Complete Works of Thomas Otway

by Thomas Otway

  Sir Dav. Why, I told him as he liked that usage he might come again; ha, ha, ha!

  L. Dunce. Ay, and so let him.

  Sir Dav. With all my heart, I’ll give him free leave, or hang me; though thou wouldst not imagine how the poor devil’s altered. La you there now, but as certainly as I stand here, that man is troubled that he swears he shall not rest day nor night till he has satisfied thee; pr’ythee be satisfied with him if ’tis possible, my dear, pr’ythee do. I promised him, before I left him, to tell thee as much: for the poor wretch looks so simply, I could not choose but pity him, I vow and swear, ha, ha, ha!

  Sir Jol. Now, now, you little witch! now, you chitsface! Odd, I could find in my heart to put my little finger in your bubbies.

  L. Dunce. Sir Davy, I must tell you, that I cannot but resent your so soon reconcilement with a man that I hate worse than death, and that if you loved me with half that tenderness which you profess, you would not forget an affront so palpably and so basely offered me.

  Sir Dav. Why, chicken, where’s the remedy? What’s to be done? How wouldst thou have me deal with him?

  L. Dunce. Cut his throat.

  Sir Dav. Bless us for ever! cut his throat! what, do murder?

  L. Dunce. Murder! yes, anything to such an incorrigible enemy of your honour, one that has resolved to persist in abusing of you. See here this letter, this I received since I last parted with you; just now it was thrown into my chair by an impudent lackey of his, kept o’ purpose for such employments.

  Sir Dav. Let me see: a letter, indeed!— “For the Lady Dunce”: damned rogue, treacherous dog, what can he say in the inside now? here’s a villain!

  L. Dunce. Yes, you had best break it open, you had so; ’tis like the rest of your discretion.

  Sir Dav. Lady, if I have an enemy, it is best for me to know what mischief he intends me; therefore, with your leave, I will break it open.

  L. Dunce. Do, do, to have him believe that I was pleased enough with it to do it myself: if you have the spirit of a gentleman in you, carry it back, and dash it, as it is, in the face of that audacious fellow.

  Sir Jol. What can be the meaning of this now?

  Sir Dav. A gentleman! yes, madam, I am a gentleman, and the world shall find that I am a gentleman. — I have certainly the best woman in the world. [Aside.

  L. Dunce. What do you think must be the end of all this? I have no refuge in the world but your kindness: had I a jealous husband now, how miserable must my life be!

  Sir Jol. Ah, rogue’s nose! ah, devil! ah, toad! cunning thief, wheedling slut, I’ll bite her by and by.

  Sir Dav. Poor fool! No, dear, I am not jealous, nor never will be jealous of thee; do what thou wilt, thou shalt not make me jealous: I love thee too well to suspect thee.

  L. Dunce. Ah, but how long will you do so?

  Sir Dav. How long? as long as I live, I warrant thee, I — don’t talk to a body so: I cannot hold if thou dost, my eyes will run over, poor fool! poor birdsnies! poor lambkin!

  L. Dunce. But will you be so kind to me to answer my desires? will you once more endeavour to make that traitor sensible that I have too just an esteem of you not to value his addresses as they deserve?

  Sir Dav. Ay, ay, I will.

  L. Dunce. But don’t stay away too long, dear; make what haste you can; I shall be in pain till I see you again.

  Sir Dav. My dear, my love, my babby, I’ll be with thee in a moment. How happy am I above the rest of men! Neighbour, dear neighbour, walk in with my wife, and keep her company till I return again. Child, don’t be troubled, pr’ythee don’t be troubled. — Was there ever such a wife? well, da, da, da: don’t be troubled, pr’ythee don’t be troubled, pr’ythee don’t be troubled, da, da. [Exeunt Sir Davy and Vermin.

  L. Dunce. Sir Jolly, Sir Jolly, Sir Jolly.

  Sir Jol. Don’t be troubled, pr’ythee don’t be troubled, da, da.

  L. Dunce. But, Sir Jolly, can you guess whereabout my wandering officer may be probably found now?

  Sir Jol. Found, lady? he is to be found, madam — he is to be at my house presently, lady; he’s certainly one of the finest fellows in the world.

  L. Dunce. You speak like a friend, Sir Jolly.

  Sir Jol. His friend, lady? no, madam, his foe, his utter enemy; I shall be his ruin, I shall undo him.

  L. Dunce. You may, if you please, then come both and play at cards this evening with me for an hour or two; for I have contrived it so, that Sir Davy is to be abroad at supper to-night; he cannot possibly avoid it; I long to win some of the captain’s money strangely.

