 Act four 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. Pinch Wife's house in the morning. Enter Aletheia dressed in new clothes and Lucy. Well, Madam, now I have dressed you and set you out with so many ornaments and spent upon you ounces of essence in Povilio and all this, for no other purpose but as people adorn and perfume a corpse for a stinking secondhand grave. Such, or as bad, I think Master Sparkish's bed. Hold your peace. Name, Madam. I will ask you the reason why you had banished poor Master Harcourt forever from your sight. How could you be so hard-hearted? That was because I was not hard-hearted. No, no. To a stark love and kindness I warrant. It was so. I would see him no more because I love him. Hey, Day. A very pretty reason. You do not understand me. I wish you may yourself. I was engaged to Mary, you see, another man whom my justice will not suffer me to deceive or injure. Can there be a greater cheat or wrong done to a man than to give him your person without your heart? I should make a conscience of it. I'll retrieve it for him after I am married awhile. Ha! The woman that marries to love better will be as much mistaken as the wencher that marries to live better. No, Madam. Marrying to increase love is like gaming to become rich. Alas, you only lose what little stock you had before. I find by your rhetoric you have been bribed to betray me. Only by his merit that has bribed your heart, you see, against your word and rigid honour. But what a devil is this honour? To show a disease in the head, like the magrum or falling sickness that always hurries people away to do themselves mischief. Men lose their lives by it. Women, what's dearer to him? Their love. The life of life. Come. Pray talk, you know, more of honour, nor master harcourt. I wish the other would come to secure my fidelity to him and his right in me. You will marry him then? Suddenly. I have given him already my word, and well, my hand, too, to make it good when he comes. Well, I wish I may never stick pin more if he be not an errant natural to the other fine gentleman. I own he wants the wit of harcourt, which I will dispense with all for another want he has, which is want of jealousy, which men of wit seldom want. Lord, Madam, what should you do with a fool to your husband? You intend to be honest, don't you? Then that husbandly virtue, credulity is thrown away upon you. He only that could suspect my virtue should, of course, to do it, to sparkish his confidence in my truth that obliges me to be so faithful to him. You are not sure his opinion may last? I am satisfied. It is impossible for him to be jealous after the proofs I have had of him. Jealousy in a husband? Heaven defend me from it. It begets a thousand plagues to a poor woman, the loss of her honour, her quiet, and her— And her pleasure. What do you mean, impertinent? Liberty is a great pleasure, Madam. I say, loss of her honour, her quiet, nay, her life sometimes, and what's as bad, almost, the loss of this town? That is, she is sent into the country, which is the last ill-usage of a husband to a wife, I think. Lucy, aside. Oh, does the wind lie there? Allowed. Then, of necessity, Madam, you think a man must carry his wife into the country, if he be wise? The country is as terrible, I find, to our young English ladies as the monastery to those abroad, and on my virginity I think they would rather marry a London jailer than a high sheriff of our county, since neither can stir from his employment. Formerly, women of wit married fools for a greater state, a fine seat, or the like. But now, it is for a pretty seat only in Lincoln's in-fields, St. James' fields, or the Paul Mall. Enter Sparkish and Harcourt, dressed like a person. Madam, your humble servant, a happy day to you, and to us all. Amen. Who have we here? My chaplain, Faith. Oh, Madam, poor Harcourt remembers his humble service to you, and, in obedience to your last commands, refrains coming into your sight. Is not that he? No, fine, no. But to show that he never intended to hinder our match has sent his brother here to join our hands. When I get to me a wife, I must get her a chaplain, according to the custom. That is his brother, and my chaplain. His brother? I knew you would not believe it. I told you, sir, she would take you for your brother, Frank. Believe it? Lucy, aside. His brother? He has a trick left still, it seems. Come, my dearest, pray let us go to church before the canonical hour is passed. For shame, you are a beautiful woman. You are a beautiful woman. You are a beautiful woman. You are a beautiful woman. The canonical hour is passed. For shame, you are abused, stale. By the world, to strange now you are so incredulous. To strange you are so incredulous. Dearest of my life, hear me. I tell you, this is Ned Harcourt of Cambridge by the world. You see he has a sneaking college look. It is true he's something like his brother, Frank, and they differ from each other no more than in their age, for they were twins. You're silent, sir. I cannot be so deceived, though you are. But come, that's here. How do you know what you affirm so confidently? Why, I'll tell you all. Frank Harcourt, coming to me this morning to wish me joy and present his service to me, I asked him if he could help me to a parson. Whereupon he told me he had a brother in town who was in orders, and he went straight away and sent him. You see there, to me. Yes, Frank goes and puts on a black coat, then tells you he is Ned. That's all you have for it. Be sure, be sure. I tell you, by the same token, the midwife put her garter around Frank's neck to know them asunder. They were so like. Frank tells you this too? I, and Ned there too. Nay, they are both in a story. So, so, very foolish. Lord, if you don't believe one, you had best try him by your chambermaid there. Poor chambermaids must need no chaplains from other men. They are so used to them. Let's see. Nay, I'll be sworn he has the canonical smirk and the filthy clammy palm of a chaplain. Well, most reverent doctor, pray let us make an end of this fooling. With all my soul, divine heavenly creature, when you please. He speaks like a chaplain indeed. Why, was there not soul, divine, heavenly in what he said? Once more, most impertinent black coat, cease your persecution, and let us have a conclusion of this ridiculous love. Harcourt, aside. I had forgot. I must suit my style to my coat, or I wear it in vain. I have no more patience left. Let us make once an end of this troublesome love, I say. So be it, Seraphic Lader, when your honor shall think it meet an convenient so to do. God, I'm sure none but a chaplain could speak so, I think. Let me tell you, sir. This dull trick will not serve your turn. Though you delay our marriage, you shall not hinder it. Far be it from me, unificent patroness, to delay your marriage, I desire nothing more than to marry you presently, which I might do if you yourself would. For my noble, good-natured, and thrice-generous patron here would not hinder it. No, poor man, not I. Please. And now, madam, let me tell you plainly, nobody else shall marry you by heavens. I'll die first, for I'm sure I shall die after it. Ha! How his love has made him forget his function, as I have seen it in real persons. Ha! Ha! That was spoken like a chaplain, too. Now you'll understand him, I hope. Poor man! He takes it keeniously to be refused. I can't blame him just putting an indignity upon him not to be suffered. But you'll pardon me, madam. It shan't be. He shall marry us. Come away, pray, madam. Ha! Ha! Ha! More adieu, tis late. Invincible stupidity! I tell you, he would marry me as your rival, not as your chaplain. Come, come, madam. Pulling her away. I pray, madam, do not refuse this reverend divine the honour and satisfaction of marrying you, for I dare say he has said his heart upon it. Good doctor! What can you hope or design by this? Her court aside. I could answer her. A reprieve for a day only often revokes a hasty doom. At worst, if she will not take mercy on me and let me marry her, I have at least the lover's second pleasure. Hindering my rival's enjoyment, though, but for a time. Come, madam, tis e'en twelve o'clock, and my mother charged me never to be married out of the canonical hours. Come, come. Lord, here's such a deal of modesty I warrant the first day. Yes, and a pleasure, worship. Married women show other modesty the first day, because married men show all their love the first day. Exeant! Seen two, a bed chamber in Pinchwife's house. Pinchwife and Mrs. Pinchwife discovered. Come, tell me, I say. Lord, hunt I told it a hundred times over. Pinchwife aside. I would try, if in the repetition of the ungrateful tale I could find her altering it in the least circumstance, for if her story be false, she is so too. Allowed. Come, how wast, baggage? Lord, what pleasure you take to hear it, sure. No, you take more in telling it, I find. But speak, how wast? He carried me up into the house next to the exchange. So, and you two were only in the room? Yes, for he sent away a youth that was there for some dried fruit and china oranges. Did he so? Damn him for it, and for. But presently came up the gentlewoman of the house. Oh, twas well she did. But what did he do whilst the fruit came? He kissed me a hundred times and told me he fancied he kissed my fine sister, meaning me, you know, whom he said he loved with all his soul and bid me be sure to tell her so, and to desire her to be at her window by eleven o'clock this morning and he would walk under it at that time. Pinch-wife aside. And he was as good as his word, very punctual, a pox reward him fought. Well, and he said if you were not within he would come up to her, meaning me, you know, but still. Pinch-wife aside. So, he knew her certainly, but for this confession I am obliged to