The Old Bachelor
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William Congreve >> The Old Bachelor
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HEART. I confess you that are women's asses bear greater burdens:
are forced to undergo dressing, dancing, singing, sighing, whining,
rhyming, flattering, lying, grinning, cringing, and the drudgery of
loving to boot.
BELL. O brute, the drudgery of loving!
HEART. Ay! Why, to come to love through all these incumbrances is
like coming to an estate overcharged with debts, which, by the time
you have paid, yields no further profit than what the bare tillage
and manuring of the land will produce at the expense of your own
sweat.
BELL. Prithee, how dost thou love?
SHARP. He! He hates the sex.
HEART. So I hate physic too--yet I may love to take it for my
health.
BELL. Well come off, George, if at any time you should be taken
straying.
SHARP. He has need of such an excuse, considering the present
state of his body.
HEART. How d'ye mean?
SHARP. Why, if whoring be purging, as you call it, then, I may
say, marriage is entering into a course of physic.
BELL. How, George! Does the wind blow there?
HEART. It will as soon blow north and by south--marry, quotha! I
hope in heaven I have a greater portion of grace, and I think I
have baited too many of those traps to be caught in one myself.
BELL. Who the devil would have thee? unless 'twere an oysterwoman
to propagate young fry for Billingsgate--thy talent will never
recommend thee to anything of better quality.
HEART. My talent is chiefly that of speaking truth, which I don't
expect should ever recommend me to people of quality. I thank
heaven I have very honestly purchased the hatred of all the great
families in town.
SHARP. And you in return of spleen hate them. But could you hope
to be received into the alliance of a noble family -
HEART. No; I hope I shall never merit that affliction, to be
punished with a wife of birth, be a stag of the first head and bear
my horns aloft, like one of the supporters of my wife's coat.
S'death I would not be a Cuckold to e'er an illustrious whore in
England.
BELL. What, not to make your family, man and provide for your
children?
SHARP. For her children, you mean.
HEART. Ay, there you've nicked it. There's the devil upon devil.
Oh, the pride and joy of heart 'twould be to me to have my son and
heir resemble such a duke; to have a fleering coxcomb scoff and
cry, 'Mr. your son's mighty like his Grace, has just his smile and
air of's face.' Then replies another, 'Methinks he has more of the
Marquess of such a place about his nose and eyes, though he has my
Lord what-d'ye-call's mouth to a tittle.' Then I, to put it off as
unconcerned, come chuck the infant under the chin, force a smile,
and cry, 'Ay, the boy takes after his mother's relations,' when the
devil and she knows 'tis a little compound of the whole body of
nobility.
BELL+SHARP. Ha, ha, ha!
BELL. Well, but, George, I have one question to ask you -
HEART. Pshaw, I have prattled away my time. I hope you are in no
haste for an answer, for I shan't stay now. [Looking on his
watch.]
BELL. Nay, prithee, George -
HEART. No; besides my business, I see a fool coming this way.
Adieu.
SCENE V.
SHARPER, BELLMOUR.
BELL. What does he mean? Oh, 'tis Sir Joseph Wittoll with his
friend; but I see he has turned the corner and goes another way.
SHARP. What in the name of wonder is it?
BELL. Why, a fool.
SHARP. 'Tis a tawdry outside.
BELL. And a very beggarly lining--yet he may be worth your
acquaintance; a little of thy chymistry, Tom, may extract gold from
that dirt.
SHARP. Say you so? 'Faith I am as poor as a chymist, and would be
as industrious. But what was he that followed him? Is not he a
dragon that watches those golden pippins?
BELL. Hang him, no, he a dragon! If he be, 'tis a very peaceful
one. I can ensure his anger dormant; or should he seem to rouse,
'tis but well lashing him, and he will sleep like a top.
SHARP. Ay, is he of that kidney?
BELL. Yet is adored by that bigot, Sir Joseph Wittoll, as the
image of valour. He calls him his back, and indeed they are never
asunder--yet, last night, I know not by what mischance, the knight
was alone, and had fallen into the hands of some night-walkers,
who, I suppose, would have pillaged him. But I chanced to come by
and rescued him, though I believe he was heartily frightened; for
as soon as ever he was loose, he ran away without staying to see
who had helped him.
