John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  Wood. Do you speak to me, sir?

  Saint. This is Mr Woodall, your new fellow-lodger.

  Limb. Cry you mercy, sir; I durst have sworn you could have spoken lingua Franca — I thought, 049 in my conscience, Pug, this had been thy Italian merchanto.

  Wood. Sir, I see you mistake me for some other: I should be happy to be better known to you.

  Limb. Sir, I beg your pardon, with all my hearto. Before George, I was caught again there! But you are so very like a paltry fellow, who came to sell Pug essences this morning, that one would swear those eyes, and that nose and mouth, belonged to that rascal.

  Wood. You must pardon me, sir, if I do not much relish the close of your compliment.

  Trick. Their eyes are nothing like: — you’ll have a quarrel.

  Limb. Not very like, I confess.

  Trick. Their nose and mouth are quite different.

  Limb. As Pug says, they are quite different, indeed; but I durst have sworn it had been he; and, therefore, once again, I demand your pardono.

  Trick. Come, let us go down; by this time Gervase has brought the smith, and then Mrs Pleasance may have her chest. Please you, sir, to bear us company.

  Wood. At your service, madam.

  Limb. Pray lead the way, sir.

  Wood. ’Tis against my will, sir; but I must leave you in possession.[Exeunt.

  ACT III.

  — SCENE I.

  Enter Saintly and Pleasance.

  Pleas. Never fear it, I’ll be a spy upon his actions; he shall neither whisper nor gloat on either of them, but I’ll ring him such a peal!

  Saint. Above all things, have a care of him yourself; for surely there is witchcraft betwixt his lips: 050 He is a wolf within the sheepfold; and therefore I will be earnest, that you may not fall.

  [Exit.

  Pleas. Why should my mother be so inquisitive about this lodger? I half suspect old Eve herself has a mind to be nibbling at the pippin. He makes love to one of them, I am confident; it may be to both; for, methinks, I should have done so, if I had been a man; but the damned petticoats have perverted me to honesty, and therefore I have a grudge to him for the privilege of his sex. He shuns me, too, and that vexes me; for, though I would deny him, I scorn he should not think me worth a civil question.

  Re-enter Woodall, with Tricksy, Mrs Brainsick, Judith, and Music.

  Mrs Brain. Come, your works, your works; they shall have the approbation of Mrs Pleasance.

  Trick. No more apologies; give Judith the words, she sings at sight.

  Jud. I’ll try my skill.

  A SONG FROM THE ITALIAN.

  By a dismal cypress lying,

  Damon cried, all pale and dying, —

  Kind is death, that ends my pain,

  But cruel she I loved in vain.

  The mossy fountains

  Murmur my trouble,

  And hollow mountains

  My groans redouble:

  Every nymph mourns me,

  Thus while I languish;

  She only scorns me,

  Who caused my anguish.

  No love returning me, but all hope denying;

  By a dismal cypress lying,

  Like a swan, so sung he dying, —

  Kind is death, that ends my pain,

  But cruel she I loved in vain.

  Pleas. By these languishing eyes, and those simagres of yours, we are given to understand, sir, you have a mistress in this company; come, make a free discovery which of them your poetry is to charm, and put the other out of pain.

  Trick. No doubt ’twas meant to Mrs Brainsick.

  Mrs Brain. We wives are despicable creatures; we know it, madam, when a mistress is in presence.

  Pleas. Why this ceremony betwixt you? ’Tis a likely proper fellow, and looks as he could people a new isle of Pines.

  Mrs Brain. ‘Twere a work of charity to convert a fair young schismatick, like you, if ‘twere but to gain you to a better opinion of the government.

  Pleas. If I am not mistaken in you, too, he has works of charity enough upon his hands already; but ’tis a willing soul, I’ll warrant him, eager upon the quarry, and as sharp as a governor of Covent-Garden.

  Wood. Sure this is not the phrase of your family! I thought to have found a sanctified sister; but I suspect now, madam, that if your mother kept a pension in your father’s time, there might be some gentleman-lodger in the house; for I humbly conceive you are of the half-strain at least.

  Pleas. For all the rudeness of your language, I am resolved to know upon what voyage you are bound; your privateer of love, you Argier’s man, that cruize up and down for prize in the Straitsmouth; 052 which of the vessels would you snap now?

