by Thomas Otway
Beaug.
Sir, I should be highly glad of any brave Man’s Friendship, and should be troubled if I appear concern’d in any thing that may hazard the loss of yours.
1 Man.
That Lady, Sir, you talkt withal’s —
Beaug.
My Mistress, Sir.
1 Man.
Mistress!
Beaug.
Yes, Mistress, Sir: I love her, doat on her, am damnably in love with her; she is under my Protection too, and when ever there’s occasion, as far as this sinful Body of mine will bear me out in it, I’ll defend her.
1 Man.
Do you know her?
Beaug.
Not so well as I would do, Sir.
1 Man.
What’s her Name?
Beaug.
A Secret.
1 Man.
She must along with me, Sir.
Beaug.
No, that must not be, Sir.
2 Man.
This Lady, Sir —
Court.
You lie, Sir — Hah! — Beaugard!
[Draw, and fight, Porcia runs away squeaking, Courtine disarms his Adversary, and comes up to Beaugard.
Beaug.
Stand fast, Ned.
Court.
Hold thy dead-doing Hand,
Thou Son of Slaughter.
1 Man.
Sir, there may come a time —
Beaug.
When you’l learn Manners.
1 Man.
And teach ’em you too.
Court.
We are well known.
1 Man.
And shall not be forgotten.
Come, Friend.
[Exeunt two Men.
Beaug.
Confound ’em! This must be a Brother, a Kinsman, or a Rival, he ply’d me so warmly.
Court.
’Tis a hard case, that a Man cannot hold Civil Correspondence with a good-natur’d Female, but presently some hot-headed Fellow of the Family or other runs horn-mad with Jealousie, and fancies his Blood smarts as often as the Womans itches.
Beaug.
This Heroick Person’s Sister, Kinswoman, his Mistress, or whate’er she be, is like to get much Reputation by his Hectoring and Quarrelling for her; and he as much Honour, by being beaten for her.
Court.
Nay, when Cuckolds or Brothers fight for the Reputation of a back-sliding Wife or Sister, it is a very pretty Undertaking, doubtless. As for example; I am a Cuckold now.
Beaug.
All in good time, Ned; do not be too hasty.
Court.
And being much troubled in Spirit, meeting with the Spark that has done me the Honour, with a great deal of respect I make my Address, — as thus, — Most Noble Sir, you have done me the Favour to lie with my Wife.
Beaug.
Very well.
Court.
All I beg of you, is, that you would do your best endeavour to run me through the Guts to morrow morning, and it will be the greatest Satisfaction in the World.
Beaug.
Which the good-natur’d Whoremaster does very decently; so down falls the Cuckold at Barn-elms, and rises again next day at Holborn in a Ballad. But all this while, what is become of the Widow, Ned?
Court.
Faith she has e’en done very wisely, I think, as soon as she had set us together by the Ears, she very fairly ran for’t.
Beaug.
A very noble Account of our first Evenings Enterprise! But a Pox on’t, take Courage; and since we have lost this Quarry, let us e’en beat about a little, and see what other Game we can meet with.
Enter Lucrece Masqu’d.
Lucr.
Sir, Sir! Captain!
Court.
With you again, Beaugard. Agare ho!
Beaug.
With me, my Mistress?
Lucr.
Yes, with you, my Master.
Court.
I wonder when, o’ the Devil’s name, it will come to my turn.
Lucr.
Being a particular Friend of yours, Captain, I am come to tell you, the World begins to talk very scandalously of you, Captain.
Beaug.
Look thee, Sweetheart, the World’s an Ass, and Common Fame a Common Strumpet: so long as such pretty good-natur’d Creatures as thou seemest to be, think but well of me, let the World be hang’d, as it was once drown’d, if it will.
Lucr.
I must let you know too, Captain, that your Love-Intrigues are not so closely managed, but that they will shortly grow the Subject of all the Satyr and Contempt in Town: Your holding Conversation with a draggle-tail’d Masque, in the Church-Cloysters, on Sunday; your meeting with the very Scandal here again, this Evening; suffering your self to be impos’d upon, and Jilted by her; and at last running the hazard of a damnable Beating, by a couple of plausible Hectors, that made you believe your Mistress had Honour enough to be concern’d for.
