Chapter VII: Part 7

_Heart._ For the same Reason, perhaps, that you are so brisk and well pleas'd; because both Pains and Pleasures are generally more considerable in Prospect, than when they come to pass.

_Enter Lady ~Brute~ and ~Belinda~, mask'd and poorly dress'd._

_Const._ How now! who are these? Not our Game, I hope.

_Heart._ If they are, we are e'en well enough serv'd, to come a-hunting here, when we had so much better Game in Chase elsewhere.

_Lady Fan._ [_To Madamoiselle._] So, those are their Ladies, without doubt. But I'm afraid that _Doily_ Stuff is not worn for want of better Clothes. They are the very Shape and Size of _Belinda_ and her Aunt.

_Madam._ So dey be inteed, Matam.

_Lady Fan._ We'll slip into this close Arbour, where we may hear all they say.

[_Exeunt Lady ~Fancyfull~ and ~Madamoiselle~._

_Lady Brute._ What, are you afraid of us, Gentlemen?

_Heart._ Why, truly, I think we may, if Appearance don't lye.

_Bel._ Do you always find Women what they appear to be, Sir?

_Heart._ No, forsooth; but I seldom find 'em better than they appear to be.

_Bel._ Then the Outside's best, you think?

_Heart._ 'Tis the honestest.

_Const._ Have a care, _Heartfree_; you are relapsing again.

_Lady Brute._ Why, does the Gentleman use to rail at Women?

_Const._ He has done formerly.

_Bel._ I suppose he had very good Cause for't. They did not use you so well as you thought you deserv'd, Sir.

_Lady Brute._ They made themselves merry at your Expence, Sir.

_Bel._ Laugh'd when you sigh'd--

_Lady Brute._ Slept while you were waking--

_Bel._ Had your Porter beat--

_Lady Brute._ And threw your Billet-doux in the Fire.

_Heart._ Hey-day, I shall do more than rail presently.

_Bel._ Why, you won't beat us, will you?

_Heart._ I don't know but I may.

_Const._ What the Devil's coming here? Sir _John_ in a Gown----And drunk, i'faith.

_Enter Sir ~John~._

_Sir John._ What a Pox----here's _Constant_, _Heartfree_--and two Whores, I'gad----O you covetous Rogues! what, have you never a spare Punk for your Friend?----But I'll share with you.

[_He seizes both the Women._

_Heart._ Why, what the plague have you been doing, Knight?

_Sir John._ Why, I have been beating the Watch, and scandalizing the Clergy.

_Heart._ A very good Account, truly.

_Sir John._ And what do you think I'll do next?

_Const._. Nay, that no Man can guess.

_Sir John._ Why, if you'll let me sup with you, I'll treat both your Strumpets.

_Lady Brute._ [_Aside._] O Lord, we're undone!

_Heart._ No, we can't sup together, because we have some Affairs elsewhere. But if you'll accept of these two Ladies, we'll be so complaisant to you, to resign our Right in 'em.

_Bel._ [_Aside._] Lord, what shall we do?

_Sir John._ Let me see; their Clothes are such damn'd Clothes, they won't pawn for the Reckoning.

_Heart._ _Sir John_, your Servant. Rapture attend you!

_Const._ Adieu, Ladies, make much of the Gentleman.

_Lady Brute._ Why, sure, you won't leave us in the Hands of a drunken Fellow to abuse us.

_Sir John._ Who do you call a drunken Fellow, you Slut you? I'm a Man of Quality; the King has made me a Knight.

[_~Heart.~ runs off._

_Heart._ Ay, ay, you are in good Hands! Adieu, Adieu!

_Lady Brute._ The Devil's Hands: Let me go, or I'll--For Heaven's sake, protect us!

[_She breaks from him, runs to ~Constant~, twitching off
her Mask, and clapping it on again._

_Sir John._ I'll Devil you, you Jade you. I'll demolish your ugly Face.

_Const._ Hold a little, Knight, she swoons.

_Sir John._ I'll swoon her.

_Const._ Hey, _Heartfree_.

_Re-enter ~Heartfree~. ~Belinda~ runs to him, and shews her
Face._

_Heart._ O Heavens! My dear Creature, stand there a little.

_Const._ Pull him off, _Jack_.

_Heart._ Hold, mighty Man; look ye, Sir, we did but jest with you. These are Ladies of our Acquaintance that we had a mind to frighten a little, but now you must leave us.

_Sir John._ Oons, I won't leave you, not I.

_Heart._ Nay, but you must, though; and therefore make no Words on't.

_Sir John._ Then you are a couple of damned uncivil Fellows. And I hope your Punks will give you Sauce to your Mutton.

[_Exit Sir ~John~._

_Lady Brute._ Oh, I shall never come to myself again, I'm so frightened.

_Const._ 'Twas a narrow 'Scape, indeed.

_Bel._ Women must have Frolicks, you see, whatever they cost them.

_Heart._ This might have proved a dear one, though.

_Lady Brute._ You are the more obliged to us for the Risk we run upon your Accounts.

_Const._ And I hope you'll acknowledge something due to our Knight-Errantry, Ladies. This is the second time we have delivered you.

_Lady Brute._ 'Tis true; and since we see Fate has designed you for our Guardians, 'twill make us the more willing to trust ourselves in your Hands. But you must not have the worse Opinion of us for our innocent Frolick.

_Heart._ Ladies, you may command our Opinions in every thing that is to your Advantage.

_Bel._ Then, Sir, I command you to be of Opinion, That Women are sometimes better than they appear to be.

[_Lady ~Brute~ and ~Constant~ talk apart._

_Heart._ Madam, you have made a Convert of me in every thing. I'm grown a Fool: I cou'd be fond of a Woman.

_Bel._ I thank you, Sir, in the Name of the whole Sex.

_Heart._ Which Sex nothing but yourself cou'd ever have aton'd for.

_Bel._ Now has my Vanity a devilish Itch, to know in what my Merit consists.

_Heart._ In your Humility, Madam, that keeps you ignorant it consists at all.

_Bel._ One other Compliment, with that serious Face, and I hate you for ever after.

_Heart._ Some Women love to be abus'd: Is that it you wou'd be at?

_Bel._ No, not that, neither: But I'd have Men talk plainly what's fit for Women to hear; without putting 'em either to a real or an affected Blush.

_Heart._ Why, then, in as plain Terms as I can find to express myself, I could love you even to--Matrimony itself a'most, I'gad.

_Bel._ Just as Sir _John_ did her Ladyship there.----What think you? Don't you believe one Month's time might bring you down to the same Indifference, only clad in a little better Manners, perhaps? Well, you Men are unaccountable things, mad till you have your Mistresses, and then stark mad till you are rid of 'em again. Tell me honestly, Is not your Patience put to a much severer Trial after Possession than before?

_Heart._ With a great many I must confess it is, to our eternal Scandal; but I----dear Creature, do but try me.

