpernicious beauty.  Ha!  But what is my distractiondoing?  I am wildly talking to myself, and some ill chancemight have directed malicious ears this way.  [Seems tostart, seeing my lord.]

LORD TOUCH.  Start not; let guilty and dishonest soulsstart at the revelation of their thoughts, but be thou fixed, asis thy virtue.

MASK.  I am confounded, and beg your Lordship’spardon for those free discourses which I have had withmyself.

LORD TOUCH.  Come, I beg your pardon that I overheardyou, and yet it shall not need.  Honest Maskwell!  Thyand my good genius led me hither.  Mine, in that I havediscovered so much manly virtue; thine, in that thou shalt havedue reward of all thy worth.  Give me thy hand.  Mynephew is the alone remaining branch of all our ancient family:him I thus blow away, and constitute thee in his room to be myheir—

MASK.  Now heaven forbid—

LORD TOUCH.  No more—I have resolved.  Thewritings are ready drawn, and wanted nothing but to be signed,and have his name inserted.  Yours will fill the blank aswell.  I will have no reply.  Let me command this time;for ’tis the last in which I will assume authority. Hereafter, you shall rule where I have power.

MASK.  I humbly would petition—

LORD TOUCH.  Is’t for yourself?  [Maskwell pauses.]  I’llhear of nought for anybody else.

MASK.  Then witness heaven for me, this wealth and honourwas not of my seeking, nor would I build my fortune onanother’s ruin.  I had but one desire—

LORD TOUCH.  Thou shalt enjoy it.  If all I’mworth in wealth or interest can purchase Cynthia, she isthine.  I’m sure Sir Paul’s consent will followfortune.  I’ll quickly show him which way that isgoing.

MASK.  You oppress me with bounty.  My gratitude isweak, and shrinks beneath the weight, and cannot rise to thankyou.  What, enjoy my love!  Forgive the transports of ablessing so unexpected, so unhoped for, so unthought of!

LORD TOUCH.  I will confirm it, and rejoice withthee.

SCENE IV.

Maskwell alone.

MASK.  This is prosperous indeed.  Why let him findme out a villain, settled in possession of a fair estate, andfull fruition of my love, I’ll bear the railings of alosing gamester.  But should he find me out before! ’Tis dangerous to delay.  Let me think.  Shouldmy lord proceed to treat openly of my marriage with Cynthia, allmust be discovered, and Mellefont can be no longer blinded. It must not be; nay, should my lady know it—ay, then werefine work indeed!  Her fury would spare nothing, though sheinvolved herself in ruin.  No, it must be bystratagem.  I must deceive Mellefont once more, and get mylord to consent to my private management.  He comesopportunely.  Now will I, in my old way, discover the wholeand real truth of the matter to him, that he may not suspect oneword on’t.

No mask like open truth to cover lies,
As to go naked is the best disguise.

SCENE V.

[To him] Mellefont.

MEL.  O Maskwell, what hopes?  I am confounded in amaze of thoughts, each leading into one another, and all endingin perplexity.  My uncle will not see nor hear me.

MASK.  No matter, sir, don’t trouble your head:all’s in my power.

MEL.  How?  For heaven’s sake?

MASK.  Little do you think that your aunt has kept herword.  How the devil she wrought my lord into this dotage, Iknow not; but he’s gone to Sir Paul about my marriage withCynthia, and has appointed me his heir.

MEL.  The devil he has!  What’s to bedone?

MASK.  I have it, it must be by stratagem; for it’sin vain to make application to him.  I think I have that inmy head that cannot fail.  Where’s Cynthia?

MEL.  In the garden.

MASK.  Let us go and consult her: my life for yours, Icheat my lord.

SCENE VI.

Lord Touchwood, Lady Touchwood.

LADY TOUCH.  Maskwell your heir, and marry Cynthia!

LORD TOUCH.  I cannot do too much for so much merit.

