Complete Works of Thomas Otway

by Thomas Otway

  [Exit Father.

  Enter Courtine.

  Court.

  To what an insignificant purpose have I taken all this pains to night, here have I been put into a Room with a Bed in it, with pray, Sir, will you be pleased to take your rest in the Devil’s Name; when my design has not been to take my rest, but my Recreation: I fancy I heard a kind, small complaining Voice this way too, and must at present confess my self in a very good natur’d humor, very much inclined to succor any distressed Damsel that wants a Companion to pass away a tedious Night withall.

  Dard.

  Oh! oh! Would but this dear Man come now!

  Court.

  Hah! heark! That must certainly be me she means; nay, I am sure on’t: I’ll on a little farther.

  Dard.

  Oh h h!

  Court.

  Where art thou, thou poor Creature? I am come to comfort thee.

  Dard.

  I wish you had come a little sooner, I am very ill.

  Court.

  Alas, kind Soul, she’s sick with passionate expectation: This must be my blushing, unknown Servant at the least.

  Dard.

  Whereabouts are you? Give me your hand hither, will you?

  Court.

  Here, here it is, and my heart too, thou hast ’em both: I’ll swear she has a well grown palm, by the Rule of proportion I’ll warrant her a Swinger: — but no matter ’tis in the dark.

  [Aside.

  Dard.

  Heart, said you Sir? Alas! my poor heart’s breaking.

  Court.

  Breaking, dear Soul! No, no, never fear it, I’ll give thee a Recipe to keep it whole. I’ll warrant thee: This is the most Romantick Adventure.

  [Falls to undressing himself.

  Poirca and Phillis at the door.

  Poirca.

  Has then Beaugard gotten entrance art thou sure?

  Court.

  Hah!

  Phillis.

  Madam so sure; that his Valet Fourbine is here in the House, and told me so himself.

  Court.

  What’s that?

  Porcia.

  Then now my part begins: Was there ever such inhumane Cruelty committed, a Wretch barbarously murder’d and expos’d, without comfort or succor?

  Court.

  Murder, said they? What, Manslaying! when all my thoughts were upon nothing but Manmaking. I gad then ’tis time that I take care for one, and till a better conveniency offer it self, here’s my Burrough, murder in the Devil’s name. What do they say now?

  [Creeps under the Bed.

  Porcia.

  No, no, my Conscience will not bear it, I must proclaim it to the World: What hoa there, Murder, Murder, Murder.

  Court.

  Oh Lord, here’s a comfortable Condition that I am got into.

  Porcia.

  But does the Chyrurgeon say there is certainly no danger?

  Phillis.

  Only a thin skin Wound on the outside of his Belly; but that the force of Fear in the Cowardly-hearted Fellow, will let him think of nothing but a Grave and Damnation.

  Porcia.

  The present advantage of it then must be improv’d: wherefore I say the stinging of my Conscience will not let me rest, I dare not conceal this Murder. Murder, Murder, Murder! Cry Murder you Witch, and alarm the House.

  Phillis.

  Here is somebody coming already, Madam.

  Porcia.

  Stand still, and observe then.

  Enter Beaugard.

  Beaug.

  I think it was this way, but no matter, for I am sure I reign Lord Paramount of this Castle now: The angry jealous Brother is gone to Bed, and all his way like Family, where he lies as , and snores and gapes so wide, one might steal the Widow out of his mouth if she were there: Now could I but find the way to her Ladiship’s Chamber, while Plunder is according to Orders, with his Crew binding the drowzy Rogues of the Family in their Beds! What an opportunity would that be! For there is but one way of making a slippery Widow sure to you.

  Porcia.

  No matter, happen how it will, I say again it is a Crying Sin, it is an Abomination, ’tis a — Ah!

  [Seeing Beaug. disguis’d, is frighted, and runs out.

  Beaug.

  Hah! What do Ghosts walk here at this time o’Night, and in Petticoats too; Nay, then have at you: Ye Airy Forms.

  [Going out, is met by his Father, disguis’d like a Phanatique Preacher.

  Fath.

  Yes, verily, and indeed it is an Abomination, a burning Shame, and a lewd Abomination.

  Beaug.

  Hell and the Devil! My Spirit in Petticoats that squeak’d Abomination in Ela, converted to the fleshly similitude of a Holy Brother, that Cants it in Gamut — Hoh! Speak, what art thou?

