 | John Woodvil |  |
ACT THE THIRD.
Scene—An Apartment of State in Woodvil Hall.Cavaliers drinking. John Woodvil, Lovel, Gray, and four more.
JOHN.
More mirth, I beseech you, gentlemen—
Mr. Gray, you are not merry.—
GRAY.
More wine, say I, and mirth shall ensue in course.
What! we have not yet above three half-pints a man
to answer for. Brevity is the soul of drinking, as of
wit. Despatch, I say. More wine.
(Fills.)
FIRST GENTLEMAN.
I entreat you, let there be some order, some
method, in our drinkings. I love to lose my reason
with forethought and deliberation. I love to
feel the fumes of the liquor gathering here, like
clouds.
SECOND GENTLEMAN.
And I am for plunging into madness at once.
Damn order, and method, and steps, and degrees,
that he speaks of. Let confusion have her legitimate
work.
LOVEL.
I marvel why the poets, who, of all men, methinks,
should possess the hottest livers, and most empyreal
fancies, should affect to see such virtues in cold water.
GRAY.
Virtue in cold water! ha! ha! ha!—
JOHN.
Because your poet-born hath an internal wine,
richer than lippara or canaries, yet uncrushed from
any grapes of earth, unpressed in mortal wine-presses.
THIRD GENTLEMAN.
What may be the name of this wine?
JOHN.
It hath as many names as qualities. It is denominated
indifferently, wit, conceit, invention, inspiration,
but its most royal and comprehensive name is fancy.
And where keeps he this sovereign liquor?
JOHN.
Its cellars are in the brain, whence your true poet
deriveth intoxication at will; while his animal spirits,
catching a pride from the quality and neighbourhood
of their noble relative, the brain, refuse to be sustained
by wines and fermentations of earth.
THIRD GENTLEMAN.
But is your poet-born always tipsy with this liquor?
JOHN.
He hath his stoopings and reposes; but his proper
element is the sky, and in the suburbs of the
empyrean.
THIRD GENTLEMAN.
Is your wine-intellectual so exquisite? henceforth,
I, a man of plain conceit, will, in all humility, content
my mind with canaries.
FOURTH GENTLEMAN.
I am for a song or a catch. When will the catches
come on, the sweet wicked catches?
JOHN.
They cannot be introduced with propriety before
midnight. Every man must commit his twenty
Lovel, the glass stands with you.
LOVEL.
Gentlemen, the Duke.
(Fills.)
ALL.
The Duke.
(They drink.)
GRAY.
Can any tell, why his Grace, being a Papist—
JOHN.
Pshaw! we will have no questions of state now.
Is not this his Majesty's birth-day?
GRAY.
What follows?
JOHN.
That every man should sing, and be joyful, and ask no questions.
SECOND GENTLEMAN.
Damn politics, they spoil drinking.
THIRD GENTLEMAN.
For certain, 'tis a blessed monarchy.
SECOND GENTLEMAN.
The cursed fanatic days we have seen! The times
have been when swearing was out of fashion.
And drinking.
FIRST GENTLEMAN.
And wenching.
GRAY.
The cursed yeas and forsooths, which we have
heard uttered, when a man could not rap out an
innocent oath, but straight the air was thought to be
infected.
LOVEL.
'Twas a pleasant trick of the saint, which that trim
puritan Swear-not-at-all Smooth-speech used, when
his spouse chid him with an oath for committing with
his servant maid, to cause his house to be fumigated
with burnt brandy, and ends of scripture, to disperse
the devil's breath, as he termed it.
ALL.
Ha! ha! ha!
GRAY.
But 'twas pleasanter, when the other saint Resist-the-devil-and-he-will-flee-from-thee Pureman was
overtaken in the act, to plead an illusio visûs, and
maintain his sanctity upon a supposed power in the
adversary to counterfeit the shapes of things.
ALL.
Ha! ha! ha!
Another round, and then let every man devise what
trick he can in his fancy, for the better manifesting
our loyalty this day.
GRAY.
Shall we hang a puritan?
JOHN.
No, that has been done already in Coleman-Street.
SECOND GENTLEMAN.
Or fire a conventicle?
JOHN.
That is stale too.
THIRD GENTLEMAN.
Or burn the assembly's catechism?
FOURTH GENTLEMAN.
Or drink the king's health, every man standing upon his head naked?
JOHN
(to Lovel).
We have here some pleasant madness.
THIRD GENTLEMAN.
Who shall pledge me in a pint bumper, while we
drink to the king upon our knees?
Why on our knees, Cavalier?
JOHN
(smiling).
For more devotion, to be sure.
(To a servant.)
Sirrah, fetch the gilt goblets.
