 | The Married Beau : or, The Curious Impertinent |  |
1
ACT I.
SCENE, Covent-Garden.Enter on one Side Lovely looking on his Cloaths, on the other Polidor.
Pol.
How now? What Gallants that, that plumes himself,
And hovers round this Church, as a Hawk does
Over a Bush, when 'tis full o' Birds?
And now the Church is very full of Beauty.
Why is that Spark o'th out-side o' the Church?
Oh! now he turns this way—It is my self—
—Admiring Friend—The great new Married-Beau,
—The handsome Lovely; so he thinks himself,
And prizes that poor Praise above all Honours.
Say but he's Handsome, one may have his Soul.
When—A Pox on't! he is not very handsome,
And less agreeable for Conceit.
'Tis pity:—He has many excellent Qualities:
He's very Honest, Valiant, and good natur'd;
Has some degree of Understanding too
In other things; friendly he is to all,
But he seems passionately fond of me,
Which gives me a little Tenderness for him.
Oh! He has found me!
Lo.
My Dear Polidor.
Let me embrace thee—gad—I dote upon thee—
2
Nay—Gad—above all Women but my Wife.
Pol.
Oh dearest Lovely! that's a Sin in thee;
Nature made thee for the Delight of Women—
She has given thee Ten thousand Charms and Graces.
Lo.
Oh Sir! your Servant, Sir; your humble Servant.
D'ye jear your Friend?
Pol.
Come, come, you know 'tis true;
Now thou would'st defraud Nature of her Bounty,
Should'st thou not scatter it among the Ladies;
For whose sweet Sake they were bestowed upon thee.
Lo.
Oh fie upon thee! how thou anger'd me.
Pol.
Rather this Flattery is so pleasing to him,
That were he Lean, 'twoul Fat him in a minute.
See! see! he swells! I will mortifie him.
(Aside.
Nay, Lovely, if I burthen you with Praise,
I can withdraw a little for your Ease.
Gad, y'are not so handsome as you were
Before you Married.
Lo.
Yes, I'm full as well,
As e're I was; nay, better in my Thoughts.
Pol.
Nay, in thy Thoughts I'm sure th'art well enough;
I knew he wou'd not part with Flattery;
But flatter himself, if I refus'd to do it.
(Aside.
Nay—th'art too well—thy domineering Face
Commands the Town, conquers where-e're it comes,
Puts all the Women under Contribution.
Lo.
Well—th'art the obliging'st Fellow in the World;
I love thee in my Soul;—Kiss me, dear Rogue.
Pol.
So, I have brought a Kiss upon my self—
Pox—o' my Folly— Aside
—Ay, with all my Heart.—
Lo. and Po. Kiss.
Lo.
Well, here are two good Faces, though I say it.
Pol.
Wou'd two good Heads belong'd to these good Faces.
Here do I pay a Fine for a Fools Friendship;
One cannot have Impertinence for nothing.
(Aside.
Well Lovely,—How dost like a Married Life?
Thy Wife, I'm certain, is well pleas'd with it.
Lo.
Certain d'e say? Did sh'ever tell thee so?
Pol.
No, no; but I am sure she must like thee.
Lo.
Oh! Is that all? th'ast lifted me to Heaven,
Then let me fall down to the Earth again.
You must know, Polidor, I think my Wife
The Top, and Glory of the Creation;
And to possess her, is the utmost height
Of Happiness, a Creature can attain.
3
Then thou art on the very Tenarif of all Felicity.
Lo.
Oh! Wou'd I were.
I have, whene're I please, my Wive's soft Arms,
And rosie melting Lips; but there's a Part
I seek much more: What Part dost think it is?
Pol.
Oh! Fie upon thee! what a Question's that?
What Part of her! What Part should you seek most?
Lo.
Her Soul! her Soul! I'd be admir'd by her.
Oh, Sir! to be admir'd by a fine Woman,
Surpasses infinitely, infinitely,
All the Delights her Body can bestow.
