Chapter CXXXV: Act I: Scene I.4233

_Enter_ Lady BORNWELL,[4234] _and her_ Steward.

_Stew._ Be patient, madam; you may have your pleasure.

_Lady B._[4234] ’T is that I came to town for. I would not
Endure again the country conversation,
To be the lady of six shires! The men,
So near the primitive making, they retain 5
A sense of nothing but the earth; their brains,
And barren heads standing as much in want
Of ploughing as their ground. To hear a fellow
Make himself merry and his horse, with whistling
Sellinger’s Round![4235] To observe with what solemnity 10
They keep their wakes, and throw for pewter candle-sticks!
How they become the morris, with whose bells
They ring all in to Whitsun-ales; and sweat,
Through twenty scarfs and napkins, till the hobby-horse[4236]
Tire, and the Maid Marian,[4236] dissolv’d to a jelly,
Be kept for spoon meat! 16

_Stew._ These, with your pardon, are no argument
To make the country life appear so hateful;
At least to your particular, who enjoy’d
A blessing in that calm, would you be pleas’d 20
To think so, and the pleasure of a kingdom;
While your own will commanded what should move
Delights, your husband’s love and power join’d
To give your life more harmony. You liv’d there
Secure, and innocent, belov’d of all; 25
Prais’d for your hospitality, and pray’d for:
You might be envi’d, but malice knew
Not where you dwelt. I would not prophesy,
But leave to your own apprehension,
What may succeed your change.

_Lady B._ You do imagine, 30
No doubt, you have talk’d wisely, and confuted
London past all defence. Your master should
Do well to send you back into the country,
With title of superintendent-bailiff.

_Stew._ How, madam!

_Lady B._ Even so, sir.

_Stew._ I am a gentleman, 35
Though now your servant.

_Lady B._ A country gentleman,
By your affection to converse with stubble.
His tenants will advance your wit, and plump it so
With beef and bag-pudding!

_Stew._ You may say your pleasure,
It becomes not me dispute.

_Lady B._ Complain to 40
The lord of the soil, your master.

_Stew._ You ’re a woman
Of an ungovern’d passion, and I pity you.

_Enter_ Sir THOMAS BORNWELL.

_Born._ How now? What ’s the matter?

_Stew._ Nothing, sir. [_Exit._]

_Born._ Angry, sweetheart?

_Lady B._ I am angry with myself,
To be so miserably restrain’d in things, 45
Wherein it doth concern your love and honour
To see me satisfied.

_Born._ In what, Aretina,
Dost thou accuse me? Have I not obey’d
All thy desires? Against mine own opinion
Quitted the country, and remov’d the hope 50
Of our return, by sale of that fair lordship
We liv’d in? Chang’d a calm and retir’d life
For this wild town, compos’d of noise and charge?[4237]

_Lady B._ What charge, more than is necessary for
A lady of my birth and education? 55

_Born._ I am not ignorant how much nobility
Flows in your blood; your kinsmen great and powerful
I’ th’ state; but with this, lose not you memory
Of being my wife. I shall be studious,
Madam, to give the dignity of your birth 60
All the best ornaments which become my fortune;
But would not flatter it, to ruin both,
And be the fable of the town, to teach
Other men loss of wit by mine, employ’d
To serve your vast expenses.

_Lady B._ Am I then 65
Brought in the balance? So, sir!

_Born._ Though you weigh
Me in a partial[4238] scale, my heart is honest,
And must take liberty to think you have
Obey’d no modest counsel, to affect,[4239] 69
Nay, study ways of pride and costly ceremony:
Your change of gaudy furniture, and pictures
Of this Italian master, and that Dutchman’s;
Your mighty looking-glasses, like artillery,
Brought home on engines; the superfluous plate,
Antique and novel; vanities of tires;[4240] 75
Fourscore-pound suppers for my lord, your kinsman,
Banquets for t’ other lady aunt, and cousins,
And perfumes that exceed all: train of servants,
To stifle us at home, and show abroad
More motley than the French or the Venetian, 80
About your coach, whose rude postillion
Must pester[4241] every narrow lane, till passengers
And tradesmen curse your choking up their stalls;
And common cries pursue your ladyship,
For hind’ring o’ their market.

