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George Etherege
Sir George Etherege (1635? – c. May 10, 1692) was an English dramatist, known for his creation of the comedy of intrigue and his Restoration plays. The exact dates of his birth and death are unknown. Among his most popular plays are The Comical Revenge or, Love in a Tub in 1664, She Would if She Could in 1668, and The Man of Mode or, Sir Fopling Flutter in 1676. Although he is not well-known in modern times, he distinguished himself in dramatic poetry and plays as an established writer between the years of 1636 and 1689. His wit and banter in his plays came out in a dull, dark age, which most uplifted and encouraged the people, making him and his plays incredibly popular.
Etherege was one of the early examples of Restoration Comedy, which emerged largely as a reaction to the collapse of the Puritan era. He is often attributed to leading the way for notable playwrights such as William Congreve and Richard Brinsley Sheridan, who utilized the comedy of intrigue, which Etherege first displayed in his writings.
Life
George Etherege was born in Maidenhead, Berkshire, England, around 1635, (the exact date is unknown) to George Etherege and Mary Powney; he was the eldest of six children. He was a scion of an ancient and distinguished Oxfordshire family, resulting in a life of luxury and ease. He is said to have attended Cambridge University; however, John Dennis, one of his educators, assures that to his certain knowledge Etherege understood neither Greek nor Latin, thus giving rise to doubts that he actually attended there. In any event, if he attended he left the university before completing his degree, in order to travel to France and Flanders. He probably traveled abroad to France with his father who stayed with the exiled queen, Henrietta Maria. He is thought to have resided in France, making it possible that he witnessed in Paris the performances of some of Molière’s earliest comedies; and he seems, from an allusion in one of his plays, to have been personally acquainted with Bussy Rabutin. This not only influenced his life, but his work as well, as is evidenced in some of his plays.
On his return to London he studied law at one of the Inns of Court. His tastes were those of a fine gentleman, and he indulged freely in pleasure, especially drinking, due to his rich circumstances. He then served as apprentice to a lawyer and later studied law at Clement’s Inn, London, one of the Inns of Chancery.
Had he been poor or ambitious he might have been to England almost what Molière was to France, but he was a rich man living at his ease, and he disdained to excel in literature. His wealth and wit, the distinction and charm of his manners, won him the general worship of society. His success was not only prevalent within his plays, but extended to his winning personality as well. His temperament is best shown by the names his contemporaries gave him, of “Gentle George” and “Easy Etherege.”
Before his last play, he formed an alliance with the famous actress, Mrs. Elizabeth Barry, who unhappily died in her youth. During her life she bore him a daughter, on whom he settled £6000, with her mother. Little else is known about his daughter or his relationship with her mother. After a silence of eight years, solely due to his class, which upbraided him for inattention to literature, Etherege came out with his final and most successful play, The Man of Mode, or Sir Fopling Flutter. After this brilliant success Etherege retired from literature, but his gallantries and his gambling soon deprived him of his fortune. To provide for himself he began to search for a rich wife. In 1683, he met with a wealthy elderly widow whom he intended to marry. She consented to marry him if he made a lady of her. In an effort to fulfill his part of the agreement, he was knighted in 1680, gaining her hand and her money.
After his marriage, he was sent by Charles II on a mission to The Hague, and in March 1685 to Regensburg, Germany, where he was appointed resident minister in the imperial German court. He collected a library at Regensburg, some volumes of which are in the theological college there. Since he was very uncomfortable in Germany, after three and a half years of residing there he moved to Paris, where he died, though the cause and date of death are unknown. It was probably in 1691, for Narcissus Luttrell notes in February 1692 that “Sir George Etherege, the late King James’ ambassador to Vienna, died lately in Paris.” His manuscript dispatches are preserved in the British Museum, where they were discovered and described by Mr. Gosse in 1881. The find of such manuscripts adds very largely to the knowledge of Etherege’s career.
Works
Soon after the Restoration in 1660, Etherege composed the comedy, The Comical Revenge or Love in a Tub, which introduced him to Lord Buckhurst, afterwards the earl of Dorset. This was performed at the Duke’s theater in 1664, and a few copies were printed in the same year. It is partly in rhymed heroic verse, but it contains comic scenes that are exceedingly bright and fresh, with a style of wit hitherto unknown upon the English stage. The play was a huge success on the stage, but Etherege waited four years before he repeated his experiment. Meanwhile, he gained the highest reputation as a poetical beau, and moved into the esteemed social circle of Sir Charles Sedley, Lord Rochester and other noble wits of the day.
In 1668 he brought out She would if she could, an admirable comedy in many respects, full of action, wit and spirit, but considered frivolous and immoral by the general public at the time. The premise of the play implored that we seem to move in an airy and fantastic world, where flirtation is the only serious business of life, upsetting many. The basis for the play is thought to have been taken from Etherege’s own life, which at this point was no less frivolous and unprincipled than those of his own characters, Courtals and Freemen. Even though it was rejected by many, this play was the initial signifier of Etherege as a new power in literature, representing a significant break with the rudeness of his predecessors or the grossness of his contemporaries. The play is also critically acclaimed, as it was the first comedy of manners to attain unity of tone by shedding the incongruous romantic verse element.
After a silence of eight years, he returned with one more play, unfortunately his last. The Man of Mode or Sir Fopling Flutter, indisputably the best comedy of intrigue written in England before the days of William Congreve, was acted and printed in 1676, and enjoyed an unbounded success. Known for its wit, his audiences responded with great laughter. Although his repertoire is not typically produced in the modern theater, George Etherege was highly acclaimed and praised during his life for his work, and is still studied in modern times as well.
Legacy
George Etherege holds a distinguished place in English literature, and is considered to be one of the “big five” of Restoration Comedy. He inaugurated a period of genuine wit and sprightliness, encouraging others to do the same. In addition, he helped to invent the comedy of manners as well as the comedy of intrigue, which were usually written by sophisticated authors for members of their own coterie or social class. The comedy of manners has historically thrived in periods and societies that combined material prosperity and moral latitude. Playwrights declared themselves against affected wit and acquired follies, satirizing these qualities by creating characters that caricature such follies. In the character of Sir Fopling Flutter Etherege helped to initiate the use of such characters. This method allowed Etherege to pave the way for the masterpieces of William Congreve and Sheridan.
Etheredge’s portraits of fops and beaux are considered the best of their kind. His wit is sparkling and frivolous, his style picturesque. Etheredge is noted for his delicate touches of dress, furniture and scene throughout each of his plays. He vividly draws the fine airs of London gentlemen and ladies, setting his plays in a higher caliber milieu than the rest.
Bibliography
- The Comical Revenge or, Love in a Tub, comedy (ca. 1664; printed 1664)
- She wou’d if she cou’d, (ca. 1668; printed 1668)
- The Man of Mode, or, Sir Fopling Flutter, (ca. 1676; printed 1676)
Introduction to the Play
The Man of Mode, or, Sir Fopling Flutter (after one of the play’s main characters) is a Restoration comedy by George Etherege, written in 1676 and first performed in March of the same year. The play became Etherege’s most successful due to its wit and charm.
The play is set in Restoration London, and follows the libertine Dorimant as he tries to win over the young heiress Harriet, and to disengage himself from his previous affair with Mrs. Loveit. Despite the subtitle, the fop Sir Fopling is only one of several marginal characters; the rake Dorimant is the protagonist.
Part of its success was no doubt due to that fact that it included caricatures of prominent London citizens of the day. Sir Fopling Flutter was based on Beau Hewit, the reigning exquisite of the hour. One of the main characters, Dorimant, may have been based on John Wilmot, 2nd Earl of Rochester, though there is no concrete evidence of this. The part was first played by Thomas Betterton. Sir Fopling, the flamboyant fop of the hour, by William Smith. The character Medley was based on the author himself. Even the drunken shoemaker in the play was based on a real person, who made his fortune from being thus brought into public notice.
Plot Summary
The main theme of the play is the restoration of order in love and marriage. Two of the main characters, Dorimant and Harriet are the two who are most immersed in the game of love. Although it seems evident the couple are destined to be together, an obstacle is placed in Dorimant’s way in the form of Harriet’s mother, Mrs. Woodville, who has made arrangements for her to marry Young Bellair, a young gentleman who already has his eye on someone else, Emilia. Threatened with disinheritance, Young Bellair and Harriet agree to pretend to accept the idea, while Harriet and Dorimant engage in their battle of wits, which is reminiscent of Shakespeare’s Beatrice and Benedict in Much Ado About Nothing, from 1598.
The Prologue supplies some hints as to what is being satirized in The Man of Mode, stating that “your own follies may supply the stage” and “’Tis by your follies that we players thrive.” One of the main satirical elements is the fop—men who are so consumed with appearances that they lack sense. They firmly believe that they are the height of fashion, when, in fact, they are being laughed at behind their backs: “Nature well-drawn and wit must now give place to gaudy nonsense and to dull grimace.” In The Man of Mode, we also get the sense that there is a push toward English values over French ones: “Of foreign wares why should we fetch the sum, when we can be so richly served at home?”. To an extent, women who allow themselves to be taken by the rakes are also criticized, as it is revealed that their infidelity/lack of moral character does not win them the man in the end. Mrs. Loeit says, “Bellinda, if thou wouldst be happy, give thyself wholly up to goodness.”
Another cultural practice that is ridiculed is the behavior of the rake and the women he is with. Both Mrs. Loveit and Bellinda make fools of themselves trying to please Dorimant, even as he uses them to get rid of each other and get Harriet. Mrs. Loveit enters the picture, breaking her fans and acting hysterically. She is defenseless against Dorimant’s cruel words, and, in the end, she represents the tragic side effect of the game of love. Having long since lost interest in her, Dorimant continues to lead her on, giving her hope, but leaves her in despair.
Her unrequited love only brings her ridicule and scorn, reminding society that if you are going to play at the game of love, you’d better be prepared to get hurt. Indeed, Loveit comes to the realization that “There’s nothing but falsehood and impertinence in this world. All men are villains or fools,” before she parades out.
By the end of the play, we see one marriage, as expected, but it is between Young Bellair and Emilia, who broke with tradition by marrying secretly without parental consent from Old Bellair. The young couple is nonetheless forgiven for their actions. While Harriet sinks into a depressing mood, thinking of her lonely house in the country and the poignant noise of the rooks, Dorimant admits his love to her, saying: “The first time I saw you, you left me with the pangs of love upon me; and this day my soul has quite given up her liberty.”
In the end, as is the tradition in comedies, the play concludes with the characters happy in life and in love.
Content adapted from “George Etherege” and licensed under CC-BY-SA 3.0.
Video of the Play
It is often helpful to watch the video while you read along with the text of the play. This strategy helps readers new to the language of Restoration Comedy to better understand what is happening in the play.
Text of the Play
Letter to the Duchess
TO HER Royal Highness THE DUCHESS.
Madam,
Poets however they may be modest otherwise, have always too good an opinion of what they write. The World when it sees this Play Dedicated to Your Royal Highness, will conclude, I have more than my share of that Vanity. But I hope the honor I have of belonging to You, will excuse my presumption. ‘Tis the first thing I have produc’d in Your Service, and my Duty obliges me to what my Choice durst not else have aspir’d.
I am very sensible, Madam, how much it is beholding to Your Indulgence, for the success it had in the Acting, and Your Protection will be no less fortunate to it in the Printing; for all are so ambitious of making their Court to You, that none can be severe to what you are pleas’d to favor.
This universal submission and respect is due to the greatness of Your Rank and Birth; but You have other Illustrious Qualities, which are much more engaging. Those wou’d but dazle, did not these really charm the Eyes and Understandings of all who have the Happiness to approach You.
Authors on these occasions are never wanting to publish a particular of their Patrons Virtues and Perfections; but Your Royal Highness‘s are so eminently known, that did I follow their Examples, I shou’d but paint those wonders here of which every one already has the Idea in his mind. Be∣sides, I do not think it proper to aim at that in Prose, which is so glorious a subject for Verse; in which hereafter if I show more zeal than skill, it will not grieve me much, since I less passionately desire to be esteem’d a Poet, than to be thought,
Madam,
Your Royal Highness’s Most humble, most obedient, and most faithful Servant, George Etherege.
Prologue
Like Dancers on the Ropes poor Poets fare,
Most perish young, the rest in danger are;
This (one wou’d think) shou’d make our Authors wary,
But Gamester like the Giddy Fools miscarry.
A lucky hand or two so tempts ’em on,
They cannot leave off Play till they’re undone.
With modest Fears a Muse does first begin,
Like a young Wench newly entic’d to Sin:
But tickl’d once with praise by her good Will,
The Wanton Fool wou’d never more lie still.
‘Tis an old Mrs. you’ll meet here to night,
Whose charms you once have lookt on with delight.
But now of late such dirty Drabs have known yee,
A Muse o’th’ better sort’s asham’d to own you.
Nature well drawn and Wit must now give place
To gawdy Nonsense and to dull Grimace;
Nor is it strange that you shou’d like so much
That kind of Wit, for most of yours is such.
But I’m afraid that while to France we go,
To bring you home Fine Dresses, Dance, and Show;
The Stage like you will but more Foppish grow.
Of Foreign Wares why shou’d we fetch the scum,
When we can be so richly serv’d at home?
For Heav’n be thankt ’tis not so wise an Age,
But your own Follies may supply the Stage.
Tho’ often plow’d, there’s no great Fear the soil
Should Barren grow by the too frequent toil;
While at your Doors are to be daily found,
Such loads of Dunghill to manure the ground.
‘Tis by your Follies that we Players thrive,
As the Physicians by Diseases live.
And as each year some new distemper Reigns,
Whose friendly poison helps to increase their gains:
So among you, there starts up every day,
Some new unheard of Fool for us to Play.
Then for your own sakes be not too severe,
Nor what you all admire at home, Damn here.
Since each is fond of his own ugly Face,
Why shou’d you, when we hold it, break the Glass?
Characters
- Mr Dorimant, Gentlemen.
- Mr Medley, Gentlemen.
- Old Bellair, Gentlemen.
- Young Bellair, Gentlemen.
- Sir Fopling Flutter, Gentlemen.
- Lady Townley, Gentlewomen.
- Emilia, Gentlewomen.
- Mrs. Loveit, Gentlewomen.
- Bellinda, Gentlewomen.
- Lady Woodvil, and Harriet her Daugh∣ter, Gentlewomen.
- Pert, and Busy, Waiting Women.
- A Shoe maker.
- An Orange-woman.
- Three Slovenly Bullies.
- Two Chair-men.
- Mr Smirk, a Parson.
- Handy, a Valet de Chambre.
- Pages, Footmen, &c.
ACT I.
SCENE I.
A Dressing Room, a Table Covered with a Toilet, Cloaths laid ready.
Enter Dorimant in his Gown and Slippers, with a Note in his hand made up, repeating Verses.
Dor.
NOW for some Ages had the pride of Spain,
Made the Sun shine on half the World in vain.
Then looking on the Note.
For Mrs. Loveit.
What a dull insipid thing is a Billet doux written in
Cold blood, after the heat of the business is over?
It is a Tax upon good nature which I have
Here been labouring to pay, and have done it,
But with as much regret, as ever Fanatick paid
The Royal Aid, or Church Duties; ‘Twill
Have the same fate I know that all my notes
To her have had of late, ‘Twill not be thought
Kind enough. Faith Women are i’the right
When they jealously examine our Letters, for in them
We always first discover our decay of passion. —
Hay! — Who waits! —
Enter Handy.
Handy.
Sir. —
Dor.
Call a Footman.
Handy.
None of ’em are come yet.
Dor.
Dogs! will they ever lie snoring a Bed till Noon.
Handy.
‘Tis all one, Sir: if they’re up, you indulge ’em so;
They’re ever poaching after Whores all the Morning.
Dor.
Take notice henceforward who’s wanting in his duty,
The next Clap he gets, he shall rot for an example.
What Vermin are those Chattering without?
Handy.
Foggy Nan the Orange Woman,
And swearing Tom the Shoomaker.
Dor.
Go; call in that over-grown Jade with the Flasket
Of Guts before her, fruit is refreshing in a Morning.
Exit Handy.
It is not that I love you less
Than when before your feet I lay.
Enter Or. Wom.
How now double Tripe, what news do you bring?
Or. Wom.
News! Here’s the best Fruit has come to Town
T’year, Gad I was up before Four a Clock this
Morning, and bought all the Choice i’the Market.
Dor.
The nasty refuse of your Shop.
Or. Wom.
You need not make mouths at it, I assure you
‘Tis all cull’d ware.
Dor.
The Citizens buy better on a Holiday in their
Walk to Totnam.
Or. Wom.
Good or bad ’tis all one, I never knew you
Commend any thing, Lord wou’d the Ladies had
Heard you talk of ’em as I have done: here
Bid your Man give me an Angel.
Sets down the Fruit.
Dor.
Give the Bawd her Fruit again.
Or. Wom.
Well, on my Conscience, there never was the
Like of you. God’s my life, I had almost forgot
To tell you, there is a young Gentlewoman
Lately come to Town with her Mother, that is
So taken with you▪
Dor.
Is she handsome?
Or. Wom.
Nay, Gad there are few finer Women I tell you
But so, and a hugeous fortune they say. Here
Eat this Peach, it comes from the Stone, ’tis
Better than any Newington y’have tasted.
Dor.
This fine Woman I’le lay my life
taking the Peach.
Is some awkward ill fashion’d Country Toad, who
Not having above Four Dozen of black hairs
On her head, had adorn’d her baldness with
A large white Fruz, that she may look sparkishly
In the Fore Front of the Kings Box, at an old Play.
Or. Wom.
Gad you’d change your note quickly if you
Did but see her.
Dor.
How came she to know me?
Or. Wom.
She saw you yesterday at the Change, she told
Me you came and fool’d with the Woman
At the next Shop.
Dor.
I remember there was a Mask observ’d me indeed.
Fool’d did she say?
Or. Wom.
Ay, I vow she told me Twenty things you said
Too, and acted with head and with her body
So like you —
Enter Medley.
Medley.
Dorimant my Life, my Joy, my darling-Sin; how
Dost thou.
Or. Wom.
Lord what a filthy trick these men have got of
Kissing one another!
She spits.
Med.
Why do you suffer this Cart-load of Scandal to
Come near you, and make your Neighbours
Think you so improvident to need a Bawd?
Or. Wom.
Good now, we shall have it, you did but want
Him to help you; come pay me for my Fruit.
Med.
Make us thankful for it Huswife, Bawds are
As much out of fashion as Gentlemen Ushers;
None but old Formal Ladies use the one, and
None but Foppish old Stagers employ the other,
Go you are an insignificant Brandy Bottle.
Dor.
Nay, there you wrong her, three Quarts of Canary
Is her business.
Or. Wom.
What you please Gentlemen.
Dor.
To him, give him as good as he brings.
Or. Wom.
Hang him, there is not such another Heathen
In the Town again, except it be the Shomaker without.
Med.
I shall see you hold up your hand at the Bar
Next Sessions for Murder, Huswife; that
Shoemaker can take his Oath you are in Fee
With the Doctors to sell green Fruit to the
Gentry, that the Crudities may breed Diseases.
Or. Wom.
Pray give me my Money.
Dor.
Not a penny, when you bring the Gentlewoman
Hither you spoke of, you shall be paid.
Or. Wom.
The Gentlewoman! the Gentlewoman may be
As honest as your Sisters for ought as I know.
Pray pay me Mr. Dorimant, and do not
Abuse me so, I have an honester way of living,
You know it.
Med.
Was there ever such a resty Bawd?
Dor.
Some Jades tricks she has, but she makes amends
When she’s in good humor: Come, tell me the
Ladies name, and Handy shall pay you.
Or. Wom.
I must not, she forbid me.
Dor.
That’s a sure sign she wou’d have you.
Med.
Where does she live?
Or. Wom.
They lodge at my House.
Med.
Nay, then she’s in a hopeful way.
Or. Wom.
Good Mr. Medley say your pleasure of me, but
Take heed how you affront my House,
God’s my life, in a hopeful way!
Dor.
Prithee peace, what kind of Woman’s the Mother?
Or. Wom.
A goodly grave Gentlewoman, Lord how
She talks against the wild young men o’ the
Town; as for your part she thinks you an
Arrant Devil, shou’d she see you, on my Conscience
She wou’d look if you had not a Cloven foot.
Dor.
Does she know me?
Or. Wom.
Only by hearsay, a Thousand horrid Stories
Have been told her of you, and she
Believes ’em all.
Med.
I’v the Character, this should be the Famous
Lady Woodvill, and her Daughter Harriet.
Or. Wom.
The Devil’s in him for guessing I think.
Dor.
Do you know ’em.
Med.
Both very well, the Mother’s a great admirer of the
Forms and Civility of the last Age.
Dor.
An antiquated beauty may be allow’d to
Be out of humor at the freedoms of the present.
This is a good account of the Mother, Pray
What is the Daughter?
Med.
Why, first she’s an Heiress vastly rich.
Dor.
