John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  Burr. I do not like that kneading of her hand though.

  Isa. Come, you are such a jealous coxcomb: I warrant you suspect there’s some amour between ‘em; there can be nothing in’t, it is so open: Pray observe.

  Burr. But how come you so officious, madam? you, that ere now had a design upon Sir Timorous for yourself?

  Isa. I thought you had a better opinion of my wit, than to think I was in earnest. My cousin may do what she pleases, but he shall never pin himself upon me, assure him.

  Const. to Fail. Sir Timorous little knows how dangerous a person he has employed in making love. — [Aloud.

  Burr. How’s this! Pray, my lady Constance, what’s the meaning of that you say to Failer?

  Fail. What luck was this, that he should overhear you! Pax on’t!

  Const. Mr Burr, I owe you not that satisfaction; what you have heard you may interpret as you please.

  Tim. The rascal has betrayed me.

  Isa. In earnest, sir, I do not like it.

  Fail. Dear Mr Burr, be pacified; you are a person I have an honour for; and this change of affairs shall not be the worse for you, egad, sir.

  Const. Bear up resolutely, Mr Failer; and maintain my favours, as becomes my servant.

  Burr. He maintain ‘em! go, you Judas; I’ll teach you what ’tis to play fast and loose with a man of war. [Kicks him.

  Tim. Lay it on, Burr.

  Isa. Spare him not, Burr.

  Const. Fear him not, servant.

  Fail. Oh, oh! would nobody were on my side! here I am praised, I vow to gad, into all the colours of the rainbow.

  Const. But remember ’tis for me.

  Burr. As you like this, proceed, sir; but, come not near me to-night, while I’m in wrath.

  [Exeunt BURR and TIMOROUS.

  Const. Come, sir; how fare you after your sore trial? You bore it with a most heroic patience.

  Isa. Brave man at arms, but weak to Balthazar!

  Fail. I hope to gad, madam, you’ll consider the merit of my sufferings. I would not have been beaten thus, but to obey that person in the world —

  Const. Heaven reward you for’t; I never shall.

  Fail. How, madam!

  Isa. Art thou such an ass, as not to perceive thou art abused? This beating I contrived for you: you know upon what account; and have yet another or two at your service. Yield up the knight in time, ’tis your best course.

  Fail. Then does not your ladyship love me, madam?

  Const. Yes, yes, I love to see you beaten.

  Isa. Well, methinks now you have had a hard bargain on’t: You have lost your cully, Sir Timorous, and your friend, Burr, and all to get a poor beating. But I’ll see it mended against next time for you.

  [Exeunt CONSTANCE and ISABELLA, laughing.

  Fail. I am so much amazed, I vow to gad, I do not understand my own condition. [Exit.

  SCENE II.

  Enter LOVEBY solus, in the dark, his sword drawn, groping out his way.

  Lov. This is the time and place he pointed me, and ’tis certainly the devil I am to meet; for no mortal creature could have that kindness for me, to supply my necessities as he has done, nor could have done it in so strange a manner. He told me he was a scholar, and had been a parson in the fanatic’s times: a shrewd suspicion it was the devil; or at least a limb of him. If the devil can send churchmen on his errands, lord have mercy on the laity! Well, let every man speak as he finds, and give the devil his due; I think him a very honest and well-natured fellow; and if I hear any man speak ill of him, except it be a parson, that gets his living by it, I wear a sword at his service. Yet, for all this, I do not much care to see him. He does not mean to hook me in for my soul, does he? If he does, I shall desire to be excused. But what a rogue am I, to suspect a person, that has dealt so much like a gentleman by me! He comes to bring me money, and would do it handsomely, that it might not be perceived. Let it be as ‘twill, I’ll seem to trust him; and, then, if he have any thing of a gentleman in him, he wills corn to deceive me, as much as I would to cozen him, if I were the devil, and he Jack Loveby.

  Enter FAILER at the other end of the stage.

  Fail. What will become of me to-night! I am just in the condition of an out-lying deer, that’s beaten from his walk for offering to rut. Enter I dare not, for Burr.

  Lov. I hear a voice, but nothing do I see. Speak, what thou art?

  Fail. There he is, watching for me. I must venture to run by him; and, when I am in, I hope my cousin Trice will defend me. The devil would not lie abroad in such a night.

