SCAN. Well; you'll give me leave to wait upon you to your chamber
door, and leave you my last instructions?
MRS FORE. Hold, here's my sister coming towards us.
MRS FRAIL. If it won't
interrupt you I'll
entertain you with a
song.
BEN. The song was made upon one of our ship's-crew's wife. Our
boatswain made the song. Mayhap you may know her, sir. Before she
was married she was called buxom Joan of Deptford.
SCAN. I have heard of her.
BEN. [Sings]:-
BALLAD.
Set by MR JOHN ECCLES.
I.
A soldier and a sailor,
A
tinker and a
tailor,
Had once a
doubtfulstrife, sir,
To make a maid a wife, sir,
Whose name was buxom Joan.
For now the time was ended,
When she no more intended
To lick her lips at men, sir,
And gnaw the sheets in vain, sir,
And lie o' nights alone.
II.
The soldier swore like thunder,
He loved her more than plunder,
And shewed her many a scar, sir,
That he had brought from far, sir,
With fighting for her sake.
The
tailor thought to please her
With
offering her his measure.
The
tinker, too, with mettle
Said he could mend her kettle,
And stop up ev'ry leak.
III.
But while these three were prating,
The sailor slyly waiting,
Thought if it came about, sir,
That they should all fall out, sir,
He then might play his part.
And just e'en as he meant, sir,
To loggerheads they went, sir,
And then he let fly at her
A shot 'twixt wind and water,
That won this fair maid's heart.
BEN. If some of our crew that came to see me are not gone, you
shall see that we sailors can dance sometimes as well as other
folks. [Whistles.] I
warrant that brings 'em, an they be within
hearing. [Enter seamen]. Oh, here they be--and fiddles along with
'em. Come, my lads, let's have a round, and I'll make one.
[Dance.]
BEN. We're merry folks, we sailors: we han't much to care for.
Thus we live at sea; eat
biscuit, and drink flip, put on a clean
shirt once a quarter; come home and lie with our landladies once a
year, get rid of a little money, and then put off with the next fair
wind. How d'ye like us?
MRS FRAIL. Oh, you are the happiest, merriest men alive.
MRS FORE. We're beholden to Mr Benjamin for this
entertainment. I
believe it's late.
BEN. Why, forsooth, an you think so, you had best go to bed. For
my part, I mean to toss a can, and remember my sweet-heart, afore I
turn in; mayhap I may dream of her.
MRS FORE. Mr Scandal, you had best go to bed and dream too.
SCAN. Why, faith, I have a good
livelyimagination, and can dream
as much to the purpose as another, if I set about it. But dreaming
is the poor
retreat of a lazy,
hopeless, and
imperfect lover; 'tis
the last
glimpse of love to worn-out sinners, and the faint dawning
of a bliss to wishing girls and growing boys.
There's
nought but
willing, waking love, that can
Make blest the ripened maid and finished man.
ACT IV.--SCENE I.
Valentine's lodging.
SCANDAL and JEREMY.
SCAN. Well, is your master ready? does he look madly and talk
madly?
JERE. Yes, sir; you need make no great doubt of that. He that was
so near turning poet
yesterday morning can't be much to seek in
playing the
madman to-day.
SCAN. Would he have Angelica acquainted with the reason of his
design?
JERE. No, sir, not yet. He has a mind to try whether his playing
the
madman won't make her play the fool, and fall in love with him;
or at least own that she has loved him all this while and concealed
it.
SCAN. I saw her take coach just now with her maid, and think I
heard her bid the
coachman drive hither.
JERE. Like enough, sir, for I told her maid this morning, my master
was run stark mad only for love of her mistress.--I hear a coach
stop; if it should be she, sir, I believe he would not see her, till
he hears how she takes it.
SCAN. Well, I'll try her: --'tis she--here she comes.
SCENE II.
[To them] ANGELICA with JENNY.
ANG. Mr Scandal, I suppose you don't think it a
novelty to see a
woman visit a man at his own lodgings in a morning?
SCAN. Not upon a kind occasion, madam. But when a lady comes
tyrannically to
insult a ruined lover, and make
manifest the cruel
triumphs of her beauty, the barbarity of it something surprises me.
ANG. I don't like raillery from a serious face. Pray tell me what
is the matter?
JERE. No strange matter, madam; my master's mad, that's all. I
suppose your ladyship has thought him so a great while.
ANG. How d'ye mean, mad?
JERE. Why, faith, madam, he's mad for want of his wits, just as he
was poor for want of money; his head is e'en as light as his
pockets, and anybody that has a mind to a bad
bargain can't do
better than to beg him for his estate.
ANG. If you speak truth, your endeavouring at wit is very
unseasonable.
SCAN. She's
concerned, and loves him. [Aside.]
ANG. Mr Scandal, you can't think me
guilty of so much inhumanity as
not to be
concerned for a man I must own myself
obliged to? Pray
tell me truth.