SHARP. Is that bully of his in the army?
BELL. No; but is a pretender, and wears the habit of a soldier,
which nowadays as often cloaks cowardice, as a black gown does
atheism. You must know he has been abroad--went purely to run away
from a campaign; enriched himself with the plunder of a few oaths,
and here vents them against the general, who, slighting men of
merit, and preferring only those of interest, has made him quit the
service.
SHARP. Wherein no doubt he magnifies his own performance.
BELL. Speaks miracles, is the drum to his own praise--the only
implement of a soldier he resembles, like that, being full of
blustering noise and emptiness -
SHARP. And like that, of no use but to be beaten.
BELL. Right; but then the comparison breaks, for he will take a
drubbing with as little noise as a pulpit cushion.
SHARP. His name, and I have done?
BELL. Why, that, to pass it current too, he has gilded with a
title: he is called Capt. Bluffe.
SHARP. Well, I'll endeavour his acquaintance--you steer another
course, are bound -
For love's island: I, for the golden coast.
May each succeed in what he wishes most.
ACT II.--SCENE I.
SIR JOSEPH WITTOLL, SHARPER following.
SHARP. Sure that's he, and alone.
SIR JO. Um--Ay, this, this is the very damned place; the inhuman
cannibals, the bloody-minded villains, would have butchered me last
night. No doubt they would have flayed me alive, have sold my
skin, and devoured, etc.
SHARP. How's this!
SIR JO. An it hadn't been for a civil gentleman as came by and
frighted 'em away--but, agad, I durst not stay to give him thanks.
SHARP. This must be Bellmour he means. Ha! I have a thought -
SIR JO. Zooks, would the captain would come; the very remembrance
makes me quake; agad, I shall never be reconciled to this place
heartily.
SHARP. 'Tis but trying, and being where I am at worst, now luck!--
cursed fortune! this must be the place, this damned unlucky place -
SIR JO. Agad, and so 'tis. Why, here has been more mischief done,
I perceive.
SHARP. No, 'tis gone, 'tis lost--ten thousand devils on that
chance which drew me hither; ay, here, just here, this spot to me
is hell; nothing to be found, but the despair of what I've lost.
[Looking about as in search.]
SIR JO. Poor gentleman! By the Lord Harry I'll stay no longer,
for I have found too -
SHARP. Ha! who's that has found? What have you found? Restore it
quickly, or by -
SIR JO. Not I, sir, not I; as I've a soul to be saved, I have
found nothing but what has been to my loss, as I may say, and as
you were saying, sir.
SHARP. Oh, your servant, sir; you are safe, then, it seems. 'Tis
an ill wind that blows nobody good. Well, you may rejoice over my
ill fortune, since it paid the price of your ransom.
SIR JO. I rejoice! agad, not I, sir: I'm very sorry for your
loss, with all my heart, blood and guts, sir; and if you did but
know me, you'd ne'er say I were so ill-natured.
SHARP. Know you! Why, can you be so ungrateful to forget me?
SIR JO. O Lord, forget him! No, no, sir, I don't forget you--
because I never saw your face before, agad. Ha, ha, ha!
SHARP. How! [Angrily.]
SIR JO. Stay, stay, sir, let me recollect--he's a damned angry
fellow--I believe I had better remember him, until I can get out of
his sight; but out of sight out of mind, agad. [Aside.]
SHARP. Methought the service I did you last night, sir, in
preserving you from those ruffians, might have taken better root in
your shallow memory.
SIR JO. Gads-daggers-belts-blades and scabbards, this is the very
gentleman! How shall I make him a return suitable to the greatness
of his merit? I had a pretty thing to that purpose, if he ha'n't
frighted it out of my memory. Hem! hem! sir, I most submissively
implore your pardon for my transgression of ingratitude and
omission; having my entire dependence, sir, upon the superfluity of
your goodness, which, like an inundation, will, I hope, totally
immerge the recollection of my error, and leave me floating, in
your sight, upon the full-blown bladders of repentance--by the help
of which, I shall once more hope to swim into your favour. [Bows.]