LADY TOUCH.  But this is a thing of too great moment tobe so suddenly resolved.  Why Cynthia?  Why must he bemarried?  Is there not reward enough in raising his lowfortune, but he must mix his blood with mine, and wed myniece?  How know you that my brother will consent, orshe?  Nay, he himself perhaps may have affectionsotherwhere.

LORD TOUCH.  No, I am convinced he loves her.

LADY TOUCH.  Maskwell love Cynthia?  Impossible!

LORD TOUCH.  I tell you he confessed it to me.

LADY TOUCH.  Confusion!  How’s this? [Aside.]

LORD TOUCH.  His humility long stifled his passion. And his love of Mellefont would have made him still concealit.  But by encouragement, I wrung the secret from him, andknow he’s no way to be rewarded but in her. I’ll defer my farther proceedings in it till you haveconsidered it; but remember how we are both indebted to him.

SCENE VII.

Lady Touchwood alone.

LADY TOUCH.  Both indebted to him!  Yes, we are bothindebted to him, if you knew all.  Villain!  Oh, I amwild with this surprise of treachery: it is impossible, it cannotbe.  He love Cynthia!  What, have I been bawd to hisdesigns, his property only, a baiting place?  Now I see whatmade him false to Mellefont.  Shame and distraction!  Icannot bear it, oh! what woman can bear to be a property? To be kindled to a flame, only to light him to another’sarms; oh! that I were fire indeed that I might burn the viletraitor.  What shall I do?  How shall I think?  Icannot think.  All my designs are lost, my love unsated, myrevenge unfinished, and fresh cause of fury from unthought ofplagues.

SCENE VIII.

[To her] Sir Paul.

SIR PAUL.  Madam, sister, my lady sister, did you see mylady my wife?

LADY TOUCH.  Oh!  Torture!

SIR PAUL.  Gads-bud, I can’t find her high nor low;where can she be, think you?

LADY TOUCH.  Where she’s serving you, as all yoursex ought to be served, making you a beast.  Don’t youknow you’re a fool, brother?

SIR PAUL.  A fool; he, he, he, you’re merry. No, no, not I, I know no such matter.

LADY TOUCH.  Why, then, you don’t know half yourhappiness.

SIR PAUL.  That’s a jest with all my heart, faithand troth.  But harkee, my lord told me something of arevolution of things; I don’t know what to makeon’t.  Gads-bud, I must consult my wife:—hetalks of disinheriting his nephew, and I don’t knowwhat.  Look you, sister, I must know what my girl has totrust to, or not a syllable of a wedding, gads-bud!—to showyou that I am not a fool.

LADY TOUCH.  Hear me: consent to the breaking off thismarriage, and the promoting any other without consulting me, andI’ll renounce all blood, all relation and concern with youfor ever; nay, I’ll be your enemy, and pursue you todestruction: I’ll tear your eyes out, and tread you undermy feet.

SIR PAUL.  Why, what’s the matter now?  GoodLord, what’s all this for?  Pooh, here’s a jokeindeed.  Why, where’s my wife?

LADY TOUCH.  With Careless, in the close arbour; he maywant you by this time, as much as you want her.

SIR PAUL.  Oh, if she be with Mr. Careless, ’tiswell enough.

LADY TOUCH.  Fool, sot, insensible ox!  But rememberwhat I said to you, or you had better eat your own horns, by thislight you had.

SIR PAUL.  You’re a passionate woman,gads-bud!  But to say truth all our family are choleric; Iam the only peaceable person amongst ’em.

SCENE IX.

Mellefont, Maskwell, andCynthia.

MEL.  I know no other way but this he has proposed: ifyou have love enough to run the venture.

CYNT.  I don’t know whether I have love enough, butI find I have obstinacy enough to pursue whatever I have onceresolved; and a true female courage to oppose anything thatresists my will, though ’twere reason itself.

MASK.  That’s right.  Well, I’ll securethe writings and run the hazard along with you.

CYNT.  But how can the coach and six horses be got readywithout suspicion?

