Volume Xiv Part 118 (1/2)

PAR. Are not you married too? take care that yours does not wear the breeches, another kind of danger, but as troublesome as that, or sore eyes; and if she get but a trick of taking as readily as she's persuaded to give, you may find a horn at home. I have seen a cuckold of your complexion; if he had had as much hoof as horn, you might have hunted the beast by his slot.[277]

PLEA. How fine she is! and, by this light, a handsome wench.

Master Jolly, I am easier persuaded to be reconciled to your fault than any man's I have seen of this kind: her eyes have more arguments in 'em than a thousand of those that seduce the world; hang me, if those quivers be not full of darts; I could kiss that mouth myself. Is this she my aunt quarrelled with you for?

JOLLY. The same, selfsame: and, by this hand, I was barbarous to her, for your aunt's sake; and had I not 'scaped that mischief of matrimony, by this light, I had never seen her again. But I was resolved not to quit her till I was sure of a wife, for fear of what has followed. Had I been such an a.s.s to have left her upon the airy hopes of a widow's oaths, what a case had I been in now!

You see your aunt's provided of a man. Bless him, and send him patience! 'Twould have been fine to have seen me walking, and sighing upon cold hunting, seeking my wh.o.r.e again, or forced to make use of some common mercenary thing, that sells sin and diseases, crimes, penance, and sad repentance together! Here's consolation and satisfaction in Wanton, though a man lose his meal with the widow. And faith, be free--how do you like my girl?

Rid thee of her! What does she want now, pray, but a jointure, to satisfy any honest man? Speak your conscience, ladies: don't you think a little repentance hereafter will serve for all the small sins that good-nature can act with such a sinner?

PAR. Pray, sir, remember she's my wife, and be so civil to us both, as to forget these things.

JOLLY. For that, Jack, we'll understand hereafter. 'Tis but a trick of youth, man, and her jest will make us both merry, I warrant thee.

PAR. Pray, sir, no more of your jests, nor your Jack. Remember my coat and calling. This familiarity, both with my wife and myself, is not decent: your clergy with Christian names are scarce held good Christians.

WID. I wonder at nothing so much as Master Jolly's mirth to-day!

Where lies his part of the jest? Cosened or refused by all, not a fish that stays in's net.

JOLLY. No; what's this? [JOLLY _hugs_ WANTON.] Show me a fairer in all your streams. Nor is this my single joy, who am pleased to find you may be cosened; rejoice to see you may be brought to lie with a man for a jest. Let me alone to fit you with a trick too.

CARE. Faith, it must be some new trick; for thou art so beaten at the old one, 'twill neither please thee nor her; besides, I mean to teach her that myself.

PLEA. I shall never be perfectly quiet in my mind till I see somebody as angry as myself: yet I have some consolation, when I think on the wise plot that killed the coachman. How the plague, red cross, and halbert has cut their fingers that designed it!

their anger will be perfect. Secret says they are coming, and that the Lady Loveall has given 'em the alarm.

_Enter_ SAD _and_ CONSTANT.

WILD. And see where the parties come!--storms and tempests in their minds! their looks are daggers.

PLEA. Servant, what, you're melancholy, and full of wonder! I see you have met the news.

SAD. Yes, madam; we have heard a report that will concern both your judgment and your honour.

PLEA. Alas, sir! we're innocent; 'tis mere predestination.

CON. All weddings, Master Sad, you know, go by chance, like hanging.

PLEA. And, I thank my stars, I have 'scaped hanging. To ha' been his bride had been both.

CON. This is not like the promise you made us yesterday.

WID. Why, truly, servant, I scarce know what I do yet. The fright of the plague had so possessed my mind with fear, that I could think and dream of nothing last night but of a tall black man that came and kissed me in my sleep, and slapped his whip in mine ears. 'Twas a saucy ghost, not unlike my coachman that's dead, and accused you of having a hand in his murder, and vowed to haunt me till I was married. I told my niece the dream.

PLEA. Nay, the ghost sighed, and accused Secret and Master Sad of making him away. Confess, faith, had you a hand in that b.l.o.o.d.y jest?

WID. Fie, servant! Could you be so cruel as to join with my woman against me?

CON. 'Tis well, ladies. Why a pox do you look at me? This was your subtle plot; a pox on your clerk's wit! You said the jest would beget a comedy when 'twas known, and so I believe 'twill.

SAD. Madam, I find you have discovered our design, whose chief end was to prevent this mischief, which I doubt not but you'll both live to repent your share of, before you have done travelling to the Epsoms, Bourbonne,[278] and the Spaws, to cure those travelled diseases these knights-errant have with curiosity sought out for you. 'Tis true, they are mischiefs that dwell in pleasant countries, yet those roses have their thorns; and I doubt not but these gentlemen's wit may sting as well as please sometime; and you may find it harder to satisfy their travelled experience than to have suffered our home-bred ignorance.