_Lady B._ Have you done, sir? 85

_Born._ I could accuse the gaiety of your wardrobe,
And prodigal embroideries, under which
Rich satins, plushes, cloth of silver, dare
Not show their own complexions; your jewels,
Able to burn out the spectators’ eyes, 90
And show like bonfires on you by the tapers.
Something might here be spar’d, with safety of
Your birth and honour, since the truest wealth
Shines from the soul, and draws up just admirers.—
I could urge something more.

_Lady B._ Pray do, I like 95
Your homily of thrift.

_Born_. I could wish, madam,
You would not game so much.

_Lady B._ A gamester too!

_Born._ But are not come to that acquaintance yet,
Should teach you skill enough to raise your profit.
You look not through the subtilty of cards, 100
And mysteries of dice; nor can you save
Charge with the box, buy petticoats and pearls,
And keep your family by the precious income;
Nor do I wish you should: my poorest servant
Shall not upbraid my tables, nor his hire, 105
Purchas’d beneath my honour. You make play
Not a pastime but a tyranny, and vex
Yourself and my estate by it.

_Lady B._ Good! proceed.

_Born._ Another game you have, which consumes more
Your fame than purse; your revels in the night, 110
Your meetings called the “Ball,” to which repair,
As to the Court of Pleasure, all your gallants
And ladies, thither bound by a subpoena
Of Venus, and small Cupid’s high displeasure;
’T is but the Family of Love[4242] translated 115
Into more costly sin! There was a play on ’t,[4243]
And had the poet not been brib’d to a modest
Expression of your antic gambols in ’t,
Some darks had been discovered, and the deeds too.
In time he may repent, and make some blush,
To see the second part danc’d on the stage, 121
My thoughts acquit you for dishonouring me
By any foul act; but the virtuous know
’T is not enough to clear ourselves, but the
Suspicions of our shame.

_Lady B._ Have you concluded 125
Your lecture?

_Born._ I ha’ done; and howsoever
My language may appear to you, it carries
No other than my fair and just intent
To your delights, without curb to their modest[4244]
And noble freedom.

_Lady B._ I ’ll not be so tedious 130
In my reply; but, without art or elegance,
Assure you, I keep still my first opinion:
And though you veil your avaricious meaning
With handsome names of modesty and thrift,
I find you would intrench and wound the liberty 135
I was born with. Were my desires unprivileg’d
By example, while my judgment thought ’em fit,
You ought not to oppose; but when the practice
And track of every honourable lady
Authorise me, I take it great injustice 140
To have my pleasures circumscrib’d, and taught me.
A narrow-minded husband is a thief
To his own fame, and his preferment too;
He shuts his parts and fortunes from the world,
While, from the popular vote and knowledge, men 145
Rise to employment in the state.

_Born._ I have
No great ambition to buy preferment at
So dear a rate.

_Lady B._ Nor I to sell my honour,
By living poor and sparingly. I was not
Bred in that ebb of fortune, and my fate 150
Shall not compel me to it.

_Born._ I know not,
Madam; but you pursue these ways—

_Lady B._ What ways?

_Born._ In the strict sense of honesty, I dare
Make oath they are innocent.

_Lady B._ Do not divert,
By busy troubling of your brain, those thoughts
That should preserve ’em.

_Born._ How was that?

_Lady B._ ’T is English. 156

_Born._ But carries some unkind sense.

_Enter_ MADAM DECOY.

_Dec._ Good morrow, my sweet madam.

_Lady B._ Decoy! welcome;
This visit is a favour.

_Dec._ Alas, sweet madam,
I cannot stay: I came but to present 160
My service to your ladyship; I could not
Pass by your door, but I must take the boldness
To tender my respects.

_Lady B._ You oblige me, madam;
But I must not dispense so with your absence.

_Dec._ Alas, the coach, madam, stays for me at the door. 165

_Lady B._ Thou sha’t command mine; prithee, sweet Decoy—

_Dec._ I would wait on you, madam, but I have many
Visits to make this morning; I beseech—

_Lady B._ So you will promise to dine with me.

_Dec._ I shall
Present a guest.

_Lady B._ Why, then good morrow, madam.