_Bel._ That's the surest way, indeed, to know, but not the safest. [_To Lady ~Brute~._] Madam, are not you for taking a Turn in the Great Walk? It's almost dark, no body will know us.

_Lady Brute._ Really I find myself something idle, _Belinda_: besides, I doat upon this little odd private Corner. But don't let my lazy Fancy confine you. [_Const. aside._] So, she wou'd be left alone with me; that's well.

_Bel._ Well, we'll take one Turn, and come to you again. [_To ~Heart~._] Come, Sir, shall we go pry into the Secrets of the Garden? Who knows what Discoveries we may make?

_Heart._ Madam, I'm at your Service.

_Const._ [_To ~Heart~. aside._] Don't make too much haste back; for, d'ye hear?----I may be busy.

_Heart._ Enough.

[_Exeunt ~Belinda~ and ~Heartfree~._

_Lady Brute._ Sure you think me scandalously free, Mr. _Constant_. I'm afraid I shall lose your good Opinion of me.

_Const._ My good Opinion, Madam, is like your Cruelty----ne'er to be remov'd.

_Lady Brute._ But if I should remove my Cruelty, then there's an end of your good Opinion.

_Const._ There is not so strict an Alliance between 'em, neither. 'Tis certain I shou'd love you then better (if that be possible) than I do now; and where I love, I always esteem.

_Lady Brute._ Indeed, I doubt you much. Why, suppose you had a Wife, and she should entertain a Gallant?

_Const._ If I gave her just Cause, how cou'd I justly condemn her?

_Lady Brute._ Ah! but you'd differ widely about just Causes.

_Const._ But Blows can bear no Dispute.

_Lady Brute._ Nor ill Manners much, truly.

_Const._ Then no Woman upon Earth has so just a Cause as you have.

_Lady Brute._ O, but a faithful Wife is a beautiful Character.

_Const._ To a deserving Husband, I confess it is.

_Lady Brute._ But can his Faults release my Duty?

_Const._ In Equity, without doubt. And where Laws dispense with Equity, Equity should dispense with Laws.

_Lady Brute._ Pray let's leave this Dispute; for you Men have as much Witchcraft in your Arguments, as Women have in their Eyes.

_Const._ But whilst you attack me with your Charms, 'tis but reasonable I assault you with mine.

_Lady Brute._ The Case is not the same. What Mischief we do, we can't help, and therefore are to be forgiven.

_Const._ Beauty soon obtains Pardon for the Pain that it gives, when it applies the Balm of Compassion to the Wound: But a fine Face, and a hard Heart, is almost as bad as an ugly Face and a soft one; both very troublesome to many a poor Gentleman.

_Lady Brute._ Yes, and to many a poor Gentlewoman, too, I can assure you. But pray, which of 'em is it that most afflicts you?

_Const._ Your Glass and Conscience will inform you, Madam. But for Heaven's sake (for now I must be serious), if Pity, or if Gratitude can move you; [_Taking her Hand._] if Constancy and Truth have power to tempt you; if Love, if Adoration can affect you; give me at least some Hopes, that Time may do what you perhaps mean never to perform; 'twill ease my Sufferings, tho' not quench my Flame.

_Lady Brute._ Your Sufferings eas'd, your Flame wou'd soon abate: And that I would preserve, not quench it, Sir.

_Const._ Wou'd you preserve it, nourish it with Favours; for that's the Food it naturally requires.

_Lady Brute._ Yet on that natural Food 'twould surfeit soon, shou'd I resolve to grant all you wou'd ask.

_Const._ And in refusing all, you starve it. Forgive me, therefore, since my Hunger rages, if I at last grow wild, and in my frenzy force at least this from you. [_Kissing her Hand._] Or if you'd have my Flame soar higher still, then grant me this, and this, and Thousands more; [_Kissing first her Hand, then her Neck._] [_Aside._] For now's the time she melts into Compassion.

_Lady Brute._ [_Aside._] Poor Coward Virtue, how it shuns the Battle! O Heavens! let me go.

_Const._ Ay, go, ay: Where shall we go, my charming Angel----into this private Arbour----Nay, let's lose no time----Moments are precious.

_Lady Brute._ And Lovers wild. Pray let us stop here; at least for this time.

_Const._ 'Tis impossible; he that has power over you, can have none over himself.

_As he is forcing her into the Arbour, Lady ~Fancyfull~ and
~Madamoiselle~ bolt out upon them, and run over the
Stage._

_Lady Brute._ Ah! I'm lost!

_Lady Fan._ Fe, fe, fe, fe, fe.

_Madam._ Fe, fe, fe, fe, fe.

_Const._ Death and Furies, who are these?

_Lady Brute._ O Heavens! I'm out of my Wits; if they knew me, I am ruin'd.

_Const._ Don't be frightened: Ten thousand to one they are Strangers to you.

_Lady Brute._ Whatever they are, I won't stay here a Moment longer.

_Const._ Whither will you go?

_Lady Brute._ Home, as if the Devil were in me. Lord, where's this _Belinda_ now?

_Enter ~Belinda~ and ~Heartfree~._

O! 'tis well you are come: I'm so frightened, my Hair stands an end. Let's be gone, for Heaven's sake!

_Bel._ Lord, what's the matter?

_Lady Brute._ The Devil's the Matter; we are discovered. Here's a couple of Women have done the most impertinent thing. Away, away, away, away, away.

[_Exit running._

_Re-enter Lady ~Fancyfull~ and ~Madamoiselle~._

_Lady Fan._ Well, _Madamoiselle_, 'tis a prodigious thing how Women can suffer filthy Fellows to grow so familiar with 'em.

Madam. _Ah Madame, il n'y a rien de si naturel._

_Lady Fan._ Fe, fe, fe! But, oh my Heart! O Jealousy! O Torture! I'm upon the rack. What shall I do? My Lover's lost, I ne'er shall see him mine. [_Pausing._]----But I may be reveng'd; and that's the same thing. Ah sweet Revenge! Thou welcome Thought, thou healing Balsam to my wounded Soul! Be but propitious on this one Occasion, I'll place my Heaven in thee, for all my Life to come.

To Woman how indulgent Nature's kind!
No Blast of Fortune long disturbs her Mind:
Compliance to her Fate supports her still;
If Love won't make her happy--Mischief will.

[_Exeunt._

+ACT+ V.

+SCENE+, _Lady_ Fancyfull's _House_.

_Enter Lady ~Fancyfull~ and ~Madamoiselle~._

_Lady Fan._ Well, _Madamoiselle_, did you dog the filthy Things?

Madam. _O que ouy, Madame._

_Lady Fan._ And where are they?

Madam. _Au Logis._

_Lady Fan._ What, Men and all?

Madam. _Tous ensemble._

_Lady Fan._ O Confidence! What, carry their Fellows to their own House?