  Sir Jol. Do you so, my gamester? Well, I’ll be sure to bring him, and for what he carries about him, I’ll warrant you — odd, he’s a pretty fellow, a very pretty fellow, he has only one fault.

  L. Dunce. And what is that I beseech you, sir?

  Sir Jol. Only too loving, too good-natured, that’s all; ’tis certainly the best-natured fool breathing, that’s all his fault.

  L. Dunce. Hist, hist, I think I see company coming; if you please, Sir Jolly, we’ll go in.

  Enter Beaugard, followed by Sir Davy and Vermin.

  Sir Jol. Mum, mum, mum, ’tis he himself, the very same; odds so, Sir Davy after him too! Hush, hush, hush, let us be gone, let us retire. Do but look upon him now, mind him a little; there’s a shape, there’s an air, there’s a motion! Ah, rogue, ah, devil, get you in, get you in, I say. There’s a shape for you! [Exit Lady Dunce.

  Beau. What the devil shall I do to recover this day’s loss again? my honourable pimp too, my pander knight has forsaken me; methinks I am quandaried, like one going with a party to discover the enemy’s camp, but had lost his guide upon the mountains. Curse on him, old Argus is here again; there can be no good fortune towards me when he’s at my heels.

  Sir Dav. Sir, sir, sir, one word with you, sir! Captain, captain, noble captain, one word, I beseech you.

  Beau. With me, friend?

  Sir Dav. Yes, with you, my no-friend.

  Beau. Sir Davy, my intimate, my bosom-physician!

  Sir Dav. Ah, rogue! damned rogue!

  Beau. My confessor, my dearest friend I ever had!

  Sir Dav. Dainty wheedle, here’s a fellow for ye!

  Beau. One that has taught me to be in love with virtue, and shown me the ugly inside of my follies.

  Sir Dav. Sir, your humble servant.

  Beau. Is that all? if you are as cold in your love as you are in your friendship, Sir Davy, your lady has the worst time on’t of any one in Christendom.

  Sir Dav. So she has, sir, when she cannot be free from the impudent solicitations of such fellows as you are, sir.

  Beau. As me, sir! why, who am I, good Sir Domine Doddlepate?

  Sir Dav. So, take notice he threatens me; I’ll have him bound to the peace instantly. Will you never have remorse of conscience, friend? have you banished all shame from your soul? Do you consider my name is Sir Davy Dunce? that I have the most virtuous wife living? do you consider that? Now how like a rogue he looks again! what a hang-dog leer was that!

  Beau. Your virtuous wife, sir! you are always harping upon that string, Sir Davy.

  Sir Dav. No, ’tis you would be harping upon that string, sir: see you this? cast your eyes upon this, this letter, sir. Did you not promise, this very day, to abandon all manner of proceedings of this nature, tending to the dishonour of me and my family?

  Beau. Letter, sir! What the devil does he mean now? Let me see, “For the Lady Dunce”; this is no scrawl of mine, I’ll be sworn; by Jove, her own hand! what a dog was I! forty to one but I had played the fool, and spoiled all again. Was there ever so charming a creature breathing! — Did your lady deliver this to your hands, sir?

  Sir Dav. Even her own self in person, sir, and bade me tell you, sir, that she has too just an esteem of me, sir, not to value such a fellow as you are as you deserve.

  Beau. Very good: [Reads] “I doubt not but this letter will surprise you” — in troth, and so it does extremely— “but reflect upon the manne
r of conveying it to your hand as kindly as you can.”

  Sir Dav. Ay, a damned thief, to have it thrown into the chair by a footman.

  Beau. [Reads.] “Would Sir Davy were but half so kind to you as I am!”

  Sir Dav. Say you so, you insinuating knave?

  Beau. [Reads.] “But he, I am satisfied, is so severely jealous, that except you contrive some way to let me see you this evening, I fear all will be hopeless.”

  Sir Dav. Impudent traitor! I might have been a monster yet, before I had got my supper in my belly.

  Beau. [Reads.] “In order to which, either appear yourself, or somebody for you, half an hour hence in the Piazza, where more may be considered of. Adieu.”

  Sir Dav. Thanks to you, noble sir, with all my heart; you are come, I see, accordingly; but, as a friend, I am bound in conscience to tell you the business won’t do; the trick won’t pass, friend; you may put up your pipes, and march off. O Lord! he lie with my wife! pugh — he make Sir Davy Dunce a cuckold! poor wretch, ha, ha, ha!

  Sir Jol. [To Beaugard] Hist, hist, hist!