I'd rather a fine Woman shou'd admire me.
And to Eternity deny her Body,
Than grant me her Body fifty times a Night,
And all that while never admire me once.
Oh Heavens!
What wou'd I give, this Wonder of a Woman,
Did believe me a Wonder of a Man?
That a sweet Odor breath'd out of my Skin,
As it is said there did from Alexander?
—And that—
Pol.
—And that thy Sweat is Ambergrease.
Lo.
'Tis true—and that my Eyes—
Pol.
Are Burning-Glasses,
And fire her Heart whenever she comes near thee.
Lo.
Well, you are merry, Sir, but I am serious;
Thousands I'd give, my Wife thought thus of me,
And thousands more, that I cou'd know she thought it.
Pol.
Ay, there's the Difficulty; I have heard
Of Tubes, that let the Eye into the Moon,
But of no Instrument to find out Thought.
Lo.
Yes, there are Arts of prying into Thoughts;
And I've inverted one to search her Breast.
When I have told it thee, thou'd think me mad:
I wou'd not utter it, but to a Friend.
Oh Polidor! I do entreat thee, conjure thee,
By all thy Love for me, and mine for thee,
Make passionate Addresses to my Wife.
Pol.
Addresses to thy Wife! Let me look on thee.
Lo.
Nay, pause a little e're thou think'st me mad.
This will search all the Secrets of her Soul:
If she yields to thee, she owns what she is.
Pol.
But I will own it too, thou foolish Fellow.
(Aside.
Lo.
If she resists thee (as I'm sure she will)
She'll tell thee on what Principles she does it,
Whether from Honour and Religion,
4
If I've no other Tenure of her Heart,
Then what the Church gave me in Marriage,
She's a Church-Lease, I shall not value her;
But if she says,—Pray, Mr. Polidor,
Don't trouble me, Sir, I am well bestow'd,
In my Esteem, no Man excels my Husband;
I hate to look on any other Man.—
—If she says this, and thou wilt let me know't,
Thou't please me more, than had'st thou both the Indies,
And should'st lay all their Riches at my Feet.
Pol.
Is he a Fool to the Degree he seems?
Or does he think me one, and has a mind
To put a little pleasant Trick upon me?
I care not what he means—He has anger'd me,
I'm bound in Honour, to do all I can
To lay a Pair of Horns, over his Cock's-Comb,
Revenge my self, and make him an Example.
(Aside.
Lovely, I promise thee I'll try thy Wife.
Lo.
Thank thee, dear Polidor, ten thousand times.
Pol.
Prithee where is she now?
Lo.
Yonder, at Prayers;
Re-consecrating, by Devotion,
The Church, which idle wanton Fops profane:
She is the Rosie East, and rising Beauty,
To which the whole Church bows.
Enter several Women as from Prayers.
Oh! Prayers are done.
Pol.
Yes, the fair Female-Army, which pretend
To War on Sin, break up their Holy Camp;
Now they disperse, Sin will break in upon them.
(The Women put on their Masques.)
Lo.
I'm angry with 'em for their Vizarding.
I had as live a Woman pick'd my Pocket,
As steal her Face from me; What mean they by it?
Are they asham'd of having been at Prayers?
Pol.
Some of 'em Masque, no doubt, to be pick'd up,
And by their Vizarding, abjure the Church,
And make Confession of another Faith.
When they have been a while aloft in Heaven,
They wou'd be catch'd, and have an easie Fall,
In Heaven! (said I?) Their Contemplations
Ascend no higher than Commodes and Wiggs;
And a good Height too, as those things are rear'd,
5
Lo.
Oh! Here's my Wife! See! She is no light Piece.
She makes the Garden bend, all the Fops bow to her:
Wou'd she admit Inhabitants, my Bed
Might be a populous Place: now come along;
I'll carry it very coldly, proudly to her.
Do thou observe how it disorders her;
For that's one subtle way to try a Woman.
