Scene IV Horner’s Lodging. A Table, Banquet, and Bottles
Enter Horner, Lady Fidget, Mrs. Dainty Fidget, and Mrs. Squeamish.
Horn. A pox! they are come too soon—before I have sent back my new mistress. All that I have now to do is to lock her in, that they may not see her. [Aside.
L. Fid. That we may be sure of our welcome, we have brought our entertainment with us, and are resolved to treat thee, dear toad.
Mrs. Dain. And that we may be merry to purpose, have left Sir Jasper and my old Lady Squeamish, quarrelling at home at backgammon.
Mrs. Squeam. Therefore let us make use of our time, lest they should chance to interrupt us.
L. Fid. Let us sit then.
Horn. First, that you may be private, let me lock this door and that, and I’ll wait upon you presently.
L. Fid. No, sir, shut ’em only, and your lips for ever; for we must trust you as much as our women.
Horn. You know all vanity’s killed in me; I have no occasion for talking.
L. Fid. Now, ladies, supposing we had drank each of us our two bottles, let us speak the truth of our hearts.
Mrs. Dain. and Mrs. Squeam. Agreed.
L. Fid. By this brimmer, for truth is nowhere else to be found—[Aside to Horner.] not in thy heart, false man!
Horn. You have found me a true man, I’m sure. [Aside to Lady Fidget.
L. Fid. [Aside to Horner.] Not every way.—But let us sit and be merry. [Sings.
Why should our damned tyrants oblige us to live
On the pittance of pleasure which they only give?
We must not rejoice
With wine and with noise:
In vain we must wake in a dull bed alone,
Whilst to our warm rival the bottle they’re gone.
Then lay aside charms,
And take up these arms.84
’Tis wine only gives ’em their courage and wit;
Because we live sober, to men we submit.
If for beauties you’d pass,
Take a lick of the glass,
’Twill mend your complexions, and when they are gone,
The best red we have is the red of the grape:
Then, sisters, lay’t on,
And damn a good shape.
Mrs. Fain. Dear brimmer! Well, in token of our openness and plain-dealing, let us throw our masks over our heads.
Horn. So, ’twill come to the glasses anon. [Aside.
Mrs. Squeam. Lovely brimmer! let me enjoy him first.
L. Fid. No, I never part with a gallant till I’ve tried him. Dear brimmer! that makest our husbands short-sighted.
Mrs. Dain. And our bashful gallants bold.
Mrs. Squeam. And, for want of a gallant, the butler lovely in our eyes.—Drink, eunuch.
L. Fid. Drink, thou representative of a husband.—Damn a husband!
Mrs. Dain. And, as it were a husband, an old keeper.
Mrs. Squeam. And an old grandmother.
Horn. And an English bawd, and a French surgeon.
L. Fid. Ay, we have all reason to curse ’em.
Horn. For my sake, ladies?
L. Fid. No, for our own; for the first spoils all young gallants’ industry.
Mrs. Dain. And the other’s art makes ’em bold only with common women.
Mrs. Squeam. And rather run the hazard of the vile distemper amongst them, than of a denial amongst us.
Mrs. Dain. The filthy toads choose mistresses now as they do stuffs, for having been fancied and worn by others.
Mrs. Squeam. For being common and cheap.
L. Fid. Whilst women of quality, like the richest stuffs, lie untumbled, and unasked for.
Horn. Ay, neat, and cheap, and new, often they think best.
Mrs. Dain. No, sir, the beasts will be known by a mistress longer than by a suit.
Mrs. Squeam. And ’tis not for cheapness neither.
L. Fid. No; for the vain fops will take up druggets, and embroider ’em. But I wonder at the depraved appetites of witty men; they use to be out of the common road, and hate imitation. Pray tell me, beast, when you were a man, why you rather chose to club with a multitude in a common house for an entertainment, than to be the only guest at a good table.
Horn. Why, faith, ceremony and expectation are unsufferable to those that are sharp bent. People always eat with the best stomach at an ordinary, where every man is snatching for the best bit.
L. Fid. Though he get a cut over the fingers.—But I have heard, that people eat most heartily of another man’s meat, that is, what they do not pay for.
Horn. When they are sure of their welcome and freedom; for ceremony in love and eating is as ridiculous as in fighting: falling on briskly is all should be done on those occasions.