  Trick. We are both under safe convoy, madam; a lover and a husband.

  Pleas. Nay, for your part, you are notably guarded, I confess; but keepers have their rooks, as well as gamesters; but they only venture under them till they pick up a sum, and then push for themselves.

  Wood. [Aside.] A plague of her suspicions; they’ll ruin me on that side.

  Pleas. So; let but little minx go proud, and the dogs in Covent-Garden have her in the wind immediately; all pursue the scent.

  Trick. Not to a boarding-house, I hope?

  Pleas. If they were wise, they would rather go to a brothel-house; for there most mistresses have left behind them their maiden-heads, of blessed memory: and those, which would not go off in that market, are carried about by bawds, and sold at doors, like stale flesh in baskets. Then, for your honesty, or justness, as you call it, to your keepers, your kept-mistress is originally a punk; and let the cat be changed into a lady never so formally, she still retains her natural property of mousing.

  Mrs. Brain. You are very sharp upon the mistresses; but I hope you’ll spare the wives.

  Pleas. Yes, as much as your husbands do after the first month of marriage; but you requite their negligence in household-duties, by making them husbands of the first head, ere the year be over.

  Wood. [Aside.] She has me there, too!

  Pleas. And as for you, young gallant —

  Wood. Hold, I beseech you! a truce for me.

  Pleas. In troth, I pity you; for you have undertaken a most difficult task, — to cozen two women, who are no babies in their art: if you bring it about, you perform as much as he that cheated the very lottery.

  Wood. Ladies, I am sorry this should happen to you for my sake: She is in a raging fit, you see; ’tis best withdrawing, till the spirit of prophecy has left her.

  Trick. I’ll take shelter in my chamber, — whither, I hope, he’ll have the grace to follow me. [Aside.

  Mrs Brain. And now I think on’t, I have some letters to dispatch. [Exit Trick. and Mrs Brain. severally.

  Pleas. Now, good John among the maids, how mean you to bestow your time? Away to your study, I advise you; invoke your muses, and make madrigals upon absence.

  Wood. I would go to China, or Japan, to be rid of that impetuous clack of yours. Farewell, thou legion of tongues in one woman!

  Pleas. Will you not stay, sir? it may be I have a little business with you.

  Wood. Yes, the second part of the same tune! Strike by yourself, sweet larum; you’re true bell-metal I warrant you.

  [Exit.

  Pleas. This spitefulness of mine will be my ruin: To rail them off, was well enough; but to talk him away, too! O tongue, tongue, thou wert given for a curse to all our sex!

  Enter Judith.

  Jud. Madam, your mother would speak with you.

  Pleas. I will not come; I’m mad, I think; I come immediately. Well, I’ll go in, and vent my passion, by railing at them, and him too.

  [Exit.

  Jud. You may enter in safety, sir; the enemy’s marched off.

  Re-enter Woodall.

  Wood. Nothing, but the love I bear thy mistress, 054 could keep me in the house with such a fury. When will the bright nymph appear?

  Jud. Immediately; I hear her coming.

  Wood. That I could find her c
oming, Mrs Judith!

  Enter Mrs Brainsick.

  You have made me languish in expectation, madam. Was it nothing, do you think, to be so near a happiness, with violent desires, and to be delayed?

  Mrs Brain. Is it nothing, do you think, for a woman of honour, to overcome the ties of virtue and reputation; to do that for you, which I thought I should never have ventured for the sake of any man?

  Wood. But my comfort is, that love has overcome. Your honour is, in other words, but your good repute; and ’tis my part to take care of that: for the fountain of a woman’s honour is in the lover, as that of the subject is in the king.

  Mrs Brain. You had concluded well, if you had been my husband: you know where our subjection lies.

  Wood. But cannot I be yours without a priest? They were cunning people, doubtless, who began that trade; to have a double hank upon us, for two worlds: that no pleasure here, or hereafter, should be had, without a bribe to them.

  Mrs Brain. Well, I’m resolved, I’ll read, against the next time I see you; for the truth is, I am not very well prepared with arguments for marriage; meanwhile, farewell.

  Wood. I stand corrected; you have reason indeed to go, if I can use my time no better: We’ll withdraw if you please, and dispute the rest within.

  Mrs Brain. Perhaps, I meant not so.

  Wood, I understand your meaning at your eyes. You’ll watch, Judith?

