 | The Honey Moon |  |
SCENE.
—The Cottage.
Enter the Duke, bringing in Juliana.
Duke.
Nay, no resistance!—for a month, at least,
I am your husband.
Juliana.
True!—and what's a husband?
Duke.
Why, as some wives would metamorphose him,
A very miserable ass indeed!—
A sweating slave to dig the precious ore
Which their high-feeding vanities make current;
A fence to stand betwixt them and dishonour,
Which if their bounding wantonness o'erleaps—
A thing more loathsome and detestable!—
Mere fuller's earth to bleach their spotted credit,
And blotting paper to drink up their stains!
Juliana.
True, there are many such.
Duke.
And there are men
Whom not a swelling lip, or wrinkled brow,
Or the loud rattle of a woman's tongue—
Or, what's more hard to parry, the warm pressure
Of lips, that from the inmost heart of man
Pluck out his stern'st resolves—can move one jot
From the determin'd purpose of his soul,
Or stir an inch from his prerogative.—
E'er it be long, you'll dream of such a man.
Juliana.
Where, waking, shall I see him?
Duke.
Look on me!
Come to your chamber!
Juliana.
I won't be confin'd!
Duke.
Won't!—Say you so?
Juliana.
Well, then, I do request
You won't confine me!
Duke.
You'll leave me?
Juliana.
No, indeed!
As there is truth in language, on my soul
I will not leave you!
Duke.
You've deceiv'd me once—
Juliana.
And therefore do not merit to be trusted.
I do confess it:—but, by all that's sacred,
Give me my liberty, and I will be
A patient, drudging, most obedient wife!
Duke.
Yes; but a grumbling one?
Juliana.
No; on my honour,
I will do all you ask, ere you have said it.
Duke.
And with no secret murmur of your spirit?
Juliana.
With none, believe me!
Duke.
Have a care!
For if I catch ye on the wing again,
I'll clip ye closer than a garden hawk,
And put ye in a cage where daylight comes not;
Where you may fret your pride against the bars
Until your heart break. See who's at the door!
(Knocking at the door. She opens the door.)
(Enter Lopez.)
My neighbour Lopez!—Welcome, sir!—My wife—
(introducing her.)
A chair! (To Juliana.)
Your pardon—you'll excuse her, sir—
A little awkward, but exceeding willing.
(She brings in a chair.)
One for your husband!—Pray be seated, neighbour!—
Now, you may serve yorself.
Juliana.
I thank you, sir,
I'd rather stand.
Duke.
I'd rather you should it.
Juliana.
If you will have it so—Would I were dead!— (Aside. She brings a chair, and sits down.)
Duke.
Tho', now I think again, 'tis fit you stand,
That you may be more free to serve our guest.
Juliana.
Even as you command! (Rises.)
Duke.
You will eat something? (To Lopez.)
Lopez.
Not a morsel, thank ye.
Duke.
Lopez.
Duke.
Juliana.
[Exit.
Duke.
Lopez.
Enter Juliana, with a horn of liquor.
Duke.
(Taking it.)
What have we here?
Juliana.
'Tis wine—You call'd for wine!
Duke.
And did I bid you bring it in a nutshell?
Lopez.
Nay, there is plenty!
Duke.
I can't suffer it.
You must excuse me.— (To Lopez.)
When friends drink with us,
'Tis usual, love, to bring it in a jug,
Or else they may suspect we grudge our liquor.
You understand! A jug!
Juliana.
I shall remember.
[Exit.
Lopez.
I am asham'd to give you so much trouble!
Duke.
No trouble; she must learn her duty, sir:
I'm only sorry you should be kept waiting.—
But you were speaking—
Lopez.
Enter Juliana.
Duke.
Juliana.
Wine, sir!
Duke.
This wine?—Tis foul as ditch-water!—
Did you shake the cask?
Juliana.
What shall I say? (Aside.)
Yes, sir.
Duke.
You did?
Juliana.
I did.
Duke.
I thought so.
Why, do you think, my love, that wine is physic,
That must be shook before 'tis swallow'd?—
Come, try again!
Juliana.
I'll go no more!
Duke.
You won't?
Juliana.
I won't!
Duke.
You won't! (Shewing the key.)
You had forgot yourself, my love!
Juliana.
Well, I obey!
[Exit.
Duke.
Was ever man so plagued!
You have a wife, no doubt, of more experience,
Who would not by her awkwardness disgrace
Herself or husband thus? This 'tis to marry
An inexperienc'd girl!
(Enter Juliana.)
Ay, this looks well!
Juliana.
The heavens be prais'd!
Duke.