And handsome?
Med.
What alteration a Twelve-month may have
Bred in her I know not, but a year ago
She was the beautifullest Creature I ever saw;
A fine, easy, clean shape, light brown
Hair in abundance; her Features regular, her
Complexion clear and lively, large wanton Eyes,
But above all a mouth that has made
Me kiss it a thousand times in imagination,
Teeth white and even, and pretty pouting
Lips, with a little moisture ever hanging on them
That look like the Province Rose
Fresh on the Bush, ‘ere the Morning Sun has quite
Drawn up the dew.
Dor.
Rapture, meer Rapture!
Or. Wom.
Nay, Gad he tells you true,
She’s a delicate Creature.
Dor.
Has she Wit?
Med.
More than is usual in her Sex, and as much malice.
Then she’s as wild as you wou’d wish her,
And has a demureness in her looks that makes
It so surprising.
Dor.
Flesh and blood cannot hear this,
And not long to know her.
Med.
I wonder what makes her Mother bring her
Up to Town, an old doting Keeper cannot
Be more jealous of his Mistress.
Or. Wom.
She made me laugh yesterday, there was
A Judge came to visit ’em, and the old man
She told me did so stare upon her, and when he
Saluted her smack’d so heartily; who wou’d think
It of ’em?
Med.
God a mercy Judge.
Dor.
Do ’em right, the Gentlemen of the long Robe
Have not been wanting by their good Examples
To countenance the crying sin o’ the Nation.
Med.
Come, on with your Trappings, ’tis later than
You imagine.
Dor.
Call in the Shoemaker Handy.
Or. Wom.
Good Mr. Dorimant pay me, Gad I had
Rather give you my Fruit than stay to be
Abus’d by that foul-mouth’d Rogue;
What you Gentlemen say it matters not
Much, but such a dirty Fellow does one more disgrace.
Dor.
Give her Ten shillings, and be sure you tell
The young Gentlewoman I must be
Acquainted with her.
Or. Wom.
Now do you long to be tempting this pretty
Creature. Well, Heavens mend you.
Med.
Farewell Bogg. —
Exit. Or. Woman and Handy.
Dorimant, when did you see your
Pis aller as you call her, Mrs. Loveit?
Dor.
Not these two days.
Med.
And how stand affairs between you?
Dor.
There has been great patching of late, much
Ado we make a shift to hang together.
Med.
I wonder how her mighty Spirit bears it.
Dor.
Ill enough on all Conscience, I never knew so
Violent a Creature.
Med.
She’s the most passionate in her Love, and
The most extravagant in her Jealousy of
Any Woman I ever heard of. What Note is that?
Dor.
An excuse I am going to send her for the
Neglect I am guilty of.
Med.
Prithee read it.
Dor.
No, but if you will take the pains you may.
Medley reads.
Med.
I never was a Lover of business, but now I have a just
Reason to hate it, since it has kept me these two days
From seeing you. I intend to wait upon you in the
Afternoon, and in the pleasure of your Conversation,
Forget all I have suffer’d during this tedious absence.
This business of yours Dorimant has been
With a Vizard at the Playhouse, I have
Had an Eye on you. If some malicious body
Shou’d betray you, this kind note wou’d hardly
Make your peace with her.
Dor.
I desire no better.
Med.
Why, wou’d her knowledge of it oblige you?
Dor.
Most infinitely; next to the coming to a good
Understanding with a new Mistress,
I love a quarrel with an old one, but the
Devils in’t, there has been such a calm in
My affairs of late, I have not had the pleasure
Of making a Woman so much as break
Her Fan, to be sullen, or forswear her self
These three days.
Med.
A very great Misfortune, let me see, I love
Mischief well enough, to forward this business
My self I’ll about it presently, and though I
Know the truth of what y’ave done, will set her
A raving, I’ll heighten it a little with Invention,
Leave her in a fit o’ the Mother, and be here
Again before y’are ready.
Dor.
Pray stay, you may spare your self the Labour,
The business is undertaken already by
One who will manage it with as much address, and
I think with a little more Malice than you can.
Med.
Who i’the Devils name can this be!
Dor.
Why the Vizard, that very Vizard you saw
Me with.
Med.
Does she love mischief so well, as to betray
Her self to spite another?
Dor.
Not so neither, Medley, I will make you comprehend
The mystery; this Masque for a farther
Confirmation of what I have been these two days
Swearing to her, made me yesterday at the Playhouse
Make her a promise before her face, utterly to break off
With Loveit, and because she tenders my reputation,
And wou’d not have me do a barbarous thing, has
Contriv’d a way to give me a handsome occasion.
Med.
Very good.
Dor.
She intends about an hour before me, this
Afternoon, to make Loveit a visit, and (having
The privilege by reason of a profess’d Friendship
Between ’em to talk of her Concerns)
Med.
Is she a Friend?
Dor.
Oh, an intimate Friend!
Med.
Better and better, pray proceed.
Dor.
She means insensibly to insinuate a
Discourse of me, and artificially raise her Jealousy
To such a height, that transported with the
First motions of her passion, she shall fly
Upon me with all the Fury imaginable,
As soon as ever I enter; the Quarrel being
Thus happily begun; I am to play my part,
Confess and justify all my Roguery,
Swear her impertinence and ill humor makes
Her intolerable, tax her with the next Fop
That comes into my head, and in a huff
March away, slight her and leave her
To be taken by whosoever thinks it worth
His time to lie down before her.
Med.
This Vizard is a spark, and has a Genius that
Makes her worthy of your self, Dorimant.
Enter Handy, Shoemaker, and Footman.
Dor.
You Rogue there, who sneak like a Dog that
Has flung down a Dish, if you do not mend
Your waiting I’ll uncase you, and turn you
Loose to the Wheel of Fortune. Handy,
Seal this and let him run with it presently.
Exit. Handy and Footman.
Med.
Since y’are resolv’d on a Quarrel, why do
You send her this kind note?
Dor.
To keep her at home in order to the business.
How now you drunken Sot.?
To the Shoemaker.
Shoem.
‘Zbud, you have no reason to talk, I have
Not had a Bottle of Sack of yours in my Belly
This Fortnight.
Med.
The Orange Woman says, your Neighbors take
Notice what a Heathen you are, and
Design to inform the Bishop, and have you burn’d
For an Atheist.
Shoem.
Damn her, Dunghill, if her Husband does
Not remove her, she stinks so, the Parish
Intend to indite him for a Nuisance.
Med.
I advise you like a Friend, reform your
Life, you have brought the envy of the World
Upon you, by living above your self.
Whoring and Swearing are Vices too gentile
For a Shoemaker.
Shoem.
‘Zbud, I think you men of quality will grow
As unreasonable as the Women; you wou’d
Engross the sins o’ the Nation; poor Folks
Can no sooner be wicked, but th’ are rail’d
At by their Betters.
Dor.
Sirrah, I’ll have you stand i’the Pillory
For this Libel.
Shoem.
Some of you deserve it, I’m sure, there
Are so many of ’em, that our Journeymen nowadays
Instead of harmless Ballads, sing nothing
But your damn’d Lampoons.
Dor.
Our Lampoons you Rogue?
Shoem.
Nay, Good Master, why shou’d not you
Write your own Commentaries as well as Caesar?
Med.
The Raskal’s read, I perceive.
Shoem.
You know the old Proverb, Ale and History.
Dor.
Draw on my Shoes, Sirrah.
Shoem.
Here’s a Shoe.
Dor.
Sits with more wrinkles than there are
In an Angry Bullies Forehead.
Shoem.
‘Zbud, as smooth as your Mistresses skin
Does upon her, so, strike your foot in home.
‘Zbud if e’re a Monsieur of ’em all
Make more fashionable Ware, I’ll be content
To have my Ears whip’d off with my own
Paring Knife.
Med.
And serv’d up in a Ragoust, instead of
Coxcombs to a Company of French Shoemakers
For a Collation.
Shoem.
Hold, hold, damn ’em Catterpillars, let ’em
Feed upon Cabbage; Come Master, your health
This Morning next my heart now.
Dor.
Go, get you home, and govern your Family better;
Do not let your Wife follow you to the
Alehouse, beat your Whore, and lead you
Home in Triumph.
Shoem.
‘Zbud, there’s never a man i’the Town lives more like
A Gentleman, with his Wife, than I do.
I never mind her motions, she never inquires
Into mine, we speak to one another Civilly,
Hate one another heartily, and because ’tis vulgar
To lie and soak together, we have each of us
Our several Settle-bed.
Dor.
Give him half a Crown.
Med.
Not without he will promise to be bloody drunk.
Shoem.
Tope’s the word i’the Eye of the World for my
Masters honor Robin.
Dor.
Do not debauch my Servants, Sirrah.
Shoem.
I only tip him the wink, he knows an
Alehouse from a Hovel.
Exit Shoemaker.
Dor.
My clothes quickly.
Med.
Where shall we dine to day?
Enter Bellair.
Dor.
Where you will; here comes a good
Third man.
Bell.
Your Servant Gentlemen.
Med.
Gentle Sir; how will you answer this
Visit to your honorable Mistress? ’tis not
Her interest you shou’d keep Company
With men of sense, who will be talking reason.
Bell.
I do not fear her pardon, do you but
Grant me yours, for my neglect of late.
Med.
Though y’ave made us miserable by the
Want of your good Company; to show you
I am free from all resentment, may the
Beautiful cause of our misfortune,
Give you all the Joys happy Lovers
Have shar’d ever since the World began.
Bell.
You wish me in Heaven, but you believe
Me on my Journey to Hell.
Med.
You have a good strong Faith, and that may contribute
Much towards your Salvation. I confess I am
But of an untoward constitution, apt to have
Doubts and scruples, and in Love they are no less
Distracting than in Religion; were I so near
Marriage, I shou’d cry out by Fits as I ride
In my Coach, Cuckold, Cuckold, with no less fury than
The mad Fanatic does Glory in Bethlehem.
Bell.
Because Religion makes some run mad,
Must I live an Atheist?
Med.
Is it not great indiscretion for a man
Of Credit, who may have money enough on
His Word, to go and deal with Jews; who for
Little sums make men enter into Bonds,
And give Judgments?
Bell.
Preach no more on this Text, I am
Determin’d, and there is no hope of my Conversion.
Dor.
Leave your unnecessary fiddling; a Wasp
That’s buzzing about a Mans Nose at
Dinner, is not more troublesome than thou art.
To Handy who is fiddling about him.
Hand.
You love to have your Clothes hang just, Sir.
Dor.
I love to be well dress’d Sir: and think it
No scandal to my understanding.
Hand.
Will you use the Essence or Orange Flower Water?
Dor.
I will smell as I do to day, no offense
To the Ladies Noses.
Hand.
Your pleasure Sir.
Dor.
That a mans excellency should lie in
Neatly tying of a Ribboned, or a Crevat! how
Careful’s nature in furnishing the World
With necessary Coxcombs!
Bell.
That’s a mighty pretty Suit of yours Dorimant.
Dor.
I am glad ‘t has your approbation.
Bell.
No man in Town has a better fancy in
His Clothes than you have.
Dor.
You will make me have an opinion of my Genius.
Med.
There is a great Critic I hear in these matters
Lately arriv’d piping hot from Paris.
Bell.
Sir Fopling Flutter you mean.
Med.
The same.
Bell.
He thinks himself the Pattern of modern
Gallantry.
Dor.
He is indeed the pattern of modern Foppery.
Med.
He was Yesterday at the Play, with a pair of Gloves
Up to his Elbows, and a Periwig more exactly Curl’d
Then a Ladies head newly dress’d for a Ball.
Bell.
What a pretty lisp he has!
Dor.
Ho that he affects in imitation of the people of
Quality of France.
Med.
His head stands for the most part on one side,
And his looks are more languishing than
A Lady’s when she loll’s at stretch in her
Coach, or leans her head carelessly against the
Side of a Box i’the Playhouse.
Dor.
He is a person indeed of great acquir’d Follies.
Med.
He is like many others, beholding to his
Education for making him so eminent a
Coxcomb; many a Fool had been lost
To the World, had their indulgent Parents
Wisely bestow’d neither Learning nor
Good breeding on ’em.
Bell.
He has been, as the sparkish word is, Brisk
Upon the Ladies already, he was yesterday
At my Aunt Townleys, and gave Mrs.
Loveit a Catalogue of his good Qualities,
Under the Character of a Complete Gentleman,
Who according to Sir Fopling, ought to dress well,
Dance well, Fence well, have a genius for Love Letters,
An agreeable voice for a Chamber,
Be very Amorous, something discreet,
But not over Constant.
Med.
Pretty Ingredients to make an accomplished
Person.
Dor.
I am glad he pitched upon Loveit.
Bell.
How so?
Dor.
I wanted a Fop to lay to her Charge, and this
Is as pat as may be.
Bell.
I am confident she loves
No man but you.
Dor.
The good fortune were enough to make me vain,
But that I am in my nature modest.
Bell.
Hark you Dorimant, with your leave Mr. Medley,
‘Tis only a secret concerning a fair Lady.
Med.
Your good breeding Sir gives you too much trouble,
You might have whisper’d without all this
Ceremony.
Bell.
How stand your affairs with Bellinda of late?
To Dorimant.
Dor.
She’s a little Jilting Baggage.
Bell.
Nay, I believe her false enough, but
She’s ne’re the worse for your purpose; she was
With you yesterday in a disguise at the Play.
Dor.
There we fell out, and resolv’d never to speak
To one another more.
Bell.
The Occasion?
Dor.
Want of Courage to meet me at the place appointed.
These young Women apprehend loving, as much
As the young men do fighting at first;
But once enter’d, like them too, they all
Turn Bullies straight.
Enter Handy to Bellair.
Handy.
Sir: Your man without desires to speak with you.
Bell.
Gentlemen, I’ll return immediately.
Exit Bellair.
Med.
A very pretty Fellow this.
Dor.
He’s Handsome, well bred, and by much the most
Tolerable of all the young men that do not abound in wit.
Med.
Ever well dress’d, always complaisant, and
Seldom impertinent; you and he are grown
Very intimate I see.
Dor.
It is our mutual interest to be so; it
Makes the Women think the better of his
Understanding, and judge more favorably of my
Reputation; it makes him pass upon some for
A man of very good sense, and I upon others for a
Very civil person.
Med.
What was that whisper?
Dor.
A thing which he wou’d fain have known,
But I did not think it fit to tell him;
It might have frighted him from his honorable
Intentions of Marrying.
Med.
Emilia, give her her due, has the best reputation
Of any young Woman about the Town; who
Has beauty enough to provoke detraction; her Carriage
Is unaffected, her discourse modest, not at all censorious,
Nor pretending like the Counterfeits of the Age.
Dor.
She’s a discreet Maid, and I believe nothing can
Corrupt her but a Husband.
Med.
A Husband?
Dor.
Yes, a Husband; I have known many Women make
A difficulty of losing a Maidenhead, who
Have afterwards made none of making a Cuckold.
Med.
This prudent consideration I am apt to think
Has made you confirm poor Bellair in the
Desperate resolution he has taken.
Dor.
Indeed the little hope I found there was of her, in
The state she was in, has made me by my
Advice, contribute something towards the
Changing of her condition.
Enter Bellair.
Dear Bellair, by Heavens
I thought we had lost thee; men in love
Are never to be reckon’d on when we wou’d
Form a Company.
Bell.
Dorimant, I am undone, my man has brought
The most surprising news i’the World.
Dor.
Some strange misfortune is befallen your love.
Bell.
My Father came to Town last night, and
Lodges i’the very House where Emilia lies.
Med.
Does he know it is with her you are in love?
Bell.
He knows I love, but knows not whom, without
Some officious Sot has betray’d me.
Dor.
Your Aunt Townly is your Confidant, and favors
The business.
Bell.
I do not apprehend any ill office from her▪
I have receiv’d a Letter, in which I am commanded
By my Father to meet him at my Aunts this Afternoon;
He tells me farther he has made a match for me, and bids
Me resolve to be obedient to his Will, or expect to
Be disinherited.
Med.
Now’s your Time, Bellair, never had Lover such
An opportunity of giving a generous proof of his passion.
Bell.
As how I pray?
Med.
Why hang an Estate, marry Emilia out of hand,
And provoke your Father to do what he threatens;
‘Tis but despising a Coach, humbling your self
To a pair of Goloshes, being out of countenance
When you meet your Friends, pointed at and pitied
Wherever you go by all the Amorous Fops
That know you, and your fame will be immortal.
Bell.
I cou’d find in my heart to resolve not to marry at all.
Dor.
Fie, fie, that would spoil a good jest, and disappoint
The well-natur’d Town of an occasion of laughing at you.
Bell.
The storm I have so long expected, hangs
Ore my head, and begins to pour down upon me;
I am on the Rack, and can have no rest till I’m
Satisfied in what I fear; where do you dine?
Dor.
At Longs, or Lockets.
Med.
At Longs let it be.
Bell.
I’ll run and see Emilia, and inform my self
How matters stand; if my misfortunes are not
So great as to make me unfit for Company,
I’ll be with you.
Exit Bellair.
Enter a Footman with a Letter.
Footm.
Here’s a Letter Sir.
To Dorimant.
Dor.
The Superscription’s right; For Mr. Dorimant.
Med.
Let’s see the very scrawl and spelling of a
True bred Whore.
Dor.
I know the hand, the stile is admirable I assure you.
Med.
Prithee read it.
Dor.
Reads.
I told a you you dud not love me, if you dud,
You wou’d have seen me again e’re now; I
Have no money and am very melloncholhy;
Pray send me a Guinie to see the Operys.
Your Servant to Command, Molly.
Med.
Pray let the Whore have a favorable
Answer, that she may spark it in a Box,
And do honor to her profession.
Dor.
She shall; and perk up i’the face of quality.
Is the Coach at Door?
Hand.
You did not bid me send for it.
Dor.
Eternal Blockhead!
Handy offers to go
Hay Sot. —
Hand.
Did you call me, Sir?
Dor.
I hope you have no just exception to the name, Sir?
Hand.
I have sense, Sir.
Dor.
Not so much as a Fly in Winter: —
How did you come Medly?
Med.
In a Chair!
Footm.
You may have a Hackney Coach if you please, Sir.
Dor.
I may ride the Elephant if I please, Sir;
Call another Chair, and let my Coach follow to Longs.
Be calm ye great Parents, &c.
Ex. Singing.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
Enter my Lady Townly, and Emilia.
Lady Townly.
I Was afraid Emilia, all had been discover’d.
Emil.
I tremble with the Apprehension still.
Town.
That my Brother should take Lodgings i’the
Very House where you lie.
Emil.
‘Twas lucky, we had timely notice to warn the
People to be secret, he seems to be a mighty good
Humour’d old man.
Town▪
He ever had a notable smerking way with him.
Emil.
He calls me Rogue, tells me he can’t abide me;
And does so bepat me.
Town.
On my word you are much in his favour then.
Emil.
He has been very inquisitive I am told about my
Family, my reputation, and my Fortune.
Town.
I am confident he does not i’the least suspect
You are the Woman his Son’s in Love with.
Emil.
What shou’d make him then inform himself so
Particularly of me?
Town.
He was always of a very Loving Temper himself;
It may be he has a doating Fit upon him, who knows.
Emil.
It cannot be.
Enter Young Bellair.
Town.
Here comes my Nephew. Where did
You leave your Father?
Y. Bell.
Writing a Note within, Emilia, this early visit
Looks as if some kind Jealousie wou’d not let you
Rest at home.
Emil.
The knowledge I have of my Rival,
Gives me a little cause to fear your Constancy.
Y. Bell.
My Constancy! I vow —
Emil.
Do not vow — Our love is frail as is our life, and
Full as little in our power, and are you sure you shall
Out-live this day?
Y. Bell.
I am not, but when we are in perfect health, ’twere
An idle thing to fright our selves with the thoughts of
Sudden death.
Town.
Pray what has pass’d between you and your Father
I’the Garden.
Y. Bell.
He’s firm in his resolution,
Tells me I must marry Mrs. Harriet,
Or swears he’ll marry himself,
And disinherit me, when I saw I could not
Prevail with him to be more indulgent, I dissembled
An Obedience to his Will, which has compos’d his passion,
And will give us time, and I hope opportunity to
Deceive him.
Enter Old Bellair, with a Note in his hand.
Town.
Peace, here he comes.
Old Bell.
Harry, take this, and let your man carry it for me
To Mr. Fourbes Chamber, my Lawyer i’the Temple.
Neighbour, a Dod I am glad to see thee here,
To Emilia.
Make much of her Sister, she’s one
Of the best of your acquaintance; I like her
Countenance and her behaviour well, she has
A Modesty that is not Common i’this Age, a Dod,
She has.
Town.
I know her value Brother, and esteem her accordingly.
Old Bell.
Advise her to wear a little more mirth in her
Face, a Dod she’s too serious.
Town.
The fault is very excusable in a young Woman.
Old Bell.
