The Way of the World
of this imposture. My lady will be enraged beyond bounds, and sacrifice
niece, and fortune and all at that conjuncture. And let me alone to keep
her warm: if she should flag in her part, I will not fail to prompt her.
FAIN. Faith, this has an appearance.
MRS. MAR. I’m sorry I hinted to my lady to endeavour a match between
Millamant and Sir Wilfull; that may be an obstacle.
FAIN. Oh, for that matter, leave me to manage him; I’ll disable him for
that, he will drink like a Dane. After dinner I’ll set his hand in.
MRS. MAR. Well, how do you stand affected towards your lady?
FAIN. Why, faith, I’m thinking of it. Let me see. I am married
already; so that’s over. My wife has played the jade with me; well,
that’s over too. I never loved her, or if I had, why that would have
been over too by this time. Jealous of her I cannot be, for I am
certain; so there’s an end of jealousy. Weary of her I am and shall be.
No, there’s no end of that; no, no, that were too much to hope. Thus far
concerning my repose. Now for my reputation: as to my own, I married not
for it; so that’s out of the question. And as to my part in my
wife’s—why, she had parted with hers before; so, bringing none to me, she
can take none from me: ’tis against all rule of play that I should lose
to one who has not wherewithal to stake.
MRS. MAR. Besides you forget, marriage is honourable.
FAIN. Hum! Faith, and that’s well thought on: marriage is honourable,
as you say; and if so, wherefore should cuckoldom be a discredit, being
derived from so honourable a root?
MRS. MAR. Nay, I know not; if the root be honourable, why not the
branches?
FAIN. So, so; why this point’s clear. Well, how do we proceed?
MRS. MAR. I will contrive a letter which shall be delivered to my lady
at the time when that rascal who is to act Sir Rowland is with her. It
shall come as from an unknown hand—for the less I appear to know of the
truth the better I can play the incendiary. Besides, I would not have
Foible provoked if I could help it, because, you know, she knows some
passages. Nay, I expect all will come out. But let the mine be sprung
first, and then I care not if I am discovered.
FAIN. If the worst come to the worst, I’ll turn my wife to grass. I
have already a deed of settlement of the best part of her estate, which I
wheedled out of her, and that you shall partake at least.
MRS. MAR. I hope you are convinced that I hate Mirabell now? You’ll be
no more jealous?
FAIN. Jealous? No, by this kiss. Let husbands be jealous, but let the
lover still believe: or if he doubt, let it be only to endear his
pleasure, and prepare the joy that follows, when he proves his mistress
true. But let husbands’ doubts convert to endless jealousy; or if they
have belief, let it corrupt to superstition and blind credulity. I am
single and will herd no more with ’em. True, I wear the badge, but I’ll
disown the order. And since I take my leave of ’em, I care not if I
leave ’em a common motto to their common crest.
All husbands must or pain or shame endure;
The wise too jealous are, fools too secure.
ACT IV.—SCENE I.
_Scene Continues_.
LADY WISHFORT _and_ FOIBLE.
LADY. Is Sir Rowland coming, say’st thou, Foible? And are things in
order?
FOIB. Yes, madam. I have put wax-lights in the sconces, and placed the
footmen in a row in the hall, in their best liveries, with the coachman
and postillion to fill up the equipage.
LADY. Have you pulvilled the coachman and postillion, that they may not
stink of the stable when Sir Rowland comes by?
FOIB. Yes, madam.
LADY. And are the dancers and the music ready, that he may be
entertained in all points with correspondence to his passion?
FOIB. All is ready, madam.
LADY. And—well—and how do I look, Foible?
FOIB. Most killing well, madam.
LADY. Well, and how shall I receive him? In what figure shall I give
his heart the first impression? There is a great deal in the first
impression. Shall I sit? No, I won’t sit, I’ll walk,—ay, I’ll walk from
the door upon his entrance, and then turn full upon him. No, that will
be too sudden. I’ll lie,—ay, I’ll lie down. I’ll receive him in my
little dressing-room; there’s a couch—yes, yes, I’ll give the first
impression on a couch. I won’t lie neither, but loll and lean upon one
elbow, with one foot a little dangling off, jogging in a thoughtful way.
Yes; and then as soon as he appears, start, ay, start and be surprised,
and rise to meet him in a pretty disorder. Yes; oh, nothing is more
alluring than a levee from a couch in some confusion. It shows the foot
to advantage, and furnishes with blushes and re-composing airs beyond
comparison. Hark! There’s a coach.
FOIB. ’Tis he, madam.
LADY. Oh dear, has my nephew made his addresses to Millamant? I ordered
him.
FOIB. Sir Wilfull is set in to drinking, madam, in the parlour.
LADY. Ods my life, I’ll send him to her. Call her down, Foible; bring
her hither. I’ll send him as I go. When they are together, then come to
me, Foible, that I may not be too long alone with Sir Rowland.
SCENE II.
MRS. MILLAMANT, MRS. FAINALL, FOIBLE.
FOIB. Madam, I stayed here to tell your ladyship that Mr. Mirabell has
waited this half hour for an opportunity to talk with you; though my
lady’s orders were to leave you and Sir Wilfull together. Shall I tell
Mr. Mirabell that you are at leisure?
MILLA. No. What would the dear man have? I am thoughtful and would
amuse myself; bid him come another time.
There never yet was woman made,
Nor shall, but to be cursed.
[_Repeating and walking about_.]
That’s hard!
MRS. FAIN. You are very fond of Sir John Suckling to-day, Millamant, and
the poets.
MILLA. He? Ay, and filthy verses. So I am.
FOIB. Sir Wilfull is coming, madam. Shall I send Mr. Mirabell away?