her simplicity. But what, you stood very still when he kissed you? Yes, I warrant you. Would you have had me discovered myself? But you told me he did some beastliness to you, as you call it. What was it? Why he put... What? Why he put the tip of his tongue between my lips and so mauseled me, and I said I'd bite it. An eternal canker sees it for a dog! Nay, you need not be so angry with him, neither. For to say truth he has the sweetest breath I ever knew. The devil! You were satisfied with it, then? You would do it again. Not unless he should force me. Force you, changeling! I tell you no woman can be forced. Yes, but she may sure, by such as one as he, for he's a proper, goodly, strong man. Tis heart, let me tell you, to resist him. Pinch, wife, aside. So, Tis plain, she loves him, yet she has not loved enough to make her conceal it from me. But the sight of him will increase her aversion for me and love for him, and that love instruct her how to deceive me and satisfy him, all idiot as she is. Love, to as he gave women thirst their craft, their art of deluding. Out of nature's hands they came plain, open, silly, and fit for slaves as she and heaven intended them. But damned love, well, I must strangle that little monster whilst I can deal with him. Allowed. Go, fetch pen, ink, and paper out of the next room. Yes, but... Exit. Why should women have more invention in love than men? It can only be because they have more desires, more soliciting passions, more lust, and more of the devil. Re-enter, Mrs. Pinch, wife. Come, minks, sit down and write. I, dear bud, but I can't do it very well. I wish you could not at all. But what should I write for? I'll have you write a letter to your lover. Oh, Lord, to the fine gentleman-letter. Yes, to the fine gentleman. Lord, you do budgear. Sure you jest? I am not so merry. Come, write as I bid you. What, do you think I am a fool? Pinch, wife, aside. She's afraid I would not dictate any love to him, therefore she's unwilling. Allowed. But you had best begin. Indeed, and indeed. But I won't, so I won't. Why? Because he's in town. You may send for him, if you will. Very well! You would have brought to you. Is it come to this? I say, take the pen and write, or you'll provoke me. Lord, what do you make a fool of me for? Don't I know that letters are never rich, but from the country to London and from London into the country? Now he's in town, and I'm in town, too. Therefore I can't write to him, you know. Pinch, wife, aside. So, I'm glad it is no worse. She is innocent enough yet. Allowed. Yes, you may, when your husband bids you, write letters to people that are in town. Oh, may I so? Then I'm satisfied. Come, begin. Dictates. Sir. Don't I say, dear sir? You know one says always something more than bear, sir. Right as I bid you, or I'll write whore with this pen knife in your face. Nay, good bud. Right. Sir. Though I suffered last night your nauseous, loathed kisses and embraces. Right. Nay, why should I say so? You know I told you he had a sweet breath. Right. Let me but put out loathed. Right, I say. Well, then. Right. Let's see what you have written. Takes the paper and reads. Though I suffered last night your kisses and embraces. Thou impudent creature, where is nauseous and loathed? I can't abide to write such filthy words. Once more right as I'd have you and question it not, or I will spoil thy writing with this. I will stab out those eyes that cause my mischief. Hold up the pen knife. O Lord, I will. So, so, let's see now. Reads. Though I suffered last night your nauseous, loathed kisses and embraces. Go on. Yet I would not have you presume that you shall ever repeat them. So... She writes. I have read it. On, then. I then concealed myself from your knowledge to avoid your insolences. She writes. So... The same reason now I am out of your hands. She writes. So... Makes me own to you my unfortunate, though innocent frolic, of being in man's clothes. She writes. So... That you may forevermore cease to pursue her who hates and detests you. She writes on. So... Hi. What do you sigh? Detests you as much as she loves her husband and her honor? I vow, husband, he'll never believe I should write such a letter. What? He'd expected kinder from you. Come, now your name only. What? Shant I say your most faithful, humble servant till death? No tormenting fiend. Aside. Her style, I find, would be very soft. Allowed. Come, wrap it up now whilst I go fetch wax and a candle. And write on the back side for Mr. Horner. Exit. For Mr. Horner. So I'm glad he has told me his name. Dear Mr. Horner, but why should I send thee such a letter that will vex thee and make thee angry with me? Well, I will not send it. Aye, but then my husband will kill me. For I see plainly he won't let me love Mr. Horner. But what care I for my husband? He won't, so I won't send poor Mr. Horner such a letter. But then my husband. But oh, what if I writ at bottom my husband made me write it? Aye, but then my husband would see it. Can one have no shift? Ah, a London woman would have had a hundred presently. Stay. What if I should write a letter and wrap it up like this and write upon it too? Aye, but then my husband would see it. I don't know what to do. But yet he vans I'll try, so I will. For I will not send this letter to poor Mr. Horner. Come what will on't. Write and repeat what she writes. Dear sweet Mr. Horner, so my husband would have sent you a base rude unmanly letter, but I won't. So, and would have me forbid you loving me, but I won't. So, and would have me say to you, I hate you poor Mr. Horner, but I won't tell a lie for him. There, for I'm sure if you and I were in the country at cards together, so, I could not help treading on your toe under the table. So, or rubbing knees with you and staring in your face till you saw me. Very well. And then looking down and blushing for an hour together. So, but I must make haste before my husband comes, and now he has taught me to write letters, you shall have longer ones for me, who am dear, dear, poor, dear Mr. Horner, your most humble friend and servant to command till death. Marjorie Pinchwife, stay, I must give him a hint at bottom. So, now write it up just like to other. So, now write for Mr. Horner, but oh now, what shall I do with it? For here comes my husband. Re-enter Pinchwife. Pinchwife, aside. I have been detained by a sparkish cox-comb, who pretended a visit to me, but I fear towards to my wife. Allowed. What? Have you done? Aye, aye, but just now. Let's see it. What do you tremble for? What? You would not have it go? Here. Aside. No, I must not give him that, so I had been served if I had given him this. He opens and reads the first letter. Come, where's the wax and seal? Mrs. Pinchwife, aside. Lord, what shall I do now? Nay, then I have it. Allowed. Pray let me see it. Lord, you think me so aren't a fool, I cannot seal a letter. I will do it, so I will. Snatches the letter from him, changes it for the other, seals it, and delivers it to him. Nay, I believe you will learn that, and other things too, which I would not have you. So, hand I done it curiously? Aside. I think I have. There's my letter going to Mr. Horner, since he'll need have me send letters to folks. It is very well, but I warrant you would not have it go now. Yes indeed, but I would, but now? Well, you are a good girl then. Come, let me lock you up in your chamber till I come back, and be sure you come not within three strides of the window when I'm gone, for I have a spy in the street. Exit, Mrs. Pinchwife. Pinchwife locks the door. At least tis pitch he thinks so. If we do not cheat women, they'll cheat us, and fraud may be justly used with secret enemies of which a wife is the most dangerous, and he that has a handsome one to keep and a frontier town must provide against treachery rather than open force. Now I have secured all within, I'll deal with the foe without, with false intelligence. Hold up the letter. Exit. Scene three. Horner's lodging. Enter Horner and quack. Well, sir, how fadges the new design. Have you not the luck of all your brother projectors to deceive only yourself at last? No, good-dominated doctor. I deceive you, it seems, and others too. For the grave matrons and old rigid husbands think me as unfit for love as they are, but their wives, sisters, and daughters know some of them better things already. Already? Already, I say. Last night I was drunk with half a dozen of your civil persons, as you call them, and people of honour, and there was made free of their society and dressing-rooms forever hereafter. And I've already come to the privileges of sleeping upon their palates, warming smocks, tying shoes and garters, and the like, doctor. Already, already, doctor. You have made good use of your time, sir. I tell thee, I am now no more interruption to them when they sing or talk body than a little squab French beige who speaks no English. But do civil persons and women of honour drink and sing body songs. Oh, amongst friends, amongst friends, for your bigots and honours just like those in religion, they fear the eye of the world more than the eye of heaven and think there is no virtue but railing at a vice and no sin but giving scandal. They rail at a poor little kept player and keep themselves some young modest pulpit comedian to be privy to their sins and their closets, not to tell them of them in their chapels. Nay, the truth aren't his. Priests amongst the women now have quite got the better of us lay confessors. Physicians! And they are rather their patients. But... Enter Lady Fidgett, looking about her. Now we talk of women of honour. Here comes one. I'll be on the screen there and but observe if I have not particular privileges with the women of reputational ready doctor, already. Quack retires. Well, Honour, am not I a woman of honour? You