Nay, a Dod, I like her ne’re the worse, a
Melancholy Beauty has her Charms, I
Love a pretty sadness in a Face which varies
Now and Then, like changeable Colours, into a smile.
Town.
Methinks you speak very feelingly Brother.
Old Bell.
I am but Five and Fifty Sister you know, an
Age not altogether unsensible! chear up sweet
To Emilia.
Heart; I have a secret to tell thee may
Chance to make thee merry, we three will make
Collation together anon, i’the mean time
Mum, I can’t abide you, go I can’t
Abide you — Harry, Come you
Enter Young Bellair.
Must along with me to my Lady Woodvills.
I am going to slip the Boy at a Mistress.
Y. Bell.
At a Wife Sir, you wou’d say.
Old Bell.
You need not look so glum, Sir, a
Wife is no Curse when she brings the blessing
Of a good Estate with her, but an idle Town
Flurt, with a painted Face, a rotten Reputation,
And a crasie Fortune, a Dod is the Devil and all,
And such a one I hear you are in League with.
Y. Bell.
I cannot help detraction, Sir.
Old Bell.
Out, a pise o’ their Breeches, there are
Keeping Fools enough for such flaunting
Baggages, and they are e’ne too good for ’em.
Remember Night, go y’ are a Rogue, y’are a
To Emilia.
Rogue; fare you well, fare you well; come, come,
Come along, Sir.
Ex. Old and Y. Bellair.
Town.
On my Word the old man comes on apace;
I’le lay my life he’s smitten.
Emilia.
This is nothing but the pleasantness of his humour.
Town.
I know him better than you, let it work,
It may prove lucky.
Enter a Page.
Page.
Madam, Mr. Medley has sent to know
Whether a Visit will not be Troublesome
This Afternoon?
Town.
Send him word his visits never are so.
Emilia.
He’s a very pleasant man.
Town.
He’s a very necessary man among us Women;
He’s not scandalous i’the least, perpetually
Contriving to bring good Company together,
And always ready to stop up a gap at Ombre,
Then he knows all the little news o’the Town.
Emilia.
I love to hear him talk o’ the Intrigues,
Let ’em be never so dull in themselves, he’l
Make ’em pleasant i’the relation.
Town.
But he improves things so much one can take no
Measure of the Truth from him.
Mr. Dorimant swears a Flea or a Maggot, is
Not made more monstrous by a magnifying
Glass, than a story is by his telling it.
Emilia.
Hold, here he comes.
Enter Medley.
Town.
Mr. Medley.
Med.
Your Servant Madam.
Town.
You have made your self a Stranger of late.
Emilia.
I believe you took a furfeit of Ombre
Last time you were here.
Med.
Indeed I had my Belly full of that Tarmagant
Lady Dealer; there never was so unsatiable
A Carder, an old Gleeker never lov’d to sit
To’t like her; I have plaid with her now at
Least a dozen times, till she’as worn out all
Her fine Complexion, and her Tour wou’d
Keep in Curl no longer.
Town.
Blame her not poor Woman, she loves nothing
So well as a black Ace.
Med.
The pleasure I have seen her in when she has had hope
In drawing for a Matadore.
Emilia.
‘Tis as pretty sport to her, as perswading
Masks off is to you to make discoveries.
Town.
Pray where’s your Friend, Mr. Dorimant?
Med.
Soliciting his affairs, he’s a man of great
Imployment, has more Mistresses now depending
Than the most eminent Lawyer in England
Has Causes.
Emilia.
Here has been Mrs. Loveit, so uneasie and
Out of humour these two days.
Town.
How strangely love and Jealousie rage
In that poor Woman!
Med.
She cou’d not have pick’d out a Devil
Upon Earth so proper to Torment her,
Has made her break a dozen or two of
Fans already, tare half a score Points in pieces,
And destroy Hoods and Knots without number.
Town.
We heard of a pleasant Serenade he gave
Her tother Night.
Med.
A Danish Serenade with Kettle Drums, and Trumpets.
Emilia.
Oh Barbarous!
Med.
What, you are of the number of the Ladies whose
Ears are grown so delicate since our
Operas, you can be charm’d with nothing
But Flute doux, and French Hoboys.
Emilia.
Leave your raillery, and tell us, is there any
New Wit come forth, Songs or Novels?
Med.
A very pretty piece of gallantry, by an
Eminent Author, call’d, the diversions of
Bruxells, very necessary to be read by all
Old Ladies who are desirous to improve themselves
At Questions and Commands, Blindmans buff,
And the like fashionable recreations.
Emilia.
Oh Ridiculous!
Med.
Then there is the Art of affectation, written
By a late beauty of Quality, teaching you how
To draw up your Breasts, stretch up your neck,
To thrust out your Breech, to play with your Head,
To toss up your Nose, to bite your Lips, to turn
Up your Eyes, to speak in a silly soft tone of a
Voice, and use all the Foolish French Words
That will infallibly make your person and
Conversation charming, with a short apologie
At the latter end, in the behalf of young Ladies,
Who notoriously wash, and paint, though they
Have naturally good Complexions.
Emilia.
What a deal of stuff you tell us?
Med.
Such as the Town affords Madam.
The Russians hearing the great respect we
Have for Foreign Dancing, have lately sent
Over some of their best Balladins, who are
Now practising a famous Ballat which will
Be suddenly danc’d at the Bear-Garden.
Town.
Pray forbear your idle stories, and give us
An account of the state of Love, as it now stands.
Med.
Truly there has been some revolutions in those
Affairs, great chopping and changing among the
Old, and some new Lovers, whom malice,
Indiscretion, and misfortune, have luckily
Brought into play.
Town.
What think you of walking into the next Room,
And sitting down before you engage in this business?
Med.
I wait upon you, and I hope (though Women
Are commonly unreasonable) by the plenty of
Scandal I shall discover, to give you very good
Content Ladies.
Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Enter Mrs. Loveit and Pert.
Mrs. Loveit putting up a Letter, then pulling out her pocket Glass, and looking in it.
Loveit.
Pert.
Pert.
Madam.
Loveit.
I hate my self, I look so ill to day.
Pert.
Hate the wicked cause on’t, that base man
Mr. Dorimant, who makes you torment and
Vex your self continually.
Loveit.
He is to blame indeed.
Pert.
To blame to be two days without sending,
Writing, or coming near you, contrary to
His Oath and Covenant; ‘Twas to much
Purpose to make him swear; I’ll lay my
Life there’s not an Article but he has Broken,
Talk’d to the Vizards i’the Pit, waited upon the
Ladies from the Boxes to their Coaches; gone behind
The Scenes, and fawn’d upon those little insignificant
Creatures, the Players; ’tis impossible for a man
Of his inconstant temper to forbear I’m sure.
Lov.
I know he is a Devil, but he has something of the
Angel yet undefac’d in him, which
Makes him so charming and agreeable, that I
Must love him be he never so wicked.
Pert.
I little thought Madam to see your spirit
Taim’d to this degree, who banish’d poor
Mr. Lackwit but for taking up another Ladies
Fan in your presence.
Loveit.
My knowing of such odious Fools, contributes to the
Making of me Love Dorimrnt the better.
Pert.
Your knowing of Mr. Dorimant, in my mind, shou’d
Rather make you hate all mankind.
Loveit.
So it does, besides himself.
Pert.
Pray, what excuse does he make in his Letter?
Loveit.
He has had business.
Pert.
Business in general terms wou’d not have
Been a currant excuse for another;
A Modish Man is always very busie
When he is in pursuit of a new Mistress.
Loveit.
Some Fop has brib’d you to rail at him;
He had business, I will believe it, and will forgive him.
Pert.
You may forgive him any thing, but I shall never
Forgive him his turning me into Ridicule,
As I hear he does.
Loveit.
I perceive you are of the number of those
Fools his Wit had made his Enemies.
Pert.
I am of the number of those he’s pleas’d
To railly, Madam; and if we may believe
Mr. Wagsan, and Mr. Caperwell, he sometimes
Makes m•rry with your self too, among
His Laughing Companions.
Loveit.
Blockheads are as malicious to witty men,
As ugly Women are to the handsome; ’tis
Their Interest, and they make it their business
To defame ’em.
Pert.
I wish Mr. Dorimant wou’d not make
It his business to defame you.
Loveit.
Shou’d he, I had rather be made infamous
By him, than owe my reputation to the dull
Discretion of those Fops you talk off.
Bellinda!
running to her.
Enter Bellinda.
Bell.
My Dear.
Loveit.
You have been unkind of late.
Bell.
Do not say unkind, say unhappy!
Loveit.
I cou’d chide you,
Where have you been these two days?
Bell.
Pity me rather my dear, where I have been
So tired with two or three Country Gentlewomen,
Whose conversation has been more
Unsufferable than a Country Fiddle.
Loveit.
Are they Relations?
Bell.
No, Welch acquaintance I made when I was last year
At St. Winefreds, they have asked me a thousand
Questions of the Modes and Intrigues of the Town,
And I have told ’em almost as many things for news
That hardly were so, when their Gowns were in Fashion.
Loveit.
Provoking Creatures, how cou’d you endure e’m?
Bell.
Now to carry on my Plot, nothing but love
Cou’d make me capable of so much falshood;
Aside.
‘Tis time to begin, lest Dorimant shou’d
Come before her Jealousy has stung her;
Laughs and then speaks on.
I was yesterday at a Play with ’em,
Where I was fain to shew ’em the living, as the
Man at Westminster does the dead; that is
Mrs. such a one admired for her Beauty,
This is Mr. such a one cry’d up for a Wit;
That is sparkish Mr. such a one who
Keeps reverend Mrs. such a one, and there
Sits fine Mrs. such a one who was lately
Cast off by my Lord such a one.
Loveit.
Did you see Dorimant there?
Bell.
I did, and imagine you were there with him,
And have no mind to own it.
Loveit.
What shou’d make you think so?
Bell.
A Lady mask’d in a pretty dishabillié
Whom Dorimant entertain’d with more
Respect, than the Gallants do a Common Vizard.
Loveit.
Dorimant at the Play entertaining a Mask,
Oh Heaven’s!
Aside.
Bell.
Good.
Aside.
Loveit.
Did he stay all the while?
Bell.
‘Till the Play was done, and then led her
Out, which confirms me it was you!
Loveit.
Traytor!
Pert.
Now you may believe he had business, and
You may forgive him too.
Loveit.
Ingrateful perjur’d man!
Bell.
You seem so much concern’d my Dear,
I fear I have told you unawares what I
Had better have conceal’d for your Quiet.
Loveit.
What manner of shape had she?
Bell.
Tall and slender, her motions were very gentile,
Certainly she must be some person of condition.
Loveit.
Shame and confusion be ever in her face
When she shows it.
Bell.
I should blame your discretion for loving that
Wild man my Dear, but they say he has a way
So bewitching, that few can defend their hearts
Who know him.
Loveit.
I will tear him from mine, or die i’the attempt.
Bell.
Be more moderate.
Lov.
Wou’d I had Daggers, Darts, or poyson’d Arrows in my
Breast, so I cou’d but remove the thoughts
Of him from thence.
Bell.
Fie, fie, your transports are too Violent, my Dear.
This may be but an accidental Gallantry,
And ’tis likely ended at her Coach.
Pert.
Shou’d it proceed farther, let your comfort be,
The Conduct Mr. Dorimant affects, will
Quickly make you know your Rival, ten to one
Let you see her ruin’d, her reputation expos’d
To the Town, a happiness none will envy her
But your self Madam.
Loveit.
Who e’re she be, all the harm I wish her, is, may
She love him as well as I do, and may he give her
As much cause to hate him.
Pert.
Never doubt the latter end of your Curse Madam!
Loveit.
May all the passions that are rais’d by neglected
Love, Jealousie, Indignation, Spight, and Thirst of
Revenge, eternally rage in her Soul, as they do
Now in mine.
Walks up and down with a distracted air.
Enter a Page.
Page.
Madam, Mr. Dorimant—
Loveit.
I will not see him.
Page.
I told him you were within, Madam.
Loveit.
Say you ly’d, say I’m busie, shut the door;
Say any thing.
Page.
He’s here Madam.
Enter Dorimant.
Dor.
They taste of death who do at Heaven arrive,
But we this Paradise approach alive.
What dancing the Galloping Nag without a Fiddle?
To Loveit.
Offers to catch her by the hand, she flings away and walks on.
I fear this restlessness of the body, Madam,
pursuing her.
Proceeds from an unquietness of the mind.
What unlucky accident puts you out of
Humour; a Point ill-wash’d, Knots spoil’d i’the
Making up, Hair shaded awry, or some
Other little mistake insetting you in order?
Pert.
A trifle in my opinion, Sir, more inconsiderable
Than any you mention.
Dor.
Oh Mrs. Pert, I never knew you sullen enough
To be silent, come let me know the business.
Pert.
The business, Sir, is the business that has taken you
Up these two days; how have I seen you
Laugh at men of business, and now to become a man
Of business your self!
Dor.
We are not Masters of our own affections, our
Inclinations daily alter; now we love pleasure, and
Anon we shall doat on business; humane
Frailty will have it so, and who can help it;
Loveit.
Faithless, inhumane, barbarous man —
Dor.
Good, now the Alarm strikes —
Loveit.
Without sense of Love, of Honour, or of Gratitude,
Tell me, for I will know, what Devil mask’d
She was, you were with at the Play yesterday?
Dor.
Faith I resolv’d as much as you, but the
Devil was obstinate, and wou’d not tell me.
Loveit.
False in this as in your Vows to me, you do know!
Dor.
The truth is I did all I cou’d to know.
Loveit.
And dare you own it to my Face;
Hell and Furies!
Tears her Fan in pieces.
Dor.
Spare your Fan, Madam, you are growing hot,
And will want it to cool you.
Loveit.
Horror and distraction seize you, Sorrow and
Remorse gnaw your Soul, and punish all your
Perjuries to me —
Weeps.
Dor.
So Thunder breaks the Cloud in Twain,
And makes a passage for the Rain.
Turning to Bellinda.
Bellinda, you are the Devil that have rais’d
This storm; you were at the Play yesterday,
To Bellinda.
And have been making discoveries to your Dear.
Bell.
Y’are the most mistaken Man i’the World.
Dor.
It must be so, and here I vow revenge; resolve
To pursue, and persecute you more impertinently
Than ever any Loving Fop did his Mistress, hunt
You i’the Park, trace you i’the Mail, Dog
You in every visit you make, haunt you at
The Plays, and i’the Drawing Room, hang my
Nose in your neck, and talk to you whether
You will or no, and ever look upon you with such
Dying Eyes, till your Friends grow Jealous of me,
Send you out of Town, and the World suspect
Your reputation.
In a lower voice.
At my
He looks kindly on Bellinda.
Lady Townley‘s when we go from hence.
Bell.
I’le meet you there.
Dor.
Enough.
Loveit.
Stand off, you sha’ not stare upon her so.
Pushing Dorimant away.
Dor.
Good! There’s one made Jealous already.
Loveit.
Is this the constancy you vow’d?
Dor.
Constancy at my years! ’tis not a Vertue in
Season, you might as well expect the Fruit the
Autumn ripens i’the Spring.
Loveit.
Monstrous Principle!
Dor.
Youth has a long Journey to go, Madam, shou’d
I have set up my rest at the first Inn I lodg’d at,
I shou’d never have arriv’d at the happiness I now enjoy.
Loveit.
Dissembler, damn’d Dissembler!
Dor.
I am so I confess, good nature, and good manners
Corrupt me. I am honest in my inclinations, and
Wou’d not, wer’t not to avoid offense, make a
Lady a little in years believe I think her young, willfully
Mistake Art for Nature; and seem as fond of a thing
I am weary of, as when I doted on’t in earnest.
Loveit.
False Man.
Dor.
True Woman.
Loveit.
Now you begin to show your self!
Dor.
Love gilds us over, and makes us show fine things
To one another for a time, but soon the Gold
Wears off, and then again the native brass appears.
Loveit.
Think on your Oaths, your Vows and Protestations.
Perjur’d Man.
Dor.
I made ’em when I was in love.
Loveit.
And therefore ought they not to bind?
Oh Impious!
Dor.
What we swear at such a time may be a certain proof
Of a present passion, but to say truth, in Love there is
No security to be given for the future.
Loveit.
Horrid and ingrateful, begone,
And never see me more.
Dor.
I am not one of those troublesome Coxcombs, who
Because they were once well receiv’d, take the
Privilege to plague a Woman with their Love ever
After; I shall obey you, Madam, though I do my
Self some violence.
He offers to go, and Loveit pulls him back.
Loveit.
Come back, you sha’ not go.
Cou’d you have the ill nature to offer it?
Dor.
When love grows diseas’d the best thing we can do
Is to put it to a Violent Death; I cannot
Endure the torture of a lingering and
Consumptive passion.
Loveit.
Can you think mine sickly?
Dor.
Oh, ’tis desperately Ill! what worse symptoms
Are there than your being always uneasy when
I visit you, your picking quarrels with me on
Slight occasions, and in my absence kindly listening
To the impertinences of every fashionable Fool
That talks to you?
Loveit.
What fashionable Fool can you lay to my charge?
Dor.
Why the very Cock-fool of all those Fools, Sir Fopling Flutter.
Loveit.
I never saw him in my life but once.
Dor.
The worse Woman you at first sight to put on
All your charms, to entertain him with that softness
In your voice, and all that wanton kindness in your
Eyes, you so notoriously affect, when you design
A Conquest.
Loveit.
So damn’d a lie did never malice yet invent;
Who told you this?
Dor.
No matter; that ever I shou’d love a Woman that
Can dote on a senseless Caper, a Tawdry French
Riband, and a Formal Cravat.
Loveit.
You make me mad.
Dor.
A guilty Conscience may do much,
Go on, be the Game-Mistress o’ the Town, and
Enter all our young Fops, as fast as they come
From travail.
Loveit.
Base and Scurrilous!
Dor.
A fine mortifying reputation ’twill be for a
Woman of your Pride, Wit, and Quality!
Loveit.
This Jealousy’s a meer pretense, a cursed trick
Of your own devising; I know you.
Dor.
Believe it and all the ill of me you can, I wou’d
Not have a Woman have the least good thought
Of me, that can think well of Fopling; farewel,
Fall too, and much good may do you with your Coxcomb.
Loveit.
Stay, oh stay, and I will tell you all.
Dor.
I have been told too much already.
Ex. Dorimant.
Loveit.
Call him again.
Pert.
E’ne let him go, a fair riddance.
Loveit.
Run I say, call him again, I will have him call’d.
Pert.
The Devil shou’d carry him away first,
Were it my concern.
Ex. Pert.
Bell.
H’as frighted me from the very thoughts of
Loving men; for Heav’ns sake, my dear,
Do not discover what I told you; I dread his tongue
As much as you ought to have done his Friendship.
Pert.
He’s gone, Madam.
Enter Pert.
Loveit.
Lightning blast him.
Pert.
When I told him you desired him to come back,
He smil’d, made a mouth at me, flung into his
Coach, and said —
Loveit.
What did he say?
Pert.
Drive away, and then repeated Verses.
Loveit.
Wou’d I had made a Contract to be a Witch
When first I entertain’d this greater Devil,
Monster, Barbarian; I could tear my self in pieces.
Revenge, nothing but Revenge can ease me; Plague,
War, Famine, Fire, all that can bring universal ruin
And misery on mankind, with Joy I’d perish to
Have you in my power but this moment.
Ex. Loveit.
Pert.
Follow Madam, leave her not in this outrageous passion.
Pert gathers up the things.
Bell.
H’as given me the proof which I desired of
His love, but ’tis a proof of his ill nature too;
I wish I had not seen him use her so.
I sigh to think that Dorimant may be,
One day as faithless, and unkind to me.
Exeunt.
ACT III.
SCENE Lady Woodvils Lodgings.
Enter Harriet, and Busy her Woman.
Busy.
Dear Madam!
Let me set that Curl in order.
Har.
Let me alone, I will shake ’em all out of order.
Busy.
Will you never leave this Wildness?
Har.
Torment me not.
Busy.
Look! there’s a Knot falling off.
Har.
Let it drop.
Busy.
But one pin, dear Madam.
Har.
How do I daily suffer under thy Officious Fingers?
Busy.
Ah the difference that is between
You and my Lady Dapper? how uneasy she is
If the least thing be amiss about her?
Har.
She is indeed most exact! nothing is ever wanting
To make her ugliness remarkable!
Busy.
Jeering people say so!
Har.
Her powdering, painting, and her patching never fail in
Publick to draw the tongues and Eyes of all the men upon her.
Busy.
She is indeed a little too pretending.
Har.
That Women should set up for beauty as much in spite
Of nature, as some men have done for Wit.
Busy.
I hope without offence one may endeavour
To make ones self agreeable.
Har.
Not, when ’tis impossible. Women then
Ought to be no more fond of dressing than Fools
Should be of talking; Hoods and Modesty,
Masques and Silence, things that shaddow and conceal;
They should think of nothing else.
Busy.
Jesu! Madam, what will your Mother think is
Become of you? for Heav’ns sake go in again.
