Читать книгу Plays, written by Sir John Vanbrugh, volume the first - John Vanbrugh - Страница 10

Enter Young Fashion, Lory, and Waterman.

Young Fash. Come, pay the Waterman, and take the Pormanteau.

Lory. Faith, Sir, I think the Waterman had as good take the Portmanteau, and pay himself.

Young Fash. Why sure there's something left in't.

Lory. But a solitary old Waistcoat, upon my Honour, Sir.

Young Fash. Why, what's become of the blue Coat, Sirrah?

Lory. Sir, 'twas eaten at Gravesend; the Reckoning came to thirty Shillings, and your Privy-Purse was worth but two Half-Crowns.

Young Fash. 'Tis very well.

Wat. Pray, Master, will you please to dispatch me?

Young Fash. Ay, here a——Canst thou change me a Guinea?

Lory. [Aside.] Good.

Wat. Change a Guinea, Master! Ha, ha, your Honour's pleas'd to compliment.

Young Fash. I'gad I don't know how I shall pay thee then, for I have nothing but Gold about me.

Lory. [Aside.]—Hum, hum.

Young Fash. What dost thou expect, Friend?

Wat. Why, Master, so far against Wind and Tide, is richly worth half a Piece.

Young Fash. Why, faith, I think thou art a good conscionable Fellow. I'gad, I begin to have so good an Opinion of thy Honesty, I care not if I leave my Portmanteau with thee, till I send thee thy Money.

Wat. Ha! God bless your Honour; I should be as willing to trust you, Master, but that you are, as a Man may say, a Stranger to me, and these are nimble Times; there are a great many Sharpers stirring. [Taking up the Portmanteau.] Well, Master, when your Worship sends the Money, your Portmanteau shall be forthcoming. My Name's Tugg, my Wife keeps a Brandy-Shop in Drab-Ally at Wapping.

Young Fash. Very well; I'll send for't to-morrow.

[Exit Wat.

Lory. So—Now, Sir, I hope you'll own yourself a happy Man, you have outliv'd all your Cares.

Young Fash. How so, Sir?

Lory. Why you have nothing left to take care of.

Young Fash. Yes, Sirrah, I have myself and you to take care of still.

Lory. Sir, if you cou'd but prevail with somebody else to do that for you, I fancy we might both fare the better for't.

Young Fash. Why, if thou canst tell me where to apply myself, I have at present so little Money, and so much Humility about me, I don't know but I may follow a Fool's Advice.

Lory. Why then, Sir, your Fool advises you to lay aside all Animosity, and apply to Sir Novelty, your elder Brother.

Young Fash. Damn my elder Brother.

Lory. With all my heart; but get him to redeem your Annuity, however.

Young Fash. My Annuity! 'Sdeath, he's such a Dog, he would not give his Powder-Puff to redeem my Soul.

Lory. Look you, Sir, you must wheedle him, or you must starve.

Young Fash. Look you, Sir, I will neither wheedle him, nor starve.

Lory. Why? what will you do then?

Young Fash. I'll go into the Army.

Lory. You can't take the Oaths; you are a Jacobite.

Young Fash. Thou may'st as well say I can't take Orders because I'm an Atheist.

Lory. Sir, I ask your Pardon; I find I did not know the Strength of your Conscience, so well as I did the Weakness of your Purse.

Young Fash. Methinks, Sir, a Person of your Experience should have known, that the Strength of the Conscience proceeds from the Weakness of the Purse.

Lory. Sir, I am very glad to find you have a Conscience able to take care of us, let it proceed from what it will; but I desire you'll please to consider, that the Army alone will be but a scanty Maintenance for a Person of your Generosity (at least as Rents now are paid); I shall see you stand in damnable need of some auxiliary Guineas for your menu Plaisirs; I will therefore turn Fool once more for your Service, and advise you to go directly to your Brother.

Young Fash. Art thou then so impregnable a Blockhead, to believe he'll help me with a Farthing?

Lory. Not if you treat him, de haut en bas, as you use to do.

Young Fash. Why, how would'st have me treat him?

Lory. Like a Trout, tickle him.

Young Fash. I can't flatter——

Lory. Can you starve?

Young Fash. Yes——

Lory. I can't; Good-by t'ye, Sir—

[Going.

Young Fash. Stay, thou wilt distract me. What would'st thou have me to say to him?

Lory. Say nothing to him, apply yourself to his Favourites; speak to his Perriwig, his Cravat, his Feather, his Snuff-box, and when you are well with them——desire him to lend you a Thousand Pounds. I'll engage you prosper.

Young Fash. 'Sdeath and Furies! Why was that Coxcomb thrust into the World before me? O Fortune—Fortune—thou art a Bitch, by Gad——

[Exeunt.