Beaug.
Really, my little Wolf in a Sheeps Fleece, this sounds like very good Doctrine; but what Use must I make of it, Child?
Lucr.
Methinks, Captain, that should not be so hard to find out; my setting upon you in a Masque my self, and railing at the last Woman that did so before me, might easily inform you, I have a certain Design of trying whose Heart’s hardest, yours or mine.
Court.
Then, my little Mischief, you should not enter the Lists upon unequal Terms, with that Black Armour upon your Face, that makes you look as dreadfully as the Black Knight in a Romance.
Lucr.
Good Captain, what’s that sober Gentleman’s name? For certainly I have seen him before now.
Beaug.
His name in the Flesh, my pretty one, is Courtine; a very honest Fellow, good-natur’d, and wicked enough for thy purpose of all conscience.
Lucr.
Courtine! Bless us for ever! What, the Man that’s married!
Court.
The Man that’s married! Yes, the Man that’s married. ‘Sdeath, though I be weary on’t, I am not asham’d of my Condition. Why the Devil didst thou tell her my name? I shall never thrive with any Woman that knows me. The Man that’s married! ‘Zounes, I am as scandalous as the Man that’s to be hang’d.
Lucr.
But you’ll ne’er be thought so handsom. To make few words with you, Sir, I am one that mean you fairer play than such an inconstant, sickle, false-hearted Wanderer as you deserve.
Beaug.
Then why dost thou conceal thy self? Those whose Designs are fair and noble, scorn to hide their Faces: Therefore give me leave to tell thee, Lady, if thou think’st to make use of me only to create some Jealousie in another Woman, I am no Instrument to be that way manag’d; no, I am constant, I — but if thou lov’st me —
Lucr.
Have you any more Doubts that trouble you?
Beaug.
None, by this sweet Body of thine.
Lucr.
Know then, Sir, it has been my Misfortune to watch you, haunt you, and dog you these six Months; being, to my eternal torment, jealous of that ravenous Kite your Widow, your Widow, Captain: nay, since I have confest my Weakness, know from this hour I’ll defeat all her Ambushes, all the false Baits she lays to ensnare your Heart, till I obtain the Victory of it my self, much more my due, in that I’m not beneath her in Beauty, Birth, or Fortune, or indeed any thing but her years, Captain; therefore if you have that Merit the World reports of you, make the best use of this present Advice; and so farewell, till you hear from me further.
[Exit Lucrece.
Beaug.
Now may I do by my Mistresses as the Boys do by their Farthings, hustle ’em in a Hat together, and go to Heads or Tails for ’em. — Hah! Let me never see day again, if yonder be not coming towards us the very Rascal I told thee of this Morning, our faux Atheist; now will I shew thee as notable a Spirit as ever past upon the ignorant World for a fine Person, and a Philosopher.
[Enter Daredevil.
What, Daredevil, a good Evening to thee: Why, where hast thou been, old Blasphemy, these Forty Hours? I shall never be converted from Christianity, if thou dost not mind thy Bus’ness better.
Dared.
Been, quoth a! I have been where I have half lost my honest Senses, Man: Would any body that knows me, believe it? Let me be buried alive, if the Rogues of the Parish I live in have not Indicted me for a Papist.
Beaug.
The Devil! a Papist!
Dared.
Pox on ’em, a Papist! When the impudent Villains know, as well as I do, that I have no Religion at all.
Court.
No Religion, Sir? Are you of no Religion?
Dared.
Is he an honest Fellow, Beaugard?
Beaug.
Oh, a very honest Fellow; thou mayst trust him with thy Damnation, I’ll warrant thee: Answer him, answer him.
Dared.
I never go to Church, Sir.
Court.
But what Religion are you of?
Dared.
Of the Religion of the Inner-Temple, the Common-Law Religion; I believe in the Law, trust in the Law, enjoy what I have by the Law: For if such a Religious Gentleman as you are get Fifty pounds into my Debt, I may go to Church and pray till my Heart akes, but the Law must make you pay me at last.
Court.
’Tis certainly the fear of Hell, and hopes of Happiness, that makes People live in Honesty, Peace, and Union one towards another.
Dared.