SHARP. So-h, oh, sir, I am easily pacified, the acknowledgment of
a gentleman -
SIR JO. Acknowledgment! Sir, I am all over acknowledgment, and
will not stick to show it in the greatest extremity by night or by
day, in sickness or in health, winter or summer; all seasons and
occasions shall testify the reality and gratitude of your
superabundant humble servant, Sir Joseph Wittoll, knight. Hem!
hem!
SHARP. Sir Joseph Wittoll?
SIR JO. The same, sir, of Wittoll Hall in COMITATU Bucks.
SHARP. Is it possible! Then I am happy to have obliged the mirror
of knighthood and pink of courtesie in the age. Let me embrace
you.
SIR JO. O Lord, sir!
SHARP. My loss I esteem as a trifle repaid with interest, since it
has purchased me the friendship and acquaintance of the person in
the world whose character I admire.
SIR JO. You are only pleased to say so, sir. But, pray, if I may
be so bold, what is that loss you mention?
SHARP. Oh, term it no longer so, sir. In the scuffle last night I
only dropt a bill of a hundred pound, which, I confess, I came half
despairing to recover; but, thanks to my better fortune -
SIR JO. You have found it, sir, then, it seems; I profess I'm
heartily glad -
SHARP. Sir, your humble servant. I don't question but you are,
that you have so cheap an opportunity of expressing your gratitude
and generosity, since the paying so trivial a sum will wholly
acquit you and doubly engage me.
SIR JO. What a dickens does he mean by a trivial sum? [Aside.]
But ha'n't you found it, sir!
SHARP. No otherwise, I vow to Gad, but in my hopes in you, sir.
SIR JO. Humh.
SHARP. But that's sufficient. 'Twere injustice to doubt the
honour of Sir Joseph Wittoll.
SIR JO. O Lord, sir.
SHARP. You are above, I'm sure, a thought so low, to suffer me to
lose what was ventured in your service; nay, 'twas in a manner paid
down for your deliverance; 'twas so much lent you. And you scorn,
I'll say that for you -
SIR JO. Nay, I'll say that for myself, with your leave, sir, I do
scorn a dirty thing. But, agad, I'm a little out of pocket at
present.
SHARP. Pshaw, you can't want a hundred pound. Your word is
sufficient anywhere. 'Tis but borrowing so much dirt. You have
large acres, and can soon repay it. Money is but dirt, Sir Joseph-
-mere dirt.
SIR JO. But, I profess, 'tis a dirt I have washed my hands of at
present; I have laid it all out upon my Back.
SHARP. Are you so extravagant in clothes, Sir Joseph?
SIR JO. Ha, ha, ha, a very good jest, I profess, ha, ha, ha, a
very good jest, and I did not know that I had said it, and that's a
better jest than t'other. 'Tis a sign you and I ha'n't been long
acquainted; you have lost a good jest for want of knowing me--I
only mean a friend of mine whom I call my Back; he sticks as close
to me, and follows me through all dangers--he is indeed back,
breast, and head-piece, as it were, to me. Agad, he's a brave
fellow. Pauh, I am quite another thing when I am with him: I
don't fear the devil (bless us) almost if he be by. Ah! had he
been with me last night -
SHARP. If he had, sir, what then? he could have done no more, nor
perhaps have suffered so much. Had he a hundred pound to lose?
[Angrily]
SIR JO. O Lord, sir, by no means, but I might have saved a hundred
pound: I meant innocently, as I hope to be saved, sir (a damned
hot fellow), only, as I was saying, I let him have all my ready
money to redeem his great sword from limbo. But, sir, I have a
letter of credit to Alderman Fondlewife, as far as two hundred
pound, and this afternoon you shall see I am a person, such a one
as you would wish to have met with -
SHARP. That you are, I'll be sworn. [Aside.] Why, that's great
and like yourself.
SCENE II.
[To them] CAPTAIN BLUFFE.
SIR JO. Oh, here a' comes--Ay, my Hector of Troy, welcome, my
bully, my Back; agad, my heart has gone a pit pat for thee.
BLUFF. How now, my young knight? Not for fear, I hope; he that
knows me must be a stranger to fear.
SIR JO. Nay, agad, I hate fear ever since I had like to have died
of a fright. But -
BLUFF. But? Look you here, boy, here's your antidote, here's your
Jesuits' powder for a shaking fit. But who hast thou got with
thee? is he of mettle? [Laying his hand upon his sword.]