Har.
I won’t!
Busy.
This is the Extravagant’st thing that ever
You did in your life, to leave her and a Gentleman
Who is to be your Husband.
Har.
My Husband!
Hast thou so little wit to think I spoke what I meant
When I over-joy’d her in the Country, with a low Courtsy,
And what you please, Madam, I shall ever be obedient.
Busy.
Nay, I know not, you have so many fetches.
Har.
And this was one, to get her up to London!
Nothing else I assure thee.
Busy.
Well, the man, in my mind, is a fine man!
Har.
The man indeed wears his Cloaths fashionably, and
Has a pretty negligent way with him, very Courtly,
And much affected; he bows, and talks, and smiles
So agreeably as he thinks.
Busy.
I never saw any thing so gentile!
Har.
Varnish’d over with good breeding, many a
Blockhead makes a tolerable show.
Busy.
I wonder you do not like him.
Har.
I think I might be brought to endure him, and that is
All a reasonable Woman should expect in a Husband, but
There is duty i’the case — and like the haughty Merab, I
Find much aversion in my stubborn mind,
Is bred by-being promis’d and design’d.
Busy.
I wish you do not design your own ruin! I partly
Guess your inclinations Madam — that Mr. Dorimant —
Har.
Leave your prating, and sing some foolish Song or other.
Busy.
I will, the Song you love so well ever since you saw
Mr. Dorimant.
SONG.
When first Amintas charm’d my heart,
My heedless Sheep began to stray;
The Wolves soon stole the greatest part,
And all will now be made a prey.
Ah, let not love your thoughts possess,
‘Tis fatal to a Shepherdess;
The dang’rous passion you must shun,
Or else like me be quite undone.
Har.
Shall I be paid down by a covetous Parent for a purchase?
I need no Land; no, i’le lay my self out all in love.
It is decreed —
Enter Y. Bellair.
Y. Bell.
What generous
Resolution are you making Madam?
Har.
Only to be disobedient, Sir.
Y. Bell.
Let me join hands with you in that —
Har.
With all my heart, I never thought I should have given
You mine so willingly. Here I Harriet —
Y. Bell.
And I Harry —
Har.
Do solemnly protest —
Y. Bell.
And vow —
Har.
That I with you —
Y. Bell.
And I with you —
Both.
Will never marry —
Har.
A match!
Y. Bell.
And no match!
How do you like this indifference now?
Har.
You expect I should take it ill I see!
Y. Bell.
‘Tis not unnatural for you Women to be a little
Angry, you miss a Conquest, though you wou’d slight the
Poor man were he in your power.
Har.
There are some it may be have an Eye like Bart’lomew,
Big enough for the whole Fair, but I am not of the
Number, and you may keep your Ginger-bread.
‘Twill be more acceptable to the Lady,
Whose dear Image it wears Sir.
Y. Bell.
I must confess Madam, you came a day after the Fair.
Har.
You own then you are in love —
Y. Bell.
I do.
Har.
The confidence is generous, and in return I could almost
Find in my heart to let you know my inclinations.
Y. Bell.
Are you in Love?
Har.
Yes, with this dear Town, to that
Degree, I can scarce indure
The Country in Landskapes and in Hangings.
Y. Bell.
What a dreadful thing ‘twould be
To be hurry’d back to Hampshire!
Har.
Ah — name it not! —
Y. Bell.
As for us, I find we shall agree well enough! wou’d
We cou’d do something to deceive the grave people!
Har.
Could we delay their quick proceeding, ’twere well,
A reprieve is a good step towards the getting of a pardon.
Y. Bell.
If we give over the Game, we are undone!
What think you of playing it on booty?
Har.
What do you mean?
Y. Bell.
Pretend to be in love with one another! ’twill make
Some dilatory excuses we may feign, pass the better.
Har.
Let us do’t, if it be but for the dear
Pleasure of dissembling.
Y. Bell.
Can you play your part?
Har.
I know not what it is to love, but I have made
Pretty remarks by being now and then where Lovers meet.
Where did you leave their Gravities?
Y. Bell.
I’th’ next Room! your Mother was
Censuring our modern Gallant.
Enter Old Bellair, and Lady Woodvil.
Har.
Peace! Here they come, I will lean against this Wall,
And look bashfully down upon my Fan, while
You like an Amorous spark modishly entertain me.
L. Woodv.
Never go about to excuse ’em, come, come,
It was not so when I was a young Woman.
O. Bell.
A Dod, they’re something disrespectful —
L. Wood.
Quality was then consider’d,
And not rally’d by every fleering Fellow.
O. Bell.
Youth will have it’s Jest, a Dod it will.
L. Wood.
‘Tis good breeding now to be civil to none but
Players and Exchange Women, they are treated by ’em as much
Above their Condition, as others are below theirs.
O. Bell.
Out a pise on ’em, talk no more, the
Rogues ha’ got an ill habit of preferring Beauty,
No matter where they find it.
L. Wood.
See your Son, and my Daughter, they have
Improv’d their acquaintance since they were within.
O. Bell.
A Dod methinks they have!
Let’s keep back and observe.
Y. Bell.
Now for a look and gestures that may perswade ’em
I am saying all the passionate things imaginable —
Har.
Your Head a little more on one side, ease your self
On your left Leg, and play with your right hand.
Y. Bell.
Thus, is it not?
Har.
Now set your right leg firm on the ground, adjust
Your Belt, then look about you.
Y. Bell.
A little exercising will make me perfect.
Har.
Smile and turn to me again very sparkish!
Y. Bell.
Will you take your turn and be instructed?
Har.
With all my heart.
Y. Bell.
At one motion play your Fan, roll your Eyes,
And then settle a kind look upon me.
Har.
So.
Y. Bell.
Now spread your Fan, look down upon it,
And tell the Sticks with a Finger.
Har.
Very Modish.
Y. Bell.
Clap your hand up to your bosom,
Hold down your Gown.
Shrug a little, draw up your Breasts, and let ’em fall
Again, gently, with a sigh or two, &c.
Har.
By the good instructions you give, I suspect you for one
Of those malicious Observers who watch peoples Eyes,
And from innocent looks, make scandalous conclusions.
Y. Bell.
I know some indeed who out of meer love
To mischief are as vigilant as Jealousy it self,
And will give you an account of every Glance
That passes at a Play, and i’th’ Circle!
Har.
‘Twill not be amiss now to seem a little pleasant.
Y. Ball.
Clap your Fan then in both your hands, snatch it
To your Mouth, smile, and with a lively motion fling your
Body a little forwards. So — now spread it; fall back on
The sudden, Cover your Face with it, and break out
Into a loud Laughter — take up! look
Grave, and fall a fanning of your self—
Admirably well acted.
Har.
I think I am pretty apt at these matters!
O. Bell.
A Dod I like this well.
L. Wood.
This promises something.
O. Bell.
Come! there is Love i’th’ case, a dod there is,
Or will be; what say you young Lady?
Har.
All in good time Sir, you expect we should fall to,
And Love as game-Cocks fight, as soon as we are set
Together, a Dod y’are unreasonable!
O. Bell.
A Dod sirrah, I like thy wit well.
Enter a Servant.
Servant.
The Coach is at the Door Madam.
O. Bell.
Go, get you and take the Air together.
L. Wood.
Will not you go with us?
O. Bell.
Out a pize: A Dod I ha’ business and cannot.
We shall meet at night at my Sister Townleys.
Y. Bell.
He’s going to Emilia.
Aside.
I overheard him talk of a Collation.
Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Enter L. Townley, Emilia, and Mr. Medley.
L. Town.
I pity the young lovers, we last talk’d of,
Though to say truth their conduct has been so indiscreet,
They deserve to be unfortunate.
Medley.
Y’ have had an exact account, from the great Lady
I’th’ Box down to the little Orange wench.
Emil.
Y’ are a living Libel, a breathing Lampoon; I
Wonder you are not torn in pieces.
Med.
What think you of setting up an Office of Intelligence
For these matters? the project may get Money.
L. Tow.
You would have great dealings with country Ladies.
Med.
More than Muddiman has
Enter Bellinda.
With their husbands.
L. Town.
Bellinda, what has been become of you! we
Have not seen you here of late
With your friend Mrs Lovit.
Bellin.
Dear creature, I left her but now so sadly afflicted.
L. Town.
With her old distemper Jealousy!
Med.
Dorimant has plaid her some new prank.
Bell.
Well, that Dorimant is certainly the worst
Man breathing.
Emil.
I once thought so.
Bell.
And do you not think so still?
Emil.
No indeed!
Bell.
Oh Jesu!
Emil.
The Town does him a great deal of Injury, and I
Will never believe what it says of a man I do
Not know again for his sake!
Bell.
You make me wonder!
L. Town.
He’s a very well bred man.
Bell.
But strangely ill-natur’d.
Emil.
Then he’s a very Witty man!
Bell.
But a man of no principles.
Med.
Your man of Principles is a very fine thing indeed.
Bell.
To be preferr’d to men of parts by Women who have
Regard to their Reputation and quiet. Well were I minded
To play the Fool, he shou’d be the last man I’d think of.
Med.
He has been the first in many Ladies favors, though
You are so severe, Madam.
L. Town.
What he may be for a Lover I know not, but
He’s a very pleasant acquaintance I am sure.
Bell.
Had you seen him use Mrs Loveit as I have done,
You wou’d never endure him more—
Emil.
What he has quarrel’d with her again!
Bell.
Upon the slightest occasion, he’s Jealous
Of Sir Fopling.
L. Town.
She never saw him in her life but
Yesterday, and that was here.
Emil.
On my Conscience! he’s the only man in Town
That’s her aversion, how horribly out of humour
She was all the while he talk’d to her!
Bell.
And some body has wickedly told him —
Emil.
Here he comes.
Enter Dorimant.
Med.
Dorimant! you are luckily come to justify
Your self — here’s a Lady—
Bell.
Has a word or two to say to you from a
Disconsolate person.
Dor.
You tender your Reputation too much I know Madam,
To whisper with me before this good Company.
Bell.
To serve Mrs. Loveit, I’ll make a bold venture.
Dor.
Here’s Medley the very Spirit of Scandal.
Bell.
No matter!
Emil.
‘Tis something you are unwilling to
Hear, Mr. Dorimant.
L. Town.
Tell him Bellinda whether he will or no!
Bell.
Mrs. Loveit!
aloud.
Dor.
Softly, these are laughers, you do not know ’em.
Bell.
In a Word y’ave made me hate you.
To Dor. apart.
Which I thought you never could have done.
Dor.
In obeying your Commands.
Bell.
‘Twas a cruel part you play’d! how could you act it?
Dor.
Nothing is cruel to a man who could kill himself
To please you; remember Five a Clock to morrow Morning.
Bell.
I tremble when you name it.
Dor.
Be sure you come.
Bell.
I sha’not.
Dor.
Swear you will!
Bell.
I dare not.
Dor.
Swear I say.
Bell.
By my life! by all the happiness I hope for —
Dor.
You will.
Bell.
I will.
Dor.
Kind.
Bell.
I am glad i’ve sworn, I vow I think I should ha’
Fail’d you else!
Dor.
Surprisingly kind! in what temper did
You leave Loveit?
Bell.
Her raving was prettily over, and she began to be
In a brave way of defying you, and all your works.
Where have you been since you went from thence?
Dor.
I look’d in at the Play.
Bell.
I have promis’d and must return to her again.
Dor.
Persuade her to walk in the Mail this evening
Bell.
She hates the place and will not come.
Dor.
Do all you can to prevail with her.
Bell.
For what purpose?
Dor.
Sir Fopling will be here anon, I’ll prepare him
To set upon her there before me.
Bell.
You persecute her too much, but I’ll do all you’l ha’ me.
Dor.
Tell her plainly, ’tis grown so dull a business
aloud.
I can drudge on no longer.
Emil.
There are afflictions in Love Mr. Dorimant.
Dor.
You Women make ’em, who are commonly as
Unreasonable in that as you are at Play; without
The Advantage be on your side, a man can never
Quietly give over when he’s weary?
Med.
If you would play without being obliged to
Complaisance Dorimant, you should play in
Publick places.
Dor.
Ordinaries were a very good thing for that,
But Gentlemen do not of late frequent ’em; the
Deep play is now in private Houses.
Bellinda offering to steal away.
L. Town.
Bellinda, are you leaving us so soon?
Bell.
I am to go to the Park with Mrs. Loveit, Madam—
Ex. Bellinda.
L. Town.
This confidence will go nigh to spoil this
Young Creature.
Med.
‘Twill do her good Madam. Young men who
Are brought up under practicing Lawyers prove
The abler Council when they come to be call’d
To the Bar themselves —
Dor.
The Town has been very favorable to you
This afternoon, my Lady Townley, you use to have
An Ambara’s of Chairs and Coaches at your Door,
An uproar of Footmen in your Hall, and a noise
Of Fools above here.
L. Town.
Indeed my House is the general rendevous,
And next to the Play-house is the Common
Refuge of all the Young idle people.
Emil.
Company is a very good thing, Madam, but I
Wonder you do not love it a little more Chosen.
L. Town.
‘Tis good to have an universal taste, we
Should love Wit, but for Variety, be able to divert
Our selves with the Extravagancies of those who want it.
Med.
Fools will make you laugh.
Emil.
For once or twice! but the repetition of their
Folly after a visit or two grows tedious and unsufferable.
L. Town.
You are a little too delicate Emilia.
Enter a Page.
Page.
Sir Fopling Flutter, Madam, desires to know if
You are to be seen.
L. Town.
Here’s the freshest Fool in Town, and one
Who has not cloy’d you yet. Page!
Page.
Madam!
L. Town.
Desire him to walk up.
Dor.
Do not you fall on him, Medley, and snub him.
Sooth him up in his extravagance! he will shew the better.
Med.
You know I have a natural indulgence for Fools,
And need not this caution, Sir!
Enter Sir Fopling Flutter, with his Page after him.
Sr. Fop.
Page! Wait without. Madam, I
To L. Townly.
Kiss your Hands, I see Yesterday was nothing of Chance,
The bellès assemblès form themselves here every day.
Lady your servant; Dorimant, let me embrace
To Emilia.
Thee, without lying I have not met with any of my
Acquaintance, who retain so much of Paris as
Thou dost, the very air thou hadst when the
Marquise mistook thee i’th’ Tuilleries, and cry’d
Hey Chevalier, and then begg’d thy pardon.
Dor.
I would fain wear in Fashion as long as I can, Sir,
‘Tis a thing to be valu’d in men as well as Bawbles.
Sir Fop.
Thou art a man of Wit, and understands
The Town: prithee let thee and I be intimate,
There is no living without making some good
Man the confident of our pleasures.
Dor.
‘Tis true! but there is no man so improper
For such a business as I am.
Sir Fop.
Prithee! why hast thou so modest an
Opinion of thy self?
Dor.
Why first, I could never keep a secret in my life,
And then there is no charm so infallibly makes me
Fall in love with a Woman as my knowing a
Friend loves her. I deal honestly with you.
Sir Fop.
Thy humor’s very gallant or let me perish,
I knew a French Count so like thee.
L. Town.
Wi• I perceive has more power over you
Than Beauty, Sir Fopling, else you would not have
Let this Lady stand so long neglected.
Sir Fop.
A thousand pardons Madam, some
To Emilia.
Civilities due of course upon the meeting a long absent
Friend. The Eclat of so much beauty I confess ought
To have charm’d me sooner.
Emil.
The brillian of so much good language Sir has much
More power than the little beauty I can boast.
Sir Fop.
I never saw any thing prettier than this high
Work on your Point D’espaigne—
Emil.
‘Tis not so rich as Point De Venice—
Sir Fop.
Not altogether, but looks cooler, and is more
Proper for the season. Dorimant, is not that Medley?
Dor.
The same, Sir.
Sir Fop.
Forgive me Sir in this Ambaras of Civilities,
I could not come to have you in my Arms sooner.
You understand and Equipage the best of
Any Man in Town I hear.
Med.
By my own you would not guess it.
Sir Fop.
There are Criticks who do not write Sir.
Med.
Our peevish Poets will scarce allow it.
Sir Fop.
Dam’em, they’l allow no Man Wit, who does not
Play the fool like themselves and show it! Have you
Taken notice of the Gallesh I brought over?
Med.
O yes! ‘t has quite another Air, than th’ English makes▪
Sir Fop.
‘Tis as easily known from an English Tumbril,
As an Inns of Court-man is from one of us.
Dor.
Truly there is a bell-air in Galleshes as well as men.
Med.
But there are few so delicate to observe it.
Sir Fop.
The world is generally very grossier here indeed.
L. Town.
He’s very fine.
Emil.
Extream proper.
Sir Fop.
A slight suit I made to appear in at my first arrival,
Not worthy your consideration Ladies.
Dor.
The Pantaloon is very well mounted.
Sir Fop.
The Tassels are new and pretty.
Med.
I never saw a Coat better cut.
Sir Fop.
It makes me show long-wasted, and I think slender.
Dor.
That’s the shape our Ladies dote on.
Med.
Your breech though is a handful too high in my
Eye Sir Fopling.
Sir Fop.
Peace Medley, I have wish’d it lower a thousand
Times, but a Pox on’t ’twill not be.
L. Town.
His Gloves are well fring’d, large and graceful.
Sir Fop.
I was always eminent for being bien ganté.
Emil.
He wears nothing but what are Originals of the
Most Famous hands in Paris.
Sir Fop.
You are in the right Madam.
L. Town.
The Suit.
Sir Fop.
Barroy.
Emilia.
The Garniture.
Sir Fop.
Le Gras—
Med.
The Shoes!
Sir Fop.
Piccar!
Dor.
The Perriwig!
Sir Fop.
Chedreux.
Town. and Emilia.
The Gloves!
Sir Fop.
Orangerii! You know the smell Ladies!
Dorimant, I could find in my heart for an amusement
To have a Gallantry with some of our English Ladies.
Dor.
‘Tis a thing no less necessary to confirm the
Reputation of your Wit, than a Duel will be
To satisfy the Town of your Courage.
Sir Fop.
Here was a Woman yesterday—
Dor.
Mistriss Loveit.
Sir Fop.
You have nam’d her!
Dor.
You cannot pitch on a better for your purpose.
Sir Fop.
Prithee! what is she?
Dor.
A person of Quality, and one who has a rest of
Reputation enough to make the Conquest considerable:
Besides I hear she likes you too!
Sir Fop.
Methoughts she seem’d though very reserv’d,
And uneasy all the time I entertain’d her.
Dor.
Grimace and affectation: You will see
Her i’th’ Mail to night.
Sir Fop.
Prithee, let thee and I take the Air together.
Dor.
I am engag’d to Medley, but I’l\l meet you at
Saint Iames‘s, and give you some information, upon the
Which you may regulate your proceedings.
Sir Fop.
All the World will be in the Part to night: Ladies,
‘Twere pity to keep so much Beauty longer within doors,
And rob the Ring of all those Charms
That should adorn it—Hey Page.
Enter Page, and goes out again.
See that all my People be ready.
Dorimant a Revoir.
Med.
A fine mettl’d Coxcomb.
Dor.
Brisk and Insipid—
Med.
Pert and dull.
Emil.
However you despise him Gentlemen, I’ll lay my
Life he passes for a Wit with many.
Dor.
That may very well be, Nature has her cheats, stum’s
A brain, and puts sophisticate dulness often on the tasteless
Multitude for true wit and good humor. Medley, Come.
Med.
I must go a little way, I will meet you i’the Mail.
Dor.
I’ll walk through the Garden thither, we shall meet
Anon and bow.
To the Women.
L. Town.
Not to night! we are engag’d about a business,
The knowledge of which may make you laugh hereafter.
Med.
Your servant Ladies.
Dor.
A Revoir, as Sir Fopling says—
Ex. Med. and Dor.
L. Town.
The Old Man will be here immediately.
Emil.
Let’s expect him i’th’ Garden—
L. Town.
Go, you are a Rogue.
Emil.
I can’t abide you.
Exeunt.
SCENE III. The Mail.
Enter Harriet, Y. Bellair, she pulling him.
Har.
Come along.
Y. Bell.
And leave your Mother.
Har.
Busy will be sent with a Hue and Cry after us;
But that’s no matter.
Y Bell.
‘Twill look strangely in me.
Har.
She’ll believe it a freak of mine, and never blame
Your manners.
Y. Bell.
What reverend acquaintance is that she has met?
Har.
A fellow-beauty of the last Kings time, though by the
Ruins you would hardly guess it.
Exeunt.
Enter Dorimant and crosses the Stage.
Enter Y. Bellair, and Harriet.
Y. Bell.
By this time your Mother is in a fine taking.
Har.
If your Friend Mr. Dorimant were but here now,
That she might find me talking with him.
Y. Bell.
She does not know him but dreads him I hear of
All Mankind.
Har.
She concludes if he does but speak to a
Woman she’s undone, is on her knees every day to
Pray Heav’n defend me from him.