MASK.  Leave it to my care; that shall be so far frombeing suspected, that it shall be got ready by my lord’sown order.

MEL.  How?

MASK.  Why, I intend to tell my lord the whole matter ofour contrivance; that’s my way.

MEL.  I don’t understand you.

MASK.  Why, I’ll tell my lord I laid this plot withyou on purpose to betray you; and that which put me upon it, wasthe finding it impossible to gain the lady any other way, but inthe hopes of her marrying you.

MEL.  So.

MASK.  So, why so, while you’re busied in makingyourself ready, I’ll wheedle her into the coach; andinstead of you, borrow my lord’s chaplain, and so run awaywith her myself.

MEL.  Oh, I conceive you; you’ll tell him so.

MASK.  Tell him so! ay; why, you don’t think I meanto do so?

MEL.  No, no; ha, ha, I dare swear thou wilt not.

MASK.  Therefore, for our farther security, I would haveyou disguised like a parson, that if my lord should havecuriosity to peep, he may not discover you in the coach, butthink the cheat is carried on as he would have it.

MEL.  Excellent Maskwell!  Thou wert certainly meantfor a statesman or a Jesuit; but thou art too honest for one, andtoo pious for the other.

MASK.  Well, get yourself ready, and meet me inhalf-an-hour, yonder in my lady’s dressing-room; go by theback stairs, and so we may slip down without beingobserved.  I’ll send the chaplain to you with hisrobes: I have made him my own, and ordered him to meet usto-morrow morning at St. Albans; there we will sum up thisaccount, to all our satisfactions.

MEL.  Should I begin to thank or praise thee, I shouldwaste the little time we have.

SCENE X.

Cynthia, Maskwell.

MASK.  Madam, you will be ready?

CYNT.  I will be punctual to the minute. [Going.]

MASK.  Stay, I have a doubt.  Upon second thoughts,we had better meet in the chaplain’s chamber here, thecorner chamber at this end of the gallery, there is a back wayinto it, so that you need not come through this door, and a pairof private stairs leading down to the stables.  It will bemore convenient.

CYNT.  I am guided by you; but Mellefont willmistake.

MASK.  No, no, I’ll after him immediately, and tellhim.

CYNT.  I will not fail.

SCENE XI.

Maskwell alone.

MASK.  Why, qui vult decipidecipiatur.—’Tis no fault of mine: I have told’em in plain terms how easy ’tis for me to cheat’em, and if they will not hear the serpent’s hiss,they must be stung into experience and future caution.  Nowto prepare my lord to consent to this.  But first I mustinstruct my little Levite; there is no plot, public or private,that can expect to prosper without one of them has a fingerin’t: he promised me to be within at this hour,—Mr.Saygrace, Mr. Saygrace!  [Goes to the chamber door andknocks.]

SCENE XII.

Maskwell, Saygrace.

SAYGRACE [looking out.]  Sweet sir, I will but penthe last line of an acrostic, and be with you in the twinkling ofan ejaculation, in the pronouncing of an Amen, or before youcan—

MASK.  Nay, good Mr. Saygrace, do not prolong the time bydescribing to me the shortness of your stay; rather if youplease, defer the finishing of your wit, and let us talk aboutour business; it shall be tithes in your way.

SAYGRACE.  [Enters.]  You shall prevail: Iwould break off in the middle of a sermon to do you apleasure.

MASK.  You could not do me a greater,—except thebusiness in hand.  Have you provided a habit forMellefont?

SAYGRACE.  I have; they are ready in my chamber, togetherwith a clean starched band and cuffs.

MASK.  Good, let them be carried to him; have youstitched the gown sleeve, that he may be puzzled, and waste timein putting it on?

SAYGRACE.  I have: the gown will not be indued withoutperplexity.

MASK.  Meet me in half-an-hour, here in your ownchamber.  When Cynthia comes, let there be no light, and donot speak, that she may not distinguish you from Mellefont. I’ll urge haste to excuse your silence.

SAYGRACE.  You have no more commands?

