Читать книгу Plays, written by Sir John Vanbrugh, volume the second - John Vanbrugh - Страница 6

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SCENE Covent-garden.

Enter Mrs. Amlet and Mrs. Cloggit, meeting.

Amlet.

Good-morrow, neighbour; good-morrow, neighbour Cloggit! How does all at your house this morning?

Clog. Think you kindly, Mrs. Amlet, thank you kindly; how do you do, I pray?

Aml. At the old rate, neighbour, poor and honest; these are hard times, good lack.

Clog. If they are hard with you, what are they with us? You have a good trade going, all the great folks in town help off with your merchandize.

Aml. Yes, they do help us off with 'em indeed; they buy all.

Clog. And pay——

Aml. For some.

Clog. Well, 'tis a thousand pities, Mrs. Amlet, they are not as ready at one, as they are at t'other: For, not to wrong 'em, they give very good rates.

Aml. O for that, let us do them justice, neighbour; they never make two words upon the price, all they haggle about is the day of payment.

Clog. There's all the dispute, as you say.

Aml. But that's a wicked one: For my part, neighbour, I'm just tir'd off my legs with trotting after 'em; beside, it eats out all our profit. Would you believe it, Mrs. Cloggit, I have worn out four pair of pattens, with following my old Lady Youthful, for one set of false teeth, and but three pots of paint.

Clog. Look you there now.

Aml. If they would but once let me get enough by 'em, to keep a coach to carry me a dunning after 'em, there would be some conscience in it.

Clog. Ay, that were something. But now you talk of conscience, Mrs. Amlet, how do you speed among your city customers?

Aml. My city customers! Now by my truth, neighbour, between the city and the court (with reverence be it spoken) there's not a —— to choose. My ladies in the city in times past, were as full of gold as they were of religion, and as punctual in their payments as they were of their prayers; but since they have set their minds upon quality, adieu one, adieu t'other, their money and their conscience are gone, heaven knows where. There is not a goldsmith's wife to be found in town, but's as hard-hearted as an ancient judge, and as poor as a towering dutchess.

Clog. But what the murrain have they to do with quality, why don't their husbands make e'm mind their shops?

Aml. Their husbands! their husbands, say'st thou, woman? alack, alack, they mind their husbands, neighbour, no more than they do a sermon.

Clog. Good lack-a-day, that women born of sober parents, should be prone to follow ill examples! But now we talk of quality, when did you hear of your son Richard, Mrs. Amlet? My daughter Flip. says she met him t'other day in a lac'd coat, with three fine ladies, his footman at his heels, and as gay as a bridegroom.

Aml. Is it possible? Ah the rogue! well, neighbour, all's well that ends well; but Dick will be hang'd.

Clog. That were pity.

Aml. Pity indeed; for he's a hopeful young man to look on; but he leads a life——Well——where he has it, heav'n knows; but they say, he pays his club with the best of 'em. I have seen him but once these three months, neighbour, and then the varlet wanted money; but I bid him march, and march he did to some purpose; for in less than an hour, back comes my gentleman into the house, walks to and fro in the room, with his wig over his shoulder, his hat on one side, whistling a minuet, and tossing a purse of gold from one hand to t'other, with no more respect (heaven bless us!) than if it had been an orange. Sirrah, says I, where have you got that? He answers me never a word, but sets his arms a kimbo, cocks his saucy hat in my face, turns about upon his ungracious heel, as much as to say kiss—and I've never set my eye on him since.

Clog. Look you there now; to see what the youth of this age are come to!

Aml. See what they will come to, neighbour. Heaven shield, I say; but Dick's upon the gallop. Well, I must bid you good-morrow; I'm going where I doubt I shall meet but a sorry welcome.

Clog. To get in some old debt, I'll warrant you?

Aml. Neither better or worse.

Clog. From a lady of quality?

Aml. No, she's but a scrivener's wife; but she lives as well, and pays as ill, as the stateliest countess of 'em all.

[Exeunt several ways.

Enter Brass solus.

Brass. Well, surely thro' the world's wide extent, there never appeared so impudent a fellow as my schoolfellow Dick, pass himself upon the town for a gentleman, drop into all the best company with an easy air, as if his natural element were in the sphere of quality; when the rogue had a kettle-drum to his father, who was hang'd for robbing a church, and has a pedlar to his mother, who carries her shop under her arm. But here he comes.

Enter Dick.

Dick. Well, Brass, what news? Hast thou given my letter to Flippanta?

Brass. I'm but just come; I han't knock'd at the door yet. But I have a damn'd piece of news for you.

Dick. As how?

Brass. We must quit this country.

Dick. We'll be hang'd first.

Brass. So you will if you stay.

Dick. Why, what's the matter?

Brass. There's a storm a coming.

Dick. From whence?

Brass. From the worst point in the compass, the law.

Dick. The law! Why what have I to do with the law?

Brass. Nothing; and therefore it has something to do with you.

Dick. Explain.

Brass. You know you cheated a young fellow at picquet t'other day, of the money he had to raise his company.

Dick. Well, what then?

Brass. Why he's sorry he lost it.

Dick. Who doubts that?