  Lov. I thought it was the devil, before he named himself.

  [FAILER goes to run off, and falls into LOVEBY’S arms.

  Lov. Honest Satan, well encountered! I am sorry, with all my heart, it is so dark. ‘Faith, I should be very glad to see thee at my lodging; pr’ythee, let’s not be such strangers to one another for the time to come. And what hast thou got under thy cloak there, little Satan? I warrant thou hast brought me some more money.

  Fail. Help, help; thieves! thieves!

  [LOVEBY lets him go.

  Lov. This is Failer’s voice: How the devil was I mistaken! I must get off, ere company comes in.

  [Exit Loveby.

  Fail. Thieves! thieves!

  Enter Trice, Burr, and Timorous, undressed.

  All. Where! where!

  Fail. One was here just now; and it should be Loveby by his voice, but I have no witness.

  Trice. It cannot be; he wants no money.

  Burr. Come, sirrah; I’ll take pity on you to-night: You shall lie in the truckle-bed.

  Trice. Pox o’ this noise! it has disturbed me from such a dream of eating! — [Exeunt.

  ACT III.

  SCENE I.

  Enter Constance and Isabella.

  Const. Twas ill luck to have the meeting broke last night, just as Setstone was coming towards him.

  Isa. But, in part of recompence, you’ll have the pleasure of putting him on farther straits. O, these little mischiefs are meat and drink to me.

  Const. He shall tell me from whence he has his money: I am resolved now to try him to the utmost.

  Isa. I would devise something for him to do, which he could not possibly perform.

  Const. As I live, yonder he comes, with the jewel in his hand he promised me. Pr’ythee, leave me alone with him.

  Isa. Speed the plough! If I can make no sport, I’ll hinder none. I’ll to my knight, Sir Timorous; shortly you shall hear news from Dametas.

  [Exit ISABELLA.

  Enter LOVEBY.

  Lov. Look you, madam, here’s the jewel; do me the favour to accept it, and suppose a very good compliment delivered with it.

  Const. Believe me, a very fair jewel. But why will you be at this needless charge? What acknowledgment do you expect? You know I will not marry you.

  Lov. How the devil do I know that? I do not conceive myself, under correction, so inconsiderable a person.

  Const. You’ll alter your partial opinion, when I tell you, ’tis not a flash of wit fires me, nor is it a gay out-side can seduce me to matrimony.

  Lov. I am neither fool, nor deformed, so much as to be despicable. What do I want?

  Const. A good estate, that makes every thing handsome: Nothing can look well without it.

  Lov. Does this jewel express poverty?

  Const. I conjure you by your love to me, tell me one truth not minced by your invention, how came you by this jewel?

  Lov. ’Tis well I have a voucher. Pray ask your own jeweller, Setstone, if I did not buy it of him.

  Const. How glad you are now, you can tell a truth so near a lie. But where had you the money, that purchased it? Come — without circumstances and preambles —

  Lov. Umph — Perhaps, that may be a secret.

  Const. Say, it be one; yet he, that loved indeed, could not keep it from his mistress.

  Lov. Why should you be thus importunate?

  Const. Because I cannot think you love me, if you will not trust that t
o my knowledge, which you conceal from all the world beside.

  Lov. You urge me deeply —

  Const. Come, sweet servant, you shall tell me; I am resolved to take no denial. Why do you sigh?

  Lov. If I be blasted, it must out.

  Const. Either tell me, or resolve to take your leave for ever.

  Lov. Then know, I have my means, — I know not how.

  Const. This is a fine secret.

  Lov. Why, then, if you will needs know, ’tis from the devil; I have money from him, what, and when I please.

  Const. Have you sealed a covenant, and given away your soul for money?

  Lov. No such thing intended on my part.

  Const. How then?

  Lov. I know not yet what conditions he’ll propose. I should have spoke with him last night, but that a cross chance hindered it.

  Const. Well, my opinion is, some great lady, that is in love with you, supplies you still; and you tell me an incredible tale of the devil, merely to shadow your infidelity.

  Lov. Devise some means to try me.

  Const. I take you at your word. You shall swear freely to bestow on me whatever you shall gain this unknown way; and, for a proof, because you tell me you can have money, what, and when you please, bring me a hundred pounds ere night. — If I do marry him for a wit, I’ll see what he can do; he shall have none from me. [Aside.

