FAIN. The means, the means?
MRS. MAR. Discover to my lady your wife’s conduct; threaten to part with her. My lady loves her, and will come to any composition to save her reputation. Take the opportunity of breaking it just upon the discovery of this imposture. My lady will be enraged beyond bounds, and sacrifice niece, and fortune and all at that conjuncture. And let me alone to keep her warm: if she should flag in her part, I will not fail to prompt her.
FAIN. Faith, this has an appearance.
MRS. MAR. I’m sorry I hinted to my lady to endeavour a match between Millamant and Sir Wilfull; that may be an obstacle.
FAIN. Oh, for that matter, leave me to manage him; I’ll disable him for that, he will drink like a Dane. After dinner I’ll set his hand in.
MRS. MAR. Well, how do you stand affected towards your lady?
FAIN. Why, faith, I’m thinking of it. Let me see. I am married already; so that’s over. My wife has played the jade with me; well, that’s over too. I never loved her, or if I had, why that would have been over too by this time. Jealous of her I cannot be, for I am certain; so there’s an end of jealousy. Weary of her I am and shall be. No, there’s no end of that; no, no, that were too much to hope. Thus far concerning my repose. Now for my reputation: as to my own, I married not for it; so that’s out of the question. And as to my part in my wife’s — why, she had parted with hers before; so, bringing none to me, she can take none from me: ’tis against all rule of play that I should lose to one who has not wherewithal to stake.
MRS. MAR. Besides you forget, marriage is honourable.
FAIN. Hum! Faith, and that’s well thought on: marriage is honourable, as you say; and if so, wherefore should cuckoldom be a discredit, being derived from so honourable a root?
MRS. MAR. Nay, I know not; if the root be honourable, why not the branches?
FAIN. So, so; why this point’s clear. Well, how do we proceed?
MRS. MAR. I will contrive a letter which shall be delivered to my lady at the time when that rascal who is to act Sir Rowland is with her. It shall come as from an unknown hand — for the less I appear to know of the truth the better I can play the incendiary. Besides, I would not have Foible provoked if I could help it, because, you know, she knows some passages. Nay, I expect all will come out. But let the mine be sprung first, and then I care not if I am discovered.
FAIN. If the worst come to the worst, I’ll turn my wife to grass. I have already a deed of settlement of the best part of her estate, which I wheedled out of her, and that you shall partake at least.
MRS. MAR. I hope you are convinced that I hate Mirabell now? You’ll be no more jealous?
FAIN. Jealous? No, by this kiss. Let husbands be jealous, but let the lover still believe: or if he doubt, let it be only to endear his pleasure, and prepare the joy that follows, when he proves his mistress true. But let husbands’ doubts convert to endless jealousy; or if they have belief, let it corrupt to superstition and blind credulity. I am single and will herd no more with ’em. True, I wear the badge, but I’ll disown the order. And since I take my leave of ’em, I care not if I leave ’em a common motto to their common crest.
All husbands must or pain or shame endure;
The wise too jealous are, fools too secure.
ACT IV. — SCENE I.
Scene Continues.
Lady Wishfort and Foible.
LADY. Is Sir Rowland coming, say’st thou, Foible? And are things in order?
FOIB. Yes, madam. I have put wax-lights in the sconces, and placed the footmen in a row in the hall, in their best liveries, with the coachman and postillion to fill up the equipage.
LADY. Have you pulvilled the coachman and postillion, that they may not stink of the stable when Sir Rowland comes by?
FOIB. Yes, madam.
LADY. And are the dancers and the music ready, that he may be entertained in all points with correspondence to his passion?
FOIB. All is ready, madam.
LADY. And — well — and how do I look, Foible?
FOIB. Most killing well, madam.
