CLARISSA. Never, never, Valentine. As a Christian, I forgive you; but as a lover wall never regard you more. Oh, I have seen too lively an instance of your inconstancy!
VALENTINE. Forbid it, Heaven!
CLARISSA. May it, indeed, forbid our marriage. No, Valentine, if ever more I hearken to your vows; if ever I once think of you as my husband, may I
VALENTINE. Swear not, I conjure you; for unless you make me happy in yourself, your pardon but augments my misery.
CLARISSA. ‘Tis all in vain. — Were you to kneel, swear, threaten, I’d never grant it. If my forgiveness will content you, well; if not, you never shall have more. There is another more worthy of my love.
VALENTINE. Oh! name him.
CLARISSA. Not till your vengeance shall come too late.
VALENTINE. This letter may unfold —
[Takes the letter from the table.
CLARISSA. Oh! I am ruined. — Deliver it, ravisher!
VALENTINE. “What do I see? — Is it possible!
CLARISSA. It will do you little service.
VALENTINE. Not to discover the man: but it has shown me a woman in the liveliest colours. This letter, madam, is the production of no new amour. ‘Tis too plain, you are false. Oh! how happy is this discovery. What a wretch should I have been, with the cast, forgotten, slighted mistress of another. When I see you next, when I am that slave to ask, to wish, to hope you for a wife, may I be cursed with all the plagues that ever cursed a husband. — Adieu.
CLARISSA. O! stay, and hear my innocence.
VALENTINE. ‘Tis impossible.
CLARISSA. You, you are the man, whose forgotten mistress you have called me — I blush to say, ‘twas you to whom that letter was intended. Nay, read, read the direction.
VALENTINE. Amazement!
CLARISSA. Your genius is triumphant, and here my empire ends; for I must own, with blushing shame must own, that all my disdain to you has still been counterfeit. I had a secret growing love for you, even before you first intimated yours. But I am sure the agonies I have this day felt have severely revenged all those pangs my vanity has given you. — So here’s my hand.
VALENTINE. Let my eternal gratitude demonstrate with what raptures I receive it.
SCENE III.
To them, BELLARIA, with an open letter.
BELLARIA. I am witness of the bargain. The farther sealing it shall be performed at the finishing another. — I have considered your friend’s proposals, [Shows the letter] and approve them.
VALENTINE. I hope then, madam, my diligence in their execution will prevail on you to forget —
BELLARIA. I am sure I shall have no reason to recollect
VALENTINE. This goodness, madam, at the same time that it pardons, pleads also an excuse for my crime. — I shall do my utmost to merit it.
SCENE IV.
CLARISSA, BELLARIA.
CLARISSA. I am afraid, my dear, my late conduct has appeared very strange to you, after what you have formerly seen.
BELLARIA. Your former conduct was to me much more wonderful; for, to disguise our passions is, in my opinion, a harder task than to discover them. I have often laughed at the ridiculous cruelty of women; to torment ourselves to be revenged on an enemy is absurd; but to do it, that we may give pain to a lover, is as monstrous a folly as ‘tis a barbarity.
CLARISSA. You would strip beauty of all its power?
BELLARIA. I would strip beauty of all its imperfections, and persuade her whom nature has adorned without, to employ her chief art to adorn herself within; for, believe it, my dear Clarissa, a pretty face, over-affectation, pride, illnature, in a word, over-coquetry is but a gilt cover over a volume of nonsense, which will be despised by all wise men; and, having been exposed to sale for a few years in all the public auctions of the town, will be doomed to rust neglected in the possession of a coxcomb!
SCENE V.
To them, WILDING, and SIR HARRY WILDING dressed and powdered.
SIR Harry Wilding. Madam, your most humble servant. I suppose, madam. Sir Avarice has opened the affair to you which has brought me to town; it was settled before I left the country, as to the material points. Nothing now remains but the ceremonies of the marriage, &c. — So this visit is to desire to know what day you fix on for that purpose.
BELLARIA. Your method of proceeding, sir, something surprises me! Your son has never mentioned a word of that nature to me.
SIR HARRY WILDING. Alack-a-day, madam! the boy is modest; Harry’s modest, madam: but alas! you are the only person to whom he has not mentioned it: perhaps the rogue may think, as old Cowley says:
“I will not ask her— ‘tis a milder fate,
To fall by her not loving, than her hate.”
BELLARIA. Very gallant, Sir Harry! By what I can see, you give greater proofs of love than your son does.
WILDING. I wish those lovely eyes could see as far into my heart as they pierce: I should not then be obliged to paint in the weak colourings of words a passion no language can express, because none ever felt before.
SIR HARRY WILDING. To her, boy, to her. I’ll leave you together. Come, young lady, you must not spoil sport.
SCENE VI.
WILDING, BELLARIA.
WILDING. I am afraid, madam, what you have heard me rally of matrimony makes you suspect my ill opinion of it; but that state, which, with all other women, would be hell to me, with you is paradise, is heaven. Oh! let me touch that tender hand, and pressing it in raptures to my heart —
BELLARIA. Ay, this is something like love; by that time you have sighed away two years in this manner, I may be persuaded to admit you into the number of my admirers.
