The Old Bachelor [20]
wife--another fond fool, to break her heart-- Well, be as cruel as you can to me, I'll pray for you; and when I am dead with grief, may you have one that will love you as well as I have done: I shall be contented to lie at peace in my cold grave--since it will please you. [Sighs.]
FOND. Good lack, good lack, she would melt a heart of oak--I profess I can hold no longer. Nay, dear Cocky--ifeck, you'll break my heart--ifeck you will. See, you have made me weep--made poor Nykin weep. Nay, come kiss, buss poor Nykin--and I won't leave thee--I'll lose all first.
LAET. [Aside.] How! Heaven forbid! that will be carrying the jest too far indeed.
FOND. Won't you kiss Nykin?
LAET. Go, naughty Nykin, you don't love me.
FOND. Kiss, kiss, ifeck, I do.
LAET. No, you don't. [She kisses him.]
FOND. What, not love Cocky!
LAET. No-h. [Sighs.]
FOND. I profess I do love thee better than five hundred pound--and so thou shalt say, for I'll leave it to stay with thee.
LAET. No you sha'n't neglect your business for me. No, indeed, you sha'n't, Nykin. If you don't go, I'll think you been dealous of me still.
FOND. He, he, he, wilt thou, poor fool? Then I will go, I won't be dealous. Poor Cocky, kiss Nykin, kiss Nykin, ee, ee, ee. Here will be the good man anon, to talk to Cocky and teach her how a wife ought to behave herself.
LAET. [Aside.] I hope to have one that will show me how a husband ought to behave himself. I shall be glad to learn, to please my jewel. [Kiss.]
FOND. That's my good dear. Come, kiss Nykin once more, and then get you in. So--get you in, get you in. Bye, bye.
LAET. Bye, Nykin.
FOND. Bye, Cocky.
LAET. Bye, Nykin.
FOND. Bye, Cocky, bye, bye.
SCENE V.
VAINLOVE, SHARPER.
SHARP. How! Araminta lost!
VAIN. To confirm what I have said, read this. [Gives a letter.]
SHARP. [Reads.] Hum, hum! And what then appeared a fault, upon reflection seems only an effect of a too powerful passion. I'm afraid I give too great a proof of my own at this time. I am in disorder for what I have written. But something, I know not what, forced me. I only beg a favourable censure of this and your ARAMINTA.
SHARP. Lost! Pray heaven thou hast not lost thy wits. Here, here, she's thy own, man, signed and sealed too. To her, man--a delicious melon, pure and consenting ripe, and only waits thy cutting up: she has been breeding love to thee all this while, and just now she's delivered of it.
VAIN. 'Tis an untimely fruit, and she has miscarried of her love.
SHARP. Never leave this damned ill-natured whimsey, Frank? Thou hast a sickly, peevish appetite; only chew love and cannot digest it.
VAIN. Yes, when I feed myself. But I hate to be crammed. By heaven, there's not a woman will give a man the pleasure of a chase: my sport is always balked or cut short. I stumble over the game I would pursue. 'Tis dull and unnatural to have a hare run full in the hounds' mouth, and would distaste the keenest hunter. I would have overtaken, not have met, my game.
SHARP. However, I hope you don't mean to forsake it; that will be but a kind of mongrel cur's trick. Well, are you for the Mall?
VAIN. No; she will be there this evening. Yes, I will go too, and she shall see her error in -
SHARP. In her choice, I-gad. But thou canst not be so great a brute as to slight her.
VAIN. I should disappoint her if I did not. By her management I should think she expects it.
All naturally fly what does pursue: 'Tis fit men should be coy when women woo.
SCENE VI.
A Room in Fondlewife's House.
A SERVANT introducing BELLMOUR, in fanatic habit, with a patch upon one eye and a book in his hand.
SERV. Here's a chair, sir, if you please to repose yourself. My mistress is coming, sir.
