« ElőzőTovább »
nute in my own custody; so throw off your livery
Arch. What said you? A parson !
Cher. And better.
Arch. 'Sdeath, what shall I do?-But harkye, child, what need you make me master of yourself and money, when you may have the same pleasure out of me, and still keep your fortune in your own hands? Cher. Then
you won't marry me? Arch. I would marry you, but
Cher. O, sweet sir, I'm your humble servant; you're fairly caught: Would you persuade me that any gentleman, who could bear the scandal of wearing a livery, would refuse two thousand pounds, let the condition be what it would ?-No, no, sir; but I hope you'll pardon the freedom I have taken, since it was only to inform nyself of the respect that I ought to pay you.
(Going. Arch. Fairly bit, by Jupiter !-Hold! hold! And have you actually two thousand pounds ?
Cher. Sir, I have my secrets as well as you---when you please to be more open, I shall be more free; and, be assured, that I have discoveries that will match yours, be they what they will. In the mean while, be satisfied that no discovery I make shall ever hurt you; but beware of my father
[Exit. Arch. So-we're like to have as many adventures in ur inn, as Don Quixotte bad in his-Let me see --two thousand pounds ! if the wench would promise to die when the money were spent, egad, one would marry but the fortune may go off in a year or two, and the wife may live-Lord knows how long ! then an innkeeper's daughter; ay, that's the devila there my pride brings me off.
For whatsoe'er the sages charge on pride,
ACT THE THIRD.
LADY BOUNTIFUL'S IIouse. Enter MRS. SULLEN and DORINDA. Mirs. Sul. Ha! ha! ha! my dear sister, let me embrace thee: now we are friends indeed; for I shall have a secret of yours, as a pledge for mine.
Dor. But do you think that I am so weak as to fall in love with a fellow at first sight?
Airs. Sul. Pshaw! now you spoil all; why should not we be as free in our friendships as the men? I warrant you, the gentleman has got to his confidant already, has avowed his passion, roasted your health, and called you ten thousand angels.
Dir. Your hand, sister, I an't well.
Mrs. Sul. So-come, child, up with it-hem a little.---50--now, tell me, don't you like the gentleman that we saw at church just now?
Dur. The man's well enough
Mrs. Sul. Well enough! Is he not a demigod, a Narcissus, a star, the man i'the woon?
Dor. O, sister, I'm extremely ill.
Mrs. vul. Come, unbosom yourself the man is perfectly a pretty fellow; I saw him when he first came into church.
Dor. I saw hiin too, sister, and with an air that shone, methougut, like rays about his person.
Mrs. Sul. Well said, up with it.
Dur. No forward coquette bebaviour, no airs to set himself off, no studied looks nor artful posture,--but nature did it all.
Mrs. Sul. Better and betterOne touch more;
Dor. But, then his looks-Did you observe his
Mrs. Sul. Yes, yes, I did his eyes; well, what of his eyes?
Dor. Sprightly, but not wandering; they seemed to view, but never gazed on any thing but memand then his looks so humble were, and yet so noble,ibat they aimed to tell me, that he could with pride die at my feet, though he scorned slavery any where else.
Kirs. Sul. The physic works purely-How d'ye. find yourself now, my
cear? Dor. Hem! much better, my dear.. (), here comes our Mercury.
Well, Scrub, whai news of the gentleman?
Scrub. Madam, I have brouglit you a whole packet of news.
Dor. Open it quickly; come.
Scrub. In the first place, I inquired who the gen. tlemaa was? They told me he was a stranger. Secondly, I asked, what the gentleman was? They answered and said, that they never saw him before. Thirdly, I inquired what countryman he was? They replied, 'twas more than they knew. Fourthly, I denianded, whence he came? Their answer was, they could not tell. And, fifthly, I asked, whither he went? And they replied, they knew nothing of the matter.–And this is all I could learn.
Mrs. Sul. But what do the people say? can't they guess!
Scrub. Why, some think he's a spy; some guess he's a mountebank; some say one thing, some another ;-but, for my own part, I believe he's a jesuit.
Dor. A jesuit! Why a jesuit?
Scrub. Because he keeps his horses always ready saddled, and his footman talks French !
Mrs. Sul. His footman !
Scruis. Ay; he and the Count's footman were jabbering French, like two intriguing ducks in a millpond : and, I believe, they talked of me, for they laughed consumedly.
Dor. What sort of livery has the footman?
Scrub. Livery! lord, madam, I took him for a captain, he's so bedizened with lace: and then he has a silver-headed cane dangling at his knuckles--he care ries his hands in his pockets, and walks just so[Valks in a French Air.) and has fine long hair, tied up in a bag. ---Lord, madam, he's clear another sort of man than I.
Mrs. Sul. That may easily be--But what shall we do now, sister?
Dor. I have it This fellow has a world of simplicity, and some cunning, the first hides the latter by abundance- -Scrub.
Dər. We have a great mind to know who this gentleman is, only for our satisfaction,
Scrub. Yes, madam, it would be a satisfaction, no doubt.
Dor. You must go and get acquainted with his footman, and invite him hither to drink a bottle of your ale, because you are butler to-day.
Scrub. Yes, madam, I am butler every Sunday.
Mrs. Sul. O brave sister! o'my conscience, you understand the mathematics already~'Tis the best plot in the world ;- your mother, you know, will be gone to church, my spouse will be got to the alehouse, with his scorindrels, and the house will be our
own---so we drop in by accident, and ask the fellow some questions ourselves. In the country, you know, any stranger is company, and we are glad to take up with a butler in a country dance, and happy if he'll do us the favour,
Scrub. Oh, niadam! you wrong me: I never refused your ladyslip the favour in my life.
Gip. Ladies, dinner's upon table.
Dor. Scrub, we'll excuse your waiting-Go where we ordered you. Scrub. I shall.
Enter AIMWELL and ARCHER.
Arch. Well, Tom, I find you are a marksman.
Aim. A marksman! who so blind could be as not discern a swan among the ravens ?
Arch. Well, but harkye, Aimwell
dim. Aimwell! call me Oroondates, Cesario, Amaris, all that romance can in a lover paint, and then I'll answer. O, Archer, I read her thousands in her looks! she looked like Ceres in her harvest; corn, wine, and oil, milk and honey; garders, groves, and purling streams, played on her plentecus face.
Arch. Her face !-- her pocket, you mean. The corn, wine, and oil, lies there. In short, she has twenty thousand pounds, that's the English on't.
Aim. Her eyes