Ha! My Wife here! a Wife is a dull Business.
(To Mrs. Lovely.
Come Polidore, let's look upon the Beauties;
My Wife's no Beauty, in my Thoughts at least.
I Marry'd her for her Discretion,
And that, I think, is her most taking Piece.
Mrs. Lo.
for my Discretion? I despise the Man
That values me for my Discretion—
(Aside.
Is my Discretion my most taking Piece?
Pray do you know Discretion when you see it?
I am afraid you don't; I am apt to think
Discretion is not your most taking Piece.
Lo.
What do you think is my most taking Piece?
Mrs. Lo.
I cannot tell—I never took you asunder,
I Took you altogether in a Lump.
Lo.
How? in a Lump? that is a clownish Word:
Am I a thing to deserve such a Phrase?
She'll have me put into a Wheel-barrow.
What mean you by a Lump, good Madam Lovely?
A Lamp is a rude thing without a Form,
Or many things heap'd without any Order.
Am I such a disorderly rude Pile?
In my Opinion,, I am put together
Almost as well as your fair self, Good Madam:
A Lump, Good Madam! Why am I Lump?
Mrs. Lo.
Oh! How this scurvy Lump sticks in your Stomach.
Lo.
The Compliment is not divertising.
Sh'as anger'd me by this affronting Word;
(Aside to Polidor.
But I believe she does not speak her Thoughts.
This is Revenge for my Contempt of her;
A sign she sets some Price on my Esteem:
Now I reflect, her Anger pleases me.
Now I will make a desperate Assault:
For, Polidor, I'll play thee at her now.
I'll tell her thou art in Love with her.
Pol.
Do—do—
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Well Madam, do not grieve for want of Love,
Here is a handsome Gentleman that admires you.
Mrs. Lo.
Does he indeed? I'm very glad to hear it;
For I am sure I am his great Admirer,
And have been so from the first time I saw him.
Cou'd I believe it, Sir, 'twou'd make me vain;
(Aside.
But you speak not your Thoughts, for if you do,
How chance we do not see you oftner, Sir?
Pol.
I do not care to act the Devil's Part,
To live in Flames, and see another Happy
In a fair Bosom, where (upon my word)
I'd rather be, then in old Abraham's.
Mrs. Lo.
Oh! Mr. Lovely, this is to please you;
To praise your Conduct in your Marriage.
All Men desire to be thought Wise and Happy,
And therefore you must thank your Frind for this:
And if he raises me in your Esteem,
I'll thank him too.
Lo.
Gad, this is kindly said.
Th'art a fine Woman, and I love thee dearly.
What I said lately came not from my Heart:
'Twas only Raillery.
Mrs. Lo.
I guess'd as much.
Pol.
What! Then our Plot is ended.
(Aside to Lovely.
Lo.
No—Not yet.—
(Aside to Pol.
Pol.
Yes, but it is, for now I call to Mind,
(Aside to Lo.
I am in Love with a young pious Beauty,
I wou'd not loose for ten such Wives as yours:
And shou'd she heart I am so False and Lewd,
As to attempt Debauching my Friend's Wife,
She'd shun and dread me, as I were the Devil.
Lo.
She shall not hear of it; but if she does,
She loves thee so, she will believe no Ill of thee.
Pol.
Some tell me so; but I cannot believe it—
Lo.
Well—Where's your Woman?
Mrs. Lo.
Why? Is she not with me?
Enter Thornback with Lionel.
Lo.
Look! She's pick'd up by ugly old Tom Thornback.
They tell me Women love that odious Fellow.
Pol.
Who tells you so?
Lo.
He tells me so himself.
Pol.
Ay, so I thought; no body else will say it.
Lo.
I have seen many Women fond of him.
7
Ay, Wenches, to Cully him out of is Money;
Or Civil Women out of Raillery
To laugh at him; and he has Self-conceit
Enough, to think the Women are in earnest.
Mrs. Lo.
