Act
IV
Scene
I
Pinchwife’s house in the morning.
Enter Alithea dressed in new clothes, and Lucy.
Lucy
Well—madam, now have I dressed you, and set you out with so many ornaments, and spent upon you ounces of essence and pulvillio; and all this for no other purpose but as people adorn and perfume a corpse for a stinking secondhand grave: such, or as bad, I think Master Sparkish’s bed.
Alithea
Hold your peace.
Lucy
Nay, madam, I will ask you the reason why you would banish poor Master Harcourt forever from your sight; how could you be so hard-hearted?
Alithea
’Twas because I was not hard-hearted.
Lucy
No, no; ’twas stark love and kindness, I warrant.
Alithea
It was so; I would see him no more because I love him.
Lucy
Hey day, a very pretty reason!
Alithea
You do not understand me.
Lucy
I wish you may yourself.
Alithea
I was engaged to marry, you see, another man, whom my justice will not suffer me to deceive or injure.
Lucy
Can there be a greater cheat or wrong done to a man than to give him your person without your heart? I should make a conscience of it.
Alithea
I’ll retrieve it for him after I am married a while.
Lucy
The woman that marries to love better, will be as much mistaken as the wencher that marries to live better. No, madam, marrying to increase love is like gaming to become rich; alas! you only lose what little stock you had before.
Alithea
I find by your rhetoric you have been bribed to betray me.
Lucy
Only by his merit, that has bribed your heart, you see, against your word and rigid honour. But what a devil is this honour! ’tis sure a disease in the head, like the megrim or falling-sickness, that always hurries people away to do themselves mischief. Men lose their lives by it; women, what’s dearer to ’em, their love, the life of life.
Alithea
Come, pray talk you no more of honour, nor Master Harcourt; I wish the other would come to secure my fidelity to him and his right in me.
Lucy
You will marry him then?
Alithea
Certainly, I have given him already my word, and will my hand too, to make it good, when he comes.
Lucy
Well, I wish I may never stick pin more, if he be not an arrant natural, to t’other fine gentleman.
Alithea
I own he wants the wit of Harcourt, which I will dispense withal for another want he has, which is want of jealousy, which men of wit seldom want.
Lucy
Lord, madam, what should you do with a fool to your husband? You intend to be honest, don’t you? then that husbandly virtue, credulity, is thrown away upon you.
Alithea
He only that could suspect my virtue should have cause to do it; ’tis Sparkish’s confidence in my truth that obliges me to be so faithful to him.
Lucy
You are not sure his opinion may last.
Alithea
I am satisfied, ’tis impossible for him to be jealous after the proofs I have had of him. Jealousy in a husband—Heaven defend me from it! it begets a thousand plagues to a poor woman, the loss of her honour, her quiet, and her—
Lucy
And her pleasure.
Alithea
What d’ye mean, impertinent?
Lucy
Liberty is a great pleasure, madam.
Alithea
I say, loss of her honour, her quiet, nay, her life sometimes; and what’s as bad almost, the loss of this town; that is, she is sent into the country, which is the last ill-usage of a husband to a wife, I think.
Lucy
Aside. O, does the wind lie there?—Aloud. Then of necessity, madam, you think a man must carry his wife into the country, if he be wise. The country is as terrible, I find, to our young English ladies, as a monastery to those abroad; and on my virginity, I think they would rather marry a London jailer, than a high sheriff of a county, since neither can stir from his employment. Formerly women of wit married fools for a great estate, a fine seat, or the like; but now ’tis for a pretty seat only in Lincoln’s-Inn-Fields, St. James’s-Fields, or the Pall-Mall.
Enter Sparkish, and Harcourt, dressed like a Parson.
Sparkish
Madam, your humble servant, a happy day to you, and to us all.
Harcourt
Amen.
Alithea
Who have we here?
Sparkish
My chaplain, faith—O madam, poor Harcourt remembers his humble service to you; and, in obedience to your last commands, refrains coming into your sight.
Alithea
Is not that he?
Sparkish
No, fy, no; but to show that he ne’er intended to hinder our match, has sent his brother here to join our hands. When I get me a wife, I must get her a chaplain, according to the custom; that is his brother, and my chaplain.
Alithea
His brother!
Lucy
And your chaplain, to preach in your pulpit then—Aside.
Alithea
His brother!
Sparkish
Nay, I knew you would not believe it.—I told you, sir, she would take you for your brother Frank.
Alithea
Believe it!
Lucy
His brother! ha! ha! he! he has a trick left still, it seems. Aside.
Sparkish
Come, my dearest, pray let us go to church before the canonical hour is past.
Alithea
For shame, you are abused still.
Sparkish
By the world, ’tis strange now you are so incredulous.
Alithea
’Tis strange you are so credulous.
Sparkish
Dearest of my life, hear me. I tell you this is Ned Harcourt of Cambridge, by the world; you see he has a sneaking college look. ’Tis true he’s something like his brother Frank; and they differ from each other no more than in their age, for they were twins.
Lucy
Ha! ha! ha!
Alithea
Your servant, sir; I cannot be so deceived, though you are. But come, let’s hear, how do you know what you affirm so confidently?
Sparkish
Why, I’ll tell you all. Frank Harcourt coming to me this morning to wish me joy, and present his service to you, I asked him if he could help me to a parson. Whereupon he told me, he had a brother in town who was in orders; and he went straight away, and sent him, you see there, to me.
Alithea
Yes, Frank goes and puts on a black coat, then tells you he is Ned; that’s all you have for’t.
Sparkish
Pshaw! pshaw! I tell you, by the same token, the midwife put her garter about Frank’s neck, to know ’em asunder, they were so like.