see, I'm as good as my word. And you shall see, madame, I'll not be behind hand with you in honour. And I'll be as good as my word, too, if you please but to withdraw into the other room. But first, my dear sir, I was to have a care of my dear honour. If you talk a word more of your honour, you'll make me incapable to wrong it. To talk of honour in the mysteries of love is like talking of heaven or the deity in an operation of witchcraft just when you are employing the devil. It makes the charm impotent. Nay, fi, let us not be smutty. But you talk of mysteries and bewitching to me. I don't understand you. I tell you, madame, the word money in a mistress' mouth at such a nick of time is not a more disheartening sound to a younger brother than that of honour to an eager lover like myself. But you can't blame a lady of my reputation to be cherry. Cherry? I have been cherry of it already by the report I have caused of myself. Aye, but if you should ever let other women know that dear secret, it would come out. Nay, you must have a great care of your conduct. For my acquaintance are so sensorious. Oh, it is a wicked, sensorious world, Mr. Horner. I say are so sensorious and detracting that perhaps they'll talk to the prejudice of my honour, though you should not let them know the dear secret. Nay, madame, rather than they shall prejudice your honour, I'll prejudice theirs, and to serve you I'll lie with them all, make the secret their own, and then they'll keep it. I am a Machiavelle in love, madam. Oh, no, sir, not that way. Nay, the devil take me if sensorious women are to be silenced any other way. A secret is better kept, I hope, by a single person than a multitude. Therefore, pray do not trust anybody else with it, dear, dear Mr. Horner. Embracing him. Enter Sir Jasper Fidget. How now? Lady Fidget aside. The husband. Prevented. And what's almost as bad, found with my arms about another man. That will appear too much. What shall I say? Allowed. Sir Jasper, come hither. I am trying if Mr. Horner were ticklish, and he's as ticklish as can be. I love to torment the confounded toad. Let you and I tickle him. No, your ladyship will tickle him better without me, I suppose. But is this your buying, China? I thought you'd been at the China house. Horner, aside. China house? That's my cue. I must take it. Allowed. A pox. Can't you keep your impertinent wines at home? Some men are troubled with husbands, but I with the wives. But I'd have you to know, since I cannot be your journeyman by night, and cannot be your drudge by day, to squire your wife about, and be your man of straw, or scarecrow only to pies and jays that would be nibbling at your forbidden fruit, I shall be shortly the hackneyed gentleman usher of the town. Sir Jasper, aside. He he he, poor fellow, he's in the right aunt's faith to squire women about for other folks is as ungrateful an employment as to tell money for other folks. Allowed. He he he, bent angry Horner. No, cos I have more reason to be angry who am left by you to go abroad indecently alone, or what is more indecent to pin myself upon such ill-bred people of your acquaintance as this is. Nay, Prithee, what has he done? Nay, he has done nothing. But what do I take ill if he has done nothing? Ha ha ha! Faith, I can't but laugh, however. Why do you think the unmanally toad would come down to me to the coach? I was feigned to come up to fetch him, or go without him, which I was resolved not to do, for he knows China very well, and has himself very good, but will not let me see it, lest I should beg some, but I will find it out and have what I came for yet. Horner, a part to Lady Fidget as he follows her to the door. Look the door, madam. Yes, Lady Fidget, and locks the door. Allowed. So she has got into my chamber and locked me out. Oh, the impertancy of womankind! Well, sir Jasper, playing dealing as a jewel, if ever you suffer your wife to trouble me again here, she shall carry you home a pair of horns. By my Lord Mayor she shall, though I cannot furnish you myself, you are sure, yet I'll find a way. Ha ha ha! Aside. At my first coming in and finding her arms about him, tickling him, it seems, I was half jealous, but now I see my folly. Allowed. He he he, poor Horner. Nay, though you laugh now, it will be my turn here long. O women, more impertinent, more cunning, and more mischievous than their monkeys, and to me almost as ugly. Now is she throwing my things about and rifling all I have, but I'll get into her the back way and so rifle her for it. Ha ha ha! Poor angry Horner. Stay here a little. I'll ferret her out to you presently, I want. Exit at the other door. Sir Jasper talks through the door to his wife. She answers from within. Wife, my lady Fidget, wife, he is coming into you the back way. Let him come and welcome which way he will. He'll catch you and use you roughly and be too strong for you. Don't you trouble yourself, let him if he can. Quack, aside. This indeed I could not have believed from him nor any but my own eyes. Enter, Mrs. Squeemish. Where is this woman-hater, this toad, this ugly, greasy, dirty sloven? Sir Jasper, aside. So the women all will have him ugly. Me thinks he is a comely person, but his wants make his form contemptible to him, and is he, as my wife said yesterday, talking of him that a proper handsome eunuch was as ridiculous a thing as a gigantic coward. Sir Jasper, you servant. Where is the odious beast? He's within in his chamber, with my wife. She's playing the wag with him. Is she so? And he's a clownish beast. He'll give her no quarter. He'll play the wag with her again. Let me tell you. Come, let's go help her. What? The door's locked. My wife locked it. Did she so? Let's break it open then. No, no. He'll do her no hurt. Mrs. Squeemish, aside. But is there no other way to get into them? With a ghost this. I will disturb them. Exit at another door. Enter, old lady Squeemish. Where is this harlotry, this impudent baggage, this rambling tomrig? Oh, Sir Jasper, I'm glad to see you here. Did you not see my vile grandchild come in here that just now? Yes. Aye, but where is she then? Where is she? Lord Sir Jasper. I've even rattled myself to pieces in pursuit of her. But can you tell me what she makes here? They say below, no woman lodges here. No. No? What does she here then? Say, if it be not a woman's lodging, what makes she here? But are you sure no woman lodges here? No, nor no man neither. This is Mr. Horner's lodging. Is it so, are you sure? Yes, yes. Sir, then there's no hurt in it, I hope. But where is he? He's in the next room with my wife. May, if you trust him with your wife, I may with my biddy. They say he's a very harmless man now. He and his harmless man has ever came out of Italy with a good voice. And his pretty harmless company for a lady has a snake without his teeth. Aye, aye, poor man. We enter Mrs. Squeemesh. Oh, I can't find them. Oh, are you here, grandmother? I followed, you must know, my Lady Fidget hither. This is the prettiest lodging, and I have been staring on the prettiest pictures. We enter Lady Fidget with a piece of china in her hand and Horner following. And I have been toiling and moiling for the prettiest piece of china, my dear. Oh, nay, she has been too hard for me to do what I could. Oh, Lord, I'll have some china, too. Good Mr. Horner, don't think to give other people china and me none. Come in with me, too. Oh, upon my honour, I have none left now. Nay, nay, I have known you deny your china before now, but you shan't put me off so. Come. This lady had the last there. Yes, indeed, madam, to my certain knowledge he has no more left. Oh, but it may be he may have some you could not find. What? Do you think if he had had any left I would not have had it, too? For we women of quality never think we have china enough. Do not take it, Hill. I cannot make china for you all, but I will have a real wagon for you, too, another time. Thank you, dear Toad. Lady Fidget aside to Horner. What do you mean by that promise? Horner aside to Lady Fidget. Alas, she has an innocent little understanding. Poor Mr. Horner. He has enough to do to please you all, I see. Ah, hi, madam. You see how they use me. Poor gentlemen, I pity you. I thank you, madam. I could never find pity, but from such revering ladies as you are, the young ones will never spare a man. Come. Come, beast, and go dine with us. For we shall want a man. At ombre, after dinner. That's all their use of me, madam, you see. Come, sloven. I lead you to be sure of you. Pause him by the cravat. Alas, poor man, how she talks him. Kiss, kiss her. That's the way to make such a nice woman quiet. No, madam, that remedy is worse than a torment. They know I dare suffer anything rather than do it. Pretty kisser, I'll give you her picture in little that you had marred so last night. Pretty do. Well, nothing but that could bribe me. I love a woman only in effigy, and good painting as much as I hate them. I'll do it, for I could adore the devil well-painted. Mwah! Foe! You filthy toad. Nay, now I've done jesting. Ah-ha-ha! I told you so. Foe! A kiss of his. Has no more a hurt hint than one of my spaniels. No, no more good neither. Quack aside. I will now believe anything he tells me. Enter, pinch-wife. O Lord, he is a man. Sir Jasper, my mask, my mask. I would not be seen here for the world. What? Not when I am with you. No, no, my honour. Let's be gone. Oh, grandmother, let's be gone. Make haste, make haste. I know not how he may censure us. Be found in the lodging of anything like a man. Away! Exiant Sir Jasper fidget, lady fidget, old lady squeamish, and Mrs. squeamish. Quack aside. What's here? Another cuckold. He looks like one, and none else sure have any business with him. Well, what brings my dear friend here, though? Your impertinency. My impertinency? Why, you