The Double Dealer

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SCENE VII.

CARELESS, SIR PAUL, LADY PLYANT, BOY with a letter.

LADY PLYANT. How often have you been told of that, you jackanapes?

SIR PAUL. Gad so, gad's-bud. Tim, carry it to my lady, you should
have carried it to my lady first.

BOY. 'Tis directed to your worship.

SIR PAUL. Well, well, my lady reads all letters first. Child, do
so no more; d'ye hear, Tim.

BOY. No, and please you.

SCENE VIII.

CARELESS, SIR PAUL, LADY PLYANT.

SIR PAUL. A humour of my wife's: you know women have little
fancies. But as I was telling you, Mr. Careless, if it were not for
one thing, I should think myself the happiest man in the world;
indeed that touches me near, very near.

CARE. What can that be, Sir Paul?

SIR PAUL. Why, I have, I thank heaven, a very plentiful fortune, a
good estate in the country, some houses in town, and some money, a
pretty tolerable personal estate; and it is a great grief to me,
indeed it is, Mr. Careless, that I have not a son to inherit this.
'Tis true I have a daughter, and a fine dutiful child she is, though
I say it, blessed be providence I may say; for indeed, Mr. Careless,
I am mightily beholden to providence. A poor unworthy sinner. But
if I had a son! Ah, that's my affliction, and my only affliction;
indeed I cannot refrain tears when it comes in my mind. [Cries.]

CARE. Why, methinks that might be easily remedied--my lady's a fine
likely woman -

SIR PAUL. Oh, a fine likely woman as you shall see in a summer's
day. Indeed she is, Mr. Careless, in all respects.

CARE. And I should not have taken you to have been so old -

SIR PAUL. Alas, that's not it, Mr. Careless; ah! that's not it; no,
no, you shoot wide of the mark a mile; indeed you do, that's not it,
Mr. Careless; no, no, that's not it.

CARE. No? What can be the matter then?

SIR PAUL. You'll scarcely believe me when I shall tell you--my lady
is so nice. It's very strange, but it's true; too true--she's so
very nice, that I don't believe she would touch a man for the world.
At least not above once a year; I'm sure I have found it so; and,
alas, what's once a year to an old man, who would do good in his
generation? Indeed it's true, Mr. Careless, it breaks my heart. I
am her husband, as I may say; though far unworthy of that honour,
yet I am her husband; but alas-a-day, I have no more familiarity
with her person--as to that matter--than with my own mother--no
indeed.

CARE. Alas-a-day, this is a lamentable story. My lady must be told
on't. She must i'faith, Sir Paul; 'tis an injury to the world.

SIR PAUL. Ah! would to heaven you would, Mr. Careless; you are
mightily in her favour.

CARE. I warrant you, what! we must have a son some way or other.

SIR PAUL. Indeed I should be mightily bound to you if you could
bring it about, Mr. Careless.

LADY PLYANT. Here, Sir Paul, it's from your steward. Here's a
return of 600 pounds; you may take fifty of it for the next half
year. [Gives him the letter.]

SCENE IX.

[To them] LORD FROTH, CYNTHIA.

SIR PAUL. How does my girl? Come hither to thy father, poor lamb:
thou'rt melancholic.

LORD FROTH. Heaven, Sir Paul, you amaze me, of all things in the
world. You are never pleased but when we are all upon the broad
grin: all laugh and no company; ah, then 'tis such a sight to see
some teeth. Sure you're a great admirer of my Lady Whifler, Mr.
Sneer, and Sir Laurence Loud, and that gang.

SIR PAUL. I vow and swear she's a very merry woman; but I think she
laughs a little too much.

LORD FROTH. Merry! O Lord, what a character that is of a woman of
quality. You have been at my Lady Whifler's upon her day, madam?

CYNT. Yes, my lord. I must humour this fool. [Aside.]

LORD FROTH. Well, and how? hee! What is your sense of the
conversation?

CYNT. Oh, most ridiculous, a perpetual comfort of laughing without
any harmony; for sure, my lord, to laugh out of time, is as
disagreeable as to sing out of time or out of tune.