Brass. Ay, but that's not all, he's such a fool to think of complaining on't.

Dick. Then I must be so wise as to stop his mouth.

Brass. How?

Dick. Give him a little back; if that won't do, strangle him.

Brass. You are very quick in your methods.

Dick. Men must be so that will dispatch business.

Brass. Hark you, Colonel, your father dy'd in's bed?

Dick. He might have done if he had not been a fool.

Brass. Why, he robbed a church.

Dick. Ay, but he forgot to make sure of the sexton.

Brass. Are not you a great rogue?

Dick. Or I should wear worse clothes.

Brass. Hark you, I would advise you to change your life.

Dick. And turn ballad-singer.

Brass. Not so neither.

Dick. What then?

Brass. Why, if you can get this young wench, reform, and live honest.

Dick. That's the way to be starv'd.

Brass. No, she has money enough to buy you a good place, and pay me into the bargain for helping her to so good a match. You have but this throw left to save you, for you are not ignorant, youngster, that your morals begin to be pretty well known about town; have a care your noble birth and your honourable relations are not discovered too: there needs but that to have you toss'd in a blanket, for the entertainment of the first company of ladies you intrude into: and then like a dutiful son, you may dangle about with your mother, and sell paint: she's old and weak, and wants somebody to carry her goods after her. How like a dog will you look, with a pair of plod shoes, your hair crop'd up to your ears, and a band-box under your arm?

Dick. Why faith, Brass, I think thou art in the right on't; I must fix my affairs quickly, or Madam Fortune will be playing some of her bitch-tricks with me: therefore I'll tell thee what we'll do; we'll pursue this old rogue's daughter heartily; we'll cheat his family to purpose, and they shall atone for the rest of mankind.

Brass. Have at her then, I'll about your business presently.

Dick. One kiss——and success attend thee.

[Exit Dick.

Brass. A great rogue——Well, I say nothing. But when I have got the thing into a good posture, he shall sign and seal, or I'll have him tumbled out of the house like a cheese. Now for Flippanta.

[He knocks.

Enter Flippanta.

Flip. Who's that? Brass!

Brass. Flippanta!

Flip. What want you, rogue's-face?

Brass. Is your mistress dress'd?

Flip. What, already? Is the fellow drunk?

Brass. Why, with respect to her looking-glass, it's almost two.

Flip. What then, fool?

Brass. Why then it's time for the mistress of the house to come down, and look after her family.

Flip. Pr'ythee don't be an owl. Those that go to bed at night may rise in the morning; we that go to bed in the morning rise in the afternoon.

Brass. When does she make her visits then?

Flip. By candle-light; it helps off a muddy complexion; we women hate inquisitive sun-shine: but do you know that my Lady is going to turn good housewife?

Brass. What, is she going to die?

Flip. Die!

Brass. Why, that's the only way to save money for her family.

Flip. No; but she has thought of a project to save chair-hire.

Brass. As how?

Flip. Why all the company she us'd to keep abroad she now intends shall meet at her own house. Your master has advis'd her to set up a basset-table.

Brass. Nay, if he advis'd her to it, it's right; but has she acquainted her husband with it yet?

Flip. What to do? When the company meet he'll see them.

Brass. Nay, that's true, as you say, he'll know it soon enough.

Flip. Well, I must be gone; have you any business with my Lady?

Brass. Yes; as ambassador from Araminta, I have a letter for her.

Flip. Give it me.

Brass. Hold——and as first minister of state to the Colonel, I have an affair to communicate to thee.

Flip. What is't? quick.

Brass. Why——he's in love.

Flip. With what?

Brass. A woman——and her money together.

Flip. Who is she?

Brass. Corinna.

Flip. What wou'd he be at?

Brass. At her——if she's at leisure.

Flip. Which way?

Brass. Honourably——he has ordered me to demand her of thee in marriage.

Flip. Of me?

Brass. Why, when a man of quality has a mind to a city-fortune, would'st have him apply to her father and mother?

Flip. No.

Brass. No, so I think: men of our end of the town are better bred than to use ceremony. With a long perriwig we strike the lady, with a you-know-what we soften the maid; and when the parson has done his job, we open the affair to the family. Will you slip this letter into her prayer-book, my little queen? It's a very passionate one——It's seal'd with a heart and a dagger; you may see by that what he intends to do with himself.

Flip. Are there any verses in it? If not, I won't touch it.

Brass. Not one word in prose, it's dated in rhyme.

[She takes it.

Flip. Well, but have you brought nothing else?

Brass. Gad forgive me; I'm the forgetfullest dog——I have a letter for you too——here——'tis in a purse, but it's in prose, you won't touch it.

Flip. Yes, hang it, it is not good to be too dainty.

Brass. How useful a virtue is humility! Well, child, we shall have an answer to-morrow, shan't we?

Flip. I can't promise you that; for our young gentlewoman is not so often in my way as she would be. Her father (who is a citizen from the foot to the forehead of him) lets her seldom converse with her mother-in-law and me, for fear she should learn the airs of a woman of quality. But I'll take the first occasion: see, there's my lady, go in and deliver your letter to her.

[Exeunt.