CARE. Is not that he now gone out with my lord?
CYNT. Yes.
CARE. By heaven, there’s treachery. The confusion that I saw your father in, my Lady Touchwood’s passion, with what imperfectly I overheard between my lord and her, confirm me in my fears. Where’s Mellefont?
CYNT. Here he comes.
SCENE XV.
[To them] Mellefont.
CYNT. Did Maskwell tell you anything of the chaplain’s chamber?
MEL. No. My dear, will you get ready? The things are all in my chamber; I want nothing but the habit.
CARE. You are betrayed, and Maskwell is the villain I always thought him.
CYNT. When you were gone, he said his mind was changed, and bid me meet him in the chaplain’s room, pretending immediately to follow you and give you notice.
MEL. How?
CARE. There’s Saygrace tripping by with a bundle under his arm. He cannot be ignorant that Maskwell means to use his chamber; let’s follow and examine him.
MEL. ’Tis loss of time; I cannot think him false.
SCENE XVI.
Cynthia, Lord Touchwood.
CYNT. My lord musing!
LORD TOUCH. He has a quick invention, if this were suddenly designed. Yet he says he had prepared my chaplain already.
CYNT. How’s this? Now I fear indeed.
LORD TOUCH. Cynthia here! Alone, fair cousin, and melancholy?
CYNT. Your lordship was thoughtful.
LORD TOUCH. My thoughts were on serious business not worth your hearing.
CYNT. Mine were on treachery concerning you, and may be worth your hearing.
LORD TOUCH. Treachery concerning me? Pray be plain. Hark! What noise?
MASK. (within) Will you not hear me?
LADY TOUCH. (within) No, monster! traitor! No.
CYNT. My lady and Maskwell! This may be lucky. My lord, let me entreat you to stand behind this screen and listen: perhaps this chance may give you proof of what you ne’er could have believed from my suspicions.
SCENE XVII.
Lady Touchwood with a dagger; Maskwell; Cynthia and Lord Touchwood abscond, listening.
LADY TOUCH. You want but leisure to invent fresh falsehood, and soothe me to a fond belief of all your fictions: but I will stab the lie that’s forming in your heart, and save a sin, in pity to your soul.
MASK. Strike then, since you will have it so.
LADY TOUCH. Ha! A steady villain to the last.
MASK. Come, why do you dally with me thus?
LADY TOUCH. Thy stubborn temper shocks me, and you knew it would; this is cunning all, and not courage. No; I know thee well, but thou shalt miss thy aim.
MASK. Ha, ha, ha!
LADY TOUCH. Ha! Do you mock my rage? Then this shall punish your fond, rash contempt. Again smile! [Goes to strike.] And such a smile as speaks in ambiguity! Ten thousand meanings lurk in each corner of that various face.
Oh! that they were written in thy heart,
That I, with this, might lay thee open to my sight!
But then ‘twill be too late to know —
Thou hast, thou hast found the only way to turn my rage. Too well thou knowest my jealous soul could never bear uncertainty. Speak, then, and tell me. Yet are you silent. Oh, I am wildered in all passions. But thus my anger melts. [Weeps.] Here, take this poniard, for my very spirits faint, and I want strength to hold it; thou hast disarmed my soul. [Gives the dagger.]
LORD TOUCH. Amazement shakes me. Where will this end?
MASK. So, ’tis well — let your wild fury have a vent; and when you have temper, tell me.
LADY TOUCH. Now, now, now I am calm and can hear you.
MASK. [Aside.] Thanks, my invention; and now I have it for you. First, tell me what urged you to this violence: for your passion broke in such imperfect terms, that yet I am to learn the cause.
LADY TOUCH. My lord himself surprised me with the news you were to marry Cynthia, that you had owned our love to him, and his indulgence would assist you to attain your ends.
CYNT. How, my lord?
LORD TOUCH. Pray forbear all resentments for a while, and let us hear the rest.
MASK. I grant you in appearance all is true; I seemed consenting to my lord — nay, transported with the blessing. But could you think that I, who had been happy in your loved embraces, could e’er be fond of an inferior slavery?
LORD TOUCH. Ha! Oh, poison to my ears! What do I hear?
CYNT. Nay, good my lord, forbear resentment; let us hear it out.
LORD TOUCH. Yes, I will contain, though I could burst.
MASK. I, that had wantoned in the rich circle of your world of love, could be confined within the puny province of a girl? No. Yet though I dote on each last favour more than all the rest, though I would give a limb for every look you cheaply throw away on any other object of your love: yet so far I prize your pleasures o’er my own, that all this seeming plot that I have laid has been to gratify your taste and cheat the world, to prove a faithful rogue to you.
LADY TOUCH. If this were true. But how can it be?
MASK. I have so contrived that Mellefont will presently, in the chaplain’s habit, wait for Cynthia in your dressing-room; but I have put the change upon her, that she may be other where employed. Do you procure her night-gown, and with your hoods tied over your face, meet him in her stead. You may go privately by the back stairs, and, unperceived, there you may propose to reinstate him in his uncle’s favour, if he’ll comply with your desires — his case is desperate, and I believe he’ll yield to any conditions. If not here, take this; you may employ it better than in the heart of one who is nothing when not yours. [Gives the dagger.]