LORD FROTH. Hee, hee, hee, right; and then, my Lady Whifler is so
ready--she always comes in three bars too soon. And then, what do
they laugh at? For you know laughing without a jest is as
impertinent, hee! as, as -

CYNT. As dancing without a fiddle.

LORD FROTH. Just i'faith, that was at my tongue's end.

CYNT. But that cannot be properly said of them, for I think they
are all in good nature with the world, and only laugh at one
another; and you must allow they have all jests in their persons,
though they have none in their conversation.

LORD FROTH. True, as I'm a person of honour. For heaven's sake let
us sacrifice 'em to mirth a little. [Enter BOY and whispers SIR
PAUL.]

SIR PAUL. Gads so.--Wife, wife, my Lady Plyant, I have a word.

LADY PLYANT. I'm busy, Sir Paul, I wonder at your impertinence.

CARE. Sir Paul, harkee, I'm reasoning the matter you know. Madam,
if your ladyship please, we'll discourse of this in the next room.

SIR PAUL. O ho, I wish you good success, I wish you good success.
Boy, tell my lady, when she has done, I would speak with her below.

SCENE X.

CYNTHIA, LORD FROTH, LADY FROTH, BRISK.

LADY FROTH. Then you think that episode between Susan, the dairy-
maid, and our coachman is not amiss; you know, I may suppose the
dairy in town, as well as in the country.

BRISK. Incomparable, let me perish. But then, being an heroic
poem, had you not better call him a charioteer? Charioteer sounds
great; besides, your ladyship's coachman having a red face, and you
comparing him to the sun--and you know the sun is called Heaven's
charioteer.

LADY FROTH. Oh, infinitely better; I'm extremely beholden to you
for the hint; stay, we'll read over those half a score lines again.
[Pulls out a paper.] Let me see here, you know what goes before,--
the comparison, you know. [Reads.]

For as the sun shines ev'ry day,
So of our coachman I may say.

BRISK. I'm afraid that simile won't do in wet weather; because you
say the sun shines every day.

LADY FROTH. No; for the sun it won't, but it will do for the
coachman, for you know there's most occasion for a coach in wet
weather.

BRISK. Right, right, that saves all.

LADY FROTH. Then I don't say the sun shines all the day, but that
he peeps now and then; yet he does shine all the day too, you know,
though we don't see him.

BRISK. Right, but the vulgar will never comprehend that.

LADY FROTH. Well, you shall hear. Let me see. [Reads.]

For as the sun shines ev'ry day,
So of our coachman I may say,
He shows his drunken fiery face,
Just as the sun does, more or less.

BRISK. That's right, all's well, all's well. 'More or less.'

LADY FROTH reads:

And when at night his labour's done,
Then too, like Heav'n's charioteer the sun:

Ay, charioteer does better.

Into the dairy he descends,
And there his whipping and his driving ends;
There he's secure from danger of a bilk,
His fare is paid him, and he sets in milk.

For Susan you know, is Thetis, and so -

BRISK. Incomparable well and proper, egad--but I have one exception
to make--don't you think bilk--(I know it's good rhyme)--but don't
you think BILK and FARE too like a hackney coachman?

LADY FROTH. I swear and vow I'm afraid so. And yet our Jehu was a
hackney coachman, when my lord took him.

BRISK. Was he? I'm answered, if Jehu was a hackney coachman. You
may put that in the marginal notes though, to prevent criticism--
only mark it with a small asterism, and say, 'Jehu was formerly a
hackney coachman.'

LADY FROTH. I will. You'd oblige me extremely to write notes to
the whole poem.

BRISK. With all my heart and soul, and proud of the vast honour,
let me perish.

LORD FROTH. Hee, hee, hee, my dear, have you done? won't you join
with us? We were laughing at my Lady Whifler and Mr. Sneer.

LADY FROTH. Ay, my dear, were you? Oh, filthy Mr. Sneer; he's a
nauseous figure, a most fulsamic fop, foh! He spent two days
together in going about Covent Garden to suit the lining of his
coach with his complexion.

LORD FROTH. O silly! yet his aunt is as fond of him as if she had
brought the ape into the world herself.

BRISK. Who, my Lady Toothless? Oh, she's a mortifying spectacle;
she's always chewing the cud like an old ewe.

