University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A Boudoir in Lady Goldstraw's House. Enter Lady Goldstraw.
Lady Goldstraw.
I don't half like it: money, money, money—
Nothing but money; and the ink scarce dry
Upon our marriage-contract. How is this?
But Lady Ruffler—I am Lady Ruffler—
Heir to an earldom, a peer's wife, in sooth.
“How does your ladyship?” a duchess cries:
“Ah! poorly, thank your grace,” I say; and then
Her loose-tongued highness has familiar jokes
About the ills of a new-wedded pair:
Says, “Ruffler should be pleased;” and pinches me—
Yes, faith, I feel her grace's fingers pinch—
The gay, bold, wicked duchess! Ah! dear me!
That covers much. And then my husband's love—
The brave, young, handsome fellow! Poor, poor soul,
He loves me dearly; and that covers more.
What are a thousand pounds or so?

(Enter Nick.)
Nick.
Your grace,
Your most imperious ladyship—

Lady G.
Fie! Nick,
You over-rank me, fie! Call me plain Lady—
Plain Lady Ruffler.

Nick.
Well, plain Lady Ruffler—

Lady G.
Presuming knave! such words to rank like mine!
Have you no proper reverence, impudent!
For aristocracy, and birth, and titled names?
Have we not been the pillars of this land?
What would you do without us?

Nick.
I don't know.
We do all your work now, and I suppose,
Mayhap, we 'd do our own then. What would you,
Your royal highness, do without us, hey?
Who 'd dig for you, who 'd wait, who 'd till your land?—
Who 'd fight your battles, die in flocks for you,
And give you all the praise, and gold, and rank,
And stars and garters, and that sort of thing,
While we starve on forgotten? Please your grace,
I heard an old mechanic say all that,
Over a pot of porter.

Lady G.
How now, Nick?
What, will you murmur?

Nick.
No; you see I don't.
When we begin to murmur, then look out
For thrones, and crowns, and things! Your gouty lords
Will feel the people's broad, rough, hob-nailed shoes
Upon their toes.

Lady G.
Dear, dear! Nick Prior, I vow,
If you frequent that odious porter-house,
I'll turn you out of doors.

Nick.
Why, true enough,
A man might learn in better places, mam;
But we will learn it somewhere.

Lady G.
What brought you here?

Nick.
A flock of woodcocks. O, your ladyship,
There is a crowd of fellows at the door,
With bills as long as Lent, to see my lord.—
There is more aristocracy for you!
They make a noise too, and the people stop.

Lady G.
Admit them, then. (Exit Nick.)
I sent that Nick to school
For no good purpose. So, more bills to pay,
More money to be sunk! Has my lord nothing?

(Enter three Tradesmen.)
All the Tradesmen.
Please your ladyship—

Lady G.
Well, well!

First Tradesman.
Hush, I'll speak.
Please, mam, the others sent us up, to see
If we can get some money on our bills.
Here they are, mam. (Throws down a huge bundle of bills.)
Pay all alike, or none:
That 's our agreement.

Lady G.
Give me time to look.

First T.
For certain, madam; but we hope you'll take
A shorter time to look than we have had:
For, please you, madam—

Lady G.
You have said enough.
[Exeunt Tradesmen.]
“For furnishing Miss Polly Trifle's house,
[Reading.]
Five hundred pounds! Ditto for furnishing
Miss Flaunt's apartments, seven hundred pounds!”
Dear me! and all within six months—the monster!
[Takes up another bill.]
“One brocade tissue silk, for Miss”—

(Enter Ruffler, beating in a Servant.)
Ruffler.
Hey! slave,
You'll open doors, you will, and flood my house
With such another deluge of old bills,
To vex my lady, hey!

Servant.
Indeed, my lord—

Ruf.
Indeed your lord! and being such, I'll trounce you!
[Beats him. Servant cries.]
Silence your bellowing, calf! Do you not see
Your clamor grieves my lady? Stupid dolt!
She cannot bear to hear a human cry.

Ser.
Then spare your blows.

Ruf.
'T is not my blows disturb her,
But your most hideous yells. (Beats him.)
Peace, slave!

Lady G.
My lord—
O, dear!—my lord!

Ruf.
What say you, sweet?

Lady G.
Forbear;
'T was not his fault; Nick Prior let them in.

Ruf.
Hah! call Nick Prior. (To Servant.)
I'll make him twice a man:
I'll double all his bones, by breaking them.

Lady G.
Pray, pray, forgive him! I adopted Nick,
Sent him to school, and made a fool of him:
Besides, I ordered him to bring them up.
My lord, 't would break my heart.