MASK.  None: your text is short.

SAYGRACE.  But pithy: and I will handle it withdiscretion.

MASK.  It will be the first you have so served.

SCENE XIII.

Lord Touchwood, Maskwell.

LORD TOUCH.  Sure I was born to be controlled by those Ishould command.  My very slaves will shortly give me ruleshow I shall govern them.

MASK.  I am concerned to see your lordshipdiscomposed.

LORD TOUCH.  Have you seen my wife lately, or disobligedher?

MASK.  No, my lord.  What can this mean? [Aside.]

LORD TOUCH.  Then Mellefont has urged somebody to incenseher.  Something she has heard of you which carries herbeyond the bounds of patience.

MASK.  This I feared.  [Aside.]  Did notyour lordship tell her of the honours you designed me?

LORD TOUCH.  Yes.

MASK.  ’Tis that; you know my lady has a highspirit; she thinks I am unworthy.

LORD TOUCH.  Unworthy!  ’Tis an ignorant pridein her to think so.  Honesty to me is true nobility. However, ’tis my will it shall be so, and that should beconvincing to her as much as reason.  By Heaven, I’llnot be wife-ridden; were it possible, it should be done thisnight.

MASK.  By Heaven, he meets my wishes! [Aside.]  Few things are impossible to willingminds.

LORD TOUCH.  Instruct me how this may be done, you shallsee I want no inclination.

MASK.  I had laid a small design for to-morrow (as lovewill be inventing) which I thought to communicate to yourlordship.  But it may be as well done to-night.

LORD TOUCH.  Here’s company.  Come this wayand tell me.

SCENE XIV.

Careless andCynthia.

CARE.  Is not that he now gone out with my lord?

CYNT.  Yes.

CARE.  By heaven, there’s treachery.  Theconfusion that I saw your father in, my Lady Touchwood’spassion, with what imperfectly I overheard between my lord andher, confirm me in my fears.  Where’s Mellefont?

CYNT.  Here he comes.

SCENE XV.

[To them] Mellefont.

CYNT.  Did Maskwell tell you anything of thechaplain’s chamber?

MEL.  No.  My dear, will you get ready?  Thethings are all in my chamber; I want nothing but the habit.

CARE.  You are betrayed, and Maskwell is the villain Ialways thought him.

CYNT.  When you were gone, he said his mind was changed,and bid me meet him in the chaplain’s room, pretendingimmediately to follow you and give you notice.

MEL.  How?

CARE.  There’s Saygrace tripping by with a bundleunder his arm.  He cannot be ignorant that Maskwell means touse his chamber; let’s follow and examine him.

MEL.  ’Tis loss of time; I cannot think himfalse.

SCENE XVI.

Cynthia, LordTouchwood.

CYNT.  My lord musing!

LORD TOUCH.  He has a quick invention, if this weresuddenly designed.  Yet he says he had prepared my chaplainalready.

CYNT.  How’s this?  Now I fear indeed.

LORD TOUCH.  Cynthia here!  Alone, fair cousin, andmelancholy?

CYNT.  Your lordship was thoughtful.

LORD TOUCH.  My thoughts were on serious business notworth your hearing.

CYNT.  Mine were on treachery concerning you, and may beworth your hearing.

LORD TOUCH.  Treachery concerning me?  Pray beplain.  Hark!  What noise?

MASK.  (within)  Will you not hear me?

LADY TOUCH.  (within)  No, monster! traitor! No.

CYNT.  My lady and Maskwell!  This may belucky.  My lord, let me entreat you to stand behind thisscreen and listen: perhaps this chance may give you proof of whatyou ne’er could have believed from my suspicions.

SCENE XVII.

Lady Touchwood with adagger; Maskwell; Cynthia andLordTouchwood abscond, listening.

LADY TOUCH.  You want but leisure to invent freshfalsehood, and soothe me to a fond belief of all your fictions:but I will stab the lie that’s forming in your heart, andsave a sin, in pity to your soul.