CYNT. Fie, Mr. Brisk, eringo's for her cough.

LADY FROTH. I have seen her take 'em half chewed out of her mouth,
to laugh, and then put 'em in again. Foh!

LORD FROTH. Foh!

LADY FROTH. Then she's always ready to laugh when Sneer offers to
speak, and sits in expectation of his no jest, with her gums bare,
and her mouth open -

BRISK. Like an oyster at low ebb, egad. Ha, ha, ha!

CYNT. [Aside] Well, I find there are no fools so inconsiderable in
themselves but they can render other people contemptible by exposing
their infirmities.

LADY FROTH. Then that t'other great strapping lady--I can't hit of
her name; the old fat fool that paints so exorbitantly.

BRISK. I know whom you mean--but deuce take me, I can't hit of her
name neither. Paints, d'ye say? Why, she lays it on with a trowel.
Then she has a great beard that bristles through it, and makes her
look as if she were plastered with lime and hair, let me perish.

LADY FROTH. Oh, you made a song upon her, Mr. Brisk.

BRISK. He! egad, so I did. My lord can sing it.

CYNT. O good, my lord, let's hear it.

BRISK. 'Tis not a song neither, it's a sort of an epigram, or
rather an epigrammatic sonnet; I don't know what to call it, but
it's satire. Sing it, my lord.

LORD FROTH sings.

Ancient Phyllis has young graces,
'Tis a strange thing, but a true one;
Shall I tell you how?
She herself makes her own faces,
And each morning wears a new one;
Where's the wonder now?

BRISK. Short, but there's salt in't; my way of writing, egad.

SCENE XI.

[To them] FOOTMAN.

LADY FROTH. How now?

FOOT. Your ladyship's chair is come.

LADY FROTH. Is nurse and the child in it?

FOOT. Yes, madam.

LADY FROTH. O the dear creature! Let's go see it.

LORD FROTH. I swear, my dear, you'll spoil that child, with sending
it to and again so often; this is the seventh time the chair has
gone for her to-day.

LADY FROTH. O law! I swear it's but the sixth--and I haven't seen
her these two hours. The poor creature--I swear, my lord, you don't
love poor little Sapho. Come, my dear Cynthia, Mr. Brisk, we'll go
see Sapho, though my lord won't.

CYNT. I'll wait upon your ladyship.

BRISK. Pray, madam, how old is Lady Sapho?

LADY FROTH. Three-quarters, but I swear she has a world of wit, and
can sing a tune already. My lord, won't you go? Won't you? What!
not to see Saph? Pray, my lord, come see little Saph. I knew you
could not stay.

SCENE XII.

CYNTHIA alone.

CYNT. 'Tis not so hard to counterfeit joy in the depth of
affliction, as to dissemble mirth in company of fools. Why should I
call 'em fools? The world thinks better of 'em; for these have
quality and education, wit and fine conversation, are received and
admired by the world. If not, they like and admire themselves. And
why is not that true wisdom? for 'tis happiness: and for ought I
know, we have misapplied the name all this while, and mistaken the
thing: since

If happiness in self-content is placed,
The wise are wretched, and fools only bless'd.

ACT IV.--SCENE I.

MELLEFONT and CYNTHIA.

CYNT. I heard him loud as I came by the closet-door, and my lady
with him, but she seemed to moderate his passion.

MEL. Ay, hell thank her, as gentle breezes moderate a fire; but I
shall counter-work her spells, and ride the witch in her own bridle.

CYNT. It's impossible; she'll cast beyond you still. I'll lay my
life it will never be a match.

MEL. What?

CYNT. Between you and me.

MEL. Why so?

CYNT. My mind gives me it won't, because we are both willing. We
each of us strive to reach the goal, and hinder one another in the
race. I swear it never does well when the parties are so agreed;
for when people walk hand in hand there's neither overtaking nor
meeting. We hunt in couples, where we both pursue the same game but
forget one another; and 'tis because we are so near that we don't
think of coming together.

MEL. Hum, 'gad I believe there's something in it. Marriage is the
game that we hunt, and while we think that we only have it in view,
I don't see but we have it in our power.