Madam. _C'est que le Mari n'y est pas._

_Lady Fan._ No; so I believe, truly. But he shall be there, and quickly too, if I can find him out. Well, 'tis a prodigious thing, to see when Men and Women get together, how they fortify one another in their Impudence. But if that drunken Fool, her Husband, he to be found in e'er a Tavern in Town, I'll send him amongst 'em: I'll spoil their sport.

Madam. _En verité, Madame, ce seroit domage._

_Lady Fan._ 'Tis in vain to oppose it, _Madamoiselle_; therefore never go about it. For I am the steadiest Creature in the World--when I have determin'd to do Mischief. So, come along.

[_Exeunt._

+SCENE+, _Sir ~John Brute~'s House_.

_Enter ~Constant~, ~Heartfree~, Lady ~Brute~, ~Belinda~, and
~Lovewell~._

_Lady Brute._ But are you sure you don't mistake, _Lovewell_?

_Lov._ Madam, I saw 'em all go into the Tavern together, and my Master was so drunk he cou'd scarce stand.

_Lady Brute._ Then, Gentlemen, I believe we may venture to let you stay, and play at Cards with us, an Hour or two: For they'll scarce part till Morning.

_Bel._ I think 'tis pity they should ever part.

_Const._ The Company that's here, Madam.

_Lady Brute._ Then, Sir, the Company that's here must remember to part itself in time.

_Const._ Madam, we don't intend to forfeit your future Favours by an indiscreet Usage of this. The Moment you give us the Signal, we shan't fail to make our Retreat.

_Lady Brute._ Upon those Conditions, then, let us sit down to Cards.

_Enter ~Lovewell~._

_Lov._ O Lord, Madam, here's my Master just staggering in upon you; he has been quarrelsome yonder, and they have kick'd him out of the Company.

_Lady Brute._ Into the Closet, Gentlemen, for Heaven's sake; I'll wheedle him to Bed, if possible.

[_~Const.~ and ~Heart.~ run into the Closet._

_Enter Sir ~John~, all dirt and bloody._

_Lady Brute._ Ah----Ah----he's all over Blood!

_Sir John._ What the plague does the Woman--squall for? Did you never see a Man in Pickle before?

_Lady Brute._ Lord, where have you been?

_Sir John._ I have been at----Cuffs.

_Lady Brute._ I fear that is not all. I hope you are not wounded.

_Sir John._ Sound as a Roach, Wife.

_Lady Brute._ I'm mighty glad to hear it.

_Sir John._ You know--I think you lye.

_Lady Brute._ You do me wrong to think so. For Heaven's my Witness; I had rather see my own Blood trickle down, than yours.

_Sir John._ Then will I be crucify'd.

_Lady Brute._ 'Tis a hard Fate, I shou'd not be believ'd.

_Sir John._ 'Tis a damn'd Atheistical Age, Wife.

_Lady Brute._ I am sure I have given you a thousand tender Proofs, how great my Care is of you. But, spite of all your cruel Thoughts, I'll still persist, and at this Moment, if I can, persuade you to lie down and sleep a little.

_Sir John._ Why--do you think I am drunk--you Slut, you?

_Lady Brute._ Heaven forbid I shou'd! But I'm afraid you are feverish. Pray let me feel your Pulse.

_Sir John._ Stand off, and be damn'd.

_Lady Brute._ Why, I see your Distemper in your very Eyes. You are all on Fire. Pray, go to Bed; let me intreat you.

_Sir John._----Come, kiss me, then.

_Lady Brute._ [_Kissing him._] There: Now go. [_Aside._] He stinks like Poison.

_Sir John._ I see it goes damnably against your Stomach--And therefore--Kiss me again.

_Lady Brute._ Nay, now you fool me.

_Sir John._ Do't, I say.

_Lady Brute._ [_Aside._] Ah, Lord have mercy upon me! Well--there: now will you go?

_Sir John._ Now, Wife, you shall see my Gratitude. You gave me two Kisses--I'll give you--two hundred.

[_Kisses, and tumbles her._

_Lady Brute._ O Lord! Pray, Sir John, be quiet. Heavens, what a Pickle am I in!

_Bel._ [_Aside._] If I were in her Pickle, I'd call my Gallant out of the Closet, and he shou'd cudgel him soundly.

_Sir John._ So, now you being as dirty and as nasty as myself, we may go pig together. But first I must have a Cup of your cold Tea, Wife.

[_Going to the Closet._

_Lady Brute._ O I'm ruin'd! There's none there, my Dear.

_Sir John._ I'll warrant you I'll find some, my Dear.

_Lady Brute._ You can't open the Door, the Lock's spoil'd; I have been turning and turning the Key this half Hour to no purpose. I'll send for the Smith to-morrow.

_Sir John._ There's ne'er a Smith in _Europe_ can open a Door with more Expedition than I can do----As for Example--Poh! [_He bursts open the Door with his Foot._]----How now! What the Devil have we got here?----_Constant_----_Heartfree_----And two Whores again, I'gad----This is the worst cold Tea----that ever I met with in my Life----

_Enter ~Constant~ and ~Heartfree~._

_Lady Brute._ [_Aside._] O Lord, what will become of us?

_Sir John._ Gentlemen----I am your very humble Servant--I give you many Thanks----I see you take Care of my Family----I shall do all I can to return the Obligation.

_Const._ Sir, how oddly soever this Business may appear to you, you would have no cause to be uneasy, if you knew the Truth of all things; your Lady is the most virtuous Woman in the World, and nothing has past but an innocent Frolick.

_Heart._ Nothing else, upon my Honour, Sir.

_Sir John._ You are both very civil Gentlemen--And my Wife, there, is a very civil Gentlewoman; therefore I don't doubt but many civil things have past between you. Your very humble Servant.

_Lady Brute._ [_Aside to ~Const~._] Pray be gone: He's so drunk he can't hurt us to-night, and to-morrow Morning you shall hear from us.

_Const._ I'll obey you, Madam. Sir, when you are cool, you'll understand Reason better. So then I shall take the pains to inform you. If not----I wear a Sword, Sir, and so good by t'ye. Come along, _Heartfree_.

[_Exit._

_Sir John._ Wear a Sword, Sir--And what of all that, Sir? He comes to my House; eats my Meat; lies with my Wife; dishonours my Family; gets a Bastard to inherit my Estate----And when I ask a civil Account of all this--Sir, says he, I wear a Sword--Wear a Sword, Sir? Yes, Sir, says he, I wear a Sword----It may be a good Answer at Cross-purposes; but 'tis a damn'd one to a Man in my whimsical Circumstance----Sir, says he, I wear a Sword! [_To Lady ~Brute~._] And what do you wear now? ha! tell me. [_Sitting down in a great Chair._] What, you are modest, and can't--Why, then, I'll tell you, you Slut, you. You wear----an impudent, lewd Face----A damn'd designing Heart----And a Tail----and a Tail full of----[_He falls fast asleep, snoaring._]

_Lady Brute._ So; thanks to kind Heaven, he's fast for some Hours.