  Lov. You overjoy me, madam; you shall have it, an ‘twere twice as much.

  Const. How’s this?

  Lov. The devil a cross that I have, or know where to get; but I must promise well, to save my credit. — Now, devil, if thou dost forsake me!

  [Aside.

  Const. I mistrust you; and, therefore, if you fail, I’ll have your hand to show against you; here’s ink and paper. [LOVEBY writes.

  Enter BURR, and TIMOROUS.

  Burr. What makes Loveby yonder? He’s writing somewhat.

  Tim. I’ll go see. [Looks over him.

  Lov. Have you no more manners than to overlook a man when he’s a writing? — Oh! is’t you, Sir Timorous? You may stand still; now I think on’t, you cannot read written hand.

  Burr. You are very familiar with Sir Timorous.

  Lov. So am I with his companions, sir.

  Burr. Then there’s hopes you and I may be better acquainted. I am one of his companions.

  Lov. By what title? as you are an ass, sir?

  Const. No more, Loveby.

  Lov. I need not, madam. Alas! this fellow is only the solicitor of a quarrel, ‘till he has brought it to an head; and will leave the fighting part to the courteous pledger. Do not I know these fellows? You shall as soon persuade a mastiff to fasten on a lion, as one of those to engage with a courage above their own: They know well enough whom they can beat, and who can beat them.

  Enter FAILER at a distance.

  Fail. Yonder they are: Now, would I compound for a reasonable sum, that I were friends with Burr. If I am not, I shall lose Sir Timorous.

  Const. O, servant, have I spied you? let me run into your arms.

  Fail. I renounce my lady Constance: I vow to gad, I renounce her.

  Tim. To your task, Burr.

  Enter NONSUCH and ISABELLA.

  Const. Hold, gentlemen! no sign of quarrel.

  Non. O, friends! I think I shall go mad with grief: I have lost more money.

  Lov. Would I had it: that’s all the harm I wish myself. Your servant, madam; I go about the business.

  Exit LOVEBY.

  Non. What! does he take no pity on me?

  Const. Pr’ythee, moan him, Isabella.

  Isa. Alas, alas, poor uncle! could they find in their hearts to rob him!

  Non. Five hundred pounds, out of poor six thousand pounds a-year! I, and mine, are undone for ever.

  Fail. Your own house, you think, is clear, my lord?

  Const. I dare answer for all there, as much as for myself.

  Burr. Oh, that he would but think that Loveby had it!

  Fail. If you’ll be friends with me, I’ll try what I can persuade him to.

  Burr. Here’s my hand, I will, dear heart.

  Fail. Your own house being clear, my lord, I am apt to suspect this Loveby for such a person. Did you mark how abruptly he went out?

  Non. He did indeed, Mr Failer. But why should I suspect him? his carriage is fair, and his means great; he could never live after this rate, if it were not.

  Fail. This still renders him the more suspicious: He has no land, to my knowledge.

  Burr. Well said, mischief. [Aside.

  Const. My father’s credulous, and this rogue has found the blind side of him; would Loveby heard him! [To ISABELLA.

  Fail. He has no means, and he loses at play; so that, for my part, I protest to gad, I am resolved he picks locks for his living.

  Burr. Nay, to my knowledge, he picks locks.

  Tim. And to mine.

  Fail. No longer ago than last night he met me in the dark, and offered to dive into my pockets.

  Non. That’s a main argument for suspicion.

  Fail. I remember once, when the keys of the Exchequer were lost in the Rump-time, he was sent for upon an extremity, and, egad, he opens me all the locks with the blade-bone of a breast of mutton.

  Non. Who, this Loveby?

  Fail. This very Loveby. Another time, when we had sate up very late at ombre in the country, and were hungry towards morning, he plucks me out (I vow to gad I tell you no lie) four ten-penny nails from the dairy lock with his teeth, fetches me out a mess of milk, and knocks me ‘em in again with his head, upon reputation.

  Isa. Thou boy!

  Non. What shall I do in this case? My comfort is, my gold’s all marked.

  Const. Will you suspect a gentleman of Loveby’s worth, upon the bare report of such a rascal as this Failer?

  Non. Hold thy tongue, I charge thee; upon my blessing hold thy tongue. I’ll have him apprehended before he sleeps; come along with me, Mr Failer.

