Scene V A Room in Sir Jolly Jumble’s House. A Banquet Set Out
Enter Sir Jolly Jumble, Beaugard, and Lady Dunce.
Sir Jol. So, are ye come? I am glad on’t; odd, you’re welcome, very welcome, odd, ye are; here’s a small banquet, but I hope ’twill please you; sit ye down, sit ye down both together; nay, both together: a pox o’ him that parts ye, I say!
Beau. Sir Jolly, this might be an entertainment for Antony and Cleopatra, were they living.
Sir Jol. Pish! a pox of Antony and Cleopatra, they are dead and rotten long ago; come, come, time’s but short, time’s but short, and must be made the best use of; for
Youth’s a flower that soon does fade,
And life is but a span;
Man was for the woman made,
And woman made for man.
Why, now we can be bold, and make merry, and frisk and be brisk, rejoice, and make a noise, and—odd, I am pleased, mightily pleased, odd, I am.
L. Dunce. Really, Sir Jolly, you are more a philosopher than I thought you were.
Sir Jol. Philosopher, madam! yes, madam, I have read books in my times; odd, Aristotle, in some things, had very pretty notions, he was an understanding fellow. Why don’t ye eat? odd, an ye don’t eat—here, child, here’s some ringoes,54 help, help your neighbour a little; odd, they are very good, very comfortable, very cordial.
Beau. Sir Jolly, your health.
Sir Jol. With all my heart, old boy.
L. Dunce. Dear Sir Jolly, what are these? I never tasted of these before.
Sir Jol. That? eat it, eat it, eat it when I bid you; odd, ’tis the root satyrion,55 a very precious plant, I gather ’em every May myself; odd, they’ll make an old fellow of sixty-five cut a caper like a dancing-master. Give me some wine. Madam, here’s a health, here’s a health, madam, here’s a health to honest Sir Davy, faith and troth, ha, ha, ha! [Dance.
Enter Bloody-Bones.
Bloody-B. Sir, sir, sir! what will you do? yonder’s the constable and all his watch at the door, and threatens demolishment, if not admitted presently.
Sir Jol. Odds so! odds so! the constable and his watch! what’s to be done now? get you both into the alcove there, get ye gone quickly, quickly; no noise, no noise, d’ye hear? [Exeunt Lady Dunce and Beaugard.] The constable and his watch! a pox on the constable and his watch! what the devil have the constable and his watch to do here?
Enter Constable, Watch, and Sir Davy Dunce.
Const. This way, this way, gentlemen; stay one of ye at the door, and let nobody pass, do you hear? Sir Jolly, your servant.
Sir Jol. What, this outrage, this disturbance committed upon my house and family! sir, sir, sir! what do you mean by these doings, sweet sir? ho!
Const. Sir, having received information that the body of a murdered man is concealed in your house, I am come, according to my duty, to make search and discover the truth.—Stand to my assistance, gentlemen.
Sir Jol. A murdered man, sir?
Sir Dav. Yes, a murdered man, sir. Sir Jolly, Sir Jolly, I am sorry to see a person of your character and figure in the parish concerned in a murder, I say.
Sir Jol. Here’s a dog! here’s a rogue for you! here’s a villain! here’s a cuckoldy son of his mother! I never knew a cuckold in my life that was not a false rogue in his heart; there are no honest fellows living but whore-masters. Hark you, sir, what a pox do you mean? you had best play the fool, and spoil all, you had; what’s all this for?
Sir Dav. When your worship’s come to be hanged, you’ll find the meaning on’t, sir. I say once more, search the house.
Const. It shall be done, sir. Come along, friends.
[Exeunt Constable and Watch.
Sir Jol. Search my house! O Lord! search my house! what will become of me? I shall lose my reputation with man and woman, and nobody will ever trust me again. O Lord! search my house! all will be discovered, do what I can! I’ll sing a song like a dying swan, and try to give them warning.
Go from the window, my love, my love, my love,
Go from the window, my dear;
The wind and the rain
Have brought ’em back again,
And thou canst have no lodging here.56
O Lord! search my house!
Sir Dav. Break down that door, I’ll have that door broke open; break down that door, I say. [Knocking within.
Sir Jol. Very well done; break down my doors, break down my walls, gentlemen! plunder my house! ravish my maids! Ah, cursed be cuckolds, cuckolds, constables, and cuckolds!
A door is opened and discovers Beaugard and Lady Dunce.
Re-enter Constable and Watch.
Beau. Stand off! by Heaven, the first that comes here comes upon his death.
Sir Dav. Sir, your humble servant; I’m glad to see you are alive again with all my heart. Gentlemen, here’s no harm done, gentlemen; here’s nobody murdered, gentlemen; the man’s alive, again, gentlemen; but here’s my wife, gentlemen, and a fine gentleman with her, gentlemen; and Master Constable, I hope you’ll bear me witness, Master Constable.
Sir Jol. That he’s a cuckold, Master Constable.
[Aside.
Beau. Hark ye, ye curs, keep off from snapping at my heels, or I shall so feague57 ye.
Sir Jol. Get ye gone, ye dogs, ye rogues, ye night-toads of the parish dungeon; disturb my house at these unseasonable hours! get ye out of my doors, get ye gone, or I’ll brain ye, dogs, rogues, villains! [Exeunt Constable and Watch.
Beau. And next for you, Sir Coxcomb, you see I am not murdered, though you paid well for the performance; what think you of bribing my own man to butcher me?
Enter Fourbin.
Look ye, sir, he can cut a throat upon occasion, and here’s another dresses a man’s heart with oil and pepper, better than any cook in Christendom.
Four. Will your worship please to have one for your breakfast this morning?