_Dec._ A happy day shine on your ladyship! _Exit._ 171

_Re-enter_ Steward.

_Lady B._ What’s your news, sir?

_Stew._ Madam, two gentlemen.

_Lady B._ What gentlemen? Have they no names?

_Stew._ They are
The gentleman with his own head of hair,
Whom you commended for his horsemanship 175
In Hyde Park, and becoming so the saddle,
The t’ other day.

_Lady B._ What circumstance is this
To know him by?

_Stew._ His name ’s at my tongue’s end:—
He lik’d the fashion of your pearl chain, madam;
And borrowed it for his jeweller to take 180
A copy by it.

_Born._ [_Aside._] What cheating gallant ’s this?

_Stew._ That never walks without a lady’s busk,[4245]
And plays with fans—Master Alexander Kickshaw,—
I thought I should remember him.

_Lady B._ What ’s the other?

_Stew._ What an unlucky memory I have! 185
The gallant that still danceth in the street,
And wears a gross of ribbon in his hat;
That carries oringado[4246] in his pocket,
And sugar-plums, to sweeten his discourse;
That studies compliment, defies all wit 190
In black, and censures plays that are not bawdy—
Master John Littleworth.

_Lady B._ They are welcome; but
Pray entertain them a small time, lest I
Be unprovided.

_Born._ Did they ask for me?

_Stew._ No, sir.

_Born._ It matters not, they must be welcome.

_Lady B._ Fie! how ’s this hair disordered? Here ’s a curl 196
Straddles most impiously. I must to my closet. _Exit._

_Born._ Wait on ’em; my lady will return again. [_Exit_ Steward.]
I have to such a height fulfill’d[4247] her humour,
All application ’s[4248] dangerous: these gallants 200
Must be receiv’d, or she will fall into
A tempest, and the house be shook with names
Of all her kindred. ’T is a servitude
I may in time shake off.

_Enter_ ALEXANDER [KICKSHAW] _and_ LITTLEWORTH.

_Kick. and Little._ Save you, Sir Thomas!

_Born._ Save you, gentlemen!

_Kick._ I kiss your hand. 205

_Born._ What[4249] day is it abroad?

_Little._ The morning rises from your lady’s eye:
If she look clear, we take the happy omen
Of a fair day.

_Born._ She ’ll instantly appear,
To the discredit of your compliment; 210
But you express your wit thus.

_Kick._ And you modesty,
Not to affect[4250] the praises of your own.

_Born._ Leaving this subject, what game ’s now on foot?
What exercise carries the general vote
O’ the town? Nothing moves without your knowledge. 215

_Kick._ The cocking now has all the noise; I ’ll have
A hundred pieces of one battle.—Oh,
These birds of Mars!

_Little._ Venus is Mars his bird too.

_Kick._ Why, and the pretty doves are Venus’s,
To show that kisses draw the chariot. 220

_Little._ I am for that skirmish.

_Born._ When shall we have
More booths and bagpipes upon Banstead downs?
No mighty race is expected?—But my lady
Returns!

_Re-enter_ LADY BORNWELL.

_Lady B._ Fair morning to you, gentlemen!
You went not late to bed by your early visit. 225
You do me honour.

_Kick._ It becomes our service.

_Lady B._ What news abroad? You hold precious intelligence.

_Little._ All tongues are so much busy with your praise,
They have not time to frame other discourse.
Will ’t please you, madam, taste a sugar-plum?

_Born._ What does the goldsmith think the pearl is worth 231
You borrowed of my lady?

_Kick._ ’T is a rich one.

_Born._ She has many other toys, whose fashion you
Will like extremely: you have no intention
To buy any of her jewels?

_Kick._ Understand me— 235

_Born._ You had rather sell, perhaps. But, leaving this,
I hope you ’ll dine with us.

_Kick._ I came a’ purpose.

_Lady B._ And where were you last night?

_Kick._ I, madam? Where
I slept not; it had been sin, where so much
Delight and beauty was to keep me waking. 240
There is a lady, madam, will be worth
Your free society; my conversation
Ne’er knew so elegant and brave a soul,
With most incomparable flesh and blood;
So spirited! so courtly! speaks the languages, 245
Sings, dances, plays o’ th’ lute to admiration!
Is fair, and paints not; games too, keeps a table,
And talks most witty satire; has a wit
Of a clean Mercury—

_Little._ Is she married?