gentlemen that have got handsome wives think you have a privilege of saying anything to your friends, and are as brutish as if you were our creditors. No, sir, I'll ne'er trust you in any way. But why not, dear Jack? Why, defying me, thou know so well. Because I know you so well. Haven't I been always thy friend, honest Jack, always ready to serve thee, in love or battle, before thou art married, and am so still? I believe so. You would be my second now, indeed. Well, then, dear Jack, why so unkind, so grumpy, so strange to me? Come, pretty kiss me, dear rogue. God, I was always, I say, and am still as much thy servant as I am yours, sir. What? You would send a kiss to my wife. Is that it? So there it is. A man can't show his friendship to a married man, but presently he talks of his wife to you. Pretty, let thy wife alone, and let thee and I be all one, as we will want. What, thou art as shy of my kindness as a lumbard street alderman of a courteous civility at Larkas? But you are of a kind to me, as kind as if I were your cuckold already. Yet I must confess, you ought to be kind and civil to me, since I am so kind, so civil to you, as to bring you this. Look you there, sir. Delivers him a letter. What is it? Only a love letter, sir. From whom? How? This is from your wife. Reads. Even from my wife, sir, am I not wondrous kind and civil to you now, too? Aside. But you'll not thank her, so. Horner, aside. Ha, is this a trick of his or hers? The gentleman's surprised, I find. What, you expected a kinder letter? No, faith, not I. How could I? Yes, yes, I'm sure you did. A man so well-made as you are must needs be disappointed if the women declare not their passion at first sight or opportunity. Horner, aside. But what should this mean? Stay, the post-cript. Reads, aside. Be sure you love me, whatsoever my husband says to the contrary, and let her not see this, lest he should come home and pinch me or kill my squirrel. It seems he knows not what the letter contains. Come, now, wander at it so much. Faith, I can't help it. Now, I think I have deserved your infinite friendship in kindness and have showed myself sufficiently an obliging friend and husband, am I not so, to bring a letter from my wife to her gallant? Ah, the devil take me, art thou the most obliging kind friend and husband in the world. Well, you may be merry, sir, but in short, I must tell you, sir, my honour will suffer no jesting. What dost thou mean? Does the letter warrant a comment? Then no, sir, though I have been so civil a husband as to bring you a letter from my wife to let you kiss and court her to my face, I will not be a cuckold, sir. I will not. Thou art mad with jealousy. I never saw thy wife in my life but at the play yesterday, and I know not if it was she or no. I court her. Kiss her. I will not be a cuckold, I say. There will be danger in making me a cuckold. Why, were thou not well cured of thy last clap? I wear a sword. It should be taken from thee, lest thou shouldst do thyself a mischief with it. Thou art mad, man. As mad as I am, and as merry as you are, I must have more reason from you air we part. I say again, though you kissed and courted last night, my wife and man's clothes, as she confesses in her letter. Horner aside. Ha! Both she and I say you must not design it again, for you have mistaken your woman as you have done your man. Horner aside. Oh, I understand something now. Oh, out. Was that thy wife? Why wouldst thou not tell me to her she? Faith, my freedom with her was your fault, not mine. Pinched wife aside. Faith, so it was. Thigh, I'd never do it to a woman before her husband's face, sure. But I had rather you should do to my wife before my face than behind my back, and that you shall never do. No. You will hinder me. If I would not hinder you, you see by her letter she would. Well, I must be in acquiesce then, and be contented with what she writes. I'll assure you, it was voluntarily writ. I had no hand in it. You may believe me. I do believe thee, Faith. And believe her too, for she's an innocent creature, has no dissembling in her, and so fare you well, sir. Pray, however, present my humble service to her, and tell her I will obey her letter to a titl, and fulfill her desires, be what they will, or with what difficulty soever I do it. And you shall be no more jealous of me, I warrant her, and you. Well, then, fare you well, and play with any man's honour, but mine. Kiss any man's wife, but mine. And welcome. Exit. Oh, Doctor. It seems he has not heard the report of you, or does not believe it. Now, Doctor, what thank you? Pray, let's see the letter. Leads the letter. For, dear, love you. Oh, I wonder how she could contrive it. What sayest thou to it? It is an original. So are your cuckolds too original, for they are like no other common cuckolds, and I will henceforth believe it not impossible for you to cuckle the grand senior, amidst his guard of eunuchs, that I say. And I say for the letter, it is the first love letter that ever was without flames, darts, fates, destinies, lying, and dissembligant. Enter, sparkish, pulling in pinch-wife. Come back! You are a pretty brother-in-law. Neither go to church nor to dinner with your sister-bride. My sister denies her marriage, and you see has gone away from you, dissatisfied. For sure, upon a foolish scruple, that our parson was not in lawful orders and did not say all the common prayer. But is her modesty only, I believe. But let all women be never so modest the first day, they'll be sure to come to themselves by night, and I shall have enough of her then. In the meantime, Harry Horner, you must dine with me. I keep my wedding at my aunt's in the piazza. Thy wedding? What stale maid has lived to despair of a husband, or what young one of a gallant? Oh, your servant, sir. This gentleman's sister then. No stale maid. I'm sorry for it. Pinch-wife aside. How comes he's so concerned for her? You're sorry for it? Why? Do you know any ill by her? No, I know none but by thee. This was her sake, not yours, and another man's sake that might have hoped, I thought. Another man? Another man? What is his name? Since his past he shall be nameless. Aside. Poor Harcourt. I'm sorry thou hast missed her. Pinch-wife aside. He seems to be much troubled at the match. Pretty tell me. Nay, you shan't go, brother. I must of necessity, but I'll come to you to dinner. Exit. But Harry, what? Have I a rival in my wife already? But with all my heart, for he may be of use to me hereafter. For though my hunger is now my sauce, and I can fall on heartily without, the time will come when a rival will be as good sauce for a married man to a wife, as an orange to veal. O thou damned rogue, thou hast set my teeth on edge with thy orange. Then that's to dinner. There I was with you again. Come. But who dines with thee? My friends are relations. My brother Pinch-wife, you see, of your acquaintance. And his wife? No, Gad. He'll ne'er let her come amongst us good fellows. Your stingy county coxcomb keeps his wife from his friends, as he does his little berkin of ale for his own drinking, and a gentleman can't get a smack on it. But his servants, when his back is turned, roge it at their pleasures and dust it away. Ha, ha, ha! Gad, I am witty, I think, considering I was married today by the world. But come. No, I will not dine with you unless you can fetch her, too. Be sure. What pleasure canst thou have with women now, Harry? My eyes are not gone. I love a good prospect yet, and will not dine with you unless she does, too. Go fetch her, therefore. But do not tell her husband, it is for my sake. Well, I'll go try what I can do. In the meantime, come away to my aunt's lodging. It is in the way to Pinchwife's. The poor woman has called for aid, and stretched forth her hand, doctor. I cannot but help her over the pale out of the briars. Exient! Scene four. A room in Pinchwife's house. Mrs. Pinchwife alone. Leaning on her elbow. A table, pen, ink, and paper. Well, it is even so. I got the London disease they call love. I am sick of my husband, and for my gallant. I have heard this temper called a fever, but me things taste like an egg, for when I think of my husband I tremble, and I am in a cold sweat, and have inclinations to vomit. But when I think of my gallant, dear Mr. Horner, my hot fit comes, and I am all in a fever indeed. And, as in other fevers, my own chamber is tedious to me, and I would feign be removed to his, and then me things I should be well. Ah, poor Mr. Horner. Well, I cannot, will not stay here. Therefore I'll make an end of my letter to him, which shall be a final letter than my last, because I have studied it like anything. Oh, sick, sick, takes the pen and writes, and her pinch-wife, who seeing her writing, steals softly behind her and looking over her shoulder, snatches the paper from her. What, writing more letters? Oh, Lord, but, what you fright me so? She offers to run out, he stops her and reads. How's this? Nay, you shall not stir, madam. Dear, dear, dear Mr. Horner, very well I have taught you to write letters to good purpose, but let us see it. First I am to beg your pardon for my boldness in writing to you, which I'd have you to know I would not have done, had not you said first you loved me so extremely, which if you do you will never suffer me to lie in the arms of another man whom I loathe, nauseate, and detest. Now you can write these filthy words, but what follows? Therefore I hope you will speedily find some way to free me from this unfortunate match, which was never I assure you of my choice, but I'm afraid it is already too far gone. However, if you love me as I do you, you will try what you can do, but you must help me away before tomorrow or else, alas, I shall be forever out of your reach, for I can defer no longer our, our, what is to follow