_Bel._ 'Tis well he is so, that we may have time to lay our Story handsomely; for we must lye like the Devil, to bring ourselves off.

_Lady Brute._ What shall we say, _Belinda_?

_Bel._ [_Musing._]----I'll tell you: It must all light upon _Heartfree_ and I. We'll say he has courted me some time, but, for Reasons unknown to us, has ever been very earnest the thing might be kept from Sir _John_. That therefore hearing him upon the Stairs, he ran into the Closet, tho' against our Will, and _Constant_ with him, to prevent Jealousy. And to give this a good impudent Face of Truth, (that I may deliver you from the trouble you are in) I'll e'en, if he pleases, marry him.

_Lady Brute._ I'm beholden to you, Cousin; but that wou'd be carrying the Jest a little too far for your own sake: You know he's a younger Brother, and has nothing.

_Bel._ 'Tis true: But I like him, and have Fortune enough to keep above Extremity: I can't say I would live with him in a Cell, upon Love and Bread and Butter: But I had rather have the Man I love, and a middle State of Life, than that Gentleman in the Chair there, and twice your Ladyship's Splendour.

_Lady Brute._ In truth, Niece, you are in the right on't; for I am very uneasy with my Ambition. But, perhaps, had I married as you'll do, I might have been as ill us'd.

_Bel._ Some Risk, I do confess, there always is: But if a Man has the least Spark either of Honour or Good-nature, he can never use a Woman ill, that loves him, and makes his Fortune both. Yet I must own to you, some little struggling I still have with this teazing Ambition of ours; for Pride, you know, is as natural to a Woman, as 'tis to a Saint. I can't help being fond of this Rogue; and yet it goes to my Heart, to think I must never whisk to _Hyde-Park_ with above a Pair of Horses; have no Coronet upon my Coach, nor a Page to carry up my Train. But above all--that Business of Place--Well, taking place is a noble Prerogative--

_Lady Brute._ Especially after a Quarrel--

_Bel._ Or of a Rival. But pray say no more on't, for fear I change my Mind; for, o' my Conscience, wer't not for your Affair in the Balance, I should go near to pick up some odious Man of Quality yet, and only take poor _Heartfree_ for a Gallant.

_Lady Brute._ Then him you must have, however things go?

_Bel._ Yes.

_Lady Brute._ Why, we may pretend what we will: but 'tis a hard matter to live without the Man we love.

_Bel._ Especially when we are married to the Man we hate. Pray tell me: Do the Men of the Town ever believe us virtuous, when they see us do so?

_Lady Brute._ O, no: Nor indeed, hardly, let us do what we will. The most of them think, there is no such thing as Virtue, consider'd in the strictest Notions of it; and therefore when you hear 'em say, such a one is a Woman of Reputation, they only mean she's a Woman of Discretion. For they consider we have no more Religion than they have, nor so much Morality; and between you and I, _Belinda_, I'm afraid the want of Inclination seldom protects any of us.

_Bel._ But what think you of the Fear of being found out?

_Lady Brute._ I think That never kept any Woman virtuous long. We are not such Cowards, neither. No: Let us once pass Fifteen, and we have too good an Opinion of our own Cunning, to believe the World can penetrate into what we would keep a Secret. And so, in short, we cannot reasonably blame the Men for judging of us by themselves.

_Bel._ But sure we are not so wicked as they are, after all?

_Lady Brute._ We are as wicked, Child, but our Vice lies another way: Men have more Courage than we, so they commit more bold, impudent Sins. They quarrel, fight, swear, drink, blaspheme, and the like: Whereas we, being Cowards, only backbite, tell Lyes, cheat at Cards, and so forth. But 'tis late: Let's end our Discourse for to-night, and, out of an excess of Charity, take a small Care of that nasty, drunken Thing there----Do but look at him, _Belinda_!

_Bel._ Ah----'tis a savoury Dish.

_Lady Brute._ As savoury as 'tis, I'm cloy'd with't. Pr'ythee call the Butler to take it away.

_Bel._ Call the Butler!----Call the Scavenger! [_To a Servant within._] Who's there? Call _Rasor_! Let him take away his Master, scour him clean with a little Sope and Sand, and so put him to Bed.

_Lady Brute._ Come, _Belinda_, I'll e'en lie with you to-night; and in the Morning we'll send for our Gentlemen to set this Matter even.

_Bel._ With all my Heart.

_Lady Brute._ Good Night, my Dear.

[_Making a low Curtsy to Sir ~John~._

[_Both._] Ha, ha, ha!

[_Exeunt._

_Enter ~Rasor~._

_Rasor._ My Lady there's a Wag--My Master there's a Cuckold. Marriage is a slippery thing--Women have depraved Appetites.--My Lady's a Wag; I have heard all; I have seen all; I understand all; and I'll tell all; for my little _French-woman_ loves News dearly. This Story'll gain her Heart, or nothing will. [_To his Master._] Come, Sir, your Head's too full of Fumes at present, to make room for your Jealousy; but I reckon we shall have rare work with you, when your Pate's empty. Come to your Kennel, you cuckoldly, drunken Sot, you!

[_Carries him out upon his Back._

+SCENE+, _Lady_ Fancyfull's _House_.

_Enter Lady ~Fancyfull~ and ~Madamoiselle~._

_Lady Fan._ But, why did not you tell me before, _Madamoiselle_, that _Rasor_ and you were fond?

_Madam._ De Modesty hinder me, Matam.

_Lady Fan._ Why, truly, Modesty does often hinder us from doing things we have an extravagant mind to. But does he love you well enough yet, to do any thing you bid him? Do you think, to oblige you, he wou'd speak Scandal?

_Madam._ Matam, to oblige your Ladyship, he shall speak Blasphemy.

_Lady Fan._ Why, then, _Madamoiselle_, I'll tell you what you shall do. You shall engage him to tell his Master all that past at _Spring Garden_: I have a mind he shou'd know what a Wife and a Niece he has got.

Madam. _Il le fera, Madame._

_Enter a Footman, who speaks to ~Madamoiselle~ apart._

_Foot._ _Madamoiselle_, yonder's Mr. _Rasor_ desires to speak with you.

_Madam._ Tell him, I come presently. [_Exit Footman._] _Rasor_ be dare, Matam.

_Lady Fan._ That's fortunate. Well, I'll leave you together. And if you find him stubborn, _Madamoiselle_--hark you--don't refuse him a few little reasonable Liberties to put him into Humour.

Madam. _Laissez moy faire._

[_Exit ~Lady~ Fancyfull._

[_~Rasor~ peeps in; and seeing Lady ~Fancyfull~ gone, runs
to ~Madamoiselle~, takes her about the Neck, and kisses her._

_Madam._ How now, Confidence?

_Rasor._ How now, Modesty!

_Madam._ Who make you so familiar, Sirrah?

_Rasor._ My Impudence, Hussy.

_Madam._ Stand off, Rogue-Face.

