MR. WOODALL. No, nor a wench of any sense that did not love a fox-hunter.
LORD RICHLY. Modern, your servant.
MR. MODERN. I would presume only to remind your lordship —
LORD RICHLY. Depend upon it, I will remember you — I hope your lady is well.
MR. MODERN. Entirely at your service, my lord.
LORD RICHLY. I have a particular affair to communicate to her: a secret that I cannot send by you; you know all secrets are not proper to trust a husband with.
MR. MODERN. You do her too much honour, my lord: I believe you will find her at home any time to-day.
LORD RICHLY. Faith, Modern, I know not whether thou art happier in thy temper, or in thy wife.
MR. MODERN. Um — , my lord, as for my wife, I believe she is as good as most wives; I believe she is a virtuous woman; that, I think, I may affirm of her.
LORD RICHLY. That thou mayst, I dare swear; and that I as firmly believe as thou dost thyself: and let me tell you, a virtuous woman is no common jewel in this age. — But prithee, hast thou heard any thing of Mr. Bellamant’s affairs?
MR. MODERN. No more than that he has lost his cause, which he seemed to expect the other night, when he was at my house.
LORD RICHLY. Then you are intimate.
MR. MODERN. He visits my wife pretty often, my lord.
LORD RICHLY. Modern, you know I am your friend — and now we are alone, let me advise you. Take care of Bellamant, take a particular care of Bellamant — He is prudent enough in his amours to pass upon the world for a constant husband; but I know him — I know him — He is a dangerous man.
MR. MODERN. My lord, you surprise me so, that —
LORD RICHLY. I know you will excuse this freedom my friendship takes: but beware of Bellamant as you love your honour.
SERVANT. My lord, the coach is at the door.
LORD RICHLY. My dear Modern, I see the great surprise you are in: but you’ll excuse my freedom.
MR. MODERN. I am eternally obliged to your lordship —
LORD RICHLY. Your humble servant.
MR. MODERN. I hope your lordship will pardon my freedom, if after all these obligations I beg leave once more to remind you.
LORD RICHLY. Depend upon it, I’ll take care of you. — What a world of poor chimerical devils does a levee draw together? All gaping for favours, without the least capacity of making a return for them.
But great men, justly, act by wiser rules;
A levee is the paradise of fools.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
MRS. BELLAMANT’S House.
MRS. BELLAMANT, EMILIA.
MRS. BELLAMANT. Bid John put up the coach.
[To a Servant.
What think you now, Emilia? Has not this morning’s ramble given you a surfeit of the town? After all the nonsense and ill-nature we have heard to-day, would it grieve one to part with the place one is sure to hear ‘em over again in?
EMILIA. I am far from thinking any of its pleasures worth too eager a wish — and the woman, who has with her in the country the man she loves, must be a very ridiculous creature to pine after the town.
MRS. BELLAMANT. And yet, my dear, I believe you know there are such ridiculous creatures.
EMILIA. I rather imagine they retire with the man they should love, than him they do: for a heart, that is passionately fond of the pleasures here, has rarely room for any other fondness. The town itself is the passion of the greater part of our sex; but such I can never allow a just notion of love to. A woman that sincerely loves, can know no happiness without, nor misery with, her beloved object.
MRS. BELLAMANT. You talk feelingly, I protest, I wish you don’t leave your heart behind you. Come, confess: I hope I have deserved rather to be esteemed your confidante than your mother-in-law.
EMILIA. Would it be a crime if it were so? But if love be a crime, I am sure you cannot upbraid me with it.
MRS. BELLAMANT. Though if it be a crime, I am sure you are guilty. — Well, I approve your choice, child.
EMILIA. My choice! excellent! I carry his picture in my eyes, I suppose.
MRS. BELLAMANT. AS sure as in your heart, my dear.
EMILIA. Nay, but dear madam, tell me whom you guess.
