 Act I of The Country Wife by William Witterly. Horner. Red by Thomas Peter. Mr. Harcourt. Played by son of the Exiles. Mr. Dorelant. Red by Major Toast. Pinch Wife. Red by Scotty Smith. Mr. Sparkish. Red by Todd. Sir Jasper Fidgett. Red by Nemo. Boy. Red by Melanie Jensen. A Quack. Red by Alan Mapstone. Bookseller. Red by Beth Thomas. Mrs. Marjorie Pinch Wife. Red by Avayee. Aletheia. Sister of Pinch Wife. Red by Leanne Yau. Lady Fidgett. Red by Beth Thomas. Mrs. Dainty Fidgett. Sister of Sir Jasper. Red by phone. Mistress Screamish. Red by Sonia. Old Lady Screamish. Red by Eva Davis. Lucy. Aletheia's made. Red by T.J. Burns. Nair Raider. Red by Campbell Shelp. Scene. London. Prologue. Poets, like cudgled bullies, never do at first or second blow submit to you but will provoke you still and nair have done till you are weary first with the laying on. The late so baffled scribbler of this day though he stands trembling bids me boldly say what we before most plays are used to do for poets out of fear first draw on you. In a fierce prologue the still pit defy and ere you speak like castrell give the lie. But though our bays battles oft I fought and with bruised knuckles their dear conquests bought, nay, never yet feared odds upon the stage in prologue their not hector with the age. But would take quarter from your sailing hands though bays within all yielding counter-mans says you confederate wits no quarter give therefore his play shan't ask your leave to live. Well, let the vain rash fop by huffing so think to obtain the better terms of you. But we the actors humbly will submit now and at any time to a full pit. Nay, often we anticipate your rage and murder poets for you on our stage. We set no guards upon our tiring room but when with dying colours there you come we patiently you see give up to you our poets, virgins, nay, our matrons too. Act the first, scene one, Horner's lodging. Enter Horner and quack following him at a distance. Horner aside. A quack is as fit for a pimp as a midwife for a board. They are still but in their way both helpers of nature. Well, my dear doctor, hath thou done what I desired? I have undone you for ever with the women and reported you throughout the whole town as bad as a eunuch, with as much trouble as if I had made you one in earnest. But have you told all the midwives you know, the orange wenches at the playhouses, the city husbands and old fumbling keepers of this end of the town? For they'll be the readyest to report it. I have told all the chambermaids, waiting women, tired women, and old women of my acquaintance, nay, and whispered it as a secret to them and to the whisperers of white all, so that you need not doubtful spread and you will be as odious to the handsome young women as... as the smallpunks, well... and to the married women of this end of the town, as... as the great one, nay, as their own husbands, and to the city dames as Aniseed Robin of filthy and contemptible memory, and they will frighten their children with your name, especially the females, and cry, hornest coming to carry you away, I am only afraid to not be believed. You told him it was by an English-French disaster and an English-French chirurgian who has given me at once not only a cure, but an antidote for the future against that damned malady and that worse distemper love and all other women's evils. Your late journey into France has made it the more credible, and your being here of Fortnite, before you appeared in public, looks as if you apprehended the shame, which I wonder you do not. Well, I have been hired by young gallants to be liam'd other way, but you are the first would be thought a man unfit for women. Dear Mr. Doctor, let vain rogues be contented only to be thought ablamen they are, generators all the pleasure they have, but mine lies another way. You take me thinks a very preposterous way of it, and as ridiculous as if we operators in physics should put forth bills to disparage our medicaments with hopes to gain customers. Doctor, there are quacks in love as well as physics who get but the fewer and worse patients for their boasting. A good name Silden got by giving it oneself, and women no more than honour are compassed by bragging. Come, come, Doctor, the wisest lawyer never discovers the merits of his cause to the trial, the wealthiest man conceals his riches, and the cunning games to his play. Shy husbands and keepers like old rooks are not to be cheated, but by a new unpractised trick. False friendship will pass now no more than false dice upon them. No, not in the city. Enter, boy. There were two ladies in a dead tall bed coming up. Exit. Ah, pox! Some unbelieving sisters of my former acquaintance who I am afraid expect their sense should be satisfied of the falsity of the report. No, ah, this formal fool and women. Enter Sir Jasper Fidget, Lady Fidget and Mrs. Dainty. His wife and sister. My coach breaking just now before your door, sir. I look upon as an occasional ripper-man to me, sir, for not kissing your hand, sir, since you're coming out of France, sir. So my disaster, sir, has been my good fortune, sir. And this is my wife and sister, sir. What then, sir? My lady and sister, sir. Wife, this is Master Horner. Master Horner, husband? My lady, my lady Fidget, sir. So, sir. Won't you be acquainted with her, sir? Aside. So the report is true, I find, by his coldness or aversion to the sex. But I'll play the wag with him. Allowed. Pray salute my wife, my lady, sir. I will kiss no man's wife, sir, for him, sir. I have taken my utter relief, sir, of the sex already, sir. Sir Jasper, aside. Ha-ha-ha! I'll plague him yet. Allowed. Not know my wife, sir. I do know your wife, sir. She's a woman, sir, and consequently a monster, sir. A greater monster than a husband, sir. A husband? How, sir? So, sir. But I make no more cuckolds, sir. Makes horns. Ha-ha-ha! Mercury! Mercury! Pray, sir Jasper, let us be gone from this rude fellow. Who, by his brooding, would think he had ever been in France? For he's but too much a French fellow, such as hate women of quality and virtue for their love to their husbands. Sir Jasper, a woman is hated by him as much for loving her husband as for loving their money. But pray, let's be gone. You do well, madam, for I have nothing that you came for. I have brought over not so much as a body picture, nor new posters, nor the second part of the occur of defeat, nor... Quack, a part to horner. Hold for shame, sir. What do you mean? You're ruining yourself forever with the sex. Ha-ha-ha! He hates women perfectly, I find. What pit he is, he should. Aye, he's a base fellow for it. But affectation makes not a woman more odious to them than virtue. Because your virtue is your greatest affectation, madam. How, you saucy fellow, would you wrong my honour? Oh, if I could. How do you mean, sir? Ha-ha-ha! No, he can't wrong your ladyship's honour. Upon my honour, he poor man, hark you in your ear. Ah, mere eunuch! Oh, filthy French beast! Fo, fo, why do we stay? Let's be gone. I can't endure the sight of him. Stay, but till the chairs come. They'll be here presently. No, no. Nor can I stay longer. Tis, let me see. A quarter and a half quarter of a minute past eleven. The council will be sat, I must away. Business must be preferred Always before love in the ceremony with a wise, Mr. Horner. And the impotent, Sir Jasper. Aye, aye, the impotent, Mr. Horner. Ha-ha-ha! What, leave us with a filthy man alone in his lodgings? He's an innocent man now, you know. Pray stay. I'll hasten the chairs to you. Mr. Horner, your servant. I should be glad to see you at my house. Pray come and dine with me, and play at cards with my wife after dinner. You are fit for women at the game yet, ha-ha! Aside. Tis as much a husband's prudence to provide innocent diversion for a wife as to hinder her unlawful pleasures, and he had better employ her than let her employ herself. Allowed. Farewell. Your servant, Sir Jasper. Exit, Sir Jasper. I will not stay with him, foe. Nay, madam, I beseech you, stay. If it be but to see, I can be as civil to ladies yet as they would desire. No, no, foe, you cannot be civil to ladies. You, as civil, as ladies would desire? No, no, no, foe, foe, foe. Exient Lady Fidget and Mrs. Dainty Fidget. Now, I think, I, or you yourself, rather, have done your business with the women. Thou art an ass. Don't you see already, upon the report, and my carriage, this grave man of business leaves his wife in my lodgings, invites me to his house and wife, who before would not be acquainted with me out of jealousy? Nay, by this means you may be more acquainted with the husbands, but the less with the wives. Let me alone! If I can but abuse the husbands, I'll soon disabuse the wives. Stay. I'll reckon you up the advantages I am like to have by my stratagem. First, I shall be rid of all my old acquaintances, the most insatiable sort of duns that invade our lodgings in a morning, and next to the pleasure of making a new mistress is that of being rid of an old one, and of all old debts. Love, when it comes to be so, is paid the most unwillingly. Well, you may be so rid of your old acquaintances, but how will you get any new ones? Doctor, thou wilt never make a good chemist, thou art so incredulous and impatient. Ask but all the young fellows of the town if they do not lose more time, like Huntsman, in starting the game than in running it down. One knows not where to find him, who will or will not. Women of quality are so civil, you can hardly distinguish love from good breeding, and a man is often mistaken. But now I can be sure she that shows in a version to me loves the sport, as those women that are gone whom I warrant to be right. And then the next thing is, your women of honour, as you call them, are only cherry of their reputations, not their persons, and his scandal they would avoid, not men. Now may I have, by the reputation of a eunuch, the privileges of one, and be seen in the latest chamber in a morning as early as a husband, kiss versions before their parents or lovers, and may be, in short, the past part two of the town. Now, Doctor. Nay, now you shall be the Doctor, and your process is so new that we do not know, but it may succeed. Not so new, neither. Probate an est, Doctor. Well, I wish you luck, and many patience, whilst I go to mine. Exit. Enter Harcourt and Doralant. Come your appearance at the play yesterday, as I hoped, harden you for the future against the women's contempt and the men's railery, and now you'll abroad