_Rasor._ Ah----_Madamoiselle_----great News at our House.

_Madam._ Why, vat be de matter?

_Rasor._ The Matter?--Why, Uptails All's the Matter.

Madam. _Tu te mocque de moy._

_Rasor._ Now do you long to know the Particulars: The Time when--The Place where--The Manner how. But I don't tell you a Word more.

_Madam._ Nay, den dou kill me, _Rasor_.

_Rasor._ Come, kiss me, then.

[_Clapping his Hands behind him._

_Madam._ Nay, pridee tell me.

_Rasor._ Good by t' ye.

[_Going._

_Madam._ Hold, hold: I will kiss dee.

[_Kissing him._

_Rasor._ So, that's civil: Why, now, my pretty Poll, my Goldfinch, my little Waterwagtail----you must know, that----Come, kiss me again.

_Madam._ I won't kiss de no more.

_Rasor._ Good by t' ye.

[_Going._

Madam. _Doucement! ~Derre~: es tu content?_

[_Kissing him._

_Rasor._ So: Now I'll tell thee all. Why, the News is, That Cuckoldom in Folio is newly printed; and Matrimony in Quarto is just going into the Press. Will you buy any Books, _Madamoiselle_?

Madam. _Tu parle comme un Libraire_; de Devil no understand dee.

_Rasor._ Why, then, that I may make myself intelligible to a Waiting-Woman, I'll speak like a Valet de Chambre. My Lady has cuckolded my Master.

Madam. _Bon._

_Rasor._ Which we take very ill from her Hands, I can tell her that. We can't yet prove Matter of Fact upon her.

Madam. _N'importe._

_Rasor._ But we can prove, that Matter of Fact had like to have been upon her.

Madam. _Ouy da._

_Rasor._ For we have such bloody Circumstances--

Madam. Sans doute.

_Rasor._ That any Man of Parts may draw tickling Conclusions from 'em.

Madam. _Fort bien._

_Rasor._ We found a couple of tight, well-built Gentlemen stufft into her Ladyship's Closet.

Madam. _Le Diable!_

_Rasor._ And I, in my particular Person, have discovered a most damnable Plot, how to persuade my poor Master, that all this Hide and Seek, this _Will_ in the _Whisp_, has no other meaning than a Christian Marriage for sweet Mrs. _Belinda_.

Madam. _Une Mariage?----Ah les Droles!_

_Rasor._ Don't you interrupt me, Hussy; 'tis agreed, I say. And my innocent Lady, to wriggle herself out at the Back-door of the Business, turns Marriage-Bawd to her Niece, and resolves to deliver up her fair Body to be tumbled and mumbled by that young liquorish Whipster, _Heartfree_. Now are you satisfy'd?

_Madam._ No.

_Rasor._ Right Woman; always gaping for more.

_Madam._ Dis be all, den, dat dou know?

_Rasor._ All? Aye, and a great deal, too, I think.

_Madam._ Dou be Fool, dou know noting. _Ecoute, mon pauvre_ Rasor. Dou sees des two Eyes?--Des two Eyes have see de Devil.

_Rasor._ The Woman's mad.

_Madam._ In _Spring-Garden_, dat Rogue _Constant_ meet dy Lady.

Rasor. _Bon._

_Madam._----I'll tell dee no more.

_Rasor._ Nay, pr'ythee, my Swan.

_Madam._ Come, kiss me den.

[_Clapping her Hands behind her as he did before._

_Rasor._ I won't kiss you, not I.

_Madam._ Adieu.

[_Going._

_Rasor._ Hold----Now proceed.

[_Gives her a hearty Kiss._

Madam. _A ça_----I hide myself in one cunning Place, where I hear all, and see all. First, dy drunken Master come _mal a propos_; but de Sot no know his own dear Wife, so he leave her to her Sport--Den de Game begin. De Lover say soft ting: De Lady look upon de Ground. [_As she speaks, ~Rasor~ still acts the Man, and she the Woman._] He take her by de Hand: She turn her Head on oder Way. Den he squeeze very hard: Den she pull----very softly. Den he take her in his Arm: Den she give him leetel pat. Den he kiss her Tettons. Den she say--Pish, nay see. Den he tremble: Den she--sigh. Den he pull her into de Arbour: Den she pinch him.

_Rasor._ Aye, but not so hard, you Baggage, you.

_Madam._ Den he grow bold: She grow weak, he tro her down, _il tombe dessu, le Diable assiste, il emport tout_. [_~Rasor~ struggles with her, as if he would throw her down._] Stand off, Sirrah!

_Rasor._ You have set me a-fire, you Jade, you.

_Madam._ Den go to de River, and quench dy self.

_Rasor._ What an unnatural Harlot 'tis!

_Madam._ _Rasor._

[_Looking languishingly on him._

_Rasor._ _Madamoiselle._

_Madam._ Dou no love me.

_Rasor._ Not love thee?--More than a _Frenchman_ does Soup.

_Madam._ Den dou will refuse nothing dat I bid dee?

_Rasor._ Don't bid me be damn'd, then.

_Madam._ No, only tell dy Master all I have tell dee of dy Laty.

_Rasor._ Why, you little, malicious Strumpet, you, shou'd you like to be serv'd so?

_Madam._ Dou dispute den?--Adieu.

_Rasor._ Hold--But why wilt thou make me such a Rogue, my Dear?

Madam. _Voila un vrai Anglois! Il est amoureux, et cependant il veut raisonner. Va t'en au Diable._

_Rasor._ Hold once more: In hopes thou'lt give me up thy Body, I resign thee my Soul.

Madam. _Bon, ecoute donc_;----If dou fail me----I never see de more----If dou obey me----_Je m'abandonne a toy._ [_She takes him about the Neck, and gives him a smacking Kiss._]

[_Exit ~Madamoiselle~._

_Rasor._ [_Licking his Lips._] Not be a Rogue?----_Amor vincit Omnia._

[_Exit ~Rasor~._

_Enter Lady ~Fancyfull~ and ~Madamoiselle~._

_Lady Fan._ Marry, say ye? Will the two Things marry?

Madam. _On le va faire, Madame._

_Lady Fan._ Look you, _Madamoiselle_--In short, I can't bear it----No; I find I can't--If once I see 'em a-bed together, I shall have ten thousand Thoughts in my Head will make me run distracted. Therefore run and call _Rasor_ back immediately; for something must be done to stop this impertinent Wedding. If I can but defer it four-and-twenty Hours, I'll make such Work about Town, with that little pert Slut's Reputation, he shall as soon marry a Witch.

Madam. [_Aside._] _La voilà bien intentionnée._

[Exeunt.

+SCENE+, _~Constant~'s Lodgings_.

_Enter ~Constant~ and ~Heartfree~._

_Const._ But what dost think will become of this Business?

_Heart._ 'Tis easier to think what will not come on't.

_Const._ What's that?