Alithea
Frank tells you this too?
Sparkish
Ay, and Ned there too: nay, they are both in a story.
Alithea
So, so; very foolish.
Sparkish
Lord, if you won’t believe one, you had best try him by your chambermaid there; for chambermaids must needs know chaplains from other men, they are so used to ’em.
Lucy
Let’s see: nay, I’ll be sworn he has the canonical smirk, and the filthy clammy palm of a chaplain.
Alithea
Well, most reverend doctor, pray let us make an end of this fooling.
Harcourt
With all my soul, divine heavenly creature, when you please.
Alithea
He speaks like a chaplain indeed.
Sparkish
Why, was there not soul, divine, heavenly, in what he said?
Alithea
Once more, most impertinent black coat, cease your persecution, and let us have a conclusion of this ridiculous love.
Harcourt
I had forgot, I must suit my style to my coat, or I wear it in vain. Aside.
Alithea
I have no more patience left; let us make once an end of this troublesome love, I say.
Harcourt
So be it, seraphic lady, when your honour shall think it meet and convenient so to do.
Sparkish
’Gad I’m sure none but a chaplain could speak so, I think.
Alithea
Let me tell you, sir, this dull trick will not serve your turn; though you delay our marriage, you shall not hinder it.
Harcourt
Far be it from me, munificent patroness, to delay your marriage; I desire nothing more than to marry you presently, which I might do, if you yourself would; for my noble, good-natured, and thrice generous patron here would not hinder it.
Sparkish
No, poor man, not I, faith.
Harcourt
And now, madam, let me tell you plainly nobody else shall marry you; by Heavens! I’ll die first, for I’m sure I should die after it.
Lucy
How his love has made him forget his function, as I have seen it in real parsons!
Alithea
That was spoken like a chaplain too? now you understand him, I hope.
Sparkish
Poor man, he takes it heinously to be refused; I can’t blame him, ’tis putting an indignity upon him, not to be suffered; but you’ll pardon me, madam, it shan’t be; he shall marry us; come away, pray madam.
Lucy
Ha! ha! he! more ado! ’tis late.
Alithea
Invincible stupidity! I tell you, he would marry me as your rival, not as your chaplain.
Sparkish
Come, come, madam. Pulling her away.
Lucy
I pray, madam, do not refuse this reverend divine the honour and satisfaction of marrying you; for I dare say, he has set his heart upon’t, good doctor.
Alithea
What can you hope or design by this?
Harcourt
I could answer her, a reprieve for a day only, often revokes a hasty doom. At worst, if she will not take mercy on me, and let me marry her, I have at least the lover’s second pleasure, hindering my rival’s enjoyment, though but for a time. Aside.
Sparkish
Come, madam, ’tis e’en twelve o’clock, and my mother charged me never to be married out of the canonical hours. Come, come; Lord, here’s such a deal of modesty, I warrant, the first day.
Lucy
Yes, an’t please your worship, married women show all their modesty the first day, because married men show all their love the first day.
Exeunt.
Scene
II
A bedchamber in Pinchwife’s house.
Pinchwife and Mrs. Pinchwife discovered.
Pinchwife
Come, tell me, I say.
Mrs. Pinchwife
Lord! han’t I told it a hundred times over?
Pinchwife
Aside. I would try, if in the repetition of the ungrateful tale, I could find her altering it in the least circumstance; for if her story be false, she is so too.—Aloud. Come, how was’t, baggage?
Mrs. Pinchwife
Lord, what pleasure you take to hear it sure!
Pinchwife
No, you take more in telling it I find; but speak, how was’t?
Mrs. Pinchwife
He carried me up into the house next to the Exchange.
Pinchwife
So, and you two were only in the room!
Mrs. Pinchwife
Yes, for he sent away a youth that was there, for some dried fruit, and China oranges.
Pinchwife
Did he so? Damn him for it—and for—
Mrs. Pinchwife
But presently came up the gentlewoman of the house.
Pinchwife
O, ’twas well she did; but what did he do whilst the fruit came?
Mrs. Pinchwife
He kissed me a hundred times, and told me he fancied he kissed my fine sister, meaning me, you know, whom he said he loved with all his soul, and bid me be sure to tell her so, and to desire her to be at her window, by eleven of the clock this morning, and he would walk under it at that time.
Pinchwife
And he was as good as his word, very punctual; a pox reward him for’t. Aside.
Mrs. Pinchwife
Well, and he said if you were not within, he would come up to her, meaning me, you know, bud, still.
Pinchwife
Aside. So—he knew her certainly; but for this confession, I am obliged to her simplicity.—Aloud. But what, you stood very still when he kissed you?
Mrs. Pinchwife
Yes, I warrant you; would you have had me discovered myself?
Pinchwife
But you told me he did some beastliness to you, as you call it; what was’t?
Mrs. Pinchwife
Why, he put—
Pinchwife
What?
Mrs. Pinchwife
Why, he put the tip of his tongue between my lips, and so mousled me—and I said, I’d bite it.
Pinchwife
An eternal canker seize it, for a dog!
Mrs. Pinchwife
Nay, you need not be so angry with him neither, for to say truth, he has the sweetest breath I ever knew.
Pinchwife
The devil! you were satisfied with it then, and would do it again?
Mrs. Pinchwife
Not unless he should force me.
Pinchwife
Force you, changeling! I tell you, no woman can be forced.
Mrs. Pinchwife
Yes, but she may sure, by such a one as he, for he’s a proper, goodly, strong man; ’tis hard, let me tell you, to resist him.