our? Speak, what? Our journey into the country, I suppose. Oh, woman damned woman, and love damned love, their own tempter, for this is one of his miracles. In a moment he can make those blind that could see, and those see that were blind, those dumb that could speak, and those prattle who were dumb before. Nay, what is more than all, make these dough-baked senseless, indecile animals, women, too hard for us, their politic lords and rulers in a moment. But make an end of your letter, and then I'll make an end of you thus, and all my plagues together. Draws his sword. Oh, Lord, oh, Lord, you are such a passionate man, but... Enter, Sparkish. Oh, no, what's here to do? This fool here now. What, drawn upon your wife? You should never do that, but at night in the dark when you can't hurt her. This is my sister-in-law, is it not? I, Faith, in our country Marjorie... Pulls aside her, hanker-chief. One may know her. Come, she and you must go dine with me. Dinner's ready, come. But where's my wife? Is she not come home yet? Where is she? Making you a cuckold, What, the wedding day? No, a wife that designs to make a culley of her husband will be sure to let him win the first stake of love by the world. But come, they stay dinner for us. Come, I'll lead down our Marjorie. No, sir, go, we'll follow you. I will not wag without you. Pinch-wife aside. This cox-comb is a sensible torment to me amidst the greatest in the world. Come, come, Madame Marjorie. No, I'll lead her my way. What, you would treat your friends with mine, for want of your own wife? Leads her to the other door and locks her in and returns. Aside. I am contented my rage should take breath. I told Horner this. Come now. Lord, how shy you are of your wife. But let me tell you, brother, we men of wit have amongst us a saying that cuckolding, like the smallpox, comes with a fear, and you may keep your wife as much as you will out of danger of infection. But if your constitution incline her to it, she'll have it sooner or later by the world, say they. Pinch-wife aside. What a thing is a cuckold that every fool can make him ridiculous. Allowed. Well, sir, but let me advise you, now you are come to be concerned, because you suspect the danger, not to neglect the means to prevent it, especially when the greatest share of the malady will light upon your own head. Four. How, sir, the kind wife's belly comes to swell. The husband breeds for her, and first is ill. Exiant. End of Act Four. Act Five of the Country Wife by William Witcher Lee. 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. Pinch-wife's house. Enter Pinch-wife and Mrs. Pinch-wife. A table and candle. Come, take the pen and make an end of the letter, just as you intended. If you are false in a tittle, I shall soon perceive it and punish you as you deserve. Lace his hand on the sword. Write what was to follow. Let's see. You must make haste and help me away before tomorrow, or else I shall be forever out of your reach, for I can defer no longer our... What follows our... Must all out then, but? Look you there, then. Mrs. Pinch-wife takes the pen and writes. Let's see. For I can defer no longer our wedding. You'll slight it out of there. What's the meaning of this? My sister's name to it. Speak, unriddle. Yes, indeed, but? But why her name to it? Speak, speak, I say. Aye, but you'll tell her then again. If you would not tell her again. I will not. I am stunned. My head turns round. Speak. Won't you tell her indeed and indeed? No, speak, I say. She'll be angry with me, but I had rather she should be angry with me than you, but, and to tell you the truth towards she made me write the letter and taught me what I should write. Pinch-wife, aside. Ha! I thought the style was somewhat better than her own. Allowed. Could she come to you, to teach you, since I had locked you up, alone? Oh, through the keyhole, but? But why should she make you write a letter for her to him since she can write herself? Why, she said, because, for I was unwilling to do it. Because what? Because? Because lest Mr. Horner should be cruel and refuse her or be vain afterwards and show the letter, she might disown it, the hand not being hers. Pinch-wife, aside. How's this? Ha! Then I think I shall come to myself again. This changeling could not invent this lie. But if she could, why should she? She might think I should soon discover it. Stay. Now I think on two. Horner said he was sorry she had married Sparkish and her disowning her marriage to me thinks she has evaded it for Horner's sake. Yet why should she take this course? But men in love are fools. Women may well be so. Allowed. But Hark, you madam, your sister went out in the morning and I have not seen her within since. Alackaday, she has been crying all day above, it seems, in a corner. Where is she? Let me speak with her. Mrs. Pinch-wife, aside. Oh, Lord, then she'll discover all. Allowed. Pray, hold, bud. What do you mean to discover me? She'll know I have told you, then. Pray, bud, let me talk with her first. Yes, well, hmm. I must speak with her to know whether Horner ever made her any promise and whether she be married to Sparkish or no. Pray, dear bud, don't till I have spoken with her and told her that I have told you all for she'll kill me else. Go, then, and bid her come out to me. Yes, yes, bud. Let me see. Pausing. Mrs. Pinch-wife, aside. I'll go, but she's not within to come to him. Ah, I have just got time to know of Lucy, her maid, who first set me on work. What lie I shall tell next? For I am Ian at my wit's end. Exit. Well, I resolve it. Horner shall have her. I'd rather give him my sister than lend him my wife. And such an alliance will prevent his pretensions to my wife. Sure. I'll make him of kin to her, then he won't care for her. We enter, Mrs. Pinch-wife. Oh, Lord, bud, I told you what anger you would make me with my sister. Won't she come here, though? No, no. Like a day she's ashamed to look you in the face and she says if you go into her she'll run away downstairs and shamefully go herself to Mr. Horner, who has promised her marriage, she says, and she will have no other, so she won't. Did he so? Promise her marriage, then she shall have no other. Go tell her so, and if she will come and discourse with me a little concerning the means, I'll all about it immediately. Go. Exit. Mrs. Pinch-wife. His estate is equal to Sparket's and his extraction is much better than his as his parts are. For my chief reason is I'd rather be akin to him by the name of brother-in-law than that of cuckold. We enter, Mrs. Pinch-wife. Well, what says she now? Why, she says she would only have you lead her to Horner's lodging with whom she first will discourse the matter before she talks with you which yet she cannot do. For a lack poor creature she says she can't so as much as look you in the face, therefore she'll come to you in a mask. And you must excuse her if she make you no answer to any question of yours till you have brought her to Mr. Horner, and if you will not chide her nor question her she'll come out to you immediately. Ha-ha! Let her come. I will not speak a word to her nor require a word from her. Oh! I forgot. Besides she says she cannot look you in the face, though through a mask, therefore would desire you to put out the candle. I agree to all. Let her make haste. There, tis out. Exit, Mrs. Pinch-wife. My case is something better. I'd rather fight with Horner for not lying with my sister than for lying with my wife and of the two. I'd rather find my sister too forward than my wife. I expected no other from her free education, as she calls it, and her passion for the town. Well, wife and sister are names which make us expect love and duty, pleasure and comfort, but we find them plagues and torments and are equally, though differently, troublesome to their keeper. But we have as much a do to get people to lie with our sisters that keep them from lying with our wives. We enter Mrs. Pinch-wife masked and in hoods and scarfs and a nightgown and petticoat of alethias. What are you, come, sister? Let us go, then. But first let me lock up my wife. Mrs. Marjorie, where are you? Here, bud. Come hither that I may lock you up. Get you in. Locks the door. Come, sister. Where are you now? Mrs. Pinch-wife gives him her hand, but when he lets her go, she steals softly onto the other side of him and is led away by him for his sister, Alethia. Scene two, Horner's lodging. Horner and Quack. What, all alone? Not so much as one of your cuckolds here, nor one of their wives. They used to take their turns with you as if they were to watch you. Yes, it often happens that a cuckold is but his wife's spy and is more upon family duty when he is with her gallant abroad, hindering his pleasure, than when he is at home with her playing their gallant. But the hardest duty a married woman imposes upon a lover is keeping her husband company always. And his fondness worries you almost as soon as hers. A pox. Keeping a cuckold company after you've had his wife is as tiresome as the company of a country squire to a witty fellow of the town when he has got all his money. And as it first a man makes a friend at the husband to get the wife, so at last you are feign to fall out with the wife to be rid of the husband. Aye, most cuckold makers are true courteous. When once the poor man has cracked his credit for him they counter by to come near him. The first to draw him in are so sweet, so kind, so dear, just as you are to pinch wife. But what becomes of that intrigue with his wife? A pox. He's a surly as an alderman that has been bit and since he's so coy his wife's kindness is in vain for she's a silly innocent. Did she not send you a letter by him? Yes, but that's a riddle I have not yet solved. Allow the poor creature to be willing. She is silly too, and he keeps her up so close. Yes, so