L. Fid. Well then, let me tell you, sir, there is nowhere more freedom than in our houses; and we take freedom from a young person as a sign of good breeding; and a person may be as free as he pleases with us, as frolic, as gamesome, as wild as he will.
Horn. Han’t I heard you all declaim against wild men?
L. Fid. Yes; but for all that, we think wildness in a man as desirable a quality as in a duck or rabbit: a tame man! foh!
Horn. I know not, but your reputations frightened me as much as your faces invited me.
L. Fid. Our reputation! Lord, why should you not think that we women make use of our reputation, as you men of yours, only to deceive the world with less suspicion? Our virtue is like the statesman’s religion, the quaker’s word, the gamester’s oath, and the great man’s honour; but to cheat those that trust us.
Mrs. Squeam. And that demureness, coyness, and modesty, that you see in our faces in the boxes at plays, is as much a sign of a kind woman, as a vizard-mask in the pit.
Mrs. Dain. For, I assure you, women are least masked when they have the velvet vizard on.
L. Fid. You would have found us modest women in our denials only.
Mrs. Squeam. Our bashfulness is only the reflection of the men’s.
Mrs. Dain. We blush when they are shamefaced.
Horn. I beg your pardon, ladies, I was deceived in you devilishly. But why that mighty pretence to honour?
L. Fid. We have told you; but sometimes ’twas for the same reason you men pretend business often, to avoid ill company, to enjoy the better and more privately those you love.
Horn. But why would you ne’er give a friend a wink then?
L. Fid. Faith, your reputation frightened us, as much as ours did you, you were so notoriously lewd.
Horn. And you so seemingly honest.
L. Fid. Was that all that deterred you?
Horn. And so expensive—you allow freedom, you say.
L. Fid. Ay, ay.
Horn. That I was afraid of losing my little money, as well as my little time, both which my other pleasures required.
L. Fid. Money! foh! you talk like a little fellow now: do such as we expect money?
Horn. I beg your pardon, madam, I must confess, I have heard that great ladies, like great merchants, set but the higher prices upon what they have, because they are not in necessity of taking the first offer.
Mrs. Dain. Such as we make sale of our hearts?
Mrs. Squeam. We bribed for our love? foh!
Horn. With your pardon ladies, I know, like great men in offices, you seem to exact flattery and attendance only from your followers; but you have receivers about you, and such fees to pay, a man is afraid to pass your grants. Besides, we must let you win at cards, or we lose your hearts; and if you make an assignation, ’tis at a goldsmith’s, jeweller’s, or china-house; where for your honour you deposit to him, he must pawn his to the punctual cit, and so paying for what you take up, pays for what he takes up.
Mrs. Dain. Would you not have us assured of our gallants’ love?
Mrs. Squeam. For love is better known by liberality than by jealousy.
L. Fid. For one may be dissembled, the other not.—[Aside.] But my jealousy can be no longer dissembled, and they are telling ripe.—[Aloud.]—Come, here’s to our gallants in waiting, whom we must name, and I’ll begin. This is my false rogue. [Claps him on the back.
Mrs. Squeam. How!
Horn. So, all will out now. [Aside.
Mrs. Squeam. Did you not tell me, ’twas for my sake only you reported yourself no man? [Aside to Horner.
Mrs. Dain. Oh, wretch! did you not swear to me, ’twas for my love and honour you passed for that thing you do? [Aside to Horner.
Horn. So, so.
L. Fid. Come, speak, ladies: this is my false villain.
Mrs. Squeam. And mine too.
Mrs. Dain. And mine.
Horn. Well then, you are all three my false rogues too, and there’s an end on’t.
L. Fid. Well then, there’s no remedy; sister sharers, let us not fall out, but have a care of our honour. Though we get no presents, no jewels of him, we are savers of our honour, the jewel of most value and use, which shines yet to the world unsuspected, though it be counterfeit.
Horn. Nay, and is e’en as good as if it were true, provided the world think so; for honour, like beauty now, only depends on the opinion of others.
L. Fid. Well, Harry Common, I hope you can be true to three. Swear; but ’tis to no purpose to require your oath, for you are as often forsworn as you swear to new women.
Horn. Come, faith, madam, let us e’en pardon one another; for all the difference I find betwixt we men and you women, we forswear ourselves at the beginning of an amour, you as long as it lasts.