as you will want. Did I not bear it bravely? With the most theatrical impudence, nay, more than an orange wench's show there, or a drunken visit-mask, or a great bellied actress, nay, or the most impudent of creatures, an ill poet, or what is yet more impudent, a second-hand critic. But what say the ladies? Have they no pity? What, ladies? The Visard masks, you know, never pity a man when all's gone, though in their service. And for the women in the boxes, you'd never pity them once was in your power. They say tis pity, but all the deal with common women should be served so. Nay, I swear they won't admit you to play at cards with them, go to plays with them, or do the little duties which other shadows of men are wont to do for them. What do you call shadows of men? Half men. What, boys? Aye, you're old boys, old bo-gar-sons, who like superannuated stallions have suffered to run, feed, and winny with the mares as long as they live, though they can do nothing else. Well, a pox on love and winching. Women serve what to keep a man from better company. Though I can't enjoy them, I shall you the more. Good fellowship and friendship are lasting, rational and manly pleasures. For all that give me some of those pleasures you call effeminate to. They help to relish one another. They disturb one another. Nay, mistresses are like pox. If you pour upon them too much, they doze you and make you unfit for company, but if used discreetly you are the fitter for conversation by them. A mistress should be like a little country retreat near the town, not to dwell in constantly, but only for a night in a way, to taste the town the better when the man returns. I tell you, tears is hard to be a good fellow, a good friend and a lover of women, as tears to be a good fellow, a good friend and a lover of money. You cannot follow both and choose your side. Wine gives you liberty, love takes it away. Gad is in the right on it. Wine gives you joy, love, grief and tortures, besides surgeons. Wine makes us witty. Love only sots. Wine makes us sleep. Love breaks it. By the world he has reason, Harcourt. Wine makes. Aye, wine makes us, makes us princes. Love makes us beggars, poor rogues, he gad, and wine. So there's one converted. No, no, love and wine, oil and vinegar. I grant it, love will still be uppermost. Come, for my part, I will have only those glorious manly pleasures of being very drunk and very slovenly. Enter, boy. Mr. Sparkish is below, sir. Exit. What, my dear friend? A rogue that has fond of me only, I think, for abusing him. No, he can no more think the men laugh at him than that women jilt him, his opinion of himself is so good. Well, there is another pleasure by drinking, I thought not of. I shall lose his acquaintance, because he cannot drink. And, you know, it is a very hard thing to be rid of him, for he's one of those nauseous officers at wit who, like the worst fiddlers, run themselves into all companies. One that, by being in the company of men of sense, would pass for one. And may so to the short-sighted world, as a false jewel amongst true ones is not discerned at a distance, his company is as troublesome to us as a cuckold's when you have a mind to his wife's. No, the rogue will not let us enjoy one another, but ravishes our conversation. Though he signifies no more to it than St. Martin Marl's gaping, an awkward thrumming upon the loot, does to his man's voice and music. And a pass for a wit in town shows himself a fool every night to us that are guilty of the plot. Such wits as he are, to a company of reasonable men, like rooks to the game-sters, that only fill a room at the table, but are so far from contributing to the play, that they only serve to spoil the fancy of those that do. Nay, they are used like rooks, too. Snubbed, checked, and abused. Yet the rogues will hang on. Ah, pox on them, and all that force nature, and would be still what she forbids them. Affectation is their greatest monster. Most men are the contraries to that they would seem. Your bully you see is a coward with a long sword. The little, humbly forewarning physician with his ebony cane, is he that destroys men? The user-o, a poor rogue, possessed of mouldy ponds and mortgages, a we they call spendthrift's are only wealthy, who lay out his money upon daily new purchases of pleasure. Aye, your errantest cheat is your trustee or executor, your jealous man the greatest cuckold, your churchman the greatest atheist, and your noisy pear-to-rogue of a wit, the greatest fop, dullest ass, and worst company as you shall see. For here he comes. Enter, Sparkish. How is't, Sparks? How is't? Well, faith, Harry, I must rally thee a little, upon the report in town of thee. I can't hold in faith. Shall I speak? Yes, but you'll be so bitter, then. Honest Dick and Frank here shall answer for me. I will not be extreme bitter by the universe. We will be bound in a ten-thousand-pound bondage, or not be bitter at all. No sharp, no sweet. What, not downright insipid? Nay, then, since you are so brisk and provoke me, take what follows. You must know, I was discoursing and rallying with some ladies yesterday, and I happened to talk of the fine new signs in town. Very fine ladies, I believe. Said I? I know where the best new sign is. Where? says one of the ladies. In Covent Garden, I replied. Said another, in what street? In Russell Street, answered I. Lord, says another, I'm sure there was never a fine new sign there yesterday. Yes, but there was, said I again, and it came out of France, and has been there a fortnight. Ah, Pax, I can hear no more, Prithee. Now, hear him out. Let him tune his crowd while. The worst music, the greatest preparation. Nay, Faith, I'll make you laugh. It cannot be, says a third lady. Yes, yes, quote I again. Says a fourth lady. Look to it. We'll have no more ladies. No, then mark, mark now. Said I to the fourth. Did you never see Mr. Horner? He lodges in Russell Street, and he's a sign of a man, you know, since he came out of France. Ha, ha, ha! But the devil take me for thine be the sign of a jest. With that, they all fell a laughing, and they pissed themselves. What, but it does not move, you me thinks? Well, I see one had as good to go to law without a witness, as break a jest without a laughter on one side. Come, come, Sparks, but where do we dine? I have left at Whitehall an earl to dine with you. Why, I thought thou its love to man with a title better than a suit with a French trimming to it. Go to him again. No, sir, a wit to me is the greatest title in the world. But go dine with your earl, sir. He may be exception. We are your friends, and we'll not take it ill to be left. I do assure you. Nay, faith, he shall go to him. Nay, pray, gentlemen. We'll thrust you out if he won't. What, disappointed anybody for us? Nay, dear gentlemen, hear me. No, no, sir, by no means. Pray go, sir. Why, dear rogues. No, no. They all thrust him out of the room. Ha, ha, ha. Re-enter, Sparkish. But, Sparks, pray hear me. What, do you think I'll eat then with gay shallow fobs and silent cox-coms? I think wit is necessary at dinner as a glass of good wine, and that's the reason I never have any stomach when I eat alone. Come, but where do we dine? Even where you will. At Chattelins? Yes, if you will. Or at the cock? Yes, if you please. Or at the dog-and-partridge? Aye, if you have a mind to it, for we shall dine it neither. Be sure. With your fooling we shall lose the new play, and I would know more miss seeing a new play the first day than I would miss sitting in the wit's row. Therefore I'll go fetch my mistress, and away. Exit. Enter, Pinchwife. Who have we here? Pinchwife? Gentlemen, your humble servant. Well, Jack, by thy long absence from the town, the grumbness of thy countenance, and the slovenliness of thy habit, I should give thee joy, should I not, of marriage. Pinchwife, aside. Death, does he know I'm married too? I've thought to have concealed it from him, at least. Oh, out! My long stay in the country will excuse my dress, when I have a suit of law that brings me up to town that puts me out of humour. Besides, I must give Sparkish tomorrow five thousand pounds to lie with my sister. Nay, you country gentleman, rather than not purchase, would buy anything. And he is a cracked title, if we may quill. Well, what am I to give thee joy? I heard thou were to married. What, then? Why, the next thing that is to be heard is thou to cuckold. Pinchwife, aside. Insupportable name. But I did not expect marriage from such a whormaster as you, one that knew the town so much, and women so well. Why, I have married no London wife. Sure! That's of one. That grace of inspection in marrying a country wife is like refusing a deceitful Pambert Smithfield jade to go and be cheated by a friend in the country. Pinchwife, aside. A pox on him in his simile. Oh, out! At least we are little sureer of the breed there. Know what her keeping has been, whether foiled or unsound. Come, come. I have known a clap gotten in Wales, and there are cousins, justice clerks, and chaplains in the country. I won't say a coachman, but she's handsome and young. Pinchwife, aside. I'll answer as I should do. Oh, out! No, no. She has no beauty but her youth, no attraction but her modesty. Wholesome, homely, and how swiftly. That's all. He talks as like a grazier as he looks. She's too awkward, in favour and silly to bring to town. Then me thinks you should bring her to be taught breeding. To be taught no, sir, I thank you. Good wives and private soldiers should be ignorant. I'll keep her from your instructions, I warrant you. Harcourt, aside. The rogue is as jealous as if his wife were not ignorant. Why? If she be ill-favoured, there will be less danger here for you than by leaving her in the country. We have such variety of dainties that we are seldom hungry. But they always have coarse, constant, swinging stomachs in the country. Foul feeders, indeed. And your hospitality is great there. Open house, every man's welcome. So-so, gentlemen. But privy, why should thou marry her? If she be ugly, ill-bred and silly, she must be rich then. As rich as if she brought me twenty thousand pound out of this town, for she'll be as sure not to spend her moderate portion as a London baggage would be to spend hers. Let it be what it would. So it is all one. Then, because she's ugly, she's the likelier to be my own. And, being ill-bred, she'll hate conversation. And, since silly and innocent, we'll not know the difference betwixt a man of one in twenty