close that he makes her but the more willing and adds but revenge to her love, which to when met seldom fail of satisfying each other one way or other. What? Here's the man we are talking of, I think. Enter pinch wife leading in his wife masked, muffled and in her sister's gown. Sure. Bringing his wife to you is the next thing to bringing a love letter from her. What means this? The last time you know so I brought you a love letter. Now you see, mistress, I think you'll say I'm a civil man to you. Ah, the devil take me. Would I say thou art the civilest man I ever met with, that I have known some? I fancy understand thee now better than I did the letter. But how could thee in thy ear? What? Nothing but the usual question, man. Is she sound on thy word? What, do you take her for a wench and me for a pimp? Oh, wench and pimp. Poor words. I know thou art an honest fellow and a great acquaintance among the ladies and perhaps hast made love for me rather than let me make love to thy wife. Come, sir, in short I'm for no fooling. Nor I neither. Therefore, pretty, let's see her face presently. Make a show, man, although sure I don't know her. I'm sure you do know her. Ah, pox. Why dost thou bring her to me then? Because she's a relation of mine. Is she faith, man? Then thou art still more civil and obliging, dear rogue. Who desired me to bring her to you? Then she is obliging, dear rogue. You'll make her welcome for my sake, I hope. I hope she is handsome enough to make herself welcome. Prithee, let her unmask. Do you speak to her? She would never be ruled by me. Madam. Mrs. Pinchwife whispers to Horner. She says she must speak with me in private. Withdraw, Prithee. Pinchwife, aside. She's unwilling, it seems. I should know all her indecent conduct in this business. Allowed. Well, then I'll leave you together, and hope when I am gone you'll agree. If not, you and I shan't agree, sir. What means the fool? If she and I agree, it is no matter what you and I do. Whispers to Mrs. Pinchwife, who makes signs with her hand for him to be gone. In the meantime, I'll fetch a parson and find out Sparkish and disabuse him. You would have me fetch a parson, would you not? Well, then. Now I think I am rid of her and shall have no more trouble with her. Our sisters and daughters, like usual's money, are safest when put out. But our wives, like their writings, never safe but in our closets under lock and key. Exit. Enter, boy. Sir Jasper Fidget, sir, is coming up. Exit. Here's the trouble of a cuckold now we are talking of. A pox on him. He has not enough to do to hinder his wife's sport, but he must other women's too. Step in here, madam. Exit, Mrs. Pinchwife. Enter, Sir Jasper Fidget. My best and dearest friend. Horner, aside to quack. The old-style doctor. Allowed. Well, be short, for I am busy. What would your impergent wife have now? Well, Gaston Faith, for I do come from her. To invite me to supper. Tell her I can't come. Go. Nay, now you are out, Faith, for my lady, and the whole knot to the virtuous gang. As they call themselves, are resolved upon a frolic of coming to you tonight in masquerade, and are all dressed already. I shan't be at home. Sir Jasper, aside. Lord, how churly she is to women. Allowed. Nay. Prithee, don't disappoint them. They'll think it is my fault. Prithee, don't. I'll send in the banquet down the fiddles, but make no noise, aunt, for the poor virtuous rogues would not have it known for the world that they go amasquerading, and they would come to no man's ball but yours. Well, well, get you gone, and tell him if they come to be at the peril of their honour and yours. Hey, we'll trust you for that. Farewell. Exit. Doctor, a known you too shall be my guest, but now I'm going to a private feast. Exient. Scene three, the Piazza of Covent Garden, and her sparkish with a letter in his hand, pinched wife following. But who would have thought a woman could have been false to me? By the world I could not have thought it. You were forgiving in taking liberty, she has taken it only, sir, now you find in that letter. You are a frank person, and so is she. You see there. A nay, if this be her hand, for I never saw it. It is no matter whether that be her hand or no, I'm sure this hand at her desire led her to Mr. Horner, with whom I left her just now to go fetch a parson to him at their desire too, to deprive you of her for ever, but it seems yours was but a mock marriage. Indeed! She would need's habit, that was Harcourt himself in a parson's habit, that married us, but I'm sure he told me it was his brother Ned. Oh, there it is out, and you were deceived, not she, for you are such a frank person, but I must be gone. You'll find her at Mr. Horner's, go and believe your eyes. Exit. Nay, I'll to her, and call her as many crocodiles, sirens, harpies, and other heathenous names, as a poet would do to a mistress who'd refuse to hear his suit, nay more his verses on her. But stay! Is not that she following a torch at the other end of the piazza? And from Horner's certainly. Tis so. Enter Aletheia following a torch, and Lucy behind. You are well met, madam, though you don't think so. What, you have made a short visit to Mr. Horner? But I suppose you'll return to him presently. By that time the parson can be with him. Mr. Horner and the parson, sir. Come, madam, no more dissembling, no more jilting, for I am no more a frank person. How's this? Lucy aside. So, to her work, I see. Could you find out no easy country fool to abuse? None but me, a man of wit and pleasure about the town. But it was your pride to be too hard for a man of parts, unworthy false woman, false as a friend that lends man money to lose, false as dice who undo those that trust all they have to him. Lucy aside. He has been a great bubble by his similes, as they say. You have been too merry, sir, at your wedding dinner, sure. What, do you mock me, too? Or you have been deluded. By you? Let me understand you. Have you the confidence—I should call it something else, since you know your guilt—to stand my just reproaches? You did not write an impudent letter to Mr. Horner, who I find now has clubbed with you into looting me with his aversion for women that I might not or soothe, suspect him for my rival? Lucy aside. Do you think the gentleman can be jealous now, madam? I write a letter to Mr. Horner. Nay, madam, do not deny it. Your brother showed it to me just now, and told me likewise he left you at Horner's lodging to fetch a parson to marry you to him. And I wish you joy, madam, joy, joy, and to him too much joy, and to myself more joy for not marrying you. Aletheia aside. So I find my brother would break off the match, and I can consent to it, since I see this gentleman can be made jealous. Allowed. Oh, Lucy! By his rude usage and jealousy he makes me almost afraid I am married to him. Art thou short, was Harcourt himself, and no parson that married us? No, madam, I thank you. I suppose that was a contrivance, too, of Mr. Horner's and yours, to make Harcourt play the parson. But I would as little as you have him one now—no, not for the world. Or shall I tell you another truth? I never had any passion for you till now, for now I hate you. It is true I might have married your portion, as other men of parts of the town do sometimes, and so you're a servant. And to show my unconcernedness I'll come to your wedding, and resign you with as much joy as I would as stale wench to a new culley. Nay, with as much joy as I would after the first night if I had been married to you. There is for you, and so your servant, servant— Exit! How was I deceived in a man? You'll believe, then, of fool may be made jealous now. For that easiness in him that suffers him to be led by a wife would likewise permit him to be persuaded against her by others. But marry Mr. Horner! My brother does not intend it. For if I thought he did, I would take thy advice, and Mr. Harcourt for my husband. And now I wish that if there be any overwise women of the town, who, like me, would marry a fool for fortune, liberty, or title first, that a husband may love play, and be a culley to all the town but her, and suffer none but fortune to be mistress of his purse. Then if for liberty, that he may send her into the country, under the conduct of some huss-wifely mother-in-law, and if the title may the world give him none but that of cuckold. And for her a greater curse, madam, may he not deserve it. Way impertinent! It's not this my old Lady Lantelouse. Yes, madam. Aside! And here I hope we shall find Mr. Harcourt. Exit! Scene four. Horner's lodging, a table, banquet, and bottles. After Horner, Lady Fidget, Mrs. Dainty Fidget, and Mrs. Squeemish, Horner, aside. A pox! They are come too soon, before I have sent back my new mistress. All that I have now to do is to lock her in, that they may not see her. That we may be sure of our welcome. We have brought our entertainment with us, and are resolved to treat thee, dear toad. And that we may be merry to purpose, have left Sir Jasper and my old Lady Squeemish quarrelling at home at Buckgammon. Therefore let us make use of our time, lest they should chance to interrupt us. Let us sit then. First, that you may be private, let me lock this door in that, and I'll wait upon you presently. No, sir, shut them only, and your lips for ever, for we must trust you as much as our women. You know all vanity is killed in me, I have no occasion for talking. Now, ladies, supposing we had drank each of us our two bottles, let us speak the truth of our hearts. Agreed. By this brimmer, for truth is nowhere else to be found. Aside to Horner. Not in thy heart, false man. Horner, aside to Lady Fidget. You have found me a true man, I'm sure. Lady Fidget, aside to Horner. Not every way, but let us sit and be merry. Sings. Why should our damned tyrant supply