Pinchwife
Aside. So, ’tis plain she loves him, yet she has not love enough to make her conceal it from me; but the sight of him will increase her aversion for me and love for him; and that love instruct her how to deceive me and satisfy him, all idiot as she is. Love! ’twas he gave women first their craft, their art of deluding. Out of Nature’s hands they came plain, open, silly, and fit for slaves, as she and Heaven intended ’em; but damned Love—well—I must strangle that little monster whilst I can deal with him.—Aloud. Go fetch pen, ink, and paper out of the next room.
Mrs. Pinchwife
Yes, bud.
Exit.
Pinchwife
Why should women have more invention in love than men? It can only be, because they have more desires, more soliciting passions, more lust, and more of the devil.
Reenter Mrs. Pinchwife.
Come, minx, sit down and write.
Mrs. Pinchwife
Ay, dear bud, but I can’t do’t very well.
Pinchwife
I wish you could not at all.
Mrs. Pinchwife
But what should I write for?
Pinchwife
I’ll have you write a letter to your lover.
Mrs. Pinchwife
O Lord, to the fine gentleman a letter!
Pinchwife
Yes, to the fine gentleman.
Mrs. Pinchwife
Lord, you do but jeer: sure you jest.
Pinchwife
I am not so merry: come, write as I bid you.
Mrs. Pinchwife
What, do you think I am a fool?
Pinchwife
Aside. She’s afraid I would not dictate any love to him, therefore she’s unwilling.—Aloud. But you had best begin.
Mrs. Pinchwife
Indeed, and indeed, but I won’t, so I won’t.
Pinchwife
Why?
Mrs. Pinchwife
Because he’s in town; you may send for him if you will.
Pinchwife
Very well, you would have him brought to you; is it come to this? I say, take the pen and write, or you’ll provoke me.
Mrs. Pinchwife
Lord, what d’ye make a fool of me for? Don’t I know that letters are never writ but from the country to London, and from London into the country? Now he’s in town, and I am in town too; therefore I can’t write to him, you know.
Pinchwife
Aside. So, I am glad it is no worse; she is innocent enough yet.—Aloud. Yes, you may, when your husband bids you, write letters to people that are in town.
Mrs. Pinchwife
O, may I so? then I’m satisfied.
Pinchwife
Come, begin:—“Sir”—Dictates.
Mrs. Pinchwife
Shan’t I say, “Dear Sir?”—You know one says always something more than bare “sir.”
Pinchwife
Write as I bid you, or I will write whore with this penknife in your face.
Mrs. Pinchwife
Nay, good bud—“Sir”—Writes.
Pinchwife
“Though I suffered last night your nauseous, loathed kisses and embraces”—Write!
Mrs. Pinchwife
Nay, why should I say so? You know I told you he had a sweet breath.
Pinchwife
Write!
Mrs. Pinchwife
Let me but put out “loathed.”
Pinchwife
Write, I say!
Mrs. Pinchwife
Well then. Writes.
Pinchwife
Let’s see, what have you writ?—Takes the paper and reads. “Though I suffered last night your kisses and embraces”—Thou impudent creature! where is “nauseous” and “loathed?”
Mrs. Pinchwife
I can’t abide to write such filthy words.
Pinchwife
Once more write as I’d have you, and question it not, or I will spoil thy writing with this. I will stab out those eyes that cause my mischief. Holds up the penknife.
Mrs. Pinchwife
O Lord! I will.
Pinchwife
So—so—let’s see now.—Reads. “Though I suffered last night your nauseous, loathed kisses and embraces”—go on—“yet I would not have you presume that you shall ever repeat them”—so—She writes.
Mrs. Pinchwife
I have writ it.
Pinchwife
On, then—“I then concealed myself from your knowledge, to avoid your insolencies.”—She writes.
Mrs. Pinchwife
So—
Pinchwife
“The same reason, now I am out of your hands—” She writes.
Mrs. Pinchwife
So—
Pinchwife
“Makes me own to you my unfortunate, though innocent frolic, of being in man’s clothes”—She writes.
Mrs. Pinchwife
So—
Pinchwife
“That you may forevermore cease to pursue her, who hates and detests you”—She writes on.
Mrs. Pinchwife
So—heigh! Sighs.
Pinchwife
What, do you sigh?—“detests you—as much as she loves her husband and her honour—”
Mrs. Pinchwife
I vow, husband, he’ll ne’er believe I should write such a letter.
Pinchwife
What, he’d expect a kinder from you? Come, now your name only.
Mrs. Pinchwife
What, shan’t I say “Your most faithful humble servant till death?”
Pinchwife
No, tormenting fiend!—Aside. Her style, I find, would be very soft.—Aloud. Come, wrap it up now whilst I go fetch wax and a candle; and write on the backside, “For Mr. Horner.” Exit.
Mrs. Pinchwife
“For Mr. Horner.”—So, I am glad he has told me his name. Dear Mr. Horner! but why should I send thee such a letter that will vex thee, and make thee angry with me?—Well, I will not send it.—Ay, but then my husband will kill me—for I see plainly he won’t let me love Mr. Horner—but what care I for my husband?—I won’t, so I won’t, send poor Mr. Horner such a letter—But then my husband—but oh, what if I writ at bottom my husband made me write it?—Ay, but then my husband would see’t—Can one have no shift? ah, a London woman would have had a hundred presently. Stay—what if I should write a letter, and wrap it up like this, and write upon’t too? Ay, but then my husband would see’t—I don’t know what to do.—But yet evads I’ll try, so I will—for I will not send this letter to poor Mr. Horner, come what will on’t.