  Fath.

  A Minister of Peace to wounded Consciences; I come here by appointment with an Olive Branch in my mouth, to visit a mortal Ark toss’d and floating in flouds of its own Tears, for its own Frailties.

  Beaug.

  And are you really, Sir, a Man? Really the Godly Implement you appear to be, for the scowring of foul Consciences.

  Dard.

  Ha! ha! ha! Godly Implement, it has almost made me laugh; that’s a merry Gentleman, I’ll warrant him: Oh h h!

  Fath.

  I am, Friend, I tell thee, an instructer of the Chosen: Thou favour’st of the old Man, stand off, and do not pollute me with too near communication: I come to convert a Sinner to the Truth, it was I that converted — as some say no body; and expounded the groans of the Protestant Board. How fareth our Brother?

  Dard.

  Alas, Sir, very weak; upon the point of Dissolution, and tormented with the stings of a terrify’d Conscience.

  Fath.

  Lay then one hand upon thy heart.

  Dard.

  I do so.

  Fath.

  Lend me the other; that in the pouring forth thy sins, thy right hand may not know what thy left hand doth.

  Beaug.

  A very material Point that is truly.

  Fath.

  Thou hast lived in Wickedness long.

  Dard.

  From Sixteen to Eight and Forty, without the least Repentance, or a thought of it.

  Fath.

  A very dangerous state; but for thy darling Sins, Imprimis, what?

  Dard.

  Drunkenness.

  Fath.

  A very pernicious sin, and of the Devil’s own institution; for it sets our Souls a fire: Nay, it sets our Noses o’fire, and sets Houses o’fire. Drunkeness! — Did you ever burn any Houses?

  Dard.

  Never but three, and they Houses of pollution too: Bawdy-houses, Sir.

  Fath.

  So much the worse: For if Bawdy-houses be burnt, what civil Family in this City sleeps safe? I never burnt a Bawdy-house in my life, that’s my comfort. Item.

  Dard.

  Whoredom, Adultery!

  Fath.

  For Adultery, I mean corrupting of other mens Wives, let me tell you it is a crying Sin, and a very loud one too; but do you repent?

  Dard.

  From the Bottom of my heart.

  Beaug.

  So, Heav’n be thanked, there’s no harm in plain Whoredom.

  Fath.

  No more to be said then; be comforted, and I’ll absolve thee: But with whom was this Wickedness committed last?

  Dard.

  With my Bosom Friend’s Wife, and one that deserv’d much better of me.

  Beaug.

  And that was very friendly done of thee truly.

  Fath.

  Impudent Rogue! But was she very young?

  Beaug.

  Ay, now the feeling, circumstantial Questions are starting.

  Dard.

  About Eighteen; and not yet wedded a full year.

  Fath.

  Voluptuous Dog! But handsom too? Was she very handsom?

  Dard.

  Too beautiful, to have had so little
Virtue.

  Fath.

  Her Name, her Name! Tell me her Name. Quickly, I say unto thee, let me know her Name.

  Beaug.

  Well said, well said there, old Fornication!

  Dard.

  That I have promised shall for ever be a Secret, Sir.

  Fath.

  Then thou art damn’d, and I do not absolve thee. I must know this precious young Harlot.

  [Aside.]

  Once more I say her Name!

  Dard.

  But I have sworn, Sir; you’d not have me be forsworn?

  Fath.

  A mortal Sin in it self: Swearing is another Sin. Farewel, I’ll have no more to do with thee: Thy Sins are of too deep a Dye, and Satan be upon thee, a damn’d Rogue not to tell me her Name.

  Dard.

  Oh! oh! dear Sir, come back again, and leave me not in this desperàte, desponding, sad condition.

  [Exit Father.

  If he has any mercy in this Case but upon his own conditions, he’s no Father of mine I am sure on’t.

  [Aside.

  Enter Lucrece.

  Lucr.

  Oh, Sir, I am glad I have met with you, a word with you in private, turn, turn this way into the next Room quickly, Porcia, Porcia, your Widow Porcia, Sir.

  Beaug.

  Hah! speak, where is she, thou pretty, smiling Mercury!

  Lucr.

  I am to bring her to you this moment: No more words, but in Sir, in, if you’ll be happy.

  Court.

  Porcia, Porcia, said he? Then I am sure it must be Beaugard, a pretty Pimp that I’ll warrant him.

