Classic Poem

ACT I. SCENE I.

London. — The Garden of Worthy's House .

Enter sir GEORGE RICHLEY , Worthy , and WHIBBLE .

Wor . So soon after dinner?
Rich . I am engaged, and must away; excuse me, brother.
Wor . Well, make ready his horse.
Whib . His worship's pad shall be prepared. — If your gelding be not ready in a minute, your worship shall ride me.
Rich . I shall
Not need to urge your care upon my daughter,
On whom, next the devotion of my soul
To heaven, all my desires and thoughts reflect:
I leave her to your trust,
And, in my absence, doubt not you will be
Both uncle and a father.
Wor . Willingly
I would depose myself from both these titles,
To serve my niece; her virtue will reward me;
I know she is your study; in your want
I will put on your jealousy.
Rich . It would not
Become me to confine your entertainments
Of friends and visitants, but, remember, brother,
She's now my sole heir, and by the late death
Of her twin sister, she derives the right
Of all my wealth to her. Gallants, I fear,
I' the town hold too fruitful intelligence
In these affairs; and if they be not watch'd,
They'll with their wit charm all the dragons guard
These golden apples.
Wor . There are such, indeed.
Rich . Oh, sir, there are too many; not a virgin,
Left by her friends heir to a noble fortune,
But she's in danger of a marriage
To some puff'd title. What are these enter the garden?

Enter AIMWELL , followed by FOWLER and CLARE .

Wor . The gentlemen that din'd with us.
Fow . Why, how now Frank? grown musty on a sudden?
Head hung, and playing the thief thus with your friends,
To steal your person from us! What's the matter?
Aim . Nothing, nothing, gentlemen.
Clare . Very like,
And yet you leave our company for this nothing!
Fow . Let's in again to the ladies.
Rich . What is he?
Wor . One master Fowler, a reputed wit
I' the town, affected by young gentlemen
For his converse, yet lives upon no pension
But his own fortune, and a fair one.
The other, master Clare,
A friend to master Aimwell, whom they both
Seem to solicit.
Rich . Master Aimwell!
Wor . A hopeful gentleman.
Rich . Brother, did you not observe at dinner
His eyes shoot beams upon my daughter? (more
Than I was pleas'd with) Aimwell call you him?
I may suspect unjustly, but such looks
Are often loose conveyers.
Wor . Make no part
Of him your fear.
Rich . I do not, when I call
To mind my daughter's virtue and obedience.
She knows my purpose to dispose her to
Sir Nicholas Treedle.
Wor . And how do you find
Her inclination?
Rich . As I would direct it.
Wor . She will maintain it to your comfort, sir.
However, with what vigilance becomes me,
I will preserve 't, while she remains within
My custody.
Rich . I'll leave a servant to wait upon her.
Wor . Brains?
Rich . The same.
Wor . He is a cunning fellow.
Rich . He has a sconce
Carries some subtilty, which he employs
Still honestly in discharge of any trust
Committed to him.
Wor . Good.
Rich . And 'tis his pride,
He was ne'er o'er-reach'd in any action.
Wor . He knows his charge?
Rich . Perfectly; but I lose time; sir Nicholas
Treedle expects me this night in the country.
Wor . When do you return?
Rich . Within these three days at most.
Trouble yourself no further.
Wor . I'll wait on you to your horse, sir.

SCENE II.

Another part of the Same.

Enter AIMWELL .

Aim . She has shot a fire into my bosom from
Her eye, or I have drawn in at mine own
Love poison. Oh, my stars were too ungentle
To point her out the mistress of my thoughts,
Who is so much, like them, above the hope
Of ever climbing to. I see a fatal
Impossibility divide us; yet,
The more I would discharge this new guest, it
Strengthens itself within me, and renews
Vigour to keep possession. She's above me,
And her great fortune makes my expectation
So dull and painful; a great heir — — Her uncle!

Enter Worthy .

Wor . Master Aimwell, what, alone! come, let's
To cards; where be the gentlemen?
Aim . Within, sir.
Has sir George Richley left us?
Wor . Some affairs
Importun'd his departure.
Aim . When shall we expect him?
Wor . Three days hence. This your inquiry
Doth promise you have business with him.
Aim . Little —
But you did motion cards; I'll choose my partner,
And for a set or two I'm at your service.
Wor . Make your own election.
Aim . Why do you mock me?
Wor . How! mock you?
Aim . Yes.
Wor . You do not mean in earnest.
Aim . I shall betray my passion.

Enter VIOLETTA .