“Dear, sweet Mr. Horner”—Writes and repeats what she writes.—so—“my husband would have me send you a base, rude, unmannerly letter; but I won’t”—so—“and would have me forbid you loving me; but I won’t”—so—“and would have me say to you, I hate you, poor Mr. Horner; but I won’t tell a lie for him”—there—“for I’m sure if you and I were in the country at cards together”—so—“I could not help treading on your toe under the table”—so—“or rubbing knees with you, and staring in your face, till you saw me”—very well—“and then looking down, and blushing for an hour together”—so—“but I must make haste before my husband comes: and now he has taught me to write letters, you shall have longer ones from me, who am, dear, dear, poor, dear Mr. Horner, your most humble friend, and servant to command till death—Margery Pinchwife.”
Stay, I must give him a hint at bottom—so—now wrap it up just like t’other—so—now write “For Mr. Horner”—But oh now, what shall I do with it? for here comes my husband.
Reenter Pinchwife.
Pinchwife
Aside. I have been detained by a sparkish coxcomb, who pretended a visit to me; but I fear ’twas to my wife—Aloud. What, have you done?
Mrs. Pinchwife
Ay, ay, bud, just now.
Pinchwife
Let’s see’t: what d’ye tremble for? what, you would not have it go?
Mrs. Pinchwife
Here—Aside. No, I must not give him that: so I had been served if I had given him this. He opens and reads the first letter.
Pinchwife
Come, where’s the wax and seal?
Mrs. Pinchwife
Aside. Lord, what shall I do now? Nay, then I have it—Aloud. Pray let me see’t. Lord, you think me so arrant a fool, I cannot seal a letter; I will do’t, so I will. Snatches the letter from him, changes it for the other, seals it, and delivers it to him.
Pinchwife
Nay, I believe you will learn that, and other things too, which I would not have you.
Mrs. Pinchwife
So, han’t I done it curiously?—Aside. I think I have; there’s my letter going to Mr. Horner, since he’ll needs have me send letters to folks.
Pinchwife
’Tis very well; but I warrant, you would not have it go now?
Mrs. Pinchwife
Yes, indeed, but I would, bud, now.
Pinchwife
Well, you are a good girl then. Come, let me lock you up in your chamber, till I come back; and be sure you come not within three strides of the window when I am gone, for I have a spy in the street.—Exit Mrs. Pinchwife, Pinchwife locks the door. At least, ’tis fit she think so. If we do not cheat women, they’ll cheat us, and fraud may be justly used with secret enemies, of which a wife is the most dangerous; and he that has a handsome one to keep, and a frontier town, must provide against treachery, rather than open force. Now I have secured all within, I’ll deal with the foe without, with false intelligence.
Holds up the letter. Exit.
Scene
III
Horner’s lodging
Enter Horner and Quack.
Quack
Well, sir, how fadges the new design? have you not the luck of all your brother projectors, to deceive only yourself at last?
Horner
No, good domine doctor, I deceive you, it seems, and others too; for the grave matrons, and old, rigid husbands think me as unfit for love, as they are; but their wives, sisters, and daughters know, some of ’em, better things already.
Quack
Already!
Horner
Already, I say. Last night I was drunk with half-a-dozen of your civil persons, as you call ’em, and people of honour, and so was made free of their society and dressing-rooms forever hereafter; and am already come to the privileges of sleeping upon their pallets, warming smocks, tying shoes and garters, and the like, doctor, already, already, doctor.
Quack
You have made good use of your time, sir.
Horner
I tell thee, I am now no more interruption to ’em, when they sing, or talk bawdy, than a little squab French page who speaks no English.
Quack
But do civil persons and women of honour drink, and sing bawdy songs?
Horner
O, amongst friends, amongst friends. For your bigots in honour are just like those in religion; they fear the eye of the world more than the eye of Heaven; and think there is no virtue, but railing at vice, and no sin, but giving scandal. They rail at a poor, little, kept player, and keep themselves some young, modest pulpit comedian to be privy to their sins in their closets, not to tell ’em of them in their chapels.
Quack
Nay, the truth on’t is, priests, amongst the women now, have quite got the better of us lay-confessors, physicians.
Horner
And they are rather their patients; but—
Enter Lady Fidget, looking about her.
Now we talk of women of honour, here comes one. Step behind the screen there, and but observe, if I have not particular privileges with the women of reputation already, doctor, already. Quack retires.
Lady Fidget
Well, Horner, am not I a woman of honour? you see, I’m as good as my word.
Horner
And you shall see, madam, I’ll not be behindhand with you in honour; and I’ll be as good as my word too, if you please but to withdraw into the next room.
Lady Fidget
But first, my dear sir, you must promise to have a care of my dear honour.
Horner
If you talk a word more of your honour, you’ll make me incapable to wrong it. To talk of honour in the mysteries of love, is like talking of Heaven or the Deity, in an operation of witchcraft, just when you are employing the devil: it makes the charm impotent.
Lady Fidget
Nay, fy! let us not be smutty. But you talk of mysteries and bewitching to me; I don’t understand you.
Horner
I tell you, madam, the word money in a mistress’s mouth, at such a nick of time, is not a more disheartening sound to a younger brother, than that of honour to an eager lover like myself.
Lady Fidget
But you can’t blame a lady of my reputation to be chary.
Horner
Chary! I have been chary of it already, by the report I have caused of myself.
Lady Fidget
Ay, but if you should ever let other women know that dear secret, it would come out. Nay, you must have a great care of your conduct; for my acquaintance are so censorious, (oh, ’tis a wicked, censorious world, Mr. Horner!) I say, are so censorious, and detracting, that perhaps they’ll talk to the prejudice of my honour, though you should not let them know the dear secret.