LADY. Well, and how shall I receive him? In what figure shall I give his heart the first impression? There is a great deal in the first impression. Shall I sit? No, I won’t sit, I’ll walk, — ay, I’ll walk from the door upon his entrance, and then turn full upon him. No, that will be too sudden. I’ll lie, — ay, I’ll lie down. I’ll receive him in my little dressing-room; there’s a couch — yes, yes, I’ll give the first impression on a couch. I won’t lie neither, but loll and lean upon one elbow, with one foot a little dangling off, jogging in a thoughtful way. Yes; and then as soon as he appears, start, ay, start and be surprised, and rise to meet him in a pretty disorder. Yes; oh, nothing is more alluring than a levee from a couch in some confusion. It shows the foot to advantage, and furnishes with blushes and re-composing airs beyond comparison. Hark! There’s a coach.
FOIB. ’Tis he, madam.
LADY. Oh dear, has my nephew made his addresses to Millamant? I ordered him.
FOIB. Sir Wilfull is set in to drinking, madam, in the parlour.
LADY. Ods my life, I’ll send him to her. Call her down, Foible; bring her hither. I’ll send him as I go. When they are together, then come to me, Foible, that I may not be too long alone with Sir Rowland.
SCENE II.
Mrs. Millamant, Mrs. Fainall, Foible.
FOIB. Madam, I stayed here to tell your ladyship that Mr. Mirabell has waited this half hour for an opportunity to talk with you; though my lady’s orders were to leave you and Sir Wilfull together. Shall I tell Mr. Mirabell that you are at leisure?
MILLA. No. What would the dear man have? I am thoughtful and would amuse myself; bid him come another time.
There never yet was woman made,
Nor shall, but to be cursed.
[Repeating and walking about.]
That’s hard!
MRS. FAIN. You are very fond of Sir John Suckling to-day, Millamant, and the poets.
MILLA. He? Ay, and filthy verses. So I am.
FOIB. Sir Wilfull is coming, madam. Shall I send Mr. Mirabell away?
MILLA. Ay, if you please, Foible, send him away, or send him hither, just as you will, dear Foible. I think I’ll see him. Shall I? Ay, let the wretch come.
Thyrsis, a youth of the inspired train.
[Repeating]
Dear Fainall, entertain Sir Wilfull: — thou hast philosophy to undergo a fool; thou art married and hast patience. I would confer with my own thoughts.
MRS. FAIN. I am obliged to you that you would make me your proxy in this affair, but I have business of my own.
SCENE III.
[To them] Sir Wilfull.
MRS. FAIN. O Sir Wilfull, you are come at the critical instant. There’s your mistress up to the ears in love and contemplation; pursue your point, now or never.
SIR WIL. Yes, my aunt will have it so. I would gladly have been encouraged with a bottle or two, because I’m somewhat wary at first, before I am acquainted. [This while Millamant walks about repeating to herself.] But I hope, after a time, I shall break my mind — that is, upon further acquaintance. — So for the present, cousin, I’ll take my leave. If so be you’ll be so kind to make my excuse, I’ll return to my company —
MRS. FAIN. Oh, fie, Sir Wilfull! What, you must not be daunted.
SIR WIL. Daunted? No, that’s not it; it is not so much for that — for if so be that I set on’t I’ll do’t. But only for the present, ’tis sufficient till further acquaintance, that’s all — your servant.
MRS. FAIN. Nay, I’ll swear you shall never lose so favourable an opportunity, if I can help it. I’ll leave you together and lock the door.
SCENE IV.
Sir Wilfull, Millamant.
SIR WIL. Nay, nay, cousin. I have forgot my gloves. What d’ye do? ‘Sheart, a has locked the door indeed, I think. — Nay, cousin Fainall, open the door. Pshaw, what a vixen trick is this? Nay, now a has seen me too. — Cousin, I made bold to pass through as it we
re — I think this door’s enchanted.
MILLA. [repeating]: —
I prithee spare me, gentle boy,
Press me no more for that slight toy.
SIR WIL. Anan? Cousin, your servant.
MILLA. That foolish trifle of a heart —
Sir Wilfull!
SIR WIL. Yes — your servant. No offence, I hope, cousin?
MILLA. [repeating]: —
I swear it will not do its part,
Though thou dost thine, employ’st thy power and art.