Ruf.
Enough, my love.
Go, sirrah! you are innocent, it seems.
Receive those blows but as a specimen
Of what I can do, when my hand is in,
Not a genuine flogging. (Exit Servant.)
Well, my witch,
It seems you called these trading devils up;
I pray you, lay them.

Lady G.
What 's the gross amount?

Ruf.
Some thousands—ten—or twelve—or so.

Lady G.
Lord, Lord!
I cannot pay it; it would ruin me:
Let them take half.

Ruf.
And half dishonor me!
Is this affection? Is this woman's love?
Or have I married with a huckster?

Lady G.
La!
Well, call them in. But, O! my lord, the way,
The naughty way, in which you made these bills!

Ruf.
Naughty! my charities.

Lady G.
Five hundred pounds,
To stock a lady's house, for charity!

Ruf.
'Sdeath! yes: she 'd nothing to her back, poor thing,
When first I met her.

Lady G.
Like enough. My lord,
I'll pay this once;—but no more charities.

Ruf.
Ho, there!

(Reënter Tradesmen.)
Lady G.
(Writing.)
Here is an order on my banker.—
My money in the funds must melt for this.
[Aside.]
Make it go far.

[Gives a paper.]
Second Tradesman.
(To Ruffler.)
I'll send the velvet gowns.

Lady G.
What did you say?

Second T.
My lord bespoke some gowns.

Lady G.
For whom?

Second T.
A lady.

Lady G.
Doubtless! When?

Second T.
To-day.

Lady G.
More charities!

Ruf.
Ay, faith! she 's hardly clothed;
There 's scarce a rag between her and the wind.

Lady G.
And so you get her velvet gowns, 'ods love!—
And on my wedding-day!

Ruf.
Tailor, look here.
Make me a pair of breeches.

Second T.
Yes, my lord.

[Goes to measure him.]
Ruf.
Ass, take that! (Cuffs him.)
They are not for me.

Second T.
For whom?

Ruf.
My lady, to be sure: and here 's the price.
[Throws a purse at him.]
She shall have breeches, if I have no gowns.
'Ods blood! she needs them. Can one ride the horse
She 's mounted on to-day, with decency,
In woman's gear?

Lady G.
O heaven!—O patience, heaven!

[Aside.]
Ruf.
One moment, gentle lady. Look you, tailor:
[To Second Tradesman.]
I want a taffeta body-cloth and hood,
Picked here and there with gold embroidery,
For Jennet, my gray mare. Upholsterer,
[To Third Tradesman.]
Provide me with a bed of eider down,
Roomy and thick, and of the choicest feather,
For Juno, my sick spaniel. Ay, and, tailor,
Make me six court-suits. See the stuff be rich.
Goldsmith, you'll match some jewels to the clothes;
[To First Tradesman.]
A casket for each suit. And—nay, you may go:
I have a thousand wants; but these are chief.
Ah! goldsmith, I forgot the rapiers;
A rapier for each suit; and in the hilt
Of each Toledo see you place a gem,
For which a gentleman may not be shamed.
And, tailor—

Lady G.
Nay, my lord, I'll have a robe—

Ruf.
A robe, the devil! Will you ruin me?
How shall I have my horse-clothes and my bed,
My jewels and my rapiers, and such things,
If I indulge your monstrous luxury?
Shame, shame! be modest.

Lady G.
Pray, whose money buys
Your trumpery, good sir?

Ruf.
Ours, to be sure.

Lady G.
“Ours!” my fine lord: are you beside yourself?
Am I to go worse covered than your horse?
Get me a taffeta body-cloth and hood,
To match your Jennet's; stand me in her stall;
Or let me lie beside your ailing dog.
'Ods mercy! if I must be ruined thus,
I claim a share, above your jade or cur,
In the destruction of my own estate!

Ruf.
La! now, my dear, sweet, gentle, loving wife,
Did I not know you far too well, I'd say
That you are really in a passion, chuck!

[Pats her cheek]
Lady G.
Keep off your hands!

Ruf.
Why, then, hang out a sign,
Like those we see upon the new-made doors,
“Beware the paint!”

Lady G.
Savage! insult your wife
Before the faces of these vulgar knaves!

Ruf.
Insult you, love! because I would preserve
The painful labor of your dressing-maid?
Am I a tasteless Vandal or a Hun,
To mar so delicate a work of art?
'Ods death! you wrong me grievously, sweet wife.