Doe he in earnest then make Love to Women?
Pol.
In sober earnest.
Mr. Lo.
Oh! Ridiculous!
What! and believe they can love such a Monster?
Pol.
Ay, and in earnest think they dote upon him.
Mrs. Lo.
Impossible! he has some stock of Wit.
Pol.
There's no pure Wit, as there is no pure Element:
And Men of Wit will believe things incredible;
Witness the strange Religions in the World,
Receiv'd by Men of no small Wit and Learning.
And as some great Philosophers believe,
The Air is full of Spirits and Hobgoblins;
So many an ugly Wit, like him, believes
As strange a thing, that he is no Hobgoblin.
Mrs. Lo.
If I did think he was so great a Fool,
I'd carry on the Jest, for he Courts me.
Pol.
Madam, you can't profess more Love to him,
Than he'l believe you have.
Mrs. Lo.
Then we'll ha' Sport.
Lio.
Enough dear Squire! Pray let me go at present,
Th.
And thou canst love a Fellow something Elderly,
As I am?
Lio.
Pshaw, I can't abide young Men.
Th.
Gad th'art a witty Wench, and hast great Judgment.
I love thee as dearly as thou canst love me.
I don't fool Women.
Lio.
No, no, they fool you;—
And that I hope to do, for all your Craft.
(Aside.
Th.
I'm forc'd to fool thy Lady, I confess,
That I may have Pretence to come at thee:
I'm sorry for't—She appears kind to me;
And Gad I can't abide to fool a Lady.
Lo.
Why how now Tom? Stealing my Houshold-stuff?
Mrs. Lo.
Oh Mr. Thorneback! Are you False to me?
I though you had been my passionate Platonique.
Th.
Pox on't! What makes her talk before her Husband?
(Aside.
Oh Madam! Your Platonique! you may swear it.
Lo.
How now Tom! Court my Maid and Wife too?
Sure you begin too late for so much Business.
Your Clock, I think, has struck some Five and fifty.
You'r going down apace. Wo't Marry him, Lionell,
If he'll ha' thee? For what wo't do with him?
8
Sir, I'll endeavour to wind up his Clock.
Th.
A sawcy affronting Puppy! I'll be quit with him.
(Aside.
Faith, Sir, I am at th'Age, I must confess,
When Nature compels most Men to give over
Practising Love; she pickes 'em o're that Bar.
And truly I give over publick Practice:
I only draw Conveyances in private;
But not of Lands to Heirs, of Heirs to Lands.
I can conveigh a Bastard to a Cuckold;
If his Wife joyns for it, he must have her Thirds.
Lo.
Cuckold! you don't give me that scurvy Name?
Th.
Why Sir? you tell me I am Five and fifty;
That's old enough to be your God-father,
And give you a Name.
Lo.
This is a keen tongu'd Fellow.
(Aside.
Come Tom, I take it, you'r a better Bowler,
And a Back-gammon-Player, than a Lover:
Give over Tom, playing at Games of Love.
Th.
No, never Sir, whilst I have any Stakes.
Pol.
Now Tom, I see why you frequent the Church.
I wonder'd to see you so very Godly.
Th.
Why you and I, and most Men, go to Church,
As the Dogs do, after our Mistresses.
Lo.
And like a Cur,
Thou never get'st a Bone till it is pick'd.
Th.
Faith, Sir, I get as much good Flesh as you do.
For I have one very convenient Vertue,
Which prevails every where: I've Impudence.
You are a Girlish Fellow; you expect
Women shou'd court you; you think your Attractions
Can, like a Whirlpool, such the Women to you.
E-Gad, the Women are not to be suck'd;
So the tall Boy does only such his Thumbs.
Lo.
'Tis a sharp Rascal, I will give him over.
(Aside.
Oh Polidor! Here comes your pious Beauty.
Enter Camilla.
Mrs. Lo.
Sweet Creature! Where hast been these seven years?
For every Hour that parts us seems a Year.
