John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  Dom. Second thoughts, they say, are best: I’ll consider of it once again. [Drinks.] It has a most delicious flavour with it. Gad forgive me, I have forgotten to drink your health, Son, I am not used to be so unmannerly.

  [Drinks again.

  Lor. No, I’ll be sworn, by what I see of you, you are not: — To the bottom; — I warrant him a true church-man. — Now, father, to our business: ’tis agreeable to your calling; I do intend to do an act of charity.

  Dom. And I love to hear of charity; ’tis a comfortable subject.

  Lor. Being in the late battle, in great hazard of my life, I recommended my person to good Saint Dominick.

  Dom. You could not have pitched upon a better; he’s a sure card; I never knew him fail his votaries.

  Lor. Troth, I also made bold to strike up a bargain with him, that, if I escaped with life and plunder, I would present some brother of his order with part of the booty taken from the infidels, to be employed in charitable uses.

  Dom. There you hit him; Saint Dominick loves 412 charity exceedingly; that argument never fails with him.

  Lor. The spoils were mighty; and I scorn to wrong him of a farthing. To make short my story; I inquired among the jacobins for an almoner, and the general fame has pointed out your reverence as the worthiest man: — here are fifty good pieces in this purse.

  Dom. How, fifty pieces? ’tis too much, too much in conscience.

  Lor. Here, take them, father.

  Dom. No, in troth, I dare not; do not tempt me to break my vow of poverty.

  Lor. If you are modest, I must force you; for I am strongest.

  Dom. Nay, if you compel me, there’s no contending; but, will you set your strength against a decrepit, poor, old man? [Takes the Purse.] As I said, ’tis too great a bounty; but Saint Dominick shall owe you another scape: I’ll put him in mind of you.

  Lor. If you please, father, we will not trouble him ‘till the next battle. But you may do me a greater kindness, by conveying my prayers to a female saint.

  Dom. A female saint! good now, good now, how your devotions jump with mine! I always loved the female saints.

  Lor. I mean, a female, mortal, married-woman-saint: Look upon the superscription of this note; you know Don Gomez’s wife.

  [Gives him a Letter.

  Dom. Who? Donna Elvira? I think I have some reason; I am her ghostly father.

  Lor. I have some business of importance with her, which I have communicated in this paper; but her husband is so horribly given to be jealous, —

  Dom. Ho, jealous? he’s the very quintessence of 413 jealousy; he keeps no male creature in his house; and from abroad he lets no man come near her.

  Lor. Excepting you, father.

  Dom. Me, I grant you; I am her director and her guide in spiritual affairs: But he has his humours with me too; for t’other day he called me false apostle.

  Lor. Did he so? that reflects upon you all; on my word, father, that touches your copy-hold. If you would do a meritorious action, you might revenge the church’s quarrel. — My letter, father, —

  Dom. Well, so far as a letter, I will take upon me; for what can I refuse to a man so charitably given?

  Lor. If you bring an answer back, that purse in your hand has a twin-brother, as like him as ever he can look; there are fifty pieces lie dormant in it, for more charities.

  Dom. That must not be; not a farthing more, upon my priesthood. — But what may be the purport and meaning of this letter? that, I confess, a little troubles me.

  Lor. No harm, I warrant you.

  Dom. Well, you are a charitable man; and I’ll take your word: my comfort is, I know not the contents; and so far I am blameless. But an answer you shall have; though not for the sake of your fifty pieces more: I have sworn not to take them; they shall not be altogether fifty. Your mistress — forgive me, that I should call her your mistress, I meant Elvira, — lives but at next door: I’ll visit her immediately; but not a word more of the nine-and-forty pieces.

  Lor. Nay, I’ll wait on you down stairs. — Fifty pounds for the postage of a letter! to send by the church is certainly the dearest road in Christendom.

  [Exeunt.

  SCENE III. — A Chamber.

  Enter Gomez and Elvira.

  Gom. Henceforth I banish flesh and wine: I’ll have none stirring within these walls these twelve months.

  Elv. I care not; the sooner I am starved, the sooner I am rid of wedlock. I shall learn the knack to fast o’ days; you have used me to fasting nights already.

  Gom. How the gipsey answers me! Oh, ’tis a most notorious hilding.

