SHARP. Ay, sir, my name’s Sharper.
SIR JO. Pray, Mr. Sharper, embrace my Back. Very well. By the Lord Harry, Mr. Sharper, he’s as brave a fellow as Cannibal, are not you, Bully-Back?
SHARP. Hannibal, I believe you mean, Sir Joseph.
BLUFF. Undoubtedly he did, sir; faith, Hannibal was a very pretty fellow — but, Sir Joseph, comparisons are odious — Hannibal was a very pretty fellow in those days, it must be granted — but alas, sir! were he alive now, he would be nothing, nothing in the earth.
SHARP. How, sir! I make a doubt if there be at this day a greater general breathing.
BLUFF. Oh, excuse me, sir! Have you served abroad, sir?
SHARP. Not I, really, sir.
BLUFF. Oh, I thought so. Why, then, you can know nothing, sir: I am afraid you scarce know the history of the late war in Flanders, with all its particulars.
SHARP. Not I, sir, no more than public letters or gazettes tell us.
BLUFF. Gazette! Why there again now. Why, sir, there are not three words of truth the year round put into the Gazette. I’ll tell you a strange thing now as to that. You must know, sir, I was resident in Flanders the last campaign, had a small post there, but no matter for that. Perhaps, sir, there was scarce anything of moment done but an humble servant of yours, that shall be nameless, was an eye-witness of. I won’t say had the greatest share in’t, though I might say that too, since I name nobody you know. Well, Mr. Sharper, would you think it? In all this time, as I hope for a truncheon, this rascally gazette-writer never so much as once mentioned me — not once, by the wars — took no more notice than as if Nol. Bluffe had not been in the land of the living.
SHARP. Strange!
SIR JO. Yet, by the Lord Harry, ’tis true, Mr. Sharper, for I went every day to coffee-houses to read the gazette myself.
BLUFF. Ay, ay, no matter. You see, Mr. Sharper, after all I am content to retire; live a private person. Scipio and others have done it.
SHARP. Impudent rogue. [Aside.]
SIR JO. Ay, this damned modesty of yours. Agad, if he would put in for’t he might be made general himself yet.
BLUFF. Oh, fie! no, Sir Joseph; you know I hate this.
SIR JO. Let me but tell Mr. Sharper a little, how you ate fire once out of the mouth of a cannon. Agad, he did; those impenetrable whiskers of his have confronted flames —
BLUFF. Death, what do you mean, Sir Joseph?
SIR JO. Look you now. I tell you he’s so modest he’ll own nothing.
BLUFF. Pish, you have put me out, I have forgot what I was about. Pray hold your tongue, and give me leave. [Angrily.]
SIR JO. I am dumb.
BLUFF. This sword I think I was telling you of, Mr. Sharper. This sword I’ll maintain to be the best divine, anatomist, lawyer, or casuist in Europe; it shall decide a controversy or split a cause —
SIR JO. Nay, now I must speak; it will split a hair, by the Lord Harry, I have seen it.
BLUFF. Zounds, sir, it’s a lie; you have not seen it, nor sha’n’t see it; sir, I say you can’t see; what d’ye say to that now?
SIR JO. I am blind.
BLUFF. Death, had any other man interrupted me —
SIR JO. Good Mr. Sharper, speak to him; I dare not look that way.
SHARP. Captain, Sir Joseph’s penitent.
BLUFF. Oh, I am calm, sir, calm as a discharged culverin. But ’twas indiscreet, when you know what will provoke me. Nay, come, Sir Joseph, you know my heat’s soon over.
SIR JO. Well, I am a fool sometimes, but I’m sorry.
BLUFF. Enough.
SIR JO. Come, we’ll go take a glass to drown animosities. Mr. Sharper, will you partake?
SHARP. I wait on you, sir. Nay, pray, Captain; you are Sir Joseph’s back.
SCENE III.
Araminta, Belinda, Betty waiting, in Araminta’s apartment.
BELIN. Ah! nay, dear; prithee, good, dear, sweet cousin, no more. O Gad! I swear you’d make one sick to hear you.
ARAM. Bless me! what have I said to move you thus?
BELIN. Oh, you have raved, talked idly, and all in commendation of that filthy, awkward, two-legged creature man. You don’t know what you’ve said; your fever has transported you.
ARAM. If love be the fever which you mean, kind heaven avert the cure. Let me have oil to feed that flame, and never let it be extinct till I myself am ashes.
BELIN. There was a whine! O Gad, I hate your horrid fancy. This love is the devil, and, sure, to be in love is to be possessed. ’Tis in the head, the heart, the blood, the — all over. O Gad, you are quite spoiled. I shall loathe the sight of mankind for your sake.
ARAM. Fie! this is gross affectation. A little of Bellmour’s company would change the scene.
BELIN. Filthy fellow! I wonder, cousin —
ARAM. I wonder, cousin, you should imagine I don’t perceive you love him.
BELIN. Oh, I love your hideous fancy! Ha, ha, ha, love a man!
ARAM. Love a man! yes, you would not love a beast.
