Chapter XXVI: Act THE THIRD

SCENE.--_An Apartment of State in Woodvil Hall_.

_Cavaliers drinking_.

JOHN WOODVIL, LOVEL, GRAY, _and four more_.

_John_. More mirth, I beseech you, gentlemen--Mr. Gray, you are not merry.--

_Gray_. More wine, say I, and mirth shall ensue in course. What! we have not yet above three half-pints a man to answer for. Brevity is the soul of drinking, as of wit. Despatch, I say. More wine. (_Fills_.)

_1st Gent_. I entreat you, let there be some order, some method, in our drinkings. I love to lose my reason with my eyes open, to commit the deed of drunkenness with forethought and deliberation. I love to feel the fumes of the liquor gathering here, like clouds.

_2nd Gent_. And I am for plunging into madness at once. Damn order, and method, and steps, and degrees, that he speaks of. Let confusion have her legitimate work.

_Lovel_. I marvel why the poets, who, of all men, methinks, should possess the hottest livers, and most empyreal fancies, should affect to see such virtues in cold water.

_Gray_. Virtue in cold water! ha! ha! ha!

_John_. Because your poet-born hath an internal wine, richer than lippara or canaries, yet uncrushed from any grapes of earth, unpressed in mortal wine-presses.

3_rd Gent_. What may be the name of this wine?

_John_. It hath as many names as qualities. It is denominated indifferently, wit, conceit, invention, inspiration, but its most royal and comprehensive name is _fancy_.

3_rd Gent_. And where keeps he this sovereign liquor?

_John_. Its cellars are in the brain, whence your true poet deriveth intoxication at will; while his animal spirits, catching a pride from the quality and neighborhood of their noble relative, the brain, refuse to be sustained by wines and fermentations of earth.

3_rd Gent_. But is your poet-born always tipsy with this liquor?

_John_. He hath his stoopings and reposes; but his proper element is the sky, and in the suburbs of the empyrean.

3_rd Gent_. Is your wine-intellectual so exquisite? henceforth, I, a man of plain conceit, will, in all humility, content my mind with canaries.

4_th Gent_. I am for a song or a catch. When will the catches come on, the sweet wicked catches?

_John_. They cannot be introduced with propriety before midnight. Every man must commit his twenty bumpers first. We are not yet well roused. Frank Lovel, the glass stands with you.

_Lovel_. Gentlemen, the Duke. (_Fills_.)

_All_. The Duke. (_They drink_.)

_Gray_. Can any tell, why his Grace, being a Papist--

_John_. Pshaw! we will have no questions of state now. Is not this his Majesty's birthday?

_Gray_. What follows?

_John_. That every man should sing, and be joyful, and ask no questions.

2_nd Gent_. Damn politics, they spoil drinking.

3_rd Gent_. For certain, 'tis a blessed monarchy.

2_nd Gent_. The cursed fanatic days we have seen! The times have been when swearing was out of fashion.

3_rd Gent_. And drinking.

1_st Gent_. And wenching.

_Gray_. The cursed yeas and forsooths, which we have heard uttered, when a man could not rap out an innocent oath, but straight the air was thought to be infected.

_Lovel_. 'Twas a pleasant trick of the saint, which that trim puritan _Swear-not-at-all Smooth-speech_ used, when his spouse chid him with an oath for committing with his servant-maid, to cause his house to be fumigated with burnt brandy, and ends of scripture, to disperse the devil's breath, as he termed it.

_All_. Ha! ha! ha!

_Gray_. But 'twas pleasanter, when the other saint _Resist-the-devil-and-he-will-flee-from-thee Pureman_ was overtaken in the act, to plead an illusio visûs, and maintain his sanctity upon a supposed power in the adversary to counterfeit the shapes of things.

_All_. Ha! ha! ha!

_John_. Another round, and then let every man devise what trick he can in his fancy, for the better manifesting our loyalty this day.

_Gray_. Shall we hang a puritan?

_John_. No, that has been done already in Coleman Street.

2_nd Gent_. Or fire a conventicle?

_John_. That is stale too.

3_rd Gent_. Or burn the Assembly's catechism?

4_th Gent_. Or drink the king's health, every man standing upon his head naked?

_John (to Lovel)_. We have here some pleasant madness.

3_rd Gent_. Who shall pledge me in a pint bumper, while we drink to the king upon our knees?

_Lovel_. Why on our knees, Cavalier?

_John_ (_smiling_). For more devotion, to be sure. (_To a servant_.) Sirrah, fetch the gilt goblets.