  Elv. [Crying.] But was ever poor innocent creature so hardly dealt with, for a little harmless chat?

  Gom. Oh, the impudence of this wicked sex! Lascivious dialogues are innocent with you!

  Elv. Was it such a crime to inquire how the battle passed?

  Gom. But that was not the business, gentlewoman: you were not asking news of a battle passed; you were engaging for a skirmish that was to come.

  Elv. An honest woman would be glad to hear, that her honour was safe, and her enemies were slain.

  Gom. [In her tone.] And to ask, if he were wounded in your defence; and, in case he were, to offer yourself to be his chirurgeon; — then, you did not describe your husband to him, for a covetous, jealous, rich, old hunks.

  Elv. No, I need not; he describes himself sufficiently: but, in what dream did I do this?

  Gom. You walked in your sleep, with your eyes broad open, at noon-day; and dreamt you were talking to the foresaid purpose with one Colonel Hernando —

  Elv. Who, dear husband, who?

  Gom. What the devil have I said? — You would have farther information, would you?

  Elv. No; but my dear, little, old man, tell me now, that I may avoid him for your sake.

  Gom. Get you up into your chamber, cockatrice; and there immure yourself; be confined, I say, during our royal pleasure. But, first, down on your marrowbones, upon your allegiance, and make an acknowledgement of your offences; for I will have ample satisfaction.

  [Pulls her down.

  Elv. I have done you no injury, and therefore I’ll make you no submission: but I’ll complain to my ghostly father.

  Gom. Ay, there’s your remedy; when you receive condign punishment, you run with open mouth to your confessor; that parcel of holy guts and garbadge: he must chuckle you and moan you; but I’ll rid my hands of his ghostly authority one day, [Enter Dominick.] and make him know he’s the son of a — [Sees him.] So; — no sooner conjure, but the devil’s in the circle.

  Dom. Son of a what, Don Gomez?

  Gom. Why, a son of a church; I hope there’s no harm in that, father?

  Dom. I will lay up your words for you, till time shall serve; and to-morrow I enjoin you to fast, for penance.

  Gom. There’s no harm in that; she shall fast too: fasting saves money.[Aside.

  Dom. [To Elvira.] What was the reason that I found you upon your knees, in that unseemly posture?

  Gom. O horrible! to find a woman upon her knees, he says, is an unseemly posture; there’s a priest for you!

  [Aside.

  Elv. [To Dom.] I wish, father, you would give me an opportunity of entertaining you in private: I have somewhat upon my spirits that presses me exceedingly.

  Dom. This goes well: [Aside.] Gomez, stand you at a distance, — farther yet, — stand out of ear shot; — I have somewhat to say to your wife in private.

  Gom. Was ever man thus priest-ridden? would the steeple of his church were in his belly: I am sure there’s room for it.

  [Aside.

  Elv. I am ashamed to acknowledge my infirmities; but you have been always an indulgent father, and therefore I will venture to — and yet I dare not! —

  Dom. Nay, if you are bashful; — if you keep your wound from the knowledge of your surgeon, —

  Elv. You know my husband is a man in years; but he’s my husband, and therefore I shall be silent; but his humours are more intolerable than hi
s age: he’s grown so froward, so covetous, and so jealous, that he has turned my heart quite from him; and, if I durst confess it, has forced me to cast my affections on another man.

  Dom. Good: — hold, hold; I meant abominable. — Pray heaven this may be my colonel![Aside.

  Elv. I have seen this man, father, and have encouraged his addresses; he’s a young gentleman, a soldier, of a most winning carriage: and what his courtship may produce at last, I know not; but I am afraid of my own frailty.

  Dom. ’Tis he, for certain; — she has saved the credit of my function, by speaking first; now must I take gravity upon me.

  [Aside.

  Gom. This whispering bodes me no good, for certain; but he has me so plaguily under the lash, that I dare not interrupt him.

  [Aside.

  Dom. Daughter, daughter, do you remember your matrimonial vow?

  Elv. Yes, to my sorrow, father, I do remember it; a miserable woman it has made me: but you know, father, a marriage-vow is but a thing of course, which all women take when they would get a husband.