Horner
Nay, madam, rather than they shall prejudice your honour, I’ll prejudice theirs; and, to serve you, I’ll lie with ’em all, make the secret their own, and then they’ll keep it. I am a Machiavel in love, madam.
Lady Fidget
O, no sir, not that way.
Horner
Nay, the devil take me, if censorious women are to be silenced any other way.
Lady Fidget
A secret is better kept, I hope, by a single person than a multitude; therefore pray do not trust anybody else with it, dear, dear Mr. Horner. Embracing him.
Enter Sir Jasper Fidget.
Sir Jasper
How now!
Lady Fidget
Aside. O my husband!—prevented—and what’s almost as bad, found with my arms about another man—that will appear too much—what shall I say?—Aloud. Sir Jasper, come hither: I am trying if Mr. Horner were ticklish, and he’s as ticklish as can be. I love to torment the confounded toad; let you and I tickle him.
Sir Jasper
No, your ladyship will tickle him better without me, I suppose. But is this your buying china? I thought you had been at the china-house.
Horner
Aside. China-house! that’s my cue, I must take it.—Aloud. A pox! can’t you keep your impertinent wives at home? Some men are troubled with the husbands, but I with the wives; but I’d have you to know, since I cannot be your journeyman by night, I will not be your drudge by day, to squire your wife about, and be your man of straw, or scarecrow only to pies and jays, that would be nibbling at your forbidden fruit; I shall be shortly the hackney gentleman-usher of the town.
Sir Jasper
Aside. He! he! he! poor fellow, he’s in the right on’t, faith. To squire women about for other folks is as ungrateful an employment, as to tell money for other folks.—Aloud. He! he! he! be’n’t angry, Horner.
Lady Fidget
No, ’tis I have more reason to be angry, who am left by you, to go abroad indecently alone; or, what is more indecent, to pin myself upon such ill-bred people of your acquaintance as this is.
Sir Jasper
Nay, prithee, what has he done?
Lady Fidget
Nay, he has done nothing.
Sir Jasper
But what d’ye take ill, if he has done nothing?
Lady Fidget
Ha! ha! ha! faith, I can’t but laugh however; why, d’ye think the unmannerly toad would come down to me to the coach? I was fain to come up to fetch him, or go without him, which I was resolved not to do; for he knows china very well, and has himself very good, but will not let me see it, lest I should beg some; but I will find it out, and have what I came for yet.
Horner
Apart to Lady Fidget, as he follows her to the door. Lock the door, madam.—
Exit Lady Fidget, and locks the door.
Aloud.—So, she has got into my chamber and locked me out. Oh the impertinency of womankind! Well, Sir Jasper, plain-dealing is a jewel; if ever you suffer your wife to trouble me again here, she shall carry you home a pair of horns; by my lord mayor she shall; though I cannot furnish you myself, you are sure, yet I’ll find a way.
Sir Jasper
Ha! ha! he!—Aside. At my first coming in, and finding her arms about him, tickling him it seems, I was half jealous, but now I see my folly.—Aloud. He! he! he! poor Horner.
Horner
Nay, though you laugh now, ’twill be my turn ere long. Oh women, more impertinent, more cunning, and more mischievous than their monkeys, and to me almost as ugly!—Now is she throwing my things about and rifling all I have; but I’ll get into her the back way, and so rifle her for it.
Sir Jasper
Ha! ha! ha! poor angry Horner.
Horner
Stay here a little, I’ll ferret her out to you presently, I warrant.
Exit at the other door. Sir Jasper talks through the door to his Wife, she answers from within.
Sir Jasper
Wife! my Lady Fidget! wife! he is coming in to you the back way.
Lady Fidget
Let him come, and welcome, which way he will.
Sir Jasper
He’ll catch you, and use you roughly, and be too strong for you.
Lady Fidget
Don’t you trouble yourself, let him if he can.
Quack
Aside. This indeed I could not have believed from him, nor any but my own eyes.
Enter Mrs. Squeamish.
Mrs. Squeamish
Where’s this woman-hater, this toad, this ugly, greasy, dirty sloven?
Sir Jasper
Aside. So, the women all will have him ugly; methinks he is a comely person, but his wants make his form contemptible to ’em; and ’tis e’en as my wife said yesterday, talking of him, that a proper handsome eunuch was as ridiculous a thing as a gigantic coward.
Mrs. Squeamish
Sir Jasper, your servant: where is the odious beast?
Sir Jasper
He’s within in his chamber, with my wife; she’s playing the wag with him.
Mrs. Squeamish
Is she so? and he’s a clownish beast, he’ll give her no quarter, he’ll play the wag with her again, let me tell you: come, let’s go help her—What, the door’s locked?
Sir Jasper
Ay, my wife locked it.
Mrs. Squeamish
Did she so? let’s break it open then.
Sir Jasper
No, no, he’ll do her no hurt.
Mrs. Squeamish
Aside. But is there no other way to get in to ’em? whither goes this? I will disturb ’em.
Exit at another door.
Enter Old Lady Squeamish.
Lady Squeamish
Where is this harlotry, this impudent baggage, this rambling tomrigg? O Sir Jasper, I’m glad to see you here; did you not see my vile grandchild come in hither just now?
Sir Jasper
Yes.
Lady Squeamish
Ay, but where is she then? where is she? Lord, Sir Jasper, I have e’en rattled myself to pieces in pursuit of her: but can you tell what she makes here? they say below, no woman lodges here.
Sir Jasper
No.
Lady Squeamish
No! what does she here then? say, if it be not a woman’s lodging, what makes she here? But are you sure no woman lodges here?
Sir Jasper
No, nor no man neither, this is Mr. Horner’s lodging.
