William Wycherley [Four Plays]. William Wycherley

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СКАЧАТЬ Sim. I know that, prithee make no excuses, I say. No ceremony between thee and I, man:—read the letter.

      Dap. What, you have not opened it!

      Sir Sim. Prithee, don't be angry, the seal is a little cracked: for I could not help kissing Mrs. Martha's letter. The word is, now or never. Her father she finds will be abroad all this day, and she longs to see your friend Sir Simon Addleplot:—faith 'tis a pretty jest; while I am with her, and praising myself to her at no ordinary rate. Let thee and I alone at an intrigue.

      Dap. Tell her I will not fail to meet her at the place and time. Have a care of your charge; and manage your business like yourself, for yourself.

      Sir Sim. I warrant you.

      Dap. The gaining Gripe's daughter will make me support the loss of this young jilt here. [Aside.

      Ran. [Coming forward.] What fellow's that?

      Dap. A servant to a friend of mine.

      Ran. Methinks he something resembles our acquaintance Sir Simon; but it is no compliment to tell him so: for that knight is the most egregious coxcomb that ever played with lady's fan.

      Sir Sim. So! thanks to my disguise, I know my enemies! [Aside.

      Ran. The most incorrigible ass, beyond the reproof of a kicking rival or a frowning mistress. But, if it be possible, thou dost use him worse than his mistress or rival can; thou dost make such a cully of him.

      Sir Sim. Does he think so too? [Aside.

      Dap. Go, friend, go about your business.—[Exit Sir Simon.] A pox! you would spoil all, just in the critical time of projection. He brings me here a summons from his mistress, to meet her in the evening; will you come to my wedding?

      Ran. Don't speak so loud, you'll break poor Lucy's heart. Poor creature, she cannot leave you; and, rather than leave her, you would leave writing of lampoons or sonnets—almost.

      Dap. Come, let her go, ungrateful baggage!—But now you talk of sonnets, I am no living wit if her love has not cost me two thousand couplets at least.

      Ran. But what would you give, now, for a new satire against women, ready made?—'Twould be as convenient to buy satires against women ready made, as it is to buy cravats ready tied.

      Dap. Or as—

      Ran. Hey, come away, come away, Mr., or as—[Exeunt.

      SCENE III.—A Room in Mrs. Crossbite's House.

      Enter Mrs. Joyner and Gripe.

      Gripe. Peace, plenty, and pastime be within these walls!

      Mrs. Joyn. 'Tis a small house, you see, and mean furniture; for no gallants are suffered to come hither. She might have had ere now as good lodgings as any in town; her Mortlake[42] hangings, great glasses, cabinets, china, embroidered beds, Persia carpets, gold-plate, and the like, if she would have put herself forward. But your worship may please to make 'em remove to a place fit to receive one of your worship's quality; for this is a little scandalous, in truly.

      Gripe. No, no; I like it well enough:—I am not dainty. Besides, privacy, privacy, Mrs. Joyner! I love privacy in opposition to the wicked, who hate it. [Looks about.

      Mrs. Joyn. What do you look for, sir?

      Gripe. Walls have ears; but, besides, I look for a private place to retire to, in time of need. Oh! here's one convenient. [Turns up a hanging, and discovers the slender provisions of the family.]

      Mrs. Joyn. But you see, poor innocent souls, to what use they put it;—not to hide gallants.

      Gripe. Temperance is the nurse of chastity.

      Mrs. Joyn. But your worship may please to mend their fare; and, when you come, may make them entertain you better than, you see, they do themselves.

      Gripe. No, I am not dainty, as I told you. I abominate entertainments;—no entertainments, pray, Mrs. Joyner.

      Mrs. Joyn. No! [Aside.

      Gripe. There can be no entertainment to me more luscious and savoury than communion with that little gentlewoman.—Will you call her out? I fast till I see her.

      Mrs. Joyn. But, in truly, your worship, we should have brought a bottle or two of Rhenish and some Naples biscuit, to have entertained the young gentlewoman. 'Tis the mode for lovers to treat their mistresses.

      Gripe. Modes! I tell you, Mrs. Joyner, I hate modes and forms.

      Mrs. Joyn. You must send for something to entertain her with.

      Gripe. Again entertaining!—we will be to each other a feast.

      Mrs. Joyn. I shall be ashamed, in truly, your worship.—Besides, the young gentlewoman will despise you.

      Gripe. I shall content her, I warrant you; leave it to me.

      Mrs. Joyn. [Aside.] I am sure you will not content me, if you will not content her; 'tis as impossible for a man to love and be a miser, as to love and be wise, as they say.

      Gripe. While you talk of treats, you starve my eyes; I long to see the fair one; fetch her hither.

      Mrs. Joyn. I am ashamed she should find me so abominable a liar; I have so praised you to her, and, above all your virtues, your liberality; which is so great a virtue, that it often excuses youth, beauty, courage, wit, or anything.

      Gripe. Pish, pish! 'tis the virtue of fools; every fool can have it.

      Mrs. Joyn. And will your worship want it, then? I told her—

      Gripe. Why would you tell her anything of me? you know I am a modest man. But come, if you will have me as extravagant as the wicked, take that and fetch us a treat, as you call it.

      Mrs. Joyn. Upon my life a groat! what will this purchase?

      Gripe. Two black pots of ale and a cake, at the cellar.—Come, the wine has arsenic in't.

      Mrs. Joyn. [Aside.] Well, I am mistaken, and my hopes are abused: I never knew any man so mortified a miser, that he would deny his lechery anything; I must be even with thee then another way. [Exit.

      Gripe. These useful old women are more exorbitant and craving in their desires than the young ones in theirs. These prodigals in white perukes spoil 'em both; and that's the reason, when the squires come under my clutches, I make 'em pay for their folly and mine, and 'tis but conscience:—oh, here comes the fair one at last!

      Re-enter Mrs. Joyner leading in Lucy, who hangs backwards as she enters.

      Lucy. СКАЧАТЬ