BEN. Mess, that's true; marry! I had forgot. Dick's dead, as you
say. Well, and how? I have a many questions to ask you. Well, you
ben't married again, father, be you?
SIR SAMP. No; I intend you shall marry, Ben; I would not marry for
thy sake.
BEN. Nay, what does that
signify? An' you marry again--why then,
I'll go to sea again, so there's one for t'other, an' that be all.
Pray don't let me be your hindrance--e'en marry a God's name, an the
wind sit that way. As for my part, mayhap I have no mind to marry.
FRAIL. That would be pity--such a handsome young gentleman.
BEN. Handsome! he, he, he! nay, forsooth, an you be for joking,
I'll joke with you, for I love my jest, an' the ship were sinking,
as we sayn at sea. But I'll tell you why I don't much stand towards
matrimony. I love to roam about from port to port, and from land to
land; I could never abide to be port-bound, as we call it. Now, a
man that is married has, as it were, d'ye see, his feet in the
bilboes, and mayhap mayn't get them out again when he would.
SIR SAMP. Ben's a wag.
BEN. A man that is married, d'ye see, is no more like another man
than a galley-slave is like one of us free sailors; he is chained to
an oar all his life, and mayhap forced to tug a leaky
vessel into
the bargain.
SIR SAMP. A very wag--Ben's a very wag; only a little rough, he
wants a little polishing.
MRS FRAIL. Not at all; I like his
humour mightily: it's plain and
honest--I should like such a
humour in a husband extremely.
BEN. Say'n you so, forsooth? Marry, and I should like such a
handsome
gentlewoman for a bed-fellow hugely. How say you,
mistress, would you like going to sea? Mess, you're a tight
vessel,
an well rigged, an you were but as well manned.
MRS FRAIL. I should not doubt that if you were master of me.
BEN. But I'll tell you one thing, an you come to sea in a high
wind, or that lady--you may'nt carry so much sail o' your head--top
and top
gallant, by the mess.
MRS FRAIL. No, why so?
BEN. Why, an you do, you may run the risk to be overset, and then
you'll carry your keels above water, he, he, he!
ANG. I swear, Mr Benjamin is the veriest wag in nature--an absolute
sea-wit.
SIR SAMP. Nay, Ben has parts, but as I told you before, they want a
little polishing. You must not take anything ill, madam.
BEN. No, I hope the
gentlewoman is not angry; I mean all in good
part, for if I give a jest, I'll take a jest, and so forsooth you
may be as free with me.
ANG. I thank you, sir, I am not at all offended. But
methinks, Sir
Sampson, you should leave him alone with his
mistress. Mr Tattle,
we must not
hinder lovers.
TATT. Well, Miss, I have your promise. [Aside to Miss.]
SIR SAMP. Body o' me, madam, you say true. Look you, Ben, this is
your
mistress. Come, Miss, you must not be shame-faced; we'll leave
you together.
MISS. I can't abide to be left alone; mayn't my cousin stay with
me?
SIR SAMP. No, no. Come, let's away.
BEN. Look you, father, mayhap the young woman mayn't take a
likingto me.
SIR SAMP. I
warrant thee, boy: come, come, we'll be gone; I'll
venture that.
SCENE VII.
BEN, and MISS PRUE.
BEN. Come
mistress, will you please to sit down? for an you stand a
stern a that'n, we shall never
grapple together. Come, I'll haul a
chair; there, an you please to sit, I'll sit by you.
MISS. You need not sit so near one, if you have anything to say, I
can hear you farther off, I an't deaf.
BEN. Why that's true, as you say, nor I an't dumb, I can be heard
as far as another,--I'll heave off, to please you. [Sits farther
off.] An we were a
leagueasunder, I'd
undertake to hold discourse
with you, an 'twere not a main high wind indeed, and full in my
teeth. Look you, forsooth, I am, as it were, bound for the land of
matrimony; 'tis a
voyage, d'ye see, that was none of my seeking. I
was commanded by father, and if you like of it, mayhap I may steer
into your harbour. How say you,
mistress? The short of the thing
is, that if you like me, and I like you, we may chance to swing in a
hammock together.
MISS. I don't know what to say to you, nor I don't care to speak
with you at all.
BEN. No? I'm sorry for that. But pray why are you so scornful?
MISS. As long as one must not speak one's mind, one had better not
speak at all, I think, and truly I won't tell a lie for the matter.
BEN. Nay, you say true in that, it's but a folly to lie: for to
speak one thing, and to think just the
contrary way is, as it were,
to look one way, and to row another. Now, for my part, d'ye see,
I'm for carrying things above board, I'm not for keeping anything
under hatches,--so that if you ben't as
willing as I, say so a God's
name: there's no harm done; mayhap you may be shame-faced; some
maidens thof they love a man well enough, yet they don't care to
tell'n so to's face. If that's the case, why, silence gives
consent.
MISS. But I'm sure it is not so, for I'll speak sooner than you
should believe that; and I'll speak truth, though one should always
tell a lie to a man; and I don't care, let my father do what he
will; I'm too big to be whipt, so I'll tell you
plainly, I don't
like you, nor love you at all, nor never will, that's more: so
there's your answer for you; and don't trouble me no more, you ugly
thing.
BEN. Look you, young woman, you may learn to give good words,
however. I spoke you fair, d'ye see, and civil. As for your love
or your
liking, I don't value it of a rope's end; and mayhap I like
you as little as you do me: what I said was in
obedience to father.