Lady Squeamish
Is it so, are you sure?
Sir Jasper
Yes, yes.
Lady Squeamish
So; then there’s no hurt in’t, I hope. But where is he?
Sir Jasper
He’s in the next room with my wife.
Lady Squeamish
Nay, if you trust him with your wife, I may with my Biddy. They say, he’s a merry harmless man now, e’en as harmless a man as ever came out of Italy with a good voice, and as pretty, harmless company for a lady, as a snake without his teeth.
Sir Jasper
Ay, ay, poor man.
Reenter Mrs. Squeamish.
Mrs. Squeamish
I can’t find ’em.—Oh, are you here, grandmother? I followed, you must know, my Lady Fidget hither; ’tis the prettiest lodging, and I have been staring on the prettiest pictures—
Reenter Lady Fidget with a piece of china in her hand, and Horner following.
Lady Fidget
And I have been toiling and moiling for the prettiest piece of china, my dear.
Horner
Nay, she has been too hard for me, do what I could.
Mrs. Squeamish
Oh, lord, I’ll have some china too. Good Mr. Horner, don’t think to give other people china, and me none; come in with me too.
Horner
Upon my honour, I have none left now.
Mrs. Squeamish
Nay, nay, I have known you deny your china before now, but you shan’t put me off so. Come.
Horner
This lady had the last there.
Lady Fidget
Yes indeed, madam, to my certain knowledge, he has no more left.
Mrs. Squeamish
O, but it may be he may have some you could not find.
Lady Fidget
What, d’ye think if he had had any left, I would not have had it too? for we women of quality never think we have china enough.
Horner
Do not take it ill, I cannot make china for you all, but I will have a roll-wagon for you too, another time.
Mrs. Squeamish
Thank you, dear toad.
Lady Fidget
What do you mean by that promise? Aside to Horner.
Horner
Alas, she has an innocent, literal understanding. Aside to Lady Fidget.
Lady Squeamish
Poor Mr. Horner! he has enough to do to please you all, I see.
Horner
Ay, madam, you see how they use me.
Lady Squeamish
Poor gentleman, I pity you.
Horner
I thank you, madam: I could never find pity, but from such reverend ladies as you are; the young ones will never spare a man.
Mrs. Squeamish
Come, come, beast, and go dine with us; for we shall want a man at ombre after dinner.
Horner
That’s all their use of me, madam, you see.
Mrs. Squeamish
Come, sloven, I’ll lead you, to be sure of you. Pulls him by the cravat.
Lady Squeamish
Alas, poor man, how she tugs him! Kiss, kiss her; that’s the way to make such nice women quiet.
Horner
No, madam, that remedy is worse than the torment; they know I dare suffer anything rather than do it.
Lady Squeamish
Prithee kiss her, and I’ll give you her picture in little, that you admired so last night; prithee do.
Horner
Well, nothing but that could bribe me: I love a woman only in effigy, and good painting as much as I hate them.—I’ll do’t, for I could adore the devil well painted. Kisses Mrs. Squeamish.
Mrs. Squeamish
Foh, you filthy toad! nay, now I’ve done jesting.
Lady Squeamish
Ha! ha I ha! I told you so.
Mrs. Squeamish
Foh! a kiss of his—
Sir Jasper
Has no more hurt in’t than one of my spaniel’s.
Mrs. Squeamish
Nor no more good neither.
Quack
I will now believe anything he tells me. Aside.
Enter Pinchwife.
Lady Fidget
O lord, here’s a man! Sir Jasper, my mask, my mask! I would not be seen here for the world.
Sir Jasper
What, not when I am with you?
Lady Fidget
No, no, my honour—let’s be gone.
Mrs. Squeamish
Oh grandmother, let’s be gone; make haste, make haste, I know not how he may censure us.
Lady Fidget
Be found in the lodging of anything like a man!—Away.
Exeunt Sir Jasper Fidget, Lady Fidget, Old Lady Squeamish, and Mrs. Squeamish.
Quack
What’s here? another cuckold? he looks like one, and none else sure have any business with him. Aside.
Horner
Well, what brings my dear friend hither?
Pinchwife
Your impertinency.
Horner
My impertinency!—why, you gentlemen that have got handsome wives, think you have a privilege of saying anything to your friends, and are as brutish as if you were our creditors.
Pinchwife
No, sir, I’ll ne’er trust you anyway.
Horner
But why not, dear Jack? why diffide in me thou know’st so well?
Pinchwife
Because I do know you so well.
Horner
Han’t I been always thy friend, honest Jack, always ready to serve thee, in love or battle, before thou wert married, and am so still?
Pinchwife
I believe so, you would be my second now, indeed.
Horner
Well then, dear Jack, why so unkind, so grum, so strange to me? Come, prithee kiss me, dear rogue: gad I was always, I say, and am still as much thy servant as—
Pinchwife
As I am yours, sir. What, you would send a kiss to my wife, is that it?
Horner
So, there ’tis—a man can’t show his friendship to a married man, but presently he talks of his wife to you. Prithee, let thy wife alone, and let thee and I be all one, as we were wont. What, thou art as shy of my kindness, as a Lombard-street alderman of a courtier’s civility at Locket’s!
Pinchwife
But you are over-kind to me, as kind as if I were your cuckold already; yet I must confess you ought to be kind and civil to me, since I am so kind, so civil to you, as to bring you this: look you there, sir. Delivers him a letter.
Horner
What is’t?
Pinchwife
Only a love-letter, sir.
Horner
From whom?—how! this is from your wife—hum—and hum—Reads.
Pinchwife
Even from my wife, sir: am I not wondrous kind and civil to you now too?—Aside. But you’ll not think her so.
