William Wycherley [Four Plays]. William Wycherley

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СКАЧАТЬ Joyn. If she were here, she'd teach you better manners.

      Lucy. I'm afraid she'd be angry.

      Mrs. Joyn. To see you so much an ass.—Come along, I say.

      Gripe. Nay, speak to her gently; if you won't, I will.

      Lucy. Thank you, sir.

      Gripe. Pretty innocent! there is, I see, one left of her age; what hap have I! Sweet little gentlewoman, come sit down by me.

      Lucy. I am better bred, I hope, sir.

      Gripe. You must sit down by me.

      Lucy. I'd rather stand, if you please.

      Gripe. To please me, you must sit, sweetest.

      Lucy. Not before my godmother, sure.

      Gripe. Wonderment of innocence!

      Mrs. Joyn. A poor bashful girl, sir: I'm sorry she is not better taught.

      Gripe. I am glad she is not taught; I'll teach her myself.

      Lucy. Are you a dancing-master then, sir? But if I should be dull, and not move as you would have me, you would not beat me, sir, I hope?

      Gripe. Beat thee, honeysuckle! I'll use thee thus, and thus, and thus. [Kisses her.] Ah, Mrs. Joyner, prithee go fetch our treat now.

      Mrs. Joyn. A treat of a groat! I will not wag.

      Gripe. Why don't you go? Here, take more money, and fetch what you will; take here, half-a-crown.

      Mrs. Joyn. What will half-a-crown do?

      Gripe. Take a crown then, an angel, a piece;[43]—begone!

      Mrs. Joyn. A treat only will not serve my turn; I must buy the poor wretch there some toys.

      Gripe. What toys? what? speak quickly.

      Mrs. Joyn. Pendants, necklaces, fans, ribbons, points, laces, stockings, gloves—

      Gripe. Hold, hold! before it comes to a gown.

      Mrs. Joyn. Well remembered, sir; indeed she wants a gown, for she has but that one to her back. For your own sake you should give her a new gown, for variety of dresses rouses desire, and makes an old mistress seem every day a new one.

      Gripe. For that reason she shall have no new gown; for I am naturally constant, and as I am still the same, I love she should be still the same. But here, take half a piece for the other things.

      Mrs. Joyn. Half a piece!—

      Gripe. Prithee, begone!—take t'other piece then—two pieces—three pieces—five! here, 'tis all I have.

      Mrs. Joyn. I must have the broad-seal ring too, or I stir not.

      Gripe. Insatiable woman! will you have that too! Prithee spare me that, 'twas my grandfather's.

      Mrs. Joyn. That's false, he had ne'er a coat.—So! now I go; this is but a violent fit, and will not hold. [Aside.

      Lucy. Oh! whither do you go, godmother? will you leave me alone?

      Mrs. Joyn. The gentleman will not hurt you; you may venture yourself with him alone.

      Lucy. I think I may, godmother.—[Exit Mrs. Joyner.] What! will you lock me in, sir? don't lock me in, sir. [Gripe, fumbling at the door, locks it.

      Gripe. 'Tis a private lesson, I must teach you, fair.

      Lucy. I don't see your fiddle, sir; where is your little kit?

      Gripe. I'll show it thee presently, sweetest.—[Sets a chair against the door.]—Necessity, mother of invention!—Come, my dearest. [Takes her in his arms.

      Lucy. What do you mean, sir? don't hurt me, sir, will you—Oh! oh! you will kill me! Murder! murder!—Oh! oh!—help! help! oh!

      The door is broken open; enter Mrs. Crossbite, and her Landlord, and his 'Prentice, in aprons.

      Mrs. Cros. What, murder my daughter, villain!

      Lucy. I wish he had murdered me.—Oh! oh!

      Mrs. Cros. What has he done?

      Lucy. Why would you go out, and leave me alone? unfortunate woman that I am!

      Gripe. How now, what will this end in? [Aside.

      Mrs. Cros. Who brought him in?

      Lucy. That witch, that treacherous false woman, my godmother, who has betrayed me, sold me to his lust.—Oh! oh!—

      Mrs. Cros. Have you ravished my daughter, then, you old goat? ravished my daughter!—ravished my daughter! speak, villain.

      Gripe. By yea and by nay, no such matter.

      Mrs. Cros. A canting rogue, too! Take notice, landlord, he has ravished my daughter, you see her all in tears and distraction; and see there the wicked engine of the filthy execution.—[Pointing to the chair.]—Jeremy, call up the neighbours, and the constable—False villain! thou shalt die for it.

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