SCAN. Faith, madam, I wish telling a lie would mend the matter.
But this is no new effect of an
unsuccessful passion.
ANG. [Aside.] I know not what to think. Yet I should be vexed to
have a trick put upon me. May I not see him?
SCAN. I'm afraid the
physician is not
willing you should see him
yet. Jeremy, go in and enquire.
SCENE III.
SCANDAL, ANGELICA, JENNY.
ANG. Ha! I saw him wink and smile. I fancy 'tis a trick--I'll
try.--I would
disguise to all the world a failing which I must own
to you: I fear my happiness depends upon the
recovery of Valentine.
Therefore I
conjure you, as you are his friend, and as you have
compassion upon one
fearful of
affliction, to tell me what I am to
hope for--I cannot speak--but you may tell me, tell me, for you know
what I would ask?
SCAN. So, this is pretty plain. Be not too much
concerned, madam;
I hope his condition is not
desperate. An
acknowledgment of love
from you, perhaps, may work a cure, as the fear of your aversion
occasioned his distemper.
ANG. [Aside.] Say you so; nay, then, I'm convinced. And if I
don't play trick for trick, may I never taste the pleasure of
revenge.--Acknowledgment of love! I find you have
mistaken my
compassion, and think me
guilty of a
weakness I am a stranger to.
But I have too much
sincerity to
deceive you, and too much charity
to suffer him to be deluded with vain hopes. Good nature and
humanity
oblige me to be
concerned for him; but to love is neither
in my power nor
inclination, and if he can't be cured without I suck
the
poison from his wounds, I'm afraid he won't recover his senses
till I lose mine.
SCAN. Hey, brave woman, i'faith--won't you see him, then, if he
desire it?
ANG. What
signify a
madman's desires? Besides, 'twould make me
uneasy: --if I don't see him, perhaps my concern for him may lessen.
If I forget him, 'tis no more than he has done by himself; and now
the surprise is over,
methinks I am not half so sorry as I was.
SCAN. So, faith, good nature works apace; you were confessing just
now an
obligation to his love.
ANG. But I have considered that passions are
reasonable" target="_blank" title="a.不合理的;荒唐的">
unreasonable and
involuntary; if he loves, he can't help it; and if I don't love, I
can't help it; no more than he can help his being a man, or I my
being a woman: or no more than I can help my want of
inclination to
stay longer here. Come, Jenny.
SCENE IV.
SCANDAL, JEREMY.
SCAN. Humh! An
admirablecomposition, faith, this same womankind.
JERE. What, is she gone, sir?
SCAN. Gone? Why, she was never here, nor
anywhere else; nor I
don't know her if I see her, nor you neither.
JERE. Good lack! What's the matter now? Are any more of us to be
mad? Why, sir, my master longs to see her, and is almost mad in
good
earnest with the
joyful news of her being here.
SCAN. We are all under a mistake. Ask no questions, for I can't
resolve you; but I'll inform your master. In the
meantime, if our
project succeed no better with his father than it does with his
mistress, he may
descend from his exaltation of
madness into the
road of common sense, and be content only to be made a fool with
other
reasonable people. I hear Sir Sampson. You know your cue;
I'll to your master.
SCENE V.
JEREMY, SIR SAMPSON LEGEND, with a LAWYER.
SIR SAMP. D'ye see, Mr Buckram, here's the paper signed with his
own hand.
BUCK. Good, sir. And the
conveyance is ready drawn in this box, if
he be ready to sign and seal.
SIR SAMP. Ready, body o' me? He must be ready. His sham-sickness
shan't excuse him. Oh, here's his
scoundrel. Sirrah, where's your
master?
JERE. Ah sir, he's quite gone.
SIR SAMP. Gone! What, he is not dead?
JERE. No, sir, not dead.
SIR SAMP. What, is he gone out of town, run away, ha? has he
tricked me? Speak, varlet.
JERE. No, no, sir, he's safe enough, sir, an he were but as sound,
poor gentleman. He is indeed here, sir, and not here, sir.
SIR SAMP. Hey day,
rascal, do you banter me? Sirrah, d'ye banter
me? Speak, sirrah, where is he? for I will find him.
JERE. Would you could, sir, for he has lost himself. Indeed, sir,
I have a'most broke my heart about him--I can't
refrain tears when I
think of him, sir: I'm as
melancholy for him as a passing-bell,
sir, or a horse in a pound.
SIR SAMP. A pox
confound your similitudes, sir. Speak to be
understood, and tell me in plain terms what the matter is with him,
or I'll crack your fool's skull.
JERE. Ah, you've hit it, sir; that's the matter with him, sir: his
skull's
cracked, poor gentleman; he's stark mad, sir.
SIR SAMP. Mad!
BUCK. What, is he non compos?
JERE. Quite non compos, sir.