Enter Sir Jasper Fidget, and Old Lady Squeamish.
Sir Jasp. Oh, my Lady Fidget, was this your cunning, to come to Mr. Horner without me? but you have been nowhere else, I hope.
L. Fid. No, Sir Jasper.
L. Squeam. And you came straight hither, Biddy?
Mrs. Squeam. Yes, indeed, lady grandmother.
Sir Jasp. ’Tis well, ’tis well; I knew when once they were thoroughly acquainted with poor Horner, they’d ne’er be from him: you may let her masquerade it with my wife and Horner, and I warrant her reputation safe.
Enter Boy.
Boy. O, sir, here’s the gentleman come, whom you bid me not suffer to come up, without giving you notice, with a lady too, and other gentlemen.
Horn. Do you all go in there, whilst I send ’em away; and, boy, do you desire ’em to stay below till I come, which shall be immediately. [Exeunt Sir Jasper Fidget, Lady Fidget, Lady Squeamish, Mrs. Squeamish, and Mrs. Dainty Fidget.
Boy. Yes, sir. [Exit.
[Exit Horner at the other door, and returns with Mrs. Pinchwife.
Horn. You would not take my advice, to be gone home before your husband came back, he’ll now discover all; yet pray, my dearest, be persuaded to go home, and leave the rest to my management; I’ll let you down the back way.
Mrs. Pinch. I don’t know the way home, so I don’t.
Horn. My man shall wait upon you.
Mrs. Pinch. No, don’t you believe that I’ll go at all; what, are you weary of me already?
Horn. No, my life, ’tis that I may love you long, ’tis to secure my love, and your reputation with your husband; he’ll never receive you again else.
Mrs. Pinch. What care I? d’ye think to frighten me with that? I don’t intend to go to him again; you shall be my husband now.
Horn. I cannot be your husband, dearest, since you are married to him.
Mrs. Pinch. O, would you make me believe that? Don’t I see every day at London here, women leave their first husbands, and go and live with other men as their wives? pish, pshaw! you’d make me angry, but that I love you so mainly.
Horn. So, they are coming up—In again, in, I hear ’em.—[Exit Mrs. Pinchwife.] Well, a silly mistress is like a weak place, soon got, soon lost, a man has scarce time for plunder; she betrays her husband first to her gallant, and then her gallant to her husband.
Enter Pinchwife, Alithea, Harcourt, Sparkish, Lucy, and a Parson.
Pinch. Come, madam, ’tis not the sudden change of your dress, the confidence of your asseverations, and your false witness there, shall persuade me I did not bring you hither just now; here’s my witness, who cannot deny it, since you must be confronted.—Mr. Horner, did not I bring this lady to you just now?
Horn. Now must I wrong one woman for another’s sake,—but that’s no new thing with me, for in these cases I am still on the criminal’s side against the innocent. [Aside.
Alith. Pray speak, sir.
Horn. It must be so. I must be impudent, and try my luck; impudence uses to be too hard for truth. [Aside.
Pinch. What, you are studying an evasion or excuse for her! Speak, sir.
Horn. No, faith, I am something backward only to speak in women’s affairs or disputes.
Pinch. She bids you speak.
Alith. Ay, pray, sir, do, pray satisfy him.
Horn. Then truly, you did bring that lady to me just now.
Pinch. O ho!
Alith. How, sir?
Har. How, Horner?
Alith. What mean you, sir? I always took you for a man of honour.
Horn. Ay, so much a man of honour, that I must save my mistress, I thank you, come what will on’t. [Aside.
Spark. So, if I had had her, she’d have made me believe the moon had been made of a Christmas pie.
Lucy. Now could I speak, if I durst, and solve the riddle, who am the author of it. [Aside.
Alith. O unfortunate woman! A combination against my honour! which most concerns me now, because you share in my disgrace, sir, and it is your censure, which I must now suffer, that troubles me, not theirs.
Har. Madam, then have no trouble, you shall now see ’tis possible for me to love too, without being jealous; I will not only believe your innocence myself, but make all the world believe it.—[Aside to Horner.] Horner, I must now be concerned for this lady’s honour.
Horn. And I must be concerned for a lady’s honour too.
Har. This lady has her honour, and I will protect it.
Horn. My lady has not her honour, but has given it me to keep, and I will preserve it.
Har. I understand you not.