and one of forty. Nine, to my knowledge. But if she be silly, she'll expect as much from a man of forty-nine as from him of one in twenty. But me thinks which is more necessary than beauty, and I think no young woman ugly that has it, and no handsome woman agreeable without it. It is my maxim. He's a fool that marries, but he's a greater that does not marry a fool. What is wit in a wife good for, but to make a man a cuckold? Yes, to keep it from his knowledge. A fool cannot contrive to make a husband a cuckold? No, but she'll club with a man that can. And what is worse, if she cannot make a husband a cuckold, she'll make him jealous and pass for one. Then it is all one. Well, well, I'll take care for one. My wife shall make me no cuckold, though she had your help, Mr. Horner. I understand the town, sir. Dorland, aside. His help. Harcourt, aside. He's come nearly to town, it seems, and has not heard how things are with him. But tell me, has marriage cured thee of whoring, which it seldom does? There's more than age can do. No, the word is, I'll marry and live honest. But a marriage vow is like a penitent gangster's oath, and entering into bonds and penalties to stint himself to such a particular small sum at play for the future, which makes him but the more eager. And not being able to hold out, loses his money again, his forfeit to boot. Aye, aye, a game-ster will be a game-ster whilst his money lasts, and a whoremaster whilst his vigor. No, I've known them when they are broke and can lose no more. Keep a fumbling with the box in their hands to fool with only, and hinder other game-sters that had wherewithal to make lusty stakes. Well, gentlemen, you may laugh at me, but you shall never lie with my wife. I know the town. But pretty was not the way you were in better. It's not keeping better than marriage. A pox-aunt, the jades would jilt me, I could never keep a whore to myself. So, then you only marry to keep a whore to yourself? Well, but let me tell you, women, as you say, are like soldiers, made constant and loyal by good pay rather than by oaths and covenants. Therefore, I'd advise my friends to keep rather than marry, as since too I find, by your example, it does not serve one's turn. For I saw you yesterday in the 18-penny place with a pretty country wench. Pink-wife aside. How the devil did he see my wife, then? I sat there that she might not be seen, but she shall never go to a play again. Oh, what? Tossed her blush at nine and forty for having been seen with a wench? No, Faith. I wore it towards his wife, which he seated there out of sight for he's a cunning rogue and understands the town. He blushes. Then was his wife. For men are now more ashamed to be seen with them in public than with a wench. Pink-wife aside. Hell and damnation! I'm undone since Horner has seen her, and they know to she. But pretty! Was it thy wife? She was exceeding pretty. I was in love with her at that distance. You are like never to be nearer to her, your servant, gentlemen. Offers to go. Nay, privy, stay. I cannot, I will not. Come, you shall dine with us. I've dined already. Come, I know thou hast not. I'll treat thee, dear rogue. There shan't spend none of thy handsher money today. Pink-wife aside. Don't tempt me, so he uses me already like his cuckold. Nay, you shall not go. I must. I have business at home. Exit. To beat his wife. He is as jealous of her as a cheap-side husband of a covent garden-wife. Why, it is as hard to find an old hallmaster without jealousy and the gout as a young one without fear or the pox. As gout and age from pox and youth precedes, so enching past then jealousy as exceeds. The worst disease that love and all-enching breeds. Exit. End of Act One. Act Two of The Country Wife by William Witcherley. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Scene One. A Room in Pinchwife's House. Mrs. Marjorie Pinchwife and Aletheia. Pinchwife peeping behind at the door. Pray, sister, where are the best fields and woods to walk in, in London? Aletheia aside. A pretty question. Allowed. Why, sister, Mulberry Garden and St. James' Park, and for close walks the new exchange? Pray, sister, tell me why my husband looks so grumb here in town and keeps me up so close and will not let me go or walking, nor let me wear my best gown yesterday. He's jealous, sister. Jealous? What's that? He's afraid you should love another man. How should he be afraid of my loving another man when he will not let me see anybody himself? Did he not carry you yesterday to a play? I? But we set amongst ugly people. He would not let me come near the gentry who sat under us so that I could not see him. He told me none but naughty women sat there, whom they toused and moused. But I would have ventured for all that. But how did you like the play? Indeed, I was wary of the play, but I liked hugely the actors. They are the goodliest, properest men, sister. But you must not like the actors, sister. I? How should I help it, sister? Pray, sister, when my husband comes in, will you ask Lee for me to go or walking? A walking? Oh, Lord, a country gentle woman's pleasure is the derogatory of a footpost, and she requires as much airing as a husband's horses. Aside. But here comes your husband. I'll ask, though I'm sure he'll not grant it. He says he won't let me go abroad for fear of catching the pox. Fine. The small pox, you should say. Enter Pinch-wife. Oh, my dear, dear bud, welcome home. Why dost thou look so frappish? Who hasn't angered thee? You're a fool. Mrs. Pinch-wife goes aside and cries. Faith, so she is, for crying for no fault poor tender creature. What, you would have her as impudent as yourself, as an ant as a dill-flirt, a gatter, a magpie, and to say all, a mere notorious townwoman. Brother, you are my only censurer, and the honour of your family will sooner suffer in your wife there than in me, though I take the innocent liberty of the town. Hark, you mistress, do not talk so before my wife, the innocent liberty of the town. Why, pray, who boasts of any intrigue with me? What lampoon has made my name notorious? What ill women frequent my lodgings? I keep no company with any women of scandalous reputations. No, you keep the men of scandalous reputations company. Where? Would you not have me civil? Answer him in a box at the place, in the drawing room at Whitehall, in St. James's Park, Mulberry Garden, or— Hold, hold, do not teach my wife where the men are to be found. I believe she's the worst for your town documents already. I bid you keep her in ignorance as I do. Indeed, be not angry with her, but she will tell me nothing of the town, though I ask her a thousand times a day. Then you are very inquisitive to know, I find. Not I indeed, dear. I hate London. Our place-house in the country is worth a thousand oft. Would I were there again? So you shall, I warrant. But were you not talking of plays and players when I came in? To our Thea. You are her encourager in such discourses. No, indeed, dear. She'd cheat me just now for liking the player-men. Pinch-wife, aside. Nay, if she be so innocent as to own to me her liking them, there is no hurtent. Allowed. Come, my poor rogue, but thou likeest none better than me. Yes, indeed, but I do. The player-men are finer folks. But you love none better than me. You are my own dear, but, and I know you. I hate a stranger. I, my dear, you must love me only. May not be like the naughty town-women who only hate their husbands and love every man else. Love plays, visits, fine coaches, fine clothes, fiddles, balls, treats, and so lead a wicked town-life. Nay, if to enjoy all these things be a town-life, London is not so bad a place, dear. How? If you love me, you must hate London. Al-Athea, aside. The fool has forbid me discovering to her the pleasures of the town, and he is now setting her a gog upon them himself. But, husband, do the town-women love the player-men too? Yes, I warrant you. I, I warrant you. Why, you do not, I hope. No, no, but, but why have we no player-men in the country? Ha, Mrs. Minx, ask me no more to go to a play. Nay, why, love? I did not care for going, but when you forbid me, you make me as to desire it. Al-Athea, aside. Search will be in other things, I warrant. Pray, let me go to a play, dear. Hold your peace, I will not. Why, love? Why, I'll tell you. Al-Athea, aside. Nay, if you tell her, she'll give him more cause to forbid her that place. Pray, why, dear? First, you like the actors, and the glance may like you. What? A homely country girl? No, but nobody will like me. I tell you, yes, they may. No, no, you just, I won't believe you. I will go. I tell you, then, that one of the lewdest fellows in town who saw you there told me he was in love with you. Indeed. Who? Who, pray, who was it? Pinch-wife, aside. I've gone too far and slipped before I was aware. How overjoyed she is! Was it any Hampshire gallant, any of our neighbours? I promise you I am beholden to him. I promise you you lie, for he would but ruin you as he has done hundreds. He has no other love for women but that, such as he look upon women like basilisks, but to destroy them. I, but if he loves me, why should he ruin me? Answer me to that. Me thinks he should not. I would do him no harm. Ha-ha-ha-ha! Tis very well, but I'll keep him from doing you any harm, or me, either. But here comes company, get you in, get you in. But, pray, husband, is he a pretty gentleman that loves me? In baggage, in. Thrusts her in and shuts the door. Enter Sparkish and Harcourt. What all the lewd libitines of the town brought to my lodging by this easy cockscomb! Steff, I'll not suffer it. Here, Harcourt, do you approve my choice? To Aletheia. Dear little rogue, I told you I'd bring you acquainted with all my friends, the wits, and... Harcourt salutes her. I, a national knowherd, as well as you yourself will, I warrant you. This is one of those, my pretty rogue, that are to dance at your wedding to-morrow, and him you must bid welcome ever to what you and I have. Pinch wife aside. Monstrous! Harcourt, how dost thou like her, Faith? Nay, dear, do not look down. I should hate to have a wife of mine out of countenance at anything. Pinch wife aside. Wonderful! Tell me, I say, Harcourt, how dost thou like her? Thou hast stared upon her enough to resolve me. So infinitely well that I could wish I had a mistress, too, Why to differ from her in nothing but her love and engagement to you? Sir, Master Sparkish has often told me that his acquaintance were all wits and railiers, and now I