Y. Bell.
You do not apprehend him so much as she does.
Har.
I never saw any thing in him that was frightful.
Y. Bell.
On the contrary, have you not observed something
Extreme delightful in his Wit and Person?
Har.
He’s agreeable and pleasant I must own, but he
Does so much affect being so, he displeases me.
Y. Bell.
Lord Madam, all he does and says, is so easie,
And so natural.
Har.
Some Mens Verses seem so to the unskilful,
But labour i’the one, and affectation in the other
To the Judicious plainly appear.
Y. Bell.
I never heard him accus’d of affectation before.
Enter Dorimant and stares upon her.
Har.
It passes on the easy Town, who are favorably
Pleas’d in him to call it humor.
Ex. Y. Bellair and Harriet.
Dor.
‘Tis she! it must be she, that lovely hair, that
Easy shape, those wanton Eyes, and all those melting
Charms about her mouth, which Medley spoke of;
I’ll follow the Lottery, and put in for a
Prize with my friend Bellair.
Ex. Dor. repeating.
In love the Victors from the vanquish’d fly;
They fly that Wound, and they pursue that dy.
Enter Y. Bellair, and Harriet, and after them Dorimant standing at a distance.
Y. Bell.
Most people prefer High Park to this place.
Har.
It has the better Reputation I confess: but I
Abominate the dull diversions there, the formal bows,
The Affected smiles, the silly by-Words, and
Amorous Tweers, in passing; here one meets with
A little conversation now and then.
Y. Bell.
These conversations have been fatal
To some of your Sex, Madam.
Har.
It may be so, because some who want temper
Have been undone by gaming, must others who have it
Wholly deny themselves the pleasure of Play?
Dor.
Trust me, it were unreasonable Madam.
Coming up gently, and bowing to her.
Har.
Lord! who’s this?
She Starts and looks grave.
Y. Bell.
Dorimant.
Dor.
Is this the Woman your Father would
Have you marry?
Y. Bell.
It is.
Dor.
Her name?
Y. Bell.
Harriet.
Dor.
I am not mistaken, she’s handsome.
Y. Bell.
Talk to her, her Wit is better than her face;
We were wishing for you but now.
Dor.
Overcast with seriousness o’ the sudden!
To Harriet.
A thousand smiles were shining in that Face but now;
I never saw so quick a change of Weather.
Har.
I feel as great a change within;
Aside.
But he shall never know it.
Dor.
You were talking of Play, Madam, Pray
What may be your stint?
Har.
A little harmless discourse in public walks,
Or at most an appointment in a Box barefac’d
At the Play-House; you are for Masks, and
Private meetings; where Women engage
For all they are worth I hear.
Dor.
I have been us’d to deep Play, but I can make one
At small Game, when I like my Gamester well.
Har.
And be so unconcern’d you’l ha’ no pleasure in’t.
Dor.
Where there is a considerable sum to be won, the
Hope of drawing people in, makes every trifle considerable.
Har.
The sordidness of mens natures I know makes ’em
Willing to flatter and comply with the Rich, though they
Are sure never to be the better for ’em.
Dor.
‘Tis in their power to do us good, and we despair
Not but at some time or other they may be willing.
Har.
To men who have far’d in this Town like you,
‘Twould be a great Mortification to live on hope;
Could you keep a Lent for a Mistress?
Dor.
In expectation of a happy Easter, and though time
Be very precious, think forty days well lost, to gain your
Favor.
Har.
Mr. Bellair! let us walk, ’tis time to leave him,
Men grow dull when they begin to be particular.
Dor.
Y’are mistaken, flattery will not ensue, though I know
Y’are greedy of the praises of the whole Mail.
Har.
You do me wrong.
Dor.
I do not, as I follow’d you, I observ’d how you
Were pleased when the Fops cry’d she’s handsome, very
Handsome, by God she is, and whisper’d aloud your name,
The thousand several forms you put your face into; then,
To make your self more agreeable, how wantonly you play’d
With your head, flung back your locks, and look’d smilingly
Over your shoulder at ’em.
Har.
I do not go begging the mens as you do
The Ladies Good liking with a sly softness in
Your looks, and a gentle slowness in your bows,
As you pass by ’em — as thus Sir —
Acts him.
Is not this like you?
Enter Lady Woodvil and Busy.
Y. Bell.
Your Mother Madam.
Pulls Har. She composes her self
L. Wood.
Ah my Dear child Harriet.
Busy.
Now is she so pleased with finding her agen
She cannot chide her.
L. Wood.
Come away!
Dor.
‘Tis now but high Mail Madam, the most entertaining
Time of all the Evening.
Har.
I would fain see that Dorimant Mother, you so
Cry out of, for a monster, he’s in the Mail
I hear.
L. Wood.
Come away then! the plague is here and you
Should dread the infection.
Y. Bell.
You may be misinform’d of the gentleman?
L. Wood.
Oh no! I hope you do not know him.
He is the Prince of all the Devils in the Town,
Delights in nothing but in Rapes and Riots.
Dor.
If you did but hear him speak Madam!
L. Wood.
Oh! he has a Tongue they say would tempt the
Angels to a second fall.
Enter Sir Fopling with his Equipage, six Foot∣men, and a Page.
Sir Fop.
Hey, Champaine, Norman, La Rose, la Fleur,
La Tour, La Verdure. Dorimant—
L. Wood.
Here, here he is among this Rout, he
Names him; come away Harriet, come away.
Ex. L. Wood. Harr. Busy and Y. Bell.
Dor.
This fool’s coming has spoil’d all, she’s gone,
But she has left a pleasing Image of her self
Behind that wanders in my Soul —
It must not settle there.
Sir Fop.
What reverie is this! speak man.
Dor.
Snatched from my self how far behind
Already I behold the shore!
Enter Medley.
Med.
Dorimant, a discovery! I met with Bellair.
Dor.
You can tell me no news Sir, I know all.
Med.
How do you like the Daughter?
Dorim.
You never came so near truth in your life,
As you did in her description.
Med.
What think you of the Mother?
Dor.
What ever I think of her, she thinks
Very well of me I find.
Med.
Did she know you?
Dor.
She did not, whether she does now or no I know not.
Here was a pleasant Scene towards, when in came Sir
Fopling, mustering up his Equipage, and at the
Latter end nam’d me, and frighted her away.
Med.
Loveit and Bellinda are not far off, I saw ’em
Alight at St. Iames’s.
Dor.
Sir Fopling hark you, a word or two,
Whispers.
Look you do not want assurance.
Sir Fop.
I never do on these occasions.
Dor.
Walk on, we must not be seen together, make your
Advantage of what I have told you, the next turn
You will meet the Lady.
Sir Fop.
Hey—Follow me all.
Ex. Sir Fopl. & his Equipage.
Dor.
Medly, you shall see good sport anon between
Loveit and this Fopling.
Med.
I thought there was something toward by that whisper.
Dor.
You know a worthy principle of hers?
Med.
Not to be so much as civil to a man who speaks to her
In the presence of him she professes to love.
Dor.
I have encourag’d Fopling to talk to her to night.
Med.
Now you are here she will go nigh to beat him.
Dor.
In the humor she’s in, her love will make her do some
Very extravagant thing doubtless.
Med.
What was Bellinda’s business with you at my
Lady Townleys?
Dor.
To get me to meet Loveit here in order to an
Eclercismènt; I made some difficulty of it, and have prepar’d
This rancounter to make good my Jealousy.
Med.
Here they come!
Enter Lov. Bell. and Pert.
Dor.
I’le meet her and provoke her with a deal of dumb
Civility in passing by, then turn short and be behind
Her, when Sir Fopling sets upon her—
See how unregarded now
That piece of Beauty passes—
Ex. Dor. and Med.
Bell.
How wonderful respectfully he bow’d!
Pert.
He’s alwayes over-mannerly when
He has done a mischief.
Bell.
Methoughts indeed at the same time he had a
Strange despising Countenance.
Pert.
The unlucky look he thinks becomes him.
Bell.
I was afraid you would have spoke to him my Dear.
Loveit.
I would have di’d first; he shall no more find me
The loving fool he has done.
Bell.
You love him still!
Loveit.
No.
Pert.
I wish you did not.
Loveit.
I do not, and I will have you think so: What made
You hale me to this odious place Bellinda?
Bell.
I hate to be hulch’d up in a Coach;
Walking is much better.
Loveit.
Would we could meet Sir Fopling now.
Bell.
Lord! would you not avoid him?
Loveit.
I would make him all the advances that may be.
Bell.
That would confirm Dorimant’s suspicion, my Dear. Loveit.
He is not jealous; but I will make him so, and be
Reveng’d a way he little thinks on.
Bellin.
aside.
If she should make him jealous, that may make
Him fond of her again: I must dissuade her from it. Lord!
My Dear, this will certainly make him hate you.
Loveit.
‘Twill make him uneasy though he does not care
For me; I know the effects of jealousy on men of his
Proud temper.
Bell.
‘Tis a fantastic remedy, its operations are
Dangerous and uncertain.
Loveit.
‘Tis the stongest Cordial we can give to dying Love,
It often brings it back when there’s no sign of life remaining:
But I design not so much the reviving his; as my revenge.
Enter Sir Fopling and his Equipage.
Sir Fop.
Hey! bid the Coach-man send home four of his
Horses, and bring the Coach to White-Hall, I’ll walk
Over the Park—Madam, the honor of kissing your
Fair hands is a happiness I miss’d this afternoon at my
Lady Townleys!
Loveit.
You were very obliging, Sir Fopling, the last
Time I saw you there.
Sir Fop.
The presence was due to your wit and beauty.
Madam, your Servant, there never was so sweet an Evening.
Bell.
‘Thas drawn all the rabble of the Town hither.
Sir Fop.
‘Tis pity there’s not an order made, that none but
The Beau Monde should walk here.
Loveit.
‘Twould add much to the beauty of the place:
See what a sort of nasty Fellows are coming.
Enter four ill-fashion’d Fellows singing,
‘Tis not for kisses alone, &c.
Loveit.
Fo! Their Perriwigs are scented with
Tobacco so strong—
Sir Fop.
It overcomes our pulvilio—
Methinks I smell the Coffee-house they come from.
1 Man.
Dorimant‘s convenient, Madam Loveit.
2 Man.
I like the oylie—Buttock with her▪
3 Man.
What spruce prig is that?
1 Man.
A Caravan, lately come from Paris.
2 Man.
Peace, they smoke.
There’s something else to be done, &c.
All of them Coughing.
Ex. Singing.
Enter Dorimant and Medley.
Dor.
They’re ingag’d—
Med.
She entertains him as if she lik’d him.
Dor.
Let us go forward—seem earnest in discourse and
Shew our selves. Then you shall see how she’l use him.
Bell.
Yonder’s Dorimant my Dear.
Loveit.
I see him, he comes insulting; but I will disappoint
Him in his expectation.
Aside.
To Sir Fopling.
I like this pretty nice humor of yours Sir Fopling:
With what a loathing eye he look’d upon
Those Fellows!
Sir Fop.
I sat near one of ’em at a Play to day, and was almost
Poison’d with a pair of Cordivant Gloves he wears—
Loveit.
Oh! filthy Cordivant,
How I hate the smell!
Laughs in a loud affected way.
Sir Fop.
Did you observe, Madam, how their Crevats
Hung loose an inch from their Neck, and what
A frightful Air it gave ’em.
Loveit.
Oh I took particular notice of one that is always
Spruc’d up with a deal of dirty Sky-colour’d Ribband.
Bell.
That’s one of the walking Flajolets who
Haunt the Mail o’nights—
Loveit.
Oh! I remember him! H’ has a hollow Tooth
Enough to spoil the sweetness of an Evening.
Sir Fop.
I have seen the tallest walk the streets
With a dainty pair of Boxes, neatly buckl’d on.
Loveit.
And a little Footboy at his Heels Pocket-high,
With a Flat-cap— a dirty Face.
Sir Fop.
And a Snotty Nose—
Loveit.
Oh — odious, there’s many of my own sex with
That Holborn Equipage trigg to Grey’s Inn-Walks;
And now and then Travail hither on a Sunday.
Med.
She takes no notice of you.
Dor.
Damn her! I am jealous of a Counter-plot!
Loveit.
Your Liveries are the finest, Sir Fopling —
Oh that Page! that Page is the prettily’st drest—
They are all Frenchmen.
Sir Fop.
There’s one damn’d English blockhead
Among ’em, you may know him by his Meine.
Loveit.
Oh! that’s he, that’s he, what do you call him?
Sir Fop.
Hey — I know not what to call him—
Loveit.
What’s your name?
Footm.
Iohn Trott, Madam!
Sir Fop.
O unsufferable! Trott, Trott, Trott! there’s
Nothing so barbarous as the names of our English Servants.
What Countryman are you Sirrah?
Footm.
Hampshire, Sir?
Sir Fop.
Then Hampshire be your name. Hey, Hampshire!
Loveit.
O That sound, that sound becomes the
Mouth of a man of Quality!
Med.
Dorimant you look a little bashful on the matter!
Dor.
She dissembles better than I thought
She could have done.
Med.
You have tempted her with too luscious a bait.
She bites at the Coxcomb.
Dor.
She cannot fall from loving me to that?
Med.
You begin to be jealous in earnest.
Dor.
Of one I do not love —
Med.
You did love her.
Dor.
The fit has long been over—
Med.
But I have known men fall into dangerous relapses
When they have found a Woman inclining to another.
Dor.
He guesses the secret of my Heart! I am concern’d,
But dare not show it, lest Bellinda should mistrust all I
Have done to gain her.
to himself.
Bell.
[Aside.]
I have watch’d his look, and find no
Alteration there. Did he love her some signs of
Jealousy would have appear’d?
Dor.
I hope this happy Evening, Madam, has.
Reconcil’d you to the Scandalous Mail, we
Shall have you now hankering here again —
Loveit.
Sir Fopling will you walk —
Sir Fop.
I am all obedience Madam—
Loveit.
Come along then—and let’s agree to be
Malicious on all the ill fashion’d things we meet.
Sir Fop.
Wee’l make a Critique on the
Whole Mail Madam.
Loveit.
Bellinda you shall engage—
Bell.
To the reserve of our friends my Dear.
Lov.
No! No! Exceptions—
Sir Fop.
Wee’l sacrifice all to our diversion—
Loveit.
All— all—
Sir Fop.
All.
Bell.
All? Then let it be.
Ex. Sir Fopling, Loveit, Bellinda, and Pert. laughing.
Med.
Would you had brought some more of your
Friends, Dorimant, to have been Witnesses of Sir
Foplings disgrace and your Triumph—
Dor.
‘Twere unreasonable to desire you not to
Laugh at me; but pray do not expose me
To the Town this day or two.
Med.
By that time you hope to have regain’d your Credit.
Dor.
I know she hates Fopling, and only makes use of
Him in hope to work me on again; had it not been
For some powerful Considerations which will be
Remov’d to morrow morning, I had made her pluck off
This mask, and shew the passion that lies
Panting under.
Enter a Footman.
Med.
Here comes a man from Bellair, with news of
Your last adventure.
Dor.
I am glad he sent him. I long to know
The consequence of our parting.
Footm.
Sir, my Master desires you to come to my Lady
Townleys presently, and bring Mr. Medley with you.
My Lady Woodvill and her Daughter are there.
Med.
Then all’s well Dorimant—
Footm.
They have sent for the Fiddles and
Mean to Dance! He bid me tell you, Sir, the
Old Lady does not know you, and would have
You own your self to be Mr. Courtage. They
Are all prepar’d to receive you by that name.
Dor.
That foppish admirer of Quality, who flatters the
Very meat at honorable Tables, and never offers love
To a Woman below a Lady-Grandmother.
Med.
You know the Character you are to act I see!
Dor.
This is Harriet’s contrivance —
Wild, witty, lovesome, beautiful and young —
Come along Medley —
Med.
This new Woman would well supply the loss of Loveit.
Dor.
That business must not end so, before to morrow
Sun is set, I will revenge and clear it.
And you and Loveit to her cost shall find,
I fathom all the depths of Woman kind.
Exeunt.
ACT IV.
The Scene opens with the Fiddles playing a Country dance.
Enter Dorimant, L. Woodvill, Young Bellair, and Mrs. Har∣riet, Old Bellair, and Emilia, Mr. Medley and Lady Town∣ley; as having just ended the dance.
Old Bell.
SO, so, so! a smart bout, a very smart bout a Dod!
L. Town.
How do you like Emilia’s
Dancing Brother.
O. Bell.
Not at all! not at all.
L. Town.
You speak not what you think I am sure.
O. Bell.
No matter for that, go, bid her dance no more, it
Don’t become her, it don’t become her, tell her
Say so; a Dod I love her.
Aside.
Dor.
All people mingle now a days
To L. Woodvill.
Madam. And in public places Women of Quality
Have the least respect show’d ’em.
L. Wood.
I protest you say the truth, Mr. Courtage.
Dor.
Forms and Ceremonies, the only things that
Uphold Quality and greatness, are now shamefully
Laid aside and neglected.
L. Wood.
Well! this is not the Women’s Age, let ’em
Think what they will, Lewdness is the business now,
Love was the bus’ness in my Time.
Dor.
The Women indeed are little beholding to the young
Men of this Age, they’re generally only dull admirers
Of themselves, and make their Court to nothing but their
Perriwigs and their Crevats, and would be more
Concern’d for the disordering of ’em, tho’ on a good
Occasion, than a young Maid would be for the tumbling
Of her head or Handkercher.
L. Wood.
I protest you hit ’em.
Dor.
They are very assiduous to show themselves at Court
Well dress’t to the Women of Quality, but their bus’ness
Is with the stale Mistresses of the Town, who are
Prepar’d to receive their Lazy addresses by industrious
Old Lovers, who have cast ’em off, and made ’em easy.
Har.
He fits my Mother’s humor so well, a little more and
She’l dance a Kissing dance with him anon.
Med.
Dutifully observ’d Madam.
Dor.
They pretend to be great Critics in Beauty, by their
Talk you would think they lik’d no face, and yet can
Dote on an ill one, if it belong to a Laundress or a Taylors
Daughter: they cry a Woman’s past her prime at 20,
Decay’d at four and 20, old and insufferable at 30.
L. Wood.
Insufferable at 30! That they are in the wrong,
Mr. Courtage, at five and 30, there are living proofs
Enough to convince ’em.
Dor.
Ay Madam! there’s Mrs. Setlooks, Mrs. Droplip,
And my Lady Lowd! shew me among all our opening
Puds, a face that promises so much Beauty as
The remains of theirs.
L. Wood.
The deprav’d appetite of this Vicious Age
Tastes nothing but green Fruit, and loathes it when
‘Tis kindly ripen’d.
Dor.
Else so many deserving Women, Madam, would
Not be so untimely neglected.
L. Wood.
I protest Mr. Courtage, a dozen such good men
As you, would be enough to atone for that wicked
Dorimant, and all the under debauchees of the Town.
What’s the matter there?
Har. Emil. Young Bell. Med. Lady Town. break out into a laughter.
Med.
A pleasant mistake, Madam, that a Lady
Has made, occasions a little laughter.
O. Bell.
Come, come, you keep ’em idle! they are
Impatient till the Fiddles play again.
Dor.
You are not weary, Madam?
L. Wood.
One Dance more!
I cannot refuse you Mr. Courtage.
They Dance.
Emil.
You are very active, Sir.
After the Dance, O. Bellair, singing and dancing up to Emilia.
O. Bell.
A Dod Sirrah; when I was a young
Fellow I could ha’ caper’d up to my
Womans Gorget.
Dor.
You are willing to rest your self Madam —
L. Town.
We’ll walk into my Chamber and sit down.
Med.
Leave us Mr. Courtage, he’s a Dancer, and the
Young Ladies are not weary yet.
L. Wood.
We’ll send him out again.
Har.
If you do not quickly, I know
Where to send for Mr. Dorimant.
L. Wood.
This Girl’s head, Mr. Courtage, is ever
Running on that wild fellow.
Dor.
‘Tis well you have got her a good husband
Madam, that will settle it.
Ex. L. Town. Wood. and Dorimant.
O. Bell. to Emilia.
A Dod sweet-heart be advis’d, and do
Not throw thy self away on a young idle fellow.
Emil.
I have no such intention Sir.
O. Bell.
Have a little patience! Thou shalt have the man
I spake of. A Dod he loves thee, and will make a good
Husband, but no words —
Emil.
But Sir —
O. Bell.
No answer — out a pize! peace! and think on’t.
Enter Dorimant.
Dorim.
Your company is desir’d within Sir.
O. Bell.
I go! I go! good Mr. Courtage — fare you well!
Go! I’ll see you no more.
to Emil.
Emil.
What have I done Sir?
O. Bell.
You are ugly, you are ugly!
Is she not Mr. Courtage?
Emil.
Better words or I sha’nt abide you.
O. Bell.
Out a pize — a Dod, what does she say!
Hit her a pat for me there.
Exit Old Bellair.
Med.
You have charms for the whole family.