  Mrs Brain. Nay, if that were all, I expect not my husband till to-morrow. The truth is, he is so oddly humoured, that, if I were ill inclined, it would half justify a woman; he’s such a kind of man!

  Wood. Or, if he be not, well make him such a kind of man.

  Mrs Brain. So fantastical, so musical, his talk all rapture, and half nonsense: like a clock out of order, set him a-going, and he strikes eternally. Besides, he thinks me such a fool, that I could half resolve to revenge myself, in justification of my wit.

  Wood. Come, come, no half resolutions among lovers; I’ll hear no more of him, till I have revenged you fully. Go out and watch, Judith.

  [Exit Judith.

  Mrs Brain. Yet, I could say, in my defence, that my friends married me to him against my will.

  Wood. Then let us put your friends, too, into the quarrel: it shall go hard, but I’ll give you a revenge for them.

  Enter Judith again, hastily.

  How now? what’s the matter?

  Mrs Brain. Can’st thou not speak? hast thou seen a ghost? — As I live, she signs horns! that must be for my husband: he’s returned.

  [Judith looks ghastly, and signs horns.

  Jud. I would have told you so, if I could have spoken for fear.

  Mrs Brain. Hark, a knocking! What shall we do? [Knocking.

  There’s no dallying in this case: here you must not be found, that’s certain; but Judith hath a chamber within mine; haste quickly thither; I’ll secure the rest.

  Jud. Follow me, sir. [Exeunt Woodall, Judith.

  Knocking again. She opens: Enter Brainsick.

  Brain. What’s the matter, gentlewoman? Am I excluded from my own fortress; and by the way of barricado? Am I to dance attendance at the door, as if I were some base plebeian groom? I’ll have you know, that, when my foot assaults, the lightning and the thunder are not so terrible as the strokes: brazen gates shall tremble, and bolts of adamant dismount from off their hinges, to admit me.

  Mrs Brain. Who would have thought, that ‘nown dear would have come so soon? I was even lying down on my bed, and dreaming of him. Tum a’ me, and buss, poor dear; piddee buss.

  Brain. I nauseate these foolish feats of love.

  Mrs Brain. Nay, but why should he be so fretful now? and knows I dote on him? to leave a poor dear so long without him, and then come home in an angry humour! indeed I’ll ky.

  Brain. Pr’ythee, leave thy fulsome fondness; I have surfeited on conjugal embraces.

  Mrs Brain. I thought so: some light huswife has bewitched him from me: I was a little fool, so I was, to leave a dear behind at Barnet, when I knew the women would run mad for him.

  Brain. I have a luscious air forming, like a Pallas, in my brain-pain: and now thou com’st across my fancy, to disturb the rich ideas, with the yellow jaundice of thy jealousy.

  [Noise within.

  Hark, what noise is that within, about Judith’s bed?

  Mrs Brain. I believe, dear, she’s making it. — Would the fool would go![Aside.

  Brain. Hark, again!

  Mrs Brain. [Aside] I have a dismal apprehension in my head, that he’s giving my maid a cast of his office, in my stead. O, how it stings me!

  [Woodall sneezes.

  Brain. I’ll enter, and find the reason of this tumult.

  Mrs Brain. [Holding him.] Not for the world: there may be a thief there; and should I put ‘nown dear in danger of his life? — What shall I do? betwixt the jealousy of my love, and fear of this fool, I am distracted: I must not venture them together, whatever comes on it. [Aside.] Why Judith, I say! come forth, damsel.

  Wood. [Within.] The danger’s over; I may come out safely.

  Jud. [Within.] Are you mad? you shall not.

  Mrs Brain. [Aside.] So, now I’m ruined unavoidably.

  Brain. Whoever thou art, I have pronounced thy doom; the dreadful Brainsick bares his brawny arm in tearing terror; kneeling queens in vain should beg thy being. — Sa, sa, there.

  Mrs Brain. [Aside.] Though I believe he dares not venture in, yet I must not put it to the trial. Why Judith, come out, come out, huswife.

  Enter Judith, trembling.

  What villain have you hid within?

  Jud. O Lord, madam, what shall I say?

  Mrs Brain. How should I know what you should say? Mr Brainsick has heard a man’s voice within; if you know what he makes there, confess the truth; I am almost dead with fear, and he stands shaking.