  Re-enter Lady Dunce and Fourbin disguised.

  L. Dunce. That’s he, there he is: succeed, and be rewarded.

  Four. Other people may think what they please; but, in my own opinion, I am a very pretty fellow now; if my design but succeed upon this old baboon, I’ll be canonized. Sir, sir, sir.

  Sir Dav. Friend, with me? would you speak with me, friend?

  Four. Sir, my commands were to attend your worship.

  Sir Jol. Beaugard, Beaugard, hist, hist, here, here, quickly, hist. [Exeunt Sir Jolly and Beaugard.

  Sir Dav. Where do you live, sweetheart, and who do you belong to?

  Four. Sir, I am a small instrument of the city, I serve the lord mayor in his office there.

  Sir Dav. How, the lord mayor!

  Four. Yes, sir, who desires you, by all means, to do him the honour of your company at supper this evening.

  Sir Dav. It will be the greatest honour I ever received in my life. What, my lord mayor invite me to supper? I am his lordship’s most humble servant.

  Four. Yes, sir, if your name be Sir Davy Dunce, as I have the honour to be informed it is: he desires you moreover to make what haste you can, for that he has some matters of importance to communicate to your honour, which may take up some time.

  L. Dunce. I hope it will succeed. [Aside.

  Sir Dav. Communicate with me! he does me too noble a favour; I’ll fly upon the wings of ambition to lay myself at his footstool. My lord mayor sends himself to invite me to supper; to confer with me too! I shall certainly be a great man.

  Four. What answer will your worship charge me back withal?

  Sir Dav. Let his lordship know that I am amazed and confounded at his generosity; and that I am so transported with the honour he does me, that I will not fail to wait on him in the roasting of an egg.

  Four. I am your worship’s lowly slave. [Exit.

  Sir Dav. Vermin, go get the coach ready; get me the gold medal too and chain, which I took from the Roman Catholic officer for a popish relic [Exit Vermin.] I’ll be fine, I’ll shine, and drink wine that’s divine. My lord mayor invite me to supper!

  L. Dunce. My dearest, I’m glad to see thee returned in safety, from the bottom of my heart: hast thou seen the traitor?

  Sir Dav. Seen him! hang him, I have seen him: pox on him, seen him!

  L. Dunce. Well, and what is become of him? where is he?

  Sir Dav. Why dost thou ask me where he is? What a pox care I what becomes of him? Pr’ythee don’t trouble me with thy impertinence; I am busy.

  L. Dunce. You are not angry, my dear, are you?

  Sir Dav. No, but I am pleased, and that’s all one; very much pleased, let me tell you but that; I am only to sup with my lord mayor, that’s all; nothing else in the world, only the business of the nation calls upon me, that’s all; therefore, once more I say, don’t be troublesome, but stand off.

  L. Dunce. You always think my company troublesome; you never stay at home to comfort me; what think you I shall do alone by myself all this evening, moping in my chamber? Pray, my joy, stay with me for once. — I hope he won’t take me at my word. [Aside.

  Sir Dav. I say again and again, tempter, stand off; I will not lose my preferment for my pleasure; honour is towards me, and flesh and blood are my aversion.

  L. Dunce. But how long will you stay then?

  Sir Dav. I don’t know; may be not an hour, may be all night, as his lordship and I think fit; what’s that to anybody?

  L. Dunce. You are very cruel to me.

  Sir Dav. I can’t help it; go, get you in, and pass away the time with your neighbour; I’ll be back again before I die; in the mean time, be humble and conformable, go.

  Re-enter Vermin.

  Is the coach ready?

  Ver. Yes, sir.

  Sir Dav. Well, your servant. What, nothing to my lady mayoress? You have a great deal of breeding indeed, a great deal! nothing to my lady mayoress?

  L. Dunce. My service to her, if you please.

  Sir Dav. Well, da, da — the poor fool cries, o’ my conscience! adieu, do you hear, farewell. [Exit.

  L. Dunce. As well as what I love can make me.

  Re-enter Sir Jolly Jumble.

  Sir Jol. Madam, is he gone?

  L. Dunce. In post-haste, I assure you.

  Sir Jol. In troth, and joy go with him!

  L. Dunce. Do you then, Sir Jolly, conduct the captain hither, whilst I go and dispose of the family, that we may be private. [Exeunt.

  SCENE II. — A Room in Sir Davy Dunce’s House.

  Enter Sir Davy Dunce.

  Sir Dav. Troth, I had forgot my medal and chain, quite, and clean forgot my relic; I was forced to come up these back stairs, for fear of meeting my wife again; it is the troublesomest loving fool! I must into my closet, and write a short letter too; ’tis post-night, I had forgot that: well, I would not have my wife catch me for a guinea. [Exit.

