 | Faustus |  |
SCENE II.
Before the Inn, as in Act I.Enter Grognoso, the Innkeeper, and Brevillo, his Servant.
Bre.
Oh, Master—Master Grognoso, listen to me!
Grog.
Well, Brevillo, what have you to say?
Bre.
I want to be married.
Grog.
To whom?
Bre.
To your daughter Lucetta.
Grog.
You are free and easy.
Bre.
No; I'm free, but not easy—I should be
much easier, were I no longer free; therefore, I wish
to marry, and set up for myself.
Grog.
Set up for yourself, then—who hinders you?
But how dare you set up for my daughter?—you,
who have spread my napkins, opened my bottles, and
cheated my customers for these ten years—how dare
you think of my daughter as a wife?
Bre.
And why not? What have you been but a
napkin-spreader and a bottle-opener yourself? and as
to cheating customers, under whom have I learnt,
pray?—Will you give me your daughter?
Grog.
No; she loves another, and I won't. I'm
for the freedom of the affections. I'm a soft-hearted
father, though I don't look so—I was once a victim
myself to the tender passion.
Bre.
Were you? you're what you look like now,
however.
Grog.
What's that?
Bre.
The butcher of it. I'm going—
Enter Lucetta.
Luc.
Where are you going, Brevillo?
Bre.
To death.
A pleasant journey to you.
Grog.
And write when you get there, will you?
Bre.
Wicked wretches!
Grog.
But, in the mean time, hadn't you better go
and see what letters are for the house at the post-office?
Bre.
Your heart's harder than an anvil.
Enter Wagner.
Wag.
Father-in-law and Mrs. Wagner elect, I'm
happy to see you. Lucetta, give me a kiss.
Luc.
May I, father?
Grog.
Why he looks as if he may be trusted, and
you look as if you'd like to open an account with him.
Wag.
(Kisses her.)
“Dulce est desipere in loco”
—“'Tis pleasant to kiss where 'tis proper”—but I
must away to Milan.
Luc.
To Milan! what's the matter now?
Wag.
Why there's been the devil to pay in Venice.
Grog.
Then your old master, Faustus, has been
called to account, I'll warrant.
Wag.
He has, pretty lustily; and is likely to be
made pay in full: the Countess Rosolia has been
spirited away to Milan, and there made the victim of
his devilish spells; she's frantic with shame and rage;
he's thrown into a dungeon, and all her friends are
away thither, to urge the king to the utmost severity
against him.
Luc.
And what's become of the poor Lady Adine?
Wag.
Nobody knows. The moment she heard of
Faustus' crimes and danger, she shrieked and fell
senseless; when she recovered, it was but too plain
her brain was bewildered, and in this state she escaped,
and fled, no one knows whither.
Grog.
Poor soul!
Luc.
But why need you go after Faustus to Milan,
Wagner?
Wag.
I've still a sneaking love for him, for old
extremity.
Grog.
Good!
(Shaking Wagner by the hand.)
Never forsake an old friend, though he be the devil
himself.
Luc.
But how if they should put you in prison for
a conjuror?
Wag.
Look in my face! the inquisitors themselves,
at one glance, would exclaim “Ingenui vultûs puer,”
and swear I was no conjuror.
Re-enter Brevillo.
Bre.
Here are your letters.
Wag.
Who is this little youth?
Grog.
My servant, by name Brevillo.
Wag.
Brief in stature and intellect—he is well nominated.
Grog.
And, moreover, aspires to become my son-in-law.
Wag.
(To Brevillo.)
Why thou imp of a pottle
pot! how darest thou look up to thy master's daughter?
hast any pretensions—eh?
Bre.
Plenty: my own consent, something snug in
my pocket, and a sharp wit to make it more.
Wag.
Hast studied?
Bre.
Yes.
Wag.
What?
Bre.
How to give short measures, and make long
bills.
Wag.
Incipe, didst ask Lucetta's consent?
Luc.
He did; and I said no.
Wag.
And her father's?
Grog.
He did, and I said no.
Wag.
Conclusive—live in peace and die a bachelor.
Bre.
Why perhaps that's the surest way to live in
peace.
Grognoso, Brevillo, Wagner, and Lucetta.
Bre.
A bachelor he may show his cares
A fair pair of heels; but a wife
Is a kind of a clog, or a teazing bur
That sticks to your skirts thro' life.
Wag.
He remembers the fable, the fox and the grapes,
And wisely his course by necessity shapes.
Omnes.
He remembers, &c.
Luc.
In marriage 'tis love smooths the furrows of care;
'Tis love makes it pleasure its burthens to share;
'Tis love gives us courage life's battles to fight,
And sheds o'er its darkest of sorrows a light.
Wag.
A little love,
Grog.
A little wine,
Bre.
A little ready money,
Grog.
Make marriage life a lot divine,
A land of milk and honey.
Omnes.
A little love, a little wine,
A little ready money,
Make marriage life a lot divine,
A land of milk and honey.
[Exeunt into the Inn.
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