  Brain. Terror, I! ’tis indignation shakes me. With this sabre I’ll slice him as small as atoms; he shall be doomed by the judge, and damned upon the gibbet.

  Jud. [Kneeling.] My master’s so outrageous! sweet madam, do you intercede for me, and I’ll tell you all in private.

  [Whispers.

  If I say it is a thief, he’ll call up help; I know not what of the sudden to invent.

  Mrs Brain. Let me alone. — And is this all? Why would you not confess it before, Judith? when you know I am an indulgent mistress.

  [Laughs.

  Brain. What has she confessed?

  Mrs Brain. A venial love-trespass, dear: ’tis a sweetheart of hers; one that is to marry her; and she was unwilling I should know it, so she hid him in her chamber.

  Enter Aldo.

  Aldo. What’s the matter trow? what, in martial posture, son Brainsick?

  Jud. Pray, father Aldo, do you beg my pardon of my master. I have committed a fault; I have hidden a gentleman in my chamber, who is to marry me without his friends’ consent, and therefore came in private to me.

  Aldo. That thou should’st think to keep this secret! why, I know it as well as he that made thee.

  Mrs Brain. [Aside.] Heaven be praised, for this knower of all things! Now will he lie three or four rapping volunteers, rather than be thought ignorant in any thing.

  Brain. Do you know his friends, father Aldo?

  Aldo. Know them! I think I do. His mother was an arch-deacon’s daughter; as honest a woman as ever broke bread: she and I have been cater-cousins in our youth; we have tumbled together between a pair of sheets, i’faith.

  Brain. An honest woman, and yet you two have tumbled together! those are inconsistent.

  Aldo. No matter for that.

  Mrs Brain. He blunders; I must help him. [Aside.] I warrant ’twas before marriage, that you were so great.

  Aldo. Before George, and so it was: for she had the prettiest black mole upon her left ancle, it does me good to think on’t! His father was squire What-d’ye-call-him, of what-d’ye-call-em shire. What think you, little Judith? do I know him now?

  Jud. I suppose you may be mista
ken: my servant’s father is a knight of Hampshire.

  Aldo. I meant of Hampshire. But that I should forget he was a knight, when I got him knighted, at the king’s coming in! Two fat bucks, I am sure he sent me.

  Brain. And what’s his name?

  Aldo. Nay, for that, you must excuse me; I must not disclose little Judith’s secrets.

  Mrs Brain. All this while the poor gentleman is left in pain: we must let him out in secret; for I believe the young fellow is so bashful, he would not willingly be seen.

  Jud. The best way will be, for father Aldo to lend me the key of his door, which opens into my chamber; and so I can convey him out.

  Aldo. [Giving her a key.] Do so, daughter. Not a word of my familiarity with his mother, to prevent bloodshed betwixt us: but I have her name down in my almanack, I warrant her.

  Jud. What, kiss and tell, father Aldo? kiss and tell![Exit.

  Mrs Brain. I’ll go and pass an hour with Mrs Tricksy.[Exit.

  Enter Limberham.

  Brain. What, the lusty lover Limberham!

  Enter Woodall, at another door.

  Aldo. O here’s a monsieur, new come over, and a fellow-lodger; I must endear you two to one another.

  Brain. Sir, ’tis my extreme ambition to be better 060 known to you; you come out of the country I adore. And how does the dear Battist? I long for some of his new compositions in the last opera. A propos! I have had the most happy invention this morning, and a tune trouling in my head; I rise immediately in my night-gown and slippers, down I put the notes slap-dash, made words to them like lightning; and I warrant you have them at the circle in the evening.

  Wood. All were complete, sir, if S. Andre would make steps to them.

  Brain. Nay, thanks to my genius, that care’s over: you shall see, you shall see. But first the air. [Sings.] Is it not very fine? Ha, messieurs!

  Limb. The close of it is the most ravishing I ever heard!

  Brain. I dwell not on your commendations. What say you, sir? [To Wood.] Is it not admirable? Do you enter into it?

  Wood. Most delicate cadence!

  Brain. Gad, I think so, without vanity. Battist and I have but one soul. But the close, the close! [Sings it thrice over.] I have words too upon the air; but I am naturally so bashful!

  Wood. Will you oblige me, sir?

  Brain. You might command me, sir; for I sing too en cavalier: but —