  Dom. A vow is a very solemn thing; and ’tis good to keep it: but, notwithstanding, it may be broken upon some occasions. Have you striven with all your might against this frailty?

  Elv. Yes, I have striven; but I found it was against the stream. Love, you know, father, is a great vow-maker; but he’s a greater vow-breaker.

  Dom. ’Tis your duty to strive always; but, notwithstanding, when we have done our utmost, it extenuates the sin.

  Gom. I can hold no longer. — Now, gentlewoman, you are confessing your enormities; I know it, by that hypocritical downcast look: — enjoin her to sit bare upon a bed of nettles, father; you can do no less, in conscience.

  Dom. Hold your peace; are you growing malapert? will you force me to make use of my authority? your wife’s a well disposed and a virtuous lady; I say it, In verbo sacerdotis.

  Elv. I know not what to do, father; I find myself in a most desperate condition; and so is the colonel, for love of me.

  Dom. The colonel, say you! I wish it be not the same young gentleman I know. ’Tis a gallant young man, I must confess, worthy of any lady’s love in Christendom, — in a lawful way, I mean: of such a charming behaviour, so bewitching to a woman’s eye, and, furthermore, so charitably given; by all good tokens, this must be my colonel Hernando.

  Elv. Ay, and my colonel too, father: — I am overjoyed! — and are you then acquainted with him?

  Dom. Acquainted with him! why, he haunts me up and down; and, I am afraid, it is for love of you; for he pressed a letter upon me, within this hour, to deliver to you. I confess I received it, lest he should send it by some other; but with full resolution never to put it into your hands.

  Elv. Oh, dear father, let me have it, or I shall die!

  Gom. Whispering still! A pox of your close committee! I’ll listen, I’m resolved.[Steals nearer.

  Dom. Nay, if you are obstinately bent to see it, use your discretion; but, for my part, I wash my hands of it. — What makes you listening there? get farther off; I preach not to thee, thou wicked eaves dropper.

  Elv. I’ll kneel down, father, as if I were taking absolution, if you’ll but please to stand before me.

  Dom. At your peril be it then. I have told you the ill consequences; et liberavi animam meam. Your reputation is in danger, to say nothing of your soul. Notwithstanding, when the spiritual means have been applied, and fail, in that case the carnal may be used. You are a tender child, you are, and must not be put into despair; your heart is as soft and melting as your hand.

  [He strokes her face, takes her by the hand, and gives the letter.

  Gom. Hold, hold, father, you go beyond your commission; palming is always held foul play amongst gamesters.

  Dom. Thus good intentions are misconstrued by wicked men; you will never be warned till you are excommunicated.

  Gom. Ah, devil on him; there’s his hold! If there were no more in excommunication than the 419 church’s censure, a wise man would lick his conscience whole with a wet finger; but, if I am excommunicated, I am outlawed, and then there is no calling in my money.

  [Aside.

  Elv. [Rising.] I have read the note, father, and will send him an answer immediately; for I know his lodgings by his letter.

  Dom. I understand it not, for my part; but I wish your intentions be honest. Remember, that adultery, though it be a silent sin, yet it is a crying sin also. Nevertheless, if you believe absolutely he will die, unless you pity him; to save a man’s life is a point of charity; and actions of charity do alleviate, as I may say, and take off from the mortality of the sin. Farewell, daughter. — Gomez, cherish your virtuous wife; and thereupon I give you my benediction.

  [Going.

  Gom. Stay; I’ll conduct you to the door, — that I may be sure you steal nothing by the way. Friars wear not their long sleeves for nothing. — Oh, ’tis a Judas Iscariot.

  [Exit after the Friar.

  Elv. This friar is a comfortable man! He will understand nothing of the business, and yet does it all.

  Pray, wives and virgins, at your time of need,

  For a true guide, of my good father’s breed.[Exit.

  ACT III.

  SCENE I. — The Street.

  Enter Lorenzo in a Friars Habit, meeting Dominick.

  Lor. Father Dominick, father Dominick; why in such haste, man?

  Dom. It should seem, a brother of our order.

  Lor. No, faith, I am only your brother in iniquity; my holiness, like yours, is mere outside.

  Dom. What! my noble colonel in metamorphosis! On what occasion are you transformed?