CYNT. Within reach; for example, give me your hand. You have
looked through the wrong end of the perspective all this while, for
nothing has been between us but our fears.

MEL. I don't know why we should not steal out of the house this
very moment and marry one another, without consideration or the fear
of repentance. Pox o' fortune, portion, settlements, and jointures.

CYNT. Ay, ay, what have we to do with 'em? You know we marry for
love.

MEL. Love, love, downright, very villainous love.

CYNT. And he that can't live upon love deserves to die in a ditch.
Here then, I give you my promise, in spite of duty, any temptation
of wealth, your inconstancy, or my own inclination to change -

MEL. To run most wilfully and unreasonably away with me this moment
and be married.

CYNT. Hold. Never to marry anybody else.

MEL. That's but a kind of negative consent. Why, you won't baulk
the frolic?

CYNT. If you had not been so assured of your own conduct I would
not. But 'tis but reasonable that since I consent to like a man
without the vile consideration of money, he should give me a very
evident demonstration of his wit: therefore let me see you
undermine my Lady Touchwood, as you boasted, and force her to give
her consent, and then -

MEL. I'll do't.

CYNT. And I'll do't.

MEL. This very next ensuing hour of eight o'clock is the last
minute of her reign, unless the devil assist her IN PROPRIA PERSONA.

CYNT. Well, if the devil should assist her, and your plot miscarry
-

MEL. Ay, what am I to trust to then?

CYNT. Why, if you give me very clear demonstration that it was the
devil, I'll allow for irresistible odds. But if I find it to be
only chance, or destiny, or unlucky stars, or anything but the very
devil, I'm inexorable: only still I'll keep my word, and live a
maid for your sake.

MEL. And you won't die one, for your own, so still there's hope.

CYNT. Here's my mother-in-law, and your friend Careless; I would
not have 'em see us together yet.

SCENE II.

CARELESS and LADY PLYANT.

LADY PLYANT. I swear, Mr. Careless, you are very alluring, and say
so many fine things, and nothing is so moving to me as a fine thing.
Well, I must do you this justice, and declare in the face of the
world, never anybody gained so far upon me as yourself. With
blushes I must own it, you have shaken, as I may say, the very
foundation of my honour. Well, sure, if I escape your
importunities, I shall value myself as long as I live, I swear.

CARE. And despise me. [Sighing.]

LADY PLYANT. The last of any man in the world, by my purity; now
you make me swear. O gratitude forbid, that I should ever be
wanting in a respectful acknowledgment of an entire resignation of
all my best wishes for the person and parts of so accomplished a
person, whose merit challenges much more, I'm sure, than my
illiterate praises can description.

CARE. [In a whining tone.] Ah heavens, madam, you ruin me with
kindness. Your charming tongue pursues the victory of your eyes,
while at your feet your poor adorer dies.

LADY PLYANT. Ah! Very fine.

CARE. [Still whining.] Ah, why are you so fair, so bewitching
fair? O let me grow to the ground here, and feast upon that hand; O
let me press it to my heart, my trembling heart: the nimble
movement shall instruct your pulse, and teach it to alarm desire.
(Zoons, I'm almost at the end of my cant, if she does not yield
quickly.) [Aside.]

LADY PLYANT. O that's so passionate and fine, I cannot hear. I am
not safe if I stay, and must leave you.

CARE. And must you leave me! Rather let me languish out a wretched
life, and breath my soul beneath your feet. (I must say the same
thing over again, and can't help it.) [Aside.]

LADY PLYANT. I swear I'm ready to languish too! O my honour!
Whither is it going? I protest you have given me the palpitation of
the heart.

CARE. Can you be so cruel -

LADY PLYANT. O rise, I beseech you, say no more till you rise. Why
did you kneel so long? I swear I was so transported, I did not see
it. Well, to show you how far you have gained upon me, I assure
you, if Sir Paul should die, of all mankind there's none I'd sooner
make my second choice.

CARE. O Heaven! I can't out-live this night without your favour; I
feel my spirits faint, a general dampness overspreads my face, a
cold deadly dew already vents through all my pores, and will to-
morrow wash me for ever from your sight, and drown me in my tomb.