_Heart._ A Challenge. I know the Knight too well for that; his dear Body will always prevail upon his noble Soul to be quiet.

_Const._ But tho' he dare not challenge me, perhaps he may venture to challenge his Wife.

_Heart._ Not if you whisper him in the Ear, you won't have him do't; and there's no other way left, that I see. For as drunk as he was, he'll remember you and I were where we shou'd not be; and I don't think him quite Blockhead enough yet to be persuaded we were got into his Wife's Closet only to peep into her Prayer-Book.

_Enter a Servant with a Letter._

_Serv._ Sir, here's a Letter; a Porter brought it.

_Const._ O ho, here's Instructions for us.

_Reads:_

_The Accident that has happen'd has touch'd our Invention to the
quick. We wou'd fain come off, without your help; but find that's
impossible. In a Word, the whole Business must be thrown upon a
Matrimonial Intrigue between your Friend and mine. But if the
Parties are not fond enough to go quite through with the matter,
'tis sufficient for our Turn, they own the Design. We'll find
Pretences enough to break the Match._

Adieu.

----Well, Woman for Invention! How long wou'd my Block-Head have been producing this!----Hey, _Heartfree_? What, musing, Man? Pr'ythee be chearful. What say'st thou, Friend, to this matrimonial Remedy?

_Heart._ Why, I say, 'tis worse than the Disease.

_Const._ Here's a Fellow for you! There's Beauty and Money on her Side, and Love up to the Ears on his: and yet----

_Heart._ And yet, I think, I may reasonably be allow'd to boggle at marrying the Niece, in the very Moment that you are debauching the Aunt.

_Const._ Why, truly, there may be something in that. But have not you a good Opinion enough of your own Parts, to believe you cou'd keep a Wife to yourself?

_Heart._ I shou'd have, if I had a good Opinion enough of her's, to believe she cou'd do as much by me. For to do 'em right, after all, the Wife seldom rambles, till the Husband shews her the way.

_Const._ 'Tis true, a Man of real Worth scarce ever is a Cuckold, but by his own Fault. Women are not naturally lewd; there must be something to urge 'em to it. They'll cuckold a Churl, out of Revenge; a Fool, because they despise him; a Beast, because they loath him. But when they make bold with a Man they once had a well-grounded Value for, 'tis because they first see themselves neglected by him.

_Heart._ Nay, were I well assured that I should never grow Sir _John_, I ne'er shou'd fear _Belinda_, wou'd play my Lady. But our Weakness, thou knowest, my Friend, consists in that very Change we so impudently throw upon (indeed) a steadier and more generous Sex.

_Const._ Why, 'faith, we are a little impudent in that matter, that's the truth on't. But this is wonderful, to see you grown so warm an Advocate for those whom (but t'other Day) you took so much Pains to abuse.

_Heart._ All Revolutions run into Extremes; the Bigot makes the boldest Atheist; and the coyest Saint, the most extravagant Strumpet. But, pr'ythee, advise me in this Good and Evil, this Life and Death, this Blessing and Cursing, that's set before me. Shall I marry, or die a Maid?

_Const._ Why, 'faith, _Heartfree_, Matrimony is like an Army going to engage. Love's the forlorn Hope, which is soon cut off; the Marriage-Knot is the main Body, which may stand buff a long, long time; and Repentance is the Rear-Guard, which rarely gives ground as long as the main Body has a Being.

_Heart._ Conclusion, then; you advise me to whore on, as you do.

_Const._ That's not concluded yet. For tho' Marriage be a Lottery, in which there are a wondrous many Blanks; yet there is one inestimable Lot, in which the only Heaven on Earth is written. Wou'd your kind Fate but guide your Hand to that, tho' I were wrapt in all that Luxury itself could clothe me with, I still shou'd envy you.

_Heart._ And justly, too; for to be capable of loving one, doubtless, is better than to possess a thousand. But how far that Capacity's in me, alas! I know not.

_Const._ But you wou'd know.

_Heart._ I wou'd so.

_Const._ Matrimony will inform you. Come, one Flight of Resolution carries you to the Land of Experience; where, in a very moderate time, you'll know the Capacity of your Soul and your Body both, or I'm mistaken.

[_Exeunt._

+SCENE+, _Sir ~John Brute~'s House_.

_Enter Lady ~Brute~ and ~Belinda~._

_Bel._ Well, Madam, what Answer have you from 'em?

_Lady Brute._ That they'll be here this Moment. I fancy 'twill end in a Wedding: I'm sure he's a Fool if it don't. Ten thousand Pounds, and such a Lass as you are, is no contemptible Offer to a younger Brother. But are not you under strange Agitations? Pr'ythee, how does your Pulse beat?

_Bel._ High and low, I have much ado to be valiant: sure it must feel very strange to go to Bed to a Man?

_Lady Brute._ Um----it does feel a little odd at first; but it will soon grow easy to you.

_Enter ~Constant~ and ~Heartfree~._

_Lady Brute._ Good-morrow, Gentlemen: How have you slept after your Adventure?

_Heart._ Some careful Thoughts, Ladies, on your accounts, have kept us waking.

_Bel._ And some careful Thoughts on your own, I believe, have hindered you from sleeping. Pray how does this matrimonial Project relish with you?

_Heart._ Why, 'faith, e'en as storming Towns does with Soldiers, where the Hope of delicious Plunder banishes the Fear of being knock'd on the Head.

_Bel._ Is it then possible, after all, that you dare think of downright lawful Wedlock?

_Heart._ Madam, you have made me so fool-hardy, I dare do any thing.

_Bel._ Then, Sir, I challenge you; and Matrimony's the Spot where I expect you.

_Heart._ 'Tis enough; I'll not fail. [_Aside._] So, now, I am in for _Hobbes_'s Voyage; a great Leap in the Dark.

_Lady Brute._ Well, Gentlemen, this Matter being concluded then, have you got your Lessons ready? for Sir _John_ is grown such an Atheist of late, he'll believe nothing upon easy Terms.

_Const._ We'll find ways to extend his Faith, Madam. But pray how do you find him this Morning?

_Lady Brute._ Most lamentably morose, chewing the Cud after last Night's Discovery, of which, however, he had but a confus'd Notion e'en now. But I'm afraid the Valet de Chambre has told him all; for they are very busy together at this Moment. When I told him of _Belinda_'s Marriage, I had no other Answer but a Grunt: From which, you may draw what Conclusions you think fit. But to your Notes, Gentlemen, he's here.

_Enter Sir ~John~ and ~Rasor~._

_Const._ Good-morrow, Sir.

_Heart._ Good-morrow, Sir _John_; I'm very sorry my Indiscretion shou'd cause so much Disorder in your Family.

_Sir John._ Disorders generally come from Indiscretion, Sir; 'tis no strange thing at all.

_Lady Brute._ I hope, my Dear, you are satisfied there was no wrong intended you.

_Sir John._ None, my Dove.