MILLA. Ay, if you please, Foible, send him away, or send him hither,
just as you will, dear Foible. I think I’ll see him. Shall I? Ay, let
the wretch come.
Thyrsis, a youth of the inspired train.
[_Repeating_]
Dear Fainall, entertain Sir Wilfull:—thou hast philosophy to undergo a
fool; thou art married and hast patience. I would confer with my own
thoughts.
MRS. FAIN. I am obliged to you that you would make me your proxy in this
affair, but I have business of my own.
SCENE III.
[_To them_] SIR WILFULL.
MRS. FAIN. O Sir Wilfull, you are come at the critical instant. There’s
your mistress up to the ears in love and contemplation; pursue your
point, now or never.
SIR WIL. Yes, my aunt will have it so. I would gladly have been
encouraged with a bottle or two, because I’m somewhat wary at first,
before I am acquainted. [_This while_ MILLAMANT _walks about repeating
to herself_.] But I hope, after a time, I shall break my mind—that is,
upon further acquaintance.—So for the present, cousin, I’ll take my
leave. If so be you’ll be so kind to make my excuse, I’ll return to my
company—
MRS. FAIN. Oh, fie, Sir Wilfull! What, you must not be daunted.
SIR WIL. Daunted? No, that’s not it; it is not so much for that—for if
so be that I set on’t I’ll do’t. But only for the present, ’tis
sufficient till further acquaintance, that’s all—your servant.
MRS. FAIN. Nay, I’ll swear you shall never lose so favourable an
opportunity, if I can help it. I’ll leave you together and lock the
door.
SCENE IV.
SIR WILFULL, MILLAMANT.
SIR WIL. Nay, nay, cousin. I have forgot my gloves. What d’ye do?
’Sheart, a has locked the door indeed, I think.—Nay, cousin Fainall, open
the door. Pshaw, what a vixen trick is this? Nay, now a has seen me
too.—Cousin, I made bold to pass through as it were—I think this door’s
enchanted.
MILLA. [_repeating_]:—
I prithee spare me, gentle boy,
Press me no more for that slight toy.
SIR WIL. Anan? Cousin, your servant.
MILLA. That foolish trifle of a heart—
Sir Wilfull!
SIR WIL. Yes—your servant. No offence, I hope, cousin?
MILLA. [_repeating_]:—
I swear it will not do its part,
Though thou dost thine, employ’st thy power and art.
Natural, easy Suckling!
SIR WIL. Anan? Suckling? No such suckling neither, cousin, nor
stripling: I thank heaven I’m no minor.
MILLA. Ah, rustic, ruder than Gothic.
SIR WIL. Well, well, I shall understand your lingo one of these days,
cousin; in the meanwhile I must answer in plain English.
MILLA. Have you any business with me, Sir Wilfull?
SIR WIL. Not at present, cousin. Yes, I made bold to see, to come and
know if that how you were disposed to fetch a walk this evening; if so be
that I might not be troublesome, I would have sought a walk with you.
MILLA. A walk? What then?
SIR WIL. Nay, nothing. Only for the walk’s sake, that’s all.
MILLA. I nauseate walking: ’tis a country diversion; I loathe the
country and everything that relates to it.
SIR WIL. Indeed! Hah! Look ye, look ye, you do? Nay, ’tis like you
may. Here are choice of pastimes here in town, as plays and the like,
that must be confessed indeed—
MILLA. Ah, _l’étourdi_! I hate the town too.
SIR WIL. Dear heart, that’s much. Hah! that you should hate ’em both!
Hah! ’tis like you may! There are some can’t relish the town, and others
can’t away with the country, ’tis like you may be one of those, cousin.
MILLA. Ha, ha, ha! Yes, ’tis like I may. You have nothing further to
say to me?
SIR WIL. Not at present, cousin. ’Tis like when I have an opportunity
to be more private—I may break my mind in some measure—I conjecture you
partly guess. However, that’s as time shall try. But spare to speak and
spare to speed, as they say.
MILLA. If it is of no great importance, Sir Wilfull, you will oblige me
to leave me: I have just now a little business.
SIR WIL. Enough, enough, cousin. Yes, yes, all a case. When you’re
disposed, when you’re disposed. Now’s as well as another time; and
another time as well as now. All’s one for that. Yes, yes; if your
concerns call you, there’s no haste: it will keep cold as they say.
Cousin, your servant. I think this door’s locked.
MILLA. You may go this way, sir.
SIR WIL. Your servant; then with your leave I’ll return to my company.
MILLA. Ay, ay; ha, ha, ha!
Like Phœbus sung the no less am’rous boy.
SCENE V.
MRS. MILLAMANT, MIRABELL.
MIRA. Like Daphne she, as lovely and as coy.
Do you lock yourself up from me, to make my search more curious? Or is
this pretty artifice contrived, to signify that here the chase must end,
and my pursuit be crowned, for you can fly no further?
MILLA. Vanity! No—I’ll fly and be followed to the last moment; though I
am upon the very verge of matrimony, I expect you should solicit me as
much as if I were wavering at the grate of a monastery, with one foot
over the threshold. I’ll be solicited to the very last; nay, and
afterwards.
MIRA. What, after the last?
MILLA. Oh, I should think I was poor and had nothing to bestow if I were
reduced to an inglorious ease, and freed from the agreeable fatigues of
solicitation.
MIRA. But do not you know that when favours are conferred upon instant
and tedious solicitation, that they diminish in their value, and that
both the giver loses the grace, and the receiver lessens his pleasure?
MILLA. It may be in things of common application, but never, sure, in
love. Oh, I hate a lover that can dare to think he draws a moment’s air