 | The Gamesters |  |
Enter Mrs. Wilding and Penelope.
Mrs. Wild.
Is he coming, say'st thou?
Pen.
I saw him turn at the corner of the square.
Mrs. Wild.
Is he alone?
Pen.
Alone, and seems disorder'd; with his eyes upon
the ground, and his arms folded thus; he walks by starts,
and shews all is not right within.
Mrs. Wild.
Now comes the trial—Hark! I hear him
—You must away—Now for it.
Enter Wilding.
So, my good penitent man—I find your conscience was
sincere; you have at last taken a farewel to your follies,
in parting.
Wild.
I have bid farewel to 'em for ever—It was the
last effort of expiring passion, but 'tis gone, and now I'm
a new man.—Heigho.
[Sighs.
Mrs. Wild.
Why do you sigh, husband?
How d'ye, sweetheart?
[Smiling.
Wild.
Well; but a little melancholy.
You look more sprightfully, wife; something has pleas'd you.
Mrs. Wild.
It has indeed; and if it be no stain
To modesty, I would enquire how you
Sped the last night.
Wild.
I lost my money.
Mrs. Wild.
I don't mean that.
[Smiling.
Wild.
Don't mean that?—I am not betray'd, I hope!
what do you mean?
Mrs. Wild.
Y'are a fine gentleman!
Wild.
'Tis so; could she not keep her own counsel?
[Aside.
Mrs. Wild.
And have behav'd yourself most wittily,
And I may say most wrongfully: this will
Be much for your honour, when 'tis known.
Wild.
What will be known?
Mrs. Wild.
Do you not blush? oh fie!
Is there no modesty in man?
Wild.
Riddle my riddle my re—Pox of your ambiguities:
what would you have?—I would not yet seem
conscious.
Mrs. Wild.
'Tis time then to be plain; it was a wonder
I could be so long silent: did you like
Your last night's lodging?
Wild.
Very, very well;
I went not to bed all night.
Mrs. Wild.
Not to bed, all night!—think again, my
dear—your mem'ry may fail you.
Wild.
What do you mean?—I say I have not been in
bed to-night—and had you any eyes but jealous ones,
you'd see by mine I have not slept to-night.
Look at me, husband.
Wild.
So I do—there! there!—What mummery's
this?
Mrs. Wild.
Now tell me—do you feel no small compunction
at thus looking in my injur'd face?
Wild.
A pox upon these stale expostulations; must I
ever be dinn'd with 'em? and can't my reformation work
a change in you?—thou art the strangest woman.
Mrs. Wild.
Soft, soft, my good husband—did not
you meet Penelope last night?
Wild.
No, I met no Penelope last night.
Mrs. Wild.
And were you not to meet her?—speak,
my dear.
Wild.
Prithee, let me alone, my head aches.
Mrs. Wild.
No, no, 'tis my head that aches—did
you not pass the night, the live-long night, in wanton,
stolen embraces?
Wild.
Refuse me if I did.
Mrs. Wild.
You did not lie with Mrs. Penelope, my
kinswoman?
Wild.
Cuckold me, if I did. I swear—
Mrs. Wild.
Come, come, don't swear—but 'twas
no fault of yours, no fault, no virtue—but this is no
time to expostulate these actions—in brief, know 'twas
my plot.
[Smiling.
Wild.
What plot?
Mrs. Wild.
Yes, yes, my plot, my dear.
[Smiling.
Wild.
My plot, my dear! what do you smirk and
giggle at?—Leave your ideot tricks and tell me what
you mean.
Mrs. Wild.
You are so testy—but I shall please
you.
Wild.
Shall you? I wish you would—
Mrs. Wild.
Thus then—I have with sorrow long
observ'd which way your warm affection mov'd, and
found 'twould be in vain with open pow'r t'oppose you;
I therefore work'd by stratagem—I got the secret of
your meeting, and I wrought so with my honest cousin,
I might deceive your hard heart into kindness.
Wild.
That, that again, sweet wife; and be a little
Serious—Was it your plot to excuse your cousin,
And be the bedfellow?
Mrs. Wild.
'Twas indeed, my dear.
Wild.
'Twas in hell, my dear.
Mrs. Wild.
Bless me!
Wild.
I am fitted, fitted with a pair of horns
Of my own making!
Mrs. Wild.
What, do you take it thus?
Should you not rather thank, and think upon
That providence, that would not have you lost
In such a forest of loose thoughts: come, be
Yourself again; I am your handmaid still;
And have learn'd so much piety to conceal
Whatever should dishonour you.
Wild.
It buds—
It buds already! I shall turn starkmad—
Horn mad!—
Mrs. Wild.
What ails you? are you vex'd
Because your wantonness has thriv'd so well?
Wild.
Well with a vengeance! and did you really contrive
the plot yourself?
Mrs. Wild.
I did.
Wild.
You lie—I contriv'd some part of it—and can
you prove all this to be true?
Mrs. Wild.
I can—witness those tender joys, which,
tho' not meant for me—
Wild.
O damn your description!
I am satisfied.
Mrs. Wild.
You seem angry—I did expect your
thanks.
Wild.
Yes, I do thank you, thank you heartily;
Most infinitely thank you.
Mrs. Wild.
Doth this merit
No other payment but your scorn? then know,
Bad man, 'tis in my power to be reveng'd;
And what I had a resolution
Day in the face; I'll publish to the world
How I am wrong'd, and with what stubbornness
You have despis'd the cure of your own fame;
Nor shall my cousin suffer in her honour.
I stoop as low as earth to shew my duty;
But too much trampled on, I rise to tell
The world, I am a woman.
Wild.
No, no; hark you,
I do not mock you. I am taken with
The conceit; what a fine thing I have made myself?
Ne'er speak on't, thy device shall take; I'll love thee,
And kiss thee for't; thou'st paid me handsomely:
An admirable plot, and follow'd cunningly.
Mrs. Wild.
Then I'm happy, husband, if you're sincere.
Wild.
O very sincere, and very happy.
Mrs. Wild.
In earnest then of that sincerity,
Vouchsafe the kiss you promised—
Wild.
There—there.—
[Kisses her.
I'll see thee anon again; and lie with thee
To-night, without a stratagem. Penelope
Expects thee; keep all close; dear wife, no sentences.
[Hurries Mrs. Wild. off.
I'm trick'd and trimm'd at my own charges rarely!
[Exit.
| The Gamesters | |