MRS. BELLAMANT. Hush, here’s Mr. Bellamant.
Enter Bellamant.
MR. BELLAMANT. So soon returned, my dear? Sure you found nobody at home.
MRS. BELLAMANT. Oh, my dear! I have been in such an assembly of company, and so pulled to pieces with impertinence and ill-nature. — Welcome, welcome! the country! for sure the world is so very bad, those places are best where one has the least of it.
MR. BELLAMANT. What’s the matter?
MRS. BELLAMANT. In short, I have been downright affronted.
MR. BELLAMANT. Who durst affront you?
MRS. BELLAMANT. A set of women that dare do every thing, but what they should do. — In the first place, I was complimented with prude, for not being at the last masquerade — with dulness, for not entering into the taste of the town in some of its diversions — Then had my whole dress run over, and disliked; and to finish all, Mrs. Termagant told me I looked frightful.
MR. BELLAMANT. Not all the paint in Italy can give her half your beauty.
MRS. BELLAMANT. You are certainly the most complaisant man in the world, and I the only wife who can retire home to be put in a good humour. Most husbands are like a plain-dealing looking-glass, which sullies all the compliments we have received abroad by assuring us we do not deserve ‘em.
[During this speech a servant delivers a letter to Bellamant, which he reads.
EMILIA. I believe, though, madam, that generally happens when they are not deserved: for a woman of true beauty can never feel any dissatisfaction from the justice of her glass; nor she, who has your worth, from the sincerity of her husband.
MRS. BELLAMANT. Your father seems discomposed. — I wish there be no ill news in his letter.
MR. BELLAMANT. My dear, I have a favour to ask of you.
MRS. BELLAMANT. Say to command me.
MR. BELLAMANT. I gave you a bank-note of a hundred yesterday, you must let me have it again.
MRS. BELLAMANT. I am the luckiest creature in the world, that I did not pay away some of it this morning. Emilia, child, come with me. [Exit with Emilia.
MR. BELLAMANT. Excellent! unhappy woman! How little doth she guess she fetches this money for a rival? That is all the little merit I can boast towards her. — To have contended, by the utmost civility and compliance with all her desires, and the utmost caution in the management of my amour, to disguise from her a secret, that must have made her miserable. Let me read once more.
“SIR, — If you have, or ever had, any value for me, send me a hundred pounds this morning, or to make ‘em more welcome than the last of necessities can, bring them yourself to —— Yours — more than her own, HILLARIA MODERN.”
Why, what a farce is human life! How ridiculous is the pursuit of our desires, when the enjoyment of them is sure to beget new ones!
SCENE II.
MR. BELLAMANT, CAPTAIN BELLAMANT.
CAPTAIN BELLAMANT. Good-morrow, sir.
MR. BELLAMANT. I suppose, sir, by the gaiety of your dress, and your countenance, I may wish you joy of something besides your father’s misfortunes.
CAPTAIN BELLAMANT. Would you have me go into mourning for your losses, sir?
MR. BELLAMANT. You may mourn, sir — I am now unable to support your extravagance any longer. My advice, nay, my commands, have had no effect upon you, but necessity must; and your extravagance must fall of course, when it has nothing to support it.
CAPTAIN BELLAMANT. I am surprised you should call the expenses of a gentleman extravagance.
MR. BELLAMANT. I am sorry you think the expenses of a fool, or fop, the expenses of a gentleman: and that racehorses, cards, dice, whores, and embroidery, are necessary ingredients in that amiable composition.
CAPTAIN BELLAMANT. Faith, and they are so with mos
t gentlemen of my acquaintance; and give me leave to tell you, sir, these are the qualifications which recommend a man to the best sort of people. Suppose I had stayed at the university, and followed Greek and Latin as you advised me; what acquaintance had I found at court? what bows had I received at an assembly, or the opera?