(Mrs. Lovely Embraces Camilla.)
Cam.
I've not been well.
Mrs. Lo.
How chance then I was well?
I had been Sick, had I known you were so.
Where is my Sister Sistly?
Lio.
In the Church, Madam.
Mrs. Lo.
At Church! What does she there? the Prayers are done.
9
But all the Blessing is not over, Madam;
While any of the fine young Sparks are there.
Mrs. Lo.
You think 'em Blessings then?—Come, hold your Prating.
Lo.
Look! Look! She's got with a young Gallant there.
Who is it?
Enter Sir John Shittlecock and Cecilia.
Th.
'Tis one Sir John Shittlecock:
A giddy, silly, amorous young Fop;
In Love with every new Face he sees.
Pol.
These empty Fops are Covent-Garden Fruit;
And grow to this Church-wall.
Lo.
Ay, but they often fall in Ladies Laps.
Pol.
I'd have 'em brought in Baskets into Church
By the Fruit-Bawds, as Fruit is in the Park.
Sir Joh.
And Madam, did you read my Billet-doux?
Ce.
Ay, ay, I read it when I kneel'd to Prayers.
I am a wicked Creature; fie upon me!
Sir Joh.
My Dear! Dear Soul!
Ce.
Don't speak to me in publick,
Pray now; for it I'm seen, I am undone.
Sir Joh.
And my Dear, won't you be undone for me?
I'll be undone for you with all my Soul;
And I shou'd be undone, if I shou'd Marry
Without my Friends Consent.
Ce,
And so shou'd I.
Sir Joh.
And won't you be undone?
Ce.
May be I will.
Sir Joh.
Gad, we will be the Envy of the World.
Ce.
Go, go, begone, begone; my Sister sees me.
Sir Joh.
Have you a Sister, Madam? Which is she?
Ce.
That's she, that looks this way.
Sir Joh.
A swinging Beauty!
Gad, handsomer than this a thousand times—
(Aside.
Pox, I shall never mind my Mistress more.
Ce.
Oh dear! my Brother comes, I shall be chid.
Lo.
Sir, you Converse with a young Lady here.
Sir Joh.
She is your Sister, Sir, I understand.
Lo.
Yes: May I crave your Name, and Business with her, Sir?
Sir Joh.
Yes Sir; my Name is Sir John Shittlecock.
My Family is a great Family:
Many great Persons, Sir, are Shittlecocks;
And my Affair is honourable Love.
Sir, y'are a very handsome Family;
I shall be very glad to Marry in it.
10
I shou'd be very proud of this fair Lady.
Lo.
I beg your Pardon, Sir, she is my Wife.
Sir Joh.
I cry you Mercy Sir; your humble Servant.
Oh! here's the finest Creature in the World;
(Turns to Camilla.
And one i've seen at Prayers a thousand times;
And that's enough Acquaintance, I will speak to her.
Madam, I am your very humble Servant.
(To Camilla.
Pol.
Have you any Business with this Lady, Sir?
Sir Joh.
Why Sir?
Pol.
Because I make Pretences here.
Sir Joh.
I ha' no Luck—Well Sir, your humble Servant:
You are before me, and I'll do no VVrong.
Oh Gad! here is a pretty Waiting-woman;
Prettier than all of 'em a thousand times.
Dear Soul!
(To Lio.
Th.
Ben't so Familiar, Shittlecock,
For I pretend to have some Interest here.
Sir Joh.
What a Pox! All these VVomen are bespoke.
Why don't they set their Marks upon their VVomen,
That one may know 'em?
Lo.
Come, shall we go Home?
Your Servant, Gentlemen.
Sir Joh.
Your humble Servant, Sir.
Oh Gad! VVhat pretty Ladies are all these?
I am mad for 'em all—Let's to a Tavern
And drink their Healths, and talk of 'em, dear Tom.
Th.
Well, I'll endure thy Follies there a Minute—
(Ex. Th. Sh.