find it. No, by the universe, madam, he does not rally now. You may believe him. I do assure you he is the honestest, worthiest, true-hearted gentleman, A man of such perfect honour he would say nothing to a lady he does not mean. Pinch wife aside. Praising another man to his mistress. Sir, you are so beyond expectation obliging that... Nay, he can. I am sure you do admire her extremely. I see it in your eyes. He does admire you, madam. By the world, don't you? It's above the world, all the most glorious part of it, her whole sex. Until now I never thought I should have envied you, or any man about to marry, but you have the best excuse for marriage I ever knew. Nay now, sir. I'm satisfied you are of the society of the wits and railiers, since you cannot spare your friend, even when he is but too civil to you. But the surest sign is, since you are an enemy to marriage, for that I hear you hate as much as business or bad wine. Truly, madam, I was never an enemy to marriage till now, because marriage was never an enemy to me before. But why, sir, is marriage an enemy to you now? Because it robs you of your friend here? For you look upon a friend married, as one gone into a monastery that is dead to the world. It is indeed because you marry him. I see, madam, you can guess my meaning. I do confess, heartily and openly, I wish it were in my power to break the match. By heavens I would. Poor Frank. Would you be so unkind to me? No, no, it is not because I would be unkind to you. Poor Frank, no good. It is only his kindness to me. Pinch wife aside. Great kindness to you indeed, insensible thob. Let a man make love to his wife, to his face. Come, dear Frank, for all my wife there that shall be, thou shalt enjoy me sometimes, dear rogue. By my honour, we men of wit condole for our deceased brother in marriage, as much as one dead in earnest. I think that was prettily said of me, huh, Harcourt? But come, Frank, be not melancholy for me. No, I assure you I am not melancholy for you. Pretty Frank, does think my wife that shall be there a fine person? I could gaze upon her till I became as blind as you are. How am I? How? Because you are a lover, and true lovers are blind, stock blind. True, true, but by the world she has wit too as well as beauty. Go, go with her into a corner, and try if she has wit. Talk to her anything. She is bashful before me. Indeed, if a woman wants wit in a corner she has it nowhere. Alothea, aside to sparkish. Sir, you dispose of me a little before your time. Nay, nay, madam. Let me have an earnest of your obedience, or go, go, madam. Harcourt courts Alothea aside. How, sir? If you are not concerned for the honour of a wife I am for that of a sister, he shall not debauch her. Be a panda to your own wife. Bring men to her. Let them make love before your face. Thrust them into a corner together, then leave them in private. Is this your town wit and conduct? A silly wise rogue would make one laugh more than a stark fool. I shall burst. Nay, you shall not disturb him. I'll vex thee by the world. Struggles with pinch-wife to keep him from Harcourt and Alothea. The writings are drawn, sir. Settlements made. A tis too late, sir, and past all revocation. Then so is my death. I would not be unjust to him. Then why to me so? I have no obligation to you. My love. I had his before. You never had it. He wants you see jealousy, the only infallible sign of it. Love proceeds from esteem. He cannot distrust my virtue. Besides, he loves me, or he would not marry me. Marrying you is no more a sign of his love than bribing your woman, that he may marry you is a sign of his generosity. Marriage is rather a sign of interest than love, and he that marries a fortune covers a mistress, not loves her. But if you take marriage for a sign of love, take it from me, immediately. No. Now you have foot a-scruple in my head. But in short, sir, to end our dispute, I must marry him. My reputation would suffer in the world else. Now if you marry him, with your pardon, madame, your reputation suffers in the world, and you would be thought in necessity for a cloak. Nay, now you are rude, sir. Mr. Sparkish, pray come hither. Your friend here is very troublesome and very loving. Harcourt, aside to Alothea. Hold, hold. Do you hear that? Why, do you think I'll seem to be jealous, like a country bumpkin? No, rather be a cuckoo like a credulous sit. Madam, you would not have been so little generous as to have told him. Yes, since you could be so little generous as to wrong him. Wrong him? No man can do it. He's beneath an injury. A bubble? A coward? A senseless idiot? A wretch so contemptible to all the world but you that— Hold, do not rail at him, for since he is like to be my husband, I am resolved to like him. Nay, I think I am obliged to tell him you are not his friend. Master Sparkish! Master Sparkish! What? What? To Harcourt? Now, dear Roe, has not she wit? Not as much as I thought and hoped she had. Mr. Sparkish, do you bring people to rail at you? Madam? How? No, but if he does rail at me, his but ingest, I warrant. What we wits do for one another and never take any notice of it. He spoke so scurrilously of you, I had no patience to hear him. Besides, he has been making love to me. Harcourt, aside. True damned tell-dale woman! Be sure to show his parts. We wits rail and make love often, but to show our parts? As we have no affections, so we have no malice. He said you were a wretch below an injury? Be sure. Harcourt, aside. Damned senseless impudent, virtuous jade! Well, since she won't let me have her, she'll do as good. She'll make me hate her. A common bubble? Be sure. A coward? Be sure. Be sure. A senseless, driveling idiot? How? Did he disparage my parts? Nay, then. My honour's concerned. I can't put up that, sir. By the world, brother, help me to kill him. Aside. I may draw now, since we have the odds of him. It is a good occasion, too, before my mistress. Offers to draw. Hold! Hold! What? What? Alothea, aside. I must not let them kill the gentleman, neither, for his kindness to me. I am so far from hating him, that I wish my gallant had his person and understanding. Nay, if my honour— I'll be thy death. Hold! Hold! Indeed, to tell the truth, the gentleman said, after all, that what he spoke was but out-of-friendship to you. How? Say, I am—I am a fool. That is, no wit, out-of-friendship to me. Yes. To try whether I was concerned enough for you, and made love to me, only to be satisfied of my virtue, for your sake. Harcourt, aside. Kind, however. Nay, if it were so, my dear rogue, I ask me pardon. But why would not you tell me so, veth? Because I did not think on it faithfully. Come, honour does not come. Harcourt, let's be gone to the new play. Come, madam. I will not go, if you intend to leave me alone in a box and run into the pit as you used to do. For sure, I'll leave Harcourt with you in the box to entertain you, and that's as good. If I sat in the box, I should be thought to no judge but of trimmings. Come away, Harcourt, lead her down. Exiant, sparkish, Harcourt and Alethea. Well, go thy ways for the flower of the true town-fops, such as spend their estates before they come to him, and not cuckolds before they're married. Let me go, look to my own freehold. How? Enter Lady Fidget, Mrs. Dainty Fidget, and Mrs. Squeemish. Your servant, sir. Where is your lady? We have come to wait upon her to the new play. A new play? And my husband will wait upon you presently. Pinch wife, aside. Damn your civility. Allowed. Madam, by no means. I will not see Sir Jasper here till I've waited upon him at home, nor shall my wife see you till she has waited upon your ladyship at your lodgings. Now we are here, sir. No, madam. Pray, let us see her. We will not stir till we see her. Pinch wife, aside. A pox on you all. Goes to the door and returns. She has locked the door and is gone abroad. No, you have locked the door and she's within. They told us below she was here. Pinch wife, aside. Will nothing do. Allowed. Well, it must out then. To tell you the truth, ladies, which I was afraid to let you know before, lest it might endanger your lives, my wife has just now the small pox come upon her. Do not be frightened. But pray, be gone, ladies. You shall not stay here in danger of your lives. Pray, get you gone, ladies. No, no. We have all had them. Like, like. Come, come. We must see how it goes with her. I understand the disease. Come. Pinch wife, aside. Well, there is no being too hard for women at their own weapon. Lying. Therefore I'll quit the field. Exit. Here's an example of jealousy. Indeed, as the world goes, I wonder there are no more jealous since wives are so neglected. Psh. As the world goes, to what end should they be jealous? Fuh. It is a nasty world. That men of parts, great acquaintance and quality, should take up with and spend themselves and fortunes in keeping little playhouse creatures. Fuh. Nay, that women of understanding, great acquaintance and good quality, should fall are keeping two of little creatures. Fuh. Nay, this the men of quality's fault. They never visit women of honour and reputation as they used to do, and have not so much as common civility for ladies of our rank, but use us with the same indifference and ill-breeding as if we were all married to them. She says true, it is an iron shame women of quality should be so slighted. Me thinks birth, birth should go for something. I have known men admired, courted and followed for their titles only. Aye, one would think men of honour should not love, no more than marry, out of their own rank. Thigh, thigh upon them. They are come to think cross-breeding for themselves best, as well as for their dogs and horses. They are dogs and horses for it. One would think if not for love, for vanity, little. Nay, they do satisfy their vanity upon us sometimes, and are kind to us in their report. Tell all the world they lie with us. Damned rascals, that we should be only wronged by him. To report a man has had a person when he has not had a person is the greatest wrong in the whole world that can be done to a person. Well, it is an iron shame noble person should be so wronged and neglected. But still, it is an iron to shame for a noble person to neglect her own honour and defame her own noble person with little inconsiderable fellows. I suppose the crime against our honour is the same with a man of quality as with another. How? No sure. The man of quality is likeest one's husband, and therefore the fault should be the less. But