_Kick._ No.

_Lady B._ A virgin?

_Kick._ Neither.

_Little._ What! a widow! Something
Of this wide commendation might have 251
Excus’d. This such a prodigy!

_Kick._ Repent,
Before I name her: she did never see
Yet full sixteen, an age, in the opinion
Of wise men, not contemptible. She has 255
Mourn’d out her year, too, for the honest knight
That had compassion of her youth, and died
So timely. Such a widow is not common;
And now she shines more fresh and tempting
Than any natural virgin.

_Lady B._ What ’s her name? 260

_Kick._ She was christened Celestina; by her husband,
The Lady Bellamour: this ring was hers.

_Born._ You borrowed it to copy out the posy.

_Kick._ Are they not pretty rubies? ’t was a grace
She was pleas’d to show me, that I might have one 265
Made of the self-same fashion; for I love
All pretty forms.

_Lady B._ And is she glorious?

_Kick._ She is full of jewels, madam; but I am
Most taken with the bravery of her mind,
Although her garments have all grace and ornament. 270

_Lady B._ You have been high in praises.

_Kick._ I come short;
No flattery can reach her.

_Born._ [_Aside._] Now my lady
Is troubled, as she fear’d to be eclips’d:
This news will cost me somewhat.

_Lady B._ You deserve
Her favour, for this noble character. 275

_Kick._ And I possess it, by my stars benevolence.

_Lady B._ You must bring us acquainted.

_Born._ I pray do, sir;
I long to see her too.—Madam, I have
Thought upon ’t, and corrected my opinion.
Pursue what ways of pleasure your desires 280
Incline you to, not only with my state,
But with my person; I will follow you.
I see the folly of my thrift, and will
Repent in sack and prodigality,
To your own heart’s content.

_Lady B._ But do not mock. 285

_Born._ Take me to your embraces, gentlemen,
And tutor me.

_Little._ And will you kiss the ladies?

_Born._ And sing and dance. I long to see this beauty;
I would fain lose a hundred pounds at dice now.
Thou sha’t have another gown and petticoat 290
To-morrow. Will you sell my running-horses?
We have no Greek wine in the house, I think;
Pray send one of our footmen to the merchant,
And throw the hogshead of March-beer into 294
The kennel,[4251] to make room for sack and claret.
What think you to be drunk yet before dinner?
We will have constant music, and maintain
Them and their fiddles in fantastic liveries:
I ’ll tune my voice to catches. I must have
My dining-room enlarg’d, to invite ambassadors. 300
We ’ll feast the parish in the fields, and teach
The military men new discipline,
Who shall charge all their great artillery
With oranges and lemons, boy, to play
All dinner upon our capons.

_Kick._ He ’s exalted! 305

_Born._ I will do anything to please my lady,
Let that suffice; and kiss o’ th’ same condition.
I am converted; do not you dispute,
But patiently allow the miracle.

_Lady B._ I am glad to hear you, sir, in so good tune. 310

_Enter_ Servant.

_Serv._ Madam, the painter.

_Lady B._ I am to sit this morning.

_Born._ Do, while I give new directions to my steward.

_Kick._ With your favour, we’ll wait on you: sitting’s but
A melancholy exercise without
Some company to discourse.

_Lady B._ It does conclude 315
A lady’s morning work. We rise, make fine,
Sit for our picture, and ’t is time to dine.

_Little._ Praying’s forgot.

_Kick._ ’T is out of fashion. _Exeunt._

[SCENE II.][4252]

_Enter_ CELESTINA _and her_ Steward.

_Cel._ Fie! what an air this room has!

_Stew._ ’T is perfum’d.

_Cel._ With some cheap stuff. Is it your wisdom’s thrift
To infect my nostrils thus? Or is’t to favour
The gout in your worship’s hand, you are afraid
To exercise your pen in your account book? 5
Or do you doubt my credit to discharge
Your bills?

_Stew._ Madam, I hope you have not found
My duty, with the guilt of sloth or jealousy,
Unapt to your command.