WILDING. [Aside.] I shall be admitted into Bedlam first I hope. ‘Tis that very thing makes so many couple unhappy; for you ladies will have all our love beforehand, and then you expect it all afterwards. Like a thoughtless heir, who spends his estate before he is in the possession; with this difference — he ante-dates his pleasures, you postpone them.
BELLARIA. Finely argued! I protest, Mr. Wilding. I did not think you had made such a proficience in your studies. — It would be pity to take so promising a young man from the bar. You may come to be a judge.
WILDING. You only rally me; for I cannot think you believe that I ever studied law: dress, and the ladies, have employed my time. — I protest to you, madam, I know no more of the law, than I do of the moon.
BELLARIA. I thought you had been six years in the Temple.
WILDING. lia, ha, ha! madam, you may as well think I am a scholar because I have been at Oxford, as that I am a lawyer because I have been at the Temple.
BELLARIA. So, then, you have deceived your father in the character of a lawyer; how shall I be sure you will not me in that of a lover?
WILDING. Oh! a thousand ways, madam: first, by my countenance; then by the temptation; and lastly, I hope, you will think I talk like a lover. No one, I am sure, ever heard me talk like a lawyer.
BELLARIA. Indeed you do now, — very like one; for you talk for a fee.
WILDING. Nay, madam, that’s ungenerous. How shall I assure you? if oaths will — I swear —
BELLARIA. No, no, no; I shall believe you swear like a lawyer too — that is, I shall not believe you at all. Or, if I was to allow your oaths came from a lover, it would be much the same; for I think truth to be a thing in which lovers and lawyers agree.
WILDING. IS there no way of convincing you?
BELLARIA. Oh! yes. I will tell you how. You must flatter me egregiously; not only with more perfections than I have, but than ever any one had; for which you must submit to very ill usage. And when I have treated you like a tyrant over-night, you must, in a submissive letter, ask my pardon the next morning, for having offended me; though you had done nothing.
WILDING. This is easy.
BELLARIA. You must follow me to all public places where I shall give an unlimited encouragement to the most notorious fools I can meet with, at which you are to seem very much concerned, but not dare
to upbraid me with it — then, if, when I am going out you offer me your hand, I don’t see you, but give it to one of the fools I mentioned —
WILDING. This is nothing.
BELLARIA. Then you are sometimes to be honoured with playing with me at quadrille; where, to show you my goodnature, I will take as much of your money as I can possibly cheat you of. And when you have done all these, and twenty more such trifling things, for one five years, I shall be convinced — that you are an ass, and laugh at you five times more heartily than I do now. Ha, ha, ha!
SCENE VII.
WILDING. [Alone.] Shall you so? — I may give you reason for another sort of passion long before that time. I shall be master of the citadel with a much shorter siege, I believe. — She is a fine creature; but pox of her beauty, I shall surfeit on’t in six days’ enjoyment. The twenty thousand pound! there’s the solid charm, that may last, with very good management, almost as many years.
SCENE VIII.
To him, LADY GRAVELY.
Your ladyship’s most humble servant. You have not made a great many visits.
LADY GRAVELY. No, the lady I went with has been laying out a great sum of money; she carried me as a sort of appraiser; for I am thought to have some judgment. But I believe Sir Harry is coming up stairs. I was desired to give you this by one who has an opinion of my secrecy and yours.
SCENE IX.
WILDING [Solus, reads]: “I hear, by Sir Harry, you have a great collection of books. You know my curiosity that way, so send me the number of your chambers, and this evening I will come and look over them.” What shall I do? If I disappoint her, her resentment may be of ill consequence, and I must expect the most warm one. I do not care neither, at this crisis, to let her into the secret of my deceit on my father. Suppose I appoint her at young Pedant’s — that must be the place. And, since I can’t wait on her myself, I’ll provide her other company. I’ll appoint Lady Lucy at the same time and place; so they will discover one another, and I shall be rid of them both, which I begin to wish; for, since I have been proposed a wife out of it, my stomach is turned against all the rest of the family.
SCENE X.
PINCET, as a Counsellor, SERVANT.
SERVANT. I believe, sir. Sir Harry is in the house; if you please to walk this way. I’ll bring you to him.
PINCET. But stay; inquire if he has any company with him — if so you may let him know I am here, and would be glad to speak with him.
SERVANT. Whom, sir, shall I mention?
PINCET. A counsellor at law, sir.
SERVANT. Sir, I shall.
PINCET. I am not much inclined to fear or superstition, or I should think I this day saw the ghost of him I’ve injured. I cannot rest with what I have done, nor know I well by what course to make a reparation. — But here comes my game.
SCENE XI.
To him, Sir Harry Wilding, and Wilding.
MR. Wilding, your servant. I presume this may be my client, the good Sir Harry.
SIR HARRY WILDING. Sir!