then the pleasure should be less. Fie, fie, fie for shame, sister, wither shall we ramble, be continent in your discourse or I shall hate you. Besides, an intrigue is so much the more notorious for a man's quality. Tis true that nobody takes notice of a private man, and therefore with him tis more secret, and the crimes the less when tis not known. You say true, if faith I think you are in the right aunt. Tis not an injury to a husband till it be an injury to our honours, so that a woman of honour loses no honour with a private person, and to say truth. Mrs. Dainty Fidget, a part to Mrs. Squeemish. So the little fellow is grown a private person, with her. But still, my dear, dear honour. Enter Sir Jasper Fidget, Horner and Dorlandt. I am my dear, dear of honour. Thou hast still so much honour in thy mouth. Horner aside. That she has none elsewhere. Oh, what do you mean to bring in these upon us? Thou, these are as bad as wits. Thou! Let us leave the room. Stay, stay. Faith, to tell you the naked truth. I, Sir Jasper, do not use that word naked. Well, well, in short, I have business at Whitehall, and cannot go to the play with you. Therefore, would have you go with those two to a play? No, not with the other, but with Mr. Horner. There can be no more scandal to go with him than with Mr. Taddle or Master Limberham. With that nasty fellow? No, no. Nay, pretty, dear, hear me. Whispers to Lady Fidget. Ladies. Horner and Doreland draw near Mrs. Screamish and Mrs. Dainty Fidget. Stand off. Do not approach us. You heard with the wits. You are obscenity all over. And I would as soon look upon a picture of Adam and Eve, without fake leaves, as any of you, if I could help it. Therefore, keep off, and do not make us sick. What a double of these! Why? These are pretenders to honour, as critics to wit, only by censoring others. It is every raw, peevish, out of humoured, affected, dull, tea-drinking, erythmetical fob, sets up for a wit by railing at men of sense. So these for honour by railing at the court, and ladies of as great honour as quality. Come, Mr. Horner, I must desire you to go with these ladies to the play, sir. Aye, sir. Aye, aye, come, sir. I must beg your pardon, sir, and theirs. I will not be seen in women's company in public again for the world. Ha-ha! Strange aversion! No. He is for women's company in private. He? Poor man, he? Ha-ha-ha! It is a greater shame amongst lewd fellows to be seen in virtuous women's company than for the women to be seen with them. Indeed, madam, the time was I only hated virtuous women, but now I hate the other too. I beg your pardon, ladies. You are very obliging, sir, because we would not be troubled with you. In sober sadness he shall go. Nay, if he will not, I am ready to wait upon the ladies, and I think I am the fitter man. You, sir, know. I thank you for that. Master Horner is a privileged man among the virtuous ladies. It will be a great while before you are so. Ha-ha-ha! He is my wife's galant. Ha-ha-ha! No, pray with draw, sir, for as I take it the virtuous ladies have no business with you. And I am sure he can have none with them. To strange a man can't come amongst virtuous women now, but among the same terms as men are admitted into the great Turk Seralio, but heavens keep me from being an ombre player with them. But where is pinch-wife? Exit. Come, come, man, what? Avoid the sweet society of womankind? That sweet, soft, gentle, tame, noble creature woman made for man's companion? So is that soft, gentle, tame, and more noble creature a spaniel, and as all their tricks can fawn, lie down, suffer beating, and fawn the more, barks at your friends when they come to see you, makes your bed hard, gives you fleas, and the mange sometimes, and all the difference is the spaniel's the more faithful animal and fawns but upon one master. Ha-ha-ha! Oh, the rude beast! Insolent brute! Brute, stinking, mortified, rotten French weather, to dare! Hold, and please your ladyship, for shame, Master Horner, your mother was a woman? Aside. Now shall I never reconcile him? Aside to Lady Fidget. Hark, you madam, take my advice in your anger. You know you often want one to make up your droling pack of ombre players, and you may cheat him easily, for he's an ill game-ster, and consequently loves play. Besides, you know you have but two old civil gentlemen, with stinking breaths, too, to wait upon you abroad. Take in the third into your service, the other of a crazy, and a lady should have a super-numerary gentleman usher as a super-numerary coach horse, lest sometimes you should be forced to stay at home. But are you sure he loves play and has money? He loves play as much as you, and has money as much as I. Then I am contented to make him pay for his scurrility. Money makes up in a measure all other wants in men. Aside. Those whom we cannot make hold for gallants, we make fine. Sir Jasper, aside. So, so. Now to mollify, weedle him. Aside to Horner. Master Horner, will you never keep civil company? Methinks to his time now, since you are only fit for them. Come, come, man, you must eat and fall to visiting our wives, eating at our tables, drinking tea with our virtuous relations after dinner, dealing cards to them, reading plays and gazettes to them, picking fleas out of their smocks for them, collecting receipts, new songs, women, pages, and footmen for them. I hope they'll afford me better employment, sir. Hee-hee-hee! Tis fit you know your work before you come into your place, and since you are unprovided of a lady to flatter and a good house to eat at, pray frequent mine, and call my wife Mistress, and she shall call you Galant, according to the custom. Who? I? Faith, thou shalt for my sake come, for my sake only. For your sake? Come, come, here's a gamester for you. Let him be a little familiar sometimes. Nay, what if a little rude? Gamesters may be rude with ladies, you know. Yes, losing gamesters have a privilege with women. I always stop the contrary, that the winning gamester had most privilege with women, for when you have lost your money to a man, you lose anything you have, all you have, they say, and he may use you as he pleases. Hee-hee-hee! Well, when or lose you shall have your liberty with her. As he behaves himself, and for your sake I'll give him admittance and freedom. All sorts of freedom, madam. Aye, aye, aye, all sorts of freedom thou can't take, and so go to her, begin thy new employment, wedle her just with her, and be better acquainted one with another. Horner aside. I think I know her already. Therefore may venture with her my secret for hers. Horner and Lady Fidgett whisper. Sister Cuzz, I have provided an innocent play-fellow for you there. Who, he? Huh, there's a play-fellow indeed. Yes, sure. What, he is good enough to play at cards, blind man's bluff, or the fool with sometimes. Oh, we'll have no such play-fellows. No, sir, you shan't choose play-fellows for us. We thank you. Nay, pray hear me. Whispering to them. But, poor gentleman, could you be so generous, so truly a man of honour, as for the sakes of us women of honour, to cause yourself to be reported no man? No man, and to suffer yourself the greatest shame that could fall upon a man, that none might fall upon us women by your conversation. But indeed, sir, as perfectly, perfectly the same man as before you're going into France, sir. As perfectly, perfectly, sir? As perfectly, perfectly, madam. Nay, I scorn you should take my word. I desire to be tried only, madam. Well, that's spoken again like a man of honour. All men of honour desire to come to the test. But indeed, generally, you men report such things of yourselves, one does not know how or whom to believe. And it is come to that pass, where dare not take your words no more than your tailors, without some staid servant of yours be bound with you. But I have so strong of faith in your honour, dear, dear noble sir, that I'd forfeit mine for yours at any time, dear sir. No, madam, you should not need to forfeit it for me. I have given you security already to save you harmless. My late reputation being so well known in the world, madam. But if upon any future falling out, or upon a suspicion of my taking the trust out of your hands to employ some other, you yourself should betray your trust, dear sir. I mean, if you'll give me leave to speak obscenely, you might tell, dear sir. If I did, nobody would believe me. The reputation of impotency is as hardly recovered again in the world as that of cowardice, dear madam. Nay, then, as one may say, you may do your worst, dear, dear sir. Um, is your ladyship reconciled to him yet? Have you agreed on matters? For I must be gone to Whitehall. Why indeed, Sir Jasper, Master Horner is a thousand thousand times a better man than I thought him. Cousin Squeamish, Sister Dainty, I can name him now. Truly, not long ago, you know, I thought his very name obscenity. And I would as soon have lain with him as have named him. Very likely, poor madam. I believe it. No doubt, don't it? Well, well, that your ladyship is as virtuous as any she, I know, and him all the town knows. He he he, therefore now you like him. Get you gone to your business together. Go, go to your business, I say. Pleasure, whilst I go to my pleasure. Business. Come, then, dear gallant. Come away, my dearest mistress. So, so, why tis as I'd have it? Exit. And as I'd have it? Who for his business from his wife will run takes the best care to have her business done. Exit. And of act, too. Three of the Country Wife by William Witcherly. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Scene one, a room in Pinchwife's house. Enter Alethea and Mrs. Pinchwife. Sister, what ails you? You are grown melancholy. Would it not make any one melancholy to see you go every day fluttering about abroad, while I must stay at home like a poor lonely sullen bird in a cage? Aye, sister, but you came young, and just from the nest of your cage, so that I thought you liked it, and could be as cheerful in it as others that took their flight themselves early, and are hopping abroad in the open air. Nay, I confess I was quiet enough till my husband told me what pure lives the London ladies live abroad, with their dancing, meetings, and junketings, and dressed every day in their best gowns. And I warrant you play at nine pins every day of the week, so they do. Enter Pinchwife. Come, what's here to do? You're putting the town pleasures in ahead and setting her a longing. Yes, after nine pins. You suffer none to give her those longings you mean but yourself. I tell her the vanities of the town like a confessor. A confessor? Just such a confessor as he that, by forbidding a silly ostler to grease the horse's teeth, taught him to do it. Come, Mrs. Flippant, good precepts are lost when bad examples are still before us. The liberty you take abroad makes her hanker after it, and out of humour at home. Poor wretch, she desired not to come to London. I would bring her. Very well. She has been this week in town and never desired to this afternoon to go abroad. Was she not at a play yesterday? Yes, but she never asked me. I was myself the cause of her going. Then if she asks you again, you are the cause of her asking and not my example. Well, tomorrow night I shall be rid of you, and the next day before it is light, she and I will be rid of the town and my dreadful apprehensions. Come, be not melancholy, for thou shalt go into the country after tomorrow, dearest. Great comfort! Pish! What ye tell me of the country for? How's this? What? Pish at the country? Let me alone. I am not well. Oh, if that be all. What ails, my dearest? Truly, I don't know, but I have not been well since you told me there was a gallant head to play in love with me. Ha! That's by my example, too. Nay, if you are not well, but are so concerned because a lewd fellow chants to lie and say he liked you, you'll make me sick, too. Of what sickness? Oh, of that which is worse than the plague. Jealousy! Pish, you jeer! I'm sure there's no such disease in our receipt book at home. No, thou never metst with it, poor innocent. Aside. Well, if thou cuckled me, it will be my own fault, for cuckolds and bastards are generally makers of their own fortune. Well, but pray, bud, let's go to a play tonight. It is just done. She comes from it. But why are you so eager to see a play? Faith, dear, not that I care one pin for their talk there, but I like to look upon the playamen and would see if I could the gallant you say loves me. That's all, dear bud. Oh, is that all, dear bud? This proceeds from my example. But if the play be done, let's go abroad, however, dear bud. Come, have a little patience, and thou shalt go into the country on Friday. Therefore I would see first some sites to tell my neighbours off. Nay, I will go abroad, that's once. I'm the cause of this desire, too. But now I think on't. Who, who was the cause of horrors coming to my lodgings today? That was you. No, you. Because you would not let him see your handsome wife out of your lodging. Why, oh Lord, did the gentleman come hither to see me indeed? No, no. You are not the cause of that damned question, too, Mr. Salathea. Aside. Well, she's in the right of it. He is in love with my wife, and comes after her it is so. But I'll nip his love in the bud lest he should follow us into the country and break his chariot wheel near our house on purpose for an excuse to come to it. But I think I know the town. Come, pray, bud. Let's go abroad before it is late, for I will go, that's flat and plain. Pinch-wife, aside. So, the obscency already of the town-wife, and I must, while she's here, humour her like one. Oh, out. Sister, how shall we do that she may not be seen or known? Let her put on her mask. Sure. A mask makes people but the more inquisitive, and is as ridiculous a disguise as a stage beard. Her shape, stature, habit will be known, and if we should meet with Horner, he would be sure to take acquaintance with us. Must wish her joy, kiss her, talk to her, leer upon her, and the devil in awe. No, I'll not use her to a mask. It is dangerous, for masks have made more cuckolds than the best faces that were ever known. How will you do then? Nay, shall we go? The exchange will be shut, and I have a mind to see that. So, I have it. I'll dress her up in the suit we were to carry down to her brother, little Sir James. Nay, I understand the town tricks. Come, let's go dress her. A mask, no. A woman mask, like a cupboard dish, gives a man curiosity and appetite, when it may be uncovered to return his stomach. No, no. Indeed, your comparison is something a greasy one. But I had a gentle gallant used to say, a beauty mask, like the sun in eclipse, gathers together more gazes than if it shined out. Exiant. Seen to. The new exchange. Enter Horner, her court, and Dorlant. Engage to women and nuts up with us. Aye, a pox on him all. You were a much more reasonable man in the morning, and had as noble resolutions against him as a widower of a weak solipitair. Did I ever think to see you keep company with women in vain? In vain. No. Since I can't love him, not to be revenged on him. Now your sting is gone. You looked in the box amongst all there's women like a drone in the hive, all upon you, shoved and ill-used by them all, and thrust from one side to the other. Yet he must be buzzing amongst them still, like other beetle-headed licorice drones. Avoid him and hate him as they hate you. Because I do hate him, and would hate him yet more, I'll frequent him. You may see by marriage nothing makes a man hate a woman more than her constant conversation. In short, I converse with him, as you do with rich fools, and laugh at him and use him ill. But I would know more sup with women unless I could lie with them, than sup with a rich cox comb unless I could cheat him. Yes, I've known the sup with a fool for his drinking. If he could set out your hand that way only, you were satisfied, and if he were a wine-swallowing mouth, it was enough. Yes, a man drinks often with a fool as he tosses with a marker, only to keep his hand in use. But do the ladies drink? Yes, sir, and I shall have the pleasure, at least of laying him flat with a bottle, and bring as much scandal that way upon him as formerly t'other. Perhaps you may prove as weak a brother among them that way as t'other. Fo, drinking with women is as unnatural as scolding with them, but is a pleasure of decaying fornicatus, and the basest way of quenching love. Nay, it is drowning love, instead of quenching it. But leave us for civil women, too. Aye, when he can't be the better for him, we hardly pardon a man that leaves his friend for a wench, and that's a pretty lawful call. Faith, I would not leave you for him if they would not drink. Who would disappoint his company at Lewis's for a gossiping? Fair, wine and women, good apart, together are as nauseous as suck and sugar, but hark you, sir, before you go, here, a little of your advice. An old maimed general, when unfit for action, is fittest for counsel. I have other designs upon women and eating and drinking with them. I am in love with Sparkish's mistress, whom he is to marry tomorrow. Now how shall I get her? Enter Sparkish, looking about. Why, here comes one who will help you to her. He, he, I tell you, is my rival and will hinder my love. No, a foolish rival and a jealous husband desist their rival's designs, for they are sure to make their women hate them, which is the first step to their love for another man. But I cannot come near his mistress but in his company. Still the better for you, for fools are most easily cheated when they themselves are accessories, and he is to be bubbled of his mistress as of his money, the common mistress by keeping him company. Who is that that is to be bubbled? Faith, let me snack. I haven't met with a bubble since Christmas. Gad, I think bubbles are like their brother Woodcocks. Go out and with the cold weather. Her court's a parts to Horner. A pox? He did not hear all, I hope. Come, you bubbling rogues, you! Where do we sup? Oh, Harcourt, my mistress tells me you have been making fierce love to her all the play long. But I... I make love to her? Nay, I forgive thee, for I think I know thee, and I know her. But I am sure I know myself. Did she tell you, sir? I see all women alike these of the exchange, who to enhance the prize of their commodities, report to their fund the customer's offers, which were never made them. Aye, women are apt to tell before the intrigue, as men after it, and so show themselves the vainer sex. But has thou a mistress' sparkish? It is hard for me to believe it, is that thou ever hadst a bubble as you brag just now. Oh, your servant, sir, are you at your railery, sir? But we are some of us beforehand with you today at the play. The wits were something bold with you, sir. Did you not hear us laugh? Yes, but I thought you had gone to plays, to laugh at the poet's wit, not at your own. Your servant, sir? No, I thank you. Gad, I go to a play as to a country treat. I carry my own wine to one, and my own wit to the other, or else I'm sure I should not be merry at either. And the reason why we are so often louder than the players is because we think we speak more wit, and so become the poet's rivals in his audience. For to tell you the truth, we hate the silly rogues. Nay, so much that we find fault even with their body upon the stage, whilst we talk nothing else in the pit as loud. But why shouldst thou hate the silly poets? There has too much wit to be one, and they, like horse, are only hated by each other, and thou dost scorn writing, I'm sure. Yes, I'd have you to know I scorn writing, but women, women, that make men do all foolish things, make them write songs, too. Everybody does it, as even as common with lovers as playing with fans. In you can no more help rhyming to your phyllis than drinking to your phyllis. Nay, poetry and love is no more to be avoided than jealousy. But the poets damned your songs, did they? Damn the poets! They have turned them into burlesque, as they call it. That burlesque is a hocus pocus trick they have got, which, by the virtue of ictius doctius topsy-turvy, they make a wise and witty man in the world a fool upon the stage you know not how, and is therefore I hate him, too, for I know not, but it may be my own case, for they'll put a man into a play for looking to squint. Their predecessors were contented to make serving men only their stage fools, but these rogues must have gentlemen with a pox to them. Nay, knights! And indeed, you shall hardly see a fool upon the stage, but he's a knight. And to tell you the truth, they have kept me these six years from being a knight an earnest, for fear of being knighted in a play, and dubbed a fool. Blame them not. They must follow their copy. The age. But why shouldst thou be afraid of being in a play to expose yourself every day in the playhouses and at public places? Tis but being on the stage, instead of standing on a bench in the pit. Don't you give money to painters