_Cel._ You can extenuate
Your faults with language, sir; but I expect 10
To be obey’d. What hangings have we here!

_Stew._ They are arras, madam.

_Cel._ Impudence! I know’t.
I will have fresher, and more rich; not wrought
With faces that may scandalize a Christian, 14
With Jewish stories stuft with corn and camels.
You had best wrap all my chambers in wild Irish,
And make a nursery of monsters here,
To fright the ladies come to visit me.

_Stew._ Madam, I hope—

_Cel._ I say I will have other,
Good Master Steward, of a finer loom; 20
Some silk and silver, if your worship please
To let me be at so much cost. I’ll have
Stories to fit the seasons of the year,
And change as often as I please.

_Stew._ You shall, madam.

_Cel._ I am bound to your consent, forsooth! And is 25
My coach brought home?

_Stew._ This morning I expect it.

_Cel._ The inside, as I gave direction,
Of crimson plush?

_Stew._ Of crimson camel plush.

_Cel._ Ten thousand moths consume ’t! Shall I ride through
The streets in penance, wrapt up round in hair cloth? 30
Sell’t to an alderman, ’t will serve his wife
To go a feasting to their country-house;
Or fetch a merchant’s nurse-child, and come home
Laden with fruit and cheese-cakes. I despise it!

_Stew._ The nails adorn it, madam, set in method, 35
And pretty forms.

_Cel._ But single gilt, I warrant.

_Stew._ No, madam.

_Cel._ Another solecism! Oh fie!
This fellow will bring me to a consumption
With fretting at his ignorance. Some lady
Had rather never pray than go to church in’t. 40
The nails not double gilt! To market wo’t?[4253]
’T will hackney out to Mile-end, or convey
Your city tumblers[4254] to be drunk with cream
And prunes at Islington.[4255]

_Stew._ Good madam, hear me.

_Cel._ I’ll rather be beholding to my aunt, 45
The countess, for her mourning coach, than be
Disparag’d so. Shall any juggling tradesman
Be at charge to shoe his running-horse with gold,
And shall my coach nails be but single gilt!
How dare these knaves abuse me so?

_Stew._ Vouchsafe 50
To hear me speak.

_Cel._ Is my sedan yet finish’d,
And liveries for my men-mules,[4256] according
As I gave charge?

_Stew._ Yes, madam, it is finish’d,
But without tilting-plumes at the four corners;
The scarlet’s pure, but not embroidered. 55

_Cel._ What mischief were it to your conscience
Were my coach lin’d with tissue, and my harness
Cover’d with needle-work? if my sedan
Had all the story of the prodigal
Embroidered with pearl?

_Stew._ Alas, good madam, 60
I know ’t is your own cost; I am but your steward,
And would discharge my duty the best way,
You have been pleas’d to hear me; ’t is not for
My profit that I manage your estate
And save expense, but for your honour, madam.

_Cel._ How, sir! my honour?

_Stew._ Though you hear it not, 66
Men’s tongues are liberal in your character,
Since you began to live thus high. I know
Your fame is precious to you.

_Cel._ I were best
Make you my governor. Audacious varlet! 70
How dare you interpose your doting counsel?
Mind your affairs with more obedience,
Or I shall ease you of an office, sir.
Must I be limited to please your honour,
Or, for the vulgar breath, confine my pleasures?
I will pursue ’em in what shapes I fancy, 76
Here, and abroad; my entertainments shall
Be oft’ner, and more rich. Who shall control me?
I live i’ th’ Strand, whither few ladies come
To live, and purchase more than fame. I will
Be hospitable then, and spare no cost 81
That may engage all generous report
To trumpet forth my bounty and my bravery,[4257]
Till the court envy, and remove. I’ll have
My house the academy of wits, who shall 85
Exalt their genius with rich sack and sturgeon,
Write panegyrics of my feasts, and praise
The method of my witty superfluities.
The horses shall be taught, with frequent waiting
Upon my gates, to stop in their career 90
Toward Charing-cross, spite of the coachman’s fury;
And not a tilter but shall strike[4258] his plume,
When he sails by my window: my balcony
Shall be the courtier’s idol, and more gaz’d at
Than all the pageantry at Temple Bar, 95
By country clients.