Dor.
You’l spoil all with some unseasonable jest, Medly.
Med.
You see I confine my Tongue, and am content to be a
Bare spectator, much contrary to my nature.
Emil.
Methinks, Mr. Dorimant, my Lady Woodvil
Is a little fond of you.
Dor.
Would her daughter were.
Med.
It may be you may find her so! try her,
You have an opportunity.
Dor.
And I will not lose it! Bellair, here’s
A Lady has something to say to you.
Y. Bell.
I wait upon her. Mr Medley we have both
Business with you.
Dor.
Get you all together then.
[To Harriet]
That demure curt’sy is not amiss in jest,
But do not think in earnest it becomes you.
Har.
Affectation is catching I find; from your
Grave bow I got it.
Dor.
Where had you all that scorn, and coldness
In your look?
Har.
From nature Sir, pardon my want of art:
I have not learnt those softnesses and languishings
Which now in faces are so much in fashion.
Dor.
You need ’em not, you have a sweetness of your own.
If you would but calm your frowns and let it settle.
Har.
My Eyes are wild and wand’ring like my passions,
And cannot yet be ty’d to Rules of charming.
Dor.
Women indeed have commonly a method of
Managing those messengers of Love! now they
Will look as if they would kill, and anon they
Will look as if they were dying. They point and rebate
Their glances, the better to invite us.
Har.
I like this variety well enough; but hate the set face
That always looks as it would say Come love me.
A woman, who at Plays makes the Deux yeux to a
Whole Audience, and at home cannot forbear ’em
To her Monkey.
Dor.
Put on a gentle smile and let me see, how well
It will become you.
Har.
I am sorry my face does not please you as it is,
But I shall not be complaisant and change it.
Dor.
Though you are obstinate, I know ’tis capable of
Improvement, and shall do you Justice Madam, if I chance
To be at Court, when the Critiques of the Circle pass
Their judgment; for thither you must come.
Har.
And expect to be taken in pieces, have all my
Features examin’d, every motion censur’d, and on the
Whole be condemn’d to be but pretty, or a Beauty of
The lowest rate. What think you?
Dor.
The Women, nay the very lovers who belong to the
Drawing-room will maliciously allow you more
Than that; they always grant what is apparent,
That they may the better be believ’d when
They name conceal’d faults they cannot
Easily be disprov’d in.
Har.
Beauty runs as great a risque expos’d at Court
As wit does on the Stage, where the ugly and the
Foolish, all are free to censure.
Dor.
aside.
I love her, and dare not let her know it,
I fear sh’as an ascendant o’re me and may revenge the
Wrongs I have done her sex.
Think of making a party Madam, love will engage.
To her.
Har.
You make me start! I did not think to have
Heard of Love from you.
Dor.
I never knew what ’twas to have a settled Ague
Yet, but now and then have had irregular fits.
Har.
Take heed, sickness after long health is
Commonly more violent and dangerous.
Dor.
I have took the infection from her, and feel the
Disease now spreading in me —
Aside.
Is the name of love so frightful that
You dare not stand it?
To her.
Har.
‘Twill do little execution out of your mouth
On me I am sure.
Dor.
It has been fatal—
Har.
To some easy Women, but we are not all
Born to one destiny, I was inform’d you use to
Laugh at Love, and not make it.
Dor.
The time has been, but now I must speak—
Har.
If it be on that Idle subject, I will put on
My serious look, turn my head carelessly from you,
Drop my lip, let my Eyelids fall, and hang
Half o’re my Eyes— Thus while you buzz a speech
Of an hour long in my ear, and I answer
Never a word! why do you not begin?
Dor.
That the company may take notice how passionately I
Make advances of Love! and how disdainfully you receive ’em.
Har.
When your Love’s grown strong enough to make
You bear being laugh’d at, I’ll give you leave to
Trouble me with it. Till when pray forbear, Sir.
Enter Sir Fopling and others in Masques.
Dor.
What’s here Masquerades?
Har.
I thought that foppery had been left off, and
People might have been in private with a Fiddle.
Dor.
‘Tis endeavour’d to be kept on foot still by
Some who find themselves the more acceptable,
The less they are known.
Y. Bell.
This must be Sir Fopling.
Med.
That extraordinary habit shews it.
Y. Bell
What are the rest?
Med.
A company of French Rascals whom he pick’d
Up in Paris and has brought over to be his dancing
Equipage on these occasions! make him own
Himself; a Fool is very troublesome when he
Presumes he is Incognito.
Sir Fop.
Do you know me?
To Harriet.
Har.
Ten to one but I guess at you?
Sir Fop.
Are you women as fond of a Vizard as we men are?
Har.
I am very fond of a Vizard that covers a
Face I do not like, Sir.
Y. Bell.
Here are no Masques you see, Sir, but
Those which came with you, this was intended a
Private meeting, but because you look like a
Gentleman, if you will discover your self and we
Know you to be such, you shall be welcome.
Sir Fop.
Dear Bellair.
Pulling off his Mask.
Med.
Sir Fopling.! how came you hither?
Sir Fop.
Faith as I was coming late from White-Hall,
After the Kings Coucheé, one of my people told me
He had heard Fiddles at my Lady Townleys, and —
Dor.
You need not say any more, Sir.
Sir Fop.
Dorimant, let me kiss thee.
Dor.
Hark you Sir Fopling?
Whispers.
Sir Fop.
Enough, enough, Courtage.
A pretty kind of young Woman that, Medley, I observ’d
Her in the Mail more Eviliè than our English
Women commonly are, prithee what is she?
Med.
The most noted Conquetté in Town; beware of her.
Sir Fop.
Let her be what she will, I know how to take my
Measures, in Paris the Mode is to flatter the Prudè,
Laugh at the Faux-proudè, make serious love to
The Demi-proudè, and only railly with the Conquetté.
Medley, what think you?
Med.
That for all this smattering of the Mathematics,
You may be out in your Judgment at Tennis
Sir Fop.
What a Coque a Lasne is this? I talk of
Women and thou answer’st Tennis.
Med.
Mistakes will be for want of apprehension.
Sir Fop.
I am very glad of the acquaintance
I have with this Family.
Med.
My Lady truly is a good Woman.
Sir. Fop.
Ah! Dorimant, Courtage I would say,
Would thou hadst spent the last Winter in Paris
With me. When thou wer’t there La corneùs and
Sallyes were the only habitudes we had, a Comedian
Would have been a boné fortune. No stranger ever
Pass’d his time so well as I did some months before
I came over. I was well receiv’d in a dozen
Families, where all the Women of quality us’d to
Visit, I have intrigues to tell thee, more pleasant,
Than ever thou read’st in a Novel.
Har.
Write ’em, Sir, and oblige us Women! our
Language wants such little stories.
Sir Fop.
Writing Madam’s a Mechanic part of Witt!
A Gentleman should never go beyond a Song or a Billèt.
Har.
Bussiè was a Gentleman.
Sir Fop.
Who D’Ambois?
Med.
Was there ever such a brisk blockhead?
Har.
Not D’Ambois, Sir, but Rubutin. He who
Writ the Loves of France.
Sir Fop.
That may be, Madam! many Gentlemen do
Things that are below ’em. Damn your Authors,
Courtage, Women are the prettiest things we
Can fool away our time with.
Har.
I hope ye have weari’d your self to night at Court,
Sir, and will not think of fooling with any body here.
Sir Fop.
I cannot complain of my Fortune there, Madam—
Dorimant—
Dor.
Again!
Sir Fop.
Courtage, a pox on’t, I have something to tell thee.
When I had made my Court within, I came out
And flung my self upon the Matt under the state
I’th’ outward room, i’th’ midst of half a dozen
Beauties who were withdrawn to jeèr among
Themselves, as they call’d it.
Dor.
Did you know ’em?
Sir Fop.
Not one of ’em by Heav’ns! not I.
But they were all your friends.
Dor.
How are you sure of that?
Sir Fop.
Why we laugh’d at all the Town; spar’d
No body but your self, they found me a man
For their purpose.
Dor.
I know you are malitious to your power.
Sir Fop.
And faith! I had occasion to shew it, for I never
Saw more gaping fools at a Ball or on a Birth-day.
Dor.
You learn’d who the women were.
Sir Fop.
No matter! they frequent the Drawing Room.
Dor.
And entertain themselves pleasantly at the expence
Of all the Fops who come there.
Sir Fop.
That’s their bus’ness, faith I sifted ’em and find
They have a sort of wit among them—
Ah filthy.
Pinches a Tallow Candle.
Dor.
Look he has heen pinching the Tallow Candle.
Sir Fop.
How can you breath in a Room where there’s
Grease frying! Dorimant thou art intimate with
My Lady, advise her for her own sake and the good
Company that comes hither to burn Wax lights.
Har.
What are these Masquerades who stand so
Obsequiously at a distance?
Sir Fop.
A set of Bulladins, whom I pickt out of the best
In France and brought over, with a Flutes deux or two,
My Servants; they shall entertain you.
Har.
I had rather see you dance your self Sir Fopling.
Sir Fop.
And I had rather do it—all the company
Knows it—but Madam—
Med.
Come, come! no excuses Sir Fopling.
Sir Fop.
By Heav’ns Medley—
Med.
Like a woman I find you must be struggl’d with
Before one brings you what you desire,
Har.
Can he dance?
Aside.
Emil.
And fence and sing too, if you’l believe him.
Dor.
He has no more excellence in his heels than in
His head. He went to Paris a plain bashful English Blockhead,
And is return’d a fine undertaking French Fopp.
Med.
I cannot prevail.
Sir Fop.
Do not think it want of Complaisance, Madam.
Har.
You are too well bred to want that, Sir Fopling.
I believe it want of power.
Sir Fop.
By Heav’ns and so it is.
I have sat up so Damn’d late and drunk so curs’d hard
Since I came to this lewd Town, that I am fit for
Nothing but low dancing now, a Corant, a Boreè,
Or a Minnuét: but St. Andrè tells me, if I
Will but be regular in one Month I shall rise agen.
Pox on this Debauchery.
Endeavours at a Caper.
Emil.
I have heard your dancing much commended,
Sir Fop.
It had the good Fortune to please in Paris.
I was judg’d to rise within an inch as high as the
Basqué in an Entry I danc’d there.
Har.
I am mightily taken with this Fool, let us sit:
Here’s a seat Sir Fopling.
Sir Fop.
At your feet, Madam;
I can be no where so much at ease: by your leave
Gown.
Har. and Emil.
Ah! you’l spoil it.
Sir Fop.
No matter, my Clothes are my Creatures.
I make ’em to make my Court to you Ladies, Hey—
Dance
Quon Comencè to an English Dancer English motions. I was
Forc’d to entertain this Fellow, one of my set miscarrying—
Oh horrid! leave your damn’d manner of dancing,
And put on the French Air: have you not a
Pattern before you—
Prety well! imitation in time may bring him to something.
After the Dance enter Old Bellair, L. Woodvil and L. Townley.
O. Bell.
Hey a Dod! what have we here, a mumming?
L. Wood.
Where’s my Daughter—Harriet.
Dor.
Here, here, Madam!
I know not but under these disguises there may be
Dangerous sparks, I gave the young Lady Warning!
L. Wood.
Lord! I am so oblig’d to you, Mr. Courtage.
Har.
Lord! how you admire this man!
L. Wood.
What have you to except against him?
Har.
He’s a Fopp.
L. Wood.
He’s not a Dorimant, a wild extravagant
Fellow of the Times.
Har.
He’s a man made up of forms and common places,
Suckt out of the remaining Lees of the last age.
L. Wood.
He’s so good a man that were you not engag’d—
L. Town.
You’l have but little night to sleep in.
L. Wood.
Lord! ’tis perfect day—
Dor.
The hour is almost come, I appointed Bellinda,
And I am not so foppishly in love here to forget;
Aside.
I am flesh and blood yet.
L. Town.
I am very sensible, Madam.
L. Wood.
Lord, Madam!
Har.
Look in what a struggle is my poor Mother yonder?
Y. Bell.
She has much ado to bring out the Complement?
Dor.
She strains hard for it.
Har.
See, see! her head tottering, her Eyes staring,
And her under-lip trembling—
Dor.
Now, now, she’s in the very convulsions of her
Civility.
[aside.]
‘Sdeath I shall lose Bellinda: I must
Fright her hence! she’l be an hour in
This fit of good Manners else
[To L. Wood.]
Do you not know, Sir Fopling, Madam?
L. Wood.
I have seen that Face—Oh heav’n,
‘Tis the same we met in the Mail, how came he here?
Dor.
A Fiddle in this Town is a kind of Fop-call;
No sooner it strikes up, but the house is besieg’d
With an Army of Masquerades straight.
L. Wood.
Lord! I tremble Mr. Courtage! for certain
Dorimant is in the company.
Dor.
I cannot confidently say he is not,
You had best begone. I will wait upon you; your
Daughter is in the hands of Mr. Bellair.
L. Wood.
I’ll see her before me. Harriet, come away.
Y. Bell.
Lights! Lights!
L. Town.
Light down there.
O. Bell.
A Dod it needs not—
Dor.
Call my Lady Woodvills Coach to the Door quickly.
O. Bell.
Stay Mr. Medley, let the young Fellows do
That duty; we will drink a Glass of Wine together.
‘Tis good after dancing! what Mumming spark is that?
Med.
He is not to be comprehended in few words.
Sir Fop.
Hey! La Tower.
Med.
Whither away Sir Fopling?
Sir Fop.
I have bus’ness with Courtage—
Med.
He’l but put the Ladies into their Coach and
Come up agen.
O. Bell.
In the mean time i’ll call for a Bottle.
Ex. Old Bell.
Enter Young Bellair.
Med.
Where’s Dorimant?
Y. Bell.
Stol’n home! he has had business waiting for
Him there all this night, I believe, by an
Impatience I observ’d in him.
Med.
Very likely, ’tis dut dissembling Drunkenness,
Railing at his friends, and the kind
Soul will embrace the blessing, and forget
The tedious expectation.
Sir Fop.
I must speak with him before I sleep!
Y. Bell.
Emilia and I are resolved on that business.
Med.
Peace here’s your Father.
Enter Old Bellair, and Buttler with a Bottle of Wine.
O. Bell.
The Women are all gone to bed.
Fill Boy! Mr. Medley begin a health.
Med.
To Emilia.
whispers.
O. Bell.
Out a pize! she’s a rogue and i’le not pledge you.
Med.
I know you well.
O. Bell.
A Dod drink it then.
Sir Fop.
Let us have the new Bachique.
O. Bell.
A Dod that is a hard word!
What does it mean Sir?
Med.
A Catch or drinking Song.
O. Bell.
Let us have it then.
Sir Fop.
Fill the Glasses round, and
Draw up in a Body. Hey! Music!
They Sing.
The pleasures of love and the Ioyes of good Wine,
To perfect our happiness wisely we joyn.
We to Beauty all day
Give the Sovereign sway,
And her favorite Nymphs devoutly obey.
At the Plays we are constantly making our Court
And when they are ended we follow the sport.
To the Mall and the Park
Where we love till ’tis dark;
Then sparkling Champaigne
Puts an end to their reign;
It quickly recovers
Poor languishing Lovers,
Makes us frolic and gay, and drowns all our Sorrow.
But alas! we relapse again on the Morrow.
Let every man stand
With his glass in his hand.
And briskly discharge at the word of Command.
Here’s a health to all those
Whom to night we depose.
Wine and beauty by turns great souls should inspire.
Present all together; and now boys give fire —
O. Bell.
A Dod a pretty bus’ness and very merry.
Sir Fop.
Hark you Medley, let you and I take the
Fiddles and go waken Dorimant.
Med.
We shall do him a courtesy, if it be as I guess.
For after the fatigue of this night, he’l quickly
Have his belly full: and be glad of an occasion
To cry, take away Handy.
Y. Bell.
I’ll go with you, and there we’ll consult
About affairs Medly.
O. Bell.
looks on his Watch
A Dod, ’tis six a Clock.
Sir Fop.
Let’s away then.
O. Bell.
Mr. Medley, my Sister tells me you are an
Honest man. And a Dod I love you.
Few words and hearty, that’s the way
With old Harry, old Harry.
Sir Fop.
Light your Flambeux. Hey.
O. Bell.
What does the man mean?
Med.
‘Tis day Sir Fopling.
Sir Fop.
No matter.
Our Serenade will look the greater.
Ex. Omnes.
SCENE II.
Dorimants Lodging, a Table, a Candle, a Toilet, &c. Handy tying up Linen.
Enter Dorimant in his Gown and Bellinda.
Dor.
Why will you be gone so soon?
Bell.
Why did you stay out so late?
Dor.
Call a Chair, Handy! what makes you tremble so?
Bell.
I have a Thousand fears about me:
Have I not been seen think you?
Dor.
By no body but my self and trusty Handy.
Bell.
Where are all your people?
Dor.
I have disperst ’em on sleeveless Errants.
What does that sigh mean?
Bell.
Can you be so unkind to ask me? —well—
Sighs.
Were it to do again—
Dor.
We should do it, should we not?
Bell.
I think we should: the wickeder man you to make
Me love so well—will you be discreet now?
Dor.
I will—
Bell.
You cannot.
Dor.
Never doubt it.
Bell.
I will not expect it.
Dor.
You do me wrong.
Bell.
You have no more power to keep the secret,
Than I had not to trust you with it.
Dor.
By all the Joys I have had, and those you
Keep in store—
Bell.
You’ll do for my sake what you never did before—
Dor.
By that truth thou hast spoken, a wife shall
Sooner betray her self to her husband —
Bell.
Yet I had rather you should be false in this
Than in an other thing you promis’d me.
Dor.
What’s that?
Bell.
That you would never see Loveit more but in
Public places, in the Park, at Court and Plays.
Dor.
‘Tis not likely a man should be fond of seeing a
Damn’d old Play when there is a new one acted.
Bell.
I dare not trust your promise.
Dor.
You may—
Bell.
This does not satisfy me.
You shall swear you never will see her more.
Dor.
I will! a Thousand oaths — by all —
Bell.
Hold — you shall not, now I think on’t better.
Dor.
I will swear —
Bell.
I shall grow jealous of the Oath, and think
I owe your truth to that, not to your love.
Dor.
Then, by my love! no other Oath i’ll swear.
Enter Handy.
Hand.
Here’s a Chair.
Bell.
Let me go.
Dor.
I cannot.
Bell.
Too willingly I fear.
Dor.
Too unkindly fear’d.
When will you promise me again?
Bell.
Not this fortnight.
Dor.
You will be better than your word.
Bell.
I think I shall.
Will it not make you love me less?
Starting.
Hark! what Fiddles are these?
Fiddles without.
Dor.
Look out, Handy!
Ex. Handy and returns.
Hand.
Mr. Medley, Mr. Bellair, and Sir Fopling,
They are coming up.
Dor.
How got they in?
Hand.
The door was open for the Chair.
Bell.
Lord! let me fly —
Dor.
Here, here, down the back stairs.
I’ll see you into your Chair.
Bell.
No, No! stay and receive ’em. And be sure you
Keep your word and never see Loveit more.
Let it be a proof of your kindness.
Dor.
It shall — Handy direct her.
Everlasting love go along with thee.
Kissing her hand.
Ex. Bellinda and Handy.
Enter Young Bellair, Medly, and Sir Fopling.
Y. Bell.
Not a bed yet!
Med.
You have had an irregular fit Dorimant.
Dor.
I have.
Y. Bell.
And is it off already?
Dor.
Nature has done her part Gentlemen,
When she falls kindly to work, great Cures
Are effected in little time, you know.
Sir Fop.
We thought there was a Wench in the Case by
The Chair that waited. Prithee make us a Confidence.
Dor.
Excuse me.
Sir Fop.
Lè sagè Dorimant—was she pretty?
Dor.
So pretty she may come to keep her Coach and pay
Parish Duties if the good humor of the age continue.
Med.
And be of the number of the Ladies kept by
Public spirited men for the good of the whole Town.
Sir Fop.
Well said Medley.
Sir Fopling dancing by himself.
Y. Bell.
See Sir Fopling dancing.
Dor.
You are practicing and have a mind to recover I see.
Sir. Fop.
Prithee Dorimant! why hast not thou a glass
Hung up here? a Room is the dullest thing without one!
Y. Bell.
Here is Company to entertain you.
Sir Fop.
But I mean in case of being alone.
In a glass a man may entertain himself—
Dor.
The shadow of himself indeed.
Sir. For.
Correct the Errors of his motions and
His dress.
Med.
I find Sir Fopling in your Solitude, you remember
The saying of the wise man, and study your self.
Sir Fop.
‘Tis the best diversion in our retirements.
Dorimant thou art a pretty fellow and wear’st thy cloaths
Well, but I never saw thee have a handsome Cravat.
Were they made up like mine, they’d give another
Air to thy face. Prithee let me send my man
To dress thee but one day. By Heav’ns an
English man cannot tie a Ribbon.
Dor.
They are something clumsy fisted —
Sir Fop.