Natural, easy Suckling!
SIR WIL. Anan? Suckling? No such suckling neither, cousin, nor stripling: I thank heaven I’m no minor.
MILLA. Ah, rustic, ruder than Gothic.
SIR WIL. Well, well, I shall understand your lingo one of these days, cousin; in the meanwhile I must answer in plain English.
MILLA. Have you any business with me, Sir Wilfull?
SIR WIL. Not at present, cousin. Yes, I made bold to see, to come and know if that how you were disposed to fetch a walk this evening; if so be that I might not be troublesome, I would have sought a walk with you.
MILLA. A walk? What then?
SIR WIL. Nay, nothing. Only for the walk’s sake, that’s all.
MILLA. I nauseate walking: ’tis a country diversion; I loathe the country and everything that relates to it.
SIR WIL. Indeed! Hah! Look ye, look ye, you do? Nay, ’tis like you may. Here are choice of pastimes here in town, as plays and the like, that must be confessed indeed —
MILLA. Ah, l’étourdi! I hate the town too.
SIR WIL. Dear heart, that’s much. Hah! that you should hate ’em both! Hah! ’tis like you may! There are some can’t relish the town, and others can’t away with the country, ’tis like you may be one of those, cousin.
MILLA. Ha, ha, ha! Yes, ’tis like I may. You have nothing further to say to me?
SIR WIL. Not at present, cousin. ’Tis like when I have an opportunity to be more private — I may break my mind in some measure — I conjecture you partly guess. However, that’s as time shall try. But spare to speak and spare to speed, as they say.
MILLA. If it is of no great importance, Sir Wilfull, you will oblige me to leave me: I have just now a little business.
SIR WIL. Enough, enough, cousin. Yes, yes, all a case. When you’re disposed, when you’re disposed. Now’s as well as another time; and another time as well as now. All’s one for that. Yes, yes; if your concerns call you, there’s no haste: it will keep cold as they say. Cousin, your servant. I think this door’s locked.
MILLA. You may go this way, sir.
SIR WIL. Your servant; then with your leave I’ll return to my company.
MILLA. Ay, ay; ha, ha, ha!
Like Phœbus sung the no less am’rous boy.
SCENE V.
Mrs. Millamant, Mirabell.
MIRA. Like Daphne she, as lovely and as coy.
Do you lock yourself up from me, to make my search more curious? Or is this pretty artifice contrived, to signify that here the chase must end, and my pursuit be crowned, for you can fly no further?
MILLA. Vanity! No — I’ll fly and be followed to the last moment; though I am upon the very verge of matrimony, I expect you should solicit me as much as if I were wavering at the grate of a monastery, with one foot over the threshold. I’ll be solicited to the very last; nay, and afterwards.
MIRA. What, after the last?
MILLA. Oh, I should think I was poor and had nothing to bestow if I were reduced to an inglorious ease, and freed from the agreeable fatigues of solicitation.
MIRA. But do not you know that when favours are conferred upon instant and tedious solicitation, that they diminish in their value, and that both the giver loses the grace, and the receiver lessens his pleasure?
MILLA. It may be in things of common application, but never, sure, in love. Oh, I hate a lover that can dare to think he draws a moment’s air independent on the bounty of his mistress. There is not so impudent a thing in nature as the saucy look of an assured man confident of success: the pedantic arrogance of a very husband has not so pragmatical an air. Ah, I’ll never marry, unless I am first made sure of my will and pleasure.
MIRA. Would you have ’em both before marriage? Or will you be contented with the first now, and stay for the other till after grace?
MILLA. Ah, don’t be impertinent. My dear liberty, shall I leave thee? My faithful solitude, my darling contemplation, must I bid you then adieu? Ay-h, adieu. My morning thoughts, agreeable wakings, indolent slumbers, all ye douceurs, ye sommeils du matin, adieu. I can’t do’t, ’tis more than impossible — positively, Mirabell, I’ll lie a-bed in a morning as long as I please.