Fear of Hell! Heark thee, Beaugard; this Companion of thine, as I apprehend, is but a sort of a shallow Monster. Fear of Hell! No, Sir, ’tis fear of Hanging. Who would not steal, or do murder, every time his Fingers itch’t at it, were it not for fear of the Gallows? Do not you, with all your Religion, swear almost as often as you speak? break and prophane the Sabbath? lie with your Neighbours Wives? and covet their Estates, if they be better than your own? Yet those things are forbid by Religion, as well as Stealing and Cutting of Throats are. No, had every Commandment but a Gibbet belonging to it, I should not have had Four Kings Evidences to day swore impudently I was a Papist, when I was never at Mass yet since I was born, nor indeed at any other Worship these Twenty years.
Court.
Why then, Sir, between Man and Man, you are really of no Religion?
Dared.
May be I am, Sir; may be I am not, Sir: When you come to know me better, twenty to one but you’ll be better satisfied.
Court.
Does your Honour think there may be a Devil?
Dared.
I never saw him, Sir.
Court.
Have you a mind to see him?
Dared.
I’d go Fifty miles barefoot to see but a Fiend that belong’d to his Family.
Beaug.
That’s a damn’d Lie, to my Knowledge: For I saw the Rogue so scar’d, that his Hair stood upright, but at the sight of a poor Black, Water-Spaniel, that met him in the dark once.
Court.
What think you of Conscience?
Dared.
I do not think of it at all, Sir; it never troubles me.
Court.
Did you ever do a Murder?
Dared.
I won’t tell you.
Court.
Thou art the honester Fellow for it; I love a friendly Rogue, that can keep such a Secret at my Heart.
Dared.
Do you?
Court.
Ay.
Beaug.
So, that’s well said; now we’ll to work with him presently. Dost thou hear, Daredevil, this honest Friend of mine is something troubled in Spirit, and wants a little of thy Ghostly Advice in a Point of Difficulty.
Dared.
Well, and what is’t? I shall be civil, and do him all the good I can.
Beaug.
In few words, he’s married; plagu’d, troubled, and Hag-ridden by the eternally-tormenting Witchcraft of a vexatious, jealous Familiar, call’d a Wife.
Dared.
A Wife! That ever any Fellow that has but two Grains of Brains in his Scull, should give himself the trouble to complain of a Wife, so long as there is Arsenick in the World!
Beaug.
Nay, it is a meer shame, a scandalous shame, when it is so cheap too.
Court.
Would you have me poison her?
Dared.
Poison her! Ay, what would you with her else, if you are weary of her?
Court.
But if I should be call’d to a terrible account for such a thing hereafter!
Dared.
Hereafter! — Cross my Hand with a piece of Silver, — that is to say, — give me Three pence, — Three pence, my Dearest —
Court.
Well, and what then?
Dared.
Why, for that considerable Sum I’ll be security for thee, and bear thee harmless for Hereafter; that’s all.
Beaug.
‘Faith, and cheap enough of all Conscience.
Court.
This is the honestest Acquaintance I ever met withal, Beaugard.
Beaug.
Oh, a very honest Fellow, very honest.
Court.
Prethee then, Daredevil, if that be thy Title, since we have so happily met this Evening, let us grow more intimate, and eat and drink together.
Dared.
Faith and troth, with all my Heart: Pox on me, Boy, but I love Drinking mightily; and to tell ye the truth on’t, I am never so well satisfied in my out-of-the-way Principles, as when I am drunk, very drunk. Drunkenness is a great Quietter of the Mind, a great Soother of the Spirit.
Beaug.
And shall we be very free, my little Atheistical disbelieving Dog? Wilt thou open thy Heart, and speak very frankly of Matters that shall be nameless?
Dared.
Much may be done; I seldom hide my Talent, I am no Niggard of my Parts that way.
Beaug.
To tell thee a Secret, then, Daredevil, we two are this Night, for some weighty Considerations, to give a Treat to the People of the Duke’s Theatre, after the Play’s done, upon their Stage; we are to have the Musick too, and the Ladies, ’tis hoped, will not deny us the Favour of their fair Company. Now, my dear Iniquity, shall we not, thinkest thou, if we give our Minds to it, pass an Evening pleasantly enough?