Horner
Ha! is this a trick of his or hers? Aside.
Pinchwife
The gentleman’s surprised I find.—What, you expected a kinder letter?
Horner
No faith, not I, how could I?
Pinchwife
Yes, yes, I’m sure you did. A man so well made as you are, must needs be disappointed, if the women declare not their passion at first sight or opportunity.
Horner
Aside. But what should this mean? Stay, the postscript.—Reads aside. “Be sure you love me, whatsoever my husband says to the contrary, and let him not see this, lest he should come home and pinch me, or kill my squirrel.”—It seems he knows not what the letter contains.
Pinchwife
Come, ne’er wonder at it so much.
Horner
Faith, I can’t help it.
Pinchwife
Now, I think I have deserved your infinite friendship and kindness, and have showed myself sufficiently an obliging kind friend and husband; am I not so, to bring a letter from my wife to her gallant?
Horner
Ay, the devil take me, art thou, the most obliging, kind friend and husband in the world, ha! ha!
Pinchwife
Well, you may be merry, sir; but in short I must tell you, sir, my honour will suffer no jesting.
Horner
What dost thou mean?
Pinchwife
Does the letter want a comment? Then, know, sir, though I have been so civil a husband, as to bring you a letter from my wife, to let you kiss and court her to my face, I will not be a cuckold, sir, I will not.
Horner
Thou art mad with jealousy. I never saw thy wife in my life but at the play yesterday, and I know not if it were she or no. I court her, kiss her!
Pinchwife
I will not be a cuckold, I say; there will be danger in making me a cuckold.
Horner
Why, wert thou not well cured of thy last clap?
Pinchwife
I wear a sword.
Horner
It should be taken from thee, lest thou shouldst do thyself a mischief with it; thou art mad, man.
Pinchwife
As mad as I am, and as merry as you are, I must have more reason from you ere we part. I say again, though you kissed and courted last night my wife in man’s clothes, as she confesses in her letter—
Horner
Ha! Aside.
Pinchwife
Both she and I say, you must not design it again, for you have mistaken your woman, as you have done your man.
Horner
Aside. O—I understand something now—Aloud. Was that thy wife! Why wouldst thou not tell me ’twas she? Faith, my freedom with her was your fault, not mine.
Pinchwife
Faith, so ’twas. Aside.
Horner
Fy! I’d never do’t to a woman before her husband’s face, sure.
Pinchwife
But I had rather you should do’t to my wife before my face, than behind my back; and that you shall never do.
Horner
No—you will hinder me.
Pinchwife
If I would not hinder you, you see by her letter she would.
Horner
Well, I must e’en acquiesce then, and be contented with what she writes.
Pinchwife
I’ll assure you ’twas voluntarily writ; I had no hand in’t you may believe me.
Horner
I do believe thee, faith.
Pinchwife
And believe her too, for she’s an innocent creature, has no dissembling in her: and so fare you well, sir.
Horner
Pray, however, present my humble service to her, and tell her, I will obey her letter to a tittle, and fulfil her desires, be what they will, or with what difficulty soever I do’t; and you shall be no more jealous of me, I warrant her, and you.
Pinchwife
Well then, fare you well; and play with any man’s honour but mine, kiss any man’s wife but mine, and welcome.
Exit.
Horner
Ha! ha! ha! doctor.
Quack
It seems, he has not heard the report of you, or does not believe it.
Horner
Ha! ha!—now, doctor, what think you?
Quack
Pray let’s see the letter—hum—“for—dear—love you—” Reads the letter.
Horner
I wonder how she could contrive it! What say’st thou to’t? ’tis an original.
Quack
So are your cuckolds too originals: for they are like no other common cuckolds, and I will henceforth believe it not impossible for you to cuckold the Grand Signior amidst his guards of eunuchs, that I say.
Horner
And I say for the letter, ’tis the first love-letter that ever was without flames, darts, fates, destinies, lying and dissembling in’t.
Enter Sparkish pulling in Pinchwife.
Sparkish
Come back, you are a pretty brother-in-law, neither go to church nor to dinner with your sister bride!
Pinchwife
My sister denies her marriage, and you see is gone away from you dissatisfied.
Sparkish
Pshaw! upon a foolish scruple, that our parson was not in lawful orders, and did not say all the common-prayer; but ’tis her modesty only I believe. But let all women be never so modest the first day, they’ll be sure to come to themselves by night, and I shall have enough of her then. In the meantime, Harry Horner, you must dine with me: I keep my wedding at my aunt’s in the Piazza.
Horner
Thy wedding! what stale maid has lived to despair of a husband, or what young one of a gallant?
Sparkish
O, your servant, sir—this gentleman’s sister then—no stale maid.
Horner
I’m sorry for’t.
Pinchwife
How comes he so concerned for her? Aside.
Sparkish
You sorry for’t? why, do you know any ill by her?
Horner
No, I know none but by thee; ’tis for her sake, not yours, and another man’s sake that might have hoped, I thought.
Sparkish
Another man! another man! what is his name?
Horner
Nay, since ’tis past, he shall be nameless.—Aside. Poor Harcourt! I am sorry thou hast missed her.
Pinchwife
He seems to be much troubled at the match. Aside.
Sparkish
Prithee, tell me—Nay, you shan’t go, brother.
Pinchwife
I must of necessity, but I’ll come to you to dinner.
Exit.
Sparkish
But, Harry, what, have I a rival in my wife already? But with all my heart, for he may be of use to me hereafter; for though my hunger is now my sauce, and I can fall on heartily without, the time will come, when a rival will be as good sauce for a married man to a wife, as an orange to veal.