Wor . I find him.
Aim . You may, for I am lost.
Vio . He's here. — Good uncle, is my father gone?
Wor . Yes, gentle niece.
Vio . Delight to both your walks! I'll take this arbour.
Aim . So breaks the day, and hides itself again
Among the western shades! Were she to dwell
Within your garden, it should need no sun,
Her smiles were powerful to infuse a warmth
Into the flowers, her breath perfume your arbours.
The trees grow rich in blossom and bear fruit
At the same instant, as 'twere ever spring
And ever summer: when she seats herself
Within some bower, the feather'd quiristers
Shall play their music to her, and take pride
To warble airy notes till she be weary,
Which, when she shall but with one accent of
Her own express, an hundred nightingales
Shall fall down dead from the soft boughs before her,
For grief to be o'erchanted.
Wor . Here's pretty madness!
Aim . 'Tis so; you have done my passion justice, sir;
For love is but a straggling from our reason.
Wor . If you do love my niece, let you and I, Talk out of metaphor.
Aim . You knew my father?
Wor . He was my noble friend.
Aim . For his sake, give me your free answer to One question.
Wor . What is't? promise yourself,
What I can do or say is at your service.
Aim . Is there a possibility, admit
I loved your niece, she might be won at last
To be my wife?
Wor . I'll not dispute the extent
Of what is possible, yet my answer may
Be satisfactory.
Aim . You were ever generous.
Wor . I were uncivil not to reply to
A question, you shall find my love more fruitful,
You shall have both my answer and my counsel.
Aim . Let me embrace a perfect friend.
Wor . Do you know what
Fortune my young niece may bring her husband?
Aim . I guess a great one; but I set more value
Upon her person; my affection springs
Not from her wealth.
Wor . But yet her portion
Is worth your taking notice, master Aimwell;
Her father is a man who, though he write
Himself but knight, keeps a warm house i' the country,
Amongst his tenants; takes no lordly pride
To travel with a footman and a page
To London; humbly rides [in] the old fashion,
With half a dozen wholesome liveries,
To whom he gives christian wages, and not countenance
Alone, to live on; can spend by the year
Eight hundred pounds, and put up five; sleeps quietly
Without dreaming on mortgages or statutes,
Or such like curses on his land; can number,
May be, ten thousand pound in ready coin
Of his own, yet never bought an office for't,
Has plate, no question, and jewels too,
In his old lady's cabinet, beside
Other things worth an inventory, and all this
His daughter is an heir to. Now, pray tell me
What's your revenue?
Aim . Some three hundred pounds —
Wor . Per annum? Grant it; what expectation
Have you abroad?
Aim . None.
Wor . That's quickly summ'd.
You have not made your love known to my niece yet?
Aim . No; my intention was to preacquaint you.
Wor . You have done wisely; do not think on her
When you're at prayers, she will but puzzle
Your devotion; there's no hope of her.
Aim . Ha!
Wor . I mean for you to arrive at her, your own
Disparity in fortune.
Aim . I do find it.
Wor . Excuse my plainness, sir; her father looks
A great deal higher; and, to take away
Your least encouragement to prosecute,
Within my knowledge she's design'd already
To a wealthy gentleman, and within few days
'Twill be a marriage; you shall but procure
Your own affliction to employ your hope
Where things remain so desperate.
Aim . I thank you.
Wor . You do yourself more right.
Aim . If such affairs
Have past, it were not noble to continue
This path; you have done me gentle office, sir;
I must believe you are generous: this new flame
My reason shall suppress, before it grow
Too mighty for me.
Wor . It becomes you well.
Love, like to sin, inveterate is strong;
He prevents danger that destroys it young. —
Come, to your friends.

SCENE III.

The Same.

Enter FOWLER , PENELOPE , and CLARE .