MASK.  Strike then, since you will have it so.

LADY TOUCH.  Ha!  A steady villain to the last.

MASK.  Come, why do you dally with me thus?

LADY TOUCH.  Thy stubborn temper shocks me, and you knewit would; this is cunning all, and not courage.  No; I knowthee well, but thou shalt miss thy aim.

MASK.  Ha, ha, ha!

LADY TOUCH.  Ha!  Do you mock my rage?  Thenthis shall punish your fond, rash contempt.  Againsmile!  [Goes to strike.]  And such a smile asspeaks in ambiguity!  Ten thousand meanings lurk in eachcorner of that various face.

Oh! that they were written in thy heart,

That I, with this, might lay thee open to my sight!

But then ’twill be too late to know—

Thou hast, thou hast found the only way to turn my rage. Too well thou knowest my jealous soul could never bearuncertainty.  Speak, then, and tell me.  Yet are yousilent.  Oh, I am wildered in all passions.  But thusmy anger melts.  [Weeps.]  Here, take thisponiard, for my very spirits faint, and I want strength to holdit; thou hast disarmed my soul.  [Gives thedagger.]

LORD TOUCH.  Amazement shakes me.  Where will thisend?

MASK.  So, ’tis well—let your wild fury havea vent; and when you have temper, tell me.

LADY TOUCH.  Now, now, now I am calm and can hearyou.

MASK.  [Aside.]  Thanks, my invention; andnow I have it for you.  First, tell me what urged you tothis violence: for your passion broke in such imperfect terms,that yet I am to learn the cause.

LADY TOUCH.  My lord himself surprised me with the newsyou were to marry Cynthia, that you had owned our love to him,and his indulgence would assist you to attain your ends.

CYNT.  How, my lord?

LORD TOUCH.  Pray forbear all resentments for a while,and let us hear the rest.

MASK.  I grant you in appearance all is true; I seemedconsenting to my lord—nay, transported with theblessing.  But could you think that I, who had been happy inyour loved embraces, could e’er be fond of an inferiorslavery?

LORD TOUCH.  Ha!  Oh, poison to my ears!  Whatdo I hear?

CYNT.  Nay, good my lord, forbear resentment; let us hearit out.

LORD TOUCH.  Yes, I will contain, though I couldburst.

MASK.  I, that had wantoned in the rich circle of yourworld of love, could be confined within the puny province of agirl?  No.  Yet though I dote on each last favour morethan all the rest, though I would give a limb for every look youcheaply throw away on any other object of your love: yet so far Iprize your pleasures o’er my own, that all this seemingplot that I have laid has been to gratify your taste and cheatthe world, to prove a faithful rogue to you.

LADY TOUCH.  If this were true.  But how can itbe?

MASK.  I have so contrived that Mellefont will presently,in the chaplain’s habit, wait for Cynthia in yourdressing-room; but I have put the change upon her, that she maybe other where employed.  Do you procure her night-gown, andwith your hoods tied over your face, meet him in her stead. You may go privately by the back stairs, and, unperceived, thereyou may propose to reinstate him in his uncle’s favour, ifhe’ll comply with your desires—his case is desperate,and I believe he’ll yield to any conditions.  If nothere, take this; you may employ it better than in the heart ofone who is nothing when not yours.  [Gives thedagger.]

LADY TOUCH.  Thou can’st deceive everybody. Nay, thou hast deceived me; but ’tis as I would wish. Trusty villain!  I could worship thee.

MASK.  No more; it wants but a few minutes of the time;and Mellefont’s love will carry him there before hishour.

LADY TOUCH.  I go, I fly, incomparable Maskwell!

SCENE XVIII.

Maskwell, Cynthia, LordTouchwood.

MASK.  So, this was a pinch indeed, my invention was uponthe rack, and made discovery of her last plot.  I hopeCynthia and my chaplain will be ready; I’ll prepare for theexpedition.

SCENE XIX.

Cynthia andLord Touchwood.