Sir Dav. With all my heart, sweetheart, anything in the world, faith and troth, ha, ha, ha! this is the purest sport, ha, ha, ha!
Re-enter Vermin.
Ver. Oh, sir, the most unhappy and most unfortunate news! There has been a gentleman in Madam Sylvia’s chamber all this night, who, just as you went out of doors, carried her away, and whither they are gone nobody knows.
Sir Dav. With all my heart, I am glad on’t, child, I would not care if he had carried away my house and all, man. Unhappy news, quoth-a! poor fool, he does not know I am a cuckold, and that anybody may make bold with what belongs to me, ha, ha, ha! I am so pleased, ha, ha, ha; I think I was never so pleased in all my life before, ha, ha, ha!
Beau. Nay, sir, I have a hank58 upon you; there are laws for cut-throats, sir; and as you tender your future credit, take this wronged lady home, and use her handsomely, use her like my mistress, sir, do you mark me? that when we think fit to meet again, I hear no complaint of you; this must be done, friend.
Sir Jol. In troth, and it is but reasonable, very reasonable in troth.
L. Dunce. Can you, my dear, forgive me one misfortune?
Sir Dav. Madam, in one word, I am thy ladyship’s most humble servant and cuckold, Sir Davy Dunce, knight, living in Covent-garden; ha, ha, ha! well, this is mighty pretty, ha, ha, ha!
Enter Sylvia, followed by Courtine.
Sylv. Sir Jolly, ah, Sir Jolly, protect me or I’m ruined.
Sir Jol. My little minikin, is it thy squeak?
Beau. My dear Courtine, welcome.
Sir Jol. Well, child, and what would that wicked fellow do to thee, child? Ha! child, child, what would he do to thee?
Sylv. Oh, sir, he has most inhumanly seduced me out of my uncle’s house, and threatens to marry me.
Cour. Nay, sir, and she having no more grace before her eyes neither, has e’en taken me at my word.
Sir Jol. In troth, and that’s very uncivilly done: I don’t like these marriages, I’ll have no marriages in my house, and there’s an end on’t.
Sir Dav. And do you intend to marry my niece, friend?
Cour. Yes, sir, and never ask your consent neither.
Sir Dav. In troth, and that’s very well said: I am glad on’t with all my heart, man, because she has five thousand pounds to her portion, and my estate’s bound to pay it. Well, this is the happiest day, ha, ha, ha!
Here, take thy bride, like man and wife agree,
And may she prove as true—as mine to me.
Ha, ha, ha!
Beau. Courtine, I wish thee joy: thou art come opportunely to be a witness of a perfect reconcilement between me and that worthy knight, Sir Davy Dunce; which to preserve inviolate, you must, sir, before we part, enter into such covenants for performance as I shall think fit.
Sir Dav. No more to be said; it shall be done, sweetheart: but don’t be too hard upon me; use me gently, as thou didst my wife; gently, ha, ha, ha! a very good jest, i’ faith, ha, ha, ha! or if he should be cruel to me, gentlemen, and take this advantage over a poor cornuto, to lay me in a prison, or throw me in a dungeon, at least—
I hope amongst all you, sirs, I shan’t fail
To find one brother-cuckold out for bail. [Exeunt.
Footnotes
48 Getting bespattered while roving about.
49 Whipping.
50 Truly.
51 A strong inclination.
52 Strong new wine.
53 A writ in common law, penalty, difficulty.
54 Eringoes, the holly plant, which was considered to be an aphrodisiac.
55 Another aphrodisiac.
56 This ballad often occurs in the plays of Beaumont and Fletcher, and particularly in Monsieur Thomas.
57 Whip.
58 Hold.
With the discharge of passions much oppressed,
Disturbed in brain, and pensive in his breast,
Full of those thoughts which make the unhappy sad,
And by imagination half grown mad,
The poet led abroad his mourning muse,
And let her range, to see what sport she’d choose.
Straight, like a bird got loose, and on the wing,
Pleased with her freedom she began to sing;
Each note was echoed all the vale along,
And this was what she uttered in her song:—
Wretch, write no more for an uncertain fame,
Nor call thy muse, when thou art dull, to blame:
Consider with thyself how thou’rt unfit
To make that monster of mankind, a wit:
A wit’s a toad, who, swelled with silly pride,
Full of himself, scorns all the world beside;
Civil would seem, though he good manners lacks,
Smiles on all faces, rails behind all backs.
If e’er good-natured, nought to ridicule,
Good-nature melts a wit into a fool:
Placed high like some jack-pudding in a hall,
At Christmas revels, he makes sport for all.
So much in little praises he delights,
But when he’s angry, draws his pen, and writes.
A wit to no man will his dues allow;
Wits will not part with a good word that’s due:
So whoe’er ventures on the ragged coast
Of starving poets, certainly is lost;
They rail like porters at the penny-post.
At a new author’s play see one but sit,
Making his snarling froward face of wit,
The merit he allows, and praise he grants,
Comes like a tax from a poor wretch that wants.
O poets, have a care of one another,
There’s hardly one amongst ye true to t’other:
Like Trinculos and Stephanos, ye play
The lewdest tricks each other to betray.59
Like foes detract, yet flattering, friend-like smile,
And all is one another to beguile
Of praise, the monster of your barren isle.
Enjoy the prostitute ye so admire,
Enjoy her to the full of your desire;
Whilst this poor scribbler wishes to retire,
Where he may ne’er repeat his follies more,
But curse the fate that wrecked him on your shore.
Now you, who this day as his judges sit,
After you’ve heard what he has said of wit,
Ought for your own sakes not to be severe,
But show so much to think he meant none here.