Fow . Your soft stars will not let you be so cruel, lady, to give repulse to a lover.
Clare . Do not believe him; he does but complement, I have known him court a hundred, with as much formality, wooed them in the nuptial cut, made verses on their hair, set lilies and roses, a whole garden, in their cheeks, cherries in their lips, stellify their eyes, and yet in a twinkling —
Pen . Sure you do him wrong, sir?
Clare . Wrong!
Fow . He measures my affection by the length of his own: prithee, Satire, choose another walk, and leave us to enjoy this; thou knowest not my intent.
Clare . Thou mayst be honest with one, and that's a miracle, and will ask a strong faith to believe it. I hope she has more wit than to trust your voluble courtship. I'll seek out my friend Aimwell.
Viol . [ aside to Clare .] Sir, if your engagement require no haste.
Pen . I do wonder a gentleman of your knowledge should so deceive himself.
Fow . Express yourself, fairest.
Pen . Fair sir, I am not taken with your flatteries; I can see through you.
Fow . If you have so active an eye, lady, you may see a throng of passions flaming at my heart, set on fire by your beauty, I protest to you; come, shame not your wisdom to believe report or opinion of the world; 'tis a malicious age we live in; if your ears have been abused with any ill noise of me, you shall tell yourself, if you love me, the world is a shameless and miserable detractor: you do not despise me, lady? —
Pen . No, I pity so handsome a gentleman, and of so fair a fortune, should want his eyes.
Fow . How! blind?
Pen . To your own follies, sir.
Fow . Shall I swear I love you as I am a gentleman?
Pen . As you are a gentleman, I know you can swear any thing, 'tis a fashion you are most constant in, to be religiously wicked; an oath in your mouth, and a reservation in your heart, is a common courtship! Do not swear as you are a gentleman.
Fow . As I am an honest man?
Pen . Out upon't! that's a worse; my tailor cozen'd me t' other day with the same oath. Save your credit, and let swearing alone; I dare take your word —
Fow . Well said.
Pen . For a greater matter, but not for this. You and I have not eaten a bushel of salt yet; in time I may be converted, and think your tongue and heart keep house together, for, at this time, I presume they are very far asunder.
Fow . Would you have my tongue in my heart, lady?
Pen . No, by my troth, I would rather find your heart in your tongue; but you are valiant, and 'tis only fear, they say, brings a man's heart up to his mouth.
Fow . Why, your wit is a tyrant; now, pray tell me, do not you love me mightily above potatoes? come, I see the little blind boy in your eyes already.
Pen . Love you, sir?
Fow . Yes, I know by your bitterness you wish me well, and think there is some hope I may be won too, you take pains to whip me so handsomely; come, I'll be a good child, and kiss the rod.
Clare . [ to Violetta .] — You oblige my service to you; I am one
Aimwell call'd friend, and shall be happy to
Convey him any knowledge may concern him.
Vio . Then briefly thus: I understand he loves me.
Pray you, do him the true office of a friend,
And counsel him desist; I am disposed of
Already in my father's thoughts, and must
Shew my obedience; he shall beget
But his own trouble, if he move
My uncle or my father, and perhaps
Draw their suspicion and displeasure
On me too, by so indiscreet proceeding.
I would not have a gentleman of his worth
Do himself so great injury to run
A course of so much hazard; if you please
To bear the burden of my thanks for his,
On my part, undeserv'd opinion,
And make him sensible, in time he may
Place his affection where he may expect
Better return, you shall discharge a friendship
To him, and with it make my thoughts your debtor.
Clare . You have express'd a nobleness in this;
Were all of your mind, lady, there would be
Less willow worn.
Fow . You would have me praise you, now; I could ramble in your commendation.
Pen . I think so.
Fow . Do you but think so? why, you shall hear me:
Your hairs are Cupid's nets, a forehead like
The fairest coast of heaven without a cloud,
Your eyebrow is Love's bow, while either eye
Are arrows drawn to wound; your lips the temple
Or sacred fane of kisses, often as they meet, exchanging roses;
Your tongue Love's lightning, neck the milky path
Or throne where sit the Graces. —
Do not I know that I have abused you all this while, or do you think I love you a thought the better, or, with all my poetical daubings, can alter the complexion of a hair, now?
Pen . I would not have you, sir.
Fow . No dispraise to you,
I have seen as handsome a woman ride upon a sack to market, that never knew the impulsion of a coat or the price of a stammel petticoat; and I have seen a worse face in a countess; what o' that? Must you be proud because men call you handsome? and yet, though we are so foolish to tell you so, you might have more wit than to believeit; your eyes may be matched, I hope; for your nose, there be richer in our sex; 'tis true that you have colour for your hair, we grant it, and for your cheeks, but what do your teeth stand you in, lady? your lips are pretty, but you lay them too open, and men breathe too much upon them; for your tongue, we all leave you, there's no contesting: your hand is fine, but your gloves whiter, and for your leg, if the commendation or goodness of it be in the small, there be bad enow in gentlemen's stockings to compare with it; come, remember you are imperfect creatures without a man; be not you a goddess; I know you are mortal, and had rather make you my companion than my idol: this is no flattery, now.

Enter Worthy , AIMWELL , and Brains .

Wor . Where be these gentlemen?
Fow . How now, Frank!
Wor . You look well to your charge, Brains.