_Bel._ If not, I hope my Consent to marry Mr. _Heartfree_ will convince you. For as little as I know of Amours, Sir, I can assure you, one Intrigue is enough to bring four People together, without further Mischief.

_Sir John._ And I know too, that Intrigues tend to Procreation of more kinds than one. One Intrigue will beget another, as soon as beget a Son or a Daughter.

_Const._ I am very sorry, Sir, to see you still seem unsatisfy'd with a Lady, whose more than common Virtue, I am sure were she my Wife, shou'd meet a better Usage.

_Sir John._ Sir, if her Conduct has put a Trick upon her Virtue, her Virtue's the Bubble, but her Husband's the Loser.

_Const._ Sir, you have receiv'd a sufficient Answer already, to justify both her Conduct and mine. You'll pardon me for meddling in your Family-affairs; but I perceive I am the Man you are jealous of, and therefore it concerns me.

_Sir John._ Wou'd it did not concern me, and then I shou'd not care who it concern'd.

_Const._ Well, Sir, if Truth and Reason won't content you, I know but one way more, which, if you think fit, you may take.

_Sir John._ Lord, Sir, you are very hasty! If I had been found at Prayers in your Wife's Closet, I should have allow'd you twice as much time to come to yourself in.

_Const._ Nay, Sir, if Time be all you want, we have no Quarrel.

_Heart._ I told you how the Sword wou'd work upon him.

[_Sir ~John~ muses._

_Const._ Let him muse; however, I'll lay fifty Pound our Foreman brings us in, Not Guilty.

_Sir John._ [_Aside._] 'Tis well----'tis very well----In spite of that young Jade's matrimonial Intrigue, I am a downright stinking Cuckold----Here they are----Boo----[_Putting his hand to his Forehead._] Methinks, I could butt with a Bull. What the Plague did I marry her for? I knew she did not like me; if she had, she wou'd have lain with me; for I wou'd have done so, because I lik'd her; but that's past, and I have her. And now, what shall I do with her?----If I put my Horns into my Pocket, she'll grow insolent----if I don't, that Goat there, that Stallion, is ready to whip me thro' the Guts.--The Debate then is reduced to this: Shall I die a Hero, or live a Rascal?----Why, wiser Men than I have long since concluded, that a living Dog is better than a dead Lion.----[_To ~Const.~ and ~Heart.~_] Gentlemen, now my Wine and my Passion are governable, I must own, I have never observ'd any Thing in my Wife's Course of Life, to back me in my Jealousy of her: But Jealousy's a Mark of Love; so she need not trouble her Head about it, as long as I make no more Words on't.

_Lady ~Fancyfull~ enters disguis'd, and addresses to ~Belinda~
apart._

_Const._ I'm glad to see your Reason rule at last. Give me your Hand: I hope you'll look upon me as you are wont.

_Sir John._ Your humble Servant. [_Aside._] A wheedling Son of a Whore!

_Heart._ And that I may be sure you are Friends with me, too, pray give me your Consent to wed your Niece.

_Sir John._ Sir, you have it with all my Heart: Damn me if you han't. [_Aside._] 'Tis time to get rid of her: A young, pert Pimp; she'll make an incomparable Bawd in a little time.

_Enter a Servant, who gives ~Heartfree~ a Letter._

_Bel._ _Heartfree_ your Husband, say you? 'Tis impossible.

_Lady Fan._ Wou'd to kind Heaven it were! But 'tis too true; and in the World there lives not such a Wretch. I'm young; and either I have been flatter'd by my Friends, as well as Glass, or Nature has been kind and generous to me. I had a Fortune, too, was greater far than he could ever hope for; but with my Heart I am robb'd of all the rest. I am slighted and I'm beggar'd both at once: I have scarce a bare Subsistence from the Villain, yet dare complain to none; for he has sworn if e'er 'tis known I'm his Wife, he'll murder me.

[_Weeping._

_Bel._ The Traitor!

_Lady Fan._ I accidentally was told he courted you: Charity soon prevail'd upon me to prevent your Misery: And, as you see, I'm still so generous even to him, as not to suffer he should do a thing for which the Law might take away his Life.

[_Weeping._

_Bel._ Poor Creature! how I pity her!

[_They continue talking aside._

_Heart._ [_Aside._] Death and Damnation!----Let me read it again. [Reads.] _Tho' I have a particular reason not to let you know who I am till I see you; yet you'll easily believe 'tis a faithful Friend that gives you this Advice. I have lain with ~Belinda (Good!)~--I have a Child by her ~(Better and better!)~ which is now at Nurse; ~(Heaven be prais'd)~ and I think the Foundation laid for another: ~(Ha!--Old Truepenny!)~--No Rack cou'd have tortur'd this Story from me; but Friendship has done it. I heard of your Design to marry her, and cou'd not see you abus'd. Make use of my Advice, but keep my Secret till I ask you for't again. Adieu._

[_Exit Lady ~Fancyfull~._

_Const._ [_To ~Bel~._] Come, Madam, shall we send for the Parson? I doubt here's no Business for the Lawyer: Younger Brothers have nothing to settle but their Hearts, and that I believe my Friend here has already done very faithfully.

_Bel._ [_Scornfully._] Are you sure, Sir, there are no old Mortgages upon it?

_Heart._ [_Coldly._] If you think there are, Madam, it mayn't be amiss to defer the Marriage till you are sure they are paid off.

_Bel._ [_Aside._] How the gall'd Horse kicks!

[_To_ Heart.] We'll defer it as long as you please, Sir.

_Heart._ The more time we take to consider on't, Madam, the less apt we shall be to commit Oversights; therefore, if you please, we will put it off for just nine Months.

_Bel._ Guilty Consciences make Men Cowards; I don't wonder you want time to resolve.

_Heart._ And they make Women desperate; I don't wonder you are so quickly determin'd.

_Bel._ What does the Fellow mean?

_Heart._ What does the Lady mean?

_Sir John._ Zoons, what do you both mean?

[_~Heart.~ and ~Bel.~ walk chasing about._

_Rasor._ [_Aside._] Here is so much Sport going to be spoil'd, it makes me ready to weep again. A Pox o' this impertinent Lady _Fancyfull_, and her Plots, and her _French-woman_ too; she's a whimsical, ill-natur'd Bitch, and when I have got my Bones broke in her Service, 'tis ten to one but my Recompence is a Clap; I hear them tittering without still. I'cod, I'll e'en go lug them both in by the Ears, and discover the Plot, to secure my Pardon.

[_Exit ~Rasor~._

_Const._ Pr'ythee, explain, _Heartfree_.

_Heart._ A fair Deliverance; thank my Stars and my Friend.

_Bel._ 'Tis well it went no farther; a base Fellow!

_Lady Brute._ What can be the meaning of all this?

_Bel._ What's his Meaning, I don't know; but mine is, that if I had married him----I had had no Husband.

_Heart._ And what's her Meaning I don't know; but mine is, that if I had married her--I had had Wife enough.