just to live on the pittance of pleasure which they only give? We must not rejoice with wine and with noise. In vain we must wake in a dull bed alone, whilst to our warm rival the bottle they're gone. Then lay aside charms and take up these arms, till his wine only gives them their courage and wit, because we live sober to men we submit. If for beauties you'd pass, take a lick of the glass, till mend your complexions, and when they are gone, the best red we have is the red of the grape, then sisters lay it on, and dam a good shape. Dear Brimmer, well, in token of our openness and plain dealing, let us throw our mosques over our heads. Horner, aside. Sir, twill come to the glass as an on. Lovely Brimmer, let me enjoy him first. No, I never part with a gallant till I've tried him, dear Brimmer, but makest our husband short-sighted, and her bashful gallant's bold. And for want of a gallant the butler lovely in our eyes, drink, you knock, drink the representative of a husband, dam a husband. And as it were a husband, an old keeper, and an old grandmother, and an English board, and a French surgeon. Aye, we have all reason to curse him. For my sake, ladies. No, for our own. For the first spoils all young gallant's industry. And the other's art makes him bold, only with common women. And rather run the hazard of the wildest temper amongst them, than of a denial amongst us. The filthy toads choose mistresses now as they do stuffs, for having been fancied and worn by others. For being common and cheap. Whilst women of quality, like the richer stuffs, lie untumbled and unasked for. Aye, neat and cheap and new, often they think best. No, sir, the beasts will be known by mistresses longer than by a suit. And it's not for a cheapness, neither. No, for the vain fobs will take up druggits and embroider them. But I wonder at the depraved appetites of witty men. They used to be out of the common road and hate imitation. Pray tell me, beast, when you were a man, why you rather chose to club with a multitude in a common house for an entertainment, than to be the only guest at a good table? Why, faith, ceremony and expectation are unsufferable to those that our shop bent. People always eat with a best stomach at an ordinary, where every man is snatching for the best bit. Though he get a cut over the fingers. But I have heard that people eat most heartily of another man's meat. That is, what they do not pay for. When they are sure of their welcome and freedom, for ceremony in love and eating is as ridiculous as in fighting, falling on briskly is all should be done on those occasions. Well then, let me tell you, sir, there is nowhere more freedom than in our houses, and we take freedom from a young person as a sign of good breeding, and a person may be as free as he pleases with us, as frolic, as gamesome, as wild as he will. And I heard you all declaim against wild men. Yes, but for all that, we think wildness in a man as desirable a quality as in a duck or a rabbit, a tame man, for. I know not, but your reputations frightened me as much as your faces invited me. Our reputation? Lord, why should you not think that we women make use of our reputation as you men of yours, only to deceive the world with less suspicion? Our virtue is like the statesman's religion, the Quaker's word, the gamester's oath, and the great man's honor, but to cheat those that trust us. And that the muriness, coyness, and modesty that you see in our faces in the boxes at place is as much a sign of a kind woman as a wizard mask in the pit. For I assure you, women are least masked when they have velvet wizard on. You would have found us modest women in our denials only. Our bashfulness is only the reflection of the man's. We blush when they are shame-faced. I beg your pardon, ladies. I was deceived in you devilishly, but why that mighty pretends to honor? We have told you, but sometimes towards for the same reason you men pretend business often, to avoid ill company, to enjoy the better and more privately those you love. But why would you dare give a friend a wink then? Faith, your reputation frightened us as much as ours did you. You were so notoriously lewd. And you so seemingly honest. Was that all that deterred you? And so expensive. You allow freedom, you say. Aye, aye. That I was afraid of losing my little money, as well as my little time, both which my other pleasure is required. Money, foe! You talk like a little fellow now. Do such as we expect money? I beg your pardon, madam. I must confess I have heard that great ladies, like great merchants, set up at the higher prices upon what they have, because they are not in necessity of taking the first offer. Such as we make sale of our hearts? We bribe for our love. So? With your pardon, ladies. I know, like great men in offices, you seem to exact flattery and attendance only from your followers. But you have receivers about you, in such fees to pay, a man is afraid to pass your grants. Besides, we must let you win at cards, or we lose your hearts. And if you make an resignation, it is at a goldsmith's, jeweler's, or china-house, where for your honour you deposit to him, he must pawn his to the punctual sit. And so paying for what you take up, pays for what he takes up. Would you not have this assured of our gallant's love? For love is better known by liberality than by jealousy. For one may be dissembled, the other not. Aside! But my jealousy can be no longer dissembled, and they are telling ripe. Allowed! Come, here's to our gallant in waiting, whom we must name, and I'll begin. This is my false rogue. Perhaps him on the back. How? Horner aside. So, all will out now. Mrs. Screamish, aside to Horner. Did you not tell me, it was for my sake only you reported yourself? No, man! Mrs. Dainty Fidgett, aside to Horner. O wretch! Did you not swear to me, it was for my love and honour you passed for that thing you do? No, so. Come, speak, ladies, this is my false villain. And mine, too. And mine. Well, then, you are all three my false rogues, too, and there's an end on't. Well, then, there's no remedy. Sister Sharers, let us not fall out, but have a care of our honour. Though we get no presents, no jewels of him, we are savers of our honour, the jewel of most value and use, which shines yet to the world unsuspected, though it be counterfeit. Nay, and is Ian as good as if it were true, provided the world thinks so. For honour, like beauty now, only depends on the opinion of others. Well, Harry Common, I hope you can be true to three. Swear, but is to no purpose to require your oath, for you are as often foresworn as you swear to new women. Come, faith, madam, let us in pardon one another. For all the difference I find betwixt we men and you women, we foreswear ourselves at the beginning of an amour, you as long as it lasts. Enter Sir Jasper Fidget and Old Lady Squeemish. Oh, my Lady Fidget, was this your cunning to come to Mr. Horner without me? But you have been nowhere else, I hope. No, Sir Jasper, and you came straight hither, Biddy. Yes, indeed. The Grandmother. Tis well, tis well. I knew when once they were thoroughly acquainted with poor Horner. They'd now be from him. You may let her masquerade it with my wife and Horner, and I warrant her reputation safe. Enter Boy. Oh, Sir, here's the gentleman come, who you bid me not to suffer to come up without giving you notice, with a lady, too, and of a gentleman. Do you all go in there, whilst I've sent him away? And Boy, do you desire him to stay below till I come, which shall be immediately. Exeunt Sir Jasper Fidget, Lady Fidget, Lady Squeemish, Mrs. Squeemish, and Mrs. Dainty Fidget. Yes, sir. Exit. Exits Horner at the other door, and returns with Mrs. Pinchwife. You would not take my advice to be gone home before your husband came back. You'll now discover all. And pray, my dearest, be persuaded to go home and leave the rest to my punishment. I'll let you down the back way. I don't know the way home, so I don't. My man shall wait upon you. No, don't you believe that I'll go at all? What? Are you wary of me already? No, my life. It is that I may love you long, just to secure my life and your reputation with your husband. He'll never receive you again else. What care I? Do you think to frighten me with that? I don't intend to go to him again. You shall be my husband now. I cannot be your husband, dearest, since you are married to him. Oh! Would you make me believe that? Don't I see every day at London here women leave their first husbands and go and live with other men as their wives? Pish! Pshaw! You'd make me angry, for that I love you so mainly. So they are coming up. In again, in. I hear them. Exit, Mrs. Pinchwife. Well, a silly mistress is like a weak place. Soon got, soon lost, a man has scarce time for plunder. She betrays her husband first to a gallant, then her gallant to a husband. Enter Pinchwife, Aletheia, Harcourt, Sparkish, Lucy, and a parson. Come, madam! Tis not the sudden change of your dress, the confidence of your asservations, and your false witness there shall persuade me I did not bring you hither just now. Here's my witness who cannot deny it, since you must be confronted. Mr. Horner, did I not bring this lady to you just now? Horner aside. Now must I wrong one woman for another's sake. But that's no new thing with me, for in these cases I'm still on the criminal's side against the innocent. Pray speak, sir. Horner aside. It must be so. I must be impudent and try my luck. Honour's use is to be too hard for truth. What? Are you studying an evasion or excuse for her? Speak, sir. No faith. I am something backward only to speak in woman's affairs or disputes. She bids you speak. I pray, sir, do. Pray satisfy him. Then truly you did bring that lady to me just now. Oh, ho! How, sir? How, Horner? What mean you, sir? I always took