to draw you like? And are you afraid of your pictures at length in a playhouse where all your mistresses may see you? A pox. Painters don't draw the small pox of pimples on one's face. Come, we have all your silly authors, whatever, all books and booksellers by the world, and all readers, courteous or uncourteous. But who comes here, Sparkish? Enter Pinchwife and Mrs. Pinchwife in man's clothes, Aletheia and Lucy. Oh, hide me. There is my mistress, too. Sparkish hides himself behind Harcourt. She sees you. But I will not see her. It is time to go to Whitehall, and I must not fail the drawing-room. Pray first carry me and reconcile me to her. Another time. Faith, the king will have subbed. Not with the worst stomach for thy absence. Thou art one of those fools that think their attendance at the king's mills is as necessary as his physicians, when you are more troublesome to him than his doctors or his dogs. Basha, I know my interests, sir. Prithee, hide me. You're a servant, Pinchwife. What? He knows us not. Pinchwife, to his wife aside. Come along. Pray, have you any ballads? Give me six penny-worth. We have no ballads. Then give me covent garden drollery and a play or two. Oh, here's Terugo's wiles and the slighted maiden. I'll have them. Pinchwife, apart to her. No, plays are not for your reading. Come along. Will you discover yourself? Who is that pretty youth with him, sparkish? I believe his wife's brother because he's something like her. But I never saw her but once. Extremely handsome. I've seen a face like it, too. Let us follow him. Exiant Pinchwife, Mrs. Pinchwife, Alethea and Lucy, Horner and Doriland, following them. Come, sparkish, your mistress saw you and will be angry you go not to her. Besides, I would fain be reconciled to her which none but you can do, dear friend. Well, that's a better reason, dear friend. I would not go near her now for hers or my own sake, but I can deny you nothing. For though I have known thee a great while, never go if I do not love thee as well as a new acquaintance. I am obliged, you indeed, dear friend. I would be well with her only to be well with thee still for these ties to wives usually dissolve all ties to friends. I would be contented she should enjoy you a night's but I would have you to myself a days as I have had, dear friend. And thou shalt enjoy me a days, dear, dear friend. Never stir, and I'll be divorced from her sooner than from thee. Come along. Harcourt aside. So we are hard put to it when we make our rival our procurer, but neither she nor her brother would let me come near her now. When all's done, our rival is the best cloak to steal to a mistress under without suspicion, and when we have once got to her as we desire, we throw him off like other cloaks. Exit Sparkish, Harcourt following him. Re-enter Pinch-wife and Mrs. Pinch-wife. Pinch-wife to Alathea. Sister, if you will not go, we must leave you. Aside. The fool, her gallant and she will muster up all the young saunterers of this place, and they will leave their dear Semstresses to follow us. What a swarm of cuckolds and cuckold-makers are here. Come, let's be gone, Mistress Marjorie. Don't you believe that? I hand half my belly full of sights yet. Then walk this way. Lord, what a power of brave signs are here. Stay, the bull's head, the ram's head, and the stag's head. Dear. Nay, with every husband's proper sign ver visible, they would be all alike. What do you mean by that, bud? Tis no matter. No matter, bud. Pray tell me. Nay, I will know. They would all be bulls, stags, and ram-heads. Exiant Pinchwife and Mrs. Pinchwife. Re-enter Sparkish, Harcourt Alethea and Lucy at the other side. Come, dear madam, for my sake you shall be reconciled to him. For your sake, I hate him. That's something too cruel, madam, to hate me for his sake. I indeed, madam, too, too cruel to me to hate my friend for my sake. I hate him because he is your enemy, and you ought to hate him, too, for making love to me, if you love me. That's a good one. I hate a man for loving you. If he did love you, tis but what he can't help, and tis your fault, not his, if he admires you. I hate a man for being of my opinion. I'll never do it by the world. Is it for your honour or mine to suffer a man to make love to me who am to marry you to-morrow? Is it for your honour or mine to have me jealous? That he makes love to you is a sign you are handsome, and that I am not jealous is a sign you are virtuous. That, I think, is for your honour. But tis your honour, too, I am concerned for. But why, dearest madam, will you be more concerned for his honour than he is himself? Let his honour alone for my sake, and his, he, he has no honour. How's that? But what's my dear friend can guard himself? Oh, that's right again. Your care of his honour argues his neglect of it, which is no honour to my dear friend here. Therefore, once more, let his honour go which way it will, dear madam. Aye, aye, were it for my honour to marry a woman whose virtue I suspected, and could not trust her in a friend's hands? Are you not afraid to lose me? He afraid to lose you, madam? No. No, you may see how the most esteemable and most glorious creature in the world is valued by him. Will you not see it? Right, honest Frank, I have that normal value for her, that I cannot be jealous of her. You mistake him. He means you cannot for me, nor who has me. Lord madam, I see you are jealous. Will you rest a poor man's meaning from his words? You astonish me, sir, with your want of jealousy. And you make me giddy, madam, with your jealousy and fears, and virtue and honour. Gad, I see virtue makes a woman as troublesome as a little reading or learning. Lone stress! Lucy, aside. Well, to see what easy husbands these women of quality can meet with, a poor chambermaid can never have such ladylike luck. Besides, he's thrown away upon her. She'll make no use of her fortune, her blessing, none to a gentleman for a pure cuckold. For it requires good breathing to be a cuckold. I tell you then plainly. He pursues me to marry me. For sure. Come, madam, you see you strive in vain to make him jealous of me. My dear friend is the kindest creature in the world to me. Poor fellow. But his kindness only is not enough for me. Without your favour, your good opinion, dear madam, tis that must perfect my happiness. Good gentleman, he believes all I say. Would you do so? Jealous of me? I would not wrong him nor you for the world. Look you there. Hear him, hear him, and do not walk away so. Aletheia walks carelessly too and fro. I love you, madam, so. How's that? Nay, now you begin to go too far indeed. So much I confess I say I love you, that I would not have you miserable, and cast yourself away upon so unworthy and inconsiderable a thing as what you see here. Her court, clapping his hand on his breast, points at Sparkish. No, Faith, I believe that would not. Now his meaning is plain, but I knew before that would not wrong me nor her. No, no, Heavens forbid the glory of her sex should fall so low as into the embraces of such a contemptible wretch, the least of mankind. My friend here, I injure him. Embracing Sparkish. Very well. No, no, dear friend, I knew it. Madam, you see, he will rather wrong himself than me in giving himself such names. Do you not understand him yet? Yes. How modestly he speaks of himself, poor fellow. Me thinks he speaks impudently of yourself since before yourself too. Inso much that I can no longer suffer his scurrilous abusiveness to you, no more than his love to me. Offers to go. Nay, nay, Madam, praise day, his love to you. Lord Madam, has he not spoke yet plain enough? Yes, indeed, I should think so. Well then, by the world, a man can't speak civilly to a woman now, but presently she says he makes love to her. Nay, Madam, you shall stay with your pardon since you have not yet understood him till he has made an éclairissement of his love to you. That is, what kind of love it is. Answer thy catechism, friend. Do you love my mistress here? Yes, I wish he would not doubt it. But how do you love her? With all my soul. I thank him. Me thinks he speaks plain enough now. Sparkish to Aletheia. You are out still. But with what kind of love, Harcourt? With the best and the truest love in the world. Look you there, then. That is, with no matrimonial love, I'm sure. How's that? Do you say matrimonial love is not best? Yes, I went too far ere I was aware. But speak for thyself, Harcourt. You said you would not wrong me nor her. No, so, madam, even take him for heaven's sake. Look you there, madam. Who should in all justice be yours? He that loves you most. Claps his hand on his breast. Look you there, Mr. Sparkish. Who's that? Who should it be? Go on, Harcourt. Who loves you more than women titles or fortune fools? Points at Sparkish. Look you there, he means me still, for he points at me. Ridiculous. Who can only match your faith and constancy in love? I. Who knows if it be possible how to value so much beauty and virtue? I. Whose love can no more be equaled in the world than that's heavenly form of yours? No. Who could no more suffer a rival than your absence, and yet could no more suspect your virtue than his own constancy in his love to you? No. Who, in fine, loves you better than his eyes that first made him love you? I. Nay, madam Faith, you shan't go till. Have a care, lest you make me stay too long. But till he has eluded you, that I may be assured you are friends after his honest advice and declaration. Come, pray, madam, be friends with him. Re-enter Pinchwife and Mrs. Pinchwife. You must pardon me, sir, that I am not yet so obedient to you. What? Invite your wife to kiss men? Monstrous! Are you not ashamed? I will never forgive you. Are you not ashamed that I should have more confidence in the chastity of your family than you have? You must not teach me. I am a man of honor, sir, though I am frank and free. I am frank, sir. Very frank, sir, to share your wife with your friends. He is an humble, menial friend such as reconciles the differences of the marriage-bed. You know man and wife do not always agree. I design him for that use. Therefore, would have him well with my wife. A menial friend? You will get a great many menial friends by showing your wife as you do. What then? It may be I have a pleasure in it, as I have to show fine clothes at a play-house the first day, and count money before poor rogues. He that shows his wife all money will be in danger of having them borrowed sometimes. I love to be envied, and