Scene II Another Part of the Same
Enter Gripe, leading Lucy; Mrs. Joyner and Mrs. Crossbite following.
Gripe. Mrs. Joyner, I can conform to this mode of public walking by moonlight, because one is not known.
Lucy. Why, are you ashamed of your company?
Gripe. No, pretty one; because in the dark, or as it were in the dark, there is no envy nor scandal. I would neither lose you nor my reputation.
Mrs. Joyn. Your reputation! indeed, your worship, ’tis well known there are as grave men as your worship; nay, men in office too, that adjourn their cares and businesses, to come and unbend themselves at night here, with a little vizard-mask.
Gripe. I do believe it, Mrs. Joyner.
Lucy. Ay, godmother, and carries and treats her at Mulberry-garden.
Mrs. Cros. Nay, does not only treat her, but gives her his whole gleaning of that day.
Gripe. They may, they may, Mrs. Crossbite; they take above six in the hundred.
Mrs. Cros. Nay, there are those of so much worth and honour and love, that they’ll take it from their wives and children to give it to their misses; now your worship has no wife, and but one child.
Gripe. Still for my edification! [Aside.
Mrs. Joyn. That’s true, indeed; for I know a great lady that cannot follow her husband abroad to his haunts, because her Ferrandine is so ragged and greasy, whilst his mistress is as fine as fi’pence, in embroidered satins.
Gripe. Politicly done of him indeed! If the truth were known, he is a statesman by that, umph—
Mrs. Cros. Truly, your women of quality are very troublesome to their husbands: I have heard ’em complain, they will allow them no separate maintenance, though the honourable jilts themselves will not marry without it.
Mrs. Joyn. Come, come, mistress; sometimes ’tis the craft of those gentlemen to complain of their wives’ expenses to excuse their own narrowness to their misses; but your daughter has a gallant that can make no excuse.
Gripe. So, Mrs. Joyner!—my friend, Mrs. Joyner—
Mrs. Cros. I hope, indeed, he’ll give my daughter no cause to dun him; for, poor wretch! she is as modest as her mother.
Gripe. I profess, I believe it.
Lucy. But I have the boldness to ask him for a treat.—Come, gallant, we must walk towards the Mulberry-garden.
Gripe. So!—I am afraid, little mistress, the rooms are all taken up by this time.
Mrs. Joyn. Will you shame yourself again? [Aside to Gripe.
Lucy. If the rooms be full we’ll have an arbour.
Gripe. At this time of night!—besides, the waiters will ne’er come near you.
Lucy. They will be observant of good customers, as we shall be. Come along.
Gripe. Indeed, and verily, little mistress, I would go, but that I should be forsworn if I did.
Mrs. Joyn. That’s so pitiful an excuse!—
Gripe. In truth, I have forsworn the place ever since I was pawned there for a reckoning.
Lucy. You have broken many an oath for the good old cause, and will you boggle at one for your poor little miss? Come along.
Enter Lady Flippant behind.
L. Flip. Unfortunate lady that I am! I have left the herd on purpose to be chased, and have wandered this hour here; but the Park affords not so much as a satyr for me, and (that’s strange!) no Burgundy man or drunken scourer will reel my way. The rag-women, and cinder-women, have better luck than I.—But who are these? if this mongrel light does not deceive me, ’tis my brother,—’tis he:—there’s Joyner, too, and two other women. I’ll follow ’em. It must be he, for this world hath nothing like him;—I know not what the devil may be in the other. [Exeunt.