A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Xiv Part 119

WAN. I cannot but laugh, to see how easy it is to lose or win the opinion of the world. A little custom heals all; or else what's the difference betwixt a married widow and one of us? Can any woman be pure, or worth the serious sighing of a generous heart, that has had above one hand laid upon her? Is there place to write above one lover's name with honour in her heart? 'Tis indeed for one a royal palace; but if it admits of more, an hospital or an inn at best, as well as ours: only off from the road and less frequented.

PLEA. Shrewdly urged.

WAN. And though the sins of my family threw me into want, and made me subject to the treachery of that broken faith, to whose perjury I owe all my crimes, yet still I can distinguish betwixt that folly and this honour, which must tell you: _He or she, that would be thought twice so, was never once a lover._

CON. Parson, thou art fitted! a wh.o.r.e and apothegms! What sport will she make us under a tree with a salad and sayings in the summer!

WILD. Come, Wanton, no fury; you see my aunt's angry.

WAN. So am I, sir, and yet can calmly reason this truth. Married widows, though chaste to the law and custom, yet their second Hymens make that, which was but dyeing in the first husband's bed, a stain in the second's sheets; where all their kindness and repeated embraces want their value, because they're sullied, and have lost their l.u.s.tre.

SAD. By this light, I'll go to school to Wanton; she has opened my eyes, and I begin to believe I have 'scaped miraculously. By this hand, wench, I was within an inch of being married to this danger; for what can we call these second submissions, but a tolerated lawful mercenariness which though it be a rude and harsh expression, yet your carriage deserves it?

PLEA. Fie, Master Sad! pray leave being witty. I fear 'tis a mortal sin to begin in the fifth act of your days: upon an old subject, too--abusing of widows because they despise you!

WID. Alas, niece! let him alone: he may come in for his share: the parson, that has so oft received 'em, will not refuse him t.i.thes there in charity.

WAN. That or conveniency, interest or importunity, may by your example prevail: but 'tis not fair play, madam, to turn your lover to the common, as you call it, now he's rid lean in your service. Take heed, Master Careless, and warning, Master Sad; you see how fit for the scavenger's team your lady leaves her lovers!

CARE. Such a lecture, before I had married, would ha' made me have considered of this matter. Dost thou hear, Wanton? Let us forgive one another being married, for that folly has made us guilty alike.

WAN. And I would fain know the difference betwixt ours and a wedding crime, which is worst: to let love, youth, and good-humour betray us to a kindness, or to be gravely seduced by some aunt or uncle, without consideration of the disparity of age, birth, or persons, to lie down before a jointure. Ladies, you may flatter yourselves; but the ingenuous part of the world cannot deny but such minds, had they been born where our faults are not only tolerated but protected, would have listened to the same things: interest counsels thereto.

CARE. Parson, what boot betwixt our wives? either come to a price, or draw off your doxy.

PAR. Propose, propose: here will be mirth anon.

SAD. Yes, yes, propose, while I break it to your lady. Madam, you see, here's a proper man to be had, and money to boot. What, dumb?

WAN. No, she's only thinking. Faith, madam, try 'em both to-night, and choose to-morrow.

WILD. Come, no more of this. Aunt, take my word for your husband, that have had more experience of him than all these: 'tis true he will long for these girls, as children do for plums; and when h'

has done, make a meal upon cheese. And you must not wonder nor quarrel at what he says in his humour, but judge him by his actions; and when he is in his fit, and raves most, put him into your bed, and fold him close in your arms, aunt: if he does not rise as kind and as good a husband as he that sings psalms best, hang me? Why, you're a fool, aunt: a widow, and dislike a longing bridegroom! I thought you had known better. Do you love a spurred horse rather than a ducker, that neighs and sc.r.a.pes? I would not say this, but that I know him. Let him not go out of your sight, for he's now in season--a ripe, mature husband. No delays: if you let him hang longer upon hope, his fruit will fall alone.

WID. You are merry, sir; but if I had known this humour----

WILD. You'd ha' kissed him first; but, being ignorant, let me make you blush. Come, a kiss, and all's friends. [_She kisses_ CARELESS, _and he kisses her twice_.] How now, sir, again! again!

PLEA. Aunt, look to yourself.

CARE. Um! By this light, sweetheart, and I thank thee. Nay, widow, there's no jesting with these things--[_Kisses her again_]--nay, I am a lion in my love. Aware, puss, if you flatter me, for I shall deceive you.

PAR. Since all are cosened, why should I be troubled at my fortune? Faith, gentlemen, what will you two give for a wife betwixt you?