_Sir John._ Your People of Wit have got such cramp ways of expressing themselves, they seldom comprehend one another. Pox take you both, will you speak that you may be understood!

_Enter ~Rasor~ in Sackcloth, pulling in ~Lady Fancyfull~
and ~Madamoiselle~._

_Rasor._ If they won't, here comes an Interpreter.

_Lady Brute._ Heavens! what have we here?

_Rasor._ A Villain----but a repenting Villain. Stuff which Saints in all Ages have been made of.

_All._ Rasor!

_Lady Brute._ What means this sudden Metamorphose?

_Rasor._ Nothing, without my Pardon.

_Lady Brute._ What Pardon do you want?

_Rasor._ _Imprimis_, Your Ladyship's; for a damnable Lie made upon your spotless Virtue, and set to the Tune of _Spring-Garden_. [_To Sir ~John~._] Next, at my generous Master's Feet I bend, for interrupting his more noble Thoughts with Phantoms of disgraceful Cuckoldom. [_To ~Const~._] Thirdly, I to this Gentleman apply, for making him the Hero of my Romance. [_To ~Heart~._] Fourthly, your Pardon, noble Sir, I ask, for clandestinely marrying you, without either bidding of Banns, Bishop's Licence, Friends Consent----or your own Knowledge. [_To ~Bel~._] And, lastly, to my good young Lady's Clemency I come, for pretending the Corn was sow'd in the Ground, before ever the Plough had been in the Field.

_Sir John._ [_Aside._] So that, after all, 'tis a moot point, whether I am a Cuckold or not.

_Bel._ Well, Sir, upon Condition you confess all, I'll pardon you myself, and try to obtain as much from the rest of the Company. But I must know, then, who 'tis has put you upon all this Mischief?

_Rasor._ Satan, and his Equipage; Woman tempted me, Lust weakened me----and so the Devil over-came me; as fell _Adam_, so fell I.

_Bel._ Then pray, Mr. _Adam_, will you make us acquainted with your _Eve_?

_Rasor._ [_To ~Madam~._] Unmask, for the Honour of _France_.

_All._ Madamoiselle!

_Madam._ Me ask ten tousand Pardon of all de good Company.

_Sir John._ Why, this Mystery thickens, instead of clearing up. [_To ~Rasor~._] You Son of a Whore, you, put us out of our Pain.

_Rasor._ One Moment brings Sunshine. [_Shewing ~Madam~._] 'Tis true, this is the Woman that tempted me, but this is the Serpent that tempted the Woman; and if my Prayers might be heard, her Punishment for so doing shou'd be like the Serpent's of old--[_Pulls off Lady ~Fancyfull~'s Mask._] She should lie upon her Face all the Days of her Life.

_All._ Lady _Fancyfull_!

_Bel._ Impertinent!

_Lady Brute._ Ridiculous!

_All._ Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!

_Bel._ I hope your Ladyship will give me leave to wish you Joy, since you have own'd your Marriage yourself--[_To ~Heart~._] I vow 'twas strangely wicked in you to think of another Wife, when you had one already so charming as her Ladyship.

_All._ Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!

_Lady Fan._ [_Aside._] Confusion seize 'em, as it seizes me!

Madam. _Que le Diable e toute ce Mauraut de ~Rasor~._

_Bel._ Your Ladyship seems disorder'd: A breeding Qualm, perhaps, Mr. _Heartfree_: Your Bottle of Hungary Water to your Lady. Why, Madam, he stands as unconcern'd, as if he were your Husband in earnest.

_Lady Fan._ Your Mirth's as nauseous as yourself. _Belinda_, you think you triumph over a Rival now: _Helas! ma pauvre fille._ Where'er I'm Rival, there's no Cause for Mirth. No, my poor Wretch, 'tis from another Principle I have acted. I knew that Thing there wou'd make so perverse a Husband, and you so impertinent a Wife, that left your mutual Plagues should make you both run mad, I charitably would have broke the Match. He! he! he! he! he!

[_Exit, laughing affectedly, ~Madamoiselle~ following her._

_Madam._ He! he! he! he! he!

_All._ Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!

_Sir John._ [_Aside._] Why, now, this Woman will be married to somebody, too.

_Bel._ Poor Creature! what a Passion she's in! But I forgive her.

_Heart._ Since you have so much Goodness for her, I hope you'll pardon my Offence, too, Madam.

_Bel._ There will be no great Difficulty in that, since I am guilty of an equal Fault.

_Heart._ Then Pardons being past on all sides, pray let's to Church to conclude the Day's Work.

_Const._ But before you go, let me treat you, pray, with a Song a new-married Lady made within this Week; it may be of use to you both.

SONG.

I.

_When yielding first to ~Damon's~ Flame,
I sunk into his Arms;
He swore he'd ever be the same,
Then rifled all my Charms.
But fond of what he'd long desir'd,
Too greedy of his Prey,
My Shepherd's Flame, alas! expir'd
Before the Verge of Day._

II.

_My Innocence in Lovers Wars
Reproach'd his quick Defeat;
Confus'd, asham'd, and bath'd in Tears,
I mourn'd his cold Retreat.
At length, Ah Shepherdess! cry'd he,
Wou'd you my Fire renew,
Alas, you must retreat like me,
I'm lost if you pursue._

_Heart._ So, Madam; now had the Parson but done his Business----

_Bel._ You'd be half weary of your Bargain.

_Heart._ No, sure, I might dispense with one Night's Lodging.

_Bel._ I'm ready to try, Sir.

_Heart._ Then let's to Church: And if it be our Chance to disagree----

_Bel._ Take heed--the surly Husband's Fate you see.

[_Exeunt omnes._

EPILOGUE,

By Another Hand.

Spoken by Lady =Brute= and =Belinda=.

Lady Brute. _No Epilogue_!

_Belinda._ _I swear I know of none._ }
_Lord! How shall we excuse it to the Town?_ }

_Bel._ _Why, we must e'en say something of our own._ }

Lady Brute. _Our own! Ay, that must needs be precious stuff._

_Bel._ _I'll lay my Life, they'll like it well enough.
Come, faith, begin----_

Lady Brute. _Excuse me, after you._

_Bel._ _Nay, pardon me for that, I know my Cue._

Lady Brute. _O for the World, I would not have Precedence._

_Bel._ _O Lord!_

Lady Brute. _I swear----_

_Bel._ _O fye!_

Lady Brute. _I'm all Obedience.
First then, know all, before our Doom is fixt,
The Third Day is for us----_

_Bel._ _Nay, and the Sixth._

Lady Brute. _We speak not from the Poet now, nor is it
His Cause--(I want a Rhyme)_

_Bel._ _That we sollicit._

Lady Brute. _Then sure you cannot have the Hearts to be severe
And damn us----_

_Bel._ _Damn us! Let 'em if they dare._

Lady Brute. _Why, if they should, what Punishment remains?_

_Bel._ _Eternal Exile from behind our Scenes._