[_The goblets are brought. They drink the King's health, kneeling.
A shout of general approbation following the first appearance
of the goblets._

_John_. We have here the unchecked virtues of the grape. How the vapors curl upwards! It were a life of gods to dwell in such an element: to see, and hear, and talk brave things. Now fie upon these casual potations. That a man's most exalted reason should depend upon the ignoble fermenting of a fruit, which sparrows pluck at as well as we.

_Gray_ (_aside to Lovel_). Observe how he is ravished.

_Lovel_. Vanity and gay thoughts of wine do meet in him and engender madness.

[_While the rest are engaged in a wild kind of talk_, JOHN _advances
to the front of the stage, and soliloquizes_.

_John_. My spirits turn to fire, they mount so fast. My joys are turbulent, my hopes show like fruition. These high and gusty relishes of life, sure, Have no allayings of mortality in them. I am too hot now, and o'ercapable, For the tedious processes, and creeping wisdom, Of human acts, and enterprises of a man. I want some seasonings of adversity, Some strokes of the old mortifier Calamity, To take these swellings down, divines call vanity.

1_st Gent_. Mr. Woodvil, Mr. Woodvil.

2_nd Gent_. Where is Woodvil?

_Gray_. Let him alone. I have seen him in these lunes before. His abstractions must not taint the good mirth.

_John_ (_continuing to soliloquize_). O for some friend, now, To conceal nothing from, to have no secrets. How fine and noble a thing is confidence, How reasonable, too, and almost godlike! Fast cement of fast friends, band of society, Old natural go-between in the world's business, Where civil life and order, wanting this cement, Would presently rush back Into the pristine state of singularity, And each man stand alone.

(_A servant enters_.)

_Servant_. Gentlemen, the fireworks are ready.

1_st Gent_. What be they?

_Lovel_. The work of London artists, which our host has provided in honor of this day.

2_nd Gent_. 'Sdeath, who would part with his wine for a rocket?

_Lovel_. Why truly, gentlemen, as our kind host has been at the pains to provide this spectacle, we can do no less than be present at it. It will not take up much time. Every man may return fresh and thirsting to his liquor.

_3rd Gent_. There's reason in what he says.

_2d Gent_. Charge on then, bottle in hand. There's husbandry in that.

[_They go out, singing. Only_ LOVEL _remains, who observes_ WOODVIL.

_John_ (_still talking to himself_). This Lovel here's of a tough honesty, Would put the rack to the proof. He is not of that sort Which haunt my house, snorting the liquors, And when their wisdoms are afloat with wine, Spend vows as fast as vapors, which go off Even with the fumes, their fathers. He is one, Whose sober morning actions Shame not his o'ernight's promises; Talks little, flatters less, and makes no promises; Why this is he, whom the dark-wisdom'd fate Might trust her counsels of predestination with, And the world be no loser. Why should I fear this man? [_Seeing_ LOVEL. Where is the company gone?

_Lovel_. To see the fireworks, where you will be expected to follow. But I perceive you are better engaged.

_John_. I have been meditating this half hour, On all the properties of a brave friendship, The mysteries that are in it, the noble uses, Its limits withal, and its nice boundaries. _Exempli gratiâ_, how far a man May lawfully forswear himself for his friend; What quantity of lies, some of them brave ones, He may lawfully incur in a friend's behalf! What oaths, blood-crimes, hereditary quarrels, Night brawls, fierce words, and duels in the morning, He need not stick at, to maintain his friend's honor, or his cause.

_Lovel_. I think many men would die for their friends.

_John_. Death! why,'tis nothing. We go to it for sport, To gain a name or purse, or please a sullen humor, When one has worn his fortune's livery threadbare, Or his spleen'd mistress frowns. Husbands will venture on it, To cure the hot fits and cold shakings of jealousy. A friend, sir, must do more.

_Lovel_. Can he do more than die?

_John_. To serve a friend this he may do. Pray, mark me. Having a law within (great spirits feel one) He cannot, ought not, to be bound by any Positive laws or ord'nances extern, But may reject all these: by the law of friendship He may do so much, be they, indifferently, Penn'd statutes, or the land's unwritten usages, As public fame, civil compliances, Misnamed honor, trust in matter of secrets, All vows and promises, the feeble mind's religion, (Binding our morning knowledge to approve What last night's ignorance spake;) The ties of blood withal, and prejudice of kin. Sir, these weak terrors Must never shake me. I know what belongs To a worthy friendship. Come, you shall have my confidence.

_Lovel_. I hope you think me worthy.