Lo.
Madam, shall we enjoy your Company?
(To Cam.
Cam.
I beg your Pardon Sir, I am engag'd.
Your Servant, Madam—
(To Mrs. Lo.
Mrs. Lo.
Oh! your Servant, Dear.
Lo.
Come Polidor.
Pol.
I'll wait on you immediate—
(Ex. Lo. Mrs. Lo. Ce. Lio.
I'll only speak one Word with this fair Lady.
Madam, may I have Leave to wait on you?
Cam.
Oh! by no means Sir, I've a Servant here.
Pol.
None so ambitious to attend you, Madam,
As I am.
Cam.
Pray Sir, spare your self the Trouble.
Pol.
A Trouble to enjoy the Conversation
Of one so beautiful in Soul and Body.
They two, and only they, deserve each other.
I pretend not to merit so much Happiness,
As now I beg, if Love has no Desert.
11
Love Sir! That VVord you Gallants use so much
With every Lady, that methinks 'tis bare.
I am betray'd!—He has been told I Love,
(Aside.
Therefore he talks of Love; and if I stay,
I shall betray my self: I blush and tremble.—
Well, Sir, your Servant.—
Pol.
Pray permit me, Madam.
Cam.
Oh! by no means; I'm very near my Lodging.
Pol.
No, Madam, y'are from thence millions of Miles;
For your Religious Heart is lodg'd in Heaven:
You are the only Covent-Garden Saint;
The only fair young Lady comes to Prayers,
Or the rest come for Lovers, or for Husbands.
Com.
Ay, so it may be all you Gallants fancy:
You think y'ave more Attractions than you have,
And we less Vertue and Piety than, I hope,
You find we have, when we come to the Tryal.
Pol.
All the VVorld finds you are too much a Saint.
You are so far from granting your whole self,
You grudge th'unhappy VVorld a Sight of you.
You seldom go abroad, except to Prayers,
And there you let your Hood fall o're your Face,
And hide, those Beauties, for which thousands dye.
I've watch'd to chear my Eyes with seeing you,
VVith all th'impatience of a Feaverish VVretch,
After a tedious Night to see the Morn,
And seldom gain'd so small a Charity.
Converse with Angels when you are in Heaven;
But while you are on Earth, let Mortals hope.
Cam.
Hope for me, Sir! I'm plac'd below your Hope.
My Fortune's small.
Pol.
I'm very sorry for't—
Since thou hast such a plaguy Stock of Vertue—
(Aside.
Cam.
I know you are too wise to hope for me;
This Compliment, is only Charity
To one you think a poor Disconsolate,
And hopeless Maid: Indeed, I am not, Sir.
Pal.
No, Madam, no; you may have what you please.
Cam.
I have it, Sir; I have all I desire.
Howe're, I thank you for your good Intention;
And so your Servant, Sir.
Pol.
A charming Creature.
I cannot part with her— Aside
—Nay Madam, stay.
Cam.
Pray do not hold me thus in publick, Sir.
Pol.
VVe will retire then to some Privacy.
Cam.
I never talk with any Man in private.
12
VVhat! neither talk in publick nor in private?
Cam.
Not with your Sex, unless they have Business with me.
Pol.
Oh Madam! I have vast Affairs with you.
Cam.
You have dispatc'd 'em all; y'ave done with me.
Pol.
No, I have much to say.
Cam.
VVhat wou'd you say?
Pol.
VVhy Madam—Gad I don't know what to say:
(Aside.
I'm loath to noose my self in Marriage.
I have not time to tell you half my Thought.
Cam.
Nay, then Sir, you must keep 'em to your self;
For I can stay no longer.
Pol.
Must you go?
And I be left in Sorrow here behind;
Pray, Madam, take me with your Mind;
Since I must go with you no other way:
Grant so much Pity.—
(Ex.
Cam.
VVell, perhaps I may.—
(Ex.
| The Married Beau : or, The Curious Impertinent | |