Lady G.
Why are you waiting, tradesmen? You are paid.
[Exeunt First and Third Tradesmen.]
And you, sir goose?

[To Second Tradesman.]
Second T.
To take your measure, madam.

Lady G.
Ay, for the robe.

Ruf.
No; for the breeches, wife.

Lady G.
Out of my house, insulting cur!

Ruf.
What, love,
Has he insulted you? Outrageous patch,
Here in her husband's presence! By the gods,
I'll make your bones ache for your sinful tongue!
Will you not stir? So then, take that, and that!

[Exit, beating him out.]
Lady G.
O! what a temper, what a tongue, what arms,
And what incessant use he makes of them!
Ha, marry! and the breeches, my fair lord;
I'll make you wish you never offered them.
I'll close your wasteful courses too, sweet sir;
Even if I put my whole estate in trust.—
(Enter Goldstraw and Madge, sorrowfully.)
Well, what 's the matter?

Madge.
My new father, mother!

Goldstraw.
And my new uncle, aunt!

Lady G.
But how is this?
Are these sad eyes the welcome that you give?

Gold.
Ah! aunt, your bride-bells should have tolled a knell;
Your friends, in crape, should have walked, two by two,
Behind the hearse that drew you to the church;
The priest, in black, have read the burial-rites;
And when 't was over, better far for you
If you had leaped into your grave alive!

Lady G.
To spoil your fancies, I was wed at home.
Poh, poh! you prate.

Gold.
Dear madam, have you heard?—

Lady G.
Of what?

Gold.
Of Ruffler?

Lady G.
Give his title, sir.

Gold.
Ay, when he gets it.

Lady G.
When he gets it!

Gold.
Yes,
Along with his estate.

Lady G.
You called him rich.
But that is nothing,—I 've enough for both.

Gold.
If he could cheat you, how might I escape?

Lady G.
Where are his father's lands?

Gold.
In chancery:
And his petition for the earldom, too,
Is laid upon the table of the Lords,
Session by session, with a general laugh.

Lady G.
A swindler, eh?

Gold.
Worse, madam, worse, I fear:
A noted rake, a ruined gamester, aunt—
A common drunkard, a notorious cheat—
A murderous bully, thrice tried for his life,
But thrice he dodged the gallows.

Lady G.
Mercy! mercy!
I can't believe it.

Gold.
Heaven avert the time,
When you may be compelled!

Lady G.
(Taking his arm.)
Your arm, I pray.
Harry—O dear!—you see I 'm calm enough.
I do not tremble, do I? Has my cheek
Lost its accustomed color? Look, boy, look!
I bear me as a lady.—Saints above,
I shall go raving mad!

[Exit with Goldstraw.]
Madge.
I cannot laugh;
Yet I suppose I should. This may be wit;
Yet, to my poor dull brain, it seems like cruelty.
Hal has my word to keep the secret too:
Would I had pledged it to that Travers!—

(Enter Travers.)
Travers.
(Aside.)
Ha!
My name upon her lips! Fair Madge, you 're caught,
Caught in the very act.

Madge.
Of what, sir?

Trav.
Tut!
I heard my name.

Madge.
I grant: so may a rogue,
When he is called in court.

Trav.
How, angry, Madge?

Madge.
O! no, sir; pleased, pleased with your pretty tricks—
Pleased with your gambols—with the holiday
You three stout gentlemen have given yourselves
Over a poor old lady!

Trav.
Say the word,
And I will end it.

Madge.
No; 't is well perhaps,
Just punishment perhaps, if men have right
To take heaven's functions, and rebuff our sins;
Or seize the church's office, and patch up
Our moral rents—mere patchwork, though, for all.
Harry persuaded me; he may be right.—
I would I were a hundred leagues away!
I'll hide myself; for since our house became
A moral hospital, sin seems so rank—
In doctors, nurses, patients, and spectators—
That I could wish a plague were on us all,
To spot our skins, and let our hearts alone.

Trav.
'T is but a comedy.

Madge.
So you design;
But Heaven knows how 't will end. Man's comedies
Do often end in sobs, and tears, and blood.
[He takes her hand.]
Let go my hand, sir! Till your play be o'er,
The best among this feigning company
Shall not receive it.

[Exit.]
Trav.
She is worth a crown!
Would I could really lover her! But this love—
Pshaw! 't is a mere infirmity, a toy
Of painted candy, that tastes well enough
Until we swallow it; but, then, there is
No rest until we cast it up again.
Yet for all that, sweet Madge, I'll marry you.
Ah me! I wish I really were in love!

[Exit.]