Horn. I would not have you.
Mrs. Pinch. What’s the matter with ’em all? [Peeping in behind.
Pinch. Come, come, Mr. Horner, no more disputing; here’s the parson, I brought him not in vain.
Har. No, sir, I’ll employ him, if this lady please.
Pinch. How! what d’ye mean?
Spark. Ay, what does he mean?
Horn. Why, I have resigned your sister to him, he has my consent.
Pinch. But he has not mine, sir; a woman’s injured honour, no more than a man’s, can be repaired or satisfied by any but him that first wronged it; and you shall marry her presently, or—[Lays his hand on his sword.
Re-enter Mrs. Pinchwife.
Mrs. Pinch. O Lord, they’ll kill poor Mr. Horner! besides, he shan’t marry her whilst I stand by, and look on; I’ll not lose my second husband so.
Pinch. What do I see?
Alith. My sister in my clothes!
Spark. Ha!
Mrs. Pinch. Nay, pray now don’t quarrel about finding work for the parson, he shall marry me to Mr. Horner; or now, I believe, you have enough of me. [To Pinchwife.
Horn. Damned, damned loving changeling! [Aside.
Mrs. Pinch. Pray, sister, pardon me for telling so many lies of you.
Horn. I suppose the riddle is plain now.
Lucy. No, that must be my work.—Good sir, hear me. [Kneels to Pinchwife, who stands doggedly with his hat over his eyes.
Pinch. I will never hear woman again, but make ’em all silent thus—[Offers to draw upon his Wife.
Horn. No, that must not be.
Pinch. You then shall go first, ’tis all one to me. [Offers to draw on Horner, but is stopped by Harcourt.
Har. Hold!
Re-enter Sir Jasper Fidget, Lady Fidget, Lady Squeamish, Mrs. Dainty Fidget, and Mrs. Squeamish.
Sir Jasp. What’s the matter? what’s the matter? pray, what’s the matter, sir? I beseech you communicate, sir.
Pinch. Why, my wife has communicated, sir, as your wife may have done too, sir, if she knows him, sir.
Sir Jasp. Pshaw, with him! ha! ha! he!
Pinch. D’ye mock me, sir? a cuckold is a kind of a wild beast; have a care, sir.
Sir Jasp. No, sure, you mock me, sir. He cuckold you! it can’t be, ha! ha! he! why, I’ll tell you, sir—[Offers to whisper.
Pinch. I tell you again, he has whored my wife, and yours too, if he knows her, and all the women he comes near; ’tis not his dissembling, his hypocrisy, can wheedle me.
Sir Jasp. How! does he dissemble? is he a hypocrite? Nay, then—how—wife—sister, is he a hypocrite?
L. Squeam. A hypocrite! a dissembler! Speak, young harlotry, speak, how?
Sir Jasp. Nay, then—O my head too!—O thou libidinous lady!
L. Squeam. O thou harloting harlotry! hast thou done’t then?
Sir Jasp. Speak, good Horner, art thou a dissembler, a rogue? hast thou—
Horn. So!
Lucy. I’ll fetch you off, and her too, if she will but hold her tongue. [Apart to Horner.
Horn. Canst thou? I’ll give thee—[Apart to Lucy.
Lucy. [To Pinchwife.] Pray have but patience to hear me, sir, who am the unfortunate cause of all this confusion. Your wife is innocent, I only culpable; for I put her upon telling you all these lies concerning my mistress, in order to the breaking off the match between Mr. Sparkish and her, to make way for Mr. Harcourt.
Spark. Did you so, eternal rotten tooth? Then, it seems, my mistress was not false to me, I was only deceived by you. Brother, that should have been, now man of conduct, who is a frank person now, to bring your wife to her lover, ha?
Lucy. I assure you, sir, she came not to Mr. Horner out of love, for she loves him no more—
Mrs. Pinch. Hold, I told lies for you, but you shall tell none for me, for I do love Mr. Horner with all my soul, and nobody shall say me nay; pray, don’t you go to make poor Mr. Horner believe to the contrary; ’tis spitefully done of you, I’m sure.
Horn. Peace, dear idiot. [Aside to Mrs. Pinchwife.
Mrs. Pinch. Nay, I will not peace.
Pinch. Not till I make you.
Enter Dorilant and Quack.
Dor. Horner, your servant; I am the doctor’s guest, he must excuse our intrusion.
