酷兔英语

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own man again.



MIRA. Say you so?

FAIN. Ay, ay; I have experience. I have a wife, and so forth.



SCENE IV.

[To them] MESSENGER.



MESS. Is one Squire Witwoud here?

BET. Yes; what's your business?



MESS. I have a letter for him, from his brother Sir Wilfull, which

I am charged to deliver into his own hands.



BET. He's in the next room, friend. That way.

SCENE V.



MIRABELL, FAINALL, BETTY.

MIRA. What, is the chief of that noble family in town, Sir Wilfull



Witwoud?

FAIN. He is expected to-day. Do you know him?



MIRA. I have seen him; he promises to be an extraordinary person.

I think you have the honour to be related to him.



FAIN. Yes; he is half-brother to this Witwoud by a former wife, who

was sister to my Lady Wishfort, my wife's mother. If you marry



Millamant, you must call cousins too.

MIRA. I had rather be his relation than his acquaintance.



FAIN. He comes to town in order to equip himself for travel.

MIRA. For travel! Why the man that I mean is above forty.



FAIN. No matter for that; 'tis for the honour of England that all

Europe should know we have blockheads of all ages.



MIRA. I wonder there is not an act of parliament to save the credit

of the nation and prohibit the exportation of fools.



FAIN. By no means, 'tis better as 'tis; 'tis better to trade with a

little loss, than to be quite eaten up with being overstocked.



MIRA. Pray, are the follies of this knight-errant and those of the

squire, his brother, anything related?



FAIN. Not at all: Witwoud grows by the knight like a medlar

grafted on a crab. One will melt in your mouth and t'other set your



teeth on edge; one is all pulp and the other all core.

MIRA. So one will be rotten before he be ripe, and the other will



be rotten without ever being ripe at all.

FAIN. Sir Wilfull is an odd mixture of bashfulness and obstinacy.



But when he's drunk, he's as loving as the monster in The Tempest,

and much after the same manner. To give bother his due, he has



something of good-nature, and does not always want wit.

MIRA. Not always: but as often as his memory fails him and his



commonplace of comparisons. He is a fool with a good memory and

some few scraps of other folks' wit. He is one whose conversation



can never be approved, yet it is now and then to be endured. He has

indeed one good quality: he is not exceptious, for he so



passionately affects the reputation of understanding raillery that

he will construe an affront into a jest, and call downright rudeness



and ill language satire and fire.

FAIN. If you have a mind to finish his picture, you have an



opportunity to do it at full length. Behold the original.

SCENE VI.



[To them] WITWOUD.

WIT. Afford me your compassion, my dears; pity me, Fainall,



Mirabell, pity me.

MIRA. I do from my soul.



FAIN. Why, what's the matter?

WIT. No letters for me, Betty?



BET. Did not a messenger bring you one but now, sir?

WIT. Ay; but no other?



BET. No, sir.

WIT. That's hard, that's very hard. A messenger, a mule, a beast



of burden, he has brought me a letter from the fool my brother, as

heavy as a panegyric in a funeralsermon, or a copy of commendatory



verses from one poet to another. And what's worse, 'tis as sure a

forerunner of the author as an epistle dedicatory.



MIRA. A fool, and your brother, Witwoud?

WIT. Ay, ay, my half-brother. My half-brother he is, no nearer,



upon honour.

MIRA. Then 'tis possible he may be but half a fool.



WIT. Good, good, Mirabell, LE DROLE! Good, good, hang him, don't

let's talk of him.--Fainall, how does your lady? Gad, I say



anything in the world to get this fellow out of my head. I beg

pardon that I should ask a man of pleasure and the town a question



at once so foreign and domestic. But I talk like an old maid at a




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