Come, sir, your judgment?
Lopez.
Duke.
Lopez.
Duke.
Good even, neighbour. (Exit Lopez.)
Go and make you ready.
Juliana.
I take no pleasure in these rural sports.
Duke.
Then you shall go to please your husband.—Hold!
I'll have no glittering gewgaws stuck about you,
To stretch the gaping eyes of ideot wonder,
And make men stare upon a piece of earth
As on the star-wrought firmament—no feathers
To wave as streamers to your vanity—
Nor cumbrous silk, that, with its rustling sound,
Makes proud the flesh that bears it. She's adorn'd
Amply, that in her husband's eye looks lovely—
The truest mirror that an honest wife
Can see her beauty in!
Juliana.
I shall observe, sir.
Duke.
I should like well to see you in the dress
I last presented you.
Juliana.
The blue one, sir?—
Duke.
No, love, the white.—Thus modestly attir'd,
An half-blown rose stuck in thy braided hair,
With no more diamonds than those eyes are made of,
No deeper rubies than compose thy lips,
Nor pearls more precious than inhabit them;
With the pure red and white, which that same hand
That blends the rainbow mingles in thy cheeks,
This well-proportion'd form (think not I flatter)
In graceful motion to harmonious sounds,
And thy free tresses dancing in the wind;—
Thou'lt fix as much observance, as chaste dames
Can meet, without a blush.
[Exit Juliana.
Duke solus.
I'll trust her with these bumpkins. There no coxcomb
Shall buz his fulsome praises in her ear,
And swear she has in all things, save myself,
A most especial taste. No meddling gossip
(Who, having claw'd or cuddled into bondage
The thing misnam'd a husband, privately
Instructs less daring spirits to revolt)
Shall, from the fund of her experience, teach her
When lordly man can best be made a fool of;
And how, and when, and where, with most success,
Domestic treaties, on the woman's side,
Are made and ratified.—
Ye that would have obedient wives, beware
Of meddling woman's kind officious care.
[Exit.
—The Cottage.
Enter the Duke, bringing in Juliana.
Duke.
Nay, no resistance!—for a month, at least,
I am your husband.
Juliana.
True!—and what's a husband?
Duke.
Why, as some wives would metamorphose him,
A very miserable ass indeed!—
A sweating slave to dig the precious ore
Which their high-feeding vanities make current;
A fence to stand betwixt them and dishonour,
Which if their bounding wantonness o'erleaps—
A thing more loathsome and detestable!—
Mere fuller's earth to bleach their spotted credit,
And blotting paper to drink up their stains!
Juliana.
True, there are many such.
Duke.
And there are men
Whom not a swelling lip, or wrinkled brow,
Or the loud rattle of a woman's tongue—
Or, what's more hard to parry, the warm pressure
Of lips, that from the inmost heart of man
Pluck out his stern'st resolves—can move one jot
From the determin'd purpose of his soul,
Or stir an inch from his prerogative.—
E'er it be long, you'll dream of such a man.
Juliana.
Where, waking, shall I see him?
Duke.
Look on me!
Come to your chamber!
Juliana.
I won't be confin'd!
Duke.
Won't!—Say you so?
52
Well, then, I do request
You won't confine me!
Duke.
You'll leave me?
Juliana.
No, indeed!
As there is truth in language, on my soul
I will not leave you!
Duke.
You've deceiv'd me once—
Juliana.
And therefore do not merit to be trusted.
I do confess it:—but, by all that's sacred,
Give me my liberty, and I will be
A patient, drudging, most obedient wife!
Duke.
Yes; but a grumbling one?
Juliana.
No; on my honour,
I will do all you ask, ere you have said it.
Duke.
And with no secret murmur of your spirit?
Juliana.
With none, believe me!
Duke.
Have a care!
For if I catch ye on the wing again,
I'll clip ye closer than a garden hawk,
And put ye in a cage where daylight comes not;
Where you may fret your pride against the bars
Until your heart break. See who's at the door!
(Knocking at the door. She opens the door.)
(Enter Lopez.)
My neighbour Lopez!—Welcome, sir!—My wife—
(introducing her.)
A chair! (To Juliana.)
Your pardon—you'll excuse her, sir—
A little awkward, but exceeding willing.
(She brings in a chair.)
One for your husband!—Pray be seated, neighbour!—
Now, you may serve yorself.
Juliana.
I thank you, sir,
I'd rather stand.
53
I'd rather you should it.
Juliana.
If you will have it so—Would I were dead!— (Aside. She brings a chair, and sits down.)
Duke.
Tho', now I think again, 'tis fit you stand,
That you may be more free to serve our guest.