  [Aside.

  Beaug.

  And shall I trust thee?

  Lucr.

  Why should I deceive you?

  Beaug.

  Be sure thou dost not, as thou lovest the welfare of this soft, tender outside; adieu for a minute.

  [Exit.

  Lucr.

  That minute gives her to your possession, Sir — Hist, Madam, Hist! The Coast is now clear.

  Sylvia.

  Where are you ill nature?

  Lucr.

  Here, tortur’d with my Longings: Where are you? come, come.

  Sylvia.

  Why do you make me do this?

  Lucr.

  Is that a Question now? Turn, turn into the dark Chamber: I’ll but secure this Door, and then the Night’s our own.

  Sylvia.

  Don’t stay too long.

  Court.

  How afraid she is, lest he should come again too soon!

  [Aside.

  Lucr.

  Be satisfi’d, I’ll fly — that is from you as fast as I can, for I hope I have fitted you.

  [Exit Sylvia.

  Court.

  Nay, faith, if this be the Custom of the House, I’ll lurk here no longer: The Devil again!

  Re-enter Father.

  Fath.

  Trouble me no more, I say I will not be persuaded, I will know the Adultresses Name, that I may admonish her; for it has been of ancient practice in these our pious Offices, to make our Converts confess not only all they know, but all that we have a mind to know.

  Dard.

  Not Sir, I hope, if it be improper.

  Fath.

  No matter for that, proper or improper, right or wrong true or false, if it be for our use, it must be confessed. Therefore I say, and say again, I do not absolve thee, thou art in the state of Perdition still; tell me her Name, or for thy Drunkenness, and burning of Houses; Thy Whoredoms, and Adulteries; Blasphemy, and Profaness; Thy Swearing, and Forswearing; Thy rubbing out Milk-scores, and lamb-blacking of Signs in Covent-Garden; Thy breaking of Windows, killing Constables and Watchmen, Beadles, Taylors, Hackney-Coachmen and Link-Boys: for all these —

  [Noises of squeaking from each side of the Stage, one from Sylvia, Heark there the screaming Fiends are at thy door already. Heark, screame again.

  Court.

  Nay, Madam, if you squeak, and think to alarum the House, I do not behave my self like a true Friend to Love, I am mistaken, and so here I am posted, and thus will maintain the Pass.

  [Goes to the door where Beaug. and his wife are, and draws his sword to defend it.

  Lucr.

  at the door.

  Well said, my civil, dear and friendly Cuckold.

  Enter Theodoret and Porcia crying.

  Theod.

  Come forth thou Strumpet.

  Porcia.

  Nay, cruel Theodoret, do not, do not kill me: here on my knees.

  Court.

  How’s this? Porcia taken there, and my Friend here in private with Porcia too!

  Theod.

  By Heav’n thou dy’st this moment.

  Court.

  By Hell though but she shall not, Sir.

  Enter Sylvia, and Beaugard pursuing her.

  Beaug.

  Nay, Madam, then! how’s this? My Widow split in twain! My Porcia there, and Porcia here too? Confound me Courtine’s Wife I have done finely.

  Theod.

  You’ll justifie this usage?

  Court.

  You see, Sir, I am responsible.

  [Shews him Beaug.

  Beaug.

  By Heav’n unhand her, or — Nay, look Sir well, you’ll know me.

  [Throws off his disguise.

  Porcia.

  My faithful Souldier!

  Beaug.

  My victorious Widow!

  [She runs into his Arms.

  Theod.

  Call up my Servants there, raise all the Houshold.

  Beaug.

  I’l do’t Sir —

  [Gives the Sign, Plunder and his Party appear.

  See, here are those that are ready to wait on you, if you have any service to command them.

  Theod.

  And I will find’em service that shall warm’em.

  [Exit.

  Court.

  Now, I fancy, by this Lady’s concealing her self, she may be a discovery worth the making. Madam, you see here my Friend is unconstant, but truly nothing could ever wean him from this Widow here — Sylvia! My Wife! my rigid vertuous Wife! my damn’d, confounded, jealous Wife!

  Beaug.

  Now here are very hopeful matters towards.

  Court.

  It was very courteously done of me, Beaugard, was it not, to keep the door for you, with my own Wife, Sir?

  Beaug.

  Nay, let us not quarrel Ned: I’ll give thee a friendly account of this matter to morrow between our selves, in the mean time be satisfi’d, I have not wrong’d thee.