LADY PLYANT. Oh, you have conquered, sweet, melting, moving sir,
you have conquered. What heart of marble can refrain to weep, and
yield to such sad sayings! [Cries.]

CARE. I thank Heaven, they are the saddest that I ever said. Oh!
(I shall never contain laughter.) [Aside.]

LADY PLYANT. Oh, I yield myself all up to your uncontrollable
embraces. Say, thou dear dying man, when, where, and how. Ah,
there's Sir Paul.

CARE. 'Slife, yonder's Sir Paul, but if he were not come, I'm so
transported I cannot speak. This note will inform you. [Gives her
a note.]

SCENE III.

LADY PLYANT, SIR PAUL, CYNTHIA.

SIR PAUL. Thou art my tender lambkin, and shalt do what thou wilt.
But endeavour to forget this Mellefont.

CYNT. I would obey you to my power, sir; but if I have not him, I
have sworn never to marry.

SIR PAUL. Never to marry! Heavens forbid! must I neither have sons
nor grandsons? Must the family of the Plyants be utterly extinct
for want of issue male? O impiety! But did you swear, did that
sweet creature swear? ha! How durst you swear without my consent,
ah? Gads-bud, who am I?

CYNT. Pray don't be angry, sir, when I swore I had your consent;
and therefore I swore.

SIR PAUL. Why then the revoking my consent does annul, or make of
none effect your oath; so you may unswear it again. The law will
allow it.

CYNT. Ay, but my conscience never will.

SIR PAUL. Gads-bud, no matter for that, conscience and law never go
together; you must not expect that.

LADY PLYANT. Ay, but, Sir Paul, I conceive if she has sworn, d'ye
mark me, if she has once sworn, it is most unchristian, inhuman, and
obscene that she should break it. I'll make up the match again,
because Mr. Careless said it would oblige him. [Aside.]

SIR PAUL. Does your ladyship conceive so? Why, I was of that
opinion once too. Nay, if your ladyship conceives so, I'm of that
opinion again; but I can neither find my lord nor my lady to know
what they intend.

LADY PLYANT. I'm satisfied that my cousin Mellefont has been much
wronged.

CYNT. [Aside.] I'm amazed to find her of our side, for I'm sure
she loved him.

LADY PLYANT. I know my Lady Touchwood has no kindness for him; and
besides I have been informed by Mr. Careless, that Mellefont had
never anything more than a profound respect. That he has owned
himself to be my admirer 'tis true, but he was never so presumptuous
to entertain any dishonourable notions of things; so that if this be
made plain, I don't see how my daughter can in conscience, or
honour, or anything in the world -

SIR PAUL. Indeed if this be made plain, as my lady, your mother,
says, child -

LADY PLYANT. Plain! I was informed of it by Mr. Careless. And I
assure you, Mr. Careless is a person that has a most extraordinary
respect and honour for you, Sir Paul.

CYNT. [Aside.] And for your ladyship too, I believe, or else you
had not changed sides so soon; now I begin to find it.

SIR PAUL. I am much obliged to Mr. Careless really; he is a person
that I have a great value for, not only for that, but because he has
a great veneration for your ladyship.

LADY PLYANT. O las, no indeed, Sir Paul, 'tis upon your account.

SIR PAUL. No, I protest and vow, I have no title to his esteem, but
in having the honour to appertain in some measure to your ladyship,
that's all.

LADY PLYANT. O law now, I swear and declare it shan't be so; you're
too modest, Sir Paul.

SIR PAUL. It becomes me, when there is any comparison made between
-

LADY PLYANT. O fie, fie, Sir Paul, you'll put me out of
countenance. Your very obedient and affectionate wife; that's all.
And highly honoured in that title.

SIR PAUL. Gads-bud, I am transported! Give me leave to kiss your
ladyship's hand.

CYNT. That my poor father should be so very silly! [Aside.]

LADY PLYANT. My lip indeed, Sir Paul, I swear you shall. [He
kisses her, and bows very low.]