CON. Faith, they're mischiefs dear bought, though a man get 'em for nothing.

PAR. I'm almost of his mind; and if other people find no more pleasure in a married life than I upon my wedding-day, I'd pa.s.s my time in the Piazza with the mountebank, and let him practise upon my teeth, and draw 'em too, ere he persuades the words of matrimony out of my mouth again. Ay, ay, Master Constant, you may laugh, you ha' missed a wife; would I were in your case, the world should see how cheerfully I should bear such an affliction.

CON. Jack, I ha' made my peace at home: and by seeing others s.h.i.+pwrecked, will avoid the danger, and here resolve never to sigh again for any woman: they're weeds grow in every hedge; and transplanting of 'em thus to our beds gives certain trouble, seldom pleasure, never profit.

_Enter_ CAPTAIN.

PAR. See where the enemy comes! Now, if you be wise, arm, and unite against him as a common foe. He's come from his old lady, designing a reconciliation. The rogue's provident, and would fain have a nest for his age to rest in. Buff and feathers do well in the youth and heat of thirty; but in the winter of old age captain at threescore, lame and lean, may lie with the almanac out of date.

CAPT. The parson's grown witty, and prophesies upon the strength of bridecake. If I guess aright, thou'lt be hanged: for 'tis a truth, I have been endeavouring to make it appear her fears were mistaken in me; but I find the witch more implacable than the devil. The waiting-woman is harder to forgive [for] her part than my lady. Faithful will not be reconciled: the merciless bawd is all fire and sword, no quarter. Bless me from an old waiting-woman's wrath! She'll never forgive me the disappointing her of a promise when I was drunk. Her lady and she are coming, but in such a fury, I would not have the storm find you out in the street: therefore I counsel you to avoid the boys, and take shelter in the next house.

WILD. No, let's home, and with all diligence get our dinner to defend us; and let the porter dispute it at the wicket, till she signs articles of peace.

OMNES. Agreed.

[CARELESS _is kind to the_ WIDOW. _As he goes out_, WILD _and_ PLEASANT _go together_; JOLLY _and the_ PARSON'S _wife go together_.

WILD. See how they pair now! 'Tis not threescore year will part 'em, now he has tasted a kiss or two.

JOLLY. Parson, I'll be your brideman.

PAR. 'Tis well, sir; I shall ha' my time too.

JOLLY. Ay, by this hand. Nay, we'll share fairly.

CAPT. That's but reason, Wanton; and since he grows tame, use him kindly, for my sake.

PAR. Can any of you digest sponge and a.r.s.enic?

CAPT. a.r.s.enic! what's that?

PAR. An Italian salad, which I'll dress for you, by Jove, ere I'll walk in my canonical coat lined with horn. Death! if I suffer this, we shall have that d.a.m.ned courtier pluck on his shoes with the parson's musons. Fine, i' faith! none but the small Levite's brow to plant your shoeing-horn seed in? How now?

[_As he is going off, the_ CAPTAIN _stays him_.

CAPT. Prythee, Jack, stay, and say something to the gentlemen by way of epilogue. Thou art a piece of scurvy poet thyself; prythee, oblige the author, and give us a line or two in praise of his play.

PAR. I oblige him! hang him and all his friends, and hurt n.o.body.

Yes, I am likely to speak for him. You see how I ha' been used to-day betwixt you. I shall find a time to be revenged. Let go my cloak; I have a province within of mine own to govern: let me go.

CAPT. Who, thy wife? Faith, stay and give them an opportunity; thy pain will be the sooner over. You see, 'tis a thing resolved betwixt 'em; and now thou'rt satisfied in the matter, be wise and silent; who knows what good she may do thee another time? I dare say, if she had as many souls in her as she had men, she'd bring thee a cure of herself.

PAR. Let me go, or I shall be as troublesome as you are injurious, for all your t.i.tles, sir.

CAPT. Lend me your cloak then, to appear more decent; you'd not ha' me present epilogue in buff,[279] wh.o.r.eson dunce, with a red nose?

PAR. Sir, my business is praying, not epilogues.

CAPT. With that face? By this light, 'tis a scandal to see it flaming so near the altar: thou look'st as if thou'dst cry _Tope_ in the face of the congregation, instead of _Amen_.

PAR. Thou'rt an a.s.s, 'tis proper there; 't has zeal and fervour in't, and burns before the altar like the primitive lamps.

CAPT. I cry thee mercy. By this light, he'll make it sacrilege anon to steal his nose! thou'lt ent.i.tle the altar to that coal.