Quack. But what’s the matter, gentlemen? for Heaven’s sake, what’s the matter?
Horn. Oh, ’tis well you are come. ’Tis a censorious world we live in; you may have brought me a reprieve, or else I had died for a crime I never committed, and these innocent ladies had suffered with me; therefore, pray satisfy these worthy, honourable, jealous gentlemen—that—[Whispers.
Quack. O, I understand you, is that all?—Sir Jasper, by Heavens, and upon the word of a physician, sir—[Whispers to Sir Jasper.
Sir Jasp. Nay, I do believe you truly.—Pardon me, my virtuous lady, and dear of honour.
L. Squeam. What, then all’s right again?
Sir Jasp. Ay, ay, and now let us satisfy him too. [They whisper with Pinchwife.
Pinch. An eunuch! Pray, no fooling with me.
Quack. I’ll bring half the chirurgeons in town to swear it.
Pinch. They!—they’ll swear a man that bled to death through his wounds, died of an apoplexy.
Quack. Pray, hear me, sir—why, all the town has heard the report of him.
Pinch. But does all the town believe it?
Quack. Pray, inquire a little, and first of all these.
Pinch. I’m sure when I left the town, he was the lewdest fellow in’t.
Quack. I tell you, sir, he has been in France since; pray, ask but these ladies and gentlemen, your friend Mr. Dorilant. Gentlemen and ladies, han’t you all heard the late sad report of poor Mr. Horner?
All the Ladies. Ay, ay, ay.
Dor. Why, thou jealous fool, dost thou doubt it? he’s an arrant French capon.
Mrs. Pinch. ’Tis false, sir, you shall not disparage poor Mr. Horner, for to my certain knowledge—
Lucy. O, hold!
Mrs. Squeam. Stop her mouth! [Aside to Lucy.
L. Fid. Upon my honour, sir, ’tis as true—[To Pinchwife.
Mrs. Dain. D’ye think we would have been seen in his company?
Mrs. Squeam. Trust our unspotted reputations with him?
L. Fid. This you get, and we too, by trusting your secret to a fool. [Aside to Horner.
Horn. Peace, madam.—[Aside to Quack.] Well, doctor, is not this a good design, that carries a man on unsuspected, and brings him off safe?
Pinch. Well, if this were true—but my wife—[Aside.
[Dorilant whispers with Mrs. Pinchwife.
Alith. Come, brother, your wife is yet innocent, you see; but have a care of too strong an imagination, lest, like an over-concerned timorous gamester, by fancying an unlucky cast, it should come. Women and fortune are truest still to those that trust ’em.
Lucy. And any wild thing grows but the more fierce and hungry for being kept up, and more dangerous to the keeper.
Alith. There’s doctrine for all husbands, Mr. Harcourt.
Har. I edify, madam, so much, that I am impatient till I am one.
Dor. And I edify so much by example, I will never be one.
Spark. And because I will not disparage my parts, I’ll ne’er be one.
Horn. And I, alas! can’t be one.
Pinch. But I must be one—against my will to a country wife, with a country murrain to me!
Mrs. Pinch. And I must be a country wife still too, I find; for I can’t, like a city one, be rid of my musty husband, and do what I list. [Aside.
Horn. Now, sir, I must pronounce your wife innocent, though I blush whilst I do it; and I am the only man by her now exposed to shame, which I will straight drown in wine, as you shall your suspicion; and the ladies’ troubles we’ll divert with a ballad.—Doctor, where are your maskers?
Lucy. Indeed, she’s innocent, sir, I am her witness, and her end of coming out was but to see her sister’s wedding; and what she has said to your face of her love to Mr. Horner, was but the usual innocent revenge on a husband’s jealousy;—was it not, madam, speak?
Mrs. Pinch. [Aside to Lucy and Horner.] Since you’ll have me tell more lies—[Aloud.] Yes, indeed, bud.
Pinch.
For my own sake fain I would all believe;
Cuckolds, like lovers, should themselves deceive.
But—[Sighs
His honour is least safe (too late I find)
Who trusts it with a foolish wife or friend.
A Dance of Cuckolds.
Horn.
Vain fops but court and dress, and keep a pother,
To pass for women’s men with one another;
But he who aims by women to be prized,
First by the men, you see, must be despised.
[Exeunt.