Scene II Penelope’s Lodgings
Lettice, discovered reading, by a small candle; two large ones by her unlighted.
Lett. ’Tis a most sad thing, one dare not light a large candle except company’s coming in, and I scarce can see to read this piteous story. Well, in all these distresses and misfortunes, the faithful Argalus was renowned all over the plains of Arca—Arca—Arcadia—for his loyal and true affection to his charming paramour, Parthenia.70 Blessings on his heart for it; there are no such suitors nowadays. [Weeping.] But I hope they’ll come together again at the end of the book, and marry, and have several children. Oh! Bless me! A man here! [Turns over the leaves.]—The gentleman’s pretty man——[Aside.
Enter Latine.
I wonder by what means, with that impudence, you could offer to come upstairs at this time of the night, and my lady in the next room. I protest I’ll cry out. [In a low voice all.
Lat. Dear Mrs. Lettice, my love to you. [Aloud.
Lett. Hist, hist! I am, methinks, however, loth to discover you, because servants must do as they’re bid; for I know it was not to see me, but some message from your master you came about.
Lat. I offered to bring a letter from him, in hopes to see you, my dearest. I’ll not give it at all; I don’t care, my dearest. [Kisses her hand.
Lett. Pho! pho! now you are rude, because you know one dare not discover you. You do what you will.—How he kisses one’s hand: I warrant he has kissed his betters. [Aside.]—Pray, did you never live in a lady’s service?
Lat. No; nor do I value any of the sex but your dear self, Mrs. Lettice.—I would be discovered. [Aside.]—I’m in a rapture! in a flame!
Pen. [Within.] Who’s there?
Lett. Hist, hist! could not you have forced a kiss quietly?—Madam! madam!—Hold me fast. Show the letter, my lady’s coming.—I tell you, sir, she will receive no message at all. Get you downstairs, you impudent!—Hold me faster yet; she loves your master. [Softly aside to Latine.
Enter Penelope and Victoria.
Pen. What can this mean? What fellow’s that has seized the wench?
Lett. Madam, madam, here’s Mr. Bookwit’s footman drunk, and has directly stole upstairs with some ill design, I fear, on me—but has a letter from his master to your ladyship.
Pen. Call up the servants: Simon, William, Kate, Alf! I’ll have the rascal well basted for his insolence—served just as his master deserves.
Lat. [Kneeling.] Let not those lips, more sweet than labour of Hyblæan bees, utter a sentence, as if a Libyan lioness on a mountain gave thee suck, and thou wert the obdurate offspring of a rock.
Vict. Hyblæan! Libyan! Obdurate! Ridiculous. The fellow has got his master’s cant! Ha! ha! ha!
Pen. I’ll put him out of it, I’ll warrant you. What, will no one come up there?
Enter Servants with brooms, &c.
Lat. Oh! for the force of eloquence to allay and reconcile the passion of this angry mansion!—I had like to have said plain house, which had been against the laws of buskin, in which I would at present talk. [Aside.
Pen. Did you ever hear anything like this? Ha! ha!
Maid. Madam, shall I beat him?
Lat. Ah! culinary fair, compose thy rage; thou whose more skilful hand is still employed in offices for the support of nature, descend not from thyself, thou bright cookmaid——There! sunk again! [Aside.]—With heightened gusts and quickening tastes, by you what would be labour else is made delight. Thou great robust, let not thy hand all red assault a life it rather should preserve.
Maid. Good madam, excuse me, I can’t touch him——I have bowels for him. [Weeping.
Sim. I wish I had his learning. I’ll warrant he buys in everything wherever he lives.
Lat. This, madam, this faithful paper tells you the passions of the tenderest heart that ever bled for cruel maid. Oh, Victoria! did you but hear his sighs, his restless hours!—how often he repeats Victoria!
Lett. Victoria! Then I find this is none on’t meant to my lady—nor to me neither; the master and man are both rogues. [Aside.
Pen. Receive your seasonable epistle now at midnight!
Vict. He can’t mean me——To you he all along addressed.—Would I could read it without her. [Aside.
Pen. To show you I value neither author nor bearer of it—kick the fellow down!
Lat. Nay, madam, since matters must come to extremities, I’d rather have the honour of your ladyship’s command to be cudgelled by your good family than have it from my master. A disappointed lover in his rage will strike stone walls and things inanimate, much more a poor live footman; therefore I must deliver my message. I’ll read it to you, ladies, for I see you are friends.
Pen. Away with him.
Lat. “If the sincerity of my intentions were not——”
Lett. Get out, false wretch.
Lat. “Demonstrable, in spite of——”
Maid. Take that——
Lat. “These accidents in which I have been involved, I should not dare to tell you how alternately joys, raptures, ecstasies, miseries, doubts, and anxieties do attack a breast devoted to you.”
Whither shall injured virtue fly for shelter,
When love and honour suffer thus in me?
Oh! I could rage, call elements about me, spout cataracts—
Must I be drubbed with broom-staves? [Exit. Lat.
Pen. Come in, my dear, again. The night is cold. [Exeunt.