I have brought over the prettiest fellow that
Ever spread a Toilet, he serv’d some time under
Merille the greatest Genie in the world for a
Valet d’ Chambré.
Dor.
What he who formerly belong’d to the
Duke of Candale?
Sir Fop.
The same, and got him his immortal reputation.
Dor.
Y’have a very fine Brandenburgh on Sir Fopling.
Sir Fop.
It serves to wrap me up, after the Fatigue of a Ball.
Med.
I See you often in it, with your Periwig ty’d up.
Sir Fop.
We should not always be in a set dress ’tis more
En Cavalier to appear now and then in a dissabilleé.
Med.
Pray how goes your business with Loveit?
Sir Fop.
You might have answer’d your self in the Mail
Last night. Dorimant! did you not see the advances
She made me? I have been endeavouring at a song!
Dor.
Already!
Sir Fop.
‘Tis my Coup’d Essay in English,
I would fain have thy opinion of it.
Dor.
Let’s see it.
Sir Fop.
Hey Page give me my song — Bellair,
Here thou hast a pretty voice sing it.
Y. Bell.
Sing it your self Sir Fopling.
Sir Fop.
Excuse me.
Y. Bell.
You learnt to sing in Paris.
Sir Fop.
I did of Lambert the greatest master
In the world: but I have his own fault, a weak voice,
And care not to sing out of a ruél.
Dor.
A ruél is a pretty Cage for a singing Fop indeed.
Y. Bellair
reads the Song.
How Charming Phillis is, how fair!
Ah that she were as willing,
To ease my wounded heart of Care
And make her Eyes less killing.
I sigh! I sigh! I languish now,
And Love will not let me rest,
I drive about the Park, and bow
Still as I meet my dearest.
Sir Fop.
Sing it, sing it man, it goes to a pretty new
Tune which I am confident was made by Baptist.
Med.
Sing it your self Sir Fopling, he does not know the
Tune.
Sir Fop.
I’ll venture.
Sir Fopling sings.
Dor.
Ay marry! now ’tis something. I shall not
Flatter you, Sir Fopling, there is not much thought in’t.
But ’tis passionate and well turn’d.
Med.
After the French way.
Sir Fop.
That I aim’d at— does it not give
You a lively image of the thing?
Slap down goes the Glass, and thus we are at it.
Dor.
It does indeed, I perceive, Sir Fopling,
You’l be the very head of the Sparks, who are lucky
In Compositions of this nature.
Enter Sir Foplings Footman.
Sir Fop.
La Tower, is the Bath ready?
Footm.
Yes Sir.
Sir Fop.
Adieu don Mes cheres.
Ex. Sir Fopling.
Med.
When have you your revenge on Loveit, Dorimant?
Dor.
I will but change my Linen and about it.
Med.
The powerful considerations which hinder’d
Have bin remov’d then.
Dor.
Most luckily this morning, you must along
With me, my reputation lyes at stake there.
Med.
I am engag’d to Bellair.
Dor.
What’s your business.
Med.
Ma-tri-mony an’t like you.
Dor.
It does not, Sir.
Y. Bell.
It may in time Dorimant, what
Think you of Mrs. Harriet?
Dor.
What does she think of me?
Y. Bell.
I am confident she loves you.
Dor.
How does it appear?
Y. Bell.
Why she’s never well but when she’s talking
Of you, but then she finds all the faults in you she can.
She laughs at all who commend you, but
Then she speaks ill of all who do not.
Dor.
Women of her temper betray themselves by
Their over cunning. I had once a growing love with a
Lady, who would always quarrel with me when
I came to see her, and yet was never quiet if
I stay’d a day from her.
Y. Bell.
My Father is in love with Emilia.
Dor.
That is a good warrant for your proceedings,
Go on and prosper, I must to Loveit.
Medley I am sorry you cannot be a witness.
Med.
Make her meet Sir Fopling again in the same place,
And use him ill before me.
Dor.
That may be brought about I think.
I’ll be at your Aunts anon and give you Joy Mr. Bellair.
Y. Bell.
You had not best think of Mrs. Harriet too much,
Without Church security there’s no taking up there.
Dor.
I may fall into the Snare too. But—
The wise will find a difference in our Fate,
You wed a Woman, I a good Estate.
Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Enter the Chair with Bellinda, the men set it down and open it. Bellinda starting.
Bellinda.
surpriz’d.
Lord! where am I? in the Mail!
Whither have you brought me?
1 Chairm.
You gave us no directions, Madam?
Bell.
The fright I was in made me forget it.
Aside.
1 Chairm.
We use to carry a Lady from the Squires hither.
Bell.
This is Loveit, I am undone if she sees me.
Aside.
Quickly carry me away.
1 Chairm.
Whither an’t like your honor?
Bell.
Ask no questions—
Enter Loveits Footman.
Footm.
Have you seen my Lady, Madam?
Bell.
I am just come to wait upon her—
Footm.
She will be glad to see you, Madam.
She sent me to you this morning to desire your Company,
And I was told you went out by five a Clock.
Bell.
More and more unlucky!
Aside.
Footm.
Will you walk in Madam?
Bell.
I’ll discharge my Chair and follow,
Ex. Footm.
Tell your Mrs. I am here.
Gives the Chairmen Money.
Take this! and if ever you should be examin’d, be sure you
Say, you took me up in the Strand over against the
Exchange▪ as you will answer it to Mr. Dorimant.
Chairmen.
We will an’t like your Honour.
Ex. Chairmen.
Bell.
Now to come off, I must on —
In Confidence and lies some hope is left;
Twere hard to be found out in the first theft.
Exit.
ACT V.
Enter Mistris Loveit and Pert her Woman,
Pert.
WELL! in my eyes Sir Fopling is no such
Despicable person.
Lov.
You are an excellent Judge.
Pert.
He’s as handsom a man as Mr. Dorimant,
And as great a Gallant.
Lov.
Intolerable! is’t not enough I submit to his
Impertinences, but must I be plagu’d with yours too?
Pert.
Indeed Madam—
Lov.
‘Tis false, mercenary malice—
Enter her footman.
Footm.
Mrs. Bellinda Madam —
Lov.
What of her?
Footm.
She’s below.
Lov.
How came she?
Footm.
In a Chair, ambling Harry brought her.
Lov.
He bring her! His Chair stands near Dorimant’s
Door and always brings me from thence — run and
Ask him where he took her up; go, there is no truth
In friendship neither. Women, as well as men,
All are false, or all are so to me at least.
Pert.
You are jealous of her too?
Lov.
You had best tell her I am.
‘Twill become the
Liberty you take of late. This fellows bringing of her,
Her going out by five a Clock —
I know not what to think.
Enter Bellinda.
Bellinda, you are grown an early Riser I hear!
Bell.
Do you not wonder my Dear,
What made me abroad so soon?
Lov.
You do not use to be so.
Bell.
The Country Gentlewomen I told you of (Lord!
They have the oddest diversions!) would never
Let me rest till I promis’d to go with them
To the Markets this morning to eat
Fruit and buy Nosegays.
Lov.
Are they so fond of a filthy Nosegay?
Bell.
They complain of the stinks of the Town, and are
Never well but when they have their noses in one.
Lov.
There are Essences and sweet waters.
Bell.
O they cry out upon perfumes they are
Unwholesome, one of ’em was falling into a fit
With the smell of these narolii.
Lov.
Methinks in Complaisance
You shou’d have had a Nosegay too.
Bell.
Do you think, my Dear, I could be so loathsome
To trick my self up with Carnations and stock-
Gilly flowers? I begg’d their pardon and
Told them I never wore any thing but Orange
Flowers and Tuberose. That which made me
Willing to go was, a strange desire I had
To eat some fresh Nectaren’s.
Lov.
And had you any?
Bell.
The best I ever tasted.
Lov.
Whence came you now?
Bell.
From their Lodgings, where I crowded out of a
Coach and took a Chair to come and see you my Dear;
Lov.
Whither did you send for that Chair?
Bell.
‘Twas going by empty.
Lov.
Where do these country Gentlewomen
Lodge I pray?
Bell.
In the Strand over against the Exchange.
Pert.
That place is never without a Nest of ’em,
They are always as one goes by flearing in
Balconies or staring out of Windows.
Enter Footman.
Lov.
[To the Footm.]
Come hither.
Whispers.
Bell.
Aside.
This fellow by her order has been
Questioning the Chairmen! I threatn’d ’em
With the name of Dorimant, if they should
Have told truth I am lost for ever.
Lov.
In the Strand said you?
Footm.
Yes Madam over against the Exchange.
Exit Footman.
Lov.
She’s innocent and I am much to blame.
Bell.
Aside.
I am so frighted, my countenance
Will betray me.
Lov.
Bellinda! what makes you look so pale?
Bell.
Want of my usual Rest, and jolting up and
Down so long in an odious Hackney.
Footman returns.
Footm.
Madam! Mr. Dorimant!
Lov.
What makes him here?
Bell.
Aside.
Then I am betray’d indeed,
H’ has broke his word, and I love a man that does
Not care for me.
Lov.
Lord! you faint Bellinda!
Bell.
I think I shall! such an oppression here on the sudden.
Pert.
She has eaten too much fruit I warrant you.
Lov.
Not unlikely!
Pert.
‘Tis that lies heavy on her Stomach.
Loveit.
Have her into my Chamber, give her some
Surfeit Water, and let her lye down a little.
Pert.
Come, Madam! I was a strange devourer
Of Fruit when I was young,
So ravenous—
Ex. Bell. and Pert leading her off.
Loveit.
Oh that my Love would be but calm awhile!
That I might receive this man with all the Scorn
And indignation he deserves.
Enter Dorimant.
Dor.
Now for a touch of Sir Fopling to begin with.
Hey— Page— Give positive order that none of my
People stir— Let the Cannile wait as they should do—
Since noise and nonsence have such pow’rful charms,
I that I may successful prove,
Transform my self to what you love.
Loveit.
If that would do, you need not change from
What you are, you can be vain and lowd enough.
Dor.
But not with so good a grace as Sir Fopling.
Hey, Hampshire—Oh—that sound, that sound
Becomes the mouth of a man of Quality.
Loveit.
Is there a thing so hateful as a senseless Mimic?
Dor.
He’s a great grievance indeed to all who like
Your self, Madam, love to play the fool in quiet.
Loveit.
A ridiculous Animal, who has more of
The Ape, than the Ape has of the man in him.
Dor.
I have as mean an opinion of a Sheer
Mimic as your self, yet were he all Ape
I should prefer him to the Gay, the Giddy,
Brisk-insipid Noisy fool you dote on.
Loveit.
Those Noisy-fools, however you despise ’em,
Have good qualities, which weigh more (or ought
At least) with us Women, than all the pernicious
Wit you have to boast of.
Dor.
That I may hereafter have a just value for their
Merit, pray do me the favor to name ’em.
Loveit.
You’l despise ’em as the dull effects of
Ignorance and Vanity! yet I care not if I mention some.
First, they really admire us, while you at best but
Flatter us well.
Dor.
Take heed! Fools can dissemble too—
Loveit.
They may! but not so artificially as you—
There is no fear they should deceive us! Then they
Are assiduous, Sir, they are ever offering us their service,
And always waiting on our will.
Dor.
You owe that to their excessive idleness!
They know not how to entertain themselves at home,
And find so little welcome abroad, they are fain to
Fly to you who countenance ’em as a refuge against the
Solitude they would be otherwise condemn’d to.
Loveit.
Their conversation too diverts us better.
Dor.
Playing with your Fan, smelling to your Gloves,
Commending your Hair, and taking notice how ’tis
Cut and shaded after the new way—
Loveit.
Were it sillier than you can make it, you must
Allow ’tis pleasanter to laugh at others than to be laugh’d at
Our selves though never so wittily. Then though they
Want skill to flatter us, they flatter themselves
So well, they save us the labour! we need not take
That care and pains to satisfy ’em of our Love
Which we so often lose on you.
Dor.
They commonly indeed believe too well of
Themselves, and always better of you than you deserve.
Loveit.
You are in the right, they have an implicit
Faith in us which keeps ’em from prying narrowly into
Our secrets, and saves us the vexatious trouble of
Clearing doubts which your subtle and causeless
Jealousies every moment raise.
Dor.
There is an inbred falsehood in Women, which
Inclines ’em still to them, whom they may most easily deceive.
Loveit.
The man who loves above his quality,
Does not suffer more from the insolent Impertinence of
His Mistress, than the Woman who loves above her
Understanding does from the arrogant presumptions
Of her friend.
Dor.
You mistake the use of fools, they are design’d for
Properties and not for friends, you have an indifferent
Stock of reputation left yet. Lose it all like a frank
Gamester on the Square, ’twill then be time enough
To turn Rook, and cheat it up again on a
Good Substantial Bubble.
Loveit.
The old and the ill-favour’d are only fit for
Properties indeed, but Young and Handsome
Fools have met with kinder fortunes.
Dor.
They have to the shame of your sex be it spoken,
‘Twas this, the thought of this made me by a timely
Jealousy endeavor to prevent the good fortune you
Are providing for Sir Fopling—
But against a Woman’s frailty all our Care is vain.
Loveit.
Had I not with a dear experience bought the
Knowledge of your falsehood, you might have fool’d
Me yet. This is not the first Jealousy you have
Feign’d to make a quarrel with me, and get a week
To throw away on some such unknown inconsiderable
Slut, as you have been lately lurking with at Plays.
Dor.
Women, when they would break off with a man,
Never want th’ address to turn the fault on him.
Loveit.
You take a pride of late in using of me ill, that
The Town may know the power you have over me.
Which now (as unreasonably as your self) expects
That I (do me all the injuries you can) must love you still.
Dor.
I am so far from expecting that you should,
I begin to think you never did love me.
Loveit.
Would the memory of it were so wholly worn
Out in me that I did doubt it too! what made you
Come to disturb my growing quiet?
Dor.
To give you joy of your growing infamy.
Loveit.
Insupportable! insulting Devil! this from you,
The only Author of my Shame! this from another
Had been but Justice, but from you, ’tis a hellish and
Inhumane outrage. What have I done?
Dor.
A thing that puts you below my scorn, and
Makes my anger as ridiculous as you have made my Love.
Lov.
I walk’d last night with Sir Fopling.
Dor.
You did Madam, and you talk’t and laugh’d aloud
Ha, ha, ha—Oh that laugh, that laugh becomes
The confidence of a Woman of Quality.
Lov.
You who have more pleasure in the ruin of a
Woman’s reputation than in the endearments of her love,
Reproach me not with your self, and I defy you to name
The man can lay a blemish on my fame.
Dor.
To be seen publicly so transported with the
Vain Follies of that Notorious Fop, to me is an infamy
Below the sin of prostitution with another man.
Lov.
Rail on, I am satisfy’d in the Justice of what
I did, you had provok’d me to ‘t.
Dor.
What I did was the effect of a passion, whose
Extravagancies you have been willing to forgive.
Lov.
And what I did was the effect of a passion
You may forgive if you think fit.
Dor.
Are you so indifferent grown?
Lov.
I am.
Dor.
Nay! then ’tis time to part. I’ll send you back your
Letters you have so often ask’t for:
I have two or three of ’em about me.
Lov.
Give ’em me.
Dor.
You snatch as if you thought I would not—there—
And may the perjuries in ’em be mine if ere I see you more.
Lov.
Stay!
Offers to go, she catches him.
Dor.
I will not.
Lov.
You shall.
Dor.
What have you to say?
Lov.
I cannot speak it yet.
Dor.
Something more in Commendation of the fool.
Death! I want patience, let me go.
Lov.
I cannot.
I can sooner part with the limbs that hold him.
Aside.
I hate that nauseous fool, you know I do.
Dor.
Was it the scandal you were fond of then?
Lov.
Y’ had rais’d my anger equal to my love, a thing
You ne’re could do before, and in revenge I did—
I know not what I did: — Would you would
Not think on’t any more.
Dor.
Should I be willing to forget it, I shall be daily
Minded of it, ’twill be a common place for all the
Town to laugh at me, and Medley, when he is Rhetorically
Drunk, will ever be declaiming on it in my ears.
Lov.
‘Twill be believ’d a jealous spite! Come forget it.
Dor.
Let me consult my reputation, you are too careless of it.
[Pauses]You shall meet Sir Fopling in the Mail again to night.
Lov.
What mean you?
Dor.
I have thought on it, and you must. ‘Tis necessary to
Justify my love to the World: you can handle a coxcomb
As he deserves, when you are not out of humor Madam!
Lov.
Public satisfaction for the wrong I have done you!
This is some new device to make me more ridiculous!
Dor.
Hear me!
Lov.
I will not!
Dor.
You will be persuaded.
Lov.
Never.
Dor.
Are you so obstinate?
Lov.
Are you so base?
Dor.
You will not satisfy my love?
Lo.
I would die to satisfy that, but I will not, to save you from
A thousand racks, do a shameless thing to please your vanity.
Dor.
Farewell false woman.
Lov.
Do! go!
Dor.
You will call me back again.
Lov.
Exquisite fiend! I knew you came but to torment me.
Enter Bellinda and Pert.
Dor.
surpriz’d
Bellinda here!
Bell.
Aside
He starts! and looks pale, the sight
Of me has touch’d his guilty Soul.
Pert.
‘Twas but a qualm as I said, a little indigestion;
The Surfeit Water did it Madam,
Mix’d with a little Mirabilis.
Dor.
I am confounded! and cannot guess how she came hither!
Lov.
‘Tis your fortune Bellinda ever to be here,
When I am abus’d by this prodigy of ill nature.
Bell.
I am amaz’d to find him here!
How has he the face to come near you?
Dor.
Aside.
Here is fine work towards!
I never was at such a loss before.
Bell.
One who makes a public profession of breach of
Faith and Ingratitude! I loath the sight of him.
Dor.
There is no remedy, I must submit to their Tongues
Now, and some other time bring my self off as well as I can.
Bell.
Other men are wicked, but then they have some
Sense of shame! he is never well but when he triumphs,
Nay! glories to a Woman’s face in his Villanies.
Lov.
You are in the right Bellinda, but me thinks
Your kindness for me makes you concern your
Self too much with him.
Bell.
It does indeed my Dear!
His barbarous carriage to you yesterday, made me hope
You ne’r wou’d see him more, and the very next day
To find him here again, provokes me strangely:
But because I know you love him I have done.
Dor.
You have reproach’t me handsomely, and I
Deserve it for coming hither, but—
Pert.
You must expect it, Sir! all Women will hate
You for my Ladies sake!
Dor.
Nay, if she begins too, ’tis time to fly! I shall be
Scolded to death else.
Aside to Bellinda.
I am to blame in some circumstances I confess; but as to
The Main, I am not so guilty as you imagine.
I shall seek a more convenient time to clear my self.
Loveit.
Do it now! what impediments are here?
Dor.
I want time, and you want temper.
Loveit.
These are weak pretenses!
Dor.
You were never more mistaken in your life,
And so farewell.
Dorimant flings off.
Loveit.
Call a Footman! Pert! quickly,
I will have him dogg’d.
Pert.
I wish you would not for my quiet and your own.
Loveit.
I’ll find out the infamous cause of all
Our quarrels, pluck her Mask off, and expose her
Bare-fac’d to the world.
Bell.
Let me but escape this time, I’ll never
Aside.
Venture more.
Loveit.
Bellinda! you shall go with me.
Bell.
I have such a heaviness hangs on me with what
I did this morning, I wou’d fain go home
And sleep, my Dear.
Loveit.
Death! and eternal darkness. I shall never
Sleep again. Raging Fevers seize the world and make
Mankind as restless all as I am.
Ex. Loveit.
Bell.
I knew him false and help’d to make him so?
Was not her ruin enough to fright me from the danger?
It should have been, but love can take no warning.
Ex. Bell.
SCENE II. Lady Townleys House.
Enter Medly, Young Bellair, Lady Townly, Emilia and Chaplain.
Med.
Bear up Bellair, and do not let us see that
Repentance in thine, we daily do in Married faces.
L. Town.
This Wedding will strangely surprise
My Brother when he knows it.
Med.
Your Nephew ought to conceal it for a time,
Madam, since Marriage has lost its good name, prudent
Men seldom expose their own reputations till ’tis
Convenient to justify their Wives.
Old Bell.
[[without]
Where are you all there?
Out, a Dod will no body hear?
L. Town.
My Brother, quickly Mr. Smirk into this Closet,
You must not be seen yet.
Goes into the Closet.
Enter Old Bellair and L. Townleys Page.
O. Bell.
Desire Mr. Furb to walk into the lower Parlor,
I will be with him presently—Where have you
Been, Sir, you cou’d not wait on me to day?
To Y. Bellair.
Y. Bell.
About a business.
O. Bell.
Are you so good at business? a Dod I
Have a business too, you shall dispatch out of hand, Sir.
Send for a Parson, Sister; my Lady Woodvill and
Her Daughter are coming.
L. Town.
What need you huddle up things thus?
O. Bell.
Out a pise, youth is apt to play the fool,
And ’tis not good it should be in their power.