  Enter Beaugard and Lady Dunce.

  Beau. Are you very certain, madam, nobody is this way? I fancy, as we entered, I saw the glimpse of something more than ordinary.

  L. Dunce. Is it your care of me, or your personal fears, that make you so suspicious? Whereabouts was the apparition?

  Beau. There, there, just at the very door.

  L. Dunce. Fie for shame! that’s Sir Davy’s closet; and he, I am satisfied, is far enough off by this time. I’m sure I heard the coach drive him away. But to convince you, you shall see now: Sir Davy, Sir Davy, Sir Davy. [Knocking at the closet-door.] Look you there, you a captain, and afraid of a shadow! Come, sir, shall we call for the cards?

  Beau. And what shall we play for, pretty one?

  L. Dunce. E’en what you think best, sir.

  Beau. Silver kisses, or golden joys? Come, let us make stakes a little.

  Enter Sir Jolly Jumble, unobserved.

  Sir Jol. Ah rogue, ah rogue! are you there? Have I caught you in faith, now, now, now? [Aside.

  L. Dunce. And who shall keep them?

  Beau. You, till Sir Davy returns from supper.

  L. Dunce. That may be long enough; for our engine Fourbin has orders not to give him over suddenly, I assure you.

  Beau. And is’t to yourself, then, I’m obliged for this blest opportunity? Let us improve it to love’s best advantage.

  Sir Jol. Ah — ah! [Aside.

  Beau. Let’s vow eternal, and raise our thoughts to expectation of immortal pleasures: in one another’s eyes let’s read our joys, till we’ve no longer power o’er our desires, drunk with this dissolving. Oh!

  Re-enter Sir Davy Dunce from his closet.

  L. Dunce. Ah! [Squeaks.

  Beau. By this light, the cuckold! Presto, nay, then halloo! [Gets up, and runs away.

  Sir Dav. O Lord, a man — a man in my wife’s chamber! Murder! murder! Thieves! thieves! shut up my doors! Madam! madam! madam!

  Sir Jol. Ay, ay! Thieves! thieves! Murder! murder! Where, neighbour, where,
where?

  L. Dunce. [Catches up Beaugard’s sword, which he had left behind him in the hurry, and presents it to Sir Davy.] Pierce, pierce this wretched heart hard to the hilts; dye this in the deepest crimson of my blood; spare not a miserable woman’s life, whom Heaven designed to be the unhappy object of the most horrid usage man e’er acted.

  Sir Dav. What, in the name of Satan, does she mean now?

  L. Dunce. Curse on my fatal beauty! blasted ever be these two baneful eyes, that could inspire a barbarous villain to attempt such crimes as all my blood’s too little to atone for: nay, you shall hear me —

  Sir Dav. Hear you, madam! No, I have seen too much, I thank you heartily; hear you, quoth-a!

  L. Dunce. Yes, and before I die too, I’ll be justified.

  Sir Dav. Justified, O Lord, justified!

  L. Dunce. Notice being given me of your return, I came with speed to this unhappy place, where I have oft been blest with your embraces, when from behind the arras out starts Beaugard; how he came there Heaven knows.

  Sir Dav. I’ll have him hanged for burglary; he has broken my house, and broke the peace upon my wife: very good.

  L. Dunce. Straight in his arms he grasped me fast; with much ado I plunged and got my freedom, ran to your closet-door, knocked and implored your aid, called on your name; but all in vain —

  Sir Dav. Ha!

  L. Dunce. Soon again he seized me, stopped my mouth, and, with a conqueror’s fury —

  Sir Dav. O Lord! O Lord! no more, no more, I beseech thee; I shall grow mad, and very mad! I’ll plough up rocks and adamantine iron bars; I’ll crack the frame of nature, sally out like Tamberlane upon the Trojan horse, and drive the pigmies all like geese before me. O Lord, stop her mouth! Well, and how? and what then? stopped thy mouth! well! ha!

  L. Dunce. No, though unfortunate, I still am innocent; his cursed purpose could not be accomplished; but who will live so injured? No, I’ll die to be revenged on myself: I ne’er can hope that I may see his streaming gore; and thus I let out my own — [Offers to run upon the sword.

  Sir Dav. Ha, what wouldst thou do, my love? Pr’ythee don’t break my heart: if thou wilt kill, kill me; I know thou art innocent, I see thou art; though I had rather be a cuckold a thousand times, than lose thee, poor love, poor dearee, poor baby.