Juliana.
Even as you command! (Rises.)
Duke.
You will eat something? (To Lopez.)
Lopez.
Not a morsel, thank ye.
Duke.
Then, you will drink?—a glass of wine, at
least?
Lopez.
Well, I am warm with walking, and care
not if I do taste your liquor.
Duke.
You have some wine, wife?
Juliana.
I must e'en submit!
[Exit.
Duke.
This visit, sir, is kind and neighbourly.
Lopez.
I came to ask a favour of you. We have
to-day a sort of merry-making on the green hard
by—'twere too much to call it a dance—and as you
are a stranger here—
Enter Juliana, with a horn of liquor.
Duke.
(Taking it.)
What have we here?
Juliana.
'Tis wine—You call'd for wine!
Duke.
And did I bid you bring it in a nutshell?
Lopez.
Nay, there is plenty!
Duke.
I can't suffer it.
You must excuse me.— (To Lopez.)
When friends drink with us,
'Tis usual, love, to bring it in a jug,
Or else they may suspect we grudge our liquor.
You understand! A jug!
Juliana.
I shall remember.
[Exit.
Lopez.
I am asham'd to give you so much trouble!
Duke.
No trouble; she must learn her duty, sir:
I'm only sorry you should be kept waiting.—
But you were speaking—
54
As I was saying, it being the conclusion of
our vintage, we have assembled the lads and lasses of
the village—
Enter Juliana.
Duke.
Now we shall do!
(Pours out.)
Why, what
the devil's this?
Juliana.
Wine, sir!
Duke.
This wine?—Tis foul as ditch-water!—
Did you shake the cask?
Juliana.
What shall I say? (Aside.)
Yes, sir.
Duke.
You did?
Juliana.
I did.
Duke.
I thought so.
Why, do you think, my love, that wine is physic,
That must be shook before 'tis swallow'd?—
Come, try again!
Juliana.
I'll go no more!
Duke.
You won't?
Juliana.
I won't!
Duke.
You won't! (Shewing the key.)
You had forgot yourself, my love!
Juliana.
Well, I obey!
[Exit.
Duke.
Was ever man so plagued!
You have a wife, no doubt, of more experience,
Who would not by her awkwardness disgrace
Herself or husband thus? This 'tis to marry
An inexperienc'd girl!
(Enter Juliana.)
Ay, this looks well!
Juliana.
The heavens be prais'd!
Duke.
Come, sir, your judgment?
Lopez.
'Tis excellent!—But, as I was saying, to-day
we have some country pastimes on the green.—
Will it please you both to join our simple recreations?
Duke.
We will attend you. Come, renew your
draught, sir!
55
We shall expect you presently:—till then,
good even, sir.
Duke.
Good even, neighbour. (Exit Lopez.)
Go and make you ready.
Juliana.
I take no pleasure in these rural sports.
Duke.
Then you shall go to please your husband.—Hold!
I'll have no glittering gewgaws stuck about you,
To stretch the gaping eyes of ideot wonder,
And make men stare upon a piece of earth
As on the star-wrought firmament—no feathers
To wave as streamers to your vanity—
Nor cumbrous silk, that, with its rustling sound,
Makes proud the flesh that bears it. She's adorn'd
Amply, that in her husband's eye looks lovely—
The truest mirror that an honest wife
Can see her beauty in!
Juliana.
I shall observe, sir.
Duke.
I should like well to see you in the dress
I last presented you.
Juliana.
The blue one, sir?—
Duke.
No, love, the white.—Thus modestly attir'd,
An half-blown rose stuck in thy braided hair,
With no more diamonds than those eyes are made of,
No deeper rubies than compose thy lips,
Nor pearls more precious than inhabit them;
With the pure red and white, which that same hand
That blends the rainbow mingles in thy cheeks,
This well-proportion'd form (think not I flatter)
In graceful motion to harmonious sounds,
And thy free tresses dancing in the wind;—
Thou'lt fix as much observance, as chaste dames
Can meet, without a blush.
[Exit Juliana.
Duke solus.
I'll trust her with these bumpkins. There no coxcomb
56
And swear she has in all things, save myself,
A most especial taste. No meddling gossip
(Who, having claw'd or cuddled into bondage
The thing misnam'd a husband, privately
Instructs less daring spirits to revolt)
Shall, from the fund of her experience, teach her
When lordly man can best be made a fool of;
And how, and when, and where, with most success,
Domestic treaties, on the woman's side,
Are made and ratified.—
Ye that would have obedient wives, beware
Of meddling woman's kind officious care.
[Exit.
| The Honey Moon | |