  Porcia.

  Will you never leave this Foraging into other Folks Quarters, Captain?

  Beaug.

  I am afraid, Widow of mine, you had a finger in the Plot, though —

  Sylvia.

  Indeed, my dearest.

  Court.

  Your humble Servant, my Dearest! I am only glad of this fair opportunity, to be rid of you, my Dearest: henceforth, my Dearest, I shall drink my drink, my Dearest, I shall whore my Dearest; and so long as I can pimp so handsomly for you, my Dearest, I hope if ever we return into the Countrey, you’ll wink at a small Fault now and then with the Dairy-Wench, or Chamber-Maid, my Dearest.

  Sylv.

  I always was a Burden to your sight, and you shall be this time eas’d on’t.

  [Exit.

  Court.

  With all my heart! Heav’n grant it would last for ever.

  Enter Theodoret.

  Theod.

  My Doors lockt up! My Servants gag’d and bound! I am betray’d, undone, and I’ll not live to bear it.

  Beaug.

  Nay, hold, Sir, none of that neither: This Design was not laid for a Tragedy.

  Theod.

  How do you intend to deal with me?

  Beaug.

  Like a Gentleman, Sir, though you hardly deserve it of me: In short, this Lady is in my Charge now, and you in my power, and by her Authority, this being her own House, I
have made thus bold with it, and will take care to dispose hereafter out of the reach of your merciless Tyranny, nay, if this reverend person will do us the friendly Office, though I have often renounc’t it, am ready to do it one way this moment. Dardevil, wilt thou lend me thy Chaplain?

  Dard.

  Heh!

  Porcia.

  Rise, Sir! Won’t you rise? If your old Friend and I make a match on’t, I hope you’ll be so kind to dance at the Wedding.

  Dard.

  Dance, Madam! I am dying.

  Phillis.

  That’s false, to my knowledge, Madam: for the Surgeon told me last dressing, it was so slight a Wound, he had much ado to keep it from healing.

  Dard.

  Yes, by the same token when he had done with me, he began with you, forsooth, and said he would shew you a little of his operation, for handling and tampering with his Box of Instruments, and there’s the truth-out now.

  All.

  Ha! ha! ha! ha!

  Dard.

  Why Gentlemen, Ladies, Friends, Acquaintance, Am not I dying? Am not I wounded? Is not there a Hole in my belly, that you may turn a Coach and six in?

  Beaug.

  No, no: Prithee leave raving, and get up for shame, man: Thou an Atheist, thou believe neither a God nor a Devil, and be afraid of a hurt no bigger than a Pin-hole! Courtine, lend us thy hand to raise up our old Friend here: Well, how is’t now?

  [Set him on his Legs.

  Dard.

  Hah! Faith and Troth, I fancy, not so bad as I thought it was. Methinks I begin to find my self pretty hearty; I can stand, I can walk too, I have no pain at all. How dost thou do,

  Strikes him on the Shoulder, which shakes the Disguise from his Face.

  old Orththodox?

  Court.

  Ah! but you repented, Dardevill; thou didst repent, Friend: I am sorry to hear of it with all my heart, it will be a soul blot in thy Escutcheon: But thou didst repent.

  Fath.

  A Pox on the Block-head, now I shall be known

  Fumbling to six his Disguise again.

  Dard.

  Repent! Prithee be quiet, Man: Repent, quotha! Why, dost thou think I did not know my old Customer for two Deuces here, old Anti-Abraham, the Father of Unbelievers?

  Fath.

  My Iacky! my little Rogue! my dainty Boy! Thou Son of thy nown Father, I can hold no longer; and I must kiss thee, and I will kiss thee, you Dog, you Dog, you Dog, you little dear damn’d Dog.

  [Sing Old Simon.

  Huzza, the Widow’s our own: There lie Divinity.

  Beaug.

  A very Cutter, as I live, had he but a Tabithe, a perfect Cutter.

  Fath.

  Now, Iacky Boy; Iacky, you Rogue, shall not I have a little spill out of this Portion now, hah? The jolly Worms that have fatten’d so long in this Malmsey Nose of mine with the Fumes of Sack will die, and drop out of their Sockets else. Couldst thou have the Heart to see this illuminated Nose of mine look like an empty Honey-Comb; Couldst thou be so hard hearted?