MI RA. Then I’ll get up in a morning as early as I please.
MILLA. Ah! Idle creature, get up when you will. And d’ye hear, I won’t be called names after I’m married; positively I won’t be called names.
MIRA. Names?
MILLA. Ay, as wife, spouse, my dear, joy, jewel, love, sweetheart, and the rest of that nauseous cant, in which men and their wives are so fulsomely familiar — I shall never bear that. Good Mirabell, don’t let us be familiar or fond, nor kiss before folks, like my Lady Fadler and Sir Francis; nor go to Hyde Park together the first Sunday in a new chariot, to provoke eyes and whispers, and then never be seen there together again, as if we were proud of one another the first week, and ashamed of one another ever after. Let us never visit together, nor go to a play together, but let us be very strange and well-bred. Let us be as strange as if we had been married a great while, and as well-bred as if we were not married at all.
MIRA. Have you any more conditions to offer? Hitherto your demands are pretty reasonable.
MILLA. Trifles; as liberty to pay and receive visits to and from whom I please; to write and receive letters, without interrogatories or wry faces on your part; to wear what I please, and choose conversation with regard only to my own taste; to have no obligation upon me to converse with wits that I don’t like, because they are your acquaintance, or to be intimate with fools, because they may be your relations. Come to dinner when I please, dine in my dressing-room when I’m out of humour, without giving a reason. To have my closet inviolate; to be sole empress of my tea-table, which you must never presume to approach without first asking leave. And lastly, wherever I am, you shall always knock at the door before you come in. These articles subscribed, if I continue to endure you a little longer, I may by degrees dwindle into a wife.
MIRA. Your bill of fare is something advanced in this latter account. Well, have I liberty to offer conditions: — that when you are dwindled into a wife, I may not be beyond measure enlarged into a husband?
MILLA. You have free leave: propose your utmost, speak and spare not.
MIRA. I thank you. Imprimis, then, I covenant that your acquaintance be general; that you admit no sworn confidant or intimate of your own sex; no she friend to screen her affairs under your countenance, and tempt you to make trial of a mutual secrecy. No decoy-duck to wheedle you a fop-scrambling to the play in a mask, then bring you home in a pretended fright, when you think you shall be found out, and rail at me for missing the play, and disappointing the frolic which you had to pick me up and prove my constancy.
MILLA. Detestable imprimis! I go to the play in a mask!
MIRA. Item, I article, that you continue to like your own face as long as I shall, and while it passes current with me, that you endeavour not to new coin it. To which end, together with all vizards for the day, I prohibit all masks for the night, made of oiled skins and I know not what — hog’s bones, hare’s gall, pig water, and the marrow of a roasted cat. In short, I forbid all commerce with the gentlewomen in what-d’ye-call-it court. Item, I shut my doors against all bawds with baskets, and pennyworths of muslin, china, fans, atlases, etc. Item, when you shall be breeding —
MILLA. Ah, name it not!
MIRA. Which may be presumed, with a blessing on our endeavours —
MILLA.
Odious endeavours!
MIRA. I denounce against all strait lacing, squeezing for a shape, till you mould my boy’s head like a sugar-loaf, and instead of a man-child, make me father to a crooked billet. Lastly, to the dominion of the tea-table I submit; but with proviso, that you exceed not in your province, but restrain yourself to native and simple tea-table drinks, as tea, chocolate, and coffee. As likewise to genuine and authorised tea-table talk, such as mending of fashions, spoiling reputations, railing at absent friends, and so forth. But that on no account you encroach upon the men’s prerogative, and presume to drink healths, or toast fellows; for prevention of which, I banish all foreign forces, all auxiliaries to the tea-table, as orange-brandy, all aniseed, cinnamon, citron, and Barbadoes waters, together with ratafia and the most noble spirit of clary. But for cowslip-wine, poppy-water, and all dormitives, those I allow. These provisos admitted, in other things I may prove a tractable and complying husband.
Complete Works of William Congreve Page 58