_Stew._ Sure my lady’s mad.

_Cel._ Take that for your ill manners. [_Strikes him._]

_Stew._ Thank you, madam.—
I would there were less quicksilver in your fingers. _Exit._

_Cel._ There ’s more than simple honesty in a servant
Requir’d to his full duty; none should dare 100
But with a look, much less a saucy language,
Check at their mistress’ pleasure. I’m resolv’d
To pay for some delight, my estate will bear it;
I’ll rein it shorter when I please.

_Re-enter_ Steward.

_Stew._ A gentleman
Desires to speak with your ladyship.

_Cel._ His name? 105

_Stew._ He says you know him not; he seems to be
Of quality.

_Cel._ Admit him. [_Exit_ Steward.]
_Enter_ HAIRCUT.
Sir, with me?

_Hair._ Madam, I know not how you may receive
This boldness from me; but my fair intents
Known, will incline you to be charitable. 110

_Cel._ No doubt, sir.

_Hair._ He must live obscurely, madam,
That hath not heard what virtues you possess;
And I, a poor admirer of your fame,
Am come to kiss your hand.

_Cel._ That all your business?

_Hair._ Though it were worth much travel, I have more 115
In my ambition.

_Cel._ Speak it freely, sir.

_Hair._ You are a widow.

_Cel._ So!

_Hair._ And I a bachelor.

_Cel._ You come a wooing, sir, and would perhaps
Show me a way to reconcile the two?

_Hair._ And bless my stars for such a happiness. 120

_Cel._ I like you, sir, the better, that you do not
Wander about, but shoot home to the meaning;
It is a confidence will make a man
Know sooner what to trust to: but I never
Saw you before, and I believe you come not 125
With hope to find me desperate upon marriage.
If maids, out of their ignorance of what
Men are, refuse these offers, widows may,
Out of their knowledge, be allow’d some coyness:
And yet I know not how much happiness 130
A peremptory answer may deprive me of;—
You may be some young lord, and though I see not
Your footmen and your groom, they may not be
Far off, in conference with your horse. Please you
To instruct me with your title, against which
I would not willingly offend.

_Hair._ I am 136
A gentleman; my name is Haircut, madam.

_Cel._ Sweet Master Haircut, are you a courtier?

_Hair._ Yes.

_Cel._ I did think so, by your confidence.
Not to detain you, sir, with circumstance, 140
I was not so unhappy in my husband,
But that ’t is possible I may be a wife
Again; but I must tell you, he that wins
My affection, shall deserve me.

_Hair._ I will hope,
If you can love, I shall not present, madam, 145
An object to displease you in my person:
And when time, and your patience, shall possess you
With further knowledge of me, and the truth
Of my devotion, you will not repent
The offer of my service.

_Cel._ You say well. 150
How long do you imagine you can love, sir?
Is it a quotidian, or will it hold
But every other day?

_Hair._ You are pleasant,[4259] madam.

_Cel._ Does it take you with a burning at the first,
Or with a cold fit? for you gentlemen 155
Have both your summer and your winter service.

_Hair._ I am ignorant what you mean; but I shall never
Be cold in my affection to such beauty.

_Cel._ And ’t will be somewhat long ere I be warm in’t.

_Hair._ If you vouchsafe me so much honour, madam, 160
That I may wait on you sometimes, I sha’ not
Despair to see a change.

_Cel._ But now I know
Your mind, you shall not need to tell it when
You come again; I shall remember it.

_Hair._ You make me fortunate.

_Re-enter_ Steward.

_Stew._ Madam, your kinswomen, 165
The lady Novice, and her sister, are
New lighted from their coach.

_Cel._ I did expect ’em,
They partly are my pupils. I ’ll attend ’em. [_Exit_ Steward.]

_Hair._ Madam, I have been too great a trespasser
Upon your patience; I will take my leave. 170
You have affairs, and I have some employment
Calls me to court; I shall present again
A servant to you. _Exit._

_Cel._ Sir, you may present,
But not give fire, I hope.—Now to the ladies.
This recreation ’s past, the next must be 175
To read to them some court philosophy. _Exit._