_John_. You will smile to hear now-- Sir Walter never has been out of the island.

_Lovel_. You amaze me.

_John_. That same report of his escape to France Was a fine tale, forged by myself-- Ha! ha! I knew it would stagger him.

_Lovel_. Pray, give me leave. Where has he dwelt, how lived, how lain conceal'd? Sure I may ask so much.

_John_. From place to place, dwelling in no place long, My brother Simon still hath borne him company, ('Tis a brave youth, I envy him all his virtues). Disguised in foreign garb, they pass for Frenchmen, Two Protestant exiles from the Limousin Newly arrived. Their dwelling's now at Nottingham, Where no soul knows them.

_Lovel_. Can you assign any reason why a gentleman of Sir Walter's known prudence should expose his person so lightly?

_John_. I believe, a certain fondness, A childlike cleaving to the land that gave him birth, Chains him like fate.

_Lovel_. I have known some exiles thus To linger out the term of the law's indulgence, To the hazard of being known.

_John_. You may suppose sometimes They use the neighb'ring Sherwood for their sport, Their exercise and freer recreation.-- I see you smile. Pray now, be careful.

_Lovel_. I am no babbler, sir; you need not fear me.

_John_. But some men have been known to talk in their sleep, And tell fine tales that way.

_Lovel_. I have heard so much. But, to say truth, I mostly sleep alone.

_John_. Or drink, sir? do you never drink too freely? Some men will drink, and tell you all their secrets.

_Lovel_. Why do you question me, who know my habits?

_John_. I think you are no sot No tavern-troubler, worshipper of the grape; But all men drink sometimes, And veriest saints at festivals relax, The marriage of a friend, or a wife's birthday.

_Lovel_. How much, sir, may a man with safety drink?
[_Smiling_.

_John_. Sir, three half-pints a day is reasonable; I care not if you never exceed that quantity.

_Lovel_. I shall observe it; On holidays two quarts.

_John_. Or, stay; you keep no wench?

_Lovel_. Ha!

_John_. No painted mistress for your private hours? You keep no whore, sir?

_Lovel_. What does he mean?

_John_. Who for a close embrace, a toy of sin, And amorous praising of your worship's breath, In rosy junction of four melting lips, Can kiss out secrets from you?

_Lovel_. How strange this passionate behavior shows in you Sure, you think me some weak one.

_John_. Pray pardon me some fears. You have now the pledge of a dear father's life. I am a son--would fain be thought a loving one; You may allow me some fears: do not despise me, If, in a posture foreign to my spirit, And by our well-knit friendship, I conjure you, Touch not Sir Walter's life. [_Kneels._ You see these tears. My father's an old man. Pray let him live.

_Lovel_. I must be bold to tell you, these new freedoms Show most unhandsome in you.

_John_ (_rising_). Ha! do you say so? Sure, you are not grown proud upon my secret! Ah! now I see it plain. He would be babbling. No doubt a garrulous and hard-faced traitor-- But I'll not give you leave. [_Draws._

_Lovel_. What does this madman mean?

_John_. Come, sir; here is no subterfuge; You must kill me, or I kill you.

_Lovel_ (_drawing_). Then self-defence plead my excuse. Have at you, sir. [_They fight._

_John_. Stay, sir. I hope you have made your will. If not,'tis no great matter. A broken cavalier has seldom much He can bequeath; an old worn peruke, A snuffbox with a picture of Prince Rupert, A rusty sword he'll swear was used at Naseby, Though it ne'er came within ten miles of the place; And if he's very rich, A cheap edition of the _Icon Basilike_, Is mostly all the wealth he dies possest of. You say few prayers, I fancy;--

So to it again. [_They fight again._ LOVEL _is disarmed._

_Lovel_. You had best now take my life. I guess you mean it.

_John_ (_musing_). No:--Men will say I fear'd him, if I kill'd him. Live still, and be a traitor in thy wish, But never act thy thought, being a coward. That vengeance, which thy soul shall nightly thirst for, And this disgrace I've done you cry aloud for, Still have the will without the power to execute. So now I leave you, Feeling a sweet security. No doubt My secret shall remain a virgin for you! [_Goes out, smiling in scorn_.

_Lovel_ (_rising_). For once you are mistaken in your man. The deed you wot of shall forthwith be done, A bird let loose, a secret out of hand, Returns not back. Why, then 'tis baby policy To menace him who hath it in his keeping. I will go look for Gray; Then, northward ho! such tricks as we shall play Have not been seen, I think, in merry Sherwood, Since the days of Robin Hood, that archer good.