Dared.
Rot me, with all my Heart: I love the Project of Treating upon the Stage extremely too. But will there, will there be none of the Poets there? Some of the Poets are pretty Fellows, very pretty Fellows; they are most of ’em my Disciples in their Hearts, and now and then stand up for the Truth manfully.
Beaug.
Much may happen: But in the next place, after Supper we have resolv’d to storm a certain Enchanted Castle, where I apprehend a fair Lady newly enter’d into League with an honest Friend of thine, call’d my self, is kept a Pris’ner, by an old, ill-natur’d, snarling Dog in a Manger, her Guardian. Thou wilt make one at it, wilt thou not, my little Daredevil?
Dared.
Dam’ me, we’ll burn the House.
Court.
Dam’ me, Sir? Do you know what you say? You believe no such thing.
Dared.
Words of course, Child, meer Words of course: We use a hundred of ’em in Conversation, which are indeed but in the nature of Expletives, and signifie nothing: as, Dam’ me, Sir; Rot me, Sir; Confound me, Sir; which purport no more than So, Sir; And, Sir; or Then, Sir, at the worst: For my part, I always speak what I think; no Man can help thinking what he does think: So if I speak not well, the fault’s not mine.
Beaug.
Distinguish’t like a Learned School-Divine.
Court.
When meet we at the Play-house then?
Dared.
Before the Clock strike Nine.
Beaug.
Where we’ll have Musick, Women, Mirth.
Dared.
And very much goo
d Wine.
End of the Second Act.
ACT III.
Beaugard, Courtine, and Daredevil.
Beaug.
IS not this Living now? Who that knew the Sweets of Liberty, the uncontroll’d Delights the Free-man tastes of, Lord of his, own Hours, King of his own Pleasures, just as Nature meant him first;
Courted each Minute by all his Appetites,
Which he indulges, like a bounteous Master,
That’s still supply’d with various full Enjoyments;
And no intruding Cares make one Thought bitter.
Dared.
Very well this; this is all but very well.
Court.
Nay, not one Rub, to interrupt the Course
Of a long, rolling, gay, and wanton Life.
Methinks the Image of it is like a Laune
In a rich flow’ry Vale, its Measure long,
Beauteous its Prospect, and at the End
A shady peaceful Glade; where, when the pleasant Race is over,
We glide away, and are at rest for ever.
Beaug.
Who, that knew this, would let himself be a Slave
To the vile Customs that the World’s debaucht in?
Who’d interrupt his needful Hours of Rest, to rise and yawn in a Shop upon Cornhill? Or, what’s as bad, make a sneaking Figure in a Great Man’s Chamber, at his Rising in a Morning? Who would play the Rogue, Cheat, Lie, Flatter, Bribe, or Pimp, to raise an Estate for a Blockhead of his own begetting, as he thinks, that shall waste it as scandalously as his Father got it? Or who, Courtine, would marry, to beget such a Blockhead?
Court.
No body but such a Blockhead as my self, Beaugard, that’s certain; but I will, if possible atone for that Sin of mine in the future Course of my Life, and grow as zealous a Libertine as thou wouldst wish thy Friend to be.
Dared.
These are Rogues that pretend to be a Religion now! Well, all that I say is, Honest Atheism for my Money.
Beaug.
No, grant me while I live the easie Being I am at present possest of; a kind, fair Shee, to cool my Blood, and pamper my Imagination withal; an honest Friend or two, like thee, Courtine, that I dare trust my Thoughts to; generous Wine, Health, Liberty, and no Dishonour; and when I ask more of Fortune, let her e’en make a Beggar of me. What sayst thou to this, Daredevil? Is not this coming as near thy Doctrine as a young Sinner can conveniently?
Dared.
Nay, I have very great Hopes of you, that’s my Comfort.
Court.
But why did we part with the Women so soon?
Beaug.
Oh, Courtine, Reputation, Reputation! I am a young Spark, and must stand upon my Credit, Friend; the Rogues that cheat all the Week, and go to Church in clean Bands o’ Sunday, will advance no necessary Sums upon my Revenues else, when there may be an Occasion: Besides, I have a Father in Town, a grave, sober, serious old Gentleman, call’d a Father.