Horner
O thou damned rogue! thou hast set my teeth on edge with thy orange.
Sparkish
Then let’s to dinner—there I was with you again. Come.
Horner
But who dines with thee?
Sparkish
My friends and relations, my brother Pinchwife, you see, of your acquaintance.
Horner
And his wife?
Sparkish
No, ’gad, he’ll ne’er let her come amongst us good fellows; your stingy country coxcomb keeps his wife from his friends, as he does his little firkin of ale, for his own drinking, and a gentleman can’t get a smack on’t; but his servants, when his back is turned, broach it at their pleasures, and dust it away, ha! ha! ha!—’Gad, I am witty, I think, considering I was married today, by the world; but come—
Horner
No, I will not dine with you, unless you can fetch her too.
Sparkish
Pshaw! what pleasure canst thou have with women now, Harry?
Horner
My eyes are not gone; I love a good prospect yet, and will not dine with you unless she does too; go fetch her, therefore, but do not tell her husband ’tis for my sake.
Sparkish
Well, I’ll go try what I can do; in the meantime, come away to my aunt’s lodging, ’tis in the way to Pinchwife’s.
Horner
The poor woman has called for aid, and stretched forth her hand, doctor; I cannot but help her over the pale out of the briars.
Exeunt.
Scene
IV
A room in Pinchwife’s house.
Mrs. Pinchwife alone, leaning on her elbow.—A table, pen, ink and paper.
Mrs. Pinchwife
Well, ’tis e’en so, I have got the London disease they call love; I am sick of my husband, and for my gallant. I have heard this distemper called a fever, but methinks ’tis like an ague; for when I think of my husband, I tremble, and am in a cold sweat, and have inclinations to vomit; but when I think of my gallant, dear Mr. Horner, my hot fit comes, and I am all in a fever indeed; and, as in other fevers, my own chamber is tedious to me, and I would fain be removed to his, and then methinks I should be well. Ah, poor Mr. Horner! Well, I cannot, will not stay here; therefore I’ll make an end of my letter to him, which shall be a finer letter than my last, because I have studied it like anything. Oh sick, sick! Takes the pen and writes.
Enter Pinchwife, who seeing her writing, steals softly behind her and looking over her shoulder, snatches the paper from her.
Pinchwife
What, writing more letters?
Mrs. Pinchwife
O Lord, bud, why d’ye fright me so? She offers to run out; he stops her, and reads.
Pinchwife
How’s this? nay, you shall not stir, madam:—“Dear, dear, dear Mr. Horner”—very well—I have taught you to write letters to good purpose—but let us see’t. “First, I am to beg your pardon for my boldness in writing to you, which I’d have you to know I would not have done, had not you said first you loved me so extremely, which if you do, you will never suffer me to lie in the arms of another man whom I loathe, nauseate, and detest.”—Now you can write these filthy words. But what follows?—“Therefore, I hope you will speedily find some way to free me from this unfortunate match, which was never, I assure you, of my choice, but I’m afraid ’tis already too far gone; however, if you love me, as I do you, you will try what you can do; but you must help me away before tomorrow, or else, alas! I shall be forever out of your reach, for I can defer no longer our—our—” what is to follow “our”?—speak, what—our journey into the country I suppose—Oh woman, damned woman! and Love, damned Love, their old tempter! for this is one of his miracles; in a moment he can make those blind that could see, and those see that were blind, those dumb that could speak, and those prattle who were dumb before; nay, what is more than all, make these dough-baked, senseless, indocile animals, women, too hard for us their politic lords and rulers, in a moment. But make an end of your letter, and then I’ll make an end of you thus, and all my plagues together. Draws his sword.
Mrs. Pinchwife
O Lord, O Lord, you are such a passionate man, bud!
Enter Sparkish.
Sparkish
How now, what’s here to do?
Pinchwife
This fool here now!
Sparkish
What! drawn upon your wife? You should never do that, but at night in the dark, when you can’t hurt her. This is my sister-in-law, is it not? ay, faith, e’en our country Margery; Pulls aside her handkerchief one may know her. Come, she and you must go dine with me; dinner’s ready, come. But where’s my wife? is she not come home yet? where is she?
Pinchwife
Making you a cuckold; ’tis that they all do, as soon as they can.
Sparkish
What, the wedding-day? no, a wife that designs to make a cully of her husband will be sure to let him win the first stake of love, by the world. But come, they stay dinner for us: come, I’ll lead down our Margery.
Pinchwife
No—sir, go, we’ll follow you.
Sparkish
I will not wag without you.
Pinchwife
This coxcomb is a sensible torment to me amidst the greatest in the world. Aside.
Sparkish
Come, come, Madam Margery.
Pinchwife
No; I’ll lead her my way: what, would you treat your friends with mine, for want of your own wife?—Leads her to the other door, and locks her in and returns. I am contented my rage should take breath—Aside.
Sparkish
I told Horner this.
Pinchwife
Come now.
Sparkish
Lord, how shy you are of your wife! but let me tell you, brother, we men of wit have amongst us a saying, that cuckolding, like the smallpox, comes with a fear; and you may keep your wife as much as you will out of danger of infection, but if her constitution incline her to’t, she’ll have it sooner or later, by the world, say they.
Pinchwife
Aside. What a thing is a cuckold, that every fool can make him ridiculous!—Aloud. Well, sir—but let me advise you, now you are come to be concerned, because you suspect the danger, not to neglect the means to prevent it, especially when the greatest share of the malady will light upon your own head, for
Hows’e’er the kind wife’s belly comes to swell,
The husband breeds for her, and first is ill.
Exeunt.