BELIN. Of all beasts not an ass — which is so like your Vainlove. Lard, I have seen an ass look so chagrin, ha, ha, ha (you must pardon me, I can’t help laughing), that an absolute lover would have concluded the poor creature to have had darts, and flames, and altars, and all that in his breast. Araminta, come, I’ll talk seriously to you now; could you but see with my eyes the buffoonery of one scene of address, a lover, set out with all his equipage and appurtenances; O Gad I sure you would — But you play the game, and consequently can’t see the miscarriages obvious to every stander by.
ARAM. Yes, yes; I can see something near it when you and Bellmour meet. You don’t know that you dreamt of Bellmour last night, and called him aloud in your sleep.
BELIN. Pish, I can’t help dreaming of the devil sometimes; would you from thence infer I love him?
ARAM. But that’s not all; you caught me in your arms when you named him, and pressed me to your bosom. Sure, if I had not pinched you until you waked, you had stifled me with kisses.
BELIN. O barbarous aspersion!
ARAM. No aspersion, cousin, we are alone. Nay, I can tell you more.
BELIN. I deny it all.
ARAM. What, before you hear it?
BELIN. My denial is premeditated like your malice. Lard, cousin, you talk oddly. Whatever the matter is, O my Sol, I’m afraid you’ll follow evil courses.
ARAM. Ha, ha, ha, this is pleasant.
BELIN. You may laugh, but —
ARAM. Ha, ha, ha!
BELIN. You think the malicious grin becomes you. The devil take Bellmour. Why do you tell me of him?
ARAM. Oh, is it come out? Now you are angry, I am sure you love him. I tell nobody else, cousin. I have not betrayed you yet.
BELIN. Prithee tell it all the world; it’s false.
ARAM. Come, then, kiss and friends.
BELIN. Pish.
ARAM. Prithee don’t be so peevish.
BELIN. Prithee don’t be so impertinent. Betty!
ARAM. Ha, ha, ha!
BETTY. Did your ladyship call, madam?
BELIN. Get my hoods and tippet, and bid the footman call a chair.
ARAM. I hope you are not going out in dudgeon, cousin.
SCENE IV.
[To them] Footman.
FOOT. Madam, there are —
BELIN. Is there a chair?
FOOT. No, madam, there are Mr. Bellmour and Mr. Vainlove to wait upon your ladyship.
ARAM. Are they below?
FOOT. No, madam, they sent before, to know if you were at home.
BELIN. The visit’s to you, cousin; I suppose I am at my liberty.
ARAM. Be ready to show ’em up.
SCENE V.
[To them] Betty, with Hoods and Looking-glass.
I can’t tell, cousin; I believe we are equally concerned. But if you continue your humour, it won’t be very entertaining. (I know she’d fain be persuaded to stay.) [Aside.]
BELIN. I shall oblige you, in leaving you to the full and
free enjoyment of that conversation you admire.
BELIN. Let me see; hold the glass. Lard, I look wretchedly to-day!
ARAM. Betty, why don’t you help my cousin? [Putting on her hoods.]
BELIN. Hold off your fists, and see that he gets a chair with a high roof, or a very low seat. Stay, come back here, you Mrs. Fidget — you are so ready to go to the footman. Here, take ’em all again, my mind’s changed; I won’t go.
SCENE VI.
Araminta, Belinda.
ARAM. So, this I expected. You won’t oblige me, then, cousin, and let me have all the company to myself?
BELIN. No; upon deliberation, I have too much charity to trust you to yourself. The devil watches all opportunities; and in this favourable disposition of your mind, heaven knows how far you may be tempted: I am tender of your reputation.
ARAM. I am obliged to you. But who’s malicious now, Belinda?
BELIN. Not I; witness my heart, I stay out of pure affection.
ARAM. In my conscience I believe you.
SCENE VII.
[To them] Vainlove, Bellmour, Footman.
BELL. So, fortune be praised! To find you both within, ladies, is —
ARAM. No miracle, I hope.
BELL. Not o’ your side, madam, I confess. But my tyrant there and I, are two buckets that can never come together.
BELIN. Nor are ever like. Yet we often meet and clash.
BELL. How never like! marry, Hymen forbid. But this it is to run so extravagantly in debt; I have laid out such a world of love in your service, that you think you can never be able to pay me all. So shun me for the same reason that you would a dun.
BELIN. Ay, on my conscience, and the most impertinent and troublesome of duns — a dun for money will be quiet, when he sees his debtor has not wherewithal. But a dun for love is an eternal torment that never rests —
BELL. Until he has created love where there was none, and then gets it for his pains. For importunity in love, like importunity at Court, first creates its own interest and then pursues it for the favour.
ARAM. Favours that are got by impudence and importunity, are like discoveries from the rack, when the afflicted person, for his ease, sometimes confesses secrets his heart knows nothing of.
VAIN. I should rather think favours, so gained, to be due rewards to indefatigable devotion. For as love is a deity, he must be served by prayer.
BELIN. O Gad, would you would all pray to love, then, and let us alone.