SIR PAUL. I humbly thank your ladyship. I don't know whether I fly
on ground, or walk in air. Gads-bud, she was never thus before.
Well, I must own myself the most beholden to Mr. Careless. As sure
as can be, this is all his doing, something that he has said; well,
'tis a rare thing to have an ingenious friend. Well, your ladyship
is of opinion that the match may go forward.

LADY PLYANT. By all means. Mr. Careless has satisfied me of the
matter.

SIR PAUL. Well, why then, lamb, you may keep your oath, but have a
care about making rash vows; come hither to me, and kiss papa.

LADY PLYANT. I swear and declare, I am in such a twitter to read
Mr. Careless his letter, that I can't forbear any longer. But
though I may read all letters first by prerogative, yet I'll be sure
to be unsuspected this time, Sir Paul.

SIR PAUL. Did your ladyship call?

LADY PLYANT. Nay, not to interrupt you, my dear. Only lend me your
letter, which you had from your steward to-day; I would look upon
the account again, and may be increase your allowance.

SIR PAUL. There it is, madam, do you want a pen and ink? [Bows and
gives the letter.]

LADY PLYANT. No, no, nothing else, I thank you, Sir Paul. So, now
I can read my own letter under the cover of his. [Aside.]

SIR PAUL. He? And wilt thou bring a grandson at nine months end--
he? A brave chopping boy. I'll settle a thousand pound a year upon
the rogue as soon as ever he looks me in the face, I will, gads-bud.
I'm overjoyed to think I have any of my family that will bring
children into the world. For I would fain have some resemblance of
myself in my posterity, he, Thy? Can't you contrive that affair,
girl? Do, gads-bud, think on thy old father, heh? Make the young
rogue as like as you can.

CYNT. I'm glad to see you so merry, sir.

SIR PAUL. Merry, gads-bud, I'm serious; I'll give thee five hundred
pounds for every inch of him that resembles me; ah, this eye, this
left eye! A thousand pounds for this left eye. This has done
execution in its time, girl; why, thou hast my leer, hussey, just
thy father's leer. Let it be transmitted to the young rogue by the
help of imagination; why, 'tis the mark of our family, Thy; our
house is distinguished by a languishing eye, as the house of Austria
is by a thick lip. Ah! when I was of your age, hussey, I would have
held fifty to one, I could have drawn my own picture--gads-bud I
could have done--not so much as you, neither; but--nay, don't blush.

CYNT. I don't blush, sir, for I vow I don't understand.

SIR PAUL. Pshaw, pshaw, you fib, you baggage, you do understand,
and you shall understand; come, don't be so nice. Gads-bud, don't
learn after your mother-in-law my lady here. Marry, heaven forbid
that you should follow her example; that would spoil all indeed.
Bless us! if you should take a vagary and make a rash resolution on
your wedding night, to die a maid, as she did; all were ruined, all
my hopes lost. My heart would break, and my estate would be left to
the wide world, he? I hope you are a better Christian than to think
of living a nun, he? Answer me?

CYNT. I'm all obedience, sir, to your commands.

LADY PLYANT. [Having read the letter.] O dear Mr. Careless, I
swear he writes charmingly, and he looks charmingly, and he has
charmed me, as much as I have charmed him; and so I'll tell him in
the wardrobe when 'tis dark. O criminy! I hope Sir Paul has not
seen both letters. [Puts the wrong letter hastily up, and gives him
her own.] Sir Paul, here's your letter; to-morrow morning I'll
settle accounts to your advantage.

SCENE IV.

[To them] BRISK.

BRISK. Sir Paul, gads-bud, you're an uncivil person, let me tell
you, and all that; and I did not think it had been in you.

SIR PAUL. O law, what's the matter now? I hope you are not angry,
Mr. Brisk.

BRISK. Deuce take me, I believe you intend to marry your daughter
yourself; you're always brooding over her like an old hen, as if she
were not well hatched, egad, he.

SIR PAUL. Good strange! Mr. Brisk is such a merry facetious
person, he, he, he. No, no, I have done with her, I have done with
her now.

BRISK. The fiddles have stayed this hour in the hall, and my Lord
Froth wants a partner, we can never begin without her.

SIR PAUL. Go, go child, go, get you gone and dance and be merry;
I'll come and look at you by and by. Where's my son Mellefont?

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