you for a man of honour. Horner aside. I so much a man of honour that I must save my mistress. I thank you. Come what will, aunt. So, if I had had her, she'd have made me believe the moon had been made of a Christmas pie. Lucy aside. Now, could I speak if I durst, and solve the riddle, who I am the author of it? Oh, unfortunate women, a combination against my honour, which most concerns me now, because you share in my disgrace, sir. And it is your censure, which I must now suffer, that troubles me, not theirs. Madam, then, have no trouble. You shall see now, it is possible for me to love you, too, without being jealous. I will not only believe your innocence myself, but make all the world believe it. Aside to Horner. I must now be concerned for this lady's honour. And I must be concerned for a lady's honour, too. This lady has her honour, and I will protect it. My lady has not her honour, but has given it me to keep, and I will preserve it. I understand you not. I will not have you. Mrs. Pinchwipe, peeping in behind. What's the matter with them all? Come, come, Mr. Horner, no more disputing. Here's the parson I brought him not in vain. No, sir, I'll employ him. If this lady please. How what do you mean? Aye, what does he mean? Why, I have resigned your sister to him. He has my consent. But he has not mine, sir. A woman's injured honour, no more than a man's, can be repaired or satisfied by any but him that first wronged it. And you shall marry her presently. Lays his hand on the sword. Re-enter, Mrs. Pinchwipe. Oh, Lord, they'll kill poor Mr. Horner. Besides, he shan't marry her whilst I stand by and look on. I'll not lose my second husband, so. What do I see? My sister in my clothes. Ah, Mrs. Pinchwipe, too, Pinchwipe. Nay, pray now, don't quarrel about finding work for the parson. He shall marry me to Mr. Horner. Or now I believe you have enough of me. Horner, aside. Damned, damned, loving, changeling. Pray, sister, pardon me for telling so many lies of you. I suppose the riddle is plain now. No, that must be my work. Good sir, hear me. Niels, the Pinchwipe, who stands doggedly with his hat over his eyes. I will never hear a woman again, but make them all silent thus. Offers to draw upon his wife. No, that must not be. You then shall go first. It is all one to me. Offers to draw on Horner, but is stopped by Harcourt. Old. Re-enter, Sir Jasper Fidget, Lady Fidget, Lady Squeemish, Mrs. Dainty Fidget, and Mrs. Squeemish. What's the matter? What's the matter? Sir, pray, what's the matter, sir? I beseech you, communicate, sir. Why, my wife has communicated, sir, as your wife may have done too, sir, if she knows him, sir. Pshaw, with him? Ha-ha-ha. Do you mock me, sir? A cuckold is a kind of a wild beast. Have a care, sir. No, sure, you mock me, sir. He cuckled you? It can't be. Ha-ha-ha. Why, I'll tell you, sir. Offers to whisper. I tell you again, he has hoared my wife, and yours too, if he knows her, and all the women he comes near, does not as dissembling his hypocrisy can weedle me. How, does he dissemble? Is he a hypocrite? Nay, then, how, wife, sister, is he a hypocrite? A hypocrite? A disemler? Speak, young harlotry, speak, how. Nay, then. Oh, my head, too. Oh, thou, libidinous lady. Oh, thou harlotting harlotry, as thou done then. Speak, good horner, art thou a dissembler, a rogue, hast thou so? Lucy, a parts to horner. I'll fetch you off, and her too, if she will but hold her tongue. Horner, a parts to Lucy. Can't thou? I'll give thee. Lucy, too, pinched wife. Pray, have but the patience to hear me, sir, who am the unfortunate cause of all this confusion. Your wife is innocent. I only culpable, for I put her upon telling you all these lies concerning my mistress in order to the breaking off of the match between Mr. Sparkish and her to make way for Mr. Harcourt. Did you so, eternal rotten tooth? Then, it seems, my mistress was not false to me. I was only deceived by you. Brother that should have been, now a man of conduct, who is a frank person now to bring your wife to her lover, ha? I assure you, sir, she came not to Mr. Horner out of love, for she loves him no more. Hold, I told lies for you, but you shall tell none for me, for I do love Mr. Horner with all my soul, and nobody shall say me nay. Pray, don't you go to make poor Mr. Horner believe to the contrary, to spitefully done of you, I'm sure? Horner, aside to Mrs. Pinched Wife. Peace, dear idiot! Nay, I will not peace. Not till I make you. Enter door-lent and quack. Horner, your servant. I am the doctor's guest. He must excuse our intrusion. But what's the matter, gentlemen? For heaven's sake, what's the matter? O, Tis well you are come. Tis a sensorious world we live in. You may have brought me a reprieve, or else I had died for a crime I never committed, and these innocent ladies had suffered with me. Therefore, pray satisfy these worthy, honourable, jealous gentlemen that— Whispers! O, I understand you. Is that all? Sir Jasper, by heavens, and upon the word of a physician, sir. Whispers to Sir Jasper. Nay, I do believe you truly. Pardon me, my virtuous lady, and dear of honour. But, then, all's right again. Aye, aye, and I'll let her satisfy him, too. They whisper with pinch-wife. Ununique. Pray, no fooling with me. I'll bring half the churigans in town to swear it. They? They'll swear a man that bled to death through his wounds died of an apoplexy. Pray hear me, sir, only all the town has heard the report of him. But does all the town believe it? Pray inquire a little, and first of all these. I'm sure when I left the town he was the ludicest fellow-int. I tell you, sir, he has been in France since. Pray, but ask these ladies and gentlemen, your friend Mr. Dorelland. Gentlemen and ladies, and you all heard the late sad report of poor Mr. Horner. Aye, aye, aye, aye. Why, thou jealous fool, does thou doubt it? He's an errant French capon. Tis false, sir, you shall not disparage poor Mr. Horner, for to my certain knowledge— Oh, hold! Mrs. Screamesh aside to Lucy. Stop her mouth! Lady Fidget, too pinch-wife. Upon my honour, sir, tis is true. You think we would have been seen in his company? Trust our unspotted reputations with him. Lady Fidget, aside to Horner. This you get, and we too, by trusting your secret to a fool. Peace, madam. Aside to Quack. Well, doctor, is not this a good design that carries a man on unsuspected and brings him off safe? Pinch-wife, aside. Well, if this were true, but my wife. Dorelland whispers with Mrs. Pinch-wife. Come, brother, your wife is yet innocent, you see, but have a care of too strong an imagination, lest like an over-concerned timorous game-ster, by fancying an unlucky cast, it should come. Women and fortune are truest still to those that trust him. And any world then grows but the more fierce and hungry for being kept up, and more dangerous to the keeper. There's doctrine for all husbands, Mr. Horcourt. I edify, madam, so much that I am impatient till I am one, and I edify so much by example I will never be one. And because I will not disparage my parts, I'll ne'er be one. And I alas can't be one. But I must be one, against my will to a country-wife, with a country moraine to me. Mrs. Pinch-wife, aside. And I must be a country-wife still too, I find, for I can't, like a city-one, be rid of my musty husband and do what I list. Now, sir, I must pronounce your wife innocent, though I blush whilst I do it. And I am the only man by her now exposed to shame, which I will straight drown in wine, as you shall your suspicion, and the lady's troubles will divert with a ballad. Doctor, where are your maskers? Indeed, she's innocent, sir. I am her witness. And her end of coming out was but to see her sister's wedding. And what she said to your face of her love to Mr. Horner was but the usual innocent revenge on a husband's jealousy. Was it not, madam? Speak. Mrs. Pinch-wife, aside to Lucy and Horner. Since you'll have me tell more lies. Allowed. Yes, indeed, but? For my own sake, feign, I would all believe. Cuckolds like lovers should themselves deceive, but his honour is least safe. Too late, I find, who trusts it with a foolish wife or friend. A dance of cuckolds. Vain fobs but court and dress, and keep a parlor to passful women's men with one another. But he who aims by women to be prized, thirst by the men you see, must be despised. Epilogue. Now you, the vigorous, who daily hear overvised mask in public domineer, and what you'd do to her if in place where, nay, have the confidence to cry, come out, yet when she says lead on, you are not stout. But to your well-dressed brother straight turn round and cry pox on her, Ned, she can't be sound. Then slink away, a fresh one to engage, with so much seeming heat and loving rage, you'd frighten listening actress on the stage, till she at last has seen you huffing come, and talk of keeping in the tiring room, yet cannot be provoked to lead her home. Next, you false-staffs of fifty who beset your buccam maidenheads which your friends get, and whilst to them you have achievements boast, they share the booty and laugh at your cost. In fine, you essenced boys, both old and young, who would be thought so eager, brisk and strong, yet do the ladies not their husbands wrong, whose purses for your manhood make excuse, and keep your flanders mayors for show, not use. Encouraged by our woman's man today, a horner's part may vainly think to play, and may intrigue so bashfully disown that they may doubt and be by few or none. May kiss the cards at piquet ombre lou, and so be taught to kiss the lady too. But gallants have a care faith what you do. The world which to no man his due will give, you by experience know you can deceive, and men may still believe you vigorous, but then we women, there's no Cousinning Us. End of Act 5 End of The Country Wife by William Witterly