Bra . A question, sir; pray you, are you married, sir?
Clare . Why dost thou ask?
Bra . Because you should answer me;
I cannot see it in your forehead, sir.
Clare . How now, my officious trencher-squire?
Wor . Excuse him, master Clare, 'tis his blunt zeal
To do his master service, who enjoin'd his
Best care and vigilance upon this gentlewoman.
Clare . I am married, sir.
Bra . Then I hope you have met with your match already.
I have nothing to say to you —
Clare This fellow's mad.
Bra . Nor my master neither, though he left his brains behind him. I hope a man may ask a question, sir?
Wor . Come hither, Brains.
Fow . On my life thou art in love.
Clare . You are not.
Fow . Do not mistake yourself, for I am.
Clare . Caught? I am glad on't.
Fow . No, indeed, not caught neither, therefore be not overjoy'd, good morality? why, dost thou think it possible a woman's face, or any thing without her, can enchant me?
Bra . [ to Worthy .] — Let me alone.
Clare . Why dost thou court them, then?
Fow . Why, to try their wits, with which I sharpen my own. Dost think I am so mad to marry? sacrifice my liberty to a woman; sell my patrimony to buy them feathers and new fashions, and maintain a gentleman-usher to ride in my saddle when I am knighted and pointed at, with Pythagoras for my tame sufferance; have my wardrobe laid forth and my holiday breeches, when my lady pleases I shall take the air in a coach with her, together with her dog that is costive; be appointed my table, what I shall eat, according as her ladyship finds her own body inclined; fed upon this or that melancholy dish by prescription, guarded with officious sallads, like a prisoner in a throng; praise her bountiful allowance of coarse mutton, that have the world of dainty flesh before me? 'twere a sin to discretion, and my own freedom.
Bra . Young mistress, I observe you.
Clare . You do not mean to die in this faith?
Fow . Prithee, do not talk of dying; a pox on the belman and his Omnia benes! but that I think I know thy father, I should hardly believe thou wert a gentleman; however, thy Aristotle's Ethics will make thee uncapable of their company shortly; if you catechise thus you shall have few gentlemen your disciples that have any blood or spirit about them. There is no discourse so becoming your gallants now, as a horse race, or Hyde-park, — what ladies lips are softest, what fashion is most terse and courtly, what news abroad, which is the best vaulting-house, where shall we taste canary and be drunk to night? talk of morality! — here be ladies still, you shall hear me court one of them; I hope you will not report abroad among my friends that I love her; it is the love of mounting into her maidenhead, I vow, Jack, and nothing else.
Clare . You are a mad lover.
Bra . That was cunningly cast about.
Fow . Whither is't, lady?
Pen . I am walking in, sir.
Fow . I'll wait on you, and after that abroad; 'tis an inviting day, are you for the coach?
Pen . No.
Fow . Or for the couch? Take me a companion for either.
Pen . Neither.
Fow . How! neither? blame yourself if you be idle; howsoever, you shall not be alone: make use of my arm, fairest; you will to your lute, I heard you could touch it cunningly; pray bless my ears a little.
Pen . My lute's broke, sir.
Fow . A string, you mean; but it is no matter, your voice is not; ravish a little with that, if you please, I can help you to an heir: — by this black eye, which nature hath given you, I'll not leave you I'll follow you.
Aim . All this from her?
Clare . You may believe me, sir.
Aim . Why this to him? Could she not give me repulse, but she must thus proclaim it? I never moved it to her; her uncle hath had no opportunity to acquaint her. What's the mystery? — [ Aside .] — Prithee, repeat again the substance of what she said.
Clare . With my best memory her words [were]; she wish'd you not proceed for she was already disposed of in her father's thoughts .
Aim. In her father's thoughts? Haply not in her own.
Clare. It would be fruitless to move her uncle or her father in it .
Aim . Ha! not move her uncle or her father ? — This may beget encouragement [there's] hope I may propound my affection to her, and be happy in't. Proceed.
Clare. She would be sorry a gentleman of your worth should run a course of so much hazard .
Aim. Hazard! that word does yet imply there is a possibility
Clare . So, with complement of her thanks for your fair opinion of her, she'd wish me make you sensible in time to place your love where you might expect better return .
Aim . Ah, that's wormwood; let me see; better return ; this last return hath spoiled the whole term, and undone my suit; umph! No, it doth admit a fair construction; She would have me sensible in time to plant my love where I may expect better return . Why — that I may from her, for aught I know.
Clare. Amantes sibi somnia fingunt; how apt are lovers to conster all to their desires!
Aim . I will not let my action fall.
Clare . Do not build castles.
Aim . I'll smooth it with her uncle; if it hit,
Oh my blest stars!
Clare . He's a-bed already!
Aim . Venus assist one to thy altar flies,
And I'll proclaim thy son hath found his eyes.