CYNT.  Now, my lord?

LORD TOUCH.  Astonishment binds up my rage! Villainy upon villainy!  Heavens, what a long track of darkdeceit has this discovered!  I am confounded when I lookback, and want a clue to guide me through the various mazes ofunheard-of treachery.  My wife!  Damnation!  Myhell!

CYNT.  My lord, have patience, and be sensible how greatour happiness is, that this discovery was not made too late.

LORD TOUCH.  I thank you, yet it may be still too late,if we don’t presently prevent the execution of theirplots;—ha, I’ll do’t.  Where’sMellefont, my poor injured nephew?  How shall I make himample satisfaction?

CYNT.  I dare answer for him.

LORD TOUCH.  I do him fresh wrong to question hisforgiveness; for I know him to be all goodness.  Yet mywife!  Damn her:—she’ll think to meet him inthat dressing-room.  Was’t not so?  And Maskwellwill expect you in the chaplain’s chamber.  For once,I’ll add my plot too:—let us haste to find out, andinform my nephew; and do you, quickly as you can, bring all thecompany into this gallery.  I’ll expose the strumpet,and the villain.

SCENE XX.

Lord Froth andSir Paul.

LORD FROTH.  By heavens, I have slept an age.  SirPaul, what o’clock is’t?  Past eight, on myconscience; my lady’s is the most inviting couch, and aslumber there is the prettiest amusement!  But where’sall the company?

SIR PAUL.  The company, gads-bud, I don’t know, mylord, but here’s the strangest revolution, all turned topsyturvy; as I hope for providence.

LORD FROTH.  O heavens, what’s the matter? Where’s my wife?

SIR PAUL.  All turned topsy turvy as sure as a gun.

LORD FROTH.  How do you mean?  My wife?

SIR PAUL.  The strangest posture of affairs!

LORD FROTH.  What, my wife?

SIR PAUL.  No, no, I mean the family.  Yourlady’s affairs may be in a very good posture; I saw her gointo the garden with Mr. Brisk.

LORD FROTH.  How?  Where, when, what to do?

SIR PAUL.  I suppose they have been laying their headstogether.

LORD FROTH.  How?

SIR PAUL.  Nay, only about poetry, I suppose, my lord;making couplets.

LORD FROTH.  Couplets.

SIR PAUL.  Oh, here they come.

SCENE XXI.

[To them] Lady Froth, Brisk.

BRISK.  My lord, your humble servant; Sir Paul,yours,—the finest night!

LADY FROTH.  My dear, Mr. Brisk and I have beenstar-gazing, I don’t know how long.

SIR PAUL.  Does it not tire your ladyship?  Are notyou weary with looking up?

LADY FROTH.  Oh, no, I love it violently.  My dear,you’re melancholy.

LORD FROTH.  No, my dear; I’m but just awake.

LADY FROTH.  Snuff some of my spirit of hartshorn.

LORD FROTH.  I’ve some of my own, thank you,dear.

LADY FROTH.  Well, I swear, Mr. Brisk, you understoodastronomy like an old Egyptian.

BRISK.  Not comparably to your ladyship; you are the veryCynthia of the skies, and queen of stars.

LADY FROTH.  That’s because I have no light butwhat’s by reflection from you, who are the sun.

BRISK.  Madam, you have eclipsed me quite, let meperish.  I can’t answer that.

LADY FROTH.  No matter.  Hark ’ee, shall youand I make an almanac together?

BRISK.  With all my soul.  Your ladyship has made methe man in’t already, I’m so full of the wounds whichyou have given.

LADY FROTH.  O finely taken!  I swear now you areeven with me.  O Parnassus, you have an infinite deal ofwit.

SIR PAUL.  So he has, gads-bud, and so has yourladyship.

SCENE XXII.

[To them] Lady Plyant, Careless, Cynthia.

LADY PLYANT.  You tell me most surprising things; blessme, who would ever trust a man?  Oh my heart aches for fearthey should be all deceitful alike.