VAIN. You are the temples of love, and ’tis through you, our devotion must be conveyed.
ARAM. Rather poor silly idols of your own making, which upon the least displeasure you forsake and set up new. Every man now changes his mistress and his religion as his humour varies, or his interest.
VAIN. O madam —
ARAM. Nay, come, I find we are growing serious, and then we are in great danger of being dull. If my music-master be not gone, I’ll entertain you with a new song, which comes pretty near my own opinion of love and your sex. Who’s there? Is Mr. Gavot gone? [Calls.]
FOOT. Only to the next door, madam. I’ll call him.
SCENE VIII.
Araminta, Belinda, Vainlove, and Bellmour.
BELL. Why, you won’t hear me with patience.
ARAM. What’s the matter, cousin?
BELL. Nothing, madam, only —
BELIN. Prithee hold thy tongue. Lard, he has so pestered me with flames and stuff, I think I sha’n’t endure the sight of a fire this twelvemonth.
BELL. Yet all can’t melt that cruel frozen heart.
BELIN. O Gad, I hate your hideous fancy — you said that once before — if you must talk impertinently, for Heaven’s sake let it be with variety; don’t come always, like the devil, wrapt in flames. I’ll not hear a sentence more, that begins with an ‘I burn’ — or an ‘I beseech you, madam.’
BELL. But tell me how you would be adored. I am very tractable.
BELIN. Then know, I would be adored in silence.
BELL. Humph, I thought so, that you might have all the talk to yourself. You had better let me speak; for if my thoughts fly to any pitch, I shall make villainous signs.
BELIN. What will you get by that; to make such signs as I won’t understand?
BELL. Ay, but if I’m tongue-tied, I must have all my actions free to — quicken your apprehension — and I — gad let me tell you, my most prevailing argument is expressed in dumb show.
SCENE IX.
[To them] Music-Master.
ARAM. Oh, I am glad we shall have a song to divert the discourse. Pray oblige us with the last new song.
SONG.
I.
Thus to a ripe, consenting maid,
Poor, old, repenting Delia said,
Would you long preserve your lover?
Would you still his goddess reign?
Never let him all discover,
Never let him much obtain.
II.
Men will admire, adore and die,
While wishing at your feet they lie:
But admitting their embraces,
Wakes ’em from the golden dream;
Nothing’s new besides our faces,
Every woman is the same.
ARAM. So, how de’e like the song, gentlemen?
BELL. Oh, very well performed; but I don’t much admire the words.
ARAM. I expected it; there’s too much truth in ’em. If Mr. Gavot will walk with us in the garden, we’ll have it once again; you may like it better at second hearing. You’ll bring my cousin.
BELL. Faith, madam, I dare not speak to her, but I’ll make signs. [Addresses Belinda in dumb show.]
BELIN. Oh, foh, your dumb rhetoric is more ridiculous than your talking impertinence, as an ape is a much more troublesome animal than a parrot.
ARAM. Ay, cousin, and ’tis a sign the creatures mimic nature well; for there are few men but do more silly things than they say.
BELL. Well, I find my apishness has paid the ransom for my speech, and set it at liberty — though, I confess, I could be well enough pleased to drive on a love-bargain in that silent manner— ’twould save a man a world of lying and swearing at the year’s end. Besides, I have had a little experience, that brings to mind —
When wit and reason both have failed to move;
Kind looks and actions (from success) do prove,
Ev’n silence may be eloquent in love.
ACT III.
SCENE I.
SCENE: The Street.
Silvia and Lucy.
SILV. Will he not come, then?
LUCY. Yes, yes; come, I warrant him, if you will go in and be ready to receive him.
SILV. Why did you not tell me? Whom mean you?
LUCY. Whom you should mean, Heartwell.
SILV. Senseless creature, I meant my Vainlove.
LUCY. You may as soon hope to recover your own maiden-head as his love. Therefore, e’en set your heart at rest, and in the name of opportunity mind your own business. Strike Heartwell home before the bait’s worn off the hook. Age will come. He nibbled fairly yesterday, and no doubt will be eager enough to-day to swallow the temptation.
SILV. Well, since there’s no remedy — yet tell me — for I would know, though to the anguish of my soul, how did he refuse? Tell me, how did he receive my letter — in anger or in scorn?
LUCY. Neither; but what was ten times worse, with damned senseless indifference. By this light I could have spit in his face. Receive it! Why, he received it as I would one of your lovers that should come empty-handed; as a court lord does his mercer’s bill or a begging dedication — he received it as if ‘t had been a letter from his wife.
SILV. What! did he not read it?
LUCY. Hummed it over, gave you his respects, and said he would take time to peruse it — but then he was in haste.
SILV. Respects, and peruse it! He’s gone, and Araminta has bewitched him from me. Oh, how the name of rival fires my blood. I could curse ’em both; eternal jealousy attend
her love, and disappointment meet his. Oh that I could revenge the torment he has caused; methinks I feel the woman strong within me, and vengeance kindles in the room of love.
Complete Works of William Congreve Page 25