  Lor. Love, almighty love; that, which turned Jupiter into a town-bull, has transformed me into a friar. I have had a letter from Elvira, in answer to that I sent by you.

  Dom. You see I have delivered my message faithfully; I am a friar of honour, where I am engaged.

  Lor. O, I understand your hint; the other fifty pieces are ready to be condemned to charity.

  Dom. But this habit, son! this habit!

  Lor. It is a habit, that, in all ages, has been friendly to fornication: you have begun the design in this clothing, and I’ll try to accomplish it. The husband is absent, that evil counsellor is removed and the sovereign is graciously disposed to hear my grievances.

  Dom. Go to, go to; I find good counsel is but thrown away upon you. Fare you well, fare you well, son! Ah —

  Lor. How! will you turn recreant at the last cast? You must along to countenance my undertaking: we are at the door, man.

  Dom. Well, I have thought on’t, and I will not go.

  Lor. You may stay, father, but no fifty pounds without it; that was only promised in the bond: “But the condition of this obligation is such, that if the above-named father, father Dominick, do not well and faithfully perform— “

  Dom. Now I better think on’t, I will bear you company; for the reverence of my presence may be a curb to your exorbitancies.

  Lor. Lead up your myrmidons, and enter.[Exeunt.

  SCENE II. — Elvira’s Chamber.

  Enter Elvira.

  Elv. He’ll come, that’s certain; young appetites are sharp, and seldom need twice bidding to such a banquet. Well, if I prove frail, — as I hope I shall not till I have compassed my design, — never woman had such a husband to provoke her, such a lover to allure her, or such a confessor to absolve her. Of what am I afraid, then? not my conscience, that’s safe enough; my ghostly father has given it a dose of church-opium, to lull it. Well, for soothing sin, I’ll say that for him, he’s a chaplain for any court in Christendom.

  Enter Lorenzo and Dominick.

  O, father Dominick, what news? — How, a companion with you! What game have you in hand, that you hunt in couples?

  Lor. [Lifting up his Hood.] I’ll shew you that immediately.

  Elv. O, my love!

  Lor. My life!

  Elv. My soul![They embrace.

  Dom. I am taken on the sudden with a grievous swimming in
my head, and such a mist before my eyes, that I can neither hear nor see.

  Elv. Stay, and I’ll fetch you some comfortable water.

  Dom. No, no; nothing but the open air will do me good. I’ll take a turn in your garden; but remember that I trust you both, and do not wrong my good opinion of you.

  [Exit Dominick.

  Elv. This is certainly the dust of gold which you have thrown in the good man’s eyes, that on the 422 sudden he cannot see; for my mind misgives me, this sickness of his is but apocryphal.

  Lor. ’Tis no qualm of conscience, I’ll be sworn. You see, madam, it is interest governs all the world. He preaches against sin; why? because he gets by it: He holds his tongue; why? because so much more is bidden for his silence.

  Elv. And so much for the friar.

  Lor. Oh, those eyes of yours reproach me justly, that I neglect the subject which brought me hither.

  Elv. Do you consider the hazard I have run to see you here? if you do, methinks it should inform you, that I love not at a common rate.

  Lor. Nay, if you talk of considering, let us consider why we are alone. Do you think the friar left us together to tell beads? Love is a kind of penurious god, very niggardly of his opportunities: he must be watched like a hard-hearted treasurer; for he bolts out on the sudden, and, if you take him not in the nick, he vanishes in a twinkling.

  Elv. Why do you make such haste to have done loving me? You men are all like watches, wound up for striking twelve immediately; but after you are satisfied, the very next that follows, is the solitary sound of a single — one!

  Lor. How, madam! do you invite me to a feast, and then preach abstinence?

  Elv. No, I invite you to a feast where the dishes are served up in order: you are for making a hasty meal, and for chopping up your entertainment, like a hungry clown. Trust my management, good colonel, and call not for your desert too soon: believe me, that which comes last, as it is the sweetest, so it cloys the soonest.

  Lor. I perceive, madam, by your holding me at this distance, that there is somewhat you expect 423 from me: what am I to undertake, or suffer, ere I can be happy?

  Elv. I must first be satisfied, that you love me.

  Lor. By all that’s holy! by these dear eyes! —