would not marry a wife that I alone could love. Loving alone is dull as eating alone. Is it not a frank age? And I am a frank person. And to tell you the truth it may be I love to have rivals in a wife. They make her seem to a man still but as a kept mistress. And so good night, for I must to Whitehall. Madame, I hope you are now reconciled to my friend. And so I wish you a good night, Madame, and sleep if you can. For tomorrow you know I must visit you early with a canonical gentleman. Good night, dear Harcourt. Exit. Madame, I hope you will not refuse my visit tomorrow, if it should be earlier with a canonical gentleman than Mr. Sparkish's. This gentle woman is yet under my care, therefore you must yet forbear your freedom with her, sir. Coming between Alethea and Harcourt. Must, sir? Yes, sir, she is my sister. Tis well she is, sir, for I must be her servant, sir. Madame? Come away, sister, we had been gone if it had not been for you, and so avoided these lewd ray-cals who seem to haunt us. We enter Horner and Dorlandt. How now, pinch-wife? Your servant? What? I see a little time in the country makes a man turn wild and unsociable, and only fit to converse with his horses, dogs, and his herds. I have business, sir, and must mind it. Your business is pleasure, therefore you and I must go different ways. Well, you may go on, but this pretty young gentleman. Takes hold of Mrs. Pinch-Wife. The lady and the maid. Shall stay with us, for I suppose their business is the same with ours. Pleasure. Pinch-Wife aside. Stef, he knows her, she carries it so sillily, yet if he does not I should be more silly to discover it first. Pray, let us go, sir. Come, come. Horner to Mrs. Pinch-Wife. Had you not rather stay with us, pray thee, Pinch-Wife, who is this pretty young gentleman? One to whom I'm guardian. Aside. I wish I could keep her out of your hands. Who is he? I never saw anything so pretty in all my life. Pshaw, do not look upon him so much. He is a poor bashful youth. You'll put him out of countenance. Come away, brother. Offers to take her away. Oh, your brother. Yes, my wife's brother. Come, come, she'll stay supper for us. I thought so, for he is very like her I saw you at the play with, whom I told you I was in love with. Mrs. Pinch-Wife aside. Oh, Gemini, is that he that was in love with me? I'm glad on Tai-Wao, for he's a curious fine gentleman, and I love him already too. To Pinch-Wife. Is this he, but? Pinch-Wife to his wife. Come away, come away. Why, what haste are you in? Why won't you let me talk with him? Because you'll debauch him. He's yet young and innocent, and I would not have him debauched for anything in the world. Aside. How she gazes on him, that devil! Harcourt, Doreland, look you here. This is the likeness of that doud he told us of, his wife. Did you ever see a lovelier creature? The rogue is reason to be jealous of his wife, since she's like him, for she would make all that see her in love with her. And, as I remember now, she is as like him here as can be. She is indeed very pretty if she be like him. Very pretty? Very pretty commendation. She is a glorious creature, beautiful beyond all things I ever beheld. So-so. More beautiful than a poet's first mistress of imagination. Or another man's last mistress of flesh and blood. Nay, now you jeer, sir. Pray don't jeer me. Come, come. Aside. By heavens she'll discover herself. I speak of your sister, sir. I, but saying she was handsome, if like him, made him blush. Aside. I am upon a rack. Me thinks he is so handsome. He should not be a man. Pinch-wife, aside. Oh, there, tis out. He has discovered her. I am not able to suffer any longer. To his wife. Come, come away, I say. Nay, by your leave, sir. He shall not go yet. Aside to them. Harcourt, Dorland, let us torment this jealous rogue a little. How? I'll show you. Come, pray, let him go. I cannot stay fooling any longer. I tell you his sister stays supper for us. Does she? Come, then. We'll all go to supper with he and thee. No, now I think on't. Having stayed so long for us, I warrant she's gone to bed. Aside. I wish she and I were well out of their hands. To his wife. Come, I must rise early tomorrow. Come. Well, then, if she be gone to bed, I wish her and you a good night. But, pray, young gentleman, present my humble service to her. Thank you, heartily, sir. Pinch wife, aside. Steff, she will discover herself yet in spite of me. Allowed. He is something more civil to you for your kindness to his sister than I am, it seems. Tell her, dear sweet little gentleman, for all your brother there, that you have revived the love I had for her at first sight in the playhouse. But did you love her indeed and indeed? Pinch wife, aside. So, so. Allowed. Away I say. Nay, stay. Yes, indeed and indeed. Pray do you tell her so, and give her this kiss from me. Pinch wife, aside. Oh heavens, what do I suffer? Now it is too plain he knows her, and yet. And this, and this. What do you kiss me for? I am no woman. Pinch wife, aside. So that is out. Allowed. Come, I cannot, nor will, stay any longer. Nay, they shall send your lady a kiss too. Here, Harcourt, Doyland, will you not? Pinch wife, aside. How do I suffer this? Was I not accusing another just now for his rascally patience in permitting his wife to be kissed before his face? Ten thousand ulcers gnaw away their lips. Allowed. Come, come. Good night, dear little gentleman. Madam, good night. Farewell, Pinch wife. Apart to Harcourt and Doyland. Did not I tell you I was raised his jealous goal? Exit and Horner, Harcourt and Doyland. So, they are gone at last. Stay, let me see first if the coach be at this door. Exit. Re-enter Horner, Harcourt and Doyland. What? Not gone yet? Will you be sure to do as I desired you, sweet sir? Sweet sir? But what will you give me then? Anything. Come away into the next walk. Exit, hailing away, Mrs. Pinch wife. Hold, hold. What do you do? Stay. Stay. Hold. Hold, madam, hold. Let him present him. He'll come presently. Nay, I will never let you go till you answer my question. For God's sake, sir. I must follow him. Alathea and Lucy struggling with Harcourt and Doyland. No, I have something to present you with, too. You shan't follow them. Re-enter Pinch wife. Where, how, what's become of, gone, wither? He's only gone with the gentleman. Who will give him something, any pleasure, worship? Something? Give him something with a pox? Where are they? In the next walk only, brother. Only, only, where, where? Exit and returns presently, then goes out again. What's the matter with him? Why so much concerned? But, dearest madam— Pray let me go, sir. I have said and suffered enough already. Then you will not look upon nor pity my sufferings? To look upon them when I cannot help him were cruelty, not pity. Therefore I will never see you more. Let me, then, madam, have my privilege, the banished lover, complaining or railing, and give you but a farewell reason why, if you cannot condescend to marry me, you should not take that wretch my rival. He only, not you, since my honour is engaged so far to him, can give me a reason why I should not marry him. But, if he be true, and what I think him to me, I must be so to him. You're servant, sir. A woman only constancy went his advice, and I, like fortune, only true to fools. Dorland, too loosey, who struggles to get from him. Thou shat not stir, thou robust creature. You see, I can deal with you. Therefore you should stay the rather, and be kind. Re-enter, pinch-wife. Gone, gone, not to be found. Quite gone. Ten thousand plagues go with them. Which way went they? But into Tother Walk, brother. Their business will be done presently, sure, and it pleases your worship. It can't be long and doing, I'm sure, on it. Are they not there? No, you know where they are, you infamous, ret-eturnal shame of your family, which you do not dishonourn enough yourself, you think, but you must help her to do it, too, thou legend of bords. Get, brother. Damned, damned sister. Look you here, she's coming. Re-enter, Mrs. Pinchwife running with her hat full of oranges and dried fruit under her arm, horn or following. Oh, dear, but, look you here what I've got. See? Pinchwife, aside, rubbing his forehead. And what have I got here, too, which you can't see? The fine gentleman has given me better things yet. Has he so? Aside. Out of breath and coloured, I must hold yet. I have only given you, little brother, an orange, sir. Pinchwife, to Horner. Thank you, sir. Aside. You have only squeezed my orange, I suppose, and given it me again, yet I must have a city patience. To his wife. Come, come away. Stay till I have put up my fine things, but... Enter, Sir Jasper Fidget. Oh, Master Horner, come, come. The ladies stay for you. You are Mistress my wife. Wonders you make not more haste to her. I have stayed this half hour for you here, and it is your fault I am not now with your wife. But, pray, don't let her know so much. The truth, Aunt, is I was advancing a certain project to his Majesty about. I'll tell you. No, let's go and hear it at your house. Good night, sweet little gentleman. One kiss more. You'll remember me now, I hope. What, Sir Jasper? You will separate friends? He promised to sup with us. And if you take him to your house, you'll be in danger of our company, too. Alas, gentlemen, my house is not fit for you. There are none but civil women there, which are not for your turn. He, you know, can bear with the society of civil women now. Besides, he is one of my family. He is so... What is he? Faith. My eunuch, since you'd have it. Exe and Sir Jasper fidget and Horner. I rather wish thou werethes are my cuckold. Harcourt, what a good cuckold is thus there for want of a man to make him one. Thee and I cannot have Horner's privilege, who can make use of it. I, to poor Horner, it is like coming to an estate at three score, when a man can't be the better for it. Come. Presently, but... Come, let us go, too. To Alathia. Madam, your servant. To Lucy. Good night, Strapper. Madam, though you will not let me have a good day or night, I wish you one. But, dear, not name the other half of my wish. Good night, sir. Forever. I don't know where to put this here, dear Bart. You shall eat it. Nay, you shall have part of the fine gentleman's good things, or treat, as you call it, when we come home. Indeed, I deserve it, since I furnished the best part of it. Strikes away the orange. The gallant treats presents and gives the ball. The absent cuckold pays for all. Eggseant. End of Act Three.