L. Town.
You need not fear your Son.
O. Bell.
H’has been idling this morning, and a Dod I do
Not like him. How dost thou do sweet heart?
To Emilia.
Emil.
You are very severe, Sir, Marri’d in such haste!
O. Bell.
Go too, thou’rt a rogue, and I will talk with thee anon.
Here’s my Lady Woodvill come.
Enter L. Woodvill, Harriet and Busy.
Welcome, Madam; Mr. Furb‘s
Below with the Writings.
L. Wood.
Let us down and make an end then.
O. Bell.
Sister, shew the way.
To Y. Bell who is talking to Harriet.
Harry your business lyes not there yet!
Excuse him till we have done Lady, and then a Dod
He shall be for thee. Mr. Medley we must
Trouble you to be a witness.
Med.
I luckily came for that purpose, Sir.
Ex. O. Bell. Medley, Y. Bell. L. Townly and L. Woodvill.
Busy.
What will you do Madam?
Har.
Be carried back and mew’d up in the Country again,
Run away here, any thing, rather than be marry’d to a
Man I do not care for—Dear Emilia, do thou advise me!
Emil.
Mr. Bellair is engag’d you know.
Har.
I do; but know not what the fear of losing an
Estate may fright him to.
Emil.
In the desp’rate condition you are in, you should
Consult with some judicious man; what think you of
Mr. Dorimant?
Har.
I do not think of him at all.
Busy.
She thinks of nothing else I am sure—
Emil.
How fond your Mother was of Mr. Courtage!
Har.
Because I contriv’d the mistake to make a little
Mirth, you believe I like the man.
Emil.
Mr. Bellair believes you love him.
Har.
Men are seldom in the right when they guess at a
Woman’s mind, would she whom he loves lov’d him no better.
Busy.
Aside.
That’s e’n well enough on all conscience.
Emil.
Mr. Dorimant has a great deal of wit.
Har.
And takes a great deal of pains to shew it.
Emil.
He’s extremely well fashion’d.
Har.
Affectedly grave, or ridiculously wild and apish.
Busy.
You defend him still against your Mother.
Har.
I would not were he justly rallied, but
I cannot hear any one undeservedly rail’d at.
Emil.
Has your woman learnt the Song you
Were so taken with?
Har.
I was fond of a new thing, ’tis dull at second hearing.
Emil.
Mr. Dorimant made it.
Busy.
She knows it Madam, and has made me sing
It at least a dozen times this morning.
Har.
Thy Tongue is as impertinent as thy fingers.
Emil.
You have provok’d her.
Busy.
‘Tis but singing the song and I shall appease her.
Emil.
Prithee do.
Har.
She has a voice will grate your Ears worse than a
Cat-call, and dresses so ill she’s scarce fit to trick up a
Yeoman’s Daughter on a Holiday.
Busy Sings.
As Amoret with Phillis sat
One Evening on the plain,
And saw the charming Strephon wait
To tell the Nymph his pain.
The threat’ning danger to remove
She whisper’d in her Ear,
Ah Phillis, if you would not love,
This Shephard do not hear.
None ever had so strange an Art
His passion to convey
Into a list’ning Virgins heart
And steal her Soul away.
Fly, fly betimes, for fear you give
Occasion for your Fate.
In vain said she, in vain I strive,
Alas! ’tis now too late.
Enter Dorimant.
Dor.
Music so softens and disarms the mind.
Har.
That not one Arrow does resistance find.
Dor.
Let us make use of the lucky Minute then.
Har.
Aside turning from Dorimant
My love springs with
My blood into my Face, I dare not look upon him yet.
Dor.
What have we here, the picture of celebrated
Beauty, giving Audience in public to a declar’d Lover?
Har.
Play the dying Fop, and make the
Piece complete Sir.
Dor.
What think you if the Hint were well improv’d?
The whole mystery of making love pleasantly design’d
And wrought in a suit of Hangings?
Har.
‘Twere needless to execute fools in Effigie who
Suffer daily in their own persons.
Dor.
To Emilia aside
Mrs. Bride, for such I know
This happy day has made you.
Emil.
Defer the formal joy you are to give me,
And mind your business with her —
[Aloud]
Here are dreadful preparations Mr. Dorimant,
Writings sealing, and a Parson sent for—
Dor.
To marry this Lady —
Busy.
Condemn’d she is, and what will become of her
I know not, without you generously engage in a Rescue.
Dor.
In this sad condition, Madam, I can do no less
Than offer you my service.
Har.
The obligation is not great, you are the common
Sanctuary for all young Women who run from their Relations.
Dor.
I have always my arms open to receive the
Distressed. But I will open my heart and receive you,
Where none yet did ever enter— You have fill’d it
With a secret, might I but let you know it—
Har.
Do not speak it, if you would have me believe it;
Your Tongue is so fam’d for falsehood ’twill do the
Truth an injury.
Turns away her head.
Dor.
Turn not away then; but look on me and guess it.
Har.
Did you not tell me there was no credit to be given to
Faces? that Women nowadays have their passions as
Much at will as they have their Complexions, and
Put on joy and sadness, scorn and kindness, with the
Same ease they do their Paint and Patches—
Are they the only counterfeits?
Dor.
You wrong your own, while you suspect my Eyes,
By all the hope I have in you, the inimitable
Color in your cheeks is not more free from
Art than are the sighs I offer.
Har.
In men who have been long harden’d in Sin,
We have reason to mistrust the first signs of repentance.
Dor.
The prospect of such a Heav’n will make me
Persevere, and give you marks that are infallible.
Har.
What are those?
Dor.
I will renounce all the joys I have in friendship
And in Wine, sacrifice to you all the interest
I have in other Women—
Har.
Hold — Though I wish you devout,
I would not have you turn Fanatic— Could you
Neglect these a while and make a journey into the Country?
Dor.
To be with you I could live there:
And never send one thought to London.
Har.
What e’re you say, I know all beyond
High-Park‘s a desert to you, and that no gallantry
Can draw you farther.
Dor.
That has been the utmost limit of my Love—
But now my passion knows no bounds, and
There’s no measure to be taken of what i’ll do
For you from any thing I ever did before.
Har.
When I hear you talk thus in Hampshire,
I shall begin to think there may be some truth enlarg’d upon.
Dor.
Is this all— will you not promise me—
Har.
I hate to promise! what we do then is expected from
Us, and wants much of the welcome it finds, when it surprises.
Dor.
May I not hope?
Har.
That depends on you, and not on me, and
‘Tis to no purpose to forbid it
Turns to Busy.
Busy.
Faith Madam, now I perceive the Gentleman
Loves you too, e’en let him know your mind and
Torment your selves no longer.
Har.
Dost think I have no sense of Modesty?
Busy.
Think, if you lose this you may never
Have another opportunity.
Har.
May he hate me, (a curse that frights me
When I speak it!) if ever I do a thing against the
Rules of decency and honor.
Dor.
[To Emilia.]
I am beholding to you
For your good intentions, Madam.
Emil.
I thought the concealing of our Marriage
From her might have done you better service.
Dor.
Try her again—
Emil.
What have you resolv’d, Madam?
The time draws near.
Har.
To be obstinate and protest against this Marriage.
Enter L. Townly in haste.
L. Town.
[To Emilia.]
Quickly, quickly, let Mr. Smirk
Out of the Closet.
Smirk comes out of the Closet.
Har.
A Parson! had you laid him in here?
Dor.
I knew nothing of him.
Har.
Should it appear you did, your opinion
Of my easiness may cost you dear.
Enter O. Bellair, Y. Bellair, Medley, and L. Woodvill.
O. Bell.
Out a pise! the Canonical hour is almost past;
Sister, is the man of God come?
L. Town.
He waits your leasure —
O. Bell.
By your favour Sir. A Dod a pretty spruce fellow▪
What may we call him?
L. Town.
Mr. Smirk! my Lady Biggots Chaplain.
O. Bell.
A wise woman! a Dod she is.
The man will serve for the flesh as well as the spirit.
Please you Sir to Commission a young Couple to go to
Bed together a Gods name? — Harry.
Y. Bell.
Here Sir—
O. Bell.
Out a pise without your mistress in your hand!
Smirk.
Is this the Gentleman?
O. Bell.
Yes Sir!
Smirk.
Are you not mistaken Sir?
O. Bell.
A Dod, I think not Sir.
Smirk.
Sure you are Sir?
O. Bell.
You look as if you would forbid the banns
Mr. Smirk, I hope you have no pretention to the Lady!
Smirk.
Wish him joy Sir! I have done him the good
Office today already.
O. Bell.
Out a pize what do I hear?
L. Town.
Never storm Brother, the truth is out.
O. Bell.
How say you Sir! is this your wedding day?
Y. Bell.
It is Sir.
O. Bell.
And a Dod it shall be mine too,
Give me thy hand sweet-heart,
To Emilia.
What dost thou mean? give me thy hand I say.
Emilia kneels and Y. Bell.
L. Town.
Come come, give her your blessing,
This is the woman your Son lov’d and is marry’d to.
O. Bell.
Ha! cheated! cozen’d! and by your
Contrivance Sister!
L. Town.
What would you do with her,
She’s a Rogue and you can’t abide her.
Medley.
Shall I hit her a pat for you Sir?
O. Bell.
A Dod you are all Rogues,
And I never will forgive you.
L. Town.
Whither! whither away?
Medley.
Let him go and cool awhile!
L. Wood.
to Dorimant
Here’s a business broke out now
Mr. Courtage, I am made a fine fool of.
Dor.
You see the old Gentleman knew nothing of it.
L. Wood.
I find he did not. I shall have some trick put
Upon me if I stay in this wicked Town any longer.
Harriet! dear Child! where art thou?
I’ll into the Country straight.
O. Bell.
A Dod Madam, you shall hear me first —
Enter Loveit, and Bellinda.
Lov.
Hither my man dogg’d him! —
Bell.
Yonder he stands my Dear.
Lov.
I see him.—
Aside.
And with him the Face that has undone me! oh that I were
But where I might throw out the Anguish of my heart,
Here it must rage within and break it.
L. Town.
Mrs. Loveit! are you afraid to come forward?
Lov.
I was amaz’d to see so much company here in a
Morning, the occasion sure is extraordinary—
Dor.
Aside.
Loveit and Bellinda! the Devil owes me a
Shame to day, and I think never will have done paying it.
Lov.
Marry’d! dear Emilia! how am I transported
With the news?
Har.
to Dorimant
I little thought Emilia was the woman
Mr. Bellair was in love with—I’ll chide her for not trusting
Me with the secret.
Dor.
How do you like Mrs. Loveit?
Har.
She’s a fam’d Mrs. of yours I hear—
Dor.
She has been on occasion!
O. Bell.
A Dod Madam I cannot help it.
To L. Woodvill.
L. Wood.
You need make no more Apologies Sir!
Emil.
to Loveit.
The old Gentleman’s excusing himself to
My Lady Woodvil.
Lov.
Ha, ha, ha! I never heard of any thing so pleasant.
Har.
She’s extreamly overjoy’d at something.
To Dor.
Dor.
At nothing, she is one of those hoyting Ladies,
Who gayly fling themselves about, and force a laugh,
When their aching hearts are full of discontent and malice.
Lov.
Oh Heav’n! I was never so near killing my self with
Laughing —Mr. Dorimant! are you a Brideman?
L. Wood.
Mr. Dorimant! is this Mr. Dorimant, Madam?
Lov.
If you doubt it, your daughter can resolve
You I suppose.
L. Wood.
I am cheated too, basely cheated.
O. Bell.
Out a pize, what’s here more knavery yet!
L. Wood.
Harriet! on my Blessing come away I charge you.
Har.
Dear Mother! do but stay and hear me.
L. Wood.
I am betray’d and thou art undone I fear.
Har.
Do not fear it—I have not, nor never will do any
Thing against my duty — believe me! dear Mother do.
Dor.
to Lov.
I had trusted you with this secret but that I
Knew the violence of your Nature would ruin my fortune
As now unluckily it has: I thank you Madam.
Lov.
She’s an Heiress I know, and very rich.
Dor.
To satisfy you I must give up my interest wholly to
My Love, had you been a reasonable woman,
I might have secur’d ’em both, and been happy—
Lov.
You might have trusted me with any thing of this
Kind, you know you might. Why did you go under
A wrong name?
Dor.
The story is too long to tell you now,
Be satisfied, this is the business; this is the Masque
Has kept me from you.
Bell.
He’s tender of my honor, though he’s
Aside.
Cruel to my Love.
Loveit.
Was it no idle Mistress then?
Dor.
Believe me a Wife, to repair the
Ruins of my estate that needs it.
Loveit.
The knowledge of this makes my Grief
Hang lighter on my soul; but I shall never more be happy.
Dor.
Bellinda!
Bell.
Do not think of clearing your self with me, it is
Impossible—Do all men break their words thus?
Dor.
Th’ extravagant words they speak in love;
‘Tis as unreasonable to expect we should perform all we
Promise then, as do all we threaten when we are angry—
When I see you next—
Bell.
Take no notice of me and I shall not hate you.
Dor.
How came you to Mrs. Loveit?
Bell.
By a mistake the Chairmen made for want of
My giving them directions.
Dor.
‘Twas a pleasant one. We must meet again.
Bell.
Never.
Dor.
Never!
Bell.
When we do, may I be as infamous as you are false.
L. Town.
Men of Mr. Dorimant’s character, always
Suffer in the general opinion of the world.
Med.
You can make no judgment of a witty man from
Common fame, considering the prevailing faction, Madam—
O. Bell.
A Dod he’s in the right.
Med.
Besides ’tis a common error among Women,
To believe too well of them they know, and
Too ill of them they don’t.
O. Bell.
A Dod he observes well.
L. Town.
Believe me, Madam, you will find Mr Dorimant
As civil a Gentleman as you thought Mr. Courtage.
Har.
If you would but know him better—
L. Wood.
You have a mind to know him better!
Come away— You shall never see him more—
Har.
Dear Mother stay—
L. Wood.
I wo’not be consenting to your Ruin—
Har.
Were my fortune in your power—
L. Wood.
Your person is.
Har.
Could I be disobedient I might take it out of
Yours and put it into his.
L. Wood.
‘Tis that you would be at, you
Would Marry this Dorimant.
Har.
I cannot deny it! I would, and never will
Marry any other man.
L. Wood.
Is this the Duty that you promis’d?
Har.
But I will never Marry him against your will—
L. Wood.
She knows the way to melt my heart.
Aside.
Upon your self light your undoing.
To Har.
Med.
[To O. Bell.]
Come, Sir, you have not the heart
Any longer to refuse your blessing.
O. Bell.
A Dod I ha’not— Rise and God bless you both—
Make much of her Harry, she deserves thy kindness—
A Dod sirrah I did not think it had been in thee.
To Emilia.
Enter Sir Fopling and’s Page.
Sir Fop.
‘Tis a damn’d windy day! hey Page!
Is my Perriwig right?
Page.
A little out of order, Sir!
Sir Fop.
Pox o’ this apartment, it wants an Antichamber
To adjust ones self in. Madam! I came from
To Loveit.
Your house and your Servants directed me hither.
Loveit.
I will give order hereafter they
Shall direct you better.
Sir Fop.
The great satisfaction I had in the Mail last night
Has given me much disquiet since.
Loveit.
‘Tis likely to give me more than I desire.
Sir Fop.
What the Devil makes her so reserv’d?
Am I guilty of an indiscretion, Madam?
Loveit.
You will be of a great one, if you
Continue your mistake, Sir.
Sir Fop.
Something puts you out of humor.
Loveit.
The most foolish inconsiderable thing that ever did.
Sir Fop.
Is it in my power?
Loveit.
To hang or drown it, do one of ’em,
And trouble me no more.
Sir Fop.
So fierè Serviteur, Madam—
Medley! where’s Dorimant?
Med.
Me thinks the Lady has not made you those
Advances to day she did last night, Sir Fopling—
Sir Fop.
Prithee do not talk of her.
Med.
She would be a bone fortune.
Sir Fop.
Not to me at present.
Med.
How so?
Sir Fop.
An intrigue now would be but a temptation to me
To throw away that Vigor on one which I mean shall shortly
Make my Court to the whole sex in a Ballet.
Med.
Wisely consider’d, Sir Fopling.
Sir Fop.
No one woman is worth the loss of a Cut in a Caper.
Med.
Not when ’tis so universally design’d.
L. Wood.
Mr. Dorimant, every one has spoke so much in
Your behalf, that I can no longer doubt but I was in the wrong.
Lov.
There’s nothing but falsehood and impertinence in
This world! all men are Villains or Fools; take example from
My misfortunes. Bellinda, if thou would’st be happy, give thy
Self wholly up to goodness.
Har.
to Loveit.
Mr. Dorimant has been your God
Almighty long enough, ’tis time to think of another—
Lov.
Jeer’d by her! I will lock my self up in my house,
And never see the world again.
Har.
A Nunnery is the more fashionable place for such a
Retreat, and has been the fatal consequence of many a
Belle passion.
Lov.
Hold heart! till I get home! should I answer
‘Twould make her Triumph greater.
Is going out.
Dor.
Your hand Sir Fopling—
Sir. Fop.
Shall I wait upon you Madam?
Lov.
Legion of Fools, as many Devils take thee.
Ex. Lov.
Med.
Dorimant? I pronounce thy reputation clear—and
Hence forward when I would know any thing
Of woman, I will consult no other Oracle.
Sir Fop.
Stark mad, by all that’s handsome! Dorimant
Thou hast engag’d me in a pretty business.
Dor.
I have not leisure now to talk about it.
O. Bell.
Out a pize, what does this man of mode do here again?
L. Town.
He’ll be an excellent entertainment within Brother,
And is luckily come to raise the mirth of the Company.
L. Wood.
Madam, I take my leave of you.
L. Town.
What do you mean Madam?
L. Wood.
To go this afternoon part of my way to Hartly—
O. Bell.
A Dod you shall stay and dine first! come we will
All be good friends, and you shall give Mr. Dorimant
Leave to wait upon you and your daughter in the Country.
L. Wood.
If his occasions bring him that way, I have now
So good an opinion of him, he shall be welcome.
Har.
To a great rambling lone house, that looks as it were
Not inhabited, the family’s so small; there you’l find my Mother,
An old lame Aunt, and my self Sir, perch’d up on Chairs at
A distance in a large parlor; sitting moping like three or
Four Melancholy Birds in a spacious vollary—
Does not this stagger your Resolution?
Dor.
Not at all, Madam! The first time I saw you,
You left me with the pangs of Love upon me, and this
Day my soul has quite given up her liberty.
Har.
This is more dismal than the Country! Emilia! pity
Me, who am going to that sad place. Methinks I hear the
Hateful noise of Rooks already—Kaw, Kaw, Kaw—
There’s music in the worst Cry in London!
My Dill and Cowcumbers to pickle.
O. Bell.
Sister! knowing of this matter, I hope you
Have provided us some good Cheer.
L. Town.
I have Brother, and the Fiddles too—
O. Bell.
Let ’em strike up then, the young Lady shall
Have a dance before she departs.
Dance.
After the Dance.
So now we’ll in, and make this an arrant wedding day —
And if these honest Gentlemen rejoice,
To the Pitt.
A Dod the Boy has made a happy choice.
Ex. Omnes.
The EPILOGUE by Mr Dryden.
MOST Modern Wits, such monstrous Fools have shown,
They seem’d not of heav’ns making but their own.
Those Nauseous Harlequins in Farce may pass,
But there goes more to a substantial Ass!
Something of man must be expos’d to View,
That, Gallants, they may more resemble you:
Sir Fopling is a Fool so nicely writ,
The Ladies wou’d mistake him for a Wit.
And when he sings, talks lowd, and cocks; wou’d cry,
I vow methinks he’s pretty Company,
So brisk, so gay, so travail’d, so refin’d!
As he took pains to grass upon his kind.
True Fops help Natures work, and go to school,
To file and finish god-a’mighty’s fool.
Yet none Sir Fopling him, or him can call;
He’s Knight o’th’ Shire, and represents ye all.
From each he meets, he culls what e’re he can,
Legion’s his name, a people in a Man.
His bulky folly gathers as it goes,
And, rolling o’re you, like a Snow-ball grows.
His various modes from various Fathers follow,
One taught the Toss, and one the new French Wallow.
His Sword-knot, this; his Cravat, this design’d,
And this, the yard long Snake he twirls behind.
From one the sacred Perriwig he gain’d,
Which Wind ne’re blew, nor touch of Hat prophan’d.
Anothers diving Bow he did adore,
Which with a shog casts all the hair before:
Till he with full Decorum brings it back,
And rises with a Water Spaniel shake.
As for his Songs (the Ladies dear delight)
Those sure he took from most of you who Write.
Yet every man is safe from what he fear’d,
For no one fool is hunted from the herd.
FINIS.
Text of Man of Mode under Public Domain.
Media Attributions
- George_Etherege_The_Man_of_Mode_frontspiece_1676