PINCET. I believe, Sir Harry, I have not the honour of being known to you. My name is Ratsbane — Counsellor Ratsbane, of the Inner Temple. I have had, sir, according to the order of your son, a conference with Mr. Counsellor Starchum, who is for the plaintiff, and have come to a conclusion thereon.
SIR HARRY WILDING. Oh! have you? — I am your humble servant, dear sir; and if it lies in my power to oblige you, in return —
PINCET. Oh, dear sir! No obligation! we only do our duty. Our case will be this — first, a warrant will be issued: upon which, we are taken up; then we shall be indicted; after which, we are convicted (that no doubt we shall, on such a strength of proof), immediately sentence is awarded against us, and then execution regularly follows.
SIR HARRY WILDING. Execution, sir! — what execution?
WILDING. Oh! my unfortunate father! — Hanging, sir.
PINCET. Ay, ay, hanging, hanging is the regular course of law; and no way to be averted. But, as to our conveyance to the place of execution, that I believe we shall be favoured in. The sheriff is to render us there; but whether in a coach or cart, I fancy a small sum may turn that scale.
SIR HARRY WILDING. Coach or cart! Hell and the devil! Why son, why sir, is there no way left?
PINCET. None. We shall be convicted of felony, and then hanging follows of course.
WILDING. It’s too true — so says Coke against Lyttelton.
SIR HARRY WILDING. But sir, dear sir, I am as innocent —
PINCET. Sir, the law proceeds by evidence — my brother Starchum indeed offered, that upon a bond of five thousand pounds he would make up the affair; but I thought it much too extravagant a demand; and so I told him flatly — we would be hanged.
SIR HARRY WILDING. Then you told a damned lie; for if twice that sum would save us, we will not.
PINCET. How, sir, are you willing to give that money?
SIR HARRY WILDING. No, sir, I am not willing; but I am much less willing to be hanged.
WILDING. But do you think, Mr. Counsellor, you could not prevail for four thousand?
PINCET. That truly we cannot reply to, till a conference be first had.
SIR HARRY WILDING. Ay, or four hundred?
PINCET. Four hundred? — why it would cost you more the other way, if you were hanged anything decently. Look you, sir, Mr. Starchum is at the Crown and Rolls just by; if you please we will go thither, and I assure you to make the best bargain I can.
WILDING. Be quick, sir; here’s Sir Avarice coming.
SIR HARRY WILDING. Come along — Oons! I would not have him know it for the world.
SCENE XII.
VALENTINE, SIR AVARICE PEDANT, YOUNG PEDANT.
VALENTINE. Have but the patience to hear me, sir. The gentleman I unwittingly brought hither was the very man on whose account Bellaria was sent to town.
SIR AVARICE PEDANT. How!
VALENTINE. Bellaria, imagining me his friend, in the highest rage of despair, when she found her lover discovered, laid open her whole breast to me, and begged my advice; I have promised to contrive an interview. Now, I will promise her to convey her to Veromil, and bring her to a place where she shall meet you and your son. When you have her there, and a parson with you, if you do not finish the affair, it will be your own fault.
SIR AVARICE PEDANT. Hum! it has an appearance.
VALENTINE. But, sir, I shall not do this, unless you deliver me up those writings of mine in your hands, which you unjustly detain.
SIR AVARICE PEDANT. Sir!
VALENTINE. And moreover, sir, unless you do, I will frustrate your design for ever.
SIR AVARICE PEDANT. Very well, sir, when she is married.
VALENTINE. Sir, I will have no conditions. What I ask is my own, and unless you grant it, I will publish your intentions to the world, sooner than you can accomplish them.
SIR AVARICE PEDANT. Well, well, I’ll fetch them; stay you here, and expect my return.
SCENE XIII.
VALENTINE, YOUNG PEDANT.
YOUNG PEDANT. Cousin Valentine, have I offended you? have I injured you in any way?
VALENTINE. No, dear cousin.
YOUNG PEDANT. Will you please, sir, then to assign the reason why you do contrive my ruin, by espousing me to this young woman?
VALENTINE. Are you unwilling?
YOUNG PEDANT. Alas! sir, matrimony has ever appeared to me a sea full of rocks and quicksands; it is Scylla, of whom Virgil —
“Delphinum caudus utero commissa luporum
Or as Ovid —
“Gerens latrantibus inguina monstris.”
VALENTINE. Well, then yau may be comforted; for I assure you, so far from bringing you into this misfortune, I am taking measures to deliver you out of it.
SCENE XIV.
To them, SIR AVARICE PEDANT.
SIR AVARICE PEDANT. Here, sir, is a note which I believe will content you.
VALENTINE. How, sir; these are not my writings.
SIR AVARICE PEDANT. No, sir
; but if your intentions are as you say, it is of equal value with them. I have there promised to pay you the sum which you say I have in my hands, on the marriage of my niece. Now, if you scruple accepting that condition, I shall scruple trusting her in your hands.
VALENTINE. [Having read it and mused.] well, sir, to show you my sincerity, I do accept it; and you shall find I will not fail delivering the young lady at the appointed hour and place.
Complete Fictional Works of Henry Fielding Page 246