(The goblets are brought. They drink the king's health, kneeling. A shout of general approbation following the first appearance of the goblets.)
JOHN.
We have here the unchecked virtues of the grape.
How the vapours curl upwards! It were a life of
gods to dwell in such an element: to see, and hear,
and talk brave things. Now fie upon these casual
potations. That a man's most exalted reason should
depend upon the ignoble fermenting of a fruit, which
sparrows pluck at as well as we!
GRAY
(aside to Lovel).
Observe how he is ravished.
LOVEL.
Vanity and gay thoughts of wine do meet in him and engender madness.
(While the rest are engaged in a wild kind of talk, John advances to the front of the stage and soliloquizes.)
My spirits turn to fire, they mount so fast.
My joys are turbulent, my hopes shew like fruition.
These high and gusty relishes of life, sure,
Have no allayings of mortality in them.
I am too hot now and o'ercapable,
For the tedious processes, and creeping wisdom,
Of human acts, and enterprises of a man.
I want some seasonings of adversity,
Some strokes of the old mortifier Calamity,
To take these swellings down, divines call vanity.
FIRST GENTLEMAN.
Mr. Woodvil, Mr. Woodvil.
SECOND GENTLEMAN.
Where is Woodvil?
GRAY.
Let him alone. I have seen him in these lunes
before. His abstractions must not taint the good
mirth.
JOHN
(continuing to soliloquize).
O for some friend now,
To conceal nothing from, to have no secrets.
How fine and noble a thing is confidence,
How reasonable too, and almost godlike!
Old natural go-between in the world's business,
Where civil life and order, wanting this cement,
Would presently rush back
Into the pristine state of singularity,
And each man stand alone.
(A Servant enters.)
SERVANT.
Gentlemen, the fire-works are ready.
FIRST GENTLEMAN.
What be they?
LOVEL.
The work of London artists, which our host has
provided in honour of this day.
SECOND GENTLEMAN.
'Sdeath, who would part with his wine for a rocket?
LOVEL.
Why truly, gentlemen, as our kind host has been at
the pains to provide this spectacle, we can do no less
than be present at it. It will not take up much time.
Every man may return fresh and thirsting to his liquor.
THIRD GENTLEMAN.
There is reason in what he says.
Charge on then, bottle in hand. There's husbandry in that.
(They go out, singing. Only Lovel remains, who observes Woodvil.)
JOHN
(still talking to himself).
This Lovel here's of a tough honesty,
Would put the rack to the proof. He is not of that sort,
Which haunt my house, snorting the liquors,
And when their wisdoms are afloat with wine,
Spend vows as fast as vapours, which go off
Even with the fumes, their fathers. He is one,
Whose sober morning actions
Shame not his o'ernight's promises;
Talks little, flatters less, and makes no promises;
Why this is he, whom the dark-wisdom'd fate
Might trust her counsels of predestination with,
And the world be no loser.
Why should I fear this man?
(Seeing Lovel.)
Where is the company gone?
LOVEL.
To see the fire-works, where you will be expected
to follow. But I perceive you are better engaged.
I have been meditating this half-hour
On all the properties of a brave friendship,
The mysteries that are in it, the noble uses,
Its limits withal, and its nice boundaries.
Exempli gratia, how far a man
May lawfully forswear himself for his friend;
What quantity of lies, some of them brave ones,
He may lawfully incur in a friend's behalf;
What oaths, blood-crimes, hereditary quarrels,
Night brawls, fierce words, and duels in the morning,
He need not stick at, to maintain his friend's honor, or his cause.
LOVEL.
I think many men would die for their friends.
JOHN.
Death! why 'tis nothing. We go to it for sport,
To gain a name, or purse, or please a sullen humour,
When one has worn his fortune's livery threadbare,
Or his spleen'd mistress frowns. Husbands will venture on it,
To cure the hot fits and cold shakings of jealousy.
A friend, sir, must do more.
LOVEL.
Can he do more than die?
To serve a friend this he may do. Pray mark me.
Having a law within (great spirits feel one)
He cannot, ought not to be bound by any
Positive laws or ord'nances extern,
But may reject all these: by the law of friendship
He may do so much, be they, indifferently,
Penn'd statutes, or the land's unwritten usages,
As public fame, civil compliances,
Misnamed honor, trust in matter of secrets,
All vows and promises, the feeble mind's religion,
(Binding our morning knowledge to approve
What last night's ignorance spake);
The ties of blood withal, and prejudice of kin.
Sir, these weak terrors
Must never shake me. I know what belongs
To a worthy friendship. Come, you shall have my confidence.
LOVEL.
I hope you think me worthy.
JOHN.