Gad, I fear a whipping no more than you do. But I tell you one
thing, if you should give such language at sea, you'd have a cat o'
nine tails laid cross your shoulders. Flesh! who are you? You
heard t'other handsome young woman speak civilly to me of her own
accord. Whatever you think of yourself, gad, I don't think you are
any more to compare to her than a can of small-beer to a bowl of
punch.
MISS. Well, and there's a handsome gentleman, and a fine gentleman,
and a sweet gentleman, that was here that loves me, and I love him;
and if he sees you speak to me any more, he'll
thrash your
jacketfor you, he will, you great sea-calf.
BEN. What, do you mean that fair-weather spark that was here just
now? Will he
thrash my
jacket? Let'n,--let'n. But an he comes
near me, mayhap I may giv'n a salt eel for's supper, for all that.
What does father mean to leave me alone as soon as I come home with
such a dirty dowdy? Sea-calf? I an't calf enough to lick your
chalked face, you cheese-curd you: --marry thee? Oons, I'll marry a
Lapland witch as soon, and live upon selling
contrary winds and
wrecked
vessels.
MISS. I won't be called names, nor I won't be abused thus, so I
won't. If I were a man [cries]--you durst not talk at his rate.
No, you durst not, you stinking tar-barrel.
SCENE VIII.
[To them] MRS FORESIGHT and MRS FRAIL.
MRS FORE. They have quarrelled, just as we could wish.
BEN. Tar-barrel? Let your
sweetheart there call me so, if he'll
take your part, your Tom Essence, and I'll say something to him;
gad, I'll lace his musk-doublet for him, I'll make him stink: he
shall smell more like a
weasel than a civet-cat, afore I ha' done
with 'en.
MRS FORE. Bless me, what's the matter, Miss? What, does she cry?
Mr Benjamin, what have you done to her?
BEN. Let her cry: the more she cries the less she'll--she has been
gathering foul weather in her mouth, and now it rains out at her
eyes.
MRS FORE. Come, Miss, come along with me, and tell me, poor child.
MRS FRAIL. Lord, what shall we do? There's my brother Foresight
and Sir Sampson coming. Sister, do you take Miss down into the
parlour, and I'll carry Mr Benjamin into my
chamber, for they must
not know that they are fallen out. Come, sir, will you
ventureyourself with me? [Looking kindly on him.]
BEN. Venture, mess, and that I will, though 'twere to sea in a
storm.
SCENE IX.
SIR SAMPSON and FORESIGHT.
SIR SAMP. I left 'em together here; what, are they gone? Ben's a
brisk boy: he has got her into a corner; father's own son, faith,
he'll touzle her, and mouzle her. The rogue's sharp set, coming
from sea; if he should not stay for saving grace, old Foresight, but
fall to without the help of a
parson, ha? Odd, if he should I could
not be angry with him; 'twould be but like me, a chip of the old
block. Ha! thou'rt melancholic, old Prognostication; as melancholic
as if thou hadst spilt the salt, or pared thy nails on a Sunday.
Come, cheer up, look about thee: look up, old stargazer. Now is he
poring upon the ground for a
crooked pin, or an old horse-nail, with
the head towards him.
FORE. Sir Sampson, we'll have the
wedding to-morrow morning.
SIR SAMP. With all my heart.
FORE. At ten a'clock, punctually at ten.
SIR SAMP. To a minute, to a second; thou shalt set thy watch, and
the
bridegroom shall observe its motions; they shall be married to a
minute, go to bed to a minute; and when the alarm strikes, they
shall keep time like the figures of St. Dunstan's clock, and
consummatum est shall ring all over the parish.
SCENE X.
[To them] SCANDAL.
SCAN. Sir Sampson, sad news.
FORE. Bless us!
SIR SAMP. Why, what's the matter?
SCAN. Can't you guess at what ought to
afflict you and him, and all
of us, more than anything else?
SIR SAMP. Body o' me, I don't know any
universalgrievance, but a
new tax, or the loss of the Canary fleet. Unless popery should be
landed in the West, or the French fleet were at
anchor at Blackwall.
SCAN. No. Undoubtedly, Mr Foresight knew all this, and might have
prevented it.
FORE. 'Tis no earthquake!
SCAN. No, not yet; nor
whirlwind. But we don't know what it may
come to. But it has had a
consequence already that touches us all.
SIR SAMP. Why, body o' me, out with't.
SCAN. Something has appeared to your son Valentine. He's gone to
bed upon't, and very ill. He speaks little, yet he says he has a
world to say. Asks for his father and the wise Foresight; talks of
Raymond Lully, and the ghost of Lilly. He has secrets to
impart, I
suppose, to you two. I can get nothing out of him but sighs. He
desires he may see you in the morning, but would not be disturbed
to-night, because he has some business to do in a dream.
SIR SAMP. Hoity toity, what have I to do with his dreams or his
divination? Body o' me, this is a trick to defer signing the
conveyance. I
warrant the devil will tell him in a dream that he
must not part with his
estate. But I'll bring him a
parson to tell
him that the devil's a liar: --or if that won't do, I'll bring a
lawyer that shall out-lie the devil. And so I'll try whether my
blackguard or his shall get the better of the day.
SCENE XI.
SCANDAL, FORESIGHT.
SCAN. Alas, Mr Foresight, I'm afraid all is not right. You are a
wise man, and a
conscientious man, a searcher into
obscurity and
futurity, and if you
commit an error, it is with a great deal of
consideration, and
discretion, and
caution -
FORE. Ah, good Mr Scandal -