The Comedies of William Congreve Part 10

ARAM. So, how de'e like the song, gentlemen?

BELL. Oh, very well performed; but I don't much admire the words.

ARAM. I expected it; there's too much truth in 'em. If Mr. Gavot will walk with us in the garden, we'll have it once again; you may like it better at second hearing. You'll bring my cousin.

BELL. Faith, madam, I dare not speak to her, but I'll make signs.

[_Addresses Belinda in dumb show_.]

BELIN. Oh, foh, your dumb rhetoric is more ridiculous than your talking impertinence, as an ape is a much more troublesome animal than a parrot.

ARAM. Ay, cousin, and 'tis a sign the creatures mimic nature well; for there are few men but do more silly things than they say.

BELL. Well, I find my apishness has paid the ransom for my speech, and set it at liberty--though, I confess, I could be well enough pleased to drive on a love-bargain in that silent manner--'twould save a man a world of lying and swearing at the year's end. Besides, I have had a little experience, that brings to mind--

When wit and reason both have failed to move; Kind looks and actions (from success) do prove, Ev'n silence may be eloquent in love.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

SCENE: _The Street_.

SILVIA _and_ LUCY.

SILV. Will he not come, then?

LUCY. Yes, yes; come, I warrant him, if you will go in and be ready to receive him.

SILV. Why did you not tell me? Whom mean you?

LUCY. Whom you should mean, Heartwell.

SILV. Senseless creature, I meant my Vainlove.

LUCY. You may as soon hope to recover your own maiden-head as his love.

Therefore, e'en set your heart at rest, and in the name of opportunity mind your own business. Strike Heartwell home before the bait's worn off the hook. Age will come. He nibbled fairly yesterday, and no doubt will be eager enough to-day to swallow the temptation.

SILV. Well, since there's no remedy--yet tell me--for I would know, though to the anguish of my soul, how did he refuse? Tell me, how did he receive my letter--in anger or in scorn?

LUCY. Neither; but what was ten times worse, with d.a.m.ned senseless indifference. By this light I could have spit in his face. Receive it!

Why, he received it as I would one of your lovers that should come empty- handed; as a court lord does his mercer's bill or a begging dedication--he received it as if 't had been a letter from his wife.

SILV. What! did he not read it?

LUCY. Hummed it over, gave you his respects, and said he would take time to peruse it--but then he was in haste.

SILV. Respects, and peruse it! He's gone, and Araminta has bewitched him from me. Oh, how the name of rival fires my blood. I could curse 'em both; eternal jealousy attend her love, and disappointment meet his.

Oh that I could revenge the torment he has caused; methinks I feel the woman strong within me, and vengeance kindles in the room of love.

LUCY. I have that in my head may make mischief.

SILV. How, dear Lucy?

LUCY. You know Araminta's dissembled coyness has won, and keeps him hers--

SILV. Could we persuade him that she loves another--

LUCY. No, you're out; could we persuade him that she dotes on him, himself. Contrive a kind letter as from her, 'twould disgust his nicety, and take away his stomach.

SILV. Impossible; 'twill never take.

LUCY. Trouble not your head. Let me alone--I will inform myself of what pa.s.sed between 'em to-day, and about it straight. Hold, I'm mistaken, or that's Heartwell, who stands talking at the corner--'tis he--go get you in, madam, receive him pleasantly, dress up your face in innocence and smiles, and dissemble the very want of dissimulation. You know what will take him.

SILV. 'Tis as hard to counterfeit love as it is to conceal it: but I'll do my weak endeavour, though I fear I have not art.

LUCY. Hang art, madam, and trust to nature for dissembling.

Man was by nature woman's cully made: We never are but by ourselves betrayed.

SCENE II.

HEARTWELL, VAINLOVE _and_ BELLMOUR _following_.

BELL. Hist, hist, is not that Heartwell going to Silvia?

VAIN. He's talking to himself, I think; prithee let's try if we can hear him.

HEART. Why, whither in the devil's name am I agoing now? Hum--let me think--is not this Silvia's house, the cave of that enchantress, and which consequently I ought to shun as I would infection? To enter here is to put on the envenomed s.h.i.+rt, to run into the embraces of a fever, and in some raving fit, be led to plunge myself into that more consuming fire, a woman's arms. Ha! well recollected, I will recover my reason, and be gone.

BELL. Now Venus forbid!

VAIN. Hush--

HEART. Well, why do you not move? Feet, do your office--not one inch; no, fore Gad I'm caught. There stands my north, and thither my needle points. Now could I curse myself, yet cannot repent. O thou delicious, d.a.m.ned, dear, destructive woman! S'death, how the young fellows will hoot me! I shall be the jest of the town: nay, in two days I expect to be chronicled in ditty, and sung in woful ballad, to the tune of the Superannuated Maiden's Comfort, or the Bachelor's Fall; and upon the third, I shall be hanged in effigy, pasted up for the exemplary ornament of necessary houses and cobblers' stalls. Death, I can't think on't--I'll run into the danger to lose the apprehension.

SCENE III.

BELLMOUR, VAINLOVE.

BELL. A very certain remedy, probatum est. Ha, ha, ha, poor George, thou art i' th' right, thou hast sold thyself to laughter; the ill-natured town will find the jest just where thou hast lost it. Ha, ha, how a' struggled, like an old lawyer between two fees.