LADY TOUCH. Thou can’st deceive everybody. Nay, thou hast deceived me; but ’tis as I would wish. Trusty villain! I could worship thee.
MASK. No more; it wants but a few minutes of the time; and Mellefont’s love will carry him there before his hour.
LADY TOUCH. I go, I fly, incomparable Maskwell!
SCENE XVIII.
Maskwell, Cynthia, Lord Touchwood.
MASK. So, this was a pinch indeed, my invention was upon the rack, and made discovery of her last plot. I hope Cynthia and my chaplain will be ready; I’ll prepare for the expedition.
SCENE XIX.
Cynthia and Lord Touchwood.
CYNT. Now, my lord?
LORD TOUCH. Astonishment binds up my rage! Villainy upon villainy! Heavens, what a long track of dark deceit has this discovered! I am confounded when I look back, and want a clue to guide me through the various mazes of unheard-of treachery. My wife! Damnation! My hell!
CYNT. My lord, have patience, and be sensible how great our happiness is, that this discovery was not made too late.
LORD TOUCH. I thank you, yet it may be still too late, if we don’t presently prevent the execution of their plots; — ha, I’ll do’t. Where’s Mellefont, my poor injured nephew? How shall I make him ample satisfaction?
CYNT. I dare answer for him.
LORD TOUCH. I do him fresh wrong to question his forgiveness; for I know him to be all goodness. Yet my wife! Damn her: — she’ll think to meet him in that dressing-room. Was’t not so? And Maskwell will expect you in the chaplain’s chamber. For once, I’ll add my plot too: — let us haste to find out, and inform my nephew; and do you, quickly as you can, bring all the company into this gallery. I’ll expose the strumpet, and the villain.
SCENE XX.
Lord Froth and Sir Paul.
LORD FROTH. By heavens, I have slept an age. Sir Paul, what o’clock is’t? Past eight, on my conscience; my lady’s is the most inviting couch, and a slumber there is the prettiest amusement! But where’s all the company?
SIR PAUL. The company, gads-bud, I don’t know, my lord, but here’s the strangest revolution, all turned topsy turvy; as I hope for providence.
LORD FROTH. O heavens, what’s the matter? Where’s my wife?
SIR PAUL. All turned topsy turvy as sure as a gun.
LORD FROTH.
How do you mean? My wife?
SIR PAUL. The strangest posture of affairs!
LORD FROTH. What, my wife?
SIR PAUL. No, no, I mean the family. Your lady’s affairs may be in a very good posture; I saw her go into the garden with Mr. Brisk.
LORD FROTH. How? Where, when, what to do?
SIR PAUL. I suppose they have been laying their heads together.
LORD FROTH. How?
SIR PAUL. Nay, only about poetry, I suppose, my lord; making couplets.
LORD FROTH. Couplets.
SIR PAUL. Oh, here they come.
SCENE XXI.
[To them] Lady Froth, Brisk.
BRISK. My lord, your humble servant; Sir Paul, yours, — the finest night!
LADY FROTH. My dear, Mr. Brisk and I have been star-gazing, I don’t know how long.
SIR PAUL. Does it not tire your ladyship? Are not you weary with looking up?
LADY FROTH. Oh, no, I love it violently. My dear, you’re melancholy.
LORD FROTH. No, my dear; I’m but just awake.
LADY FROTH. Snuff some of my spirit of hartshorn.
LORD FROTH. I’ve some of my own, thank you, dear.
LADY FROTH. Well, I swear, Mr. Brisk, you understood astronomy like an old Egyptian.
BRISK. Not comparably to your ladyship; you are the very Cynthia of the skies, and queen of stars.
LADY FROTH. That’s because I have no light but what’s by reflection from you, who are the sun.
BRISK. Madam, you have eclipsed me quite, let me perish. I can’t answer that.
LADY FROTH. No matter. Hark ‘ee, shall you and I make an almanac together?
BRISK. With all my soul. Your ladyship has made me the man in’t already, I’m so full of the wounds which you have given.
LADY FROTH. O finely taken! I swear now you are even with me. O Parnassus, you have an infinite deal of wit.
SIR PAUL. So he has, gads-bud, and so has your ladyship.
SCENE XXII.
[To them] Lady Plyant, Careless, Cynthia.
LADY PLYANT. You tell me most surprising things; bless me, who would ever trust a man? Oh my heart aches for fear they should be all deceitful alike.
CARE. You need not fear, madam, you have charms to fix inconstancy itself.
LADY PLYANT. O dear, you make me blush.
LORD FROTH. Come, my dear, shall we take leave of my lord and lady?
CYNT. They’ll wait upon your lordship presently.
LADY FROTH. Mr. Brisk, my coach shall set you down.
ALL. What’s the matter? [A great shriek from the corner of the stage.]