BELL. Secure in my disguise I have out-faced suspicion and even dared discovery. This cloak my sanctity, and trusty Scarron's novels my prayer-book; methinks I am the very picture of Montufar in the Hypocrites. Oh! she comes.
SCENE
FOND. Good lack, good lack, she would melt a heart of oak--I profess I can hold no longer. Nay, dear Cocky--ifeck, you'll break my heart--ifeck you will. See, you have made me weep--made poor Nykin weep. Nay, come kiss, buss poor Nykin--and I won't leave thee--I'll lose all first.
LAET. [Aside.] How! Heaven forbid! that will be carrying the jest too far indeed.
FOND. Won't you kiss Nykin?
LAET. Go, naughty Nykin, you don't love me.
FOND. Kiss, kiss, ifeck, I do.
LAET. No, you don't. [She kisses him.]
FOND. What, not love Cocky!
LAET. No-h. [Sighs.]
FOND. I profess I do love thee better than five hundred pound--and so thou shalt say, for I'll leave it to stay with thee.
LAET. No you sha'n't neglect your business for me. No, indeed, you sha'n't, Nykin. If you don't go, I'll think you been dealous of me still.
FOND. He, he, he, wilt thou, poor fool? Then I will go, I won't be dealous. Poor Cocky, kiss Nykin, kiss Nykin, ee, ee, ee. Here will be the good man anon, to talk to Cocky and teach her how a wife ought to behave herself.
LAET. [Aside.] I hope to have one that will show me how a husband ought to behave himself. I shall be glad to learn, to please my jewel. [Kiss.]
FOND. That's my good dear. Come, kiss Nykin once more, and then get you in. So--get you in, get you in. Bye, bye.
LAET. Bye, Nykin.
FOND. Bye, Cocky.
LAET. Bye, Nykin.
FOND. Bye, Cocky, bye, bye.
SCENE V.
VAINLOVE, SHARPER.
SHARP. How! Araminta lost!
VAIN. To confirm what I have said, read this. [Gives a letter.]
SHARP. [Reads.] Hum, hum! And what then appeared a fault, upon reflection seems only an effect of a too powerful passion. I'm afraid I give too great a proof of my own at this time. I am in disorder for what I have written. But something, I know not what, forced me. I only beg a favourable censure of this and your ARAMINTA.
SHARP. Lost! Pray heaven thou hast not lost thy wits. Here, here, she's thy own, man, signed and sealed too. To her, man--a delicious melon, pure and consenting ripe, and only waits thy cutting up: she has been breeding love to thee all this while, and just now she's delivered of it.
VAIN. 'Tis an untimely fruit, and she has miscarried of her love.
SHARP. Never leave this damned ill-natured whimsey, Frank? Thou hast a sickly, peevish appetite; only chew love and cannot digest it.
VAIN. Yes, when I feed myself. But I hate to be crammed. By heaven, there's not a woman will give a man the pleasure of a chase: my sport is always balked or cut short. I stumble over the game I would pursue. 'Tis dull and unnatural to have a hare run full in the hounds' mouth, and would distaste the keenest hunter. I would have overtaken, not have met, my game.
SHARP. However, I hope you don't mean to forsake it; that will be but a kind of mongrel cur's trick. Well, are you for the Mall?
VAIN. No; she will be there this evening. Yes, I will go too, and she shall see her error in -
SHARP. In her choice, I-gad. But thou canst not be so great a brute as to slight her.
VAIN. I should disappoint her if I did not. By her management I should think she expects it.
All naturally fly what does pursue: 'Tis fit men should be coy when women woo.
SCENE VI.
A Room in Fondlewife's House.
A SERVANT introducing BELLMOUR, in fanatic habit, with a patch upon one eye and a book in his hand.
SERV. Here's a chair, sir, if you please to repose yourself. My mistress is coming, sir.
BELL. Secure in my disguise I have out-faced suspicion and even dared discovery. This cloak my sanctity, and trusty Scarron's novels my prayer-book; methinks I am the very picture of Montufar in the Hypocrites. Oh! she comes.
SCENE