SIR JO. Ay, bully, a devilish smart fellow: 'a will fight like a
cock.
BLUFF. Say you so? Then I honour him. But has he been abroad?
for every cock will fight upon his own dunghill.
SIR JO. I don't know, but I'll present you -
BLUFF. I'll recommend myself. Sir, I honour you; I understand you
love fighting, I reverence a man that loves fighting. Sir, I kiss
your hilts.
SHARP. Sir, your servant, but you are misinformed, for, unless it
be to serve my particular friend, as Sir Joseph here, my country,
or my religion, or in some very justifiable cause, I'm not for it.
BLUFF. O Lord, I beg your pardon, sir, I find you are not of my
palate: you can't relish a dish of fighting without sweet sauce.
Now, I think fighting for fighting sake's sufficient cause;
fighting to me's religion and the laws.
SIR JO. Ah, well said, my Hero; was not that great, sir? by the
Lord Harry he says true; fighting is meat, drink, and cloth to him.
But, Back, this gentleman is one of the best friends I have in the
world, and saved my life last night--you know I told you.
BLUFF. Ay! Then I honour him again. Sir, may I crave your name?
SHARP. Ay, sir, my name's Sharper.
SIR JO. Pray, Mr. Sharper, embrace my Back. Very well. By the
Lord Harry, Mr. Sharper, he's as brave a fellow as Cannibal, are
not you, Bully-Back?
SHARP. Hannibal, I believe you mean, Sir Joseph.
BLUFF. Undoubtedly he did, sir; faith, Hannibal was a very pretty
fellow--but, Sir Joseph, comparisons are odious--Hannibal was a
very pretty fellow in those days, it must be granted--but alas,
sir! were he alive now, he would be nothing, nothing in the earth.
SHARP. How, sir! I make a doubt if there be at this day a greater
general breathing.
BLUFF. Oh, excuse me, sir! Have you served abroad, sir?
SHARP. Not I, really, sir.
BLUFF. Oh, I thought so. Why, then, you can know nothing, sir: I
am afraid you scarce know the history of the late war in Flanders,
with all its particulars.
SHARP. Not I, sir, no more than public letters or gazettes tell
us.
BLUFF. Gazette! Why there again now. Why, sir, there are not
three words of truth the year round put into the Gazette. I'll
tell you a strange thing now as to that. You must know, sir, I was
resident in Flanders the last campaign, had a small post there, but
no matter for that. Perhaps, sir, there was scarce anything of
moment done but an humble servant of yours, that shall be nameless,
was an eye-witness of. I won't say had the greatest share in't,
though I might say that too, since I name nobody you know. Well,
Mr. Sharper, would you think it? In all this time, as I hope for a
truncheon, this rascally gazette-writer never so much as once
mentioned me--not once, by the wars--took no more notice than as if
Nol. Bluffe had not been in the land of the living.
SHARP. Strange!
SIR JO. Yet, by the Lord Harry, 'tis true, Mr. Sharper, for I went
every day to coffee-houses to read the gazette myself.
BLUFF. Ay, ay, no matter. You see, Mr. Sharper, after all I am
content to retire; live a private person. Scipio and others have
done it.
SHARP. Impudent rogue. [Aside.]
SIR JO. Ay, this damned modesty of yours. Agad, if he would put
in for't he might be made general himself yet.
BLUFF. Oh, fie! no, Sir Joseph; you know I hate this.
SIR JO. Let me but tell Mr. Sharper a little, how you ate fire
once out of the mouth of a cannon. Agad, he did; those
impenetrable whiskers of his have confronted flames -
BLUFF. Death, what do you mean, Sir Joseph?
SIR JO. Look you now. I tell you he's so modest he'll own
nothing.
BLUFF. Pish, you have put me out, I have forgot what I was about.
Pray hold your tongue, and give me leave. [Angrily.]
SIR JO. I am dumb.
BLUFF. This sword I think I was telling you of, Mr. Sharper. This
sword I'll maintain to be the best divine, anatomist, lawyer, or
casuist in Europe; it shall decide a controversy or split a cause -
SIR JO. Nay, now I must speak; it will split a hair, by the Lord
Harry, I have seen it.
BLUFF. Zounds, sir, it's a lie; you have not seen it, nor sha'n't
see it; sir, I say you can't see; what d'ye say to that now?