MR. BELLAMANT. And will you please to tell me, sir, what advantage you have received from these? Are you the wiser, or the richer? What are you? Why, in your opinion, better dressed — Where else had been that smart toupet, that elegant sword-knot, that coat covered with lace, and then with powder? That ever Heaven should make me father to such a dressed-up daw! A creature who draws all his vanity from the gifts of tailors and periwigmakers!
CAPTAIN BELLAMANT. Would you not have your son dressed, sir?
MR. BELLAMANT. Yes, and, if he can afford it, let him be sometimes fine; but let him dress like a man, not affect the woman in his habit or his gesture.
CAPTAIN BELLAMANT. If a man will keep good company, he must comply with the fashion.
MR. BELLAMANT. I would no more comply with a ridiculous fashion than with a vicious one; nor with that which makes a man look like a monkey, than that which makes him act like any other beast.
CAPTAIN BELLAMANT. Lord, sir! you are grown strangely unpolite.
MR. BELLAMANT. I shall not give myself any farther trouble with you: but, since all my endeavours have proved ineffectual, leave you to the bent of your own inclinations. But I must desire you to send me no more bills; I assure you I shall not answer them — you must live on your commission — this last misfortune has made it impossible that I should add one farthing to your income.
CAPTAIN BELLAMANT. I have an affair in my view which may add to it. Sir, I wish you good-morrow. — When a father and son must not talk of money matters, I cannot see what they have to do together.
SCENE III.
MR. BELLAMANT, MRS. BELLAMANT, EMILIA.
MRS. BELLAMANT. Here is the bill, my dear.
MR. BELLAMANT. You shall be repaid in a day or two.
MES. BELLAMANT. I saw your son part hastily from you as I came in; I hope you have not been angry with him.
MR. BELLAMANT. Why will you ever intermeddle between us?
MRS. BELLAMANT. I hope you will pardon an intercession, my dear, for a son-in-law, which I should not be guilty for a son of my own.
SCENE IV.
MR. GAYWIT, MR. BELLAMANT, MRS. BELLAMANT, EMILIA.
MR. GAYWIT. Bellamant, good-morrow — ladies, your humble servant.
MR. BELLAMANT. Servant, Mr. Gaywit, I thought your time had been so employed that you had forgot your friends.
MR. GAYWIT. I ought to excuse so long an absence, but as Bellamant knows that it must give myself the greatest pain, he will impute it to business.
MR. BELLAMANT. Did I not also know that two days of thy life were never given to business yet —
MR. GAYWIT. Not what the grave world call so, I confess; but of what the gay world allow that name to, no hands were ever fuller.
MR. BELLAMANT. You have been making love to some new mistress, I suppose.
MR. GAYWIT. Fie, it is only husbands make a business of love, to us ‘tis but an amusement.
MRS. BELLAMANT. Very fine! and to my face too!
MR. GAYWIT. Mr. Bellamant, madam, is so known an exception to the general mode of husbands, that what is thrown on them cannot affect one of so celebrated a constancy.
MRS. BELLAMANT. That’s a virtue he may be celebrated for, without much envy.
MR. GAYWIT. He will be envied by all men for the cause of that constancy. Were such wives as Mrs. Bellamant less scarce, such husbands as my friend would be more common.
EMILIA. You are always throwing the fault on us.
MRS. BELLAMANT. It is commonly in us, either in our choice of our husband, or our behaviour to them. No woman, who married a man of perfect sense, was ever unhappy, but from her own folly. [Knock here.
MR. GAYWIT. [Looking out of the window.] Ha! a very worthy uncle of mine, my lord Richly.
MR. BELLAMANT. You’ll excuse me if I am not at home.
MR. GAYWIT. Fie! to deny yourself to him would be unprecedented.
MR. BELLAMANT. I assure you, no — for I have often done it.
MR. GAYWIT. Then, I believe you are the only man in town that has. But it is too late, I hear him on the stairs.