You will smile to hear now—
Sir Walter never has been out of the island.
LOVEL.
You amaze me.
That same report of his escape to France
Was a fine tale, forg'd by myself—
Ha! ha!
I knew it would stagger him.
LOVEL.
Pray, give me leave.
Where has he dwelt, how liv'd, how lain conceal'd?
Sure I may ask so much.
JOHN.
From place to place, dwelling in no place long,
My brother Simon still hath borne him company,
('Tis a brave youth, I envy him all his virtues.)
Disguis'd in foreign garb, they pass for Frenchmen,
Two Protestant exiles from the Limosin
Newly arriv'd. Their dwelling's now at Nottingham,
Where no soul knows them.
LOVEL.
Can you assign any reason, why a gentleman of Sir
Walter's known prudence should expose his person so
lightly?
JOHN.
I believe, a certain fondness,
A child-like cleaving to the land that gave him birth,
Chains him like fate.
I have known some exiles thus
To linger out the term of the law's indulgence,
To the hazard of being known.
JOHN.
You may suppose sometimes
They use the neighb'ring Sherwood for their sport,
Their exercise and freer recreation.—
I see you smile. Pray now, be careful.
LOVEL.
I am no babbler, sir; you need not fear me.
JOHN.
But some men have been known to talk in their sleep,
And tell fine tales that way.
LOVEL.
I have heard so much. But, to say truth, I mostly sleep alone.
JOHN.
Or drink, sir? do you never drink too freely?
Some men will drink, and tell you all their secrets.
LOVEL.
Why do you question me, who know my habits?
I think you are no sot,
No tavern-troubler, worshipper of the grape;
But all men drink sometimes,
And veriest saints at festivals relax,
The marriage of a friend, or a wife's birth-day.
LOVEL.
How much, sir, may a man with safety drink?
(Smiling.)
JOHN.
Sir, three half pints a day is reasonable;
I care not if you never exceed that quantity.
LOVEL.
I shall observe it;
On holidays two quarts.
JOHN.
Or stay; you keep no wench?
LOVEL.
Ha!
JOHN.
No painted mistress for your private hours?
You keep no whore, sir?
LOVEL.
What does he mean?
Who for a close embrace, a toy of sin,
And amorous praising of your worship's breath,
In rosy junction of four melting lips,
Can kiss out secrets from you?
LOVEL.
How strange this passionate behaviour shews in you!
Sure you think me some weak one.
JOHN.
Pray pardon me some fears.
You have now the pledge of a dear father's life.
I am a son—would fain be thought a loving one;
You may allow me some fears: do not despise me,
If, in a posture foreign to my spirit,
And by our well-knit friendship I conjure you,
Touch not Sir Walter's life.
(Kneels.)
You see these tears. My father's an old man.
Pray let him live.
LOVEL.
I must be bold to tell you, these new freedoms
Shew most unhandsome in you.
JOHN
(rising).
Ha! do you say so?
Sure, you are not grown proud upon my secret!
No doubt a garrulous and hard-fac'd traitor—
But I'll not give you leave.
(Draws.)
LOVEL.
What does this madman mean?
JOHN.
Come, sir; here is no subterfuge.
You must kill me, or I kill you.
LOVEL
(drawing).
Then self-defence plead my excuse.
Have at you, sir.
(They fight.)
JOHN.
Stay, sir.
I hope you have made your will.
If not, 'tis no great matter.
A broken cavalier has seldom much
He can bequeath: an old worn peruke,
A snuff-box with a picture of Prince Rupert,
A rusty sword he'll swear was used at Naseby,
Though it ne'er came within ten miles of the place;
And, if he's very rich,
A cheap edition of the Icon Basilike,
Is mostly all the wealth he dies possest of.
So to it again.
(They fight again. Lovel is disarmed.)
LOVEL.
You had best now take my life. I guess you mean it.
JOHN
(musing).
No:—Men will say I fear'd him, if I kill'd him.
Live still, and be a traitor in thy wish,
But never act thy thought, being a coward.
That vengeance, which thy soul shall nightly thirst for,
And this disgrace I've done you cry aloud for,
Still have the will without the power to execute.
So now I leave you,
Feeling a sweet security. No doubt
My secret shall remain a virgin for you!—
(Goes out, smiling in scorn.)
LOVEL
(rising).
For once you are mistaken in your man.
The deed you wot of shall forthwith be done.
A bird let loose, a secret out of hand,
Returns not back. Why, then 'tis baby policy
To menace him who hath it in his keeping.
I will go look for Gray;
Then, northward ho! such tricks as we shall play
Have not been seen, I think, in merry Sherwood,
Since the days of Robin Hood, that archer good.
| John Woodvil | |