SIR JO. I am blind.
BLUFF. Death, had any other man interrupted me -
SIR JO. Good Mr. Sharper, speak to him; I dare not look that way.
SHARP. Captain, Sir Joseph's penitent.
BLUFF. Oh, I am calm, sir, calm as a discharged culverin. But
'twas indiscreet, when you know what will provoke me. Nay, come,
Sir Joseph, you know my heat's soon over.
SIR JO. Well, I am a fool sometimes, but I'm sorry.
BLUFF. Enough.
SIR JO. Come, we'll go take a glass to drown animosities. Mr.
Sharper, will you partake?
SHARP. I wait on you, sir. Nay, pray, Captain; you are Sir
Joseph's back.
SCENE III.
ARAMINTA, BELINDA, BETTY waiting, in Araminta's apartment.
BELIN. Ah! nay, dear; prithee, good, dear, sweet cousin, no more.
O Gad! I swear you'd make one sick to hear you.
ARAM. Bless me! what have I said to move you thus?
BELIN. Oh, you have raved, talked idly, and all in commendation of
that filthy, awkward, two-legged creature man. You don't know what
you've said; your fever has transported you.
ARAM. If love be the fever which you mean, kind heaven avert the
cure. Let me have oil to feed that flame, and never let it be
extinct till I myself am ashes.
BELIN. There was a whine! O Gad, I hate your horrid fancy. This
love is the devil, and, sure, to be in love is to be possessed.
'Tis in the head, the heart, the blood, the--all over. O Gad, you
are quite spoiled. I shall loathe the sight of mankind for your
sake.
ARAM. Fie! this is gross affectation. A little of Bellmour's
company would change the scene.
BELIN. Filthy fellow! I wonder, cousin -
ARAM. I wonder, cousin, you should imagine I don't perceive you
love him.
BELIN. Oh, I love your hideous fancy! Ha, ha, ha, love a man!
ARAM. Love a man! yes, you would not love a beast.
BELIN. Of all beasts not an ass--which is so like your Vainlove.
Lard, I have seen an ass look so chagrin, ha, ha, ha (you must
pardon me, I can't help laughing), that an absolute lover would
have concluded the poor creature to have had darts, and flames, and
altars, and all that in his breast. Araminta, come, I'll talk
seriously to you now; could you but see with my eyes the buffoonery
of one scene of address, a lover, set out with all his equipage and
appurtenances; O Gad I sure you would--But you play the game, and
consequently can't see the miscarriages obvious to every stander
by.
ARAM. Yes, yes; I can see something near it when you and Bellmour
meet. You don't know that you dreamt of Bellmour last night, and
called him aloud in your sleep.
BELIN. Pish, I can't help dreaming of the devil sometimes; would
you from thence infer I love him?
ARAM. But that's not all; you caught me in your arms when you
named him, and pressed me to your bosom. Sure, if I had not
pinched you until you waked, you had stifled me with kisses.
BELIN. O barbarous aspersion!
ARAM. No aspersion, cousin, we are alone. Nay, I can tell you
more.
BELIN. I deny it all.
ARAM. What, before you hear it?
BELIN. My denial is premeditated like your malice. Lard, cousin,
you talk oddly. Whatever the matter is, O my Sol, I'm afraid
you'll follow evil courses.
ARAM. Ha, ha, ha, this is pleasant.
BELIN. You may laugh, but -
ARAM. Ha, ha, ha!
BELIN. You think the malicious grin becomes you. The devil take
Bellmour. Why do you tell me of him?
ARAM. Oh, is it come out? Now you are angry, I am sure you love
him. I tell nobody else, cousin. I have not betrayed you yet.
BELIN. Prithee tell it all the world; it's false.
ARAM. Come, then, kiss and friends.
BELIN. Pish.
ARAM. Prithee don't be so peevish.
BELIN. Prithee don't be so impertinent. Betty!
ARAM. Ha, ha, ha!
BETTY. Did your ladyship call, madam?
BELIN. Get my hoods and tippet, and bid the footman call a chair.
ARAM. I hope you are not going out in dudgeon, cousin.
SCENE IV.
[To them] FOOTMAN.
FOOT. Madam, there are -
BELIN. Is there a chair?