  Fail. Burr, look well to Sir Timorous; I’ll be with you instantly.

  Const. I’ll watch you by your favour. [Aside. [Exeunt NONSUCH and FAILER, CONSTANCE following them.

  Isa. A word, Sir Timorous.

  Burr. [Gets behind.] She shall have a course at the knight, and come up to him, but when she is just ready to pinch, he shall give such a loose from her, shall break her heart.

  Isa. Burr there still, and watching us? There’s certainly some plot in this, but I’ll turn it to my own advantage. [Aside.

  Tim. Did you mark Burr’s retirement, madam?

  Isa Ay; his guilt, it seems, makes him shun your company.

  Tim. In what can he be guilty?

  Isa. You must needs know it; he courts your mistress.

  Tim. Is he, too, in love with my lady Constance?

  Isa. No, no: but, which is worse, he courts me.

  Tim. Why, what have I to do with you? You know I care not this for you.

  Isa. Perhaps so; but he thought you did: and good reason for it.

  Tim. What reason, madam?

  Isa. The most convincing in the world: He knew my cousin Constance never loved you: He has heard her say, you were as invincibly ignorant as a town-fop judging a new play: as shame-faced as a great overgrown school-boy: in fine, good for nothing but to be wormed out of your estate, and sacrificed to the god of laughter.

  Tim. Was your cousin so barbarous to say this?

  Isa. In his hearing.

  Tim. And would he let me proceed in my suit to her?

  Isa. For that I must excuse him; he never thought you could love one of my cousin’s humour; but took your court to her, only as a blind to your affection for me; and, being possessed with that opinion, he thought himself as worthy as you to marry me.

  Tim. He is not half so worthy; and so I’ll tell him, in a fair way.

  Burr. [To a Boy entering.] Sirrah, boy, deliver this note to madam Isabella; but be not known I am so near.

  Boy. I warrant you, sir.

  Burr. Now, Fortun
e, all I desire of thee is, that Sir Timorous may see it; if he once be brought to believe there is a kindness between her and me, it will ruin all her projects.

  Isa. [To the Boy.] From whom?

  Boy. From Mr Burr, madam.

  Isa. [Reads.] These for Madam Isabella. Dear rogue, Sir Timorous knows nothing of our kindness, nor shall for me; seem still to have designs upon him; it will hide thy affection the better to thy servant, BURR.

  Isa. Alas, poor woodcock, dost thou go a-birding? Thou hast e’en set a springe to catch thy own neck. Look you here, Sir Timorous; here’s something to confirm what I have told you. [Gives him the letter.

  Tim. D, e, a, r, dear; r, o, g, u, e, rogue. Pray, madam, read it; this written hand is such a damned pedantic thing, I could never away with it.

  Isa. He would fain have robbed you of me: Lord, Lord! to see the malice of a man.

  Tim. She has persuaded me so damnably, that I begin to think she’s my mistress indeed.

  Isa. Your mistress? why, I hope you are not to doubt that, at this time of day. I was your mistress from the first day you ever saw me.

  Tim. Nay, like enough you were so; but I vow to gad now, I was wholly ignorant of my own affection.

  Isa. And this rogue pretends he has an interest in me, merely to defeat you: Look you, look you, where he stands in ambush, like a Jesuit behind a Quaker, to see how his design will take.

  Tim. I see the rogue: Now could I find in my heart to marry you in spite to him; what think you on’t, in a fair way?

  Isa. I have brought him about as I could wish; and now I’ll make my own conditions. [Aside.] Sir Timorous, I wish you well; but he I marry must promise me to live at London: I cannot abide to be in the country, like a wild beast in the wilderness, with no Christian soul about me.

  Tim. Why, I’ll bear you company.

  Isa. I cannot endure your early hunting-matches there; to have my sleep disturbed by break of day, with heigh, Jowler, Jowler! there Venus, ah Beauty! and then a serenade of deep-mouthed curs, to answer the salutation of the huntsman, as if hell were broke loose about me: and all this to meet a pack of gentlemen savages, to ride all day, like mad-men, for the immortal fame of being first in at the hare’s death: to come upon the spur, after a trial at four in the afternoon, to destruction of cold meat and cheese, with your lewd company in boots; fall a-drinking till supper time, be carried to bed, tossed out of your cellar, and be good for nothing all the night after.