MRS. BELLAMANT. Come, Emilia, we’ll leave the gentlemen to their entertainment; I have been surfeited with it already.
SCENE V.
LORD RICHLY, MR. GAYWIT, MR. BELLAMANT.
LORD RICHLY. Dear Bellamant, I am your most obedient servant. I am come to ask you ten thousand pardons, that my affairs prevented my attendance the day your cause came on. It might have been in my power to have served you beyond my single vote.
MR. BELLAMANT. I am obliged to your lordship; but as I have great reason to be satisfied with the justice of your honourable house — I am contented.
LORD RICHLY. I hope the loss was not considerable.
MR. BELLAMANT. I thought your lordship had heard.
LORD RICHLY. I think, I was told twenty thousand pounds —— but that’s a trifle, a small retrenchment in one’s expenses —— two or three dozen suits the less, and two or three dozen fewer women in the year, will soon reimburse you.
MR. BELLAMANT. My loss is not equal to what your lordship intimates; nor can I complain of a fortune, still large enough to retire into the country with.
LORD RICHLY. Nay, dear Bellamant, we must not lose you so. Have you no friend that could favour you with some comfortable snug employment, of a thousand or fifteen hundred per annum?
MR. GAYWIT. Your lordship is the properest person in the world.
LORD RICHLY. Who, I? I am sure no mortal would do half so much to serve dear Jack Bellamant as myself — but I have no interest in the least.
MR. BELLAMANT. I am obliged to the good offices of my friend, but I assure your lordship I have no intention that way. Besides, I have lived long enough in the world to see that necessity is a bad recommendation to favours of that kind, which as seldom fall to those who really want them, as to those who really deserve them.
LORD RICHLY. I can’t help saying those things are not easily obtained. I heartily wish I could serve you in any thing. — It gives me a great deal of uneasiness that my power is not equal to my desire. [Aside.] (Damn it, I must turn this discourse, or he’ll never have done with it.) Oh, Bellamant, have you heard of the new opera of Mr. Crambo?
MR. GAYWIT. What’s the name of it?
LORD RICHLY. It will be called the Humours of Bedlam. I have read it, and it is a most surprising fine performance. It has not one syllable of sense in it from the first page to the last.
MR. GAYWIT. It must certainly take.
LORD RICHLY. Sir, it shall take, if I have interest enough to support it. I hate your dull writers of the late reigns. The design of a play is to make you laugh; and who can laugh at sense?
MR. GAYWIT. I think, my lord, we have improved on the
ITALIANS. They wanted only sense — we have neither sense nor music.
LORD RICHLY. I hate all music but a jig.
MR. GAYWIT. I don’t think it would be an ill project, my lord, to turn the best of our tragedies and comedies into operas.
LORD RICHLY. And, instead of a company of players, I would have a company of tumblers and ballad singers.
MR. BELLAMANT. Why, faith, I believe it will come to that soon, unless some sturdy critic should oppose it.
LORD RICHLY. No critic shall oppose it. It would be very fine, truly, if men of quality were confined in their taste; we should be rarely diverted, if a set of pedants were to license all our diversions; the stage then would be as dull as a country pulpit.
MR. GAYWIT. And the boxes in Drury Lane as empty as the galleries in St. James’s.
MR. BELLAMANT. Like enough: for religion and common sense are in a fair way to be banished out of the world together.
LORD RICHLY.
Let them go, egad.
MR. BELLAMANT. This is, I believe, the only age that has scorned a pretence to religion.
LORD RICHLY. Then it is the only age that hath scorned hypocrisy.
MR. BELLAMANT. Bather, that hypocrisy is the only hypocrisy it wants. You shall have a known rascal set up for honour — a fool for wit — and your professed dear bosomfawning friend, who, though he wallow in wealth, would refuse you ten guineas to preserve you from ruin, shall lose a hundred times that sum at cards to ruin your wife.
Complete Fictional Works of Henry Fielding Page 281