FOOT. No, madam, there are Mr. Bellmour and Mr. Vainlove to wait
upon your ladyship.
ARAM. Are they below?
FOOT. No, madam, they sent before, to know if you were at home.
BELIN. The visit's to you, cousin; I suppose I am at my liberty.
ARAM. Be ready to show 'em up.
SCENE V.
[To them] BETTY, with Hoods and Looking-glass.
I can't tell, cousin; I believe we are equally concerned. But if
you continue your humour, it won't be very entertaining. (I know
she'd fain be persuaded to stay.) [Aside.]
BELIN. I shall oblige you, in leaving you to the full and free
enjoyment of that conversation you admire.
BELIN. Let me see; hold the glass. Lard, I look wretchedly to-
day!
ARAM. Betty, why don't you help my cousin? [Putting on her
hoods.]
BELIN. Hold off your fists, and see that he gets a chair with a
high roof, or a very low seat. Stay, come back here, you Mrs.
Fidget--you are so ready to go to the footman. Here, take 'em all
again, my mind's changed; I won't go.
SCENE VI.
ARAMINTA, BELINDA.
ARAM. So, this I expected. You won't oblige me, then, cousin, and
let me have all the company to myself?
BELIN. No; upon deliberation, I have too much charity to trust you
to yourself. The devil watches all opportunities; and in this
favourable disposition of your mind, heaven knows how far you may
be tempted: I am tender of your reputation.
ARAM. I am obliged to you. But who's malicious now, Belinda?
BELIN. Not I; witness my heart, I stay out of pure affection.
ARAM. In my conscience I believe you.
SCENE VII.
[To them] VAINLOVE, BELLMOUR, FOOTMAN.
BELL. So, fortune be praised! To find you both within, ladies, is
-
ARAM. No miracle, I hope.
BELL. Not o' your side, madam, I confess. But my tyrant there and
I, are two buckets that can never come together.
BELIN. Nor are ever like. Yet we often meet and clash.
BELL. How never like! marry, Hymen forbid. But this it is to run
so extravagantly in debt; I have laid out such a world of love in
your service, that you think you can never be able to pay me all.
So shun me for the same reason that you would a dun.
BELIN. Ay, on my conscience, and the most impertinent and
troublesome of duns--a dun for money will be quiet, when he sees
his debtor has not wherewithal. But a dun for love is an eternal
torment that never rests -
BELL. Until he has created love where there was none, and then
gets it for his pains. For importunity in love, like importunity
at Court, first creates its own interest and then pursues it for
the favour.
ARAM. Favours that are got by impudence and importunity, are like
discoveries from the rack, when the afflicted person, for his ease,
sometimes confesses secrets his heart knows nothing of.
VAIN. I should rather think favours, so gained, to be due rewards
to indefatigable devotion. For as love is a deity, he must be
served by prayer.
BELIN. O Gad, would you would all pray to love, then, and let us
alone.
VAIN. You are the temples of love, and 'tis through you, our
devotion must be conveyed.
ARAM. Rather poor silly idols of your own making, which upon the
least displeasure you forsake and set up new. Every man now
changes his mistress and his religion as his humour varies, or his
interest.
VAIN. O madam -
ARAM. Nay, come, I find we are growing serious, and then we are in
great danger of being dull. If my music-master be not gone, I'll
entertain you with a new song, which comes pretty near my own
opinion of love and your sex. Who's there? Is Mr. Gavot gone?
[Calls.]
FOOT. Only to the next door, madam. I'll call him.
SCENE VIII.
ARAMINTA, BELINDA, VAINLOVE, and BELLMOUR.
BELL. Why, you won't hear me with patience.
ARAM. What's the matter, cousin?
BELL. Nothing, madam, only -
BELIN. Prithee hold thy tongue. Lard, he has so pestered me with
flames and stuff, I think I sha'n't endure the sight of a fire this
twelvemonth.
BELL. Yet all can't melt that cruel frozen heart.
BELIN. O Gad, I hate your hideous fancy--you said that once
before--if you must talk impertinently, for Heaven's sake let it be
with variety; don't come always, like the devil, wrapt in flames.
I'll not hear a sentence more, that begins with an 'I burn'--or an
'I beseech you, madam.'
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