SCENE XXIII.
[To them] Lady Touchwood runs out affrighted, my lord after her, like a parson.
LADY TOUCH. Oh, I’m betrayed. Save me, help me!
LORD TOUCH. Now what evasion, strumpet?
LADY TOUCH. Stand off, let me go.
LORD TOUCH. Go, and thy own infamy pursue thee. You stare as you were all amazed, — I don’t wonder at it, — but too soon you’ll know mine, and that woman’s shame.
SCENE the last.
Lord Touchwood, Lord Froth, Lady Froth, Lady Plyant, Sir Paul, Cynthia, Mellefont, Maskwell, Mellefont disguised in a parson’s habit and pulling in Maskwell.
MEL. Nay, by heaven you shall be seen. Careless, your hand. Do you hold down your head? Yes, I am your chaplain, look in the face of your injured friend; thou wonder of all falsehood.
LORD TOUCH. Are you silent, monster?
MEL. Good heavens! How I believed and loved this man! Take him hence, for he’s a disease to my sight.
LORD TOUCH. Secure that manifold villain. [Servants seize him.]
CARE. Miracle of ingratitude!
BRISK. This is all very surprising, let me perish.
LADY FROTH. You know I told you Saturn looked a little more angry than usual.
LORD TOUCH. We’ll think of punishment at leisure, but let me hasten to do justice in rewarding virtue and wronged innocence. Nephew, I hope I have your pardon, and Cynthia’s.
MEL. We are your lordship’s creatures.
LORD TOUCH. And be each other’s comfort. Let me join your hands. Unwearied nights, and wishing days attend you both; mutual love, lasting health, and circling joys, tread round each happy year of your long lives.
Let secret villany from hence be warned;
Howe’er in private mischiefs are conceived,
Torture and shame attend their open birth;
Like vipers in the womb, base treachery lies,
Still gnawing that, whence first it did arise;
No sooner born, but the vile parent dies.
[Exeunt Omnes.]
EPILOGUE.
Spoken by Mrs. Mountford.
Could poets but foresee how plays would take,
Then they could tell what epilogues to make;
Whether to thank or blame their audience most.
But that late knowledge does much hazard cost:
Till dice are thrown, there’s nothing won, nor lost.
So, till the thief has stolen, he cannot know
Whether he shall escape the law, or no.
But poets run much greater hazards far
Than they who stand their trials at the bar.
The law provides a curb for it’s own fury,
And suffers judges to direct the jury:
But in this court, what difference does appear!
For every one’s both judge and jury here;
Nay, and what’s worse, an executioner.
All have a right and title to some part,
Each choosing that in which he has most art.
The dreadful men of learning all confound,
Unless the fable’s good, and moral sound.
The vizor-masks, that are in pit and gallery,
Approve, or damn, the repartee and raillery.
The lady critics, who are better read,
Inquire if characters are nicely bred;
If the soft things are penned and spoke with grace;
They judge of action too, and time, and place;
In which we do not doubt but they’re discerning,
For that’s a kind of assignation learning.
Beaus judge of dress; the witlings judge of songs;
The cuckoldom, of ancient right, to cits belongs.
Thus poor poets the favour are denied
Even to make exceptions, when they’re tried.
’Tis hard that they must every one admit:
Methinks I see some faces in the pit
Which must of consequence be foes to wit.
You who can judge, to sentence may proceed;
But though he cannot write, let him be freed
At least from their contempt who cannot read.
Love for Love
Love for Love premiered on 30 April 1695 at Betterton’s Co., Lincoln’s Inn Fields. A comical farce enlivened by its witty dialogue and humorous characters, it was probably more successful in its day than The Way of the World, now considered Congreve’s best play. The young gentleman Valentine has fallen under the displeasure of his father due to his extravagance and is besieged by creditors. His father, Sir Sampson Legend, offers him £4,000, just enough to pay his debts, if he will sign a bond engaging to make over his right of his inheritance to his younger brother Ben. In desperation he gives in and signs the bond…
Eighteenth century engraving of Congreve
CONTENTS
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE CHARLES, EARL OF DORSET AND MIDDLESEX, LORD CHAMBERLAIN OF HIS MAJESTY’S HOUSEHOLD, AND KNIGHT OF THE MOST NOBLE ORDER OF THE GARTER, ETC.
PROLOGUE.
EPILOGUE.
ACT I. — SCENE I.
SCENE II.
SCENE III.
SCENE IV.
SCENE V.
SCENE VI.
SCENE VII.
SCENE VIII.
SCENE IX.
SCENE X.
SCENE XI.
SCENE XII.
; SCENE XIII.
SCENE XIV.
SCENE XIV.
ACT II. — SCENE I.
SCENE II.
SCENE III.
SCENE IV.
SCENE V.
SCENE VI.
SCENE VII.
SCENE VIII.
SCENE IX.
SCENE X.
SCENE XI.
ACT III. — SCENE I.
SCENE II.
SCENE III.
Complete Works of William Congreve Page 40