CARE.  You need not fear, madam, you have charms to fixinconstancy itself.

LADY PLYANT.  O dear, you make me blush.

LORD FROTH.  Come, my dear, shall we take leave of mylord and lady?

CYNT.  They’ll wait upon your lordshippresently.

LADY FROTH.  Mr. Brisk, my coach shall set you down.

ALL.  What’s the matter?  [A great shriekfrom the corner of the stage.]

SCENE XXIII.

[To them] Lady Touchwoodruns out affrighted, my lord after her, like aparson.

LADY TOUCH.  Oh, I’m betrayed.  Save me, helpme!

LORD TOUCH.  Now what evasion, strumpet?

LADY TOUCH.  Stand off, let me go.

LORD TOUCH.  Go, and thy own infamy pursue thee. You stare as you were all amazed,—I don’t wonder atit,—but too soon you’ll know mine, and thatwoman’s shame.

SCENE the last.

Lord Touchwood, Lord Froth, LadyFroth, Lady Plyant, Sir Paul, Cynthia, Mellefont, Maskwell, Mellefont disguised in a parson’shabit and pulling inMaskwell.

MEL.  Nay, by heaven you shall be seen.  Careless,your hand.  Do you hold down your head?  Yes, I am yourchaplain, look in the face of your injured friend; thou wonder ofall falsehood.

LORD TOUCH.  Are you silent, monster?

MEL.  Good heavens!  How I believed and loved thisman!  Take him hence, for he’s a disease to mysight.

LORD TOUCH.  Secure that manifold villain. [Servants seize him.]

CARE.  Miracle of ingratitude!

BRISK.  This is all very surprising, let me perish.

LADY FROTH.  You know I told you Saturn looked a littlemore angry than usual.

LORD TOUCH.  We’ll think of punishment at leisure,but let me hasten to do justice in rewarding virtue and wrongedinnocence.  Nephew, I hope I have your pardon, andCynthia’s.

MEL.  We are your lordship’s creatures.

LORD TOUCH.  And be each other’s comfort.  Letme join your hands.  Unwearied nights, and wishing daysattend you both; mutual love, lasting health, and circling joys,tread round each happy year of your long lives.

Let secret villany from hence be warned;
Howe’er in private mischiefs are conceived,
Torture and shame attend their open birth;
Like vipers in the womb, base treachery lies,
Still gnawing that, whence first it did arise;
No sooner born, but the vile parent dies.

[Exeunt Omnes.]

EPILOGUE
Spoken by Mrs. Mountford.

Could poets but foresee how plays would take,
Then they could tell what epilogues to make;
Whether to thank or blame their audience most.
But that late knowledge does much hazard cost:
Till dice are thrown, there’s nothing won, nor lost.
So, till the thief has stolen, he cannot know
Whether he shall escape the law, or no.
But poets run much greater hazards far
Than they who stand their trials at the bar.
The law provides a curb for it’s own fury,
And suffers judges to direct the jury:
But in this court, what difference does appear!
For every one’s both judge and jury here;
Nay, and what’s worse, an executioner.
All have a right and title to some part,
Each choosing that in which he has most art.
The dreadful men of learning all confound,
Unless the fable’s good, and moral sound.
The vizor-masks, that are in pit and gallery,
Approve, or damn, the repartee and raillery.
The lady critics, who are better read,
Inquire if characters are nicely bred;
If the soft things are penned and spoke with grace;
They judge of action too, and time, and place;
In which we do not doubt but they’re discerning,
For that’s a kind of assignation learning.
Beaus judge of dress; the witlings judge of songs;
The cuckoldom, of ancient right, to cits belongs.
Thus poor poets the favour are denied
Even to make exceptions, when they’re tried.
’Tis hard that they must every one admit:
Methinks I see some faces in the pit
Which must of consequence be foes to wit.
You who can judge, to sentence may proceed;
But though he cannot write, let him be freed
At least from their contempt who cannot read.

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